#open mouthed old man squint and the overhead point

[andy-clutterbuck]

𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 (𝟔/𝟐𝟗/𝟐𝟑) | 📸: 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐓𝐖𝐃𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

[wincestisasincest]

The Barrel - Ch. 1 (LOTR x Reader)

Okay, so time for a fun and sexy take on Modern Girl in Middle Earth that no one asked for - what if the Modern Girl had a gun? I wanted to try and write something where the Modern Girl in question was not completely defenseless, and had a fair amount of experience that the others lacked.

This will be very slow burn, I think.

Chapter: 1

Words: 1452

Warnings: Blood, guns (obviously)

Pairings: None (yet)

The butt of the rifle cracked against your cheek. You bit your tongue, but kept your arms rigid and eyes open. The taste of copper slithered between your teeth.

The orc staggered, his head reeling back with the force of the bullet that had just been lodged into it. His spine arched, and his arms flailed. Before he could catch his balance, his heart finished beating and he collapsed to the ground. Pungent, dark blood oozed into the dirt.

The wizard hardly flinched. His weary, sloped brow and buggish eyes were fixed on you thoughtfully. He tugged a strand of his curly brown beard - the one that had been blanched with bird crap.

You dropped your arms and let the rifle relax into the natural dent of your hands. They were clammy, but the crisp chilliness of the forest kept them from being sweaty. Everything about you, from the fresh redness pooling in your cheeks due to the recoil of the gun to the congested nose you had that made you sniff every couple of minutes, put you on the edge of sickness. And yet, here you were, shambling and corpse-like, but still upright and alive.

You stepped towards the wizard, your eyes occasionally darting back to the orc. You hadn’t registered yet that you were the one who killed it. You’d give it some time.

“Are you Radagast the Brown?”

You kept your voice monotone and deep to not risk exposing the rasp extending up the back of your throat.

“Who’s asking? Friend or foe?”

“Friend. I’m (y/n).”

“No family?”

“None that are around here. I’m, uh, not from here. If it wasn’t already obvious.”

You swayed nervously on your legs. Your combat boots were worn beyond repair, though their gaudy artificial stitching that was loosely holding them together still stuck out like a sore thumb. The black tank top clung to your body, and though you mostly kept it hidden with an oversized jacket, you couldn’t help the occasional peak of bare flesh and tight fabric. Oh, and, of course, your jeans were bright-ass blue and had a leather tag on the back with an impeccably printed logo.

“Indeed,” the wizard nodded, “I’ve never seen a bow quite like that before.”

You neither. This whole shooting business was about as new as Middle Earth. When you had woken up in a small pile of freshly fallen leaves, the gun, along with a few packages of ammo, were about 10 feet from your stiff body. You hadn’t dared to practice anything besides loading and unloading the gun, lest you run out of ammo in the middle of your hour of need. You had abstained from counting, knowing that it would just make you more nervous.

“Yeah...” you trailed, “but anyway, I know you don't know me, but you know Gandalf, right? He needs help.”

“Help? Now, there’d have to be something mighty strong that could get that old goat in trouble,” he raised an eyebrow hawkishly.

“Saruman.”

“Saruman? Well now, that can’t be.”

“He’s working with Sauron. Looking for the ring, and-”

“Hush!” he finally broke eye contact with you and warily scanned the tops of the trees. Nothing but a wall of silence.

“The forest... it’s quiet. Someone is listening. Come, come. Matters like these ought to be discussed inside,” he turned around and waved for you to follow, hustling in between long, imposing trunks that looked like they were ready to fall on you and crush the life out of you at any second.

******

You had killed the moth. Not on purpose, of course. You seemed to have fallen on it after you crashed through the sky of Middle Earth.

You could remember hearing its screams. You rolled over, looking for the source, grinding the roots further into your ribcage. When you finally saw the tiny thing flitting on the ground, trying to get your attention, you dumbly watched its crushed wings and snapped legs twitch with jolts of desperation.

“I have a message! A message for Radagast the Brown! Friend of the Eagles! You must take it in my stead - it is urgent. The fate of Gandalf the Gray depends on it.”

You said nothing, barely able to keep yourself conscious as you rapidly inhaled and expelled stilted breaths.

“Gandalf the Gray was betrayed by former friend Saruman the White. He is on top of the tower Orthanc, in Isengard, dying with each passing moment. He dispatched me to tell Radagast to seek out the aid of the Eagles - he fears that they may be his only chance at rescue from the tower.”

“Are... are you real?” you finally sputtered.

“I am alive, but not for much longer. My strength fails me. But you must go. Follow along the edge of Mirkwood until you find the brown wizard. The fate of Gandalf, and perhaps the realm, may depend on you. Please, time is of the essence. You must leave.”

The creature’s mouth never moved. You never heard the sound of its voice. But you felt the words in your head, bouncing around there after being injected by some foreign source. The moth pointed its head straight at you.

“Please. It does not matter who you are - your future depends on the knowledge that only Gandalf holds.”

A throbbing pain blossomed in the back of your head, just under your neck. The moth flitted its wings once more, and then the telepathic force that had been drilling into your skull blinked out.

You took a long sip of murky liquid in a cracked glass teacup. Warmth stirred in your void of a stomach, which you had been trying to ignore.

“My word. Then it is true. Saruman has turned to the darkness,” Radagast said to no one in particular. He looked out the window, as if waiting for the silhouette of his friend to appear over the horizon, completely fine.

“I’m sorry,” was all that you could say.

He turned to you, eyes still flickering with life but in danger of going out.

“So am I,” he said grimly, “but, no matter. Gandalf was right. The Eagles are his only chance of salvation from a place as wicked as Isengard. I’ll get the message to them at once.”

He looked at his feet. You couldn’t actually recall much about Radagast from the books - you knew more about how low of an opinion Saruman had of him. But the look of despair that was settling deep within his chest was a grave reminder that he was just as capable of complex thought as anyone else.

You realized that you had just seen a man accept that there would be war on their hands, and that there was nothing he could do to avoid it.

“It will be alright in the end,” you found yourself saying.

Finally, he looked up at you sadly.

“I know. The world will always be okay in the end. And I, who have lived many years and will live many more, will be around to see it. But what will happen to everyone in between?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged, “but in the meantime we’ll just... do our best to protect them. That’s all we can do, right?”

You tilted the edge of your lips up, not quite forming a grin but far from the hopeless neutrality that you had carried with you into the house. He analyzed you, squinting his eyes and pursing his lips, not caring if you noticed.

“Who are you?”

“I’m (y/n).”

“A person is more than their name, especially one such as you.”

“I’m nobody important to this world. I don’t belong here.”

“And yet here you are. You’ve become somebody important,” he scratched his chin, “this appears to be beyond me, but I suggest that you consult with Gandalf. You’re already heading in his direction anyway.”

“What?”

“I’m sending you with the Eagles. The fellow will be in a mighty poor condition when you find him, it’d be irresponsible for me to send him back all by himself. And besides, you seem like a useful person to know.”

He smiled coyly. Your mind buzzed.

“There must be someone else that you can send?”

“Nope. Well, no one humann, anyway. One of the quirks of dedicating your being to the plants and the animals. Now, on you get! I can hear them circling overhead.”

You had no idea how he had summoned the Eagles, and at this point, you were almost too afraid to ask. You gritted your teeth and let your stomach do a cartwheel as you realized that you were about to come to terms with your fear of heights in the worst way possible.

So be it.

[newhanovere]

John Marston sees Javier Escuella for the first time in nearly a decade and challenges him to a duel. It's in their nature, after all, to hurt each other.

all of chapter one under the cut. chapter two here.

The thing you don't realize about the desert until you've experienced it is, cold evenings ain't something you ever get used to.

Folk can warn you as much as they like. You can pack up jackets and gloves and blankets to bundle up in, and you can prepare your mind all day for the way it all cools down when the sun dips below the horizon, but it just ain't something that really makes sense 'til you're in it, and even then, it tricks you. You spend your days riding through the heat and avoiding the mirages and working up a sweat, only for that same sweat to stick to you and make you shiver once the moon is high.

Suffice it to say, John Marston don't really like the desert, 'specially at night. Never has. It only fits, then, in a cruel twist of fate, that the first time he sees Javier Escuella again, the stars are twinkling above him, constellations hanging overhead like some kind of crown.

Javier always did carry himself like a king.

He doesn't spot John, not at first. And maybe it's foolish, how close John gets to the man he once knew so well, two sides of the same coin on a wild spinning toss, but he can't help himself. Javier's outline is one John has sworn he's spotted across mountain ravines and deep river valleys. Here, in this land of false visions, John can't be sure of anything he sees. But once they're about 20 feet or so apart, and Javier Escuella turns toward the call of some coyotes to the north, John catches his profile, distinct in its familiarity, in its rugged handsomeness, and there is no doubt.

John's breath catches, a gasp that is too loud for the circumstances. Javier has his gun drawn and aimed at John before the fog of John's breath has faded.

"I'll kill you," says Javier, voice rougher than John remembers, "before you can even feel it. Move along." He doesn't know who I am, John thinks, and it makes sense. John is some distance away, and while Javier is all lovely angles backlit by the moonlight, John is in partial darkness, his hair cut short, his beard longer than it ever was while he ran with the gang. It still catches John off-guard, still pricks at his heart a little, that Javier does not recognize him. John's fingers shake, and he blames it on the cold.

Javier curses when he receives no response, something distant and in his native tongue - John doesn't know what he's said, but he's familiar with the way Javier's voice would dip down and harden when he was particularly agitated. The stomping of boots in sand carries its way across the southwest landscape, and John is forcibly reminded of a moment lost to time, achingly similar and violently different. The unrelenting cold of the desert night is replaced with a dewy morning chill, Javier's hoarse swears are intoxicating rather than threatening, cold grass crunches beneath naked bodies in a frantic and needy moment of passion. A hammer clicks, and John is back in New Austin again. Javier's lip is curled, eyes squinted, body completely relaxed, looking how he always did before a shootout, and John realizes he's going to die.

John closes his eyes and prepares for the inevitable, silently apologizing to Abigail and Jack, but the moment never comes.

"John?" For the bares of seconds, it looks like Javier is going to lower the revolver. His mouth hangs slightly open, and John does not think he's imagining the crack in his old friend's voice. But Javier keeps his gun pointed right at John's chest, probably aiming for the same place John's finally regained the sense to aim for on him. John's just glad he's not the only one shaking anymore.

"Javier," John says after a while, by way of greeting. He doesn't know how he manages to get the word out around the knot in his throat. "Been a while."

"Not long enough," Javier spits out, a reflex. It's strange, to see him lash out and falter now - Javier was always cool under fire. But then, you don't really expect to see phantoms out on your daily travels. Maybe they're both a little spooked.

"What you been up to?" John asks as casually as he can, and Javier barks out a bitter laugh, grip tightening on his revolver.

"Go to hell, John," he says, all venom. The wind picks up, blowing gently past John's ear, and it could almost be a lover whispering for him to stay just a little longer, they've not got work to do yet. John shakes it off.

"I got a right to ask, unlike you," John continues, taking a tentative step forward. Javier matches him. "I tried to warn y'all. I really did." Javier says nothing, just frowning more deeply. His hair is longer, John decides, than the last time they met. His mustache remains, of course, though his clothes are unkempt, and he looks like he could use a bath. John banishes the concern that unfurls in his mind, the ridiculous worry that no one has been caring for Javier all these years. It shouldn't matter. It doesn’t matter.

"You with a new gang down here now, is that it?" John tries again. Javier spits at the ground.

"You really think I'd run with those Del Lobo fuckers?" The thought genuinely seems to disgust Javier, which is a relief - but John can't keep his next words from spilling out.

"They seem like spineless, cold-hearted bastards is all. Figured, hell, you'd fit right in." It's low and unnecessary - John knows it, Javier knows it, but they're both too angry to care.

"Fuck you," Javier hisses. Then, again, for good measure, he adds, "Fuck you, you sack of shit. You coward."

"I'm the coward?" John repeats incredulously, fury making itself present in the form of spit gathering at the corner of his mouth like some kind of madman. "I'm the coward? You left me for dead you son of a bitch!"

"I didn't know!" Javier roars back. John tells himself there must be desert dust in his eye, that's why Javier's gone blurry all of a sudden. "Dutch told us you were dead, John! There wasn't time! We all believed it, even Arthur-" And oh, these memories, they're too painful.

"Don't you say his fucking name," John grits out. Javier quiets himself, anger visibly fading, just a little. "Don't you ever say his name." There is silence then, between them, no sound but the shifting desert sands and labored pants of their breathing. Even that is something John is intimately familiar with - he knows exactly how Javier's heart beats, no matter how many times he tries to forget.

"I'm sorry, about how it turned out with him," Javier offers eventually. His gun does not waver. John finds himself furious all over again.

"Just with him?" Javier's head tilts to one side at the question. His eyes roam John's body without any of the tenderness or searing passion they might've had eight years ago.

"Yeah," Javier says finally, seemingly reaching a decision on something. "Just with him. Arthur was sick-"

"I said, don't say his name-”

"Arthur was sick!" Javier continues, shouting over John's protests. "He didn't have a choice, he was dying! You chose to leave, John!"

"When will you get it through your head you goddamn fool!" John demands, and he feels so, so young. "Dutch - Dutch had lost his mind, and Micah was pushing him over the edge! I wasn't gonna keep my family around for that, Javier. I didn't have a death wish."

"Maybe so," Javier replies coldly. "Maybe you didn't. But I'm thinking you do now. I'm the faster shot, John. You know that."

"So you always said," John growls, his anger simmering just below the surface. "We never really got a chance to put that to the test. Holster your weapon. We'll do this properly." John almost regrets the demand - there's nothing to say Javier isn't a coward these days, that he won't take advantage of John's natural inclination toward a fair fight. But Javier reacts on instinct, too, it would seem, holding his free hand out, palm open to John, to show he has nothing in it, his other hand slowly replacing his revolver in its pouch as John does the same. John feels the heavy metal slide into its place at his hip, and then he and Javier are staring each other down, unarmed, equals in a barren, lonely land.

If he were a better man, maybe John wouldn't want so desperately to crash into Javier, to hurtle forward with desperate, scrabbling passion, and forget the whole thing. But perhaps it is enough that he doesn't do that, that he puts Jack and Abigail and Charles and Sadie and even Uncle first. Killing Javier won't be easy, but it's the hard, necessary thing that will protect this tentative peace they've built.

John breathes in, fingers dancing over his own revolver, eyes locked on Javier, and lets every memory they ever made together rush in and fill him up. The joy and laughter after a successful job. The tired frustration of a long trek to safety. The unparalleled beauty of Javier's lazy smile after he'd made John come completely undone with little more than his hands and mouth. John exhales, hard, letting his chest deflate entirely, and letting go of the life of sweet indulgence he and Javier once shared beside smoldering campfires.

Shooting a man is second nature to John at this point, and no, he ain't proud of the fact, but it certainly comes in handy once in a while. When John looks at Javier, he tells himself he's shooting at a stranger, and it just about makes the task bearable.

John draws at the same time as Javier. He takes aim faster than you can blink, and he lodges two bullets in the chest of the man he once loved. Javier hits the ground hard, head falling back and knocking against the desert sand with a resounding thud. He does not cry out, does not reach for his chest to clutch at the brand new gaping holes near his heart. John's entire body thrums, fingertips cold and fuzzy-feeling.

Javier is down. The threat to his family has been eliminated. Despite himself, John cannot shake the image of Javier's pistol, unholstered at precisely the same time as John's, aimed skyward, far and away from where it should have been pointing.

John bows his head, and steadfastly refuses to wipe the tears at the corners of his eyes, lest he admit they’re there at all. He does not say goodbye, and he does not collect the body, and he does not puzzle over the fact that, for the second time in his life, Javier has refused to kill him. John turns back to Rachel, who sniffs at the ground some 10 feet away and seems entirely unbothered by her master’s recent duel. He will ride back home and kiss Abigail tonight, his plans to seek out a bounty job from Sheriff Freeman on hold, for now, and he will do his best not think about the way Javier looked about ready to cry as they’d made their final decisions just moments ago.

John has one foot in the stirrup, one unsteady boot still in the sand, and is absolutely refusing to let himself grieve when a low, mournful groan carries its way across the desert and has his head whipping back in disbelief.

"Escuella?" John calls out, sure he must have imagined the sound. There is silence again, little more than a faint breeze against the underbrush, and the skittering of small lizards seeking to escape the immediate vicinity.

Then again, quieter, a pained moan echoes in the night, and John is riding over to Javier before he can think twice about it. Sure enough, the man is alive, if only barely, his face scrunched up in pain, color draining fast. John hops down from Rachel and crouches over Javier, examining him despite his mare's snort of disinterest.

"Just a minute girl," John mutters, unbuttoning Javier's vest with fumbling fingers, tearing at the shirt beneath where blood blooms in deep red petals, exposing a scarred and heaving chest. Javier groans again, a weak, agonized sound.

"Shh, shh," John whispers, his voice soft, soothing. In less dire circumstances, John might’ve found the natural way he comforts Javier disconcerting, the soft, tender tone in his voice returning as smoothly as feet into worn old boots, but there is no time to question his instincts. John just unbuttons his flannel and tears off pieces with a knife, stuffing them in the holes he’s created that have somehow missed Javier's heart. Despite himself, John says silent words of thanks to the powers that be for forcing him to miss that most vital of organs - and refuses to consider for even a moment that it might've been intentional on his part.

Javier's eyelids flutter rapidly as John wraps what's left of the flannel around his old friend's body with some difficulty, tying it tightly enough to hurt in an effort to stem the blood flow. Rachel snorts again, and it's only after she stamps her feet that John realizes he already has Javier hoisted over his shoulder.

"You'll be alright, girl," John tells his mare as he lays Javier over her hind quarters, though she appears to strongly suspect otherwise. "You've carried heavier killers than this one."

Armadillo is the closest town as far as John can tell, just under two hours away, and bringing Javier there is as good as a death sentence. John doubts they even have any doctors left, at this point. Beecher's Hope, meanwhile, is just over two hours away. It's two hours away, and it's clean, and safe, and warm, and there are plenty of people there who know how to care for a man with a bullet hole or two.

"Let's go, lady," John tells Rachel, clicking his tongue and kicking at her sides to get her to trot. It'll be late by the time he and Javier get back to the ranch. With any luck, Jack will sleep clean through the chaos. Dressed down to his undershirt, John rides Rachel as fast as he’s able back to his home.

-

-

-

"I need help here!" John calls out, voice scratchier than usual thanks to the grit and sand lodged in his throat - damn place never truly leaves you. "Can I get some help?" He's sliding off his horse before she's fully stopped, letting Rachel trot away as he gingerly removes Javier, whose only noise now comes from the slow, labored wheeze of his breathing. Charles, naturally, is the first to appear, running toward him without hesitation or fear. It must be near two in the morning, and the night is dark enough to obscure Javier's identity from a distance.

"Skinners?" Charles asks, no doubt assuming John's found a surviving victim of the local gang’s terror. If only it were that simple. John doesn't answer, instead letting Charles grab Javier's legs, and nearly ducking to catch his limp body as Charles almost drops him, recognition shocking the sturdy man to his core.

"John..." John shakes his head. There's nothing he can say, no questions he can answer, and, fortunately, Charles understands, or at least accepts as much for now.

"The barn," John decides. "Abigail won't want him in the house." Won't want him in the house, with their boy, still so young and always shying from violence. John's stomach turns at the thought of Jack seeing good old Uncle Javier again, and not for the first time, he regrets his decision to bring the man here.

"He needs clean water," Charles says firmly, meeting John's eyes rather than daring to look down at their mutual friend. When John hesitates, Charles adds, "He's no threat to anyone right now. We'll bring him out to the barn later." Swallowing thickly, John nods his agreement, just as a dim light appears on the front porch, and Abigail's outline raises a hand to him.

"Did I hear someone say Skinners?" she asks, concern lacing her voice. "Bring him here, we'll fix him up ’til we can get a doctor." Charles and John exchange dark glances, before nodding to one another and doing just as Abigail's said. They walk Javier awkwardly over to the homestead, passing by Abigail as she waves them along, lantern in one hand, the light not quite spilling over Javier's face until they're safely inside. Abigail looks upon Javier properly for the first time, and swears.

"John Marston," she gasps, white as a ghost, eyes wide and darting immediately over to Jack's room. "What in god's name were you thinking?"

"He's dying, Abigail," John pleads, as if that makes any difference. Charles has left them alone to find hot water and some clean rags, and the candlelight in the early morning hours throws Abigail's face into something young and terrified. So many ghosts from their past returning, and all of them friendly, until now. "Help me save him."

"Don't know why I should," his wife mutters, but even as she says it she's unwrapping the makeshift tourniquet he's tied around Javier's chest and stripping away the blood-soaked rags. "I'll get a needle and some thread. Clean the area - tell Charles Uncle hides some whiskey under the sink. We'll need it." His woman, his stern, courageous, blessed woman, rushes off to seek out her sewing kit, and John falls just a little bit more in love with her. But Javier is grimacing in pain, and the task at hand demands John’s attention once again.

“We’ll fix you up,” John whispers as Charles returns, whiskey already in hand - fortunately, they’re all familiar with Uncle’s hiding places. "I promise." Javier relaxes some, head in John's lap, and they could be anywhere right now - on a riverbank, listening to the sounds of crickets chirping as they discuss what they might do with money from a really good score, or maybe in a field of flowers, sunshine pouring down as they nap through a lazy morning. How many times have they held each other just like this?

"John," Charles calls, forcing John to float back to reality, touching down hard as he sees just how pale Javier's warm, brown skin has gotten. Abigail returns with the sewing kit, Charles readies the whiskey, and John forces his belt in Javier's mouth.

Abigail sighs as she kneels in front of Javier. “Don’t know what he did to deserve saving.” John shrinks back at the comment, guilt radiating off of him like sunburn, but Abigail doesn’t send so much a cool glance his way, just tells Charles to pour the whiskey, and winces when Javier lets out a muffled scream.

“Pa?” comes a tired voice. Jack stands in his bedroom doorway, frightened.

“Go back to bed, son,” John orders, even as he holds down Javier’s writhing body. Fortunately, Jack does as he’s told, scooting inside quickly and taking Rufus with him, slamming the door shut. Abigail, who did not so much as spare her boy a passing glance, grunts as she works, speaking to Charles, maybe, or maybe to nobody at all.

“What is it?” John asks, afraid of her answer. Abigail, beautiful and merciless, scowls at him in response.

“I said, the bastard’ll live, whether he likes it or not,” says Abigail, needle held securely between her calloused fingers. “I’m done with folk dying, John Marston, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” John replies shakily. He holds Javier a little tighter, and his wife begins her work.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (1)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, the first splinter in the wall around Bucky’s heart 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

This was a bad idea. A monumentally bad idea.  

Bucky closed his apartment door behind him, pausing for a moment at the top of brownstone steps as a chill of autumn air swept by. Brittle to the touch, cool on his skin, it nestled into his spine and ached deep in his bones— in ones that had been long abandoned, too. The sun reflected against the shine of the pavement from last night’s rainfall, forcing Bucky to squint his eyes.  

Was it always so bright outside? Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t left his apartment for nearly a week before Sam threatened to turn him over to Steve that he’d forgotten how unpleasant the streets of New York could be. Loud. Cold. Chaotic.

He stepped onto the sidewalk, slipping out of the path of a jogger who nearly ran him over and had the gull to flip him the bird. Bucky groaned, curling his right hand into a fist and digging it deep into his pocket as he tried to calm the sudden racing in his chest. The free arm of his army jacket swung down by his left side, empty.  

Not even a few steps outside the sanctuary of closed curtains, warm bedsheets, and the unattended static of a decade old television, and Bucky was already regretting ever knowing Sam Wilson.  

Bucky turned towards the busy street ahead, staring up at the hustle of pedestrians and rush of taxis for a moment longer before he dared to take a step. His feet felt remarkably heavy and he had more than half a mind to tell Wilson to shove it and head back up to his apartment. He had better things to do than make a completely unnecessary trip to the VA.  

What those things were, he couldn’t say, but they didn’t make his heart feel like it was about to beat straight out of his chest. He could stare at a wall for a few hours, for example – see if he could find the crack in the drywall again and follow it to the ceiling.  

“Don't be a coward, Barnes,” Bucky grumbled to himself, earning a strange look from an elderly woman as she passed by. Her eyes held on him longer than she should; clearly a woman who had little shame in her degradation of strangers. 

He gritted his teeth and commanded his legs to move. Those worked, at least.  

As he made his way to the main street, his palm started to sweat inside his pocket. He could see his breath in every tense exhale, and still, he was boiling hot under his jacket. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d remove it, because even with a sleeve hanging loose off his shoulder, he could at least keep up the pretense there was something inside. People would have to look twice before they realized. Wasn’t so easy to hide a missing arm in a short sleeve shirt.  

Still—he was thankful as he weaved his way upstream through the crowd that he wasn’t as broad as he used to be. A couple months' worth of weight loss, diminished muscle mass, and one less limb will do that do a guy.  

He used to be the sort of man that women would glance at as he passed by. Charming smile. Infectious energy. He could make a woman bite shamelessly at the edge of her bottom lip with a single trail of his eyes along her figure. Extend a hand, offer a drink and a dance. He used to hold confidence in every ounce of his body.  

Now, he kept his eyes on the pavement. He hid from the sun and the curious looks of strangers under the brim of a baseball cap. No one looked twice in his direction. He was invisible these days and that was just the way he liked it.  

By the time he reached the VA, he was surprised to find it a little less than pristine. The windows were dirty with handprints and smudges, the window panes covered in soot. A few of the roofing panels were missing from harsh New York winters. Even some of the outer brick wall had seen some weathering.  

Though, if he were honest, it wasn’t usual at all. Made some sense that the VA was left to wash and wear on its own, deteriorating in front of a busy street of onlookers, right out in plain sight. It was how Bucky felt after he’d come home from his last tour— discarded. Placed upon a pedestal, but only as long as you wear the uniform, only as long as you’re staring down the other end of a barrel. Once you’re shipped back home and cast out from desert, you’re made to fend for yourself. Pull up your bootstraps. Adjust.

Bucky wasn’t sure how to do that anymore. Sam insisted this would help. The people at the VA were good, he’d said. They were like him. They’d understand.  

While Bucky was suspicious, it was enough to drag him a couple blocks from his apartment. It was more than he’d done in weeks anyway. Sam would put on his makeshift shrink hat and call that a meaningful step. Bucky would call it pathetic.  

He stared at the double doors, focusing on dark red rust on the metal hinges. He wondered if he put enough pressure on the latch if it would snap clean off. It looked sharp on the edges, too. Someone could easily cut themselves on it if they weren’t careful—

BEEEEEEP!

A jolt surged through Bucky’s chest enough to nearly knocked him off his feet.  

Sudden flashes of a sweltering heat, the unnatural vibration of the desert under his feet. The car horn echoed into the back of his head, longer than it should have, and his ears started to ring. His vision felt tunneled and Bucky quickly stumbled his way through the double doors just to escape the blare of the horn outside.  

It took a minute to adjust to the dim lighting. It was darker inside than what he was expecting. He blinked a few times, hand resting on the wall to hold his balance as he looked around, shaking himself from the memories.  

Lamps were spread throughout the common room to offset the abrasive overhead lighting left untouched. Bucky started to wonder if he maybe it was on purpose, if he wasn’t the only one who had become sensitive to these things, when Sam walked into the room.  

He froze.  

“Holy shit!” Sam’s mouth rose up into that goddamn know-it-all smile, wide enough to show teeth and the dimples in his cheeks, and Bucky winced. Sam started to laugh as he crossed the space to where Bucky was standing. “I didn’t think you’d actually come!”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugged, “I’m here. Don’t make this a big thing.”

“Who me?” Sam scoffed, feigning offense. “You know Steve’s the one who’s going to blow this up. He might throw a welcome party if you ever show up to the support group.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s not happening.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Sam nodded, though he was still smiling. He looked almost... proud? It didn’t sit well in Bucky’s stomach. “Still, got you out of that cramped apartment, didn’t I? You open those curtains yet or are you still living like a vampire?”

Bucky glared at him. Sure, Sam was right... but he didn’t need to know that.  

“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Sam put a hand on Bucky’s back to guide him down the hall.  

He was only one of two people Bucky tolerated touching him at all and he was lucky he didn’t flinch anymore. Even an innocent touch from his own mother when she tried to hold his hand after he came back from his final tour had nearly left him in a panic attack. She’d cried as Bucky desperately tried to gather his breath, shoving her away as if she’d burned him.  

Sam and Steve didn’t give him much of a choice. They didn’t handle him with kid gloves or treat him like he was about to break. Even if he was splintering at the seams, you’d never be able to tell with how Sam and Steve were around him; like old times, like nothing had changed, like they were still three kids dressed in fresh uniforms with chips on their shoulders and a whole new world ahead of them.

After a while, the small pats on the back and the nudges in his side became a small comfort; not that he’d tell them. It was a strange feeling to both be repulsed by touch and crave it. But the topic didn’t come up much these days outside of his friends anyway. No one tried to touch him and he didn’t seek it out. It was easier that way.  

“The kitchen’s over here,” Sam said as he pointed into a room that had likely once been covered in white tiles and appliances, though now resembled more of a pale yellow. Two men were hunched over at the table, nursing coffee out of Styrofoam cups as a woman waited eagerly by a toaster.  

“Everything in there is free rein,” Sam added. “Always stocked with food from donations, though I would make sure to check the expirations on the milk before adding it to your coffee.” He shivered at an unpleasant memory and Bucky found the edge of his mouth curl, though he suppressed it rather quickly. 

The next room was mostly empty save for the wooden lined floors and chairs folded up against the wall. A sheet covered the small window peering inside that read ‘group in session when closed.’

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sam started, to which Bucky narrowed his eyes, “but I’m not going to force you into the support group, Buck. You go when you’re ready. If you ever are. Talking about this stuff, or even listening to it... it isn't for everybody. Steve will get that, too. We all find our outlets eventually. You’ll find yours, too.”  

Bucky nodded, a swell of relief in his chest. He’d been forced into a mental evaluation by the army docs shortly after his discharge; something about routine testing, but he knew what they were looking for – what all those shrinks were looking for – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  

The nightmares came first, soon after he’d returned to the States. It started in screams that burned deep into his throat, waking up neighbors at two in the morning, finding blood in his bed from injuries he’d caused in his sleep. Lately they’d manifested into sweat drenched in his sheets and a heart rate that couldn’t seem to even out until the sun rose.  

Then came the jumpiness – the flinching at every loud noise, thinking it was a bomb or the latch of a safety. He’d broken more glasses than he cared to admit, knocking them straight of his hand at the sound of a gunshot on the television.  

Then the paranoia settled in, then the hypervigilance. The anxiety in crowds and tight spaces was new, though. Add it to the list, he supposed.  

Through all of it, he never let the shrink catch on. He’d put on a smile and tell them he was proud of his service, that he’d serviced his country with honor and he was thankful to return to the civilian side of things for a change.  

It was bullshit.  

He was pissed. He lost an arm and half his mind to a war that recruited him young and idealistic right out of high school, when he was looking for a better life than what his neighborhood could offer, to put food on the table for his ma and sister. Pissed was understated.  

He wouldn’t find himself in Steve’s group; of that he was certain. You don’t talk about those things after you leave the desert. Hell, you barely acknowledge them while you’re there. It’s just how it works. It’s how you deal with it. Bucky didn’t allow himself to consider whether his method was doing him much better.

Sam walked him through the common areas, the lounge space, even a room with a pretty decent sized television and a shelf filled with DVDs. It was a nice enough place. Quiet. But so was his apartment.  

“Now this is the best room in the house.” Sam opened a door on his left, the hinges squeaking under an old wooden frame as he stepped inside.  

Bucky followed in closely behind and was surprised when a subtle scent of pine brushed his senses. A small candle was burning at the center of a coffee table, surrounding it were a few couches, all with mismatched fabrics, laid upon a carpet that looked to have been donated from an estate sale. The walls around him were lined with shelves, though they were completely empty. Cob webs hung in the corners and dust lined the wood.  

What caught his eye was a single cart at the edge of the room. It was filled with books, all in bright colors on the binding and tags from the Brooklyn Public Library piled high on top of one another, far beyond the confines of the cart itself.  

“Y/n? Where you at, kid? We got a newbie!” Sam called, nudging Bucky in the side with a playful wink he did not return.  

A figure suddenly jumped from behind the couch with a book in hand covered in layers of dust and crumbs. The sudden movement forced a flinch deep in Bucky’s chest, his breath held tight in his lungs, though he kept himself firm on the surface, like stone. It took a minute before he realized how tight he’d barreled his fist and he slowly released his grip before Sam could notice.  

“Been looking for this one for over a year!” you exclaimed, holding up the book for Sam to see. You brushed off the cover, restoring the original vibrant hue of the artwork. “Can’t even imagine the overdue fees I’ve racked up on this sucker...”

There was a strange lightness in your voice Bucky didn’t expect, a tenderness and a sunshine that didn’t belong amongst the dark overcast of the men and women who occupied these rooms. It certainly sat in dangerous contrast to the gravel and stone in Bucky’s voice and the clouds that usually followed in his wake.

He glanced down at his clothes as you approached; a pair of old ripped jeans from a few years ago, a faded t-shirt, and his army jacket hung over his shoulders. Dull and raggedy, ripping at the seams.

But you? Dressed in the warmest shade of a red knit sweater, a gentle glow on your cheeks, a softness about your movements, you resembled the sort of sunset at the end of a highway one would stop the car to capture on film. Inviting. Tender and ethereal. Lovely.  

You stepped closer and he noticed the knees of your jeans were covered in dust, your palms too. Messy in the pursuit of happiness, like a child on a playground. You didn’t seem to mind the dust as you brushed it off your knees, holding the found book close to your chest like an extension of your own heart.

“Blame it on Lang. He's always losing stuff around here,” Sam offered as you set the book on the cart. You started to laugh and swatted Sam in the arm. A pout perched on your lips, though it didn’t seem to last long. Your laugh was infectious.  

Bucky swallowed as he watched you; the way your smile wrinkled up into your eyes as if a face like yours was drawn and designed to curve at the lips and push dimples to your cheeks. It shined into the bright hues in your irises and Bucky wondered if you would keep smiling like that forever, if it were possible that he could stare into the sun and not be burned; if instead, he could find warmth in its embrace.  

His heart stammered, his breath shallow, but it wasn’t unpleasant like it had been on the busy streets. It was something new, a sensation he hadn’t had since before he signed his name to a cause that took his arm and his dignity.  

Y/n, Sam had called you. It was a beautiful name. He didn’t know if he could even find things beautiful again after what he’d seen overseas. You were the first, he supposed.  

He must have been staring too long, because your lips were moving to words he didn’t hear, and suddenly two pairs of eyes were on him. His heart skipped, frozen in embarrassment.  

“This must be your first day of school,” you teased, extending your right hand to him.  

Bucky stared down at it, heart pounding, and before Sam could politely tell you that Bucky didn’t really do that sort of thing, he pulled his hand from his pocket and shook it. You had a firmer grip than he was expecting, but still soft. Your fingers were like ice and it was a nice contrast to the swelter he felt under his jacket.  

Sam raised an eyebrow, surprised by Bucky's sudden willingness to take the hand of a stranger, though thankfully he didn’t say anything. A shit eating grin curved up upon his lips and that, Bucky could have done without.  

“Thought it was time I checked it out,” Bucky said, his voice a little dry. You let go of his hand and Bucky found he missed the contact almost instantly.  

“Dragged him here by the skin of his teeth is more like it,” Sam interjected and Bucky’s ears burned red. He shot Sam a glare, who only shrugged, unbothered by his humiliation of his friend. “Been trying to get his sorry ass through the door for a few months now.”

You nodded, though your smile never wavered. Your eyes remained on Bucky, listening to Sam, but intently studying the lines on Bucky’s face. It left him feeling exposed, but somehow, even as his own gaze trailed to the floor, he didn’t mind you watching him like that, like maybe you found worth in what you saw. He adjusted his stance, suddenly remembering the startling absence on his left.  

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” you said, brushing Sam off in his teasing. “I’ve been volunteering at this place for a little over a year. We got good people here. I’m sure you’ll fit right in...” you paused, biting on your lip.  

“Bucky,” he offered because he could tell you were waiting for it. You smiled at his name and a sense of pride burned bright in his chest. God, if he could just make you smile like that again...

“Bucky’s a cool name,” you grinned, though Sam rolled his eyes. “That short for something?”

“Don’t lie to the new kid, Y/n. We all know it’s corny as hell,” Sam interrupted playfully before Bucky could get a word in. You wacked Sam on the shoulder and Bucky felt the edges of his lips curve. It felt strange, achy, like he hadn’t done that in a while. Maybe he hadn’t.  

“Buchanan,” Bucky answered, though he quickly added, “but my first name’s James. James Barnes.”

“Well, James Barnes,” you started, exchanging a knowing look with Sam that made Bucky’s stomach twist in knots, “I run a book club of sorts on Sunday evenings around six. You should swing by. We’re always looking for new members.”

“Y/n works at the Brooklyn library most days,” Sam explained. “We’re lucky to have her. Never thought I’d see so many tattooed men with biceps the size of my head sitting in a circle talking ‘bout books, but Y/n works magic. Everyone loves her. Helps that her book club is pretty unconventional.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Unconventional?”

Sam started to say more, but you pouted your lips at him and he left the words on the edge of his tongue. He held up his hands in defense and took a step back, returning the smile to your face.  

“Don’t listen to him,” you said, laughing so sweetly Bucky was sure his knees might give out at any second. “It’s a good time, I promise. No pressure at all.”

Bucky nodded, considering his options. The idea of seeing you again could make the walk down to the VA worth it, but he wasn’t sold on the concept of sitting in a room full of ex-combat vets probably using a shared book as a proxy for a support group. He wondered if you had them reading something about PTSD or adjusting to civilian life or a memoir of some guy embellishing his time overseas to make a quick buck.  

But he wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, so he asked, “what are you reading?”  

You shrugged. “Depends on who you ask.”  

Bucky raised an eyebrow, confused.  

“Just think about it,” you suggested as you unclicked the lock at the bottom of the cart. The front wheel was broken and you struggled to get an angle to move in the direction you pushed it. “I should head back to the library. It was really nice to meet you, Bucky. I’ll see you later, Sam.”

Bucky nodded, finding himself searching for something else to say, some kind of excuse to get you to stay longer, but came up empty. You smiled at him, all bright and starry eyed, and his knees felt weak again. Shit.  

“Don’t let Stark talk your ear off on the way out,” Sam warned, a laugh in his voice.  

“I think I know my boys around here by now, Samuel,” you teased back. Bucky couldn’t quite tell if it was a pang of jealousy in his stomach or an eagerness to be included. It was a strange rush of feelings he hadn’t tapped into in years; not necessarily unpleasant, but certainly unfamiliar.  

You paused by the door, turning back and capturing Bucky’s eye one last time. “Sunday at six, alright? I’ll see you there.”

He didn’t say anything, but you seemed to take his silence as confirmation. You gave him a final wave before you disappeared into the hallway. He could hear the click of the broken front wheel on your cart echoing down the hall.  

Bucky and Sam followed you out of the room and hung back by the makeshift library doors.  

“What did I tell you!” Sam cheered, nudging Bucky hard enough on the side to knock him off his balance. He was too fixated on watching grumpy old men and stone-faced women pass by in the hallway with smiles on their faces as they saw you.  

“It’s, uh, it’s not bad.” Bucky waited until you disappeared out the front doors and onto the busy sidewalks before he turned to Sam. He was watching him with a sort of I-told-you-so look that made Bucky want to slap the dimples straight from his face. “...what?”

“Nothing, man.” Sam shrugged, though there was something lingering in the smirk he wore, like maybe he knew something Bucky didn’t.  

He didn’t care for that one bit.

[helliontherapscallion]

Who? (Forlorn Tale of Dionysus Part 2)

Part 1

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 2,843

(A/N): I’m not exactly sure if this will continue any further, this was just a fun little thing I had in my drafts for a while after some interesting convos in my discord server (which you totally should join, it’s a vibe). This is lowkey word vomit, but eh. This is all strictly platonic btw

“Michael, are you sure you saw a house out here? I really don’t think-” You were interrupted by your much shorter friend yanking on your sleeve to get your attention. You looked down at him in question and watched as he raised his hands.

‘I am sure I saw that house, (y/n)! It is here somewhere.’ 

You fiddled with the sleeves of your thick coat with unease, “alright, but if we don’t find it soon I wanna head back. Uncle Boo and Uncle Tubbo are probably going to start to worry.”

Michael huffed at the mention of his parents. You knew how overbearing they were, causing your friend to crave new experiences and adventures. You’d known him for a couple of years now and he was rebelling more with each passing day. You could relate slightly, Philza and Technoblade had hardly let you out of the house without another person to accompany you. You never really understood why, you were almost thirteen now so you should be able to explore what you want. 

An excited squeal left your friend’s mouth before he started to pull you towards something in the distance, startling you out of your trance. You matched his pace with ease and felt nervous excitement tingle in your chest. 

As you got closer, you could make out small details of the cabin. It was a simple small cabin built out of spruce planks with glass windows and a brick chimney, but you liked it. It strangely felt homey. 

You pulled Michael into a nearby shrub underneath a window and peered in. The interior was also as simplistic as the outside was, looking untouched and tidy as if nobody was living there. You could see that the ceilings were taller than average, perhaps a hybrid of some sort lived here? 

Michael tapped your shoulder, ‘it doesn’t look like anybody’s home right now. Let’s go in.’ 

You opened your mouth to object before the sight of his set jaw and his eyes dead set on something inside made you close it. You learned from experience that when he was this determined, there was no stopping him. You sighed, “fine, but the second we get caught, it was your idea.” 

You both made your way to the front door. Without a second thought, Michael twisted the doorknob and swung the door open. A startled snort left his throat as he stumbled inside, making you put a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. He jabbed the side of your lower torso, ‘shut up, I thought it was going to be locked.’

He pulled you inside and you both explored the living room. Bookshelves and portraits lined the walls, a single large couch sat off to the side, and the fireplace mantle was lined with a few small golden hooks. Michael made a beeline towards it, admiring the metal. It seems that’s what he saw that made him so determined to get inside. You hoped that he wouldn’t steal them and explored the area further. 

The portraits on the walls were a slight shock to you, they all included some people that you could recognize; in one you could make out a picture of younger versions of Ranboo, Philza, Technoblade, and Niki. Technoblade and Philza were sparring with shining golden swords while Ranboo and Niki sat in the grass on a hill watching with interest. Maybe this was just one of their old cabins? 

You saw people that you didn’t recognize as well. Namely a cat hybrid with striking sapphire blue eyes, a man seemingly human (you say seemingly because your eyes caught sight of pointed ears) wearing a white bandana keeping his jet black hair out of his face, a tall man with green freckles and a creeper mask, an anthropomorphic diamond block with beady black eyes and a wide smile, and a man that looked strangely like Ghostbur except he was wearing a uniform of some sort. However, a demon quickly caught your eye and made your heart leap for joy. There was someone out there that was like you! 

The man looked kind, always wearing a cheery smile and occasionally waving at the camera. He was tall and lanky, always towering over the others by a considerable amount. That made sense, Philza had told you that demons were naturally very tall when you asked him why you were growing faster than Michael when the zombie piglin was two years older than you were. Large wings and horns akin to yours sprouted from his back and head respectively. If he wasn’t constantly smiling, you would’ve thought that he was malevolent. 

You heard the rapid footsteps of Michael’s boots behind you as you turned around. You bounced on the balls of your feet excitedly, “Michael look, another demon! Do you think he lives here?”

You watched as he shrugged and pulled you towards the kitchen. ‘I don’t know, but look! There’s another demon that looks exactly like you!’ 

On the kitchen table surrounded by various trinkets (bottles of wine, gold bricks, stale bread, and the decomposed remains of flower crowns and bouquets being the majority of the items) laid a framed picture of said demon lazily smiling and looking off to the side. Michael was right, they looked exactly like you except at least a decade older. Everything matched your physical features to a tee; from the red accents on their black wings to the way they smiled, it was like they were your clone. The only thing of yours that they were missing was the three circular birthmarks on your forehead. It was eerily uncanny. 

Your eyes widened before you snatched the picture off from the table, studying them further. If you squinted, you could see that there was someone barely in frame. You flipped the frame around and took out the picture, unfolding it. In the picture was your adopted father and adopted uncles and aunt. What was going on? If they knew the demon, why didn’t they ever tell you about them? 

‘Woah, that was smart. Do you think you might be related to them or something?’ He tilted his head before he perked up, ‘could they be one of your biological parents?’ 

“Maybe, but if they were, why didn’t my dad tell me about them? I… have a right to know about them, right?”

He nodded firmly, ‘you definitely do. It’s kind of fucked up they haven’t told you anything about them.’ 

“Yeah, it is. Do you think something bad happened to them?... Oh shit, is this a memorial?” You hurriedly refolded the picture and put it back into its frame. 

Michael’s eyes widened and flickered around the table at the trinkets before he fished out two gold bars from his pocket and placed them onto the table. You crossed your arms, “what the fuck man?” 

‘I thought they wouldn’t miss a few pieces of gold! You would’ve done the same thing if you were a piglin,’ he defended himself before he paused and shuddered, ‘we’re in a dead person’s house, that’s creepy… What if their ghost is right behind us?’ 

You spun around and put yourself slightly in front of Michael, your heart beating in your throat. Nothing was there. Michael snorted, making you slap his arm, “not cool, man.” 

You were about to stomp off until a piece of paper caught your eye. It was a drawing of this person done in messy purple crayon, probably done by a very young child. It was signed by a Michael. 

You turned to the wheezing zombie piglin and patiently waited for him to stop laughing. When he did, you showed him the picture, “did you draw this? Did you know them?”

He scrunched up his brow in concentration, squinting at the paper. Eventually he shook his head slowly, ‘I don’t think so. At least I don’t remember drawing it… This is getting weird.’ 

You nodded in agreement, putting the drawing back onto the counter. You walked towards the stairs and climbed them. They creaked under your foot loudly, a part of you was scared that you would fall through them. It was clear they haven’t been used in some time. 

They led to a small loft, the ceiling coming to a point far overhead. A part of you was glad that this stranger (relative? Parent?) was a demon, it wasn’t often that you found lofts that fit all six and a half feet of you. 

Like the rest of the house, it was very simplistic. A gigantic bed laid in the center of the furthest wall, made neatly with multiple fluffy blankets, part you was tempted to catapult yourself onto it. On the nightstand next to it sat a redstone lamp and a frosted glass of water, cracks spider webbing up the sides presumably from the cold. 

You opened the lone drawer and discovered a book. Upon further inspection, you discovered that it was a journal with the name (y/n) written inside the cover. So this person had your name as well as your looks? This merely raised more questions than answers, so you slid the book into a pocket in your coat to read later. Under the book laid another picture of them posing with the strange group of people from the portraits downstairs. The de- (y/n) looked younger there. On the back, the word family was written and it was dated to be about twenty years old. You also pocketed the picture.

Michael walked over to the window and looked out at the vast tundra only to squeal in alarm. He ran over to you and pulled you downstairs. You looked out the window only to yelp when you saw a few crows standing on the window sill staring at you with their beady eyes. 

You and Michael ran out of the house as fast as the both of you could, the snow being slightly tough to run through for the five and a half foot tall zombie piglin. You could hear the crows following you overhead. After a while of running, you both finally got back to Snowchester and raced past Ranboo and Tubbo. You hid in Michael’s room with the curtains tightly drawn. 

You sat on his bed with your legs crossed and your back pressed up against the headboard. You let your head bang against the wall and you ran your hand down your face. “We’re fucked, dude. We’re literally so fucked.”

‘Uncle Phil’s still out of town so it’ll probably be a few days until they find out.’ Michael plopped next to you, panting and trying to regain his breath. “Still, we’re gonna be in so 

much trouble for going that far out. I didn’t think my dad’s crows were still here.”

‘Might as well read the journal you found before we get grounded.’

You nodded and took out the journal, flipping it open to the first page. You both read the journal until it was dark outside and Michael was passed out on your shoulder. Subconsciously, you wrapped your wing around him as you read the journal. 

The other (y/n) acted like you did for the most part, the only differences between you two was the lack of swearing and the fact that they felt alone even when they were surrounded by people. Your family’s names were dropped several times, especially when they were talking about ‘The Syndicate’. The code names they used were after various Greek myths, leading you to believe that Technoblade was one of the founders of the anarchist group. 

You had learned that their family (potentially your family?) was strangely possessed by an egg and that they were previously possessed by said egg. They had a brother named Sapnap (your potential uncle?) that helped them escape to the tundra. It was there that they found the Syndicate, reminding you of the found family tropes you would read in books. The last journal entry detailed their last mission, how they were going to destroy the Eggpire from within and get their family back. That entry in particular gave you chills, even someone with half a brain could tell what happened to them after that. 

By the time you had closed the book, it was dawn and the sun was peeking out from behind the closed curtains. You shook Michael awake and stretched out your aching body. Your neck muscles protested movement, sending a wave of pain across the area. 

‘Damn, did you stay up all night reading that?’ 

“Of course I did, why wouldn’t I? I needed to find out about my biological parent somehow. I just- nothing makes sense, Michael.” You growled out, your voice deepening and distorting slightly as your frustration rose. 

‘Chill! You’ll figure it out soon, let’s just focus on staying under the radar.’ 

“Too late for that.” 

You both jumped and fell off the bed as you heard Philza’s voice. In the doorway, Philza stood with Ranboo, Tubbo, and Technoblade by his side, all looking equally angry and disappointed. Next to you, Michael shrunk in on himself and smiled sheepishly. He was about to raise his hands to sign, but a pointed look from Tubbo next to him told him that there was no getting out of this one. 

Behind the anger, you could tell that something changed about the way the four were looking at you. You couldn’t tell what emotion they were hiding, whether it be wariness, longing, sadness, or just more unleashed anger, but you could tell that they knew something you didn’t. If the frustration that overcame you when you were reading the journal at the lack of questions answered burned inside of you, then what you felt now was a blazing inferno. 

“We’re going home, grab your stuff (y/n).” 

After a short staredown with the older man, you huffed in anger and gathered your things into your bag. The entire time, tense silence filled the room. Your hands were shaking with the rage you felt searing every inch of you. You could hear the sharp flicking of your pointed tail cutting through the air and occasionally hitting objects near you. 

When you were done you stomped over to your adopted family and shouldered between Philza and Technoblade, speed walking down the hallway. They quickly caught up with you after saying a quick apology and a goodbye, Technoblade grabbing your arm and holding it in a vice grip. 

They led you out of the mansion and into the harsh winds of the tundra. It wasn’t until Snowchester was far off in the distance that Technoblade shook your arm, “what the hell were you thinking, going into someone else’s house like that! You don’t know who lived there, you could’ve gotten yourself and Michael killed!” 

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?” You ripped your arm out of his hold and spoke in a low voice, struggling to contain your full rage. “I have a goddamned right to know about them.” 

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Philza muttered out and resumed walking back towards your house. “You’re grounded when we get back, no flying or dueling lessons for two weeks.” 

“Of course you know what I’m talking about, Dad! Why are you hiding them from me? I have a right to know about my biological parent even if they’re dead!” 

They both halted in their tracks and glanced at each other in slight confusion. “What-”

“You know damn well who I’m talking about. Gods, I can’t believe you thought I’d never find out,” you laughed sardonically as your hand subconsciously gripped your growing horn. “(Y/n)! You know, the demon that lived in that house? The one that looks exactly like me?! Does that ring a bell or do I have to show you this?” 

You rummaged in your pocket and ripped out the picture, shoving it into Philza’s hands. Technoblade looked over his shoulder at what you gave him. You watched as their expressions turned blank when they saw the demon in the picture. 

Minutes passed with them continuing to stare down at the picture and you were slowly getting impatient. “Why did you never tell me about them? Why are you keeping me from them?!” 

Without looking up at you, Philza mumbled, “you weren’t supposed to find out about them. You were never supposed to find out.” 

“Do you have any idea how ambiguous that is? Just tell me who they are!” You could feel your eye twitch as your frustration grew. 

You could see the internal conflict on Philza’s face growing by the second before he dipped his head downwards and stalked off in the opposite direction of the house. You spread your wings to chase him in the air, but Technoblade’s hand on your upper arm stopped you from lifting off. 

When you looked up at him, the look of regret and sorrow etched into his features caught you by surprise. “Let him go, he needs to do some thinking… (y/n), do you know what reincarnation is?”

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Gender neutral reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part VIII

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They left the next day just after the sunrise broke watery through the clouds still lingering overhead, not wanting to overstay their welcome. The walk back to the nearby village was an easy one, the air still cool from the recent rain. The innkeeper hadn’t given their pre-paid room away to other guests despite the fact that they hadn’t used it for anything more than storage, which was a surprise. It was noon by the time they made it back, and they were easily able to secure the room for another evening so early in the day. Jaskier agreed to play at dinner, so they even managed to get a slightly reduced rate.

When they made it up to the room, Jaskier flopped immediately down on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. “Melitele, I could sleep for a week,” he groaned, slightly muffled. “I haven’t been this sore in years.”

“Good for you to finally get some exercise,” Geralt smirked as he checked on their belongings. Everything was where they’d left it, luckily. Geralt let out a breath of relief to see his potions all secure in their bag, the oathstone nestled amongst them.

Jaskier lifted his arm enough to glare at him. “As if walking day in and day out at your side isn’t work enough.”

“You’ve ridden Roach more than I have over the last week,” Geralt pointed out.

Jaskier put his arm down, head tilted to the side to look in Geralt’s direction. His hair spilled messily across the pale sheets. “I suppose I have,” he said, a small furrow appearing in his brow. The easy energy he’d had since they’d woken this morning was gone; now he seemed tense. His eyes lost their focus, his mind clearly going elsewhere.

Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to go and see if they have any contracts for me. We won’t be stopping much over the next few weeks.”

At this Jaskier refocused, curious. “Where are we going next? We have all the pieces for the ritual, right?”

Geralt nodded. “The last piece is a location. We’re going back to Posada.”

*

The journey from the Brokilon to the Blue Mountains was one of weeks, rather than days. At this time of year the River Sodden and her many roads were wide open, and they were able to easily pass south under the Mohakams. This far south, spring was already giving way to summer, the warm vestiges of the Nilfgaardian desert winds finding their way to the pockets and hills of Angren and Rivia.

It should have been a pleasant journey. It was one they’d taken many times before, once Nilfgaard was no longer an issue, and they were both well familiar with the area. They kept the river to their south and traveled during the cooler parts of the day, stopping often. The wide river offered a constant source of beauty and convenience, and they were able to wash and fish regularly. Rivia, though not Geralt’s home by any stretch of the imagination, was friendly and offered plenty of places for them to stop and rest at the halfway point.

It should have been downright delightful, but instead it was… tense. Jaskier was quiet and contemplative much of the time, reserved in a way Geralt had rarely known him to be. He barely touched his lute, to the point where Geralt asked after it, only receiving a vague and unconvincing answer about saving the strings from the humidity. He spent the evening hours scribbling away in his journal, or simply lying and staring up at the stars. Sometimes, disconcertingly, he watched Geralt, especially when he seemed to think Geralt wasn’t paying attention. The furrow between his brow had grown to be near constant, and his shoulders had lost their easy swoop. When they spoke, something about Jaskier’s words felt needling, as if he was testing the waters for something. What, Geralt couldn’t even begin to guess.

He wanted to ask about it, but he found himself unable to find the words to do so. Jaskier didn’t seem mad at him—he knew what that looked like well enough, and this wasn’t it. He wanted to ask, but if he did it seemed possible, probably even likely, that Jaskier would admit that he’d figured out that Geralt was hiding something from him. He might even have realized the extent of Geralt’s feelings, or what the ritual really meant. Maybe Silvandrel had said too much, or Geralt had been too expressive, or too generous. Whatever it was, Jaskier was smart, maybe the smartest man Geralt had ever known; it wouldn’t take much for him to put two and two together. As he found Jaskier’s eyes lingering on him more and more frequently, it seemed also more and more likely that Jaskier was just trying to find a way to let him down easily.

Still, it wasn’t unbearable. Traveling with Jaskier in a mood was still better than traveling alone, and as always Geralt relished the chance to spend such uninterrupted time together. It was the best in the evenings, when their camp was already set up and the heat of the day had dispersed, and they had nothing better to do than sit and talk before both of them grew too tired to stay awake.

“What’s it like?” Jaskier asked one evening, lying on his bedroll with his ankle propped up on one raised knee. His lute was in his hands, a rare thing nowadays, but he wasn’t really playing it, just plucking a tune here or there. Testing the waters, it seemed.

Geralt was sitting with his back propped against a ragged tree stump, charred at the top where lightning had once struck. He looked up from where he was examining Roach’s tack, taking too long to reply as he was caught up in the image of Jaskier in the firelight. “What?”

Jaskier swiveled his head to look over at him, looking uncharacteristically pensive. “Being immortal. Or—not mortal. What do you even call a witcher, anyways. Semi-mortal? How long do you usually live? I’ve never gotten a straight answer about it.”

Geralt shrugged, the bridle dangling between his knees as he set his elbows to rest on them. “No one really knows,” he admitted. “Vesemir is… three hundred? We’re not sure, that’s based on references he makes, but Lambert swears sometimes he says things just to throw us off. Witchers don’t really… die of old age.”

“Surely some of you must retire,” Jaskier insisted. “Maybe not lately, but in years past…”

Geralt shook his head. “If they did, I haven’t heard of them. The Path is our life; we meet our end while on it. I know we can live for several human lifetimes, at least. I was older than you are now when we met.”

Jaskier’s mouth twisted in a smile that ached with bitter nostalgia. “I must have looked like a child to you.”

“You were a child,” Geralt laughed.

Jaskier threw something at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his knee. An acorn; the entire area was thick with oak trees. Clearing the ground beneath their bedrolls had been a pain. “Ass,” Jaskier chidded, but he was chuckling too. “I suppose we must all seem rather young to people like you though. Yennefer is the worst, she shouldn’t be allowed to poke fun at my very dignified salt and pepper and then turn around and call me an infant the next moment.”

Young man, Silvandrel had said, with that odd patronization that came only to those who would outlive most people they met. “It’s… not exactly like that,” Geralt allowed, studying Jaskier’s profile painted in orange and gold and dark dusky blue shadows. “Age isn’t the same as experience. There are eighty year olds who have done less in their lives than you had at twenty-three.” Jaskier looked over at him again, with a distinct expression of surprise and awe that Geralt was beginning to recognize as his reaction to Geralt giving him a compliment. He pushed on, turning his own gaze back to the tack in his hands. “I just mean, you don’t seem young, or inexperienced—at least not anymore,” he added, unable to resist throwing Jaskier a quick smirk.

“So Yennefer just calls me a toddler for her own enjoyment,” Jaskier said, squinting at him.

“Well, yes,” Geralt snorted. “But, it’s—you’ll understand. After. It’s not that you all seem young, necessarily, it’s just that you all seem sort of… I don’t know.” He shrugged. It was difficult to articulate the strange sense of fragility and youth that he associated with all humans, no matter their age.

“Temporary?” Jaskier offered, and Geralt grunted an affirmation. Of course Jaskier would be able to identify the feeling without ever experiencing it himself. Jaskier hummed in acknowledgement, and was quiet for a few moments, as if mulling that over. His fingers played over his lute strings, picking out a melancholy tune. After a while, he said, “It sounds a bit lonely. Knowing that almost everyone you meet will die a hundred years before you do. That they’ll never understand the way you view the world.” His eyebrows were knotted together as he contemplated the night sky.

Geralt bit his lip. “It… can be. Even amongst ourselves, we never know who’ll make it back after a year on the Path.”

Jaskier’s foot tapped the empty air where it hung over his knee. “Everyone I know, went to school with, taught with in Oxenfurt. They’ll all be gone before I will, if this works.”

Geralt felt dread unfurl within him, but this wasn’t something that he could deny Jaskier. This was the reality of Geralt’s offer, of what he was asking Jaskier to do. “Yes,” he said. But you’ll have me, he didn’t say, even though it burned at the tip of his tongue. You’ll have my brothers, and Ciri, and even Yennefer, and you’ll have me, always. That’s the point.

Jaskier looked over at him, eyes bright. He looked like he could hear Geralt’s thoughts, like maybe he was thinking the same thing. And then he grinned brightly and said, “I’ll outlast Valdo Marx by a century.”

Geralt couldn’t help the startled bark of laughter that left his throat. Jaskier launched into an excited diatribe against Valdo Marx, something about destroying his legacy after death, and Geralt allowed the babble to wash over him as he went back to fixing Roach’s tack.

After a while the conversation turned to other things, and they spent the rest of the evening in relative quiet. Eventually it was time to bed down for the night, and they banked the fire and crawled into their respective bedrolls. Just as Geralt was on the edge of sleep, Jaskier’s voice slipped through the quiet darkness around them.

“I don’t think I’m going to be.”

Geralt shook himself, turning to squint at Jaskier’s grey form, two aching feet away from him. His entire body itched to roll closer, but he focused instead on Jaskier’s words. “Hmm? You won’t be what?”

Jaskier let out a deep breath into the night air, soft like a secret. “Lonely.”

*

Posada was much the same.

Geralt didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been back. He knew he had been here post-Filavandrel incident, and he suspected Jaskier had as well, but they’d not returned together to the little valley at the edge of the world since the beginning. It had to have been at least ten years since he’d last been here on his own, but the small town was relatively familiar looking still. It had grown a bit since the war, likely as refugees from the south settled in the area, and there were new houses clustered around the outskirts. Still, the bones of it remained unchanged, and the inn was right where they’d left it.

They said nothing as they made their way into the town and headed in that direction. There was, so far as Geralt knew, no other place to find rooms for the night, so they didn’t have much of a choice. Stepping inside the small downstairs tavern should have been just like stepping into any other of the thousands like it that he’d been in, but it wasn’t. Things had been rearranged, of course; the furniture had been shuffled, and now a long table sat on the far side of the room before the fire. The small, cleared out space that Jaskier had stood in to sing was gone, filled with a cluster of tables and chairs. But the lone table in the back corner was, somehow, unmoved.

Geralt turned to Jaskier and found him staring at the spot as if entranced. He brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s forearm, and the bard blinked at him, startled back into the moment. “We should get a room,” Geralt said by way of explanation, and Jaskier nodded.

The man who arranged for their stay was not the one who had done so the first time, or the time after that, but his features were similar, so perhaps this was a son. He was amiable enough, and though Jaskier didn’t make any commitment to playing he offered them a fair rate.

Jaskier did end up playing, after they’d sat and eaten a quiet meal, avoiding the table in the corner in silent agreement. His fingers had worried at the edge of his lute case for a long moment, his eyes unfocused, and then something determined had steeled over his face and he’d stood.

There was a decent crowd this time around, bigger than the last time—the first time—that Jaskier had played here. Geralt remembered the stumbling notes, the ridiculous stories that spilled from the bard’s lips, unrefined. The way that the patrons of the bar had heckled him until he dipped sheepishly off the stage. He could understand why Jaskier might be nervous about playing here; even if no one remembered him, this had obviously been one of Jaskier’s first real performances for an honest audience.

It was like night and day. Jaskier had the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand in moments, as he always did, and his voice was clear and strong. Geralt recognized most of the songs, and almost all of them were about him, though he didn’t think any of the patrons put two and two together. Whereas Jaskier normally poked and prodded at Geralt throughout a performance to let everyone know that his muse was present, tonight he was subdued, letting Geralt watch quietly from a side table without dragging him into the proceedings. He might have thought that Jaskier had forgotten his presence entirely, if not for the occasional glance he caught Jaskier throwing his way, stealing his breath each time.

When he was finally done with his set and bowed his way out to the cheers of the audience, he made his way back to Geralt with his lute tucked under his arm. Jaskier leaned against the table in the space next to him, their knees just barely touching where Geralt’s was thrust out away from the chair. Jaskier looked down at him with almost a sheepish expression, giving him a quirked smile. “So. Three words or less?”

There were so many things he could say to that. So many things he wanted to say. You’re so beautiful, he thought, his eyes catching on the way Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around the neck of the lute, how his eyes shone in the low light of the inn. I loved it. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Instead, he said, a bit hoarsely, “Definitely more accurate.”

Jaskier laughed, some of that tension he’d been carrying for weeks breaking, and Geralt felt sweet relief at the sound. “Well I’d certainly hope so, after nearly thirty years of tailing you. At the very least I know my drowners from my nekkers.”

“At least there’s that,” Geralt chuckled, passing Jaskier a tankard of ale as he sat. “Glad to see you got something out of it.”

Jaskier took a sip of his drink, leaning his cheek on his fist. His eyes were bright when he looked at Geralt, and his expression was one Geralt recognized—he was bothered about something, but trying to keep his demeanor jovial. On anyone else, Geralt expected it would be an immaculate deception, but Geralt knew him. He wasn’t fooled by Jaskier’s court masks.

“Was it worth it?” Jaskier asked, taking another sip of his ale. His eyes left Geralt’s, flitting around the room.

Geralt frowned at him. “Was what worth it?”

Jaskier looked back at him, expression unreadable. “Letting an ambitious and no doubt obnoxious bard leave this tavern with you all those years ago.”

Geralt couldn’t help it; before he could think to stop himself, he had reached out to set his hand over Jaskier’s where it still held the handle of his cup. Jaskier jerked a bit at the touch, a drop of ale sliding down over their layered hands. “Of course it was,” Geralt said vehemently, not bothering to keep the earnestness out of his tone. Jaskier had to know. Even if he already suspected that something was afoot, even if this was some sort of test, Geralt couldn’t risk letting Jaskier think that he regretted a single moment of it. “You’re… Jask, you’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Geralt could hear the sharp intake of breath at that, could see the way Jaskier looked down at their overlapped fingers and blinked rapidly. A small smile stole across his face, though there was a twist to it that seemed almost sad. “I’m glad, Geralt. Truly.”

Geralt wanted to ask, And for you? Was it worth it? But the tavern goers were quickly heading out now that Jaskier’s set was finished, and it was obvious that they would soon be the last ones remaining. And he found himself afraid, as he so often was nowadays, of the possibility that Jaskier would say no, that he should have spent the last thirty years playing in noble houses and courting beautiful women, rather than trekking endlessly after a surly witcher. He knew that it would make sense for Jaskier to have regrets, but he found that he didn’t think he was strong enough to hear them spoken aloud.

So instead he transferred his touch to Jaskier’s wrist, giving it a light tug. “We should head up,” he said, and Jaskier nodded. They pulled apart, and Jaskier finished his drink, and collected his lute. As they both turned to walk up the stairs, Geralt found his eyes catching once again on the little table in the corner. It had sat empty the entire night, as if waiting for something—or someone—to fill its seats once again.

~

Almost done folks! Just two more parts, and tomorrow’s includes the last piece of art for this story! 

tags: @whereismymonsterlover 

[typinggently]

AlfieTommy Modern AU x LdR — Off to the Races

The early morning is drenched with the scent of chlorine and rhododendron, promise of another hot day. Tommy takes his time, feeling the resistance, the cool weightlessness of the water. For the time being, he’s lost in this, the blue above and beyond, the sound of the waves, his own laboured breathing.

“What’s this, then?”

The world swirls and comes to a halt. Tommy’s hand finds the slippery-hard edge of the pool, blinks chlorine out of his eyes. Alfie stands beneath the sunshade, between the lounger and the delicate metal table where a tumbler of whiskey glitters in the morning sun, ice melting. The sight of him is so unexpected Tommy almost thinks he’s dreamed him up, yet he’s still there after he smoothed his hair back, slick strands cool against his palm.

“Didn’t think I’d see you before four.”

“You called, didn’t you?”

“And you didn’t answer.” Tommy hadn’t really meant to. Dawn had crept into his bedroom, grey and cool, and panic had made his hands shake. Kühne’s voice had still rung in his ear, tinny yet familiar, sharp accent made sharper still by cool-cruel amusement, hissing victory. The sound had turned his blood to lead, thick and cold in his veins.

So no, Tommy hadn’t meant to call Alfie, but he’d been shaking, heart in his throat, and he’d found himself in his big bed, hand fisted into the sheets pooling around his hips, listening to the dialling tone of his phone. He’d ended the call three rings in, but now he suspects that that’s precisely why Alfie is here now, cigar between his fingertips and eyes on Tommy, calculating.

“Well, here I am. But don’t — no, Love, get back down. Don’t mind me, finish your splashing. I’ll pass the time.” With that, Alfie sits on the lounger, picks up the glass of whiskey to give it a considering sniff. His voice is light, easy, but his eyes never leave Tommy.

And he needn’t have come, but of course he did. Because Tommy called him at dawn and hung up right away. He wouldn’t have to sit around and watch him finish his laps, either, but of course he does. Because he knows Tommy can’t talk about Kühne yet.

(And, of course, because the garden is rich with the warm-sweet scent of rhododendron and the pool is an obscene shade of blue. Because Tommy’s swimming trunks are dark blue and his skin is milk-pale, his hair gleaming and dark.)

So when Tommy gets out, he takes his time with it. Shoulders, arms, chest, knee, thighs, well-defined and adorned with glittering drops of water. The grass is ticklish-cool against the soles of his feet, recently cut and fragrant. Three steps and he’s with him, standing just outside the shade. Showing off, a little. Subconsciously. Hell, not like he can help it with Alfie’s eyes on him. He shifts a little, let’s his knee brush Alfie’s knuckles where his hand rests on the armrest of the lounger. “Kühne called this morning.”

Alfie’s hand is warm, his thumb curled possessively around Tommy’s kneecap. He’s wearing a light linen shirt, dark trousers. A mess of gold around his neck, on his knuckles, catching the light as he reaches for the glass of whiskey with his cigar held between two fingers. The summer approaching Margate has him looking a tad tanner already, his hair interwoven with copper-gold. He hums, looks up at him, the bad eye squinting a bit. Forgot his sunglasses, then, must’ve left in a hurry, and Tommy swallows thickly with how fond it makes him feel, how afraid he was before Alfie came. Another hum. “That’s shit news, Poppet.”

“I know.” Tommy feels the sun on his shoulders and his heartbeat in his chest. He watches as Alfie leans back in his chair, takes a sip from the whiskey.

“When are you two set to meet up?” He licks his lips, squints up at Tommy and holds the glass out for him.

Tommy takes it, fingers brushing, and makes sure to rest his lip where the glass is slick already. The whiskey is cool and sharp-sweet, Alfie-flavoured. “Brunch. Eleven thirty.”

“Brunch? Who the fuck meets up for brunch?” Alfie shakes his head, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Better get ready, then.” Good point.

Alfie follows him inside, of course he does. Marble under his feet, the cool air of the hall fragrant with roses, then his rooms. Carpets on wooden floors, past the bed and into the bathroom. Shell-shaped tiles, dark blue with gold fillings to match the gold of the shower fittings and his pale skin. A mirror like an open fan, sectioned off with hidden doors for razors, combs, lotions and scrubs.

He drops the robe, steps out of his trunks. Leaves Alfie to take his seat on the chair by the towels rack, voice raised a little over the spray of the water. When Tommy gets out, Alfie doesn’t make a move to hand him one of the heavy, monogrammed towels, keeping his eyes on him as he walks over and his stream of consciousness steady. “—two in the car, I say. Not three, you hear me, Tommy? Two, that’s it. Don’t get scared, silly boy, it’s too late for that, and don’t wear a fucking tie, yeah?”

No, Tommy tells him, he’s not going to wear a tie. He lets Alfie put his hand on his leg again, a tad above the knee this time. Warm and dry, giving him a light squeeze while Tommy towels his hair. He doesn’t bother to step back before he’s sufficiently dry, dropping the towel into Alfie’s lap. And Alfie’s right, of course. It’s too late to be scared. But now that Alfie’s here, eyes on him as he shaves, second towel slung low on his hips, his hands are steady.

Because Alfie keeps talking, keeps his eyes on Tommy and follows him into the dressing room, your little boudoir, sweetheart, and put down that fucking shirt — A plush carpet and gleaming cherrywood. Rows of crisp white cotton, of silk and cashmere, gleaming leather. A floor-length mirror, glittering bottles, cufflinks. Ties, handkerchiefs, belts. The smoke of Alfie’s cigar curls and weaves through the leather-fragrant air, warming Tommy with its familiarity. He doesn’t look at Alfie while he’s selecting cotton/silk/leather, but he feels his presence in the plush chair, his eyes warm between his shoulder blades, on the dip of his spine.

It’s only when he’s done, when his outfit is resting on the gleaming table by the mirror, Chanel Égoïste on top, that he turns around to look at him. Not quite hesitating. Still undressed save for black briefs, Tom Ford in bold letters flat against his skin. The carpet under his feet, the scent of Alfie’s cigar in his nose. There are multiple light setting in the room, but he didn’t turn the overhead lights on, didn’t flood the intimate space with white to protect Alfie’s bad eye. So the lights are soft, melting the silhouettes into the dark. Tommy blinks, isn’t wearing his contacts, doesn’t have to to catch the gold and linen and warmth of Alfie, who looks at him through incense-white cigar smoke.

“You don’t wanna fucking rush, now. See, what you’re gonna do is, Poppet, you’re gonna pick up your little phone and call down, let them bring up some tea. Some fucking Russian Caravan, I’d say. You got that?” Of course they do. Tommy bought it himself, spotting the blue tin in the bustling-elegant shop, weighing it in his hand and remembering Alfie’s kitchen in Margate, his bedroom. “Russian Caravan and two scones, croissants, whatever, some light fucking carbs, warm with melting butter and some fucking Marmelade, some honey, whatever rots your teeth.” He waits for Tommy to give a slight nod, to step in.

Warm hand on his hip, his waist, pulling him in, down, curling Tommy up on his lap, cotton skin cigar gold Alfie wrapped around him, holding him, hand in his hair, the tickle-scratch of his beard on freshly shaved skin, his mouth, warm soft on his cheek, his voice soft, soft, soft. “And then we’re going to have breakfast in bed, yeah? Barely half past nine, Sweetheart, you can spare one hour.” Kiss on his cheek, his temple, warm arms and Tommy’s shaking again, pressing close, so relieved, warm, safe. “See? It’s alright, now. Nothing we can’t fix, Tommy.” And Tommy believes him.

My old man is a tough man, but

He got a soul as sweet as blood-red jam

And he shows me, he knows me

Every inch of my tar-black soul

[refinedbuffoonery]

Quarantine Moments (5.5)

By popular request, here’s QM #5 from Mac’s POV. This idiot is pining so hard and he doesn’t even realize it. 

*****

Mac watches the sun set behind them in his truck’s side mirror as Riley drives, the sky shifting from blue, to pink, then orange, then a dark burning gold, before fading to inky black. In front of them, the rising moon is barely more than a glowing sliver in the sky, and once they leave SoCal’s sprawling metropolis behind, the vast desert darkness swallows the beams of the truck’s headlights. 

Riley rolls her window down, letting the warm night air tug wisps of hair from her messy bun, and Mac can’t help but watch the way she smiles softly and breathes deeply, completely at peace. He rolls down his own window, and the wind ruffles his hair like a lover’s playful fingers. 

Mac is surprised when Riley parks in the empty campground. He assumed other people would have the same idea, but but as far as he can see, the area is devoid of human life. 

Mac turns his gaze to the glittering sea above. His eyes land on Vega and Arcturus—two of the brightest stars in the sky—before trailing the Milky Way to find Sagittarius along the southern horizon. 

Riley’s soft gasp draws his attention back to earth. Her lips part as she smiles, awestruck, and the stars are reflected in her big, dark eyes, almost as if she’s robbing them of their light. Thankfully Riley doesn’t notice his staring, because Mac can’t bring himself to look away. 

He should. He knows he should. But, for some reason, he can’t. 

Mac is still looking, minutes later, when Bozer yells at him to help make their bed. 

It’s not until he’s lying beside Bozer on the mass of pillows and blankets that Mac realizes how small his truck bed really is. In his mind, they all fit perfectly, but in reality, it’s only wide enough for two grown adults, not three. Mac and Bozer scoot to the sides to give Riley as much space as possible, but their shoulders will be overlapping no matter what. 

Riley’s arm brushes Mac’s as she squeezes her slim frame into the space in the middle, her warmth soaking into his skin. Mac likes her this close, likes her steady, reassuring presence at his side. They used to gravitate toward each other more, before he got back together with Desi, and Mac will never admit it aloud, but he misses the closeness he once had with Riley. 

Quarantining with her, there were moments that felt like their old selves—the people they were back when Jack was still around and their biggest problem was Mac and Riley’s respective daddy issues—but then there would be a long, awkward pause in conversation or Desi would come up, and then that weird gap between them would be right back, wide as ever. 

Mac isn’t sure how it even got there in the first place. 

He tries to forget about it, distracting himself by searching for constellations while he waits for the first meteor to appear. Finally, one does, zipping across the horizon in the blink of an eye. 

“Did you see that?” Bozer squeals.

Riley laughs softly. “Yeah, but I have no idea where it came from, or where I should be looking.” 

Mac opens his mouth to explain, but Bozer beats him to it. “For starters, don’t look straight up. Look near the horizon. As Perseus gets higher in the sky during the night, the meteors will appear to come from higher up too.”

“Thanks.” 

They watch the sky in peaceful silence. 

Eventually, Bozer gets up to pee, and while he’s gone, Riley nudges Mac with her knee. “You’ve been quiet,” she says. 

How is he supposed to say that even though their shoulders are literally touching right now, that even though they’ve been locked in his house together for months, he’s never felt farther away from her? That there’s this ever-widening chasm between them that he doesn’t know how to bridge? 

Mac doesn’t look at her as he speaks, his eyes finding Vega overhead. “Ancient Chinese astronomers believed Vega and Altair were lovers, forever kept apart by the Milky Way.” He points with two fingers, one toward each star. “Vega is one of the brightest stars in the sky. It’s in the constellation Lyra, which just looks like a parallelogram. And over there is Altair, which is part of Aquila, the eagle.”

Riley doesn’t say anything. Mac glances at her in his peripheral vision. She’s squinting slightly, the way she always does when she’s focusing on something. She must not be able to find the stars, he reasons. Mac doesn’t think before sliding an arm beneath Riley’s shoulders and pulling her closer so that her head rests on his shoulder. His arm brushes her cheek as he points again. 

It’s odd being this close to Riley without catching lingering traces of her perfume—a warm, dark scent he can’t pinpoint but likes anyway. She hasn’t worn it since quarantine started, and Mac is starting to miss it. 

“I see it,” she breathes. Mac lets his arm drape across Riley’s body. 

She tenses, but she doesn’t try to extricate herself from his side. Part of Mac knows he probably shouldn’t be holding her like this. A bigger part doesn’t care. Riley is his best friend goddammit, and he can cuddle her if he wants to. It doesn’t have to mean anything. 

“Show me something else,” Riley says softly. 

Mac takes a slightly unsteady breath before pointing in a different direction.  “Over there are Sagittarius, which looks like a teapot, and Scorpius, which looks like a hook or the letter ‘J.’ Between them is the supermassive black hole that exists in the middle of the galaxy. All of the matter in the Milky Way orbits around it.” 

Black holes are easy. Black holes make sense. But Riley...Riley doesn’t. 

Especially when the moment passes, and she turns her head away to holler at Bozer. “You good, man?” 

Bozer yells back from the other side of the truck. “Yeah! Got a little performance anxiety from this creepy bug staring at me.” 

Mac imagines Bozer having a staring contest with some random desert bug sitting on the hood of the truck and bursts out laughing. His arm inadvertently tightens around Riley, and the wicked gleam in her eye when she looks up at him makes the moment even funnier. 

He feels it again, that gravitational pull toward her. He’s tempted to let it drag him closer, but he’s afraid of what it might mean if he does. 

Riley squirms when Bozer climbs back into the truck, and Mac hesitates before letting her go. 

The three of them lay together for hours, just looking up at the stars, until Bozer initiates a chain reaction of yawns. “Mac,” Bozer says. “Did you set the alarm?”

Patting the pillow above Riley’s head, he answers, “Yeah. My phone is right here.”

Riley twists to look at him in horror. “Alarm?” 

Mac explains, “The meteor shower’s peak is between three and four am. So unless you’d rather stay up all night...” Riley groans, pulling up a blanket and rolling onto her side. Chuckling at her dramatics, Mac grabs a blanket for himself and watches the stars until he falls asleep. 

~ 

The volume of his alarm is set far too loud for the phone only being inches from his ear, and Mac winces as he’s forced into consciousness. Beside him, Riley growls, “Turn it off.” 

He’s lying on his side with an arm around Riley’s waist, holding her in the curve of his body, but it doesn’t feel weird or awkward. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the way Riley fit against him. Mac accidentally bumps her face as he silences the alarm, and he mumbles, “Sorry.” There’s no room to move away from her, so Mac just brushes Riley’s hair out of his face and puts his arm back around her. “I hit snooze. You have five minutes.” 

She sighs, absentmindedly brushing her thumb over his hand, and warmth spreads through Mac’s body that has nothing to do with the fact that it’s still nearly eighty degrees outside, even in the middle of the night. He lets himself snuggle closer. If he could live in the calm safety of this moment forever, Mac would. 

But he doesn’t hold Riley for long before feeling like he’s about to explode. Mac rubs her shoulder. “Riles, move. I have to pee.”

Riley groans again, but then her hips press into his as she pushes Bozer away, and Mac scrambles to get up before anything awkward happens. 

“I’m awake,” Bozer slurs.

“Sure you are.”

He’s back by the time the alarm goes off again, and Mac can hear the soft popping of Riley’s joints as she sits up and stretches. The meteors are more frequent now, nearly two a minute. Most are quick, bright flashes, but a few are slower, gracefully crossing the sky before burning up.

“Riley stop blocking the view,” Bozer says, kicking her in the back. Riley flops back down. 

A massive, glowing meteor arcs across the sky in slow motion, lingering for a few seconds before winking out of existence. “Wow,” Riley whispers, smiling. 

Wow is an understatement. Mac would’ve driven all the way out here for that meteor alone. 

Mac keeps his eyes trained on the heavens until the sky lightens and the first rays of sunlight stretch across the desert. The air seems to hum, the way it always does in announcement of the scorching summer sun. 

When they pile into the truck, Mac blasts the air conditioner. He’s already sweating, even though it’s barely six am. As he drives out of the campground and toward the highway, Bozer rattles off suggestions for where to stop for breakfast burritos on the way home. 

Apparently content to let Bozer decide, Riley demands, “Wake me up when you have my burrito. Goodnight.” Mac glances at her in the rearview mirror and smiles; she’s sprawled across the pillows and blankets, already fast asleep. 

[florenceisfalling]

raise it up

hey this is a gift for @jaeyleo and it is very late!! my dearest apologies!! i may make this a series someday! every title would be from ‘rabbit heart’ lmao

WARNINGS MIGHT SPOIL IT, but warnings for: hypnosis, corrupted! and puppet!egos, semi-kidnapping, and some... well, i guess you’d call it non-consensual magical exchanges?? 

have fun ;)

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

The theatre is a bit chilly in spite of the presence of hundreds of warm bodies around you, some dressed in suits and ties, others dressed in colorful sweaters and patterned button-ups. It’s as if wearing anything too casual or uninteresting would be considered seriously underdressing compared to the man plastered on nearly every poster around the building.

“Come See Marvin the Magnificent for his famous WORLD TOUR!” they all said, in bold, colorful letters. Beneath the script was the magician himself, arms splayed out dramatically with a charming smile, cape flowing behind him. You remember the days when he was basically unheard of, only doing local shows and YouTube videos, and you remember his climb to fame… well, climb wasn’t the right word. More like skyrocket.

Before, he would have pranced across the stage with a bouncing sort of energy, shouting sing-song remarks into the microphone and over-flourishing with his ring-covered hands. But now, as he walks out on the stage, his flashy outfit and fancy set is outshined by his confident gaze. His steps are slow and steady, his voice even and low, a smile creeping into every word. He radiates self-assurance. Marvin is no longer trying to catch and hold your attention with all his desperate might - he already knows your eyes are on him, he already knows you won't be able to look away. It seems effortless for him.

The crowd cheers and roars, and he giggles a bit before he presses a hand gently to his heart- “Thank you, thank you, everyone.” As soon as he opens his arms and sweeps them wide, the entire theatre hushes like children beneath the low drama of a library’s storyteller.

Eyes scanning over the mass of people, he nods. 

It almost looks like his gaze stops directly on your face.

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

The show is absolutely brilliant. Stranded particles of dust collect in the air and transform into a vivid illusion of a whale swimming overhead, then scatter into twinkling shooting stars, tumbling down and vanishing right before they land among the audience. With a Cheshire grin on his face, the magician disappears and reappears from stage to seat to the rafters that hold up the lights. Necklaces turn into snakes and rings flutter away like butterflies, only to return back to metal and stone. It is magic and mystery and miracles at their finest - you know for a fact that any critic in the audience has yet been baffled and converted.

But when it seems like there is nothing left for Marvin to display, he calls out a phrase that is equal parts inviting and unnerving. 

“For this next trick, I need a volunteer!”

Immediately, without a hint of hesitation, your hand flies up, your arm waving like a white flag of surrender. You’ve never been the type to like spotlights flashing over you on a stage, you would much rather be behind the scenes, but you can’t seem to put your hand down… nor can anyone else in the room. Stretching out from your seat to the rest is a sea of skin, of nails, of rings, of gloves, all stretching and towards the stage as if you were all subjects of a Baroque painting.

Marvin descends into the audience, slowly stepping down the stage and meandering between the rows of seats. Closing his eyes, he seems almost… relaxed by the hundreds of fingers trying so desperately to touch his face or his mask or his cape. Eventually, though, the clicks of his high-heeled boots stop, and you realize he is in front of your aisle. 

A sense of deep dread washes over you when he points his finger right towards your chest, and you stand to follow him, despite the nervousness and stage fright that you get from even imagining going up there. But the chance is irresistible, isn’t it? Softly, he hooks his arm around yours, and soon the crowd’s voice mixes with disappointment and excitement.

The magician doesn’t say a word to you while you march across the carpet, but it’s not like it would matter. The theatre is far too loud, but the stage… the stage feels strangely, comfortingly quiet. 

Arm shifting, Marvin’s hand slides down to yours, gently squeezing your fingers. All the fear fades from you when his other hand reaches up to brush hair out of your face. As he looks you in the eye, calm washes over you in a melty way, like syrup dripping down your brain. You swear his eyes were bluer, once, in the old photos on social media- but now someone has poured gold flecks inside, his irises nearly all green. While his pupils are stretched similarly to a cat’s, they don’t look like costume contacts; the gold is too shimmery, too deep. A shiver trickles down your spine and he nods, squeezing your hand another time. Swirling colors start to spill into your vision, and the lights become fuzzy and smeared; the change is enough to make you dizzy or knock you over, but Marvin holds you steady. It’s only been a few seconds, but you swear fifteen minutes have passed in this blissful trip. The last words he says to you are quiet, personal, the microphone turned off - a little secret you both share beneath the murmurs of the audience - “Stay very still.”

And you do. 

He turns back to the crowd, and now the voice he speaks with sounds like it’s underwater. Everything is fuzzy, sleepy, but you hear him say something about a split, about a soul. The hundreds of people sitting in rows shout and call, chanting something that sounds faintly like your name - you don’t remember telling anyone your name - and gasping in surprise. You’re unsure of what they find so remarkable until you slowly look down, realizing that you’re a few feet above the ground, now, and your body… your body is laying on the floor, the form you are currently is far more transparent, far more flowing. You look like a ghost, and Marvin draws a little light out of you, pressing it to his eyes. More gold collects in them.

He then snaps his fingers.

And you’ve returned to the floor, head spinning. You are back in your body, and his hand takes yours to lift you to your feet. He turns you to the crowd and you numbly wave, stumbling just a little with a dazed smile plastered to your face. 

Soon, someone else approaches you on the stage, half-tripping on his way. Through the thick fog in your head and eyes, you see his neat black suit and messy, fading green curls tumbling down one side of his face. Marvin is talking again, “thank you”s mimed out of his mouth while the crowd roars and claps, amazed amidst your confusion. They don’t even seem to notice the new man - a staff member, maybe? - on stage, the one in the suit who now gently grabs your shoulder, taking care as he walks you away from the magician. They don’t notice a thing at all...

“Right this way, right this way,” the new man mumbles, nervousness in his tone. As you look closer, still so dizzy you can barely keep your head up, you think you see a bruise starting to fade from one of his tired eyes. Your gaze is so fixed on it that you don’t stop to question why he’s chosen to exit stage left with you.

A moment later, you’re walking behind the curtains, entering a small corridor with dim lights and doors marked Staff Only. You try to absentmindedly count the doors while you stumble past, but the numbers twist and tumble in your head, a rush that just leaves you even more lost than before.

Eventually, the both of you reach a door that was once marked to be a dressing room, though the sign for that has been long since torn off. There’s a heavy padlock hanging from the door to the outer wall on a chain, much more drastic than the small lock built into the doorknob. The man who you lean on lifts a shaking hand to his breast pocket, pulling out a shining key, and unlocks the door with a distinct metallic click. 

Inside, it does not look like a dressing room - at least, not entirely. While one half of it does feature hanging clothing and a vanity, as well as some jumbled props, the other side is instead filled with thrifted couches and chairs, all gathered awkwardly around a bed that looks strangely… medical?

“Uh, sit, sit, please, right there, thank you…” 

The stranger ushers you forward to the couch, and you’re too hazy to even think of hesitating. Held up comfortably by the cushions, you feel like you’re going to fall right asleep, your consciousness melting right into the fabric below. But the man shifts, and you keep your eyes open to watch.

Keeping his head down and avoiding your sleepy stare as he walks around the furniture and behind you, he opens a cabinet that you did not initially notice and pulls out a crystal glass. Next to the cabinet is a small door, and the man slips behind it, reappearing with the glass now full of cool water. 

Slowly, the careful clicks of his dress shoes against the floor draw closer, and you squint, trying to get a better look at him from here. 

The bruise on his face isn’t the only thing marring his skin, you notice; more bruises peek from behind the sleeves of his suit, and a deep, gnarled scar cuts across his throat. On both sides of the scar lay deep red lines, like someone had fastened a collar far too tightly around his neck. A frown forming on his face is enough to interrupt your thoughts; he adjusts his shirt and tie to better cover what you’ve seen, before sitting beside you.

“Here,” he mutters, and pries your nearly-numb fingers open to place the cold glass in your grip. “Drink some, i-it’s supposed to help…”

You do as he says, and the worry in his face seems to lighten. 

“Thank… thank you. You did, um, real well, in the show. I’m sorry about what he did, though…” Even through the foggy mess that your mind currently is, a hint of fear peeks through at the man’s words. “I s-suppose I should introduce myself, I’m… Anti. And you are…?”

No matter the effort you expend, you can’t get coherent words off the tip of your tongue, not even enough to say your name. Anti sighs, understanding the feeling. 

“That’s alright. It’ll come back in a while, though you’ll never get everything back, y’know? Too late for that.”

With every word he says, more concern starts to build in your mind- what exactly have you gotten yourself into?

You’re dragged out from those thoughts when you realize that you still hear Marvin’s voice echoing from the stage, though you cannot identify any distinct words. Just a tone that wants to lull you to sleep, wants to numb the crowd into oblivion. You feel so tired, oh, why must your eyelids hang so heavy?

But Anti is still talking, too, quietly and nervous when he sees the look of fear that has grown on your face. “It- it’s alright, really! It shouldn’t… shouldn’t be any serious damage, even if it sounds scary- he only took a small part of your soul. Marv, he’s gotta feed that magic somehow, r-right?”

On shaky legs, you try to stand. You have to get out of here, don’t you? If only Anti didn’t gently push you back down by your shoulders, hushing you with a slightly panicked face, if only you didn’t feel like a gust of wind would be enough to knock you over. 

“No, no, he’ll be here after the show, okay? And… and then you should be able to go home, h-he just needs to check up on you, that’s all, promise… please get some rest, pretty please, for me?” Anti stares at you while he talks, a sickly sweet voice creeping into his words, and it’s almost like his eyes are trying to reach into your mind. Despite this, his gaze takes no effect on you. 

There’s barely any magic left inside him, after all.

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

You do fall asleep, eventually. While Anti’s weak attempts at hypnosis did nothing, Marvin’s work is still heavy in your mind, and you’re plunged into a warm, sickeningly sweet darkness.

The dream you find yourself in is not much comfort, but you pray it lasts a while. You don’t know what will happen to you when you wake up.

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

welcome, dear reader, to my interpretation of the corrupted!marvin au ~

that’s all, folks! go follow @jaeyleo / @cest-mellow if you have not already, she is an absolute sweetheart who inspires me so so much

sidenote: any religious imagery u spot in this is very intentional

[birdsandspades]

I Was Never Good at Waiting (Sugawara x Reader) Chapter 14

- It was your last year in highschool, everything had been going smoothly until you got assigned the new teacher. Sugawara Koushi was handsome, maybe too handsome for his own good. Be he wasn’t flirting with you right, teachers shouldn’t do that….I guess we will see where this year goes.

Word Count - 7,451

-Does this have spelling errors, yes. Did I try to proof read this, yes. Do I have work in a few hours, yes. Also tumblr hates my old gif so I guess we're switching it.

----

You could only read a sentence so many ways. Forwards, backwards, skipping every other word as if some hidden message was hiding between the white lines.

“Sugawara told me you needed a fake boyfriend for the day and gave me your number for the details. What time do you need me to show up at the station tomorrow?”

It was a well written text message, all the words fully typed out. This was definitely not from anyone of your slightly illiterate classmates.

The area code belonged to one of the Tokyo subdivisions. The same three Iwa-chan had while he was going to school at Tokyo university. Maybe whoever this was attended the school as well?

You chewed on your lip in tandem with the blinking of your text cursor. You had to reply but with what?

“Maybe Koushi is awake.” You scrolled through your recent calls, tapping on his contact. The phone sat silent for a moment before ringing once, twice, three times. No answer. His voicemail droned on as you looked into the dark kitchen.

“Hi you’ve reached Sugawara Koushi, i’m not able to answer right now. If you leave me a message i’ll…” You ended the call, watching as the screen closed and the message opened back up.

Something was turning, working away as you started at the phone icon that sat next to the unknown number.

“His voicemail will have his name!” You had reached your aha moment as you dialed the number, lifting the phone to your ear. You could be smart when you wanted to be.

No answer, not much to your surprise, it was in fact very late. You waited for the voicemail as you slid to the edge of the sofa seat.

“I’m sorry, but the person you called has a voice mailbox that has not been set up yet. Goodbye.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear slowly, carefully setting in on the coffee table. Turning to the side you threw your head into the sofa cushion and screamed.The universe could give you a break, maybe even a little crack. Bend just a little bit?

You had no plan A, or B, or C at this point. And despite not wanting to rely on a complete stranger to dig you out of yet another one of your problems, Sugawara had put a plan in place at some point in your evening. A poorly set up plan, but something nonetheless.

You sat back up and grabbed your phone again. You would just text him and wait, hope that he got it and showed up. Eight hours was plenty of notice right?

“We will be at the Tokyo station at noon tomorrow, i’ll be waiting at the plaza water fountain just outside the entrance.”

Sent.

It was now a waiting game as you set the phone down beside you. You head tilting back till it met the plush top of the sofa back. You watched the ceiling fan turn, counting the seconds as you waited for any kind of response. Five minutes turned to ten, ten to thirty, and soon enough it had been an hour. Whatever came after was forgotten as your lids inched shut, the burning in your eyes too much to suffer through.

Whatever anxiety you had sunk to the back of your mind as you finally got your break, some uninterrupted sleep.

---

You sat up, rubbing your eyes as you looked around the dark living room. Your phone chimed on the seat next to you, the bright screen making you squint. You felt for the device, lifting it up as you yawned.

“One missed call from :Tooru (#1 Senpai) Oikawa”

You redialed the number, lifting the phone to your ear as you stood up. You could see the light bleeding through your blinds as you walked over to the window, with one tug of the string beside them the room was flooded. You stretched, shifting the phone to your other ear as the ringing stopped and the voicemail beeped.

“Sorry but I can’t make it to the phone right now, if this is in regards to any events or games please call my agent. Bye!” Tooru’s voice chimed on the other end.

“Hi, sorry I just woke up. Call me back when you get this?” You hung up, the screen illuminating again with another call.

You clicked on it, raising it again to your ear. “Hey, good morning.”

“You mean good afternoon.” Yua corrected.

You smiled, shaking your head as you turned to look into the kitchen. You squinted, trying to make out the red numbers on the stove clock. Ten...twenty...four….

“It's not noon yet Yua, it's only 10:30.”

“Yeah and the train leaves at 11:00…” She went silent, as did you.

“Oh my god...Oh my god!” You screamed into the phone as she pulled the speaker away from her own ear.

“See you in thirty early worm.” She chuckled as she hung up the phone, you needed all the time you could get.

You looked at the time again, thirty minutes was hardly enough time to get to the station, let alone get ready for an entire date (date?).

You took a deep breath before running up the stairs. You would have to cut out the non essential things. Showering, makeup, brushing your hair, probably not going to happen. You slid to a stop at the bathroom door, taking a step back to look at yourself in the mirror. Maybe you could find time to brush your hair.

---

You could not describe the mess your room was in as you closed the door behind you twenty minutes later, toothbrush still in your mouth as you jumped down the stairs.

“Shoes, where did I put my stupid shoes?” You groaned as you reached under the coffee table.

You pulled one out, throwing it by the door as you ducked back under the wooden table to grab the other. Your phone buzzing in your pocket startled you as you bumped your head on the underside of the table.

“Ow…” You rubbed the sore spot as you pulled the other shoe out. Today was already off to a bad start.

“Almost ready, almost ready.” You chanted as you made your way to the door, like a mantra to trick your brain into a false sense of security as you shoved your foot into your sneakers.

You were looping the laces on your shoes when Yua called again.

Your brain was doing well with one thing at a time, as most brains tended to do. But the vibration in your hand pulled all focus away from your already clumsy half standing shoe tying, your left foot coming down on the still unlooped laces of your right. You tried to pick up the foot, one foot, the wrong foot. Your right foot raised up, the bunge of the laces toppling you over in the doorway as you tried to answer the phone.

You picked your previously floor planted face and glowered at the phone, the vibrations mirroring the tingling in your knees.

You rolled over, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Ten minutes, the train leaves in ten minutes Y/N!” Yua warned.

“Yeah, i’m like almost there.” You mumbled, phone sandwiched between your shoulder and cheek as you moved the toothbrush still in your mouth over. You finished tying your shoes before standing back up.

Yua laughed, she knew you were lying. “I can’t understand you, just make sure you're on the train.” She ended the call, leaving your line silent.

You grabbed your bag and coat off the hangers, and pulled the front door open. Leaning back in to set your toothbrush on the door side bench, you would put it up later. Trading your phone for your keys, you fished them out of your bag and locked the door behind you.

You ran down your porch steps, scanning over the now empty driveway. Sugawara’s car was gone.

“He must have come early in the morning to get it…” You shrugged, you would ask him later.

You ran. Down the sidewalk, across the busy street, and over the bridge that led to the station opening. You stopped for no one as you pushed your way through the crowds on the platform. You had turned a fifteen minute walk into a six minute sprint, a new record.

You squeezed down the station stairs, your train just up ahead. You could see Yua from the door opening, a seat open next to her. She waved at you to hurry, her attention on the overhead speakers. You could hear the announcement, the train doors were about to close.

The door inched shut as you jumped off the platform and onto the now departing train. The doors sealed behind you as the overhead announced the train exiting the station.

You bent over, hands on your knees as you fought to catch what breath you had left. Yua’s growing laughter hid under your uneven pants, peaking between each thump in your ear.

“Wow, I don’t think I've ever seen you run so fast.” She tried her best to stifle her laughs, the passengers around watching you both with curiosity.

You looked up between the strands of hair, glaring at the hand she offered you.

“Miss?” A man walked over, looking between you and the train door. He reached behind you, pulling at the back of your coat, the tail end stuck between the tightly sealed doors. You could see the other end flapping in the wind through the glass window, a little flag of defeat.

Yua broke again, her laughs echoing around the train as the man tugged at the stuck material. Today was the day, you were going to actually kill her.

You slid the coat off your shoulders, letting it fall back onto the door. You thanked the man as he walked back to his seat, his sullen look matching your own. He had at least tried.

“I hate you.” You groaned, taking the seat beside Yua.

“And I brought you a coffee.” She handed you the warm cup, her smile matching it. “I had a feeling a superstar like you would be up late last night.”

You took the cup, your frown leveling out as you took a drink.

“You changed your hair.” You mused, looking over the vibrant dye.

“Oh yeah, I wanted something new and I figured I would surprise you.” Yua touched her now blue bob, twirling the front strands around her finger.

“You look like a blueberry.” You teased. You liked it, it fit her better then blonde.

“You look like you didn’t even brush your hair.” She pushed you, sitting back in her seat. She knew what you meant, she always did.

You smiled, leaning into her. “I hate you.”

“So how was the concert last night, did Ryu do a ten minute solo this time?” She took the cup from your hands and took a drink.

“It went well, it sold out.” You chuckled, taking the coffee back.

“One day when you're famous will you write a song about me?” She grinned the same gummy smile she always gave you.

“Yeah, i’ll call it “Yua: The Gremlin of Aoba Johsai.”

She pushed you again, rolling her eyes. “I hope you don’t talk to your boyfriend like that.”

“I’m meaner.” You deadpanning, the corners of your mouth turned up as she tried her best to hide her own smile.

“Are you excited to meet him?”

You nodded, the uneasy feeling setting back into your stomach.

“Don’t worry, today is going to be great.” She reassured you, placing her hand over your own.

“Yeah, i’m sure it will be.” You returned her smile, hopefully she was still this happy when the day was over.

You took your phone out of your pocket, no notifications. You had checked during your mid morning panic, but had gotten nothing from Sugawara or your mystery date today. You were starting to doubt there would even be a “boyfriend” to meet.

---

The train pulled into the station, the speakers announcing your stop. You stood up and grabbed the arm of your coat, the doors parting as you pulled the creased fabric out.

You followed the line out, walking over to an open spot along the far wall. You slide your coat back on, the crease smoothing out as you zipped it closed.

Yua reached out, straightening your collar. “Where is he meeting us?”

“The fountain.” You tried to push her hands away, her grip on your collar tightening.

“Stop, let me fix you.” She aggressively pulled at your coat, jiggling you back and forth.

“Ok mom.” You grab her wrists, prying her off of you.

“Ah sorry, it's just. You got so big so fast!” She wipes away a fake tear, chasing after you as you walk up the station stairs.

“I hate you.” You groan, holding the station door open.

You walked together to the fountain nestled in the middle of the plaza. It was busy, groups walking around the park that surrounded the stone circle. It was a popular meetup spot for the area. The perfect walking distance between the university, the train station, and the central hub of the city.

“See him?” Yua nudged you, pulling your eyes away from a group across the park.

You looked around the area, no single person separated from their groups. Whoever was supposed to meet you wasn’t there yet.

You shook your head, leaning against the cold brick of the fountain. The day was warm, pleasant on the exposed skin of your hands. It was the last of the mild weather, the heat of the days increasing as June approached.

Japan had a beautiful way of changing seasons, easing into everything just a bit later than the rest of the world. Right now you were on the cusp of spring and summer, the days melding together as the temperature changed. September the air would cool down, the trees' leaves fading into warmer hues. Snow would cover the barren branches in December, coating the country in white.

School would break then for a few days, giving the students rest for the final term. You would return in January, and the flowers would follow suit in March. You would graduate with the buds, the flowers blooming for a new class.

School broke for about a month after March, the longest break the school would give. You jokingly called it summer break, the closest thing you would get in the Japanese school system. It was the best time to get a part time job, and that's just what you did last year.

You wondered what you would do once you graduated, what that last summer break would be like. It would be the last chance to see your friends, spend time like this before everyone would leave for school.

You had been lost in thought for a bit by the look on Yua’s face. Her hand waving you back to reality.

“Hey, he’s gonna show up. Maybe he’s just late.” She smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s probably just late…” You returned the sweet gesture. You had never gotten a reply, with your luck whoever had texted you decided not to come.

Yua looked behind you, tilting her head up. “Can we help you?”

“You could have texted me a little earlier last night F/N.”

You turned around, eyes traveling up the tall man in front of you. “Tsukishima?”

Yua looked between the two of you, her confusion growing each time.

“Tsukishima!” You smiled, shouting a little louder than intended. You wrapped your arms around him, his body tensing at the sudden contact.

He leaned down, wrapping an arm around you as he hovered by your ear. “You may want to try better than that if you want to convince her.” He harshly whispered in your ear, smiling at your friend behind you.

“Well maybe you should have included a name in your message if you were planning on never texting me back.” You gritted your teeth.

Tsukishima laughed, pulling away from the shared hug. He dug his fingers into your skin, pinching your side before walking to greet Yua.

“I’m Tsukishima Kei.” He reached a hand out, the same smile still plastered on his face.

Yua grabbed his hand, shaking it energetically. “I’m Okada Yua. Wow you're a lot better looking than I thought you would be.”

Tsukishima nodded, pulling his hand away. “Thank you?”

“I just thought you would be bald...and creepy.” She smiled, unaware of her backhanded compliment.

“Ok, with that what should we do?” You clapped your hands together, ready to get the day over with.

“I know a cafe at the end of the park, are you two hungry?” Tsukishima placed a hand on your back, guiding you down the pathway.

He was different, something slightly off with the smile that had remained on his face. He wasn’t this sweet last night was he? His dark haired friend had all the charm.Tsukishima, he had the wit.

Yua chatted with him as you walked together, laughing at whatever joke he had said. You instead bore a hole into the side of his face, brows knitting together.

“F/N, are you ok?” He questioned, tilting his head. That same fake sweetness drenching his tone.

“I’m fine.” You smiled, shaking your head.

His eye twitched slightly, the smallest falter in his appearance. “This is it.” He held open the door to the cafe, watching as you walked in behind Yua.

“Hi, can we get a table for three please.” Tsukishima smiled at the lady behind the counter, his hand on your shoulder as the door behind you shut with a jingle.

“Of course.” She nodded, walking out from behind her post.

You craned your neck to look behind you at the tall blonde, his smile wavering once the hostess had led Yua off. “Walk?” He nodded forward and gave you a push.

“Rude.” You grumbled as Yua took a seat at a small table nestled in the window lit corner of the cafe.

“Is this ok?” The hostess smiled, looking between you and the man beside you.

“It’s perfect for a first date.” Tsukki nodded, forcing a grin as he gave you another push into the booth.

Yua audibly awed at the sentiment as she wiggled in her seat, “How cute, I'm going to throw up.”

Tsukki slid in next to you as he rolled his eyes, he hated this as much as you did.

“Have whatever you want, my treat.” He handed you a menu.

“You don’t have to Kei-san, Yua eats a lot…” You protested, a foot connecting with your shin.

“Let your sweet boyfriend pay for us.” Yua scolded through a forced smile.

“It’s no problem. It’s the least I can do for buying her a ticket to come see me.” Tsuki looked down at you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Call me Tsukki F/N, you don't need to be so formal.” He joked. He played his part well.

Your cheeks grew hot, you hated the thought of being so informal with someone you hardly knew ,“Tsukki…”

“How did you both meet?” Yua interrupted, surely saving you from the awkward encounter. “First date nerves”, she thought.

“One of her concerts. I have a few classes with Ryu so he introduced us.” Tsukki nodded, turning his attention away from you.

“You go to college right?” Yua added, setting down her menu.

“Yeah, just across the way at Tokyo University.”

“Wow, that's expensive! What are you going for?”

“Undecided.”

“Well what are your interests, do you have hobbies?”

You could see his smile falter at the barrage of questions from Yua, her interest in the last waning as she asked another cluster.

“Sorry to interrupt, can I order anything for you?” The waitress smiled, book in hand as she looked around the table.

Yua listed off her feast as Tsukishima leaned over your shoulder to look at the menu still in your hand.

“Iced mango tea please.” He looked back at you as you shifted nervously in your seat.

“One iced americano please.” You attempted to hand the menu back to her, slightly leaning over Tsukishima as you looked at him to move over. He leaned back in his seat, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. You frowned, leaning further over his large frame to give the menu back.

A glass tipped over a few tables over, the patron cursing under their breath. “I’ll put these in for you.” The host nodded before excusing herself to help clean up the spilled drink.

You sat back in your seat, glaring at Tsukki as you scooted towards the window.

“I’m going to use the restroom, you two enjoy some alone time.” Yua wink, sliding out of the booth.

You watched her disappear behind the bathroom door before turning to Tsukki. “Thank you for coming today but you don’t need to be so…”

“Sweet?” Tsukki interrupted.

“Fake.” You corrected, “You weren't even this happy last night…”

“Sugawara-san told me to play the part.” He smiled, pinching at your cheek.

You pushed his hand away, “What else did he tell you?”

“A good amount, he's a chatty drunk.”

A younger man walked up to the table, drinks and treats in hand as he set each one down in front of you.

“Thank you.” Tsukki nodded before turning back to you.

“How chatty?” You questioned, the amused look painting it's way over his features told you enough.

“Excited for volleyball nationals? How about that English test last week? He says you got an A. But you forgot a few commas, you may want to pay attention to that.”

You let your head fall on the table as you groaned, “Did he tell everyone?”

“No, I was the only one who bothered to listen.” He lifted the tea filled glass to his lips, nodding towards Yua coming out of the bathroom.

Her eyes lit up as she sat back down, “This all looks so good, thank you Tsukki!”

His nose wrinkled at the informalities, “Of course.”

“How is it?” He turned towards you as you took a sip of your drink.

“It’s good.” You return his smile, looking over the tall boy's features for the first time that day.

He was in his own ways very handsome, his soft blond hair tousled, falling just below his eyes. The sun shined in just the right way on the sparse auburn highlights that framed the pieces, the lightest shade of strawberry blonde.

He gave you a quizzical look, eyes shining behind the thick rims of his glasses. They were golden, sparkling in the rays of soft yellow sunlight that tinted the entire cafe.

He reminded you of the golden hour, when the sun dipped just enough below to horizon to paint the world in golden yellows.

“You didn’t order anything to eat?” He waved the waitress over again, “You’ll get a stomach ache if you just drink coffee all day.” He nodded for you to order something else as she pulled out her book.

“Ah i’m fine really…” You contested, trying to excuse the waitress.

“Strawberry shortcake?” He looked at Yua as she nodded. “One strawberry shortcake please.”

“Tsukki you didn’t need to get me anything else.” You frowned as she disappeared to put in your order.

“Of course I did, I can’t have my love feeling sick all day.” Tsukki smoothed over your hair, his long fingers trailing down the side of your jaw to turn your flustered gaze towards him.

“T-tsukki!” You stammered pushing his hand away as he chuckled.His personality was killing all the admiration you had for him.

“Cute.” He beamed, before looking over his shoulder.

“Here you go.” The same young boy smiled as he set down your cake.

“Oh, thank you!” You bowed slightly as the boy took his leave.

“Once you finish we can go do anything you like.” Tsukishima pushed the plate towards you as his arm layed around the back of your seat.

“I know he's trying to be convincing but he could lay it on a little less thick.” You shifted slightly as his hand ghosted over your shoulder.

“This has to be some of the best cake i’ve ever had. Do you come here a lot Tsukki?” Yua asked through a mouth of coffee cake.

“Once or twice a week when I need a quiet place to study. This place is open 24 hours a day so it’s pretty nice late at night.”

“Wow, we don’t have anything like that. Maybe I should come here for college.” Yua proclaimed as you took a bite of cake.

“Yua do you think your grades are good enough?” You tease, pushing your foot against her own under the table as she pouted.

“How is your cake?” Tsukishima questions as you cut off another bite.

“It’s good, do you want some?” You slid the plate towards him, he is paying for it after all.

“Sure.” He smiles, leaning over you to take the bite off your fork.

Your froze, fork still in midair as you made eye contact with the shrewd man. The entertainment he got from your expectation was telling enough as to why he was doing this.

Yua’s phone buzzed on the table top suddenly, “Oh excuse me, i’ll meet you guys outside.”

She got up from the table, answering the call as she nodded a thank you to the host and walked out the door.

“Finish you cake.” Tsukishima nudged you, as he got up from the table. “I’m gonna go pay.”

You looked at your fork before setting it down, you hated him.

A few moments later Tsukki came back, sliding in beside you.

You pushed the last bite of cake toward him, frowning at the still apparent smirk on his face.

“Oh don’t be so upset, I was only teasing.” He shook his head as he took the last bite. “Flustering you was a bonus, I only wanted to see if I could agitate him more.”

You looked at the blond confused, “Who?”

“You mean you didn’t know he was coming today?” It was now his turn as his brows knitted together. He snorted, covering his mouth to stifle the laughs.

You shook your head slowly, it just wasn’t clicking. Tsukki sighed and nodded for you to look behind him.

Sitting up slightly you looked at the hat clad man sitting alone by the bathroom door, phone in hand as he flipped through an app. He turned around slightly, hazel eyes meeting your own as he looked back down at his lap.

“What is that idiot doing?” You questioned, leaning over to get a better look at your boyfriend sinking into his oversized jacket.

“Hiding.” Tsukki jokes, his finger tapping on the phone laying on the table before you.

You unlock it, dialing Sugawara. Both of your eyes glued on the incognito man.

He’s phone vibrated, startling him as he jumped in his seat before quickly ignoring the call.

Tsukishima shook his head, before slipping out of the booth. “Let's give him his privacy.”

You nod, picking up your phone to end the call. The notification screen popping back up as you notice another missed call.

“One missed call from :Tooru (#1 Senpai) Oikawa”

“When did he call?” You question, redialing his number for the second time that day. You slid out of the booth, following Tsukishima out of the cafe as the phone rang.

No answer.

You listen to his voicemail, giving Yua a small smile as she looks over at you.

“Sorry I missed you again. Just call me when you get this, or text me...I hope you're having a good day senpai.” You ended the call before walking over to your friends.

“Was the Oikawa-senpai?” Yua questioned as she looked over your face.

“Yeah. He called me this morning too but didn’t leave a message that time either.” You thought back to the late night call you had gotten from him before, it wasn’t unlike him to randomly call you. But never that late and never without a message.

“Do you want to keep trying him?” Tsukki was no stranger to Oikawa or his strange ways, but he could tell from the look on your face that whatever had been bothering you wasn’t a new issue.

“No, it’s ok. I don’t want to keep you guys waiting.” You wave them off, turning up the volume on your phone before putting it back in your pocket.

“Ok.” Tsukki gives you a strange look, his golden eyes unreadable.

“Well what do you guys want to go do?” Yua beams, leaning between the both of you.

“Tsukishima you live over here, is there anything you want to do?” You smile, his eyes softening.

“Not really.” He shrugs.

Yua points to the banner peeking out between the trees of the park, “That looks fun.”

You shift over to see the words boldly written across the white fabric, “New dinosaur exhibit from the United States”

You mouth the words, eyes lighting up at you turned towards and equally bright eyed Tsukki.

He coughed, turning around to hide the growing blush crossing his cheeks as you took a step back.

“We can go if you want Tsukki.”

“I don’t care, whatever you want.” He cleared his throat, avoiding your curious gaze.

“Cute.” You teased, as he pushed you away from him.

“Lets just go.” He grumbles, walking ahead of you.

---

“Wow Tsukki look!” You beamed, pulling him over to another fossilized skeleton of some long dead lizard. “I think this one kinda looks like you.” You teased, pointing to the long neck.

“Think we're distant cousins?” He smiled, stretching his neck out.

You laughed, covering your mouth as groups walking by starred.

“Only if F/N is related to that frilly looking one over there.” Yua added as Tsukishima chuckled.

You fixed your eyes on the familiar hat behind Tsukishima, tucked behind a pillar close to the museum exit. Sugawara had been following close behind the three of you all night, ducking behind exhibits each time you came close.

“I’m going to use the bathroom, i'll meet you both by the exit.” You excused yourself as the other two continued on the prehistoric tour.

You made your way around the opposite side of the pillar, Sugawara looking out the other way as he moved to follow your existing group. You snuck up behind him, looking around him as he scanned to check if it was clear to come out.

“Hi Koushi.” You smiled, looking up at the distracted man.

“Hi F/N.” He looked at you before turning back to the mission at hand, he couldn't let you get too far now could he?

“I like your hat, where did you get it?” You mused, this man was oblivious.

“A gift.” He answers your briefly before spinning around. “Hi!” He chuckles loudly, startled by how close you had gotten.

“What are you doing Koushi?” You tilt your head, an amused smile adoring your face.

“I wanted to make sure your date went well!.” He waved his hands in defense, taking a step back.

You wrapped your hands around his wrist, pulling him back behind the pillar. “And why would you need to do that?”

“Because drunk me worries a lot less than sober me…” He sighs in defeat, what use was it hiding from you. He couldn’t just sit at home while you were on a date with another guy, fake or not.

You groan, rolling your eyes, “ Koushi someone could see you.”

“Well tell Tsukki to stop touching you so much and I wouldn't need to be chaperoning this date.” He huffed in reply, folding his hands over his chest.

“He’s just trying to convince Yua.” You couldn’t help but smile, jealous Sugawara was your favorite.

“Yeah he’s trying something…” He looked away, cheeks growing red at your gaze.

“You're ridiculous, I have to go. Try not to let Yua see you ok?” You stood up on your tiptoes, pushing his hat up enough to press a quick kiss to his cheek before leaving.

He put a hand over the warm spot, throwing his head back as he groaned. He grumbled to himself as he walked off, he might as well try to beat you home at least.

---

“Hey sorry!” You looked between the two as they turned away from their conversation.

“Was it the coffee?” Yua frowned.

“I did tell you to eat.” Tsukki added, chuckling as you smack his arm.

“I hate you both.” You whined, Yua giggling.

“The train is gonna be at the station in about thirty minutes, I think we should head back.” Yua pointed to the clock in the center of the museum, nodding towards the sun setting just [ast the tree line.

“Wow, is it already seven?” You looked at her wide eyed as Tsukki nodded.

“We can cut through the park, the station is just on the other side.”

You followed him and Yua out of the museum, falling behind as you looked down at your illuminated phone.

“It’s Tooru, I'll catch up.” You waved them off as you lifted the phone to your ears.

---

Oikawa looked up at your door, taking a deep breath before shifting the bouquet of flowers to his other hand. He tapped on your door lightly before taking a step back.

Your lights were on in your bedroom, the soft yellow peeking out of the white curtains. He stood on his tiptoes as he watched for some kind of movement behind them.

His anxiety grew as he sank back down on the balls of his feet, nervously chewing on his lip as he reached to knock on your door one more time, this one a bit louder.

He had tried to call you, but for some reason most of them weren't going through. The few that did were never picked up.

He didn’t want to confess to you over a voicemail, and his nerves were too much to leave a coherent message on why he was calling you in the first place.

“Where are you?” He questioned, knocking again on the door. Readjusting the bouquet in his hands he straightened his back and watched the door again.

He knew you were off from practice today, only because he drove by the school three times to check. Were you asleep, working on homework, maybe you had taken a walk down to the corner store.

“Maybe I should call her again.” He frowned, moving the flowers into one hand as he pulled out his phone.

The seconds between each ring felt like eons, his heartbeat stopping all together when the next one didn’t come. His breath hitched once he heard your voice faint on the other end, talking to someone before speaking to him.

“I think that may have been the longest game of phone tag we’ve had in awhile.” You smiled, happy someone had finally gotten through.

“Yeah, it definitely might have been.” He returned your laugh as he looked out at the setting sun over the building tops. He relished the sound of your voice, leaning into the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh nothing, just seeing what your doing tonight.” Oikawa kicked at the concrete step in front of him.

“On a date in Tokyo actually, why?” You look at Tsukki and Yua arguing over what way to go, shaking your head as Yua threw her hands up in defeat.

“Oh, well nevermind then. I was by your house today so I wanted to say hi.” His words caught in his throat, voice cracking.

“Oh, i’ll be back in a few hours…” You frowned, did he sound upset?

“It’s ok, I have to head back to Tokyo for training in the morning.”

“I'm sorry senpai, maybe next weekend?” You stopped walking, Yua waving for Tsukki to stay.

“Yeah, maybe. Get home safe F/N.”

“You too Senpai.” You try to add as the line dies.

He looked down at the bouquet in his hands, lavender and baby's breath peeking out over the opaque cellophane .

He had remembered you mentioning this exact arrangement one night with him. Sobbing into his chest as you cried about never finding a boyfriend, never having a wedding, never getting to have your dream bouquet of flowers.

He found it endearing and quite funny that you decided to confess this to him of all people, the man that of course planned on marrying you one day.

He had wanted to wait until you finished school to tell you of course, you were distracted enough as is. But Sugawara was reason enough to do it sooner rather than later.

He had fought with himself long enough over telling you his true feelings, hated himself for letting another boy break your heart. He couldn’t handle seeing you like that anymore.

So he decided today would be the day, he would confess to you before you and Sugawara got serious. He had planned an entire day but with the lack of communication on both sides now he was left with this. Standing in front of your door as the sun went down, praying that you would open the door before it got any colder outside.

He bit his lip, chuckling as the bouquet fell to his side. “Of course i’ve been trying to reach her all day while she's on a date.”

He looked at the vibrant flowers, his restrained laugh slowly turning into soft sobs. His grip on the stems tightening as he turned back towards his car.

He threw the flowers into the passenger seat before getting in. Turning on the car, he ripped the gear shift back into drive. He sat there a moment, looking at the road in the rearview mirror before easing back into park, foot still rutted into the brake pedal.The lull of the motor reverberated through the steering wheel as he rested his head on the cold leather.

A moment was all he needed, just a moment to be alone as he screamed. Cried out how badly he wanted you to be home, how suffocating it was loving you when you didn't even know, how long he had hated the dull throbbing in his chest everytime he thought of you.

But now his moment was over as he sat back up, rubbing the tears from his swollen eyes as he reversed the car out of your driveway.

---

“Everything ok?’ Yua questions, walking beside you.

“Maybe, Tooru was in town today and wanted to see me.” You looked up at the confused blond behind her.

“Is that a bad thing?” Tsukki tilted his head.

“I’m not sure.” You force a smile as you looked away from your dark phone. “Lets go, we don’t want to miss the train!” You push your friends along, their suspicions waning.

You approached the station with a few minutes for goodbye, eyes falling on each other as you waited for someone to speak first.

“Well i’ll leave you too for your first kiss.” Yua smiles, pushing you towards Tsukishima. “Bye bye Tsukki, it was great meeting you!” She gave him a brief bow before turning to walk away.

“She is so annoying.” You whine as she disappears down the station steps.

“She cares, I think it's...sweet.” Tsukki shakes his head at the bright blue bob looking around the corner at the two of you. “Get home safe, text me that you made it ok if you want.” Tsukishima placed both his hands on the side of your face, leaning in to place a soft kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m sure she’ll ask why if I didn’t.”

You smiled softly up at the blond, “Thank you Tsukki.”

He gave Yua a wave, her head ducking back behind the brick wall of the station as he said his finally goodbyes.

You met Yua as the train pulled in, her squeals pricking your eardrums. “I would have preferred one on the lips for how much I spent on these tickets but that was fine too.”

You rolled your eyes and took a seat besides her on the train. “Ok, ok. Shush before we get kicked off the train.” It was nice to see her happy, despite the deceptive reasonings behind it.

The train ride is spent in silence as you both doze off, you hadn’t been the only one up all night worrying.

As the train pulled in, Yua nudged you awake. Passengers grabbing bags as they departed. You followed behind, walking with her up to the street as you regained some form of coherence.

You gave your friend a wave goodbye ,before turning to leave .Her hand grabbed at the fabric of your sleeve, pulling you back.

“Hey wait can I talk to you really fast?”

“Sure.” It was seldom that you saw Yua timid, eyes avoiding your own as she worked up the courage she usually had.

“Well, F/N. I, well. I’m sorry for everything.” She looked up at you, frowning at your growing smile.

“Yua it's fine, I should have just told you.” You attempted to ease the tension.

“No, it’s not. I didn’t think you could take care of yourself or make these kinds of decisions so I butted into your personal life that you weren't ready to share.” She kicked at the air before taking a deep breath.

“F/N, I was a bad friend. Your mom told me when she left to look out for you and I took it too far. I could have really messed up our friendship.” Her lip quivered as she shook her head. “ I’m sorry, I won’t be your mom anymore!” Her voice was louder then intended as she tried her best to cover the faults in her voice.

You chuckled, placing a hand on your head. “Your stupid and I love you.”

She returned your smile, pushing you lightly. “Go home loser.”

You waved goodbye, walking in opposite directions as you each made your way home. The burden no longer heavy on your friend's chest.

You on the other hand had your own, phone heavy in your pocket.

“Maybe I should call Tooru again, he sounded upset.” You reflected as you walked home.

Something didn’t sit right with you, anxiety building every time you thought about that call.

You pulled out your phone, turning on the screen as you walked up the driveway to your house.

You looked up at the porch, lowering your phone back down.

“Hey you.” You smiled, Sugawara leaning back against the step.

“Hey.” He patted the space beside him, “Let's have a talk.”

You gave him a quizzical look, slowly sinking down beside him.

He looks up at you, his lips in a tight line.“You two are breaking up, I'm not allowing you to see Tsukki anymore.”

You shook your head before laying it against his chest. “That's fine, he thinks he knows more about dinosaurs then me anyways.”

“I’m glad that was the deal breaker.” Sugawara ran his hand down your back as he laid his head on top of yours.

You stayed this way for a while, looking out at the skyline of stars. Your eyes growing heavier as you listened to the soft thumping of the heart that seemed to beat in tandon to your own.

“You should head inside, we have class bright and early tomorrow.” Sugawara pulled you away from his chest, his hand tilting your sleepy gaze to meet his own.

You nodded as he got up. He offered you a hand, helping you up as he brushed the dirt off your pants legs. You walked with him down the stairs to his car, watching him get in. He rolled the window, leaning out to meet you.

“Goodnight.” He smiled, pulling you down to his level. He ghosted his lips over your own before kissing you softly.

“Goodnight.” You leaned your forehead against his before standing back up.

He gave you a small wave before pulling out of your driveway, the size increasing as he drove down the road.

You giggled, watching his car disappear around the corner before making your way back up the steps. As you unlocked your door you noticed a small bud of lilac sticking out from under your doormat, the light illuminating the vibrant sprig as you opened the door.

You leaned down to pick it up, “These don't grow here?” You examined the flower, tilting it over in your hand as the door closed behind you.

----

Previous Chapter- Next Chapter

---

[andy-clutterbuck]

𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨'𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐉𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐲 | 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟏𝟔, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 - 📸: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨'𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐧

[frostsinth]

The Secret We Keep - Pt. 1

*bangs head against wall* .... Soooo I should be working on my ‘Deals with Demons’ Story. Or maybe on some of the art I have around. But I just COULD NOT get this idea to leave me alone until I started writing it down.

Slow burn, sfw, Orc x F. Human. Back to my roots. I hope you like it! I’ve got a great surprise in mind for this one. :DDD

MasterList

The first time I saw him, I thought a storm cloud had passed over the sun. The light streaming in from my window was suddenly snuffed out, and I looked up from my place behind the counter in surprise.

He was so big, even looking directly at him I still couldn’t quite make sense of what I was seeing. His torso filled the window frame from edge to edge, and I even squinted my eyes trying to figure out exactly what was going on. With a huff, I bustled over to the door, opening it with my shoulder.

“Excuse me!” I said, exasperated, placing my hands on my hips and looking up.

And up. And up. And up a little more, until the base of my skull was nearly flat against my back. The man before me must have been well over seven feet tall, with a body that looked more like the broad side of a barn than anything a living person could possess. He wore thick knotted and worn leather armor over his broad chest and legs, with a wide belt probably almost as big as I was. Each leg was as big as a tree trunk, and his arms bulged with muscles. His skin was a dark, washed out green that looked more grey in the shadows of his huge body and he had thick, messy black hair pooling about his shoulders and down his back. He had an equally messy scruff of the coarse black hair on his jaw and cheeks and down his neck, with two thin little braids dangling from the point of his chin. I snapped my open mouth back shut once I had fully assessed him, and cleared my throat noisily. It was rude to gawk.

“Excuse me!” I said again, louder this time.

At first, he hadn’t noticed me. Even when I had spoken. He seemed to be drawing big, deep wuffs of air in through his broad, flat nose nestled in between two massive tusks. A smaller set rested near the base of the first, and his thick bottom lip wobbled a bit as he turned to face me when I spoke a second time. He had to drop his chin to his chest to look at me directly, and one big, bushy eyebrow raised up. Perhaps it was surprise there, I wasn’t sure. I wondered how often tiny humans addressed the behemoth without preamble.

I jerked my head at the window. “You’re blocking my shop!” I told him, not perturbed in the least by his size.

His large, slate blue eyes rolled to look to where I had gestured. I saw them skim over the sign, perhaps even study what could be seen beyond the window. One big meaty hand came up and rested on the huge ax at his hip and he gave a deep grunt. I sighed, shaking my head slightly. Apparently I wasn’t going to get through to him with subtleties. I didn’t recognize him as one of the regular orcs that ambled through town occasionally. Perhaps he was new.  

“I can’t see anything with you standing there. You block out the sun!” I explained, but gave him a friendly smile none-the-less. “You lost? Looking for something in particular?”

He still didn’t answer, dropping his hand and giving another mighty wuff with his nose. I saw his nostrils twitch, then his heavy brow furrowed a little. I decided he looked intrigued, and my grin grew by a few more inches.

“Ah! You’re hungry!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together. “You have a good nose, sir, that you do! I’ve got a fresh pig on the spit and a fair large sampling from the last one on salt!” I turned, shoving the old creaky door to my shop open. “Come in! Come in! I’ll get you a sample! I’m sure you’ll love it.”

I stepped inside and held open the door behind me. The big orc paused, frowning deeply. His slate eyes ran over me, sizing my stout little 5’4” frame from head to toe. I couldn’t quite read his expression, but had already decided it didn’t seem remotely aggressive. I gave him another warm smile, waving him in.

With a shrug of his big, meaty shoulders, he ducked his head and scrunched up his bulk. Following me into my little butcher shop. I squeezed against the wall to be sure to make space for him, letting the door close on its own squeaky hinges and bustling back over to the counter. Once inside, he was able to stretch out a little, thanks in part to the high rafters and wide support beams. I saw him looking about when I glanced over my shoulder. I had a few pheasants hanging on the wall, and a good mess of rabbits and squirrels waiting to be skinned and prepped from the hunter who had come by that morning. On the opposite side, I had stag horns mounted for display, amid shallow bins of salted fish already smoke dried and waiting for sale. My jerky I kept at the counter, to avoid sticky hands grabbing at it when I wasn’t looking. A fresh roast sat on the cutting board alongside my favorite knife. It also happened to be my only good carving knife at the moment. There were some lamb chops on the low burning fire in the corner by the counter, and a few dripping cow haunches smoking overhead.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, making my way over to the counter. The orc was eyeing the lamb, and I saw his nose twitch again. I shook my head, waving him to the barrels that I used as makeshift tables in the back and pulling some of the salted pork from another near me.

“It smells good, but trust me, it’ll be a tough chew!” I told him, sighing as I brought the pork to the counter. I picked up the carving knife and easily shaved off a few sample pieces, placing them on a smoothed piece of wood. “Old man Carver was near desperate, selling off those scraggily little things. Barely any good meat on them! If I manage to slow roast them properly, I might just make them passable for food.”

I followed him over to the opposite corner with my little platter and set it on the barrel. He looked down at it, and I saw him lick his lips. I smiled up at him again, placing my hands on my hips again.

“But you look like a traveller! The salted pork keeps well, and you won’t find better flavor, I can promise you.” I assured him, bustling over to the small keg I kept by the water trough. “I’ll give you a good price if you like that; and I’ve got beef jerky and fish besides if you’d like to add some variety! Let me get you some ale to wash it down.”

Just as I was pulling down one of the cracked old mugs from the shelf, the door of the shop banged back open. I jumped at the loud sound, spinning about. I felt suddenly cold and my heart sank through my chest at the far too familiar sight.

The gnarled looking man gave me a gap toothed grin, sauntering in with his two mates behind him. He was not very tall, but fit as an old war dog with a scratchy beard and lopsided ears to match. His leathery skin was wrinkled from a life sleeping outdoors and working in the sun, and I swore a few flies always seemed to cling to him like he was shit haven. He grabbed his scruffy, beaten cap off his head, mashing it between dirty, calloused hands. His men spread out, effectively cornering me as their leader came over.

“”Ello again, lil lass,” Grinned the ruffian, tucking his hands behind his head to stretch out his lean chest beneath his filthy tunic. “Ye pourin’ us a drink? How ver’ thoughtful.”

“What do you want Erlif?” I pressed in a soft voice, hoping it wasn’t shaking as much as my knees beneath my skirts.

“Ye got yer taxes ready?” Erlif replied, sauntering even closer.

I quickly backed away, until my backside bumped into the counter. “I already paid you this month.” I told him breathlessly, nervously brushing my hands down the front of my apron.

His front tooth wiggled a little when he sucked in his breath, shaking his head. “Well, ya see lass, that was yer father’s tax. An’ we charge different by the head, ya kno’.”

I stiffened at the mention of my father, and my lips tightened. Erlif laughed, tucking his thumbs into his belt. He took a few more long strides, closing the gap between us.

“But dun ya worry, lass,” His grin had returned, and his calloused hand snapped out, snatching the mug from my hands. He seemed amused at my tiny gasp, and leaned closer. “I ‘ave another way ya can pay yer taxes if yer a lil’ short.”

There was the soft scraping sound of wood against wood, and Erlif’s companions shot an angry eye over to my sole patron; they must not have noticed him when they first came in. He had been tucked into the shadows of the back corner, but now he straightened to his full height, head nearly scraping the rafters. As they took him in, I saw the blood drain from their faces. They even took a nervous step back, eyes going wide. One frantically began shaking Erlif’s shoulder, still staring as the big orc took one menacing step closer. Unwilling to tear their eyes away.

“Waht, ye-?” The rogue’s angry words jerked to a stop with a small hiccup in his throat as he turned.

I thought his eyes might pop out of his sockets. His jaw dropped open and I saw that loose tooth dangle dangerously. He even dropped the cup in his hands, and it clattered loudly in the sudden silence in the shop. I found myself tickled at the sight, and almost smiled. The sound seemed to break the sudden terror that had settled upon the trio. His two companions didn’t waste another moment, quickly spinning on heel and darting out the door so fast one smashed his shoulder on the way out.

“S-sorry! Sorry!” Stammered Erlif, backing towards the door as well. He quickly smashed the cap back on his head, clutching his hands before him and hunching his shoulders anxiously. “P-please forgive me.”

Then he too spun and bolted. I stared after them, surprised. I had never seen that stubborn old thief move so fast or back down so easily. But a grin quickly returned to my face. I laughed, shaking off the last of my nerves. I ran one still trembling hand through my hair and turned back to the orc.

“Well, you certainly come in handy, don’t you?” I was still smiling as I bent to pick up the mug the lowlife bastard had dropped.

The orc turned his slate gaze back to me, and one thick brow twitched up again. His meaty hand was still on the head of his ax, and I supposed he might look quite imposing. Standing there with his huge frame filling the tiny shop and his hair a thick black shadow around his shoulders. But I was surprised to find it didn’t particularly bother me. I laughed again, looking down at the mug in my hand.

“I can’t serve you that piss poor excuse for ale after that. Come out back, and let me get you a real meal.” I looked back up at him, “As a thank you.” 

He gave another deep grunt, shaking his huge head. He even started to open his mouth but I raised my hand to silence him. 

“No sir, I won’t let you accept anything less. It’s the least I can do.” I moved over, shouldering the shop door firmly closed and sliding the mostly broken latch in place before turning to the door at the back behind the counter. “Come on then.” I told him, placing the mug on the counter. I didn’t wait to see if he was following me, slipping out the open back door.

Behind the shop was a tiny, open aired square, which is where I kept most of my in-progress work. It was nestled between the clay and wood walls of the tiny shop front and the little one room building set behind the tavern that had been my home for as long as I could remember. The two buildings were almost perpendicular to each other, making the square yard uneven. Alongside the largest wall, there was a good sized cow skinned and hoisted by its hind legs, and three great spits over a coal burning fire off to one side of the courtyard. Fats sizzled in the hot stones, dripping off the two pigs I had roasting there. The third spit had four whole chickens sizzling, and as I passed by I inspected the meat’s progress with a practiced eye. There was a small shambling stable on the opposite side, with a half stone wall in disrepair on the outside facing the main square. It was currently empty; I’d had to sell the old horse to manage rent last month, and the chickens were now on the spit. The wall beside my homemade smoke pits had a large wooden gate set into it to allow carriages and fresh product to be brought in. It was hanging off its hinges and had more holes than wood, but it managed to do the job still. There was a small pile of scrap wood and nails leaning on the wall. My father had intended to make repairs before he had passed, but I didn’t have any time or ability to even think to make the same attempt.

I half expected the man not to have followed me. He had certainly seemed reluctant at best. But when I glanced over my shoulder, he was there, looking around. I smiled cheerily when his gaze settled on me again, and jerked my head towards the door to my place. Again, I didn’t wait, making my way over. I had to put most of my strength into heaving the ancient door open, and gave a little grunt to emphasize the effort. The door complained loudly at the abuse, scraping heavily along the dirt floor.

“Make yourself at home.” I told him, quickly moving a pile of furs off the table and bench in the center of the room.

I dropped them onto my bed in the corner, then bustled over to the water bucket against the back wall. The house was wide, with the same high post ceilings as the shop. At one time, this had been the storage room and the main house had been the small tavern at the back. But I couldn’t remember a time when my family had owned both. Due to its original intent, there were no windows to speak of, save for a makeshift opening in the roof with a trap door made from a barrel lid propped over the top.  I didn’t mind. I had hung herbs and various plants to dry amid the rafters, and the worst of the hot air filtered out through the trap hole in the roof. I lifted the old worn pitcher full of wildflowers to run a damp cloth underneath it over the worn, patched wood of the table, smiling as I saw the orc manage his last hurdle and scrunch through my tiny front door. I gestured to the bench, replacing the pitcher and turning to drop the cloth back in the water and open the tiny larder in the corner by the little stove. I had set a few big barrels alongside the little clay stove, and my sole tin pot waited on top of one. I pulled out a large helping of cheese, and an old bottle of wine, bringing both over to set at the table.

“Here, something to wet your pallet while I get a good chunk off the pig on the spit.” I told him, smiling again as he slowly eased himself onto the bench.

It groaned beneath his weight, and I worried it might not hold. But the old wood managed, and I sighed with relief. I hummed quietly to myself as I took the cloth off the basket of bread I had made that morning, picking the crispiest roll to bring to the table.

I took up a plate and ducked back out the door to the pits in the back. I considered the pair, poking one thoughtfully before tearing off most of one haunch to plate. I brought it back in, still humming to myself, and wiped the juices off my hands as I set it before him.

“You’ll have to tell me what you think,” I told him, “You can be my taster! Let me know if you think it needs a bit more vinegar, or maybe another few hours on the spit.”

The burly orc looked over the simple spread in front of him, then at me. Then back down. I noticed his thick, bushy brows were still raised as he gingerly reached out, ripping off a small piece of the pig. As if he was surprised. I wondered how often people treated the big guy just like anyone else. At least without getting to know him first, as he seemed a nice enough sort. He brought the dripping morsel of meat to his big mouth, feeding it slowly between his tusks almost hesitantly. As if worried it was rotten. His eyes widened with delight as his teeth worked at the meat, and I saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly.

“It’s good.” He rumbled, sounding pleased. 

It was the first time I had heard him speak, I realized. His voice was as deep and heavy as a boulder, and seemed befitting to his huge body. The big orc hunched over with his elbows on the table and began to dig into the haunch. He dwarfed the old beaten table, which would have comfortably sat at least four humans. This close to him, I could see a deep scar over one cheek, and a notch missing from his ear as well as a few flat iron rings in the remaining cartilage. His armor covered the cap of his shoulders, but his big muscular arms were also dotted with scars. I could see his meaty hands looked rough. Likely a laborer, I decided. Especially due to the shape of his body; more square than triangular.

“I’m Madara, by the way,” I told him, sitting at the bench opposite. He glanced back at me as he took up the roll and tore off a piece.

“Hanste’kosh.” He grunted, his slate blue eyes studying me. He looked down at his plate, then over at me again. One big meaty hand shoved it closer. “Eat.”

“Has.. Hanshet… Hankos…” I tried, fumbling over the long name. I reached over and peeled off a little of the pork, bringing it slowly to my mouth.

“Hanste’kosh.” He repeated, his voice rumbling in his chest like thunder over the mountainside.

I laughed, shaking my head as I chewed. “I’m sorry. That’s quite the mouthful!” He grunted, taking a larger bite of the pork and draining back a fourth of the bottle of wine. “Would it be alright if I called you Hans?”

His eyes turned to settle on me again. Seeming to really take me in. I tucked back a loose strand of hand hesitantly behind one ear under his scrutiny. I wondered what he was thinking. The deep scrunch of his brows made me think he might be questioning my motives, or wondering if I was making fun of him. I was certain most humans didn’t treat strange orcs nearly so nicely as I. But they had never bothered me. In fact, I found their blunt, straight to the point manners rather refreshing from most human’s passive aggressive behaviors. Preferable even. Finally, he shrugged his big shoulders, pulling the wedge of cheese over to himself and breaking it into pieces. 

“Sure, why not.” He sounded almost amused, but it was hard to tell from the rolling timbre of his voice.

I smiled cheerily at him, tearing a small piece from the bread. “You can call me Maddie, if you’d like.”

He looked up at me from his hunched position, considering me again through long dark lashes. He chewed slowly for a moment, working his square jaw back and forth almost thoughtfully. I tilted my head to the side, curious but knowing better than to pry.

“Those men,” He began, his thick tongue snaking out to clear his lips, “They bother you much?”

I hesitated, and my face must have fallen a little, because I saw a scowl settle on his features. I quickly raised my hands and shook my head.

“Don’t worry about me. I don’t want any trouble started on my behalf.” I smiled at him, my eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can manage.”

He gave a long, deep ‘hmmm’. But returned to his meal without further comment. I watched him eating quietly for a moment, propping my elbow on the table and resting my cheek in my palm. I decided he was probably younger than he looked underneath all that hair. I wondered the last time he had given it a good wash and comb. Perhaps I might find someone not much older than myself if he did. I suddenly longed to take a stab at it myself, and moved to cupped my twitching hands on my lap under the table.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” I mused, “Are you just passing through? Or do you have business here?”

He licked the juice dribbling down his chops. 

“Business.” He replied, sucking the last of the flavor off his thumb.

I smiled. “Well, you are certainly welcome back anytime... Hans.”

He grunted again, flicking his tangled black locks over his shoulder. He flexed his arms, stretching out a little before giving a sizable snort.

“I should be going.”

I jumped up, smoothing down the front of my apron. “Of course! I don’t mean to keep you.” I craned my head back to look up at him as he slowly stood. “Thank you for everything.”

A non-committal grumble answered me this time, and he turned, making his way out the door. As he ducked his head back into the shop, I scuttled after him, heading over to my stock of jerky.

“Perhaps I can pack you something for the road.”

He shook his big head, his meaty hands shuffling about his belt. “I’ve enough.”

I looked up right as he dropped a small pouch on the counter. It clinked as it hit the wood. I started to open my mouth, straightening from behind the counter. But he was already making his way out.

“Hey, wait!” I cried belatedly, still in a little shock.

Hans already had ripped open the stubborn door with a single flex of his big arm. I thought I heard the sound of wood splintering, but didn’t fully have time to register. I took up the bag, rushing out to the marketplace square.

Despite his size, or perhaps because of his long stride, the orc moved fast. Before I had time to even make it to the doorway, he was already halfway across the square. The people seemed to give him a wide berth, shooting whispers under their breath and glancing sidelong at the behemoth orc. It made me glad that I had invited him in; it must be tough to have people instantly judge you so harshly. But then I merely sighed, slumping my shoulders slightly. The tiny bag of gold coins felt strangely heavy in my hand, and I looked down at it. I gripped my fingers about it more tightly, then turned and made my way back into the shop.

...

Hanste’kosh was nearly to the outskirts of town by the time his lieutenant caught up to him. The smaller orc smacked a fist across his chest respectfully.

“Hey boss. Where’ve you been?”

He scowled at him, heavy brow knotted ferociously, making his second wince and take a wary step back. He put up his palms, patting the air as if trying to smooth over the situation. Hanste’kosh flexed his mighty shoulders, as if he meant to take a swing at the other man. His armor creaked in protest. Ready to remind him how disrespectful it was to pry.

“Sorry boss.” He mumbled, dropping his gaze. “Everything’s ready if you are.”

Giving a snort, the larger orc nodded. “Good.” He turned to make his way to the rendezvous point, but then paused, his heavy brow squinting. “Bar’tok, I have another job for you.”

...

UPDATE: Part Two HERE

[nightskyhoseok]

You’re My Christmas Present // PJM

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: Fluff, Established Relationship

Warnings: just a brief mention of sex and Jimin being a lil’ perv (staring at the booty)

Word Count: 2.5K

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

The cold air rushed through your front door as you and Jimin stumbled into your house, small clumps of snow falling from the sides of your boots and onto the hardwood floor below. 

“Baby, close the door! It’s so cold outside,” Jimin whined, sculpted flakes of snow falling from his red beanie. Quickly, you shut the door, the flow of the freezing winter air stopping in its tracks, the warmth of your home beginning to take its place. As you looked back, you could still see the grey sky through the door’s glass pane, a flurry of snow falling from overhead. 

“Goddamn, I’m freezing. I hate winter so much,” You groaned, still feeling the lingering sensation of winter’s touch against your skin. Jimin, who had begun to take off his coat, smiled at you with flushed cheeks.

“Come here, let me warm you up,” Jimin offered, stepping toward you to pull you into his embrace, only to jump at your cold hand against his. “Oh my god, your hands are so cold!” Despite his words, he still leaned down to press a kiss to your nose. “Ah, your nose too!”

“What, you don’t like my cold hands?” You teased, reaching out to touch the back of his neck, causing him to yelp and raise his hands in defense. 

“No no keep your hands away from me! It’s too cold!” Ignoring his protests, you laughed and began to place your hands all over his bare skin, earning whimpers of annoyance that devolved into laughter from your boyfriend. “Stop, Y/N!”

Jimin suddenly grabbed you by your wrists and pulled you toward him, ceasing your movement. Without warning, he leant down and captured your mouth in his in a short, sweet kiss. 

“You know what you need right now? Blankets and pillows.” 

“We could just have sex to get warm,” You shrugged, shooting a playful smirk at Jimin.

“Okay, yeah, we will do that later, but I think right now you need some hot chocolate,” Jimin hummed, wrapping his arms around your waist when you tried to pull away and turn around. “No no no going back out. We’re staying in this afternoon.”

“But I have to buy a present for my co-worker Doyun-”

“Ugh, don’t even waste your time with him. He got you a Peanut M&M dispenser last Christmas, you don’t need to get him anything.” Jimin smiled and tilted his head, looking down at you with a certain softness to his eyes. “Besides, I have plans for us today, and it starts with some hot chocolate. Come on, into the kitchen we go.”

You immediately groaned in protest, but Jimin simply ignored it and pulled you into the kitchen to prepare two mugs of hot chocolate. While he was waiting for the milk to warm up, he whisked together the cocoa and sugar, then looked back at you, his hands still moving.

“Did you get the decorations?”

“Yep, they’re in the living room,” You nodded, pointing to a plastic container box filled with Christmas decorations.

“Good.” After a few minutes, Jimin had finished the hot chocolate and poured it into two separate mugs, handing one to you. “And here is some creamy hot chocolate just like you like.” Then, from behind his back, he pulled out a bag of marshmallows. “And marshmallows. Jumbo sized.”

“Jimin, these are way too big!” You huffed, holding the bag over the mug to see if even one marshmallow could fit.

“No, they’re not too big. They’ll melt,” Jimin dismissed, but you just threw him a steely glare. “Come on, you know this, Y/N. How many do you want- hey!” Not even a second later, you had opened the bag and began to eat the marshmallows. “Stop eating the- what are you- those are our hot chocolate marshmallows!” Jimin huffed and snatched the bag away from you, setting it down on the counter. “I thought we were saving our appetites for dinner.”

“I can deal with having a few marshmallows,” You said, batting your eyelashes innocently, immediately making Jimin give in. 

“Okay, fine! Here, one more for you, and one more for me. There.” Jimin dropped one more marshmallow into both your mug and his own mug. While he had turned around for a moment, you reached over to the bag of marshmallows and snuck one more out. “Hey, I see you sneaking the marshmallows.”

You snapped your hand back to your side and looked off to the side, avoiding eye contact with Jimin who was laughing at your antics. 

“I wasn’t sneaking anything,” You mumbled.

“You idiot,” Jimin giggled, shifting his mug into one hand to cup your cheek with his free hand. He pulled you closer and pressed his lips against yours, smiling against you as he pulled away. “Come on, it’s decorating time. You can bring the bag of marshmallows.”

Eagerly grabbing the bag, you followed Jimin to the living room as he opened the plastic container and pulled out a string of curtain fairy lights. After tucking it under his arm, he grabbed your hand and began to pull you down the hall, confusion suddenly striking you.

“Wait, where are we going?” You asked.

“Your room,” Jimin answered, looking back at you with a half smile. “I thought that, um, we could decorate the living room later.”

“Why do we need to decorate my room?”

“Have you never decorated your bedroom before?” You shook your head, and Jimin nodded, licking his lips for a moment. “It’s cool. You get to put these up.” Jimin looked down at the lights under his arm. “Ah, what are they called? Fairy lights or whatever. It makes the place look all nice and warm and cozy. And, uh, maybe a little bit romantic. So when you’re lying in bed at night, you’ll feel super Christmassy.”

“I don’t think that’s a word, babe,” You snickered. Jimin just rolled his eyes in response as you both entered your room, only to be greeted by a complete mess covering the floor.

“Oh my god, jagi, why is your room so messy?” Jimin gawked, letting go of your hand to tangle his fingers in his hair.

“Hey, it’s not that messy!” You growled, picking up a balled up shirt to throw it at him. “What, you’re gonna demand to decorate my room and then insult it as soon as you walk in? You are a cruel man, Park Jimin.”

“I’m just saying! There’s like clothes and stuff on the ground and- what is this?” Jimin cut himself off as he bent down to look into a half-open box, but you shouted for him to get away.

“Hey! Don’t touch that! Just turn around while I tidy up a bit.”

“Okay, okay. I’m not looking,” Jimin laughed, turning around as you began to pick up your old clothes and books from the floor, putting them back where they belonged. You looked at Jimin for a second, and you almost swore you could’ve seen him turned around.

“Are you peeking, Jimin?” You questioned in a disappointed tone. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not peeking.” Jimin shook his head, letting out a little laugh of disbelief at your childlike behavior. “Can I look yet? Have you tidied up everything?”

“Give me a second.” After a few more items, your room was definitely more presentable and you scanned over your now clean floor with a sigh of relief. You then turned to Jimin, who was still turned around, his eyes shut tightly. You snuck up in front of him, then stood on your toes to reach his lips and give him a quick kiss. His eyes fluttered open and he looked down at you with a small pout.

“Hey, you can’t sneak kisses in like that. It’s not fair,” Jimin huffed, but his demeanor changed in a second when he pulled you into a tight hug. “You’re so much warmer now.” Jimin pulled back slightly and placed a light kiss on your forehead, a smile creeping onto your face from his gentle touch. “Alright, jagi. Let’s see, how are we gonna put these lights up?” Jimin picked up the bundle of fairy lights he had set down on your desk, along with his hot chocolate. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” You sighed, looking around the room for any ideas, Jimin doing the same.

“Well, there’s an outlet right next to your bed, so why don’t we hang them up on either side over your bed?” Jimin suggested with a slight smile. “That work?” You shrugged and nodded, Jimin cheeks rising along with his lips as he kissed your temple. “Alright, princess. Do you want to put them up?”

“Sure.”

You took the lights from Jimin and loosened the wires while he dragged over your desk chair against the wall. Carefully, you stepped onto the chair, carrying the lights up with you.

“Here, be careful, jagiya. Don’t fall,” Jimin whispered, his hand on the small of your back. When you turned to look at him, you wobbled slightly, but Jimin’s hand kept you steady. “Wait, let me hold you.”

Jimin gripped either side of your hips, his grasp tight to ensure that you wouldn’t fall. You glanced at him with a questioning look and a slight laugh leaving your mouth.

“What are you doing?” You asked, a little suspicious of his darkening eyes.

“Nothing!” Jimin laughed, his eyes squinting. “I’m just making sure you don’t fall down.” You kept glaring at him, but he huffed and pouted slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m just holding you still, cutie. This is for… uh… support.”

“You’re so stupid.”

“Just put the lights up. Gosh, I’m not even allowed to enjoy the view,” Jimin groaned. You laughed and turned around, reaching up to hang up the lights. A minute flew by and the left side of the lights were hung up. “Okay, let’s do the other side.” Jimin helped you down from the chair, his hands still on your hips. You placed your hand on the chair and threw him an inquiring look.

“Should I bring this with me?” Jimin nodded and he dragged the chair to the other side of the bed, preparing to lift you up when you spoke up. “Do you wanna do this one?”

“No no, you can do this one too if you want,” Jimin encouraged.

“Why?” You asked, drawing out the sound of the word.

“Uh, because it’s your room.”

“You sure you’re not just trying to look at my ass again?”

“What? I’m innocent, so innocent I would never even think of it. It’s your room, you put up the lights, right?” Jimin said with an angelic smile and a small eyebrow raise.

“Mmm, whatever you say.”

“Alright, cutie. Up you go.” Jimin once again helped you up onto the chair and kept you steady with his hands as you put up the right side of the lights. “Are you ticklish when you stretch to put the lights up?”

“No,” You scoffed.

“Really? Not even if I do this?” Jimin suddenly began to attack your ribcage with his fingers, pushing a squeal out of you. You slapped his hands away and glared at him.

“Jimin!”

“Okay, okay! I’ll stop,” He laughed, shaking his head.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.” Thankfully, Jimin didn’t tickle you again and you were able to finish putting up the lights. Your boyfriend helped you off the chair and patted your head lightly. “Come on, let’s see how these look. Go turn off the lights and I’ll plug these in.”

You nodded and walked over to the light switch, flipping it so the ceiling light turned off while Jimin plugged in the fairy lights, bathing the room in a warm, yellow light. Jimin made his way back over to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“Wow, that looks so cool. Do you like them?” Jimin asked, looking down at you with a toothed smile.

“It looks so cozy,” You commented, nodding.

“Do you wanna lie down? Maybe take a break while we drink our hot chocolate and enjoy the lights?”

“Alright.”

You both grabbed your hot chocolate from the desk and laid down on the bed, setting your mugs on the bedside table so you could hold each other. Your limbs were tangled underneath the covers, and Jimin’s arms were snaked around you, holding you close.

“It’s so comfy and warm in here,” Jimin hummed in contempt. 

“I know. I never wanna leave,” You added, nestling further into Jimin’s chest.

“Same, I never want to get out of bed.” Jimin placed a kiss on your head and petted your hair slowly. “Something about this time of year just makes me want to hibernate with you. Especially when I’m at work. Probably a good thing that we’re so busy, because then when we spend time together like this, it’s even better.”

Nodding, you just nestled into him further, your nose pressed against his neck and your arm resting on his waist.

“You’re so warm,” You breathed, fluttering your eyes shut.

“Yeah, I’m a super warm puppy right now,” Jimin laughed. He raised his head slightly then spoke in a quiet voice. “Hey, these lights were a really good idea. They’re really pretty.”

“Yeah, they are,” You agreed, opening your eyes again to look at the lights above your head.

“Can I tell you a little secret though?”

“What?” You looked back at Jimin, whose cheeks were painted a light pink.

“Come closer.” You inched closer, but Jimin shook his head. “Closer.” Once again, you moved closer, yet Jimin scoffed and pulled you closer. “Closer.” He stared into your eyes, the golden light of the fairy lights reflecting in his mocha eyes, dazzling like embers. Then, with a smile, he whispered against your lips. “You’re prettier.” He then kissed you for a transitory moment, tugging on your bottom lip as he pulled away. “You’re also a marshmallow thief.”

Laughing from embarrassment, you just shook your head and sighed. “I’m sorry. I was craving them.”

“Don’t worry, we have a lot.” Jimin kissed you again, then pulled you against his chest, his fingers playing with your hair. “You know, something about spending Christmas time together is so nice. I feel like I’m the luckiest man alive this year.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because, I have you for Christmas. It’s like I already got my present. I got the best present that I could ever wish for, and I haven’t even been a good boy this year.”

“No, you definitely have not, especially with all of that jacket falling from your shoulder bullshit,” You laughed, earning a small giggle from Jimin too. 

“Still, thank you for being my best Christmas present that I ever had,” Jimin whispered, nestling his head into yours.

“No problem,” You smiled, cutting yourself off with a quiet yawn.

“You tired?” Jimin asked, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes.

“A little.”

“Close your eyes and I’ll wake you up in a bit, jagiya.” You nodded and closed your eyes, letting your body relax when you felt Jimin press a kiss to your forehead and whisper one last thing to you. “Merry Christmas.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

shoutout to that one person from Reddit who said they got an Peanut M&M dispenser from their mom for Christmas even though they were allergic to peanuts - that’s chaotic evil energy right there

Masterlist • YouTube • Instagram • Discord

[shreddedparchment]

Absence Makes the Heart

04/17/2020

Pairing: Superman x Reader          Word Count: 5,431

Warnings: language, lots of language, violence, blood, wounds, injuries, plenty of angst

DCEU Canon

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write this one down for a while. It’s based on a dream I had but I just went and added details and a little bit of backstory. Nothing too crazy. This will probably just be a one shot. The top half is heavily edited while the second half I just spat out because I was inspired and I went with it. Hopefully it’s good. This is my first foray into something other than Marvel, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Edit: I forgot to thank @babiiface95​ @evansweaters​ and @sherrybaby14​ for giving me some feedback on this! It helped tons!! xoxo

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

In this moment, all you can feel is the pain in your side.

You stumble forward, hitting the chestnut wood of your door hard. With nothing to brace yourself on, you slide along the length of it until you’re sitting, shoulder pressed against it.

“Ugh…” You groan, letting your hand trace the smooth grain until it can latch onto the handle. “Fuck this shit. I quit.”

You tell no one.

There hasn’t been anyone for months.

The door gives as you twist the knob sending you falling onto the small foyer of your apartment. You’re on the top floor, beside the penthouse. Your own place is small. Compact. Just three rooms, four if you count your bathroom.

You pull yourself along the dated ceramic tile and watch as you leave a smear of red behind you.

“Honey…” You begin, kicking the door shut while you stay flattered against the floor. “…I’m home.”

No one responds.

You exhale through your nose as annoyance rips through your chest.

“Fucker.” You say at no one, but obviously someone.

It takes every ounce of strength you have left to haul yourself into your bathroom. You peel off your suit, letting it drop to the floor in a whip of heavy fabric, space quality tech that was not fashioned on Earth but created for you.

To protect you.

Because he said he cared.

“Fucking…fucker.” You huff, yanking the first aid kit from the open shelf beneath your sink.

Your sports bra is drenched in sweat and blood, sticky against your skin as you plop yourself at the small kitchen table. You pull open the kit and reach for needle and thread.

It’s a messy stitch, clumsy and crooked from the angle you’re forced to work in. However sloppy, you do seal the wound to your ribs and the bleeding finally stops.

In your blood-soaked underwear, you make yourself a sandwich and stand at your counter, staring at the primary blue coffee cup sitting beside your own in teal.

You chew loudly, smacking your mouth as the bread sticks to the roof of your mouth. Eyes glaring at the cup, you bite down more fiercely. Tearing the food apart angrily.

“You’re a stupid bitch, Y/N. Get over it.” You sigh, then retreat to your bathroom to tidy up.

~~~~~~~~~~

Exhaustion is not your friend. It makes you cranky and irritable and sad because you can’t stand the silence in your home.

You groan, pressing your hand against your side gently, then reach for the remote and turn on the TV to war the silence.

It’s a cacophony of sound and for a moment, it grates your nerves. Some cartoon, loud and full of slapstick.

Next channel has people screaming at each other from opposite sides of a stage. Chairs begin to get thrown. A guy with a mullet takes off his shoe and chucks it at a man with one ear.

Next channel has an old black and white movie. The pretty woman with dark curls and a heart shaped face leans across a table, chin in her hand as she moons over the composed man who is smirking at her casually.

Nope. You think. No romance.

Next channel is the news.

“-sure what to make of what we’re seeing. It’s like nothing we have witnessed before. Veronica, can you tell us what’s happening?” The news anchor presses his hand to his ear, eyes squinted as he stares ahead.

The screen shifts and Veronica—a pretty woman with flowing red hair and deep blue eyes fills your screen.

“Miguel, it looks as if all of the ocean’s water is being pulled away from our coastline and out towards the ocean. Where the water is going, we aren’t sure. There is no way to know what this means or what can be causing it. And although we’ve seen this phenomenon happen in films, doomsday blockbusters where a tidal wave the height of a skyscraper builds up before the subsequent flood, experts are sure this is not at all what’s going on.

There are dozens of meteorologists, marine biologists, oceanographers, and astronomers still searching for the cause. The only thing that they all can agree on for certain is that the oceans are not withdrawing, but rather, they are draining, leaving sea life, coral reefs, and the ocean floor exposed.

“Something is pulling this water away. Whatever is causing this, is not natural.”

Sitting up, you place your elbows on your knees as the video changes to that of a helicopter shot as it circles the ever-decreasing ocean line. A humpback whale and her calf attempt to outswim the retreat, but they fail and as the water falls away, the creatures are beached between two sheer ocean cliffs.

“What the hell…” Reaching up, you cover your mouth, watching as the video moves back to Veronica.

“If we can’t figure out why the ocean is draining, we will have hundreds if not thousands of species left without chance of survival. This is not only a loss of a life for many endangered species, but also leaves us to face the consequences within our fishing industries and the millions of people it not only feeds but employs as well. If we cannot stop-”

Veronica suddenly stops speaking, holding her hand to her ear as she listens for a moment.

“Sorry, Miguel, it looks as if Doctor Rashda has found a source point for the draining. Doctor Rashda can you hear me?” Veronica asks, waiting for a moment before the video splits vertically.

The second frame of video sits empty, a sloping sandbank visible in the distance. It curves around in a semi-circle at the center of which is a growing swirl of dark blue water.

“Doctor Rashda?” Veronica asks again, her eyes frantic as they search a monitor out of view.

“Surrender.” A voice says, high pitched. Female. “Surrender and you will not suffer. Surrender your planet, and I shall make your end quick.”

Veronica is silent as the column of swirling water parts a little, just enough so that a pale face is visible.

“Surrender.” The voice says again, the pale face’s lips moving as it speaks. “And you will die quickly.”

Frowning, you move to the edge of your seat, your anger doubling.

“M-Miguel are you seeing this?” Veronica asks, voice small with fear.

Miguel doesn’t answer.

The figure in the water holds out its hand and from the swirl comes a smaller sphere. In this sphere something moves. As the camera zooms in, you can make out the distinct shape of a body, thrashing within its bubble.

Veronica screams just as you and everyone else that must be watching realizes that within the bubble is Doctor Rashda, struggling and gasping for breath.

You’re up on your feet, racing to pull your suit back on when a commotion pulls your eyes back to the TV, legs already in but with one shoulder exposed as you freeze mid-dress.

“He’s back!” Veronica is shouting gleefully. Relief and reverence painting her voice. “Superman is back!”

You move two steps closer to the TV, not intending to take the word of a panicked reporter. Until you can lay your own eyes on him then it isn’t real.

A few seconds pass. Then, a blur of blue and red streaks through the center of the bubble and when the water stops rippling, Doctor Rashda isn’t there.

“Motherfucker.”

You pull your suit on roughly, ignoring the way the movement tugs at your side as you zip up and launch out your open window.

You fall fast, plummeting towards the ground in a streak of teal and gray. When you’re only three feet away, you feel a surge of power as your arms, and legs burn with white hot energy.

It pushes you upwards and propels you higher and higher until you’re soaring across the sky at incredible speeds, leaving a silver trail of light behind you.

It only takes you minutes to reach the coast but sometime between you jumping out of your living room window and arriving here by the Golden Gate, the fight has moved cityside.

You hear a deafening crunch as blue and red goes slamming into black, gray, and brown ocean floor, disappearing into the subsequent rubble.

Heart pounding, you propel yourself towards a thin figure, long stringy black hair, sallow skin, arm still stretched out from her hit. She turns to look at you just as you reach her, but you throw your own fist out in a powerful uppercut. It throws the strange woman high into the air.

You follow for a few feet, hovering in there as you watch her skyrocket out of sight into dark clouds overhead.

Behind you the heap of ocean floor rubble begins to shift.

Coming to rest on the cliffside above, six feet below he breaks through the rock and it falls around him, a flurry of fine sediment saturating the air.

Chest heaving, side burning, heart clenched so tight you think it might truly be shredding, you watch as the fucker stands up and does a quick scan of the area looking just as perfect as he did when he left.

His eyes are focused, searching the sky for sight of his attacker but instead he finds you.

His eyes soften and you’re still so angry you glare. You turn on your heel and walk away, staring up at the sky as you wait for the woman to fall.

“Y/N…” You hear him say, but you don’t turn to look at him.

You can feel the swirling of wind as he flies up to you, the soft pats as his feet hit the ground. He circles around your right, leaning forward to get a better look at your face.

In your peripherals you can see the gentle curl of his dark hair, falling along his forehead and a hundred memories of your hand gently sweeping it aside make your body tremble.

The pleasure that the memory brings makes your blood boil and you roll your eyes, ignoring the puppy eyes he gives you.

“Let’s just get this over and done with. I’m tired.” You assert and watch as the strange woman careens towards the two of you, an inhuman screech growing louder as she falls.

Moving forward a few steps you aim yourself, bend your knees and launch yourself up towards her. As you collide, she grabs hold of your shoulders, and the two of you twist and spin in the air, struggling to get the upper hand.

Shifting quickly, you pull her over you, grab hold of her shirt front and with all the force in your body, you spin and chuck her down as Clark flies towards you to finish the job.

~~~~~~~~~~

A tattered white dress is all that remains of the ocean thief.

“Who was she?” Clark wonders, moving to stand beside you as you watch the stain of saltwater grow as her body dissolves to nothing.

“You don’t know?” You ask him, turning to look at him and hating how much it pleases you to finally see him again.

His broad body, thick with muscle and stupidly accentuated by his damn blue skintight suit, feels larger than before he left though you know that’s silly. He’s as God like as ever, though he’s only an alien. To the world, he’s a savior. Invincible.

Superman.

What really hurts to look at are his eyes.

It chokes you, those baby blues, full of unspoken questions and expectation. For you. For the future. For the present. He wants to know you again.

You tear your gaze back down to the woman as Clark shakes his head.

“No. I was flying home when I saw the ocean empty and followed the trail to the spout she was in.” Clark explains.

“Well, it’s too late to find out now.” You point out. “The water will come back soon. You’ll need to make sure people stay away from the coastline.”

Turning towards him, you wait, your rage evened out and layered with betrayal.

That painful gaze of his so piercing it nearly steals your breath away.

“Where were you, Clark?” You ask quietly, your anger outweighing the hurt.

The apologetic look he gives you, the tilt of his head, the step he takes towards you grates your nerves.

“Y/N-”

“It’s been months. Almost a year.” You sigh, unwilling to give in.

He takes your hand and the impulse to pull away nearly overwhelms you.

His hands are rough, only in that masculine way. His skin is unblemished. Perfect.

The strength of his movements are carefully calculated. A natural habit he’s developed after a lifetime of having to be gentle to keep from breaking those he touches. The heat from his hands is familiar and it envelops yours easily.

“I was coming home.” He tells you.

“Home? How do you know that it’s still your home? Maybe someone else has moved in.” You threaten and there’s a visible fall in his eyes.

It nearly breaks your icy exterior. But you have every right to be angry and hurt that he left you. Out of the blue, no word as to where he was going or when he’d come back.

“I have to go.” He’d said, and left you sitting on the couch, wondering when he’d come home.

He looks down at your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

“You went to see her first, didn’t you?” You accuse and he quickly meets your gaze.

“No.” He assures you passionately, moving a little closer. “No, I was going straight home.”

“She’s been looking for you.” You tell him, tempted to confess how useless you’d been in those first few weeks he was gone. “All of them have been. Where is Superman? Is the million-dollar question. And now here you are.”

He’s back just as randomly as he’d left. Just as sudden. Just as quiet.

“There he is!” A familiar voice shouts. On the bank across the large ravine you both stand in Veronica appears looking dazzled and excited, her camera man hoisting up his camera to begin what will be the first clear footage of Superman finally back. Earth’s hero returned.

Quickly you pull your hand from his and turn to walk away.

“Where are you going?” He asks, following for a few steps.

“Home. I’ve been in Australia for the last month dismantling a new crime syndicate with Bruce. He and I are both very tired. He stayed behind.”

“Oh.” Clark says.

“Superman!” Someone calls. “Superman is back!”

Civilians have begun to gather along the empty waterway, all of them eager for a glance at the Man of Steel.

You know how you made it sound and maybe it’s your annoyance making you push him away now that he’s home, but all you can think about is getting back home and being alone.

“The water will be back, Kal.” You shift to his birthname with so many ears nearby. “Get these people away.”

You leave him standing there, watching you fly away, with those baby blues full of quiet yearning.

~~~~~~~~~~

The apartment…your home…it’s a void.

You sit on the arm of your sofa still in full uniform, hand gently resting on your thigh—palm up. You’re a mess again. Dirty with blood and dirt and sweat.

Needing a shower doesn’t do much to deter your silly brooding. Silly because you did this to yourself. You made it seem like you had someone new waiting for you here when really the bleak emptiness is in need of a six-foot, three-inch tall Kryptonian.

His presence is here. Loud and white hot. His coffee cup burns you from across the kitchen—asking where its owner is. His drawer still full of clothes. Comfy sweatshirts and crisp white t-shirts. Blues and grays and reds too.

There’s one you’d set aside. The last he’d worn. Only once. It had sat on the end of your bed night after night until you’d caved and pulled it on. Now it probably smells more like you than him.

The place is silent. Only the drip, drip, drip of the bathroom sink breaks the quiet.

Your gaze wanders to his shoes by the door, shoelaces left undone, a small speck of mud on the side of the left heel.

Shutting them, your eyes water.

No. You shake your head. I won’t cry.

You take a shaky breath and release it slowly, sighing as your body slumps forward.

The movement reminds you of your earlier wound and you gasp in pain as you sit up straight again, leaning to the side to look at the spot growing increasingly wet on your side.

“Shit.” Stitches are probably torn open. “Fuck.”

Maybe it’s your frustration with this whole situation or maybe your wound really just hurts a lot, but as you reach over to feel the bloody spot, your voice finally breaks. Though there are no tears, they really want to fall.

“Fucking, stupid, fucking…” You sigh again, this time faster, angry.

“That’s a lot of French.” Clark says, his voice smooth and even and excruciatingly beautiful to your ears.

You stand up, startled, and spin to watch him pull his left leg in through your open window, following his torso.

He’s still in his suit, cape and all. Once again, the sight of him reminds you of his Godlike status. His perfection unreachable and yet, here he is. In your home. Where he’d given himself to you openly and without reservation.

He stands there, his hands clenched into nervous fists. Skin just as dirty as yours but not sweaty. Not bloody. His hair is a little disheveled. The tresses normally so carefully tempered are free to curl and wave.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice still weak from your raw emotional outburst.

“I went to see Bruce.” He explains, and you might just kick yourself for implying Bruce would be waiting for you. “Why-?”

“Because I wanted to hurt you.” You admit, cutting him off before he can word the question. “Because I wanted you to regret leaving me the way you did.”

“I do regret it.” He sighs. “I-I only left because I thought I heard…”

He hesitates and you’re tempted to kick him out. You turn away from him and move into the kitchen, trying to ignore the wound that needs tending.

With your own coffee cup in hand, you pop a k-cup in your Keurig and punch the power button, waiting for it to power on before you select the largest cup option and listen to the whirr of the motors instead of Clark’s silence.

“I went to Krypton, or what’s left of it.” Clark finally says, this time from the mouth of your kitchen archway, hands still clamped tight.

You shut your eyes tight, hands clinging to the edge of your counter. Squeezing ever tighter until they begin to ache, and you still only keep squeezing.

“I wish I could be as impressed by that answer as I was the first time you told me that.” You shake your head.

“It was different this time, Y/N.” He shakes his head, then takes a step closer.

The movement draws your eyes and you watch the intense focus on his face, the uncertainty to speak.

“What is it?” You ask, still a little bitter.

Even though he looks as if he means it and this trip to Krypton is more serious, he’s not speaking. He’s keeping this from you. Holding it back.

“Jesus fucking Christ Clark, I guess you don’t trust me.”

“No.” He insists, moving another step closer which still leaves him a ways away from you in the kitchen. “It’s not that. I do trust you. More than anyone. But…”

You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to go to hell and to stay away from you and to shove his excuses up his ass, but your curiosity is growing.

There’s a small panic in his baby blue eyes. A fear.

So, you wait. You hold your tongue. You’re patient for now. You give him a familiar silence that tells him you will wait until he’s ready.

He recognizes it and meets your quizzical gaze as your coffee finishes brewing.

You don’t even realize it’s done as you stare into Clark’s eyes and he stares into yours.

The moment he decides, his shoulders relax. His jaw drops a fraction of an inch as he stops clenching his teeth.

As the weight on his shoulders is visibly lifted, you feel yourself relax too. Nearly a year of being without him and you’re still so attuned to his moods.

“I found someone.” He tells you. “On another planet, in a Kryptonian ship that had been sent only days after my own.”

“Another Kryptonian?” You ask, curious but also fearful.

You remember very clearly the last Kyrptonian that had come to Earth. Zod and his minions had torn Metropolis to shreds. They’d killed so many people and Clark had made the hardest decision in his life.

Not that you’d been there. She’d been there. But Clark had let you in on the weight of that moment. The choice that he hated to make but would gladly do so again.

He must see the fear in your eyes because he shakes his head and takes yet another step towards you.

“No. Don’t be scared. Really. She’s-”

She?!

“-she’s harmless.” You frown at him because that’s the stupidest fucking thing he’s said since getting back. Maybe the stupidest thing ever.

“Okay,” He amends. “Maybe not harmless, exactly. She’s my cousin, Y/N. And she needed help.”

“Your cousin?” You ask, voice low and full of questions.

“From what I can tell, she was sent here after me, but when her ship was knocked off course, she was trapped in form of hypersleep for a long time. She was older than me, but now she’s a lot younger.” Clark continues to explain, speaking with some gusto now that you’ve allowed him to pick up some momentum.

“Where is she?” You wonder.

“I left her with a family that can take care of her. Someone that I trust. Far away from me. She’s still very young and I think it would be best if she remained hidden for a while. Just until she learns how to control her abilities here on Earth and to give the world time to get used to the idea of another Kryptonian.” He takes one more step.

“After Zod, I don’t know that there is any amount of time that would prepare the world for a Supergirl.” You frown.

With your defenses lowered, Clark takes the opportunity to step even closer, finally stopping beside you.

He hesitates again, this time as he reaches to take hold of your elbow. His fingers press against your arm gently like he’s stroking piano keys. Testing to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

He lifts your arm a little and doesn’t break eye contact with you until your arm is lifted enough that he can get a clear look at the red on your side. Head tilted to the right as he assess the injury.

Straightening his head, he slides his hand down to your hand, taking it before gently pulling you away from the kitchen, through your bedroom, and into your bathroom, switching on lights as he goes.

Watching him be like this has always been your favorite. He moves with a purpose, eyes trained on what he’s looking for without a glance spared your way.

You stand beside him as he holds your hand, hunched over to look under the sink for your first aid kit.

After he retrieves it, he pulls you back out into the kitchen. There’s more room there for both your bodies, especially with his taking up so much space.

He places the kit on the floor before he pulls you in front of him. Both of his hands find your waist and he lifts you up onto the edge of the counter to sit.

Slightly surprised, you gasp and place your hands on his shoulders, tracing the muscle while you can do so discreetly until you must remove them and place them at your sides.

Clark steps towards you, his hard abdomen pressed up against your legs as he wraps both arms around you, hands searching for the zipper on your back. Leaning over your shoulder to get a look at it, he’s almost hugging you.

And you can’t stand the tease of it.

The movement is quick, and he leans back again once he’s got the suit undone.

“What happened?” He asks as he hooks his thumbs into the top of your suit and pulls it down over your shoulders, your biceps—then holds the arms still as he waits for you to pull them out—then bunches it down along your waist to expose your injured side. “Lift your arm.”

You do as he ass, wincing as it tugs on the reopened cut.

“This is deep.” He disapproves.

“Bruce and I really were in Australia. One of the guys caught me with a knife just as we were getting them rounded up.” You explain.

“This is gonna hurt.” He tells you as he pulls the kit onto the counter beside you and pulls out a pair of small scissors and tweezers.

It takes him almost no time at all to snip away the broken threads and clean the wound again.

He waits, thinking for a moment, then meeting your gaze.

“Do you want something for the pain?” He checks, eyebrows raised in worry.

“Just do it, Clark.” You sigh, frustrated because this is all too familiar. This proximity, the smells, the heat, the way his hands poke and prod at the edges of your cut.

His eyebrows gather together as his jaw flexes with a frown, staring at the cut as he threads the needle quickly.

A proper needle this time, sanitized and threaded properly.

Taking your lifted arm, he pulls it over his head onto the opposite shoulder and places your hand there where his cape meets his suit.

“It’s gonna hurt.” He says again, and you realize he’s giving you something to squeeze.

And he’s right. Without the adrenaline from before, you feel every stitch and you’d thin you would get used to this sensation. But it hurts like fuck all and you squeeze his cape tight until you can’t help but give a small yell in annoyance.

“Why is it always the little wounds that hurt the most?” You sigh as he sips the thread and moves to clean his work area.

“You should go shower.” Clark says as he sanitizes the counter. “Be careful with your stitches.”

You don’t fight him on this because you desperately need another shower. Maybe if you’d been fine, you would have argued, but you’re dirty and aching.

When you emerge from the bathroom, you find that the sky outside has darkened. You dress quickly, just a pair of black old cutoff sweats and one of Clark’s gray hoodies.

You’re absolutely swimming in it, but it’s so soft and comfortable. Loose so that it doesn’t add any pressure to your stitches.

The apartment is so quiet you stand there, pulling the sweatshirt down as you listen intently for any kind of movement.

“Clark?” You call, just a little insecure after months of his absence.

You move out into the living room. The floorboards creak and moan as they settle beneath your feet. The large carpet in your living room silences your steps but you also stop walking, staring at the empty kitchen, then the empty living room.

Had you dreamt him?

Maybe he really isn’t back?

What if you’ve finally gone crazy?

What if he’s never coming back and you’d passed out after you got back from Australia and everything with the ocean had been a dream?

Are you really going nuts?

There’s a soft thud from your bedroom and with eager footsteps you rush back in.

Sitting on his side of the bed with his bare feet planted on the ground, Clark is hunched over. Elbows on his knees. Hands resting relaxed at the wrist while he stares at the floorboard underneath your bedroom window.

“Clark…” You sigh, not realizing how relieved you sound.

He’s changed, wearing a pair of gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt.

He looks good. Showered. His curls just barely damp.

“Am I welcome here?” He asks, staring ahead.

You move to the bed and climb on, walking on your knees towards him until you stop just a foot away and sit back on your legs.

It’s a good question. One you think on for a moment.

“You didn’t come back for ten months, Clark.” You sigh, hating that fact. “I didn’t know if something had happened to you or maybe you’d decided to leave me and Earth behind altogether? Mostly I just thought you were dead. I spent most of my time convincing myself that you’re so close to invincible that killing you might be impossible but-”

“I’ve died before.” Clark says, hating the idea that people think him a God. He turns towards you and frowns.

His words, however true they may be, send painful clenches into your chest.

Your face does something that makes his demeanor shift. Suddenly he’s sitting beside you, arm wrapped around your waist as he reaches up to push your hair back and away from your face.

His fingers graze the skin of your neck and he hooks it there, squeezing gently.

“I’m not dead.” He says, maybe guessing your thoughts of madness? “I’m right here.”

“But you weren’t.” You shake your head. “And I was so angry at you. I hated you. I cursed your name. Fuck that guy. Stupid fucker. I hate him.”

Clark simply watches you, his eyes moving side to side as he looks at your face and every expression that crosses your features.

The one thing that you’ve always loved about Clark, is the way that you can tell he’s really listening. Not once have you felt as if you weren’t being heard. Even if he doesn’t agree with whatever you’re saying, he listens so intently, trying to understand your point of view before he poses his own.

And you love him for it.

Shit. You still love him. Of course, you do. Of course, he’s always been yours.

Even in his absence, you were his and he was yours.

“I said that almost every night, hoping that you would hear me and come back. But you didn’t.”

“But I did.” Clark says. “I’m here. And I’m sorry I left without explanation. I’m sorry that I put you through that. And I know that you can’t forgive me for it. That I’ll be trying to earn your trust again every day that we’re together. But, please can I stay?”

He rubs your lower back, his large hand sending heat into every inch of your heart. Restarting it after he killed it ten months ago.

“Please?” He begs. “All I’ve thought about is getting back here. To you. To our home and our life together.”

You shut your eyes, relishing in the way his arms feel around you, his hands large and hot. His breath is sweet and warm. His scent is clean and so him that it makes your stomach flutter.

You won’t need that shirt of his anymore. Now you have him back, here with you. Where you can touch and feel and love and laugh and just be with him.

“Or should I leave?” He asks.

Your eyes pop open, red fury raging through them. “You do and I’ll hunt you down, Kent.”

He smiles, softly at first. But when your hand begins to trace the taut sinew of his muscly forearm, his smile grows wider. It grows and grows until it’s blinding and beautiful.

You trace the curve of his shoulder, tickle his neck before reaching up to smooth the curls that fall against his forehead gently.

He shuts his eyes, enjoying the affection before you push yourself forward between his legs and settle on your side.

You cuddle into the center of his chest, tucking yourself between his arms, head on his chest, under his chin, arms grabbing tight to the soft cotton of his shirt.

“I missed you.” He whispers against your hair.

You smile, shutting your eyes as you let yourself finally be at ease. Clark is home.

[kabira]

04 | solo

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

featuring — joshua, yeji (itzy), felix (skz), yangyang (nct)

word count — 2.6k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — one instance of profanity

go to fic masterlist | main masterlist

“You’re being a bitch.”

Vernon closed his locker’s door with a click before turning around, looking at the ceiling in exasperation when he heard the accusatory voice. There was a tube light directly above him, brilliant and blinding right in his sight. He turned away as quickly as he had looked up, blinking back the dark spots in his stinging eyes.

He didn’t bother acknowledging Lucy before making his way down the hallway, bag slung over one shoulder. His muscles ached from the previous night’s encounter—he’d ended up swinging around for longer than usual, long after the three had to go back to the Helicarrier for their bedtime. Knowing May wouldn’t be waiting up for him back home had made him a little careless, and the exertion during gym hadn’t helped.

“Don’t you walk away from me, mister!” Luce called behind him. When she saw that he wasn’t stopping, she blew air out of her mouth in irritation before jogging to catch up. “Vernon! What is up with you?”

The hallway was mostly empty, which wasn’t that surprising. He’d had to stay back in the lab to clean up his new partner’s chemical spill, which had, of course, been blamed on him instead. The old Parker luck. “I need to get home, Luce.”

“Do you?” she asked, and he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. A muscle in her jaw was working, tensing and relaxing at periodic intervals, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance. She was usually relaxed, but her current gait was constrained, like a coiled-up spring. “I saw how you nailed that new kid in gym today. You usually opt out of dodgeball, but—”

“He had it coming,” Vernon said dismissively, but his lips thinned. The new guy she was referring to was Yangyang, who did have it coming, because of his little incident in the cafeteria the day before. Maybe it was a little uncalled for, but Vernon still honestly believed he had deserved it at least a little bit. “And you’re not supposed to chew gum in the school.”

“Neither are you supposed to be mean to people for no reason, but we’re all sinners.” Luce shrugged, and he bit back a few choice words. She pushed through the door as they reached the exit, and he shielded his eyes against the hot midday sun that’s shone directly at them. “For real, though. You got him good—I’ve never seen you so hostile towards anyone save for Flash. Did Yangyang say something to you?”

For some reason, her knowing his name annoyed Vernon even further. “Did you get the answers to those questions yesterday?” he asked, switching the subject.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Very funny.” The laces of her converse were untied, a band pin on the lapel of her jacket wobbly, a few strands loose from her dark ponytail. He blinked, tearing his mind away from the little details of her appearance and tried to focus on walking. Left, right, left. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah, well, I had a headache last night,” he said, grateful he didn’t have to hunt for excuses. His thoughts were already sluggish. “You can ask May.”

“I meant the one about Yangyang.” She paused, and he paused with her, taking a few steps before backtracking towards her. Her eyes were downcast, brow creased thoughtfully. Unconscious little gestures he knew like the back of his hand. Then she glanced up at him, right at him, so suddenly that when her eyes met his he swayed on his feet a little. “You don’t want to tell me, do you?”

I can’t, I’m sorry. But cryptic answers never helped. The last time he had tried withholding something from her that wasn’t his Spider-Man secret—the planned surprise party, for instance—she had persevered until he accidentally let it slip. Plus, she was sharp. A couple of new students, a few matching injuries, and she’d guess those three were superheroes right away. And where would he be then?

“It’s a guy thing,” he said instead, a little white lie he hoped would do the trick. Vernon raked a hand through his hair, pressing his lips into a smile as he squinted at her. “You’re going to embarrass me in front of all these pigeons.”

“The pigeons are half-dead because of New York’s air pollution, I’m pretty sure they have more important things to worry about than some guy’s adjustment problems,” she said, resuming her walk. He waited for her to pass him before following. “Look, I know the new kids are a sudden change after—” She bit the inside of her bottom lip. “Well. After…you know.”

All of a sudden, the atmosphere turned gloomier, as if a cloud had passed overhead. “Yeah,” Vernon said thickly, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know.”

Lucy glanced at him, and though he wasn’t looking directly at her, he could sense the regret in her eyes. “It must be difficult for them, too,” she said. “Joining a new school in the middle of a session, just a few weeks after…all that.” She shrugged, looking at him, and their eyes met. “There’s no harm in being decent.”

He looked away, feeling the lining of his stomach go hot-and-cold. Even a mention of the incident turned every sunny conversation into something dark and somber, even though it had been months already. The counselor/agent had tried making him open up about it as well, but he’d snapped at her, only to regret it right after. It was a difficult subject for him, especially since he felt at least partially responsible for what had happened—but he couldn’t tell Luce that without revealing more than he was supposed to.

“So you’re still trying to score an interview with Tony Stark?” he asked instead, trying to steer the conversation towards a different topic. “I still can’t believe the board’s letting you do that.”

“Honestly? I think the only reason they agreed to it is because then they won’t have to assign me to anything of real importance,” she said with a small laugh. “They think I can’t do it.”

“Can you?”

“I have my ways,” she said, a glint in her eye. “I’d tell you how, but it’s too dangerous to involve an innocent civilian in my plans.”

“Uh-huh.” He tried not to shake his head. Oh, the irony. “You don’t have to talk to Stark, you know. I’m sure there were other civilian witnesses to the Goblin incident.”

“Yeah, but their accounts have already been reported. I need a superhero for this job.” She blew a strand of her hair out of her eyes. “If not him, who else am I going to talk to? Spider-Man?”

He laughed awkwardly. “Maybe?”

“I think Stark might be easier than that.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s kind of the point of the mask.”

He looked at her in half-surprise, unsure what to feel. They had talked about Spider-Man before, of course, but only in passing. A masked vigilante wouldn’t really be central to their usual conversations. Still, he hadn’t expected her to say that. “Yeah,” he murmured, feeling oddly warm. “I guess it is.”

“Oh, look,” she said, stopping in her tracks again. Vernon raised his eyebrows, following her line of sight to a Daily Bugle billboard on the side of a tall building. “Jameson’s having a field day with those photos of the new guys.”

He took a long look at the screen, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Why would you show me that?” he mumbled. On the top right corner of the screen was a blurry picture of him with Tiger, Nova, and Iceman, looking like a perfectly normal team of superheroes fighting crime—except for the leftover webbing clinging to Nova’s costume. Distractedly, Vernon wondered what Jameson made of that little detail.

“As a sighting in Queens last night reported, it seems that Spider-Man has now deemed it fit to invite even more of his delinquent partners into this city!” the man on the screen yelled. If Vernon tried hard enough, maybe he could even see little spit bubbles form in Jameson’s salt-and-pepper moustache during the passionate rant. “With crime rates already increasing steadily ever since the arrival of this masked menace, who knows what kind of mayhem the new additions to his team will spell for New York?”

Always the charmer.

“…anyway,” Luce muttered. She was frowning at the screen, but seemed unable to look away. “Who do you think those guys are?”

“Those guys?” Vernon echoed, awkwardly running his thumb along the strap of his bag. What could he say that would arouse the least suspicion? “They seem new.”

Nailed it.

“Right,” she mumbled, looking distracted, like her mind was far away—never a good sign with this one. “But, as I was saying, I know the past month’s been hard for you. It’s been hard for me, too, but you shouldn’t take it out on a few unsuspecting newbies when they don’t deserve it.”

Vernon kissed his teeth, choosing to stay silent. The last thing he wanted right now was more impromptu therapy, but he knew that trying to dissuade Lucy from speaking would only encourage her. The best he could do was shut up and let her have it.

“You know what’s helped me deal with it?” she asked, and he raised his eyebrows, wanting to get it over with. “Working. Ever since I joined the school newspaper, I’ve been able to keep myself busy. Distracted. I don’t want to sound like a mom, but maybe something like that could work out for you—like an after-school job or something.”

Oh, you have no idea. But he only shrugged, keeping his eyes on the billboard. He had been able to keep busy as Spider-Man, a well-needed distraction from the pain, but now with those three around, it wasn’t the good kind.

“Maybe,” he murmured, watching on as Jameson gesticulated violently onscreen. “We’ll see.”

|

Vernon swung the drone trapped at the end of his web in a full circle before letting go, letting it fly through the training room into a collapsed structure of another laser. The drone exploded, sparking as it crashed, crushing the circuit of the lasers in the structure beneath it.

Dusting off his hands, he turned, facing the rest of his ‘team’-mates, who stood to one side, having been watching him as he single-handedly took on the subjects of their training session. He had been going at it for about half an hour now, and it had been strangely satisfying to get to throw stuff around for the heck of it.

Nova stood leaning against the wall next to the control panel, his arms folded over his chest. “You done yet?” he asked in a bored voice.

The drone Vernon had just disabled sparked again, shooting an angry red beam across the room. Vernon clicked his modified web shooters into condensed impact mode and webbed the drone again without looking. The drone crackled once, then its light went dark.

“I am now,” he said, dropping his arm. Felix watched him with bleary eyes as he turned and headed towards the exit, which slid open with a pneumatic hiss. “And since I managed to complete the mission objective solo, I think I’m going to head home.”

“Except you didn’t.” White Tiger landed in his path, executing a perfect handspring that arched high over his head. Her reflexes were as good as his—maybe even better, but he would probably never tell her that.

She crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one leg. Despite the mask covering her features, he could sense how peeved she was through the sheer annoyance radiated by her posture. “The objective was to disable the bots without alerting the security system. You trashed the drones and crashed the system, and the power failure would have initiated a manual site-wide search. If this had been a real mission, we would have been discovered by now.”

“Except this isn’t a real mission,” he said, equally annoyed. “If it had been, I’m pretty sure I would have been able to do the job easily. Six armed drones against one spider? No competition.”

“And this was supposed to be a team effort,” she snapped. “If this had just been a solo training session, I would have had no problem with you doing what you just did. But in case you forgot, the whole point of this is to prepare us for team combat in real situations, to help us learn to work better, together. Your taking on everything alone wasn’t heroic, it was an obstruction of the purpose of this entire thing.”

She took a step back, suddenly, as if reeling from a blow, though he hadn’t even moved. The training room had gone silent—granted, it hadn’t been very noisy in the first, place, but her voice had been so loud and her words so rapid that Vernon had forgotten the silence. Now it pressed down on him, like another layer to his suit.

She dropped her arms to her sides, fingers curling in and out slightly, her claws retracting under the white gloves. “I know it’s difficult for you having to work with someone against your will,” she said, “and I know you don’t like us very much. But that’s not a good enough reason for you to throw away everything we’ve been training for. If you’re not going to be nice, at least try to be civil.”

She turned on his heel and stalked out the door. Vernon watched her go, right up until the doors slid back in place behind her.

He turned around, only to find the other two staring back at him. “Way to go,” Felix mumbled.

“You totally got schooled right there,” Yangyang said, though he didn’t sound very amused. “You know she takes this training stuff more seriously than any of us.” He shrugged; arms still folded. “Gotta be more sensitive than that.”

“Stop it,” Felix snapped at him, looking annoyed. “She only cares about this so much because it’s the only thing she’s got. You’ve got the Guardians, and I have—had—the X-Men, and probably a bunch of other mutant organizations, like the Frost Academy or something,” he added the last bit in an undertone, “but S.H.I.E.L.D.—after she lost her family, this is the only place she can turn to. That’s her one chance at making it, but this doofus is refusing to cooperate. If it were me, I’d be pretty pissed.”

Vernon narrowed his eyes at him, but couldn’t find the strength to argue. Too much about what Felix had said hit right where it hurt. Losing someone you cared about, suddenly having nobody to turn to…he understood how bad that was. But losing your entire family and being displaced from your home? He couldn’t even imagine it.

The earlier annoyance had drained from his body like an ebbing tide, leaving nothing but a hollowness and that damned guilt that seemed to follow him everywhere like an annoying ghost. Oh, well, my fault for having a conscience.

Suddenly tired, he sighed, tearing his eyes from the mutant’s and looking resignedly at a spot on the wall. As much as he would like to have a reason to properly hate his new team, he knew he couldn’t really blame them for any of this. “Where do you think she’ll go?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t—” Yangyang started.

“Up top,” Felix answered, cutting him off. His irises were rings of ice, but when Vernon looked at him then, they seemed almost warm. “Take the elevator to the left. Make sure you don’t fall off the side—New York’s a long way down.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space orcs, “Revelation.”

Hey guys, I had a bunch of trouble writing last night for some reason, but I managed to get something out, so I hope you like it :) 

“So what do you think, am I more of a Han Solo type or a Captain Kirk type because you know if I am being honest it really depends. I think I would like to think of myself as a Han Solo type, you know dashing and sarcastic, the hero you want to have come in to save the day, but Captain Kirk I can also see. You see I make dumb decisions sometimes and get everyone into trouble. Oh oh oh!! wait ! How about Captain Malcom Renylds. I feel like he is just enough of an idiot and just enough of a badass to work, what do you think detective?���

The Detective groaned loudly and took a long slow breath, “Admiral, listen to m-”

“You know I was also thinking about other parallels. You know how about that old animated movie Titan EA. I think I kind of look like Cale, and Sunny acts just a bit like Stith, you know, the angry chick with big legs. I liked captain Korso of course, just for simple aesthetic reasons, than he had to go and be a bad guy, but damn that redemption arc was surprising and well timed, at least I think, others may disagree.”

“ADMIRAL VIR I-”

“You know I have seen every space related science fiction movie and TV show that ever existed, and I am totally cool to keep talking. I mean I have to pass the time somehow until my lawyer gets here. You see my mother always said I liked to talk. I talked early, in fact, my brothers don’t like the fact that I talk so much, they say I talk TOO much, can you believe that.”

With an angry yawl like a Cat who just got their tail stepped on, the detective rose to his feet, hands to his head, “That is IT, that is IT. We will continue this interrogation LATER.” He turned on his heels and stormed out of the room muttering to himself the entire way, “I need a break.”

Adam Vir watched him go with an expression of pure innocence on his face as the door closed, only to morph into an expression of devilish amusement not dissimilar to that of the grinch in his original animated form. He leaned back in his chair resting his hands behind his head. The Detective had seen fit to undue his cuffs as it might make him more cooperative. The irony being that he would totally love to cooperate if someone was willing to cooperate with him, and actually believe his story.

He cleared his throat wishing he had accepted the drink of water offered to him earlier. He had been talking for about five hours now, straight. Apparently a filibuster isn’t just something you can use in politics. It is apparently a very effective way of driving young and inexperienced detectives insane.

He smugly leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

Interrogation techniques were designed to work on the guilty, or, if done wrong, on the slow, but he was neither of those things. Granted he was kind of an idiot, but he was more of an idiot in the way of his idols like captain Kirk and Malclom reynolds and less of an idiot like every disney villain’s cronies. He was smart just…. Selectively.

He cracked an eye as the door opened opposite.

At first he expected to see the detective ready to go another round already, but instead a group of Drev guards walked in. He smiled his best winning smile at them and rose from his seat, “Back to the cells boys.”

The Drev didn’t say anything.

He tried a different tactic, “Zhad chal dana tsa najastich.” May the sun watch over you: A traditional, and respectful, Drev greeting 

The two creatures pulled up in their tracks.

“Tsa Dzhal cheeych” You speak Drev

“Yid.” Yes 

His little greeting had the desired effect, and soon he had the two Drev warriors conversing like two Rundi at a political debate. They laughed together as they walked down the halls of the precinct.

Still in Drev, the three of them continued to converse, Adam talking animatedly, “So then I told him that I can’t hit kids right,  and he was all like. Then you can fight me.”

“What happened.”

“Got my ass beat. You don’t just challenge a sentinel to open combat as a rookie, and you know, at only six feet tall.”

The Drev chirped with laughter, coming around the corner to nearly run face first into the Detective who was open mouthed and staring, holding a fresh mug of coffee before him. The Drev’s laughter died down seconds to late, and the man narrowed his eyes, glowering at them.

“What are you doing?”

Adam turned to look at the other drev, “Tin Najastich.” watch this.

HE turned to look back at the Detective, “Ne’e j’ya eeneenat nehtehich.” He can’t understand us.  He didn’t do much, but he could tell by the face the detective made, he had done it right. 

It was a little trick he had learned from Sunny, a Drev dialect that tended to cause breaks in the middle of words as if adding a apostrophe, while simultaneously pronouncing all the ts and ks as clicks, the ts as a forward mouth clicks and the ks glottal clicks at the back of the throat. Either way, it was like putting on a thick southern accent to confuse an alien translator, and it seemed, it simultaneously worked for Drev.

The Drev began to laugh and babble at each other in the dialect as the detective sat there in frustrated anger, “What are they saying!” He demanded.

Adam frowned allowing his face to go straight as he deadpanned, “I wouldn’t know. I am xenopobic and would never dane to learn an alien language, you know, like Drev, or Vrul, or.” he leaned towards the Dredv, “I am currently working on learning tesraki.”

The Drev continued to laugh as they pulled him back towards his cell.:

Adam grinned and waved at the Tesraki guard as he walked past, “You know I have it on good authority that stock prices are about to go way up for holywood inc. They are working on becoming intergalactic. I would suggest getting on that bandwagon”

The Tesraki looked surprised, but grinned and waved at him as he was moved into the other room.

Behind him, the Detective was practically blowing steam out of his ears as the door slammed shut.

***

The human glanced over at Krill for the fifteenth time eyes wide in an expression of barely concealed terror.

Krill would have rolled his eyes if his eyes could roll.

Catching the look, Sunny frowned and leaned in, “You did threaten to eat him.”

Krill scoffed, “I don’t even have TEETH sunny, how was I supposed to eat him!” He turned to glance over at the man who was still giving him a bit of a side eye. He frowned, “Well, I suppose blending him up and turning him into a meat smoothie could work.”

It became pretty evident in the next few seconds that they hadn’t been speaking quietly enough, at least when it came to the comment about a meat smoothie.

Krill waved him off with a hand, “Oh just ignore us, now when is this meeting supposed to take place.”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

Sunny tilted her head back, looking overhead at the darkened sky and approaching rain. 

It was just beginning to drizzle when the man nodded and pointed forward into the darkness, “There.”

Sunny squinted hard, just barely able to make out a shadowy shape slipping through the darkness.

Sunny nudged him forward, “Well, go on. If you do this for us, I won’t let captain cannibal hurt you.”

WIth that urging, it didn’t take long for the man to vanish off into the dark, boots slapping on the wet concrete.

Krill turned to look at her in annoyance, “Its only considered cannibalism if you eat your own species.”

“Whatever,” She muttered, moving into a low crouch and slipping into the shadows off to the side. She managed to parallel the movement of their man for a few streets by ducking behind dumpsters and concealing herself within dark alcoves. At one time in her life she might have considered such actions to be heretical against her beliefs, but her opinions on such things had changed as of recently, and she continued to inch forward through the darkness.

Besides, this was about saving Adam.

Didn’t matter what she had to do, she was going to do it.

The human was close now stopping a few feet away from the shadow. The way the rain fell, it almost concealed the two figures as they spoke. Any bystander just passing by might not have noticed them, but Sunny was not just any bystander.

As the two figures disengaged, she had eyes only for one.

The human, likely scared out of his skin went sprinting off into the darkness likely thinking about krill and his meat blender, but his escape didn’t matter to Sunny. She could find him later if she had to, they had his name after all. What they didn’t have was knowledge about this strange hooded figure in black. The one who had paid the humans to incriminate adam, and themselves by proxy. 

Sunny didn’t know much about stealth as a general rule, but She, still, somehow managed to make it up the street without being seen, tailing the small dark figure. That was her first clue, whoever it was was either a very short human, or not human at all. Now that didn’t really narrow things down as there were several species who could fit into that category, burg iotins even some rundi, or a finnari to name a few. Not that she would ever assume a finnari of doing something like this.

She watched as the figure slipping into one of the large buildings, door shutting quietly behind it. She might have worried about losing the tail if she hadn’t already considered that, and lowjacked the package.

She crouched in the darkness her hands resting on the ground before her, eyes narrowed,

A soft rustling behind her, and she turned nearly jumping out of her skin as a figure scuttled from the darkness, its movements disjointed and aggressive.

“SHHH!” Krill hissed

She snorted fuming, “What the fuck, krill you scared the shit out of me.”

“What, why.”

“Oh I dont know, maybe it has been your recent pension for violence, or the fact that you keep talking about eating people, or your uncanny ability to sneak up behind me.”

“You know, I find all of this to be very insulting. You can stab people in the face, and adam can threaten to punch people in the trachea, but the moment I do something that is even slightly off color, it bothers everyone, and then people get all uppity.”

Sunny sighed, pulling her hood up over her head to block out the deluge, “Generally Adam and I don’t threaten to eat people, Krill. That is the difference.”

“Well no one ever told me there were rules.” He said, gripping onto sunny’s cloak as they inched forward into the darkness, following the signal towards the dark building. They didn’t take the same entrance as the cloaked figure, instead going for a more discreet entrance, finding themselves in a maintenance tunnel lined with pipes and power boxes.

The only illumination they got was afforded to them by the glowing dimness of red lights above and the occasional emergency strip. Somewhere, a distant roar alerted them to the presence of some sort of generator. 

They moved up the hall in near silence as the rumbling continued, and Sunny was forced to stop a few times, listening to the distant echoes of footsteps up the hallway though none of them ever came close enough to cause a real problem.

KRill followed at her back.

Soon enough, they had made it out of the maintenance corridors, following a set of slim metal steps upward and into a nice, tiled hallway. The make was very modern for Tesraki, emulating human style which was rather popular in the galaxy these days, and signified wealth despite the fact that humans were hardly the wealthiest of species.

Fake plants, or maybe real ones --sunny didn’t know-- lined the hallways as little fountains of water trickled through artificial streams on the floor.

The aesthetic was rather pleasing, giving an almost outdoor field inside a city that hadn’t seen green in over a thousand years.

They were almost to the end of the hall when sunny went very still freezing in her tracks fast enough to cause krill to plow into her open back.

“What are you doing.” krill hissed glancing over her shoulder, pausing when a pointed finger motioned him to the target.

“No. That can’t be right.

“I am afraid it is.” ***

Adam woke that night not knowing why.

It was almost as if he had hard a strange noise somewhere in the darkness, but when he sat up, the only thing he could see was the glowing blue/purple wall of the containment field.

He tried rolling over and going back to sleep, but something just felt wrong.

Eventually he forced himself to sit up and look around. In the galaxy, human intuition was nothing more than mere myth, but, despite what others said, he believed in it, and wasn’t about to ignore it’s prodding as it moved him up towards the edge of the containment field to peer into the darkness.

His eyes were almost immediately drawn to one of the other cells -- the one where his attackers had been staying--. Squinting past the glowing surface and into the darkness, he thought he could sense movement.

It was at that moment, that the containment field went down, and he was left blinking into the darkness backing away into his little field of light. When nothing happened, he inched forward and out into the darkness.

Had the containment field malfunctioned?

He took another step into the darkness before turning on the infrared on his mechanical eye and flipping up his eyepatch.

He immediately froze in palace gasping in shock.

“NO!”