#i would probably let him gnaw on and mess up my dead body anyway

[vergilmayhoard]

sometimes i hate everyone and my life and sometimes i think it would be better if i just died at this point

[triggerhappyimagines]

How about the V3 boys, (the ones who died) with a s/o whos the Ultimate Spirit Medium/Necromancer and they call the spirit of the dead character? I just wanna see some scenarios/hc's of that, if u could do it that'd be gr8! If not thats okay, i understand ^^

hey everyone, long time no see! sorry for sort of vanishing for a while, i’ve been super busy with school and my job and kind of lost interest in danganronpa for a little bit,,,, but i’m back and i’m gonna try my best to get through the requests in our inbox and maybe even try and finish a few more of the october prompts (if you guys would still be interested in seeing those!!).

anyways, sorry for the long wait on your request, anon! this was one i had started a few months ago back when i was writing regularly and i finally buckled down and finished it!! i decided to do all the v3 boys (except kiibo because uhhh hes a robot) instead of just the ones who died in canon to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn’t finished the game yet!! i apologize if some of these seem repetitive i sorta started running out of ideas by the end lmao. i hope you enjoy, anon!

warnings: mentions of death/dying (obviously), general angst

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

Shuichi Saihara

— to say the least, Shuichi is a little shaken up now that he’s gone and you’re... well, not.

— he always told you he’d stay by your side forever, and he feels guilty. he feels like he broke a promise

— but... you talk to him again that first night. you say his name and look straight at him. can you see him? no, it couldn’t be... right?

— of course, once he puts all the pieces together, it all makes sense

— you’re the ultimate spirit medium, for goodness sakes! of course you can see him and speak to him the same way you would any other living person

— after a while, Shuichi stops feeling so guilty for leaving you. partially because it doesn’t feel quite like he’s abandoned you, and also because you reassure him that he didn’t do anything wrong by dying

— i mean, come on, it’s not his fault he got killed! how could you ever hold that against him?

— still, it takes him some time to come to terms with everything.

— though he loves you, he still finds it sad that he can never speak to anyone else ever again. at least, not without your aid.

— but as long as he has you by his side to help him cope... he knows he’ll be alright

— after all, he loves you, and you love him. and that’s enough to give him the strength he needs to keep from falling apart.

Rantaro Amami

— he's still very protective of you, despite the fact he’s merely a spirit now

— he’s always right by your side, no matter what.

— even when you aren’t able to take a moment to talk to him, or even look in his direction, Rantaro is right there

— if he were still alive, the way he now follows you around all the time may seem obsessive and creepy, but you actually appreciate it

— nobody else can see or speak to him but you, which makes his constant presence comforting, in a way

— Rantaro isn’t able to touch you in the same way he could when he was alive, but nonetheless, he still tries

— he’ll try to place his hand atop yours, or wrap his arms around your figure, but he always just passes straight through you

— you find the chill that blossoms on your skin where he touched you comforting; it’s a reminder that even though he’s gone, he’s still there with you

— it breaks his heart that he can’t truly be with you, but he tries not to focus on his own problems too much

— after all, your happiness is much more important to him than his own; you are his priority

— you’ll have to remind him that it’s okay for him to be sad, and that he shouldn’t bottle up his own emotions to be there for you

— he’ll want to keep being the person to take care of you, and watch out for you, but he needs you to be that person for him

Kokichi Ouma

— you didn’t really think Kokichi would start behaving himself just because he’s dead, did you?

— honestly he uses the fact only you can see and speak to him to his advantage

— good luck trying to keep your cool around other people while he’s off being a clown right in front of you

— but of course, he’s not all fun and games

— i mean... he’s dead. and that sucks

— he probably won’t show it, at least not right away, but he doesn’t like the feeling of separation between you two

— sure, he’s still around, but not like before. before, he could surprise you with a kiss or a suffocating hug, but he just can’t do that anymore

— it hurts. really bad.

— but he knows he’ll be okay. he know’s he’ll get used to it someday, as long as he has you with him to cheer him up when he gets especially sad

— you’re his sunshine, and he may not show it, but he needs you. so don’t leave him all alone, okay?

Gonta Gokuhara

— lets be honest... Gonta has the hardest time of the bunch adjusting to being nothing more than a spirit

— you’ll likely have to give him a lot of comfort. he’s confused, and he misses being able to be with you for real :(

— the hardest part for him is no longer being able to touch you

— he longs to feel your lips press gently against his cheek, to lay in your lap as your hands comb through his hair... he’d give anything to hold you in his arms again...

— unlike Rantaro, he’s not content with merely passing through your body when he makes contact with you

— it just... upsets him. it’s a cruel reminder that his life ended, and that he will never get to hold you, kiss you, and just love you the way he could before his life ended

— be patient with him, please... he’ll adapt eventually... but it could take a while

— just make sure to remind him how much you love him, he’ll need a lot of reassurance and comfort from you

Kaito Momota

— surprisingly, Kaito adapts to the situation pretty well

— if he is struggling with any sort of major emotions, he’s doing a stellar job of hiding it from you. and you hate that

— you don’t totally believe him when he says he’s okay, or when he tells you not to worry about him

— you know him better than that. it doesn’t make sense to you. he just died for crying out loud! he can never follow his dreams, never have the future he always wanted with you

— and you don’t understand how he can just shrug all that off and continue being your boyfriend like normal

— you confront him about it one night. he’s laying on his back, hovering beside you as you read (Kaito loves being able to float around in midair. perks of being a ghost, right?)

— "how can you be okay?" you blurt out suddenly. he looks at you, confused.

— you continue, asking all the questions that had been gnawing at you for days, and when you finally finish, he just laughs

— "of course i’m upset. but it’s a man’s job to protect the ones he loves! and being there for you is much more important than staying upset about this." he explains

— you can’t help but feel a little stupid. he’d always put you first, always prioritized your needs over anyone else’s, even his own. and he wasn’t about to stop just because he died

— fortunately for you, he isn’t upset with you sort of asking him why the hell he wasn’t a huge, depressed mess.

— in fact, he thinks it’s really sweet that, despite the fact you should be worried about yourself so you don’t end up joining him in the afterlife, you spent your energy fussing over him

Korekiyo Shinguji

— with Kiyo, not much changes. at least, not on his end.

— he’s very fascinated by the mere notion of being a spirit and has the time of his life unlife getting used to his new body

— at first you’re happy for him. i mean, it’s good that he’s not struggling, right? shouldn’t you want him to feel okay? you wouldn’t want him to suffer in sadness like you, right?

— but he’s so enthralled with his new state of being he... almost forgets to check up on you

— and even when he does spend time with you, it almost feels like all he does is talk about himself and the new things he’s discovered about being a spirit

— it’s frustrating, to say the least. you know you didn’t truly lose him, but it feels like you did

— when you finally tell him that you feel like he’s changed, he’s confused

— when Kiyo hears you say how much you miss him, how you feel like he’s so different now, he’s kinda just like ???????

— how could he be different? it’s still him, don’t you know that?

— after a long night of reflecting while you sleep (not needing rest is one of the many perks of being a spirit), Kiyo realizes what he’s been doing wrong

— you used to love when he’d talk to you endlessly about his work, his research, etc.

— but now, when he’d ramble on for hours about new things he’d learned thanks to being a mere spirit, it was just another painful reminder to you that he was dead. that he was gone.

— the moment he gets a chance, he apologizes to you. it’s a bit of an emotional moment for both of you, being the first time either of you have confronted the end of Kiyo’s life head on

— he tries to hold you, but all you feel is an icy chill where his flesh would have met yours, but oddly enough... it doesn’t make you feel worse

— you’d anticipated another tsunami of your own tears after Kiyo’s body passed through yours, but it’s comforting, albeit in a morbid way

— he’s gone, but you haven’t lost him. and you’ll never lose him; he’ll remind you of that every day if he has to

Ryoma Hoshi

— man, if you thought ryoma’s attitude and general outlook on life was depressing before, you’ve got a big storm coming

— for a long time after his death, he’s very... cold. to everyone and everything

— he’s upset. but not because he’s dead, but because he can’t protect you anymore

— being there for you, to defend you and keep you safe, had become his raison d’être, so to speak

— he knows you can still see him and talk to him. he’s not stupid. but he pretends he doesn’t hear you at first. part of him thinks that if he shuts you out long enough, you’ll come to your senses and realize you should be upset with him

— but you never do. despite what he thinks he deserves, you never turn on him, never give up on him, never stop loving him

— with time, he’ll come around and start learning to cope with his own death, and the fact you outlived him

— and you’ll be there with him every step of the way (whether he likes it or not)

[datawyrms]

Responsibility

For Phic Fight 2021, The Lord of Chaos’s prompt c:

Spectra fed off of misery; nocturne fed off of dreams.  The elusive town cryptid that only shows up when people need saving gains a following and Danny finds that he gets a boost from the people who have faith in him, he starts to become aware of them, especially when they needed him.

The rest of the town seeing him as benevolent was a positive thing. The uncomfortable stabs that his ‘parents were right’ about ghosts lessened as fewer and fewer treated him as a monster just as troublesome as Technus. He didn’t need to tense when the news was on, to hear his attempts to help called a ‘savage attack’, or that stupid nickname. He’d slept a bit easier, knowing that people did understand he only meant to help lately. Sure, Mom and Dad might still insist he was an evil ghost, but it was so much easier to ignore that when he didn’t feel he was only one step away from proving them right to everyone else. Clumsy and reckless he could take. Just as long as he wasn’t some ‘evil soul sucking abomination.’

Having Jazz a bit more in the loop had actually started to pay off. She wasn’t as good at catching a ghost as Sam or Tucker, sure, but she wasn’t hindering him anymore either. Honestly, if all three of them worked together, his powers weren’t really needed unless something huge found its way to town. Which his friends had insisted he take advantage of at least once a week, to let them handle the usual patrols and alerts while he tried to catch up on work and sleep. Mostly sleep, to be honest. Focusing on work was almost impossible when his ghost sense went off, even if he knew they didn’t need help. He wanted to go, he had to go; but they were very good at yelling at him for not ‘trusting them’ to handle things. He really did need the break. That’s why he was feeling a little less haggard, a bit more alert. At least, that’s what made the most sense.

Then the ‘lurching’ started. He couldn’t think of a better name then that. It wasn’t like his ghost sense, that sort of just crawled out of him and didn’t give him much to go on beyond ‘there’s definitely a ghost around’. That could go off and leave him rolling his eyes at the box ghost, or fighting for his life against Plasmius with the exact same feeling. The lurching was...different. Like his ghost sense forgot where his windpipe was and decided to escape in a random direction. Inssenantly. It didn’t hurt, but it was annoying, worse than the pang that would pass when he ignored whatever got his ghost sense acting up. It just kept pulling in a direction, but refusing to get out from under his skin. Sometimes it would keep going for an entire class, which just made whatever the lurch’s chosen direction noticeably cold. He was pretty sure he was immune to frostbite nowadays, but that didn’t make explaining things easier if someone spotted his hand looking almost blue from lack of blood flow.

Maybe his core was on the fritz again. Who knew what sort of weird things could happen to a human who spent half his time dead?

Tucker suggested that he was just getting ghost puberty to go with the ‘joys’ of human puberty. Which sure, was funny and they could shove each other around and forget about it for a time. It didn’t feel like the right answer. None of his other powers acted up, honestly he was feeling better after fights then he usually did lately. Less drained, anyway. It wasn’t stopping either.

It just got worse. More intense. More frequent. Instead of vanishing the area the lurch decided to pull in seemed to grow the longer he tried to dismiss it. Noticeably. To the point even Dash asked if he should avoid punching him because ‘that shit looks contagious’. (He privately hoped it was. Dash totally deserved weird pulling that made you frost over.)

He had to ignore it, he couldn’t just drop everything every single time the lurch decided to show up. He’d look completely off his rocker, running in some random direction because ‘my shoulder feels cold to the north-west’. If it was close enough to be a real danger, his ghost sense would just go off!

So Saturday was going to be a ‘lurch hunt’. No more ignoring it, no school or mandatory activities that should keep him from following the strange cold that felt desperate to go after something. Yet even deciding that made his insides squirm. He had to follow it, he should be- but that was dumb. He missed enough class as it was.

So why was it so hard to focus on anything else when it started going? Like nothing else mattered? It wasn’t like he was drifting off or sleepy either.

Jazz said he was ‘fixated’ on something.

But how do you fixate on some weird feeling under your skin? He didn’t even know what it was! Just that Sam and Tucker kept needing to flick things at him to get him to pay attention to reality. One of his best rested weeks in ages, and he was worse off then he’d been focus wise in years. Stupid ghost powers. Saturday took far too long to come. Even when one of the lurches stopped pulling he couldn’t relax. Instead of relief he just felt. Hollow. He’d woken up in a panic, half expecting to be chained down in one of Vlad’s sick laboratories, but he wasn’t cut open. He wasn’t even injured. Safe, in bed- and feeling like the cold ran off with his ribcage.

Something was wrong with him. That had to be it. Once they found the cause, he’d solve it and it would stop. It had to.

Following it shouldn’t make him feel as relieved as it did. Taking his ghost form and flying after some...feeling that wanted to drag him somewhere was more like when Freakshow’s Staff dominated his mind than anything positive. A compulsion he couldn’t help giving in to.

At least his ghost sense went off once he’d followed it long enough, finding one of Vlad’s mutant ghost animals chasing someone through the streets.

Normal. A bit of one sided banter to get it’s attention, a few punches and ectoblasts and it was shoved away in the thermos. No more pulling, and one less ghost terrorizing town. That didn’t make sense. Unless it really was just his ghost sense increasing in range while becoming infinitely more irritating?

That’s what it felt like, at first. He’d follow, ghost sense, find the problem. Except there was something odd. Every ghost he found like this wasn’t just wandering about, or making a mess. They were all actively chasing, stalking or attempting to scare someone. Okay, so it homed in on more ‘violent’ ghosts then? That seemed possible.

Until one of the lurches kept pulling, but there was no ghost sense. The one that kept pulling him towards a man with his back against the wall, fumbling with a wallet. The man who wasn’t being threatened by Skulker, or a vulture, or any of this typical fare. Just another human with a gun, and the will to use it.

This so wasn’t his thing. He fought ghosts, they were half his fault to begin with. So why was his ghost sense leading him to this? Well. It hadn’t. Lurching confirmed for not ghost sense?

Jazz would totally chew him out for tackling someone with a gun. He just had to forget to go intangible at a bad time, and he’d be all ghost. Or worse, go intangible and someone else got a body full of lead. He couldn’t just...ignore it now that he’d seen it though. The chill that hummed below his skin wouldn’t let him.

So the guy was a bit startled about getting pulled through a wall and dropped off the other side. Probably lost some change. He’d expected a bit of fear, at least. Like come on, some ghost just grabs you while a gun’s in your face? That’s still scary.

Yet he didn’t seem bothered. Just thankful. Called him a ‘hero’. For being in the right place at the right time. By just happening to be there because...because he knew? Something in him knew. That was wrong, he shouldn’t just know when people were in danger like that. He vanished without a word, not wanting to stick around and hear more. It was coincidence. Hopefully the guy wasn’t too offended that he just bolted, but he couldn’t stay there. He didn’t like how the complement felt good in a way he couldn’t describe. That the cold in his chest thrummed with a pleasure that made the rest of him feel ill. He wasn’t a hero, he was just some kid. A kid who still wanted to have a life that wasn’t all this, eventually.

He can’t ignore at dinner that he picks at his meal, not from exhaustion but because he’s not hungry. He’s still energized, he’s still full- and no amount of gagging over the sink makes his stomach empty. ‘Ghosts helping humans only do so for their own ends’. He’d ignored and denied that, he hadn’t been getting anything out of being the local ghost punching bag- so why was he now? Did he steal something? Feed on that person he saved?

He hated that his face didn’t even have the sense to look pale at the idea. He looked healthy. Probably better than he usually did. Even the circles under his eyes weren’t as noticeable. Were Mom and Dad right? Was he just...more of a ghost now?

Sam and Tucker don’t buy his ‘couldn’t figure it out’ explanation. Mostly because he refuses to try it again with them along to help figure it out. Even as he grows cold and more lurching keeps gnawing at his attention. He’s human too, he doesn’t need...whatever this is.

Sam kindly tells him he’s being a gigantic idiot.

He’s too distracted by the chill to notice. Tucker explains that after he’s blinking confused at the corn chips bouncing off his forehead. They laugh it off. He’s pretty sure they’re just being nice. They know something’s wrong, but he can’t bring himself to tell them yet. They wait. For now.

He ignores the feeling. He tries to ignore the guilt, that he knows someone out there is in danger. That someone out there needs his help. That all he needs to do is walk out of class and he can go do some actual good. He can’t go chasing after everyone in town. Things happen! He’s just one person! The sooner the lurching in him figures that out, the better. It still ruins his focus, makes him grit his teeth and fidget in place. He wants to go, he doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t even know what he wants. For it to stop. That would work. The tugging stops halfway into his next class, the frost in his blood lifts. It leaves him empty. Starving.

Everything tastes bland. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Even his favourites barely seem worth the effort of snagging off a table. He’ll eat, he can’t have Mom and Dad looking at him like Sam and Tucker are now, but it just feels heavy in his stomach. A brick he’s decided to try digesting for fun. He’s hungry, ravenously so, but doesn’t want anything.

He knows exactly what he wants and hates himself for it. Stupid ghost half. He doesn’t need that, he doesn’t want to be some...leech. Seeking out trouble just to benefit from it. It’s wrong, he hates it, and if he could grab his core and slam it on the table for a few hours he would. Just until it remembered that they helped when they could. When it was close by, when it was a ghost problem. Not every bit of danger in town!

Misplaced aggression goes to the nearby ghosts. Which it often had,  really. It’s normal. He’s just making sure people don’t get hurt, ignoring the humming of MINE coiled in his ectoplasm. The other ghosts feel it. They hear it when he hunts them down and wants to keep swinging even when they put claws or hands up in surrender. He doesn’t trust himself to banter with them right now. He doesn’t want to hear the words his ghost side wants to say. He shoves them back into the Ghost Zone, and the smarter ones stay away. A stronger ghost is already feeding here. There’s nothing for them to take.

He’s running on autopilot. Days are meaningless. He can’t focus in class, his notes are nonexistent and his patience is beyond frayed. He can’t sleep, the cold is too much, the emptiness hurts and fewer ghosts show up. He can’t even blow off steam by kicking the Box Ghost through a wall. He won’t follow it, and he’s fairly sure it’s going to kill him. That or his parents will. Even they have to notice how he barely eats and won’t focus on anything short of a horn section in his face.

Sam and Tucker sit him down. Force the issue. They know he’s a mess. They don’t have answers. How could they? His choices are to starve this ghost instinct out, or to just give into it and completely ruin his human life. He’ll be fine. It’ll stop eventually if he keeps ignoring it. Then he’ll be able to focus again. It’s all he can cling to.

He’s stubbornly ignoring the prickling awareness of other thoughts. Ones not from his brain. Ones that get louder when the lurch grips him, that practically overwhelm his own as fear and panic grows. Maybe he’s just gone a little off the deep end. He doesn’t hear voices. He refuses.

Jazz has her concerns. That he can’t ignore it. She knows more about Mom and Dad’s research, more about classifications of ghosts. She tries to be gentle, nudging him to be aware that stronger ghosts were more...like a concept then an individual.

He doesn’t want to be some sort of ghost concept of problem solving. She’s worried he won’t have that choice. Some part of him already knows she’s right.

He seeks out Valerie. For help. She’s confused, baffled and suspicious. After all this time he spent convincing her he’s not evil, he’s begging her to call him that. To convince other people he is. To make them fear him and his help. He doesn’t want to be a hero like she is. He just wants to be himself, doesn’t want to hear the people begging for help when he’s trying to sleep.

She doesn’t understand, but understands one thing. He’ll feed on those who rely on them. She has to stop that, doesn’t she?

They fight, and often. He does poorly, lets her save people while his misfires cause damage and chaos. It makes him want to scream each time. Some of the thoughts and voices dim. Not enough. Too many are understanding, too many can see the regret and pain that wrack him with each failure. He’s always hungry. He wants to try again, but everything in him rebels against it. The ghost hunter avoids him. It’s ‘not a fair fight’. He’s ‘not himself’. His green eyes are more dead then they ever have been. He can’t maintain his legs.

As a human, all he wants to do is sleep.

Mom and Dad notice. He collapses and his eyes flare green when they try to help him. Just automatically sensing them as danger, against him, not someone that calls for him. They think he’s possessed, and he wishes they were right.

He half considers not telling them the truth. Let them think of a way to let his ghost half quiet down, to stop hungering for validation he doesn’t want.

Jazz tells them before they can do much of anything. Pinches his ear for being stupid- that getting experimented on won’t help him.

Their hugs make him feel bad. This should be a good moment, a time where he feels safe and accepted. But his mind is not his own, not with the others whispering in his skull. Their warmth and love feels like a drop in the empty barrel of his hunger.

They want him to be healthy. They want him to be happy. He can’t be happy if he needs to abandon his life to be healthy. He tries to explain it, the emptiness, the voices (Jazz cuffs him again for hiding this, which seems fair.) and they promise to try and figure out why, maybe find a way to limit it or separate himself from whatever connection his ghost half seems to have made with the town. Until then- they encourage him. To go ‘help’ people. To feed the clawing cold taking over his existence. He’s not sure if they really mean it. It doesn’t stop him from listening.

It’s hard to feel guilty when it feels so good. To have the fear quiet and be replaced with thanks. Someone’s out of danger and happy, and he feels less hollow for a time. Mom and Dad switch him to home school. They say it’s a better fit, to be able to stop and start based on when he’s not being dragged away by his own instinctive need to protect people.

It feels like giving up. Admitting he’s too much of a freak to live like everyone else. Dad tries to compare it to his special classes when he was young. Different to fit his learning style, not failing. The pulls and voices aren’t nearly as distracting when he’s full. Food actually tastes like more than sand again. Sam and Tucker don’t need to try as hard to smile now that he isn’t looking like death warmed over. He doesn’t like not getting to see them as often. He can’t deny he feels better this way, and can actually pay attention now. Even if most of the time he just wants to nap when the hunger stops. Go ‘back into hiding’ as the town thinks he does.

It’s getting better. Slowly. Not in a way he wanted it to. Better nonetheless.

[writemekpop]

Elastic Heart | Nakamoto Yuta

Pairing: Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Summary: Your life changes when you are diagnosed with a fatal heart disease. You don’t want to drag Yuta down, so you break up with him. But when Yuta finds out about your secret, he rushes back to you. Will he make it on time, or will he be too late?

Genre: Angst 💔 & Fluff & Suggestive - the works 

Word count: 2.7k

Request: Yuta x reader angst imagine where he is an idol and you are his girlfriend but you are diagnosed with an incurable illness so you broke up with him to not distract him from his career. Later he found out the truth on why you broke up with him but it was too late cause your already dying.

Gif: @vitaminyuta​

“Y/n! You’re here!”

Yuta lifts you into his arms, twirling you around in the air and sending your heart racing. Even after two years of dating, Yuta still fills you with butterflies.

When Yuta sets you down again, you stagger, almost falling to the ground. Yuta steadies you just in time. “Woah! You ok, babe?”

“I’m good… I just feel a little dizzy.”

“Are you gonna be okay for the race?” Yuta asks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be fine babe, don’t worry.” You take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

Although you don’t actually like running, the smile on Yuta’s face was enough to get you to sign up for this charity fun run. What with Yuta’s crazy schedule, this was the only chance you get to go out on a date anyway.

“On your marks, get set, go!” Yuta takes your hand and you start running together.

For a while, the dizziness seems to be disappearing. But after a few minutes, you begin to feel sick again. You let go of Yuta’s hand and slow down.

“Are you alright? We can go slower…” Yuta says.

“I’m fine, Yu-”

Suddenly, white spots bleach your vision. Your legs feel like jelly, and they start to crumple beneath you. Before you know it, the wet grass hits your cheek.

“Y/n!”

You slowly open your eyes, and see Yuta hovering above you. His brows are creased, and his eyes glassy.

“Oh, thank god. You’re awake!” Yuta leans down to kiss you.

You sit up slowly. A man in a blazing neon safety vest hands you a bottle of water. “Miss, you should sit out of the race. And just to be safe, go and see your doctor. Has this happened before?”

You hurriedly shake your head no – you can’t risk worrying Yuta. But the truth is, you’ve fainted twice in the last month.

You turn your head to Yuta. “Babe, I know how much you wanted to do this run… you should on go without me. It’s probably nothing, anyway.”

Yuta pulls you onto his lap. “Don’t be silly. Let’s just sit here till you’re better.”

While you are sat together on the side of the racetrack, you notice Yuta’s eyes following the racers whizzing by, his leg bouncing up and down ceaselessly. You place your hand on his thigh, stilling his movements. “I’m sorry I ruined our date…”

“Of course you didn’t, darling.” Yuta gives you a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

---3 weeks later---

“Your tests results have come back. I’m afraid you have a condition called arrhythmogenic right ventricular cardiomyopathy.” Your doctor’s voice is soft, but her words send your head spinning.

“Arrhythmo… what?” you ask, feeling dizzier by the second.

“It’s a heart condition. It’s why you’ve been fainting so much lately.”

You nod slowly. “How bad is it, doctor?”

Her face creases with concern. “I don’t think you should hear this alone… is there someone we can call, maybe a boyfriend?”

Your mind flashes to Yuta. Lovely Yuta. What you wouldn’t give to have him by your side right now. But he’s been practicing day and night for NCT’s concert, and he doesn’t need something like this throwing him off course.

“No, there’s no one I can call. Please, just give it to me straight.”

The doctor gives your hand a squeeze. “I’m afraid… it’s not curable. Your heart might give up suddenly.”

“So… I could drop dead at any time?” Your chest feels like it’s collapsing.

The doctor nods, her face grim. “Try not to do anything too strenuous. Outdoor sports, exercise, dancing - anything too exciting really…”

Your throat aches. It’s like she just listed off everything that Yuta cares about.

The doctor continues, “And, speak to your loved ones. You need all the support you can get.”

You sit back in your chair and take a deep breath.  

---

Yuta rushes up to you as you walk back through your apartment door.

“Hey babe, what did the doctor say? I wish you’d let me come with you...” Yuta’s warm brown eyes are so full of love and concern. It hurts you to lie to him, but you have no choice.

“N-nothing. It’s fine… I just forgot to eat lunch before the race… that’s why I fainted.”

Yuta pulls you in for a hug. “Thank god. I was so worried, Y/n!” Yuta ruffles your hair, pulling you towards the couch. “Let’s finish that movie we started. I want to find out what happ-”

“Yuta?” you say, cutting him off.

“Yes, babe?” he says.

You reach for his hand. “Can we make love?”

Yuta raises an eyebrow. You’ve slept together countless times, but you’ve never asked for it like this.

After a moment, his lips curl into a smirk. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

If Yuta notices that you cling to him harder than usual when he kisses your neck, or that your nails dig deeper into his back when you ride him, he doesn’t say anything.

When tears fall down your cheeks as he brings you to your climax, he keeps quiet, simply pressing soothing kisses into your skin.

Yuta doesn’t understand why you need him in this moment, but being the loving boyfriend that he is, he gives his whole self to you willingly.

---

Three months have passed, and you still haven’t told Yuta the truth about your diagnosis.

He’s been too busy to even notice you sneaking off to doctor’s appointments and hastily gulping down medicine. But you can feel your lie gnawing at you, hollowing you out from the inside.

It’s getting too much to bear.

So, you’ve been preparing yourself to break up with him. You remember the days when you talked on the phone all evening, till you fell asleep on the line. Now, you don’t call him for weeks.

After cancelling on Yuta three times in a row, when he invites you back to his dorm this evening, you agree.

You knock on his door.

It’s pulled open to reveal Yuta. When he sees you, his lifts his arms towards you, as if to embrace you. But after a gut-wrenching moment, he shoves them back into his pockets, clearing his throat stiffly.  

“You came…” he says, eyes trained on the floor. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Yuta.”

You follow Yuta to his room and sit down next to him on the bed. “You changed your hairstyle,” you say.

Yuta runs his fingers through his short blonde hair, smiling absentmindedly. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure this style would suit me, but everyone I asked said I should go for it.”  

A pang cuts through your chest. “You didn’t ask me,” you say. You know you’re being petty, but you just can’t help yourself.

“Well maybe if you answered my calls once in a while, Y/n, I would have.” His tone is cold. “What’s gotten into you lately? Why are you being so… selfish?”

Hot tears sting your eyes. “Selfish? You don’t know what I’m giving up for you.” You take a deep breath. “Yuta, I…”

“What? What is it?” Yuta stands up, his fists clenched. “You don’t answer my calls, you don’t come around, you won’t have sex with me… hell, you won’t even kiss me! Tell me, what is this big sacrifice?”

Yuta stands in front of you, arms crossed. His dark eyes bore into yours.

“Yuta,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sick…”

Yuta’s eyes widen. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say-”

“No,” you interrupt. You see his expression, and suddenly your short-lived confidence vanishes. “I’m sick… and… tired… of this. Of us.”

It’s like you can see Yuta’s heart shatter into a million pieces in front of you.

Yuta drops to his knees, now face to face with you. “Y/n,” his voice trembles. “I don’t want to break up. That’s not what I meant… I just miss you…”

“Just stop!” you shout, pushing him away and getting up from the bed. You walk to the window and stare out of it, knowing that if you meet his eyes now, you won’t be able to let him go.

“Y/n, please don’t leave me,” Yuta whispers, coming up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his forehead on your shoulder. You don’t have the energy to push him off. So you let him hold you - one last time.

Yuta’s body shakes with soundless sobs as he grips you tighter, his fingers crumpling your blouse.

You wait for his trembles to subside before you speak again. “I’m sorry, Yuta. It’s over.”

You turn around to face him. His eyes are red, and his hair is a mess.

Your heart breaks at the sight of him. You long to wipe the tears from his smooth cheek and press kisses to his lips. But you’re doing this for him, you remind yourself. You can’t tie him down forever. Yuta will get over you.

“Goodbye, my love.”

---

“I’m really worried about Yuta,” Mark says, his brows creased.

“Me too,” Taeyong replies. “I haven’t seen him eat a proper meal in ages. All he does is practice. He’s going to end up hurting himself.”

Taeyong leans in closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. “What happened with Y/n? Do you know why they broke up?”

“No idea… Should we go and talk to him?”

Taeyong nods.

Taeyong lightly pushes open Yuta’s door. “Hey… Yuta, how you holding up?”

Yuta is sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up. “Go away, Taeyong.”

Taeyong sighs and turns away, but Mark isn’t having any of it. “Yuta!” Mark shouts. “It’s been two months since you and Y/n broke up. You need to get out of this funk, man!”

Yuta snaps his head up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about - get the fuck out,” he spits.

Mark pays no attention to his rebuff. “Look, you need to get over her. You… you should start by getting rid of her stuff.” Mark walks over to your bag, lying in the exact same corner of the room where you left it all those months ago. He picks it up and holds it in the air. “I’m trashing this.”

Yuta springs to his feet. “No! Y/n might want that back!”

“If she wanted it back, she would have asked for it. She hasn’t even called you once since you broke up. This is going in the trash.”

Yuta lunges towards Mark and grabs the bag, but Mark refuses to let go. They both yank at the bag, till it bursts open, scattering its contents all over the floor.

Each of them gasp when they see what’s inside.

Dozens of medicine bottles are strewn over the floor. Most are empty, but some have a few pills left. Taeyong bends down and peers at the label of one bottle. “These are for Y/n… did you know she was unwell?” Taeyong pulls out his phone and starts typing.

Yuta’s stomach twists with confusion. “N-no she never said she was sick… wait, hold on...”

Yuta has tried his hardest to block out that day from his mind. But now, he has to rack his brain for any signs that you might have been hiding something.

Yuta’s heart coils in sickening realisation. You were sick. And you were hiding it from him.

Taeyong stands up abruptly and walks over to Yuta. He holds his phone up for Yuta to read. “I think Y/n has a pretty serious heart condition. Do you think that’s why she…” he trails off.

The blood drains from Yuta’s face. He needs to see you, now.

Yuta runs to the door, his coat and phone lying forgotten on the floor . It’s a twenty-minute walk to your place. Ten if he runs.

“Wait!” Taeyong shouts from behind him. “It’s the middle of the night, and there’s a storm outside. You’ll get soaked!”

Yuta doesn’t care. All he needs now is you. A light flickers at the end of the tunnel. If you broke up with him just because of this illness, then maybe it isn’t over between you.

Yuta sprints into the rain, heading to your place.

---

They say that when you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes. But all you can see right now is Yuta. You think about him every waking hour, and at night, his face fills your every dream.

The fainting spells have been getting worse lately, and every time you move too fast you feel like you might die.

You’re lying in bed, trying to block out the sound of the thundering rain. You press your hand to your forehead. It’s cold and clammy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you beg for the dizziness to stop - when you hear three sharp knocks on your door.

Your eyes snap open. You were sure you imagined them, but there they are again. Three knocks. Louder this time.  

You lift your aching body off the bed and check your phone. It’s 2AM. You’ve pretty much alienated everyone you care about, so you don’t know who could be knocking on your door right now. A tiny part of you wishes that it’s Yuta, but you block that thought as quickly as it came.

Walking up to your door, you unclasp the latch and pull the door open to reveal…

Yuta.

Yuta, the real Yuta, is panting before you. His rain-drenched T shirt sticks to his firm chest. His dishevelled blonde hair is dripping into his matted eyelashes. His cheeks are wet with tears and rain, but a fire smoulders in his gaze.

“Y/n…”

The shock of seeing him after all this time is too much to bear. It feels like your heart will jump out of your chest. You reach out to Yuta, but your vision starts to go blurry. Oh no. Not again.

You feel your limbs collapse beneath you. You brace yourself to hit the cold ground, but the impact never comes.

Yuta has caught you before you can fall. You feel his warm, strong arms wrapped around you as he carries you inside. The dizziness is unrelenting, but you finally feel safe now Yuta is here. Yuta is here! You can’t quite believe it.

Yuta softly places you down onto your bed, then all of a sudden, his strong arms disappear, leaving an aching emptiness.

You open your eyes slowly, your vision refocusing. Yuta hovering by the bed, his face contorted. When your eyes meet his, he drops his gaze and turns towards the door.

“Wait… don’t go,” you plead, your voice hoarse.

Yuta stops in his tracks.

You stare at his back, mentally begging him to turn around. “Please Yuta… just lie down with me.”

Yuta pauses, then steps back towards the bed. You release the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Peeling off his drenched T shirt, Yuta pulls on his old hoodie that was draped on the edge of the bed. You never had the heart to throw it away.  

Yuta climbs under the covers with you, but he remains in stony silence.

You wrap your arms around his warm chest and press your ear to his heart. The rhythmic thumping plus the gentle rise and fall of his chest finally calms your raging heart.

Just before you drift off, you hear his voice in your ear. It’s ragged, and so soft that you almost miss it. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

You gulp. You don’t know what the future holds, but being here with Yuta right now, you feel like you could die happy.

You don’t answer his question. You just nuzzle closer to him, pressing as much of your body to his as you can.  

Yuta places a kiss onto the top of your head and whispers,

“I would have ripped out my heart and given it to you, if you had just asked.”

[nameless-shrimp]

BLOODLUST [PART 2] || SATORU GOJO

A continuation from this one-shot.

Pairing: Vampire!Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Type: One-Shot (may turn into a fic, idk)

Warnings: Mentions of blood/murder, swearing, and slight mentions of sexual themes.

Notes: This is probably really bad, lol, I'm tired.

Dead bodies weren’t supposed to be heavy, but this one in particular was, and Satoru was managing his way through the alleyway as he dragged the corpse in one hand and twirled the hand knife he had in the other one.

He was thankful that he kept his Infinity on at this time. Satoru was frustrated at himself for letting blood get on his clothes last time. However, he was tired of the fact that he had an endless lecture from Yaga about his blood intake and that was why Satoru lost control of his vampiric techniques, which was rare, though. Satoru was well-mannered—to a certain extent, at least—and he knew how to keep his vampiric techniques in control, he always had.

But what one weakness Satoru had was his stubbornness and his refusal to drink human blood. Occasionally, he’d drink it, but he wasn’t trying to drink it like it was a fine wine at a restaurant. And with one sigh, looking up at the sky as he clutched onto the dirtied shirt of the corpse below him, he knew that he needed to drink some blood soon.

Satoru glanced down at his black watch on his wrist, sunglasses nearly slipping off the bridge of his nose. He checked the time and it had only been a few minutes since he last met with the recent vampire he had just killed.

(It didn’t take long for one deathful stare from Satoru’s eyes for the vampire to be twisted into unbearable knots, though).

It was exactly two in the morning, he noted.

“For a bastard that just turned, you’re fucking heavy,” Satoru commented, looking at the disfigured corpse in his hands. He knew there had only been a few more steps to go, but Satoru knew that the job was too messy.

Nanami always scolded him for this, too. No matter what mission either he or Nanami were assigned to, Satoru would have to make sure to clean up the mess somehow, and after killing the vampire that they were assigned to, the body has to be disposed of. (But, it wasn’t fucking easy, and Satoru knew this. It was difficult knowing that the endless trails of blood were never-ending and that the evidence of murder wasn’t going to fade away from the public).

As Yaga always told Satoru, it was more important to keep vampires hidden from society as much as possible. Throughout the country, rapid cases of indescribable murders have been increasing, and Nanami always pointed it out when the two would wait around in the lounge room together.

(“Thirty more cases of victims drained of blood,” Nanami spoke the other night, staring at the television screen as he fiddled with the remote in his hands.

Satoru stared at him, tilting his head. “No newspaper?”

“For once I listened to you and I went along with the news. Besides, it helps me see how the public is reacting to these ca—”

“Wait,” Satoru interrupted. “You actually listen to me?”

“Starting now, I will stop.”)

Satoru reached the bridge that was connected to the roads that he had just been traveling for quite some time. He turned around, sighing at the obvious sight of blood that trailed to the moment where he had stopped; with snow on the ground, it wasn’t helping that the blood was more painfully obvious.

He knew that if Nanami came around, he’d get a never-ending glare from him for leaving a mess, but at least Satoru was disposing of the body.

Satoru picked up the dead corpse and quickly tossed it over the bridge, watching the body fall until it hit the surface of the water. With one big splash, Satoru turned around, wiping off the excess dirt on his hands, and decided to leave the scene as soon as possible before anyone would’ve been able to witness it.

He thought of different possibilities that he could go on for the rest of the night. Perhaps, he and Nanami could watch a movie together after so long and maybe Satoru could actually shut up for once, but for some reason, Satoru wanted to be alone. He usually wanted to hide in his own head whenever he knew he had to drink blood for the night.

Satoru murmured a swear underneath his head and then placed his palm on his forehead, sighing at the thought. It was never fun being reminded that you were a monster and Satoru had to deal with these uncontrollable thoughts of his; he knew he could control them, but he believed that they were the truth, after all.

Even though he never murdered a human for the sake of his hunger.

His phone began to ring in his pocket and he sighed deeply, already aware of who it could be that was calling him. Satoru reached for his phone and then looked at the caller ID, realizing that Nanami was trying to reach him.

Satoru cleared his throat, throwing a wide grin on his lips, not minding that he was in an opposite mood a couple seconds ago. “Hello Nanami, have you finished your pa—”

“Yes, I’m just calling to see if you did yours,” Nanami interrupted, a slight groan from the other line.

He sounded exhausted. Though, Satoru couldn’t blame him.

“Ah, I did. Shall we go out for a night stroll?” Satoru asked, even though he preferred to be alone.

“No, thank you,” Nanami responded blandly, which was why Satoru even asked because he knew the answer already. He might as well pretend to be in character. “Don’t forget to get rid of the body.”

“Already did it,” Satoru stuck his tongue out, still making his way down the street in front of him. He looked up at the flickering street lights and glanced at the dim-lit windows of the apartment buildings to his left. “Did you think I was that forgetful?”

“It’s you, after all.”

“That hurts.”

“I’m hanging up now since our business here is done.”

“Not even a ‘goodnight’?” Satoru pouted before he heard the end of the other line go off.

His smile slowly faded as he went back on his phone, staring at the messages he was receiving from Yaga about his new watch. Satoru checked back on his watch, realizing that only twenty minutes had passed since he last checked, and it wasn’t long from now until the timer would go off to signal that he needed to feed.

Satoru didn’t bother to bring any blood bags with him, because why would he? It would’ve been a bad move on his part if he dropped any on accident during a battle in public. Most of the time, he’d drink in the infirmary room and bring up small talk even though it pained Satoru deep down to taste a red liquid that was so sinister yet so delicious and can be devoured easily from an innocent bystander.

It didn’t take him long to make his way to the small town in front of him and he ignored most of the ‘missing’ posters that were stuck on the walls of the worn-down buildings next to him. Satoru didn’t want to pay attention to these papers; he already knew these faces, anyways, and they’re all dead—vampire or human. Regardless, these incidents would’ve been happening if vampires hadn’t existed—if Satoru didn’t exist himself.

He made his way past an alleyway until he heard low growls coming from near him. Satoru raised his eyebrows, glancing down at a matted stray down near his feet, and he noticed that the puppy was gnawing at his black leather shoes.

He furrowed his eyebrows, watching the puppy chew on his shoelaces as it kept on growling at him. For some reason, the animal looked familiar to him and—well, he wasn’t sure why it was hitting him as if the animal was something important.

Regardless, Satoru couldn’t help but smirk and chuckle at the obvious failure of the puppy clawing its small paws on his shoes. He bent down, watching the small animal continue to chew on his shoelaces. He tried to reach out a hand to pet it, but of course, the puppy pulled back, untying his shoelaces in the process.

Satoru gasped, staring at the animal with a displeased look that he was purposefully showing off. “Hey now!” Satoru retorted playfully with a pout growing on his lips. “I just bought these”—and he really didn’t, he was just messing around with a small animal as if it was an actual human child—“and now you’re ruining them.”

There were only growls as a response.

“That’s not very nice,” Satoru muttered, raising his hand closer to the puppy who still kept its distance from him. “You don’t wanna be my friend?”

More growls.

“I’m not that bad of a guy,” Satoru chuckled jokingly. Well, he was half-joking.

Yet again, more growls.

“Alright, you wanna go?” Satoru scrunched up his nose and held his fists up, pretending to be in a small fighting stance against the puppy that was still chewing on his shoelaces. “This is the wraith that you’re gonna face once you mess with Gojo Satoru’s sh—”

“What are you… doing?”

He was stopped in his sentence and he turned around to face you.

Out of all the people to run into him in this weird sight, he ran into you. And—oh, now everything began to click to his tiny brain eventually. He remembered running into you about a week or so ago and—oh yeah, this dog was close with you, or something.

He kind of remembered.

“Uh, nothing,” Satoru grinned awkwardly, hoping that the awkward silence would fade.

“A-Ah, you’re that one guy…” you muttered quietly into your dark scarf, slowly making eye contact before you eventually pulled away from his gaze despite the sunglasses blocking the view of his irises.

“And you’re that one girl,” Satoru chuckled, standing up finally before he pointed down at the puppy. “And this one’s a feisty one.”

“Meeko.”

“Uh, wh—”

You interrupted, “that’s his name.”

“Oh, right.” As if Satoru would remember that. “So, is he your dog? I’m assuming he is.”

“No, he isn’t,” you responded shyly, trying to force yourself to make eye contact with him but it was odd enough that he was wearing shades when it was super dark outside. “I wish he was though. I enjoy taking care of him.”

“Oh?” Satoru tilted his head, placing a hand on his hip. “Why don’t you take him to a vet and get him some vaccines or something? You can adopt him then unless he belongs to someone.”

“I take him once in a while,” you explained, sighing. “The vets think he belongs to me but he really doesn’t. As far as I know, he doesn’t have an owner, and—and it seems like just a stray,” you spoke quietly, looking down at your feet. “B-But I can’t really have a pet at home.”

Satoru blinked at you. He didn’t know who you were but he decided to not pry with questions any furthermore. It was best that he didn’t have any close interactions with humans, anyway.

And, sure, once in a while, he knew he would be messing around with some girls here and there, but he’d assure himself that he was a one-night stand man and that he wasn’t looking for a committed relationship—he can’t, he knew it, and he knew that because of what and who he was.

He shook his head off his thoughts as you made your way past him and then picked up the puppy that was busy messing with his shoelaces. “S-Sorry about your shoes,” you spoke quietly, picking up the small animal before making your way into the dark alleyway.

What is with alleyways nowadays? Satoru sighed, wondering why people always ended up getting themselves lost in such dark and uncomfortable places. It was dangerous, especially with the current murders that were occurring and—

Shit, you were really walking down there.

“Hey!” Satoru shouted, cupping his palm to his mouth. “You do realize that you are walking into a pretty sketchy area, right?!”

“Yup,” you responded, raising your voice a little.

“What the hell?” Satoru’s eyebrow twitched, unsure of why you’d risk yourself going into someplace so risky, especially with all the murders going around. He would think you’d be more cautious, especially with the shy personality that you portrayed right off the bat.

It wasn’t his business, but he didn’t want another person to endanger themselves.

However, it still wasn’t his business—but he decided to follow you, anyway.

“Are you crazy?” Satoru questioned as he raised his voice, hoping that you’d knock some sense into yourself.

“Maybe a little,” you responded to him, not minding that the light was slowly fading out as you walked past a wall lamp. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“Yes it does, silly,” Satoru sighed, placing his palm on the back of his neck. “It does matter when you risk yourself in dangerous situations like this.” He wanted to mention the rising case of unexplainable murders but he’d figure that you were aware of what was happening anyways.

“I prefer to be outside than inside, really,” you responded to him, smiling down at the puppy that was resting in your arms.

“I guess,” Satoru pursed his lips. “But whether you like it or not, I will walk you home.”

He wasn’t sure why he said that but the words had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them from falling out.

You stopped on your feet, not moving a single muscle until you looked up at him. He looked at you with an odd stare; he wasn’t sure why you randomly stopped moving. And right as he was about to ask you what was wrong, you spoke, “I think I can walk myself home. It’s best if you, uh, don’t walk me home.”

“Huh?” Satoru had a deadpanned look on his face and he shook his head. “Look, I get we don’t know each other, but I’m not letting you just walk home in the dark at this—”, he glanced down at his watch, “hour.”

“I’m used to walking home this late.”

Satoru straightened his posture, looking down at you as you continued to walk down the alleyway, puppy in your hands with an uncomfortable look on your face. He tilted his head, looking at your features, and it wasn’t hard for him to take note of how you looked. With his Six Eyes, he was able to sense anything that was going on around him, and if Satoru had to find a positive outlook to being a vampire, it was that he was capable of seeing in the dark.

“That’s really dangerous, you know?” Satoru commented, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah.” You spoke, not wanting to continue on with the subject, and Satoru caught onto that.

Satoru cleared his throat, trying to initiate another conversation. “So, um, what’s your name?”

“Um,” you licked your lips, looking hesitant before you decided to speak, “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” Satoru smiled, wondering if you’d ever try to make eye contact with him. “Gojo Satoru.”

“Ah, so—”

“Satoru is fine,” he grinned cheekily, not getting a reaction out of you. “I don’t mind if you call me by my first name. I prefer it.”

“Alright,” you said, finally making eye contact with him as you cocked your eyebrows in confusion. “So, uh, why do you wear sunglasses at this hour?”

“Ah, these things,” Satoru stuck his tongue out playfully, initiating his child-like personality in hopes that you’d find yourself being comforted by his silly behavior. However, he tried to ignore the fact that you didn’t really show any reaction to it and just continued to stare at him. “Well, I like sunglasses. What can I say? I like to look stylish at night.”

“Sure, I guess.”

“It’s better than a blindfold.”

You pursed your eyebrows, clearly looking puzzled. “You wear a bl—blindfold?” You questioned.

Satoru caught on that you stuttered quite frequently, and perhaps, you were just nervous around his presence. Yet again, how could anyone not, as to his arrogant and charming bastard-self. “Sometimes,” he spoke so casually as if wearing blindfolds in public and sunglasses past midnight were a normal thing—and they were, to Gojo Satoru, at least. “I just like to be that cool guy, you know? I wanna stand out.”

You shook your head, sighing. “I can tell you are an idiot.”

And Christ, you were acting so blunt out of nowhere. “Eh, that’s a bit rude to say to someone you just met, don’t you think?” Satoru made a displeased look.

“I mean, you don’t seem offended.”

“I’m not, because you are actually right,” Satoru snapped his fingers. “It doesn’t mean I can’t act offended.”

Much to his surprise, you couldn’t help yourself but shoot a smile to him. Your lips curved up into a small twinkle and he was taken back by it. You haven’t really shown a lot of cheerful emotion, even from when you first met him to walk with him down a dark alleyway; you didn’t know who he was, let alone, Satoru had no idea what was your deal or who you even were. However, that small beam of a smile made his face flush into a deep blush and—he really wasn’t sure what made him react that way.

“You’re funny,” you commented before turning away, meeting the gaze at the end of the alleyway in front of you.

“I aim to please,” Satoru chuckled, smiling back at you before he looked ahead with you.

“I can walk home from here, you know?” You said, reaching the end of the alleyway and you were met with street lights above the both of you. “I-I appreciate you walking with me though.”

“Well, I didn’t want you walking all by yourself,” Satoru shrugged his shoulders as you held onto the puppy tighter. He smiled at the sight, wanting to hold his hand out to touch it but you seemed to be enjoying yourself in the comforting moment. “But I really can walk you home.”

You looked up at him, wondering what eye color was beneath those sunglasses. “It’s okay. I-It’s best if you don’t,” you shyly spoke. “Thanks anyway.”

“Yeah, uh, how far do you live?”

“Just a few more blocks.”

“I mean,” he tilted his head. “That means you’ll get to spend a few more blocks walking with me.”

“I, uh—” you clench your teeth, hoping to fight back a blush from rising your cheeks. You turned away, hiding your face in the scarf and Satoru’s eyes widened at the sight. He wasn’t sure what it was; maybe he was tired, or maybe he felt blood-starved—no, he wasn’t. He didn’t go for a long period of time without feeding unlike last time, and instead, he was finding himself to feel a heartwarming, fluttering feeling in his chest at your reaction.

He smirked to himself, keeping his hands in his pockets as he thought that your reaction was cute. He wasn’t surprised that a good amount of girls and young women would react the way you did. Because, it was Gojo Satoru, after all.

“I won’t kill you!” Satoru chirped, a smile beaming on lips. You didn’t look very amused at all. “Seriously,” his tone changed as his grin faded away. “I don’t think it’s safe for a young woman like you to walk home at this hour.”

“Yeah, um, I appreciate that, but—” you turned around, looking frightened for a moment. This gave Satoru all the more reason to offer to walk you home and then both of you would part your separate ways. It was such an easy task, but he didn’t blame you for being so skeptical. “It’s best this way.”

“Alright, I won’t argue with you,” Satoru gave in, huffing out a breath. “But be careful, okay? Seriously. I don’t want you and your little guy to get hurt,” he said, eyeing down at the puppy in your arms with its eyes closed.

“I appreciate that. Thank you,” you smiled at him.

You gave a confused look; it seemed as if you were unsure if you wanted to speak up about something, but Satoru didn’t bother to question it. It was better off that he’d let you be in your own mind and not pester someone that he just met with any questions. He knew better that vampires aren’t meant to have serious relationships with humans, unless it were his students or anyone at the school—though, all of his one-night stands didn’t have any meaning to him, as it should stay that way for him.

“So yeah, I guess it was nice meeting you,” you broke the silence between the both of you for a moment. It didn’t last long but to Satoru, it felt like forever.

He blinked at you before he let out a forced chuckle. Satoru wasn’t sure why he was so determined to walk you home but he wasn’t going to fight against it—and it definitely was because he didn’t want you to be walking home so late at night. Because, yeah, that was definitely the reason.

“It was nice to meet you too, Y/N,” Satoru smiled and he looked down at the puppy in your arms. “It’s nice of you to take care of it even though it doesn’t have a home.”

“I do my best to take Meeko to the vet as often as I can,” you explained, eyeing the small furry animal in your arms.

“Meeko is a cute name,” Satoru responded, a smile still glued on his lips. “Maybe one day he won’t be so vicious to me any—”

“Satoru,” you interrupted him, catching him off guard.

“Eh, yeah?”

“Why were you bloody the night I met you?”

His eyes widened, suddenly remembering that moment when he held your wrists up against the wall and he was so starved of blood, he was lacking in his techniques—which was very rare for him, but it wasn’t impossible even for someone so experienced to mess up every once in a while—and he had his Infinity off the entire night. He remembered it all; the blood on his clothes, your feared face as he pinned you up against the wall, and his near moment of falling into a bloodlust state—the memories washed over him too quickly, and he even gasped at his own thoughts.

Satoru didn’t know how to process the words out of his mouth. He wasn’t going to talk about how he was a vampire hunter, let alone a vampire, and he couldn’t just spit out that he was a murderer or anything—all options were terrible. Even if he lied and mentioned that he was part of a cult, a gang, or whatever, all options fucking sucked. He was at a loss now.

“I—fuck, I promise it isn’t what you think,” Satoru retorted. And seriously, this was the best he could come up with, but it doesn’t matter anymore. The words slipped out. “I’m so sorry for scaring you that night.”

You stared at him, not phased by his reaction nor were you showing off any specific emotion that captured his attention. In fact, he was surprised by this, and as he tilted his head, he gave off a puzzled stare.

“I don’t understand what you did,” you murmured, looking down at your shoes that were wet from the melted snow. “I don’t know if I want to know.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. Honestly, I forgot about that ni—”

“Is it because you’re so used to what you’re doing?”

“I—” he stopped himself from speaking. He had no idea where your words were coming from, but your emotionless reaction wasn’t showing off much. For some reason, Satoru wanted to see that small smile you had again, and he wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel less of a monster.

“It’s okay,” you licked your lips and sighed. “You just scared me.”

“I know. I am really sorry about that.”

“Do you kill people, Satoru?”

What the fuck were you even saying and—he was not expecting these questions to come out of your slightly chapped lips but he was actually hearing these words. Satoru clenched his fists, not wanting to answer your question and he only turned away. He had a million different answers in his head, some lies and some were actually the truth, but he didn’t mutter out a word.

You caught onto his reaction and then shook your head. “Nevermind then,” you said, gritting your teeth. “I know you won’t hurt me, though.”

“What?” Satoru whipped his head, facing you, and he was completely baffled by your words. At this point, he wasn’t prepared for such surprises. “Y-You don’t know me, Y/N.”

“I know,” you closed your eyes, clearly hiding your face in the scarf you wore. You opened your eyes slowly after a few seconds to look down at the animal in your arms. “But you didn’t hurt Meeko. Y-You were being nice to him, weren’t you?”

“I—” Satoru cleared his throat before continuing, “of course. I wasn’t going to hurt him.”

“I remember you were talking to him but I didn’t know what you were saying. I just—I was just happy that you didn’t hurt him,” your voice lowered as you kept a fearful look on your face. “You’d be surprised how many people would hurt those that matter to them.”

Satoru blinked as he looked at you, unsure of how to respond. His experience with you drastically changed into something a little bit darker than he’d imagined, and he never really had these types of conversations with anyone—it was mostly educating his students on vampire hunting or annoying Nanami to death as he smacked him with a rolled up newspaper.

“Satoru,” you called out his name, catching his attention as he was off in a daze. “Can I ask you two questions?”

“Sure, Y/N, I guess,” Satoru responded, still baffled by the whole conversation the both of you were having.

Your bottom lip quivered and Satoru noticed your eyes water up slightly, clearly you looked like you were in a serious emotional state. For some reason, Satoru wanted to raise a hand to you, if that would comfort you somehow, but he didn’t. Again—he’d tell himself to avoid maintaining strong relationships with humans outside of school. It was better off that way; for Gojo Satoru, it was better off for anyone.

“M-My first question…” your voice trailed off as your bottom lip quivered more.

“Y/N…” he spoke softly, his stare turning into a more concerned look as his voice died down to a more disquieted tone.

“If—if someone asked you to kill another person, would you do it?”

Satoru’s jaw nearly dropped.

Where the fuck was all of this coming from?

Now wasn’t the time to stand there gawking in confusion. He parted his lips at the sudden question but he closed them tightly right away. Satoru held back a laugh too. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been doing that for so long now—from training to become a vampire hunter and to be one of the strongest—if not, the strongest—vampire hunter, let alone, he was one himself. Sometimes he’d laugh at the irony.

However, he wasn’t laughing now.

“I don’t understand why you’re asking this,” Satoru responded, shaking his head. “I’m not going to answer that.”

“Can you answer my next question then?”

“That depends. Are you gonna ask something crazy?”

“Kind of. I-It’s crazy to me.”

Satoru sighed and waved his hand around. “I guess I won’t know unless you ask.”

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath and you looked up at him, meeting his gaze beneath the sunglasses that rested on his nose. “Do you want to be friends?”

He blinked, unsure of how to respond to that question. Of course he can’t—he refused to make close relationships with anyone outside of the vampire hunting business, and it was better off that way so humans were protected from him. Satoru bit his bottom lip, he couldn’t just say no but he really wanted to.

“I get it if you do—”

He interrupted you, without hesitation. “Ah, no, that’s not what I’m trying to go off as! I just don’t think you can keep up with me!”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “What are you, um, talking about?”

“Weeeell,” he fought back a chuckle—and he figured he could just casually say that he drinks blood and has murdered numerous vampires and even humans in his past but—nah, that wasn’t going to get him any friends. “I’m annoying.”

You stared at him for a moment before closing your eyes and you sighed. “You really are an idiot.”

“Yep!” Satoru chirped, a grin forced onto his lips in hopes that you would be on your way home. Yet a part of him hoped that you’d ask for him to walk you home—for some reason. “I’m pretty damn annoying. You’ll get fed up with me.”

You shook your head, sighing deeply once more. “You’re weird.”

“I know, aren’t I?” Satoru’s grin grew larger. “You’d really hate me.”

“If you don’t want to be friends, you can ju—just say so.”

“No, that’s not it!”

You turned around, making your way down the sidewalk in front of you. “Maybe we can meet again and you’d want to be friends,” you spoke out loud, raising your voice a little, and then you continued to walk further down.

Satoru didn’t say anything; this was good. It should be this way. It was safer for you—or any human in this case—to avoid any relationship with a vampire, unless the human was supposed to be a vampire hunter or something. Whatever. You were leaving, not wanting to look back, as it seemed, and it was best to bid a farewell this way.

Satoru watched you make your way further down the sidewalk and you made a quick turn to the left, not bothering to glance back at him.

For some reason, he wished that you did look back.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Makayla Part Two

Sam Winchester x Reader

Words: 2529

Part One

Summary: With your secret revealed, Sam has no choice but to help you. Dean, still holding a grudge, reluctantly joins. Makayla gets to know her family. 

Notes: I hope you guys are liking this series as much as I loved writing it! Thank you for all of your support already, it really means the world to me. Continue to let me know what you think and enjoy more of Winchester October. 

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural​ . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

Five Years Ago

Sam held you a little closer tonight. Seeing Jessica… it just brought back so many bad memories and took his mind to a darker place. It was the place that gave him nightmares of losing you or his brother. So he held you a little closer. You didn’t mind. It helped you fight your own night demons. 

Of course, you couldn’t sleep anyway. You laid there, gently running your fingers through Sam’s hair and staring up at the ceiling. There was this dread gnawing at your insides. You weren’t her. You would never be her. It wasn’t that she was beautiful. She meant more than that. She was the life Sam always wanted but never got. The life he still dreamt about. The one he hoped for someday. You couldn’t give him that life. You were too far gone. 

“You okay, kid?” Dean was looking over at you from his bed, unable to sleep himself. He had been doing more research on the leviathans. You turned your head, eyes glistening in the dark. 

“That was one sick bastard.” You whispered angrily. Dean sighed. 

“Sometimes that's how they get us. They can make us see things. Stuff we want to forget.”

“But he doesn’t want to forget her.” You looked back up at the ceiling. “Not really. I think her memory gives him hope.”

“Hope for what?” 

“For the life he could have had with her.” You didn’t say anymore, but you didn’t have to. Dean understood you pretty well. You two were a lot alike. That’s why you scared him. 

-

Present Day

“Sam?” Makayla gasped, looking at you with wide eyes. Dean’s eyes kept darting between you and Sam and the little girl. Makayla was beaming. “My dad’s name is Sam!” You inhaled sharply. 

“Kayla, why don’t you go back with Miss Naomi and show her those drawings you made me?” 

“But I want to stay here and meet Sam.” She pouted her lip and gave you those big puppy eyes that her dad was always so good at. You kissed her forehead. 

“You can meet him later, but mom needs to talk to them first, okay?” 

“Okay.” She frowned and scampered off to find Naomi. Without her, the three of you fell silent, everything slowly sinking in. 

“How old is she?” Sam asked quietly. You barely heard him. 

“What?”

“How old is she?” This time he looked at you and his eyes with a mix of sadness and anger and confusion, but most of all, he looked devastated. You had to look away. 

“She’s four. She’ll turn five in March.” 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N…” Dean sighed, running a hand down his face. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam was trying to keep himself together, but this was too much. First, you come back after five years of leaving him in the dust and then you tell him he has a daughter? 

“I wanted to, Sam. I swear, I was going to.” You cried. “But I never knew if you were alive or dead or in hell! I didn’t know what to do Sam.”

“You find me and tell me I have a child!” He yelled, towering over you. “You had four years, Y/N. There’s no excuse for that.” You wanted to reach to him, but your arms just fell limply to your sides. 

“I’m sorry.” There was nothing else you could say. 

“Sorry?” Dean scoffed. “Sweetheart we are so far past sorry, we’re in a different time zone.” Dean was almost as rattled as Sam. This whole time, you had been hiding a kid. After the way you left… Sam deserved better than this. 

“What do you want me to say, Dean?” You exclaimed. “I have been doing the best I can to raise a little girl, and in our world, that isn’t easy.” Sam stiffened. 

“You’re still hunting?” 

“Don’t start with that, Sam.” You didn’t like his accusing tone. “I tried settling down, okay? For the first year, we lived nice and quiet in New Mexico. Then those vampires came for me and I had to run. So I started hunting again.” It was all you knew. “On big cases I bring her here to stay with Naomi.” 

“I can’t believe you.” Sam laughed bitterly, turning away. Dean crossed his arms over his chest. 

“If you’ve got this all figured out, why come to us now? Why tell us now?” 

“The vampires and I have a history. I thought if I could just keep ahead of them, they would give up.” You explained, Sam refusing to look at you. “But they got too close this time. Kayla almost got hurt and I realized that I had to take the bastards out once and for all.” The brothers didn’t say anything. Dean had his angry stare locked on you while Sam watched the sky.  “I can’t do it alone, Sam. I have to do this. For both of them.” He finally turned back to you. 

“They’re the vampires that killed Makayla… aren’t they?” 

You named your daughter after your best friend. You grew up with Makayla, went to high school together, even roomed together in college. You were practically sisters. One night you came back to your apartment and there they were. Three vampires leaning over her body with her blood dripping from their mouths. It was why you started hunting in the first place. 

You nodded and Sam took a deep breath. He didn’t have a choice now. He had more to lose. 

“Can I…” He started, his voice trailing off as he glanced at the house. “Can I talk to her?” You mustered a small smile. 

“She’d love that.”  You watched as he nervously fixed his jacket and walked inside. 

“Of all of the things you’ve done, this is by far the most messed up.” Dean growled, staring you down. You kept your eyes on Sam, another tear falling.

“I know.” 

Sam slowly opened the door and found the little girl sitting on the floor, the TV going as she drew pictures in a little notebook. Sam sat down across from her, grabbing the remote and turning the volume down. He looked at some of the pictures she had finished. They were mostly stick figures, of course, but all of them were of her and her mother except the one she was working on now. Beside her were two taller figures with big smiles drawn with purple crayon. 

“Hi Makayla.” He greeted softly. It was like he didn’t know how to interact with a child anymore. How could a person whose height barely reached his knee make him so nervous? She looked up from her drawing, her eyes bright and curious. 

“Hi Sam. Are you my dad?” She said it so frankly that it took him off guard. You appeared in the doorway. 

“Makayla.” You scolded. Sam held up a hand to stop you. 

“No, it’s fine.” He took a deep breath and gave Makayla a smile. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m your…” He looked over at you and you just gave him a reassuring nod. “I’m your dad.” If he hadn’t been paying attention, this four year old would have tackled him to the floor. 

Makayla threw her arms around his neck and Sam had to hold her up so she wouldn’t fall. His arms wrapped around her gently, like he was afraid he’d crush her. The two just sat there for longer than you thought Makayla was capable. She was always running and jumping and fidgeting. But in her dad’s arms, she didn’t squirm. Your heart swelled at the sight. Sam had his eyes closed to try and keep from crying, but a tear still slipped down his cheek. 

“You must be Sam.” Naomi appeared in the doorway, cleaning off a machete. For a moment, you almost forgot who you all were. 

“He’s my dad!” Makayla squealed happily. Sam stood, using one arm to keep her up and holding out his other hand to shake Naomi’s. 

“Sam Winchester.” She shook his hand with a smirk. 

“Oh honey, I know all about you.” Sam’s eyes darted over to you and you could have sworn that he gave you a smug smile. 

“We should probably be going.” You thanked Naomi and grabbed Makayla’s things. She clung to Sam all the way out to the car. You saw something flash in Dean’s eyes, but you weren’t sure what. You threw Kayla’s things in the back. “Wait, I almost forgot.” You ran back to Naomi’s car and grabbed the car seat. Dean cast you an annoyed look. 

“Dean, she’s four.” Sam exclaimed. 

“Okay, okay.” The older Winchester huffed. You could tell he was just being ornery for the sake of it. Sam pried Makayla off of him and buckled her in. You slid in the seat next to her. 

“Alright, I’ve already scouted a motel in Lebanon that isn’t far from you guys.” You started. Sam turned around. 

“What are you talking about? You’re staying with us.” The look on his face didn’t exactly make you want to argue. 

“You don’t have to do that-”

“As much as I dislike you, I’ve got to agree with Sam.” Dean glanced at you in the mirror. “The safest place for that little girl is the bunker.” You knew they were right. You weren’t super excited to explain the situation to their not-dead mother, but as long as Kayla was safe, it didn’t matter. 

“Uncle Dean?” Makayla chimed. Dean’s eyes widened, the title giving him a weird feeling. 

“Uhh, yeah?” 

“Can you play Flatwheat Macaroni?” Both Winchesters looked extremely confused. You sighed. 

“She means Fleetwood Mac.” You could see Dean slightly smile. 

“I like her.”

-

After a very eventful day, Makayla was asleep by the time you got to the bunker. Sam carried her inside and you grabbed your bags. Inside, you could hear Mary talking to someone. You knew that monotone voice anywhere. 

“Cas?” You dropped the bags on the floor and rushed into the library. There stood your favorite trench-coat wearing angel. Mary crossed her arms, still giving you a suspicious glare. You ran to Cas and crashed into him with a hug. 

“Dean said I’m not supposed to like you anymore.” He hesitated to hug you back, but slowly, his arms wrapped around you. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, announcing that he was going to take a shower. 

“I missed you Castiel.” You beamed. Sam tapped you on the shoulder. 

“I’m going to take her to your room.” He whispered. Mary’s expression softened as she looked at the little girl in her son’s arms. 

“Sam, who is this?” 

“I, um, I’ll explain when I come back.” He said, grabbing your bags with his free hand and finding your room. Cas looked curiously at you and Mary sat down, pointing to the chair across from her. 

“Sit.” She ordered. You obeyed. Honestly, she was more terrifying than the vamps. Mary placed her hands on the table. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you are doing here, but I know that something happened between you and my boys.” 

“Mary, uh, Mrs. Winchester- ma’am,” You stuttered. “I can explain-”

“I just need to know one thing.” Again, her expression changed to a gentler curiosity. “Do I have a granddaughter?” Cas’ eyes went wide and he stared down at you. 

“Yes.” Sam answered, coming back into the room. “Makayla is my daughter.” 

“How long have you known?” Mary asked. How much had she missed?

“About three hours.” 

“Sam and I were together about five years ago. I…” You closed your eyes, not sure if you could face her for this part, “I left and I found out I was pregnant. I’ve spent the last four years trying to raise her alone.” 

“What do you mean you left?” Mama Bear was starting to resurface and Sam put a hand on her shoulder to settle her down. 

“It’s okay, mom.” But you could tell he was lying. “It was a long time ago.” 

“I need a minute to just… absorb all of this.” Mary sighed and retreated to her room. Cas stood awkwardly beside you, the silence growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. Sam looked at the angel and then pointedly looked at the door. It took a second for Cas to catch on. 

“Oh… I should go and do some… angel things.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his complete inability to be subtle. Damn, you’d missed him. Your amusement instantly dissolved when you looked back at Sam. He didn’t look angry, which was somehow so much worse. 

“I’m sorry it had to be like this.” You would give anything to keep from hurting him. 

“It never had to be like this, Y/N.” He sighed, sitting across the table from you. “I went five years never knowing why you left. And now you turn up and reveal that I have a daughter? Just… tell me why.” You were actually taken aback. Dean never told him. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Sam.” 

“Like hell it doesn’t!” He exclaimed. “Y/N, you just vanished. No note. No phone call. Nothing. You were just gone.” 

“I left because I loved you.” You watched his face just contort with more pain and confusion. He pushed away from the table. 

“You know what? I can’t do this right now.” He ran a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. “I’m going to check in on Kayla and then I’m going to bed.” He was absolutely exhausted, but he knew he would just lay in bed and stare at the wall for a few hours before trying to lose himself in some lore. He left without another word.

Five Years Ago

Sam was in a better mood today. A much better mood. He laced his fingers with his while his other hand rested against your bare thigh. Dean had spent the morning driving around town. He figured the two of you could use some alone time. You were grateful. You wanted Sam to hold you, to kiss you and touch you just one last time. 

You couldn’t stay. You knew eventually, he would see it too. He would figure out that you weren’t what he wanted and you would just end up alone and heartbroken. At least now, it was on your terms. 

“Dean will probably be back soon.” Sam sighed, kissing your cheek. “Him and I are checking up on some intel on a possible case. You want to come?” You stretched, lounging comfortably in his warm embrace. 

“I think I’m going to take the day off.” You would spend it packing, not that you had much to take. You kissed him fervently, wanting to savor the feeling for as long as you could. Sam climbed out of bed and gathered up his clothes. Once he was dressed, he started towards the door. “Hey Sam.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.” You smiled, trying to hide the sadness in your eyes. Sam just beamed. 

“I love you too. I’ll see you soon.” With a giant grin on his face, he left. You were gone before he got back.

-

Continue to Part Three

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624​; @halesandy​ @livshaes​;  @d-whinchestergirl87​

Sam Winchester: @theamuz​ 

Makayla Series: @rhiannon-the-troublemaker​; @hoboal87​

[deniigi]

Trope: Homeless Peter

Title: what is home if not a vehicle

Summary: Space-fish attack the Great State of New York, and in the mess, the Avengers lose the goddamn kid.

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

His knees shook when he finally peeled back the helmet and it was a monumental task—the towering, marble kind—to lift one foot and then the other out of the footwell of the suit stand.

But Tony managed it.

You know, like a fuckin’ superhero.

He had this.

He maybe had a head injury and couldn’t see through all the blood dripping down his right eye—but you know what?

A fuckin’ superhero.

That’s me.

Ahahaha—

“TONY.”

Why hello, adoring fan. What a coincidence to meet you on the floor like this.

“What are you doing?”

Having a little lay down, my dear.

“GET UP.”

Wow, that’s a tone to take with a guy who volunteered to be the can in a state-wide Alien Kick-the-Can tournament. A little appreciation would be nice.

“Tony,” Pepper emphasized. “You need to get up.”

Why? Was there another alien? Tony was having a merry time here on the floor. Only more superheroing could move him, and even that was on thin ice given the whole knobbly-knee, shaky-hands situation.

“Peter’s gone.”

Tony’s head shot up.

“He’s not gone,” he said. “He’s with Falcon.”

Pepper’s eyes were very blue and ringed by white on every side.

“No,” she said. “He’s gone. Get. Up.”

 --

Pepper’s hands came around and grabbed his face before he could get another good smash in for it on the desk in front of him.

May Parker was in tears. She had every right to be. Cap was consoling her, promising her that they would find Peter while she fanned her dripping mascara.

And Tony?

Tony was exhausted. And now he had that weird gut-gnawing, gurgling feeling in his stomach, which, combined with the head injury that he was turning slowly into an actual hole straight to his brain (if Pepper would let go, anyways), was paving the way for a future spent at the foot of the porcelain altar.

The kid. Had been. RIGHT. There.

Rhodey had confirmed this. He’d been RIGHT there. Tony had been keeping an eye on him and all that bouncy puppy energy. And when he could no longer do that (see: volunteering to be bait, also known as An Activity Not Appropriate for Minors to Witness), he’d handed him off to Sam.

He’d handed him off to Sam.

Sam was the second most level-headed person on the entire team. Rhodey was the first, and okay, he was mostly first because Tony was biased towards his best friend, but the point remained.

Sam had had the baby.

Sam said that he had had the baby, too. Until he couldn’t have the baby because A) the baby was very slippery and B) the baby apparently smelled like food to giant alien creatures with blue glowing tongues and drippy teeth, and so Sam had sent the baby far the fuck away from that action.

He’d told him to go give Bruce support in the north of the city.

Bruce had tears in his eyes when he said that he’d worked with Peter for a whole fifteen minutes before they’d gotten separated by a building collapsing nearly on top of them. The Hulk didn’t have time to babysit Spiders when that was happening. The Hulk just got angry and launched himself at the face of the fuckin’ space-kaiju that had caused it.

No one could fault him for this.

But that also meant that, two hours into a 48 hour melee, they’d lost the youngest team member.

May Parker was glued to her phone and the news, and Tony could hear the tinny voice of Peter’s voice message echoing out of her phone even from there, even through her hiccups and Steve’s soothing Captain America tones.

Steve said that Peter was a smart boy. He was a strong boy. He’d know that they were looking for him and he’d done way, way worse than two days of fighting before. He’d know when to find a safe place and stay put for long enough to regain his energy.

And more than that, he knew New York like the back of his hand. He’d come home, May.

He’d come home.

Tony was about to swear to this poor woman that he would personally deliver her child to her doorstep when the klaxons crashed through the building and sent Tony’s whole body into a state of temporary numbness with pain.

The room went red.

The room went red again

Everyone turned slowly towards the window and Tony barely saw Steve throwing up the shield and reaching for May Parker at the same time before he reacted.

Pepper went down under the desk.

The glass exploded.

And here we go again.

 ---

 Just for the record—just for the fucking record—Tony wanted it known that he hated Albany.

It was flat.

Its skyline was boring as hell.

And Tony was 99.9% sure that there a mass illness among the people of this city.

Rhodey informed him that he was only thinking that because his interactions with humanity at street level came from New Yorkers and Los Angeles folks, neither of whom could find it in their souls to give a shit about what other people shouted at them.

Rhodey further explained patiently that the reaction of most people in the continental US to a known superhero telling them to get the fuck out of the way was not, in fact, being told ‘no YOU move, motherfucker.’

Tony didn’t get it.

Steve laughed so hard he sort of collapsed onto Sam’s shoulder and started making this sound that reminded Tony of a sob.

They all needed sleep. It had been four days.

But then, like a champion of all 8-year-olds, a little girl piped up from somewhere in the crowd that had gathered around their Avengers team huddle, “Hey! Where’s Spiderman?”

And all bodies went from sobbing to swearing.

The damn kid.

 ---

 It had been a week. May Parker had filed Peter as missing. He still hadn’t come home and he wasn’t even close to getting home because Tony had just gotten a call from Wolver-fucking-ine himself asking if he knew Baby Webs.

“He downed a space-fish in Gloversville,” Wolverine said. “And Scott nearly swiped him up, but he ain’t moved fast enough, and Websy noticed him first. He went and hid in the sewer and kept hissing at us for hours. Tried to feed him, but he wants nothin’ to do with us.”

Peter.

Peter, no.

X-men are friends.

“Did you manage to grab him?” Tony asked, already resigned to the answer.

“He ran off.”

Fuck.

“Sorry about that.”

Fuck.

“He’s a bitty one, ain’t he?”

“He’s fifteen.”

“Jesus.”

“I know,” Tony said. “We’re trying to grab him. It’s been a week. His phone’s dead and his mom’s freaking out, and I swear, he’s never been that far out of a city.”

Wolverine made a contemplative sound.

“Alright, we’ll keep a better eye out,” he said. “He can’t have gone far. He ain’t swingin’ with that web shit.”

He must have run out of that, too.

Peter, honey. Just. Stand. Still.

Forget the space-fish. For like, two hours.

 ---

 May asked Pepper to ask Tony what felt like ages later if the X-men had any more information on her kid. Pepper said that she sounded defeated.

Tony wished that he had more to give her besides a handful of blood from the torn skin on his hip and the words that Scott Summers had passed along just the day previous.

“The kid followed the last fish out,” Summers said. “I’m sorry, Stark. I tried to nab him, but that thing was taking down trees and we all got buried.”

 ---

 Two weeks.

Two whole weeks the boy had been missing and only now were the space-fish starting to let up. Part of that had to do with the fact that Barton had figured out that if you went for the eyes, forsook any sense of self-preservation and decency, and climbed into the gaping hole you left there, you could smash the thing’s brain and take it down to earth like Cap nose-diving into the Atlantic.

Steve had passed through all the stages of grief into hysteria this last week.

No one could talk to him because he started laughing and then weeping in a span of 15 seconds.

Natasha and Sam were on it.

Barnes was out with Barton, laying waste to wading pool that was Rochester at the moment. And that finally gave Tony the time that he needed to go out and search for the kid.

Rhodey came with and they ended up in Horseheads of all places, asking people on the street if they’d seen a Spiderman approximately a half the size they expected him to be.

People in Horseheads said no, that was Buffalo that had had the Spiderchild flinging himself around in it.

So they headed for Buffalo, only to get a message halfway there from Barnes that he’d almost caught the little shit in Rochester. Barton was after him as they spoke.

On foot apparently.

“He looks like shit, Stark,” Barnes said, huffing while he ran. “Clint’s on his tail now though, but I think he thinks he’s in trouble, so he’s—WAIT NO. BARTON.”

And the line went off.

And Rhodey groaned for both of them.

 ----

 Rochester contained a very wet, very frustrated Hawkeye and zero Bucky Barneses.

Hawkeye said that they’d nearly had Peter. But then.

He gestured furiously out to the harbor which was full of wreckage from the ensuing battle on shore.

Tony asked him if they had it handled or if they needed backup, to which Hawkeye said that only God knew shit at this point. He was just a human football, being punted back and forth across the state of New York in a way that his soul truly deserved.

Barton perhaps needed both a nap and a meal or two in him.

Peter probably needed days of both of those things.

“Yeah, no. I asked around and people have seen him bopping around the pigeons and gulls,” Barton said. “Some lady told us that she saw him coming out of a park bathroom. Another gal said she saw him tucked up on a roof and lured him down. She said she thought he was some homeless teenager and was worried ‘cause he was up there without a coat. She was surprised as hell when he was the real thing and asked her for a map. Said his phone was busted and he was trying to find the train station.”

Kiddo.

“He’s makin’ it, Stark,” Barton said. “Not sure how. But he’s makin’ it.”

That wasn’t comforting.

 ---

 Chasing after Peter wasn’t working. He kept slipping through their fingers and getting startled by people chasing him.

He seemed a little paranoid. Although that was probably because folks had started to change tact and approach him out of their suits.

They’d skimmed right past the part where Peter didn’t really know most of them out of their suits. And then they’d skimmed right past the part where most of them, out of their suits, didn’t look anything like the pictures that the paps took of them.

JB’s hair was long as hell. Natasha wore little make up and didn’t both straightening her ginger mane. Sam’s fade was looking a little lopsided with the piece of glass that the docs had had to dig out of it, and so a hat was his primary mode of fashion at the moment. Steve’s out-of-suit fashion could be described as ‘Jock with Tats Wears Cardigan and Dock Martins. More at 11.’

They’d all gone too far into being people and Peter now thought that he was being pursued by undercover SHIELD agents.

And, like the genius child that he was, he’d realized that his reds were catching attention and, now that the space-fish were a less pressing issue, and now that he was up in colder climes, he’d swapped them for some street clothes. And now no one had seen Spiderman.

Including the other Avengers.

The fastest way to find him was through facial recognition software, but someone out there, infuriatingly, seemed to be teaching Peter how to live like this.

The features Tony put in everyone’s new chunky glasses only ever caught him just before he turned tail and started sprinting.

And goddamn, that kid was fast.

Tony himself had chased him through Nowheresville, Fuck This State, and even that seemed ineffective.

He didn’t understand.

Peter knew who he was. He knew his voice.

Right?

Why was he running? Why was he still running?

May thought that he must have gotten it into his head that everyone was furious with him. She said that Peter’s guilt complex was wide and deep and he often slunk home late and hid from her if he thought she was mad.

He wasn’t super great with confrontation outside of his red and blues.

But something was also going on with May. Tony wasn’t sure what it was until Barton came into his lab where Tony was bouncing between trying to find where Peter’s suit had last been and trying to pry the enormous scales off a space-fish head.

“Tony,” Barton said. “Mrs. Parker’s lost faith in us.”

Tony laid his head against the scaly mass in front of him and sighed.

“You know what? That’s fair,” he said.

If some of the world’s so-called finest couldn’t even catch a literal child after three weeks of trying, Tony would have said that they were a bunch of useless fucks, too.

“She came to me and asked me if I’d help her try something different,” Barton said. “So I’m gonna need you to trust me, man.”

Trust him?

Sure, why not?

At this point, nothing Tony or Rhodey or Natasha tried had worked. So why not Barton? He was the one who kept getting the closest to the kid.

He had his own little menace he was chasing around anyways. He knew this shit.

“Glad you think so,” Barton said. “But I need like, a written agreement that you ain’t gonna scream at me, okay?”

Written agreement. Pft. Okay.

 ---

 “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?”

Barton stared at Tony and pointed at Rhodey like a tattle-tell. Tony was exhausted.

“TONY.”

He was so tired, Rhodey.

“You cannot sanction this,” Rhodey said.

Tony wasn’t sanctioning anything. He was just letting the aunt take the reins.

“We are not sending the Punisher after a child,” Rhodey said.

“The jokes on you, bub,” Clint told him. “The Punisher is already keeping an eye out for the child and you know what? He’s got a bite.”

Silence flooded the meeting room. Sam Wilson turned around slowly in his chest and moved his icepack to the other hand.

“Say that again,” he said.

Barnes’s eyes went huge like a cat and Nat leaned her elbows onto his shoulders.

“I said,” Barton scoffed at them, “The Punisher’s still upstate. I sent him a text explaining shit. He’s got a soft spot for babies. You know, latent dad instincts and all that, and he’s been homeless for like, years now. So he said he’ll keep an eye out. He’s got an idea of a few places where kids around Peter’s age go when they’ve got nowhere else to.”

Tony stomped down on the urge to say that Peter wasn’t like those kids; he did have a place to go. He was just misunderstanding the situation. He was just fifteen and tired and not thinking logically. Translating people chasing him as anger instead of help.

Man, all those straight As really put that kid’s fear of abandonment into perspective now.

Tony didn’t even know how to approach him anymore.

He wasn’t a dad. No one on this team was a dad. They didn’t know how to talk to kids. Or if they did, not teenagers.

So you know what?

If the Punisher thought he could grab the kid, then he should.

 ----

 And the Punisher did.

Tony had never spoken directly to the man. The whole team went silent when Barton answered the call and then said, “hold on, let me put you on speaker.”

The Punisher’s voice was husky and hoarse with his whisper.

“Got him,” he said softly.

Tony covered his eyes in relief.

“He’s sleepin’,” The Punisher said. “Real adaptable. You weren’t kiddin’, Barton.”

“Thank god,” Steve said.

“He hurt?” Barton asked.

“Yeah,” the Punisher said. “He ain’t let me look ‘im over, but he’s got scabs all over. Cute kid. Once we were on the same page, he came willingly enough.”

What did that mean?

“Means I had to find some vegetarian shit from McDonalds,” the Punisher said like Tony was an idiot. “Kid’s hungry. Cold. Needs a bath. Found him tucked up with some others. They ain’t wanna come like him. But they’re good kids with good folks; they told him that if he had someone waiting on him, he should go.”

They’d done what?

The Punisher snorted.

“Homeless folks aren’t stupid, moneybags,” he said. “They got problems, but they aren’t stupid. And they ain’t want my help, so that’s that. You give ‘em some money and let ‘em do what they need to.”

What.

“I know, it’s almost like their lives ain’t your business,” the Punisher huffed.

He was kind of a dick.

“You headed back this way?” Barton asked.

“That’s a negative,” the Punisher said.

Rhodey went stiff.

“But don’t worry, I got someone to leave him with when I get to where I’m goin’,” the Punisher said. “He’ll bring him down your way.”

Barton sighed.

“Thanks, Frank,” he said. “We owe you one.”

“I don’t want your debt,” the Punisher said. He said nothing.

“I owe you one,” Barton corrected.

“Damn right, you do, Sparky.”

“Collect when you’re ready,” Barton said.

“Copy that.”

Barton hung up and stared with crystal eyes into Tony soul.

“Someone tell the kid’s aunt,” he said.

 ---

 The Punisher went up to Niagara Falls, whereupon he handed Peter off to Deadpool.

Tony almost had a stroke.

May Parker slapped a hand onto her chest and sighed in relief.

“Thank god,” she said.

Thank god?

More like, god have mercy, no?

“No, thank god,” May said.

May had Deadpool’s number in her goddamn phone. Tony was dumbfounded.

“Eyyyyyy,” Deadpool cheered when he answered May’s call. “Well, look who it is. Pete—heya babycakes, you—? Okay, no. Sorry, we had a big day at the falls. He’s tired.”

Deadpool cackled. May huffed out a chuckle and shook her head.

“Thank you, Wade,” she said tearfully. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Deadpool said cheerfully. “Little Scrappy’s just scrappier. He ain’t hurt bad. Just a little shaken. Got that good anxiety. Six kinds of paranoia, look at ‘im go. That’s healthy, that’s what that is.”

It was not, Mr. Pool.

“Who’s makin’ that racket in the background?” Deadpool asked.

May explained that she was in the company of the Avengers. She did not say that half of them were shocked stupid. She did not say that Rhodey was clawing his hands at the sky and lamenting a career in military service being useless compared to fuckin’ Deadpool’s sunny disposition.

“Ah,” Deadpool said. “Well, I’m just gonna not say shit to him about that.”

“That’s fine,” May said. “Tell him I love him and I’m not mad. I’ve just been worried. Where’s his phone?”

“Oh, honey. You should see it. Kid fished it out of the sea,” Deadpool said. “I found a fuckin’ barnacle in it. Pretty impressive how small them things get, you know what I mean?”

Somehow, May did. Even though Tony emphatically did not.

“How long?” she asked.

“Ehn. Well. I got a job . Then I’m meeting someone in Syracuse. But you know what’s good news?”

“What?” May asked.

“Red’s at a conference in Ithaca,” Deadpool said. “He said he can swipe Spiderkid up from the bus station.”

Red?

Who was Red?

“You serious right now, DP?” Barnes asked.

“Ohhhh, why hello there, Winter. Didn’t see you there,” Deadpool said. “I am indeed serious. I’ll put the kid on a bus to Cornell or where the fuck ever and our Hornheaded friend will grab him before he scurries off to the wind again. He’ll be fine. Car rides are lullabies to him.”

May seemed touched.

“I’ll wire you the money, Wade,” she said.

“Huh? Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. I’m puttin’ it in the favor box,” Deadpool said. “Barnesy, my boy. Red hates everything upstate and his boo-bear’s got family they’re gonna visit in Poughkeepsie. Can one of you darling blockheads meet him up there to take the kid, so he doesn’t ruin his one and only chance at marriage?”

What.

The fuck.

Was happening?

“Uuuuh, when? Tomorrow?” Barton asked.

“Two days from now,” Deadpool said. “If you can’t, don’t sweat it. I got a gal who’s willing to pick him up.”

“I can go as far as Paterson,” Barnes said out of nowhere. “If your gal can bring him down that far, that’d be good. I’ll bring the bike.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun,” Deadpool said. “Totally doable. I’ll give her a call and send you an address. Thanks a million, Winter.”

Barnes sniffed.

“It’s cool. Show him a picture of me so he ain’t bolt again,” he said.

“Copy that,” DP said. “I’ll let him know what you said, May. Bye for now.”

He hung up.

May Parker deflated into a puddle of relief.

Tony still didn’t know what was happening.

“Wilson’s gonna hand the kid off to Daredevil,” Barton explained. “And DD will take him with him to Poughkeepsie, where Wilson’s contact—the fuck is her name, Barnes?”

“Domino,” Barnes said.

“That’s the one,” Barton said. “She’ll pick him up, probably with Summers, and bring him down to Paterson and then Barnes’ll go grab him from there and bring him home.”

That—

Wh—

Why couldn’t they, the Avengers, have orchestrated this? This was not hard. This was advanced Connect Four.

“Sometimes, you can’t think like a hero,” Barton told him. “You gotta think like a vigilante.”

 ---

 Peter came home. Barnes swept him up from the station in Paterson and tossed him over a shoulder. And Tony came into the medical bay as soon as he got word of their arrival to find him sprawled out there still, asking Barnes a thousand questions about fuckin’ heroin.

God, lord, Jesus.

Someone spare Tony’s soul.

Peter noticed him and reacted by slipping off Barnes’s shoulder and hiding behind him as though he expected Tony to start shouting at any moment.

And for a moment, Tony almost felt like he should have.

But he wasn’t Peter’s dad. And Peter hadn’t done that shit on purpose. He’d just been scared and when he got scared, he’d decided to turn towards people he knew he could trust.

The other street level guys. People like him.

Tony couldn’t be angry with him for that.

So he came over and collapsed into the chair next to Peter’s assigned bed and held out his arms.

“Hugs for an old man?” he asked.

Peter peeked out from behind Barnes and lit up.

His hug was crushing. His clothes were rank and his wrists looked skinny and he was as pale as Tony had ever seen him, but he was here.

And he was chillin’.

“Next time, just stay in the city, alright?” Tony said. “We got the state. You got the city. At least until you’re old enough to have your own credit card, yeah?”

“Kay,” Peter hummed.

“You scared the shit out of us, kiddo.”

Peter pulled away from him and hopped back up on the bed.

“Is my aunt coming?” he asked.

Tony sighed.

She was.

“Cool, I missed her. My phone broke and maps are hard. I got like four of them. Folks kept givin’ theirs to me, even though I needed like, money.”

Tony leaned forward and held his face in his hands.

“Yeah?” he finally managed to say.

“Yeah,” Peter hummed. “It’s really hard to get a bus with no money. And they don’t even have buses in a lot of places, you know? Like, Uber isn’t even a thing out there. You’ve just gotta have a car or know someone who does.”

Bless.

“Wade says that I’m a city boy.”

That’s ‘cause you are, child.

“But I slept in a tree, so that’s camping.”

It’s not.

“And there was a raccoon. So that’s camping.”

It’s really, really not.

“I saw Cyclops and he tried to laser-eyes me, but, get this, I Lizard-ed him. Went into the sewers like Connors. I mean, he’s a jerk, but he’s definitely right to stick to the sewers. It’s warm down there. Can you imagine if the X-men X-manned me, though? Wade says that they do that to people.”

Tony was melting.

“They definitely do that to people,” Barnes said.

Vigilantes, man. The lies they spread.

“I made some friends in Buffalo,” Peter carried on. “They’re nice. They used to live in Rochester. They saw me fighting a space-fish, and they said that was cool as hell. And so they were tellin’ me about garbage plates and then Chelsea’s mom told me I needed to go home because May probably wasn’t mad and it was getting too cold. And then she made me promise not to do drugs. And when Mr. Castle showed up, she waved him down—I like her a lot. I gave them my money so that they could sleep in the shelter and I think Mr. Castle gave her more money, but he gave me and Chelsea McDonalds. And it was like, so good, Mr. Stark. I forgot how much I like McDonalds.”

Fuckin’ garbage plates.

“I’m gonna make one,” Peter hummed.

Someone come take these kid home already.

 ----------------------------------

Problems I have with the Trope:

So I don’t know the homeless Peter trope very well, but I don’t love it because in order to write it, you have to remove May from the picture, pretty much entirely. Folks either tend to kill her or make her abusive and that’s fucked up to do to, not only Peter’s remaining family member, but to a civilian female character.

I also don’t love this trope because I don’t love Irondad and the homeless Peter trope is pretty much designed for him to be saved by Tony.

The third reason I don’t enjoy this trope is because I don’t think enough people do their research on, not only what it takes to become homeless (especially for a minor), but how broad definitions of homelessness are. People who are homeless don’t just live on the street; they live in cars, they couch surf, they work hard to be clean, they have jobs.

And the last reason (for now), that I find this trope difficult is Peter’s age. Age is the hardest shit. A homeless 14-15 yo is kind of difficult to work with because there are layers of safety nets and, if you don’t kill May or make her abusive, it is next to impossible to work through her responsible nature and stability to put her and Pete out on the street plausibly (and I refused to compromise on this, which is how I ended up with this accidental loss). It would be much easier to write a homeless Peter as a college student.

[p-artsypants]

I Do...I Guess (6)

The Farplane

Ao3 | FF.net

I decided to change the way the Farplane worked, only for story purposes. You know, you gotta do what you can for the Drama™.

Also, I’m going to try to keep the lore the same, but it gets kind of confusing towards the end of the first game, so if I mess up or change something, I’m trying to have it make sense in my head. 

Also, I don’t want to completely rehash the whole story the same way, except for the little change of Yuna and Tidus being married. But some of the events are going to be pretty similar and chronological. I mean, they have a path they have to go, and I really liked the story in the game. Why ruin a good thing?

The longer time goes on, the more we’ll diverge. I’m hoping this story will reach into X-2’s timeline, but the ending is still fuzzy. I’m not writing this ahead of time, like a smart person would. You’re getting it as it comes! Whoooo!

—

As they reached the gate to the Farplane, Auron took a seat on the edge of the ramp.

“I can’t go in.” He said simply. 

Rikku took up the seat next to him and took a deck of cards out of her inventory. “We Al Bhed aren’t super big on the Farplane. We prefer to leave the past in the past.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you dig up all the Machina.” Wakka muttered, before being elbowed by Lulu. “Ow!” 

“Behave.” 

The gate to the Farplane looked like a wall of water, mirroring the side they were on.

Tidus hesitated outside, but Wakka and Lulu walked in without another thought.

“Are you coming?” Yuna asked. 

“Uh yeah…” 

And it felt like submerging underwater, but there was no wetness, just the sensation of moving from one world into the next. 

The Farplane was vast and huge, teeming with life, despite being the land of the dead. Flowers covered the ground, and cascading waterfalls filled the sky. 

The sun looked like a hole had been punched in the sky and light shone from behind. A rotting, swirling blackness gnawed at the edges, making the almost pristine world have an ominous air to it. 

“Whoa.” Said Tidus. 

“It’s so pretty,” said Yuna. 

“So how does this work?” Tidus asked the more experienced party members. 

“It’s pretty easy,” Wakka walked up to a podium at the edge of the platform they stood on. “All you gotta do is touch this sphere, here. Then, all the people in the Farplane that want to see you will appear. Then you get to pick who you want to talk to, and they’ll come forward, and then you can talk to them.” 

“Have you done this before?” 

“For sure, ah? Quite a few years ago, Chappu and I were talking about an old Besaid legend, the Melonheads. It was a group of people with swollen heads that lived in the caves down by the beach. Chappu never believed they existed, but me and some of the Aurochs were sure it was true. So when Lulu and I came through on our last pilgrimage, I asked the previous leader of Besaid about it.” 

“And what did he say?” 

“He didn’t know, so he called on his predecessor, and he called on his, so on and so forth, until we got all the way back to the war.” 

“And?” 

“And it was a bunch of bologna. It was some dumb joke from my grandfather’s era.” 

“That’s really cool you got to solve it though!” Yuna chirped. “And you got to talk to the founder of Besaid! That’s amazing.” 

“So who’s going first?” Tidus asked, glancing at the podium. 

“I’ll go. I’ll show you how it works,” replied Wakka. He confidently strolled up to the podium, but paused with his hand hovering over the sphere. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I just…got nervous, all of a sudden. I haven’t seen Chappu since…” he swallowed instead of finishing his sentence, and then pressed his hand on the surface of the softly glowing sphere. 

The air filled with hazy figures, slowly solidifying into ghostly people. Details and faces appearing as they were before they died. About fifty in total, and mostly men. 

Luzzu, a crusader that Tidus had met on Besaid, and travelled with the team all the way to Mi’ihen, was among them. 

“Wow,” Wakka said with a little, sad chuckle. “There’s more here than I was expecting.” Then he spotted Chappu, and beckoned him forward. 

“Hey big brodda! It’s been awhile, ya?” Chappu greeted with a big smile. Though he had the proud Besaid accent and boisterous voice, his sound was airy and wispy.    

“Yeah. Yeah it has.” Wakka responded, without much enthusiasm. 

“What’s with the cold reception?! Bummed because I’m dead?” 

Wakka laughed slightly, unable to help it. “Yeah. Yeah man, that’s it exactly.” 

“Well knock it off! The Farplane isn’t too bad, ya? I built a place down by the river, surrounded by flowers. We play Blitz all day, and never have to work. And the best part? No Sin! Sure, we don’t eat or sleep, but we don’t need to. So stop moping!” 

“I just…miss you. Is all.” 

“Yeah, I miss you too, eh? But time is different here. Not sure how long I’ve been dead.” 

“About a year now.” 

“Wow, a whole year! Feels like just yesterday, but also like I’ve been here for eons. It’s too hard to explain.” He waved a hand in front of his face, changing the topic. “What are you doing in Guadosalam anyway?” 

“I’m a guardian again. This time, for good. Gave up the game. It was time to get serious, you know?”

“Who this time?” 

“It’s Yuna, she’s finally ready.” He gestured behind him so that Chappu could see. 

Yuna waved. 

“Little Yuna is already on her Pilgrimage? Well, good luck! And I’ll save you a good spot!” He laughed. 

No one joined. 

“Hey Wakka,” Chappu grew serious. “You takin’ good care of my girl?” 

“He bullies me,” Lulu answered. 

“I do not! If anything, you’re the bully!”

“You need to be bullied. You’re too immature.” 

Chappu laughed again. “I guess I got my answer.”

“If anything, I’m taking care of him.” Lulu added. “But he makes sure I’m staying safe.” 

“Good, glad to hear it. I’d haunt Wakka if he wasn’t taking care of you.” 

Lulu closed her eyes, and downcast her face, hiding her expression. 

“I see Kimahri, and who’s this dude?” Chappu gestured to Tidus. 

“Your long lost twin, ya? Gotta rub some tomato in his hair, but he could be you. I gave him your sword. I think he likes it.” 

“Good! I certainly don’t need it here. Better he use it to keep Yuna safe.” 

“You got it, Chappu!” Tidus gave him a thumbs up. 

“I wish I could talk longer, but your time is precious. Just promise me one thing, Wakka.”

“What’s that?” 

“Let me go.” 

Wakka swallowed and shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do that yet, you know? For the longest time, I hoped…” he swallowed again, finding his throat too dry. “In my head, I knew you’d be here. They told me they found your body. But my heart kept hoping that they were wrong. But here you are.” 

“So take this as closure. I’m fine. Great actually. I have plenty of regrets,” he glanced at Lulu, “but there’s no one in the Farplane who doesn’t have their regrets. I’ll learn to live with them. Or…die with them, as the case may be. But you still have time, and hanging onto me is going to drag you down.” 

“Gee, when did you get so smart?” 

“You learn a few things when you arrive here. Things that seemed important when you were alive suddenly aren’t anymore, and you get a look at a bigger picture. But I’m spoiling it for you.” He shot his arm out, giving Wakka a brotherly punch that he’d never feel. “Take care, brodda. Get Yuna to Zanarkand, and maybe coach the Aurochs again if you get back, ah? We got to win once.” 

Wakka laughed. “We did win! This guy,” he pointed at Tidus. “He allegedly played for the Zanarkand Abes! He took us to the finals!” 

“You for real? He’s from Zanarkand? We played them on this side not too long ago. Great team! They got some moves I’ve never seen before. Kicked our butts, they did!” 

Wakka laughed, a real genuine laugh since they had arrived in Guadosalam. It was heartbreaking. 

“Well, you better get off the line, before we talk about Blitz for three hours.” 

“Yeah.” He sighed, and his shoulders relaxed. “I’ll see you around, ya? Next time, I might be on the other side with you.” 

“You better be an old man.” 

“No guarantees. You save me a good spot too though, okay?” 

“Already did. It’s blocked out and everything.” 

“Thanks. Well…bye Chappu.” 

“See you, Wakka.” 

And he removed his hand from the sphere. For a while, he stood there, staring at the place Chappu had been. Then he quickly wiped his face and turned to the group. “See? Easy as pie! Who’s next?” 

Yuna avoided eye contact and twiddled her thumbs. 

“Lu? You wanna go?” 

“I have no one I want to talk to.” Then she considered a moment. “But, there is someone I want to see. Just to make sure they made it to the Farplane.” She approached the podium, and touched the sphere. 

About the same amount of people appeared for Lulu as for Wakka, with lots of the same faces, including Chappu. 

After a glance over the crowd, she frowned. “A shame.” 

“You don’t see them?” 

“No. But, they could just not want to see me. I wouldn’t blame them either.” She removed her hand and stepped back, leaving the podium open for Yuna. 

“I guess it’s my turn, then.” 

With the determination he saw her garner when she summoned, Yuna approached the sphere, and placed her hand on it. Tidus was quick to take his place beside her, for emotional support. 

Many more people appeared. Maybe 200. Maybe more. It was hard to tell. 

“Famous even in the Farplane,” Tidus joked. 

“Hm. Many of these people knew my father, and probably would like to speak to me because of him. Or perhaps I met them once and made that big of an impact. It’s hard to know. But, honestly, I don’t recognize them all.” 

But there, in the middle, stood her parents, arm in arm, reunited in death. 

She beckoned them forward. 

Immediately, Lord Braska’s face melted in adoration. “Is that my Yuna? My little girl?” His voice, like Chappu, had a wispy quality to it. The sound of someone speaking without vocal chords. 

“Hello mother, father.” She greeted with a tearful smile. 

“My my child, how you have grown. How old are you now?” 

“17.” 

“Ten years it’s been then? What are you doing in Guadosalam?” 

“I’m on my own Pilgrimage to Zanarkand.” 

Instead of beaming with pride, like Tidus expected he would, Braska frowned. “You became a Summoner? That’s…a fate I had hoped to spare you from.” 

“You’re so young,” said her mother. 

“I know. But, when you defeated Sin, you brought so much joy to Spira. I want to do so too. And it’s not your fault, but I think everyone expects the same of me.” 

“I was afraid of that.” Braska lamented. 

“I want you to meet my guardians!” Yuna interjected, before the man could blame himself further. She beckoned Kimahri closer. “This is Kimahri Ronso. Sir Auron met him on his way back from your Pilgrimage and asked him to find me. He brought me to Besaid and stayed with me ever since.”

“Glad to know Auron kept his promise to look after you.” Braska smiled. 

“In Besaid, I met Lulu and Wakka. They’ve been like family to me. They practically raised me. And Sir Auron, we met up with in Luca. He’s outside, with Rikku!”

“Rikku?” Asked her mother, “your cousin?”

“Yep!”

This little tidbit of information did not escape Wakka. “Your who-what now?” 

Yuna hunched her shoulders. “Um…Rikku is my cousin?”

“But…that would mean…you’re Al Bhed?”

Yuna’s mother spoke up. “Half. A summoner married to an Al Bhed is given no favors, even if he’s widowed. So, it’s not well known.” 

“Summoner Braska married one…” Wakka shook his head in disbelief. “What a way to learn this information…” 

“You’re not going to bail, are you?” Asked Lulu. 

“No. Guardian through and through. Just…I need some time to process.” He held his head and muttered something that sounded like, “and I said all those things.” 

“And who’s this strapping gentleman standing next to you?” Yuna’s mother asked. “I think you missed a guardian?”

“Oh! Of course. This is Tidus, Sir Jecht’s son…and my husband.”

THAT brought joy from the couple. 

“You got married!” Her mother cheered. “That’s wonderful!” 

“To the crybaby?” Asked Braska, with a smug smile.

Tidus rolled his eyes. “I’m not a crybaby.”

“There will be some hard times ahead of you, and having someone like a spouse to support you will help. It's a luxury I wish I could have had.”

“Actually…” She clenched her hands to her chest. “There’s something I need your advice on. One Summoner to another.” 

“Whatever you need, My Love.” 

Just that little nickname brought joy to the part of her heart that had desperately missed her father. “Did you ever know Maester Seymour Guado?”

He thought for a moment. “Lord Jyscal’s son? I don’t think I ever met him. He’s half human, half Guado, right? He’s a Maester now, hmm? Good for him.”

“Yes, he umm…he proposed to me.”

Braska laughed. “And you obviously told him you were married, correct?”

“Well, yes. But Tidus and I have only been married a few days. Well, Maester Seymour believes it would be best if we got our marriage annulled, and Maester Seymour and I wed instead.”

“He said that!?” Yuna’s mother gawked. 

Braska, too, looked disturbed at the idea. “Why would he ask such a thing?”

“He said that…well, as a Summoner, it’s my job to bring joy to Spira. And a wedding between a Maester and Summoner would be a joyous occasion.” 

“Sure,” said Braska. “Until they find out that you broke off your marriage of love for a marriage for politics.” 

“That’s what Auron said!” Tidus interjected. 

“And that didn’t convince you?” 

Yuna blushed, embarrassed. “I know…I just…he’s a Maester, and he only has Spira and Summoner’s best interests at heart. He wouldn’t have asked if there wasn’t some good that would come out of it.” As she said it, she wondered if she really believed that. It was what she was trying to convince herself was really happening, instead of the gut feeling that hit everytime Seymour appeared. “Would he?”

Braska shook his head. “My sweet daughter, by bringing the Calm, I had hoped that I had paved a way for you to do what you want. I’m so proud that you’ve become a summoner. But Spira’s happiness doesn’t need to rest solely on your shoulders. There’s no reason you and Tidus couldn’t have a more formal and public ceremony to bring joy.”

Yuna looked over to Tidus, not having considered that at all. 

“Yuna. As hypocritical as this may sound, promise me, you won’t let anyone tell you want to do in your marriage. You and Tidus are a team now. A team not even a Maester can break up. And that’s coming from High Summoner Braska.” 

Yuna actually wept a few tears in relief. “Thank you, father. I needed to hear that. I was so concerned about Yevon and my duties to the Temples, that I forgot my duties as a wife.” She turned to Tidus. “I’m going to tell Seymour no.”

Tidus deflated like a balloon, relaxed and relieved. “Thank Yevon, right?” 

“And you, Sir Tidus,” Braska said sternly. 

Tidus straightened up. 

“As her guardian, don’t be afraid to tell people to back off. It’s your duty. Your father was particularly talented in it. Although, best not use the same language and hand gestures he used.” 

“I understand.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’d get it. Yevon isn’t a thing in Zanarkand. Knowing what’s appropriate and would reflect poorly on Yuna…that’s something I’m trying to figure out.” 

“Whatever you do, once Yuna defeats Sin, it all gets overlooked, or remembered fondly. So just do what you have to.” 

“Yes sir!”

“Glad to hear it. Now, Yuna…there’s something you should know about Zanarkand.” 

“What is it, father?”

Braska hesitated. “Did Auron tell you anything?”

“Um…not anything outside of my expectations.” 

“Hmm. And you’re set on this Summoner path?” 

“That's all I want.” 

He seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say, and instead said, “well, I suppose you’ll find out when the time comes. In the end, it won’t matter.” 

“In the end?” Asked Tidus. 

Braska gave him a little look. “At the end of the Pilgrimage. It won’t matter. All she needs to do is defeat Sin.” 

“Oh, sure. Right.” 

Braska reached a hand out, touching the side of Yuna’s face, sending tingles over her cheek. “One last thing, my wonderful daughter. There’s no shame in abandoning the Pilgrimage. I almost turned back, and most Summoners do as well. I love you, and I will continue to do so no matter what you choose.”

“Thank you, father. It’s a blessing to know I have your support no matter what happens.” 

“And Tidus’ support,” he reminded. “And he’s tangible.” 

Tidus rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing affectionately. 

Wiping a tear from her eye, Yuna gave a curt nod. 

“Good luck, My dearest daughter.” 

“We’ll be waiting,” her mother added. 

And Yuna removed her hand from the podium. She sighed, closing her eyes. 

“Feel a little better?” Tidus asked. 

“Yes. I had hoped talking to my father would give me clarity. And it did.” 

“Uh…Yuna?” Wakka spoke up. 

They were both prepared for Wakka to start interrogating her about her heritage, since that had to be on the forefront of his mind. Instead, he was pointing at the place Braska had been. 

Yuna looked up, and saw a Guado man. “Lord Jyscal?” 

Unlike Chappu and Braska, Jyscal looked…unwell. Dead and ghostly, of course, but he looked more gray, more tormented. He crooked a finger towards her, and beckoned her closer. 

Yuna leaned in, nervous that a figment could appear without anyone touching the podium. 

He whispered something in her ear. Something that puzzled her. 

But before anyone could ask questions, he was gone. 

“What did he say?” Asked Tidus. 

“I…I’m not sure. I couldn’t understand him.” She lied. More than anything, she wanted to deflect from the news she had received. “Tidus, would you like to try?” She gestured to the sphere.

He considered it. “It couldn’t hurt right? Maybe I’ll tell my mom that I got hitched. She won’t believe me.” He laughed as rested his hand on the sphere.

Hundreds. Thousands of people appeared. 

A city’s worth.

“Whoa…” said Wakka. 

“Ah. Yeah…that’s what happens when you and your dad are famous, I guess. All my fans want to see me.” He frowned as he looked around, tears gathering in his eyes. 

Children, young people in the prime of their lives, and his teammates. Friends he had eaten with just a month ago. They were all here, waiting for him. 

“I…I changed my mind.” He removed his hand. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.” The ghosts disappeared, like a bad dream.  

Wakka was staring at him, jaw dropped. 

“What?”

“You’re for real? You’re really from Zanarkand?”

Tidus chuckled. “Oh so now you believe me?”

“Kind of hard to ignore the evidence! I don’t even know that many people!”

“I’m waiting for an apology.”

Wakka sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry for doubting you and calling you delusional.”

“Ahem.”

“I’m sorry, Sir Tidus.”

He smiled. “Hey, water under the bridge! Now, let’s go tell Seymour the good news and get the heck out of Guadosalam!”

Lulu spoke up. “Unfortunately, there’s a really bad storm in the Thunder Plains. We’ll have to stay the night here.” 

“When is it not storming in the Thunder Plains?”

“Fine. Get struck. See if I care.” 

Yuna led the party out of the Farplane, back to where Rikku and Auron were waiting. 

“So?” Asked Rikku. “How did it go?” 

“I’ve decided to tell Seymour no. Tidus and I are staying married.” 

“Good!” She cheered, then tacked on, “Seymour’s kind of an asshole anyway.” 

“He’s still a Maester. So you shouldn’t call him that.” Reprimanded Lulu. “At least, not in front of others.” 

Wakka sheepishly approached Rikku and gave her a light rap on the shoulder with his knuckles. “Hey kiddo, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. We might disagree about things, but there was no reason for me to yell at you, ya?” 

“Aww, it’s okay Wakka. It’s hard to fight against your whole worldview, right?” 

Auron smirked at the exchange. “Let me guess. You found out about Yuna's heritage?” 

Wakka might as well be as transparent as those on the Farplane. “Yeah well. Even if Yuna wasn’t half Al Bhed…it was still crappy to yell at a kid.” 

Rikku grinned. “I’ll take it!” 

The group then returned to Seymour’s mansion. Only to find the man in question missing. 

“Lord Seymour has moved on to his temple in Macalania, as he stated you needed time to consider his offer,” said Tromell.

“He didn’t wait for the storm to pass?” Asked Lulu. 

“Lord Seymour is not bothered by such things. But he assumed the storm and your late arrival would keep you here, and he has had two rooms prepared for you.” 

Tidus and Yuna shared a look. Only two rooms?

“Whoo! Slumber party!” Rikku chirped. 

Auron patted Tidus’ back and spoke softly. “I can see the anxiety on your face, plain as day. Lulu and Rikku will be with her. There’s nothing to worry about.” 

“Getting separation anxiety two days into marriage, eh?” Wakka chided. “It’s kinda cute.” 

“Lay off. I’m just…pissed with Seymour, is all.” He muttered, only partly lying. 

“If you are all set, I will show you to your rooms. If you will follow me.”  

Tidus and Yuna fell into step with one another, as was a common occurrence as of late. 

“Yuna?” 

“I know,” she said with a sad little smile. “We should talk about it. But…I’m kind of tired. Can it wait until we have the privacy of our own room?” 

That was such a gracious request, he couldn’t help but honor it. “Of course. Later. But, we’re good, right?”

“Only if you’re okay. I wouldn’t blame you if you were still mad at me.” 

“It’s kind of hard to stay mad at you. It…kind of hurt, but I understand.” 

She reached over and took his hand, squeezing it. “I never want to hurt you again.” This came out with so much sorrow in her voice. 

He leaned in and kissed her cheek.

[cake-writes]

Compromise (Interlude #3)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety, Violence

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Part Nine / Master List / Spotify Playlist

This chapter was written for @marquiswrites​​‘s 100 follower challenge! Congrats, my love! I’m so sorry I’m like a week late on this. Please enjoy.

Bucky’s heart caught in his throat. With his pulse racing just as fast as yours, he quickly got the hell out of dodge and went to the counter to pay. The check became a means of escape. Instinctual, perhaps – fight or flight, and he chose the latter because he was absolutely fucking terrified.

What did you want from him?

He cared about you. He loved you. That much was clear, but in that moment, he’d been forced to confront his feelings and he wasn’t ready to. Not yet. Not with you gazing at him across the table, teeth dragging across your lower lip in such an enticing way that it made him break into a nervous sweat. 

God, how irresistible could you be?

It wasn’t just nerves that drove him up a wall. Bucky wanted to act on the implication in your words, your teasing, your flirting. He wanted to reach over across the table and kiss the breath out of you, desperately, with every fibre of his being. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not now.

He wasn’t ready.

To be a parent, he was. To be a dad.

But to disappoint you again? He absolutely wasn’t.

Needless to say, things only worsened on the walk back to your house – the walk from hell. Somehow, he managed to keep his cool, but his mind was a mess. Anxiety. Panic. Fear. What ifs ran through his mind on an endless loop and gnawed incessantly at his subconscious.

What the hell did you want from him?

But Bucky knew what you wanted. Deep down, he probably always knew.

The sound of your heartbeat was a dead giveaway; quiet, almost inaudible, but he’d heard it quicken. He’d seen the flush come across your cheeks as you teased him – simple words to be sure, but laced with innuendo.

He wasn’t just imagining things.  

And yet, you had been the one to draw a line in the sand two years ago, to shut down any future the two of you might have had. You left him, and it had been your idea to come to an agreement for Winnie. Even now, he could appreciate that you’d done so. She was more important. She’d always be more important. 

Bucky knew you knew that, too, so what the hell was he supposed to do?

He missed you. He loved you. He wanted to be with you.

But he loved his daughter, too.

Bucky startled awake to nothing but silence, the sound of his own voice echoing in his ears.

You take me instead, do you hear me?

A thin sheen of sweat coated his body, and he ran a shaky hand through his damp hair, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down. One, then two. Pitch dark room. Moonlight spilled in through the blinds and onto his duvet.

All he wanted to do was dream – to forget – but instead, he had a nightmare.

Give her back and take me instead.

The words scratched at the back of his throat, dry and unbearable. How many times had he heard that particular phrase? Too many times to count. Too many memories of Hydra blurred the lines within his brain, made things feel entirely too real. Possibly because they were. Bucky had done awful things to secure Hydra’s future, and although he hadn’t been a willing participant, it was still him. All him. He’d done such terrible things that his mind liked to conjure them as a punishment of his own making. 

Once, he ripped a woman away from her father – made him watch. She’d been a threat to Hydra, and thus had to be eliminated despite her father’s desperate pleas to give her back, to take him instead. And now, Bucky understood.

Usually, he watched helplessly as Winnie was kidnapped, taken from him, her young life snuffed out with the flick of a wrist. Or the tip of a knife. Or the sound of a gun.

Quick. Efficient. All ways in which he’d taken lives before.

His sweet, darling daughter, dead in a millisecond. The heartbreak and pain he felt at the very thought of it – never mind witnessing it in such a vivid nightmare – could only be replicated when it was you instead of Winnie. And Bucky understood that, too.

He’d murdered a newlywed on her wedding night, right in front of her groom. Blood spatter against white spackled walls, pristine dress stained a rich, ruby red. Life snuffed out more easily than love, he discovered, when he wound up having to dispatch her new husband, too.

I love her. Give her back. Take me instead.

Bucky would have done the same for you. 

Somehow, he’d found the smallest shred of stability with you, despite his uncanny ability and willingness to blow it up because of his own insecurities – but his past still came back to haunt him anyway. 

With a shudder, he dragged his hands down his face in an attempt to forget the horrors.

It was in times like these that he missed you the most. No matter what, you’d always offered him so much comfort and love despite everything he’d done. Quiet, gentle comfort he’d grown so accustomed to that, even two years after the fact, he still had yet to figure out how he’d survived without.

You’d rouse with a sleepy mumble of his name and reach out for him, small hand coming to rest against his heaving chest. The harsh pounding of his heart beneath your palm would wake you a little more – as would the feel of Bucky’s too-hot skin, sticky with sweat, and you’d blearily blink your eyes open to look over at him in the darkness.

Shh, he’d say. Go back to sleep, doll. I’m fine.

Fine. Always fine. 

Always a lie. 

Just like the crooked smile on his lips, meant to reassure you that it wasn’t a lie this time. Even though it was.

Oh, Bucky… Come here.

You’d see right through him in an instant. Stroke his hair. Whisper sweet nothings to him in the softest, kindest voice he’d ever heard, delicate and strong all at once. And when you’d tell him that everything was going to be alright in such dulcet tones, well, he just had to believe you, didn’t he?

Sometimes he’d break down a little at your gentle touch and even gentler words. He’d wrap his arms around you, hold you tight, cling to you like you were his lifeline and in a lot of ways, you were. He often told you things in confidence that he’d never told anyone before; it felt good to have another person to join him in the darkness, no matter how slight. How selfish. 

And you’d stroke his hair.

Christ.

With an aggravated sigh, Bucky snatched up his phone from the nightstand. He desperately wanted to seek comfort from you like you’d done so many times before so long ago. The problem was that he felt conflicted, now, because of a multitude of reasons: your relationship was already so strained, for one, and it was bound to affect Winnie. Not to mention he knew. 

He knew you wanted to be with him, but you deserved better.

If he reached out, he’d be taking advantage of your feelings for his own selfish comfort. It would complicate things. He’d disappoint you again. He’d ruin what little good relations the two of you had, and it would negatively affect Winnie.

Dear, sweet Winnie with a halo of blood around her perfect little head. His darling daughter, dead in her big girl bed. Bullet in her brain.

Three in the morning. You wouldn’t be awake, but right now he just couldn’t shake the need for your kind, soothing words.

She’s alright, Bucky, you’d say. She’s fine.

He knew you would.

Thumbs hovering over the keyboard on the screen, he couldn’t help himself. Selfish. So, so selfish.

 Bucky, 3:18am Sorry. I know it’s late. Are you awake?

 As soon as Bucky hit ‘send’, he immediately wanted to take it back. He’d managed so many times without you before, and he could do it again. All he had to do was try. A nightmare. That was all. Winnie was fine.

It was so stupidly selfish of him to reach out to you like this, knowing what he knew. He didn’t need you to comfort him, did he? He just wanted it, wanted you.

Needed you.

When his phone vibrated less than a minute later, it made him jump.

 You, 3:19am What’s wrong?

 You had to work in the morning. Why were you up?

Staring at your message, Bucky wasn’t really sure what to say. He started to type one thing, then backspaced and tried another, only managing to get a couple of words in before he changed his mind again. A text was so impersonal – not like how sweet and caring you were in person, in bed with him, and he had some difficulty finding the right words for the situation.

Three or four attempts later, his phone vibrated again and he froze.

A phone call.

Bucky barely had time to bring the device up to his ear before you’d already started to ask on the other end, “Who was it this time?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, before he rasped, “Winnie.” Then he cleared his throat and tried again, “It was Winnie.”

“Winnie? Okay, hold on,” you told him, and then he heard some shuffling – fabric against the microphone, and your voice came through a little more muffled. “Must have been pretty bad tonight, huh?” Your tone was light despite the dreadful subject; then came a creak, a pause, and you let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, she’s fine.”

His phone vibrated again.

In confusion, Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear. You’d sent him another text, which he quickly opened to find a photo of Winnie sleeping soundly in her big girl bed. No blood. No halo. She was fine, and fast asleep in what was probably the most uncomfortable position he’d ever seen in his life.

He couldn’t help but let out an undignified snort.

“See?” you said, voice much clearer now, albeit still holding onto the last remnants of sleep. “Our daughter, the contortionist. I bet she got that from you.”

Gentle ribbing, despite how uncomfortable this afternoon had been.

“Hey, I resemble that remark,” he croaked, but his heart felt lighter than before. “How’d she fall asleep with her leg like that?”

“I don’t know,” you responded, laughing some more. “She sleeps like that a lot. I think she saw it in one of her cartoons. Just kind of stuck.”

Bucky let out a soft hum of acknowledgement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Another laugh, quieter this time, faded into silence before you asked him softly, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You knew. You always fucking knew and he hated how much he loved it. And just plain hated it, because you saw right through him.

“It’s late,” Bucky deflected. No matter how much he may have wanted to talk about it, he didn’t want to drag you down when he was already bothering you like this. He’d woken you up. It wasn’t his place to do that anymore. Not that it ever really was. “Thanks for the photo. I think I’m gonna make it my wallpaper.”

Another joke. Another deflection.

Hollow.

There was another deafening pause, before you offered, “Are you free for breakfast?”

“What?”

“Winnie would love to see you,” you told him, and he could just hear the smile in your voice. “I’ll even make some french toast.”

“I don’t— I don’t wanna impose,” Bucky stammered at the unexpected invitation, already feeling the anxiety pool in the pit of his stomach. What’s worse was that he did want to impose. He wanted to impose very much.

“Then you can help,” you teased. “Come on. It’s just breakfast.”

It wasn’t just breakfast.

“We’ve gotta leave by eight, so let’s make it seven?” you mused aloud. “Yeah. How’s seven?”

He forced down the lump in his throat. “Seven’s… Seven’s fine.”

“Okay, good! See you in the morning.”

Without missing a beat, he responded almost automatically, “See you then.”

Then the line went dead, and Bucky stared blankly at his phone.

What just happened? You’d just talked him into breakfast so easily. How?

He still had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do. His thoughts started to race for the umpteenth time, full of panic and dread, but no matter how rational he tried to be, an undercurrent of excitement still ran through him like electricity. It made him feel good. Warm. 

Breakfast with you. Breakfast with Winnie.

His girls.

Despite all his nervous energy, Bucky actually managed to sleep soundly for once. So soundly, in fact, that he slept right through his alarm.

Part Ten

[heroineimages]

Tagged by @theoutcastrogue. (Her post)

Rules: It’s time to love yourself. Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works! 

Thanks so much, sweet rogue, for tagging me! Firstly, this is exactly the kind of thing my therapist tells me I need to do for myself more often. Secondly, I tend to fixate on reading back over my past writing, so this gives me an excuse to do just that. Under the cut because there’ll be several writing excerpts and it might run long. Tagging @chenria, @9musesandanoldmind, @queer-trans-amazon, @jeanjauthor, and anyone else who wants in!

1. I did a lot of tinkering on Hero Forge after they released the colors and new engine. Firstly, I found it therapeutic and helpful for my anxiety. Secondly, I have a tendency to create stories for the new OCs I come up with. In particular, I like coming up with themed versions of the twelve base D&D classes. My favorite so far is the Desert Elf minis and their story.

2. My second favorite Hero Forge buildup was the Muskets and Snow designs, pitting Frost Elf tribes against musket-armed, multiracial commonwealth soldiers, once again based around the D&D classes. (Check my Hero Forge tag for more mini designs!)

3. I added four chapters to my Legend of Korra gladiator AU last year, and commissioned a movie poster for it from my amazing artist friend, Telenia Albuquerque. I added a few fighting scenes and several explicit lesbian bedroom scenes that I’m kind of proud of, including a fun, racy striptease. In the following scene, Asami breaks up a meeting between Varrick and none other than Marc Antony after Varrick attempts to abduct her and poison her bodyguards, including Korra:

“You said our host tried to abduct you?” [Antony] continued, turning to Asami.

“Of course not!” Varrick interrupted, stepping between Asami and Antony. “We’re pals, right, Antony? You know I’d never abduct anybody!”

“Mm, I seem to recall you abducting Titus Atticus’s wife, as well as the late Clodius Pulcher’s favorite catamite,” Antony replied.

“Allegedly!” Varrick protested, turning away and crossing his arms. “I allegedly abducted Atticus’s wife and Pulcher’s catamite!”

“Everything you do is ‘allegedly,’” Asami glared.

“So you’ve had dealings with this bastard before,” Antony laughed. “Please, come in,” he invited, gesturing to Varrick’s office. “No doubt we can handle this like civilized people, miss…?”

“Asami Sato,” Asami answered, allowing Antony to take and kiss her hand.

“Ah! Master Hiroshi’s daughter,” he identified her. “I’ve heard about you, and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m sure,” Asami agreed with a hint of smooth annoyance.

“Great, thanks a lot, Zhu Li,” Varrick grumbled as the six of them trooped into his office. “What the heck happened, anyway?”

“It would seem you underestimated Mistress Sato, sir,” Zhu Li informed him, [still tossed over the gladiatrix’s shoulder]. The armored pauldron pressed into her gut was really uncomfortable. “She already had her guards inoculated against our poison.”

“What? How could you possibly know that?” Varrick demanded, turning to Asami.

“I’m more intelligent than you thought, and you’re less clever than you’d like to believe,” Asami answered, taking one of the three chairs in the room. “And, frankly, that old Persian trick of poisoning the dancing girls’ lips isn’t as cunning as you thought. It was all a matter of knowing what poisons you have access to and researching which ones work on contact and can have resistances built up for them.”

“Smart,” Antony agreed, taking the second chair while Acainissa stuffed Varrick in the chair behind his desk. Hebasken and Acainissa took up positions on either side of Varrick’s chair, looming over him.

“Varrick, this other door leads to your bedchambers, doesn’t it?” Asami asked, pointing to the curtained doorway.

“Yeah, why?” Varrick frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Korra, are you up for a bit of… revenge-sex?” Asami asked.

“I’m always up for revenge and sex,” Korra assured her.

“Take Zhu Li into Varrick’s chambers and fuck her stupid, please.” Asami instructed. “She’s a very intelligent woman, so I suspect that will take a lot of fucking to accomplish.”

Korra laughed and turned to pack Zhu Li through the door.

4. I’ve also made some progress on an older story I started a long time ago about my OC Elindra, a Drow paladin of the Red Knight who gets turned to a Drider by fanatics of Lolth. The following scene comes during the big escape from Ched Nasad between her and her dwarf cleric friend, Nell:

I used the glaive to parry the [Drider] warrior’s first assault. The snarly bastard was skilled, blocking and parrying my every attack, despite my Haste spell. And even if I did land a hit, my odds of breaking his Stoneskin were frustratingly small. I gave way instead, using my quickened speed to my advantage. An arrow flashed past us, announcing the return of the annoying ranger from earlier. I grimaced from frustration as another arrow shattered against my Mithral spaulder.

This was taking too damned long. No doubt the alarm had been raised and more guards and spell-casters were on their way.

Dueling with the warrior, I deliberately backed myself toward another aperture in the webs. I parried the warrior’s mace, managing to rap him across the face with the butt of my glaive. As he lunged again, I dropped my glaive and caught his arm. From there I leapt backward, pulling him though the gap with me. He caught the edge of the webs with two clawed legs, flipping us through upside-down. Still clutching his arm, my weight yanked him through the gap behind me.

A slightly larger Drider, I flipped myself onto his back, riding him downward as we plummeted. Gripping him by the hair, I screamed, “Smite Evil!” as we hit, slamming his head into the hardened webbing below.

The impact threw me from the warrior’s back, and I skidded onto my side perhaps twelve feet away. The warrior’s head was obliterated—a black, bloody smear across the calcified web floor.

“You alright?” I asked Nell as I picked myself up.

“Ye’re focking crazy, ye know that, Elindra?” Nell grumbled behind me, [still harnessed to my back]. “Ooh, that’s a pretty mess!” she laughed when I turned to look for a way back up. “Aye, let’s see ye Stoneskin protect ye from that shite, motherfocker!” she taunted the dead Drider.

5. And, lastly I’m happy with a lot of the progress I’ve made on my novel, First Empress. The following excerpt is a cute, racy little flashback scene of Elissa and Queen Viarra’s first time having sex:

“O–oh, gods!” Elissa groaned, catching her breath as she came down from her third climax.

Princess Viarra gripped the blanket on either side of Elissa’s shoulders, grunting as she thrust against Elissa’s leg to ride out her own climax. Broad, muscular arms trembling, her thrusts continued to get slower and more deliberate as she finished herself off. Her highness’s entire body shook one last time, and she gave a panting laugh before collapsing halfway atop Elissa.

They lay laughing and gasping for breath for long moments, their legs tangled together, their right breasts squashed against the other’s sternum. Princess Viarra’s arms splayed off to the sides while Elissa’s trembling arms clutched her love’s shoulders. Their shoulders were about even, but Viarra’s cunny now rested against Elissa’s knee. Their clothes lay discarded to one side with the wine they’d stolen from King Vaso and the erotic poetry they’d stolen from Prince Kallis. Above them, the peach trees of King Vaso’s orchard swayed in the afternoon breeze.

“I’m not squishing you, am I?” Viarra asked, her face still half-pressed against the tangle of brown and copper hair next to Elissa’s right ear.

“No,” Elissa laughed, wishing she had the energy to clutch her beloved princess tighter. “I feel safe beneath you,” she promised. “You make me feel safe and happy.”

“And you make me happy,” her highness assured her, turning her head to kiss and nibble at Elissa’s cheek. Elissa squealed and used one hand to try to push her away.

Unrelenting, Princess Viarra made a nasal, growling sound and pretended to gnaw on Elissa’s neck. “Grar! I just want to eat you up, you’re so sweet!” her highness declared, making exaggerated chewing noises against Elissa’s neck and shoulder.

Gods, her highness had gotten so strong the last few years, Elissa acknowledged as she squealed and giggled, unsuccessfully attempting to fight back. Viarra’s arms were probably bigger around than Elissa’s legs, and her shoulders were almost half-again as broad as Elissa’s. And she was tall. Possibly as tall as her mother as well as thick and big-boned, Princess Viarra was just too big and strong for anyone except maybe a wrestler or a gladiator to overpower.

Clearly Elissa would have to resort to guile instead.

Viarra shrieked out a series of giggles as Elissa reached up to tickle her sides. “Gods, no!” her highness squealed, attempting to push Elissa’s hands away. Unable to quite grab onto them, Viarra pushed herself away, laughing as she rolled onto her back.

Instead of renewing her assault, Elissa rolled over next to her, draping her left arm across Viarra’s chest and left leg across her waist.

“That was amazing,” Elissa admitted, snuggling up against her beloved’s nude form. “Thank you for being my first.”

“Thank you for being my first,” Princess Viarra countered, wrapping an arm around Elissa’s bare back. “I never imagined sex would feel like that.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing,” Elissa observed. “I mean, I could tell you were trying out techniques and all, but where did you learn them?”

“I asked Captain Vola,” her highness admitted looking over at her. “She’s pretty candid about sex advice, and even Captain Kellor admits it’s usually good advice. Part of the reason I brought you out here was because I wanted to try it, and there’s no one I’d rather try it with than you,” she added, reaching over to stroke Elissa’s cheek.

Elissa blushed and smiled, stroking her love’s powerful belly. “I’m glad you did,” she admitted, unable to think of anything else to say.

[bnha-mha-imagines]

Okay, get this: a new lov member who’s really awkward and shy. Everyone thinks she’s just a normal gal but it turns out she’s absolutely out of her mind? /sigh/ I don’t even know anymore 😔 rip. I’m so bad at requesting it should be my new party trick. Anyways, I hope you have a good day and I love your writing!!

Ahh thank you! :) I’m not sure if you wanted this to be cute or disturbing so I went with the latter because nothing I’ve posted so far is dark themed (all my stuff is like, fluff haha)! :0 Let’s get some well rounded writing up in here! 

New LOV member who’s secretly insane

Warnings: DARK THEMES that include but are not limited to: Blood, dead animals, disturbing images, cannibalism, death, hearing voices, sadism/masochism, violence, mentions of self-harm etc. etc. You get the picture. 

^^^Don’t read if you’re sensitive to similar topics. I went ham on this, yall. 

Disclaimer: The reader depicted in this is chronically insane and is an extreme case. This is in no way a depiction of a person with a mental disorder. I don’t want to spread any misinformation, most people with mental disorders are lovely people and are not crazy/dangerous in anyway

Under the cut vvv

Tomura Shigaraki:

Look, he wasn’t a fan of the whole awkward-shy act, but hey, you were pretty hot and you had a quirk that the League definitely needed

So he let you in, figuring he’d just need to have that timid attitude of yours whipped out of you

But OH. It didn’t take long for him to realize you were completely bonkers. 

Dabi was giving you shit like he did everyone, and all it took was a poor comment on his part for your usually pleasant expression to contort into one of malice and...joy? The way your face darkened and your eyes swirled with an unhinged gleam… 

Maybe you’d be more interesting than he initially thought~ plus, seeing you threaten Dabi was definitely some brownie points in Tomura’s book

At times it gets frustrating because you can get out of hand, and he honestly couldn’t even handle the League WITHOUT another crazy added in the mix

But you were powerful and an important addition to the team, so you were stuck with this sorry lot whether you liked it or not

Kurogiri:

He was a little surprised, but pleasantly so, when Tomura recruited you for the League. You were actually...rather normal compared to the rest of the bunch, but he was far from complaining!

You were also modest and well-mannered, and Kurogiri especially admired that. The rest of the League was full of squabbling hotheads, so you were a breath of fresh air!

At the bar, he’d talk a lot with you seeing as you were one of the calmer villains, but overtime he noticed that certain comments would raise a few red flags. 

One day you bring in the mangled body of a cat and...oh. 

The way you casually set it on the bar counter and grin at Kurogiri happily while you ask for a kiddy cocktail… all the while your hands were still soaked in its blood.

Tomura’s decision made a bit more sense now. You were completely off your rocker! He treats you pretty much the same as before, but is usually the one who has to reel you in when you start to show your crazy too much. 

Dabi:

When you first joined the League, he couldn’t believe it. Was Tomura fucking stupid? How could a shy, pretty thing like you possibly fit in with the baddest villain organization?

Needless to say, he was kind of an asshole to you. He’d make rude comments, blatantly say you didn’t belong here, condescendingly give you names like “princess” 

For the most part you would bear it all with a grin, and though he didn’t exactly understand you reaction, he would scoff and roll his eyes. “Weirdo”

One day he happens to strike a particularly strong chord with you, and suddenly you’ve shoved him against a wall, hands wrapped around his throat

You choking him wasn’t what off put him. It was the demented look in your eyes and the lopsided grin overwhelming your face. You were practically begging him to insult you again.

“It feels soooo good when you call me names!” you giggle, fingers squeezing into his neck. “Maybe you can choke me next?!” Your eyes were excited at the sadistic thought. 

He shoves you off rather easily after he gets over his initial surprise, rubbing his neck. “Crazy bitch…”

The fact that he didn’t ignite your crazy ass on the spot means you’d gained his respect, if in the slightest. Clearly you’re a better fit to be a villain than he thought. He still picks on you, but significantly less.

Himiko Toga:

She was excited to have another girl! She flocked straight to you and grabbed your sleeve right away!

“Aiiya! You’re so cute, look at you!” She poked your cheeks and you got a little flustered under the attention. She thinks you’re so shy and adorable!!!!

She makes it her mission to become your bestest best friend! But she can’t help but get a little excited from time to time.

“(Y/n), you’re too cute! Please, can I cut you up!? Just a few slices here and there! You’d look ten times cuter if I do!” And she’s grinning.

Her grin completely falters, however, when you agree. “W-What?” she didn’t expect it at all! She was used to getting brushed off.

But no...the crazed look in your eye at the mention of spilled blood… you were practically dripping with insanity. 

Kurogiri stopped the both of you before you both had the chance to completely slice each other up, but from that moment on your were pretty much conjoined at the hip.

Crazy cuties flock together

Spinner:

When a cute, shy thing like yourself joined the League, he was a total flustered mess! You were absolutely adorable!

Like Kurogiri, you were a breath of fresh air, a nice change of pace to the usually colorful bunch that he got to hang around with.

You were nice to him, and he always gets embarrassed when you compliment him! So naturally he assumes that you’re the sweetheart of the bunch! 

You’re talking, and finally Spinner outright asks you, “How’d you even get roped into villainy?” because it blows his mind such a normie like you are in the League

And, very casually and chipper, you describe how you murdered your family in cold blood. They hadn’t even done anything to upset you. You just wanted to. 

“O-Oh.” He honestly didn’t know what to say...but he didn’t really get a chance to speak as you suddenly pull a necklace out from under your shirt. It was a strange looking thing, a shriveled black lump on a string. 

“Look! I even carry a piece of them around with me!” His eyes widen, and you just giggle and tuck the petrified piece of corpse jewelry back into your shirt. 

Twice:

Needless to say, Twice had some mixed feelings about you when you first joined the League.

“What the hell is such a prude bitch doing in the League?” “Aww how cute! Finally a fresh face! Happy to meet you!” 

He’s honestly probably the first to realize you’re absolutely batshit because he’s always half doubting your sincerity

Let’s just say he isn’t surprised when you’re on a mission and you start gnawing and eating at a fresh corpse on the ground

“Wow, that’s fucking bad ass” “Ew!!! That’s disgusting, what the fuck!” 

And hearing his voices go back and forth, you just look up, blood smeared across your face, a strange gleam in your eye and you grin!

“Hahaha! Twice, you always say the funniest things!!!”

After the mission he tries to avoid you as much as he can. Though your quirk and tenacity was something the League definitely benefited from, that didn’t mean he wanted to be anywhere near you after the shit he saw that night

You were fucking wild

Mr. Compress

After Shigaraki let you into the League, he was pretty interested in you. You seemed pretty average and you acted like a timid civilian, so what kind of quirk did you have? Surely something must have caught Tomura’s eye that he wasn’t seeing.

So he, being the man of charisma and mystery that he was, made it his secret motive to find out what you were hiding. 

He took it upon himself to show you around the hideout as your own personal guide. Not that you were complaining! Compress is so flashy and entertaining that you were actually enjoying your time with him.

Not gonna lie, he was acting a little too charming and over-confident with you, trying to get you to slip up and spill a secret

And spill you did! Though not intentionally. It sort of all happened at once. Compress was moving ahead of you and all of a sudden he was thrown back against the wall.

He hits it with a grunt and slides down to the floor, looking up at you with a stunned expression. What the fuck did he do to merit that?!

But you weren’t even looking at him. No, you were whispering under your breath, staring at the ceiling and grinning like a madman. 

“You’re right! That was fun!” you spoke to the empty room, pausing a moment before letting out a loud, crazy laugh. “You always were good at jokes!” 

Slowly he rose and moved away from the room where you stood conversing with your imaginary voices. 

Telekinesis was a pretty powerful quirk! Though it seemed your perks also came with some hefty flaws… very interesting!

Magne: 

Magne was so excited to have another girl in the League! She loved Toga, of course, but at times Magne found her to be a bit...much 

So when you first arrived, seemingly normal, she was so ecstatic! She wanted to do all sorts of girl things with you that she couldn’t really do often in the boy-dominated League

You were so cute and timid, she couldn’t help but want to have a girl’s sleepover with you and Toga!

Your true colors started to show, however, during the middle of a truth or dare game. Magne had asked you what your favorite crime to commit was, expecting something calmer like robbery or identity theft 

Color her surprised when your face contorts into the craziest, most terrifying look as you narrate a violent murder and proceed to grab a pillow and rip it to shreds with your hands as a ‘demonstration’. 

Cute AND violently psycho. She can roll with that.

[dumbfuck-mojave]

FNV Companions React to Someone Being Aggressive Towards Rex.

@spidester basically came up with this idea.

TW: Mentions of violence against humans and animals. Some sexual flirtation. Swearing is the norm at this point

Fucking IDEK if these are out of character anymore we just roll with it. Also, shitty and inconsistent writing and react length ahoy. Also yes I lied and said this was going to be out last night but I got sick please understand-

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Arcade: Six had dragged him into Ultra-Luxe because once again, they were being stupid and trying to beat some sort of goal they had set for themselves earlier that day at the gambling tables. Rex had also come in with them, but had wandered off with his snout up in the air towards the kitchens. While Six was focusing on the Blackjack table Arcade heard a sudden yip and bark behind him and turned to see two people laughing and kicking the poor dog. They weren’t dressed like the people that would usually gamble here and they certainly weren’t a White Glove, so Arcade just assumed they were some travelers that didn’t know Six’s reputation and love for their canine companion. Also angry at the situation unfolding, Arcade briskly made his way over to them.

“Excuse me-”

“Fuck off.” 

Now, that made Arcade very unhappy. Honestly, he expected them to be rude, but was still a little surprised at how quickly they shot him down, not even trying to start an argument or anything. Yet.

“Listen, gentlemen.” Arcade said sharply, “I suggest you leave now because you’d much rather deal with me telling you how vile of people you are than for my friend over at the Blackjack table getting word of what you’ve been doing to their dog.”

“Oh, tough guy, eh? Well guess what, we don’t give a shit about what you or your idiot friend have to say!” The taller of the men sneard, getting right up in Arcade’s face. “Fucking forget it, the dumb dog isn’t worth our time. They ran out of booze a while ago anyway.”

Arcade gave them a look of disinterest as the semi-stumbled out the door. He made….. eye contact?..... with one of the masked servers when he looked away from them, who also seemed relieved that the two men were gone, probably because they had trached dust and mud throughout the entire main room.  Making his way back to Six, Arcade was going over scenarios in his head about what Six would do once he told them. Turns out one of his guessed scenarios was true. He did know Six very well after all. Unfortunately for the men, they had decided to sleep naked that night and Six had found out where they were staying through a few connections. A few hours later the men’s clothes were strung up on and lit on fire in the middle of Freeside, with the neat edition of shoving several hungry geckos into the men’s hotel room. The men ran out into the Mojave, naked and with a few flesh chunks missing from their body, while Rex gnawed happily on his Brahmin Steak in the Lucky 38. 

Boone: A Legion party had ambushed them just outside of Red Rock Canyon as they were making their way towards Vegas from Goodsprings. The system they had was working well enough, Boone had managed to climb his way up on the hill to the right of the road and was sniping them from afar while Six was up close with their ripper. It was hard to get solid damaging headshots on them since they were those dumb helmets, but if he got lucky Six would get close enough to rip one of their helmets off so he could get a clear shot through their skull. Usually, there were 4 Legionaries in a party but Caesar must have really wanted Six dead at this point, so they were currently being surrounded by at least 12, possibly even more. As Six drop-kicked two legionaries into each other, Boone noticed one of the other Legionaries targeting Rex and backing him up against the Canyon wall. Luckily for Boone and unfortunately for the Legionnaire, there was no helmet in sight. Boone lined up the shot and it entered the target’s head with a whiz and a squish. As the now-corpse fell to the ground, the group of three reorganized amongst the carnage. Rex sat down at Boone’s feet and looked up at him, mouth open and panting. 

“Don’t look at him like that.” Boone said in a monotone voice, making the Courier laugh beside him.

“Boone, you’re talking to a dog.” The Courier started on their way once again to Vegas, looking down at the dog now trotting beside them.

“You want to go see the King Rex?”

*Bark*

“Look who’s talking to the dog now.” 

Veronica and Cassidy: The girls had decided to hang out together today, without the Courier. They also had Rex in tow and were currently sitting at the Atomic Wrangler’s counter. Both of these women were at least three bottles in each already and their laughter poured through the casino as Veronica slouched over and snorted at one of Cass’ merchant stories.

“There is *snort* there is no way he did that.” Veronica wheezed out, falling into another fit of laughter.

“He did! He just grabbed that fucker by his-”

Their conversation was cut off when a man walked over to them. Much too confidently, I might add. They both looked up at him in disgust and annoyance. 

“So, what are two beautiful ladies doing out here all alone. You know, why don’t we all go upstairs and have a little *fun* together. ” The man leaned in so far he almost touched noses with Veronica. Rex had been sitting idly with his head in his paws on the floor until this moment. When the man leaned in, Rex growled and stood up, brisling at the man. 

“Dumb dog.” The man grumbled, swinging out his hand and hitting Rex in the head. Now no one knew if the man had meant to hit Rex so hard that he slammed his glass dome into the counter, but it didn’t matter now. Veronica pushed up off the counter and shoved the man back.

“Who do you think you are?! First, you come up to two ladies who are CLEARLY disinterested in you, interrupt their good time, then you have the audacity to hit our dog?!” Veronica practically yelled, drawing attention from several others in the room. Two people in particular had the look in their eyes that was almost begging to see a fight.

“Listen, girlie, I do what I want, ok?” The man growled, cut off by Veronica shoving his back against the counter, “Oh, girlie, you want to start right now?” 

“She doesn’t want to do anything with you. Nobody would.” Cass said as she finally stood up, looking over Veronica’s shoulder.

“Now come on ladies, no need to fight over me.” The man slurred, the beginnings of a wolfish grin on his face. 

Now, Ronnie may be small but she has a power fist and can fuck some people up. In a flash, the man was on his knees with both arms straining behind him, courtesy of Cass. Veronica unveiled her power fist and a spark of fear appeared in the man’s eyes as she swung it dainlity near his temple.

“I could swing my fist sideways right now.” She started swinging faster and more aggressively, “And give you a good lesson about how to treat others around you with an indent on your head to remind you.” 

“N-No!”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure it would be no trouble for my friend here.” Cass sneered, tightening her grip on the man’s arms, making him squeal out in man. 

“Please, please! No!” 

As the once confident man was damn near sobbing just at the prospect of getting hit, Veronica and Cass looked up at each other and grinned. Dragging the man outside, Veronica used her unarmored fist to hit him into a puddle of… something. The man stumbled to his feet and looked back in fear at the doorway. Then sprinted off. 

“DAMN! NEXT TIME YOU START A FIGHT YOU BETTER BE ABLE TO FINISH IT!” Cass yelled after him before they retreated into the casino once more.

. On their way back in, two figures walked out the door, following the now out of sight man. Sometimes, if you want to see a fight, you just have to start one yourself. 

Ed-E: *Pulls out laser canon* “Beep beepbeep bop'' Translation: “You bitch ass motherfucker”. Even if Rex sometimes drools on Ed-E or accidentally whips a ball at it’s shell, Ed-E will still protecc and attacc. 

Lily: Ok no but honestly and sorry to disappoint but any scenario involving her reacting to this is just them fighting, her calling the Courier Jimmy, then absolutely rocking the perpetrators shit. Like, tear that person in half grandma. I wanted to write a longer thing out….unless

Raul: He and Six had decided to stop at 188 Trading Post for the night instead of attempting to walk all the way back to Vegas. They were low on supplies, tired and hungry, and Raul’s back was acting up again. Samuel was nice enough to let Raul lie down for a bit on one of the mattresses behind the bar while Six was focusing on cleaning their weapons and bartering. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard Six’s voice speak up above the radio.

“Don’t touch my goddamn dog like that!” 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do you fucking piece of shit! Oh fuck-” 

Raul stood up and peered around the corner to see a rather interesting sight. Six was straddling some random man and aggressively slapping his hands away when he tried to reach for them, all while screaming every obscene thing they’ve ever been taught, even some things in Spanish thanks to Raul. Samuel was looking very concerned at the bar, not wanting to get directly involved in this mess while Rex was barking his head off in the man's face. After Raul managed to drag Six off the man, he found out the man was an associate of Alexander and was talking about making a deal with him when Rex came up to him to sniff his hand. Agitated, the man reached down and put his fist around Rex’s muzzle, yanking him up on his back to legs. Nothing escalated past that point as Six had entered the picture by then. They eventually decided to just walk back to Vegas that night and extend their break home, but damn if Raul wasn’t impressed and kind of flattered at the way they gracefully told a man how they were going to cut out this tongue and feed it to rats. Raul is dad.

(The insult thing was definitely a nod to one of @nuclear-reactions posts)

Thank you for reading! Requests are open!

[my-brothers-corrupted]

1007

“It used to be Jackie who haunted me,” he whispers. “Do you know that?”

Anti’s blue eyes stare back at him from the other side of the room, emotionless.

“It was Jackie I would see passing me in crowds or moving past my windows. And I would miss him but the sight of him was a comfort to me.”

Anti doesn’t say anything. Anti doesn’t move. His short white hair flickers in the air conditioning.

“He was going to marry me,” says Max through the hollowness in his chest.

Anti doesn’t answer.

Max goes back to bed. It is two in the afternoon.

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

He doesn’t really like his new phone, but it has a picture of Jackie on the background, so there’s that, at least. It wakes him up with Jackie’s smiling face in the sunlight and the blaring of an alarm that’s meant to sound peppy but just comes off as obnoxious.

He turns it off and lies in bed. Falls back to sleep for another three hours. Wakes up and stares at the ceiling.

His phone buzzes. Millie texting him.

“When are you coming home?”

He hasn’t seen her in about a year. He has no desire to see her ever again. He has no desire to see anyone.

“Max. You should be back home, not chasing red herrings all over the earth. You have to run out of dad’s money at some point.”

He wonders what she would say if she knew that he found him – and then lost him again. For good this time. He will never see Jackie again. He’s accepted it. There wasn’t anything else for him to do, because his heart couldn’t stand another chase like that.

“Come live with me and Amir for a while. You should get married. I have lots of friends who are still single. Dad would have wanted you to get married.”

“To a woman,” Max texts back.

“Max,” writes Millie. “He was never good for you anyway. You should come home to your family.”

Max wants to be angry but he isn’t.

He isn’t angry and he isn’t sad and he isn’t happy, he’s just dying.

He tells her things that day that he’s never dared to tell her before.

“You never loved me,” he says. “You wanted me to be something I’m not and I will never be that person and I’m tired of trying to make you proud of the man I am. You’re not my family. Maybe you were once but you’re not now. He was my family. His family was my family. He loved me. Loved everything about me. Loved all the parts of me I hate about myself. Leave me alone.”

He hits send and stares at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her … signal come and go, come and go, come and go. He wonders for a moment how she’ll end up replying, but he doesn’t really care.

Her dots are still trying to find the right words at the bottom of the screen when he picks up the phone to text her again.

“It’s his birthday,” he sends. “Today would have been his birthday.”

She never gets the chance to answer. He blocks her number and he goes back to bed.

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

He is awake again at one, a small – what’s the opposite of a mercy? One more fuck you from the universe. Wake up, Max, demands his body. Wake up, I am starving.

“Deal with it,” he mutters to his own stomach, burying his face beneath his pillows.

But his phone buzzes again. He flops onto his back and picks it up just to look at Jackie’s face, ignoring the CARA email popping up across his screen. He should probably unsubscribe from those, but he’s never been able to bring himself to do it.

You should get up, his body begs.

He doesn’t want to.

He would want you to, answers some aching part of him. He would hate to see you like this.

And the part of him that usually answers ‘he doesn’t even know who I am’ or ‘he sent me away’ or ‘it doesn’t matter what he would want, he will never see me again’ or ‘most likely he’s dead now’ – well, this part of him is drowned out, for once, by one thought:

It’s his birthday. It’s his birthday. He would want you to take care of yourself and how can you say no to him today?

“You torture me, you know that?” he says. But no one will hear it. Jackie doesn’t haunt him anymore.

He’s just gone.

Max drags himself out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

Motherfuck, he’s a mess.

He gives himself a sarcastic thumbs up and puts his hands down on the sink, taking a moment to breathe.

Twenty minutes later, he has showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, and changed into clean clothes, ready to go.

Just kidding.

Twenty minutes later and he’s still staring at himself in the mirror.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thinks to himself, his arms shaking as he holds himself up. Just get in the shower. Just take your clothes off and get in the shower. It’s easy. You probably stink right now. All you have to do is get in the shower.

He can’t do it.

He can’t make himself move.

He can’t take a shower.

A dry sob leaves his mouth, just the one. He stares down at the sink, his heart trembling in his chest.

Okay. Plan B. Just do what you can do, Max. Just do what you can do.

He brushes his teeth without toothpaste for about thirty seconds. Rubs on deodorant and pushes his hair out of his eyes. Changes his shirt and pants. He can’t get socks on – he’d have to go find a pair of them, and that feels impossible – but he puts his shoes on and grabs his wallet.

He still feels like a mess, but he always does these days.

He finds himself wandering with almost no idea where he’s going to go, which he thinks is probably symbolic of his mental state or some shit, but really just means that he’s hot and tired and wishes he had stayed home. But he’s going to get himself something to eat. He owes Jackie that much. The two of them always loved getting food together. When Max had been too shy to flirt with him openly, his only way of expressing what he felt was in buying Jackie coffee and snacks and lunch or cooking for him while they worked on cases together. He never actually expected it to go anywhere. They were eating fish and chips on the beach the first time Max caught Jackie looking at him the way Max had always looked at him. He’d just blushed and turned away, and Max didn’t mention it again, but it meant something. It meant something. The sunset was golden on the water.

Afterwards, when their relationship began to change, making or getting food together was their most common past-time. Saturday nights were always Max’s favorites. They’d made breakfast for dinner and have a movie night or go star-gazing or swimming or just walking around the city. And everything would feel nice and warm and easy. Stomachs full of warm pancakes and sausage. Hands in each other’s hands.

Max is lost enough in thought that he jolts hard when his shoulder slams into somebody else’s. There’s a surprised reply in Spanish, a body moving away from his own, and he turns to see a young man looking back at him even as they move away from each other. His eyes are dark as empty skies and thick black curls frame a strong face – a strong face with a soft, dark mouth, curling slightly up in a forgiving smile as his body, fit and lean, moves gracefully away from Max on the –

Max jolts a second time, a ragged gasp torn from his mouth as he turns away, guilt bursting and oozing all across his chest like a science fair volcano with faulty paper mache. He darts down the street, heart racing, cheeks hot. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispers to himself, voice ragged. “Jackie is a prisoner and you’re here looking at other men, being attracted to other – what the fuck is wrong with you, how could you possibly – ”

He cuts himself off with another dry sob, hiding his face as he moves down the street as fast as aching legs will carry him. There’s something gnawing on his thumping heart.

“Let’s just get something to eat and go the fuck back home.”

He finds an open cornershop and starts grabbing things. Jerky for some protein and a few packs of crisps. Bananas and oranges so the room will smell like something other than his own body. Starbursts. They’re sitting in the candy row all sweet and innocent, and he doesn’t even want to eat them, he just wants them, he just wants them, he wants to be with Jackie in a motel hallway, tossing candy into his mouth and listening to him laugh, I’m sorry, Jackie, I meant to save you, I tried, I love you –

“Hey,” says the cashier in Spanish, staring at him. “You’re really shaking, man.”

Max fumbles with his wallet, trying to translate in his head. “I’m okay,” he manages to reply.

“Are you sure? Do you need a hospital?”

“Please just ring me up,” he says in English, because his Spanish isn’t that good, because he’s never clever enough, never fast enough, never strong enough, never enough to get his heart back, never enough to protect the man he loves, and all he wants are his fucking Starbursts.

She rings him up carefully, counting out his return cash. Max hears something shuffle behind him and turns to see Chase and Henrik staring at him from beside the drinks machine. Chase carries a silver gun in one hand and grips Henrik’s arm in the other. The doctor’s eyes are dark with terror and exhaustion. Both of them stare directly at him, unspeaking. Max shivers and turns away, grabbing the plastic bag and hurrying out of the store.

The streets feel menacing and confining and he remembers running through the crowds with Jackie and Jameson, hunted by a monster while everyone else just went about their day. If Anti was really here, no one would know. No one ever knows. No one ever catches him. No one ever even sees but him. He’s a shadow, he’s a mirage, he’s a ghost, and Max is the one he’s haunting, the only one he’s haunting.

There’s a flash of blue eyes in the crowd. “Leave me alone!” he shrieks, falling back against a mailbox, and startled murmurs kick up in the people around him, everyone turning to look at him with confusion or alarm or disgust. He grabs his tan coat closer around his body and keeps moving, panting hard. Is this even the way back to the hotel?

“You’re losing it, Max!” he tells himself, gripping at his phone, at Jackie’s picture. “You’re losing it and this time what are you going to cling to pull you out of your own head? You can’t go find him this time. You can’t go looking.”

And the truth beneath that fact is that Max feels terribly, terribly alone, and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him now.

Someone says something to him in Spanish, but it never registers. His eyes are blown, his mouth trembling as he parts the crowd, hurrying down the sidewalk. He sees, again, white hair and blue eyes, and his heart all but stops, fury rising in him hot and painful. Anti is on the other side of the street, holding Jameson by the collar, pulling him back towards an alleyway. JJ’s wrists are hand-cuffed and blood leaks from his nose. “Leave him alone!” Max howls, and the part of him that knows it is not real is drowning in his need to do something, his need to do anything, his need to not feel helpless for two seconds of his life. “Don’t touch him! I promised Jackie I would look after him!”

Anti turns and smiles at him, disappearing and re-appearing as people pass around him. Max shoves his way forward, heaving for air, his eyes burning with hatred. His feet find dark pavement dotted in yellow.

“You took everything from me!” he shouts. “You took my heart away from me! Leave Jameson alone! Leave them alone! I wanted to kill you for what you did to them! I would rather you have left me dead than this!”

Someone cries out in alarm behind Max. He hears the roar of the car’s engine for only a moment. Anti throws Marvin’s head back and laughs.

Something collides with Max. He’s thrown back hard and blood wells on the street where his skull smacks into it, unconscious, his crisps and oranges scattered across the concrete.

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

He comes blurrily back to consciousness.

Everyone is talking in Spanish.

He can’t seem to understand a word of it.

He attempts movement and crumples back down to the ground, whimpering, and immediately hands are surrounding him to hold him carefully down. Sticky blood clings to his face. His ribs are shifting unnaturally in his chest, sending fire across the whole of his body. All he can do is shake.

Someone is talking about help and ambulances. “No el hospital,” he manages frantically, his hands clawing weakly at the pavement. “No el h-hospital.”

“Necesitas ayuda!”

“I’ve had a lot worse than this,” he cries, blood budding in his mouth. “I’ve done a lot w-worse than this! I’ve shattered bones beneath my hands, I’ve had my bones shattered just to keep my cover, I’ve done everything, everything, I just want… I just want…”

He had done things he was ashamed of now, things he hoped were for the greater good, but things that haunted him nonetheless. And then it had been over, and he was alone with his guilt. He couldn’t bear to be a cop anymore and he couldn’t bear to be a fighter, and all he had wanted – all he had wanted in the whole goddamn world – was to go home to Jackie.

And Jackie was gone.

“You need a hospital,” someone tells him in English.

“No,” he groans, clinging to the shirt of whoever’s closest. “No. No tengo mis… mis papeles. I just want to go home.” The worried discussion on his every side only increases. He can’t go to a hospital. He’s not even in this country legally. He snuck JJ and Jackie in at the border from Colombia.

“Una medica,” he hears someone say. “Cerca de la iglesia de Santo Domingo.”

His hand slumps back onto the pavement. Blood slides down his fingers. He passes out again.

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

It’s his fourth time waking up today when he comes to.

There’s a woman hovering over him, unraveling gauze and popping gum. On her chest, the fat head of a dark-eyed baby pokes out of a blue cloth wrap, strapped to his mother’s chest. The baby glares at Max and gurgles, bubbles forming on his sleepy baby mouth.

“You’re awake,” says the woman, picking his head up in her hands. He can still feel the sting of disinfectant as she wraps his head steadily in gauze. Around and around. Max stares dazedly up at her, tasting blood in his mouth.

“I got hit by a car,” he says finally. She snorts out a laugh and her baby spits, wagging his chubby baby hands out of his swaddling.

“You did,” she says. “You’ve got some busted ribs, a lot of bruising, probably a concussion.”

“Wonderful,” he murmurs, closing his aching eyes. It hurts to move and breathe and think and exist, but he’s not angry. He’s not angry and he’s not sad and he’s not happy. He’s just dying.

But, small cruelties – the universe wasn’t willing to finish him off right then and there.

“You should be so lucky,” says the woman. “Could have been a lot worse. And the people who hit you knew about me. Very lucky for an illegal.”

“Who are you?”

“Just a medic. If you can’t go to the doctor, you can come here. My name is Nina Vasquez.”

“I’m Max,” he answers.

“Hi, Max. Want to tell me why you were running into the street without watching where you were going? If you’re on drugs, just tell me what. I need to know to give you pain medication.”

He sighs, which is a mistake. Ow. “No, I’m not on drugs. Just losing my mind all on my own.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You really don’t want me to dump all that on you.”

“Long as you can lie still while I clean up these bruises, I do,” she replies, her voice professionally unbothered. “Small pinch here.”

She puts a needle full of anesthetic around a cut in his side to numb it before pulling out a stitching needle. Her baby reaches for it enthusiastically, kicking his legs beneath his wrap.

“Your baby is beautiful,” he mumbles. “What’s his name?”

Nina threads the needle through his side. “Jose Enrique,” she says, her stern voice going soft and fond. “He’s three weeks old.”

Max stares up at the mischievous, pretty little baby. Jose stares back at him, sucking on his fist.

“It’s my fiance’s birthday,” he says.

Nina snorts again, shooting him a quizzical look. “That’s a cause for sprinting into the street? Did you forget to buy her a present or something?”

“He’s been missing for about a year now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He stares up at the ceiling, patting around his body, trying to find his phone.

“Your groceries are ruined,” says Nina. “But here.”

She hands him his phone. The screen is cracked, but the stubborn thing survived. He presses the power button and through the pain of his broken ribs, he smiles to see Jackie looking back at him, safe and happy in his memories.

“Were you trying to kill yourself?” Nina asks.

“No… just been having some weird impulses.”

“You should be with someone.”

“There is no one to be with,” he murmurs.

“Friends? Family?”

“He was my only family. I used to have friends, but – ha. Been about a year and a half since I talked to them. I was undercover for a while, and then trying to find him.”

“You should reconnect,” she says. “You really shouldn’t be alone. Are they here in Lima?”

He laughs. Another mistake, but it doesn’t much matter. He’s already dying.

“No. Home in the UK.”

She pauses, eyebrows raised, looking at.

“What?” he asks, rubbing at his bruised, exhausted face.

“You’re that far away from anyone who knows you?”

He stares up at the ceiling, playing with his hair.

She turns back to his ribs. “Maybe you should go home,” she says. “I think you’ll find people more forgiving than you might expect. Especially if your fiancé had friends, they would understand.”

“I’ll think about it,” he murmurs.

“No,” says Nina calmly, and Max looks up at her, startled. Jose seems to be waving a warning hand at him, covered in slobber. “No, you’ll do something about it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sit up for me, I want to see if you can. Good. You must be tough, Max. But no one’s supposed to be tough enough to survive shit like this on their own. So here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to take the pain medication and antibiotics I prescribe you. You’re going to find a therapist to speak with. You’ll reconnect with some friends and you’ll either find a place to stay back home where you’re not alone or you can stay here with me and my organization.”

She snips off the excess string on his stitches and sets her needle down, crossing her arms over her baby and staring at him.

“I don’t even know you,” Max begins.

“Don’t care,” says Nina, flicking hair from her eyes. “I’m a doctor and you’re my patient, so this is what you’ll do to work on getting better.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get better,” he answers.

She looks at him for a long time. Eventually, she sits down on the examination table beside him.

“I got to see him, you know,” he says, sitting at her side, staring at the white walls of her little clinic. “Just for a few days. I found him. And he needed me. He really needed me. He was scared, and hurt, and he had lost himself. We were going to go home… but I couldn’t protect him. I let that monster get his hands on him again, and… now I’ll never see him. I have to live knowing he’s in pain somewhere in the world. That he needs me and I can’t be there. And all this searching… and those days we had together… they were useless. They were worthless. I can never be enough to save him.”

There’s a clock ticking somewhere. He prays that Jameson is safe. And Henrik would love a little clinic like this. Max hopes he’s okay. Chase would be helping him to run it. Marvin would have control of his own body again. Jackie would be happy, looking after them. Looking after himself. But it’s all just a fantasy, and the hope of being with him again has faded from Max’s heart.

“Did you get to take care of him for a little while?” asks Nina.

Blue hoodies and safe hotel rooms and as much food as they could eat. He nods, biting down on his lip. For the first time in weeks, there are tears in his eyes.

“Did you make him smile?”

Max rubs at his eyes and shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“Did you tell him you loved him?”

“Of course,” he says. “Fuck. Like it was the only truth in the world.”

“Then it wasn’t all worthless.”

He closes his eyes and sighs as deep as he can without feeling like he’s being stabbed. She might have a point, but it still feels hollow.

“And for the record,” she says. “It’s not the only truth in the world, Max. Sounds like you’ve been obsessed for a while. But you did everything that you could, and there are other things – other people – worth living for.”

He snorts, shaking his head miserably. “Maybe you’re right. But I don’t know how to believe that anymore.”

“Well, I’ve already given you your start,” she says. “Stay here with my friends and I. Or, if you want, I think it would be good for you to go home to the UK. Talk to someone. Professionals and your friends. Remember the things you used to live for.”

“It feels like betraying him,” he whispers, clutching Jackie’s image in his hands. “It feels like letting him go.”

“Well,” she says. “Maybe he would want you to.”

Jose reaches out and touches Max’s arm, stroking his soft baby fingers down his skin. He looks across at Nina and she smiles gently back.

“And it’s his birthday,” she says. “How can you tell him no today?”

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

Nina needs to put Jose down for a nap, so she calls some friends to give Max a ride home.

He spends most of it staring dully at the window, clutching at his burning ribs, enduring the sympathetic looks from the kids in the front seat.

“You sure you don’t want to stay with us?” asks the boy, smiling at him. “We don’t bite, I promise.”

He’s so tired he can’t even give him a polite smile. He shakes his head, mumbling out a thank you.

“That must hurt,” says the girl, though she has some pretty intense scars of her own as far as Max can see. “Pretty cool, though, getting hit by a car and just walking it off.”

“It’s not cool, Genesis, shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“You!”

“You – ”

“Hey,” he croaks, spotting a familiar sight, his eyes flickering. “Can you guys stop real quick?”

Genesis and Hermann exchange looks, but they pull over obediently.

Max gets shakily out of the car. “Just a second,” he says.

He’s standing in the front of the marketplace.

Slowly, he makes his way over to a small stand glowing with silver jewelry, the same stand where Jackie once bought Marvin a rose ring for Christmas. Max’s tiger eyes fall gently on rows of Peruvian silver, his fingers tracing along the cases, until at last he finds a pair of thin silver bands, non-descript and paired to be worn together, with a faint blue line weaving through the center of both.

He buys them from the shopkeep with a soft “gracias” and limps back to the car.

“Everything okay?” asks Hermann gently.

“No,” says Max. “But I hope it will be, some day.”

They take him back to his hotel. Max climbs tenderly out of the car.

“Hey,” says Genesis, hefting a plastic bag of groceries at him. “For you, man. Eat something.”

“Oh, no, please, you’ve already – ”

“Just take it,” she says.

Max takes the oranges and rolls and bubblegum soda and cheese and sliced turkey.

“Goodbye, sir,” says Hermann. “I hope everything turns out okay.”

“Thank you,” murmurs Max. “Goodbye.”

The car rolls away. He watches it go.

He limps back to his room and sits down on his bed, and he wants to go back to sleep. He just wants to go back to sleep. He doesn’t want to be angry or sad or happy anymore. He just wants to sleep. He just wants to die.

But Jackie wouldn’t want that for him.

Jackie wouldn’t want any of this for him.

And how can he say no to him today?

Max doesn’t go back to bed. He pulls out his laptop for the first time in days. It takes just a few minutes to find a ticket back to England.

Pay now? asks the screen.

Max reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pair of silver bands, slipping them gently on to his ring finger. An odd weight makes him look down, and there, beneath where the rings sat, is a very squished, very melted, very dirty packet of Starbursts.

He opens them carefully and pulls out a red, and like he often has done with anything that reminds him of Jackie, he turns his head and looks carefully around, waiting for the memory of him to appear.

But the room is empty. Max is alone. No one calls his name. Jackie isn’t there.

“And you won’t be again,” he whispers. “Will you, Juice Box?”

Maybe it’s not a bad thing that Jackie doesn’t haunt him anymore. Maybe ghosts make choices too.

Jackie would want him to be happy.

Max buys the ticket.

“Happy birthday, Jackie,” he whispers, and he places that red Starburst on his tongue, and he chews very slowly.

His phone buzzes.

“Hey, Max,” reads a text from an old friend. “I know it’s been a while since we talked, but I’ve been worried about you. Think we can meet up to talk sometime?”

Beneath the notification, Jackie is standing in the sun, his eyes alight, and he is smiling.

[fangyymusic]

Some things I could imagine happening between my boyfriend and I’s fursonas and OCs:

1. Fang has his two friends over- Boris and K9- and they’re all playing a dumb game of Truth or Dare. Because K9 “Isn’t a wuss”, he picks dare. Fang clears his throat and asks for a pizza. Already realizing how he shouldn’t have said dare, K9 reluctantly pulls up his phone.

“What do you want?”

“Get us a medium pizza. Split it in half. One side just plain cheese and the other sausage. For Sirus.”

K9 sighs.

“Is that all?”

“Cheese sticks.” Sirus hisses while he stares K9 down and K9 proceeds to hate himself more as he puts that in.

“Are you going to at least share?” K9 asks the two boyfriends, whom are cuddling on the couch.

“No, you owe me.”

And, as usual, Fang was right. That dipshit always owes Fang money.

2. Sirus literally tying into Fang and playing Rocket League while they both wait. Fang has no idea how to feel about this.

3. Sirus tends to fall asleep in a variety of places around the house. Fang finds him napping in the corner of the couch curled up, under surfaces, and sometimes lodged in weird spaces like behind the couch or on the floor, plopped down right where that perfect, single ray of sunlight hits.

4. Fang makes breakfast for Sirus before he leaves to work. He likes to leave sticky notes for him too.

5. Something tells me Sirus’s diet is 5% spaghetti and the other 95% is Fang’s boy syrup (hAh boy syrup).

6. Sirus catches Fang listening to one of his songs. He’s humiliated, super flustered, and flattered at most. Then Fang proceeds to ask him if he’d like to make a song with them. Sirus melts, as per usual.

7. Sirus gets lonely super quickly when Fang isn’t around. Fang works most weekdays, so Sirus is usually home by himself. I feel like to cope with his loneliness, he’d call his friend Styrix over to hang out.

But he’s still lonely.

So he whips out his phone and begins to call Fang. When Fang answers, Sirus whines.

“Fang, honey, I miss you... I’m lonely and it’s been foreverrrr...”

Right in front of Styrix. Poor guy is a third wheel.

8. Fang has flowers in the front yard. Something tells me Sirus waters them if Fang forgets. Something about that is super cute.

9. Fang definitely squish’s Sirus’s cheeks.

10. Sirus blushing when Fang and Styrix begin showing off how impressive their maws are. He just has this dumb obsession with how big Fang’s teeth are.

11. They probably both have a height difference fetish to be honest.

12. Sirus REFUSES to let go of Fang’s tail and probably has gotten lost in it several times. He sleeps with it and is just obsessed.

13. Fang makes a self-deprecating joke and Sirus stops him and makes him eat his words. Sirus makes a self-deprecating joke and suddenly he’s showered with gifts, a fancy dinner is planned and probably some one-on-one sexy time. Nice.

14. Them. Freaking out over Monstercat artists. Essentially my boyfriend and I on that field.

15. I feel like Fang pays Styrix to cash in on his weird shenanigans.

16. If Styrix ever met Boris and K9 and got along with them, they’d all be the chaotic, stupid boy group to constantly annoy Fang and Sirus. Not that they don’t already, just the floor may be coated in soap one afternoon.

17. Boris and K9 are British so that means they don’t exist.

18. Fang and Sirus have like no friends and chronic crippling depression.

19. Sirus definitely likes to get Fang “excited” before important work meetings just for his own enjoyment.

20. Sirus definitely squeezes into weird spaces for no reason. He gets stuck often and needs his heroic boyfriend to get him out.

21. FANG. AND SIRUS. SINGING TOGETHER. ABOUT. THEIR. LOVE. Or just in general, that’s cool too.

22. Fang and Sirus dressing edgy together.

23. Fang is having a breakdown so he dabs on some glittery eyeshadow and sticks on some bizarre long lashes and Sirus walks in and casually asks to be done too. Just to accompany Fang.

24. If Fang is too anxious to check out in a store, Sirus will do it. And vice versa.

25. Fang sitting on the couch and Sirus is curled up around him, napping and purring.

26. Fang’s constant expression is simply just flat out exhausted and angry. His brows are always furrowed and you can visibly see how little sleep he got. Same with Sirus; his face is usually void to most emotion. Suddenly they see eachother and smiles explode on their faces and they become a hugging, kissing mess.

27. They hold hands in public.

28. Fang playing guitar and singing to Sirus during a hill picnic. He’s a hopeless romantic like that.

29. Sirus watching Fang furiously and precisely brush his precious teeth.

30. If any sort of mention of “parent” is brought up, I feel like Sirus would deck somebody on the spot if Fang’s around.

31. Although I do, Fang doesn’t make jokes about his dead parents. Please don’t. His feelings will be very hurt.

32. Fang makes weird fox noises at Sirus, probably.

33. Since Sirus is short, he can probably sit on Fang’s shoulders and purr,,

34. Sirus likes to go get his hair cut and every time Fang freaks out over it and insists taking a few pictures to keep for himself.

35. Neither of them would ever ask for the other’s passwords to anything. Privacy means everything to them.

36. Sirus cheering on Fang deepthroating whole eggs.

37. “E.” “Agreed.”

38. Don’t touch either of them. They don’t like being touched. Funny because nobody wants to be around them anyways.

39. Fang LOVES cooking for Sirus. He will cook anything Sirus wants and do it out of the blue. I can imagine Sirus minding his business playing Xbox with his friends and suddenly Fang walks in with a plate. It has a sandwich on it. He cut the crust off and cut it into triangles. On the side, some cinnamon applesauce. As he sets the food and a can of soda for him down he says,

“Here, sweetie. I made you something to gnaw on. If you need absolutely anything else, let me know, okay?” And he goes and kisses Sirus on the forehead and Sirus is all blushy and everything. Sirus tells him he loves him and briefly explains to his friends his boyfriend’s odd, caring nature.

40. In case I haven’t mentioned before, Fang is super motherly toward his boyfriend and just in general. He cleans and cooks idly like some sort of NPC.

41. Fang, Sirus, Styrix, Boris and K9 all on the floor playing DnD.

“Can I roll to fuck the dragon?”

“No.” - Probably Fang.

42. Fang using a laser pointer to play with Sirus.

43. If alcohol is mentioned you will be bashed in the head by your mom, Fang.

44. Fang casually walking up to Sirus with a broom and several other things in his other hand asking for help making a cover art for a song.

45. Fang humming Sirus to sleep.

46. If Fang doesn’t hear from Sirus in ten minutes tops (nice) he will probably sob in a pillow hoping he didn’t do anything wrong.

47. Spoiler alert, Fang and Sirus never fight and always come to eachother maturely if something is up. It’s usually fixed in seconds but Fang is an anxious mess and wants his precious boyfriend to be happy all the time.

48. Fang hates his birthday and the day it’s on. Sirus goes out of his way to make it enjoyable for him.

49. Styrix texting and calling Sirus at like 6 AM to the point Sirus wakes up and just questions his existence.

50. “I have this pretty bad stomach ache... I don’t know from what though.”

“Mm... Could it have something to do with the fact we cooperatively ate two large pizzas together?”

“Couldn’t be.”

51. Fang is hemophobic. Not so much if he himself bleeds, but if Sirus bleeds as much as a paper cut he will literally pass out.

52. They definitely sing in the car together.

🎶“When you say I’m the only one I must admit it!” 🎶

53. Fang sucks ass at games, but Sirus doesn’t mind at all when it comes to him. When it comes to anyone else, however...

54. Fang’s room is freezing cold so they kind of have to snuggle.

55. Homemade dinner is common from Fang. If you go over to have dinner you’re in for something special.

56. Sirus loves Fang’s food. I’d imagine Fang cooks steak one night and Sirus is hesitant until he tries it. He then concludes he only likes Fang’s steak. (Nice.)

57. Pet names galore. They love gushing over eachother like weirdos and never ever leave eachother alone. They’re so dumbly in love.

58. Fang and Sirus making out on Styrix’s couch and Styrix is just like “This is fine.”

59. Fang and Sirus have Styrix over and say something relatively dirty. Styrix is an innocent, good-looking dumbass and just furrows his eyebrows and questions what’s going on. This is hard for everybody.

60. K9 and Fang are talking. K9 briefly mentions his daughter and Sirus just “Wait, how old are you?”

61. Fang is really closeted. Yet is cool with usual PDA and won’t hesitate to stand up for his homosexuality.

62. Soda.

63. Sirus, a 5’3 petite Canadian Lynx absolutely tops and dominates his 6’1 fox boyfriend.

64. Both of them are covered in questionable marks and scars. They both try to hide it.

65. “You’re adorable!” “No! You are!” And then they make out to make a point.

66. Them eating ice-cream together,,,

67. Their relationship is 40% wholesomeness and 50% other kinky dirty shit.

68. Fang’s closet is just full of questionable things he’d rather only Sirus see.

69. They definitely do this.

70. Making out but, like, all the time.

71. Sirus getting a body pillow that smells like Fang in order to cope with his separation anxiety. Chances are he fucks the pillow- So- That must be interesting.

72. Fang comes home and the first thing Sirus does is ask to be fucked. He sighs.

73. You mention something remotely dirty and Sirus gets a boner somehow.

74. Styrix sitting on their couch and doing something on his phone. He just looks up at Sirus and asks, “What’s a ‘handjob’ and why are they so expensive?” And Fang and Sirus just. Die.

75. Styrix just walks in on Sirus getting beat off from Fang and he doesn’t get why they screamed.

76. K9 getting “kicked out” of his house (he lives with his siblings). Fang and Sirus are snuggling in bed late at night and K9 just. Knocks on Fang’s window and scares the hell out of him. And he just begs to stay the night. He sleeps on the couch in the living room but fails to sleep due to questionable noises. He then begs Fang for breakfast because he likes his food. I for some reason feel like he’d bother the fuck out of Sirus because he’s like that and Sirus just chills in Fang’s room, probably snuggling his body pillow and being horny and just trying to ignore the fact someone is using his Xbox. I mean, not that he cares... or does he?

77. Sirus expressing his dislike toward Amy to Fang while Fang tiredly makes himself coffee. Sirus is ranting while eating his spaghetti and Fang chimes in to wipe the bit of marinara sauce on his chin.

78. Fang and Sirus casually listening to music and suddenly Monochrome Romance plays and Fang just “WAIT” and Sirus just morphs into a tomato.

79. “My aunt wants to come over.”

“Does she know you’re gay?”

“Good question.”

“Should we be worried?”

“Maybe if we take her out to dinner she’ll be too focused on the food to care if I’m being pegged.”

80. Sirus’s gallery is just full of pictures he took of Fang without him knowing.

81. I feel, for some reason, Fang and Sirus have each other’s nudes on their phones so they hesitate giving their phones to other people.

82. Styrix calling Sirus and Fang picks up.

“He can’t talk right now-“ All while he’s breathing uneasily.

“What? Why not? Are you okay? Your voice is all shaky.”

Then he just hears the phone drop and Fang “Sirus!” In the background followed by other concerning sounds. Two minutes later Sirus picks up his phone.

“Can we talk later?”

“Why?? I need to talk now-“

Then he just hangs up and Styrix proceeds to annoy him in every way possible,,

83. What even IS Styrix’s size?

84. (Again with the K9 staying over concept) Sirus walks into the dark kitchen to see Fang making something and he’s all like

“Baby, you left bed. What are you doing?”

“I’m making hot chocolate with rainbow marshmallows for K9.”

Sirus squints.

“Isn’t he our age...?”

Fang just looks over at him with bags under his eyes.

“Yes.”

85. K9 is riding in Fang’s car and Sirus is in the passenger seat. K9 leans in toward Fang through the back seat and he just whines, “Faaang, can we pleaaaase get McDonald’s? I’m hungry...”

Fang thinks about it and flicks his eyes over to his boyfriend. He knows Sirus likes fries. He also likes fries.

“Well, that means I don’t have to cook; but you’re paying.”

“That’s fine! Just don’t get something super expensive!”

It was easy to tell K9 was super excited. As they waited in the drive-thru Fang’s fingers curl within Sirus’s. He somewhat shyly looks up at him.

“What do you want?”

K9 at this point knew Fang only pulled into McDonald’s to feed Sirus but who cares when you have McNuggets.

86. “You underestimate my love for steak.” “Fang, I literally didn’t say anything.” “My original statement still stands.”

87. Fang and Sirus run into K9 in public with his daughter. Fang goes up to K9′s daughter and introduces his boyfriend to her.

“Hey, Maple! How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know.” She fumbles around and crosses her arms. “School... Yourself?” She eyes Sirus next to him.

“I’m fine! Have you met my boyfriend? I don’t think you have. This is Sirus. Sirus, this is K9′s daughter. Her name is Mapleleaf.”

He gives Sirus a hearty smooch on the cheek, Maple giving off a funny smile.

“I had no idea you were gay, uncle Fang.”

“Well, neither did I half of high school.”

88. K9 is on an important Zoom call but Fang and Sirus just begin violently fucking behind him and he just picks up his camera and says “Right, I’m moving out of this room.”

89. K9 playing on the Xbox Fang keeps in the living room while Fang sweeps in front of him.

“Could you get out the way? I’m trying to play Skyrim. This is like, the eighth time you cleaned today.”

Fang stares at him with tired, angry eyes.

“Does it matter? You can’t play Skyrim worth shit.”

“... Is that a no, then?”

“I swear there’s this one speck of dust I just can’t get.”

90. Fang and Sirus are lying awake in bed. Sirus is recording the whole ordeal on his phone and it’s easy to see Fang is very annoyed at the fact his friend K9 invited his brother and a friend over- very late at night.

You can clearly hear them talking and laughing loudly and Sirus can’t help but snicker at Fang’s temper very slowly leaving him. Fang finally gets up and starts putting some clothes on.

Sirus turns his head over to the doorway and watches Fang leave. This is the conversation he hears them yelling.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sirus hears in a deep, stern tone that could have the potential to turn him on probably.

There’s a silence until K9 speaks up.

“Oh, I just invited Boris and Amy over...-“

“Do you have any idea of what time it is?”

There’s another silence.

“It is three. In the FUCKING. MORNING. I wake up at five every fucking morning for work. Did I mention it’s Monday? Do you know how long it takes for my fur to dry? An hour. I work hard every fucking week. I work overtime whenever I can to squeeze in every little penny possible. I cook for you, offered you a place to stay because you have the weirdest FUCKING relationship with your siblings, I give you money that- oh yeah, YOU NEED TO PAY BACK. You owe me about one thousand... ten? Dollars now and I expect it. All of it, every penny of it. I do all this for you and you don’t even let me sleep so I can work tomorrow? This ISN’T your house. This is me and my boyfriend’s house. OUR house. You’re just staying in it. I’d personally appreciate if you could let me fucking sleep so I can wake back up, shower, wait an hour just to dry my fucking fur, put on my suit, make breakfast, and whatever the fuck so I can afford a ring and support Sirus and I’s dreams. The LEAST you could do. Is ASK to invite someone over. The LEAST.”

Sirus has his eyes wide in bed and he’s staring at the doorway. He could hear the living room be dead silent for a hot minute, then an unfamiliar female voice shyly rose.

“Do... do you want me to leave?”

“Whatever. Whatever. Make youself at home, Amy, Boris. At three in the morning. Uninvited. Without me or Sirus’s permission.”

Fang walks back into the bedroom, closing the door. He begins to button his shirt back off and his eyebrows immediately soften.

“Are you okay darling...?”

Sirus snorted and laughed into his pillow.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“You- you just... grew soft so fast... I’ve never heard you be so mad...”

“Mm...” Fang slid back into bed next to Sirus, Sirus quickly returns to his place on Fang’s chest. As soon as Sirus considered stopping the recording, K9 walks into their room. Ah, this is gonna be good...

K9 clears his throat.

“Look, sorry for not asking either of you for permisson, but please... come on Fang, even you usually have some decency when it comes to this stuff-“

“This isn’t your house.”

“I’m not finished!”

“I wouldn’t care if it kept me from getting sleep!”

“Oh! So you care about getting sleep, huh?? Well it sure is hard to tell when I lay on your couch every night to... to hear you and Sirus just FUCKING!! Fucking every fucking night! How do you expect ME to sleep when all I can hear is ‘Aahh! Sirus! Deeper, please!’?! If anything, this is payback!”

Fang quietly lipped at Sirus, “Are... are we that loud?”

“I tend not to pay attention.” Sirus said and shrugged, laughing internally at the two’s arguing.

“Oh, so you do it on purpose? Wow! But you come in and scream at me like you’re my mom that you can’t sleep-“

“I work tomorrow. Get the fuck out our room.”

K9 turns and stubbornly slams their door. Fang completely slides himself free of all his clothes and holds Sirus real close.

Sirus began to purr... “A ring...? You’re saving up to marry me?”

Fang put a finger to the lynx’s lips. “Rest love... rest...”

91. Fang eats ice-cream religiously and his freezer is full of nothing else.

92. Fang wearing a variety of gay looking outfits.

93. Wouldn’t it be cute if Fang owned Monstercat merch?

94. It’s canon Fang’s laptop is covered in Monstercat artist stickers.

95. Sirus is blogging through his phone and walking throughout the house just talking. He walks across the living room to a coat closet next to the front door.

“Uhh, yeah. This is our coat closet, and-“ He opens the door to reveal it’s Fang’s storage for his weird, expensive emo boots, chains, belts and whatever else. He steps inside just to circle around.

“I don’t know what the hell he’s doing... I don’t think I’m interested in knowing how much money went into this but some of these I’ve just never seen him wear... look, we have coats, but they’re...” He pushes other clothes like jackets a little farther up the clothes rack to show that the coats here are old and clearly have been forgotten about. “We only have like, two coats in our coat closet. The rest is just shoes and stuff.”

He stops touching things and starts moving out the door.

“So... anyways, he wants to fix this door, because, for some reason? The doorknob is really weird,”

He closes the door to the closet and shows off the doorknob that looks perfectly fine.

“I told him it’s been bothering me because this doorknob looks different from every other doorknob in this house... I don’t know what we’re gonna do about it because neither of us are very ‘handy’...” He turns the camera toward him while he’s running his fingers through his hair. “I think that’s a gay thing. I don’t know. I haven’t met a single homosexual who can fix stuff...”

96. Fang screaming, “Sirus! Sirus! Sirus! Sirus!!!! Look at me!! Look!!” And Sirus tiredly looks up at him to see him holding a roll of toilet paper. He puts it on top of his head.

“I’m Marshmello.”

97. A picture of Fang holding Sirus by the scruff captioned “Capped me one of those Canadian Lynx bfs”

98. Sirus gets the slightest upset with Fang and Fang is on his knees trying to make it up to his tiny boyfriend.

99. Sirus is showing Fang a song in process. Fang hums.

“Ooh, oh wow! That sounds amazing! And when you add the vocals it’ll be even more amazing! Just one thing though... that reverb is way too wet on the master. Why do you even have reverb on the master?”

Sirus looks really confused, and he furrows his eyebrows at Fang.

“... You... can have too much reverb?”

“Way too much. Turn that reverb down and maybe even consider taking it off the master.”

“I need... it on the master...”

“No, you don’t. It sounds way too wet throughout the entire song. That’s not what you want.”

“I like wet.”

Fang sighs.

100. Why is the thought of Sirus having a potentially thick Canadian accent so hot?

101. I’m pretty sure Styrix doesn’t even know his own sexuality. He’s too busy looking in a mirror to care about that.

102. If Sirus did have a Canadian accent, Fang would beg him to just keep talking.

103. (Again with the accent) Sirus is talking on the phone to Styrix. Fang is next to him, doing work on his laptop.

Sirus looks over at Fang.

“Fang, Styrix is wondering if he can come over to our house?”

Fang pauses for a minute. He slowly smiles and looks at Sirus with loving eyes. He begins to to repeat him.

“‘House’ huh?” Fang said, mimicking Sirus’s accent.

“Oh my god, not this again. House.”

“‘House’.~”

“... House!”

“‘House’.”

“Can he come over or not?!”

“Sure thing, cutie.”

Now Sirus is angy.

104. Neither of them have self-control. I know for a fact Fang won’t hesitate to suddenly and randomly hug Sirus just so he could start feeling around his body. Best thing? Sirus won’t be able to do anything about it. Fang’s got a tight grip on him and now he can play with Sirus’s body as much as he wants.

... Same with Sirus. Sirus may be small but he can still make dirty remarks and fondle with Fang’s crotch- sitting on it, taking off his shirt, any of that.

To be fair just Sirus talking turns Fang on, so. Nice.

105. Fang is snuggling Sirus in bed. He starts to feel him a little bit, Sirus whining.

“Is that poke I feel you?” Fang chuckles, sliding his hand down Sirus’s pants.

“Shame.~”

106. Sirus fake moans just for shits and giggles. In response, Fang pins him down and dares him to do it again.

107. Fang threatens to beat Sirus up for jokes. He takes off his belt and immediately Sirus starts blushing when he’s trying to escape getting hit.

108. Sirus wakes up early to feel a tender, warm rubbing at his crotch along with something a little heavy resting on his leg.

“Sleep well, little lynx?” Fang whispers in a bass-y tone, kissing his cheek. Sirus mumbles.

“What time is it?... What are you doing?...”

“Just thought I’d help you wake up a little bit, kitty.”

“... Why are you so horny...” Sirus squeaks, moving around a little bit.

“Mmh... woke up this way... like the way that feels, sugarplum?~”

Sirus sighed longingly. “Ghh... yeah...”

109. Fang is groping at Sirus’s ass softly on the couch, holding him tight.

“Hey kitty... you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“Mhm...” Sirus groans, his face snuggled into the fox’s chest.

“All mine... nobody else’s... my lynx... right?~”

“Yes, darlin’... I am... ghh...”

He spanks Sirus softly and listens to him hiss in pain. He rubs the spot gently. Sirus moans.

“I-I am all yours, daddy! I am!”

110. Sirus looking rabid with a chicken leg in his mouth.

111. “Imagine having dead parents, couldn’t be me.” Fang says as Sirus stares at him and watches his eyes tear up.

112. Sirus is being pouty.

“I’m not cute!”

Fang pushes him right up against the wall and smooshes their lips together, making out with him passionately. He pulls back to Sirus blushing and says,

“Yes you are.”

113. Fang is snuggling with Sirus.

“Are you purring?” Fang leans into the lynx, listening to his body and feeling the vibrations.

“... Y... Yes...?”

Fang melts and covers him in kisses. He absolutely LOVES it when his baby purrs.

114. Fang is wearing a blue polo with small, colorful geometric shapes on it. You know, casual clothing.

Sirus squints at him.

“What is your obsession with looking like a bus seat?”

115. Fang fucking Sirus so raw that Sirus can’t move for like, a week.

[8osbabe]

HOW TO DISAPPEAR COMPLETELY AND NEVER BE FOUND

unedited : warnings in the tags

THERE was no escape without the key in the left pocket of dallas winston’s tattered blue jeans. it was a lesson your handcuffed wrist, scratched red and raw, knew quite well.

you wanted to retch at the suffocating poison he spewed out with every breath of the cigarette that made its home between his fingers. but your surroundings were poetic in their justice.

you and him, you were this room ; paint chipped sheetrock walls that looked tough and impenetrable, although a determined hand could punch through to the hollow inside. a motel room as neglected on the inside as the building was on the outside. a kind of room that could have been anywhere, but remained damaged and uncared for and crumbling. your chests as tight as the cigarette butts and forgotten bags of weed pressed between the mattress’s headboard and the wall.

an ironic sign sits on the nightstand closest to dallas ; “No Smoking.” a rule they weren’t keen enough on enforcing, as they seemingly hadn’t bothered to install any kind of alarm or detector in the room. a rule meant for faking, for breaking.

you can’t hear any of the ambient sounds you’d expect in tulsa. there was no soundtrack to the middle of nowhere, save for the couple who had checked into a room a few doors down, who were either fighting or rampantly fucking.

nothing absorbs the noise other than your own mind, which was happy to muffle everything except for the words that kept ringing through your brain since he’d said them as he tightened a cuff on your wrist and then on a low hanging ventilation pipe ; “there. just like daddy did to mommy.”

the words wanted to gnaw at your treacherous heart, and you bit the inside of your cheek until the familiar taste of warm copper flooded your mouth to remind your heart exactly who was the boss. dallas didn’t deserve pity, not for what had been done to him, not after all he’d done. you knew it. you wanted to know it.

his smoking addiction was already bad— ‘likely to be dead by his fortieth birthday’ bad. but it flared up like this when he was thinking— deciding — only taking breaks from drags of his cigarette to sneak glances at you, teeth worrying his lips.

he had to know that the sight and the smell of tobacco was torturing you, that you couldn’t stand it. ‘did i ever tell him why?’ you were stupid and naive and in love, so you probably had, along with spilling your guts about all of your feelings, your memories, opening yourself up to being crushed— an opportunity dallas never missed. you push away the picture of your skin bubbling and seething as your uncle set his cigarette into your skin when you were six, and the one of his breath, smelling of jack daniels and tobacco as he spit in your face when you were fourteen.

his sharp inhale pulled you from the memories, as he flicked a still-lit cigarette onto a place on the floor where the sheets of the unmade bed touched the floor, setting alight a small flame.

ice crawls up your spine as you become acutely aware of the heat, a few feet away from where you sit, handcuffed to this room. you subconsciously shuffle away from it, backing into the wall. he notices you move. he chokes the flames under his shoe and the fire dies, leaving only charred cotton as evidence it had once lived. the flickering lamp is once again the only thing lighting up the room, with the bruising horizon offering no help.

your gaze locks with his now, and you wonder who will break the stare first. you should know better, that the two of you could sit like this for centuries, refusing to surrender to one another.

there’s a question sitting on his lips. you wonder if it’s the same as yours.

who are we?

what have we done to each other?

• • • • • •

“WERE you aware of dallas winston’s suicidal tendencies?”

yes.

“he wasn’t,” you answer, bored and disinterested, at least as far as the tulsa county police department was concerned.

even in the assaulting white light of— whatever room you were in— you can see the sheriff’s cheeks flush and his eyes narrow. most of your answers thus far had consisted of non-commital shrugs and vague stares, so he detects that something about dallas’s suicide must have gotten a rise out of you.

nodding at you, he leans down toward the floor near his chair, pulling a file out of a banker’s box that looked like it was full and close to bursting.

you stifle a smile. dallas’s police record. surely there must be more boxes around here somewhere, in a room specifically for dallas’s files. you imagine that the cops occasionally mess around with them, covering the boxes graffiti, ‘banker’s bastard’s box.’

the sound of the manila file sliding across the polished metal table separating you and officer friedman pulls you from your thoughts. your eyes dart up to meet his, which motion you to open it yourself. your cold hand reaches to flip it open, and you become acutely aware of the burning smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol as you see what’s inside.

you hiss, looking away instantly and scolding yourself for giving him a reaction.

he takes the file again, now grabbing the photograph it had contained and holding it out to you.

“this scar was fresh on his body when we first got a look at him. angle and location suggest self infliction, and the entry matches that switchblade he carried.” the picture is sharp and focused, not at all like any photograph there was of dallas winston. this one looks posed, medical as though he hadn’t been moving when it was taken.

he never would have just let them take that picture, not of that scar on his arm, not so easily. he hadn’t been conscious, hadn’t been— alive?

“he wasn’t,” you bark through grit teeth. your nails dig into your palms now, your hands curling into white-knuckled fists.

“he wouldn’t have died like that— not shot to death by pigs he hated, not bleeding out on the asphalt in front of his family.” you think of darry curtis and the gang. of ponyboy. you shudder.

friedman sits back in his chair, glancing through the one way mirror and smiling, as though he was in on a joke with the unseen person behind the glass.

“—and he didn’t. he died of his wounds a few hours later, in a jail cell waiting for transfer. his death certificate was filed two days ago. he bled out nice ‘n slow, “tuff” like he wanted.”

your chair emits an ear-splitting shriek as you stand, and the officer follows suit, instinctively patting his holstered gun in silent warning.

you want to scream, to claw his eyes out, to show him “nice and slow.”

instead you speak through labored breaths. “i’m leaving now. i came here as a favor to a friend, to try to help. this clearly isn’t going anywhere.”

you power towards the door, but his hand is on the doorknob before you can reach it.

“—and why help? to what does this department owe the pleasure of hearing your supposed omniscient knowledge of this case?”

you take a step closer to him and snarl. “good people don’t just suddenly wake up and decide they should kill themselves.”

officer friedman backs away, satisfied. he tugs a key from his belt and reveals the door you were headed for had been locked anyhow. he opens the thick metal door and gestures for you to exit.

“maybe dallas winston wasn’t a good person.”

______________

NOBODY stops you as you head for the door, the small lobby of the station quickly becoming blurry through your glassy eyes.

you don’t want to think that they got what they wanted, that they expected this outcome. the ‘meddling little girlfriend’ scared off from looking any further, threatened by the truth of what she might find. you don’t want to think that they got what they wanted.

you push the front double doors a little too hard, maybe hoping that the sound of the slam might muffle the sound of cops talking about autopsy and bury.

getting onto the sidewalk, you see two-bit leaning on his car— waiting, just as you’d left him.

he was fiddling with his switchblade, something he often did when he was idle, looking up as you approached him with his usual, goofy grin. it fades as quickly as it came, though, when he sees your expression, your labored breathing.

you and two could talk like that, without saying a word. he knows the score, and he’s more like family to you than your real one had ever been.

he’s ready to catch you when you collapse against him, finally allowing yourself a broken sob.

“i knew. i knew! i killed him!”

he pulls you into an embrace, allowing you to dampen his muscle shirt with your cries, all while not letting anyone see.

his eyes dart quickly around the perimeter of the station, making sure nobody was with earshot, before gently ushering you into the car.

you’re already embarrassed by the time he’s shut the driver’s side door and started the car.

“dallas is out there, he can’t be dead. i thought you knew that,” two-bit says matter-of-factly, betrayal thick in his voice.

you press your forehead against the window, not able to keep from wondering if you and two had been lying to yourselves, to each other, this whole time. that the house of cards that manifested from your shared grief was one that was quickly crumbling.

neither of you wanted to feel the pain of dallas winston’s absence, not so soon after johnny’s. your mere implication that it may be time to mourn dallas is not one two-bit takes lightly.

“those crooked cops? they think they’ve got you figured— another dim-witted greasy girl that ain’t worth half the air socs breathe— don’t make them right. you’re supposed to be smarter than that,” he huffs, not caring to let you weigh in on the subject.

not that you would, anyway. greasers never get to cry, and sometimes outbursts like these were the only real ways to grieve. you’d let him have this.

“so don’t give me any of that “he’s dead and it’s my fault” shit, because he ain’t dead, and you’re not to blame.”

it’s silent for a few minutes after that, and his expression softens as he focuses himself back on the road. he only speaks again when you turn to him as he drops you off at buck’s.

“it wouldn’t be your fault,” he says, gently resting a hand on your shoulder. “i mean, even if he was.”

you bite your lip, doubting him for a moment, before you nod, letting him squeeze you shoulder before you get out of the car and go home.

if you could call it that.

kicking your shoes off near the entrance, you take in the familiar aspects of the place. torn carpet under your bare feet, the rough feel of the scratched up balls on the pool table, the red lights reflecting off of liquor bottles on the makeshift bar, buck merill crashing on the couch, and— a lifetime ago— dally snoring in his bed upstairs until at least 2 p.m.

that one had been your favorite.

now, though, you only creep toward buck to take the still-lit joint in his sleeping hand. that kind of smoke didn’t bother you half as much as that of actual cigarettes, and even though you tried to keep your lungs as clean as possible, you’d hate to let good tree go to waste. so you pluck it from buck’s fingertips, nestle it in between your lips, and fumble up the stairs.

it doesn’t hurt to be in here, in his room. lying in his bed and still feeling his scent on the sheets, it’s easier to pretend that he’s still around somewhere, that this is still his room, that he’ll come back to it.

crawling into his bed, you wrap yourself into the sheets, feeling your skin buzz in the kind of comfort that can only be felt when you’re high.

the room begins to dim as the sun goes out, and you let yourself drift off, and relive the memory you see every time you close your eyes.

• • • • •

the boys have never looked more beautiful.

even you managed to clean up a bit, too, borrowing one of sylvia’s longer dresses.

you’re a few paces behind the curtis’s, as ponyboy sobs into darry’s dress shirt, and darry let’s him. he’s stifling tears of his own, ever the strong brother since they got the news.

how could this be possible? darry had been filling out college applications two days ago.

and now he was his brothers’ makeshift parent.

nobody had mentioned the fact that dallas hadn’t made an appearance. you didn’t even think anybody noticed. some sort of dread pools in your stomach at his absence. you couldn’t help worrying about him, even if he hated it.

the sick feeling in your core doesn’t extinguish when you see him, a few yards to the side, away from anyone’s line of sight.

the feeling doesn’t fade because when his eyes, red and raw from— crying? —flit to the coffins, and his fingernails dig deep enough to the skin of his palm to bleed, you know he’s about to do something stupid.

you shadow him, far away enough not to provoke his wrath by letting him see you.

he walks for less than fifteen minutes, and you stop following him as he hesitates in the middle of the bridge next to the highway.

something seems to have newly occupied his mind, and the churning of your stomach quickly turns into gasoline, setting alight as he jumps onto the concrete railing.

you will yourself to move forward, taking slow steps and breathing carefully so as to not startle him.

“dallas?” your voice sounds small when you say it.

he chances a glance at you, but his eyes look empty and his face blanched. he’s drunk, maybe, but he wasn’t carrying any kind of alcohol you could see.

he was grieving. he’d been closer with the curtis parents than anyone had known, you later find out.

“dallas,” you say now, more assertively, while trying to stifle the panicked shouts in your mind.

you only hear yourself shriek when he’s set both feet off the bridge, too late to stop his from plunging into the arkansas river.

you were more matched for dallas than either of you knew, you think as you stand in the same spot seconds later, and jump.

the fall feels more like the gravity is pulling you to dallas, until your body breaks into the surface of the ice cold water, seeping through your dress and into your skin.

beneath the surface, you see him drifting, eyes shut in near unconsciousness. he looks almost at peace, you think as you swim further to reach him.

he’s lighter than you expect when you’re wrapping your arms around his chest, feet kicking gently to propel you toward the surface.

it takes bringing him back up to open air to wake him, his shallow gasp for air his first signs of life. he shakes water out of his hair, his eyes before he can really look at you, his stare fascinated and probing.

you remember feeling shy and embarrassed, like he was seeing you for the first time. he could make you forget what had just happened.

“did you jump?”

“yeah,” your voice comes out rushedly, you hadn’t realized how short of breath you’d been. “yeah i jumped. are you okay?”

in the midst of everything that had just happened, his lips curl into a smile, and he laughs. “you’re fucking crazy!”

you nod, starting to laugh, too, the sound coated in nervous relief.

he leans in closer, his hands holding you steady at the nape of your neck as he touches his forehead to yours.

“i’m so tired,” he breathes.

you only get the chance to hum in response as his head tilts to capture your lips with his. his free hand travels up your thigh, guiding it around his hips before resting his hand on your lower back.

you wind your lips with his like you want to siphon his pain away, to be a vacuum for his pain and hurt. your fingers find a tighter grip on his hair, your slight tug eliciting a low, throaty sound from his lips. your head can’t be still as he teases your lower lip with soft bites.

the moment exists in a universe of its own, one where you aren’t greasers without a red cent to spend, one where his lips taste like fresh water forever.

it doesn’t last long, before you both need to break for air.

you thought this was it. that things could be better now. the world had given you permission to be better now.

you never talked about the incident again, or told anyone about the first time you’d kissed, or how you’d started going together.

but dallas had nearly died. you couldn’t save him forever.

you were both so naive.

you were sixteen.

• • • • •

YOU FIND that your best mornings are not the ones where two-bit wakes you up with a pillow to the face.

“eat,” he says, rather aggressively, throwing a paper bag next to your spot on the bed. “we’ve got a long day.”

sitting up and digging your palms into your eyes, you try your best to look mean and angry, but the breakfast he got you smells really good.

you open the bag to find a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a can of pepsi, the latter of which reminded you of the youngest curtiss

“what’s this,” you gesture to the soda can. “did you jump ponyboy to get this for me?” you giggle at the thought.

two-bit only half smiles. “no, he just picked it out for you. he’s been picking up shifts at the dx every now and again.”

you look sheepishly up at two bit, your mouth already stuffed with half a grilled cheese.

“have you...talked to him? to any of them? i mean, for more than a few minutes.” you’re not really sure why you ask. you already know the answer.

keith inhales sharply. “no. they still don’t take kindly to our “dallas isn’t dead” tirade. i don’t blame them for wanting to move on but..”

you let him keep talking, but you stop listening. you know this story, about how the boys hadn’t really felt up to speaking to you or two-bit lately. if you were being honest, you were mad at them, too. they’d left you alone in your grief.

instead, you pay more attention to the way two speaks. he speaks more carefully, with less slang and hood-talk than he might’ve a few years back. you chalked it up to his new job valeting at an upscale restaurant on the soc side of town. they tipped him far more when he’d learned to shut up if he wasn’t spoken to, and to talk classy when he was.

“—don’t pay it any mind. the car’s running outside, be down in five, ‘you hear?”

he doesn’t wait for you to answer before slipping out of the room as quickly as he came, his footsteps on the stairs echoing through the hallway until he’s out of earshot.

he’s in a rush, and you don’t even know what for. but you try to move through the room as quickly as possible, splashing your face with cold water, then scrambling to find your pants somewhere on the floor, and finally taking one of dallas’s jackets from a hanger as you pick a few stray remnants of ash out of your hair.

when you fall into the passenger seat next to two-bit, you catch sight of yourself in the rear view mirror, and try not to think about how dead you look.

he’s already speeding on the highway when you ask him where you’re going.

“to find dally.” he leaves it at that, and you don’t pry, even if the certainty in his voice is enough to send chills down your spine.

the wind starts to whip your hair in all directions when it pushes in through the open window, and you feel like a bird.

the thought is only pleasant for a moment.

you quickly feel yourself become a vulture, feeling more hunter than hummingbird.

you sink your claws into cold bodies hoping to find some way to keep living inside something that is long dead.

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

"Get your fingers off my phone."

(OOC: Somehow, I wrote goofy little responses for the other asks, but this turned into an angsty, dark ficlet.  Also a bit long!  Sorry, I’ll go back to silliness next time.) 

“You want me to dial with my dick, Shaw? Would that be better?” Pyro snarled, blinking dust and sweat out of his eyes.  “We need an extraction, and this is the fastest way.”  

Pyro’s own phone was smashed beyond repair, but somehow Sebastian’s was intact, even if the man himself….wasn’t.

The mission had gone very, very wrong.  Being buried in the basement of a collapsed building would not have been a problem, if those Verendi fucks hadn’t zapped the two of them with temporary power dampeners.  At least, Pyro assured himself it was temporary.  There were no intelligence reports that the humans had found a way to make it permanent, so he ignored the tiny doubts gnawing at the back of his mind.

Shaw had taken the brunt of it, and was lying face up under massive pile of concrete, his breathing labored, a thin trickle of blood running down his cheek.  Pyro himself had been mostly untouched by the debris crashing down on them, something he assumed was mostly luck, and not any protective instinct on Shaw’s part. Shaw probably would have used Pyro as a shield if he’d had the time.  

“Water…” Sebastian gasped.  Pyro looked up, surprised to hear the other man beg for anything…then realized that Sebastian was not begging, he was simply stating fact. A thin layer of water was flowing around his boots, spreading across the floor.  Must be a burst pipe or three.

“Well, that’s just bloody wonderful,” Pyro groaned, punching numbers into the phone.  Haven or Madelyne were the best bets, but of course the connection was absolute shit. He tried again and again, until someone picked up the other line.  There was too much static to know who he was talking to, but he yelled the details anyway. Verendi soldiers in large numbers, power-dampeners, trapped under tons of rock.  The team would need to be careful coming to get them, and for fucks sake leave Haven safe on the boat.  He wondered if any of it was getting through.

“Just…text…..idiot,” Sebastian croaked, and Pyro clutched the phone tight in a sudden fury.  Of course the horrible old bastard was right, and that made it even worse.  

“I was just going to try that, Shaw,” Pyro snapped, quickly tapping out a message to the others.  He probably would have thought of that, he wasn’t a complete moron.  He shot the message off into the void, wondering what steps he could take next. It was suddenly very important to come up with a plan before Shaw condescended to him again.

Pyro realized that the water was up over his feet now, lapping at his ankles, and looked over where Shaw was pinned flat against the floor.  His face barely breached the surface, poking up out of the water like a very ugly mermaid.

“Aww, fuck.”  Pyro made his way over, and lifted Sebastian’s head up out of the water, supporting it with his hands.  He wasn’t sure why.  No, he knew why.  Because Haven would be disappointed if he didn’t do everything he could to save Shaw. Because she would look at him differently – her, and Madelyne, and maybe even Shinobi.

“Don’t….bother….” Shaw ground out between gritted, blood-stained teeth.  “Temporary solution….at best….”

“Maybe we can…set up some kind of breathing tube for you.”  Pyro looked doubtfully at the tubes connecting his flame-thrower to his wrist. He wasn’t an engineer, but it seemed like it would do in a pinch.  Moving the concrete was not an option.  It seemed as though half the building was resting on Shaw.

“Foolish….optimism…..thought better of you….Allerdyce….”

“I really cannot imagine a situation in which you think anything good about me, Shaw,” Pyro quipped.  

“We both know….how this….will end….”  Sebastian choked for a moment, and a spurt of dark blood gushed over his chin.

Even with his powers, the weight of the rubble might have given Sebastian some difficulty.  Without his powers…it was a wonder he was even still alive.

“Let….go….” Sebastian commanded.  “Don’t….draw this out……”

Still, Pyro hesitated, imagining the sadness in Haven’s eyes when they found him alive and Shaw dead.  Would she look at him accusingly, or would she just shake her head and sigh?  

“Let go….imbecile…..don’t need….your help…..death preferable…”

“Well, fine!” Pyro exclaimed, letting Sebsatian’s head drop back under the rapidly rising water.  “Drown, ya stubborn ass, ya fucking well deserve it!  Don’t think I’m sorry ta see ya go!”  

For a long moment, Sebastian lay motionless, eyes closed under the surface, bubbles pouring out of his mouth and nose.  Then, his body jerked slightly as he took a reflexive breath.  No matter how stoic Shaw pretended to be, he couldn’t fight his body’s survival instincts. His torso convulsed as another breath sucked water into his lungs, his eyes squeezed shut.    

Pyro grinned down at him.  It felt good watching a man like that die.  It was a nasty kind of good, the same way he felt sending a wall of fire at human soldiers that were trying to kill him and anyone like him.  No matter how the moralizers might try to deny it, there was a real enjoyment in watching a piece of shit get what they deserved. It was just human nature.  Or mutant nature.  Whatever.

It didn’t take long, and soon Sebastian was still again.

“All right then, dickhead.  You can’t say I didn’t try.”  He just wished he’d thought to record it for Shinobi.

Time passed, and the water was up to Pyro’s chest.  The ceiling wasn’t far above his head, and he held the phone aloft in one hand.  They’d be able to track his location through the GPS, as long as the damn thing didn’t die on him. 

Sebastian had disappeared from view entirely.  For a while his face had lingered, a pale oval just below the surface, but the water was deep and dark.  Pyro had explored the room, searching for something, anything that could get him out – some hidden opening, or metal the he might be able to melt though.  His powers had come back with an exhilarating rush, but fire couldn’t do shit against a tomb of rock.  

He supposed the stupid X-Men would have found a way out, they probably would have figured out some fancy, complicated way of combining their powers.  The Brotherhood had never been all that good at teamwork, but at least they’d had Dominic. Dominic would sort this mess right out if he were here.  

Pyro fantasized about Dominic ripping open a path to the surface and pulling him up, then carrying him off to a fancy resort to spend an entire week eating, drinking and fucking.  He ignited a small flame and let it float around the room, in the form of a bird, a butterfly, a small cat scampering across the surface of the water.  Anything to take his mind off the cold soaking into his bones as the water continued to rise.  Lighting himself on fire wouldn’t really help with that, given how much of him was submerged.

He didn’t look at the corner, where Sebastian lay in the depths.  The delightfully nasty feeling of satisfaction and schadenfreude had faded, leaving a hollow sensation in its place.  Pyro tried not to think about the water closing over his own head, how he would jerk and convulse just like Shaw, clawing at the unforgiving ceiling.  He tried not to think about the sense of panic coiling up inside him.  He didn’t really want to die like this, trapped in the cold and the dark.  It was better than the Legacy Virus for sure, but it was still creeping up on him, slow and inevitable.  

He wondered, for a moment, who would enjoy watching his own death.  Was he also getting what he deserved?  When the water came up to his neck, would a strong hand wrap around his ankle and pull him down?

Instead, the hand came down from the ceiling.  Pyro blinked at it for a moment, wondering if he was hallucinating, then Shinobi’s head popped into view, ghostly and translucent.

“There you are!” Shinobi exclaimed.  “How’s this for a rescue?  Wow, you’re turning blue.”

“D-don’t exactly do w-well in the cold,” Pyro stammered, teeth chattering.  He was a scrawny man from a hot climate, he wasn’t meant for this bullshit.  

“Where’s Father?”  

“Over there.”  Pyro gestured towards the corner.  “He’s…..uh….he’s under the w-water.  He d-didn’t make it, I’m afraid.”

For a moment a shadow passed over Shinobi’s face as he looked over.  Then he brightened again.

“Well, good!  We’ll get a long break from him on the way back to Krakoa.  Just imagine all the partying we can do without him looming over us.”

“Oh, I c-can imagine.”

Pyro grabbed Shinobi’s hand, feeling the odd tingly sensation as his body became intangible.  Then Shinobi pulled him up, through the layers of shattered concrete, out into the sunlight.