#one morning I couldn’t taste my milk tea and didn’t notice it except to think

[aroguexenolith]

The way my schedule goes, I’m actually fine eating at 9 or 10pm, but I always forget that my sense of taste is on its way out by then.

If I’m going to cook, I’ll have to push myself to start earlier so that I don’t spend two hours cooking only for it to taste salty and vaguely sour and nothing else.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Stars Aren’t the Only Things That Glitter

A Drifting Stars AU short, collaborating with @clownwry.

2nd, 3rd, 4th.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Grunkle Ford, look out!”

“Mabel, stay back!”

BANG!

“Mabel… MABEL! HOLD ON! I’M COMING! MABEL!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel looked at the blazing fire, trying to pretend to ignore her great-uncles muttering so she might pick up a swear word, be it alien or English was perfectly fine by her. Mabel didn’t pick up any swears, but she did hear the words “reckless” and “irresponsible” and “inconceivable”. The Listening Game did a fair job of distracting her from the pain on her arm and shoulder. Except when Grunkle Ford’s bandages were a little too tight and she would wince at the friction on her burn.

Still muttering through his teeth, his eye glued to the injury through his single-cracked glasses, he did it again, pulling on the bandage a little too hard, this time making Mabel accidentally let am “ouch!” slip past her lips. Ford looked up at her and his expression grew softer and more nurturing. “I’m sorry, my dear, but really, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“They were gonna shoot you…”

“I don’t care.” Ford said firmly. “If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to save yourself and leave me behind, you do so.”

“No.”

The nomadic scientist blinked, slightly surprised by her stubbornness. Only slightly surprised, because she is a Pines, after all. But she is a good kid and in the month they had been traveling the Multiverse, she had never outright defied him like this. “Excuse me?” He wasn’t even stern or angry; he was too surprised (and maybe even a little proud) to properly scold her anymore.

“No. That’s stupid.” Mabel answered, her little cheeks puffed up in determination, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of the fire, a flame of her own in the windows to her soul. “I’ll never leave you behind. We’re a family, we gotta stick together if we’re gonna survive and get home. We need each other. Besides, if the tables were turned, would you leave me behind?”

“That’s an entirely different matter.” Ford said with a small smile on his ruffed-up face; he resumed his work on the burn more gently now and finished wrapping it up, securing the bandage. “I’m old, I’ve lived my life. You take priority.”

“I don’t care.” Mabel said, copying Ford’s exact tone and voice from earlier. The grown man snorted with amusement.

Ford decided to put this little argument on hold, seeing how there was no changing Mabel’s mind right now. And he didn’t want to spend the entire evening rebuking her. “You did do a very good job disarming those hunters. I’m very proud of you.”

Mabel sat up a little straighter and smiled up at Ford. “Thank you.”

Ford smiled at her and stood, moving to his large backpack to fish out the things for tea and dinner, though it would probably only be dried meat and oats. “I’m just glad you’re okay, pumpkin.”

Mabel’s eyes widened as her world was put on pause. She felt like she was being sucked into a time vortex, transported into a memory.

Grunkle Stan was dusting some zombie parts off of his armchair when Mabel was walking by, leaving the kitchen after giving Soos his cure for zombification. Stan noticed that Mabel looked very tired. He smiled at her from her seat, and Mabel ran up to him and climbed into his lap for a big hug.

“Hey, you alright?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just glad you’re okay, pumpkin.” And he gave her a secure squeeze and Mabel happily hugged him back.

Mabel was shoved back into reality, accompanied by a sinking feeling of loss. She missed Grunkle Stan. She missed Dipper. She missed Waddles, and Soos, and Wendy, and the Shack, and Oregon, and California, and Mom and Dad…

Ford turned back to the fire with a kettle and wire-spider in hand, ready to ask Mabel to fetch some water (she always enjoyed being of assistance), but he stopped when he saw her crying with her eyes shut and wiping her cheeks dry with her wrists. Ford was immediately halted and his priorities shifted drastically. Nothing mattered at this moment but making her feel better.

He was swift. Ford scooped up some water from the clean stream into the kettle, then used the wire-spider to hold the kettle over the fire. Giving the water plenty of time to heat up and steam, Ford gently picked Mabel up from her seat on the log, only to hold her close and let her wrap her arms around his neck. He didn’t say a word, being a social-cripple and having no idea what he could say that would make her feel better, so he stayed silent and was simply there for her.

And really, that was all Mabel needed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning the two humans were lucky to come across a small rustic town in the woods, reminding Ford of the small Tennessee-town Fiddleford grew up in. Except of course there were no humans, but blue-skinned elves with pointy years and the occasional centaur.

Ford had stolen a bit of money from a hunter yesterday, which meant they got to restock on supplies and even buy a cheap breakfast at an outside cafe. Sitting at a table under an umbrella, Ford was going over his plan with Mabel while she munched on her sweetly-cooked purple apples tossed in spices and sugar.

“... so once we reach this cavern here, we’ll reach a very interesting town called Flush Valley. I’ve heard it specializes in building mechanical limbs and prosthetics, but it’s surrounded by rich minerals perfect for building, so we can find what we need easily here. There may even be a day-by-day job I can get to earn a bit of money for food and shelter.”

“I can work, too! Daddy always said I was like a French horse!” Mabel added in excitedly.

Ford chuckled. “We’ll see. I would feel more comfortable if you were working so I could keep an eye on you. Moving on,” The old scientist sipped his strange alien coffee, but it contained caffeine and somewhat resembled his home dimension’s coffee taste, so he drank it. “The way there could be crawling with scavengers. A lot of people come to Flush Valley just barely hanging on by a thread, easy targets for hunting and stealing food and supplies. So we need to keep our guard up for the next two days.”

“Okay.” Mabel said, as nonchalantly as if Ford told her to remember to add milk to a grocery list.

Ford gave her a firmer look and added, “So, if we think we’re being followed, what do we do?”

“We pretend we don’t know and we keep walking calmly.” Mabel replied. “We keep our eyes open for a way to lose them, and where the sneaky-peaky spies are.”

“Very good.” Ford smiled at her. “If we decide to try to lose them, what do we do?”

“Run as fast as we can. If I can’t catch up I get on your shoulders and focus on making them go away, while you get us away.”

“Yes, excellent. What do we do if we decide to confront them?”

“I grab by sling-shot and exploding rocks and hit as many guys as I can. I aim for the knees or feet so they fall and can’t shoot us. Oh, and we stand with our backs to each other so we see everything, together.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, if we are surrounded and I find a way to escape, what do you do?”

“Make sure you go in so you can lead the way!” Mabel answered with a grin.

“N-No, honey.” Ford said gently with a smile, as if informing a kindergartner that 1+1=2, not 11. “If I find a way to escape, you go first…”

“No,” Mabel said, still smiling as she shook her head. “You go first so I can make sure you’re coming.”

Ford sighed and took another sip of his drink. “Okay, if I tell you to run, you…”

“I grab your hand and run with you, making sure no one gets lost.”

“Mabel, no.”

“Mabel YES!” The girl grinned with determination. “You’re stuck with me, old man! You can’t get rid of me!”

Ford was getting annoyed at this point. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up slightly, and growled, “I’m not trying to get rid of you, I’m trying to save you!”

Mabel gave him a very serious look and questioned, “By leaving me alone out here?”

“No! I-...” But Ford stopped and bit his lip. His niece did have an excellent point. As much as Ford was willing to do anything to keep her safe, as much as Ford was willing to sacrifice his own life for her’s, that really wasn’t a good idea.

There was a good chance Mabel could survive without him, at least until she found a nice family to take her in (or, somehow, miraculously, Stanley opened the portal and brought her home, but Ford didn’t dare to hope for that). But she was so young and inexperienced in the Multiverse. At least when Ford was first thrown into the chaos he was an adult and was accustomed to weirdness thanks to his six years of researching Gravity Falls. Mabel was extremely resourceful, imaginative, intelligent, and clever. She was also stronger and faster than many would assume. But she was too trusting. Too innocent. So, not to belittle Mabel or underestimate her, but she was right; she needed Ford, and as noble as it would be to exchange his life for her’s if it came down to it, that would also be incredibly stupid and only buy Mabel a little more time until she was captured or enslaved or killed or even worse.

And of course, only someone as people-smart and clever as Mabel could make Ford see that.

He sighed tiredly. “O-... Okay.” Mabel smiled proudly at him. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll try to be more careful.” Ford promised. “I… I just need you to be safe.”

“Don’t worry, I think we do a pretty good job of keeping each other safe.” Mabel complimented, holding out a bite of her fruit on a fork for Ford.

The old man held up a polite hand and declined, but his stomach turned against him and growled, and Mabel frowned at him, giving Ford a deja vu feeling of his mother forcing him and his brothers to eat their vegetables. So Ford smiled and accepted the sweetly cooked fruit. “Yes, I think so, too.”

[five-rivers]

Loved Chapter 5

Sort of wanted to do something more elaborate with this, but it just wasn't happening. Meh.

.

“But you aren’t really real, are you?”

Tucker’s question killed the mood fast than a bullet. Danny and Sam stared at him from their side of the blanket nest.

“You want to rephrase that?” asked Sam, glaring, arms crossed.

“Uh,” said Tucker, sweat starting to form on his upper lip. “I mean, clearly you’re real, just… maybe not entirely physical? You, it’s,” he made a sort of twisting gesture with one of his hands. “People who aren’t from here can’t see you. They can’t even touch you. That sort of implies that you’re not on the same level of reality as them.” He shrugged. “You call the other place the Dream, right? Maybe you’re in, like, a kind of daydream or something.”

Danny twisted a corner of a blanket in his hands. “No,” he said.

“Danny,” started Tucker.

“No,” repeated Danny. “I can’t—” He noticed he was breathing heavily, his eyes unfocused enough that he could see—No. “Tucker, I don’t—I don’t think I even have free will anymore.” No matter how much he Loved Clockwork and craved Love in return, no matter how glad he was that the dark future would never come to pass, that grated at times. “I need—” He gulped air.

(Before, if he was this panicked, his heart would be thundering in his chest. Now, it was far too quiet.)

Sam put a hand on his back, steadying. Tucker reached out, too, but hesitated, unsure.

“I need to be real,” he said. He needed to still exist, still be human, at least in part. He couldn’t lose that, too. No matter what else he might gain.

“You are real,” said Tucker. “I’m sorry, I—” He cursed lightly under his breath, “—I wasn’t thinking. It’s just… Maybe something you should think about. Maybe—Maybe you aren’t coming completely out of… I don’t know. Wherever you go.”

“Maybe,” said Danny, struggling to get his breathing back under control. “Maybe. I just. Not right now.”

“Okay,” said Tucker. “Yeah. What were we talking about before?”

“Who cares?” asked Sam. “Let’s watch a movie.”

“That sounds good,” said Danny.

.

Danny woke up first the next morning, which was somewhat unusual. Sam was definitely a night-owl, but Tucker woke up fairly early. He stepped over them, feet silent on the floor. Almost as if they weren’t really there.

He shook his head. Not now.

He went to the bathroom and took care of things slowly, deliberately, as if to impress upon his body that he was human.

Sam and Tucker still weren’t awake when he came back. Also, when he thought about it, the rest of the house was eerily silent as well.

No… There was music. Was that coming from outside? He closed his eyes to listen better and caught himself drifting off while standing.

That was abnormal. He knelt and shook Sam and Tucker’s shoulders. They didn’t stir.

Someone was here. And they were here without Danny knowing. That was bad. That was really bad.

He went to his parents’ room. They were asleep, too.

There was a nonzero possibility that he was the only one awake. (Assuming he had ever been awake in the first place and not, as Tucker put it, daydreaming.)

He went out, following the music. Music suggested Ember, but this didn’t seem to be her style. She preferred motion, energy, vibrance. This was quieter, subtler.

Then again, none of the others made sense.

(At least, Danny liked to pretend they didn’t.)

The music wasn’t louder outside, but it was clearer. The scent of something sweet floated on the air. Something warm. Like honey.

Was something buzzing?

Danny shook his head again, forcing himself back into awareness. Maybe he should try and figure out what was going on from inside the Dream. It wasn’t possible to fall asleep there. At least, Danny never had.

(Assuming he wasn’t always partially in the Dream, like Tucker said.)

On the other hand, it often helped to observe what was going on in the real world, on the surface of things, before diving. As messy as fights could be in the real world, winning them in the Dream was harder.

He forged on, periodically pinching himself. He wasn’t the only one on the streets, but he was the only one on the streets that wasn’t passed out. It looked like there had been some car crashes.

That’s when he saw her.

She stood in the middle of an intersection, looking away from him. She was built like a centaur, except the lower part of her body more closely resembled a massive deer than a horse. An elk, perhaps. Both her deer-portion and her human-portion had night-black skin, studded with white stars. Antlers curved and branched above her curly hair. A crown of red flowers sat on her head. She wore no other clothes.

Danny did not notice any of this at first. No, what first jumped out at him was the unmistakable chain of Love binding him to her and vice versa.

He’d never met anyone like this, so—

She turned to face Danny. But she didn’t have a face. She had a mask. A well-made mask that had both eye-holes and a mouth with lips that seemed to curve. It was also covered with pulsing, swirling, hypnotic patterns. Black and white chased each other across the mask, not respecting the mask’s physical curves.

Danny could feel his mind start to go fuzzy. Felt the ground go soft under him as he sank into the Dream. A distant part of him wanted to look away, but the rest of him could only blink slowly, captivated.

“Come,” she said in a fascinating combination of an out-loud voice and a True Voice, tugging lightly on the chain that attached Danny to her.

Danny complied, trotting out into the intersection. When he was most of the way there, she turned away again.

“Follow,” she ordered.

Danny did, vaguely noting how rapidly the sidewalks and concrete buildings of Amity Park flowed into smoothly rolling hills covered in grass and flowers. The air grew heavier. Hotter. The perfume of the flowers combined with the buzzing of the bees and the gentle music served to make Danny even drowsier than before.

Still, he could hardly nod off in this situation, walking behind her, Love connecting them.

Sluggishly, belatedly, a name came to mind. “Nocturne,” he said. The name tasted like milk and honey, like chamomile tea, like sleep. She stopped and inclined her head slightly towards him. “You’re different from before.”

“We haven’t met,” she said. Then she turned more fully, the lips on her mask curving into a smile. “Has our parent been showing you Dreams of me? Perhaps I looked more like this.” She changed, her body warping before Danny’s eyes to become an impossibly tall man completely covered in starry black robes. Except, of course, for his mask and curved, ram-like horns. “This is as good a place as any, I suppose.”

Danny nodded, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, and looked around. Amity Park was nowhere in sight. The hills were a little lumpy, as if the grass and moss were growing over oddly shaped rocks.

“Let’s sit,” said Nocturn, lowering himself elegantly to the ground.

Danny followed, movements clumsy and blurred by sleep. He blinked, and found his hands occupied by a large mug. He looked up at Nocturne. Had he given this to Danny, or…?

Nocturne smiled. Danny looked away, not feeling like getting caught in the hypnotic swirls of his mask again. There was something off about those rocks under the grass. Something about their shape…

Then he saw it and inhaled sharply through his teeth.

Bodies. They were bodies. Still breathing, but…

He looked back at Nocturne. He’d known Nocturne was being too nice to him. He was new to being other, but not new to being a younger sibling. Older siblings only acted like this when they had set up everything in their favor. When they wanted something.

Even knowing this, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Could he fall asleep in the Dream?

“What are you doing to them?” he asked. “How do I wake them up.”

Nocturne hummed. “I have an idea. Play a game with me, sibling, and I’ll tell you.”

“What kind of game?”

“You ask me a question, and for every answer I give you, I get something from you.”

“Like, an answer from me,” said Danny, trying to clarify his position, “or something else?”

Nocturne’s smile showed teeth.

“If I play this game,” said Danny, “I have to be able to say when it ends.” He didn’t want to be dancing around conversational pitfalls every time he interacted with Nocturne, after all. They were siblings.

(And though Love was not trust, it was Love. And Love was undeniable.)

“Of course,” agreed Nocturne, easily.

“Alright, then,” said Danny. He adjusted his grip on the mug.

The grass was crawling. He blinked, hard, and shook his head, dislodging two bees that had landed on his ear.

“How do I wake them up?” he asked.

“You can’t,” said Nocturne.

Danny paused, waiting for Nocturne to take what he wanted.

“You have other questions.”

“Aren’t you going to take something from me, for the question?”

“Yes, I am.”

Danny pursed his lips, realizing he had just wasted a question.

“If I can’t wake them, who or what can?”

“I could. Or they could wake themselves.”

Danny mulled over what that could mean. He had no idea where to start with the second part, but the first…

“What would I have to do, to get you to wake them?”

“You—”

The chain around Danny’s neck went taut, pulling him through the fabric of the Dream at breakneck speeds. He was in Clockwork, his sibling behind him.

You must not bully your sibling, my dear. I have enough love for both of you. You do not need to be jealous.

Danny swayed. Now that so much of the tension between him and Nocturne was gone, he was no longer able to use it to support his wakefulness.

Drink your milk, little Love. You’ll be able to find your friends.

Danny nodded sleepily and tipped the mug back. He didn’t remember what happened after that.

.

“Hundreds of Amity Park citizens are still in comas as health officials race to find the cause of the mysterious event. Some say that gas leaks are to…”

Danny tuned out the TV and glared at his cereal. He knew he had fallen asleep in the Dream and had done something, but the memory was beyond him. Maybe whatever it had been was beyond an even partially human mind.

Or whatever kind of mind Danny had.

His fingers twitched. He was going to go down again later today, to see if Clockwork would help him find everyone else. If they could be found at all. He didn’t want to. He was angry. Angry that this had happened, that it was still happening. Amity Park was his, and Nocturne had no right to try and steal and break and—

The terrible part, was that even though he was angry, his general desire to reach out to Nocturne, to lean on their Love… That had not diminished.

He looked forward to seeing them again.

The news continued to talk about the coma victims.

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: iii

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2   ||   chapter 4

word count: 4.2k

a cheeky drink and some mutual sabotage. 

warnings: oh no, they say s*x, fluff, pining, the usual, and a wittle angst on the side, reader smokes cigs bc its a salem trademarked fic thing

enjoy folks ;^) the whole of this piece is gonna be about? ten chapters. so. hold on tight!!!

beta read by @keiqos, heart EYES

||||||||||||||||||||||||

“Let that sit for a second or you’ll burn yourself—”

“Don’t need to tell me twice, angel. I know the drill.” Hawks replied with a wink.

You weren’t ever going to get tired of that.

You really expected Hawks to disappear out of your life. You really, truly expected him to run off for good. How many bigger, better, and more important things did he have to do? Even if you managed to speak to him and regard him like any other customer (or, perhaps acquaintance, and more recently, friend — ), your mind swam with insecurities that only seemed to get worse over time.

You were waiting for the metaphorical thread to snap.

You waited for the day Hawks simply would stop texting you flirty bullshit on a somewhat regular basis.

But, holy fuck, the dude didn’t.

 You couldn’t think of why. You weren’t complaining about the attention, but you also were terrified of getting too used to it. Hawks was a part... bird (?) right? He was flighty by nature.

Despite this, Hawks continued to not only text you but also stopped by the shop fairly frequently for his special, quirk-fueled beverage fix. Politely, he’d text you the day before he planned to make an appearance to check and see if you were working, and then show up the next day like it was nothing. 

He usually wouldn’t stay for long; the hero was ungodly busy and always on the move. But, he always took the time to flirt and get a full description of his drink before dashing out to save the world once more. 

Most days he visited were his ‘hero work’ days. He’d appear in his costume, done up and dashing for a sip and a quick talk before disappearing once more into the skies. Every once in a while, Hawks had an ‘office’ day where he’d be confined to his agency to catch up on his insane backlog of paperwork. On these occasions, Hawks would talk (stall) at the tea shop for as long as possible. You talked and joked with him as long as he would let you. Sure, it put you behind on work, but no one at the shop was going to tell you off for fraternizing with the number two hero (whose repeated presence was drawing more customers anyways). You both reveled in each other's attention, drinking in the other’s slowly softening smiles and quick wit. 

 On this day, Keigo’s wings were the shittiest they had been in a while. Plucked and almost barren with how much he’d been working lately. Total exhaustion seemed like it was constantly on the horizon, tugging as his eyelids and weighing down his chest each morning.

It was easier to get out of bed when he got to think about seeing you.

Sure, your drinks were a perk. Very much so. He was getting so used to the artisan beverages you crafted that the taste of his normal canned coffee was starting to bother him. 

But, what his real thrill in visiting the tea shop was that he got to see you, and that made his heart pound. 

He sat across from you, looking down into your newest drink. It swirled between dark and milky, a heady, rich aroma billowing up with the steam it produced. He had requested something ‘surprising, new, and horribly caffeinated’ as deep fatigue was the worst villain he’d likely see that day. You had just nodded, cheekily starting to prepare his drink with a bounce in your step, pupils going wide. 

“I feel like you’re gonna start running out of ideas one of these days,” Keigo laughed, adjusting himself on his stool, gloves and jacket removed. He almost looked like a normal patron.

 You grinned to yourself, idly cleaning around you as you often did, “I dunno, I’ve got a lot.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow, “Tell me about them.”

“Nope, top-secret,” You shook your head, digging into your apron to flash him the small notepad you carried on you.

Scrawled in nasty handwriting, you carried your many ‘feeling’ ideas around with you. Different concepts and abstractions all scribbled down, a nice long list to look back on whenever Hawks would make his appearances and his own vague requests. Your backlog of ideas made it easy to find something more than suitable to make for him.

When Hawks saw your notepad his eyes widened, tilting his head and a devious smirk coming to his lips.

Your expression fell, and you stuffed the papers back into your pocket, hiding your hot face by idly cleaning some more. 

You left yourself very open for teasing, it seemed.

(Not that you or Keigo minded.)

“You keep a little list of all of your ideas! I’m beyond flattered,” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, flashing a cocky smile for you. 

“I have to stay prepared, can’t be disappointing my celebrity sugar daddy,” You winked as Hawks’s eyes went wide, half-hearing a choke get caught in his throat. (You loved it when you were able to get him visibly flustered. What a treat.) You nodded down to the drink, “Should be good to try now.” 

 Keigo really liked spending time with you. He knew it was always fleeting and short and consistently he wanted to find reasons to stay with you at the tea shop counter for longer and longer. Your quips and chides continued to get quicker and more clever and he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his cool around you. Most of the time he smoothed himself easily, not showing a trace other than that which he neurologically couldn’t control. 

But sometimes, you were bold enough and ballsy enough to get him to gag on his literal words and he was positive that you were the only person to ever have him break composure in such a way. 

He covered his weakened poise by sipping the new drink, mindfully letting the taste wash over his tongue.

Increasingly, you’d been changing up the so-called ‘vibe’ of your beverages. It seemed like each time Keigo dropped in, you had something new and vibrant to show him. 

This drink was particularly different.

The taste was rich, dark, and smooth, rolling into the back of his throat and down his spine. It coated his insides with a warm, low heat. Peeking through were sweet, light accents, warm but almost... teasing?

His dick twitched.

 Hawks’s mouth dropped open, any and all professional veneers dropped as you just beamed so fucking smugly at him. 

“What do you think?” You leaned a bit forward, bouncing on your toes with excitement.

“Is... Is this supposed to taste like sex?” Hawks asked, taking another mouthful to confirm. Based on the way his eyes briefly shut and some of the tension rolled from his shoulders, he thoroughly confirmed it.

“Technically, it’s crafted based on like... a late-night rendezvous. I left it fairly up to interpretation beyond that. The rest is on you.” You shrugged, still bouncing as Hawks took another chug.

“What the fuck, (Y/N),” Pleasant shock colored his features, but clear amusement stretched across his lips as he continued to drink. 

“You wanted something surprising and horribly caffeinated. That’s a dark chocolate mocha with two extra shots, our in-house raspberry and rhubarb syrup, a bit of white chocolate syrup, and a few of my add-ins as well. It’s pretty different from what I’ve made you before,” You blinked at him, stomach twisting as his expression remained unguarded. “I... I probably should’ve asked before giving you a drink that definitely could’ve been taken as sex. That’s my bad. I can remake you something else if you’d like?”

 Keigo shook himself from his stupor, shaking his head and quickly regaining his composure. He took another sip to emphasize his words, “No, nope. It’s okay. Definitely okay. The drink is really good. I’m just now wondering something.”

“And, what’s that?” You asked, reaching behind the counter to grab your own iced beverage.

“Can your quirk be used to manifest bad feelings and concepts, just like good ones?” Keigo asked. Normally, he’d add more nuance, but he was getting impatient and sloppy around you. He’d have to keep that in check.

Especially with the way your shoulders drew up and tensed. You turned a bit away from him, any and all potential for eye contact torn away.

He hit a nerve.

“The type of abstract feeling doesn’t matter, I can emulate it,” You replied, pulling at your nails. Keigo had long picked up that it was one of your habits when your anxiety spiked. 

He dropped it, but didn’t forget. There were public files on quirks. Maybe he’d look into it. Maybe. It felt a bit invasive, but considering plenty of that data was freely accessible, it hardly was an invasion of privacy, right? 

(Except for the fact that it obviously made you very uncomfortable to discuss the more unsavory potentials of your quirk.) 

(He just wouldn’t tell you.)  

Keigo switched topics, easily rolling away from the topic, “Any particular... event that inspired this one?” 

You pressed your hands into the counter, leaning over it to glare at him, “Are you referring to something with that comment, Hawks?”

He shuddered when you said his name, but you don’t notice. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Keigo shrugged easily, going for another sip.

 The drink was inspired by the several day cinematic, wine-bender you went on a week or two prior. An entire weekend with just you, your cats, three entire bottles of wine, and a backlog of movies to catch up on. You tried to consume lots of different types of media, but what had been catching your eye lately had been anything with gushy romance for fairly obvious reasons.

(There was an embarrassing amount of ideas for drinks that were a bit too romantic to properly indulge with your quirk. You’d never tested the limits of how certain feelings could manifest, and you weren’t quite ready to face the reality where you could make people nut from caffeinated milk.)

“It is good though, the drink,” Hawks smacked his lips together as if it would make his coming analysis more credible. “It definitely does taste like sex, but more so complicated. Darker.”

“Deeper.” You smiled. “Your palette is getting more refined. I’m proud.”

“Are you saying it was bad to begin with?” Hawks pouted, flashing you falsely weepy eyes and a puffed out lip.

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, you yourself have admitted this. You drink canned coffee still, so I can’t even call your taste good.”

Hawks gasped, putting a hand to his chest, “I’m hurt, truly wounded.”

“I’m sure you are, tailfeathers.”

“I really thought I had reliably moved up to ‘birdboy’, angel.”

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand, “Just goes to show how quickly the tables turn, tailfeathers.”

Hawks’s pager suddenly chimed, a familiar sign. He took a quick look at it and sighed, moving to re-robe. You were surprised by the speed at which he did so, and the way he became tense so quickly. 

It made you realize that he was always tense.

(Unless he was talking to you.)

“I thought today was an office day?” You asked, a bit of a disappointment clouding your voice.

Hawks just gave a small smile, fully plastering back on his heroic facade, “Duty calls. Lots happening lately.”

He flicked his visor back over his eyes, slid you your normalized wad of cash, and whisked himself out the door, immediately taking to the skies from the streets.

He’s in a bit of a hurry.

He... didn’t even say goodbye. 

Wonder what’s happening?

 Truthfully, Keigo was a bit startled by the notice on his pager. The whole reason he’d started patrolling the particular neighborhood the tea shop was in was because there was word of a villain syndicate working nearby. It hardly seemed right for the neighborhood, but Keigo knew that villains hid anywhere. Whatever they were planning was still relatively shrouded, but it was clear that it needed to be treated delicately. That particular neighborhood was rife with pedestrians, businesses, and homes and any sort of villainous activity had the possibility of reaping a heavy amount of collateral damage. Keigo and the Commission had been on their guards about it, but things had been steadily becoming more intense over the past few weeks. 

Plopping himself on a rooftop, Keigo took up residence to stake out his newest lead, watching figures and silhouettes in a nearby office building.

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Funnily enough, the rest of your week went horribly. Just downright shitty. You figured at some point, things would let up, brighten, but they didn’t. Each day brought some new, personal calamity. 

The first was a trip to the emergency vet with one of your cats after she swallowed a hair tie. An expensive vet bill later, she was perfectly healthy, but you remained wracked with anxiety. 

Another day, the owner of the tea shop paid a visit to chew you out for your newest tea blends not fulfilling his picky seasonal requests. You were relieved it had nothing to do with how Hawks monopolized your time. Still, getting yelled at easily within earshot of both coworkers and customers made your insides twists. 

The final small disaster was when a particularly asshole-ish customer chucked a hot drink all over you and your cute white sweater. One of the younger openers had been dealing with a difficult patron and an incorrect order, nothing out of the ordinary. When you tried to step in and de-escalate the situation, the man ripped the lid from his cup and splashed you with the burning liquid. You held back any sounds of pain even as your skin stung like hell when you offered to remake his drink.

One of your managers luckily allowed you to go home early. Thank god.

By the end of your shitty week, you fell into your apartment and just cried. White sweater stained and day feeling fairly ruined, you let yourself have a good, solid sobbing session to just release how terrible things had been. 

It would pass, you knew. But it sucked at the moment.

It also didn’t help that Hawks had been particularly absent after running out the last time he came around. He’d still managed to shoot you a funny text or two, but mostly, it was silence from him. You rationalized it by reminding yourself of how quickly he flew off at the end of his last visit, hero business forever more pertinent than you and the shop.

You reminded yourself to keep yourself grounded in Hawks obvious impermanence, even if you were starting to get used to (and really like) having the hero around. 

You decided that your Friday evening would be good. You treated yourself to a hot shower, noting with a hiss the pink scalded skin that covered your chest from your collar bones to just below your breasts. You threw on a facemask and uncorked a bottle of wine you had been saving for a rainy day. 

You clicked on one of your favorite shows, an older cartoon that brought you consistent comfort in times like those. Curled up with a knit throw blanket and your healthy cats, it did help soothe the burns, mental and physical.

That is until you got a bit too drunk on red wine and it turned into sad drunk.  

So, you made your way to the roof.

You weren’t fucked up beyond belief, despite the fact that you were towing an open bottle of red in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the left. The cold would sober you up, along with the nicotine. You hoped it would force you out of your head. 

Upon throwing open the door to your apartment complex’s rooftop, you were made very aware of its wintertime disuse. The gardens that grew during the summer were snowcovered. The chairs and tables for lounging were in a similar state. You didn’t mind. 

The view was still nice. 

You set down your bottle and zipped up your coat. Quickly, you brushed off the flurries from a rickety lawn chair and plopped yourself down. You threw on some music from your phone, playing some sweet, old songs that made your chest ache when you needed it to.

The city stretched in front of you, beyond the rooftop. You didn’t live in a particularly wealthy district, but there was no shortage of dazzling neon and bright street lights dotting the ground below. You watched how the rest of the city stretched far beyond your little pocket, still gleaming with multi-hued lighting and dazzling in the wash of the crescent moon.

You took a swig, fishing for your self-dubbed ‘sad cigarettes’ and lit up. With your exhale, you watched as smoke lazily swirled away, carried by the soft winter wind. If you were any less drunk, you’d be freezing.

A shadow, winged, fell across the snow. 

“You know, I get nervous when I see pretty girls on rooftops with bottles in their hands,” You jumped at the voice, whipping your head to the source.

Hawks stood, scarlet wings fanned outwards, on the lip of the rooftop. 

Your eyes widened.

You took another sip.

He gave an affectionate laugh, jumping down into the area where you were seated.

 Keigo had just been out on his normal, nightly patrol. The leak had been correct and he’d been stealthily tracking the villains while completing the rest of his hero duties. He was able to laugh off his exhaustion, but it was starting to eat him. Several cans of coffee a day was hardly doing it for him. He hid his sleepiness and aches well, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. All the same, his typical roles had to be fulfilled. 

He was surprised to see you, all alone on a rooftop with a lit cigarette between your fingers. Keigo let himself be surprised before noting that ‘ yes, you definitely probably live in this apartment building and you’re just outside to smoke’, but the sudden jolt of panic he felt was crushingly unbearable. 

Mostly because it was personally protective and not heroically instinctual and he couldn’t start acknowledging that aspect of his feelings for you. Not yet. 

Keigo walked towards you, asking, watching you blink blearily at him “You doing alright?” 

Eyes downcast, you shrugged, “We all feel shitty sometimes. Just depends on how you cope, ‘ya know?”

“And how do you cope, (Y/N)?” Keigo asked, pausing before brushing off a chair. “Mind if I join you for a bit? I could use a second to rest my wings.”

You nodded, almost offering him the bottle, but quickly pulling it back to your chest before taking another inhale. Offering a pro hero alcohol while he was pretty obviously working seemed like a bad move, even in your tipsy state. 

“Most of the time, I watch nice stuff and distract myself, like most people, ya’ know?” You exhaled as you smoked, relishing the nicotine buzz. “Sometimes, though, I just feel extra shitty and need to extra cope.”

Hawks hummed in agreement, sitting back in the chair. His wings were folded up and over its back, the longest feathers trailing in the small snowdrift behind him.

“Do you get cold, being in the sky all the time?” You asked, eyes going cloudy as you stared up at the lights of the city and higher into the sky. 

“Most of the time,” Hawks chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head, “I’ve told you this, angel. It was one of our first conversations.”

Your eyes widened at the realization, mouth open with a hearty laugh.

 It made Keigo’s eyes water a little. He blamed it on the wind. 

 “I’m silly, I can’t believe I forgot,” You nestled back into your chair, tracing the lines between constellations. “It’s the whole reason you came to the teashop in the first place.” 

Your voice resonated, focus foggy. Somewhere else, old memories played in your mind, recounting your first few meetings with Hawks.

A warm, small smile stretched across your face as you traced the stars. 

 Keigo watched, enraptured. You were cute, especially like this. All bundled up in your winter coat, half-zipped. There was a lot less stress in your shoulders than he normally saw at the shop, especially as your thoughts were so far away.

He wanted nothing more than to commit the contours and shadows of your face in the white moonlight to memory, never forgotten in the blissful cold. 

 You interrupted his thoughts so beautifully.

 “Thanks for talking to me.” You took a sip from your bottle just after speaking, half-drowning your words, but Keigo caught each one. “I appreciate you.” 

“P-pardon?” Keigo couldn’t tell if you caught his stutter, but even if you did, you didn’t show it. The comment felt like a jab to his jaw, half-knocking the wind of him and turning him into a filthy masochist. He’d take any whiplash if it meant you saying such kindnesses to him. 

How could you just say shit like that?

What exactly did you mean by that?

Why did your attention make his legs tremble?

You turned your attention from the night sky to Hawks, something like uncertainty bubbling in your chest, “I appreciate you, ya’ know? Coming by the tea shop still, teasing each other and shit, you humoring me—”

Hawks interrupted you, feathers tensing at his back.

“I’m not humoring you.” Hawks deadpanned, staring at you oddly seriously. The yolks of his eyes seemed even more intense in the neon and night light. 

“You’re... not?” 

There was utter disbelief in your voice, accented by the way your jaw was half-opened.

Hawks shook his head, standing in emphasis, feathers fluttering as he did, “ No, angel. Not at all. I visit because...”

I like you.

“Because I like your drinks.”

  Because you make me feel good in a way I’ve never felt.

“You’re fun to talk to, too. Added perk.”

  Because I want to hear your voice when I breathe and when I die. 

“I enjoy it, you know? You're fun.”

 Some feeling in your chest, something full of hope, crushed itself and compacted to the point of pain. You sniffled at his admission, blaming it on the cold. In a fucked up, sad way, part of you was so relieved. 

He likes the shop. He likes your drinks. 

He’s around because he wants to be. 

But not because you’re special to him. 

 His words reminded you of your insignificance in Hawks’s life. No matter how much you craved his attention and words, and more recently found yourself staring at the plumpness of his lips and the curve of his cupids bow and daydreaming about how much you wanted to lean over the tea shop's counter and kiss the constant, teasing smile off his face—

But.

You don’t matter that much to him.

Sure, he likes you, but he’ll never feel the same way about you. 

 You made the decision then to make the most out of Hawk’s affections and sweet words. You’d take what you could get, even if it was fleeting and probably  eventually heartbreaking. It seemed smart, to refuse to get your hopes up for someone so unattainable.

 You let out a shaking sigh, “Thank you, Hawks. I appreciate you coming around. You really light up my day.”

 Keigo saw the fall of your face and bottled himself up. Shoved down everything. Fuck his feeling, fuck how he felt about you, this was all fucking terrifying. It was getting to be too much and he had to try and control himself.

Just like he’d been taught so well.

He was just so happy to be around you. He could squash his feelings, even if they were fairly obviously somewhat mutual. God knows that he didn’t know how to handle anything like that.

On the gods, his pager beeped.

 “Duty calls?” You said, standing up yourself and brushing off the stray snowflakes. 

“Seems so.” Hawks sighed, nodding, “Thanks for letting me rest here. It was good to see you, (Y/N). I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You waved goodbye as Hawks disappeared as quickly as he came, launching himself from the roof with the heavy sound of wing beats. 

Soaring away, Keigo risked a final look at you. He swore he saw tears in your eyes.

He forcibly repressed his feelings, reminding himself that your company, words, and quirk-made beverages were more than enough. The flutter in his chest when he thought of you wouldn’t rest, but he could learn to ignore it. 

 On the roof of your apartment, you felt fatigue in your bones and wetness on your cheeks. You ignored both in favor of smoking another cigarette, soft, melancholy music being your only constant, reliable companion. 

You reminded yourself that he, Hawks, was a temporary fixture, more flighty than most and liked you just enough and for surface-level reasons. You could take that. You’d do anything to be around him more, even if it never amounted to anything. 

You, just as Keigo did, pressed down any larger feelings.

 (The thing about feelings, though, that neither of you was very good at remembering, was that they don’t go away. Sure, you can let them go, but that takes time or a practiced mind!)

(When you take feelings, big, aching, soaking feelings and shove them down into the deepest parts of you, they just tend to make you bleed. The ‘hidden’ feelings color your blood as it spills, even if you don’t notice when it falls and its change in hue.)

(One can only hope that both Keigo and you listened instead of lied.)

 Both of your hearts ached, and neither of you fully understood why.

[notkageyamasprincess]

youth | tsukishima kei x reader

characters: childhood friend!tsukishima kei x g/n!reader

genre/warnings: fluff, a tiny crumb of angst, typical unrequited love EXCEPT IT’S NOT UNREQUITED, maybe crack if you really squint, no warnings except maybe cussing? anyways they slow dance in a playground 💞

words: 2.4k

summary: you and tsukishima are on a late-night snack run when you pass by the playground where you met as kids. together, you reminisce about childhood memories, make a few realizations, and make plans to fulfill an old promise.

notes: listen to youth by troye sivan while reading if you’d like. also, i tried to make the reader gender-neutral, hopefully i didn’t accidentally miss something

The sound of distant traffic and rustling leaves filled your ears as you and Tsukishima walked home from your trip to the nearby 24-hour convenience store. The snack packaging crinkled in the plastic bag he carried, and your footsteps fell into a comfortable rhythm beside him. The orange gleam of the streetlamps created tall shadows of your silhouettes, stretching across the pavement in front of you. Turning your head, you recognized the familiar metal railings of the old playground you visited countless times as children.

You tugged at his sleeve to stop him and pointed to the entrance. 

“Do you remember when we used to come here all the time? Let’s go sit for a while, I don’t feel like going home yet.”

“Suit yourself. It’s cold, I’m going home,” he responded, a scowl on his face. He hands you the bag and continues walking.

“Hmm, I bet you just want to leave so you can go text your crush. Your mom would be pissed if she found out that you left me out here alone at this hour, though. Auntie loves me like I’m her own child, you know that” you called out, grinning mischievously. 

He stops in his tracks. “____, are you threatening me?”

“Nope,” you replied in a sly tone. “I’m just a master of persuasion.” You don’t wait for him to reply and started cheerfully towards the swings, knowing he would follow you. You grinned even wider when you hear his strides coming closer.

You couldn’t see it, but a ghost of a smile softened his expression as he trailed behind you.

“You’re annoying,” he muttered. 

Fine, whatever. As long as it makes you happy.

You set down the plastic bag next to the swings and nudged his shoulder as he approached you. “Look, I’ll treat you to a hot drink to make it up to you. There’s a vending machine over there, what do you want?”

“Coffee’s good.”

As you hurried over to the machine, he gazed at your retreating figure illuminated by the dim glow emitting from behind the glass. He chuckled as you propped your chin on your hand, carefully pondering the options before you.

Your eyes flitted over the labels before finally settling on what to get for yourself. 

Milk tea it is.

You returned, tossing him his coffee which he caught effortlessly. 

He met your eyes with an amused look. “Took you long enough.”

“Hey, it was a difficult decision!” 

You plopped down on the swing next to him and popped open the tab on your own drink.

------☾------☾------ 

You swayed back and forth, tracing circles in the gravel with your foot as you and Tsukishima recounted your childhood antics. Breaths rise in puffs as you nursed your drinks.

“Sometimes I wish we could be kids again. We didn’t have anything to worry about…”

He hummed in agreement. You snuck a glance at his handsome features. Moonlight reflected off his glasses as he sipped from his can and you felt your cheeks burn when you realized you were staring at his lips.

And I didn’t have to hide anything from you. Especially not my feelings. I didn’t need to suppress my jealousy when girls asked you for “help” on solving problem sets, or when you brought up your crush. I didn’t have to act like I wasn’t sulking when you received other people’s chocolates on Valentine’s Day. I didn’t have to worry about ruining our friendship.

You quickly caught yourself and shook it off, putting a plastic smile on your face. “…I want to go back and relive it again,” you continued.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You sure? What about the time you tried to play hero when Yamaguchi was getting bullied, and then you ended up twisting your ankle?”

“I didn’t expect those boys to actually fight back. Plus, they were nearly twice my size, I didn’t think they would be that low,” you huffed.

“Who knows what would have happened if I wasn’t there.” 

“Luckily, my knight in shining armour came to the rescue,” you giggled, recalling how he had to carry you home on his back. “Anyways, if that didn’t happen, then we wouldn’t have become the Three Musketeers.”

“Dude, stop calling us that, it’s embarrassing.”

“The point is, as far as I know, all my memories with you guys are good memories.”

Tsukishima felt a smile tug on the corners of his lips yet tried hard to conceal how happy that made him feel.

“You’re such a sap. That’s because for the last ten years, I was constantly saving your ass and cleaning up after your messes,” he scoffed.

But I don’t think I’d mind doing that for another ten years. Or twenty.

You noticed faint music coming from his earbuds and perked up.

“Hey, you’re using the earbuds I got you for Christmas!”

“Of course, dumbass. What else would I do with them?”

“I still think you seem cooler with headphones but at least now no one gets to call you broke,” you joked.

He winced. “Isn’t that a dead meme? Also, they’re convenient and I like how they’re wireless.”

You just beamed at him.

He loved how pleased you get over the smallest things. He loved how your eyes became crescents when you smiled. He loved how easy it was to read you. Your emotions were always written on your face and you never made him guess.

God, I’m whipped. 

You finished your drink and placed it on the ground. “So, what are you listening to?” You reached over to take an earbud and found a saccharine love song crooning in your ear. “I didn’t know you listened to stuff like this,” you teased. 

“That’s because I don’t. Did you forget that you were the one who added this to my playlist?”

“Excuses, excuses. Just admit it, it’s a good song.” You leapt up and made a move to pull him up. “Let’s dance.”

“The hell? No way, why would I?”

“Come on, there’s no one else here except us, and I really want to.” You gave him your best puppy eyes and begged. “Kei-chan…Please?”

Tsukishima felt his resolve weaken.

This is bad. Why is it so hard to say no?

“I told you already, drop the -chan,” he said, reluctantly letting you drag him away.

You wrapped his arms around your waist and looped yours around his neck. “Oops, I guess old habits die hard.” You looked up at him. “Kei.”

The tips of his ears tinged pink and he felt the back of his neck heat up.

Shit, shit, shit. Calm down, she only said your name. Stop freaking out.

“Hey, your neck feels really warm right now. Didn’t you say you were cold?”

“Shut up, that’s just because of your sweaty hands.”

“Deal with it.”

------☾------☾------

You gently swayed to the tune and closed your eyes, savouring the moment. 

He glanced down. The moon shined on you and accentuated your long eyelashes, cute nose, and rosy lips. A slight breeze swept over the two of you and your hair fluttered softly in the air before coming to a rest, framing your face once more.

When did this brat get so attractive?

He averted his eyes just in time before you noticed. The current song ended, and a more upbeat track began to play. It was “Youth” by Troye Sivan.

“Do you want to stop? This is probably too fast to dance to, and you’re going off the beat,” he pointed out.

“No, it’s alright. I’m having fun and I really like this song.”

You reached into his coat pocket to put the song on loop then laid your head on his shoulder. Truthfully, this was the most romantic thing you’ve ever done. You wanted to press pause on the entire world and stay in your haven for as long as possible.

“Kei, do you know what just came to mind? This is the place where we first met, and I remember being obsessed with you at first because I thought you looked similar to the main character from my favourite movie. Back then, I made it my goal to marry someone just like him.”

You smiled wistfully at the memory, recalling how you followed him around everywhere like a lost puppy. You found it hilarious that you liked him even then.

He smirked. “Yeah, I avoided you like the plague and I got so fed up because you wouldn’t stop pestering me to marry you.”

“Yup! You even told me that kids are too young to marry but I just made you swear not to kiss other people and to marry me when we were old enough,” you laughed. “Now that I’m looking back on it, that was a pretty stupid promise.”

He honestly didn’t think it was that stupid. There were things that were more stupid in the world. One of them being your taste in men, for instance. He was tired of hearing you gush about a new guy every month.

You and Tsukishima allowed yourselves to get lost in the music and immersed yourselves in the lyrics.

My youth, my youth is yours Tripping on skies, sipping waterfalls

My youth, my youth is yours Run away now and forevermore

My youth, my youth is yours A truth so loud you can't ignore

My youth, my youth, my youth My youth is yours

  “We should go soon. You mentioned you had plans tomorrow morning, right?” he asked.

“I do, but it’s nothing too important. I’m meeting up with Terushima-san.”

His expression soured. “You mean that greasy bastard with the tongue piercing who tried to hit on you at one of our games? Why are you going on a date with that guy?”

“It’s not a date!” you protested. “He asked me to hang out with him once and then he’ll stop texting me.”

He tightened his hold on your waist.

Don’t go.

“You should have just ignored him, it’s not like you owe him a date,” he grumbled.

Why are you wasting your time on him?

You shrugged. “Too late now, it’d be rude to cancel so last minute.”

He rolled his eyes.

Are you trying to make me jealous? Open your eyes, I’m right in front of you! 

You froze. 

Did I hear that right?

You slowly pulled out of the embrace and scanned his face. He looked at you with an indecipherable emotion. Your heart sped up and you hesitated, wondering if you should say something. 

But why would he be jealous, that’s just wishful thinking right? Isn’t he in love with someone else?

You questioned him with a hopeful tone. “Kei. Can you say that again? I might have misheard.” 

Tsukishima’s expression morphed into one of perplexity. And then it dawned on him. 

Oh. Oh. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. 

You started talking before he got a chance to collect his thoughts. “I heard something about jealousy, and I think I heard you say, ‘Open your eyes, I’m right in front of you.’” Your imploring eyes nervously met his own. “But that can’t be right. You were just telling me about the person you were in love with last week.”

Shit. So, you heard it all. 

His mind was racing for ways to take himself out of the current situation. He didn’t think there was much damage control he could do at this point, but you seemed confused and skeptical of what he just said. Maybe he could try to play it off. 

Or... what if I took the opportunity to come clean?

He took a deep breath. “Actually, I’m in love with you, ____. The person I was talking about was you.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.  Never in your wildest fantasies did you entertain the possibility of him returning your feelings. 

He’s in love with…me? This is a dream. This has to be a dream. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to respond. This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” he continued. “Look, just give me some time, it doesn’t have to be awkward between us or anything, we can act like how we were before.”

He loosened his hold and started to pull away when you suddenly gripped his shoulders.

“Kei. Pinch me.”

“What?”

“Pinch me,” you repeated. “Ow!” You rubbed your cheek. “Okay, this is definitely not a dream then.”

You gazed up at him and carefully placed your hands on both sides of his face. 

“Listen, I feel the same way. I love you. I’ve loved you since we were sixteen.”

His eyes widened. He gathered you in his arms and engulfed you in a hug. He felt relieved. He felt like he was in the clouds. He felt like he was on a high that he would never come down from. 

You laughed and wrapped yourself around him. 

After a couple minutes, he finally spoke. “____, this might be happiest moment of my entire life. The only thing that can top this would be the moment I see you walking down the aisle towards me. I’m serious. I fully intend to marry you.”

“I have no complaints. As long as you don’t go back on your words, I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot now,” you grinned. 

He kissed you on the forehead and smirked. “That’s right.”

You melted at the rare display of affection. Almost immediately after, an amusing idea came to your attention and you cracked up.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking, I feel like I should pat myself on the back and congratulate myself. Six-year-old me would be very pleased at how things turned out.”

He snorted. “Yeah, maybe you were onto something there.” 

“There’s one thing I’m curious about though. When did you realize you had feelings for me?”

“I’m not exactly sure. I think it was sometime during the first year of junior high that I started seeing you differently and noticed that I liked you as more than a best friend.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. For real? You’ve suffered for way longer than I had.”

His cheeks flushed scarlet and he avoided looking in your direction for a few seconds. “Well, I wouldn’t call it suffering, but at least now you know.” Then, he caught your eyes and stared at you intently. “Hold on, you’re not still going on that date tomorrow with Terushima, right?”

You smiled reassuringly. “Not anymore. I mean, tonight changed things. I have a boyfriend now, yes?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately for him, you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

My youth, my youth is yours A truth so loud you can't ignore

My youth, my youth, my youth My youth is yours

My youth is yours

My youth is yours.

a/n: okay if you actually read to the end, thank uuu!  i’ve had the idea of slow-dancing in the night while listening to youth for a couple years now, it’s just been floating around in my head and i decided to take a chance to write it out! started as a cute date idea but alas, i have no partner to re-enact this with... so there you go! i honestly wanted to write kageyama for my first piece but tsukishima fit a bit better lmao. please feel free to give feedback or general thoughts!

[star-spangledstud]

MIND GAMES - THREE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The team goes on a mission. You meet someone who might expose you. 

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence 

Note: Wanna be tagged in future chapters? Shoot me a message :) Sorry for being MIA for so long. I’ve been sad. Blegh. 

SERIES MASTERLIST.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

Over the few days that follow, you become increasingly paranoid. It’s your own fault, because you shouldn’t have lied to the people that have welcomed you into their homes with open arms, but lying is a survival skill that you were taught many years ago, and old habits die hard. You become shadowy, avoid team members in the hallways and common areas of the penthouse floor you all share, and stay in your room as much as possible without alarming anyone. Of course Natasha knows something is up, but Steve doesn’t, and he waves off her concern as you simply ‘needing more time to adjust, Nat’. You watch their body language during breakfast – one of two meals a day you simply cannot get out of without causing anyone’s alarm bells to start ringing – and engage in light conversation wherever possible to keep them out of your hair.

Guilt gnaws at your insides when you find yourself wandering the deserted wrap-around balcony at nearly 3 a.m., brain searching for a clue to any bad things that might happen. If any one of them figures out you’re ex-hydra you’re done for, that much you know, but the man with golden hair and twinkling azure eyes might just be your ticket to safety.

The thought alone sickens you, because you vowed never to mess with someone’s feelings to get what you need ever again. It’s a twisted thought, but the vines of its root wrap themselves around the stem of your brain nonetheless.

A month after first moving in, you’ve already figured out their routines. Steve’s the early riser of the bunch, getting up every morning at 6:30 a..m. sharp to go on a run around the city. On rare occasions, he manages to convince Sam to come along with him, but more often than not, he remains in his bed until at least 10 o’clock, when Steve’s already come back to shower and get dressed for the day. Tony and Bruce are in the lab 24/7, both of them constantly bickering about artificial intelligence and microbiology among other matters you can’t even begin to understand. As a result, you don’t see them around too often, a notion you don’t particularly mind. Clint left to be with his family two weeks ago and hasn’t been back since, and Natasha leaves all the time, sometimes for days at a time. You don’t dare to ask anyone where she goes when she disappears, but nobody seems surprised to find her seat at the dining table empty again.

It’s a gloomy day when you wake up to find the entire place void of all life. Not even Steve, who’s adamant about his morning coffee, is there to grace you with his presence when you walk into the kitchen that Saturday morning. The counter is clean, no empty coffee cups, half-eaten bowls of oatmeal or bread crumbs to indicate anyone’s eaten yet, and all of the chairs are still perfectly lined against the table.

Your pulse involuntarily quickens to an uncomfortable pace, and you bite the inside of your cheek until the metallic taste of blood is heavy on your tongue. With quick steps, you walk towards the common room, footsteps loud in your ears when you consider where they might be. As expected, there’s nobody there. The TV is switched off, there are no dents in the heavy fabric of the couch from where Steve usually sits, and again, no empty cups or bowls can be found on the coffee table. You have the jitters when you finally get to the library, which is again void of all life.

Black socks covered in small holes squeak across the wooden floors when you walk around the room. It’s not surprising to see the library vacant. You’re sure Avengers have more pressing matters to tend to than reading books on any given day, but it was your last hope nonetheless. With your head tilted to the side, you focus on scanning the titles that line the walls. You follow every shelf in the room until your eye finally catches something. You take the book with a sigh, flip through its tattered pages, and wonder for a moment which one of the Avengers has read the crap out of Pride and Prejudice. Definitely not Sam, judging by his internal monologue. That guy doesn’t appear to have an ounce of romanticism inside him.  

 “They’re out,” a gentle voice suddenly says behind you, “Steve didn’t want to wake you up this morning to tell you.”

You slap your hand over your heart in surprise, and inhale sharply, “Jesus Christ, doc. You scared the hell out of me.”

Bruce throws his hands up in the air and shrugs his shoulders, “Sorry, it’s just me.”

“Are they on a mission?” you ask, feeling your heart jump in your chest like a skippy ball.

“Yeah, they should be back in a few days. Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallow thickly, noticing all of a sudden how your mouth is dry like sandpaper, “you just spooked me, that’s all. What kind of mission is it?”

“Intel gathering, in an out. That’s why I didn’t come. They only bring me when they need the green guy,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” you reply slowly, “how’s he holding up?”

“Asleep,” Bruce smiles, then clears his throat, “for now, anyway. Would you like to get some breakfast?”

You follow Bruce through the rain, which started to gust from the grey sky just as you were getting dressed. You’d rather have said no, but you knew you couldn’t; it wouldn’t be polite to decline his offer. Besides, he’s oblivious, and for whatever reason, he trusts you. When he bites into his chocolate croissant, you know why – Steve’s let you in. This notion once more confirms the thoughts that have been occupying your mind for the last week; Steve is your one-way ticket to inclusivity.

You shudder at the thought and fake a smile before taking a large sip of coffee. The cafe is small, mostly empty, and your seat by the window gives you a perfect view of pedestrians struggling in the howling, icy wind. One year ago, you could never have imagined yourself sitting in a café with a cup of coffee clutched between your fingers, chatting with someone who you could potentially call a friend. The idea alone of being able to enjoy a warm mug filled with freshly brewed coffee would’ve sounded preposterous to you.

There was no warmth with HYDRA. Only cold.

It takes the team three days to return from their mission. Three long days, during which you spend most of your time with Bruce in his lab, perched on a desk-chair with a book in your hands while he works on – actually, you have no idea what he’s working on. You quickly grow to become fond of him, because he doesn’t feel the need to constantly fill the silence between you with empty words. His thoughts are coherent, focused on his project, and the lingo is too advanced for you to understand, which makes it easy to drown out. His inner monologue is quiet, except for a few angry words from the Hulk when Bruce becomes frustrated with his work, but that only happened on day two, and only for ten minutes.

Steve smells like gun powder and sweat when he hugs you softly against his chest after exiting the Quinjet. Natasha waves at you, and the smile that dons her dirt-caked face surprises you, but you return it nonetheless. Sam even ruffles your hair, causes a sound to escape your throat that you haven’t heard yourself make in over a decade; a strange combination of a snort and a chuckle that sounds like music to your own ears. Your heart pounds again, but in a good way this time, because for a small moment in time, you’ve managed to put the guilt on the back-burner. The roaring engine behind you falls silent at last, and nobody else visibly exits the plane before you make it inside.  

“You held up okay?” Steve asks as he follows you back inside the building.

You nod in response and shove your hands deep inside the pockets of your hoodie, “I’ve been helping Bruce with his research.”

“Oh, did you? How’s it coming?” he asks.

His eyes sparkle like two tiny stars even through the exhaustion that nearly forces them shut every time he blinks. He’s exhausted, you can tell, and you have to bite your tongue before you make a comment about the state he’s in.

“I mostly sat there while he did all the thinking. Turns out computer science isn’t really my thing after all.”

Steve fights a yawn that threatens to overcome him, and nods, “yeah, I feel you. I can barely get the damn things to start. I’ve given up on technology.”

He turns back to face you when he’s come to a halt in front of his room.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you where I went,” he tells you, meaning it as he says it, “we kinda left in a hurry, and you were still sleeping.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “I understand.”

He quickly retreats after that, leaving you once again with nothing to do. You go back to your room to grab the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice from your nightstand and, after plopping down on your bed, flip to the page where you last left off. You read for a while, before the idea to make some tea with warm milk and honey pops into your head, and you skip along the hallway to the kitchen with the book securely wrapped in your arms.

You’re surprised to hear Steve’s voice when you enter the common area, and a smile appears on his face the second his eyes fall on you. You raise one arm to wave at him, but a loud gasp and a large thud followed by the sound of breaking glass have you freezing on the spot before you can open your mouth to greet him at all.

Your head snaps towards the source of the sound, causing your neck to twist and crack painfully. Red, glowing eyes meet your large ones when you dare to look up at whoever made the noise, and the book in your hands falls to the ground with a loud bang that startles everyone in the room. You stumble backwards when you can feel the woman standing before you deep inside of your head, and you nearly trip over the rug when you instinctly try to get away from her. Frantically, you scramble to stop her from seeing more than she’s already seen. Still, by the time you manage to build up a mental barrier to keep her out of your head, it’s already too late.

You haven’t seen her before, and you can’t remember for the life of you if the image of her has popped up in any of the Avengers’ heads. Your brain is mushy, images hazy as you try to focus on keeping the woman from digging around deeper. You can see distant memories of your time with HYDRA flash before her eyes, and the images blur with the present in a spasm that makes your eyes water.

Wanda Maximoff lets out a shrill, piercing shriek, one that chills everyone to the bone. Thor, who you didn’t even know was there, is by her side before she can collapse onto the cold, hard floor, and Steve jumps up from his chair before you have time to register his movements. He grabs your arm and drags you out of the kitchen, fingers digging painfully in your tender flesh when he pulls you away from the scene. Sympathy fills Sam’s dark brown eyes when you turn back around to look at him, and guilt roils in your stomach when the redhead sinks to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

Your arms hang limply to your side when you watch Steve pace back and forth around his room. You’re waiting for him to yell at you, to tell you to get the fuck out of the compound and never return, but he remains awfully quiet. His silence confuses and unnerves you simultaneously.

His eyes, swimming with unimaginable depth, find your face while the scent of his cologne and pure testosterone invades your nostrils. Pressure clamps down on your chest, and the intensity of his gaze causes you to shiver. Never in your entire life have you wanted to read someone’s mind more. 

“Are you alright?” your head cocks to the side, mouth twitching while you try to find words. 

You nearly gave that woman an aneurysm, and he’s asking you if you’re okay?

“Yes,” you stammer, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Wanda is telepathic,” Steve says, “she has trouble controlling what she sees sometimes.” 

“Like I said, I’m so so-” 

A soft exhale leaves your lips when Steve’s hands find their way to your shoulders, and your voice dies down in your throat when he bends down slightly to meet your eyes. Calloused fingertips penetrate the thin material of your t-shirt, and the warmth of his hands creates a buzzing sensation just beneath your skin. 

“She was in Europe, scouting the location of the mission with Rhodey. She’s been in Eastern Europe for a while, that’s why you haven’t seen her. I should’ve told you about her.”

“Will she be okay?” you ask. You hardly recognize your own voice. 

“Sam’s got her. She’s stronger than she looks. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good.” 

You don’t know how to respond. You crave a cigarette all of a sudden, even though you don’t smoke. Alcohol then, maybe, to numb down the prickling sensation of firing synapses and goosebumps that line your bare arms. Yeah, a good couple of shots of whiskey will do the trick. Not vodka though, you hate that stuff. 

You bite your bow-shaped lips and inhale deeply. Steve is so close that you can feel his breath fanning across your face. It’s wrong, being so near him after what just happened. You’re on thin ice. It won’t be long before the entire team, undoubtedly informed by what Wanda just saw, comes barging into Steve’s room, ready to drag you away to prison or worse, put a bullet through your skull. You deserve it, you think, for what you used to do. For who you used to be. You almost want somebody to call you out on your shit, because then at least you wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. 

But seconds turn into minutes, and nobody comes. It’s quiet, except for the sound of Steve’s breathing and the steady beating of his heart, and you realize when he looks at you with sympathy and sincerity that you hate yourself for lying. It’s an ironic realization, because lying is like second nature to you. HYDRA spent so much time ingraining it into your brain that it’s become almost like a second language, a means of communication that flows so naturally that you don’t even have an accent anymore. It’s brought you many things, and ruined even more people.

Your hands are going numb from how hard you’re clenching them into fists. Steve’s thumbs are rubbing small circles on your shoulders, and it takes all of your effort not to shake them off. You’re disgusted with yourself, bile threatening to rise to the back of your throat while the sensation of his warm fingers on you is the only thing left for you to feel. The world is dark and cold, but the heat radiating from Steve’s hands is just enough to stop you from getting frostbite. The concern is evident on his face, from the deep crease between his brows to the thin line of his lips; he’s worried about you, someone he doesn’t even know. Someone he would kill if he’d met you under any other circumstances.

You want to go home, you think to yourself, but as soon as the thought appears do you smack it down with your fist. You don’t have a home, you scold yourself, just like the doctors would tell you when you cried and screamed on the dingey operating table in the early days, when they didn’t control you yet. When they still wore their special masks to stop you from controlling their minds so they could freely fuck with yours.

It’s an icy reality, one that rattles you to your core every time it makes an appearance. Steve’s eyes are still scanning your face, which is twisted and contorted into a painful scowl before you even realize what’s happening.

An inexplicable panic washes over you, heart jackhammering in your chest while your cheeks turn a sickly shade of pink. A bead of sweat rolls down your back, followed by cold shivers that envelop your skin in ice. The scent of laundry detergent and cologne hits you like a truck, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from gagging.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice melting and morphing into the sound of rain slamming against the window like gunfire.

“My head,” you cry out in a desperate whimper, “it hurts.”

Steve forces your body down onto his bed, and while you begin to writhe in pain that causes white spots to dance in front of your eyes, he closes the curtains to keep the light from coming in. His mother had head aches all the time, and she’d be in bed for days on end if they got bad enough. He remembers her clear as day, lying in bed with an empty bucket next to her on the floor in the dark, because the light hurt so bad it would make her vomit sometimes. He’d tiptoe around the house because the sound of his feet creaking across the floorboards would pain her. He recognizes her in you, lying on his bed with your hands clutching the sides of your head.

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” he says, quieting his voice, the incident with Wanda long forgotten as instinct takes over.  

Tears blur your vision at this point, and it takes every ounce of focus that you have left to keep yourself from screaming out in pain. Aspirin won’t help, but you don’t possess the capability to tell him not to bother. You’ve experienced this type of pain before, and have endured it without medicine each time. Many times actually; while you were forced to extract information from the people taken and captured by HYDRA with whatever means necessary. This time however, it’s come as a surprise and it’s caught you completely off-guard, although you suspect Wanda’s poking and prodding has something to do with it.

With all the strength you have left, you manage to pull the covers over your head, engulfing yourself in darkness and warmth to drown out your senses. The sudden darkness is disorienting, but you welcome it with open arms. Steve opens his mouth, but shuts it, and heads for the door without uttering another word.

All you hear when Steve exits the room is the sound of your former victims crying out in despair.

NEXT CHAPTER.

TAGLIST:

@foxyjwls007​ @littlegasps​ @hurricane-abigail​ @idk123906​ @ bubblicious-trashcan @wooya1224

[whereflowersbloom]

Fly with me

Chapter III: Take a chance on us.

The tower was silent, the rest of the occupants not yet awake. The pale pink light of an autumn morning was beginning to color the horizon. Raven couldn’t sleep. She woke up a bit earlier than usual. She brew a cup of Earl Grey, added a small pitch of milk, two teaspoons of honey. Done. She was sitting quietly, started sipping her tea as she recalled the events of yesterday. She’s always been honest and open with Damian, over the years they became close comrades, friends, things changed though, lately she felt troubled looking at him in the eye. His observant eyes perceive every little detail. Her stomach was in knots and it seemed to be something not even meditation could solve. She found herself losing focus. The reason? Thoughts of Damian consuming her, completely, slowly, like a fire spreading. She had to find a way to fix this.

She heard light footsteps on the kitchen floor. She turned and looked back to find Kori.

“Raven, I’m sorry if I startled you.” Kori’s soft voice said as she smiled serenely.

“Kori, you’re up early. Good morning.” Raven replied weakly, it was evident she didn’t have a goodnight.

“Morning to you. I was sent on a mission to get an ice-pack and a mug of black coffee, for Richard.” She explained as she proceeded to brew the drink for her partner. However the Tamaranian noticed Raven’s bewildered look on her face. “Raven, is something particularly bothering you?” She asked eyebrows knit together in concern.

Raven looked at her for a minute. How was she supposed to explain the situation. It was strange and silly. On second thought, perhaps Kori could guide her, give her an idea of how to handle her emotional conflict.

“I’m not quiet sure how to deal with certain new emotions surging. It’s overwhelming at times.” She confessed.

Kori nodded and took Raven’s hand in her own. “Does these new emotions involve Damian, by any chance?” The older woman carefully inquired.

The dark haired teenager opened her eyes widely in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Call it woman’s instinct.” Kori replied confidently. There was more to it. Raven knew it. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question. “Alright. Richard did mention Damian is going through a similar situation. They had a bonding moment last night.” She gave Raven an apologetic smile, her cheeks flushed.

Raven has never been so mortified in her life and Kori was telling her, Damian Wayne, always calm, collected, disciplined, sure he had a bad temper at times, sharp tongue, but he appeared to be in control all the time. Those fits of emotions she was getting through her empathic powers were also Damian’s. Raven seemed to be notoriously absentminded, lost in her tangled thoughts. But why did they affect her so much?

She felt the weight of Kori’s hand fall on her shoulder, catching her attention, snapping back to reality. “You two have gotten intimately close over the years. Have you considered you are developing romantic feelings for each other?” The alien ex-princess asked pointedly.

She held her breath as she considered Kori’s question. Romantic feelings. It hit her like splashed water on her face. Was Damian romantically interested in her? He did ask her on a date. She was going to meet his family, formally. Oh Azar. She didn’t want to take it too seriously. Because Of her insecurities, she felt inadequate. She wasn’t human like the, after all. Even so Damian wasn’t the type of person to play around, he means his words and actions. When did this start? How? Why her? She wondered how long he has harbored affection for her. And did she like him? Of course, she did, but falling in love was never supposed to be part of her life. Until you met him she thought. In her heart he was unparalleled to anything in the universe. She admired his intelligence, his passion, he’d shown her he could be kind and thoughtful, stood up for justice in a world that was often more focused on doing what was more comfortable. He was also very attentive to her and gentle. She loved those sides of him.

“I have feelings for Damian Wayne.” Raven said quietly, speaking the words into existence, practically falling over the weight of the words she just said.

“Doesn’t it feel nice to admit it?” Kori teased her, smiling warmly.

“Oh, Kori. I have no idea what to do about it.” Raven but her lip, covering her face embarrassed.

Kori nodded, understanding her friend’s concern. “I think it’s something you two should discuss. That’s my advice. Honesty is always the answer in these cases. In my humble opinion.”

“Thanks, Kori. For your words and listening.” Her leader nodded and told her it’s what friends are for. She left the kitchen, deciding to meditate to regain composure. Think clearly before speaking with Damian about their developing bond.

~~~

Hours later, she standing in front of Damian’s door. She tried to gather courage to knock. Anxiety had poooled in her chest. She was about to do it when the door opened, the figure of Damian appearing in front of her. Both looking surprised, to see each other. She couldn’t help but smile, her heart fluttering. Had his eyes always been this beautiful, like two pools of the deepest, richest green known to human kind? His strong jawline. Apparently her presence astounded him.

“Hey, I was about to find you.” Damian said casually. Going back to his neutral expression.

“Oh. Anything you need? I also wanted to have a word with you.” Raven said looking away, feeling heat on her cheeks, her nerves getting the best of her.

“I was going to ask you. Would you mind accompanying me to walk Titus?” Damian muttered serious, masking his emotions. Be in control. Reminded himself.

“Sure. I’d love to. We can talk on the way to the park.” Raven said quietly, almost in a whisper. It’s not the first time they walk Titus together.

The park was relatively quiet for a Thursday afternoon. There were a few joggers. Other dog owners walking their canine friends or more like canines with their humans, because most of the time it seemed like the dogs made the rules. Except Titus. Damian trained him personally, and he proved be obedient and a fast learner.

Damian let Titus off his leash, he did it for a little time on their walks, so that he could get a good run and taste of freedom. He never went too far though. However sometimes he’d come back bringing an abandoned ball or an empty soda can. Damian raised his eyebrows and gave him a look and somehow Titus knew it wasnt a toy to play with. But Raven loves spoiling him, playing with him, giving him secret treats she thinks Damian doesnt know about. He didn’t mind pretending he wasn’t aware of it, if it made her happy.

“Raven” he repeated her name. “Have I done something to offend you?” He asked considering if he did something incorrect. “You haven’t said a word the entire time.”

“No!” She said loudly and feeling guilt, tentatively taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. “Actually, I want to apologize for my behavior these last days.” They were so close, she gulped nervously.

“Apologize? Why? Care to elaborate?” He said firmly, calm. His eyebrows rising questioning her.

“Perhaps I gave you the idea I wasn’t taking your proposal seriously. The date.” She exhaled. Getting a weight off her chest. Those mixed feelings messing with her again. The words stuck in her throat.

“Damian” she said holding her breath, her throat dry, heart speeding. “You like me.” said in a low voice, only Damian was able to hear it. Raven bit her lip painfully once she realized what she just said. Damian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at her words. He looked at her, analyzing her expression. Choosing his words carefully. He took a step forward.

“Yes. I like you.” He said slowly, his tone firm, direct, speaking with all seriousness. His eyes locking with hers. That was the truth, why deny it anymore? He liked to think he was doing things properly.

Even knowing it, hearing it from him, made her heart soar. Wishing to hear him say it again, and again. She didn’t want to give herself the pleasure to replay the moments in her mind. She had questions.

“But. Why?” He cut her in. He was frowning and suppressing his temper. It was exasperating how blinded she was by her self-doubts. He wanted to make his feelings and intentions clear.

“Please, stop and listen to me.” He pleaded. “How could you not understand why?” concealing his anger at her incomprehension, not understanding all the things she was. Things he discovered everyday about her. Everything she was becoming. He exhaled his frustration. And cleaned his throat.

“I could tell you a million reasons why I harbor romantic feelings for you. It’s something complicated to describe in detail. If you’d let me, I’ll, do it. But I’d rather show you.” He confessed.

He took her hands in his. They were warm, practically engulfing her small, pale hands in his larger, rougher ones. Those precious hands. Hers. His eyes were the same as they had been yesterday burning and filled with desire and passion. Her heart skipped a beat and her mouth went dry. She was breathless at his declaration.

“There’s no one quite like you. There’s only one Raven. The one I want.” Damian murmured, his voice low, soft, expressing all his devotion. “This date is a chance for us to see everything we could be together.” She took a deep breath, found truth in his emerald eyes and nodded silently. Agreeing. She would do it. Take a chance. Damian only sneezed her hands still in his gently.

It was about time for a update and I was inspired. Hope you enjoy it. 🥰🥰😂😂😂❤️💜🙈

@chromium7sky enjoy 🙊🙊

[kumeko]

Title: some walls need to be torn down

A/N: For the @superbatexchange! Unfortunately, my giftee dropped out, but I had already finished my piece so this is now for the community in general. 😊 Hope you enjoy!

Summary:  Bruce had never been good at letting down his walls, at letting others in. Even for Clark. Especially for Clark.

…

…

…

…

i.

“How’s Friday?” Clark asked, flipping through his planner. Red circles, scribbled in appointments, and stickers decorate every month. His finger tapped on one of the few empty dates. “I’m technically on assignment, but I can always hop back for the night.”

 “How old school of you.” Bruce pinched the planner between his fingers, dangling it in front of him. “You have a phone.”

 “It’s easier when I can write it out.” Frowning, Clark swiped the planner back. He smoothened the page, clearing any wrinkles. Unfortunately, it didn’t do much good; there was a permanent crease where Bruce had gripped it too hard. “Damn. You’re lucky the year’s almost over.”

 “Or what?” Bruce asked dryly, taking a sip from his coffee. He never understood Clark’s preferences for diners, but at least this one had a decent coffee. Leaning back on his seat, he observed the restaurant from their booth. The breakfast crowd was here, a strange mix of truckers and businessmen hurrying to work.

 And of course, one journalist, who was still pouting over his agenda. Clark sighed mournfully. “Maybe I should tell Dick to pick on you.” He glared at Bruce grumpily, tapping on the Friday insistently with his pen. “So. Friday?”

Obliging, Bruce pulled out his phone and checked his own schedule. Friday, Friday, Friday—he had a single meeting in the morning, and the rest of the afternoon was clear. Thank goodness for Lucius Fox, he really knew how to minimize his “CEO and Playboy Bruce” appearances. “I should be fine.”

 “Great.” Clark beamed, pure sunshine. “It’s a date.”

    ii.

 There was a familiar prick on his back, the sense that someone was watching him, and Batman pulled out his batarang. Tense, he crouched slightly. It couldn’t be another thug—he had cleared out most of Black Mask’s men from the warehouse. Whatever ones he hadn’t caught would be running away. Then who—

 A cape swished behind him and he relaxed. Of course. Superman. Standing straight, Batman turned around. His own cape curled around his legs and he crossed his arms. “Superman.”

 There was no responding smile, no exasperated sigh, and the hair on his neck stood up. Superman scanned the surroundings as he slowly floated down. His lips were a flat line, his tone distant. “I caught the runaways.”

 “Then that clears up everything.” Feeling uneasy, Batman dropped his arms to his side and took a step forward. In the dark, it was hard to see Superman’s face, to see the ridges and planes he knew intimately. “Are you angry?”

 Superman’s feet touched the ground with a quiet thud. Stiffly, he bit out. “Yes.”

 It’d been a while since he’d seen him this angry, even longer since it’d been directed at him. “I couldn’t ignore—”

 “I’m not asking you to ignore criminals or the bat signal or whatever case you’re on,” Superman growled, his jaw tight. “That’s what we do. But this isn’t the first time you’ve blown me off. Or the second or the third—you do this more often than we actually go on a date.”

 Even though he knew Superman wouldn’t talk like this if there was anyone around, he instinctively checked their surroundings for any interlopers. Coolly, he answered, “It was a time sensitive matter.”

 “They’re all time-sensitive matters. It always is,” Superman bit out bitterly, shaking his head. “But we’re not alone. Nightwing, Robin, Oracle, Batgirl—any of them could step in for a single night. They do it already for each other.”

He looked away, unable to refute the point. Feebly, he argued, “I had to handle this myself.”

 “We can’t keep doing this,” Superman said, his voice oddly soft. He started to float again, slowly rising up to the hole he’d made in the warehouse ceiling. The moonlight hit his face and all Batman could see was the weariness on his face. “Even after all this time, you still won’t let me in. And I…I don’t know how much longer I can wait.”

    iii.

 That was not his ceiling. No, that wasn’t completely accurate. To be precise, it was more that something felt off about his ceiling. Like there was an extra dent in it or the paint was more chipped than it should have been. Even his bed felt strange, too soft to be his. Lying still on the bed, Bruce kept his breathing steady, listening for any intruders. There were no strange sounds or, even more worrying, the usual ones. By this point of day, Alfred would have had breakfast ready.

 Quietly, he slipped off his bed, his feet landing on a layer of dust. Bruce stared at the hardwood floor, then at the tables and dressers around him. Everything was covered in a thick grey and he had a sinking feeling this wasn’t a prank by Dick or Stephanie. No, something was wrong here.

 Without a second thought, he crept out of his bedroom. At the very least, his batcave should still be untouched and maybe he could find out something more there. The rest of the mansion was coated in dust, looking unused, and Bruce fought the urge to shiver. It looked abandoned. Forgotten. Even the old grandfather clock looked like it had seen better days. His fingers were sticky as he typed in the usual password and suddenly, a shrill alarm rang.

 Immediately, he took a step backward, his body crouching as he scanned his living room. No one swooped out of the shadows, running to see who had broken in. He’d have to find a place to hide, to observe—

 Glass twinkled behind him as a large object burst through the bay windows. Turning around, Bruce shielded his eyes as he took in the attack, a bright red and blue blur that hurtled at him. Wait, red and blue? He knew that colour, knew that ‘S’. “Clark?”

 “Bruce?” Superman halted in front of him, his eyes wide in surprise. “You…you’re alive?”

 Alive? Well, he had been right then. That wasn’t his ceiling.

    iv.

 “Here, have a cup of tea. You still like two milks, right?” Clark smiled awkwardly, setting down a fragile teacup on the coaster in front of Bruce. Dressed in overalls in his family farmhouse, Clark looked more like a farmer getting ready to milk a cow than a reporter chasing a news story. Then again, maybe that was the case here. The only thing to indicate that he wasn’t purely a country boy was the gold necklace that disappeared under his collar.

 “Yes.” It seemed that at least he shared the same tastes as this world’s Bruce. Scanning the room, Bruce noted pictures of Ma and Pa Kent, of Conner and Kara Zor-el. It seemed this world wasn’t too different then. Except of course, one notable exception. “I take it I’m dead?”

 “Uh…” Clark rubbed the back of his neck. His lanky frame was too big for the couch, his knees bent uncomfortably. The furniture here hadn’t changed at all from the last time Bruce had visited the Kents. “Yes.” He paused. “Sorry.”

 “It’s not your fault, is it?” Bruce asked, picking up the tea. He had always known he’d die from his duties. It didn’t make it easier to hear, even if it was just in a different universe. “You don’t need to apologize.”

 “Yes but…” Clark frowned, running a hand through his shaggy hair. Now that Bruce was looking at it, it was peppered with white and grey hairs, a Clark that was much older than his. A Clark he might never get to see ordinarily. They’d never really confirmed if he’d age normally, if he’d live forever. “I’m sorry all the same.”

 “Always with the saviour complex.”

 Clark blinked, before breaking into a hearty guffaw. Not remember restraint (as usual), he wrapped an arm around Bruce’s back, squeezing him tight. “And you’re still a prissy cat.”

    v.

 “Luckily for you, the league’s still active.” Puffing his chest proudly, he pointed at one of the more recent photos, showing him with grown-up Conner and Kara. Their costumes had changed, Kara’s more battle-oriented, Conner’s less casual, and they were all grinning as they stood in front of the Justice Hall. A newly rebuilt Justice Hall. “We’ll find out soon enough if it was magic or science that brought you here. Or something else entirely—I feel like we keep finding things that go beyond everything we know. Guess it’s one of nature’s miracles.”

 Bruce didn’t want to think about how many times they must have built, destroyed, and rebuilt that place. The iterations of the league’s hall. “The new generation took over?”

 “Yeah. Especially some of the kids from the Justice Society. Us old-timers are taking over what Jay and Alan started there.” Clark smiled fondly as he held up a photo of him surrounded by a gaggle of masked teens. Some were easy to pick out—Liam Harper, Wally’s kids—others less so.

 And with the bittersweet tinge in Clark’s expression, Bruce knew better than to ask what had happened to Jay and Alan. “So even you retired?”

 “Even I retired,” Clark chuckled. “Though I can’t help myself if something happens nearby.”

 “No, that’s you.” Bruce scanned the other photos, the changes in his companions. Older Hal. A kingly Arthur. Diana, still going strong. And more, beyond that, and there was something reassuring about the idea that even after he was gone, the work still continued. To find a picture of Cassandra as Batman, of Dick and Damian still patrolling together, of Stephanie refusing to give up her purple abomination.

 A picture of him and Clark, sitting awkwardly next to one another. Clark grinning brightly in the camera as he snapped the selfie, this world’s Bruce trying not to smile and failing miserably at it. Another, of Bruce with a pair of champagne glasses. More and more lined the wall, it was impossible not to see them now that he’d noticed the first one. They almost seemed to glow, dragging his eyes from one to the next. A first year anniversary. A surprise dinner. A relationship that was much further than anything Bruce had at home.

 The pictures suddenly stopped and he stared at the last one, of them sitting by a river, watching the sunset. Did he die after that? Involuntarily, Bruce asked, “What happened?”

 “To what?” Clark approached him from beyond and Bruce could hear as his breathing shallowed, as his breath hitched.

 “Us,” Bruce answered bluntly, the only way he knew how.

 “Oh.” Clark stepped back, sitting down on the couch once more. He interlaced his hands, resting his chin on his knuckles. “No wonder you felt so familiar.” He smiled sadly as he looked up at Bruce. “You’re also in love.”

 “I wouldn’t use that word,” Bruce corrected reflexively.

 “You don’t have to be so defensive.” Clark lowered his eyes. His foot scuffed the floor. “You’re only hurting your Clark, you know.”

 “Like I hurt you?”

 “No, like my Bruce hurt me.” Clark closed his eyes, curling into himself even more. Again, Bruce couldn’t see his face. Again, Bruce wished he could make out his expression. “Like I hurt him. He couldn’t open up and I was tired of trying and…and then he died, before anything happened. Before anything could happen. No apologies, no understanding, just nothing.”

 Bruce stepped closer, his hand hovering over Clark’s back. “I’m sorry.”

 “Me too.” Sitting up straight, Clark pulled out the chain around his neck. On the other end was a plain silver band. “I was going to propose, you know. Thought I’d finally surprise him for once. I wonder what he would have looked like.”

 There was really only one answer to that. He squeezed Clark’s shoulder. “Happy.”

    vi.

 A woman stood in front of him, her hair black as night, and Bruce could have sworn it was Zatanna. Except, it was her granddaughter, and there was something both happy and sad about that knowledge. Catching his stare, she clicked her tongue and rapped his head. “Close your eyes. It’s bad enough you’ve seen what you have, can’t have you finding out more.”

 “Your grandfather, was he—”

 “No guesses either!” The woman growled.

 Clark chuckled. “He’s probably right. He always is.”

 “Yeah, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of confirming it.” The woman snorted indignantly. “Alternate world or not, we’re similar enough that we could be his future. And it’s dangerous to know the future.” She rested her palms on the side of his head. “Sometimes you can make it happen.”

 Knowledge could prevent terrible futures, Bruce wanted to point out, but the magic in her hands washed over him, lulling him to sleep. He drowned in drowsiness, his eyes getting heavier and heavier, and the last thing he saw was Clark, was his wedding band on his finger. The silver glinted once, twice, and then all he saw was pitch black.

    vii.

 This was his ceiling. Bruce stared at the pock-marked ceiling, the burn mark from one of Damian’s surprise training sessions. His bed was the right level of firmness. There was no dust anywhere in the room and through the vents he could hear Alfred humming, the scent of coffee wafting in the air.

  He was back. Immediately, he rolled over and picked up his cell, tapping the third speed-dial number. All Bruce would see was that Clark’s sad smile, the apology that lingered in the air unspoken.

 And maybe that was their world’s future and maybe it was just a similar alternate world, but either way, he couldn’t let that happen here. Now.

 “Clark? We need to talk.”

[ikonct95]

thinking of you

Pairing: Jaehyun x female reader, oc x female reader

Genre: M, angst, hurt/comfort.

Warnings: mentions of smut, minor character death, guilt

Word Count: 1694

»»————-————-««

The sound of the ticking wall clock echoed hauntingly across the bedroom.

The birds that were chirping near the windows sounded very far, almost a whisper.

Your hand shook as you picked up your foundation and applied it to your swollen face. A tear rolling down your cheek left a discolored track in its place so you dabbed an extra portion of foundation. The process of applying makeup blurred by as you drifted out of reality and when the clock struck exactly eight in the morning, you were brought back in and noticed that all you had to do next is apply lipstick.

You stared, unseeingly, at the many rows of lipsticks that you owned. Not thinking twice about it, you grabbed the closest one, a dark maroon color. Another tear dropped, ruining your make up so you quickly rushed to spread out the foundation with shaky fingers.

Once you were done, you took a long look at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was curled to perfection, your makeup was flawless but you looked sad. And no amount of makeup could hide the puffiness of your eyes from the long night of crying none stop.

When the clock struck eight thirty, you got up and got ready to dress. You wore a black, long sleeved top with a matching black skirt. Then, you donned on your finest jewelry; abeautiful set of rose gold pearl earnings and matching necklace and then finished the look with black gloves.

Downstairs, you slipped into your black high heels and pulled down a black fascinator to complete your whole outfit. And right before stepping out your house, you picked up your black lace umbrella.

Your aesthetics in fashion was perfect for 19th century-esque parties but, unfortunately, you were going to a funeral. Your boyfriend’s funeral to be more specific.

 Connecticut 6 43 PM JUNE 16 2019

 Ms. Y/F/N

Deeply regret to inform you that private Younghwa Jung

Infantry is officially reported as killed in action in May 28th

                          McAdams. The Adjutant General.

 »»————-————-««

The funeral started at nine and, to be quiet frank, you don’t remember anything from it. All that you know is that after the funeral, people from friends to families came up to you and expressed their condolences, how sorry they were for your loss.

You were so out of touch with reality that all you could do was nod your head. You didn’t even cry or look them in the eyes, completely missing their look of pity directed towards you. They’ve warned you before, dating someone in the military was fleeting as they were bound to leave you behind…forever. But you didn’t listen.

You loved Younghwa with all of your heart. And though you’ve only met when the both of you were eighteen years old, it felt like you’ve known each other for a lifetime. Call it a cliché but the two of you were soulmates. He was your world and you were his life. No one has supported your relationship, they tolerated it but they didn’t approve of it. Except for your best friend, Jaehyun. Younghwa’s youngest brother.

He was there for the both of you, comforting you when your other friends and families tried to break you apart. Claiming that they were just looking out for you and wanted what’s best for you both. Jaehyun was there as a great source of company, and friend, whenever Younghwa was drafted to a new station in some country and your relationship grew from your boyfriend’s younger brother to your best friend. The three of you were inseparable.

Perhaps that’s the reason why when Jaehyun walked towards you that you were finally in touch with your emotions and felt your throat tightening up as if someone was squeezing the life out of you.

“Jae,” You whimpered, eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Y/N – ” Jaehyun couldn’t say anything as you pulled him into your arms and hugged him as tight as possible and allowed the few tears to escape.

“Take me home,” You pleaded, “Please.”

And all that Jaehyun could do was obey.

»»————-————-««

It was late afternoon when you returned home.

The house felt cold and empty, as if it knew that Younghwa will never return home, mourning for his untimely death.

Jaehyun lead you to the kitchen and sat you down on one of the wooden chairs as he worked his way around the kitchen to make tea.

“With milk?” He didn’t need to ask since he already knows how you like your tea but the silence was suffocating.

But you didn’t reply, all you did was nod your head and continued to stare at a random spot on the wooden floor. Mind a complete blank.

And even when Jaehyun placed the cup of warm milk tea between your hands, you felt nothing, unresponsive.

“Y/N.” Jaehyun sighed, holding your wrist gently while his thumb caressed the back of your palm comfortingly.

 “He was going to marry me,” You snorted, “Did you know that?”

You don’t know how long has passed since Jaehyun placed the cup between your hands but the drink was cold, beyond drinkable and enjoyable.

Jaehyun didn’t respond, unsure of what to say exactly but he didn’t really need to say anything as you continued, “He said, Y/N, I’m gon’ marry ya. When this is all over, I’ll drop to one knee, pop open that box and ask for you to marry me.” You said in your best imitation of Younghwa, a humorless laugh escaped through your maroon colored lips at what used to be a fond memory.

“He was going to marry me.” The humorless laughter soon turned into chocked sobs, breaking the dam of unshed tears. 

Jaehyun’s eyes widened in alarm at your sudden breakdown and quickly cupped your cheek and turning your head to face him, “Don’t cry.” He said in a soft tone of voice while wiping away at your never ending tears.

“It hurts, Jaehyun.” You choked out, chest tightening and blocking your airways.

“I’m here for you.” Jaehyun then pulled you into a quick embrace, running long fingers through your hair soothingly in efforts to calm you down, “I’m here.” He said in a hushed tone of voice, followed by a peck to your head.

Once you calmed down and the tears stopped flowing, you pulled back from Jaehyun and stared at him. You were surprised by the intensity in his eyes, gaze burning into your soul.

“Jaehyun…”

It happened too quickly. One minute you were staring at his face and then the next your eyes closed and a pair of lips were pressed against yours into a heated kiss that ended just as fast as it had started. Jaehyun harshly pulling back, as if burned by fire.

“Y/N, I-I’m so sorry…I don’t-”

“Kiss me.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I-”

“Kiss me, Jaehyun.”

And poor Jaehyun could only do what he was told.

So he kissed you. Kissed you long and hard and it took your breath away. But most importantly, it made you forget.

 Made you forget about the pain.

 Made you forget that your boyfriend died in action.

 Made you forget that his funeral was today.

 Made you forget that you hadn’t seen him in six months.

»»————-————-«« 

And soon, you were on your bed a heated mess, all tangled up. Your clothes were scattered around the room, uncaringly thrown all over.

Kissing Jaehyun was strange.

It was passionate, loving even, from Jaehyun’s end but on yours, you felt nothing. But then, Jaehyun angled his head a certain way, darted his tongue and it tasted familiar. Of cinnamon and chocolate…Younghwa’s favorite desserts, cinnamon chocolate cake. A distant memory reminded you that it was the Jung brothers’ favorite.

And that reminder had you whimpering because,

He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth.

Because it didn’t feel like you were kissing Jaehyun. It felt and tasted exactly like Younghwa when he kissed you numerously.

Another whimper escaped your lips at the realization and Jaehyun pulled back once the sound reached his ears. He gazed down at you lovingly, one hand cupping your cheek and his thumb caressing it soothingly.

Staring at Jaehyun tugged at your heartstrings.

He looked almost exactly like his brother. Same boyish smile, same dimples that appeared whenever they fully smiled and they even had the same eyes. Warm and kind eyes that were full of love. They were so similar that you were overwhelmed with emotions, a lump instantly forming in your throat but you refused to cry. Refused to shed a single tear because if you did, then you would’ve stopped this. And you didn’t want whatever it was that was happening to end because it made you forget.

“Beautiful.”

He pulled me in I was disgusted with myself.

Jaehyun leaned back down to kiss your lips briefly before leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. They left a burning sensation in their place, not of passion but of guilt and the reminder of what you were doing. His kisses burned and burned till you couldn’t handle it anymore and finally allowed yourself to cry once Jaehyun pushed himself all the way in, groaning at the walls that clung to him tightly.

 »»————-————-««

Hours later, in the dead of the night, you found yourself laying next to Jaehyun - who was in a deep sleep after…You couldn’t even bring yourself to mention what you had done with Jaehyun. Your best friend, and worst of all, your deceased boyfriend’s younger brother.

It was a moment of weakness and Jaehyun had offered a helping hand which you took without any hesitations.

You wanted to forget.

You didn’t want to feel.

And the only person you could do that with was Jaehyun.

Warm, sweet and gentle Jung Jaehyun who had been in love with you for as long as the both of you could remember. It was a horrible thing to do, and it was selfish of you to give Jaehyun this glimmer of hope but you were desperate for the tears and pain to stop.

And most importantly, you miss Younghwa. And Junghyun was the perfect substitution.

 If only for one night.

 For one moment…

[demonicpiano]

Cold-Blooded

RusCan Sprite AU

Everything is just a normal human AU except these guys called sprites are running around. Snow sprites manipulate the cold, heat sprites do well in the hot weather...yadda yadda. Our boy Canada isn’t doing so well. He keeps shivering but gets nauseous if he tries to warm himself up. Maybe it’s just a second onslaught of puberty. Either way, he’s not the only one.

Check it out on my AO3!

~.~

"It's a little chilly, eh?"

"It's winter, yeah."

Matthew gave his coworker at the next desk over a long look. No acknowledgement. He turned back to his own computer screen with a light sigh, flexing his stiff fingers before going back to compiling these ungrateful bastards'—oops, lovely reporters'—findings into a somewhat presentable column. He wore a thick turtleneck. He still shivered.

A glimpse around the cramped clumps of desks and lost souls bent over in their seats foretold nothing of sharing his blight. That guy was wearing goddamn shorts in the middle of winter. Matthew gave him a subtle shake of the head, although the tough guy wouldn't notice - he was too worried about bending over some newcomer's work and shaking his buttocks at her.

Matthew whispered to his adjacent sufferer-in-arms, "I'm going to get something warm to drink. I'll be right back, in case one of the bosses comes by."

No reply.

Matthew rolled his eyes, saved his work, then pushed from his chair. The only reason there were cocoa packets for the taking in the break room was because they were leftovers from a manager's party, and nobody wanted cocoa without marshmallows. And milk. Water would (very unfortunately) have to do. It was something warm.

Chilly hands clutched a cheap Styrofoam cup, shaking and sloshing around cocoa powdered-flavored water as Matthew slowly lifted it to his face. Instead of a nice wash of steam opening his nostrils, a slap of sweaty, undesirable muck came over him. He jerked away, waggling his tongue at the sink tempting him to dump the rest of the watery abomination out, but he decided to take it back to his desk and use it as a hot pack.

Matthew set the cup down, curling and uncurling his fingers. The cocoa's spell backfired; instead of relieving numbness, his fingers turned into noodles. At least those were supposed to soak in hot water. Not cocoa. Yes, this ruined the whole point of a steamy beverage. He was raised with standards. At least for hot chocolate. And men.

His shivering lessened to a nauseous quivering. Matthew crammed a lump back down his throat before tacking on his keyboard. He tossed more cocoa back as he started to get toasty under his sweater, regretting doing so as the taste washed over his tongue, but persevered through the rest of the dull day.

On the walk back home, Matthew tried to remember what he did for eight hours, but could not think of anything besides white walls of text. The snow banks seemed to give extra cold to the air, like Canada was a giant refrigerator and God just turned down the temperature dial.

Matthew eyed their grayed, gravel-infested lumps along the sidewalk, imagining too easily how the cold drifted and curled over his skin. Even under three thick layers, it was as if the cold was inside of him, posing as miniature ice cubes in his veins.

An uneventful walk, an uneventful handful of hours before bedtime. His flat was quiet. He kept the TV set low as news reporters poured over anything wrong with the world. Oh, and a local puppy adoption. Hey, puppies were the best.

Matthew violently shivered on the couch. He sent a weird look to the thermostat before relenting and hobbling over to give it a nudge for warmth. Back to the couch. Shivering. Thermostat again.

Oops, too warm now. Matthew shed his blanket and turned down the temperature a little. Back to the couch. Blanket intact. Weather time. It was going to be cold all week. Then a snow storm by the weekend. He bet the school kids were excited at the sound of that. He would muster up a smile at the thought of pretty sparkling flakes before relentless feet stomped it to pity if he weren't shaking in some kind of fit.

Matthew decided to keep the thermostat down, as he could always add more layers and more blankets, as opposed to shedding his skin when it got too warm. Under five blankets—yes, five thick comforters—he shivered. Of course he shivered. As if the blankets weren't going their job. Or he wasn't giving them warmth to give it back to him. Huh.

Matthew glared in the direction of his bedroom wall, twitching and shaking and quaking so much his darn muscles started to get sore. He plucked his cell phone from the nightstand, trying for the weather again, but this was so damn ridiculous, especially without his glasses, and the screen was just a blur of light jumping back and forth. He slammed the device back on his nightstand and flipped himself over with a growl.

He couldn't shiver all night. Eventually, he would pass out.

~.~

"Agh! Ow, oh, what...?" Matthew pulled his hands from the covers, gawking at his bone-white fingers. He was white, but not that white. He whipped his blankets away, putting his icicles-for-legs to the floor and hobbled around his room like the cold from the floor seeped into his feet.

"Ooh, man, this is bad," he spat between trembling teeth. "Just how freaking cold is it? This is starting to get ridiculous."

Matthew grabbed for a pot for tea or even more damn cocoa-water, something warm! Okay, he managed to fetch some milk from the fridge, hissing at the cold coming from there, like there wasn't enough in the world. He stared at the milk gently steam like an insane person would, tempted to stick his fingers in the flames below.

Hey, there was a good idea. Matthew lifted his hands, holding them a little ways to the fire warming his milk. He smiled and nodded to himself as the almost-non-metaphorical sheet of ice against his skin started to melt. Then it burned. He yelped and jerked away.

Matthew was not even close to the stove. Not that close. He twisted the knob to lower the heat, grumbling at his own stupidity. He had a roof over his head; he'd warm himself with his heating bill, not the stove top, for crying out loud.

~.~

However, Matthew did not get warm. He got ready for work with stiff fingers. Ate some doughnuts with hands made of ice instead of muscles and what not. Shivered some more. Sometimes the quiet flat was too quiet, but not in a suspicious-spy movie way. It was quiet in a 'damn, I need a boyfriend or a dog in here' kind of way. The teeth chattering filled the silence and rattled his nerves.

Surprise, surprise! It was a cold walk to work, too.

Matthew has been cold many times in his life. Sometimes it was fun. Other times, the snow or freezing rain soaked his socks, and that wasn't as fun. But he never, ever got freaking sore from shaking so much. He wondered how much of a workout was shivering. Maybe he burned (or froze off) plenty of calories from those two donuts he ate that morning.

"Oh, Mister Williams!" A middle-aged 'Can I speak to the manager' woman strode to his desk with too bright lipstick for the sorrow in her eyes. "Hey!" She nasally brayed, "How's the column going? Did you get my e-mail?"

"Um...the one about the cat pictures? Yeah..."

"Yeah?" She smiled, parting the sea of pink that shouldn't be on someone's face. "You like it? Don't lie, I can see that you do. Everyone's gonna love it. They all love cats. They better, anyway, providing you do your little keyboard magic, and move everything just right...!"

Matthew just blinked as this lady went on and on how one of the previous programmers left a stray code in the middle of her article last quarter, and they received a bunch of angry letters from people that had nothing better to do than complain that they saw 'greater than' and 'lesser than' symbols outside of a school classroom. He let out a shaky exhale, trying not to bite a chunk of his tongue off from his teeth trying to rattle up a band.

"Oh, honey!" The lady cried in a decibel that would make dogs whine. "You look so pale! Are you sick or something? Oh!" She pulled her scarf over her mouth. "I hope you don't give me anything!"

"Mm, n-n-no, I d-don't think s-s-so."

"I'll see about turning up the heat a bit for you, okay? Just...make sure you cough into your sleeve! I'll come by again to see how things are working out! I can't wait to see those kitties on the front page!"

That was new. Asking how Matthew felt. Usually the quick, 'Hey, how's it going?' did not warrant an actual response. Yet if he didn't toss a fast, 'Fine, thanks,' then he would seem rude. What a cruel world.

Matthew managed a stiff nod. Words were improbable.

His neighbor gave him a long side-eye, like the chills were contagious. Were they? Matthew didn't know. He almost started to type in the search bar, but his hand quaked as it hovered over the keyboard. A jumble of letters. He could hardly get himself to press the proper keys.

"Ugh," Matthew bemoaned his blight. He sat in his chair, glaring down his keyboard as his glasses slid down his nose. If only the keys would tell him they had everything and not to worry about his work; they got it. Another shudder grabbed a hold of him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to stay sane through its hold.

"Uh...hey," his neighbor leaned forward to eye him up. "Are you...going to be okay?"

"No."

"I think you should go home."

"I just got here."

A long look.

Matthew wanted to say his colleague didn't want to get sick, that's all. He twisted, planting his heels flat to the ground before pushing himself from his chair. A slap of heat came over him. He grunted, and a sticky sheen of dampness poured from his, well, pores. The world and the bewildered faces of journalists swirled around and around and around. "Oh, maple."

The carpet came for him in a flash of ugly stained blue.

~.~

Murmuring. Beeping. Constant beeping. Brightness. Matthew groaned at it all as his head lolled to the side of a...pillow. He was lying down. His eyes flew open.

"Oh...fuck!" He spat to himself in a hospital. A damn hospital. "No, no, come on..."

Matthew was surely sick, but not that sick. Jeez, those reporters are so dramatic. They probably clutched their pearls and flapped their hands in front of their faces at the sight of him passing out. He had to have passed out. How would he have gotten there?

"Oh, God, oh, no," Matthew warbled as a strong shudder griped his body. His teeth snapped together, and he let out a furious hiss of breath. "Damn it with the shivering!"

A pretty nurse came into the room, poking around, and tossed a glance toward him looking and feeling miserable on the bed. "Oh, you're awake!" She sang. "Hi! How you feeling?"

"Cold."

"I bet!" The nurse had her best service smile on, but her eyes screamed terror. "Your body temperature was down to thirty-five! Everyone's amazed how you were still up and about like that! So...just take it easy, and the doctor will be right in to...ahem, discuss things with you."

She left in a hurry. Matthew gawked at the ceiling as his insides were shivering now, too. "Thirty-fucking-five degrees."

(Ninety-five for Americans.)

"It's getting colder," he let out a whimper. Grown adult or not, he hurt. He was freezing from the inside out like someone stuffed ice packs under his skin when he wasn't looking. Maybe they did. Those bastards.

The vent in the ceiling kicked to life, slapping his face with a wave of heat. He moaned, squirming to get away without getting anywhere. "No, no, no, turn that off, please-!" Another sickening quake grabbed him and would not let go. He doubled over and gagged. The warmth kept coming.

Matthew drew in a sharp breath, snapping, and yelled in annoyance, pain, anger, anything cold-blooded inside of him, it needed to come out. A noise from the side of his bed crinkled. Then the IV bag leading to his arm burst, raining icicles on the floor. He lifted his arm up to gawk at the tube flailing uselessly from his skin.

Okay, kids, nobody is supposed to do this, yet everybody in movies does - however, instead of ripping it out like some kind of grunting barbarian, Matthew slowly wiggled the needle out of his arm with a little 'Ooh!' and 'Ouch, ouch!'

The tube started to fog in his grip, and he went to peel and detach anything between him and the monitors. Then he was free. Now Matthew could panic.

"Agh!" He ran to the window and smacked his palms to the glass. It was snowing. Wait, snow wasn't called for days. How long was he out?

"Mr. Williams?!"

"Sir, sir! We're going to need you to come back to bed right now!"

Matthew gazed at frost etching from his fingertips, fanning icicles into crystal white designs along the glass.

Nurses approached, "Mister Williams?"

One grabbed his shoulder. The man immediately recoiled with a cry of pain, grabbing his arm as his fingers throbbed against blue-purple skin.

Matthew slowly turned around, arms held up as ice peeked from his pores, running freezing water down to his elbows and dripping to the floor. The entourage of medical staff gawked with wide eyes, breath catching in warm puffs of fog as they met the chilly air. "I think I know what the problem is," he started as the window behind him crackled with frosty intrusion. "I'm made out of ice."

A moment before the window shattered, pouring over the sill as the winter wind flung itself into the hospital room. The staff screamed, throwing their arms over their faces and ducking for cover. Matthew turned to the gray sky, to the white mercilessly pelting the streets. The ice encasing his arms reveled in contact with the biting wind. He was so cold.

"We need the E.R. team in here, stat! Mister Williams?!"

Matthew stepped toward the window. His feet crunched on the glass shards, poking harmlessly against the thickness edging along his skin.

"Mister Williams!" The nurses screeched as he pulled himself through the window, and let himself be blown into the breeze.

~.~

"I can't find the coffee stirrers. Over."

Bssch, "They're in the upper cabinet, left hand side. Over."

A man sat at a desk, in a room completely to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose before snatching the radio off his desk. "Toris! Eduard! The intercom system is for important calls and emergencies, not your personal hand-helds!"

A voice murmured from one side, "But it was important..."

"Hush!" One of the men hissed. His voice grew closer, "Uh...sorry, D-Detective Braginsky."

Ivan slammed his radio back on his desk, giving his head a shake before flicking a page of his magazine.

Various murmurs resonated through the radio, calls from around the city. He turned the dial down by a smidge. Just a smidge.

"A stray dog..."

"...my leg got stuck in a snow embankment...in front of the woman I was supposed to be writing a ticket to..."

"Not to sound stereotypical, but I could go with some doughnuts right now."

Static.

"...at the hospital. Some kind of, uh...icy intrusion."

Ivan picked up his head from his magazine.

He turned the dial back up in time to hear another cop relaying, "Yeah, like, some kind of artic blast busted into the medical center. A couple of people have frostbite and cuts from the shards."

"I hear you," Ivan said. "Wait, I'm on my way."

"Detective?"

"Yes. Hold on."

"Oh, the head detective's coming with us?"

Ivan threw on a thick wool coat and stormed out of his office. Various men and women hovering over desks and pouring over bulletin boards hunched and skittered away from his path. Their eyes pricked his broad backside on the way out.

A snow storm was well underway. Two cops popped their heads over their cruiser at his approach. "Sir! You, uh-"

"Move," Ivan said. "I'm driving."

"Uh, yes, sir! The keys are already in the ignition."

Ivan gave him a stupid look, as the vehicle was already rumbling with life and sputtering hot fumes into the air. Once situated, the pair gave each other mirroring looks of shock through the bars blocking the back seats. Worried murmurs and static came from the radio, but other than that, it was a short but extremely thick silence to the medical center.

Another cruiser and private cars haphazardly parked before the entrance, and as soon as the keys left the ignition, Ivan stormed the place just as icily as the building storm outside.

Medical staff bustled around, trying to help confused patients that crept from their rooms to investigate the disturbance. A frail old lady held up a shaky hand to a nurse and complained, "Dear, it's so cold! Won't you turn up the heat?"

Ivan pressed against a wall and snuck around the pair.

"Oh! Is that the police?! Oh, oh! What are they doing here?"

"Ma'am, please, calm down, there was just a mild disturbance..."

Another officer jerked his head to a certain room. "Over here!"

Ivan followed.

Glass decorated the tiled floor, blowing from the grand window lining the furthest wall. Warm breath came from his teammates' faces as their wide eyes scanned the perimeter. One asked, "What could have done this?"

"Who?"

A weird look.

"I spoke to the witnesses. They said a man by the name...Williams approached the window, and it burs into icy shards."

Ivan asked, "Are you sure of that?"

The officer gave him a good gawk. "Based on witness accounts! The nurses that weren't injured by the flying glass."

"And this Mister Williams escaped?"

"Yes, sir, they said he jumped right out this window."

"Well, there's no body there."

"Yes, sir. He ran off."

"He ran off? After jumping out a window?"

"Apparently."

"So you're implying he is responsible for the window shattering?"

"And injuring the staff members, yes."

Ivan curtly turned away. "Stay here and get the full story."

"Sir?"

"I'm going to bring this Mister Williams into custody." His fellow officers trailed after him. He barked, "Alone!"

"But there's a storm on its way!"

"I won't be long."

Another officer hushed, "Just...let him go. He's the only one that can handle-"

Ivan was already down the hall. Of course, the eyes of medical staff and patients hooked onto the scarf flapping against his back, waving goodbye to the place when he wouldn't. A gust of cold air and snow pellets slapped his face, pulling his coat from his legs as soon as he stepped outside. Dusk was approaching. He needed to be quick.

Shoe-marks stamped the light dusting of snow in the parking lot. Ivan paced until he lined himself below the shattered window. Glass crunched under his boot. His eyes followed down the side of the building, a two story drop, and across the parking lot. The streetlights shimmered against clumps of ice leading across the car pack.

Further, toward the street, the icy dimples morphed into foot-prints. A shallow snow bank, but someone must have fell into it and struggled to get up. The steps led down the sidewalk. Ivan darted down the road, eyes steady on the distant field still covered from the previous snowfall.

The field remained virtually untouched, except when Ivan plowed himself through the ever-deepening sea of white the further out he went. He slowed as struggling leg divots in the snow intersected with older trails until he finally stopped, glancing around sparse trees and a metal baseball cage some distance away.

Before Ivan could step forward, something snagged one of the tail ends of his beige scarf. It tightened against his throat, and he let out a quiet gasp. He twisted around to snatch the cloth away, but icy claws protruded from the snow and kept a firm hold.

"Mister Williams?"

The snow shifted.

A snow-caked head of what should be blond hair emerged. A bone-white face. Wide, hallow lilac eyes. Ivan felt his own face try to pucker into distaste. Pale lips cracked open, and the man hoarsely whispered, "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Are you Mister Williams?"

The man was deathly still - a statue frozen to the ground. Until he barely moved to answer, "Yes."

"Mister Williams," Ivan started, fishing a badge from his coat. "I'm the head detective for this town's police department. I'm going to get you out of this storm and get you warmed up, but I need to ask you a few questions-"

"No, oh, no, no!" Mister Williams released Ivan's scarf, but his arm stayed stunted into the air, claws of ice wide apart and poised to the darkening sky. "No, no, I'm in trouble, aren't I?" His voice stretched thin as ice grasped his throat, "I hurt those people! Oh, no, no!"

"Mister Williams-"

"I'm a monster! You need to get away. B-b-before I hurt you, too!"

Ivan's eyebrows fell. Less enthusiastically, "Mister Williams, you are not a monster. Do not say that. We just want to-"

"I said...get away!" A hiss of strenuous pain, and a roar of wind poured upon Ivan's head. He threw up his arms as a fury of snow burst from the ground, swathing him in cold, unforgiving white. He shook the clumps off his coat, and Mister Williams' backside peeked from his hospital gown as he clumsily scrambled amongst thick plows of snow.

Ivan sighed, flexed his fingers, and rolled his head. "Okay, then. Hard way it is."

He swooped to the ground, planting his palms into the snow. Mister Williams had not gotten too far, lunging about in a straight line. Icicles shot over the embankments and under his hands and knees. He yelped as his nails scratched onto the sudden layer of slick, and he fell forward, rump going into the air.

Ivan straightened and approached with slight urgency.

Mister Williams pushed himself up with a delirious shake of his head, tossing a frightened glance over his shoulder, and yipped. It was a short warning before he smacked a hand to the ground, and spikes of ice lurched for Ivan's face.

Ivan's arms cut through the night air, and a sheet of iced-over snow emerged from the embankment to catch his assault.

"What the..." Mister Williams cried in shock and fright as everything crumbled to the ground. "You're...you're...!"

"Mister Williams," Ivan dully sang as he came closer. The carpet of ice withered beneath his boots, "You should try to make this as easy for yourself as possible."

Mister Williams scrambled backwards against the weakening ice. He gasped as it melted, only to clamp in a frozen lock around his hands, gluing him to the dead grass. "No! I don't want to go back! I'll only hurt more people!"

"Oh? Because you think you're a monster?"

Wriggling intensified. Mister Williams managed to burst one of the clumps of ice around his hands and flail his free arm in the air. "Yes! Look at me! What else would I be?!"

Two waves of snow rose from the ground, but Ivan swished his hands. They harmlessly crumbled into loose sentiment. He fell on top of Mister Williams' legs, much to the other man's horror, and clamped icy fingers over his head.

Mister Williams wreathed and put his own palm to Ivan's face. "What are you doing?!"

Ivan took a deep inhale as cold sank into his skin, freezing his veins, and a smile played with his lips, "You shouldn't say that! Because if you're a monster..."

Spikes of ice protruded from his pale hair, and Mister Williams could only watch as frost etched across the detective's body...

"Then what does that make me?"

A sharp breath to scream, but nothing came as the entirety of ice encasing Mister Williams receded, right into Ivan's pores. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped into the snow. Unmoving, the whiteness to his skin morphed into a slightly more healthier pink.

Ivan released his clutch, and left Williams on the ground to rise to his feet. He tipped his head to the sky, and let out a long sigh, dispelling dragon's breath of ice into the air. The frost against his clothes melted, dripping back into the ground, and he, too, looked unlike a 'monster' anymore.

Ivan dug around his coat for his hand-held. "Unit one, this is Braginsky."

His radio crackled and hissed. He held it from himself until it died down. "Unit one, do you copy?"

Hissing. A disconnected, "Sir?"

"I found Mister Williams. I said, I found Mister Williams!"

"Is he alive, sir?"

"Yes, although unconscious. He will need medical attention right away. I'm bringing him in." Ivan tucked his radio back into his coat without waiting for a reply. "Monster," he mused with a scoff. "Just for shivering and blowing out a window? That is child's play."

It was a cold, nightly walk back to the hospital with Mister Williams in tow.

~.~

Beeping.

Oh, no, heart monitor beeping!

Matthew's eyes flew open.

Just as he shot to sit with a horrified gasp, something clamped onto his chest and shoved him back down. A hospital room. Of course he was back in a hospital room. His wrists were free, however, not tied down like some wretched creature's would be. His fingers gripped the stiff fabric of his cot as he zoned on another man dwarfing a visitor's chair beside him.

"Stay down."

Matthew complied with a skittish gulp. The man's hands seeped cold back into his skin, a moment before he relinquished himself back to his own personal space. "Aren't you with the police?"

"Yes. You remember me?" Almost lightheartedly, although the big man's smile did not meet his eyes, "We had a little bit of a romp in the snow back there."

Matthew awkwardly grunted, gluing his gaze to the ceiling. He was in so much trouble. He was probably going to get life behind bars. If evil science people did not get to poke him with lots of sharp tools, first. Ice picks, probably. He was made of ice. Or at least, it felt like it. A little less. Maybe his veins were filled with slushy ice water instead.

The man raised his strong eyebrows. "Mister Williams? Are you feeling okay?"

Stinging. Tears pooled in Matthew's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know...I didn't mean for anything bad to happen." He scrunched his nose and turned his face away so he was not bawling in front of this near-stranger, "Ugh, my entire life is ruined. Ugh, it wasn't even impressive in the first place-"

A cold palm eased against the back of his hand. Matthew's fingers twitched against subtle prickles etching along his skin, "You are not a criminal, Mister Williams. You are a troubled man."

"I'm in trouble."

His company retracted his hand again with a sharp sigh. "Let us start over, okay?" He gestured to himself, to his soft cheeks yet cold eyes, "I am Detective Ivan Braginsky from the Police Department. You are in the hospital because you need help. Not because you are a monster. You are not a criminal. You are confused. That is normal. You just shot ice from your fingers. Again, that is normal. I will tell you why. We will help you."

Matthew lolled his head toward Braginsky. "Okay." He probably already was headed to the can. Minus well get answers. In a small voice, "Why?"

Perhaps it was his imagination, but a light clap of chill ghosted Matthew's cheeks as Ivan leaned forward, much less jaded and annoyed with the world. In near wonder, "You are a snow sprite."

"Um, what?"

"They are a species of humans that can manipulate and are manipulated by the cold-"

"I know what a snow sprite is."

Ivan stared.

"I've read up on the different kinds of sprites throughout my life. My brother's a heat sprite."

Ivan's eyebrows crunched together. "Ah. A heat sprite. Yet you...hm, that's odd. Are your parents...?"

"Both are rain sprites."

"Mutts?"

Matthew almost smiled. "Yeah, you can say that. Got a whole bunch of mixed blood in me, I guess."

"And out came the ice instead?"

The cold permeating the room didn't feel so bad. It almost felt warming, but not warm, in a kind sense. Matthew let out a long, easing exhale. "Yeah. Looks like it."

"You never...gave off any indication that you have these sorts of abilities?"

"Nope. Well, my brother always felt too hot to the touch. Like, if he hung on me too long, I would always sweat, and-"

"That's normal for heat sprites."

"Oh."

"Maybe it was simply years' build up. Or a late onslaught of growing up?" Ivan leaned against his chair, dragging his hand over his chin. Then a slight uplift to his lips, "You are an enigma, Mister Williams. When I got that call that some lunatic threw himself out a window in the middle of a snow storm, I was not expecting this."

"You were expecting some crack-addict, were you?"

"In kinder words."

Matthew found his own face pulling to a smile. "Thank you, Mister Braginsky. You're much kinder than the impression your stories give off."

Short lived bliss. Ivan fell solemn. Some haunt behind his eyes, "My stories?"

"I compile reports from around town for the local newspaper. I remember your name popping up a lot." Matthew tapped a finger against the bed, nonchalantly goading for attention, "There was a fire at the nearby quick stop last year. You were there. A generator, I think, overheated, and you...you 'sucked' the cold out of the air, and literally cooled it with your hands. It was amazing reading the reports. What you said about it. I could never imagine being able to do something like that. Amazing."

Ivan dropped his gaze to the hands folded on his lap. "Oh, that."

"Just 'that?'"

"I got into trouble from that. Mostly a slap on the wrist, but people say what they want to say in those kinds of situations. You're not supposed to make a big speculation of your powers around other people. Especially our type." Ivan's prominent nose curled as he hissed the words, "'Public disturbance.'"

Thoughts of getting thrown in a stony jail plagued Matthew's mind again. Scientists, with big, sharp scalpels-

"It's a solitary life," Ivan murmured. "Not enough people know much of anything having to do with us. Not enough people want to know anything. Our touch can and will hurt them. Who would you blame but yourself for your own loneliness?" He blinked, and picked up his head. A slight slap of cool air dusted Matthew's cheeks. There windows were not open. "Ah, that was a little bit too sad, yes?"

Matthew couldn't help a little laugh. "Yeah, that was real freaking sad. We are monsters."

"Now that was sad. I suppose even monsters feel it, too, yes? Does that really make us monsters, compared to those who deny it?"

"Ugh, stop it, you're making my head hurt."

Ivan let out a giggle. A giggle. The grin cracking along his pale face attracted eyes more than that gloom hanging over the room. "It is not all bad news, Mister Williams."

"Really, you can call me Matthew. And what is it?"

"Matthew. Matvey. No, Matthew. Yes. Uh, you're most likely going to get charged with the cost of window repairs."

"I knew that. That's not good news, anyway."

"You also hurt people."

"Detective, I thought you said you had good news."

"You're not going to get arrested, or tossed in some spooky prison."

Matthew's eyes went wide. "What?"

"The hospital is not pressing charges, as long as you cover the damage. Not as a criminal, at least, but there was nothing I could do to dissuade them from seeing it as an onslaught of mental health issues."

Matthew fell back against his pillow. "They probably are, anyway."

"Don't say that."

"Whoops."

Ivan scrunched his face for a moment, before it fell back into a sly grin. His hand breeched the mattress, crinkling the hospital sheet, "You live in a good place. People will take care of you. Maybe...when you come back...if you find yourself without a job, the station is always looking for honest people to share our stories. Journalists. Reporters. Programmers, too. Those are always in demand."

"What?" Matthew gasped, "Mister Braginsky, no. You can't. You shouldn't-"

"I'll put in a good word for you."

"Why?"

"I like your stories." Ivan almost said he liked Mister Williams. That would have been a bit too soon, wouldn't it? He just tackled the guy to the snowy ground and knocked him out, after all. Usually people don't make friends that way. Usually he didn't make friends at all. He decided to go with, "I always read my stories coming back to me, from you."

Matthew's hands curled over his own face. "Oh, no..."

"I think you even called me a 'hero' once-"

"No, no..."

Ivan grinned, "I actually don't live an impressive life, Matthew."

"Says you." A ripple of cold air drifted across the cot. Matthew shot the detective a look that was supposed to be threatening, almost as if goading him to 'Try me.' "I think...what you did...I thought that was impressive."

"Do you mean, what I did a few hours ago, or just in general?"

Matthew lightly smacked Ivan's shoulder, grinning, "Shut up."

Ivan found himself copying the mingling chills in the air. "I'm going to have to ask you a few questions about what happened."

After some thought, "Okay, Mister Detective. Ask away."

It took some guts to reach over and put an icy palm to another.

At the end, Ivan stepped out of Matthew's hospital room, realizing his interrogation was something more of a self-indulgent questionnaire. Snow sprites live solitary lives. Maybe this one didn't have to.

[solange-lol]

not so typical love song - ch. 2/13

Chapter Title: Never Fall In Love

Words: 4,751

Art by @lizzybizzyo! <3

[ one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight (coming soon)]

read on ao3

---

Nico woke the next morning to his dog, Mrs. O’Leary, licking his face. (How she had gotten into his room, Nico didn’t know, but he blamed Hazel.) The Mastiff was nearly crushing him, being just about the same size as he was. He gave her a quick kiss and a pat on the head before pushing her off of him, rolling over with a groan. Curse the education system for making them get up at ungodly hours.

He heard a notification go off on his phone, and immediately the events of the previous night flooded back into his brain. Nico reached for his phone, hoping for a reply from Blue from the night before. Maybe if he was an early sleeper than he was an early riser. Unfortunately for him, there was no such luck. The notification was just a text from Piper reminding him to print his essay for English. The inbox for his email remained empty, besides the previous emails from the night before. 

He clicked on one from Blue, rereading it. Then reading the following email from himself. Nico couldn’t help but smile; the excited tone was evident in his writing. Generally, he wasn’t the biggest fan of change, but this was one he could vouch for. These conversations were something he needed.

Now he was just hoping that Blue would respond again. 

The pondering came to an end when Nico realized that if he didn’t start getting ready for school soon, he was going to be late. Quickly jumping out of bed, he threw on the first things he saw in his dresser (perks of an all black wardrobe), which turned out to be an old black and white checkered t-shirt along with black jeans and converse. He then shoved his laptop in his bag, grabbed his phone, and raced down the stairs.

“Nico, hey!” Hazel called from the kitchen. “I made pancakes!”

Hazel’s cooking was amazing, not that Nico would ever admit it. That wasn’t to say that nobody else could cook in their family. Nico’s father had some recipes that he kept from Maria, Nico’s mom, for authentic Italian food. He then passed those down to Nico whose skills were admittedly still limited, but he was improving. Persephone, Nico’s stepmother, was more of a baker. 

But Hazel? She could do it all. She knew how to make the soul food her own mother used to cook before she died. Along with that, she was obsessed with Food Network and would try out cuisine from any culture. (She once made a lasagna better than Nico’s own family recipe. This opinion was never voiced out loud, but it was clear when everyone had thirds.) 

Unfortunately, if Nico didn’t get in the car in the next two minutes, there was no way his routine would play out as usual.

He leaned over the counter, grabbing a forkful bigger than he probably could fit in his mouth. He shoved it in anyway, though, nodding at the taste and shooting Hazel a thumbs up. Since he couldn’t talk through this giant mouthful of pancake, he settled for miming a steering wheel with his hands and then pointing in the direction of the school as if to ask do you need a ride?

Luckily, Hazel got his little charade and shook her head no. “I’m getting a ride from Frank.”

Nico just raised an eyebrow at her. After a couple of swallows, he managed to say: “I better meet this Frank before you two get serious.”

“He’s in your grade, you probably already know him. Plus, we’ve talked, like, twice. We’re just friends.”

“For the time being,” Nico pointed out. 

That earned him a rare eye roll from his sister. “I swear, the moment you mention a girl, you are never going to hear the end of it from me.” 

He gave her a harmless glare, but inside, Nico could feel his stomach twist. Right. Almost forgot the entire world thought he was straight after spending the night talking (flirting?) to a random person about how gay he was. 

He couldn’t waste anymore time worrying about that, though. Waving to Hazel and calling a goodbye to his dad and stepmom, Nico stepped outside and towards his car.

Before he could step inside it, something caught his eye. Or rather, someone. 

Apparently his neighbors had called someone to come mow their lawn, and the guy who was blowing off all the grass onto the road was hot. He had light hair that was peeking out from under his hat, and dark eyes from was Nico could see. The best part, though, was this tight shorts this guy was wearing. He’s pretty sure he’s seen this guy working before, but maybe it was all the conversation last night that just put everything into a new light.

Nico fiddled with the keys in his hand. He was going to be late if he put this off any longer, but who knows? This could be the start of something.

“Hey!” he called out to him. Either the guy didn’t hear him or he just didn’t care, though, because he completely ignored Nico.

“Hey!” Nico tried again, and this time the guy turned around, a puzzled look already crossing his face. 

Not knowing what to say next, Nico panicked. “I like your boots!”

The guy squinted in confusion, holding his hand up to his ear and turning off his leaf blower. It was clear he didn’t hear Nico.

“I said I- I like your boots!” 

If he wasn’t confused before, the guy was definitely confused now. He just nodded before getting back to work,

Nico sighed, opening his door. What was he thinking anyway? He slumped into the seat, resting his head on the steering wheel, which accidentally caused the horn to beep, and him to jump. Great, now the guy must think he was honking at him. 

Nico sighed again. It was going to be a very long day.

---

Picking up his friends was a routine that was established the moment Nico got his license. He no doubt had the nicest car out of his friends and actually kept it clean. Plus, it was just easiest for them all.

Jason was first, followed by Reyna. They lived across the street from each other; they grew up together and had been friends all their lives. While they drove to their next stop (and Nico’s personal favorite), Jason would usually try to analyze his dream and how it was going to affect his day, usually losing both Reyna and Nico halfway through his retelling. 

They then stopped for a morning coffee at their local coffee shop. Nico preferred his hot with a shit ton of sugar, Reyna liked tea, and both Jason and Piper preferred iced lattes.

 “Oh, can you get Piper’s with almond milk?” Jason said, tapping Nico on the shoulder from his spot in the back seat.

“How do you know so much about Piper’s coffee order?” 

“It’s not hard to remember that someone prefers almond milk to regular.” 

Nico just rolled his eyes before adding Piper’s request. Jason’s crush on Piper was so obvious, but he still refused to act on it. Something about not knowing her for long enough, since she had only moved to their town that summer. 

From there, they went to pick up Piper, who lived on the farther side of town, and then headed for school.

It was a miracle they were still on time considering Nico’s morning tangent. He was so distracted by trying to make the bell that he sort of forgot about Blue.

That was, until third period English when he went to search up a quick fact and noticed a new email notification. There was only one person who knew that email address.

He tried to ignore it, tried to pay attention to the lesson, but his phone felt like it was burning through his pants pocket. 

Blue had responded again.

He quickly snapped back to reality and raised his hand.

“Nico?” the teacher asked, and he quickly realized that she had just asked a question judging by the other hands lowering. “What do you think?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?” 

The teacher sighed, nodding her head in the direction of the door, and Nico rushed out. It felt like he was racing down the hall towards the bathroom, the weight of his phone still heavy in his pocket. 

It felt like time was slowing down as he locked himself in the last stall of this thankfully-empty bathroom, staring at the loading screen of the app. Finally, the email popped up. 

Nico took a deep breath and tapped it.

From: blue0919@gmail.com

To: bettertoburn@gmail.com

Date: Oct 3 at 10:20 AM

Subject: Re: Punchability

I’m so glad I qualify for an exception of punchability. But I’m confused, because I heard there was actually a second punctuality exception for cute guys who don’t know slang (I believe the phrase you are looking for is ‘catch these mittens’) and poor judgement. Re: Nutella, despite being warned. 

And how did you know about my interpretive dance skills? Though I don’t really think of it as an extracurricular activity. It’s more of a calling. 

I know exactly what you mean about it being easier to be open with someone who doesn’t know you. We exchanged, what? Like 5 emails? Already, you know things about me that I’ve never told anyone else. I guess it makes you think about what it really means to know someone

I’m okay with being each other’s Ultimate Therapists, even if we both suck at it.

-Blue

He let out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding before laughing quietly to himself. Of course Blue would respond, and he did it in typical Blue-humor fashion. It was clear last night that emailing Nico was as therapeutic as it was for Nico emailing him. 

Thousands of heat-filled butterflies entered his stomach as he read it over. Was Blue flirting with him? He hardly remembered the conversations last night, but it was clear now that this had gone a little farther than plain old friendly teasing.

He quickly typed a response, already anticipating Blue’s next reply.

From: bettertoburn@gmail.com

To: blue0919@gmail.com

Date: Oct 3 at 10:50 AM

Subject: Catch These Mittens

What about me makes you think I have poor judgement? 5 jars of Nutella sounds like a fantastic idea, if you ask me. If anything, I’m not the one with poor judgement; that’s all on YOU, Blue. You’re the one who ate the Nutella, if I remember correctly. 

I relate to everything you’re saying, though. I already feel like I can tell you things I haven’t told any of my close friends. I do think a big part of it is the anonymity. It’s not just that, though. It’s weird but I feel like you get me in some way. Which is probably why I responded to your post in the first place. Or maybe it’s just something that comes from nobody knowing you’re gay.

It’s like, I’m not lonely. I have great friends, a better-than-average family. But I still feel lonely more often than not. At least I’ve felt a little less lonely in the past day, thanks to you.

-Angel

It was weird, he’s more honest with Blue than he is with himself. Like some sort of alternate-persona situation. All of the jokes and the extra personality he kept inside himself out of fear was just let loose when he talked to Blue.

Nico tapped send without thinking and almost immediately regretted it. What if Blue was in his English class and saw him rush out? If he had email notifications on, it would be obvious that Nico was on the other side. 

Nonetheless, Nico felt his heartbeat speed up with slight excitement and nerves. If Blue found out it was him sending him emails, there was a chance that his undecided maybe-love story could speed up a bit, or at least cure his curiosity about who this other gay kid was. On the other hand, it could also scare Blue away, and Nico really needed him right now. 

Nico switched off his phone and pocketed it. He was out too long already, and he needed to get back to class. He could worry about Blue there.

---

Lunch came, and Nico found himself observing the room more carefully. All the juniors had the same lunch period, which meant any guy in that room could be Blue. He was praying it wasn’t like one of those dramatic teen show situations where the homophobic asshole turned out to be the gay one. 

Turning to his own lunch table, he realized that any of his own friends could be Blue. They were all theatre kids, which meant it was more than likely at least half of them were queer anyway.

Percy Jackson was sitting directly from his left. He was their stage manager as he loved to lead the team and also couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. The looks made up for it though, with the gorgeous sea green eyes and unkempt black hair. He was a lot taller than Nico (though most people were) and while previously assumed straight, he also doubled as a soccer player along with some of the other guys at their table, including Jason. The way he treated, teased, and tackled Jason, there was no way he wasn’t at least bisexual.

On his other side was Jason, and while Nico admitted he was attractive, his heart eyes for Piper were clear.

Next to Jason were Travis and Connor Stoll, some of the other soccer players. Travis was also part of backstage, but Nico ruled him out as he was dating Katie Gardner. And while Connor was in the show and hypothesized as gay due to some apparent flirting between him and Mitchell that Piper overheard, Nico doubted it was him.

Across from him was Will Solace, who he was only recently introduced to. He wasn’t a part of their theatre program, but he was friends with Lou Ellen and Cecil, both of which were in theatre and who had invited him to the table. Nico hadn’t had many conversations with him, but he had an adorable head of golden curls and blue eyes that reminded Nico of an eclipse. He had thousands of freckles splattered across tan skin. So, a contestant along with the other hundred of guys in his grade.

“Nico?” Will asked, waving in front of his face. Nico snapped out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah?”

Will gave him a huge grin, clearly about to ask for something. “Can I have a fry?” he asked, pointing to Nico’s tray.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He was still halfway in daydream mode, and the words didn’t really register in his brain. 

Jason looked curiously. “Is this the day Nico di Angelo finally finds his soul and is kind to another person?” he teased, still managing to find his fatherly humor within him even when surprised. “Guess not,” he continued when Nico flipped him off, and everyone laughed. 

They went back to their conversation after that. (Jason was proposing that they all shaved their legs for the next soccer game which would supposedly make them run faster, an idea that was immediately turned down by all the other members.) There’s laughing and teasing; it’s the good-natured humor of his lunch table that begged for him to come out right at that moment. He knew his friends would accept him; he knew he was in a safe environment. And yet, did he know that? 

He thought back to what Blue said, about wanting to come out but also being insanely relieved that nobody knew yet. He’s safer when nobody knows. So, he didn’t say a word.

The memory of Blue reminded him that he sent an email earlier in the day, and there’s a chance that Blue may have sent one back during lunch.

Nico pulled out his phone, quickly trying to refresh his email app. Unfortunately, with the amount of kids on their phones in that room, the internet was essentially nonexistent. The screen just kept on loading.

“Why is there no service in this school?” he mumbled to no one in particular as he jumped up from the table. Curious and confused looks from the other members at the table were exchanged, but nobody rushed to follow. 

Nico didn’t bother rushing at this point without the promise of an email waiting for him. However, risking pulling out his phone in the hallway turned out to be a mistake, as he bumped right into the vice principal’s wheelchair.

“Nico,” Mr. Brunner addressed him. He was actually pretty nice most of the time, always going out of his way to see what was up with his students. It was almost like he doubled as a guidance counselor. (Mr. Brunner was better at emotional support than their actual guidance counselor, that was for sure.) He was still sort of stuck in the past, though, and while he never gave out detentions for phone use, he did confiscate them.

“Hey, Mr. Brunner. How are you?” Nico winced slightly at his feeble attempts to get out of punishment. 

Mr. Brunner didn’t even answer his question. Instead, he just held out his hand. “You know the rules, Mr. di Angelo.” 

Nico sighed. If the administrator weren’t so nice and if he was out, he would call this homophobia. Instead, he just bit the bullet and placed his phone in Mr. Brunner’s awaiting palm. “When do I get it back?”

“End of the day, after play rehearsal.” That was another thing, he had somehow memorized everyone’s extracurriculars. “You can come retrieve it in my office.”

Nico nodded. “Got it.” Going the day without knowing if Blue hadn’t responded wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t really have a choice. 

---

As it turns out, Nico had some sort of heavy reliance on Blue in the past day. Even if they hadn’t known each other for long, and their conversations were short, they still meant a lot. They were a safe space, and the knowledge that he was now derived of that safe space, even for a few hours, made him uncomfortable.

Even in the theater, which was usually Nico’s comfort zone. They spent countless hours a week here. Just about everybody in the cast were friends, all having shared laughs or tears depending on how the rehearsal was going and what kind of mood their director, Mr. D, was in. Even Octavian, who was a slimy, stuck up kid whose body boiled with drama even outside of the auditorium, seemed human during a long rehearsal.

Without his phone, he also had no way to check the time, which meant he was relying on (i.e., bothering the crap out of) all of his friends.

The show itself was going as well as a public high school musical with limited theatre program funding could go. 

“That was—” Mr. D started, rubbing his forehead from his spot in the audience. He tapped his pen on his clipboard, still not finishing his sentence. “Peter, help me out here?” 

“That was a start?” Percy (Mr. D had a habit of getting his name wrong, even after three years in the program. Probably out of disrespect; they had a weird unspoken feud) supplied. The phrasing was nice, but the message was clear. The show was a complete trainwreck, and they only had until after the holidays to put it together. It was already October.

Mr. D pointed his pen at him. “Yes, that was a start.” He got up from his chair and advanced towards the stage, which meant he was about to change the entire set up. 

“Piper,” he hissed between as Mr. D gave new directions to Jason. “What time is it?”

Piper just glared at him from her spot on the half-finished staircase. “Ten minutes since you last asked me!” 

“And di Angelo! I need your jazz hands to be more dramatic! You just look like you’re trembling! This is a cabaret, not a breakdown in the bathroom!” He heard a snicker behind him, and turned to wear Percy and Cecil were mocking his shaky jazz hands offstage. If it weren’t for Mr. D standing near, he would have cursed them out.

Instead, Nico just sighed. Usually this was one of his favorite parts of the day, but they were barely halfway through rehearsal, and he already wanted out. 

By the time the rehearsal was over, Nico had already packed up all his things and was bolting out of the auditorium. 

He skidded to a stop from his near-sprint right outside of Mr. Brunner’s office, taking a moment to collect his breath and play it off as he strolled into the room. (The last thing he needed to do was look attached to his phone, otherwise Mr. Brunner might decide to keep it a little longer.)

“Nico! How was the unplugged afternoon?” Mr. Brunner smiled from his desk. 

“Great,” Nico said, forcing a smile and giving a thumbs up. Whatever he had to do to make this conversation go faster. 

Mr. Brunner reached into a drawer in his desk to grab Nico’s phone before wheeling around to where he was standing. “You should try it more often, maybe you’ll finally relax a bit.” Nico just laughed and nodded, not really sure how to respond to that. So, Mr. Brunner continued. “I know I’m hard on you, but I’m just looking out for you.” He regarded Nico now with slight concern in his eyes. “You’ve seemed kinda stressed recently, anything you want to talk about?”

Nico just forced another smile. “Nope! I’m good. Just, uh, a lot of homework to do, which means I should probably head home.”

Mr. Brunner nodded, handing Nico’s phone back to him. “Go, do your thing. Just remember, my door is always open.”

The words didn’t register, though, because Nico could see now that he got a notification from Blue. “Right, thanks!” he called, already rushing out of the room and outside.

Nico waited until he was in his car to open up the email. 

From: blue0919@gmail.com

To: bettertoburn@gmail.com

Date: Oct 3 at 2:46 PM

Subject: Re: Catch These Mittens

I’ve felt less lonely in the past day too. It’s nice to finally have somebody who just gets it. It’s funny, my mom even commented that I’ve been in a good mood lately. I told her it was because Taylor Swift had a new song, but I’m not sure she believed me. I think she knows I’m hiding something.

Anyway, I have a question for you: how did you know you were gay? And I know you said you haven’t come out to anyone yet, but do you think anyone suspects?

-Blue

A car honked behind him, snapping him out of his daydream as he quickly backed out of the parking lot. Nico nearly sped home from there, eager to respond. He barely acknowledged his stepmom or Hazel before grabbing a granola bar and racing up the steps to his room, Mrs. O’Leary right by his heels. 

Nico flopped back on his bed, pulling out his laptop from his backpack and typing out a response.

 From: bettertoburn@gmail.com

To: blue0919@gmail.com

Date: Oct 3 at 5:14 PM

Subject: Re: Catch These Mittens

I keep thinking about this whole coming out thing. I have a pretty open group of friends and a good family, I don’t think they would really be that torn apart over it. Still, though, I’m scared.

You know Mitchell, right? He’s been out for years now and as far as I know nobody has given him too much crap for it. Probably because everybody basically knew (which I feel is a really crappy thing to say, but it’s not like he was that subtle.)

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I guess I just feel like with me it’s hard to tell. I think my dad suspects something because I never talk about girls, but my friends like to joke that I don’t like talking about anyone, even if it’s strictly platonic. But besides that, nobody really talks about it. I mean, ‘who do you think is gay’ isn’t really a hot topic at my lunch table. Or a topic at all. (Though part of me wishes it was, or just wishes I was out, because I’ve had so many good joke opportunities.)

Anyway, as for how I knew I was gay, it was a bunch of little things. My older sister tried to get me into Harry Potter with her (instead I just got obsessed with a card game called Mythomagic.) But everytime she would turn on one of the movies, I would always watch with her. Afterwards I kept having this recurring dream of Daniel Radcliff. I also got really into Panic! at the Disco, and it took me a while to realize it wasn’t really about the music. (Brendan Urie is a god, don’t deny it.) And, of course, the pitiful crushes on half of my friend group.

I’ve never had a girlfriend, and I’m honestly not even sure if a girl has ever even liked me. I just never bothered paying attention to that sort of thing the moment I realized I didn’t have to. 

What about you, how did you know?

-Angel

P.S: because I know you’re wondering, I’m a Gryffindor. (Or at least I am according to my sister.) Hope that doesn’t affect this friendship, because I really like emailing you. 

He hit send, then immediately fell backwards with a groan. Since when did he become so mushy? If anyone ever saw these emails, he would probably implode. Even the idea of someone reading them made his stomach twist, although that’s probably more about the being-gay-and-in-the-closet thing more than it was about the being-mushy thing. 

He stayed in that spot for a few moments, hoping that he’d hear the notification sound of a reply from his laptop, but ten minutes passed with no such luck. So, he sat up, closed the tab, and started to work on his calculus homework instead while he waited. After a while he forgot about Blue. 

It’s only when he stepped out of the shower later that night and his phone lit up with a missed notification that he realize he got a response.

From: blue0919@gmail.com

To: bettertoburn@gmail.com

Date: Oct 3 at 6:29 PM

Subject: Re: Catch These Mittens

I know what you mean about the nobody-really-thinking you're gay thing. I mean, I don’t think it’s usually at the top of someone’s mind unless they like you, but you seem to not have much experience with that. Which isn’t a bad thing. Plus, I like you.

And actually, I had my own share of a Brendan Urie crush (who didn’t.) That was actually one of the first things I noticed about your email which, I could be completely wrong here, I believe that’s a P!ATD reference. I hope you don’t expect me to know any other of those alternative-edgy type bands. I’m more of a musical theatre person, which means I have about the same music taste as my Aunt Artemis.

Another one was Game of Thrones. I’m not a huge follower of the show, but every time I watched clips or walked in while my mom was watching it, I was always crushing hard on John Snow.

I’ve never officially had a girlfriend. I had a girl ask me to a seventh grade dance before, but I just really wanted to Cupid Shuffle on my own so I turned her down. She’s actually still one of my close friends to this day, funnily enough, and still showed up at the dance and kicked my butt at Cotton Eyed Joe. So, that turned out to be a better experience.

-Blue

P.S: I think you should actually take the quiz, because you seem more like a Hufflepuff to me. Or maybe I’m just self-projecting my own house onto you (I’m as Hufflepuff as you can get.) But no, even though you claim to be in the fraternity of Hogwarts Houses, I still like emailing you too. 

Nico smiled, and unfamiliar heat pooling in his stomach as he reread that last line over and over again.

[gay-for-tord]

Sewed Together: Chapter 5

Taglist and links to the other chapters will be added in a reblog, so I can make sure this shows up in the tags. Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.  ____________________________________

Arriving at the table, Jack was surprised. He had figured that they would be like his parents and make something simple, like Instant Noodles. The food laid out on the table was a feast! There was roasted chicken, baked potatoes, rice, sweet rolls, and cornbread. But Jack was hesitant to eat the food in front of him. Sure it looked delicious, but was it safe? How did he know they weren't planning on poisoning him?

"Go on," His Other Father insisted. "Anti's food is the best!" He makes a show of eating some of the chicken and Anti rolls his eyes.

Jack chuckles a bit and relaxed. Both of them were eating the food and seemed to be fine. Or at least, neither of them had dropped dead yet. He reached forward to serve himself a bit of each.

"It is good," Jack admitted after taking a bite of the chicken. "Thank you for feeding me."

Anti beamed. "It's no problem! You're our child after all, and we've been waiting for you for a long time. "

"For me?"

His Other Father nodded. "Yep. It wasn't the same without you bud."

"But we knew you'd arrive someday," Anti's grin grew wider. "And now we can be a proper family. More chicken?"

"No thank you." Jack wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Can I have something to drink?"

"Of course!"

Anti snapped his fingers and jugs came flying from the kitchen. Paying close attention, Jack noticed that the jugs weren't floating like he first thought they were. They were actually being held up by red strings.

How strange, He thought. But also really cool.

"Which one would you like to drink? As you can see, we have orange juice, apple juice, sweet tea, chocolate milk, and strawberry milk."

"Strawberry milk please."

With a flick of his wrist, Anti made the strings lift the strawberry milk jug to pour it into Jack's cup.

"Thank you." Jack took a sip of his drink and was pleasantly surprised that it tasted completely like strawberries. Normally things like chocolate milk and strawberry milk still faintly tasted like milk.

"Our personal favorite is apple juice," Anti said. Other Chase nodded.

"Yep!"

"Apple juice is pretty good," Jack agreed. "But strawberry milk is my favorite."

"Because you like strawberries?"

"Uh-huh."

"Noted," Anti mumbled to himself. He returned his attention back onto his food and continued eating. "Pass me another sweet roll, dear."

Other Chase did as he was told. Though for a moment, it had seemed as if he didn't want to touch Anti. Jack shrugged it off. He was probably just imagining things. But speaking of Anti, he had told Jack that they were his other parents. But if his Other Father looked exactly like his dad, why didn't Anti look exactly like his mom?

"Hey Anti," Jack said carefully. "If you guys are my other parents, why don't you look like my mom?"

"Hmmm, that's a good question," Anti went silent and stared at the wall, thinking. "I suppose I don't look like her because your other parents are supposed to make you happy. And she doesn't make you very happy, does she." Anti's last sentence didn't at all sound like a question. It was a statement.

"No," Jack quietly agreed. "She's always busy on her computer, and she likes to start fights with my dad. I never knew I had other parents." He changed the subject. Talking about his mom that way had always made him feel uncomfortable. Although it was true, it still felt wrong.

"Of course you do. Everyone has other parents." Anti's green button eyes were gleaming. Other Chase shifted in his seat, but Jack didn't notice.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh! And as soon as you're done eating, why don't we go outside and play a game?" Anti excitedly taps his fingers on the table. "It'll be lots of fun."

"What kind of game?"

"An exploring game. We all go outside and explore the grounds, see who finds the most things."

Anti was giving Jack an excited look. He made Jack feel bad for what he was going to say next.

"I'd love to play but I.... I need to get back to my other parents."

"But we're your other parents."

Jack gave Anti a small smile. "I meant my other other parents. You know, set number one?"

"Ah, of course." Anti slouched in his seat a bit, disappointment clear across his face. "But do you have to go so soon? I mean, you just got here and we've been waiting for you for such a long time..."

"Yeah, don't you want to stay a little longer?" Other Chase asked. "They won't know you're gone. You could explore the house, visit our neighbors, look at your room?"

Guilt ate away at Jack. On one hand, he didn't want his parents to know he was gone and freak out and get mad at him. But on the other hand, this place was really cool. And the sad and disappointed looks Anti and his Other Father were giving him made him feel worse.

"Ok," Jack caved. "I'll stay here a little longer."

Anti's face brightened up, and he stood up from his seat. "Great! You go on and head up to your room, play with your toys. Your father and I will clean up the table and wash the dishes."

Jack stood up, and his plate was whisked away. Giving his other parents one last look, he headed upstairs to where his room should be. Stepping into his room, Jack wasn't prepared. His room here was so much different than his first room! The paint on the walls were pink and green stripes, which wasn't as interesting as the rest of the room. The most interesting thing about his room was his toys were alive.

Though more than half of the toys in his room were things he couldn't recall ever owning, they were still an amazing sight. Small wind-up angels and airplanes flew threw the air, stuffed animals wandered around the room, occasionally pausing to wave at him, and many other things.

Jack sat down on his bed. While his room here was amazing, he didn't think he'd like to sleep in there. With all the toys moving around and doing whatever they pleased, he wouldn't be surprised if they woke him up in the middle of the night. Nor would he surprised at waking up to see toys too close for comfort. That would certainly give him a heart attack.

"Do you like it?"

"Hm?" Jack turned to see Anti and his other father standing in the doorway, holding hands.

"Do you like your room?" Anti repeated. "I put a lot of work into it."

"Oh, uh, yeah I like it. It's really cool."

"How about we play that game I mentioned during dinner?"

Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't. I have to get back to my other home before parents one see that I'm missing." Anti frowned and once again guilt ate at Jack. "I'll come back tomorrow though! Then we can play the exploring game!" He scratched at the rash on his hand. He had forgotten about how itchy it.

Anti still didn't look very happy, but his expression did brighten up a little.

"Alright then, tomorrow it is." He gave Jack a smile. "How about we take care of that rash of yours and send you off?"

"With what stuff? My dad didn't know how to get rid of it."

"There's a doctor living above us, remember?"

"Dr. Schneeplestein's here too?" Jack stared at Anti in confusion. How was he here as well?

"Yes and no. He's the Other Dr. Schneeplestein. And I'm sure that he has something lying around to get rid of your rash." Anti held out his hand. "We'll walk you upstairs."

"Ok."

Jack took Anti's hand and allowed him to lead him downstairs and outside. Outside of the house, nearly everything was the same, except for two things. The moon was full and there were more stars in the sky. Jack didn't get much time to stare up at them because he was soon in front of the doctor's house.

Anti knocked on the door and called out, "Doctor, we have a guest in need of your assistance!"

The door opened and the Other Dr. Schneeplestein ushered them in. Jack was pulled aside and was frantically inspected.

"If you look at his right hand, you'll find what needs tending to," Anti said in amusement.

"Oh! You have a rash. Don't worry, I can get rid of it!"

Other Dr. Schneeplestein let go of Jack and disappeared out of sight. Now that he wasn't be checked over and shook, Jack was able to look around the room. The doctor had many shelves in the room, all filled with medical stuff. Some shelves were filled with tools and some were filled with glass containers.

Other Dr. Schneeplestein returned two minutes later from wherever he had gone with a small container of some kind of paste.

He opened the container and said to Jack, "Give me your hand."

Jack held his hand out and watched as the other doctor rubbed some of the paste onto his hand.

"Your rash should be gone by morning." Other Dr. Schneeplestein closed the container and reached into his coat pocket to pull out a lollipop. "Here, for being a good patient." "Oh, uh, thank you. For both healing my rash and giving me a lollipop." Jack stuck the lollipop into his pocket.

"Doc, I need to talk to you for a sec." Anti pulled Other Dr. Schneeplestein farther into the room, so Jack couldn't hear their conversation.

"How does your rash feel?" Other Chase asked.

"Not as itchy."

Jack stared at Other Dr. Schneeplestein, taking in his appearance. He looked nearly identical to the Dr. Schneeplestein that lived in Jack's world. The only things different were Other Dr. Schneeplestein's partially green hair and his blue buttons. He couldn't say whether or not their personalities were the same though, since he's only talked to Dr. Schneeplestein in his world only once.

"Alright, goodbye doc." Anti took hold of Jack's other hand and walked him out the door.

"Bye Doctor!" Jack shouted. "And thank you!"

Anti flashed him a grin as he led them downstairs.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay longer?" He asked Jack as they stepped inside.

Jack shook his head. "Sorry..."

Anti gave him a tight smile. "That's alright."

They followed him to the small door.

"Hug me goodbye," Anti said as he opened his arms.

Jack did as he was told and Anti squeezed him.

"We'll be counting the minutes until you come back."

Jack gave him a small smile and pulled away. He quickly hugged his other father before opening the door and crawling through.

"Goodbye! See you tomorrow!" Anti called out.

"Bye!"

Soon Jack was pushing through the door and he was back in his own home. He didn't hear his parents frantically looking for him, so it was safe to say that they were still asleep. With that in mind, Jack quietly walked back upstairs and to his room. There he fell into a dreamless sleep.

_________________________________________

I want to promise I'll update more, but I get distracted so easily and procrastinate so hard.

Also, I know it's pretty stereotypical to portray Stacy as a bad person since no one technically really knows anything about her, but now my reasoning for it has been revealed! I did it so I had an excuse to have Anti as the Other Mother.

[7deadlycinderellas]

The Starks at War, ch4

AO3 Link

Only Robb manages to get home for the memorial.

He manages to grab a leave pass when what has happened becomes known. Jon isn’t as lucky, “not immediate family”, apparently.

It’s small, it has to be. There are too many who have died to take up all the time with theirs. It’s not like they even have his remains to bury, just a stone with a name. There are lots of well-wishers who come to Winterfell though. Even though the Stark family hadn’t owned land outside Winterfell in generations, Ned had a reputation for generosity, for integrity, and most of all, for his friendship.

Bran and Catelyn had sobbed openly. Robb had raged, angry at the Germans, angry at the RAF for not letting Jon be here, angry at the bomb. Arya had simply sat silently, seemingly numb.

Robb hadn’t even been able to stay the night. The RAF needed him back, trying to keep up with the Luftwaffe bombers.

Sansa had jumped on a train as soon as she could after the headmistress had come up to the door holding the telegram with a grim face.

It had been no good. The bombs had badly damaged the tracks outside London. She had slept in the train station for three days until it could be cleared up. When she finally got home, the memorial had already finished, so she simply pays her respects, stops to hug her mother, and again departs.

On the train ride back, she reads about the City of Benares. It had been on the way to Canada, carrying nearly a hundred children being evacuated, when it had been torpedoed. Such is the world now.

And the bombings continue.

The coast has begun to receive a bit of a break now that the Germans seemed to focused so wholly on London.

Letters pile up. Jon’s are extensive, he sends notes to everyone, all written separately.  

He tells Arya that the RAF are doing everything they can to avenge Ned’s death.

He tries to distract Bran with anecdotes about his plane.

He tells Sansa of the English Channel from above, how it looks so blue from a distance, as smooth as glass, except when it’s not, when the tides and waves kick up so much it looks as though it could swallow a ship whole.

He apologizes to Catelyn over and over. She’s never been cruel to him, but she’s never been entirely able to treat him entirely as her own. The little things, that he’s sure she doesn’t realize. But he tells her again and again, how good Ned was to him, how much he appreciates the two of them having taken him in, for all they’ve done for him.

Meera’s letters are incredibly heartfelt, but also sound like they were written under pressure. While the coast has gotten a bit of a break, the bombs haven’t stopped falling and her days drag on and on.

And of course, right before the bombings started, was when the government added tea to the list of foods being rationed. As if bacon, butter, meat, milk, cheese, sugar, cooking oil and sweets weren’t enough.

Catelyn didn’t feel like her nerves would ever settle, but when the sky awoke with a roar that drowned out the empty echo in her heart, she would have appreciated a cup of tea.

One of the cooks at Sansa’s school grows mint leaves in the window, dries and grinds them up before steeping them in water. It somewhat, somehow, resembles tea. It’s something.

Something to keep Sansa from feeling even more alone.

Margaery finished school last spring. Sansa had thought she would still be at Highgarden, just over the hill, but in July, Margaery had received a job offer from a friend of her grandmother’s, working with someone in the war office in London, doing translations.

 London is in a state, I’ve never seen anything like it. Every day I walk to work past some other building that won’t be there the next day. Even the theaters, the department stores, the museums. Things that were once such a source of beauty are now dour and gray. I know you love the countryside as I do, but cities are something special, and I so hate to see this happen to London.

My work place is in a small office on Baker Street. I can’t imagine what Sherlock Holmes would think of it now. Christmas comes, though it hardly feels like it. Sansa can’t make it home again, and deep down, she’s not sure she would be able to make herself anyway. She walks to the Tyrells’ on Christmas Eve, to say hello to Olenna. And to try and sate the loneliness that has come over her.

She has good timing. Margaery’s managed to visit for Christmas, but only for two days, before she must return to London. Her dark curls are limp and her smile looks pulled tight, but she hugs Sansa all the same.

“I was so scared that when I came home something else would have been destroyed, “ she admits.

“We see planes fly over here all the time,” Sansa tells her, “And the fields are full of debris from the fights. There have been a few fires, but-”

She doesn’t have to say it. There’s not much out here for the Germans to want to destroy.

“When you finish your leaving certificate, you should write me in London,” Margaery tells her as she walks her to the train station on Boxing Day. “One of the men in my office’s ears perked up when I mentioned your name.”

“My name?” Sansa asks confused. She knows that the Starks are an old family, but she’s certainly never encountered anyone who wished to speak to her solely because of who she was.

“Next time you right your mother, ask her if she remembers a Petyr Baelish.”

Christmas comes to Winterfell too.

The Reed’s pond doesn’t freeze over in December, so for Christmas, Jojen rows out and manages to fish up three small cod. Hot Pie hoards his egg rations three weeks in a row, and together with some potatoes from the Stark’s garden, manages to live up to his name and produce a somewhat respectable stargazy pie. He insists it doesn’t taste right without bacon. Bran and Gilly eye it with suspicion, not entirely sure about eating something that looks back at them.

The bombs still fall, even over Christmas. In November, Coventry had nearly been wiped off the map, and letters from Robb and Jon say Manchester and Liverpool have been taking the brunt leading up to the holiday.

They set up the tree, though there are no bells on Christmas morning, and only handmade gifts. On Christmas morning, Arya and Bran sit beside the tree, read aloud to Rickon and Weasel, and miss their father terribly.

Arya doesn’t even notice when she turns sixteen. It rains heavily that day, she spends it inside, knitting what must be the world’s ugliest socks.

Bran has insisted that Gilly and Catelyn teach him to knit as well, so that he can be of some practical use when they’re all stuck in the cellar. His socks are nearly as ugly as Arya’s.

Robb and Jon assure both of them in their letters that the socks are appreciated. Even Arya’s, Jon jests, could be handy as impromptu bandages. Meera just asks why the women’s services never seem to get any of those piles of socks knitted by housewives.

“I don’t understand how you haven’t gone mad,” Arya comments one day. Bran has just celebrated making his first sock with no weird bumps.

“Knitting isn’t that awful,” Bran says, poking her with a needle. “Mother taught you when you were seven.”

Arya looks down at her lap at her own needles.

“And somehow, you’re still better at it than me. And it’s not the knitting. I’m going mad enough not being out there, beside Jon and Robb. Fighting the enemy, avenging Father, helping all of this be over.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to leave home.”

Arya squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears to remain inside. She still hasn’t honestly apologized to Sansa for what she said. Their letters are cool and impersonal.

“I can’t sit still. If I try to be still, it makes my mind run wild. Winterfell won’t be truly home again until everyone is back and okay. Until then…”

She trails off.

“I would join the services if I could.”

“You’re only sixteen.”

Arya crosses her arms and presses the tips of her fingernails into her arms, just hard enough to leave a mark.

“I could join up now with parents permission.”

“Mother would never let you.”

Arya laughs roughly, fingers gently soothing the half-moon shapes she’s scratched into her skin.

“I wish she would. I’d give anything for her to. But why should she? She’s just lost her husband, her eldest son is out risking his life, why would she let her rash, angry, uncontrollable youngest daughter run off and risk hers too?”

The two of them are quiet for a long time.

“You asked me how I could stand it,” Bran starts quietly, “I didn’t have a choice. The day I fell, all my dreams suddenly fell too. I couldn’t be a pilot, I couldn’t even climb a tree anymore. You think I wanted to end up sitting in a cellar knitting socks? There was nothing I could do about it. I had to find other dreams. The books you brought me always helped.”

Arya smiles.

“The adventures we would never have.”

“Remember years ago before Father sold Dancer and built the garage where the stables were? When we used to play knights and ladies?”

“And Father told us knights didn’t ride through the wilds of America and ladies didn’t secretly carry rifles under their skirts?”

“I think it would be more fun if they did,” Bran admits. “I think maybe that’s my dream now, to come up with all the impossible things, and write them down for others. The way Jon writes to us about flying, I almost feel like I’ve been up there myself.”

“You could write books, you could write all the books from where you are. You draw a bunch, you could do comics. Or host radio shows.”

They both laugh a bit.

“You should come with me to the first aid station with the guides next week, it’s just the one in the village. It would give you something to do outside the house. And it really does do good for people.”

The station in the village mostly deals with children. While no bombs have detonated over the village, there have been mines and munitions, dropped as if rubbish, doting the entire countryside. Every once and awhile, a child will play too close, or decide to poke one with a stick.

Bran’s first patient is a little boy who decided to do just that, and suffered burns over his entire right arm. Truly, he was lucky it was just that, Arya thought. Last week, the ambulance crew had had to go out and scrape up the remains of a boy who hadn’t been so lucky.

Bran wonders if Arya said something to their mother about him feeling trapped, because sometime after, Catelyn calls him into the study and insists on showing him all the important papers and ledgers and accounts.

“With Robb gone, it may fall to you to act as the heir.”

Heir? That’s not a word Bran has ever given any thought to whatsoever. Cripple aside, he’s only fourteen years old. But Catelyn insists.

She’s spent so much time on the phone since September, keeping up with Robert and making sure he doesn’t, through malice or negligence, end up cutting them out of what the factory produces. It’s taken so much out of her, but she must endure. All of them must.

When spring comes, and her final exams looming, Sansa stops to consider her future.

Every bone in her body longs to return home, but she cannot. Seems strange that in the beginning of the school year she so desperately wanted to leave. She thinks of Winterfell, without Jon or Robb, or Father, and it just doesn’t seem like her home anymore.

She clutches the letter she’d just received from her mother in one hand. Petyr Baelish was a childhood friend, back home in Suffolk. I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to him in years, though if he thinks his office may have work for you, I should remedy that. This time two years ago, Sansa had hoped to appeal to her parents. She hoped she would be able to have a Season, to be introduced to society. To go to great parties and meet important people. To be allowed the opportunity to meet a man and fall in love and marry and have a wonderful life.

That was what was supposed to be happening to her. Now she was hoping to be allowed to take a job, in an office far from home, doing god’s knows what. But here she is.

The bombing raids finally start to slow in May, following Sansa’s eighteenth birthday.

Meera’s letters start coming more often again. It was a break enough when the day raids slowed first. I’m not sure how long it will be until I can sleep normal hours again. I’m not on guns anymore though. I can’t talk about what I’m doing now though, it’s seriously top secret. Lets just say, make sure to eat your carrots. Well at least that parts not hard. Every single week it seems like something more is rationed, or something that’s not rationed is nowhere to be found. The garden is flowering again, and invaluable.

One afternoon, around a pot of carrot soup, the conversation has somehow turned to the first thing everyone wants to eat the most when this is all over.

“I’m going to make myself a chicken pie. All white meat, cooked until it just falls apart in your mouth. Veggies super tender, and only the thickest gravy.” Hot Pie is the first to respond.

“I miss bacon and eggs the most,” Bran admits.

“Even toast with jam would be amazing now,” Jojen interjects.

“A slice of cake, one of those soft lemon ones Cook used to always make for Sansa’s birthday. And a glass of milk with it,” is Arya’s answer.

“We never had much in London,” Gilly admits, “But sometimes on Sunday, I could whip up a good beef stew.”

“And tea with everything,” Hot Pie adds. They can all agree to that.

Sansa returns home for only a week before she’s set to head back for London. She doesn’t look like Bran and Arya remember her really. Her hair is still cut short, tucked neatly under her hat. She has shed both her school uniform and the pastel frocks she’d favored as a child. The day she leaves she’s dressed in a neat dark blue suit underneath her dark green wool overcoat. She’s kept everything in perfect shape. Even clothing is being rationed now.

The last night before she leaves, she finds Arya at one end of the dinner table reading a letter. Bran is at the other end, helping Gilly write a letter, they’re both far enough away to not easily hear what the two of them are saying.

“From Gendry?” Sansa asks softly.

Arya nods in return.

“What’s he got to say?”

Arya eyes her, before turning her attention back to the paper and reading. Something’s big happened. One day we were just doing the usual, looking for and shooting U-boats, when suddenly we capture one and everyone goes nuts. I don’t know what’s up, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you anyway. Sometimes I think the military just enjoys keeping people in the dark for the fun of it, but I think this one might be serious.

 We all had 24 hours shore leave the day we got back to port. It’s been so long on that ship that my sea legs feel like my real legs and I stumbled when they hit the ground. The other men had a go at me for it of course, they always do. Some of them are alright most of the time, but I’m not sure I would call any of them friends. I’m too stubborn I guess, you always told me that. And when we have leave, they always take off in search of local girls. I ended up finding a cinema in town that was showing a Chaplin film, so at least the day wasn’t a total wash.

I wonder what being in a submarine is like. We’ve torpedoed so many of them I just have to think about it. I don’t think I could reread 20,000 Leagues after all of this. When Arya finishes, she notices Sansa looking at her oddly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The two sit in silence for a while. They try not to eavesdrop on Bran and Gilly, who is apparently writing to a Sam. She has only mentioned him offhand before, but he must important to her if she named Little Sam for him.

“Do you know what you’ll be doing in London?” Arya finally asks.

“Margaery says its mostly typing and checking other people’s translations, but men come by and ask everyone weird questions a lot.”

Arya nods solemnly.

“You know, “ Sansa starts before her voice breaks and she has to try again. “You know Winterfell is where I came from. I would never abandon it.”

Arya looks at her, not in a way she’d expect, but says.

“That’s good to know.”

The next morning, Sansa leaves, and neither sister is quite sure what to make of the other anymore.

Later in the summer, everyone at Winterfell is woken by a telegram.

Telegrams, in a time of war, are a thing to be feared.

Not Robb, Arya thinks. Not Jon either.

And it’s not.

Arya joins her mother on the bus to the hospital over the county line in Dorset.

“Why were we even informed? Shouldn’t the telegram have gone to his father?”

“Balon Greyjoy died last year.” Catelyn replies, her lips tight, “I never really knew what Theon thought of us, especially since he left Winterfell as soon as he could...but I guess he thought enough of us.”

“Does he have any other family left?”

“His sister Asha. Robb called her as soon as he heard. She’s already there, she got word before the official notification was sent. Injuries don’t get the same priority as deaths.”

Arya has grown used to the gray curtains of the first aid stations she has frequented, and the sounds and smells that go along with them; blood and disinfectant. The hospital is more of the same, with the addition of solid walls and the sounds of squeaky linen cart wheels and the injured presence of someone she knows.

Arya has vague memories of Asha Greyjoy, who had visited her brother a few times over the years. Still thin and narrow-faced, sitting beside her brother’s bed, she looks much the same as Arya remembers, though with a few fewer pimples.

And Theon…

Theon had been in North Africa. It hadn’t been much, just a single mine…

They’d had to amputate both his feet. The burns were more extensive, covering most of his lower body. His hand too are burned, though not as bad. The nurse says it’s likely from him attempting to grab something that had burned. The flesh was wrapped in bandages, but with the edges, pink, leathered, just peeking out. He doesn’t speak, Asha tells them he’s still pretty doped up with morphine.

It’s bad enough that they’re transferring him to a nursing home that day, one that specializes in burn care. He’ll be stuck there, with only the nurses and the other men with the same sort of injuries. Arya stays to help, but Catelyn says that she has business to attend to before she leaves the building to catch up with them.

“I’m going to go talk to the matron. I need contact information for the WVS chapter from this hospital. The one from Hampshire should be merging now that the coast isn’t being roughed up so much.”

“Has...has he woken up at all?” Arya asks, when she helps Asha and the nurse transfer Theon into the wheelchair and they begin to push it outside to where the facility transfer shuttle is.

She’s never been close to Theon. Despite his presence at Winterfell, he was really only Robb’s friend. Even Jon often found his brash, vulgar nature off-putting. But seeing him like this...he’s a shell of himself. He barely seems at all the boy Arya knew before.

“Only a little,” Asha tells her, “And he didn’t say much, it was mostly yelling and cursing.”

“There usually is.”

“Thinking of going into nursing?”

Arya laughs. “The Girl Guides do lots of first aid. I don’t think I’d have the patience to do it professionally.”

And she’s not sure the smell and sound would ever let her sleep again, if she was around it day-in, day-out, she thinks to herself.

“You should think about what you want to do, they’ve been talking about conscripting women soon too.”

Conscripting. Arya’s brain stutters wildly.

“I-I would have actually joined up by now, the WAAF most likely, but I’m not even seventeen, Mother would never give me permission.”

The stop where the van shuttle leaves is nearly a half mile down the hill. There’s another nurse who helps them get Theon into the back, and strap him in while still in the chair. Arya knows the motions, having helped Bran get into Father’s car on occasion, but having to avoid even brushing Theon’s other injuries is difficult.

“The military? Really? Can’t say you ever struck me as the kind for chanting and marching and ranks. Unless you’ve really come a long way from the tree-climber with selective hearing.”

Arya feels her pride, such as it was, prickle upwards in her chest.

“Well what will you be doing to do your part?”

Asha pulls a card from her pocketbook and hands it to her.

“My father used to have men working ferrying coal up north. I apparently couldn’t be trusted to inherit the mine, that went to my uncle, but I got his barges. I’ve been striking a deal to move everything, coal, steel, all kinds of supplies, up and down the canals. Everywhere, Birmingham, London, Manchester. The roads are blocked all the time, the railways eat coal. Someone has to keep the power on. I just need crew.”

She reaches out and squeezes Arya’s upper arm.

“I need girls of a strong constitution, none of these soft city girls who have never done a day’s work. Crewing a barge takes strength. You could join us. Help us keep the country running and the lights on.”

Arya’s head is swimming, swimming with possibilities. She was strong, she could row, it would be-

She freezes, hearing a tinny sound, like a bee buzzing in her ear, but so far off...

Then there’s an explosion, and the ground shakes beneath her.

She stumbles to the ground. She must have hit something, because blood drips down one of her cheeks. The shock wave have been enough that the windows of the shuttle van have blown out. She hears the nurse checking Theon over inside, and feels Asha grab her by the arm and pull her to her feet.

She knows the hospital is on fire before she even turns around. Her nose now pricks at even the slightest smell of smoke.

When she pulls away from Asha and turns to run, is when she sees. The top of the building has caved in, a ragged hole where it used to be. She hears a voice screaming.

The tiny conscious part of her mind thinks, I knew it was a stupid idea to mark hospital roofs. Why would the Germans care if they were targeting innocents?

The rest of her mind is screaming. A dull part of her realizes the screams she hears is herself.

Mother, is the first word she consciously can make herself say. It comes out soft, like a prayer.

[inyournightmares97]

Au!Mark x Introvert!Reader

“OK, but like, could you maybe put some extra green tea into my smoothie? And I’d kind of like to know what milk you use, because I only drink organic.” 

You took a deep breath and forced a smile at the handsome man in front of you. Jackson Wang was a regular at your local gym, and he could almost positively be seen hanging around it on Saturday mornings, wearing a tank top that showed off all of his buff arms and most of his chest. But it wasn’t his visuals that were the most striking thing about him; no. His high-pitched laugh and loud voice could be heard jabbering from miles away. 

“We have an option of organic milk,” you reassured him with a sigh. Considering that the smoothie store you worked at was located right outside the gym and aimed at attracting the gym’s clientele, you needed to keep some healthy options at hand. 

He blinked. “Okay. But is the milk UHT? Because I heard that since most of organic milk is imported from different countries, they need it to have a longer shelf life and they put it through the UHT process.” 

You blinked at him dully. Did you really have to go through this with him every single morning? Could Jackson Wang not simply order his smoothie and buzz off? You took a deep breath and held back your frustration. 

“I don’t know what UHT means,” you said through gritted teeth. 

“It’s Ultra-Heat Treatment, it’s a process they use to sterilize the milk in order to kill the spores and you basically heat it to insanely high temperatures. It’s extremely unhealthy and bad for pregnant women because it risks the brain development of their unborn babies.” 

“I’d be more worried about your own brain development,” you muttered, before entering the order for Jackson’s green tea, blueberry and banana smoothie into the system in front of you. You turned your head and called out to your co-worker, who was in charge of making the smoothies. “Mina! Can you bring out a can of the organic milk we use so that Mr. Wang can verify if it meets his health standards?” 

Mina gave you an exasperated look. “Yes, of course.” 

Jackson looked pleased as he headed over to the side of the counter where Mina was standing, and proceeded to analyse the container of milk that she showed him. You sighed and turned to Jackson’s friend- the quieter, more pleasant guy that often accompanied him on his gym trips. You forced a smile at him. 

“And for you, sir?” 

Mark gave you a small, rather shy smile. You much preferred Mark to his loud and boisterous friend. He rarely spoke except to place his order, and he’d never once complained about his smoothie. He bit his lip and pointed at the menu. “I’ll have a berry smoothie, please. How much is that?” 

You told him the bill amount, glancing out of the corner of your eye at Mina, who was struggling to answer Jackson’s questions about whether the UHT destroyed the vitamin content of the milk. Mark handed you his card and forced a smile. 

“Sorry about him,” he said awkwardly. 

You blinked. “Huh? No, that’s okay-”

“You could honestly just make his smoothie with normal milk and he wouldn’t notice the difference. He just gets unbearable after his workouts,” Mark told you. You cracked a smile, wondering if you should just put a huge dollop of store-bought ice cream into Jackson’s low-fat organic smoothie and see if he noticed the difference. The thought pleased you as you returned Mark’s card to him. 

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Thank you for placing your order, you can take a seat and the smoothies will be delivered to your table.” 

Mark nodded. He hesitated near the counter for a moment, opening his mouth and then closing it again. You waited for him to say something but he merely gave you a sweet smile and went to find himself a table. 

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“You need to do something about it, Mark,” Jackson insisted, as he took a sip of his smoothie and winced. “I can’t keep coming here for you just because you have a crush on the girl who works the counter. I don’t even think the green tea she put in my smoothie is organic.” 

Mark sighed. “It won’t kill you, Jackson.” 

“You don’t know that. What’s the use in working out this wonderful temple of a body, if all I’m going to do is inject it with pesticide-filled green tea? Look. Just go and ask her out so we can start drinking homemade smoothies.” 

Mark didn’t reply, his eyes were following you as he watched you slide out from behind the counter and exchange your shift with a co-worker. He glanced at his watch. You always ended your shift at exactly 11 am. He often thought about following you out and asking you for a cup of coffee, but he hadn’t yet gathered the guts to do it. He hadn’t gathered the guts to do anything except smile at you while he placed his order. 

Hell, he didn’t even like smoothies all that much. 

“Go,” Jackson insisted, giving Mark a light shove as you exited the smoothie store. “Go, go, go, go!”  

Mark took a deep breath and finished the last of his smoothie in a gulp, before following you out of the store. He caught up to you and gave you a smile, hoping that you wouldn’t think he was being creepy. 

“Hi,” he managed to blurt out. 

You blinked at him. “Hi.” 

“So, uh, today’s... the smoothie tasted really good today. Did you put something special in it? Or was it maybe Jackson’s organic milk?”  Mark blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. You blinked at him in disbelief. What was he even trying to say? You raised an eyebrow. 

“I didn’t make the smoothie today. Mina did.” 

Mark flushed. Why couldn’t he have said something cooler?  “Right, right. Of course. But the smoothies over here are way better than the ones at the store down the street. I wonder what makes them taste so good? Some secret ingredient?” 

“Sorry, I’m not allowed to discuss the store’s recipes with customers, it’s a clause in my employment contract,” you replied firmly. Mark looked dumbfounded for a moment and you sighed. Was he going to keep standing there? You really wanted to go home. “Anyway, it was nice talking to you. Glad you enjoyed the smoothie. Bye.” 

Mark watched you leave, holding back a miserable sigh. 

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Honestly, you were a little tired of all this. 

It had been a full three months since Jackson and Mark had started frequenting the smoothie shop and it was frustrating you. Jackson’s requirements changed every day- one day he was on a purely fruit diet, the next day he’d decided that he would only drink goat milk and this week, he’d read some research study which claimed probiotic yogurt was all a scam. 

“What would he do if I made his smoothie using full-fat, non-organic cream?” you muttered under your breath. Mark heard you and gave you his usual smile. To be honest, you didn’t mind Mark much. He kept Jackson under control and while he often made awkward attempts at conversation with you, you had to admit that he had a really nice smile. 

“He honestly wouldn’t notice,” Mark insisted. He cleared his throat and watched you enter numbers into the computer in front of you. “Uh... would you like to get coffee sometime?” 

You weren’t really listening to him, busy typing up his bill. It was a pain to calculate how much Jackson’s smoothie cost because he always made so many customizations. “Huh? Oh, we don’t sell coffee. There’s a coffee shop across the street.” 

Mark flushed pink, his eyes wide. “Uh, that’s not-” 

“Your total is $9.50.” 

“R-right.” 

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“This isn’t working,” Mark muttered. he gave Jackson a helpless look. “I’m shit at flirting and she never gets the point. She literally just answers my questions and then turns away from me. What am I supposed to do?” 

“Well, you can’t just keep smiling at her like an idiot and hoping she’ll understand your crush. You have to push her into noticing you. And not with cheesy lines. She looks like she doesn’t like flirty guys,” Jackson mused. He had tried dropping a few pick-up lines on you himself, and had received nothing but a stony glare in response. 

“How?” 

Jackson sighed. “Well, there’s nothing we can do. When in trouble, we always turn back to the classics. Leave it all to me.” 

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You watched in horror as the smoothie fell to the floor. You swore that you had handed the cup to Jackson carefully (you were always careful when handling drinks) but it literally flew out of both of your hands and went flying to the right. 

Landing all over Mark’s sweatpants and running shoes. 

You let out an audible gasp and the clattering noise caused your manager to come running. The pink smoothie was rapidly soaking through Mark’s (expensive-looking) white sneakers. You rushed the grab tissues and climbed out from behind the counter to help him dab it up, but they were clearly destroyed. 

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, I don’t know how that happened. Shit, shit, shit...!” you mumbled, panicking. If there was one thing your manager hated, it was spilling smoothies. It ended up in a waste of ingredients, caused you to have to apologize to the customer and created a ruckus in the shop. 

Mark grabbed the tissues from you and dabbed at the shoes himself. “It’s fine, really, it wasn’t your fault. I’ll handle it, you don’t need to worry-” 

You closed your eyes in horror as you saw your manager approach. You were screwed. You were so, so screwed. You lifted your head hesitantly to see the manager give Mark and Jackson an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry about all this mess. We’ll pay to have your shoes cleaned and we’ll bring you your smoothies on the house for today. Please take your seats.” 

You stayed kneeling on the floor, eyes squeezed shut and praying. 

Your manager glanced at you. “Come see me in my office.” 

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After getting chewed out by your manager and being told that the money for cleaning Mark’s shoes would come out of your paycheck, you trudged back out miserably. It was tough enough to keep this job considering it let you work weekends, and now you were in the manager’s bad books. You spotted Mark waiting outside for you, looking nervous. 

“Hi,” he greeted you hesitantly. 

You forced a smile at him. You hated having to apologize to people but you didn’t have much choice in the matter. “Hi. I’m really sorry about your shoes and everything. I don’t know how I let it slip out of my hands. I’m not usually so clumsy. I hope you’re not too upset.” 

Mark’s eyes widened. “Actually... it was Jackson’s fault. He dropped it on purpose.” 

You blinked at him. “What?” 

“I-I can explain! It wasn’t his fault, he did it for me. I mean, he did it because I didn’t have the guts to. The truth is, I’ve been coming here to buy smoothies for the past three months but I don’t even particularly like the smoothies here.” 

You were appalled. 

Mark panicked at the sight of your expression. You clearly weren’t taking this very well and Mark took a deep breath, trying to find the right words that would express what he was feeling. It was difficult to think with you glaring at him like that, though. “I mean to say... I come and buy smoothies from here because I want to talk to you. And I’ve tried hitting on you a couple of times but you either don’t seem to get or you cut me off, so I just tried something desperate to get your attention. It was a stupid idea. I’m sorry.” 

You stared at the man in front of you, paying attention to him for the first time. You had never really bothered to look at him properly, too absorbed in your irritation with Jackson. But Mark was actually extremely handsome. You took a deep breath. 

“My manager is furious at me because of you.” 

He winced. “I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to him if you want. Can I make it up to you? Maybe I can buy you a cup of coffee or something, if you don’t hate me...” 

You blinked at him for a long moment. 

“Considering you nearly got me fired, the least you can buy me is dinner, don’t you think?” 

Mark grinned slowly. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” 

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A/N: This was requested by @galeanthrophyx, I’m so sorry that it took soooo long! Also, I know this reader isn’t exactly an introvert but I sort of based her off the way I usually behave with boys, lol. I hope you still enjoyed it!

Requests are still closed, but I’ll be posting more writing soon!

(Also, super pumped about GOT7 winning two awards at the Gaon Chart Music Awards today, go check out their performance!)

[svenjafangirlt]

Coffee Stains

Michael Clifford

Word Count: 1,634

Requested: @misscutieforever

A/N: I have no Idea if this if what you wanted but I got kinda carried away with the Cafe thing, I hope you like Darling ♥

We all have to start at the bottom and climb our way up, that's why you were working in a local Café. You had big dreams but you also had to work hard for them. You didn’t mind your Job; the café was lovely and it wasn’t too big. After the first 2 months you knew the place and the regulars like the back of your Hand which made working there easier and more fun. Today you were alone with the newest worker, your boss was at a wedding and your colleague was sick. It was a rainy Saturday morning so it shouldn’t be too hard. With an Umbrella shielding you from the rain you made your way towards work an hour earlier than usual, this way you had enough time to prepare everything before opening for the day. Opening the glass door, you were welcomed with the familiar scent of coffee and baked goods, you hung up your yellow raincoat and put away your Umbrella. You turned on the Radio and plugged in the little USB Stick that was labelled 'rainy day', your Boss really liked your taste in music so she made you do some USB Sticks with music so now you had some for each weather, season and Holiday. You watered the Plants and cleaned a bit before putting the first trays of cookies, cupcakes and other baked goods in the oven. Your colleague also came a bit earlier so you two had some time to talk before opening. You put on your apron with the little Nametag that read 'Eve' in a beautiful cursive handwriting and checked your appearance one last time before changing the sign at the door from 'Closed' to 'Open'. As expected the regular customers came in at the same time they always do but because of the rain outside that was getting heavier every hour there were a lot of new faces wanting to warm themselves up while waiting for the rain to go away. After a few hours you had to turn on the lights, because it was getting darker outside, while your colleague lit up the candles that were placed around the café. You were currently making a Chamomile Tea for a customer when your favourite song started playing, you started humming along to the tune of 'Beside You' by 5 Seconds of Summer. Swaying your hips slightly more than usual you mad your way over to a table to bring the customer his tea. On the way back to the counter you noticed a little girl around the age of 6, bored out of her mind while her parents were enjoying their coffee and talking about life, completely ignoring the sighs of their daughter. You quickly walked over to the girl and asked her if she wanted to Dance with you. She nodded and grabbed your outstretched Hand, the two of you were dancing around the café, swirling around like no one was there you made the little girl laugh. After dancing for two more songs, the People applauding you and the girl, you had to return back to the counter because of new customers. Still smiling brightly and with a slight hint of pink on your cheeks you walked back greeting the new faces and getting their orders ready. You were cleaning some spilled coffee when a lovely lady and her husband walked up to you "Hello and welcome to 'Coffee Stains'. My name is Eve, what can I get for you?" You asked them with a smile. The Lady looked really familiar but it probably just was because she visited this place before. "I would like one Green Tea, a coffee with milk and a bit sugar and- Mikey what do you want?" She said turning around to a third person who was already sitting at a table. "A black coffee please." "And a black coffee and some of these cookies" She ordered pointing to the peanut butter cookies displayed on a white tray. "Okay, you can sit down and I will bring you everything. Oh, and if you have any other wishes just call me over." You made the Tea and two Coffees and put some freshly baked cookies on a plate. Walking over to a table in the corner of the room you greeted another regular coming in, making the little bell over the door ring. You stopped in front of the table and put the cookies down first. "A plate of peanut butter cookies, a green Tea for you," you placed the cup in front of the lady and the Coffee cup in front of her husband. "a Coffee with milk and a bit sugar for you and last but not least a black coffee for you." You said reaching over to place the cup in front of the younger man, while getting back in your standing position you made eye contact with the youngest of the three and only now noticed why his voice and the lady were familiar. Sitting of front of you were Michael Gordon Clifford and his Parents. You froze for a few seconds before shaking your head slightly, yes you were a fan of 5SOS but you weren't a diehard fan and you were at work so you had to be professional. "I hope you enjoy your time here and if you need something I'm only one call away." You smiled at them and looked at Michael one last time before walking back and taking care of the other customers. Another hour has passed and everything went well. The current customers were taken care of so you had some time to sit down on a barstool behind the counter and drink a tea. You were talking to your colleague when Michael walked up to the counter. "Hey uhm I would like to have another Coffee please." He was kind of shy and seemed unsure of what to say which made you let out a quiet giggle. "Sure thing. Black again?" You asked him and he nodded. While his coffee was in the making you turned around to talk to him. "I usually don’t do stuff like this and I really really respect your privacy and I understand that you’re a normal human who just wants to spend some time with his family but I really like your music and it would be a huge honour for me if we could take a picture together. Please?" You started rambling. "Hey, Hey Eve calm down." He was smiling at you with a sudden confidence you didn’t expect. "I would like to take a picture with you, actually I came over here to ask for your number but I got shy and ordered another coffee." "Oh." Was all you managed to say. He was looking at you with a raised eyebrow as if to ask 'and?'. "Oh! Yeah I would like to give you my number, actually I would love to." You were grinning really wide. You took a paper from the little notepad laying on the counter and wrote down your number. You finished his coffee and gave him the cup and paper, he thanked you and walked back to his parents.

--4 Months later--

After talking for endless nights, meeting daily and getting to know each other you and Michael became a couple. He is the sweetest boyfriend you could imagine and you loved him with all of your heart. After 1 Months he introduced you to the rest of the Band and they welcomed you into their family with open arms. Since the guys were writing and recording their new Album at a studio near the café you worked at you made it tradition to walk over there once a day to bring them their favourite coffees and some baked goodies, today was no different. You opened the door to the studio and were greeted by no one, because the guys were all hunched over a laptop laughing loudly. You put the coffees down and walked up to them, hugging Michaels from behind and hiding your Face in his back, closing your eyes. Work was hard the last two day and you just wanted to cuddle Michael but he had to finish an Album. "What's so funny? Another Funny Cats Compilation Ash found Online?" You asked yawning quietly. "Better." "Hey that was one time okay." "Way better." "It's your old Twitter Account 'Eve wants another Slice'." They all said at the same Time. Your eyes opened wide in shock "NO!" You lunged forwards trying to close the Laptop. "No-Oh." Luke said standing up and holding the Laptop out of your reach. "I knew you found me sexy but I didn’t think you would find me that sexy." Michael said referring to a tweet that said 'Michael Clifford is the sexiest man alive, not Blake Shelton. Fight me. #SexiestMan2017' "Oh come on guys that was last year okay, stop bullying me or I'm calling your Moms." You looked at them seriously. Everyone started laughing except for Michael "I wouldn’t laugh, she really does it. Last week she called my mom because I ate her cake dough before she could bake the cake and my Mom and her were both lecturing me about it for an whole hour." "But you know I love you." You said before kissing his cheek. "And I love you." He responded and pulled you closer so he could give you a real kiss. Ashton started making gagging noise"Ew Stop." While Luke was shouting "That's gross, you're gross, ew love." Calum on the other Hand was not so sneakily taking a picture with his Flash on while shouting something about you guys being his OTP, but you couldn’t care less because you had Michael and that was all that counted.

Also I made this moodboard kind of thing to inspire me

[b0blegum]

Who’s the Daddy? [one]

Author: b0blegum

Pairing: Monsta X x Reader

Rating: 18+ (well, there’ll be some smutty part so... yeah)

Genre: Drama, Comedy (i think??)

Status: One | Two | Three | Four | ...

Summary

One day, you found out that you were pregnant, but living under one roof with 7 men you’re really close with makes it harder for you to find who’s the father of the tiny bean that is growing inside your womb.

“If you can’t do it, you’re free to take a shot, baby,” The drunk Kihyun pointed at you as he raised the cup he held.

“Come on, (y/n). Do it or take the shot!” Jooheon whined.

You smiled and swayed your body, totally controlled by the alcohol that had already flooded in your system. “I’ll do it.” You raised your arm before you crawled to someone who sat across you. You could hear the other six whistling and began to make fake moaning sound as you kept crawling.

“I’m not a pussy.” You stopped in front of this certain someone, biting your lower lip before you continued crawling onto his laps.

He looked down and shook his head before he welcomed you to his laps. He leaned back slightly with his arms supported his whole weight.

“Let’s fucking do it.” You bit his lip as you snaked your hands around his neck. He let you took full control of his body.

“Jesus, (y/n)! You’re damn good!” You smirked as you heard Shownu at the background and you could sense everyone being jealous of this one guy you currently kissed.”

“Let’s bet!” You heard someone at your back, putting down his cup and you heard the alcohol splattered on the floor. “They’re gonna fuck each other!”

His bet was dangerous, but... he’s not wrong. You got kind of turn on by what you’re doing now. His lips, his talented tongue that slowly began fighting for dominance, his slender fingers that already trailed your clothed back.

He pushed you slowly, wanted to turn the table around. Wanted to took control, but you knew that was happening, so you pushed him down to the floor and caged him.

“No, boy. I’m going to take control tonight.” You smirked before you leaned closer to his neck, wanted to taste his soft skin, but he stopped you.

He pulled your face closer to his and cupped your jaws.

“No, baby. I will.” You blinked as you smiled and hummed.

“Well, then...” you leaned down again, this time closer to his ear. “Do it, baby boy.”

He pushed you down in one go and pinned you on the floor. By this time, you heard everyone went crazy, but you just don’t care. This was basically what they dared you to do:

Kiss someone you have sexual crush on.

“I will, but only if you stop calling me baby boy.” He smirked and began to kissed your jaw.

“Then what should i call you?” You moaned as you felt the tingling sensation as he bit your earlobe gently.

“Daddy.”

You heard a loud sound from the living room. It sounded like a mess, like usual, but this time, it was different, even though it was the same mess.

You groaned as you covered your body fully with your blanket. The sound was probably coming from Changkyun’s laptop. He was the one who always played music in the morning, to wake everyone up.

You flipped your blanket and jumped out of your bed, ready to cursed this boy.

“Changkyun!” You slammed your bedroom door. “Stop this music right now!” You shouted as you walked to the boy who was chilling on the kitchen counter with a bowl of Fruit Loops in his hands.

“What?” He shouted, not hearing your voice that dimmed down by the music.

“Stop this fucking music right fucking now, asshole!” Changkyun stopped chewing when he finally hear what you just said to him.

“Wow, wow. Calm down, (y/n). It’s just a music.” He jumped off the counter and quickly turned off the music.

“Great God.” You rolled your eyes before you stormed back to your room.

“Morning, (y/n).” Jooheon greeted you as you walked passed the room that he shared with Minhyuk.

“Fuck off.” You replied before you slammed your door closed.

Jooheon was left speechless and so was Changkyun. Both stood freeze on their spot and exchanged looks.

“Is it that time of the month again?” Jooheon asked.

Changkyun flattened his lips, “I just summoned a devil. So, yes.” He walked back to the kitchen.

You were confused as to why Changkyun’s way to wake everyone up irritated you. You always supported him doing this, especially the moment where he finally brought his capsule speaker close to the sleepyhead none other than Chae Hyungwon. But today was plain different. You hate this idea. It felt like you just wanted to slammed his laptop and threw his speaker from this level 10 apartment.

It was now 8 AM. Almost everyone was up and already gathered in both living room and kitchen. You, as usual, already dressed up in your work attire and ready to have some breakfast.

“(Y/n), here. Have some tea.” Jooheon offered, putting down your favorite mug in front of you once you seated. “We know period is horrible—“

“I’m not having my period, you dumbass.” You cut him, making everyone looked at you at once, not expecting you bitching at 8 in the morning.

“Uh–“ Jooheon looked at Shownu who’s walking closer to where you sat. “Sorry, but... well, a cup of tea in the morning won’t kill, right?” He smiled awkwardly.

You ignored him and began to poured down your cereal and its milk, before you stuffed yourself like a starving monster.

The apartment was so quiet. There were only sounds from your cereal being crunched inside your mouth and the sound of your spoon touching the bowl. You noticed this awkward uncomfortable silence and looked around.

“Why are all of you looking at me like that?” You asked with mouth full of soaked cereal. “Is there something fucking wrong with me?” You squinted your eyes.

No one dared to say a word but went back to where they were doing. You, as well, continue finishing your breakfast until this weird feeling inside your stomach started bothering you.

“Ugh.” You moaned. Your hand quickly rubbed against your stomach. Suddenly you were feeling nauseous. You felt like you were about to throw everything out of your stomach.

You immediately rushed to the bathroom, leaving others, once again, confused as what was going with you.

Well, you really did threw everything out of your body, including the cereal you just ate minutes ago.

“(Y/n), are you okay?” You heard Wonho’s voice at the door. You didn’t give him any answer, because you’re still feeling sick.

Wonho came closer and helped you by massaging your neck as he waited until you threw everything out again.

“I’m... alright, Wonho.” You gestured him to stop massaging you and stood up, flushing the toilet.

He followed you out with questioning look as to what suddenly happened to you.

“It’s better to just stay at home, (y/n).” Wonho said from behind. “Kihyun had no schedule today, so he could take care of you.” He continued.

“I’m... fine. Don’t worry.” You grabbed your satchel and walked pass the boys, who were looking at you, worried and confused.

You walked to the door, about to slid into your heels, when you felt a strong dizziness attacked you. You collapsed to the wall on your left and about to fell down onto the floor, but luckily, Shownu was there to grabbed you.

“You don’t look fine to us, (y/n).” He said, carrying you back to your room. “You’re staying home today, okay?”

You didn’t have the strength to say no, so you just let him carried you and laid you on your bed.

“As Wonho said. Kihyun will be here taking care of you and Changkyun will probably be home, too after he finished his class, so they’ll take care of you.” Shownu continued as he covered you in blanket.

You only hummed at him and waited until he finally got out of your room.

You weren’t sleeping. Well, you couldn’t sleep at the first place. This nauseous feeling won’t go away and sometimes the dizziness attacked you again. You weren’t drinking last night, nor eating something weird or expired food, but why were you feeling like this today?

You rolled on your side and curled.

“It’s probably my period.” You sighed. “Wait...” you sat down abruptly.

You grabbed your phone and rushingly opened an app. The one that always track your period schedule.

“Fuck.” You cursed. “I was late by three months.” You hissed.

You jumped out of bed and grabbed your wallet before rushing out. You heard all the boys calling you as you ran passed them, but you just didn’t care. You ignored all of them and rushed to the nearest convenience store.

You could felt sweat rolled down your temples as you waited the line— or lines to be visible. Also, the boys had been knocking on the bathroom door for God knows how long and kept asking are you okay inside.

“Fuck. Come on.” You shook the tiny pencil-like machine with a small monitor in the middle.

It took another two minutes to finally made one line visible. You bit your lip in nervous and kept tapping your legs against the floor.

“Alright. One line. That’s enough.” You whispered. “I am not pregnant, am i? Hell, how can i, when i haven’t had sex for one yea—“

Your jaw dropped and your eyes widened.

You blinked rapidly at the new sight in front of you.

Another line just showed up.

“This doesn’t make sense.” You shook your head and bit your lip. “No. Hell. How can i be pregnant when i—“ your memory suddenly traveled to that night.

The night three months ago, where all of you decided to have a little party. Just to have fun and let go of the stress, plus, Changkyun just finished his final exam and nailed them with straight As.

All of you bought hella lots of alcohol and did stupid things. Including played this non-sense game called Dare or Drink.

Yes, you remembered clearly you got one particular dare that was too dangerous actually, but you were too drunk to realised that. “I’m fucked up.” You buried your face in your palms and stayed there for a while before you finally decided to come out from the bathroom.

The door creaked opened slowly, revealing your languid self. The boys were all waiting outside, except Shownu who was already off to his own dance academy.

You looked at them one by one, painfully slow, until your eyes finally hooked on someone.

Is he really the dad? NEXT >>

a/n Hi! So, this will be my another on-going fanfic. As you know, Where Am I? is the one that had heavy theme, like crime and mystery and stuff (well, there’s still romance, too, but i know some of you prefer light romance right?). So, here goes another story! I’ve been having this plot written in my phone for sooo long, but haven’t exactly sure how to execute it then finally, boom. I got some nice ideas and this happened.

I hope you enjoy this one, as well and as always, i can’t wait to hear what you all think!

♡, b0blegum.