#i tried using it earlier but with dubious success….

[paterson-blue]

Fine Line

Summary: Henry pays you yet another visit.

Word Count: 2,372

Warnings: Dubious consent, somnophilia, consensual somnophilia, I'm serious y'all do not come for me if you get upsetty spaghetti--this is tagged for a reason, you can have a little dead dove as a treat, afab!reader, bitter!henry, mean & angry!henry, insecure!henry, jealous!henry, possessive!henry, .... it's canon henry y'all idk what you want me to say, henry mchenry is in love and he fuuuuucking hates it, cigarette smoking, passing reference to cocaine lol, degradation (sort of?), masturbation, spit as lube but also lube as lube, unprotected piv sex, creampie oop!, lil hint of breeding kink bc it's me, chance of pregnancy is ambiguous, .... harry styles cowrote with me and I will NOT face any slander for it bye – let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: This is part 2 to The Night, The Flame, but can also be read as a standalone!

Just took a sleeping pill so I’m sure I’ll be out by the time you finish up. Break a leg! Let me know when you get home safe.

Henry rereads your text as he sits backstage, cigarette clenched between his teeth. It was stupid, really, for you to ask to know when he got home if you were going to be asleep already. What was the point? What if he crashed his bike on the way back--it’s not like you’d know until the morning. He’d be cold and dead on the side of the road by then.

He thinks about calling you to tell you just that, to berate you over it as the much needed nicotine courses through his veins. But there’d be no use--you were always dead to the fuckin’ world after taking a sleeping pill. You didn’t do it often; you must be having trouble sleeping this week. Henry hates how concern bubbles up within him at the thought.

He’s been hating a lot of things recently, which he supposes isn’t new--but this time feels different from the usual.

Henry sighs in annoyance, stabbing the butt of his cigarette into the nearby ashtray before finally getting back into his street clothes. The set had been a wild success, and he’d been planning on heading into the club to join the audience members. A night of drinking, women, a little coke--he needed it, needed the stress relief. He needed to relax. He’s pretty sure the girl who flashed her tits at him would be game; or, she was last time.

And then he’d seen your stupid fucking text message, and all thoughts of anyone else went out the window.

It’s not how things were supposed to be. You were supposed to be a fun piece of ass that he could come fuck whenever he wanted. That’s how it started, and that’s what you’d agreed to. You wanted to use his body as much as he wanted to use yours, and the two of you were fine with that arrangement.

But now he can’t fucking sleep with anyone else. He doesn’t want to sleep with anyone else, only you. And christ, the thought of you in another man’s bed makes Henry see red. He knows he can’t be the one you want, not all of him--not anything other than his cock. He gets it; he’s beyond fucked up and you’re not, and you both know it. He’s good in bed, he’s confident in that. But what else can he provide?

God fucking dammit he wants to scream. He’s so fucking frustrated, his previous plans dashed. All his earlier urges, his thoughts of the indulgences the club can provide--they’re gone. His fingertips twitch, and he fumbles for another cigarette on instinct, taking in a deep inhale as soon as it's lit.

He knows what he wants--what he needs. And he’s going to get it.

He takes long drags of his cigarette as he grabs his motorcycle helmet and heads outside to his bike, flatly ignoring anyone who tries to talk to him. He’s on a mission now, and he doesn’t feel like interruptions.

It doesn’t take long to get to your flat, the journey one that he’s made what feels like hundreds of times. He thinks he can make the trip with his eyes closed, each and every turn familiar, his subconscious guiding him until he parks, shutting off his bike and letting the night fall quiet.

Henry stares up towards your balcony, taking a couple deep breaths. He itches for another smoke, but he resists the urge—he doesn’t need another hit of nicotine when he has you.

He’s done this before, come to you at night while you were sleeping. It’s the entire reason you gave him a key to your place. He hadn’t wanted to take the token at first, too scared of what a key represented, too worried about what it insinuated. But you’d made such a convincing argument as to why he needed one—told him you knew he got antsy after a show, and you’d be available to him even while you slept, unconscious to his actions.

Well how could he have said no?

Yes, Henry’s done this more than enough times now to have everything down to a science. He knows how to let himself in silently, knows where to step so the floors don’t creak. It wouldn’t make a difference really—you won’t wake up, and he knows it—but it just enhances the experience, pretending that you might.

He knows you’ll be sprawled out in bed naked; you always said you got too hot at night. He knows how to move you ever so gently, letting your legs fall open to reveal your sweet, gorgeous pussy. He knows where you keep the lube; knows exactly what he needs to make sliding into you slick and easy.

He forgoes the condom this time. Usually he wore one in order to prevent any mess—to try to leave no trace of himself, so you’d be none the wiser when you awoke. But not tonight. Tonight, he’s on edge, possessive, irritated with the feelings you cause within him. He’s going to make a mess of you, leave it for you to find in the morning.

He’s going to fucking show you just who you belong to.

He’s already hard as he unzips his jeans, palming his cock through his briefs. It’s not surprising—doing this always got him going. You’re so fucking beautiful like this, spread out and vulnerable for him. The prettiest, most obscene picture for his eyes only.

Mine, he thinks to himself as he shoves his underwear down his thighs, gaze greedy. He can’t help but suck his thumb into his mouth, wetting it before moving his hand between your legs, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You twitch in your sleep, cunt pulsing--begging for his cock.

He considers pulling you to the edge of the bed--kneeling and tasting you, coating his tongue with your slick. It’s just as much for him as it is for you, though Henry’s loath to admit it. Part of the appeal, though, is your response to him--your moans, your sighs, the wriggle of your hips against his face, your fingers gripping, twisting, pulling at his hair. The pain is a high stronger than any drug can give him; your noises, euphoria. He has none of it if you’re asleep, yet he doesn’t want to wake you and spoil the current moment.

It’s another frustrating contradiction. You’ve never made things easy for him.

Henry warms the lube in his palm before giving his cock a couple strokes; it twitches in his hand, overeager. His gaze trails over your body up to your face, expression lax and peaceful where your cheek is nuzzled into your pillow. He thinks about what it would be like to have this--have you--every night. He imagines a world where he comes home to you, pulls you into his arms, rests his head on the pillow next to yours and tells you sweet, beautiful, stupid little things.

It’s unrealistic and he knows it--makes his heart clench up in his chest. That ugly green feeling rises within him once again to replace his sorrow.

Sometimes, Henry thinks he loves you so much that he hates you.

It’s a fine line.

He jerks his cock the way he wants to fuck you: hard and fast and ferocious, squeezing himself tight. His chest heaves as he struggles to gasp in quiet breaths; his lungs feel heavy, suffocated by his irrational anger, his jealousy, his resentment. Henry knows he could let go of his feelings--could free himself from the darkness that swirls in his head, in his heart. But, if he did that, he knows what feelings he would have left, and love is a far scarier thing than bitterness.

He fights the urge to wake you--to pound into you mercilessly, a hand around your throat, making you cry out for him as he stares into your eyes. He wants to punish you for making him love you, for making him weak, for making him hopeless and discontent. But, he’ll save that for later. Because he knows, despite what he tells himself, there will always be a later. He can’t stay away from you long, and you always--impossibly--welcome him back.

Instead, he forces his hands to stop their incessant movement; the lack of stimulation makes his hips jerk. Wiping his hands on the sheets, he clambers onto your bed; his cock bobs between his legs, hard and drooling. You stir slightly, and Henry settles his palms on your knees, watching your face intently--still, you remain unconscious. As soon as you settle back down, Henry wraps his long fingers around your upper thighs, spreading you open just how he needs in order for him to shuffle closer.

Your cunt twitches when he notches the head of his cock to your pretty little hole, as if trying to pull him in. It makes him groan--quietly, low in his throat. He’s already close, cock throbbing as he rubs the head through your soft folds. You’re relaxed enough like this--and probably still open from last night--that he can press in with little resistance. You make a noise akin to a sigh, but Henry’s too entranced by the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock inch by inch to check and see if you’re waking up.

It’s perfect, though it always is, having you on his cock. The lube slicks the way just enough for him to press in deep, holding himself there as your cunt flutters around him, adjusting to the intrusion. He’s so on edge--physically, emotionally, mentally; just this is enough to make his balls pulse. Henry allows himself a couple slow strokes, muscles tense as he moves his hips in deliberate, steady thrusts. Your walls grip him tight, hot and soft, sucking him back in as soon as he starts to pull out. He thinks, idly, that he could stay like this all night. Maybe he should lay down, pull you back against his chest--press his cock into you from behind, let your warm pussy milk him until morning while he nuzzles his face into your neck.

But it’s too soft a dream; too intimate an image--it’s not something he deserves. And, more than that: it’s not something he’s ever wanted before. You’ve turned him into someone else.

Henry clenches his jaw, gritting his teeth. Fucking pathetic, he thinks, both of us. Gathering saliva in his mouth, he lets it drip down onto the top of your mound before spreading it around your clit with his thick fingers. It’s messy and unrefined; if you were awake, you’d probably do that thing where you pretend not to like it. He hates that he knows your each and every reaction.

As it is, your pussy clenches on his cock, your body still giving away how much you want it even while unconscious. Each little movement of your hips, each hitch in your breathing, each furrow of your brow pulls Henry closer and closer to the edge. He rubs your clit leisurely; he’s practiced enough to know exactly how much you need to make you cum without jolting you awake.

He swears he can feel your cunt getting wetter and wetter the more he works you; he pulls out just enough to check, and groans quietly when he sees the sheen of your slick coating his cock. Pressing back into you makes him shudder, and the movement of his fingers gets sloppy; he’s desperate to feel you break, desperate to watch you shiver through your peak. He doesn’t have to wait much longer.

You make a whimper that cuts off almost as soon as it begins, a pretty frown decorating your once peaceful facial features--and then, all of a sudden, your hard little clit is pulsing underneath Henry’s fingertips. He clamps his teeth down onto his bottom lip to muffle himself as your pussy squeezes around his sensitive cock, pulling his orgasm from him. It’s all too easy: your soft walls milking him, the knowledge that you’re unaware of what you’re doing. Your body wants his cum, wants him--he’s your most basic desire. He won’t deny you what you need.

Henry’s fingertips circle your clit until your hips jerk, wanting to ride the wave of your orgasm as long as he can. The heat of his cum floods your pussy, coating his cock, leaking out onto the sheets; it makes his head spin to think that maybe--just maybe--it’ll take root. That he’ll place a piece of himself inside of you, that you’ll let that hint of darkness grow. He heaves in a sharp breath, goosebumps peppering his skin. Don’t make a fool out of yourself, the sneering voice in his head tells him.

He doesn’t move for a while after your aftershocks fade, ignoring his aching knees as he savors the moment. It’s quiet in the darkened room aside from his trembling breaths and the faint noise of the city outside. You still haven’t woken, even with the sheen of sweat decorating your skin and his cum sticking to your inner thighs. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe this is how the two of you last. Him stealing little moments while sparing you having to be with him--maybe this was the only way he can know you.

Henry shakes the thought from his mind, finally spurring his body into motion. He doesn’t bother cleaning himself up this time, just watches the creamy white of his cum drip from your pussy as he tucks his cock back into his briefs. It makes such a pretty picture that he wants to document it, but he’s already overstayed his welcome and he knows it. So he leaves the scene as it is: your legs spread akimbo, sloppy cunt on display, sheets stained. That angry little voice within him raises its ugly head once more, telling him it’s what you deserve. He shoves the words away, draping one of your quilts over your bare form as gently as he can.

When he gets back to the safety of his apartment, he shoots you a text just as you’d requested.

Made it home. Sleep well.

_______________________________

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[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles

First date: Seokjin’s POV

kim seokjin x reader warnings; none! words; 2,196 words

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here

Seokjin felt like a drink. It was nine o’clock in the morning, so absolutely out of the question, but it didn’t stop him from craving it. Whiskey. Definitely whiskey. Nana’s PA had just been to pick up Arin for the weekend – Thank God. Finally she would be able to spend time with her mom after a month, which he was over the moon about, and selfishly, that meant his date with you could go ahead. Even if he was so nervous he could throw up. 

Work had been a great distraction for the past two days but once he’d woken up this morning the realisation had dawned on him. He was going on a date tonight. His first in a decade. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it and asked you to dinner. He’d faced his fears, possibly made a fool of himself and shared too much about his personal life in the process, but you hadn’t seemed to mind at all. You were so easy to talk to, it was refreshing. He’d felt brave for the first time in months – years.   But it still didn’t stop him from being on pins as soon as he’d opened his eyes this morning. 

He’d showered early, just after Arin had woken up and then he’d helped her get ready for the day too, allowing her to eat her breakfast in front of the television as he tried to swallow down his bowl of porridge too. It tasted like cardboard – but then again, it might have been his cooking. Misook usually made the food around her, when he wasn’t dining out or ordering take out of course. 

Arin had noticed his strange mood straight away. Obviously. 

“Daddy, what’s wrong with you this morning?” She’d asked, looking over at him warily before hesitating. “I am spending the weekend with mom, right?”

“Of course you are, sweetie” he’d rushed, shaking away the  surge of anger he’d felt. It pained him to know she was always expecting the worst lately. “Your mom just text me to say Jia is on her way.” 

She’d smiled then, her face lighting up and he couldn’t help but match it, his nerves disappearing for a while. That was until he was left all alone, the house now empty and silent. He eyed the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter (where he’d left it after his small nightcap last night) and shook his head. He should drop you a text, just to check in and see if you were still on for tonight. He needed to find out what time to pick you up anyway. He probably should have messaged you the day before, he panicked suddenly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled his phone from his sweatpants pocket. Oh well, there was no time for regrets, that’s what his father always said. 

It took him at least ten minutes to figure out what to say. His first draft sounded too cheerful, too false, he was trying way too hard and had added an examination point. His second was too formal, fifteen years of sending business emails back and forth obvious. He settled on something in the middle – he hoped.  

Unknown (9:32am)  Hi Y/N,  It’s Kim Seokjin, Arin’s father. Just wondering if you still want to have dinner tonight? If so, please let me know and I will send through the restaurant details. We can decide on a time for me to pick you up.  Regards, Seokjin 

Only, reading it back after he hit send he began to second guess himself. Of course you knew who he was, his confidence might be lacking a little right now but he knew he wasn’t totally forgettable. What an idiot. Not that he could do much, there was no turning back. He’d committed. 

He busied himself with a bit of Saturday morning cleaning while he waited for your reply, and by that he meant straightening up the pillows he and Arin had been sitting against earlier. When he returned to the kitchen, your message was waiting for him. 

You (9:43am)  Of course, send the details. I trust your taste! 

See, exclamation points suited you. It was cute. He could just imagine you saying it in person, your dazzling smile, maybe that little giggle you’d made a few times on Wednesday. He felt something warm in his chest as he got lost in his thoughts, nerves easing once again. You were excited for tonight, he told himself.   Maybe you were even just as nervous as him possibly… 

He spent yet another few minutes composing his reply. A lot more casual this time, signing off with just his name. He didn’t always text like this, Namjoon could vouch for him, but he didn’t think you were both quite there yet. He wanted to show his best self after all. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to make you like him as much as he liked you. 

Seokjin (9:50am)  The sudden pressure… The restaurant’s name is KIM. I hope you like it. Is 7 alright to pick you up? I made reservations for 7:30.  Seokjin 

In truth, this restaurant was one he co-owned with his brother. Seokchul was the executive chef and they were both very proud of how successful their business venture had become. He knew taking you to such a place might seem like a cop-out – or worse, a brag – but that wasn’t the case at all. He wanted to treat you in a place that meant a lot to him. He could have chosen multiple restaurants, he was a regular at quite a few and could easily get a great table, but see, that did seem like he was showing off and he did not want to give you that impression at all. It was the complete opposite of his personality. KIM was a good choice, he was sure of it, and it helped that his brother didn’t work weekends, so there was no risk of bumping into him. Although, he had let him know about the date (and had begged him not to spill to their mother). 

You (9:52am)  I will. 7 sounds perfect. I’ll send through my address. See you later! 

You followed up with a Google Maps link to your home, and he sent a quick thank you – sans his name this time. With a quick sigh he pocketed his phone again, it was time to get on with his day. He had some paperwork from yesterday to complete by Monday morning so he should probably make a start. He stopped to order a light lunch at midday, ate it as he scrolled through his very limited social media before getting back to it. 

He called it a day around 3pm, a call from his mom interrupting his flow. He spent an hour talking, their weekend phone calls were habitual by now and he enjoyed them immensely.  He loved his father of course, but their conversations mostly revolved around work. Despite stepping down as CEO three years ago, he was still a vital member of the company, and Seokjin continued to consult him at every opportunity and lean on him for support when things got stressful. With his mom, she was the woman he could still be a kid around. They could talk about anything and everything, but for her own benefit he left out his plans for tonight. He knew what she was like, she’d get way too excited and overwhelmed and before long she’d be sobbing down the line while simultaneously asking to meet you. She’d been wanting him to meet someone new for so long, much like Mrs. Shin. It was a surprise the two women weren’t conspiring behind his back. 

No, he’d keep it a secret for now. If things went well tonight, then possibly his mother would get to find out. He wasn’t getting his hopes up though – or at least he was trying not to. 

It was just after four when he got off the phone, too early to start getting ready just yet, so he sat in front of the television and tried to concentrate on a series he’d recently started. (It wasn’t going well. He was on about one episode a week out of a nine season TV show.) It was no use though, the nerves were rearing their ugly head again. 

He decided to choose his outfit. Seokjin wasn’t much of a thinker when it came to fashion, he just grabbed whatever he saw first that morning, but tonight he wanted to at least put some effort in. After much deliberation he decided on a navy two piece paired with a white dress shirt. It wasn’t over the top, he thought, but nice enough to make that impression that was so very important to him. He kept his hair simple. He’d managed to squeeze in a haircut yesterday so it made things easier, but upon closer inspection in the mirror he noticed those pesky grey hairs of his glittering in the sunlight. He grimaced, worried now. He didn’t know your exact age yet, but it was obvious he was a few years older than you. He was no spring chicken, especially with those wrinkles around his eyes. He had been called handsome all his life, no stranger to it, but right now he was dubious. 

He pushed his trivial concerns away and concentrated on the next decision. What car he would take. He didn’t want to go too flash – again with the showing off thing – so the Aston Martin was definitely off the cards. He hadn’t actually driven that one much, going through some sort of so-called midlife crisis when he’d bought it straight after his divorce, so he made a mental note to take it out next weekend. He decided on the Mercedes convertible (roof on, of course). It seemed like a suitable choice, not too flashy at all really. He didn’t want to run the risk of putting you off him or overwhelming you with showy displays. He was well aware of the differences between your lifestyles, not that he cared at all, but it didn’t stop him from understanding. The things that seemed slight to him could very well be enormous for you. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape or form. 

Shit, on second thoughts maybe his restaurant was a bad idea… 

.

.

Seokjin was always punctual, he prided himself on it, but tonight it made him nervous. He’d said 7 but it had only just gone quarter to. He couldn’t very well stay in the car for fifteen minutes, you’d spot him out the window, so ever so slowly he opened his car door and stepped out, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He was sure he noticed his hand shaking as he closed it behind him. He was such a mess it was embarrassing. 

You lived in a nice little neighbourhood, it seemed quiet, and he admired your pots of flowers in the patch of garden you had as he made his way up the path that led to your front door. He took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, adjusting his suit jacket as he waited for you to open up. It’s fine, Seokjin, he told himself. It’s just dinner. You’ve done much scarier things in your life. Pull yourself together, man. 

A few seconds later the door opened in front of him and you came into view, looking as beautiful as ever. I’m fucked, he thought immediately. 

“Hi,“ he forced himself to say as he smiled. He was probably staring but he couldn’t help himself. You looked stunning, your dress deep red in colour and incredibly flattering. His throat felt dry and he swallowed quickly. 

“Hey,” you greeted back. 

“You look beautiful,“ he couldn’t help but awe, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line with his compliment. 

"Thank you,” you smiled almost shyly. It was adorable. “You look…really good.“ 

He couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, aware the sound was probably highly unfaltering, but he couldn’t help it. "I’ll take it. Thanks.” He tilted his head to the right then, composing himself. “Are you ready to go? I’m a bit early, I know. Sorry about that." 

He really couldn’t tear himself away from your beauty, but luckily you didn’t seem to notice, busy nodding as you clutched your purse to your side. "I, uh… I would invite you in to kill time but my best friend’s embarrassing.” Your voice raised as you continued, your head turning slightly down the hallway. 

He raised an eyebrow, a little confused, but he guessed said best friend was in the house somewhere? He smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine.” 

As you stepped forward, a breath of a chuckle slipping from your throat, he moved to the side, outstretching his arm to let you lead the way. You accepted with a brief nod of your head, your gazes catching for a split second. God, you were gorgeous. 

His nerves might have eased a tad, but his heart was still beating just as fast – if not more.  

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 8 / End

——It had been an absolutely bizarre day.

After Sherlock Holmes and the others had solved the case, that was what the man known to them as Jerry Dorff thought.

Presently, he was walking along a thoroughfare in the city, a piece of paper in hand. He still wore the bandages that had made him a suspect in the arson-and-murder case; as people walked past, his unusual appearance sent them casting dubious and uncomfortable glances openly in his direction.

However, he’d already grown used to such negative reactions. Paying no mind, he continued walking towards his destination, and thought back to the events that had resulted in this curious appearance of his.

——Originally, he’d been a capable businessman: one who had expanded a retail shop into a major commercial establishment. But one day, he was betrayed by a noble he’d thought of as a close friend. He was kidnapped abruptly in the dead of night, shot in a deserted area of London, burned all over while still alive, and thrown into the River Thames.

Yet he survived. After being swept downstream, he regained consciousness; somehow, he managed to climb out the river and save himself. At this point, he thought of returning home, and telling his child and his friend that he was alright—— but the moment he considered that, he stopped.

The man who’d tried to kill him was part of the nobility: an institution which wielded absolute power in this country. If that man knew he’d survived, he would attempt to eliminate him once and for all. On top of that, he could even be placing the people important to him in harm’s way.

As such, the man relinquished everything. He gave up proving that he’d survived, a life of peace, as well as the chance to see his family and friends again. From then on, he never revealed his true identity to anyone, and led a solitary life in the slums under the false name Jerry.

However, just the other day, a mysterious letter had arrived at the inn where he was staying. Written on it was his real name, and some simple instructions.

To summarise its contents: an incident would break out at a nearby inn; he was to get himself involved as one of the suspects; after which, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes would solve the case. Then, once the man had seen that the case was resolved, he was to go to this address.

And in reality, in the case involving the famous detective, the man had indeed been caught up as a suspect.

At first, when he read the letter, he was wrought with unease that his survival had finally been discovered. But if that had been the case, it would’ve been an assassin rather than a letter that arrived on his doorstep. As such, he surmised that at the very least, the author of the letter meant him no harm.

Moreover, the occurrence and resolution of the incident had happened exactly as the letter said it would; from that, it was apparent that this person had considerable foresight. Hence, powerless as he was right now, it would be mean nothing for him to disobey those instructions anyway. Having arrived at that conclusion, the man resolved to head to that address, even as apprehension took root within him.

“……Only being able to go with the flow — just like a puppet on strings, huh.”

He murmured self-abasingly, then stopped. He had reached the address written on the letter.

He was in the heart of one of London’s shopping districts. It was dusk, and the street lamps were lined up like candles on a birthday cake, casting a gentle glow all around. As usual, the passers-by cast strange looks in his direction, but the man didn’t care a whit.

Amidst the stream of people, he stood stock-still, his gaze fixed on the enormous building before him.

This was the department store he had, in the past, guided to success together with his friend. It seemed that a big incident a while back had forced the business to close. But as he soaked in its majestic atmosphere, a sense of nostalgia surged into his chest.

Nevertheless, at this point, he was no better than a recluse. No matter what end awaited this department store — the very one he had watched grow like his own child — that had nothing to do with him anymore. How was his precious family spending their days? That was immaterial to him too.

A firm resolve; and within it, an inexorable sorrow and regret. Perhaps the one who’d sent this letter was hoping to dredge up these emotions within him. If that were the case, then although he didn’t know who they were, he was certain they had rather bad taste.

Carrying a faint indignation, as well as an emptiness in his heart, the man made to leave.

Then, a little further down the street, a carriage caught his eye as it slowed to a stop.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“——Hey, William. You came to my house all of a sudden, picked me up in this carriage, then brought me all the way here — what on earth are you doing?”

As they rode together in a carriage, that was what Helena Curtis asked William James Moriarty seated across her. His elder brother Albert was seated next to him, and their youngest brother Louis held the reins in the driver’s seat.

However, both William and Albert simply responded with meaningful smiles.

“You’ll know it when you alight……. Since everything up till now, has been part of my plan.”

“………?”

She still couldn’t grasp the meaning behind his words; but for the time being, she did as he said and descended from the carriage.

Then, she found herself standing before the place where that brutal occupation had occurred several days earlier, and where she had ended up making William’s acquaintance: that very department store.

“……Maybe they’re going to unfurl a banner saying ‘Congratulations on your reopening!’ or something like that?”

Helena murmured as she gazed up at the building before her. Now, its enormity seemed almost hollow. She had thought of this store as her second home; part of her had been reluctant to see it fade away, but she also understood that there had been no other choice. For better or for worse, she was an intelligent girl.

What on earth was their purpose in bringing her here?

With that question on the tip of her tongue, Helena was just about to turn back to the carriage, when a voice came calling out to her from the side.

“……Helena?”

“——Eh?”

Her gaze shot toward the direction of the voice; there, stood a man whose face was wrapped all over in bandages. As the evening sun shone on him from behind, he looked almost like a demon from a child’s picture book.

Helena was shocked.

But it wasn’t because this suspicious-looking man had suddenly called her by name. What had taken her by surprise, was that ‘colour’.

——A warm, and slightly lonely colour, like clouds drenched in the evening sun.

It was dusk now: perhaps she had simply confused it with the sky? No, definitely not. That colour had certainly come from this man.

Then, the man seemed to have realised something all of a sudden, and turned his face away.

“Apologies. It seems I was mistaken. You reminded me of an acquaintance’s child.”

He said that as if making excuses to someone else, then turned away and tried to leave.

But Helena stared right at his back and shouted.

“Dad! It’s you, isn’t it!?”

Her voice had been clear, and imbued with a strong conviction. The girl’s plea washed over him, and the man looked down.

“……You’re mistaken. I’m not related to you.”

“That’s a lie! Your colour is the same as my dad’s! I’m absolutely sure on that!”

At this point, her voice was already trembling. With all her strength, she dashed toward him. He’d stood there with his fists clenched, and his back still turned; but finally, as if tearing himself free from everything, he spun around and knelt on one knee, hugging his daughter in his arms.

“I missed you so much……”

Helena spoke, her face buried in the front of his tattered, worn-out shirt. Even without looking at her, the man knew tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.

“……It’s been so long. And you’ve gotten so big.”

He too smiled at his daughter, no longer caring about the gazes of the people around him. Just for a moment, it was as if the bustle of the city had faded away, and the evening sun bathed the reunion of this long-separated family in its tender glow.

If only time could stop at this moment, they wouldn’t have to suffer the anguish of the impending tragedy. With that thought in mind, even as he felt a pang of regret, he pulled his daughter away from his chest.

“Helena. I’m glad I got to see you again. But, it’s no use: if he finds out I’m still alive——”

“——You need not worry about that anymore.”

Right then, William called out to him as he got off the carriage.

“……You are?”

“My name is William James Moriarty. I was fortunate enough to have made friends with Miss Helena.”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Helena spread out her arms in joy.

“Thanks to William, I also saved Mr Kevin’s life, you know. Also, that noble, Andy — he can’t lay a hand on us anymore.”

“Is that…… true?”

From within the depths of his bandages, the man’s eyes widened, and he looked in William’s direction once again. At that, William responded with a smile full of warmth.

“This may be a bit too sudden, and perhaps you will need some time to process it, but that will not be an issue. We have completely eliminated that which has been tormenting all of you.”

“That…… How?”

“About that, please speak with your daughter in your own time after this.”

The man was more bewildered than overjoyed; but William left only those words with him, and stepped into the carriage once again. Her face brimming with smiles, Helena looked at William in the carriage, as well as Albert seated inside, and Louis in the driver’s seat.

“To everyone in the Moriarty family: truly, thank you. No matter how many times I say that, it will never be enough.”

William bowed respectfully, and then the carriage set off. As he watched the man stand there blankly, and the young girl waving at them as hard as she could, a gentle smile rose to his face.

Seeing that, Albert chuckled.

“So, is this the finishing touch?”

William nodded.

“That’s right, Albert nii-san.”

——Searching for Helena’s father, and reuniting them. That had been William’s plan this time around.

In order to pronounce judgement on Andy at the survival game, they had been looking into what the man did to Helena’s father, when William landed on the possibility that he was still alive and in hiding somewhere.

They had commenced their search right away, but it seemed the man was leading a rather inconspicuous life — his whereabouts were a mystery. Hence, William took advantage of the department store attackers who had fled from the police.

Those men were born and raised in the slums; having committed numerous petty crimes for a long time, they were well-versed in the art of escaping from the Yard. Of course, among the streets they’d grown up in, they were also familiar with the best places to evade detection. Putting it another way, one could take it that wherever these men had chosen to lay low, that same place would be perfect for Helena’s father to hide himself, seeing as he wanted to mask his existence. Hence, as soon as the fugitives holed up in one place, William would probe the surrounding area, and when he’d determined that Helena’s father was not there, he would let the fugitives catch wind of the Yard’s presence, and drive them on to their next hiding spot.

After repeating this a few times, as William had predicted, they finally discovered a man who appeared to fit the bill. He stayed at a certain inn, calling himself Jerry Dorff; but having laid low for such a long time, the man had become extremely distrustful — it would be no mean feat to call him out to meet Helena. Forcibly abducting him was out of the question, and even if they had brought Helena to meet him, he might mistake it as a trap set by the noble who’d betrayed him.

After exploring various methods, William chose to send him a single letter. Written on it was a full description of the incident that would occur — serving as a prophecy of sorts, to show that he meant him no harm, as well as a final notice: hinting that he couldn’t escape the net William had cast. After which, all that was left was to send an anonymous tip-off to the police regarding the fugitives’ location.

Then the detective and the Yard moved to hunt down the two fugitives, and Helena’s father was led to this place. Everything had unfurled from atop the palm of the “Lord of Crime” — and all of it occurred without the slightest deviation from his plan.

As a modest reward, William had been able to witness a beautiful love between parent and child. Sharing a meaningful look with Albert, he called out to his younger brother.

“Shall we, Louis?”

“Yes, William nii-san.”

With that, Louis urged their horse on a little faster.

Now that their twilight-coloured plan had been accomplished, they were headed in the opposite direction from the sunset sky, still radiant with the sun’s last rays — and towards one which was already dyed pitch-black.

When the sun went down, this city would once again be ruled by the darkness of the night. They would continue to race through its darkest parts, and work towards their goal. Finally, dawn would arrive. All the darkness would be dispelled, and a new day would begin: one that would bring people hope.

The carriage continued racing forward in a straight line. As it disappeared into the streets that had begun to dissolve into the gloom, William James Moriarty smiled.

One day, the morning sun would shine upon this world, and the ideals they created would come to life — that, was what he believed.

T/N: …When Helena’s father was revealed to be alive, I was oh my god what if—— and then they did get reunited and I was about to cry… It’s a better end than I could’ve imagined! (tears of joy)

[belovedgamers]

Foolish’s Lore: L’Sandburg

Final part of my Foolish lore summary!

DISCLAIMER: it’s canon <3

That being said! Summary under the cut!

CREATION

Soon after the Red Banquet, Bad claimed a 3x3 space in Foolish’s path. Throughout a disagreement with Foolish, Bad proceeded to claim more and more space. Foolish eventually agreed to let him have one chunk of land to build. Bad built a tower and dubbed it L’Sandburg. Antfrost supported Bad. HBomb joined in, also claiming a chunk of land for his own country. Shenanigans ensued in which more and more land was claimed under different names.

Eventually, Foolish hired Purpled to kill Bad. A little later, they settled down and Bad went back to his one chunk of land in L’Sanburg, agreeing to let Foolish rearrange it as needed if he wanted it to fit more with the general aesthetic of the Summer Home. Bad attempted to install a toll of passage, which Foolish refused to pay. At the same time, Bad went through a dispute with Puffy over whether the land was L’Sandburg of L’Puffberg.

PATHING DISPUTE

Foolish proceeded to build a pathing around L’Sandburg while also remodeling it to make it look more in sync with the rest of his Temple. Offscreen, Bad built a wall on Foolish’s pathing, violating their original agreement, and demanding payment of one golden apple per passage. Foolish continues to refuse to pay that toll on his own land, and is enraged by Bad’s building of the wall.

ULTIMATUMS

Foolish writes a letter to give “the leader of L’Sandburg” AKA Bad an ultimatum to remove the wall in five days or face the consequences, although he would like to avoid full out war. 

Bad responded by leaving him a letter in response telling him to “EAT DIRT”, “DOWN WITH THE TYRANNICAL TOTEM” and “DIEEEEEEEE”. Bad also, upon learning of Foolish’s kids, briefly kidnaps Finley before giving her back, congratulating Foolish on his fatherhood and giving him some gold.

Foolish, in response to the threatening letter, proceeded to make preparations. He wonders if this is how he’ll break his peaceful vow and make his first kill.

ALLIES

Foolish does not want to involve too many people as the conflict could get bigger and bigger and damage his home. He spent yesterday stream talking to Skeppy and then making letters to a few key figures. Among the people Foolish has tried to recruit are:

Skeppy (Confirmed)

In exchange for a tower in the Summer Home

Attempt to get to Bad through his connection with Skeppy.

There is a plan to “fake kidnap” Skeppy and tell Bad he will only be released if Bad relinquishes L’Sandburg.

Foolish suspects that Skeppy may betray him and go to Bad’s side.

Philza (Dubious)

Due to his dislike for governments

Attempt to recruit him via letter, is not directed to the Syndicate since Foolish does not canonically know about them

Foolish does not want withers in his land, but he recognizes Philza and his ally Techno’s strength and is hoping they will agree to help him. Appeals to Philza

Refers to himself as “your friend and greatest rival.”

Eret (Invited)

Due to their past friendship

Foolish leaves a letter to him and tells him of the slight against him by “Bitchboyhalo”, doesn’t make any promises or offers

Refers to Eret again as “old pal” and himself as “your old friend”.

He will NOT involve: Tommy (has been through too many wars) or Tubbo (he doesn’t want nukes, chat, this is his home).

UPDATE: Tubbo and Tommy have since involved themselves (explained further down).

PHILZA’S SOLUTION

Philza visited L’Sandburg in order to assess the situation before bringing it up with “the council” (the Syndicate). He did not see any major problem and did not understand why Foolish claimed in his letter that the people of L’Sandburg had impeded his safe passage to his home, as the Nether pathway was undisturbed.

Upon seeing the wall on Foolish’s path, he was still in disbelief of the situation as he saw an easy solution: walk around the wall and not pay the toll, since nobody was there to stop him. 

He read the books and their dispute but did not make any major comments.

Philza set up iron gate parkour along the side of L’Sandburg before returning to his home, jokingly demanding payment. He then said that Foolish could come to him if the situation became more serious, but for now the solution was simple and set.

TUBBO’S “PRESIDENCY”

Tubbo checked out L’Sandburg in search for Foolish’s vault. He claimed presidency over it and left signs on the land, claiming it as his. He attempted to impersonate Bad in an official declaration of war in an attempt to reap chaos. 

Foolish did not believe the declaration, as it was signed by Tubbo himself. He was willing to accept Tubbo’s presidency, however, as he assumed Tubbo would not have major involvement and suspected he would not visit L’Sandburg again.

OBSIDIAN WALLS

After seeing the expanded walls and Tubbo’s declaration of presidency, Foolish built obsidian walls around L’Sandburg, although they did not encase it completely and he still allowed for its inhabitants’ passage.

RANBOO, TUBBO AND TOMMY VISIT

Later, alongside Ranboo and Tubbo, they attempted to claim Foolish’s land in the name of the Pope (Tommy). Foolish refused. Tubbo continued to claim presidency and ownership over L’Sandburg. He tried to say that L’Sandburg was his home, only to be reminded by Foolish that he’d already commissioned a mansion from Foolish himself. 

Tubbo told Foolish to tear down the wall, Foolish refused. Tubbo insisted he didn’t want Foolish to pay a tool but rather to feel inferior. He declared himself President of L’Sandburg, Ranboo the Vice President and Tommy the secretary of state.

Negotiations continued, Foolish attempted to convince Tubbo to move L’Sandburg with little success. Tubbo offered Foolish $100 (a Nintendo gift card from Mr Beast) in exchange of tearing down the obsidian walls. When Foolish continued to refuse, Tubbo threatened to declare independence. Ranboo and Tubbo (Tommy had left earlier) took their leave.

Foolish checked if the gift card was indeed valid but did not reclaim the funds. Instead, he decided he didn’t really want to put the time to tear down the obsidian walls and ended stream.

Foolish then declared that he will give L’Sandburg (Bad) two days to leave before taking action.

“In two days, I will see this removed, even if I have to change my ways.”

BAD’S LONG TERM PLAN

Bad contacted Puffy to show her the walls Foolish had built around L’Sandburg. Bad found the signs by Tubbo and took them down. He also talked about his long-term plans to get people used to the toll. This way, he plans to make a steady income and hopes to interest Foolish in a purchase of L’Sandburg, sell stocks and become a millionaire. 

To note, Bad diminished his actions as part of the Eggpire and the events of the Red Banquet, saying things like “Eggpire, what is that?” and “I have no idea what you’re talking about” when Foolish’s death was brought up. He tried to claim that Foolish has been bamboozled once or twice before Puffy stopped him by describing the situation as Foolish being “brutally murdered in front of friends and loved ones.” 

Bad proceeded to ask Puffy for ways to increase the value of the walls of L’Sandburg “in order to sell it back to Foolish.” Puffy proceeded to say that if Bad had presented the offer to buy L’Sandburg to Foolish originally, he may have taken it but after Bad’s threats it may be too late. Bad argued he’s been playing hard to get. Puffy countered that he was actually scamming Bad, although he denied it.

He then attempted to argue that it should be fair he get “overhang land” from the original agreement, before declaring that he’d gotten it through conquest. He proceeded to say he would make L’Sandburg giant and decided to use Foolish’s obsidian walls as another toll gate. 

L’SANDBURG THE TOLL COMPANY

Bad wondered if he could get Wilbur involved in this and remarked that he needed allies. He then declared L’Sandburg not a government but a toll company in order to prevent ending up on Technoblade’s bad side.

“We’re a toll collecting agency that collects tolls, builds stocks and, you know what? We also specialize in walls.”

He later took it back and decided to be “just L’Sandburg” and demanded Puffy pay the toll. He claimed Foolish’s obsidian wall as part of L’Sandburg. He then wondered how much Technoblade would charge for protecting L’Sandburg, calling it his “sand castle”.

PUFFY’S INVOLVEMENT

It is unclear if Puffy will be taking any sides in this conflict. She called herself “an outlier, just spectating” when Bad tried to include her in L’Sandburg and did not want to participate in his scam. She refused to be included in the plan even when Bad offered to rename L’Sandburg into L’Puffberg.

“I’m playing the long game.”

“Well, you’ve inspired me to play mine.”

Puffy later helped Bad write his offer for Foolish, but clarified the following;

“I’m not scamming my own son. It’s either this or involving my son in a war.”

[lilbabycee]

tatiana // steve rogers 🌸

↳ summary: you've made a series of mistakes concerning steve and you're not going to stop now, although these mistakes may leave you in some unprecedented circumstances.

↳ relationship: soft dark!steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 5.4k (i got carried away with this one)

↳ warnings: explicit smut, mildly dubious consent, emotional manipulation, cockwarming, dad!steve

↳ author’s note: some more soft dark steve bc we all need it 🤤 this may be one of my favorite steve fics i’ve ever written, so please enjoy! 💖 

The white doves that tell the tales residing inside the heavy book that weighs down your lap flutter downwards, blowing little wisps of air onto your skin as your fingers slacken and the cover of the hardback hits the pages with a soft thud. Perched on the edge of the too-big queen-sized bed with the too-soft mattress, you take a second to breathe deeply, cherishing these moments of peace because these breaths haven’t come easy to you recently. Your head falls into one of your hands, your bones as exhausted as your mind. You have to remember that it’s ten in, hold for five, and ten out just like he taught you, but the thought escapes you as your lungs struggle to intake air in anything but huge, gasping breaths. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest, a weight so heavy having settled where your heart should be, dragging your body further to the ground than gravity.

But you’re unable to help the sincere albeit shaky smile on your face when you admire her, your breathing starting to even out until it’s shallow and steady. Round cheeks squished against the pillow, one of her chubby little hands gripping your sleeve and the other tucked underneath her head, she’s a vision - truly a beacon of light in what is otherwise a neverending spiral into darkness. Carefully and with all of the finesse that your shaking hands can muster, you pry her fingers off of your sleeve one by one, although you know that the chances of her waking up are slim. You love telling her that she can sleep through an earthquake or a hurricane because it always - without fail - elicits that same sweet little giggle from the sleeping girl in front of you and a whiny “Mama!” , her beaming smile enough to warm your heart for the rest of your life.

Tatiana’s long eyelashes - all too reminiscent of her daddy’s - fan against her face while she dozes, her mouth wide open and her soft snores the only sound in the room. Her closed eyes shield you from the most disarming baby blues that never let you forget exactly who her father is, and the thought alone makes the blood pumping your heart run cold, an involuntarily shudder passing through you at the feeling.

He’s just over in the next room and you know it - the apartment is almost entirely silent but you know. He’s waiting, expecting you, knowing that you’ll come to see him at the end of the night. Tatiana’s enthusiasm and your insistence upon reading her to sleep hopefully went unnoticed by him - being alone in a room with him always makes your skin crawl and your heart beat erratically but you know that he can smell the arousal that pools between your thighs regardless of the attitude that you give him on the surface.

Not wanting him to come and look for you, you decide that you’ve spent enough time in this massive bedroom - a converted guest room - that’s far too large for a 3-and-a-half-year-old. You lean down over your baby, hand coming up to brush a thumb over her cheek and then run a hand through over the top of her head, pushing the stray baby hairs out of her face. You make sure to place the book on her nightstand so that you don’t have a fiasco like the last time that you couldn’t find it. It ended up underneath the couch and your daughter was in a mood for the whole day, pouting and sulking when her father told her that he couldn’t find it. It was a gift that was given to you by her favorite uncle, Tony, when she was born: Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Tony considers it essential in developing her love for reading and stories at an early age, and you didn’t argue, the gift so sweet and thoughtful that you make sure to read at least a little to her every night. Making sure to turn her nightlight on, you rise and head to the door, looking back over your shoulder one more time to see her cocooned in her blanket and being swallowed by her mattress. The image alone makes a chuckle rise in your throat and you shake your head before flipping the light switch and closing the door.

Your back is pressed against the hard lines of Tatiana’s door, and your gaze falls on the one at the end of the hallway. It’s been left ajar, almost as if he’s inviting you inside. You know that you shouldn’t - common sense is telling you that you should steer clear of that room for the sole reason that you know exactly what or rather who lays in their bed behind it. Before you even realize what’s happening, a deep baritone is summoning you to, “Come in”.

Silently, you curse yourself, aware that it’s too late to take back any chance of escape that you may have had prior to this, but you press your palm against the white wood of the door so that it slowly slides open. The sight that greets you makes you want to claw at your skin as much as you want to claw at his. The idea of vertical red lines scratched down his back makes you bite your lip and really assess the gorgeous man stretched out in front of you.

At a closer listen, you’re aware that he’s actually been playing music, soft jazz melodies floating through the air that ease your anxiety just a little. His bed is directly across from the door and obnoxiously large and comfortable - it used to be covered in pillows and have a softer mattress and extra blankets, but that was before you moved out. Now, the pillows are somewhere in a closet, as are the blankets, and the mattress is significantly harder than it used to be, although not uncomfortable. But the bed isn’t what’s making your mouth water and a fire ignite in your stomach. It’s the man atop it.

He’s stretched out like some kind of god - picture Dionysus - with the bone structure and physique of Adonis, and you think that if the heavens opened up right now and took him back you wouldn’t bat a single eyelash. The only sources of light in the room are the twin lamps that emanate a bright, white light. The light catches all of the planes and angles of his face, the shadows and highlights alike showing you all of his best features. And he’s absolutely the picture of relaxation, back leaning against the headboard, right hand behind his head and the left holding a book.

He’s only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that’s slightly rucked up to show the line of abdominal hair that leads down to what you really want, but he may as well have been wearing nothing because you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes off of this man if you tried. And even from the few meters that separate the two of you, you can feel the intensity of his blue gaze behind his glasses - it always feels like he’s stripping you slowly, carefully, methodically in his mind. Not only is it disconcerting but it makes you feel things that you can only associate with uncomfortable desire. His eyebrow quirks up and the hand that was behind his head slowly slides his glasses down the bridge of his perfect nose until they drop to his side. His lips quirk up into a smug little smirk that you simultaneously want to punch and kiss off his face.

“Hey,” he says your name like a prayer, lips wrapping around the sound and it draws you into the room - you’re almost floating towards him.

You swallow, willing yourself to say something instead of just standing there, staring at him like an idiot. Relaxing your stance, one of your hands finds your hip and the other runs over your hair that you’re sure is a mess from playing with your daughter earlier.

“Hi,” you reply quietly, almost a whisper. He mirrors you, running a hand through his golden hair and then over his clean-shaven jaw - Tatiana prefers it that way.

“She asleep?”

You nod, finding yourself on the edge of his bed as he puts his book face down next to him. Inhaling deeply, he runs his large hands over his powerful thighs and even that small motion has you distracted and you squeeze your own thighs together, shaking your head disapprovingly at yourself. Absent-mindedly, your hand comes up to toy with the pendant of the simple necklace that you always wear, and you watch Steve’s eyes as they follow your movements. They zero in on your exposed décolletage and darken, his tongue running over his plush pink lower lip again. Pulling his phone from underneath his pillow, he makes a point of checking it before glancing back up at you.

“What?”

“You checked the time, sweetheart?”

At the shake of your head, he flips his phone around to show you that it’s four minutes past midnight.

“Shit, are you kidding me?” you groan almost childishly, rising hastily and making your way towards the door. “I’ve got work tomorrow - I wasn’t supposed to stay this late.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve quickly moves to stand up and placate you, rounding the bed to come and stand in front of you with his hands out. “It’s not your fault - Tati was excited to see you, you can’t blame her… or yourself for that matter. She’s been asking about you for weeks now, talkin’ everybody’s ear off about it. She doesn’t get to see us all the time, you know that-”

You know it all too well. Frankly, you’re proud of your success - there’s no reason that you shouldn’t be. You were lucky enough to land a key internship at Stark Industries as a college student that really gave you a leg up in a lot of your future professional life. You were already set to inherit what is now your publishing company from your father, but you were unsure about whether or not that was something that you wanted to devote your life to. Sooner rather than later, something clicked for you and that was when you decided to pick up your father’s life’s work, reassuring him that it would be left in capable hands so that he could eventually retire peacefully. Not that he doesn’t still hover because he does, giving you advice whether you want it or not and making final decisions in places where you’re torn. Initially, there was a lot of discontent within the company concerning your father’s replacement: he is something of a legend in the publishing world and even you were terrified that you wouldn’t be able to live up to their expectations. You had to prove that you deserved to have the CEO position that your father appointed you to, show people and yourself, more importantly, that you were worth being there as much as any other employee. It took some years, but you love your job, so much so in fact that your mother - a former dentist - is often concerned that you’re working yourself to an early grave.

Unfortunately, this leaves little time for you to spend with your family, especially your daughter. Your job requires an exorbitant amount of international travel, meaning that your house barely looks like a home because most weeks, it’s empty.

Sighing, the thought in itself makes a grey cloud hang over your head to shroud you in despondency. Steve notices and the corners of his lips turn downwards as he boldly approaches you and gently grabs your upper arms. His touch in itself makes you soften and he dips his head to try and catch your eyes. When he does, he gives you a crooked, boyish smile that makes the crease in your eyebrows disappear and your lips curve into a shy grin.

“I know it’s part of your job,” Steve’s voice drops even further, hands rubbing up and down your arms, thumbs stroking the cotton of your shirt. “But she misses you… why don’t you just stay over?”

This makes you freeze in place and try and free yourself from his grip, but he only tightens it, that same compassionate look in his eyes.

“Baby,” before you can reprimand him for using the pet name, he anticipates your next words and shushes you so that he can continue, “I bet Tati would love to see you when she wakes up tomorrow morning. Imagine the look on her face - she’d be overjoyed. Just think about it.”

You know what he’s doing and still attempt to wrestle free, but his hold on you is solid though it doesn’t tighten any further.

“Steve,” you sigh in what sounds like defeat and you can see the spark of hope ignite in his eyes. “You know why I have to get home. I’ll come back tomorrow - I’ve got the whole week here before I head out again-”

“But then what?” he says your name pleadingly, though his tone sounds almost accusatory. “I could be gone on a mission at any time and then some of the team has to take care of her - or your parents, or your sister, or your brother. Look, I try to be here as much as I can but I’m not planning to hang up the shield for a few more years-”

“And I’m not expecting you to, I never said I was, Steve,” you fire back, taking a step towards him with your arms still pinned by your sides. “I get that your missions are unpredictable and unexpected - you can’t help that - but there’s no way that I can lose these clients overseas, especially since I basically just got this position-”

“So you’re saying that you’re prioritizing your job over our daughter?” his voice rises slightly, but his eyes don’t harden at all.

“That’s- are you kidding me? That’s not at all what I’m saying. I want to provide financial stability that’s enough for the rest of her life and with both of us working, she’ll have more than enough for her and her kids and probably her kids’ kids. God, why would you even -”

“You know what she told me yesterday?”

This makes the fire within you die down just a little, your heart skipping a beat when you register the intensity of his gaze and the gravity of his words. You swallow, hands starting to clam up and lips starting to quiver. He knew what reaction this would give you, effectively shutting you up.

“Wh-what- I mean, you know...what did she say?”

Steve suddenly looks away from you, releasing your arms and pacing, turning his back to you. Letting out a distressed sigh, he shoves his hands deep into his mop of blonde hair, planting himself on the edge of the bed and shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t have said anything- I’m sorry, it’s not my place-”

His voice is quiet but also muffled by his hands, but now he’s piqued your curiosity so you can’t just let this go - especially because it concerns the single most important person in your life. Without thinking, you rush over, getting on your knees before him, right in between his open legs. Tentatively, your hands land on his knees and your thumbs trace small circles where they lay.

“Steve,” you call out softly. Nothing happens for a moment - he remains silent and the jazz song is underscored by his ragged breathing. The feeling of nervousness that already set in your stomach drops further and further, blood running like fire once again through your veins. When he finally does look up at you, he looks torn, like a lost golden retriever. He knows very well what that look does to you and you’re more than aware of it yourself, yet you find that you are unable to look away from those eyes that mirror those of your daughter so perfectly.

He says your name quietly, his significantly larger hand covering one of yours that rest on his knee. Though you hate to admit it to yourself, it makes the suspense of the situation so much more bearable.

“It’s just,” Steve hesitates, unable to maintain eye contact with you and sitting up from his hunched position, “she asked me why you were never here…”

Your heart sinks, another lump stuck in your throat.

“And you said…?”

“A-All I did was tell her the truth,” he shrugs, exhaling another shaky breath before looking at you with glassy eyes, “I told her that you’re really busy with work all the time, but every time you’re not at work, you’re trying your best to spend all your time with her.”

Steeling yourself not to cry, you look away from his face and lower your gaze to stare at the carpet.

Ten in, hold for five, ten out.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say lightheartedly, knowing full-well that there’s more to it. Steve manages a chuckle, but it sounds forced so you decide to shut up and listen.

“But then she said that it was okay because she has Nat instead.”

There it was.

You’ve always known that your daughter has been brutally honest - as all children often are - but this is a pain unlike anything that you’ve felt before. Your fingers come up to your chest to clutch at your breast, dying to massage away the aching of your heart. Hot trails of fire spill onto your cheeks and the moment that Steve registers them, he takes advantage of your position on the floor and tucks his hands underneath your arms to drag you up to sit on his lap like a doll.

You’re curled up on top of your ex-fiancé’s thighs, his hand pressing the side of your head into his hard but surprisingly comfortable shoulder, and you’re sobbing your fucking eyes out at the harsh but very real words of your three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. Steve says your name comfortingly and wraps his arms tightly around your body, rocking you back and forth while he shushes you and whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

It definitely hurts to hear: the hectic, distant, fast-paced and frankly insane life that you’ve been trying to convince yourself isn’t your reality is indeed the truth and even your daughter can recognize that. You’re ashamed of yourself, Steve’s kind words only making you feel so much worse.

Between sobs, you attempt to explain yourself but Steve just keeps quieting you, rubbing circles into your back. All he says is ten in, hold for five, ten out.

Once you’ve calmed down a little, you realize the vulnerable spot that you’re in - one you shouldn’t be in. You squirm in his arms like you’re about to get up but once again, he holds you firmly in place.

“I need to head out, Steve- I’ve gotta get some time alone to think about-”

“Or,” he draws out the word, voice having hardened significantly, “you could stay here and when our daughter comes to wake me up in the morning, she’ll find you here too.”

Jerking your head back, you’re genuinely shocked at his audacity.

“Steve, let’s get this straight,” you start, feeling much more confident and calm than before, “if I’m staying here, we are absolutely not sleeping in the same room. We’re not having a repeat of what happened the last time-”

“And what was so bad about the last time, hmm, sweetheart?”

He runs his index finger over your jawline, dragging it down the length of your neck and down to your exposed collarbones.

“If I do recall,” his voice is much quieter but also deeper, “you thoroughly enjoyed what we did the last time.”

His one arm keeps you anchored to him, the other moving from your chest to cup behind your neck and pull you to meet his lips.

“Steve-”

Your protests die in your throat as you feel his soft lips on you, your eyes fluttering shut as he starts to press wet, open-mouthed kisses on your throat. He works his way up to underneath your ear, biting in places that you know you should be worried about him marking before he nips at your earlobe with his perfect teeth and traces the outer shell of your ear with his tongue. It makes you whimper softly, the sound making your eyes shoot open and snapping you out of whatever trance he’s put you in, your spine going rigid.

“We’re not doing this,” you say firmly, placing your hands flat on his chest and pushing backward. He looks resigned but nods, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head instead.

“Fine, but I still insist that you stay here,” he presses. “Not for me, but for Tatiana - think of her. She’ll love it.”

Biting your lip, you consider it for a moment before sucking your teeth and staring heavenwards.

What’s the worst that could happen? And if it’s just so that Tatiana can see you with her in the morning, it’s more than worth having to deal with Steve for a night.

“Okay, fine- fine. You’re gonna need to let me borrow some clothes. If I’d known that this was the plan, I would’ve packed more appropriately.”

Steve’s self-satisfied smirk irks you and he shifts you off of his lap, standing up so that he can disappear inside his walk-in to search for something for you to wear. You can’t help but notice that as he’s walking, he has to adjust the crotch of his sweatpants which aren’t really hiding anything. You clear your throat and look away, the heat that previously ran throughout your body all settles in your core.

Something that smells suspiciously like Steve - soap, pine, lavender and something citrusy - smacks you in the face, making you scowl when the clothing falls to reveal a grinning Steve who looks very pleased with himself leaning against the closet door.

“C’mon,” he gestures to you with one hand, the other shoved in his pocket. “I’d love to get some sleep, so get changed.”

He turns on his heel and heads to another door on the other side of the room, walking inside as he yells, “And make sure to let people know that you aren’t gonna be in tomorrow. We’ve got plans, doll.”

Plans?

The door clicks behind him, and you heave a deep sigh, wanting to fall through the bed. Quickly, you disrobe, folding your clothes and placing them onto one of the armchairs in the corner of his room next to the record player. Looking at what he brought you, you shake your head in incredulity.

This cheeky motherfucker.

He’s only brought you a t-shirt - a white one with the Captain America insignia on the back, the same one that you bought for him as a joke on the first birthday of his that you spent together. You purposely made sure that it was loose enough for you to wear to bed by itself too because he wears all of his t-shirts in a size too small - not that you’d ever complain - and you hated grabbing one of his shirts, putting it on, and finding that it fit you just like one of your own.

You pull it over your head and look back to the empty space on the bed.

No shorts either.

You scold yourself because you should’ve known that he’d pull something like this. But he’s promised that things won’t go to levels that you’re not comfortable with, so you just sleeping in your panties and this t-shirt should be fine.

Maybe?

Entering the bathroom, Steve hands you the toothbrush that he keeps here for you, his own buzzing in his mouth, and you thank him silently with your eyes as you take it from him. Your eyes travel up his body, narrowing because he’s taken off his shirt and his sweatpants, and he is only wearing a pair of grey Calvins, distracting you and making even more moisture pool between your thighs. Steve evidently notices your not-so-subtle staring and tries to hide his smile under the guise of brushing with renewed vigor.

Get a hold of yourself.

The two of you finish up in the bathroom, Steve walking behind you and burning holes into your bare thighs. He turns off both of the lights on either side of his bed as you crawl underneath the heavy comforter, curling in on yourself. You turn away from him, hoping that it indicates that you’re not up for talking and just want to sleep. He moves around a little bit before getting in with you, and suddenly your space is crowded by pillows?

He remembered.

It makes the butterflies in your belly that have been dormant for a long time start to wake up.

Rearranging the pillows in the fashion that you like, you try and put today’s events behind you and make a silent vow to yourself that you will do better, you will try harder to become a better and more present mother to your daughter.

In fact, you’re so absorbed in your thoughts that sleep begins to pull you into its clutches, your eyes drooping lower and lower until your breathing evens out and you’re just on the cusp of it when a strong, hard body molds itself against your back. Any semblance of sleep that you felt just moments ago slips away, your eyes widening.

“What are you doing -”

His hand clamps around your mouth, promptly cutting you off before his other warm hand runs down your front, down your t-shirt before creeping underneath, all while leaving a trail of fire in his wake. You’re thrashing now, knowing that your efforts will be futile because as much as you can tell yourself you don’t want this, it’s everything that you’ve ever wanted.

It was a mistake like this that gave you the best thing to ever happen to you.

His lips touch your ear at the same time his hand flicks your peaked nipple, making you buck your hips back into him. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you.”

He gropes at your breast for another few seconds, his gentle yet firm grip doing nothing to ease the desire that you have for him. A sharp pinch to your nipple sends a lightning bolt right to your cunt. It then moves even further downwards, past down your belly button, hovering over where you need him the most.

“So needy, aren’t you, baby?”

He slips the fingertip of his index finger underneath the band of the lace, snapping it so that you gasp against his hand.

“I’ve been able to smell you all night,” he buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply and the groan from deep within his chest vibrates against your back. Arching your back into him, he uses both of his hands to push your hips into his, hooking his thumbs over the band of your panties and sliding the rest of his fingers underneath. “You wet for me, sweetheart?”

You can do nothing but nod - this is a mistake but you wish that every mistake that you ever made felt this good.

“Good girl,” you can hear his grin while he removes his hands and his index finger slides against your covered core. “This all for me?”

You nod again and he moans loud , louder than the sounds of your desperate panting. The jazz record continues to spin on the needle.

Slowly, he runs a finger up and down your folds, feeling the slick that has dampened your panties. He thrusts up into your ass in response, wasting no more time.

“Please-”

You choke out the word, needing him to extinguish the flames that he’s ignited inside of you.

“It’s okay, doll - I got you.”

And he does, yanking down his underwear over his cock and wrapping his hand around the base. In your eagerness, you shove your own panties down your hips, causing Steve to rumble a laugh and click his tongue at you.

“Baby,” he exhales, evidently amused at your whiny demeanor. “Did you really think you could trick me? Comin’ in here, all shy and nervous but still tempting me… knowing exactly what you’re doin’, hmm? You wanna be a family again, sweetheart?”

With this, he guides the head of his dick to your entrance, rubbing up and down the sensitive skin, taking his time. And in all the time that you’ve known him, Steve is not the type to be patient.

“All you had to do was ask.”

And then he slams into you - really and truly because you jerk forward at his powerful thrust, eyes watering at the sensation. He’s so big that the stretch precariously toes the line between pain and pleasure but just falls on the side of being enjoyable. The sound of skin slapping sin is lewd and filthy and you love it.

Steve’s deft fingers quickly find your clit and press down, rubbing circles into the small nub. Coupled with Steve’s labored breathing and moans in your ear, it doesn’t take you long to be right on the edge of your peak.

“I can feel you, doll,” he whispers, teeth grazing your ear once again. “You gonna cum for me, make a mess all over my dick?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no, no, baby,” he breathes. “Look at me while I make you cum - I want you to know who’s making you feel this good. Tell me who’s about to make you cum, baby.”

Opening your eyes, he flips you around so that you’re facing him, throwing one of your legs over his and he does it all without ceasing his motions. Your body warms in embarrassment, however because you’re chasing your release, you swallow any pride that you may have and give him what he wants.

“You are-”

An exceptionally hard thrust makes you squeal and Steve grunts in disappointment. He’s got one arm encircled around your waist, the other gripping your throat bruisingly tight.

“I didn’t fucking hear you, sweetheart.”

“You are,” you try a bit louder, your ability to form coherent sentences significantly impaired.

“What was that, doll?”

“You are,” you yell emphatically, the pressure being applied to your clit temporarily pushing the words out of your mouth in exactly the way you know he likes it.

He bounces you on his cock, pulling you into a heated kiss before drastically increasing his speed, every thrust upwards poking at your g-spot.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he licks a stripe up your throat and your hands scramble to find purchase on his slick skin. Your nails dig into his back, painting those thin crimson lines he likes so much. “Just like that.”

A strangled moan crawls out of your throat but he shushes you, squeezing your neck tighter.

“I know, I know,” he soothes. “Cum for me, doll.”

And so you do - your thighs quiver and your lips part wide in a silent scream, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your muscles contract around Steve’s dick which sets off his own orgasm but almost stubbornly, he keeps his eyes on your blissed-out face while he spills his own release into you.

Once the two of you come down from your high, your heart racing and your breath erratic, Steve’s tight embrace does nothing to quell your growing anxiety at what the fuck you’ve just done - again.

“Should keep you like this forever,” Steve pulls you into the heated skin of his chest and buries his face into the space between your shoulder and your neck. His cock is still buried inside of you. “Fucked full of my cock for the rest of your life. I bet you’d like that, baby.”

His words make tears spring to your eyes - guilt - and you can’t even give him a response, so all he does is exhale deeply, kissing the top of your head and settling into the sea of pillows around you.

“Night, sweetheart.”

And then he promptly falls asleep, no more words exchanged between the two of you. Truly you can do nothing more but wrap your arms around his neck, the weight of him inside you making it difficult for you to get comfortable, and try to get some rest. The jazz record slowly starts to come to a close.

The moonlight shines through the slits of Steve’s blinds, depicting white horizontal lines across his back. It makes him look like art, you think, running your hands slowly up and down his bare skin. As you do, the light catches on the ostentatious rock on your ring finger.

↳ tagged: @literaturefeen​

[tsarisfanfiction]

Long Way From Home: Chapter 14

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Forgot to post this last night, whoops, but in my defence I am absolutely drowning under uni work at the moment, so I’m quite surprised I even had the energy to proof read and post tonight...

<<<Chapter 13

The table was already piled high with steaming food when they entered the room, but Scott’s attention was more taken by the man sat at the head. Not-Dad caught his eye and gestured to the seat at his right.  Scott hadn’t planned to sit near the man if he could help it, but it appeared the patriarch had other ideas.

Swallowing down his reluctance, he crossed the floor, greeting Mrs Tracy, who was attempting to set the table even as Tin-Tin tried to persuade her gently to take her own seat, and took the offered chair.

Steely grey eyes swept up and down his outfit, and Not-Dad’s mouth settled into a thin line, but much to Scott’s relief he didn’t comment.  Not directly, at least.

“I see you had a successful trip,” he said.  Scott shrugged.

“Fashion here’s different,” he said, glancing over as the rest of the family took their seats, Other-Virgil slipping in before Other-Kyrano finished bringing the food over to the table.  “As you’ve no doubt noticed.”

“That I have,” Not-Dad agreed.  “At least no-one outside of this organisation will be seeing you, so now you have your own clothes I suppose you can dress as you wish.”  He still sounded somewhat dubious about it, but Scott would take what he could get.

“Those were my thoughts, too, Father,” Other-Scott joined in, from where he was sat a little way down the table between Other-Virgil and Mrs Tracy. “He might as well be comfortable while he’s here.”

“Indeed,” Not-Dad said.  “I have informed some trusted friends of your predicament in the hopes of increasing our chances of getting you home, and locating anyone else who may have come through. I am sure their names will be familiar to you; as I recall, you mentioned a ‘Lady P’ earlier?”

Had he?  Scott didn’t remember everything that he’d said to the man, but that seemed likely enough. He nodded.

“I assume that refers to our London agent, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward,” Not-Dad continued.  “She has been made aware and intends to visit in the near future.”

Scott felt a flash of frustration that things were being organised over his head – or behind his back, maybe – but buried it deep with the reminder that here, he wasn’t Commander.  He wasn’t anything, except someone in need of rescuing, and this man next to him was the man in charge of the organisation trying to get him home.

“Yeah, we have a Lady Penelope,” he confirmed.  “And Parker?”

“A fine butler,” Not-Dad agreed.

Scott nodded awkwardly, a little unsure at the way Not-Dad’s first description for him was ‘butler’.  It wasn’t inaccurate, but to him, Parker was so much more than just Lady Penelope’s butler, and he wasn’t sure if that was a relationship that had carried over.

Lady Penelope and Parker had been invaluable after the Zero-X, after all.

Scott cut that train of thought off out of habit before it could spiral too far.  The last thing he needed to do was start crying about Dad while sat next to his doppelgänger in another universe.

He was saved from any further awkward conversation by Other-Kyrano announcing that the dinner was ready and inviting them to help themselves.

“Thank you, Kyrano,” Not-Dad said, before picking up a platter of carved meat and offering it to Scott.  For his part, Scott was looking at the large, homemade spread and trying not to drool at the prospect of edible food.

“Thanks,” he said, helping himself to a few slices.  That appeared to be the cue for everyone else to tuck in, and Scott found himself part of a full dining table for the first time in a long time.  Other-John was absent, of course, no doubt squirrelled away on Thunderbird Five eating rehydrated food, and it was obvious that this Tracy family, too, had lost their mom, but with the Kyranos and even Other-Brains apparently resurfacing when he hadn’t been looking, not to mention Not-Dad, it felt like the sort of meal Scott hadn’t been able to have in eight years, and had thought he’d never have again.

He took a large bite of the food to stop his rising emotions overflowing. Other-Alan, sitting opposite him, shot him an unimpressed look but thankfully seemed too busy listening to Tin-Tin next to him to comment.

“Magnificent as always, Kyrano,” Not-Dad announced after a few moments, which seemed to be the cue for the rest of the family to interject with their own praise.  Scott was more than happy to join in, which got several pairs of eyes on him, seeming like they were gauging how genuine he was.  Only Tin-Tin had a knowing, and slightly sad, smile on her face.

“Say,” Other-Alan cut in, “how does this compare to what you normally eat? Our Kyrano’s the better cook, isn’t he?”

It was a loaded question, and Scott narrowed his eyes at him.

“Alan, that’s enough of that,” Not-Dad said.  “There’s to be no comparison of which universe is ‘better’, you hear me?”

“Yes, Father,” Other-Alan frowned.  “But I can’t be the only one that wants to know what he really thinks of the food.”

“Alan!” Other-Scott added in, but Scott shrugged.

“It’s the best homemade meal I’ve had in years,” he said honestly, nodding at Other-Kyrano, who seemed flustered at the praise.  “None of us can cook half as well back home.”

“Not even your Kyrano?” Other-Alan pressed, despite the sharp snap of his name from Not-Dad.

“Alan,” Tin-Tin interjected gently, putting a hand on his arm.  He ignored her, too, and light blue eyes pinned Scott where he sat.

Scott took another mouthful of the mouth-wateringly good food and swallowed it before answering.

“Kyrano hasn’t lived with us for years,” he said simply.  “It’s just the four of us – five when John’s down – with Grandma, Brains and Kayo – she’s our Tin-Tin – on the island.”

There was silence, and he took the chance to help himself to more of the food on the central platters.  It really was good, and if he was eating, he could at least pretend he wasn’t the focus of several varyingly sympathetic looks.

“Where did he go, if you don’t mind my asking, sir?”  It was Other-Kyrano who asked, and Scott tried not to react to being called sir.

He shrugged again.  “None of us know,” he admitted between mouthfuls.  “He retired and vanished.  Kayo tries to get in contact with him every now and then, but as far as I know she’s never been successful.”

Scott could feel the elephant in the room, the question on all their tongues even though none of them – not even the otherwise abrasive Other-Alan – wanted to be the one to say it.  He sighed and speared a section of meat with his fork, knowing that the question wouldn’t go away until he addressed it.

“Yes,” he said, “it was just after we lost Dad.”  He shoved the fork into his mouth and chewed aggressively on the meat, staring down at his plate rather than facing anyone at the table. A hand landed on his right shoulder, presumably belonging to Other-Gordon, who was sat immediately next to him, but no-one said anything in response.

After a moment, Not-Dad cleared his throat.  “Brains, how are you doing with the research?” he asked.

“O-oh!”  The scientist jumped, clearly not expecting to be addressed, and Scott sent him a mental apology for being the reason he was suddenly the centre of attention even though he was impatient for updates on that front, too.  “I, uh, have gathered a-all the data I, uh, can detect from, uh, Thunderbird One’s hangar w-where Scott, uh, appeared,” Other-Brains said, putting his cutlery down as he spoke.  “There appears to be a-an, uh, anomaly of some sort in the, uh, atmospheric r-readings but I, uh, haven’t b-been able to, uh, isolate the c-cause yet.”

“But wouldn’t the cause be the collision that brought him through?” Other-Virgil asked.

“T-that would be the, uh, logical assumption,” Other-Brains agreed, “but, I’d, uh, like some m-more data before I, uh, conclude that for, uh, certain.”

Scott was caught with a mouth full of vegetables when bespectacled eyes found him from the other end of the table, where Other-Brains was sitting between Tin-Tin and Other-Kyrano.  “I, uh, would like to run some, uh, samples from you to, uh, isolate the a-anomaly from your, uh, home u-universe,” the scientist continued.

Scott swallowed the food.  “Whatever you need,” he agreed eagerly.  Maybe a little desperately.  “Just say when you want them.”

“I’ll, uh, let you know,” Other-Brains promised.  It wasn’t ideally the answer Scott was looking for – a definitive time would have been nice – but it was something and he nodded in acknowledgement.

That seemed to be the cue for the hubbub of conversation to start up again. Scott stayed out of it, content to eat and listen, and at the head of the table, Not-Dad seemed likewise content to listen to what his sons were saying as they started talking about what seemed to be normal, everyday things.  Scott had the context for none of it and was unsurprisingly completely at a loss as to what any of them were talking about.

Tin-Tin and Mrs Tracy seemed to be holding a conversation about fashion and something that sounded like Pennylon, which Scott assumed was a brand or something, while the brothers engaged in some apparently long-standing banter, although he definitely heard billiards and bet in the hubbub.

Nothing was said about International Rescue, and Scott wondered if that was because he was there, even though he’d sat in on one of their debriefs, or if this family also had a ban on talking business over meals.  It was probably the latter.

“Gordon,” Not-Dad said suddenly, cutting into the conversation.  “What’s this about a bet I hear?”

The son in question grinned, and further down the table, Other-Scott rolled his eyes.

“It’s not a real one, Father,” Other-Gordon said.  “But with Scott here wanting clothes that our Scott wouldn’t normally buy, we had to come up with a reason for his sudden change in taste.”

“So he claimed I bet he couldn’t beat the whole family at billiards,” Other-Scott added.  “A bet that I apparently lost, with those clothes as my forfeit.”

Not-Dad chuckled, startling Scott, who hadn’t heard anything except stern patriarch from the man since he’d first met him.  Suddenly he seemed a lot more like Dad, and a lump formed in his throat.  Scott hurried to put another mouthful of food in his mouth to have a reason for his need to swallow.

“He did, did he?” the older man said.  “How many times have you played him so far today?”

“I stopped counting after twelve,” Other-Scott said.

“I see,” Not-Dad mused.  “And how many times has he won?”  Even Scott could tell he knew what the answer was going to be before it was uttered, but Other-Scott said it anyway.

“Not even once.”

“Maybe we should play chess after dinner instead,” Other-Gordon suggested. His brother laughed.

“But chess wasn’t the bet, was it, Gordon?”

“I think you’ve made your point,” the ginger sulked.

“I’m glad you think so,” Other-Scott said sunnily.  “Maybe that’ll teach you to make outlandish claims.”

“I didn’t see you making any suggestions to the contrary,” Other-Gordon pointed out.  Sat between them, Other-Virgil’s head was swivelling like an umpire at a tennis match. Conversation across the rest of the table had died down, leaving the two of them the only ones talking.

Two brothers sniping at each other was familiar, and Scott buried himself in the delicious food to try and distract himself from the fact that at home, it would be his brothers sniping at each other, and he might even be involved himself.

No-one seemed to notice his retreat from the conversation, or at least had the manners not to comment on it if they did, and he kept quiet for the rest of the main course.

Dessert passed in much the same manner, with Grandma presenting a gigantic chocolate gateau piled high with fresh strawberries and cream.  The entire table fell upon it with gusto, Scott very much included.  The ones he picked up from Paris, while the best of professional baking, just weren’t the same as homemade.

“So,” Not-Dad said, once the plates were all licked clean and Other-Kyrano and Mrs Tracy were bustling around in the kitchen, having cleared the crockery.  Tin-Tin had also got up to help them, but none of the others had moved, so Scott took the cue to stay where he was.  “What do you boys have planned for the evening?”

“I’ll be continuing with drawing Scott’s brothers,” Other-Virgil said.

“Drawing his brothers?” Not-Dad asked, and he nodded.

“They don’t look identical to us,” Other-Gordon chipped in, “so Virgil’s working with Scott to get portraits together for our reference.”

“I see,” Not-Dad said, and Scott found himself being regarded by the man again. “I’d like to see those once they’re completed.”

“Yes, Father,” Other-Virgil agreed.

“He won’t let any of us see them yet,” Other-Gordon complained.

“I told you,” the artist said, yet again.  “Once they’re coloured, and not one moment before.”

A steaming cup of coffee appeared in front of Scott, and he glanced up to see Tin-Tin smiling at him.  Not wanting to interrupt the conversation now going on between Not-Dad and his sons about the portraits Other-Virgil was working on, he nodded at her in thanks.

Similar cups were finding their way in front of everyone at the table, and Scott assumed a post-meal coffee was part of the routine here.  Once everyone was served, Tin-Tin, Other-Kyrano and Mrs Tracy returned to the table with their own drinks and a platter of home-baked cookies.

Tasting the coffee, Scott was pleased to discover Tin-Tin had clearly remembered how he liked it from earlier.  The proffered cookies were just as delicious as the cake had been, and by the time they’d finished drinking and eating, Scott was feeling pleasantly full.

He was going to have to make sure he went for his morning run, especially if this was always how they ate here.

“Are you ready to carry on with the portraits?” Other-Virgil asked him after all the cups on the table had been drained dry and the hubbub of conversation had faded away, and he made his way to his feet.

“Sure,” he answered.  “Lead the way.”

Other-Virgil’s room was full of frosted glass panels, or so it seemed as Scott followed him inside.  Books, on what appeared to be a variety of subjects from art techniques and historic artists to music to what Scott assumed were engineering manuals, lined alcoves in the wall opposite the bed.  They were familiar in topic, if not in the particular titles, to the sorts of things he was used to finding in his Virgil’s room.

“Why don’t you pull up a chair?” Other-Virgil invited, nodding at a wooden chair sitting innocuously in the corner as he perched himself on his bed. The sketchbook from earlier had had the respective pages neatly torn out, and Scott caught a glimpse of John’s sketch taped to a large board.  Various colouring pencils surrounded the artist where he sat, and Scott obediently retrieved the chair in question to put it down next to the bed so he could see what Other-Virgil was doing.

“What do you want to start with?” he asked, looking at the greyscale picture of his brother and trying to imagine it coloured in.  As John was the last brother he’d seen – albeit holographically – before ending up in the wrong universe, it was almost painfully easy to bring him to mind.

“Well, we might as well start with the skin,” Other-Virgil said.  “Darker or paler than you?”

That was a good reference point to start with, Scott figured.  “Paler,” he replied.  “Quite a bit paler.  He’s ginger and lives in space most of the time, so he doesn’t get much sun.”

Other-Virgil hummed thoughtfully, fingers dancing over a selection of pencils but not actually selecting one to start.  “Do you remember our John well enough to know which one’s darker or paler?” he asked.

“I can’t say I was paying much attention to that,” Scott admitted, wracking his brain to remember how pale Other-John had been.  “Mine’s maybe a little paler?”

Other-Virgil nodded and finally selected a pencil.  “Say,” he began as he started lightly colouring.  “When you say he’s in space most of the time – don’t you fellas have a rotation for Thunderbird Five?”

“A rotation?”  Scott tried to imagine telling John he had to share his ‘bird with someone else on a regular basis – someone who wasn’t EOS – and failed miserably.  John would probably lock down Thunderbird Five and refuse entry to anyone if Scott so much as breathed a notion about sharing space monitor duty regularly.  “No, John’s up there most of the year.  He’s happiest there, so it works out.”

“But aren’t there health detriments to staying in space for so long?” Other-Virgil asked, and Scott winced.

“A few,” he admitted, “but we’ve done what we can with our technology to minimise them, and it’s not unusual for John to come down for a few days if we’re quiet.  We can route the calls straight to Tracy Island if necessary, although the signal isn’t as good and we’re more liable to miss things.”  He frowned thoughtfully.  “You guys have a rotation?”

Other-Virgil nodded as he set down the pencil he was using and selected another one.  Scott peered at the canvas; John’s sketch did look remarkably pale, but the pencil Other-Virgil had selected seemed slightly darker so maybe he planned to layer it up. “John and Alan switch every month, or near enough,” he explained.  Scott recalled Other-Alan’s surprising agreement to Other-John’s declaration that he wanted telemetry – it made a lot more sense now.  “But John tends to do slightly longer spells than Alan, and very rarely Scott takes a turn if one of them can’t.”

Scott couldn’t imagine sitting up in Thunderbird Five for an entire month, on space monitor duty.  He’d done short spells of a couple of days, and that was more than enough for him.

“How does this look so far?” Other-Virgil asked after a few more moments, putting his pencil down and turning the board until Scott could look at it properly.  “Too pale?”

Scott peered at it again, but without the vibrant hair or piercing eyes, judging the skin colour was a lot harder than he’d expected it to be.

“Maybe a little?” he offered, a bit uncertainly.

“How about we move on to his hair for now?” Other-Virgil suggested.  “You say he’s ginger?”

Scott nodded.  “Very striking,” he confirmed.  “Brighter than your Gordon’s.”

Other-Virgil selected a pencil and made some firm strokes across the curl above John’s forehead.  “Like this?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Scott confirmed, watching the almost orange pencil continue to follow the sweep of John’s hair.  Other-Virgil nodded in acknowledgement, and settled in to keep colouring the hair.  He didn’t seem to have any difficulty with the colour; Scott didn’t have to make any corrections, only a couple of confirmations when asked, during the entire process.

Then it was time for his eyes, and this particular little brother of his had never had the easiest eyes to describe, not helped by the fact that Scott saw them through a blue-tinted hologram far more frequently than he actually saw them in person.

“Blue turquoise or green turquoise?” Other-Virgil asked after his initial attempt, and Scott hesitated.  They always looked almost blue in the hologram, but then the hologram itself was blue, so…

“Green?” he hedged.  “Maybe?”

Other-Virgil seemed slightly amused at his inability to remember the exact colour, if the uptick to his lips was any indication, but dutifully selected a few pencils in the blue-green area, as best Scott could tell, and started adding in flecks to the irises.

Seeing his brother come to life from the paper as Other-Virgil added more and more detail with the pencils brought that lump back in his throat, which Scott swallowed around in the hopes of pushing it down before Other-Virgil looked up and noticed.

No such luck, apparently, as brown eyes glanced up at him and gained a sympathetically concerned look.

“Are you okay?” Other-Virgil asked, setting the pencil and board down and twisting to look at him properly.

“I’m fine,” Scott insisted, but he could tell Other-Virgil wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

“You know,” he said gently, “we don’t have to do this all now.”

It was very reminiscent of Other-Gordon’s attitude during their shopping trip, and Scott slouched back on the chair.

“You need to know who you’re looking out for,” he pointed out.  “We’ve already established I can’t describe them well enough, so this is the only way we’ve got.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Other-Virgil allowed, “but that doesn’t mean you have to push yourself so hard.”

“They’re my brothers,” Scott snapped back, harsher than he intended. “If they’re somehow here-”

“I understand,” Other-Virgil interjected.  Startled at the interruption, Scott’s mouth clicked shut. “Gordon’s right; you’re just like our Scott, and we know how overprotective over us he gets.”  A hand landed on his shoulder, and those deep brown eyes searched his.  For what, Scott wasn’t sure.  “If your brothers are somehow here, we will find them.  John’s already listening out, and I’m sure your brothers are smart enough to get themselves somewhere where they can be easily found by the right people.  What we’re doing will help, I agree, but if they’re here, it’s not what will find them.”

Scott grit his jaw.

“I have to do something,” he said.  A measure of desperation bled through into his voice.

“Look after yourself,” Other-Virgil told him, not unkindly. “That’s what your brothers will want.” Scott looked up at him, startled, and Other-Virgil held his gaze steadily.  “I’m sure that, if you’re like Scott, I must be like your brother, too,” he continued.  “Look after yourself.  Let us help you.”

His hair was different, but his eyes were just the same.

Other-Gordon had said the same thing.  Scott wondered if he was in for a similar speech from all of them at one point or another.

“I have to do this,” he said, leaning forwards and gesturing at the still-uncoloured sketches of his three youngest brothers.  “I have to.”

Other-Virgil surveyed him for a moment, but must have seen something in his face, because he nodded and pulled his hand back.

“I understand,” he said.  “So, would you say we’re done with your John?”  He picked up the coloured picture and showed it to Scott.

It was definitely John.  The sketch had caught his likeness perfectly, but with the addition of the colours, it was really him.

“Yeah,” he said, around that lump that seemed determined to appear in his throat at any reminder of his brothers.  “That’s him.”

Other-Virgil took a moment to look at the finished drawing, and Scott wondered what he was thinking.  Whatever thoughts were running through his head, though, he didn’t say them and after a moment set the image aside.  It was Virgil’s sketch that he prepped next.

It had to be weird, Scott thought as they started the same process again, for the brown-haired man to know he was colouring in a version of himself from another universe – that hopefully, if Scott really was the only one to have fallen through, he would never meet.  Still, Other-Virgil seemed well enough up to the challenge, even if he raised an eyebrow upon Scott’s confirmation that yes, Virgil’s hair was black and not just a very dark brown.

The eyes, at least, were slightly easier.  Unlike with Other-John and John, where the former he’d only seen through various sized screens and hadn’t been able to get any real gauge on the exact shade of his eyes, Other-Virgil – as well as Other-Gordon and Other-Alan – had the exact same eyes as Scott’s own brothers.

Other-Virgil, entirely understandably in Scott’s opinion, spent several minutes studying the finished drawing once Scott proclaimed it accurate, but just as with John’s portrait, kept his opinions to himself.

It was dark outside Other-Virgil’s bedroom window by the time all of the sketches were coloured.  Instinctively, Scott looked at his wrist for the time, only to be stymied by the analogue dial he’d yet to get anyone to explain to him.

“It’s getting late,” Other-Virgil commented, seemingly only just noticing how dark it was even though he’d turned the lights on about halfway through colouring Alan’s.  “Should we show the fellas now or in the morning?”

“Might as well do it now, if they’re still up,” Scott shrugged.  “What is the time, anyway?”

“Aren’t you wearing Scott’s watch?” Other-Virgil asked, and Scott sighed.

“Yeah, but I can’t read it,” he admitted.  “We haven’t used this system in half a century back home.”

“Do you want me to talk you through it now?” Other-Virgil offered, setting the drawings aside and leaning forwards.  “It shouldn’t be too complicated for you, I shouldn’t think.”

Scott glanced down at the dial, taunting him with numbers and spokes he couldn’t quite decipher.  “That would help,” he admitted, extending his wrist.  “So, what am I looking at here?”

Other-Virgil shuffled closer and caught his forearm to steady it.  “Well, each point on the edge of the face are the hours, with twelve at the top, followed by one on the immediate right,” he said, pointing at the points in question.  Scott nodded.  “The shorter hand is the hour hand, and it points at the hour.  If it’s pointing between numbers, like it is right now” – it was between the nine and the ten markers – “the hour is the one it’s passed. That makes it nine, here.”  Scott nodded again.

“The other hands,” he started, assuming all of the long thin spokes coming from the centre had the same term.  “Minutes and seconds?”

“That’s correct,” Other-Virgil confirmed.  “The wider, slower, hand is the minutes.  Each hour point is five minutes apart for the minute hand, starting from the top of the dial.”

Scott did a quick count.  The minute hand was lurking down by the seven hour point, so that meant, “it’s nine thirty-five?”

“That’s right,” Other-Virgil told him.  “But we normally say twenty-five to ten.  Once it’s past the half hour, we say ‘to’ the hour, rather than ‘past’ the hour.”

That was unnecessarily complicated, in Scott’s opinion.  “I’ll try to remember that,” he said out loud, watching the third, slender, hand move around.  That was presumably the second hand.  “Seconds are counted the same way as minutes?”

“They are, yes,” he was told, Other-Virgil looking quite pleased.  “I didn’t think you’d have any trouble with it. Say, what do you fellas use?”  He let go of Scott’s wrist.

“Numbers,” Scott shrugged, letting his hand fall back into his lap. “Computers update the time every second or minute, depending on the clock, so we just have to read out the numbers.”

“Computers do that?” Other-Virgil asked.  Scott found himself surprisingly relieved that the other man seemed to at least know what a computer was.  “That sounds very complicated for something as simple as keeping time.”

Scott shrugged.  “It’s simple enough for us to use,” he said.

“Well, I suppose it’s what you’re used to,” Other-Virgil commented.  “The other fellas should still be up, so we can show them the portraits of your brothers now.”  Scott watched him gather up the four drawings and made his own way to his feet, putting the chair back in the corner where it had been earlier.

Chapter 15>>>

[five-rivers]

Interview With a Ghost (Epilogue: Diner)

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3) (PART 4) (PART 5)

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.

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Unlike many of the eating establishments in Amity Park, Cecilia's Diner didn't cater to ghost-hunting tourists (To be technical, they didn't cater at all. It was a strictly sit-down establishment. They didn't even do take out.). Its clientele was strictly local. Pointedly so. The proprietress maintained a strict policy of banning all ghost hunting paraphernalia from the premises. A tourist could, theoretically, come in and order a sandwich, but if they gave any sign that they were there to hunt ghosts, they were summarily ejected.

There was a reason for this: Cecilia's Diner had the dubious distinction of sitting across the street from the cemetery. No one wanted ghost hunters watching them while burying a loved one, and Cecilia refused to add to what she considered to be a veritable plague.

The diner was not Danny's usual haunt. But it was useful, and gave him a good vantage point to watch the comings and goings in the cemetery. Of which there were many, even if the funeral had ended over an hour ago.

"Danny?"

"Hm?" said Danny, not taking his eyes off the window.

"Are you going to finish your fries?"

"Tucker!" scolded Jazz.

"What?" said Tucker.

Danny finally turned back to his friends. Jazz was giving Tucker a rather severe glare.

"It's fine," said Danny, "I don't want them."

Tucker reached out, but Jazz intercepted him. "Danny," she said, "you've hardly eaten all day." She nodded significantly at his plate full of fries and the sandwich he'd only taken two bites out of.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled.

"You need your strength."

"I don't want to throw up all over myself when I do this," said Danny.

"You are doing it, then?" asked Sam. She hadn't eaten much, either. Then again, the diner didn't have a lot of vegetarian options. "Telling your parents, I mean."

"I don't really have any choice," said Danny. He picked up a french fry, and let it hang limply between his fingers. "I have to, don't I?"

"You do have a choice," said Sam. "I know you want to stay with your parents, and I like them too, but..." She drummed her fingers on the table. "I'm worried about how they'll react."

"I know," said Danny. He looked back out the window. "This is so weird. People are mourning for me, but I'm right here."

Sam and Tucker exchanged a glance. "Well, you get to do what you want," said Tucker. "It is your fune-" There was a meaty thump, and Tucker fell over, clutching at something beneath the table.

"I guess so," said Danny. He closed his eyes and sighed. He did feel calmer, now, with his body safely beneath the earth. Vlad might try to steal it again, six feet of soil and a couple inches of wood didn't do much to deter a person who could simply phase through them, but between the layer of Ghost-Zone-sourced paint Danny had stealthily applied to the inside of the coffin and the continuing threats and disdain of the ghostly community, Danny didn't think that he'd be terribly successful.

Danny would know if he was, anyway.

Tucker straightened out and pulled his PDA from his pocket. "When are those officers supposed to come get you again?"

"Detectives," corrected Danny. "Any minute now."

As if Danny's words had summoned them, the bell on the diner's door rang. They looked up to see the detectives walking in.

Jazz slid out of the booth, followed shortly by Danny.

"We'll call when it's over," said Jazz. Danny tried to smile and gave them a little wave, before turning to greet the detectives.

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The ride to Fentonworks in the detectives car was long and mostly silent. Mostly.

"Can you stop staring at me?" asked Danny.

"Sorry," said Paterson.

"Mhm," said Collins, who, as he was the one driving, had much less of an excuse for staring.

Danny sighed.

The car pulled up in front of Fentonworks.

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"During our investigation last week," started Collins, undertaking to explain why their children had been brought home by the police, "we came across certain facts that made us, and our captain, concerned for the safety of Jazz and Danny. Especially Danny." Of course, Collins was only doing the initial explanation. Danny was going to do the big reveal himself.

"What kind of facts?" asked Maddie.

"Facts about Phantom?" exclaimed Jack.

"Well, yes-" started Collins.

"That no good spook!" roared Jack, pulling a wicked-looking gun from... somewhere. "I'll teach him to mess with Fentons!"

"Whoa!" said Collins, leaping to his feet and holding out both his hands. He did not miss Paterson reflexively reaching for her own weapon. "No! There's no threatening going on! No threats! Let's put down the guns!"

"Don't worry, detective," said Maddie. "It's designed to only hurt ghosts."

Collins took a deep breath, and kept himself from glancing at Danny. "Why don't we continue this conversation once you've put all the ghost weapons away," he said.

Jack frowned. "Why?" he asked.

"I just think it'll make everyone involved more comfortable," said Collins. "Just as a general proposal."

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It took some time for Jack and Maddie to divest themselves of all their weaponry, and every second just made Danny more nervous. He wanted to just get this over with. He wanted it to be done. His mind whirred, trying to come up with the best way to start explaining, and, oh, he should have decided earlier. He should have written a script, or a letter, but he didn't, thinking that the right words would just come to him.

So when Jack and Maddie came back into the room, Danny blurted out, "It was my corpse."

Jack and Maddie stared at him. Jazz put her head in her hands.

"What?" asked Jack. "What was your corpse?"

"That they found, in the park." Danny waved his hand in Collins and Paterson's direction. "The body." They still looked bewildered. "I've been dead, sort of, for two years."

Maddie stepped forward. "Danny... I don't know what's going on, but you're just- You're confused. You have a pulse, Danny. You're alive." She turned on the detectives. "And you! You know he's alive. How could you-?"

"Mom," said Danny. "I'm not lying. Look." He held up his hand and slowly rendered it invisible. "When I turned the portal on," he said, "I was- The button was inside. I was inside. It turned on right on top of me."

"Oh, Danno," said Jack, eyes wide.

"The best I can figure is, ectoplasm replaced half of the mass in my body and the other half... just sort of..." He made a splitting gesture with his hands. "Fell out. I kind of freaked out and buried it in the park. I didn't know what else to do."

Maddie sat down heavily on the couch, one hand over her mouth.

"So, like, the parts of my body that are still there, they all work fine," said Danny. "So, you know, pulse and stuff. And the ectoplasm is pretty well integrated. It's, you know, the thing keeping me together. But I'm not one-hundred-percent dead. Just, like, half." He paused. "Also, I'm Phantom."

"What?"

Collins cleared his throat. "This being the case," he said, "we're going to have to ask you to make some changes to your home and behavior."

.

A week later, Danny sat in the same booth at Cecilia's Diner, looking out the window again. The cemetery was much quieter this week, but he could still see people stopping by his grave.

How bizarre.

"Have you decided what you want yet, Danno?" asked Jack. Danny turned away from the window, to smile at his family.

"No," he said. "Not yet."

[gfpt-comic]

So. Here goes nothing... (1/?)

(Major spoilers for the comic, but since it won’t update anymore (besides PERHAPS some random comic strips/excerpts without context every now and then, but don’t count on it), I guess it doesn’t matter.)

If you read my answer to the ask posted earlier, you probably know what this post is about. I’ll make a list of every important point I wanted to tackle in the comic, in multiple sections. Be prepared for the long post that awaits you below the cut.

Summary of what was left of Chapter 2

Following their first appearance at the beginning of the chapter, Lolph and Dundgren try to question Blendin, who is staying at a hospital and is still under intense care. They discuss what exactly happened to Blendin in the first place: he was assigned what was supposed to be a routine mission to solve a minor time anomaly in the 21st century, but his time machine exploded when he tried to operate it and he was gravely injured. Dundgren mentions that any normal time device should hardly cause this much damage when malfunctioning, suggesting that Blendin’s level of incompetence is so incredibly high, it somehow managed to make something that shouldn’t be able to explode blow up in his face. On the other hand, Lolph starts to wonder if, exactly because it should be impossible, the accident may have had a reason other than just Blendin’s incompetence. Unfortunately, the accident had consequences so grave on Blendin’s physical health, it seemingly also took a toll on his sanity and questioning him only leaves them with esoteric sentences of dubious credibility.

Blendin: “This is very nice of you… to visit me. There isn’t much time left. I was starting to feel alone, before everything disappears.” Blendin: “Time Baby will succeed… He will free us from this time.”

July 13, 2012 again: back in the gift shop of the Mystery Shack, Wendy and Soos have captured Bill and tied him up to a chair. Wendy starts interrogating him, asking him who or what he is-- throwing in her multiple guesses: the Shapeshifter she defeated with Dipper in the bunker, a paper clone... She doesn’t suspect demon possession or a switch-because-of-the-carpet scenario, however. Bill just keeps trying to break free with little success, without answering; and soon, Stan interrupts them when he enters the gift shop as well, followed by the dozen of tourists he took during his latest tour. Wendy and Soos manage to evade Stan’s obvious questions by pretending they were making a new attraction.

Back in Mabel’s Dreamscape, Mabel encourages Dipper to have some fun with Bill’s powers, but he is scared of messing up because of just how powerful he is; having seen Bill’s powers both in the Mindscape/Dreamscape and in Weirdmageddon when he witnessed the alternate timelines, Dipper knows just how far those powers can go and he isn’t sure he can control them. Still, after some teasing Mabel starts a snowball fight with the surrounding ice cream, and gradually the twins have more and more fun starting with the ice cream, then with the tricks Dipper starts to use. When they take a break, Mabel points out that nothing bad happened, and Dipper grows a bit more confident that he can use Bill’s powers in a way that isn’t dangerous.

Dipper: “I guess it’s easy to do exactly what you want when it literally happens in your mind... Huh.”

Dipper notices it’s almost noon, and Mabel remembers that she was supposed to meet William at Greasy’s Diner for lunch. Mabel is unseasy upon thinking of talking to him again after what happened the day before, and Dipper confirms by showing William’s current whereabouts through a peephole that William seems about as worried as she is. Mabel takes a deep breath, makes sure that she will be able to see Dipper whenever she needs (during the night for sure, perhaps earlier if she asks for it). Still, just before Dipper wakes her up... She has a favor to ask him.

Mabel: “Now that you can do lots of magic stuff and all... Could you do something for me?”

Back in the gift shop, the tourists have left and Bill was untied due to Stan’s confusion over the situation. However, he is forced to stay inside and is stuck sitting by Wendy’s side behind the cashier desk. When Mabel goes through the gift shop to go to the Diner, everyone notices that she made a new sweater -- one with a pine tree symbol on it, no less. Bill is enraged but can’t stop her from leaving.

William has his first face reveal. He is a blonde 13-year-old, and is already waiting worriedly at Greasy’s Diner when Mabel arrives. He immediately apologizes for what happened on the day before.

William: “About yesterday, I... I’m sorry I said your brother was a bad influence. That was uncalled for.”

Mabel: “Yes. Yes it was.”

William is genuinely apologetic, but soon it is revealed that the reason why he thought Dipper and the Mystery Shack were a bad influence was because he doesn’t believe at all in the supernatural. Even if Mabel told him about her adventures, he assumed they were just stories she made up while playing in the Mystery Shack’s museum and never believed them to be true. Mabel tries to convince him by showing him some episodes of Dipper’s “Guide to the Unexplained” -- a series of videos he used to make and post online at the beginning of their summer break upon arriving in Gravity Falls, but stopped making altogether after Summerween. Sadly, the episodes made up until then did not revolve around exceptionally weird anomalies, and aren’t enough to convince William. The only thing William admits to being strange is the fact that every inhabitant of Gravity Falls is “out of their minds.”

Exasperated by William’s absurdly high levels of skepticism, Mabel eventually dares him to go on a forest expedition with her, Candy and Grenda on the next day, just so they can show him pretty much anything in the forest that is out of the ordinary. William strongly refuses and tries to dissuade her to go into the forest at all; he has been personally forbidden by his mother from going anywhere near the forest, and he has also read on the local news that there is currently a predator of unknown origin or species on the loose, which has been notably attacking sheep from the nearby farm. Mabel teases him about the fact that he believes that this creature is real, and suggests that it might be a werewolf for example; but William doesn’t take her seriously, especially because the creature is supposed to fly.

And... This is the part where my script starts getting wonky. I’ve been trying to fill the holes, but sadly it’s proven to be quite difficult, especially now that I know I won’t be drawing it in comic form anyway. Still, the main plot should be precise enough! The holes are mainly just “there should be some filler and/or foreshadowing to what’s coming here”, with little more than just prompts for what could be happening.

Back in the Mystery Shack’s gift shop, Wendy tries to sneakily question Bill, but when Stan asks them where Mabel went and Bill tells him she skipped her restocking duty so she could spend time with William at the Diner, Stan asks him to get her back. Bill happily takes this opportunity to slip out of the Mystery Shack, and have an excuse to bother Mabel at the same time.

Eventually, William is obligated to accept Mabel’s terms and intends on coming so he can at least make sure that the girls won’t put themselves in danger upon visiting the forest on their own.

Bill arrives at the Diner. William, thinking he is meeting Dipper again, tries to make amends for the things he said the previous day and says that he earnestly thinks they can start again on the right foot; Bill sadistically mocks him instead, all the while pretending to be Dipper, just so he can ruin Mabel’s hopes of reconciling William and Dipper. Bill finishes Mabel by forcing her to leave, saying that Stan expects her to work at the gift shop like she was supposed to since the beginning.

Mabel gone, William and Bill start to have a tense conversation; well, tense on William’s part, while Bill is mostly just having a blast driving William mad. The old fanfic that was the first “draft” version of the story has this chapter, which gathers most of the jokes I intended to keep, and at least some of the plot points. I’ll put a warning for awkward English, though. Oh and also, apparently in the old version it was July 3rd and not July 13th, so in the comic the “tomorrow is July 4th so the forest trip can’t happen anyway” excuse wouldn’t work.

About the Quetzalcoatlus thing: here, have some fun dinosaur size comparisons & history following my latest research on what the pterodactyl from S1E18: Land Before Swine.

William: “And how would you even know all that?”

Bill: “Because I ate Leonardo da Vinci.”

William: “. . .”

William: “… It must have been some VERY cryptic way for you to say that it was one of those conspiracy things mentioned in the old book supposedly written by a genius that you keep reading passionately every day. Right?”

Bill: “Oh, so your brain CAN work sometimes!”

Bill gets bit by a soothquito. His bite marks spell “FHOASE CORECULLY“

Upon leaving the Diner, they both see someone being kidnapped by a member of the Blindeye Society. William insists they immediately go warn the police, but Blubs and Durland prove to be ineffective as ever. Bill slips in one or two facts about the secret society, but William dismisses them completely as other random insane things Bill just happens to say all the time for trolling purposes.

Mabel is back in the Mystery Shack and starts her restocking duty, but her mind is clearly elsewhere. She starts mumbling to herself, but is interrupted by the decapitated head of Larry King who just happened to be in the vents nearby. Mabel isn’t surprised at all to see he survived, and when Larry King starts "interviewing” her about the issues she was mumbling about, she complies. Some time later, while Soos is cleaning up the floor, he overhears Mabel complaining about Bill being a jerk on purpose and making Dipper seem like a terrible person, and ends up hearing pretty much the whole story that way, without Mabel knowing. Soos proceeds to tell Wendy what he heard, helping them putting two and two together-- all the while understanding why Mabel didn’t warn them, and why they should stay silent as well. They decide not to tell Mabel they know her secret; but when Bill comes back later, just as Wendy’s shift was about to end, she has just one thing to tell him:

Wendy: “Tomorrow 6PM. My place.”

Night time; Bill is annoyed, but not very surprised by the fact that Soos is sleeping with him  for the night, in the room on the ground floor where Dipper had relocated. Bill is at least glad he no longer has to pretend to be Dipper around Wendy and him.

Soos proceeds to ask Bill what his intentions were; not just in the present times now that the switch occurred, but also before it.

Soos: “So you really are that triangle guy from two weeks ago?”

Soos: “Now that I'm thinking about it… A lot of things happened two weeks ago. That's when it began to get all wrong. Well, it was already wrong before that, but… That's really when you came that everything started to get all weird and… bad.“

Soos: “It all started because of that Summerween night. What did you want with us?”

Soos: “Why did you tell Dipper that Gideon summoned you?”

Bill: “It was just a job. Jobs are boring. There’s no fun in it if nobody’s trying to stop you.”

Bill: “Oh, and you wanna know the best part? If you’d taken Shooting Star along with you instead of going just the two of you, perhaps you would’ve had an opportunity to beat me.”

Soos: What did you do with Gideon two weeks ago? Dipper and I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that those government guys showed up just the next day. 

Bill: “Something that neither Pine Tree nor I want anybody to find out, I bet. Also if I were to tell you, you'd either faint or spend the next fourteen hours trying to explain it all to Red. Funny, but not worth it.”

Soos is disturbed by Bill’s attitude, because of course he tries to both troll and traumatize at once, and given how Soos was already terrified of Bill because of the Summerween night (”I’ve had nightmares for weeks!” from an earlier comic page), it doesn’t help. Soos tries to ask Bill about the deal he made with Gideon -- more specifically, he asks what Bill wanted in return for stealing the code from Stan’s mind. However, Bill doesn’t answer and instead opens the bedroom door to reveal that Mabel was trying to eavesdrop.

Mabel was mostly there to make sure that everything was alright, and deduces that Bill hadn't slept at all during the first night and that he intends to never sleep at all, even after she tells him that humans need sleep to survive. Thankfully she came prepared with a “surprise gift from Candy and Grenda”, and sprays Bill with Fairy Dust.

Mabel: “There’s probably enough in that bag to knock out a gremloblin in an instant, so I think he’s good for the night. :p”

Once Bill is asleep, Dipper takes this chance to come to his Dreamscape and talk to him one-on-one; and, he is not happy at how Bill treated Mabel so far. Still, after a certain point the conversation gets to a more pressing topic.

Bill: “You saw it happen, didn’t you?”

Bill: “Weirdmageddon. You saw it, right?”

Dipper: “. . .”

Bill: “Oh-ho, even better! There’s a timeline in which YOU make it happen, isn’t there?”

Dipper: “That’s not gonna happen.”

Bill: “Look kid, take it from me. The more you try to actively prevent a specific outcome, the more likely you usually make it happen.”

Dipper: “You can’t make something happen if you specifically stop everything that can lead to it from happening first.”

Dipper: “Even if it includes lying to Mabel…  I saw it. If she learns there’s a way to get me a physical form, she’ll try anything to make it happen and disregard the consequences. I bet she trusts me to keep things under control, but everything else? There’s just... There’s too many variables. We can’t let her know anything about the portal. Or Weirdmageddon.”

Bill: “Well, that doesn’t change anything from my original plan anyway.”

Bill: “So you’re just gonna stay in the Nightmare Realm forever, is that it?”

Dipper: “That’s not much of a plan so far, but that’s still an effective way to save the world.”

Bill: “Don’t mess with me. You DO know that if you don’t make your way to another dimension eventually, you’re just going to die, right?”

Dipper: “... W-what are you talking about?”

Bill: “Wait. You REALLY didn’t figure that out yet?”

Bill: “The Nightmare Realm is unstable. It’s just gonna collapse one of these days, destroy everything in it. Could be in a billion years. Could be tomorrow.”

After leaving Bill’s Dreamscape, Dipper decides to visit Wendy’s and tell her everything. He confirms her doubts, tells her the whole story with the carpet... And he tells her about Weirdmageddon and what Bill just told him about the Nightmare Realm.

Dipper: “I mean, it’s better this way for everyone, and of course I’m not gonna go with Bill’s original plan to destroy the laws of physics or whatever, but… I-I just don’t wanna die, you know?”

Wendy: “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way.”

> Summary of chapters 3 and 4

[bytheangell]

Go the Distance

( @shadowhunterbingo​ Square: Long Distance) (Reyhill, light angst, happy ending, canon compliant)  (Read on AO3) 

“It’ll be over before you know it,” Lorenzo says, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s only a month.”

Andrew, objectively, knows that a month really isn’t that much time in the grand scheme of things. He knows it’s practically the blink of an eye to an immortal. But when you’re still in a relatively new relationship, the idea of being apart for an entire month has a way of making itself feel like the end of the world.

“Yeah, I know,” Andrew says, trying not to make a huge deal out of it. “It isn’t like you can’t just portal back to visit, too. Or maybe I could come to visit you? I can see if Alec will shift my off days so I have a couple together,” he adds hopefully. At least, Andrew hopes he manages to keep his tone at ‘hopeful’ and not ‘desperate’, which is a line he’s afraid of crossing just then.

“Perhaps,” Lorenzo says. “It isn’t as if I’m on vacation there - I will be working most of the time, but I’m sure I can manage a bit of ‘off time’ as well,” he allows. Andrew wonders if he’s simply trying to keep his expectations realistic or if he’s trying to tell Andrew he’s totally fine with the time apart - maybe he even wants it.

Andrew tries not to overthink as he kisses Lorenzo goodbye.

---

Andrew does not succeed in his attempts to not overthink it. He tries to wait for Lorenzo to call him first because he doesn’t want to come across as clingy or needy - after all, Lorenzo doesn’t seem to have a problem at all with being away, and if he doesn’t then neither does Andrew. Or so he tries to convince himself.

Andrew makes it two days before he’s dialing Lorenzo’s number on his lunch break. It rings to voicemail. He tries again toward the end of his break and this time it goes straight to voicemail without ringing.

Andrew winces.

He gets a call back while out on patrol, and it takes all of his self-control not to answer it the moment he feels the phone vibrating in his pocket. Instead he sends a quick, ‘sorry, patrol’, and almost immediately gets a return ‘Of course, be safe, dear’. Sighing, Andrew pockets his phone again and finishes out the patrol.

He gets back at 2 am, which is 8 am in Spain, and tries again, stifling a yawn as Lorenzo picks up.

“Why are you not asleep?” Lorenzo says at the sound.

“Miss you, too,” Andrew says.

Lorenzo laughs. “Of course I miss you,” he says. “How was patrol?”

If Lorenzo is annoyed with him for calling twice earlier or only waiting a day and a half to call at all, he doesn’t show it. They chat for a little while - not nearly long enough, but Lorenzo has to go to meet his client and Andrew really should get some sleep - and hang up with the promise to talk again soon.

---

Soon ends up being the next day, which is wonderful… until that’s the last time Andrew hears from Lorenzo for the better part of a week.

He expects it, which makes the wait a little more tolerable. Lorenzo warned him that they had to make a trip to a particular subsection of ley lines located in a very remote area, and that most of his energy would be depleted from the spells they’d be performing there… but that doesn’t make Andrew worry less over the continued silence. Especially not imagining Lorenzo repeatedly draining himself somewhere he can’t call for help, magically or the mundane way.

“Everything alright?” Alec’s voice greets him, drawing his attention from his phone back to reality.

“How do you do it?” Andrew asks. Magnus is also in Spain, just for the week to help out with what Lorenzo described as a ‘gradual gathering of magic’, some rituals performed daily along with very intricate potion brewing.

“Do what?” Alec frowns.

“How do you deal with not hearing from him, given...” Andrew motions vaguely around him, not quite willing to vocalize the concept of their lives being dangerous and literally life-threatening on a daily basis sometimes.

“It sucks,” Alec says honestly. “But it’s part of our lives. Sometimes we get called away for longer missions or trips to Idris, too. The portals help, when they can, but sometimes you just have to wait it out and know that as much as you’ll always do everything in your power to come home safe to him, he’ll do the same for you.”

It’s spoken like someone who gives themself this particular pep talk pretty frequently… Andrew wonders how many times he can go through this, and surprises himself when he immediately thinks ‘however many I have to’ in response.

---

It’s a long six days, but finally, Andrew’s phone rings and Lorenzo’s name flashes across the screen, bringing an immediate smile of relief to his face.

“Ren,” Andrew says, sure the smile can be heard in his tone.

“Andrew,” Lorenzo’s voice greets him. He sounds exhausted.

“How are you doing?” Andrew asks, hoping Lorenzo will supply the information without him fishing for it, or implying that his boyfriend sounds awful. Andrew knows how poorly that goes over with Lorenzo after making the mistake once before of telling the warlock he looked tired. Andrew definitely doesn’t want a repeat of those defensive reactions right now.

“I’ve been better,” Lorenzo admits, and Andrew feels an immediate pang of concern, made worse by the fact that he isn’t there to help - or at least to insist Lorenzo rest properly. “But I’ll survive. Nothing a good day of recharging won’t solve.”

“Is that what you’re doing today? Actually resting?” Andrew sounds dubious.

The sound of Lorenzo laughing lightly eases some of Andrew’s concern that he’s downplaying how he feels.

“Yes. And if you talk to Alec, don’t let Magnus take all the glory for a successful first round of spells. He seems to think he was the only one holding that connection together,” Lorenzo huffs.

“We both know you were invited first for a reason,” Andrew is quick to stand by Lorenzo and is rewarded with another laugh.

“Precisely,” Lorenzo agrees.

“Well, I don’t want to hold you up from resting,” Andrew says. Hanging up is the last thing he wants to do just then, but he should give Lorenzo time to actually recover and not keep him awake talking.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Lorenzo says, and even though something sounds off Andrew just writes it off as the exhaustion. “Talk to you later, then.”

The line disconnects and Andrew fights the urge to change his mind and call Lorenzo back, reluctantly turning back to the monitors in front of him.

---

Andrew gets a few days of short text replies after that. He can tell something is wrong, but every time he tries to bring it up Lorenzo changes the subject. Worrying that he’s being too much of a bother while Lorenzo is, technically, working, Andrew decides to play it safe and stop texting first altogether.

Which doesn’t work as well as he hopes when it results in no communication at all.

It doesn’t take long for his thoughts to jump to every worst-case scenario, always coming back to the idea that Lorenzo simply isn’t as invested in them as Andrew is. Maybe they were something convenient here, while they were in such close proximity, but now that they’re apart and things take a little extra effort… maybe Andrew isn’t worth that.

The idea of this being something far more casual for the Warlock than it is for him hits Andrew hard, but he isn’t about to go out without a fight.

Andrew calls Lorenzo and doesn’t realize how much he expected the call to be ignored until he feels the surprise at hearing Lorenzo’s voice answer on the other end. There are a few minutes of small talk while Andrew works up the nerve to say what he called for - to tell Lorenzo how much he misses him and see if there’s any way they can meet up, even just for an hour, when Lorenzo asks him first.

“There’s something of a party this week, a few of the local warlocks and fae will be attending, some old friends from when I used to live here… if you’re free, you’re more than welcome to come,” Lorenzo offers.

“I’d love to,” Andrew agrees, almost before the offer is fully extended. “I was just thinking of ways we could get together, so this is perfect.”

“I’ll text you the details. I have to run, but I’m looking forward to having you join me. Oh, and don’t worry about what to wear - I’ve seen quite a few suits here I thought you’d look stunning in, now I have an excuse to get you one.”

Lorenzo is consistently trying to treat him to things - clothing, jewelry, artwork, single meals that are somehow the same price as Andrew’s entire month of groceries - and Andrew usually manages to stop the worst of it from happening. There isn’t much he can do to stop Lorenzo from buying him things half a world away, however.

“Lorenzo, I have perfectly good suits here, you really don’t-”

The line goes dead and Andrew shakes his head at the now silent phone in his hand.

If it means getting to see Lorenzo again sooner rather than later, Andrew is more than willing to suffer a much-too-fancy suit.

---

“I missed you so much,” Andrew says, melting into Lorenzo’s embrace the moment he steps out of the portal.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Lorenzo replies, his arms pulling Andrew in a little tighter before stepping away. Andrew notices they aren’t alone in the room - there are two others sitting on the other side of the room at a table. Hesitating, Andrew leans in and steals the briefest of kisses in greeting, unsure of the company they’re in but unable to not kiss his boyfriend after being apart for the better part of the month.

Lorenzo smiles into the brief kiss but doesn’t move for a second.

“Come, I want you to meet some of my oldest friends, then we really should get dressed for the party,” Lorenzo says, pulling Andrew along toward the men in the corner.

Andrew does his best to relax - this is a social gathering, after all, despite the presence of more Downworlders than he’s ever been in the same room as before outside of official Clave business. There are many introductions, and with each new name and face he feels a little more overwhelmed.

He isn’t sure what he expected, but he has such little time with Lorenzo to himself. Instead, Andrew stands beside him, and a little behind, and barely says a word. No one, including Lorenzo, seems to notice or mind. Lorenzo is full of loud laughter and animated reminiscing over adventures during times Andrew only knows from history books. Everyone here seems to know Lorenzo and he’s constantly surrounded by a small cluster of warlocks and fae.

Andrew is aware he’s the only Shadowhunter here, especially when every Downworlder eyes Andrew warily. He can’t particularly blame them, but it doesn’t do wonders for making him feel welcomed. It gets to the point that with every concerned look he gets, Andrew fades more into the background, hands instinctively clasped behind him while he watches rather than partakes in any proper socializing.

It’s barely over an hour into the evening that Andrew excuses himself to go outside for a moment. He isn’t even sure Lorenzo notices his departure, but a few minutes later hears the sound of a door closing behind him and feels a familiar presence by his side.

“Is everything alright?” Lorenzo asks, his hand coming up to rest on the small of Andrew’s back.

A part of him wants to say yes, and dismiss every concern he has, but that isn’t fair to either of them.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Andrew says finally.

“I was afraid of this,” Lorenzo sighs. “I thought something was off when we spoke… from how quick you were to get rid of me on the phone last week, and then the days without talking…”

Andrew frowns. “What?”

“I was worried being apart for so long early on would be too much strain. I was right. It’s alright, Andrew. I’m hundreds of years old, I can handle a break-up-”

“I don’t want to break up with you,” Andrew says, brows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you wanted to break up with me. I felt like every time I called you I was bothering you, so I waited until you called first, and when you never did I just assumed you didn’t care if you heard from me or not.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Lorenzo scoffs.

“And in there, I can tell I’m making people a little anxious. And you have so many friends, and they all know you better than me, and honestly, they all seemed like much better company. I can’t imagine why you’d want me around to ruin that when I clearly don’t fit in here,” Andrew adds, because if he doesn’t get it all out now then he never will.

“No time spent with you is ruined,” Lorenzo says. “I’m sorry you felt like that. I should’ve taken it into consideration, but I was so eager to have you along I didn’t think of the other company.” Lorenzo frowns. “I’d much rather be speaking with you than any of them, I promise. In fact…” Lorenzo glances at his watch. “I think it’s time I make our excuses, and we retire for the night. Just the two of us.”

“But the party-”

“I have something far more important than a party to attend to,” Lorenzo insists. “We should go and talk.”

“What if we stay for another hour, then leave?” Andrew offers. “I’d like to try this again, but properly this time. I may have written off the night prematurely.”

They both have a bit of work to do on communication, but Andrew is just as guilty for making unspoken assumptions as Lorenzo. For now, at least, Andrew can start with going into this evening with a more open mind.

Lorenzo smiles. “Alright. If you’re certain?”

Andrew realizes he’s suddenly pretty certain about a lot of things - not the least of which is the distance he’s willing to go to make sure this relationship works. It helps to know Lorenzo is in it with him to meet him halfway.

“I am,” Andrew confirms, as Lorenzo takes him by the arm and leads him back inside.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, outtoshatter!

Dear @outtoshatter​. You requested fluff, getting together, alternate first meetings, and something!Stiles. This was so much fun to write, and I’m thrilled to have the chance to create something for you. I hope you have the loveliest of holidays!! <3

Read On AO3

*****

Derek is a romantic. He dreams of finding his mate, of connecting with that special someone who will make his heart swoon.

"How did you know Dad was the one?" Derek asks his mom as he digs out a pink, glittery bear from beneath the pile of loose-limbed plushies. "Were there fireworks when you first met, or—?"

His cheeks flame. He can't tell his mom that the spun-sugar scent of Jenna's hair makes his heart race, or that the smell of Mark's baseball jersey gives him a boner. In fact, Derek's embarrassment is so thick she probably scents it despite being surrounded by a bunch of seven-year-olds with sugar highs from birthday cake and soda.

"The first time you meet your mate will always be significant,” Talia says as she hands the bear over to one of Cora's classmates. “It might be passionate and explosive, or it could spark a bond that builds and grows. It's influenced by who you are and where you are in your lives. But deep inside, you'll know. Your wolf, especially, will know."

"But what if my mate isn't a wolf? What if they can't sense the connection?"

"Humans cherish the notion of 'true love' as much as we do. And I bet your mate is someone who's sensitive and wise." She leans down and ruffles Derek's hair.

Derek wriggles out of his mom's touch. He's thirteen, not three.

"You think?" he asks. Maybe it is Jenna or Mark, although he was hoping his mate would be someone more… well, special.

"You'll see." Talia's smile disappears as she studies the line where Cora and her friends are waiting at the stuffing station. She counts their numbers under her breath and shakes her head. "Someone's missing. Will you help me find them, Der?"

Derek sighs. It might be Cora's birthday, but he's missing practice to babysit a bunch of second-graders at a Build-A-Bear. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I know this seems like an unbearable chore, but it means a lot to your sister that you're here. And to me, as well." His mom runs a hand along the back of Derek's neck and gives him a gentle squeeze.

Perhaps it's because it's close to a full moon, but Derek feels restless and edgy. Guilt washes through him at his snappishness, and he apologizes to his mom, giving her a quick hug before starting his walk-through.

There are bins of bears and cats and dogs and dragons in every color imaginable, their limp bodies waiting to be plumped up with poly-fill. He’s surprised Cora wanted a party here; her interests run more along the line of laser tag than dolls or stuffed animals. Although there's a backstory, he's sure; Cora had mumbled something about wanting to invite her whole class 'unlike that Lydia Martin', whereupon Mom's fangs dropped and her eyes flashed red. The next thing Derek knew, they had made a reservation for all twenty children.

It's not until Derek passes the displays of the Marvel and Star Wars bears that he finds the errant partygoer. Unlike the other boys in the class who dress in athletic wear stamped with Nike and Under Armor logos, he's wearing a faded t-shirt and a plaid overshirt, topped off by a pair of worn trainers.

Derek looks down at the limp plushie in the boy's hand. "Hey. Are you here for Cora's birthday party?" he asks softly.

The boy raises his eyes. They're ridiculously large for his face, amber orbs framed by long lashes and a buzzed haircut that make them look even bigger. Suddenly, they narrow as he looks Derek up and down.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

Derek frowns, the defiance taking him by surprise. "Maybe I work here."

Any shyness the boy may have seems forgotten as he takes a step closer.

"No, you don't," he says, his tone raised in challenge. "You don't have a nametag and you're not wearing a vest."

The kid's smart. Derek is filled with the weird urge to push his buttons and protect him at the same time.

"You got me," Derek says, holding up his hands. "I'm Cora's brother, Derek." He points to the animal in the boy's hand. "Don't you want to wait in line with the others and get your bear stuffed?"

The boy straightens out his arm. "It's not a bear," he says. There's a slight hesitation, then he's turning the animal over. Derek sees that it has a long muzzle, pointed ears, and plastic blue eyes. "It's Can… um, Canis…”

"Canis Lupus. A wolf," Derek says, surprised.

The boy nods vigorously. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

"I didn't know if I was allowed to get something that wasn't a bear." The boy hangs his head, his fingers digging into the wolf's ample fur. "I've never been to one of these parties before."

Ah. Another reject from Lydia Martin's party list. The news makes Derek inexplicably angry.

"If I was getting one, I'd get a wolf, too," Derek says.

The boy looks up, his earlier disapproval of Derek apparently forgotten. "Yeah?"

"Totally." Derek crouches down and strokes the wolf's fur. "It's pretty skinny though," he says as his hand lingers on the nape of its neck. "We'd better go and fatten it up. Maybe get it some clothes?"

The boy shakes his head. "Wolves don't wear clothes," he says, his exasperation plain. "Duh."

Derek snorts. "Well, how about one of those scent things?" The discs seem to be popular; most of the other kids have one in hand.

The boy lifts the wolf to his face and buries his nose in its fur. "Nah. He smells good the way he is. But he needs a heart."

"Okay. Let's get one, uh—"

"Stiles," the boy answers. "Stiles," he repeats with a small scowl as Derek stares, bemused. "That's my name."

"Oh. Okay, Stiles." Derek stands up and holds out his hand. "Let's go. We've got a wolf to build."

Stiles places his hand in Derek's. It's small and a bit clammy, but Derek doesn't mind, surprisingly. They head towards the front of the store where Stiles takes his time in choosing a red heart out of the bin of hundreds. There's another display close by filled with a selection of noisemakers.

"Do you want one?" Derek asks as Stiles stares. There's a lot to choose from. "They have some songs and animals noises, and—"

"They don't have any wolf ones, though," Stiles says, seemingly put out. He pushes one of the buttons, rolling his eyes as a dinosaur's roar breaks through the tiny speaker. He chooses the dog button next.

God, no, Derek thinks.

Thankfully, Stiles passes on that one, too.

"What about this one?" Derek asks, pointing to number eleven. When Stiles presses the button, they hear the lub dub of a human heart, steady and true.

Stiles' face breaks into a huge grin. "That's perfect."

Derek opens the drawer, takes out the sound chip and hands it to Stiles, who curls his fingers around its edges and holds on tightly. By the time they make it to the stuffing station, Stiles is bouncing on his feet, a bundle of barely contained energy. He's also staring with a horrified expression at a boy who's twirling in a circle while rubbing his bear's poly-filled heart across his chest and down to his belly.

"Uh, Derek? Do I have to do that?" Stiles whispers as a Build-A-Bear employee eggs the boy on.

Maybe it's the vulnerability in Stiles' face, or the wobble in his voice, but Derek wants nothing more in that moment than to soothe Stiles' worry. He leans over and whispers, "You mean, act like something's crawling up your butt?"

Stiles lets out a half-gasp, half-laugh. "I can't move like that! What if I do it wrong and his heart won't work?"

"Listen to me, Stiles. I'm thirteen and I know a lot about wolves. Rubbing your wolf's heart on your pants or doing ten jumping jacks isn't going to make him come to life. What he needs is for you to care for him. To love him, and believe in him with all your might. Okay?"

"Okay." Stiles gives Derek a grateful smile, his face radiating his happiness.

Derek stands a bit straighter and catches his mother's eye. He's sure it's his alpha's approval and nothing else that makes him feel warm and tingly inside.

~*~

Derek used to be a romantic. He once dreamed of finding his true love, of meeting that special person whom he could care for and be cared for in return. But a series of bad relationships with people who either wanted different things in life (sorry, Braeden), or were only interested in him for his family's powerful connections (thanks, Jennifer), or who were, to put it bluntly, vindictive, psychotic stalkers (hello, Kate) has left Derek realizing not everyone is destined to have a mate. Of course, that also means one of the great Hale legacies has come to an end, although he's not sure why the Fates decided to pin that dubious distinction on him.

He doesn't want to end up like his Uncle Peter who, after losing his mate, creeps around with people half his age, filled with snark and cynicism. So Derek tries to settle, without success. His friends and family blame his inability to have a meaningful relationship on 'being too choosy', or 'not trying', or his 'emotional constipation'. He supposes it's a damning statement when even his best friends have given up their matchmaking attempts and relegated him to babysitting duty.

Derek's trying to decide whether he has time for a quick run before he goes grocery shopping, or whether he has enough milk and butter to postpone the errand altogether, when an EMT kit lands by his feet.

"Any plans for tonight?" Erica asks. Her smile is a bit too bright, her tone a shade too innocent.

Derek frowns and gives his co-worker the side-eye as he tries to figure out her angle. He can't believe there was a time where he thought he and Erica could be anything more than friends. She's gorgeous, of course, but she's also too perceptive and blunt as hell, and she calls Derek out on his bullshit more than anyone else aside from his own sisters. She feels like safety—like pack—but his wolf knows there's nothing more. Besides, she's snagged herself a handsome and brilliant ED doctor in Boyd—along with a ring, a two-bedroom Murray Hill apartment, and a five-year old daughter.

"Catching up on the second season of The Mandalorian?" Derek grins, baring a toothy smile of his own.

"Are you thirty-five or sixty-five, Derek? Because seriously, I can't tell. And since you phrased your answer in the form of a question and this isn't Jeopardy, I'm assuming those plans aren't set in stone."

Fuck. Erica had promised after the last disastrous blind date that she wouldn't try to set him up again. "I'm really not in the mood for company—"

"Even if it's a little girl who loves her godfather more than anyone else in the world?"

Derek sits up straighter. "You need me to watch Hailey?" He couldn't love Erica and Boyd's daughter any more than if she were his own.

"If you're up to it," Erica says, actually looking contrite. "I know it's your first day off in almost two weeks and I normally wouldn't ask, except… Well, the New York Public Library's doing this Children's Authors series, and her favorite writer's going to be reading today."

"The Fox and the Spark? I'm somewhat familiar," Derek says drily. He's read the story so many times he could recite it in his sleep.

"Yeah." Erica lets out a small laugh. "So, there's a second book that's coming out and the author's signing copies. Boyd was supposed to take her, but he has to cover for someone who called out with a family emergency. Greenberg won't let me change my shift, and I know you just finished yours, but—"

Derek puts a hand on Erica's shoulder. Next to Laura, Erica's his closest friend, and it's not like he really had plans.

"Don't give it another thought. Of course I'll take her."

A wave of relief sweeps over Erica's face. "I owe you one, Hale."

Derek lets out a small huff. He's pretty sure that if they were keeping tabs, he's going to come out on the short end when it comes to Erica and Boyd. Besides, an afternoon out with Hailey is bound to be better than his last several dates, even if he has to put up with a bunch of screaming kids.

~*~

As it turns out, there are a bunch of kids, but none of them are screaming because the man in front of them's woven some kind of crazy magic and has them in his thrall. He has thick brown hair that's the epitome of hipster chic, a wide mouth that pulls into an easy grin, and is wearing a heather grey t-shirt paired with khakis and a red hoodie. He looks young—young enough that Derek thought he worked for the library at first, a notion that's dispelled once Mrs. Purcell, the head librarian, gathers everyone together. His smile is bright and engaging, although it falters a bit when Mrs. Purcell stumbles over his name.

"Mieczyslaw," the man says with a self-deprecating grin. "Like 'mischief'. But I'll tell you a secret. No one calls me that, not even my family. You can just call me 'M'."

The news seems to delight the kids, who shout "Hi, M" in a loud chorus. M shows his appreciation by running across the front of the room and handing out high-fives.

"Is that really him?" Hailey wriggles in Derek's arms and cranes her neck, trying to get a better look. The construction-paper fox ears that they super-glued to her headband earlier that afternoon gets pushed aside at a precarious angle.

"That's really him," Derek affirms, which earns him an excited squeal.

"Put me down, D!" Hailey says with all the imperiousness of her mother, and it's all Derek can do, even with his superhuman strength, to keep her from toppling over.

"You can find a spot up close. No pushing or shoving, and if you can't see, ask politely. I'll be back here, okay?" He leans in and nuzzles her cheek to let her know she's safe and protected.

"Okay!" Hailey gives him a quick squeeze back before making her way up front. Derek is glad to see one of the other girls make room for her as Hailey sits down in the second row and clutches her book happily.

Derek straightens and runs a hand through his hair. He feels someone watching, and when he looks up, he suddenly locks eyes with M.

M rubs the back of his neck as a light flush spreads over his cheeks. It doesn't help to diminish his already-youthful appearance; in fact, it makes him look vulnerable—like prey—and the thought causes something to flare hot in Derek's belly. It's only when someone nudges him impatiently that he realizes that he's gawking in the middle of the room, surrounded by a restless audience that comes up to his knees. Derek mutters his apologies, then takes his six-foot frame to the back of the room where he watches from behind a row of brightly colored, miniature plastic chairs.

M starts off by saying that his best friend Scott is a veterinarian who works at a wolf sanctuary, and that M always thought wolves were the coolest. The tidbit makes Derek straighten to his full height and he puffs out his chest, inordinately pleased.

Most of the children already own copies of M's latest but choose to watch as M holds up a giant book that's nearly a foot-and-a-half tall. The pages are filled with illustrations—courtesy, M says, of his friend Isaac. The pictures are warm and soft, and detailed in a way that appeals to both a young and older audience. But even though they're beautiful, Derek finds his attention drifting elsewhere. He's mesmerized by the way M's fingers dance across the pages as he reads, how his eyes grow bright and animated when he hears the children laugh at his vocal impressions, and the way M's mouth—god, his mouth—turns down at the corners when he reaches a poignant scene. His voice defies categorization: it's raspy yet young, melodious but slightly off-pitch, and serious yet mischievous, as if an old soul had somehow merged with an adolescent’s energy.

The truth is that Derek's too distracted by M to pay close attention to the story. But after his brain momentarily shorts out from watching M lick his thumb to turn the page, it manages to reboot and catch the his next words:

"You need to care for him," the fairy said as Milo hugged his wolf. "You need to love him and believe in him with all your might."

Derek listens in a daze as M tells the group how Milo's wish for his wolf to come to life comes true. His own wolf perks up, and against the stench of the colognes and soaps and sweat of the crowd, he can pick out the welcome scent of citrus and cottonwood from back home. It's intoxicating, yet soothing and breathtakingly familiar, and in that moment the thread of hope that Derek's long thought cut manages to wriggle into his heart and take hold.

~*~

Derek absolutely does not push his way towards the front of the line. He just has longer legs.

His heart is in his throat and he's holding tight to Hailey, who's clutching her copy of Build A Wolf close to her chest. Derek doesn't understand how he could have missed the signs: the smattering of moles that grace M's cheek, the adorable tilt of his nose, or the warm intelligence of his eyes.

"Hi," Derek says when they reach the table where M's seated, his voice catching.

The Sharpie that M's twirling lazily between his fingers falls with a clatter. M stares at Derek, seemingly lost for words. A beautiful pink flush highlights his cheeks that Derek wants to trace with his thumb.

"You're a bit older than my usual fan. Bigger, too," M croaks. His face turns even brighter, and Derek can smell his surprise and the faint spice of his arousal.

"Stiles?" Derek blurts out. Upon seeing M's shocked expression, Derek tries to backtrack. "I'm sorry, it's just… well, you remind me of someone I knew from back home." When M doesn't deny the assumption, Derek continues, "I'm Derek Hale. Cora Hale's brother?"

M scrubs his face. "Wow, dude… wow, yeah, I am." He looks around and lowers his voice. "I'm surprised you recognized me. Or that you even remember who I am." When he smiles it's small and embarrassed, but Derek can also detect the happiness that colors his scent.

"I know you're probably busy, seeing as you're on a book tour and all, but do you want to grab a bite after you're done?" Derek feels breathless, and it's totally unlike him to be so forward, especially in the midst of an increasingly antsy crowd, but he feels like he's been waiting for this moment forever. "I mean, it can be something low key," he adds hastily, in case he's laying it on too strong. "I haven't been home in a while and it would be nice to catch up, and—"

There's a strong tug on his shirt sleeve. "Hi, Mr. M," Hailey pipes up. She's wearing a sweet smile but her eyes are impatient and determined. "Can you sign my book for me?"

"Sure, I'd love to." Stiles gives Derek an apologetic look. He greets Hailey with a complicated fist bump after commenting on her fox ears, uncaps his Sharpie, and opens the book to the front page. "Who should I make it out to?"

"To Mommy and Daddy and Hailey," Hailey decides. She tugs on Derek's sleeve more forcefully. "Do you think Mommy will like that?" she asks in a loud whisper.

Derek bends down and kisses her forehead. "I think she's going to love it," he says, nuzzling her neck. When he stands back up, Stiles has finished signing, but his smile seems a bit forced. "So, about dinner..." Stiles doesn't answer immediately; Derek falters as he takes back the book, his hopes sinking with each passing second.

Stiles' eyes lower, his once-happy scent souring. "Sorry," he says, his expression unreadable. "I'm on a tight schedule."

Both the human and wolf sides of Derek are confused by Stiles' sudden rejection. "Maybe a drink?" he tries again, desperate. He may have been a terrible judge of character in his previous relationships, but he can't be wrong, not about this.

Stiles shakes his head. Before Derek can press his case, there's a cough as the father and son behind Derek fix him with matching glares. Derek and Hailey get shuffled towards the door, and by the time Derek regains his bearings and looks back he discovers that Stiles is posing for a selfie with the kid, his scent now off, his smile a bit too forced.

~*~

There are several truths about the holidays—and the end of the year in particular—which are that the crowds are larger, the stress is higher, and people tend to avoid hospitals as much as possible. It also means that Derek's unit is flooded with calls, from decorating mishaps and drunken shenanigans to medical emergencies that are so far gone they can no longer be handled by an urgent care. He hasn't hung out with both Boyd and Erica in nearly a month, and even though it's for a quick bite in the hospital's cafeteria, he'll take it.

"Seriously, Hale. You'd better have a smile on your face after your PTO."

Derek looks up from his burrito, his brows furrowed.

"I don't know why you think I have PTO, Erica, but I don't," he says, grimacing as a glob of beef and avocado drop onto the wax-paper wrap. He's never requested a holiday week since he started with the FDNY eleven years ago. His family's all on the West coast, and he'd rather leave the prime vacation weeks to his co-workers. It's not like he has someone special to share the holidays with, after all.

He ignores the ache in his chest as he thinks of Stiles.

"Yeah, well the thing is, now you do. The week between Christmas and New Year's," Erica clarifies as she takes a bite of her burger. "You never exercise the perks that go with your seniority, and don't think it's gone unnoticed. It's the department's gift to you. "

Derek stares, flummoxed. "Greenberg will never go for it."

"Are you kidding me? He was the first to say 'yes'. Said he's tired of seeing your grumpy mug whenever he rings in the New Year."

Boyd grins at Derek's obvious discomfort. Derek gives him the middle finger, which makes Boyd chuckle out loud.

"I don't even know if my family's around," Derek protests. Laura often spends the holidays with her husband's family in Sun Valley, and Cora's hard to pin down any time of year.

Erica and Body give him twin looks of guilt. "They are," Boyd says as he takes something out of his coat pocket and hands it to Derek. "We already spoke to Laura. She can't wait to see you."

"Ho, ho, ho." Erica grins.

"What's this?" Derek asks as he stares at the envelope in Boyd's hand.

Boyd shrugs but Derek's not fooled by his casual stance. "A first-class plane ticket. An early Christmas present from us to you." His usually placid expression grows sheepish. "Look man, we don't want to put you in a bad spot. If you really don't want to go, use the credit for another trip. But we knew that if it were up to you, you'd be spending Christmas alone, eating leftovers and watching It's a Wonderful Life for the hundredth time."

"Who says I need to be in a relationship to be happy?" Derek asks, his hackles rising. Besides, Boyd has it all wrong. Derek has Die Hard on his Christmas queue.

Yippee ki yay.

Boyd holds up both hands. "Not me. If you want to be a bachelor forever, I'm not one to judge."

"But I am," Erica says. "You don't date anymore, Der. Hell, when's the last time you even got laid? Which would also be fine, except it's not, because you're miserable and it's obvious that's not what you really want."

Sometimes Derek has a hard time following Erica's logic. Unfortunately, this is not one of those moments.

"It doesn't matter," he says, digging the excess rice out from his wrap. "I'm better off alone."

Erica and Boyd share a look. Derek feels a pang of envy at the way they so easily read each other's thoughts and their mutual love and support. He'd always fancied himself a romantic, but to finally find his mate only to be rejected flat out hurts worse than anything Kate had put him through. Which… well, it says a lot.

Boyd nudges the envelope towards the remains of Derek's burrito. "Do what's right to you." And just like that, he changes the subject as they argue over whether Brees or Brady will end the season with the most touchdown passes and have the better chance of securing a berth in the Super Bowl.

~*~

Minutes after Derek sets foot inside JFK, he remembers why he hates flying. It's the noise and the stress, the smell of impatience and sweat, and the lack of personal space as he waits to clear security. He jams his beanie down to cover his ears, and the glower he's wearing doesn't help the dubious looks being cast his way. By the time he reaches the concourse, he has to duck into a coffee shop to catch a break from all the commotion.

He's standing in line, trying to decide whether he'd rather have a green or carrot smoothie, when someone's suitcase catches his heel.

"Shit! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" The stranger pulls back the offending piece of luggage, and Derek suddenly catches a whiff of a familiar scent amongst the flurry of clothing and limbs. "Are you okay?  I'm not exactly graceful on most days, but I'm working on like two hours of sleep and… " The man's voice trails off as he meets Derek's gaze, his whiskey-colored eyes widening further. "Derek?" he squeaks.

"Stiles," Derek answers, his voice equally strangled.

Stiles blows out a deep breath. "Oh, wow. What are the chances?" he mutters. His face turns blotchy.

Derek's wolf is pawing at his chest, begging Derek to not waste this second chance. "Uh… seeing as we're both here, I'm going to repeat my offer. For the drink. And a meal, if you'd like. Although I guess it's more like a grab and go." He's stumbling over his words and he feels the tips of his ears heat.

Stiles glances at the breakfast wraps and fruit bowls displayed behind the plexiglass counter. He pastes on a grin, although it seems strained at the edges. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, man; that'd be great." He orders an OJ and an egg wrap, while Derek finally decides on the green smoothie.

"Is that all you're getting?" Stiles asks after an awkward moment of silence.

Derek shrugs. "I ate before I got here. But you can order something else. I'm in a generous mood."

"Haha, big spender. I mean… " Stiles ducks his head and bites his lower lip. Derek watches helplessly as it reddens and swells. "Doesn't your daughter or wife want something, too?"

"I don't have a daughter or a wife," Derek says, his brow furrowing. "Or a girlfriend or a boyfriend, for that matter."

Stiles' mouth drops. "But who was the girl you were with at the book signing?"

Everything starts to slot together. Derek lets out a small chuckle of relief. "Hailey? She's the love of my life. She also happens to be the daughter of my best friends, Erica and Boyd, and my goddaughter. They couldn't make it to your signing because of a scheduling conflict, and I jumped in as a favor." He hands over a twenty to the cashier and deposits the remaining change in the tip jar, his shoulders suddenly lighter.

"Ohhh." Stiles wheels his bag around as they head out towards the gates. He stays close to Derek and his scent grows brighter and sweeter. "I totally jumped to the wrong conclusion," he confesses with a rueful grin. "And I don't want to make the same mistake twice, so I'm going to ask you straight out: are you heading back to Beacon Hills? Because if you are, I'd like to take you to a real dinner. If you're interested, of course," he hastens. "If not, that's cool, too—"

Derek stops and places his hand on Stiles' arm. "I happen to be going back to Beacon Hills. And I'm definitely interested."

A quick check of their tickets shows they're on the same flight into Sacramento International. When they reach the gate, Derek marches up to the counter and trades in his first-class ticket for a business-class seat next to Stiles. He hurries back to the waiting area, flashing a 'thumbs up' sign and grinning like a loon. The look of pure joy that lights up Stiles' face makes Derek's wolf howl with glee.

"So I was curious... why did you choose Mieczyslaw as your nom de plume?" Derek asks as he sits, resting his bag on the floor between them.

Stiles huffs out a laugh. "Mieczyslaw is my name—at least, it's the one I was born with. But it was too complicated to say, so my best friend Scott nicknamed me 'Stiles' when we were younger." He shrugs, as if to say, the rest is history. "Anyway, I wrote The Fox and the Spark for Scott and Allison's son and they finally convinced me to submit it to a publisher. I really didn't think it would go anywhere, and it seemed like it would be less of a rejection if I sent it as 'Mieczyslaw' instead of 'Stiles'."

"And then you ended up with a best-seller," Derek finishes with a grin. He stares at the label on his cup, rubbing an edge that's grown worn from condensation. "Hailey's favorite book is The Fox and the Spark. But I think I'm partial to your latest. The one where a boy builds a wolf out of snow and wishes he'd come to life."

Stiles sucks in a deep breath. "It's based on one of my greatest memories."

"The memory of a wolf? Or someone else?"

Stiles' cheeks stain a beautiful pink. "Uh, a little bit of both? I've always been drawn to wolves, but I've also never forgotten how nice you were to me at Cora's party. I mean, you're Derek Hale—Cora's cool, older brother. I kind of built you up after that, turned our meeting into some kind of mythos, but even then I hadn't been prepared for you to be so…" He gestures with his long, graceful fingers up and down Derek's torso. "I mean, look at you. You're ridiculously hot, plus you were so amazing with your goddaughter. You probably work saving kittens or puppies or endangered wildlife or something—"

Derek coughs. "People. I'm an EMT."

"See! I mean, your fucking perfect. It's a good thing I didn't know all these things before, because otherwise, like, mind blown." Stiles mimes an explosion with his hands.

"I'm hardly special. Although I do have a book written about me. How many people can say that?" Derek teases.

"Yeah." Stiles' grin fades slightly, his hands falling to his sides. "About that. I know it must seem weird, but I'm not some obsessed fan, I promise."

Derek shakes his head. It's too early to tell Stiles about werewolves and their mates, but he wants Stiles to know that the feeling is mutual. That Stiles' story is the same one Derek's been living in since they first met.

"It's okay, Stiles. I feel the same way, too." Emboldened, he takes Stiles' hand in his, his eyes dropping to Stiles' mouth as his mate licks his lips.

"Dude," Stiles whispers, awed.

~*~

By the time they touch down in Sacramento, Derek's learned all about Stiles' closest friends. He learns that Scott is a werewolf as well, though bitten and not born, and that Stiles is considered part of Scott's pack. He's surprised to know that the infamous Lydia Martin is now one of Stiles' closest confidants, and that they'd briefly dated before deciding they were better off as friends. He also discovers that the Sheriff who busted Derek and his friends on Senior Prank Day (and let them off with a warning) is none other than Stiles' dad.

Derek and Stiles eventually connect the dots and realize that Stiles' friend Isaac went to the same college as, and remains friendly with, Erica and Boyd. He's happy to know that Stiles also lives in New York, on the Upper West Side near Riverside Park, which happens to be one of Derek's favorite places to jog. And he discovers other things about Stiles—like how Stiles is ticklish along his sides (just below the curve of his lowest rib), and how his lips are just as soft as they look, and how Stiles goes absolutely crazy when Derek scents and mouths his neck.

In fact, by the time they disembark, their mutual attraction is pretty much apparent to everybody—including the Sheriff, who pointedly avoids looking at Stiles' neck, and Laura, who just laughs.

Stiles lifts the hem of his scarf to hide the evidence, his cheeks flaming. Derek's just glad that neither the Sheriff or his sister can see the other places Derek's marked.

"Looks like you've finally found a flight you enjoyed, baby bro," Laura says as she wraps her arm around his shoulders and squeezes. "I'm so glad you're home."

Derek closes his eyes and breathes Laura in, his wolf settling at the smell of her shampoo, the warmth of his skin, and the feeling of home. "Me too."

Laura nuzzles the crook of his neck. "You smell different," she says as she leans back, her gaze sharp and assessing.

Derek glances at Stiles, who looks over to Derek at exactly the same time and waves at him with a blinding grin. "Um, yeah. About that..."

"I don't mean in that way," Laura says, wrinkling her nose. "Although he is a cutie. What I mean is that you smell... happy."

"I am," Derek says, realizing he means it. He can't wait to introduce Stiles to the rest of his family and begin formally courting his mate. But for now, he and Stiles know they have something special. They've entered the next chapter of their lives, one that already has a great beginning.

And the romantic in Derek knows this story will have a happy ending.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sunshine City: Two

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. But I do hope you guys like it. If you haven’t watched Kingsman: The Golden Circle, I would really recommend it. I’m pulling quite a bit from the movie for the first handful of chapters and I don’t want to confuse anyone. But if you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer them!

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating For This Chapter: M for Whiskey being Whiskey, inappropriate hand gestures, lusting after your boss, and some dubious consent on behalf of Clara. tldr: finger-fucking a stranger to save the world :)

Read the Prologue and Chapter One!

Louisville was a quaint city—not that she would ever say that to a local. Ginger Ale greeted her as she landed at the airport and had filled her in on the goings-on at the main headquarters and how there was a strange set of explosions in the UK that landed on their radar. After hearing about the “blue” aspect of her and Whiskey’s latest mission, Champ had requested she come down to Kentucky and brief him in person, citing his distaste for mission-brief emails. Whiskey was tasked with keeping the New York headquarters running, as he always did. The lucky bastard. But it was fine. He had nearly strangled her and she still thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever met. 

Something was clearly wrong with her and maybe some time away from his face and crooked smile would help her stop feeling like she had something clawing to get out of her chest every time he looked at her.

(It wouldn’t help. She knew that.)

Their mission in Vegas had been a success—in a strange kind of way. After the men turned blue, she and Whiskey followed them through the club and carried the mission out—with one caveat. They grabbed a vial of blood before disposing of the bodies. There had been a minor shoot out with the suppliers but it was easily handled, too. 

Ginger Ale took the vial of blood and made it a priority to test it as Capri Sun went to Champagne’s office.

“Ginger will probably be able to give us more specifics when the tests are done,” she said as she finished her spiel.

“What do you think it is? What’s your gut say, Capri Sun?”

She wiped a hand down her face and leaned against one of the chairs at the long table. “Something’s going on, Champ. People turning blue? The explosions in the UK? All of it feels…off.”

Champ opened his mouth to say something else but his personal intercom buzzed and Tequila’s voice rang out. “Champ, we’ve got some stragglers on the tour. They’re lookin’ to get inside the cask vault. British by the sounds of it.” He paused. “They’re using some tech to get through our biometric scanners.”

Cap looked at Champ to see him arch an eyebrow. “Ten bucks says they’re here for Butterfly Guy.” 

“Bring ‘em in, Tequila. Real quiet like,” Champ ordered.

“Ya got it, boss.”

As the line went dead, Champ crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at her. “The butterfly guy, huh? You reckon that’s what they’re here for?”

“Three bombings at nearly the exact same time in the UK and the next day two Brits show up here, where we’re housing a one-eyed amnesiac spy? Yeah.” She shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

‘The Butterfly Guy,’ as he was dubbed after waking up a little less than a year ago, was a fodder for a fair bit of gossip at all of the Statesman offices. It isn’t every day that a Brit, obviously involved in intelligence in some capacity, gets shot in the head outside a zealot’s church after a spike of low wave frequencies catch Ginger’s eye. The fact that he was obsessed with butterflies just made him even more of an anomaly. Agent Seltzer thought he was some sort of double agent from MI-6. Agent Absinthe thought it was a ploy from some terrorist organization to infiltrate Statesman HQ. She didn’t really care either way.

Champ huffed with a smile. “We’ll see, Cap.”

They spoke a little more about the Vegas mission before they heard the intercom buzz again—it was Ginger, quickly relaying that the British intruders did seem to know Butterfly Guy but were here for a completely different reason…supposedly.

She turned as she heard the elevator chime on the other side of the door.  “That’s my cue. I’ll see you later, Champ.” 

“Don’t go too far, now,” he said as she started to walk away. “Whiskey’ll probably need ya when I talk to him about Vegas in a minute.”

She nodded and let herself out, dodging Tequila’s swat that he aimed at her shoulder. Tequila had been the man in the alley all those years ago. He was friendly and sweet, if not a little brash, and she considered him a friend. But the other man at Tequila’s side caught her eye. He looked her over with a critical and quizzical gaze before the Statesman agent all but shoved him into the room and the door slapped shut behind them. Her phone quickly ate all of her attention as she brought up the cameras the doggy daycare had set up throughout their shop so owners could check on their dogs. Bela was currently gnawing on a tennis ball as a golden retriever licked at his ear.

She hated leaving him alone so much. Hated it. He was such a good boy and she loved him so much that she actually asked Champ if she could bring him to Kentucky whenever she came down.

It was a firm no—apparently Tequila had accidentally let loose his fleet of basset hounds in HQ a year before she joined and Champ had to instate a no-pets policy because of the damage they caused. It was a shame, really. She thought Champ would really like Bela.

She checked her email, too, responding to Agent Grenadine’s plea for help. She was a newer agent and still needed a bit of guidance when it came to the more finite details of missions. Whiskey had slept with her within a week of Grenadine being assigned to the New York office. He never waited long, it seemed. And she didn’t really blame him—Grenadine was young and beautiful and vivacious. And always “down for a night of fun with no strings” as she had so eloquently put it. Perfectly Whiskey’s type.

And why was she thinking about that right now?

She shook off the thought and rubbed at her eyes before she pocketed her phone.

The door opened and Tequila came out with a huff.

“The Brits getting on your nerv-” The words stalled in her throat as she saw the blue crawling up his neck and across his face. It was exactly like what she had seen on the targets in Vegas. “Tequila? Oh my god.” Her hands reached out to touch him and winced as he all but crumpled into her grip. “What is happening? What did you do?”

“I-I…fuck, Cap. I don’t even know.”

Her thumbs brushed against his cheeks with a frown. “Go to Ginger. She’ll sort you out, I’m sure.”

Tequila’s smile was small. “I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

Y/N nodded, not believing it, and watched him go with a sigh.

The man from earlier slipped out the door with a sigh of his own. His eyes found hers. “You Capri Sun?”

She held out a hand for him to shake. “Everybody calls me Cap. You’re Galahad or whatever?”

“Call me Eggsy,” he said as he shook her hand.

“Eggsy. Fewer syllables.” She crossed her arms over her chest as they dropped their hands. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, uh, Whiskey says you’re coming back with us. He’s sending a jet?”

She groaned.

                                                       **

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Sunny,” Whiskey said as Eggsy stepped out of his office to make a call. 

She crossed her arms with a sigh. It had been hours since they landed back in New York and she was tired. They had been formulating a plan to meet ‘Clara,’ the ex-girlfriend of some Kingsman cast-off who had ties to The Golden Circle cartel who was possibly responsible for the blue rash. Clara was all over social media with her plans to attend the Glastonbury Music Festival. The fact that there was another independent intelligence agency named Kingsman was really the least alarming information she’d learned that day—apparently there was a guy walking around with a robotic arm capable of hacking entire security systems.

She needed a nap before they loaded up to head across the ocean in an hour.

But Whiskey’s smile continued to grow and he buzzed for his assistant to, “bring him in.”

The door opened and she turned to see little Bela wiggling like crazy in the poor woman’s grasp. His entire body seemed to shake when he spotted her and happy little barks escaped him.

She quickly pulled him into her arms and let him lick all over her face. It had only been two days since she’d dropped him off at daycare but he always greeted her like she had been gone a year. “Hi baby. Hi hi hi. Yes, I missed you, too.”

Her fingers pushed through his thick fur as Bela finally settled in her grip and propped his head against her shoulder. She pressed a kiss to his one ear as she smiled. But then it dawned on her: Whiskey had definitely witnessed all of that. A giant crack in the visage she had sculpted. Fuck.

She slowly turned to face him and scowled at the shit-eating grin splitting his face. “Now, what’s a guy got to do to get a welcome like that?”

“Be a one-eared corgi,” she replied drolly.

“C’mon now, Sunny. I had to call in a big favor to have Vanessa pick him up and bring him here without you. That doggy daycare has some stringent guidelines about who can pick up a dog, by the way.” He placed his hands on his hips and they cocked to the side as they so often did. But he was still smiling. “I think I should get something.”

She sighed and Bela nosed at the underside of her jaw. “Thank you, boss. That was very kind of you.”

“And?”

“And that’s all you’re getting.” His smile fell the slightest bit and she bit back a grimace. In truth, it was the nicest thing someone had done for her in a long, long time. Letting her indulge in a little time with her dog before having to fly across the world was definitely spoiling her. And her traitorous mind had to remember how broken Whiskey had looked when he had realized he had wrapped his hands around her neck. This was probably just an I’m-sorry-I-tried-to-kill-you-while-asleep gift. But it didn’t feel like that and she really needed to stop lying to herself or get better at it. “I really do appreciate it, Whiskey. I don’t like being away from him for so long.”

“You really love the little guy, don’t’cha?” He stepped forward and let Bela sniff his fingers before petting him. Bela’s stumped tail quickly resumed its body-shaking wags when Whiskey instinctively found his soft spot. “I guess he’s cute.” The teasing lilt to his voice almost made her smile again.

“Yeah, he’s my favorite.”

“His name’s Bella? Italian for beautiful.”

“No. Like Bela Lugosi. The guy who played Dracula.”

Hearing his name, Bela licked at her face.

“Never took you for a monster movie fan,” Whiskey said, continuing to pet her dog.

“My brother loved them. Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff—if they were in the movie, he made me watch it. But this little guy didn’t look like a Boris. So, Bela it was.”

“Your brother?” Whiskey asked, trying to catch her eye bet she kept them firmly on her dog.

“Yup.” And that was all the answer she gave, her heart a little heavy already. She hoisted the corgi a little higher and Whiskey pulled his hand back. “I guess I should get him back to the daycare before we take off.”

“Vanessa can handle it.”

She nodded and walked to the door and spoke to Vanessa and pressed a series of kisses behind Bela’s ear before the assistant walked away with her dog in a careful hold. Her shoulders slumped as she watched them go. “Thanks for letting me see him. I know you think it is stupid-”

“I never said that, Sunny.”

She hummed, filing away her small bit of melancholy, and turned back to face him. “So, why’d you want me on this gig? I thought you’d be able to handle a pretty girl at a music festival on your own.”

Whiskey opened his mouth like he wanted to say something before shutting. His broad shoulders rolled. He turned back to his desk and settled into his slick black leather chair. “I don’t trust the kid.”

“Eggsy? Why?” She thought him a little cocksure—but she also dealt with Whiskey on a near-daily basis.

Whiskey shrugged. “Call it an instinct.”

She settled into the chair across from him with a frown. “And you thought bringing me along would do what exactly? Stab him in the back before he stabs you?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Maybe.” The leather of his chair creaked as it leaned forward with a smirk. “Maybe I just think you need to let loose a little and a music festival can do that.”

Rolling her eyes at her boss wasn’t really an option so she settled for blinking very slowly. “That’s kind of a waste of company funds, boss.”

“You are absolutely no fun.”

“People are dying.”

“All the more reason for you to come along.” He tilted his head to the side with another smile. “Please?”

She let out a slow breath and mulled over her options. She could call Champ and say she wanted out. It would be the first time she handed over a mission to someone else and each agent gets one pass. But then she could never get out of another one again. And it was just a music festival. Right? “Fine. But only because one of my favorite bands is playing at the festival.”

His smile grew and it twisted her stomach. She shouldn’t let him sway her this much. But the surprise (and probably illegal) visit from Bela did soften her resolve. And maybe watching him seduce someone else would actually—finally—put a stop to her silly feelings for the man. So far, she’d avoided any and all social functions that would let her see him scoping out another fling for the night. And yes, it did make her a little bit of an outcast within the social circles of Statesman. But she was only there to do a job anyway. Save the world. Pet her dog. Go to sleep when she had the chance. She didn’t need anything else.

“I’m glad you’re coming along, Sunny. I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

Dammit.

                                                     **

Finding out that Eggsy was dating a Swedish princess would have been hilarious if Whiskey hadn’t insisted on picking Eggsy up in a fucking Bronco that had the most obnoxious horn known to mankind. Eggsy helped her put the VIP band around her wrist with a small smile. He was a good kid, she decided. A little rough around the edges. Definitely cocksure. But genuine.

She tried to focus on that and not how she caught Whiskey’s eyes trailing up her thighs in the rearview mirror.

She had dressed to blend in at Glastonbury. Tiny shorts, a fringed, low-cut top, and Hunter rainboots. If it worked for Kate Moss, it worked for her.

But the heated gaze she’d caught from her boss almost made her squirm in her seat.

Thankfully, they arrived at the festival grounds without too much trouble and she focused on the passing greenery instead of the eyes she felt on her skin. They spoke about the tracker and the need for it to stick and the two men, of course, made frequent innuendos about the size of their dicks as she tried very hard not to commit murder by bludgeoning them both to death with her rain boot. The music was thumping through speakers, songs overlapping from the various stages and creating a raucous thrumming as they approached the VIP bar. She watched the various attendees pass by. It really was colorful. Some guy was wearing a pair of leather wings and drinking next to a girl in head-to-toe tie-dye.

“I say we both make an approach. Whoever gets on best, goes for it.” Whiskey said. “Sunny will make sure the target doesn’t ditch us before we can plant it.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes. “Well, it doesn't have to be a competition, bruv. Why don't we just go up to her, shake her hand, pat her on the back. Whatever, you know. Job done.”

“The hand is not a mucus membrane, Eggsy. Neither is the back. They teach you anything at Kingsman?”

And she had to laugh at that, despite Eggsy’s absolutely offended face.

“What are you talking about?”

“We need a mucus membrane, Eggsy. Remember?” she supplied, trying to be helpful.

“Our trackers are designed to enter the bloodstream. They circulate harmlessly, providing full audio and GPS.” Whiskey’s pointer and middle finger curled and swirled as he spoke and she had to look away for a moment, knowing exactly what he was implying with that motion. Heat coiled in her stomach. Now was not the time to be thinking about getting finger-fucked by her boss. But the senior agent caught her eye anyway and winked as his fingers curled again and she would swear she could almost feel those phantom fingers. But, she set her lips into a firm line and his smile fell.

Eggsy’s jaw went to side as he mulled their words over. “Mucus membrane. That's like up the nose, isn't it? What the fuck am I gonna do? Stick my finger...” She watched as realization dawned on him. “It's not just inside the nose, is it?”

“No, Eggsy, it ain't. Fuck.” Whiskey shook his head. “All right, I'll take the first crack. Watch and learn, buddy.”

As Whiskey sauntered up to the bar, Eggsy sighed. “Is he always like this?”

She nodded, sagely. “Yes.” But her eyes quickly focused on Whiskey and listening in on their conversation. But her stomach quickly dropped as one horrible pick up line after another spilled out of his mouth. Did he really just ask her what band she was in?

Good god. How did she find this man attractive?

“Eggsy, for the love of God, please go rescue that poor girl.” She nudged him toward the bar and he all but dragged his feet with a scowl but it quickly morphed into a cocky grin when Clara spotted him.

She really thought she had saved the mission. Really. But then Eggsy was just as bad as Whiskey, it seemed, at picking up women. How did he manage to woo a Princess with those lines? It eventually devolved into both Eggsy and Whiskey passive-aggressively trying to one-up each other and Clara quickly had a hoard of drinks she didn’t want or order sitting in front of her.

She couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough at the two men peacocking in front of the poor girl and decided to salvage the mission on her own. She wedged her way between Clara and Eggsy with a sigh and ordered a water as her fingers plucked the tracker from his pocket. Her eyes slid over to Clara to see her already looking in her direction. Perfect.

                                                     **

It hadn’t taken long from the pair of men to realize they’d been all but dismissed by Sunny and Clara and they both retreated (Whiskey to the other side of the bar and Eggsy to the VIP entrance to make sure Clara didn’t leave) to spectate and make sure she didn’t blow it with Clara, too. But Whiskey knew she wouldn’t. Her records were clear. She never missed a target. He wasn’t sure what had thrown him off his game so much. Usually he’d be retreating to a shadowed hallway or an empty room by now with the target ready and wet for him.

Maybe it was the perfect set of legs he’d already spied. His Sunny always looked good. Always.

But she’d never come on a “tracking” mission with him before and he could feel her eyes on him the entire time.

Whiskey watched, a little entranced, as Sunny had the target eating out of her hand within a few moments—and then literally eating out of the her hand as Sunny pushed an ice cube between Clara’s lips with a giggle he’d never heard her make before. Her thumb dipped into Clara’s mouth with the ice and she slowly pulled it out only to lick the water from her skin with a smile.

Something definitely stirred beneath the zipper of his jeans.

Clara leaned close and let her fingers trail down Sunny’s arm as she whispered something into her ear. Sunny then bit her lip with another smile and nodded, grasping Clara’s hand in hers. Even from a distance, he could read her lips, “lead the way.” The pair of women slipped away through the crowd and Whiskey had to lean against the bar to hide what surely was the erection of his nightmares and daydreams as Eggsy walked up to him, a relieved little smile on his face. “She really saved us, mate. She’s a good one, ain’t she?” The kid settled in the empty stool beside him.

“Yeah, kid,” Whiskey muttered as he waved down the bartender. “She’s a good one.” He ordered a whiskey neat before discreetly activating and raising the volume on the earpiece so he could monitor Sunny. He knew Clara wasn’t much of a threat—not against the likes of his Sunny, anyway—but he just wanted to be sure.

The earpiece hummed for a moment and recalibrated before he caught the tail-end of some sort of whispered flirt.  “You’re so pretty for me.” There was a soft answering noise and then a shuffle, like a dress being pulled off. “So pretty.”

“God, you’re mouthy,” Clara said. “I love it.”

“Get on the bed,” Sunny said and he imagined Clara scrambling to do as she was told and then Sunny climbing over her. His mind drifted, for a moment. Was she like this with everyone she brought to bed? Sounds of some illicit act buzzed in his ears as he thought of her lips, her fingers…

“Look at you. So wet. I’ve barely touched you.” His Sunny laughed.

“Oh please,” Clara whined, high and breathy. “Please.”

Whiskey glanced at Eggsy to see him squirming in his seat. He tapped the kid on the shoulder and then snatched the earpiece right out of his ear. “The fuck?” Eggsy grumbled.

Whiskey just pocketed it and ordered another drink.

Clara was moaning now and there was a distinct wet sound that he knew all too well.

“Oh! Right there! Fuuuuuuuu-there!”

Sunny laughed again but it sounded muffled. “You almost there? Yeah, I think you are. Just about covered my hand—leaking all over me. You’ve made a mess.” Sunny sighed and the wet noise grew faster and faster. “Come on, gorgeous. You can come for me.”

The zipper of his jeans was becoming increasingly more cumbersome and he took a healthy gulp of the liquor. He shouldn’t be picturing her making those sounds. Shouldn’t be wondering what she sounded like with his fingers buried deep. Shouldn’t be thinking about what she would taste like on his tongue.

But he did. And it wasn’t the first or the last time.

Clara’s moans turned into a staccato of whimpers and groans that grew and grew until she wailed.

Sunny hummed—he could tell she was smiling. “I knew you’d be beautiful when you came.”

Clara panted and there was a soft sound of a kiss. “Your turn?”

“Mm, no. I just like seeing pretty girls come.” Another kiss. “But thanks for the offer.”

“God, you are just a walking dream, aren’t you?” Clara asked, all breathy and smitten.

Whiskey finished his drink and paid. The rest of the conversation between Clara and Sunny was a hum in his ears as he left the bar and Eggsy quickly followed.

“Think she can teach me her tricks?” He joked.

“Nah, kid. You either got it or you don’t. She just has it in spades.” He walked toward the tent but slowed to a stop just out of reach so as to not look like they were lingering. He gave it a moment, and then another. Sunny walked out of the tent with a smile and licked her fingers. Mission accomplished.

A/N: Welp. There’s that. I will try to have the next chapter up in less time than it took for this one to get published. Please tell me what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm​ @honestlystop​ @paryl​ @fioccodineveautunnale

[chubbyheroesworthyheroes]

Raphael + 🐮 please.

Training to become a knight was hard work, and working hard was something Raphael was used to -- and he enjoyed it more often than not! Working with his hands was something he found relaxing, and physical labor only helped him to put on more muscle, so he sure wasn’t going to complain. No, that part of the training was simple enough for him to get on with, it was all the books and strategies that stalled him and made everything difficult.

Raphael knew he wasn’t the smartest guy around, but what he lacked in book smarts, he did his best to make up for in determination.

He really did try to listen to lectures and all that stuff. He read what was marked down for the week. He’d even go over things several times just to try and get it to stick in his head, but when it came down to it, it almost felt like it went in one ear and out the other. It was a little disheartening, but whenever Raphael felt himself hitting a low with studies, that’s when he knew it was time to hit the markets and look for a little project to get his mind off it!

Whenever he had the spare time, Raphael would go down to the market just outside of Garreg Mach. It was always bustling and busy, full of merchants and trademasters hawking their wares or skills. He tended to go and look for anything that was busted up and discounted, or something that people just wanted to get rid of. Fixing things up was a joy to him, and the merchants usually cut him a deal when they came back and he presented them with a refurbished item.

This time around, Raphael was returning a fixed up chest to a man from the Holy Kingdom. It was in pretty bad shape when he found it the previous week, but a lot of hard work and elbow grease had it looking practically like new!

“Wow, you really have a talent for this!” the merchant praised, inspecting the chest for any glaring flaws. He’d been hauling that damn thing around for a while and hadn’t managed to unload it on anyone, but this knight-in-training had fixed it up in a week’s time and had it looking mighty fine indeed!

Raphael laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Aw, it was nothing! It was a real pleasure to work on.”

The merchant smiled, but there was a deviousness to it that the large blond completely missed as he blabbered on about how he’d worked on the chest. Really, if the young man was this happy to do work for very little return, then there was another item that the merchant would be happy to dump on him.

“Well, I really appreciate your hard work, my boy! I’m afraid I can’t give you much, but I do have a rather unique item I could give you for your troubles,” the man waxed on, standing up from where he’d been looking over the chest to go root around in his stall. It was an incredibly plain item -- an old nose ring for cattle -- but the blasted thing was cursed. Every person that had been its owner had either mysteriously disappeared, leaving only the ring behind, or they were some poor fool who couldn’t get rid of it no matter how little they asked for it. The merchant fell into the latter category, as he’d happened to win it off some near-broke drunk in a game of cards. But, he’d been stuck with it for years without being able to find a buyer, so he wasn’t going to let this chance slip by without trying to dump it off on this sucker.

Finding the small pouch he’d kept it in for years, the man returned to Raphael, leaning in conspiratorially. “You’re training to become a knight, right? Well, this little thing might not look like anything special, but it’ll make you strong as a bull! Could really help with your trainin’, yeah?” he trots out his impromptu spiel, pushing the leather pouch into the blond’s big hands.

Raphael beams at the gift, accepting the pouch gladly -- and passing off the item’s dubious energy onto himself by doing so.

“Wow, really?! Thanks! I can’t wait to get to trying this thing out!”

It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his room that Raphael even bothered to take a look at what he’d been given for his work, and as confused as he was when the cattle ring plopped out of the pouch into his hand when he opened it up, he wasn’t the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth. If all he had to do was clip the ring on when he was training to get the benefits of it, then he’d do it -- after all, being as strong as a bull sounded exactly like something he wanted!

It didn’t even hurt when he put it on, as he sort of thought it would, but it almost felt like there wasn’t anything there.  Now, all he had to do was try it out and see how much stronger he was going to get! As he was leaving his room for the training grounds, Raphael was stopped in his tracks by his stomach cramping up with intense hunger, like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

“Ugh, guess the tank needs some proper fuel before I go buildin’ up more muscles with any training…,” Raphael groaned to himself, a hand on his growling middle, as he made a beeline for the dining hall. It wasn’t unusual for him to eat before a training session -- and then after, as well -- he had eaten not too long ago, so it was a little out of the ordinary. But, brushing it off as nothing more than his abundant appetite wanting to fuel up for a good round of training, Raphael didn’t concern himself any further with it besides thinking of what he’d order.

The hunger only seemed to get worse, so by the time it was his turn in line, he was so desperate for food that Raphael simply asked for one of everything that the kitchens had available that day. The staff gave him an irritated look at his extensive order, but they knew him quite well since he’d started at the academy, so they just got on with it in order to move the line along as smoothly as possible. It takes far too many of the kitchen workers to bring all of his dishes out, even with Raphael taking on a good amount of them, but it was all worth the hassle when he finally got to chow down.

Plates and bowls of food were demolished in record time. Raphael was all about getting as much food in his mouth as fast as possible, so table manners didn’t slow him down any. He scarfed every morsel down rather messily, but nothing went to waste as he even licked the plates clean in his feeding frenzy.

If he weren’t so distracted with satisfying the burning hunger in his middle, he might have noticed that his tongue seemed broader as it lapped up sauces and crumbs from dishes. A slight irritation at his temples and tailbone was likewise ignored in favor of filling up his stomach, the small areas affected itching like mad all of a sudden. Faint but slowly growing more prominent were splotches of black and white on his skin, becoming visible almost like freckles popping up from being out in the sun.

With a hearty sigh, Raphael slapped a meaty hand against the bloated curve of his middle; hunger finally satisfied from the veritable feast he’d just ingested. With an eagerness that most didn’t usually have after eating so much, he cleared all of his dishes from the spot he’d claimed at one of the tables and dashed right off to the training grounds. He was just too excited to wait any longer to see how this thing was going to boost his training!

He idly scratched at his head as he made his way over, oblivious to the bony protrusions that looked an awful lot like nubby horns that seemed to be growing at his temples. The splotchy spots on his body were only growing darker, while the other areas of his skin seemed to be going in the opposite direction and turning completely white.

Raphael went about his usual routine; even with an overfull stomach, he felt energized, and so went through his paces harder than normal once he got through everything so easily the first time around.

“Man, this thing really does work!” Raphael beamed to himself, grunting as he brought his hammer down with all his strength on one of the dummies set up in the yard. It collapsed under the heavy pressure like it had nothing but hope and a prayer holding it up, the head of the hammer sinking into the packed dirt several inches. As he goes to pull the weapon out of the ground, he grunts when the already strained buttons of his shirt suddenly seem to give up completely, bursting off his shirt in a succession of dull pings. Now, being such a large guy, Raphael wasn’t entirely unused to this sort of thing happening, but it was strange for it to be coupled with the uncomfortable sensation of his pants being entirely too tight on him at the same time.

“Huh...Th-That’s weird…,” he mumbled in confusion, a hand coming up to inspect the loose threads now left dangling from his open shirt. He’d popped one or two off before at the same time, but all of them?

His eyes are drawn down, however, when the fabric of his shirt rubs up against his nipples, and the feeling makes him groan in the most embarrassing of ways. Raphael brings a hand up to his chest, calloused fingers hesitantly running over the area -- surprised to find his pecs were...squishy, and not firm with bulging muscle as they had been just earlier that day. As he’s squeezing his budding moobs, which he can feel filling up more and more of his hand as he does so, warm liquid suddenly squirts onto his palm. He pulls his hand back to look at the small puddle wetting his palm, and quickly realizes that it was milk.

But...he couldn’t…

A sharp, sudden tearing sound distracts Raphael, hands flying to the seat of his trousers to feel the large rip in the material. Cheeks blazing red, he tries to find a good place to hide, but it’s suddenly become incredibly difficult to move around with his pants so damn tight. His ass just seems to get bigger the more he struggles; the two, fat orbs fighting for space until they tear through what was left of the material trying to keep them in check -- a growing, black and white cow’s tail swinging lazily above the flabby globes. His thighs are also ballooning up, destroying the sad remains of his trousers as they grow fatter. It’s a weird relief and rush of further embarrassment, but everything feels like it’s getting slower as weight keeps piling onto his frame.

His moobs never stopped in their growth despite Raphael’s attention shifting elsewhere, squishy titflesh blowing up and out, getting heavier and heavier as they filled up with creamy milk. It was getting so heavy and distracting that Raphael groaned in desperation -- really, it sounded more like a moo -- at the immensely building pressure in his chest, plopping down on his fat ass as he mindlessly gropes at the overflowing boobs that his bulky pecs have transformed into. Thick, creamy milk sprays out from his teats, coating his black and white stomach in the warm liquid as he lows deeply, eyes almost rolling back in his head at the pleasure it brings.

While it hadn’t kept up with the same growth of his chest or ass, Raphael’s stomach has still lost any hints of its once muscular form. It’s bloated up, round and firm, but tucked neatly underneath his quite astounding man jugs.

It doesn’t take long for someone else to hear his raucous mooing and discover his bloated, bovine self stuck in the training area. Well, he wouldn’t be training to be a knight anymore, but the academy would happily pay for the high quality milk Raphael produced...

[tuiyla]

Let's talk about Jet.

More specifically, let's talk about how he's 3 out of 5 for "literary foil to the main cast". Hell, you could make the case for him as a foil to Aang, too, though for now, let’s focus on Sokka, Zuko, and Katara.

In literature, a foil is a character that shows qualities that are in contrast with the qualities of another character. The objective is to highlight the traits of the other character. The term foil, though generally being applied to a contrasting character, may also be used for any comparison that is drawn to portray a difference between two things.

So with that in mind: Jet.

You're jealous that he's a better warrior and a better leader!

Jet is set up as a foil for Sokka in his debut and eponymous episode. Sokka wants to be a leader to Katara and Aang but isn't taken seriously. His instincts drive them right to Fire Nation soldiers, he barely takes any down, he seemingly lacks the charisma and leaderships skills that Jet exhibits. Like Sokka fancied himself the lead warrior among children in the South Pole, Jet leads a group orphans. Jet, therefore, is introduced as a more suave and successful version of Sokka.

Jet tries to appeal to Sokka both emotionally and rationally, first bringing up Kya and then saying that only someone like Sokka could understand his plan. He sees how similar they are, or could be, and tries to get Sokka on his side. But because of his intuition and moral standing, Sokka cannot be swayed. Those are ultimately the two qualities that set them aside: intuition and morality. Sokka might not be as charming as Jet as far as Aang and Katara are concerned, but his instincts do make him a reliable leader. As for morality, Sokka might not like the Fire Nation but he’s more rational than Jet and hasn’t been radicalized.

Sokka chooses to save the innocent because of his morality and can do so because his intuition is something Jet didn’t take into account, even though he witnessed it earlier on. At first, Jet is a foil in a way that he highlights what Sokka lacks as a leader and a warrior, but he ultimately ends up proving that Sokka is on the right track. He has the good heart and the smarts it takes to win the war. “Jet” is very much a Sokka episode in this way, and so Jet’s initial purpose as a character is to be his foil.

You’re an outcast, like me. And us outcasts have to stick together. We have to watch each other’s backs. Because no one else will.

When the series brings Jet back, it’s not to rehash the same thing yet again with Sokka. Instead, Jet and the Freedom Fighters meet Zuko and Iroh on their journey to Ba Sing Se and so he becomes a foil to another main character. Jet himself points out their similarities with Zuko and his wish for a second chance directly parallels Zuko’s opportunity for a new life. The Blue Spirit persona would make for a great addition to the Freedom Fighters but Zuko declines, not feeling like the hero.

But this is where Jet’s journey truly becomes an interesting foil to Zuko’s. When Jet sees a dubious clue that the two might be firebenders, his hatred is reignited and he can’t let go. He tells himself it’s different than when he met the Gaang, the he’s still gonna take the second chance he has, but he wastes that opportunity with his obsession. Jet’s fate is sealed the moment he barges into that tea shop, long before he’s reunited with his friends and the Gaang. Though Zuko himself might not know it at that point (not until “The Ember Island Players”), Jet is a warning sign: this is where clinging to hatred and the past leads.

Jet tried to change but couldn’t help falling into old habits. In the very episode he dies, Zuko has a choice to let Appa and his previous obsession go. Of course, Zuko does eventually go down a similarly destructive path, but he’s lucky enough to be able to come back from that; Jet isn’t. The way Jet adds depth to Zuko’s story is different than with Sokka and shows what different things you can do with minor characters.

Katara, you sound like Jet. It’s not the same! Jet attacked the innocent. This man, he’s a monster.

But wait, there’s more. Although the episode “Jet” established the character as Sokka’s foil, it also set in motion multiple recurring themes for Katara. Jet is the first person to truly betray Katara’s trust after she trusted him, something that hurt her so deep she holds on to that grudge until the very end. After Jet dies, she’s willing to give second chances, only for that to come back and bite her with Zuko. As well as breaking her trust, Jet introduces Katara to moral ambiguity and revenge, just like another foil, Hama later on, and these ideas all come together in “The Southern Raiders”.

There’s an interesting insistence on Katara’s part about the guilty and the innocent, which she believes sets her apart from the likes of Jet and Hama. They took their rage and unleashed it on the innocent, whereas Katara is concerned with the “monsters”, or as she called Jet, the “sick”. The callback to Jet and the bloodbending featured in the episode makes it clear to us that this is a fine line that Jet and Hama must have previously crossed at one point. Katara could either learn from the past, from the darker fates of foils, or fall prey to anger and hatred. Though Hama is Katara’s true foil in this sense (and Azula in every other), her journey down this path began with Jet.

Jet as a foil to Katara is not as straightforward as with Sokka or even Zuko. And yet, it plays a part in her journey. “Jet” set in motion Katara’s journey into her own moral ambiguity, despite how firmly she stood against Jet. In the end, she triumphed where he couldn’t. She didn’t let grief destroy her morality and she even forgave Zuko when she couldn’t forgive Jet - making this another parallel between Jet and Zuko as well.

“Jet” as an episode sets up Jet the character as a foil for Sokka and that’s where the two’s dynamic stays. When the series brings Jet back, they expand upon his character and make him a foil to Zuko instead, mirroring the choice he’s faced with. This already made Jet much more interesting than a one-off foil, but then his story is contrasted with yet another main character’s posthumously. The way in which his actions and his betrayal haunt Katara really showcases how Avatar can take a seemingly simple minor character and make him part of so many intertwining stories.

[collegestudentvevo]

a thought on cancel culture

inspired by this post from @veraiconcos

i think we should cancel cancel culture. it’s become so toxic and overused that it doesn’t do it’s intended job anymore. i also believe that “cancel” has become so much of a buzzword it doesn’t have a proper meaning either.

i think it is completely necessary to hold celebrities accountable for their actions but to also remember that they are human and by no means perfect. we forget that celebrities are also people who are bound to make mistakes. but how they move forward from those mistakes is very telling about the people that they are. 

as explained in the post i linked above, matthew gray gubler is a celebrity who is by no means perfect. he has made mistakes and he has said things that we would now consider “problematic” or something we should “cancel” him for. he has previously used the r word and mentioned in a poem that he is “dubious of lesbians” which has been interpreted different ways. i have my thoughts about those actions of his but i am neurotypical and i am not a lesbian so i don’t have a place to speak on those actions publicly. i will say that the word “dubious” is defined as “unsettled in opinion, doubtful” by Merriam Webster’s Dictionary. which i interpreted to mean that he does not anticipate being in a relationship with a lesbian, therefore making sense to me, but i also think it wasn’t needed to be said in the poem. again, that is not for me to decide. it is for the lesbian community to determine the value of that statement. here is another post listing things matthew has done that may be considered problematic. 

tw // SA

there also have been sexual assault allegations made against matthew, that i have heard of. i also was told that the woman who made those allegations said that they were false. but i have no receipts on this information so if anyone has info or links regarding this, that would be greatly appreciated if you could send it to me or reply to this post!

i would also like to mention, that as a victim of SA, i will always stand on the side of victims and survivors. first and foremost, we need to believe women, victims, and survivors before coming to the defense of the accused.

back to celebrities and cancel culture in general

i believe that to some extent, cancel culture has been used for good. especially cases in which racism, sexism s*xual assault, homophobia, transphobia, etc. have played a part in certain celebrities’ lives. some people refuse to educate themselves on the matters at hand and i don’t think anyone should continue to “stan” or support celebrities, groups, etc. that uphold values like that. i don’t believe anyone should support celebrities, groups, etc. that have beliefs and political values that don’t align with their own. some people say that they like to “separate the art from the artist” but i don’t believe that that is possible in today’s day and age. if i listen to an artist like xxxtentacion or whatever the fuck his name is, who has multiple r*pe and p*dophilia accusations against him (i believe) i am indirectly supporting him. streaming his music on spotify gives him streams which translates to a certain amount of profit. giving streams and support to artists like this, tells them that they can still be successful, even after doing the terrible things that they’ve done and refusing to apologize or change their actions. 

but there is a time when cancel culture is used far too often. if someone says something slightly wrong they get canceled almost immediately. for example, demi lovato had a finsta account on which she was presumed to be making fun of and tearing down selena gomez. i did not see the actual posts or account, only screenshots, but i agree, tearing down other women is not acceptable. but demi wasn’t doing this in the public eye and she did address it afterwards. although i’m not sure if we got an apology, she addressed it and her actions have shown growth since then. 

i think the important thing to remember is that we are all human. we all make mistakes and what matters is that we learn from them. we all (including celebrities) need to take accountability for our mistakes and to also take the time and resources we have to constantly be educating ourselves on issues in other communities that we may not be privy to. a big example of this is the black lives matter movement. i am a firm believer and support of the movement as i believe everyone else should be. and if someone doesn’t know or understand what the movement is about, they need to take matters into their own hands and educate themselves on the systemic racism in america, the problems with the police force, right wing arguments, left wing arguments, etc., etc. no one, and i mean NO ONE has an excuse to not be educated. yes, make a mistake but make sure you learn from it. when someone tells you that you said or did something wrong, offensive, incorrect you need to listen to them. listen to their story and to why they are upset about what you said/did. then, take it upon yourself to further educate yourself on the issue.

cancel culture has been blown out of proportion and the fact that “cancel” is such a buzzword nowadays i do believe that it has lost its meaning.

but. if a celebrity does something that a group says is offensive or problematic, we need to listen to that group. we can’t excuse behavior just because we think “he would never do that!” or “he’s so sweet i can’t imagine him ever saying something like that.” just because it’s hard to believe doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. at the same time, we need to allow celebrities to atone for their sins. celebrities need to be allowed growth as well, just like anyone else.

the issue of cancel culture is complicated and complex but it’s worth talking about. if i made a mistake in this post or in any of my posts please let me know! if i ever did something that was offensive or rude or anything that may be negative, i want to know so i can learn from it. i think everyone else should hold that belief as well. 

i could probably talk about this for years but thank you if you read my thoughts on this.

one last thing: i love matthew gray gubler. and as i said earlier, he is not perfect. i would love for him to apologize for everything he’s done wrong in the past, but i’m not even sure if he realizes or remembers doing those things. that doesn’t excuse his lack of apology, but we don’t know how he’s changed since then. he seems to me to be a person who tries to be kind to everyone and to stand up for what is right. but, we, as fans, are not a part of his personal life. we do not know the true matthew gray gubler, who he is on a daily basis. we can ask for him to speak up on issues or to apologize for saying a word or something in that vicinity, but we don’t know what he does in his own time. i don’t think we can expect him to broadcast his every move and every political belief and every value. i just think that is unrealistic. we won’t know where he stands on every topic ever, we just have to trust that he would do the right thing and if proven otherwise, we take it from there, i think.

these are certainly just my personal thoughts and by no means are they not flawed. i think there will always be flaws in arguments about topics like these. i think all we can do is try and learn and expect those we look up to to do the same.

i love you all. treat people with kindness :)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Disaster Lads, Part Two: The Flirtening

The second part of my AU collab with @whumpiary, Cass (Ace) and Kauri meet, and inevitable disaster ensues. Read Part One right here for context! This is part two, where shameless flirting is on the menu when Cass and Kauri head off to eat.

Things get, uh, spicy starting in Part Three. But I highly recommend you all reading Kauri just fail at flirting when he’s not using his training here...

CW: Shameless PG-13 flirting, discussion of past noncon/dubcon, discussion of an abusive relationship from the point of view of a survivor with fucky headspace, referenced consensual spice, discussed abusive relationship with INCREDIBLY dubious consent issues

Kauri pulls down on the stretched-out neckline of his shirt, and even in the dim alley, a bit of a large, twisted scar shows over his collarbone. 

"He paid a lot of money for, for me. I wasn't supposed to be able to leave. I took out the thing he put in to control me."

“Holy shit dude,” Cass breathes, fingers ghosting over the glossy pink of the scar tissue. He barks a sharp laugh of disbelief, looking back up to Kauri’s face like he’s something close to holy. He raises the hem of his own shirt, runs his thumb over the scar along his ribs. At least that particular excavation had been a success. “Snap.”

Cass grins, craning his neck to look closer at Kauri’s scar. He doesn’t even know Kauri, but looking at the mangled skin along his collarbone he feels something close to pride. 

“So, what? You cut out a tracker or something and then, what? You just… you just walked away?” he says. He can barely breathe with the thrill of that. This skittish, weedy little twink had more courage in his clavicle than Cass had in his whole body.  He’d dreamed about leaving Christopher so many times. He’s thought about leaving the Facility too. Of course he did. Everyone did. But you couldn’t just leave. “Weren’t you scared?”

"N-no, I ran away with it still… in me." Kauri grins, not quite nervous at the touch to his scar - he actually feels a little flutter of pride in himself, something Nat is always telling him he's allowed to have. That what he did was hard, especially for one like him. 

He can't quite hide his eyes lingering a little on Cass's scar. 

"It was, um…" He gives a kind of carefree smile, maybe the fakest one yet, and tries not to let himself think too hard about the rage and the pain. "A… like a shock collar. In my… skin." He flushes, looking down. "I fucked up really badly, and he just-... But, no. It wasn't because I… anyway, I ran away with it still in. I had to cut it out later because he wouldn't… stop…" He trails off, eyes sliding away, back down the way they'd come, looking ashamed of himself more than anything. 

He wouldn't stop because I ran away, I left him, I was all he had and I betrayed-

"He put up the reward after that."

Cass feels his heart sinking as Kauri talks. The long, hard nosedive Kauri takes from pride to shame is palpable. Visceral. It sits in Cass’ chest like a hunk of rock and he would do fucking anything to shift it. 

“I’m sorry,” Cass says, voice rasped. He can barely even look at Kauri. There is so much fucking guilt. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Cass stares at the zipper of Kauri’s oversized sweatshirt so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. He wonders for a moment if maybe he should kiss him again. Easy distraction. Bit of fun. But the line of panic that has spiked up again, talking about his past. About his… owner. Cass pushes the impulse away, gives Kauri’s knee a friendly nudge instead. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“But hey, at least you got away, right?” Yeah, and ended up homeless for his efforts. He’s really livin’ the dream.  “Now that sadistic fuck can die lonely.”

"I hope not," Kauri says, softly. "He was lonely, that's what I was for. I was supposed to fix it but I kept fucking it up." He catches this before it can go too far, too, and pushes himself away, as if trying to escape the thought. The spiral of guilt that ate him alive sometimes, the knowledge that him leaving was ruining Owen's life. It's his fault, because he couldn't take everything he was given. 

He hadn't been good enough at loving him. And he wasn't a good enough pet to go home. 

He wants to go home, back to Owen, so badly it hurts. Curl up in his lap and say he was sorry, he wouldn't ever leave again. Let his head be tipped back and be reminded that Owen might not love him but he wants him, which means he matters. And he wants to never ever do that, both at once. Is pretty sure Owen would kill him if he did.

He just has to find other people who want him instead, to fill that space. 

Kauri digs into his pockets, rummaging around until he finds a handful of bills all crumpled up. "Come on. I fucked up your night, I might as well buy you some fries or something? I mean, if you want. There's a place open all night near here, they like me, I can probably get you a milkshake for free."

Cass tries his best not to stare too pityingly at the woeful amount of cash in Kauri’s hand. 

“Yeah. Alright. Why not?” he decides all at once, pushing up from the ground “But either you get it for free or it’s on me. I definitely owe you one for the shiner.”

“I can buy you fries,” Kauri says almost dryly, although he stuffs the money back in his pockets quickly enough. It hadn’t been the best panhandling day, but he’d been in one of his slow spots and kind of expected it. But he wasn’t the only ex-pet wandering the streets begging for cash, and they tended to trade off areas to make sure everyone got an equal shot at the people who were more likely to give a little more.

As Cass stands, he feels the world slide backwards away from him at the weight of Kauri's wants come crashing down over him; booming echoes of regret and guilt and fear that go on further and deeper than any of the words he'd said aloud. 

There are people in the world who keep their thoughts inwards. Their desires are still there and ready to be listened to but it's almost like background music, a hushed murmur like a conversation in a library. And then there are people like Kauri, full of aching and wounds and messy thoughts, who feel things so loudly it almost hurts. 

Want to go ho- should’ve been a better pe- make him feel bette- he’s going to kill m- want to matter. Need to matter to someo- I’m so sorry Mr. Owen

Grief strikes at Cass in waves, just being near everything Kauri’s thinking. It’s dizzying. It's like the worst kind of homesickness. Yearning for a thing you can't have and don't want but need all the same. It's so much worse because the feeling's so familiar. Cass had hated every inch of Bergen Estate. And there'd been nights he'd have cut off his hand to be back with the devil he knew.

He screws his eyes shut against the pain of it spiking through his head, clinging to the wall with one hand as he feels the world tilt off its access. 

Cass wants to go home. He wants Christopher. He wants to throw up.

"Sorry," he croaks, eyes shut as he steadies himself. He lets out a ragged breath  "Must've stood up too quick or something. Gimme a sec."

Kauri frowns as Cass seems to tilt into the wall, nearly falling against it, and steps forward despite himself - whether or not he can really trust Cass or if he’s as nice as he seems doesn’t really have anything to do with if he needs help - and grabs at his arm to slide himself under it and help him balance.

“Hey, you okay? I think I can get you real food, not just fries. Have you eaten today? I fall over a lot when I don’t eat all day.”

Cass barks a laugh, but it's pale and wheezing. 

It's sweet. It's so incredibly sweet and charming and so fucking sad that that's Kauri first thought. But it's so earnest that Cass finds himself thinking back to what he has eaten.

"No, I've eaten plenty,  it's not that," he says, blinking his eyes open as the dizziness ebbs. "I just need-"

Need what? Need you to stop thinking about your fucked up Stockholm syndrome? Need you to stop feeling so saturated in shame and guilt it pours off you like an oil spill? He shakes his head, as if that'll be enough to clear the thoughts. 

"Yeah, uh, maybe you're right," he says, because he has to say something. People aren't fine one second and falling into an alleyway wall in the next for no reason "Need some real food."

“Then we’ll get you some,” Kauri says firmly, keeping himself under Cass’s arm to help him balance. “I’ll tell ‘em you kept me from being drugged, they’ll definitely give you free food, then.” He tries on a sidelong smile, going for something sort of dry and I’ve-seen-it-all but the expression doesn’t quite work - he’s too genuine to pull it off. 

“I know you just think I said I was sorry because I was supposed to, but I really am, um, sorry for pissing you off. I know people are mostly nice, I just… freaked out because of that guy earlier saying he would, um, would tell the cops who I was. Am. Was. Actually,” He changed subjects without even a pause for breath, walking with Cass out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, giving a cheery little wave to what was clearly a prostitute at the corner, who waved right back with sparkly fingernails that caught the streetlamp light. “Do you like milkshakes better or root beer floats? I had a root beer float for the first time at this place, it was so good.”

"Root beer floats are for six year olds," Cass teases through the thumping headache, taking care that his feet are keeping straight. "Strawberry milkshakes are the MVP."

He focuses on breathing in the crisp night air as they walk, already feeling better. It's stupid, actually, that he doesn't have more control over this shit. Weak that just a few minutes of someone else's thoughts and he's wilting like a fucking daisy. 

The place isn't far, as it turns out, but it seems like there's some displaced person on every corner that greets Kauri with a smile, or a nod. The guy’s obviously universally liked. The sort of person that people gave free milkshakes to. That people avoided calling the cops for, even if it meant missing out on some decent reward money. Like the universe figured he'd been served enough bullshit for one lifetime and was trying to protect him now.

"For what it's worth, I wasn't pissed at you," Cass says after about half a block. "To be honest, I'm usually pretty good at being selfish. But then when we started fucking around, some of the stuff in your head was just way too-" he blinks, stumbles on his words for a second "Like you, you wear your heart of your sleeve, I mean. And I dunno. I didn't want you to feel like… I dunno. It just got to me."

"Besides," Cass adds as they reach a crappy-chic little diner with a red sign "No offense, but I'd rather not get laid when the other person's terrified of me"

Kauri actually laughs at that, soft and kind of a sweet laugh. His voice is surprisingly deep for how small he is. “You’d be the first guy I’ve slept with in a while who cared about that.” There’s dry humor to his words, like Cass has said something sort of ridiculous that Kauri finds totally at odds with his everyday life.

“Besides, I wasn’t scared of you,” Kauri lies easily, and probably would have been perfectly believable if Cass hadn’t been able to feel the fear coming off of him at the time. “Just nervous about the bar. I used to never go out alone, but some stuff happened and I’m on my own, for now.” He shrugs, casually, pushing the door open and looking with a shy smile to an older woman behind the counter.

“Kauri, good to see you,” The woman says in a voice that says she’s been smoking since she was a teenager and that was no doubt a very long time ago. “It’s been a while.” Her eyes move to Cass, taking him in. All that comes from her is a vague sense of wishing her shift would be over so she could go home and sleep already. “Found yourself a new one?”

“Nah, just a friend.” When she raises an eyebrow, Kauri rolls his eyes. “An actual friend, Brenda, I have those.”

Cass grins a little despite himself. Kauri was an idiot. And way too trusting. But it’s sweet, being gently defended like that. It’s nice actually.

“First I’ve heard of it. Grab yourself a seat wherever, I’ll send Nick over to get your order.” She fixes a more scrutinizing eye on Cass. “You too, young man.”

“God, do you just bring out the White Knight side in everybody or something?” Cass says as soon as Brenda’s out of ear shot. Even as he says it, Cass’ thoughts slide to Matt at the bar, and then even further to Kauri’s owner — ex-owner — and he feels almost guilty for saying it. Maybe not everybody.

Kauri is just so fucking nice. He’s nice and he’s kind and he’s good. He deserves to have people defending him and looking out for him. Cass has known him for barely an hour and even he can tell that. But instead, the fuckheads of the world had found that goodness and twisted it and made it so he couldn’t say no – no just drink it don’t make him mad–  and he couldn’t ask for what he wanted - I want this I want you - and couldn't let himself be afraid –just say no Kauri you can just say no just say no stop it sto–

Cass scrubs a hand over his face and pushes his hair back, like maybe that’ll dislodge the sticky tar echoes of Kauri’s thoughts and the headache slamming an off-beat behind his eyes.

“What’s good here?” he asks, grabbing the laminated menu out from behind nearly-empty sauce bottles, desperate for the conversation to just stay normal for five minutes “It’s been fuckin’ ages since I’ve had diner food”

“Um, I mostly get cheeseburger and fries. It’s the cheapest whole meal and they usually give me more fries than it’s supposed to come with,” Kauri says, ignoring the menu entirely, drumming his fingers lightly on the shiny Formica tabletop. 

It’s the kind of menu that comes with pictures, and he could probably fake looking at it if he had to, but just the back of it facing him from Cass has him wincing if he looks too close. So he keeps his eyes carefully on Cass’s face, refusing to let the letters on Cass’s menu be anything more than unformed blurs. 

Instead he settles on pretending he’s such a regular he doesn’t even need the menu anymore. 

“I know they do, um, breakfast all day too so if you want eggs you can get those, or sausages, or whatever. I like their breakfast. Just get whatever.” He glances sidelong at Brenda, currently greeting another couple of customers, and then leans forward, putting a hint of a sneaky smile on his face.  “Just don’t get the fish. They don’t even know what kind of fish it is.”

Cass laughs, loud and loose as he tosses his head back, "Aw man. Now I want to order the fish" 

He puts the menu back in its place and scans his eyes over the patrons. The harsh pulse in his head is ebbing now, soothed by the soft, tired yearnings of late night diner patrons. There's a dad sitting in a booth across the room with his daughter, two giant milkshakes abandoned in favour of cramming tight in to play some video-game together on a tiny console. Cass watches as the girl points at the screen, stepping her dad through something with intense focus before they both cheer, throwing their hands up in victory. 

A side-hug. A high five. It's sweet. Heartwarming in a simple way. Even if they won't see each other tomorrow. 

Cass flicks his focus back to Kauri with a soft smile, "I can see why you like it here. Even if the fish is questionable, the people seem nice"

Kauri shrugs, melting a little under the softer smile. Most of Cass’s expressions have been sharp, and Kauri likes that, too, likes the way Cass flashes looks like light off a knife, but the softer look… Kauri grins back, hunching his shoulders forwards a little shyly. 

He feels weirdly warm all over, being looked at like that. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s weird to feel it and not have the worry or fear running underneath it, too. For the moment, all he feels is warm.

“People are mostly nice everywhere I go,” Kauri says, trying to look away from Cass so it won’t seem like he’s staring, but he’s… not sure he’s pulling it off. 

A young man, about Kauri’s age or maybe younger, wearing a black apron tied at the waist over a white shirt and black pants, steps up with a little notepad in his hand. He smiles brightly at Kauri. “Hey, Kaur, you went out tonight?”

“Um, sort of.” Kauri shrugs again, making little circles on the tabletop with his finger. “For a little bit. Then this guy, um, I met… anyway. This is Cass. Cass, this is Nick.”

Nick glances over at Cass, taking him in with a slightly more false customer-service smile. Oh, sure, I only get the once but then you go find this guy who looks like he punches shit for fun…

“Good to meet you, Cass,” He says, brightly enough. “What can I get you two tonight?”

“Whatever he wants,” Kauri says quickly. “I’m buyin’.”

"That's still up for debate," Cass shoots back, grabbing the menu back again to make a show of his deliberation. Kauri’s got something a little giddy about him at the minute, and it's almost distracting, but it has nothing on the low level of jealousy and impatience radiating off of Nick. It's almost irresistible to play with. Nothing more than puppy love shit. But still enough to twist. 

"Let's see. I've heard amazing things about the fish," he shoots Kauri a wink, and the other man ducks his head, smiling down towards his own legs, biting his lower lip a little as he flushes. "But Kauri here reckons the cheeseburger's the way to go. So… two of those I guess? Oh, and a root beer float, right?" Cass flashes his very best smile at Kauri, who visibly brightens, before looking back at Nick, raking his eyes over him for a second as he slots the menu back into place, "Thanks hot stuff."

Nick’s customer-service smile freezes, just slightly, and there’s a moment where it’s clear that he is resisting the urge to roll his eyes with genuine difficulty. 

“Two root beer floats,” Kauri corrects, and then tilts his head just a little up at Nick in the same slightly-false way he’d done to Cass earlier in the night, seemingly without even realizing he’s doing it. “With cherries? I know they don’t come with them, but-”

“Yeah, Kaur, we know you get cherries.” Nick smiles, relaxing again, jotting that down. He clearly can’t tell that Kauri’s flirtation is artifice. “Let me see if I can get you and your, uh-” His eyes back on Cass for a second, uncertainly. “... friend here your floats on the house.”

Kauri doesn’t quite let out an audible sigh of relief, but the feeling is there. He won’t have enough for his bus pass after this, but that’s all right. There’s a bench in a park he can crash on, anyway, where he’s slept before. 

“See, there you go,” He says to Cass once Nick is gone. “Now we get drinks for free. Most people are really nice.”

Cass snorts a laugh. Hardly.

"I don't think it really counts as nice when they're just tryna get in your pants. That guy was a dick.” 

“He is not! He’s really nice! He let me stay over for breakfast and take a shower at his apartment, he didn’t have to do that.” Kauri’s jaw is set in a stubborn line, but it was still playful. He was relaxed here, in a way he hadn’t been outside the bar when it had all still been so fresh and he’d been scared of being found out. 

But if Cass was lying about promising not to tell, he was being really slow about it. Kauri doesn’t mind getting to have something nice first.

Cass glances over his shoulder at Nick, running the chances in his head. He looks back to Kauri with a grin, "Ten bucks I can get all our food on the house."

“Get all our food free? From Nick?” Kauri leans over, half-whispering the words, glancing sidelong at Nick putting the order in with the cook and then moving to start up the root beer floats. Nick looks their way and Kauri quickly turns his eyes back to Cass, half-laughing as he ducks his head down again. “I feel like letting you do that is really mean. But also I could really use ten dollars, so, uh, okay.” 

Kauri sits back up and sticks his right hand out across the table. “Shake on it?”

Cass grins like a shark, leaning forward a little further than necessary to shake Kauri's hand. "When he comes over next."

He risks another glance over his shoulder, struggling to hide a smirk as he watches the poor guy he's about to earn a meal from. Cass grabs at the ketchup bottle idly, spinning it in one hand as he watches. Nick's cute, in kind of an awkward, intense way. He gives the vibe of someone who was in a band in highschool and took it way too seriously. 

"He seriously took you home and didn't try anything?" Cass asks, turning back to Kauri. He tosses the bottle from hand to hand with nimble fingers. "What is he, a church boy?"

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean-” Kauri blinks, flushes bright red, and sits back in his seat again, unsure whether he was meant to be ashamed of this or not. It’s sometimes hard to tell - with Nat, yes… with most people, yes...

But Cass didn’t feel like most people. He felt almost like talking to another pet, except he had no idea what those were as far as Kauri could tell, and he’d been horrified by the idea, before. But he talked like he knew.

“No, we still… I just meant, a lot of people kind of say, um, ‘you were great, hope I see you around’, or whatever, and I just… go. Not everybody is okay with me staying over all night. But… he was. And he was really, really nice about it. He… wrote me a note and everything.”

Something went tight and uncomfortable in Kauri’s smile at that. He still had the note, shoved down in the pocket of the backpack he’d hidden in a secret hiding spot up in the vents in a bathroom at the park. He had no idea what was on it. 

“So get us free food but you gotta be nice to him about it, okay?”

Cass waves his hand, he smiles, replacing the sauce bottle back in its holder, "Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He has to stop himself from cringing a little at Kauri's story. It's kinda cute, in a fucked up way. If you ignore that one of the leading men is only a part of the romance because he needs a place to crash. But it's also just… so blatantly innocent. Ridiculously, painfully naive. Cass shakes his head.

"Dude has it bad for you, huh?" It's strange that Kauri seems so oblivious to that fact when he's so very, very practiced in everything else. Ready to suck Cass' dick in an alley, no questions asked, but totally blind to the sight of someone head over heels for him "I still don't think that makes him nice. If this guy’s so nice why aren't you just shacking up all the time? What'd the note say?"

“I don’t, uh, I don’t know,” Kauri says, flashing the quick little making nice smile, looking away from Cass to glance out the window at the street outside. “I didn’t read it.”

He wanted to be able to read, for that to have been allowed, but Owen had wanted him a certain kind of way, he’d said it over and over again. I asked for a brainless slut, but shit, this seems like a little much, Kore-Bore. He had lots of papers in his backpack - things he’d been given for whatever reason. Pamphlets and handouts and the note from Nick, pages of books with cool illustrations. None of it he could read. All of it he hung onto because one day he wanted to. He knew words had been important, once, for whoever he’d been before. He wanted to make them important again.

“I don’t really stay with people more than once. If you stay a lot, people, um… want to know you.” Another flash of the nervous little smile. “It’s usually better for other people if they just see me sometimes. You know?”

Cass nods. He does know. Maybe not as well, or the same, but he knew. When you hung around someone a lot, they started looking a little closer. And once they started looking closer, they started wanting things from you. Sometimes they wanted something to hold over you. Sometimes they just thought they wanted to know you. But either way, they wanted your story, wanted to split you open and see all the ugly parts. Make a judgement.

“I get it,” he says, tracing lines between the grey flecks of the table top. He looks back up to Kauri, smiles something like understanding. Cass can’t give him much but he can give him that. He can give him understanding. “Safer that way, huh?”

Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, Cass sees Nick out of the corner of his eye carrying over their two impressive looking drinks. He leans back in his chair, posture loose and open and grins at Kauri, bouncing his eyebrows conspiratorially. Game on.

“Here we go. Two root beer floats,” Nick says, placing the drinks down before he smiles at Kauri, gaze lingering a little long “Extra cherries.”

“Thanks,” Cass says, smiling as he pulls his drink close. He picks up his spoon, skimming a little foam of the top and turning the spoon upside down on his tongue. He waits for Nick to turn away before he pipes up again, as if on an afterthought. “Hey… Nick, right? Can you settle a debate for us?”

“Uh…” Nick glances over his shoulder, in the vague direction of Brenda, who was currently engrossed in the photos on some regular’s phone “Yeah, sure.”

“Well see, I think Kauri here must be your favourite customer, seeing that he’s scoring the drinks for free and all. But he seems to think he’s not that special,” he makes quick eye contact with Kauri, resisting the urge to wink. “You like him though, right?”

Nick gapes a little, clearly flustered as he turns slowly red. He rubs a hand over the nape of his neck while looking pointedly everywhere but Kauri. “Uhh… Yeah. Sure. I mean- you know. Everyone likes Kauri.”

“See that’s what I said, but he refuses to agree with me,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Reckon you could score him his food for free to convince him?”

“Oh. Um,” Nick glances at Kauri, clearly embarrassed that he’s been caught between a rock and looking like an asshole. “I dunno. The um, two drinks is already kinda...”

Cass groans in a teasing way, reaching his foot out to nudge Nick’s leg as though they’re dancing around the inevitable. Which… well... 

“C'ᴍᴏɴ ɴɪᴄᴋ,” he says, reaching into that part of him that wants so badly to impress the boy with nothing to his name than a pretty face and the twenty bucks in his pocket. Cass catches the waiter’s eye and tilts his head to the side in a shadow of Kauri’s little trade-mark. “Gɪᴠᴇ ᴜs ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ.”

Nick glances back over his shoulder again at Brenda before looking at Kauri again, a rebellious little smile tugging at his mouth as he makes the choice. Or tells himself he makes the choice. “Yeah. Yeah alright.”

Kauri blinks, eyes slightly widening in surprise, but he covers it fairly well and smiles up at Nick with all his sweetness on display. “That’s really great, Nick,” He says, leaning his chin on one hand. Nick looks a little dazed at the attention from them both at once and swallows, almost compulsively, before he looks down with his head tilted, kind of rubbing at the back of his neck, a little shyly.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m doing much, just some food.”

“No, but it’s really cool of you, thank you,” Kauri says, sincerely. He’s not sure why Nick made that decision tonight, but he’s genuinely grateful for it. “Panhandling didn’t go super well today, it’s, it’s a big help.”

“Yeah, well.” Nick shrugs, and grins. “You want to apply for a job here, Kaur, you got it and you know it. I can get you an application, like, anytime.”

Kauri’s flirty little smile goes cold, for just a moment, and is immediately back to the artificial warmth from before. “Don’t worry about it,” He says, a little too softly. “You’re really cool, Nick, thanks.”

Nick just smiles back at him, gives he and Cass one more nod, and has his mouth open to say more when Brenda calls his name. “Gotta go, I’ll get your food out in just a minute.”

Kauri waits until he’s safely out of earshot before he leans forward, digging in one pocket with his hand. “How did you do that? I mean, I guess I’ve never actually asked for anything free, it just sort of happens sometimes, but… how’d you get the whole meal? I can’t believe he just gave it to you.”

He pulls a crumbled ten-dollar bill out of his pocket and slides it across the table. At least he can still look at numbers, if he’s careful. “All right, I owe you this.”

Cass grins, taking a spoonful of ice cream and turning it upside on his tongue as he looks over his shoulder, giving Nick a little wave and a smile. Poor sucker.

“Nah, keep it. Wasn’t really a fair bet.” he says, plucking one of the cherries from the top of his drink and topping Kauri’s with it instead. “You might be good at getting people to like you, but I’m good at getting people to do what I want. I knew he was gonna do it before I even asked.”

Kauri snorts, digging in himself, dipping the cherry out first to bite into it, enjoying the burst of cold sweetness on his tongue. “Clearly,” Kauri declares airily, “you have an ego the size of my dick.” He flushes, then, looking vaguely embarrassed. “I mean. Not, uh, mine. I mean, I think mine’s okay-...”

If he gets any more blood in his face he’s going to pass out.

“... I’m just going to stop talking now.” 

Kauri picks a big bite of ice cream off with his spoon and jams it into his mouth to shut himself up - only to wince when the brain freeze hits, groaning. Cass tosses his head back in a mad laugh at Kauri's self-spun embarrassment. Fuck he's cute. 

"Relax, man, don't hurt yourself," Cass says through the last of a chuckle, reaching out to grab Kauri's hand in mock-sympathy. "I'm sure you have a very nice-sized dick."

Kauri makes a sound that's somewhere between laughter and a please let me sink into the ground now noise, turning even redder if that's possible. He's not sure it is. 

He feels weirdly dizzy and his hand lights up where Cass touches him. He's sure he has the dumbest fucking smile on his face but he can't seem to stop it. 

Cass draws his hand back with a smirk and goes back to his own drink, taking a very deliberately very reasonably sized scoop of ice-cream from the top and tilting it towards Kauri before eating it. He looks at Kauri's face, still recovering from the flurry of a frozen head and the foot in his mouth. Cass taps his fingers on the table top, considering. How much did he want to show off?

"I mean like… you're not wrong, but it's also not ego if it's true," he shrugs "People just do what I want them to do. Call it a talent.”

Kauri feels an urge to say something like I would do what you want me to do, but he pushes it down. Last time Cass had… seen his training, and freaked out, and he doesn't want that to happen again. Cass was maybe the first person to notice when Kauri was in his head, at first. 

"Then why are you spending your time with a homeless guy and not, like, getting someone in a suit to buy you…" Kauri trails off. He has no idea what rich people eat, except what Owen ate, and he doesn't know if Owen was… like other rich people. He hopes not. "... I don't know, fancy steak or something?"

He leans over to sip through his straw, closing his eyes at the dark taste of root beer mixed with the cream and vanilla of the ice cream. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to even be in the general vicinity of Kauri existing and not be endlessly distracted by the slutty virgin shtick. The guy ate his root beer float like it was a gift from heaven, made by God personally and, even more infuriatingly, seemingly unaware of what that amount of blissful indulgence was doing to everyone around him. 

Not even seemingly unaware. Literally so. If it was intentional, the desire for attention would be rolling off of him in peutrid, sticky flashes. As it was, all Kauri seemed to care about right now was enjoying exactly what was in front of him. Cass has to stop himself from smiling too fondly. He was starting to see why the guy was so fucking liked. 

"I don't like people in suits. I like you," he says, simply. "Besides, you ever actually spend time with a rich person? They're all boring as fuck."

"Just, um, just the one rich person," Kauri says, trying not to let Owen's face find its way into his mind. How sad and lonely he must be by himself in the condo, without Kauri to curl up with him on the couch or in his bed. 

All by himself in the shower…

Kauri's eyes are distant, thinking of Owen drinking alone on the balcony with no one to talk to and be sad to, and he opens his mouth to say - something, he doesn't really know what, but he feels the sudden urge to tell Cass too much. To confess, just say I can't read and I can't look in the mirror I don't know what I look like I only know how to be good one way and everything they say about the ones like me is true and he hurt me and I still miss him - and just as the first vibration of sound is in his throat, Nick puts the plates down in front of them.

Kauri looks up at Nick with a smile shining with more gratitude than just bringing food out really calls for, and Nick blinks at him, a little thrown off. "You guys good? Need anything?"

"Everything looks great," Kauri says, with entirely too much sincerity. 

Cass smiles briefly at Nick in thanks as he grabs his plate, but he keeps his attention on Kauri, whose thoughts are currently as calm as a drum kit is when it's pushed down the stairs. Cass tilts his head to the side, eyes searching Kauri's face as Nick walks away. 

The same sadness and shame from earlier is coming off of him in waves, ebbing and flowing endlessly. A gentle desperation, searching for some way out, some way to relieve the constant storming.

"Did you want to tell me about him?" Cass asks, before he can stop himself, and immediately he feels the tugging of a yes and a no tangled violently together. He breaks eye-contact and turns his attention to the food. They really had given Kauri a whole damn mountain of fries. "The guy who, uh… who owned you."

There's no extra influence to it yet, no pressure. Just the question. Kauri could walk away from answering if he wanted. Sometimes a locked door didn't need a lockpick. Just the right key. 

Kauri picks up a fry, stares at it like it might bite him, then bites into it, half hanging out his mouth as he reaches to the side of the table, against the window, to get the ketchup bottle and pour some out on his plate, not quite looking up. 

Only when he finishes the first and picks up the second does he shrug, a little barely visible movement of his shoulders under his oversized zip-up. "You know how they say - people in, in movies say - that you can't force someone to love you? That's, uh. That's a lie. You can. You, um. He's… he was in a lot of movies, when he was a kid." Kauri's voice dips low, nearly a whisper. "Have you heard of Owen Grant? He was in, um, Dimmer Switch. That had a big international release, really popular in, um, overseas. And a movie about baseball when he was really young…"

Cass frowns, face twisting as he tries to place the name. He's heard of Dimmer Switch, he thinks, but he hasn't actually seen it. It sounded like the sort of cult classic horror junk Lou would watch. He's about to shake his head and shrug when he has a vague memory of an old VHS cover, a kid with insanely green eyes posing precociously with a baseball bat.

"Jesus Christ. The kid from fucking Swing for the Stars?" he blurts out as the pieces slot into place. Henri had been obssessed with that stupid movie. He shakes his head with a scoff, picking at the fries on his plate but not actually eating. It's kinda difficult to feel hungry, now. "What a fucking creep."

"Yeah!" Kauri brightens when Cass guesses right, a look of weird mixed sadness and guilt and pride on his face. "He was, um, that's what got him famous. Was that one. He's good in it, for a kid, right? Really good. He did a lot of movies but he stopped acting… um." There's a hesitation - he wants and doesn't want to tell Cass this, Cass is the only person he's ever said it out loud to. "He, um. You know who Vincent Shield is." His smile gets more nervous now. "I know you know, he's um, Nat always says he's like Tom Cruise. I, um. Nat says I… look like him. They used to be… they don't talk anymore. And Mr. Owen wanted… um." He swallows a bite the wrong way and has to clear his throat, fingers tapping nervously on the tabletop as he drank half of what was left of his root beer in one long go. 

"You can have someone made for you. If you have money." Flash of nervous smile again. "Mr. Owen has a lot. And he wanted the, um, Vince. To do that. To love him." 

A mix of cold rage and bone-deep sorrow sweeps through Cass like ice water. When Cass had gone with Christopher, when he'd agreed to sign his sentence over to the Bergen Estate, it'd been entirely his choice. He'd chosen to land himself juvie, he'd chosen to sign up to the indenture program, he'd chosen to sign that fucking contract, had chosen a life with Christopher. And he'd chosen when to end it.

He'd even chosen the Facility, chosen Tucker, in the end.

Kauri hadn't had any of that. Or at least, certainly not by the sounds. Cass had thought he'd looked familiar at the start of the night. Turns out he was just some poor bastard with a movie star's face.

"I'm sorry," Cass says for the second time that night. It's an effort to keep the shaking fury out of his voice. "I'm… that's horrible. That's really fucking horrible."

Cass runs his thumb up and down along the rim of his plate, clenching his jaw. The fucker wanted to force someone to love him, huh? He closes his eyes, takes a deep shaking breath, and swears he can see Christopher imprinted on his eyelids. I don't need you to love me back, darling boy, but I need you to know that I love you. He never thought he'd meet someone who made him feel lucky in comparison. He opens his eyes again, looking at Kauri with earnest. 

"You had a life, though, right? Before he took you? Why don't you just-" Cass cuts himself off and shakes his head, wiping a hand over his mouth like that could take the words back. For all he knew, Kauri had as much to go back to as he did. Maybe less. "Sorry. Stupid question. Don't answer that."

Kauri blinks at him, baffled by the question, before he smiles again. It’s a reflex more than an emotion - Kauri smiles to stave off conflict and deflect questions just as often as he smiles out of any genuine feeling. “He didn’t take me, he bought me. From a company, WRU? I don’t know who I was before.”

He shrugs. “The first thing I remember is training in the Facility. They, um… they probably know what my name was before. I don’t… remember it. They wipe us clean and then make us what the order form says.” He winces, reaching up to rub a hand against his head - the headache comes on fast, a sharp slice of pain across his mind, as soon as he tries to think any further back than training. 

“We sign contracts? We signed up for this.” The words come out almost monotone on the second sentence, clearly memorized, pushed out of him by some base conditioned instinct that isn’t even conscious thought. “All pets are of legal consenting age,” He intones, his eyes going distant again, before he shakes it off. “So, um. That’s why you can’t… I hope you won’t, anyway… tell the cops. Because I kind of broke the law, um, running away.”

It's so obviously a stack of beaten in, awful lies and Cass can't tell if Kauri actually believes them or has just had them forced down his throat so many times he doesn't know to say anything else. There’s an electric rage bubbling under his skin at the thought of Kauri being taken to some facility. Fucking signed up for it did he? Agreed to have his thoughts wiped clean and his personality reset to Sexdoll Barbie? What a crock of shit. 

Kauri flashes the sweet, slightly nervous smile again. “I’m a hardened criminal, believe it or not. I… I signed up for it, but… it doesn’t feel like I did...” He winces again, rubbing at his head. “Sorry. You did not sign up for all this when you tried to help me at the bar.”

"No, you're fine," Cass says, voice strained with the effort to keep it calm.  He doesn't know what else to say. “This isn’t exactly my first… fucked up backstory rodeo. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t say anything.” Cass’ word wasn’t worth much on a standard day, but he means this. “I promise.”

He stares at his food instead of Kauri, picks up a fry, puts it back down, turns the plate a little, picks up another fry. His vision darkens around the edges, a pressure in his head, and he realises his breaths have gotten quietly shallow and strained, air barely reaching his lungs. He takes a deliberately deep breath in, flashing a numbed smile at Kauri.

“It’s funny, well not- not funny,” he clears his throat “You’re the first person I’ve met who, uh… Look, I know a lotta people who have… contracts to people. To businesses. You’re the first person I met who doesn’t seem like they deserved it.”

Kauri tilts his head, glancing over at Nick - just around, really, but it seems like no one is listening in or anything - and then he turns back, reaching his hand back out, brushing his fingers against the back of Cass's hand holding the fry. 

"I'm okay," He says, reassuring, his voice low and sincere. "A lot of us have it, um, a lot worse than I did. Some pets get hurt a lot… I just, um." Another flash of his nervous smile. "Only after I messed up really badly. I was really lucky. He, um. He told me I was lucky all the time. I'm okay, Cass. See?"

A slightly sunnier expression, more sincere. He pushed himself up just slightly and leaned over to boop Cass on the nose.

"What could be more okay than hanging out with you, right? I don't mind. Don't feel bad for me or anything, I like moving around. Anything's better than not being allowed to leave, right?"

Cass finds himself smiling, despite himself, "Right."

He tries not to think about his bed back at the Facility, or the lab session he had tomorrow, or the interstate trip he'd have to do with Tucker next week. It wasn't the same. He chose to transfer his indenture. He could leave. He was here after all.

Kauri's a tragedy on legs and he doesn't even know it. He thought he was lucky because he wasn't hurt that much. Lucky, because he had the luxury of being homeless instead of chained to some guy's bed. And he was sitting here trying to make Cass feel better. He'd even been ready to give up his next-to-nothing savings to buy Cass a burger. It was almost enough to have you considering restoring your faith in the world.

Cass smiles again, properly this time, shaking his head. He shoves the fry in his mouth at last and grabs his glass, tilting it towards Kauri in a belated toast, "To moving around and root beer floats."

Kauri’s smile brightens even more and he picks up his already-half-gone glass almost eagerly to clink the rim against Cass’s. “Right! To never being stuck behind a locked door, ever again. That’s why I’m really lucky. When I got the chance to walk away… I could.” 

Well, not walk.

Throw himself out of a moving car, rolling along the road curled around his backpack to protect it, and then run like hell while his collarbone lit up and dropped him to the ground, again and again and again… 

But Cass didn’t need to know that part.

“Nat says the ones like me usually can’t.” He paused, considering something, eyes moving over Cass’s face thoughtfully. “And, hey. I really, honestly do think you’re, um, cute.” A hint of the flush again, unpracticed and genuine. “I know that you think it was because I was scared and that I was just saying it so you wouldn’t tell anybody about me, but… I can, uh. I can just want things like normal people do, too. You know? If I asked again and I wasn’t scared… what would you, um… what would you say?”

Cass smirks, and picks up his glass, ignoring the straw as he takes a long, slow drink from the rim before replacing it and sitting back in his seat. He tilts his head to the side, considering. What would he say?

There was no denying Kauri's attractiveness – he had the face of a goddamn movie star for fuck’s sake – but what was a pretty face stacked up next to a story so tragic the guy had to apologise just for telling it?

He thinks back to outside of the bar. The horrible whiplash between the desire to please and the terror to refuse. The faint, bitter aftertaste of I don't want this after every touch, every kiss. Even sitting here, now, Cass feels his stomach flip, his throat close up at just the thought of it.

But then he thinks about how Kauri looks, enjoying his float, complete and unapologetic bliss painting his face. Or the starry-eyed awe when Nick had agreed to the free meal. The way he's blushing right now, an equal mix of excited and unsure. That kind of enthusiasm was something Cass could get on board with. If Kauri asked him again and he wasn't scared, if he looked at him like that?

He lets his eyes travel down Kauri's torso and then back to his face. Lets his tongue flick out over his lips, as his mouth tugs into a dangerous smile. 

"Baby if you wanted it..." – if you really wanted it – "...I would eat you alive"

Kauri’s shy smile widens, until the usual hint of teeth instead flash bright white and light up his entire face, wide blue eyes sparkling, looking right at Cass, not ducking his head or using the practiced head-tilt at all. Just genuine, outright joy. 

“Do you, um…” The blush again, and he bites down on his lower lip, sitting leaning forward with his shoulders hunched, watching Cass’s face. He’s not as good as being suave as he wishes he was, and has to hope Cass is as much into a stammering mess as he might be into someone who had themselves together a little better than this. “... do you promise?”

Cass smiles at the blush, at the awkward. It's so much better than the low airy voice of complacency. He reaches forward, his fingers drawing a line up the back of Kauri's hand until they're sneaking their way up the cuff of his sweatshirt. He could almost swear there was electricity buzzing underneath Kauri's skin.

"Why don't you finish your burger? Maybe I'll prove it"

It feels, to Kauri like every spot Cass touches on him sparks and lights up, the feeling of his fingers lingering after he has pulled his hand back. Kauri wants to be on his knees or his back with Cass so badly he could scream.

He picks up his burger but he hardly cares about it now, he’s more interested in eating the exact amount necessary for Cass to figure it was enough to count as ‘finished’. Something about being way more honest about himself than he ever was with almost anyone feels like pure weight off his chest, leaving Kauri almost drunk on the feeling, more than he’d been drunk on the actual booze back in the bar. 

“I think I need to know more guys like you,” Kauri says, feeling a little dizzy with how fucking great tonight has ended up. He needs to know more guys who care if he’s scared or not, who even notice. He needs more guys who do the right thing when someone needs help.

“You’re really fucking nice, Cass.”

Cass snorts, throwing a fry in his mouth and speaking through a mouthful of potato, “I’m really not. You just caught me on a good night.”

If he’d been another few drinks in when he’d first noticed Kauri, he would’ve turned a blind eye and melted away to make out with Krystal or Kylie or whatever her name had been instead. If he’d been feeling a little more reckless fighting the douchebag in the corner, they’d probably both be sitting in a jail cell. If he’d been feeling a little more self-destructive outside the bar, a little more dangerous, he could’ve ignored the screaming in his head, the screaming in Kauri’s. He could’ve just kept kissing him. He could’ve… would’ve…

It doesn’t matter what he would have done, he tells himself. Because he didn’t. Not this time. That was what counted.

He wishes he believed it.

“What about your friends?” he asks, trying to shake off the thoughts rattling him as leans forward to dip a fry in Kauri’s sauce “They’re not nice?”

“Yeah, they are.” Kauri smiles a little. “I stay with them sometimes.” There was only one person he always picked up the phone for. The only person who knew all the bad things inside of him, not just the ones Kauri felt safe sharing. “But he’s, um.” Kauri’s smile slips and then reappears just as quickly as he shoves the guilt deeper down inside of himself, buries it under a cascade of not fucking now, damn it. 

“I’m kind of taking a break from bothering him with my shit.”

Kauri shifts around in the booth, moving to sit with his back to the window so he can pull his knees up, a hint of skin showing through where holes were beginning to wear. 

“He’s probably pretty happy to have me stop showing up at his door all the time. We just… sorry, none of that’s important.”

Cass taps his fingers in a steady rhythm on the tabletop as he watches Kauri carefully from across the booth. He doesn’t want to talk about this, Cass’ mind supplies. Literally anyone could see how uncomfortable Kauri was. Scared, even. 

“Nah you’re good,” Cass shrugs with an easy smile “I just wondered.”

Cass wants to ask what happened between the two of them. More than to empathise, he just wants to know the story. Which one of them fucked it up so bad that ‘only real friend’ goes to nothing. It was pretty fucking clear that Kauri thought it was his fault. But to be fair, Kauri more or less thought that getting punched in the head was his fault.

Cass wants to know the truth of it so bad. Instead he changes the subject. 

“I kinda fucked up your chances to find a place to stay tonight, huh?” 

Kauri snorts, resting his chin on his knees, watching Cass with a hint of the same small smile on his face. Just watching his hair move as he talks, and the way his fingers look touching the table.

Kauri wonders, vaguely, if he knows how to pull hair just the right way so it hurts a little, but not too much. With hair like his, he probably does. 

“You’re okay. Better than waking up drugged-up in that guy’s basement or whatever, right? I have a bench I go to sometimes if I don’t find anybody for the night, I’ll go over that way eventually. I have a blanket I hid over there we can, um, use, if you want. Or just an alley.” He tries for a wink, and he isn’t entirely sure it works and doesn’t just look a little bit ridiculous. “I’m not, um. Picky. You said you sleep at the place you work, right? It’s like a, a dorm thing?” Kauri hesitates, knowing the question is stupid he knows he’s stupid about this, but… “Do you, uh… do you get a bed, to sleep on?”

"Yeah," Cass says, trying not to sound off-put by the question. At what point in this sad fuck’s story did he not get a bed? "Yeah, I get a bed." He frowns briefly at his food before looking up again with a smile. "Lumpy as fuck, though."

The joke feels stale before it even lands. It's not exactly consolation in comparison to a park bench.

Cass can feel the offer on his tongue, heavy and loaded, and it's so fucking stupid to say it but guests aren't technically banned or anything, just frowned upon and the guy would be sleeping on a park bench.

"Do you... I mean it's not exactly homey, but did you want to come back to mine?" He nearly lets a thousand caveats fall off his tongue like, we'd have to be quiet and you'll have to leave before 8 and by the way my minder might decide to drop in for a late night chat, you cool with that? But instead he grins the easy way. "Can't guarantee we'll do much sleeping."

Kauri can’t quite hide the way he brightens again at the suggestion, although he tries, trying to look cool and smooth and like he wasn’t at all sort of not looking forward to the way he inevitably got woken up on the bench by some jogger yelling at him to go get a job.

You can’t get a job with no ID when you’re fucking illiterate.

“If, if you just wanted me to sleep,” He says, making his tone a little flirty, with a hint of a lopsided, shy smile. “I’d be disappointed. I hardly take up any space when I sleep, I promise. I’ll be up and out of your hair, I’m not, um, I don’t try and stick around or anything. That’s… see, you are nice. You just tell yourself you’re not.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cass snorts. He leans forward conspiratorially, walking his fingers up Kauri’s arm as he speaks “How do you know this hasn’t just been some long play just to get you into my cult or something? Maybe once you go inside, you’ll never leave.”

Kauri shivers a little, moving his arm just slightly to make it easier for Cass, biting down on his lower lip with the same hint of a shy smile. The feeling of Cass’s fingers was like little sparks on his arm, and it felt like his touch lingered even after his fingers had moved. Kauri felt warm and cold all at once, heat starting to pool in his hips as he shifted around.

I am going to ride him until I can barely walk, after.

“You’re, um-” Kauri’s voice caught in his throat, and he cleared it, embarrassed. “That’s not fair, doing that in public.”

Cass smiles, tilting his to the side, feels it rush through him like an electric thrill even time the guy shudders like that. “Told you,” he murmurs “It’s a talent.”

He slips his fingers under the cuff of Kauri’s sweatshirt again, running little circles over his wrist. The guy is so responsive to touch it’s intoxicating. And Cass hasn’t even got him undressed yet.

It’s been ages since Cass has had the chance to play this role. He usually just melts into whatever the other person wants. He’s scrawny looking and gets flirty when he's high and he moves like a slut on the dancefloor, so recently that meant he pretty consistently landed himself in the role of desperate twink, ready to turn his brain off and let his partner take the lead. But this. This is what he likes, if he’s honest with himself. He likes seeing someone dissolve under his hands.

He smirks, pulling Kauri’s hand towards him and planting a kiss on his palm, “I could have you falling apart before we even leave the table, huh?”

Kauri’s fingers twitch, a little, with the urge to touch right back. It’s a familiar feeling, the need to touch, to be touched, to be reminded that someone wants him. It’s a more reassuring one that it doesn’t feel as desperate or worried as it sometimes does. This feels more like all of Kauri wants him, not just the parts that only know to want one thing. 

It feels like wanting Dustin - almost safe. As close to safe as he gets.

“You’re about h-halfway there already,” He says, not quite a whisper, not quite speech. “What, um. I’m bad at this. What other talents do you-... no, that sounds stupid-... I’m so bad at it when I’m not, um, trying to be good at it, I don’t… please just-” He’s bright red. He can’t finish the sentence, not out loud. 

Please just take me somewhere and fuck me.

[looselucy]

Fight

“Maybe… Maybe you should put me down now.” I whispered after spending some time admiring the look of exhilaration that had clouded his usual bright eyes. “Shit, yeah, fuck, sorry.”

He distanced from me so that I could unwrap my legs from around his waist, shedding his body from mine. My feet slowly met the ground once again, my back still pressed against the wall beside his door, Harry keeping hold of me until the very last second, like he thought I may still fall over without his aid. I sort of felt the same way. We were slowly coming back to our senses, and it was leaving us both in a state where we weren’t quite sure what to say to one another. I was still rather breathless from the kiss, budging uncomfortably on my spot and staring up to him, seeing the way he still smiled, practically giddy. “Stop looking at me like that.” I blushed. “Sorry. Can’t help it.” “We’ve still got work to do, Styles.” He nodded, trying to bite back his smile, but I had instilled this ray of hope within him that was making him shine in ways that could not be darkened. “Okay, m’sorry.” He strained. “M’behaving.” I didn’t believe that for a second, but it was nice to feel so endeared by him rather than angry or frustrated or just overwhelmed by him and his actions. Desperate to escape his stares, I headed back through into the living room, letting him follow my lead. Through the doorway ahead of me, I spotted the broken mug that had shattered across the kitchen floor, my coffee seeping into and staining the wood. “Woah, Alf.” I heard Harry cry when he noticed my rapid approach toward the mess. “Please don’t. Let me sort that.” “For fuck sake, Harry.” I huffed as I crouched down on the ground and began carefully retrieving shards. “Please-” “Just help me.” Sighing so that he could make it clear he wasn’t impressed by how stubborn I was being, he retrieved a small dustpan and brush from the kitchen cupboard below his sink and then crouched down in front of me and got to work, managing to easily sweep up some of the larger pieces, the smaller ones trapped in dints and cracks. We were quiet for a while. “I’m sorry.” He muttered. “Why?” “I dunno why I do shit like this.” He nodded down to the shattered ceramic. He was frustrated with himself, ashamed about an outburst he’d had only moments earlier. I felt bad for him, in a way. I didn’t want him beating himself up over a mindless bit of rage that hadn’t really caused any harm. “I guess… emotions are running high today-” “That’s no excuse. I’ve still got stuff I need to work on, I know that.” He stopped what he was doing, looked right at me, so I looked at him. “There are still things about myself that I don’t like, and I want to be better. I need you to know that this isn’t… a reflection of me. This is all stuff I’m working on, Fee-Fee, I promise.” “I know.” I whispered warily. He nodded and dropped his head, got back to work. Harry had always been working on himself, trying to better himself. Always. It came as no surprise to me. He hadn’t needed to explain himself, but I could see why he had, especially after all the worries and emotions I had already expressed to him that morning. But I knew him and I knew that he’d always be making an effort to be the best version of himself; that’s just what Harry was like, successful or not. We were down to the final few pieces before he spoke again. “I’m sorry.” “You don’t need to keep apologising. It’s fine, honestly.” He simply shook his head, overthinking his actions, overthinking how I might be viewing his actions. He collected the final few pieces from the ground, standing back upright and heading to dispose of them as I stayed on the ground, watched him. “I’m not expecting you to be perfect, Harry.” I wanted to make that clear to him. If we were really going to try and make a go of things again, I didn’t want Harry to do so feeling like he had to be on his best behaviour, like he had to manage and alter himself to suit me. I had fallen in love with everything about him, not limited to his good attributes. “Okay.” He accepted through a sigh. “Then… tell me what you want.” I got to my feet, cautiously made my way over to him whilst he leaned against the kitchen counter, apprehensively awaiting my answer. “I can tell you what I don’t want.” I stopped a few inches ahead of him, noticing how the proximity affected him, made him tense and rattled in a rather charming way. “Tell me.” “I don’t want secrets. I don’t want to hide away, like we used to. I don’t want a relationship that’s locked indoors like we have something to hide. If you really want me back, we’re not just gunna pick things up where we left off. It’s something new, and it’s open.” “I want the same thing.” He whispered deeply. “And I don’t want to ever feel like I’m trying to… figure out what’s happening whilst you pull away from me. I want you to be open and honest, like you have been since you got back.” “I can do that.” He nodded. “And I’m not gunna pull away from you, Fee.” “You don’t know that.” “No, I do.” He fought. “You have to believe me. I… I don’t care what happens… You’re the one thing I’m certain of. No matter what changes around us, it’ll still be us. Just me and you.” He had said those very words to me so many times since he’d entered my life, claiming it was just me and him. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him so badly. I took hold of his jumper with both hands, looking down as my fingers tugged and fiddled with the material. He covered my hands with his, touching me softly as I closed my eyes and shared what I believed was the most important thing that I didn’t want. “And I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to monitor yourself around me.” I told him timidly. “When you’re mad at me, be mad. When you’re feeling down, just feel it. I don’t ever want you to feel as though you can’t experience your emotions honestly because you might run the risk of losing me, because that’s not how it is, at all. I don’t want you to be perfect. I… I just want you.” When he didn’t respond to me, I lifted my head to look him in the eye, seeing the mystified look of adoration that cloaked his features, as though he couldn’t even believe what I had just said to him. He didn’t need to put on a show to win me back. He didn’t need to be faultless, because I wanted him with all his flaws, all the honest and raw love he had to offer. Our relationship beforehand had been shrouded in secrecy, and now all I wanted was a life of honesty with him. Tears began to fill his eyes, coming to terms for the first time with the fact that I wanted him, exactly how he was. I always had. “I love you so fucking much.” He gasped when the first tear fell.

“You’re fucking kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.” Harry gasped, sitting upright on the sofa. “I’m deadly serious.” “Chloe and Sam?” “Yep.” “Fuck off. What the fuck? I feel like you’re lying and you’re just seeing what I’ll fall for.” “I’m genuinely not lying, I promise.” I laughed. “They’re together.” “When? Why?” “For ages!” I cried. “Like… it was going on behind closed doors when we were going on behind closed doors.” “No fucking way. What the fuck is she thinking?” “They’re in love.” I shrugged, because there was truly no better explanation. “He seems to be loads better now, y’know. I think she’s the right person for him and now he’s like… the best version of himself. For her, because of her, I dunno. But… they’re really good together.” He seemed rather dubious, but Harry hated Sam more than I’d ever even had the energy to. But I knew I was right, and I remembered so clearly the time my dad had said that to me; that one day Sam would meet someone and all those wonderful things would just come naturally to him, and he would become the best version of himself when that day came. I truly believed Chloe was that person. “Well,” Harry sighed, focusing his gaze on his lap, where his fingers fiddled a fidgeted, a distraction from the obvious. “I get that. I think… I think you always made me the best version of myself, so… yeah. I get it.” The sun was beginning to set and the two of us were sat across from one another on his sofa, where we’d spent most of our day. Since my attempt and subsequent failure to leave, we had revisited his paintings, he’d spoken to me about them more, gave me a brush and tried to instil some knowledge upon me, teach me some techniques, the two of us painting together again, as we had that one time. In the afternoon, we had eaten together and been playful and spoken about absolutely nothing and yet everything, eventually moving our conversation to the sofa where we still sat. And we hadn’t kissed since that morning. That felt like a good thing, though difficult. Especially when he said things like that. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. I had missed the simple pleasure of purely being around him; existing within his atmosphere and him existing within mine. I found that my most pensive and wistful moments were trapped inside his tiny movements, noises, his scent, his tone and mannerisms, the mundane tics of his that should have meant nothing that actually meant more than I’d ever realised. It felt incredible to just be around him. “What?” Harry sniggered. “Nothing!” “You’re staring. “M’not staring.” Clearly, I was lying. I didn’t cover it well and he certainly didn’t believe me, shaking his head and grinning wildly, mood lifting. The second I looked away from him, I felt the way he lifted his head and looked at me, blatantly obvious. It was no surprise he had noticed my stares. “Wanna hear the most unbelievable thing?” I asked him. “More unbelievable than Sam and Chloe?” “Mhm. By a mile.” “Hit me.” “Your mum knew my mum.” I lifted my eyes so I could see his immediate reaction. He went pale. Literally. The life drained from his skin as the knowledge I had shared settled in his mind, becoming so completely dumbstruck I wasn’t sure I’d ever get any words from him again. It was odd to have to catch him up on things such as Sam and Chloe, the way our mothers knew one another. He hadn’t even known that Louis and Libby were engaged. He’d missed out on so much since he had left, the little and large occurrences. Telling him had helped me to realise how much he cared, not just about me but about everything and everyone he had found in Rosebury. He'd missed it, I could tell. “When they were little, before your mum moved away.” I continued when I realised that he wouldn’t be able to form an answer. “Best friends, apparently. That’s kinda how me and your mum got talking. She came into my shop and she recognised my name, and then she mentioned the dog my mum had when she was little, and it clicked. Turns out they were pretty close.” “Holy shit.” He panted. “I know.” I’m not sure what I expected him to say. There wasn’t much to say, really, it was just incredible to think about. It had been almost a month since she had visited my shop and we had come to that astounding realisation, and it still hadn’t quite sunk in. It was such a wonderful thing. Somehow it made me feel more of a bond with my mother whilst also giving me more of a bond with Harry. It was a stunning sensation to experience. He shook his head, spoke breathily. “I… I don’t believe in fate, but shit. Meeting you makes me doubt myself.” “Turns out we go pretty far back.” I smiled. “And further forward, I hope.” The gentle optimism within his voice made me tremble, gazing down into my lap and failing to hide my smile. “Shit. I can’t believe they knew each other.” “Crazy, innit?” “S’weird. Makes me feel… even closer to you.” “I… I’ve missed being close with you.” I mumbled nervously. “I’ve missed everything about you, to be honest.” “I’ve missed you too.” His voice was quiet but confident, clear, rueful. “Just… this. Being around you. Talking to you. You were… everything whilst I was here. I guess I hadn’t realised just how much of a void there would be in my life without you.” “When you left… did you think that was it? Like… did you think that was the end? Or did you always want to… come back?” “I thought that was the end. But only because I thought things were better that way. That you’d be happier that way. I didn’t think your happiness could include me.” “Now you think… you’re my happiness?” “I think I could be.” He responded. “If you want me to be. If you let me. I could be a part of it, anyway. I know your friends and your life here is your happiness, I just wanna be a part of that again.” “I know what you mean, but… you had a life here too, Harry. You didn’t just come into mine. It was yours.” “Well then I want to live a life that’s ours.” He was being so incredibly forward, his endeavour clearly to make up for all those times where he hadn’t been upfront with me. But I knew that wasn’t the sole reason behind his earnest nature; I knew that he desired to be that way for himself. This was a new corner he had taken, and finally, he found strength in honesty, when all he had found before was weakness and pain. His truth was finally something that made him strong. I remained coy, still not giving him a certain answer whenever he had put himself and his wants out on a line for me to analyse. I just blushed, my stomach seeming to expand and shrink in quick succession as I tried to avoid his words. “Uh… It’s getting late.” I choked. “We should probably get some sleep.” “Spare room?” He asked. “Spare room.” I confirmed. He didn’t put up a fight, which I appreciated, but I didn’t miss the look of disappointment that danced over him, even if it was just for a split second. His shoulders dropped, his throat snagged, a gulp of air hitting the back of his throat before he nodded, his eyes looking anywhere other than at me. “Okay. You’re the boss.” He smiled. That didn’t help me, him saying that. Even more than him calling me boss, it was the simple fact that I knew he meant it. He wasn’t just saying it, he wasn’t secretly frustrated by where I wanted to spend my evening; I was the boss and it was totally up to me and he respected whatever my choice was. That made my decision to stay in the spare room even less appealing than it already was. Harry got up to his feet, offering his hand to me so that he could help me upwards. Placing my fingers between his set my whole body alight. Every fucking inch of it. I couldn’t believe it, but that simple touch we shared brought back so many feelings, ones I had spent that day with him trying to subdue and repress, ones I had tried to forget for the past year. I had wanted to talk with him and truly gather how I felt without the physical side of things, without my passions taking over, but then all I had to do was hold his hand and these undeniable emotions rushed over me. I could have cried it was so overwhelming, and all he’d done was take my fucking hand and it was as though I could see my future with him, map it all out and plan because I fucking trusted him. It didn’t matter what had happened, I trusted him and I knew I wouldn’t be a fool to open my heart back up to him once again. I just knew it. And all I’d done was hold his fucking hand. I withdrew my touch with speed, thanking him quietly for his assistance and then scuttling out of the room with my head down to the ground, deluded by thinking that may help me and my dire need to avoid both him and the feelings he was inflicting upon me by doing so little. I’d just wanted to be that bit stronger, a way of proving to him just how serious I was, just how much he’d hurt me. I had fooled myself into thinking that would be easy, that the infuriation and hurt that I had homed for the past year would be enough to stop me feeling fondly for him prematurely, before I’d fully made my point, before I’d reached my final conclusion. I was just drawn to him in ways I couldn’t deny. He was a few steps behind me as we made our way upstairs in silence for the second consecutive night, but unfortunately the fact it wasn’t the first time didn’t put me any more at ease. If anything, I was more tense than I had been the night before. “Thank you.” Harry said as I reached the doorway to the spare room, turning around so I could look at him. “For today. I’ve loved it.” It had been rather magnificent to spend so much time with him again. I hadn’t expected it to be quite as easy as it was, but being around him and talking to him had been as natural and wonderful as it always had been. He somehow managed to make me feel so relaxed, so myself. I’d loved it too. “Goodnight.” I smiled, beginning to close the door. “Night.” He returned. I shut him out as quickly as I could, then laying my forehead against the door and closing my eyes, fighting urges, taking a minute to myself before I ripped away and started undressing, pulling my t-shirt over my head as I wandered to the far side of the bed. I really wanted to snap out of it. I could feel my self-control slipping away as I undressed, begging me to stop being so stubborn and to face up to the fact that I should have been in the room next door. I should have been with Harry. I sat myself on the edge of the bed when I got down to my underwear, in two minds. I didn’t want love to have been the thing to shatter me. It had reached the stage where it was my decision, what love did, how it affected me, and I could either let it be something that drained me and caused pain, or I could let it consume me in the greatest way it could; with warmth and joy and devotion and desire and passion and every fucking thing he wanted to offer me. I made a split decision which side of my mind to follow. I decided how love would influence my life and command my soul. I got back to my feet, cursing beneath my breath as I stormed right back out of there, into the hall and knocking on his door as quickly as I could. He appeared within seconds, panting, he too stripped down to his underwear. “Please tell me you wanna stay in here.” He gasped, and I nodded. “Thank fuck, m’dying.” The relief physically poured from him, stepping aside to welcome me back into his bedroom fully as I giggled at his response to me, my eyes exploring the dimly lit space, the moonlight welcoming a murky glow into his stark room. My smile didn’t last long. “There’s no plants.” I mumbled as he closed the door. “No. I uh… I had to get rid of them when I left.” His room had always been a bare and barren place, but without those plants there was really nothing to it, just his low bed and unmade sheets and us. Nothing more than that. “It doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel like you.” I stated, staring down to the empty space where his plants had once been. “It does now you’re here.” My eyes drew back to him, seeing the solemn and serious look upon his face, marking just how much he had meant those words. He was somehow managing to make me so nervous, my stomach in knots, questioning how one person could make me feel so on edge and exhilarated whilst simultaneously being the embodiment of home. As much as I had missed him, I hadn’t necessarily missed what he could do to me, how weak he could make me. It was something I seemed to have a love / hate relationship with. It was both fascinating and infuriating. He must have noticed my uneasiness, my apparent inability to answer him. “C’mon. Let’s go to bed.” He suggested. We both walked around to what we knew were our subconsciously designated sides of the bed, Harry first quietly observing as I lay myself down and dragged the duvet upwards, and then he joined me, the two of us laying with a huge space between us in the centre, facing one another. I looked into his eyes for as long as I could stomach, seeing right into his soul. “This feels weird.” I hushed honestly. “I mean… it feels right, but weird.” “It feels right?” “Mm. I… For fuck sake.” I chuckled, hiding my face by dragging the duvet even higher. “Forget I said that. I’m embarrassing myself. Ignore me.” “I can’t ignore you, that’s my problem.” We had both tried to ignore each other, disregard that feeling the other inspired, but at that point I was sure that doing so would mean we were fighting a losing battle. Maybe it was better to surrender. He grasped the duvet, slowly easing it downwards so that he could see my face, then placing his fingers beneath my chin to gently nudge my head up, urging me to look at him once again. “I… I think it feels right because it is right.” He elaborated on my words. “There’s something about me and you, Alf. We’ve both tried to fight it but this is where we’ll end up, every time. Maybe we should stop fighting.” I had no fight left in me. Whatever it was I had been trying to dismiss, it wasn’t going to happen. It may have taken some time, but as I closed my eyes then, I felt I had accepted that within myself. I was making my peace with it, I just needed to sleep on it, and then it would be time to truly share that with him. I only opened my eyes again when I felt his touch move, the back of his fingers resting against my cheek whilst his thumb stroked sweetly back and forth beneath my eye. He had tears in his eyes. “Why’re you crying?” I asked with an ache in my gut. “I missed this.” He managed to smile, a tear rolling from his eye and hitting the pillow. “Even just seeing you like this. It’s fucking pathetic, but I… I’ve stared at the empty side of the bed for over a year, and now you’re actually here again and I… I can’t explain what it’s doing to me.” Whatever doubts I may have had when it came to Harry and his feelings towards me had been entirely demolished. Everything from the way he moved to the way he looked at me and the things he said, there was no way I could feel anxious or worry over the truth of his feelings; he lay himself totally bare for me. He was quiet, unbelievably beautiful and alluring even when he was in tears. I kept my eyes on him, my hand laying lightly on his chest. “Will you hold me?” I eventually asked. He nodded, still not quite able to believe that I was there with him, bewildered by my presence and how close I wanted us to be. And so leaned into him, placed the smallest and most delicate kiss I possibly could upon his lips, lingering within the moment a few breath-taking seconds before I pulled away, noticed the woozy look of bliss on his face before I turned myself to face away from him. His arms were around my waist within a second, pulling me back to him, breathing me in. I loved the way his body felt against mine, the strength he used to capture me and keep me as his own, kissing the back of my neck and keeping his snare secure, holding me as close as he could, tender yet intense. He handled me with care, compensating for the harm he had caused. Nothing felt better. I could have stayed there forever, knowing that I consumed every sense he had. “Goodnight.” I cooed once I felt totally settled, sleep only seconds away. “Goodnight, Fee-Fee.”

July 20th Waking up hadn’t felt that good in months. The sun was bright, casting shadows of the woodland onto his bedroom floor. Harry’s arms were still around me, like we hadn’t moved a muscle since we’d slotted ourselves together the night before, as though our bodies had relished in their chance to merge into one once more. I got this immediate sense of peace, as soon as I opened my eyes, slowly blinking in the morning, hearing Harry breathing ever so gently behind me. I could hear a bird chirping just outside his window, feel the warmth of his body radiating against mine. I didn’t even want to wake him, I simply wanted to stay in that moment, embrace it in all its glory. It was quite some time before he stirred, inhaling both the morning and me, snuggling closer. “It wasn’t a dream then.” He grumbled. “Huh?” “You’re really here. You’re really in my bed with me.” “I am.” “Fucking mad how good it feels.” He chuckled as I unhinged from him just slightly, enough so that I could turn around and look at him, propping myself up with my elbows, Harry keeping me wrapped in his arms as much as he could. “You sleep okay?” “Really well.” This time, I wasn’t lying. “Did you?” “Yeah. Amazingly, actually. Like I used to.” He always looked so good in the morning, with his eyes still droopy, hair messy, voice docile and deep. Harry was at his absolute finest mere moments after stirring, it was implausible. “Thank you for letting me stay in here.” “Letting?” He sniggered. “It’s hardly like I’ve done you a favour.” “I guess not.” I laughed lightly. “I feel like if anything, I should be thanking you.” He smiled. “Even for… giving me a chance. I know I probably don’t deserve it, after everything.” “Harry-” “Y’know what, this might be a little too deep, a little too early. It’s a bit much.” He grinned sweetly. “Let’s have a relaxed morning. I’ll start my begging again later.” My cheeks were already hurting thanks to the size of my smile. I admired him in silence, stroking my thumb across his bottom lip, taking my time to silently worship each individual feature on his face, noticing that after a while of staring back at me he just closed his eyes, cherished my touch. We stayed that way for some time, quiet, calm. And then I shattered it. “I love you.” I gasped. His eyes bolted back open. Frankly, I was as stunned as he was. Not only was that the first time I had told him I loved him since he came back, but it was the first time that I was able to admit to myself that I loved him, that I’d always loved him. It had never stopped. It had never lessened or frozen or weakened; it had always been there, even when he wasn’t. He was right with what he’d said the night before, about us trying to ignore and fight our instincts; no matter how we tried, no matter how valiant our efforts, we would find our way back to each other every single time. We didn’t quite seem to function fully without the other. Tears created a mist that clouded his green eyes, lips parted, body shaking. “I don’t wanna fight it anymore.” I started crying too. “I’m so tired of fighting.” “Don’t fight it.” He shivered. “I love you.” I lay myself back down on my side of the bed like even saying it exhausted me, made me need to rest my body. “I really love you, I never stopped. And I want this. I want all the things you want, but I’ve just been so scared to admit this because I didn’t know if you really did love me or-” “Don’t.” He tried to stop my words of doubt. “But-” “Fee-Fee, I…” He was struggling to word how he felt. “I gave you my heart the second I told you about my family. I just didn’t know what it meant. And… I didn’t know that you’d keep it.” I suppose Harry hadn’t expected me to look after his heart in the way I had. Too often his life had revolved around times of hardship and losing those he loved, feeling as though his heart had been misused or abandoned, misunderstood and jilted. I wanted to prove to him that his heart was finally in safe hands. As long as he wanted to keep mine, I would keep his heart close and fill it with all the love he had missed out on in his loneliest years. “I love you, Harry.” “Fuck, I love you too.” I hadn’t even known where his hands were beforehand, but all of a sudden they were on the back of my head and weaving through my hair, pulling me closer to him so that he could close the gap and put his lips on mine, his hands grasping so his fingertips pressed heavy into my head, his hips winding forward until his body pushed restlessly against mine. I snaked my hands up to clasp at his neck, feeling the way his jaw moved when his mouth widened as his tongue teased my own, one hand of his leaving my hair and moving down my body so that he could yank my waist so that I was closer to him even still. I hung my leg over his hip, pushed my groin to his, heard him bleat bleakly in response, hardening and swelling through his boxers and I could feel it. His fingers went to my bra as mine went to find the band of his underwear, pulling them down as far as I could without breaking our kiss, leaving him to do the rest of the work once they were out of reach, kicking them off his legs as I took his dick in my hand, heard the way he groaned in response, so loud and raw that it was obvious just how long it had been since I had touched him that way, the power of what I was doing to him. “Fuck, Fee-” He grunted. “I want you.” He lost his patience quite quickly, moving so that he was above me and he could easily make his way down my body, kissing trails right from my neck and over my chest and my stomach whilst his fingers dug into either side of my knickers and gradually guided them downwards, meaning that within seconds the two of us were completely naked, and his mouth was an inch away from my clit. “Fuck.” I was already breathless, just feeling him breathe against me, my head lolling heavily into the pillow. He turned his head, kissed the inside of my thigh, his teeth teetering tenderly against my skin, harsh enough that I was forced to bite my lip. And then his tongue was on my clit, his hands clasping my legs and forcing them to widen, eyes burning me as he watched my reaction, which was one of astonishment. I’d almost forgotten how good he was, how good he made me feel. He’d barely started, but it was the fact it was him doing it that made it feel so utterly extraordinary. The way his mouth moved was wonderous, my fingers digging into the mattress whilst his tongue worked my clit, hardly able to hear the way he moaned thanks to my panting and whining, pushing a little closer to him. For a few moments, it was as though nothing had changed, as though we hadn’t lost all that time. I closed my eyes, and all those months rewound in my mind, back to before his brother had broken into his home, before I’d told him I loved him. I was back in those perfect months we had shared, where it seemed like he was my whole world, when nothing else had mattered except us and our relationship. I wanted that again. I wanted to be totally consumed by him in every single way I could be. But I knew that this time around we’d have an honesty we never had before, an openness, a chance to build something that felt real, something that would last. If I thought what we’d had before was perfect, it would pale in comparison to what we were about to create together. “Harry,” I gasped, my left hand resting over my breast and my fingers rubbing my nipple as my right hand reached down, my fingers clasping at his hair. “M’so close.” I gazed down my body and pulled at his hair, harsh enough that he had to stop for a second, his eyes like saucers and his wet lips forming a blissed-out smile, appreciating my taste and my tight grip. He went back in as soon as he could, his hand moving from my leg so that he could touch my heat, circling and then easing his thumb into me, the perfect addition to what his mouth was doing. I unravelled, practically screaming as I did, Harry still with his mouth right against me, devouring my orgasm before he started moving back up my body, his wet kisses marking his journey back up to my mouth. He kissed me, but I struggled to respond, like everything was just happening around me and I was too out of it to actually do anything myself. “I’ve missed hearing you scream like that.” He grunted, two of his fingers rubbing slowly between my folds. He'd always liked that, how loud I was. I could still remember everything about that time in his gym, the first time he’d touched me that way, covered my mouth with his hand to try and drown out my cries. “Make me scream again.” I requested breathlessly, biting my bottom lip. He smirked, positioned himself, looked down between our bodies to watch what he was doing as he slowly pushed himself into me, filling and stretching me out, both of us cursing in time with one another. Fuck it felt so good. Too good. “Holy shit, fuck.” He almost sounded angry as he moved and kissed my neck, every movement and every touch heavy and harsh. It was us, it Harry and me, and I think no matter the circumstances it would have been incredibly intense, but it had been so fucking long since we’d been together that way, and neither of us had been with anyone since. It had been seconds, he had barely moved, and yet it was so vivaciously powerful and overwhelming that it was almost like this sexual awakening I was experiencing. Maybe on some level I knew this was it, that he was the person I would play my days out with, that no one else would ever touch me that way again. I thought it would be a tender moment, but it seemed our bodies didn’t know how to make this delicate. There was too much power, too much passion behind every movement. There was too much depth for this moment to ever be light. I clawed at his back, his thrusts driving me into the bed with so much power I thought my imprint may remain in his mattress from that point onwards. His messy mouth moved from my neck to my lips, kissing me with everything he had. “I love you.” He whined. “I love you too.” I just about replied, my words shrouded in desire. His hands were on my waist, so forceful that it was almost painful, but in this strange way it was enjoyable. I knew I didn’t want him to let go. The bed moved as he did, and I was already so out of it with pleasure that I could barely comprehend what was happening, how big and commanding he was, how forceful his kiss. He told me he loved me again, gasped those three words I had waited so long to hear him say, and then he said them over and over again until it felt as though that was all I could hear. He surrounded me with the love he had finally learnt how to give, and I wanted him to do that forever. I started to cry. I wasn’t sure when it happened, and those tears were not derived from any pain or sadness. I just started crying, tears quietly streaming down my face, my chest juddering. Harry noticed, stopped kissing me. “Alf? What’s wrong?” “Nothing, it’s nothing.” I shuddered, smiled up to him. “It’s perfect, I promise.” I didn’t need to reassure him more than that, because he understood it. He understood the emotions I was experiencing and why they had stirred that reaction. I remembered how it used to be when we slept together. We’d always had that connection that made our sex magnificent, unlike anything I’d experienced before him; it had never been bad, but there had been times where it had felt empty. There had been times where he was like a stranger and I’d struggled to find that real bond with him. He had gotten so accustom to locking himself away from others and sharing nothing real that sometimes being intimate with him had been anything but. Being with him then was like I could see and feel everything, all of who he was, who he had been, who he wanted to be in his future, our future. There was nowhere to hide anymore. He kissed me until he physically couldn’t any longer, his orgasm building up and conquering his body. I could literally feel the heat rising through his frame, watching him intently. “Fuck, fuck.” He broke, jamming his forehead against mine as he finished. I grabbed his cheeks in my hands and kissed at his lips as he came back around, smiling as I planted tiny pecks upon him, able to feel his shakes. He looked so beautiful, so happy. His face was this picture of pure pleasure and joy, which was exactly why I wanted to kiss it over and over again. We’d both been sort of spaced-out all morning, not quite able to comprehend where we were and how we were feeling. “This can’t be real.” He whispered. Harry never expected the best. Even after therapy, and how much that had helped him and assisted when it came to him viewing things that little bit differently, it hadn’t quite done enough to alter that part of Harry’s mind that always expected the worst, because so often it was the worst he had gotten. “It’s real.” I told him. “You love me?” “I do. And I forgive you. I understand and I forgive you and I wanna move on and build a future with you. If that’s what you want.” “Of course that’s what I want.” He gasped. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.” We started kissing again, wrapping our arms around one another and writhing around on his bed, obsessed with each other. He took me with him as he rolled onto his back so that I was straddling him, my long hair falling all around us, our smiles an additional part of our kiss. We cooled, Harry biting his lip as he gazed up to me. “So… where do we go from here?” I asked. “Uh… I guess we need to tell everyone. Fuck.” “Louis knows.” “Of course Louis knows, you tell Louis everything.” He sniggered. I hit his chest playfully, deciding not to tell him that Lin had also figured out that something had been gone on with us. I knew what Harry was like, and I knew it was no time for me to be mentioning Lin. “And I’m gunna move back here. Back into this house.” He said. “What? You are?” Even with all the things he’d said to me, I had still expected him to up and leave, sell that house. There was a reason he’d bought that building in the first place, and it had fallen through. I thought it might hurt him too much to stay there. “I think I bought this house convinced that it was for my mum and that was all it could be, but maybe it should be mine. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be about the past, but it’s supposed to be about the future. My future here, with you.” “I agree. I think you need to start putting yourself first, Harry.” “I wanna live here. I wanna be with you. That’s what I want. That’s me putting myself first. Being here is my happiness, I know it. You’re my happiness.” I had tears in my eyes. My heart was beating out of my fucking chest. “You’re coming home.” I quivered. “I’m coming home.” He confirmed, eyes misting over once more. My delight was so monopolizing, such a force to be reckoned with. Harry and the love we shared was my eschatology, proving that I had found what I needed and I no longer had anything to seek in order to make my life better. He was the finale, the end of it all, the highest form of heaven that I could reach. All my life, I had heard people say that love was blind, but being with him proved that to be untrue. Love is not blind, it is all-seeing, attuned, all-consuming, intuitive, omnipotent, almighty, observant, controlling and compelling. Love was not blind nor ugly, as I had always known it to be. It had changed completely. And I had Harry to thank for that.