#or I get sort of frozen by something and can’t find a way forward unless I scurry around it (no one wants u to do this)

[shewhoeatssand]

I want to befriend Kaneki and meet with him and email him forever

[buttterknifeee]

Date with Destiny- Teen Titans x Aquagirl!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: you guessed it bitches its the prom episode with everyone's fav guy Robin (S2 Ep6)

Pairings: Robin!Dick grayson x reader

Word count: 4218

A/N: hey yall I love writing for this series bfgkfhg so if you want my inbox is always open to request!!! love yallll~

Nights in Jump City are the worst time of the day; the sun is long gone and the wind constantly bites at your skin. But it depends on what you're doing to decide whether you like it or not. Sometimes it’s not as bad; that’s when you’re hanging out with your friends, maybe going to a carnival or out partying all night. Sometimes it’s worse, like you being forced to chase after some villain who decided to only operate AT NIGHT. Unfortunately, the latter is true for you tonight.

You slump over in the backseat of the T-Car while Cyborg and Raven sit attentively at the front.

“Why can’t I sit in the front?” you whine, staring at the two Titan’s heads.

“Because I’m the only one that knows how to drive this car and Raven needs to use her telekinesis so we dont die!” Cyborg yells, focusing on the target, who happens to be a guy with a spider for his head that stole a bunch of jewelry.

You groaned and poked your head out the window. Starfire and Beast Boy were up in the air, Robin close by on his motorbike, and you were all chasing the half-arachnid. You stretched out of the vehicle and made punching movements at the criminal, ocean water from the bay twisting over towards him, mimicking your movements. The jets of water just barely nicked him before crashing into the sides of buildings, the teenage spider continuing to scuttle across the city.

You turn your attention back towards the road as the spider guy created a webbed barrier in front of Cyborg’s car and Robin’s motorcycle. You and Cyborg gasp, but Raven calmly holds her hand up towards the road. It cracks, creating a ramp for the four of you to jump over the webs with.

After making the jump, the half spider looks at the car. He shoots webs at you, and its splats on the car windshield.

“I can’t see!” Cyborg yells, swerving the car over to the side. You lurch forward as you finally come to a stop, thankful that Cyborg had installed heavy duty seat belts.

“I don’t see why you can’t let me drive,” you mumbled, stumbling out of the car. You aimed your hands towards the car and a jet of water sprung out from a fire hydrant, cleaning the silk from the windshield.

“I already said it, I’m the only one who knows the inner workings of the T-car! Besides, you don’t even have your license.” Cyborg said, stepping out of the car calmer than before.

“I do too!- You know what, we’ll talk about this later. Right now we need to find the others.” You say, taking in your surroundings. Then out of nowhere, Beast Boy popped out from behind the car.

“Uh hey guys! Kinda got lost back there!” he grins, dusting off silk strands from his arms.

“I’m going after them!” you tell the other Titans, sprinting off into the direction Robin and Starfire went. You flick your wrist as you run and water from the fire hydrant trickles out and forms a wave that you could ride on, like an aquatic skateboard.

You catch up to the two as Starfire gets shot down by the spider teen’s webbing. You make eye contact as you pass her, unsure whether to help her free.

“Just go!” she yells, already beginning to rip the webs thanks to her brute strength. You nod and race forwards to catch up with Robin. You find his abandoned motorbike and look up to see him chasing after the villain using his grappling hook. I’m trying to help him, but I can barely catch up to him, you grumble as you will the water to shoot you into the air, almost like a hydro-cannon. You bounce from roof to roof, inching closer to the Boy Wonder and his pursuit with the villain.

You were right under Robin when the spider-guy shoots some type of laser at him. Suddenly, he freezes up, and begins to fall, knocking you down with him.

“C-can’t… move,” he grunts, on top of you in mid air.

“YEAH NO SHIT” you yell, still stuck under him. Ok ok, options… you think, time seems to slow down around you. I can’t make a geyser because that’d take too long. I like Robin but not enough to break his fall, hmm…

You notice the grappling hook in his belt. You yank it out and shoot it at the wall you just fell from, wrapping your other arm around Robin. Your arm feels like it was about to fall out of its socket as you abruptly stop, hanging in mid air with Robin safely in your grasp. Starfire catches up with you, having broken free from the webbed trap. She helps you down and brings you to where Cyborg, Beast Boy, and Raven stood.

“He is okay?” Starfire asks, holding Robin in place while you catch your breath.

“He will be. The venom’s effect is only temporary.” Cyborg says, examining the Boy Wonder, who was still frozen in a climbing position.

“Getting away...we have to...go after him!” Robin musters, but almost falls over doing so.

“You mean, we have to go after him,” Raven corrects him.

“Yeah, you gotta wait until that stuff wears off,” you say, knocking on his frozen arm to prove your point.

“But-” Robin begins, but Beast Boy cuts him off.

“Dude, we can handle it. The guy's got a spider for a head. Not like he's gonna be hard to find.” he said. Robin didn’t say anything, which was code for a reluctant agreement. Cyborg, Raven, and Beast Boy agreed that they would go after the spider thief, while you, Robin and Starfire return to the Tower to get Robin sorted out.

Later at the Tower, you watched in utter horror and amusement as Starfire shook Robin while holding his feet. He hung upside down, making random yelps of pain as she did… whatever she was doing.

“Um Starfire?��� you say. “You know I have healing powers… I could just heal him if we need to.”

“Nonsense Aquagirl!” she chirped as Robin groaned. “There are few problems that Tamaranean acupressure will not solve. Don’t you feel better Robin?”

“Uhhh yeah, thanks.” he said, getting back up to standing position. “Now we can focus on our other issue.” He pulls out his T-communicator.

“Titans! Any luck on finding our jewel thief?”

“We found something worse,” you hear Raven’s voice from the communicator. A live cam of the scene pops up on the living room TV screen. They were at the bridge near Jump City’s Bay; hundreds of cars pass there per minute. You noticed something was near the bridge cables, and upon closer inspection, you realized that it was thousands of moths gnawing at the bridge support. As more cables broke, the bridge grew more and more unstable, cars beginning to slide around.

“Titans go!” you hear Cyborg say, and the three of them run towards the giant cloud of bugs. Unfortunately, they were no match and could barely put a dent in the population.

“Uh, we’re gonna need backup.” Cyborg says to the communicator. You were already out of your chair and adjusting your wrist gauntlets.

“We’re on our way,” Robin says, the three of you making your way to the door. But a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Don't bother. Even if you defeat a few of my children, you won't be able to stop me from releasing the entire swarm.” the villain you recognized as Killer Moth said, his face appearing on the screen. “Unless you want your city reduced to a moth-eaten wasteland, you'll do exactly as I say.”

“What do you want?’ Robin asked, brows furrowed.

“My demands are simple. The city will declare me ruler, the Teen Titans will surrender, and Robin…” he starts. You flinched at the mention of the Boy Wonder’s name. What could he want to do with Robin? To step down as a hero? Admit defeat? Reveal his identity???

“... will take this lovely young lady to her junior prom.”

Huh?

“Hi Robbie-Poo!” said a girl who appeared on the screen next to Killer Moth. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, was wearing pink pajamas, and although you had just met her, you could already tell that she was a bitch.

“Um… What was that last part again?” he asked, clearly not expecting that demand.

“Um Robin?” you ask. “Who’s this girl and why’d she call you… er, you know.”

“Her name is Kitten,” Killer Moth gloats. “And you will take her to prom.”

“This prom is the matter of a duel, yes?” Starfire asked, not very assimilated in American culture. “Robin eagerly accepts!”

“It’s not a duel, Star. It’s a date.” Robin patiently corrects her.

“Oh”

“Robin! You can’t do this!” you say, looking at him through his masked eyes. “Isn’t that right Starfire?”

“Oh yes!” she agrees. “You mustn't accept!”

“We’re gonna need a minute,” Robin sighs, pulling the two of you away from the center of the room. You stare at him, arms crossed.

“This is so stupid.” you begin. “What kind of villain makes a superhero go on a date with some girl? And what kind of parent names their child Kitten? There’s no way you’re actually going to go to a dance with some random chick!”

Robin doesn’t say anything about your comments, but opens his T-communicator again,

“Cyborg, report. How bad is it?” he asks.

“Bad! We can’t hold 'em much longer!” Cyborg yells through the communicator. “If you’re gonna do something, do it quickly!” You stared at the floor, knowing what he’s gonna have to say to Killer Moth’s demands.

“I have to do it.” he grimaces. You stayed silent as Starfire reacted.

“WHAT?!” she yells.

“It's the only way to save the bridge. The only way to give us enough time to stop Killer Moth.” Robin explains. Starfire looks at you and back at Robin.

“But you do not even have the feelings for her!” she protests, looking straight at you.

“I’m sorry, but I have to, as much as I don’t want to. And I really don’t want to.” Robin says, walking back towards the screen.

“So do we have a deal?” Killer Moth grins, as much as a person with mandibles can.

“I’ll take the girl to prom.” Robin says grimly.

“Don’t tell me. Ask her.” Killer Moth says, referring to the blonde girl still pasted on screen. Even though you couldn’t see Robin’s eyes, you could tell that he was rolling them.

“You’ve got to be-”

“Do it!” the villain yells. Robin sighs.

“Kitten, was it?” he asks.

“Meow,” she replied. You almost threw up when she said that. You could see Robin reacting in the same way.

“Right. Will you...go with me to the prom?” he said, his voice showing his utter disgust.

“Oh, Robbie-poo! I thought you'd never ask!”

I can’t do this you thought, as the screen finally blipped off. Robin calmly pulled out his T-communicator and projected it onto the screen. Raven picked up, Beast Boy and Cyborg crowded around her. You could see in the background that the moths were no longer gnawing at the bridge. He told them that he bought them some time, telling them to find out what he has planned. Then he shows them a picture of Kitten.

“Who is she?” Raven asked.

“She is a manipulative gremlock not worthy of Robin's time.” Starfire pouts.

“Yeah, she's a bitch too.” you add.

“She's got some kind of connection to Killer Moth. Find the connection, and I bet you'll find him.” He said, turning to you and Starfire. “Aquagirl and Starfire will join you to help with the search.” you rolled your eyes; Is he seriously going to do this alone?

“Hey, what about you? Aren’t you going to help us?” Beast Boy asked.

“I can’t. I have a date.”

.

You and Starfire were going to prepare for your mission when she shoved you into her room. You’ve forgotten how pink all her furniture is, from the curtains to her pillows. She whips out her T-communicator.

“Starfire what are you-” you begin, but she shushes you.

“Starfire to Raven,” she says into the communicator. “Please note that I will be the only person joining you, as Aquagirl will provide Robin backup on his date!”

“Um… okay.” Raven says, then hangs up.

“What??? I’m supposed to help you guys, remember?” you protest. “And I thought you had a crush on Robin??” The alien girl took you by your shoulders.

“Aquagirl, my feelings for Robin have long dissipated, but I am sure you still have the feelings for him!” she chirped. “Do not worry, four Titans are more than enough to defeat Killer Moth! You should go to the prom of non-duels!”

“B-but what do I even wear? Prom dresses were not on my shopping list.” you argue.

“Oh do not worry Aquagirl, you may borrow mine!” Starfire opened her closet to reveal a rack of sparkly dresses, all in different colors. You eyes glittered in awe.

“Ok, I’m in.”

You spent the next half an hour getting ready for the prom. You picked out a blue dress with black lace and black gloves that went out to your elbows. Your suit was camouflaged underneath, just in case you needed to ditch the dress.

“Oh you look wonderful!” Starfire cheered. You blushed, looking at yourself in the mirror.

She flew you over to the prom location, which was on a boat. Water, you thought. Perfect. You looked at Starfire.

“Thanks again for, uh, everything.” you said sheepishly. She smiled.

“It is the no problem!” she says. “I will see you afterwards!” And with that, she flew off into the night. You sighed, holding a corsage for Robin in your hand. You hear the sound of a motorbike. Robin appeared in view; he was still wearing his mask, but his usual outfit had been replaced by a tuxedo. He was still stoically frowning, probably due to not wanting to be here, but something about him just makes your heart skip a beat.

You walked over and tapped his shoulder. He flinched at your touch, but calmed down as he realized that it was you.

“Aquagirl?” he asked, eyeing you up and down.

“Um, just call me (y/n) for today, don’t want to raise eyebrows.” you winked. You pinned the flowers onto his lapel. “It’s my first prom, so I got you a corsage.” It’s true; this is your first prom. You were supposed to go to your junior prom this year, but of course, being a superhero kinda distracted you from that.

“Aqu- (y/n)...” he began. “You’re supposed to be helping the others track down Killer Moth.”

“Well, you said that our job was to investigate that b- uh, girl. And there’s no better way to do it than up close.” you grin. “Besides, Starfire insisted that I backed you up, you never know if you need saving, right?”

Just then, you heard a loud honk from a car. You turn to see a pink limousine pull out. Out stepped an even pinker girl, Kitten. Her headband, dress, corsage, and heels were all an obnoxious pink. She scoured the scene until she found Robin, fiercely waving at him.

“Yoo-hoo! Robbie-poo! Your Kitten has arrived! Me-ow!” she yells. You both physically cringe at her words. Robin leans over to you before he leaves.

“On second thought, maybe I will need the savings.”

You purse your lips as Robin leaves, reluctantly linking arms with the girl. You open your T-communicator.

“Cyborg,” you say. “Robin just entered the boat with Kitten. “How’s it looking on your side?”

“Poor guy,” he says sympathetically. “We just reached Kitten’s house. Going in now. Nice dress by the way.” You grin.

“Thanks man. I’ll be watching him just to see if he needs any help.”

“Got it. Cyborg out.” the screen blips to black and you close your communicator with a sigh. Time for prom.

You awkwardly shuffle onto the boat, making sure to stay a few meters behind the two. Luckily, no one noticed that you didn’t go to their school because they were so distracted by Kitten’s yelling.

“OH ROBIN!, YOU’RE SUCH A GENTLEMAN! NOT AT ALL LIKE MY WORTHLESS EX-BOYFRIEND FANG!!!” your fists clenched as she moved closer to the Boy Wonder, all over his arm. Why did we let her take Robin to the prom again? I’d rather see that bridge collapse than whatever this is.

You stationed yourself at the punch table, pouring yourself a drink. The two were talking at the table. You knew Robin didn’t want to be here in the beginning, but what if he changed his mind? What if, somehow, he falls in love with Kitten, and then you are never gonna have a chance with him?

“OF COURSE ROBIN I’D LOVE TO DANCE WITH YOU!!!” Kitten yelled, the two of them moving towards the dance floor. Your cheeks burned with anger, and maybe a little bit of jealousy. You clenched your fist again, and the sickly pink punch from the punch bowl shot into the air. The couple next to you who was about to get some punch slowly walked backwards away from you. But you didn’t care. You stomped away from the punch table.

You were leaning at one of the clothed tables as you glared at Robin and Kitten dancing away. You don’t even know why you felt so angry; maybe it was the fact that they’ve been dancing for 10 long minutes, or the fact that Kitten’s resting her head on his shoulder, or maybe the fact that you’ve never held Robin’s hand before and she is!

You notice him looking at his T-communicator while he was dancing, relieving you of the idea that he was actually enjoying the dance.

“Kiss me,” you hear Kitten say, and you froze.

“Sorry, I don’t like you that way,” he smirks. “As a matter of fact, I just don’t like you.” YES, you thought, smiling from the table.

“WHAT?!” the blonde girl shrieks.

“Killer Moth’s being taken down as we speak. We’re done here.” He pulls away, tucking his T-communicator into his pocket.

“No we are not!” she yells, ripping the corsage off of her dress. The petals fall away to reveal a cylinder, push-button controller. “Daddy’s not calling the shots tonight, I AM!!!”

“Daddy?” you and Robin said at the same time, in shock. So that's why Killer Moth made Robin go to the prom with her.

“And unless you want me to let those bugs out for a late-night snack, you better pucker up!” she makes kissy noises at Robin, her lips inching closer and closer. Robin put his finger out at them as if to shush her.

“Not even if you paid me,” he said, pushing her away and grabbing the controller out of her hand. They fight over it, and you wonder whether to jump in and help. Suddenly Kitten turns her focus away from Robin.

“Fang?” she smiled. You turned to see the jewel thief from before climbing onto the boat, spider head and all.

“That’s your ex boyfriend?” he asked, staring in shock.

“Get your hands off my girl!” he yells, knocking Robin down with his spider leg, Kitten snatching back the controller. Ok, time to act you thought, holding up your hand. A jet of water sprung up from under the boat and hit Fang, sending him flying backwards.

“And keep your legs off my guy!” you yelled, not even sure if you and Robin were on that level yet. “You alright Rob?” you ask as the Boy Wonder stands up.

“Best I’ve felt all day,” he smirked, ripping off his suit to reveal his costume underneath. You smiled; you two seemed to be on the same track in terms of disguise. You ripped your dress off and your costume uncamouflaged, revealing the familiar blue and black swim gear you always wear. You yank off your gloves to show your gauntlets underneath, the spikes swing up into place. You both look back at Kitten and Fang to find them making out; mandibles and all.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you mumble, getting into a fighting position.

“You know…” Robin says, bring the couple’s attention back to you two. “You two make a really bad couple.” Fang charges at the two of you, shooting his webs and venom. One of the webs hit you, sending you to the floor. You used the spikes on your gauntlets to cut yourself free while the spider villain goes after Robin. You finally free yourself as Kitten watches the action.

“Isn’t it romantic? They’re fighting over me!” she swoons. Your cheeks burn hot with anger. Now that you're out of disguise, it's the perfect time to beat her up.

“You’re not worth anyone’s time to fight over!” you quipped loudly, causing Kitten to start screaming at you. She tackles you, and the two of you fall onto the table.

“What the-” you grunt, the air knocked out of you as you crash into the food. You roll over and pin her to the table. You try to reach for the controller, but Kitten smacks a cream pie in your face. She pins you down this time, but you extend your leg to her side and swing, sending her flying across the table. She lands flat on her back, stretched lengthwise across the table. You lunge at her, but she grabs you and dunks your head into the punch bowl. You almost burst out laughing; she was trying to drown you, and you could breathe underwater.

Your eyes glow blue from underneath the punch bowl as the beverage explodes in the girl’s hunched over face. She screams, and you push her into the chocolate cake. She lands on the floor, her pink dress now stained with chocolate frosting.

“YOU.. RUINED… MY… DRESS!!!” she screams, clicking the controller. You gasp in horror, she’s crazy. She runs at you again, screaming and you dodge her, using your water powers to shoot the controller out of her hand. The controller rolls away, right towards the bottom of Robin’s foot.

“Consider yourself dumped.” he said, breaking the controller.

“NOOOOOOO!!!” she shrilled. You rolled your eyes and punched her square in the nose, her falling to the ground.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” you grin at the Boy Wonder, who looked at you in awe.

.

The other Titans rejoined you as you watched Kitten, Killer Moth, and Fang get pulled into a police van.

“Nobody dumps Kitten! Nobody! You're going to pay for this, Robbie-poo! YOU'RE GOING TO PASAY!!” the blonde girl screamed while being pushed into one of the vans.

“So, no second date?” Cyborg jokes. Beast Boy was sitting over the edge of the boat holding one of Killer Moth’s moth larvae. According to them, the controller Kitten had allowed them to turn into moths, but when Robin broke it, they all turned back into harmless giant bugs.

“So what becomes of Killer Moth’s larvae population?” Starfire asks.

“You know...now that nobody's making 'em all mutate-y,.these things might actually make good pets.” Beast Boy said, poking at the larvae's belly.

“Don’t even think about it.” Raven says, staring in disgust.

You and Robin walk towards some of the students to apologize for ruining their nights when spotlights turn on, the bright lights moving across the floor. The two of you braced for impact. The announcer began to, well, announce.

“And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...the king and queen of this year's prom are...Robin and (y/n)!” Your eyes widened at the announcement.

“I’m back on duty so it’s Aquagirl now! Sorry!” you yelled awkwardly.

“Well um then Aquagirl-” Robin begins, but you stop him.

“I mean, you can call me (y/n), if that’s what you want,” you offered, slightly blushing. He blushed back.

“Oh! Ok, then (y/n) it is.”

“So how about that dance, Boy Wonder?”

“I guess one more dance wouldn’t kill me.”

.

Robin led you towards the middle of the dance floor. You put your arms around his neck and he put his arms around your waist. His hands were gentle, and was only lightly touching your back, as if he was ready to pull them back at any time.

But he was smiling; something he barely did all night. You both laughed as you awkwardly shuffled across the floor; it's like you had two right feet and he had two left feet so it canceled out. You pulled in a little closer, he hugged you a little tighter. You stared at his masked eyes, imagining them looking back at you.

Suddenly you heard a whistle and whipped your head to see the rest of the Titans nonchalantly watching you two dance. They grinned, waving hello. You rolled your eyes and whipped your hand at them. A small geyser jumped up and landed on the Titans, drenching them. You and Robin laughed, then resumed your dance.

Nights in Jump City are the worst time of day, but with Robin, it’s a whole lot better.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Targets - ao3

- Chapter 3 -

Meng Yao wasn’t supposed to be for sale.

His mother had worked hard her whole life to make sure of it, refusing every offer for him no matter how tempting or how desperate their situation. He was a cultivator’s son, she told him, a sect leader’s; one day, he would return to his father’s side, and if he was going to do that, he couldn’t have his past be marred with scandal. He couldn’t have a slave contract, and he couldn’t have done any work as a whore – it was one thing to do odd jobs in a brothel, but another thing entirely to actually work on your back, and somehow, somehow, someone would find out, and he’d be ruined. They would know.

The only way for him to really make it is if he never did anything like that at all.

So when the cultivator – a real cultivator, from the looks of him, not one of the fakers they often got – walked into their brothel and asked for Meng Yao, his mother said no.

The man frowned, then turned to the owner of the brothel who shrugged, indicating that he was helpless. “The boy doesn’t belong to this establishment,” he said apologetically. “But if the venerated Immortal would prefer something more boyish, I can direct you to some of our more masculine girls, or to a neighboring establishment…”

His voice trailed off when the cultivator pulled out a large chunk of gold, about half the size of Meng Yao’s thumb.

“You can keep it all – if I get the boy, a room, and your word to tell no one else that either of us are here,” the man said.

“No!” Meng Shi exclaimed, but Meng Yao knew from the look on the brothel owner’s eyes that it was too late. This wasn’t a good brothel like the one they’d been in before – the one that had kicked them out when they decided his mother was too old and her health too poor – but a lower tier one, less rich and more desperate. A piece of gold like that was more money than all the girls put together would make in a year.

If they continued to refuse, the owner of the brothel would use force. There were the bully boys at the door – they would grab his mother and drag her away, grab him and throw him into the room, maybe tie him down, rob him of any ability to defend himself…

So Meng Yao put his hand on his mother’s arm. “It’s fine, Mother,” he said to her, hoping to offer comfort where there was none to be had, and then forced himself to smile at the cultivator. “How can this humble one best please the venerated Immortal?”

The man’s eyes flickered between them, and his frown deepened.

“The woman comes with us, same deal,” he told the owner, who nodded, eyes fixed on the gold, and never mind that both Meng Yao and his mother had now frozen in horror. There were women in the brothel who sometimes pretended to be sisters and might even be, it was a popular request by clients, but – his mother… “All right, where’s the room?”

“I’ll give you the best one in the house,” the owner said, tone fawning, and showed them the way.

By the time they were upstairs, Meng Yao was shaking like a leaf and his mother looked on the verge of weeping.

The moment the cultivator closed the door behind them, shooing the owner away, she threw herself onto the floor in front of him. “Venerated Immortal,” she said, begging, and Meng Yao averted his eyes, feeling rage build in the pit of his stomach. “Spare my son, please. I will do anything you wish –”

“You misunderstand,” the cultivator said stiffly. “Your son is safe – as are you. I’m not here for that sort of thing…boy, get her off the floor and seated somewhere, get her something to drink to calm her.”

Meng Yao got his mother into a chair, pressing some wine usually reserved for clients into her hand. By the time he was done with that, he was more puzzled than anything else, even the rage at his mother’s mistreatment fading away into confusion. “What does the venerated Immortal want?” he asked delicately, and the cultivator shrugged.

“I actually have no idea what I’m doing here,” he said frankly. “I received a message from my sect leader that told me to find and secure a ‘Meng Yao, son of Meng Shi’ from Yunping City, and when I asked around it led me to you. I was hoping you could tell me the reason.”

“Your sect leader asked for me?” Meng Yao asked blankly. “By name?”

Could it be – his mother had always said –

“You’re not from Lanling,” his mother said, wiping her eyes, expression back to fierce and calculating. “My boy is the son of the sect leader of Lanling Jin, not…”

She trailed off deliberately.

“Qinghe Nie,” the cultivator said automatically, and even folded his hands in front of him to salute – perfunctorily, but still more than most would bother with for a whore. “The message said only that you were in danger, and that I was to hide you until the sect leader could come pick you up himself.”

So it wasn’t his father, Meng Yao thought, disappointed, but still – a sect leader of a cultivation sect, knowing him by name? Sending a message from far away?

He had no idea what to think of it.

And so they waited, each one sitting awkwardly in their own place, as several shichen passed. It was already evening when there was a knock – at the window.

The window on the third floor.

The cultivator got up and opened it, and a large fierce-looking man carrying three children – one on each hip with an arm around them, and another seated on his shoulders, clutching to his hair like reins – wiggled his way through, shaking all the children off as if his arms were hurting the second his feet were on the ground.

“Is that him?” he asked, nodding at Meng Yao, and the cultivator nodded. “He’s young.”

“Thirteen,” Meng Yao said, and noted that it was probably older than any of the three children who were looking at him in fascination.

“One of Sect Leader Jin’s bastards, Sect Leader,” the cultivator reported, and Meng Yao felt something fall in the pit of his belly at the term one of. There were many like him, then – perhaps his mother’s optimism regarding his reception in Lanling City was as misplaced as her optimism in buying all those pointless cultivation manuals that he slaved over and which accomplished nothing.

“Well, that can’t be the reason, then, or the list would be thrice as long,” the sect leader said, frowning. “I’d even started wondering…no, it still makes no sense. Regardless, no point in waiting around here any longer – I saw two Wen patrols making their way through the city as I flew in, and I have no doubt they’ll find this place soon. We should be gone before they do.”

“If this humble one can ask, what is the honorable Sect Leader’s plans for my son?” Meng Shi asked, ducking her head demurely and looking up at him flirtatiously through her eyelashes, even as she leaned forward a little in a way that set off her shape to its best advantage.

“Oh no,” the sect leader said, and took two full steps backwards. Without the fierce expression on his face, he looked much younger – in fact, Meng Yao thought with wonder and maybe even a little disbelieving amusement, it seemed like this sect leader was most certainly still a teenager, and awkward with it, too. “No, I – I don’t – Gao Jianguo, do something!”

“She’s a whore, Sect Leader,” the cultivator said, rolling his eyes. “They flirt. It happens.”

The sect leader was bright red. The children were all giggling.

“Madame,” he said, bowing to her – an actual bow, respectful, not even the perfunctory dip the cultivator had given earlier, and he didn’t have to call her Madame, either. “Forgive me, I’m not…I don’t have much experience with women. My name is Nie Mingjue, sect leader of Qinghe Nie. I have reason to believe your son is in terrible danger if he remains here, and I intend to take him with me to a safe location.”

“What assurances do I have of his safety?” Meng Shi asked, and Meng Yao knew then that she intended to send him whether he wanted to go or not.

Not that he didn’t intend to go. Such an earnest sect leader, this ‘Nie Mingjue’…even if it was all a mistake or misunderstanding, which had to be what had happened, there were benefits that could be gotten here. If Meng Yao could become a servant there, learn cultivation, he could maybe save up enough to later go to his father’s side – no matter what they asked of him, it would be better than a brothel, especially one where the owner had already seen an indication of Meng Yao’s worth as chattel.

And yet…

“You have my word,” Nie Mingjue assured her.

“I won’t leave without her,” Meng Yao suddenly spoke up, and ignored his mother’s glare. He didn’t want to leave her here. He wouldn’t, not unless he was forced, which seemed likely, but he had to try his best. “If I’m in danger, then so is she. They might want to use her to lure me in.”

“That’s a good point,” Nie Mingjue said, which Meng Yao wasn’t expecting. He even nodded in approval at Meng Yao. “Very well, we’ll take you both with us. Gao Jianguo –”

“The amount I’ve already paid would be sufficient to cover any slave bond,” the cultivator said. His frown suggested he wasn’t happy about his sect leader’s actions. “There will be paperwork –”

“Only for me,” Meng Shi said quickly. “My son is free, and always has been.”

Nie Mingjue looked out the window, clearly calculating – two patrols, Meng Yao thought, this sect leader thought someone was hunting him down for some unknown reason – and then glanced at the two of them. He sighed a little, almost imperceptibly, before firming up his expression once more.

“Take Meng Shi and buy her bond,” he instructed the cultivator. “Collect anything she wants to take with her and take her back to Qinghe through safe routes. I’ll take Meng Yao with me and we’ll meet there.”

“What should I do with the ownership papers? There’s a tax for taking slaves out of the county, and people might notice –”

“Burn them,” Nie Mingjue said, and Meng Yao’s heart gave a sudden thrill of delight. “She can travel as a free woman. Make sure she sees a doctor, if she thinks she would benefit from seeing one, and cover the cost – I want her to arrive at the Unclean Realm alive and well.”

Alive and well, Meng Yao thought, even more delighted. That was a warning, no doubt about it – telling the cultivator not to take advantage of Meng Shi during his trip. And a doctor! With his sect leader ordering it, the cultivator would have to take her to a good one, not some phony sawbones, and she could finally get that cough of hers looked at…

Meng Yao would do whatever this sect leader wanted. Just for that.

(It was more than his father had ever done for them.)

“Can you handle flying with four boys?” the cultivator asked, frowning, and – flying? “Especially if you already came all the way from Qinghe, and through Yunmeng, you must be exhausted –”

“I’ll be fine,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “He’s thirteen; he can stand on his own and hold onto me, arms around my waist, while I hold on to the others…hey, are you afraid of heights?”

That question was directed at Meng Yao.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, aiming for honest. It seemed to be what this sect leader appreciated, and Meng Yao was good at figuring out and catering to people’s likes. He’d have to exert himself especially this time. “But I’ve never gone higher than the fourth floor.”

“Well, you’re about to,” Nie Mingjue said, and his saber unsheathed itself and floated on the floor. “All right, everyone back on – you can introduce yourself in the air. We still have to make the ride back to the Lotus Pier, and I’m sure your parents are worried sick already, Jiang-gongzi.”

[ratmonky]

Inorganic Human

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: noncon, guided & forced masturbation, home invasion, stalking

AO3 Link

Another fic I wrote for my besto frendo @anti-interesting​ who finally watched the show after me talking about it for hours lol

You were tucked under your sheets with your laptop on your bed and catching up with your favorite show when the screen abruptly turned black.

“Ahh,” you groaned audibly, having to move from your cozy position took too much effort and it was way too annoying if you had to be honest.

As you were about to press the power button to see if you had accidentally turned your laptop off like the many other times you had in the past, the screen flashed white before returning to normal.

“Can you hear me?”

You stared blankly at the screen. It wasn’t your show that was playing. It was your classmate from school. Had you opened your social media account by accident?

With a small scoff, you tried clicking away from the video. However, your laptop must have frozen because you couldn’t turn it off no matter what.

“Can you hear me?” he asked again, looking right at you.

Chills went down your spine and you looked around you as if someone else was in the room. The feeling of discomfort was settling in, enough to make you feel self-conscious and pull up the sheets to cover yourself.

It was getting creepy, he was still staring at you.

Reaching your hand forward, you pressed the power button to turn off the laptop and somehow it didn’t turn off.

“(name), I asked if you could hear me.”

Your muscles tensed, you pulled the sheets further up to cover your chest. “Shishigami? Um, i-is this a video call?”

He hummed softly. “I guess so.”

How could it be a call when you had never given him your email or phone number?

It was silent for a moment. You were trying to come up with a polite way to tell him to leave the call since you couldn’t end it yourself but he spoke again.

“You’re coming to school tomorrow, right?”

Dumbfounded, you nodded slowly.

After that, he smiled softly and the screen flickered a couple of times until your show continued playing again.

~~~~

As if last night hadn’t happened, Hiro was on the other side of the classroom talking to his friend, Ando.

He hadn’t even spared you a passing glance the whole day. You started to believe you dreamed of the entire thing.

Yeah, that had to be it.

~~~

At home, you put a tape over your laptop camera in case a glitch like that happened again and turned it on. Letting your show play in the background, you took off your clothes to get in your pajamas.

“Could you please not touch him so casually, you homewreckers?!” The annoying main character was exaggerating his reactions and it made you giggle. While you were taking off your bra, he continued his banter. “Megumi has violin classes with-”

The audio stopped suddenly and you turned around to check if your internet was messing up again but you found yourself looking at Hiro.

You covered your bare chest with a shirt you were just about to put on and gasped sharply. Wait, he couldn’t see you, you had put that tape on your camera and-

“Sorry for the bad timing. I’ll return after you’ve dressed up.”

With that, he was gone. Your show was back on the screen but you were too terrified and confused to be able to laugh at the funny reveal at the end.

You walked up to your laptop with shaking limbs and slammed your laptop closed.

~~~

The next time you opened your laptop was in the morning, you checked from the camera app if you could see anything through the tape but no, it was pitch black.

Then… how?

Were you imagining all of this?

You had to be only tired or maybe the university entrance exams were starting to get to you. The stress could have been causing you to imagine stupid stuff like these. Right?

~~~

“Hey,” you said to get his attention for the third time but he still had his face pressed against his desk.

He wasn’t asleep, you knew that.

“Ando.” You put your hand on his shoulder and he finally lifted his head from the desk to stare at you.

He looked around himself as if to see if you were actually talking to him.

“Could we talk for a second?” you asked, hoping that you could take him somewhere else before Hiro returned to the classroom.

“Um, yeah, sure, why not?” He blushed, looking around the classroom one last time to see if this was a prank before following you out.

You took him up to the roof.

“W-what did you wanna talk about?” Ando nervously asked while rubbing the back of his neck.

Maybe this was a bad idea. You were being accusatory and this guy had nothing to do with any of this. He didn’t need to be caught up in between with whatever was going on.

“Do you know if Shishigami is messing with me?”

“Huh?” He looked confused, he scratched his cheek and gave himself a moment to think. “I… I don’t think so… Hiro’s not the type to prank others... I mean, what made you think that he was messing with you?”

“It’s just…” It had to be your imagination, if you spoke about this right now Ando would most likely ask his friend about it too. There was no need to make it a bigger deal than it already was. “Nevermind.”

~~~

You didn’t turn on your computer that night and decided to sleep early. You weren’t going to school tomorrow either because you certainly needed to rest and collect your thoughts. Thankfully your family was away on an overnight trip, meaning that nobody could scold you for skipping school.

It was going to be a restful day for you!

However, as soon as you put your head on the pillow, your phone’s screen on the nightstand lit up. Weird, you had your phone on ‘do not disturb’ all the time, it didn’t show any notifications unless you picked it up.

Too tired to check what was up, you turned to the other side to avoid the bright light.

“(name), you never sleep at this hour. Something wrong?”

Your eyes snapped open.

That was Shishigami.

“Pick up the phone.”

You didn’t answer him as your limbs shook uncontrollably in terror. This couldn’t be a nightmare, it felt too real.

“Pick up the phone or I’ll have to come to your house.”

Cold sweat trickled down your back but you still couldn’t move. Your entire body had turned to stone. He didn’t know where you live, right? Even if he did, you weren’t going to open the door.

Wait, wait, wait…

This all was a prank.

The muscles on your limbs eased and your shoulders relaxed. He was pranking you! Haha, yeah this was a prank. But then how was he able to talk to you without you having to answer his call?

“See you,” he sighed and a static sound filled your ears.

You jolted up from your bed to check your phone. The screen was normal. Okay, calm down. This was a prank, he wouldn’t come to your house.

The sound of knocking filled your room. Your shoulders tensed again and you turned your head towards the bedroom door. That… knocking wasn’t coming from your apartment door.

Knock.

Your blood ran cold as you glanced over your shoulder and found yourself staring at a shadow behind the curtains, he was standing on your balcony. He was trying to look inside through the curtains, moving around to find a crack that could help him see who was inside.

H-how did he get there? You lived high up from the ground, there was no way he climbed up there… More importantly, how did he know where you lived?

He couldn’t come in. He can’t come in. The door is locked, he can’t come in.

The door was locked. You knew that yet the fear had settled in. You were being invaded, it already felt like he was inside.

You turned around your heels to face the balcony as you stepped back towards your bedroom door. The balcony door was locked so there was no way he could get in and all you needed to do was stay back-

The balcony door unlocked itself.

Your mouth popped open in shock and you gasped sharply.

Hiro pulled the curtains away as he stepped a foot inside your room. He stared at you with a blank stare, “Ah, so you were awake! Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

You couldn’t move, fear had paralyzed you.

Why are you here?

How did you get inside?

Get out!

Your mouth wouldn’t move either but your teeth still chattered. This didn’t feel like a prank anymore.

“Why don’t you sit down,” he said, turning on the lamp on your nightstand and gesturing towards your bed. His other hand was pointing at you with his forefinger and his thumb was extended out. “Don’t yell, scream or cry. This is a real gun.”

Prank.

It was a prank.

You desperately wanted to believe it.

“Bang!” he yelled, his hand recoiled like a gun. Immediately, you felt a rush of wind right beside your ear and when you looked behind you, there was a hole in your bedroom door.

Did he really do that with his… finger?

You were confused, in disbelief.

“W-what do you w-want?” Your teeth were still chattering, you put your tongue in between them to stop it but the action only resulted in you biting your tongue.

“I just need your help.” He gestured towards your bed once again. “Sit down.”

This time, you forced yourself to move.

As soon as you sat on your bed, Hiro pulled the chair you had beside your desk and placed it in front of you. He gracefully sat down, still pointing his finger gun at you. “I’m not a human anymore.”

You didn’t say anything.

He sighed and a click sound filled your ears.

His head popped open like a flower. All you could see was metal, it was a machine. A robot. This thing wasn’t your classmate. You clapped a hand over your mouth to keep your voice down and finally started to realize the horror of the situation.

The open metal pieces closed up seamlessly to form Hiro’s face once again.

It was silent, you were unsure of how to react or what to say. You weren’t even sure if you were going to live.

“What makes humans human?” Hiro asked, pointing his finger up to your head. He was expecting an answer.

“I don’t know.”

“Feelings of guilt,” he said, his face was inanimate. “Only humans feel remorse and empathy. When you kill something you must feel some sort of guilt. That’s what makes you a human. Most humans cannot take a life without feeling guilty.”

Ah, you started to get the picture.

“Are you going to kill me?” The question you never thought you would ask anyone at any point in your life left your lips and you felt tears streaming down your face.

His lips slowly curled up to a smile. “I already tried killing others, it didn’t work.”

Your chest clenched abruptly at the revelation. “T-then why?”

“There’s one another feeling only humans can feel.” He reached towards your face and wiped your tears, humming softly. “It’s lust. Animals choose partners by instinct, humans choose theirs by attraction.”

“I don’t understand,” you sobbed. “Why me?”

Hiro slowly carded his fingers through your hair, petting you like you were a scared animal he was trying to calm down. “I always thought you were pretty. I used to jerk off to your pictures on your account every day.  I wanna see if I still feel the same way in this body.”

You didn’t get to react to his sickening words as he pressed his forefinger on your breast, still in a finger gun position. He smiled while moving his finger on the supple flesh. He then placed the rest of his fingers on your breast to grope it fully. “I kinda feel it.”

Speechless, you only stared at him as he sat back, prying his hands off of you reluctantly.

“I need you to take off your shirt for me.”

When you didn’t move, he lifted his hand back up, threatening to shoot you.

Grabbing the hem of your shirt with shaking hands, you pulled it over your chest and above your head before putting it on your lap. You clutched on the shirt and stared at your hands. Tears blurred your vision.

“I’m feeling it a little bit right now,” he said, voice filled with faint joy.

A moment passed before he spoke again.

“Take off everything.”

You let out a choked sob and shook your head.

“You don’t need to die, (name). All I’m asking for is your help.” He was looking at you with a sinister expression on his face, his finger pointed right between your brows, it didn’t even waver.

You didn’t want to die. Not yet. Not when you were half-naked like this and in your room.

With a rapid nod, you hooked your thumbs under the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, lifting your hips from the bed to slide the pants down your thighs.

He watched you intently, without blinking once.

“Spread your legs.”

Complying his order, you spread your legs involuntarily. A blush tinted your cheeks from embarrassment.

Hiro hummed in delight, drinking up your naked form.

“Can you put a finger inside?”

You had to remind yourself that you were only doing this because you didn’t want to die.

Hesitantly, you brought your hand up to insert two fingers inside of your pussy. A whimper left your lips when you saw the way he was watching you.

“Move them.”

The shame you felt as you pulled your fingers out to push them back in was indescribable. His eyes were focused on your pussy and your digits.

“It’s happening,” he whispered to himself in disbelief.  “I feel alive.”

Whether it be your crush watching you masturbate so carefully or the unsettling threat of being in the claws of death, your walls were pulsating around your fingers, begging to be filled and stretched. You needed something bigger but you bit your lip, holding back your filthy thoughts before your mind could wander off. Instead, you dipped one more finger inside your cunt to satisfy yourself.

Yet, your eyes were on Hiro as you were fingering yourself.

“I’m still human,” he said, eyes softening in relief. He smiled, the soft expression on his face made your walls clench around your digits. “Thank you, (name).”

Lust filled all of your senses at the way he said it.

The pads of your fingers rubbed on your sensitive spot inside of you as you brought your other hand up too. Using your free hand, you drew tight circles over your sensitive nub.

Hiro put his hand down and leaned forward on the chair to watch you closely.

Your fingers started moving in and out hastily when you realized he was giving you all of his attention. The sloppy sounds of your juices gushing out from your pussy with each thrust of your digits filled your room.

He opened his mouth to say something but he was too hypnotized by the way your hips were moving towards your fingers. You were grinding your pussy against your own fingers like some animal in heat.

Humans could reproduce.

Hiro knew he could never reproduce in this body. Not anymore. Many humans couldn’t reproduce, it didn’t mean he wasn’t any less human. He knew that but he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching to grab your wrist.

He stopped you from moving your fingers any longer, he pulled them out, and before you could whine at the emptiness, he inserted his own digits inside.

“H-Hiro.” Gasping, you looked at him with needy eyes, begging him to move.

Hiro pressed his lips together and scissored his fingers in and out of you experimentally. You moaned, throwing your head back shamelessly. The reaction he got from you was enough to encourage him to add another digit and started to fingerfuck you.

Your hips bucked wildly against his hand, you were already close, and having Hiro’s long fingers inside you was too much. They could reach so much deeper than your own fingers and hit the sweetest spots you could only wish you could with your own digits.

So, this was what made humans human. The attraction and lust towards one another. The feeling of guilt had never sprouted in Hiro, not even once. Not even when he was a child. Perhaps, that was the reason why he felt so much more alive than he ever did in his life.

His mind was going crazy, the consciousness he had was getting fuzzy as he used the entire strength of his arm to fingerfuck you.

Your walls pulsated around his digits, clamping on them and sucking him in deeper.

Oh, so needy.

Hiro leaned further down to close the distance between his face and crotch. Your legs shook in anticipation until he lolled out his tongue to take an inexperienced lick against your cunt.

It made you moan audibly.

Wanting to hear your cute moans again, Hiro continued lapping at your pussy and moving his fingers inside of you. Your juices he managed to slurp were… sweet. He could taste them, unlike any other things he had tried eating and drinking, he could actually taste your nectar. You tasted like candy to him and oh, you had no idea how much he had missed the delicious aroma of candy.

While he was slurping your juices, you were clutching on your bedsheets and your toes were curling in pleasure. You arched your back before placing your hands on his head, fingers carding through his silky hair.

Soon enough you were on the edge, the white pleasure building in your gut was spreading all over your body. Legs shaking violently, you pulled Hiro’s hair and moaned as the euphoria washed over you before your body went completely limp on your bed.

Hiro stood above you as you were trying to catch your breath on the mattress, he marveled at the sight of your afterglow.

He was breathing hard, inhaling as if he actually needed the air to survive. Was this excitement? Satisfaction? Salvation?

He was feeling overwhelmed with feelings of passion. He desperately wanted to see you like that again.

Oh.

That was it.

At that moment, he felt more alive than he ever did before. He knew he was alive.

[svtskneecaps]

you mean the world to me

(gender neutral) reader x wonwoo

genre: fluff + angst; words: 7k

(i’ve found i write for wonwoo in times of academic panic and if ever there was a time of academic panic, this is it)

You didn’t see Wonwoo at all on the morning everything changed. His side of the bed was empty when you got out of the shower, and your keys were missing from the hook. Maybe that was your first clue that something was up. His set still hung there innocently, the tiny bear charm you’d gotten him on your two year anniversary swinging lightly on the breeze from the AC unit.

You shrugged and picked up the keys. This wasn’t the first time he’d grabbed the wrong set, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

(your second clue was that the door was unlocked)

You called him on your lunch break to tease him about the keys, but it went to voicemail. That in itself wasn’t odd; usually if he was in a frenzy working on some idea he’d forget to check his phone, but it was sort of odd that it didn’t even ring.

You shrugged that off too. Maybe he forgot it at the apartment, and it died. He’d never forgotten it before, but there was a first time for everything.

You finally accepted something was wrong when you stopped by the bookstore with coffee and it was closed. And dark.

He always had the front light on when he was inside.

Hours later, as you paced around the apartment trying to work out whether or not to call the police, you heard the jangle of your keys in the lock. You swung the door open before he’d even unlocked it, heart in your throat.

“There you are! I was worried, where have you been, why weren’t you answering your phone?”

Your questions died in your throat as you looked him over. He looked exhausted.

“Wonwoo,” you said, softly, “are you okay?”

He visibly forced a smile. “Yeah,” he said.

You opened the door wider, and he hesitated before he came in. He hovered in the entryway, like a stranger in his own apartment (the one you picked out together).

You sat down on the couch, and he followed you to the living room, but he sat in the guest chair instead of his usual place beside you. He didn’t speak, just looked around the room as if he’d never been in it before. Finally, you were the one to break the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He looked at you, appearing to consider his words carefully (as he does, of course, he’s a songwriter).

“If you woke up in a stranger’s bed, in a life you don’t recognize, what would you do?”

You blinked. “Like those Hallmark movies?”

“Hallmark movies?”

“Yeah, it’s a huge trope in like the Christmas movies? Somebody runs into a Santa character and one way or another they make a wish and then Santa slaps them into an alternate universe where usually they’re married with several children or something, and they learn the true meaning of Christmas.” You made jazz hands.

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think Christmas is involved.”

“Are you saying you weren’t some rich businessman in your past life?” you teased. “I could see it, you know.”

“But if you were in that situation,” he pressed. “What would you do?”

You thought about that. “I guess I’d go with it,” you said. “Try to figure out who I am in the new life and make the most of it.”

“You wouldn’t try to go back?”

“I don’t see how I could figure it out, unless I recognized the Santa character on my initial run to all the places I used to know and talked to them about it.”

He groaned. “Please let’s not call them the Santa.”

You weren’t sure if he was joking until he smiled, and you relaxed.

“Well that’s what they are,” you defended, maybe a little too quickly, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Can they not be wish granters? Or guardian angels or something? Not all of the stories are to do with the true meaning of Christmas.”

You shrugged. “I know you’re the writer here but your storytelling experience pales in comparison to my extensive knowledge of Hallmark movie tropes.”

He leaned forward. “I’m a writer?”

You forced yourself to laugh like he was making a joke even though something in your chest went tight.

(he chose to sleep on the couch that night and even though you were upset that he wasn’t next to you in the bed, some strange part of you was glad for the distance)

You called out of work the next day to walk Wonwoo to the bookstore, citing stress at your significant other going missing for most of a day. Seungcheol was understanding, telling you not to worry, that he’d see you Monday.

Vernon was leaning against the wall by the door when you came up, messing with something on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at your partner. “I was worried; it’s not like you to be late.”

Wonwoo was quiet for an odd amount of time, long enough that you glanced over at him. He was staring at Vernon with some odd look in his eyes.

“We got a late start,” you finally answered for him. “After yesterday. . .” You coughed. “Anyway, you guys need any help setting up?”

“Probably, yeah, we just got a shipment of that new YA series the other day,” Vernon said. You step to one side, motioning Wonwoo up the steps to unlock the door. “Maybe you shelve those while I blow the dust off the front desk. She’s not used to being unused this long.”

You laughed, too loud. “It was a day.”

“I know, it was ages.”

(you didn’t comment on how Wonwoo had to try three keys from the ring before getting the door open, or how he looked at the inside of his own bookstore like it was a wondrous new place. Vernon didn’t seem to notice)

You dragged the box out to the shelves and started placing the books. Apparently Vernon had forgotten how well voices carried in the quiet space, because you could hear him speaking as if he were next to you when he said, “Hey, man, did you two fight?”

“What?”

You could imagine Vernon’s shrug, heard him fiddling with the crack in his phone case. “I don’t know, it’s just, usually you two are pretty much inseparable, but like, yesterday you totally go off the grid and now today there’s a whole sidewalk between you.” A floorboard creaked. “I know it’s probably not really my business, y’know since I just work the front desk and all, but, I thought I’d ask.”

The pause stretched out so long you found yourself frozen, breath caught in your lungs, hand hovering above the next book, waiting.

“I’m adjusting,” Wonwoo said finally. “I’m a different person than I was two days ago.”

It was an answer and a non-answer all at once and it implied more than it clarified. You picked up the book and slotted it onto its place in the shelf, above the carefully written label. You didn’t mention the conversation when you brought the box back. You made an excuse about going for coffee and bolted out the door.

(usually the bookstore felt welcoming, an extension of your significant other, but the atmosphere was stifling and foreign and you couldn’t stay)

Thankfully, Seokmin had the morning shift, and you arrived during a dead period. He was able to sit with you as you nursed your drink and fretted aloud over everything that happened.

“It’s like I blinked and he was a total stranger,” you said. “I don’t know what I did.”

“Maybe it wasn’t anything you did?” he offered. “Maybe he just changed.”

“It’s just so weird.” You cupped your hands around your drink. “I mean, I know people say that by the end of a long lasting relationship your significant other changes enough to be a bunch of different people, but it happened overnight. Like he went to sleep as a writer, and my--” you choke on boyfriend-- “significant other, and then he woke up and-- I mean aside from him still being named Wonwoo it’s like-- I don’t know who this man is anymore.”

“Maybe not,” Seokmin said agreeably.

“Wow,” you said, sipping your drink. “Stop hanging out with Jeonghan so much, you’re starting to sound like him.”

He laughed and nudged your shoulder. “What I’m saying is, maybe he feels strange and different, but that doesn’t have to matter. What matters is if you’re willing to find the pieces of him that you loved again. He can’t have changed that much underneath.”

He was right, no doubt. The awkward way Wonwoo had held himself the night before reminded you of the first time you’d ever really talked. He wasn’t so different, just undeveloped, like he’d jumped back in time. Like he’d crossed the multiverse from an existence where he’d never met you.

You could handle it. The situation was manageable. You could treat each interaction like you’d just met him for the first time. It could be easy, or it could be the hardest thing you’d ever faced, but you could handle it. Really.

(you texted Wonwoo asking if you should bring anything back for him and Vernon. his coffee order was different than the one you remembered)

You unlocked the door to the apartment that night. Wonwoo lingered in the hallway until you glanced back at him.

“You do anything at work today?” you asked.

He shook his head. “That office is a disaster. How did I ever find anything?”

You laughed, hanging up your keys. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying basically since we bought the place.” You almost nudged his shoulder as you passed him on your way to the kitchen, but stopped the thought before it became a motion. “Keys on the hook,” you directed, “before you forget where you set ‘em.”

It took him two tries to find the right hook, but he got it. “I had to spend most of the morning organizing everything,” he said. “There’s so much stuff in there.”

“Let the record show that I’ve been telling you this was how it was gonna end up for years.”

“That’s the most long-winded way to say ‘I told you so’ I’ve ever heard.”

“What can I say? I like the sound of my own voice.” You pulled ingredients from the cupboards. “You remember where the pans are?”

“No,” he said.

“Neat.”

Making the food was the only easy part. Sitting at the table, you were acutely aware of him, like every one of your senses was waiting for something major to happen. Nothing did, though; you ate dinner in near complete silence. It wasn’t the comfortable silence you were used to. The air between you felt charged like the static balls at a science fair. You wanted to bridge the gap.

Wonwoo wanted to take the couch again, but you refused.

“Your turn in the bed,” you said, shooing him away. “You and I both know that couch doesn’t do the back any favors, and it’s your apartment too.”

“You don’t have to, I can--”

“Mom said it’s my turn on the couch,” you said in a high pitched, nasal tone, and then snickered, halfheartedly throwing a pillow at him. It flopped on the floor halfway between you. “I’ll be fine.”

He hovered in the doorway a few moments more, but relented in the end. “Goodnight,” he said, and made to close the door.

“Goodnight,” you said, and then, “you mean the world to me.”

The door clicked shut. You scooped up the pillow again and dropped it and yourself on the couch.

(it really is back pain in all forms and you woke up with cramps in muscles you didn’t even know you had, but it was worth it. it was always worth it)

You spent the weekend dancing around him, like planets. Like stars. Like if you got too close it would end in catastrophe.

Sometimes you’d slip into a back and forth with him that felt so familiar you could almost forget that you hardly knew him anymore, until you’d reference an old memory and he’d give you a quizzical look. It would sting, except the old memories felt strange to you now too. You didn’t mind not thinking about them, if it meant he didn’t look at you like that. Like a stranger.

The stranger you were.

You returned to work Monday and Seungcheol swung by your desk.

“How’s your boyfriend?” he asked. “He feeling better?”

You ignored the part of your stomach that twisted hearing boyfriend (that was what he was, after all, or what he had been, before Thursday; it shouldn’t feel so strange).

“I think so,” you said, because he’d put his keys on the right hook without you needing to remind him and he knew where all the cooking utensils were without needing to ask you.

Seungcheol rested his arms on the top of your cubicle. “And you? How are you holding up?”

You felt like you were hanging on by a thread. ���Fine, I think. Pretty well, all things considered.”

He looked at you with concealed concern, but seemed to understand. You didn’t want to talk about it at work, even if Seungcheol had been one of your closest friends in university.

“Well, give me a call if you ever want to talk about it,” he said, and then left, probably for his own desk.

You bolted the moment time ticked over for your lunch break.

You didn’t know if Wonwoo would want you swinging by. You didn’t know if he’d answer your call. You called anyway, even if your hands shook.

He picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” You wiped your palm on your shirt. “I’m out on lunch break; if you aren’t too busy maybe we could run get Chinese or something?”

There was a pause, and then, “Okay. Just let me make sure Vernon and Chan can handle the store.”

He met you out front, and you walked to the restaurant together.

It wasn’t too cold out, so you got the food to go and found a bench to sit at, watching people as they pass.

“You remember that game, where you pick somebody going by and try to guess what they’re doing?” you asked into the silence.

He hummed. “Maybe. Why, you want to do it now?”

You shrugged. “Might as well.”

Even though he’d seemed apprehensive, he took to the game quickly. He was the one to decide that the woman wearing heels with her paint splattered jeans was a street performer, on her way to meet up with the other members of her busking group. You countered that obviously, the man in the mask waiting impatiently to cross the street was on his way to manage a rambunctious group of idols.

“Can you imagine?” you asked, shaking your head. “Must be rough, having to keep some of those groups under control.”

Something odd tinged the edges of Wonwoo’s expression when you looked back over at him. You couldn’t tell what it was. You hadn’t been able to read his expressions for days. It should have scared you.

It didn’t.

“Must be rough,” he echoed, his voice hollow. You were caught between asking about it and pretending you hadn’t noticed when he pointed across the plaza at the fountain. “Bet that guy’s an idol.”

“Yeah?” You followed his hand to see a man standing by the fountain, staring up at the jets of water, his hands buried in the pockets of the long coat he wore.

“Yeah. He’s taking a break from the practice room to appreciate everything around him,” Wonwoo said. “He’s gonna go home to the other members of his group and they’re going to ask where he’s been and be worried.”

“What’s he going to tell them?”

Wonwoo leans back into the bench, and maybe a little bit into you.

“He’s going to tell them he was getting a new perspective,” he said. “That he’s seen life from a new angle. And. . .”

The silence stretched, but it was comfortable. His arm touched yours, resting there.

“And,” Wonwoo said, and his voice cracked, “that he missed them.”

You tore your gaze from the man at the fountain. Wonwoo stared into nothing, eyes wet.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

He didn’t look at you as he nodded. Maybe that was for the best. You could feel tears building in your own eyes. You didn’t even know why.

You missed them too.

The alarm on your phone went off.

“Ah,” you said. “I should get back to work.”

You stood, ignoring the chill on your arm where his had been.

“I’ll see you back at the apartment, yeah?” you said.

He looked at you, that time, standing. “Yeah,” he said.

You threw out your trash and offered him your arm gallantly. “Would you allow me to walk you back, sir?”

He laughed and tossed his own trash, taking your arm. “Sure.”

You walked him all the way back to the store, where you swept off an imaginary hat and dipped into a grossly exaggerated bow. You heard him laugh, and when you came back up he was smiling (you would do anything to see him happy).

“Alright, you’ve done your job,” he said.

You place a dramatic hand on your chest. “Are you implying that I did all that out of a sense of moral obligation?”

He snickered. “Well, when you put it that way.”

Whatever expression had made its way onto your face made him laugh, his face lighting up as he reached out for the doorway to steady himself. You broke into a smile, heart beating a little faster.

“Okay, I gotta go before I’m late.” You almost wanted to hug him goodbye, but something stopped you. You settled for a quick wave. “You mean the world to me, okay? I’ll see you after work!”

Friday, Wonwoo came in and barely hung up his keys (on the right hook) before tipping himself over the arm of the couch to flop face first into the cushions with a deep groan. You stared at his limp form from the kitchen, a tiny smile forming on your face.

“So, how was work?” you asked.

He mumbled something into the couch that might’ve been, “Peachy.” He flipped over. “Some woman decided we should be a bookstore and a coffee shop and made sure we knew it.”

You wince. “Yikes.”

“Yeah.” He ground his hands into his eyes. “I spent half my morning making sure she wasn’t taking it out on Vernon or Chan.”

“Well, if she didn’t get the kids then it’s all good.” You set down the spoon and moved into the other room, leaning on the back of the couch. “Shame Seungkwan wasn’t there, he’d have given her a real piece of his mind.”

“I would have let him. Not like I even wanted her to buy anything after she said that.” Wonwoo dropped his hands, one arm falling off the side of the couch. He gazed up at you.

“She can keep her condescending cash to herself,” you agreed, and reached out to mess with his hair.

And drew back just as quickly, your hand hardly brushing his hair before hastily retreating to grip your leg. Why did you do that? It was wrong, it was all wrong. Your face burned. You didn’t know him well enough you’d known him for years he was a stranger you’d played with his hair all the time in university, even before you’d made it official it felt wrong to do it it felt wrong to pull away--

Wonwoo sat up. “Hey, everything okay?”

“--Yeah.” You shook your head. “Just-- head rush.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You tore yourself away from the couch, making for the counter again and ignoring the sting on your leg where you dug in your nails. You could hear him trailing you.

Wonwoo leaned on the counter as you picked up the spoon. For a moment, you thought he’d press you again.

“So,” he said, “how was work?”

Of course he wouldn’t push. He was Wonwoo.

“Fine,” you said, stirring the ramen in the bowl. “Same old story, really, except everyone was talking about the company dinner party Sunday.”

Wonwoo blinked. “You didn’t tell me there was a dinner Sunday.”

You dashed the spoon through the noodles with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary. “I didn’t want to bother you. You know, since you haven’t been feeling well this week. It didn’t seem worth adding to your plate and it doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“It doesn’t seem like yours either.”

He was right; it wasn’t your scene. You always found yourself walking on eggshells every time, a glass of wine gripped in your hand that you never dared drink from out of fear of making a fool of yourself.

“It’s my job,” you said. Your next stir sent tiny dots of water into the air and you flinched back.

Wonwoo nudged you out of the way, taking up the spoon even as you pouted at him. “Well,” he said, “need a date?”

You blinked. “Are you volunteering?”

“Maybe,” he said. “You work for one of those fancy companies, right? They probably have all kinds of high society foods.”

“They do cover meal costs,” you admitted.

He scoffed. “And you were going to leave me eating ramen alone on my Sunday night?” He reached up and tousled your hair. “If you need moral support I’ll be there.”

Your heart swelled. “Jeon Wonwoo, you mean the world to me you godsend.”

He ducked his head, turning to the ramen again. “Hey, any guy would count himself lucky to be your plus one.” He nudged your elbow. “How about you grab a couple bowls out and we eat this on the couch? We can watch a movie or something.”

(you found your seat on the couch, your bowl nestled in your lap, and when he came to meet you he sat beside you)

Saturday you spent at the bookstore, shelving books, distracting Vernon, and waiting for Wonwoo to get off. Seungkwan stopped by with a deck of cards and in the spare moments between customers you played poker under the desk. Chan threatened to quit after you inexplicably bluffed him out of three rounds in a row. Vernon swore he wasn’t stacking the deck, you were just that good all of a sudden.

“It’s not possible for you to have gotten good at bluffing in under a week, it’s like you’re a totally different person,” Chan said, and he was joking but the sting and the familiarity of the words drained the blood from your face and you barely managed to play it off. The game continued, but without you.

Seokmin was sitting at a table in the coffeeshop flicking idly through a textbook. You ordered a drink and joined him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said.

“Really? Because you only come in here alone when it isn’t.”

You huffed. “It’s nothing. I just needed an escape.” The bookstore felt more welcoming again, more like Wonwoo (Wonwoo with his arm touching yours on the bench, Wonwoo pressed against your side as you play fight over who gets to cook dinner, Wonwoo with his head on your shoulder as he sleeps through the emotional climax of Finding Dory, his breathing a steady breeze against your neck) but something in Chan’s words. . .

You’d recoiled.

“I’m not--” you gripped your cup, thinking carefully about your words. “I’m not a different person, am I?”

“As far as I know you’re the same person you’ve always been.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I mean-- have I changed, like-- my personality, my little ticks. Any of that?”

Seokmin looked at you (he always looked like he knew more than he said; probably it came from being top of his class all through school but still. . .). “Maybe,” he said. “I’d say you’re the same you, but maybe they knew a different you.”

Your head slipped to meet the table before you could catch it. “Seokmin you know I’m not smart enough for riddles.”

“It doesn’t have to be a riddle.” He laughed. “Everybody has a picture in their mind of everybody else, and it’s never the same as what actually exists.”

“Philosophy is ruining you,” you said. “Stop hanging out with Jeonghan, he’s turning you into a paradox.”

“What I’m saying is, just because someone thinks you’re different than you were, that doesn’t mean you actually are. Maybe you’ve just been different this whole time, and now they finally noticed.”

“Maybe.”

He had a point, once you stripped away the philosophic layers. It was just the phrasing.

It’s like you’re a totally different person. In under a week.

Last week, everything had changed.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, but you sipped your coffee anyway. Seokmin asked about the company dinner, and you tried to forget about it.

You went shopping with Wonwoo after he closed up the store, trying to find something business casual for the dinner.

“And nothing in the closet would work for this because?” you asked, flicking through the rack of button ups.

“Because it’s a special occasion,” he said, holding a suit jacket against his chest and then hanging it up again. “We can’t wear anything we’ve already worn.”

You snorted. “What are we, movie stars on the red carpet?”

“No,” he said. “I mean, if you wanted, maybe, but no.” He glanced up. “Anytime is an excuse to treat ourselves.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You trailed your arm across a line of ties, letting the material fall over your finger. Your motion halted over a tie. “Oh, this’ll be impressive.” You held it up for him to see.

“Nice,” he said. “The bundles of bills will surely let your boss know you’re in this for what really matters.”

You pointed at him. “Exactly what I was thinking.” You looped it around your head, fingers pinching it together. “Maybe I could wear it like one of those guys in the post apocalyptic movies, that way they know I’m willing to go all the way.”

“Now you’re talking.” He hung up the jackets and came over, taking another tie off the rack, this one a soft coral pink. “Or maybe, you put this one on. . .”

He looped it around your neck and tied it properly.

“Where’d you learn how to tie a tie?” you asked, a laugh bubbling out of you.

“I felt bad making the stylists do it for me all the time,” he said, offhandedly.

The wrongness niggled at you.

You turned to the mirror nearby, playing with the ends of the tie. “I don’t know,” you said.

“What, you don’t like the color?”

“No, pink is a great color.” You surveyed yourself. “I just think I’d want a little more color to my outfit than a tie.”

“Of course,” Wonwoo said, moving to stand behind you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder as he studied your reflection. “You’re the business one, we want to make sure you pop.” His eyes lit up. “I know.”

He didn’t quite have it the first few times, but finally, after taking over a changing room and trying on enough outfits that the both of you had nearly filled the reject cart, you walked out of the store with your purchases on your arms.

You stopped for takeout on the way back, too tired to cook, and ate dinner in a comfortable silence, leaning against each other and the couch as the TV played the weather forecast. When he dozed off against your neck, you forced yourself up.

“Come on sleepyhead,” you said, pulling him up with you. He made a few affronted noises but didn’t argue as you stole his trash and stowed the leftovers in the fridge and all but carried him into the bedroom.

“Dramatic.” You clicked your tongue, dropping him in the bed and moving to grab your sleepwear and get changed. His hand caught your wrist.

“You don’t have to take the couch tonight,” he said, and his voice was much clearer now.

“Well I’m not about to let you take it,” you said. “It’s my turn.”

“No, I meant--” he cut himself off.

“Oh,” you said.

“If you want,” he said hurriedly. “If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Um-- if you’re okay with it,” you said, and your face burns and he looks kind of like he’s in the same boat and he drops your wrist.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, and made for the bathroom.

He was changed when you finished in the bathroom and you climbed into bed beside him. It was strange, sharing, even though you knew you’d done it before maybe. There was an ocean of bed between you that you didn’t dare cross.

You closed your eyes. “Goodnight, Wonwoo,” you said, the words echoing off the wall you faced instead of him. Then, quieter, “You mean the world to me.”

(it’s the best rest you’ve gotten in what feels like forever; you wake up in a tangle of limbs but neither of you are in a hurry to pull away)

You idled outside the building, picking at the sleeves of the shirt you’d picked out the day before.

“Ready?” Wonwoo asked, making eye contact. You nodded, eyes slipping down to rest on the pink tie, the same pink as you’d chosen your shirt to be. He held out his arm, like a gentleman, and you took it.

The room rented for the dinner is as stuffy as you expected. You made small talk with coworkers you’d only ever seen for five minutes at the printer, and played the people watching game with Wonwoo in hushed tones whenever you got a spare moment. Seungcheol swung by a few times to check in and spill a bit of corporate gossip in a hushed voice, both with and without Joshua by his side.

“It’s a game we play,” Seungcheol explained when Wonwoo asked about it. “We make small talk together, he sends me to ‘get drinks’ and then talks me up behind my back.” Seungcheol glanced over at Joshua, where he was chatting calmly with two members of the board of directors. “He’s really good at it.”

Your social battery died about halfway through, but you forced yourself to soldier on. It probably wouldn’t look good if you left early. Hopefully no one would notice as your responses grew shorter and your smiles more strained.

Wonwoo took your hand after you laughed a little too loud at a coworker’s joke, and then turned to you when they had said their goodbyes to do another sweep around the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. “Is it time to go?”

You shook your head. “I shouldn’t leave early.”

“We’ve been here more than half the time, I think we’re allowed.” He folded your hand between his, rubbing it soothingly. “We can use me as an excuse, say I got tired. Please don’t force yourself to stay; I can tell something’s wrong.”

You kind of wanted to cry, and you didn’t know if it was the stress of the evening or what. “I don’t deserve you,” you said.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tugged you in. “You deserve the world,” he said softly into your ear.

And then you left the party.

You stopped at the park, instead of going directly home, sitting at the fountain’s edge.

“You remember when we got takeout?” he asked.

You did. “When we first played the people watching game, right?” you asked, and stopped. That hadn’t been the first time; you’d played it all the time before hadn’t you?

“Yeah,” he said. “You dropped me off.”

“You got really into the game,” you said. “That idol guy’s backstory was impressively complex.”

He laughed, soft and fond, and yet also flat. Like there was a layer of irony you hadn’t caught.

“When you dropped me off at the bookstore, you said that-- you said ‘you mean the world to me’. And-- we’re dating, at least according to Vernon, and, this whole time you never said ‘I love you’.” He looked at you. “Why is that?”

You open your mouth, the answer of a shared back and forth you two had used since university sitting on your tongue, but it didn’t come out. You just closed your mouth.

Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t something you’d said since university. You-- hadn’t known him in university.

“I’m not sure,” you said, bewildered because it was true. Why did you say that?

“It’s just stuck with me,” he said. “Ever since that first day, when I didn’t--” he cut himself off. “It was like I’d been dropped into this world from another one,” he said. “I didn’t know anything, and-- you were a total stranger.”

Another world. Total stranger. The words vibrated against the walls of your skull. You’d thought of him like a stranger too, even though you knew him. At least you thought you did. But you didn’t know him in university, you didn’t know him at all.

“But, as time went by, and I got time to know you, I realized something,” he said, and he took your hand in both of his. “And I don’t think we’re strangers anymore.”

Strangers, you were strangers. What had you thought, that first day? How did you even know it as the first day, beyond Wonwoo’s strange actions? You weren’t thinking of it like the first day of Wonwoo. It was the first day at all. You didn’t know him.

“I guess. . .” he trailed off. “I guess what I want to say, is just that I. . .”

He wasn’t your housemate or your boyfriend or the guy you knew from the frat. He wasn’t-- he was--

Oh god.

You tore your hand from his.

Everything went deathly silent.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Seokmin’s voice rang out.

Your head jerked up.

Time had frozen around you. Wonwoo still sat by the fountain, looking in your direction with an expression of distress, his hand reaching after you. You scrambled back. He didn’t move.

“I guess this means you figured it out?” Seokmin asked.

You looked at him. “What have I done?”

“A wish was made,” he said. “I granted it.”

You blinked. A flash, staring up into the sky from the window; “I wish I could tell him what he means,” you said to the stars, “every night. I wish I could tell him, he means the world to me.”

“You’re Santa.”

Seokmin made a face. “I’m with Wonwoo, let’s not call it that.”

“And Wonwoo knew the whole time that this was wrong?” you asked. He nodded. “Why? Why not me? It was my wish.”

He smiled. “Wishes don’t always work the way you expect them to.”

You shook your head. “Send him back now.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why Seokmin, just do it!”

He blinked at you. “For the record, I’m not actually Seokmin. I’m just borrowing his appearance, to keep an eye on you.”

You dug your fingers into the dirt, like a reminder it was still there. “And Seungcheol? Vernon? Chan?”

“Projections. Every person you’ve met here is a projection.”

“At least you didn’t abduct them.” You stopped. “At least I didn’t.” You shook your head. “But it’s done now. You have to send him back. He didn’t ask to be here, he didn’t want to be here!”

“And if he doesn’t want to go back?”

“Of course he wants to go back!” you shout. “Have you not seen the way he cares for the members? You said you were keeping an eye on us, did you miss that day at the park? He misses them! And I dragged him away!” You shoot to your feet, throat beginning to close up. “You have to fix this-- I have to fix this!”

The thing which was not Seokmin looked at you. “Don’t you wonder what he was going to say to you, before everything clicked?”

You swallowed. “Whatever it was, it was built on a lie. And it’s a lie I refuse to keep living.”

Not-Seokmin shrugged. “Then turn and look him in the eyes and wish everything back,” he said.

You did.

(if you cried when you woke up in a single bed you recognized as truly your own, you were the only one to know)

Wonwoo was oddly quiet in broadcasts from that point on. You couldn’t bring yourself to talk about him anymore. Someone asked you on Twitter if you had something against him.

No, you’d responded, he just reminds me of a recent ex. Every time I see him I think about them and it’s just too painful right now. I don’t hate Wonwoo.

Two days later, the Seventeen Twitter account dmed you.

I need to talk to you.

You sent, I’m sorry.

You deactivated.

You almost gave away your concert tickets, but you’d been planning on going with a friend before everything and you wouldn’t let them down. You went despite all your misgivings. With the stage lights on full blast, there was no way he’d be able to see you in the audience. You were safe, with your seats halfway up the concert hall, half a mile from the stage.

And then Seventeen, in the middle of their set, hopped off the stage, into the audience.

You’d wondered why certain aisles had a security detail around them.

If it wasn’t the middle of a song, you’d ask the people farther down the row to switch with you but you didn’t dare move around; it had been drilled into you that doing so during a performance was disrespectful. You were the seat on the aisle, and Wonwoo was on his way up, his eyes scanning the crowd with a sharp determination even as he continued his verse flawlessly.

Would looking away be more conspicuous than staring?

Should you jump to blend with the energy of the crowd, or freeze so he didn’t look?

It didn’t matter.

He’d seen you.

He took the stairs two, three at a time, stopping on the landing beside you, turning to face the rest of the hall again as his verse finished, and then he glanced at you.

The spotlight shone on his face.

“Please don’t leave,” he mouthed, or maybe said, but the combined roar of the crowd and the blood rushing in your ears drowned it out completely.

And then he turned to complete the performance, leaving a few fans looking at you wistfully.

(several of them came up after the concert to congratulate you, to gush about how lucky you were, to speculate about what happened and laugh about it; blessedly no one was openly rude about it)

You sat on the edge of a fountain, in the plaza a block from the back door of the concert hall, fidgeting with your sleeves. You didn’t know if you were crazy. You probably were crazy, waiting for him. He’d be livid. He had to be livid. He’d never forgive you.

But whatever closure would mean for him, you’d give it to him.

Anything.

The back door of the concert hall slammed open and a figure came bolting out towards you. They skidded to a halt at the edge of the fountain, and you could see Wonwoo’s eyes over the mask.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to stay,” he said.

“I wasn’t either.”

“I’m glad you did.” He sat down on the edge of the fountain. “I really need to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, before he could get upset.

He blinked. “For what?”

“For making the stupid wish and dragging you into an alternate universe, and then not even remembering doing it.” You rubbed your arm, staring at the brickwork. “I mean I was basically gaslighting you the entire time.”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” he said.

You toed the crack between two stones. “What all do you know?”

“How that world worked. How I got there. How I got back.” You saw him move, reaching out like he was going to take your hand, and then stopping himself in the middle. “I’m not upset with you.”

“You should be.” The words dropped out of your mouth. “You should hate me. You-- I basically ruined your life.”

“You didn’t ruin my life, you showed me what I was missing,” he said. “You remember when we played that people watching game? What I said about that man?”

You picked at a loose thread in your sleeve. “He. . . he was taking a break from the practice room.”

You saw him nod from the corner of your eye. “And I said he was getting a new perspective.”

“He’s seeing life from a new angle,” you said.

“It was as much my wish as it was yours,” Wonwoo said. “I felt lost. I didn’t know where to go next or what to focus on, and it wasn’t something the members could help with, but it was something you could help with. And you did.”

You felt numb. A wish was made. Not-Seokmin had given one last riddle, one you were finally understanding.

“You add a dimension to my life that I was missing,” he said. “Just, please-- please don’t leave me again.”

You looked at him, finally, sitting there on the edge of the fountain, his hair a mess from the performance.

“I didn’t want to leave,” you said. “I just-- I had to let you go.”

“You don’t have to here,” he said. “I know I don’t run a bookstore, and we didn’t meet in college, but--”

“I didn’t fall for you because you ran a bookstore,” you said. “The bookstore was window dressing. You’re you no matter what career you have.”

On impulse, you reached out. He met you in the middle and you laced your fingers through his.

“I love you,” you said.

He clasped his other hand around yours and lifted it to his lips, his eyes squeezed up in such overwhelming happiness you thought you’d cry.

“I love you too.”

[karlajoyner]

Can I request a Charlie Gillespie x reader , where Charlie Gillespie is the reader’s boyfriend who dress as a clown for Madison Reys’s halloween party while they were in Canada and where Jeremy and Owen dress as clowns too to scare to Charlie’s girlfriend who is the reader but she hates getting scared.

It’s Stupid (Charlie Gillespie x Reader)

A/n: Hey guys so I hope you enjoy this one. I don't know if I'm gonna post the sunset curve one next yet because I have so much to work on for it. So I might post the one after unless you guys are willing to wait! Let me know if you are if you'd just prefer I post the next one!

Requested by: @fantomlovesjuke4ever (Tumblr)

Warnings: None

————

I placed the orange beanie over my head. Finally finishing off my final look.

Giggling to myself I walked out into the living room to see Savannah there in her Kim Possible outfit.

"How do I look?"

"Oh my god Charlie's gonna die!" She laughed throwing her head back.

"You look great"

"Are you sure it's not too....booby" I said moving the muscle tee away from my body to show my black bra. The muscle tee being directly from the show itself courtesy of the wardrobe department.

"It's Madison's Halloween party. I don't wanna show up looking like a slut"

"It's not too booby. You look great plus no ones gonna get to look under there except Charlie" She teased.

I playfully rolled my eyes grabbing a large oversized jacket to cover my costume.

"Where'd Tori go?"

"She went to go check on the boys to see if they were almost ready"

"Oh sounds good. Hey thanks again for letting me room with you two"

"Of course you know you're always welcome when your here. Plus I know Kenny always appreciates that you choose not to room with your boyfriend when you visit us"

"Kenny and apparently Owen too" I said earning a giggle from the girl.

"Tori just texted said the boys are ready and scary"

"Really?"

"Yeah. What's Charlie gonna be this year?" She asked as I grabbed my phone off the kitchen countertop.

"Beats me. He said it was top secret"

"Same for Owen and Jer" She spoke as I received a message from my boyfriend himself.

"Oh" I muttered.

"What's up?"

"Charlie just texted they'll meet us there. Something about needing the makeup department"

"Oh my"

"I just hope it's not anything too scary. I hate anything terrifying. I don't even watch scary movies at night due to the fact that I'm a complete wimp"

"Does Charlie know that?" Savannah bit her lip.

"Of course we've been dating for 6 months. If he didn't I'd be worried" I said walking out the front door.

I sighed stepping out of the Uber taking in the freezing cold air. Nothing too bad.

"How are you not freezing your socks off?" Tori asked.

"Toro you forget I've lived in Canada my whole life. You Californians cannot take the cold"

"Your the female version of Charlie. It's actually crazy" The girl said as she looped her arm through my own.

"Yeah he kinda rubbed off on me" I smiled walking into the warehouse with my two temporary roommates.

Immediately we spotted Madison, Sacha and Jadah.

"Y/n!" Madison and Jadah shouted running up to me.

"There's my angel. And my devils" I grinned at my boyfriends cast mates. Taking in the warmth's of the new surrounding.

"Okay let's see it. I've been waiting in anticipation to see your take on Luke Patterson" I giggled opening up the jacket to reveal the rest of my costume.

"You look great!"

"I think you look better than Charlie"

"Yeah my guns look great too don't they?" I asked flexing my arms causing laughter to erupt from the group.

"Okay seriously though where's my boyfriend and his posse"

"We have no idea"

"I do" Sacha stated smirking at me.

"Are you going to tell me?" I asked.

"Nope" As soon as the word left his lips my phone dinged.

"It's Charlie. He's asking me to meet him in the makeup. Where's that?"

"I'll walk you" Sav said taking my hand. We made it to a large door with windows to peer in.

"It's dark" I stated jiggling the knob to find it locked.

"Well that's weird" Sav said knocked. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the door opened slowly.

"Take my hand"

"Okay Troy Bolton" Savannah said making me giggle. We walked forward slowly my heart dropping feeling a pair of arms grab my waist. I screamed in fear as the lights turned on. The three faces in front of me smiling widely.

"Ahhh" I shut my eyes hugging Savannah tightly. Who seem to have had a similar reaction because she didn't hesitate to pull me close either. My heart beating out of my chest wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry all my anxiety out. We gripped onto each other for dear life as......laughter erupted?

I slowly peeled my eyes open to see Charlie laughing loudly clutching his stomach along with Owen and Jeremy. A frown fell upon my face as I let the light haired girl go.

"Charlie" I whispered a small tear escaping my eyes.

The laughter quickly died down. Charlie's face now expressing concern.

"Y/n baby what's wrong?"

I scoffed walking past Savannah to be anywhere but here.

Flashback

"Come on babe"

"Charlie I'm serious. I hate scary movies and I hate being scared. It sends me into this weird panic mode and I get anxious" I ranted watching him turn the tv off.

"You probably think I'm some sort of freak who can't take a joke. If you don't wanna date me anymore that's fine but just don't make me watch that movie especially right now" I spoke looking out the window into the darkness of the dimly lit street.

"Why would you ever think I wouldn't want to date you because of this?" He asked hurt flashing his eyes.

"I don't know. It's just my past boyfriends have called me lame for not wanting to go out to a scary movie with them at night. Or not wanting to dress up as some sort of badass scary character for Halloween. It just sucks to be left out because of some stupid irrational fear"

"It's anything but irrational. So you got a fear of something. We all do. Hey I'm insanely afraid of spiders"

"Really?" I asked biting my lips.

"Yeah baby. It's a stupid fear I know but something about their long legs makes me just ugh" He said getting the chills.

"It's not stupid. Thanks Charlie" I smiled.

"Anytime y/n. Now come on" He spoke sticking his hand out to me.

"What about the movie?"

"We're still watching a movie. Frozen to be exact. Upstairs in my room, cuddling up in a pillow fort. Sound good?"

"Sounds amazing" I grinned taking it. I sighed contently as he pulled my into a hug.

"I promise I won't scare you or take any of your fears with a pinch of salt"

"I promise to do the same" I said looking up at the boy in front of me. Looking up at the face that I was slowly but surely falling in love with.

I made my way back towards the party immediately spotting Madi and Tori talking. Their eyes landed on me quickly sensing something wrong.

I made my way over to them wiping away the strayed water droplets under my eyes.

"Hey what's wrong?"

"The guys are assholes" I spoke bitterly.

"Did they scare you too?" Madison asked as I nodded. The two understanding me immediately.

"Yeah..... Its just when Charlie and I started dating I specifically explained to him why I don't like being scared and he promised he'd never take that one specific fear and use it against me. And he just scared the living crap out of me and Savannah. Which I'm glad I did figure out it was him and the boys before I passed out or puked. I'd expect it from Owen and Jer but my own boyfriend. I know it's stupid and I probably over reacted but I just- I've always made sure to kill every damn spider in our damn apartment so he wouldn't have to do it. And he does this to me"

"I don't think you overreacted. You have the right to be mad"

"You think?"

"Yeah but I also know Charlie's an idiot and needs to be reminded of things from time to time"

"You're right" I sighed.

"Look he's obviously gonna apologize. Just don't be too hard on him. His memories almost as bad as his handwriting" Madison joked making me let out a strangled chuckle hearing my name being called.

"Y/n! Y/n! Where is she?" Charlie shouted running into the room. The music coming to a halt.

All eyes landed on me as Charlie ran up to me.

"Please continue" I awkwardly chuckled pulling the brunette off into a random hallway.

The loud music blaring through the speakers once more.

"What is it Charles?" I spoke sternly turning around to face the boy who's makeup was much worse than before.

"Y/n baby I'm so sorry we pranked you. The boys convinced me that it'd be funny to get as many people as we could today. I didn't know you'd get so upset. I'll go take off this stupid costume right now if you want me to but please don't be mad at me baby. I love you" He finished nearly out of breath. I took in a deep breath hearing the sadness in his voiced as he had ranted like any other time he screwed up which wasn't very often. But still.

"Do you remember the night we watched frozen in your room?" I questioned nervously playing with the rings on my fingers. Another prop from Luke's character that tied my costume together.

"Of course it was amazing. We made a pillow fort and ate popcorn and afterwards we did stuff that was definitely not pg 13" He smirked making me roll my eyes.

"Do you remember why we watched frozen?" I spoke once more hoping he would get where I was going with my questions.

"Yeah we watched it because- oh. Y/n I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot I can't believe I forgot about that"

"Yeah......Listen I'm not mad that your a clown which by the way I do happen to also be afraid of too but it's not gonna kill me. And I'm certainly not mad at Owen and Jeremy because they wanted to have a little fun tonight. But they didn't know about my anxiety that I get whenever I get scared. You did Charlie"

"I know I did" He groaned throwing his head back.

"And if my memory wasn't so damn bad I wouldn't have even thought about doing it baby. I hope you know that. And I'll do literally anything to get you to forgive me starting with never putting you through that again when your with me" He spoke taking my hands in his.

I sighed intertwining our fingers pulling him close to me.

"I know you won't. I also might have overreacted a bit" I said nuzzling my face into his chest.

His arms immediately wrapping around me completely.

"You didn't overreact. Overreacting is me when I see a spider. In all seriousness I love you and I'm really sorry for doing that"

"It's fine Charlie. I'll get my revenge on you guys" I spoke kissing his cheek before skipping away back to the party.

"Y-you're what? Wait baby your what? Y/n!" I heard him call after me as I laughed.

————

Up Next: Sunset Curve x Reader (Maybe)

Carrie Wilson x Reader

Owen Patrick Joyner x Reader

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Alex x Male Reader

————

@lolychu @headheartbellarke @bookish0918 @kcd15 @ifilwtmfc @moviesbooksandfandoms @lovesanimals @lavender-writer @kaitieskidmore1 @morganayennefertyrell @iloveteenwolf @ghostofmgg

[rinisbowen]

so... the new popsugar article (in the source link) truly was sending me haha. but- it’s clear that the writer of the article hasn’t watched the show in its entirety, and certainly not season 2 given the main things it seems to accurately identify from season 2 is that ricky and nini did break up, the nini music thing from the finale, and the fact that lily exists... 

for those who need a breakdown, i wanted to do one, especially since some people aren’t able to see all the slides evidently? idek what’s up with that. i’m going to exclude the new characters (even though i know some people can’t see maddox and jet’s, there’s nothing new there that wasn’t in the announcement). 

let’s go through it piece by piece shall we. (with of course my thoughts on the stuff they’re claiming)

nini: 

her piece says essentially that yes she’s returning, and also that she’s confirmed to “have solo performances this season”. they note that she and ricky are reconciling and “slowly becom[ing] friends” (i mean i guess), and then get into the music stuff. while they say that nini was “gearing up to launch a music career”, following season 2 i think that’s a bit of an overstatement. i haven’t gotten into this in another post yet, but i think that arc will be over by the time we’re midway through the season, and i highly doubt she’s going to have any sort of actual ‘music career’. this is based on my own analysis though, so on surface level, it’s not a bad call. 

something i did think was weird was this though, was the last sentence. “Fans hope to see Nini take off in the music sphere this season, and they're definitely interested in knowing where her dating life will take her.” i’m not gonna lie, i’m very much not under the impression that nini’s dating life is the thing fans are very interested in right now. like even people who really like nini’s character are probably way more invested in the potential with the music arc than they are her ‘dating life’. 

if nini dates someone this season i will personally be caught off guard, unless it happens at the end. her plot this season can’t be romantic, because tim is clearly not willing to let nini’s independence arc actually rest until she does it single. i do think this is quite dumb, but that’s another post. moral of the story, i think nini’s not on a romantic journey this time around. also i highly doubt that’s what fans want from her this season anyway. 

ricky: 

his has very little worth discussing i’ll be honest, but it has two main points. “While he isn't necessarily Nini's love interest anymore, that doesn't mean the two can't be friends.” is the first thing they mention of note, like essentially sorta incorporating the fact that ricky and nini broke up, and that they probably will have some sort of friendship going forward. that would make a lot of sense considering the fact they’re literally childhood best friends. it would make less sense for them to not be friends. 

the other thing they say about ricky, is that he’s kind of a theatre kid now essentially, having played two leads so far, and that “he'll most likely be cast in another huge role” for Frozen. which i think huge is a bit of an overstatement, i don’t think it’s a bad guess to think he’ll get another decent sized part. 

ej: 

they start by calling this boy, “everyone's favorite theater-jock” and i find that endearing, though also pretty hilarious as a descriptor. they talk about how he’s sort of gotten a “bad rap” for not showing his “softer, more emotional side.” but then go on to say viewers see that he’s a good person deep down in season 2. i mean, to be fair i think we do see more of his actual emotions instead of the surface in season 2, 2b especially, but their next line is “If he were as self-centered as we'd originally thought, he wouldn't have bought Gina a plane ticket so she wouldn't have to miss their show.” 

i think it’s odd they act like his redemption arc happened in season 2. that event they describe very much happened in season 1, and for me personally, when i watched that finale, despite seeing it as a dissatisfying end to his redemption arc for me, i knew based on other disney shows that that was in fact his ‘redeeming selfless act’ that basically absolves the character of all past misdeeds. it’s just the formula, and i was (and am) inclined to just take it at surface value despite my individual feelings about it. ej actually kinda took a turn in 2b that i hadn’t exactly anticipated, and like- he’s well past redeemed at that point. but i still think it’s weird they act like he wasn’t redeemed until season 2. 

but then after they say he’s probably going to get more character development, there’s the most laughable part of this whole article... and the part that makes it so clear they haven’t actually watched the second season... 

ej’s part ends with: “We'll likely see more character development as season three progresses, and we may even see some more onscreen sparks between him and Nini.” and like- that doesn’t sound like a very convincing take. while i don’t doubt they could put him and nini in closer proximity this season maybe as friends, if they wanted ej and nini to reunite, they would’ve spoken more than once in season 2, i’d call that a fact. (technically they spoke twice, but only one of those conversations was one on one). they could’ve made the school thing a bigger deal last season, and that could’ve driven the two of them having a friendship, but they didn’t, and given they’re not even really properly friends right now, i highly doubt they’re going to be having “sparks”. 

gina: 

gina’s is weird, because even for season 1 standards, it’s kinda an odd description for her character. the author says they’re excited to watch her get more character development, which of course, but gina did a LOT of growth in season 2... i don’t think that she needs the development that i assume they’re referencing in terms of her being a ‘mean girl’ in season 1. what i do personally disagree with is their saying she “comes off as super reserved” when we first meet her. standoffish, yes, but not necessarily reserved, i know i didn’t read her that way when i watched the first season. this is followed by the, we come to learn that she’s the way she is because “she's used to moving around and not having a permanent home” aspect. a little bit of an oversimplification of the situation, but i’ll take it. 

and then there’s the kicker. just like in ej’s they have a season 1 based relationship assumption, and i’ve already seen a lot of ricky and gina shippers grasp onto it despite the uncredible source... “In season three, Gina will likely strengthen her roots at East High and her connection with Ricky, who seems to be the person she most trusts.” 

strengthening her roots at east high was her progression in season 2, and while i suppose in season 3 they could still choose to strengthen her connection with ricky in some form, as of 2b the person gina has begun to confide in is ej or ashlyn, rather than ricky. this is a very season 1 based prediction for me, and i’m sure anyone who’s read the whole article would agree that this isn’t a solid source to be using to somehow prove your endgame. 

ashlyn: 

this one was accurate in its characterization of ashlyn, but the content in it was all very season 1 for me. like these lines here in particular. “At the end of season two, Ashlyn finally comes out of her shell. No longer just "EJ's cousin," she's now a confident teen in her own right. That's especially apparent when she kisses Big Red.”

that all happened in season 1. does ashlyn come out of her shell in season 2? yes. but this whole kissing big red thing and the not being ej’s cousin was season 1, when she performed “wondering” as miss darbus. 

they do call ashlyn “an incredibly kind and determined student” with “passion for singing and performing”, which is all lovely, but when they talk about more opportunity for her to shine in the next season, i can’t help but think about her actual role in season 2... rather than what she might do at summer camp in season 3. 

kourtney: 

this is a season 1 based article, and kourtney’s slide is another that proves it. they say that she’s “back as Nini's partner in crime”, and like sure, but even as they note that kourtney’s involved with the theater, they use it in an as nini’s friend way instead of kourtney’s actual story from season 2. this one’s very short as well... and i mean there’s plenty they could’ve said about her. 

carlos:

carlos’s slide is definitely interesting... i’m admittedly quite confused though. 

they say “he may not be serving as Miss Jenn's right-hand man this season”, and sure... i mean he’s kinda been her number 1 student this whole time, and he wouldn’t be filling that for the musical this season since miss jenn won’t be in charge of the musical. but i mean calling it “the Wildcats’ production of frozen” when they say he’ll be involved is like... how they’ve been referring to it in the article, but is it really their production considering it’s a whole camp? 

but my biggest confusion is that the “best showrunner East High has ever seen” as carlos’s goal is simply not... a thing. he perhaps likes to have authority and everything, but he’s neither a ‘showrunner’ in any capacity that we’ve seen, nor does he seem to have aspirations of such. he proved in season 1 that he’s not really a capable authority figure, and gina is easily able to undermine him in season 2, adding to this fact. 

if we’re going to see anyone stepping into that type of role in the future (not this season bc it’s camp), it’ll probably be nini not carlos just based on her arc in season 2. maybe ej if they want to lean into his original synopsis that says he’s kinda a producor type??? not carlos though at least for me. 

at least the “his friends will continue to encourage him along the way” thing is true. like- “in a heartbeat” anyone? 

miss jenn: 

miss jenn’s slide is absolutely hilarious to me i’m ngl. i’m just gonna drop the lines here because i find it amusing. (minus the last sentence just saying she’s returning)

“I have one word for Miss Jenn: legendary. I mean, who else would put on the best production of "Beauty and the Beast" ever done by a high school just to take down her ex-boyfriend, who just happens to be the drama teacher at East High's rival school, North High?”

but yeah. the BEST production of it ever done by a high school... alright. i mean i guess? i mean i’m pretty sure north high’s was canonically better, but that’s not actually important. i just find this description amusing. like- the content of this article is based on vague internet research and not season 2′s actual content which is... fine but also funny. 

lily: 

as another piece of evidence that they’ve never seen season 2, lily’s slide is literally just saying that she’s coming back for camp, not to “let the sweetheart act fool you”, which yes. and then to say that she “does not come to play” when it comes to acting. besides the glaring missing information here, like- they may as well have added the ricky thing or the harness? the thing that also shows it’s not based on having seen the show, is the fact it says “with the rest of her fellow Wildcats”. while lily was at east in episode 2, she was at north high this season. i anticipate her transferring back, especially given she’s now a series regular, but... still... 

[anonthenullifier]

Tommy get caught making out with his girlfriend pls

Thanks for the ask! I hope you enjoy!

———

With a soft click the last light on the main floor extinguishes, leaving Vision to bask in the serenity of lumenless solitude. It’s a simple joy he gets each night after the others are in bed. Satisfied with the main floor, he rises an inch off the ground, hovering above each step instead of touching it, ostensibly to keep the wood from creaking and waking either of the boys, but truthfully he finds it soothing. 

At the top of the stairs he glances to the right, checking that the doors are shut and the lights off, particularly the bathroom since Tommy has a habit of leaving everything illuminated. It is all blissfully shrouded in night. Vision’s lips curve ever so slightly up, the evening remarkably calm, no squabbles between their sons or unnecessary name calling. Even Tommy managed a mumbled Love you on his way up the stairs. It’s almost too calm. 

Vision shakes away the thought, not even certain where it came from, and begins to head towards his own bedroom. That’s when he hears a pathetic whine from behind, body whipping around until he spots the culprit. “Did he shut you out?” Sparky's ears perk up at the attention, little tail giving a forlorn wag. “That is an easy fix.” Vision hovers back to Tommy’s door and goes to open it, except the handle doesn’t move. “How odd.” They don’t have a locked room policy but neither of their sons has ever locked anyone (especially Sparky) out, likely because a locked door stands little chance against any of their powers. 

As if attuned to his own confusion, Sparky stares up at Vision, head cocked to the side in anticipation of his solution. He could easily phase the lock open, but privacy is a right he wishes to allow his sons. “I suppose you can sleep with us tonight,” the words are meaningless to the dog, head still held at an adorable forty seven degree tilt, one fine tuned to get treats and balls thrown. “Come along,” Vision nods towards the master bedroom, the joyful tapping of nails on the hardwoods hard not to smile at. When they get to the door, Vision sets a single cheeky ground rule, “Keep your paws off my wife, understood?” 

A little sniffle and wag of his tail accepts the rule and Vision opens the door, Sparky racing in and immediately leaping into the bed, trouncing across the duvet until he is laying with his head on Wanda’s stomach and paws on her arm. “Why hello there you handsome man,” Wanda pets his head and Vision provides a good-natured glare at the rule breaker who lacks any sense of regret, or so the lolling tongue suggests, “and hello to you as well Sparky.” Vision shouldn’t feel a sense of victory over a dog, but he can’t help it, especially when Wanda’s eyes alight in flirtatious glee that draws him to sit on the bed. 

“You can thank Thomas for our company.”

Her “Oh?” is cooed at the dog, who has flopped sideways for a belly rub, his back paws discourteously shoved into Vision’s pillow. 

“He locked him out.”

Wanda leans down so that her nose is almost touching Sparky’s as her fingers scrunch behind his ears. “That wasn’t very nice of him.” If one were to imagine the expression of a customer being pampered at the world's most luxurious spa, it would no doubt pale in comparison the overflowing exuberance on the dog’s face. “Probably safest not to be in there anyway.” 

The comment is said with an air of knowingness and a tinge of innuendo. Vision had not even thought about that possibility, truthfully he hadn’t even thought much of the door being locked but it’s likely not an unfair assumption, the boys are teens now, a time he has read is filled with raging hormones and exploration. Perhaps they’ll need to have another talk about boundaries if this becomes the norm.  For now he’ll simply not think anymore about it. 

“Sparky, may I,” he attempts to scoot the paws away from his pillow, but they spring back immediately, forcing Vision to lay down farther than he’d like from Wanda. “This is why he sleeps with Tommy.”

Wanda shrugs, still playing the role of world's best masseuse, “I’m comfy.” 

“That is a relief.” A throw pillow is tossed at his face with a flick of her wrist, except, having been married for so long and understanding the statistical patterns of her reactions, he is able to catch it, pointedly fluffing it before sliding it behind his neck. “Thank you, darling.” What he expects to see next is the purse of her lips, a sign she is striving not to laugh. Her lips are pinched together but there is no amusement to be found on her face, even her hand stalling in petting Sparky. “Is something wrong?”

A tilt of her head to the side sends his autonomic system into action. “Did you check the perimeter?”

“Of course.” He waits for more and when it stays locked behind her lips, he presses on. “Why?”

Scarlet wavers along the blanket, her fingers rising and falling like a puppeteer until she seems to reach a conclusion. “There’s an extra mind in Tommy’s room.” 

The locked door becomes menacing instead of a minor annoyance. “I will check the outside and you—“

“Inside, yep.” 

Vision leans back, phasing through the bed and the wall until he is eight feet above their deck. Through controlled trial and error he knows the best density for stealth, his molecules bursting into a frenzy until he is lighter than air. Only then does he dare fly towards Tommy’s window. It is wide open, concerning and not economical since it will increase their energy costs, not that it is a concern at the moment, but for later.  Window ajar. 

Door still locked. Confirmed second mind in his room. Not Billy. 

If Wanda recognized the mind, she would alert him. I will proceed inside. Vision breathes in, always wanting just a second to settle all raging thoughts, and then he phases into the room, Mindstone glowing faintly so as not to alert the intruder. With hushed breath, Vision inches forward, noting what appears to be Tommy on his side, pajama clad back facing him. 

Nothing seems amiss, other than the open window and extra mind. It is unsettling. Vision increases his auricular and ocular sensors as he continues to investigate, hands lifting into stance #5 of Natasha’s recommended hand to hand combat defenses.

There is a quiet smacking noise, a recognizable one though he can not place it, and then there is a...giggle, not belonging to his son. It is when he notices the splay of dark hair on the pillow that it all clicks. Oh. Vision begins to back up, not desiring to intrude further even if he also has this instinctive need to interrupt, but he quells that. 

I’m coming in. The three quarters of a second it takes him to process Wanda’s comment is half a second too long, his abort mission not arriving until after the door opens with a very noticeable click 

This is when everything erupts into chaos.

A pillow is thrown through his face simultaneously with a, “What the fuck, dad!” and what sounds like a shriek from Tommy’s bedfellow. Then a blur of green fills the room, Tommy grabbing onto Vision’s semi-transparent waist and hauling him towards the door, just as Vision’s politeness kicks in with a cheerful, “Terribly sorry for interrupting.”

And then they are in the hallway, the door shut behind Tommy, whose face is contorted in rage and breath is uneven. Wanda stands frozen, hands raised and shimmering, her eyes bouncing between Tommy and himself. Tommy only looks at Vision, voice shaking, “What are you doing coming through my wall?”

“Was that,” Vision mentally reconstructs everything as best he can, “was Lisa in there with you?”

All at once the anger is knocked off their son’s face and replaced with a completely fake innocence, “Who’s Lisa?” It doesn’t even take the entire time for Vision’s brows to rise for Tommy to realize the misstep. “I um meant, um,” 

Wanda doesn’t allow him to flounder, oddly. “Is she still in there?”

Perhaps it is the Young Avenger’s training on being interrogated or the fact Tommy’s thoughts are always racing away from responsibility, but he won’t even answer this question, “I don’t um know what you’re talking about.”

A deep, disappointed sigh comes from his wife before she wraps Tommy in red and drags him from the door. “I’m taking her home.” With that she disappears into the room, light peeking out from under the door and muffled words floating through the wood. 

All Vision can do is stare at Tommy, lost in what exactly to say in this situation. Unfortunately, Tommy doesn’t share the same hesitation. “You know Billy does this all the time,” the door to his twin’s room opens slightly, “he just can block mom’s powers from noticing” and then it shuts with an aggrieved click. Wonderful. 

“Um well,” Vision isn’t sure why he falters so gloriously, as a father he’s expected to handle these things and yet this wasn’t in the books he read while Wanda was pregnant nor in the literature on problem behaviors at school, “perhaps you help your mother take Lisa home and we will discuss this in the morning.”

-----

“I think we just ground him for a couple days,” the last word is muffled and more syllables than necessary, ending only when Wanda stifles her yawn. 

This is what she suggested before leaving to take Lisa home and what he has been mulling over until she returned. “But under what rule is he being punished?”

There is not actually any rule thus far uttered in the Maximoff household concerning sneaking in significant others. An oversight, clearly, and yet Vision knows that what happened is wrong, he just cannot find a suitable reason beyond that it feels wrong. “Curfew?”

This he considered. Unless otherwise specified, the boys must be back by 9pm on a school night and 12am on the weekends. “But he was home and we never explicitly specified that curfew applies to their friends or partners.”

Wanda does not suffer this sort of agonizing rumination, “He was hiding it, he knew it was wrong.”

A truth and annoyance because it’s not like they don’t allow their sons alone time when their significant other is over. He recalls and empathizes with the thrill of young love and the need for solitude. Which brings him to the next point of scrutiny, “But does it not feel hypocritical to punish him for this when we broke international law to do the same thing?” 

“I thought you said that was a false equivalency?”

It is, insofar as there are too many confounding variables for their lawbreaking tryst to be considered equal with the current indiscretion and yet…”Tommy will leverage it against us.”

“Good thing he doesn’t know how often we break compound PDA rules...”

Another hypocrisy if they hand down a harsh sentence. “Again, does it not feel incongruous to punish him when we commit the same offense? We did sully the billiard table last week…”

“That was fun.”

“It was.” The way she stretches out, head propped up on her hand and robe fluttering open along her thigh, he’d recidivate in a heartbeat. Which is why he stops his heart long enough to finish their conversation. “But how can we hold him to a higher standard than us, when we, as cognitively mature individuals act similarly? Authoritative parenting requires us to explain the logic of our punishments.”

Their eyes meet in joint contemplation, the weight of the topic forming endearing wrinkles on his wife’s brow. “You say we act similarly,” her voice is steady, distant as if it is hauling the reasoning in though isn’t sure it will make it, “but you always calculate our odds of being caught or harming someone else with our actions.”

It is a structural equation model he keeps to himself, one that even the thought of calculating sends electric thrills along his spine. “I do and we tend to have a threshold set of when it is and is not acceptable.” The billiard table, for instance, had an 87% chance of not being caught and, with proper sanitation, a relatively low impact on others. 

“Do you think Tommy put much thought into tonight?” Knowing their son the extent of effortful planning was likely how to get her into the house. “He seemed surprised when Lisa’s dad was furious.” 

Vision isn’t surprised at the man’s reaction but is perturbed that was not even a thought to Tommy. When entering all the variables into his model, Tommy had a dismal 10% chance of success and a rather high 87.5% chance of harming someone else. “How do we handle this alongside the accusation lobbed at Billy?”

Deviousness parts her lips, hair dancing along her shoulders as she nods, “I have a great idea.”

----

This formation, with mom and dad in the armchairs, hands linked over the chasm between the armrests, and Billy next to him on the couch is the formation of doom. The silence that lays heavy over the room is the warm up to the interrogation. Tommy braces himself for what’s to come. 

“Would you like to explain your reasoning for last night’s actions?” Dad is always so damn calm, irises not even budging to betray any sign of how bad this will go. 

Tommy knows there isn’t a right answer here, and honestly, he doesn’t exactly have a good reason and annoyingly Billy played dumb last night when he begged him for advice. Apparently throwing him under the bus was an asshole move. After the bad lie last night, Who’s Lisa a fantastic way to piss everyone off (especially Lisa), he defaults to short and sweet (fingers crossed) honesty. “Thought it would be fun.” It was, until dad interrupted. 

There’s no immediate response, not even a blink, the entire room focused on his continued idiocy. “I see.” That’s never what he wants to hear from dad. 

“You two have to understand that!” His arms sputter about, trying to drag their attention to what they all know. “At least I’m not breaking the law.”

Mom scowls. Shit. “Very different circumstances.” 

“Yeah, yours was way worse.” No no no, why can he not just shut up like Billy, that Grecian statue next to him, ramrod straight and eyes dead to the world. 

The shared look, one that means the infamous mind voodoo is at play, an entire conversation occurring between mom and dad that only he can’t access, assuming Billy is brave enough to tap into it. If he is, he’s not sharing with Tommy. “You are right.”

Wait…”What?”

Dad isn’t capable of something so casual as a shrug, but the leisurely blink of his eyes and dip of his chin is roughly equivalent. “We understand the reasoning. Your mother and I are intimately,” gross, “familiar with the thrill of skirting rules of affection.”

If this isn’t his punishment, heaven help him. “No details needed.”

Billy’s “Please,” is practically silent. 

Mom smirks and he fears the worst, until she speaks, “Which is why we aren’t grounding you,” hallelujah, “this time,” fair enough. “But going forward you can’t do this. Either of you.” 

An I hate you drops into his mind. Tommy tries to send back a No you don’t but Billy has already shuttered their connection. “Agreed, so…” Tommy stands from the couch, hands brushing away the discomfort of the meeting, “we’re good, right?”

Dad’s “No,” ties itself around his waist and yanks him back onto the cushion. “Given Lisa was not so fortunate in her punishment,” she’s been forbidden from seeing him again, but Tommy isn’t planning on abiding by that, assuming she wants to see him again, “I believe a long talk about respect for your partner and the need for consensual, in depth decision making when it comes to risk taking is in order. You both are still too young and cognitively immature to fully weigh impulsiveness and so we would like to walk through a variety of scenarios to work through this topic.”

He’d rather die. “Can I just be grounded instead?”

Scarlet outlines mom’s pupils as she stares him down, “No.”

Dad clears his throat, needlessly pulling a painfully thick packet of stapled papers from behind him. The transition into his academic voice is only the first sign that their torture will be unrelenting. “Scenario 1: you and your paramour are driving down the road when they suggest a rather risqué activity…”

Tommy accepts that today marks the loss of his soul and all ability to feel alive, all to the chorus of Billy’s reaffirmation in his mind: I hate you so much. 

[cozy-the-overlord]

Look at Me

Summary: Medusa didn't get many visitors. Those she did usually were there seeking her head. But there's something different about this stranger ...

Word Count: 1,799

Pairing: Loki x Medusa, Loki x OFC (I guess? Since she’s my version of Medusa? I’m not sure if this counts ...)

A/N: So in the middle of my Greek Mythology class, during a lecture about Perseus and Medusa, I made the profound connection that both Loki and Medusa are associated with snakes (I know, my genius is truly unparalleled). And then I wrote this. I'm not entirely certain what "this" is, but I wrote it and it's here. Enjoy!

Thanks for reading! :)

Warnings: none

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

The man arrived just as she was finishing cooking dinner. It hadn’t been anything special—just an unfortunate duck she had managed to skewer as it came to rest on the side of the lake. Medusa had gotten pretty good at shooting without looking. It had been a real problem at first—she hadn’t been a particularly good archer to begin with, and one wayward glance would turn whatever creature she was stalking into a piece of marble. The woods around her cave were littered with life-sized statues of birds and rabbits and other little animals from hunting expeditions gone wrong. For a while, she had feared she’d garner Artemis’ wrath on top of all the other deities who hated her, and the thought had made her bow even more unsteady. But the years went on without incident. And as with anything else, she adapted. She still wasn’t perfect, but at least she could hit her target without turning it to stone.

She had been a bit caught off-guard by the man. He was quieter than most, and more cautious— he didn’t approach her cave, didn’t even bother to raise his sword, electing to linger amongst the brush in silent observation. On her own, she might not have even noticed his presence. But there was little that went past the snakes, and when her hair stood on end, hissing and spitting at something behind her, Medusa knew she had company.

She sighed, careful not to turn away from her pot. “I know you’re there, hero. You might as well come out.”

He did so without a fuss, his footsteps so light on the stone that she had to crane her ears to hear them. That was strange. Medusa had never known a man to step so softly.

“Impressive.” His voice was smooth, like polished marble, and it carried an accent that she didn’t recognize. “They said you had eyes in the back of your head, but mortals are known to exaggerate.”

She fought back another sigh. Ah, yes, yet another mortal fool who thinks himself a god. It had been so long since one intruded upon her lair, Medusa had begun to hope that perhaps they had finally elected to leave her in peace. She supposed that was too unrealistic to ask.

“Perhaps you could learn a lesson or two from them,” Medusa straightened up, still facing the cracked stone of the cavern walls rather than her visitor. Her hair was still twisting around her neck—it would take a few hours for the snakes to calm down again. She bit her lip. “I have no interest in killing you, hero. But you haven’t a chance at killing me. Just look to your predecessors.”

She motioned towards the statues that littered her the clearing, snarling warriors frozen in mid attack, time slowly chipping away at their features until their visages were near unrecognizable. How many times had she said these words? How many times had she been ignored?

Still, she tried each time. “You have nothing to gain here. Please, seek your accolades elsewhere.”

She waited for his taunts, his insults. “I fear no beast on this earth, creature, not even one as vile as yourself!” It was all the same. They’d rush forward with their sword and a battle cry and she’d turn around and watch as their skin cracked and hardened and their screams died in their throats.

But the man only chuckled, a warm, welcoming sound that seemed as foreign as his accent. “Oh, I’m afraid you misunderstand my purpose here, my lady,” he said. “I’m no hero. And I most certainly have no intention to kill you.” He was walking towards her, but it was a leisurely stroll, his steps gentle and measured, nothing threating about it. “As for having nothing to gain here,” he added. “I’d prefer to reach my own conclusions.”

To say she was perplexed would have been an understatement. “But, if you haven’t come to kill me,” she frowned, “May I inquire as to the purpose of your visit?”

“The truth?” he asked. “Simple curiosity.” He was standing quite near to her now, and Medusa wondered for a moment if this was his plan—distract her with his oddities so that he could have a closer shot at her, but he only sat back against a rock with a satisfied huff. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you since I first came to this land,” he continued. “I was eager to learn if there was any truth to the stories.” He let out another little chuckle, so soft it seemed like a secret. “Besides, I’ve been told I have an affinity for snakes.”

“Is that so?” It was nice, just talking to someone. She hadn’t talked to anyone in ages—there wasn’t anyone to talk to around here, unless you counted her snakes, but they only really served as obnoxious reminders of her curse. And there was something amusing about this stranger, something smooth and sociable that she hadn’t realized she missed. She wondered what he looked like. “Well then, not-hero, have I met your lofty expectations?”

“Oh, you’ve far and away surpassed them, my lady. You’re truly a magnificent presence.”

She laughed. “Do you waste so many pretty words upon every monster you come across?”

“Waste?” His voice brimmed with faux offense. “I assure you, my lady, I spend my words quite carefully. I lavish them only upon the deserving.” There was a pause, and for a moment Medusa feared that perhaps he was truly insulted.

“Besides,” he continued finally, with a purposeful kind of nonchalance that hadn’t been there before. “You’re no monster.”

The statement was so ludicrous that she laughed again. “Do you not see the statues?”

“I do,” he replied. His voice had turned quite serious, and Medusa could hear him shifting as he leaned forward on the rock. “I see cowards frozen for eternity in the act of attacking a woman who has brought them no harm whilst her back is turned, like the shameful curs they were. I also see that you could have marbleized me just like them in half a second, but you chose not to. Instead, even though you had no way of knowing my intentions, you warned me. In your position, I can’t say I would’ve done the same.” He inhaled. “And that’s not even mentioning how this whole time we’ve been talking, you’ve not once risked turning your face to me, despite how vulnerable it leaves you. That doesn’t seem very monstrous to me.”

Medusa swallowed. There was a dull sort of ache in her chest, a cold throbbing that never really went away, but seemed even sharper in the moment.

You’re no monster.

No one said that to her. No one believed it. There wasn’t a single person in all of Greece who saw her that way. Even the gods despised her. Medusa shook her head, as if to shake away the tears burning in her eyes.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I’ve done.”

“Who’s to say I don’t?” he asked. “I’ve heard the stories. But I see no monster before me—only a person who’s suffered alone for far too long.”

She gulped, the snakes still writing around her face. How long had it been since she awoke on the cold floor of the temple, shivering and aching and praying that the night before had been but a dream? She remembered the priestesses who walked in to find her, how they screamed when they laid eyes on her, how quickly their screams froze in their throat when she looked up.

Terrified, the people had chased her from the city premises, waving torches and blades and spitting venom farther than the snakes snapping in her hair. She had taken shelter in the forest, clawing at the green scales on her arms as if ripping them off would restore her old skin. Her barbed nails only drew blood.

Back in the cave, Medusa stifled her whimper. It had been years since that fateful morning, and yet the terror still came rushing back like an overflowing river. Behind her the man stood, and she could hear the concern in his voice as he approached her.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to bring you pain.”

She inhaled. “Are you a god?” Because surely, he wasn’t human. No mortal man would seek her out for such a conversation. Although she couldn’t imagine the gods suddenly taking pity on her after all this time either.

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Not in the way you’re thinking. But I can help you, if you’ll allow me.”

She shook her head. It hurt too much to hope. “No one can help me.”

“I’ll show you,” he said. “Look at me.”

Medusa gaped. He couldn’t be serious. “Are you mad?”

“Not in this. Look at me.”

She turned slowly, eyes closed, palms quivering. He was standing near to her—she could feel the way he shifted as she moved to face him. Was he as nervous as she was? Would he realize the absolute idiocy of his request? But his voice held nothing but gentle confidence.

“Just trust me, Medusa.” She could hear his smile, soft and encouraging. “Look at me.”

And so, she opened her eyes.

She expected to be greeted with the cold crackling of marble spreading across skin, the horrible empty silence that always followed once the lungs turned to stone. But she wasn’t. Medusa blinked, but nothing changed—the man who stood before her remained,

He was slender and lithe, with long hair that tumbled over his shoulders, black as raven’s wing. His armor—was it armor?— was unlike anything Medusa had ever seen before, some strange mix of gold and leather that clung to his form in a way that seemed so much lighter than the bulky chest plates of her usual visitors. His eyes found hers, sparkling emeralds in the sunlight, and Medusa suddenly realized that, for the first time in ages, someone was returning her gaze.

“How?” she choked. Her voice didn’t seem to be working. Perhaps this was the dream, and she’d awaken in the corner of the cave alone and cold once more.

“Just a little trick I picked up,” he said. “I know quite a few of them.”

She stared at him. That was a marvel in it of itself, just to be able to stare at someone, but there was also something otherworldly floating about him that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Who are you?” Medusa asked.

“They call me Loki.” He held out his hand towards her, simultaneously strong and soft. The snakes in her hair relaxed against her scalp. Loki smiled. “Come with me. There’s much I wish to show you.”

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 8: encounters and partings

In light of a Memos update coming veeeerrrryyyyy sooooooon (to the reader who asked for an update because today was their birthday, i’m sorry i wasn’t able to make it :( but i promise i’ll make it up to you! hope you had an amazing one <3)

A flurry of bodies rushed past her legs, nearly toppling her over. Hoku wobbled, grabbing the wooden pillar of the shop beside her before she could fall flat on her face. She scowled, whirling around with one hand curled into a fist. “Hey! Stupid brats, watch where you’re going! You could get someone killed!”

“Sorry, lady!” one of the boys hollered, breaking out into a chorus of laughter as they ran. The smallest one tripped, forcing the other two to brake on their heels. They quickly rushed back, hauling him up by his arms and running away with him in tow.

Hoku stopped at the sight, fist loosening in the air. She felt a little quiet all of a sudden, staring at their backs as the three boys laughed, heads tossed high and smiles bright until they disappeared entirely from sight.

“Hoku, you’re too slow!”

“Put more effort into it!”

“We’re gonna leave you behind!”

“My star, is something wrong?”

Hoku’s fingers uncurled from her fist. She dropped her hand back down to her side, staring after the empty space between the crowd. 

No. She thought back, reaching behind her to touch Mau’s hilt before she shook her head, turning toward the shop and stepping inside. “It’s nothing.”

Hoku fixed the tie under her chin. Her hood stayed well in place, hiding the bright white hair she’d tucked away for the sake of a little stealth. The island ought to be fine for now since she was just picking up supplies before her next raid, but she couldn’t be too careful. I have to think ahead. I have to be smart.

There wasn’t anyone else around to do it for her.

C’mon, it’s not like I haven’t done this solo thing before. Hoku shook her head, making her way to the back counter of the shop. Her order from last night should be ready by now, so she’d be in and out without a hitch. It’s nothing new.

But it was a bit new. When you’d had something for so long and were forced to live without it, everything became new.

You know what you’ve got to do.

“I’m here to pick up an order from last night,” Hoku said to the man at the counter. 

His eyes flickered in recognition at the mark around her eye and he nodded, shuffling to the back. There was another man at the counter, waiting for his own order. Hoku stopped a polite distance away from him, folding her hands in front of her and waiting, trying to map out how she’d make it to the next marine base without setting off an entire armada. It’s located at the center of the island, so it’ll be a little harder to make the runaway. Can I really handle just going in and getting what I need without causing a fuss? Not causing a fuss had never really been the Straw Hat Pirate’s motto. 

Hoku ignored the tightness in her stomach in the heavy weight in her chest. You’re just getting sentimental. Suck it up.

She glanced to the side, watching the other man at the counter inspect bottles of ink in an attempt to distract herself. He was pretty well-dressed for this part of town. Maybe from the rick mansions up the hillside? Hoku blinked once, watching the thick, gloppy substance churn inside. Ugh, that’s not going to sit well on paper. It would probably bleed right through. It’d stain the brush too. Terrible quality. Don’t buy it, man. It’s not worth it.

He ran a gloved thumb over the label, seemingly fixated on it. Hoku’s eyes swept along, squinting suspiciously when his gloved fingers rolled a heavy bottle to the side, showing its brand.

“Pokian ink?” Hoku said out loud in disbelief. “That’s supposed to be Pokian ink?”

The man paused, his fingers halting over the bottle. Hoku flinched in realization, cursing herself as he started to turn toward her. She quickly whipped her gaze down, making sure her hood kept her covered from his line of sight. There’d been a flash of wavy blonde from his hair underneath his top hat, the collar of his dark coat folded down over his carvat. Don’t make a scene, you dumbass.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was amiable, nice and pleasant. She’d almost say charming, but Hoku had the displeasure of meeting plenty of people with personalities that didn’t match the nice tone of their voice. “Did you... are you familiar? With ink, I mean.”

Hoku considered keeping her mouth shut and just coming off as some rude weirdo. He probably wouldn’t bother her if she just kept quiet and let it go.

“What do you need it for?” Hoku said. She should stab herself in the foot. She really should. “Just for writing?”

“That would be ideal,” he said, sounding a bit relieved for the conversation. He turned his entire body to her, opening up his body language but Hoku kept her gaze forward, refusing to turn her face. “I... I was looking a bit into ink that might be good for painting, though I’m not very good at it.”

“You should buy paint then, not ink,” Hoku said automatically. He seemed a bit surrpised. “If, I mean, you’re going to paint. You can paint with ink, but they’re different for a reason.”

Hoku pointed a finger to the jar in his hands, not turning once. “That’s not good quality for either. Real Pokian ink doesn’t look like that. It’ll have a smooth, thick texture, depending on what it’s for. It might even seem clear sometimes, pinkish. Usually it can be found in black though, but you can tell through a jar by the way it slides when you turn it. Should move like blood.”

“I see,” he said, sounding a little amazed. Hoku nodded, curt. “I... You’re very knowledgable. Are you well-versed with Pokian crafts?”

“...I know a bit,” Hoku said, giving herself a pat on the back for not saying anything else. “Just trust me on this though.”

“I will then,” he said warmly. Hoku blinked, a bit pleased by his compliance. “Sorry,” he laughed. “Do I seem gullible?”

Yikes. Am I that easy to read? “No,” she said, “I’m glad you trust me.”

“It does seem like someone who wouldn’t know the truth wouldn’t have much to say,” he said, a little sly as he dragged his finger down the ink bottle and set it down. “Do you see fraud like this often?”

“Too much,” Hoku said instantly. She pressed her lips into a tight line at his boyish laugh. “Just... Just know most real Pokian works won’t typically say they are.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said with a small laugh. “Do you have anymore tips?”

“Not really,” Hoku forced herself to say. “If you’ve got a good eye, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Hoku tried to stifle her curiosity. “...you a collector of some kind?”

“No, nothing of the sorts,” he said quietly. There was something a bit sad to his tone, a little lost. Hoku raised a brow, turning a tiny bit. “I’m... I’m fond of the culture, I suppose. It... It feels like knowing more will help me find something I’ve lost.”

“...oh, yeah?” Hoku said, turning a tiny bit more. He hummed, soft in response. “What did you lose?”

“...something very important,” he said quietly. Hoku fell silent. “I wasn’t able to... no, I’m going to try to think a little more positively. I’m still looking. I have to keep looking.”

Hoku said nothing, keeping her eyes forward, hoping a bit for his desperate sake he’d find what he was looking for too. Lost something important, huh. 

Her chest ached.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said politely, reaching his hand over to catch her attention. Hoku half turned. The man behind the counter was returning with her bag as well. “I... Feel free to say otherwise, but if I were to be looking for someone of Pokian descent—not for bad intentions! More... more for a specific person, do you know what would be the best way to find them?”

Hoku debated the words on her tongue. Half of her had a mind to just grab her bag over the counter and leave. He seems earnest though. His questions were weird and she didn’t like people poking around into Pokian business with unsavory intentions. But is it even my business if it’s just one person he’s looking for? What if it’s an old flame or a friend or maybe even family? Distant? Who knows?

She didn’t really owe him anything either.

“It depends on the person, you never really know unless you’ve got the right information,” Hoku decided. She grabbed her bag across the counter, already sensing his disappointment in waves. From the corner of her eye she saw his shoulders slump, hands falling down in front of him. “But if it’s just one Pokian in particular you’re looking for...”

Hoku lightly tapped the side of her head on the outside of her hood. He paused. “You should look for their coming of age mark. If you remember what it looks like or where they had theirs... you can’t miss them.”

“...I’ll remember that,” he said, sounding a bit more hopeful, a little... a little curious? “I... Thank you, miss.”

“You’re welcome,” Hoku said simply. She threw her bag over her shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thank you—“

The doors to the shop slammed open, smacking into either wall. The shopkeep fled to the back of the store and Hoku froze, staring at the entrance as three marines searched before their eyes landed on her.

“There she is!”

Son of a bitch! The man beside Hoku froze, growing rigid as he raised one hand. Hoku whipped her head to the side.

She didn’t hesitate, taking off. The marines flooded into the store and the man at the counter turned, his eyes following her in wide surprise as she jumped onto a table and leapt through the window feet first, boots smashing through the glass and flinging herself outside.

The wind ripped her hood back. Paper white hair spilled out, brushing over her face.

He stopped, frozen.

Wait.

Hoku ran, ducking into an alleyway as the marines tried to tail after her. If there’s a few, there’s more. They’re like cockroaches. She clambored onto a roof, ducking as a group ran past. She quickly took out her brush, drawing onto the thatching and pulling the bird free from the wood. Hoku blew across it, mumbling under her breath as it expanded, unfurling its wings with a resounding flap.

“Excuse me!” Hoku whirled around in surprise. The guy from the shop? “Excuse me! Wait! Please, wait a second—”

Hoku’s eyes caught the flash of blue and white uniforms. She shook her head, jumping onto her bird and taking off. It beat its massive wings once, shaking its beak in protest before it took off into the sky, leaving everyone behind.

“Wait, please! Wait! Wait! Please, wait—“

Hoku didn’t look back.

“Hoku?”

Hoku stopped. Her bird continued to fly beneath her, taking them further and further away from the marines. She blinked, mind whirring as she quietly turned behind her, staring in confusion.

“Guess I heard wrong,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “Let’s go.”

Her bird banked beneath her, taking them far, far away.

“There he is! Hack! I found him! Where did you run off to—huh?” Koala’s eyes went wide, hands flying up into the air as she stopped just short of giving her friend a playful shove. “I—oh my goodness, are you okay?”

He sat, slumped over the top of the roof. His hands hung limply in his lap, gloved fingers clinging to a loose leaf of paper he’d tugged hastily out of his breast pocket. He stared out into the sky, looking forlorn and lost.

“What happened?” Koala asked, crouching down beside him. “Are you alright?”

“...I,” he stopped, looking down at the paper in his hands. “I don’t really know.”

Koala frowned, lightly rubbing her hand against his back. He ran his thumb across the carefully inked marking, curved like half a heart and smeared at just the bottom, like someone had bumped into them in the middle of it.

Sabo gently folded it back up, tucking it into his pocket, right beside his heart.

Was it even you?

[world-of-aus]

Family Matters - (Part 2)

Pairing: MobBoss Bucky! x Reader

Word Count:3,103

Warnings: no warnings that need to be counted for

Author’s Note: Hope you all enjoy chapter two, can’t wait for this series to really take off which it should in chapter three and onward. Thank you all for reading and as always my taglist is always open! 

Chapter 1 / SERIES MASTERLIST

Taking a breath, you brought a shaky hand up to the bronze door knob, you were reluctant to twist it knowing it would more than likely be locked. These doors were always to remain locked, regardless of whether your father was attending to his business or not, “I don’t need any rats snooping around my studies” he would hiss glaring at you and your mother, and as a child you never thought anything of it but as you grew, you were right to heed those warnings or suffer the wrath of your father.

You twisted the knobs a shiver running down your spine when the door squeaked open. The door continued to swing open on its hinges while you stood there frozen, breath baited waiting to hear your fathers booming voice, but it never came. Hesitant steps drew you further into the room, shaky breaths slipped past your parted lips as you took in your father’s secret. Cold, dark, and eerie were just a few of the words that crossed your mind as you stood in your father's grand, luxurious, private space.

Looking at it now you couldn’t imagine your father having a hand in all the things Detective Stark had accused him of. You knew your father though, the type of man he was, he wouldn’t ever be caught with the like of mobsters, murderers, the sin of the city. At least you hoped you would have known him enough, but you were beginning to wonder if you ever did know who your father truly was.

Taking in more of the room your eyes finally fell on the substantially grand expansive flat-topped red wooden oak desk. Your eyes were drawn to the massive wooden structure, but what really caught your attention was the strewn stacks of manila folders and various paper work thrown around the top of it. Your feet carried you towards the desk, body rounding it as you stood in front of where you father was sure to have sat many times.

Shaky fingers ran through the strewn paper work, brows furrowing the deeper you got into it, there was various letter of foreclosures, dubious amounts of bank statements, and even the occasional printed email. You weren’t sure what any of it meant, but from the various red-penned markings you could only assume it wasn’t something in favor of your father. Pulling up the plush leather rolling chair you plopped your tense body into the chair, rolling yourself forward as you sorted once more through the papers, your fingers gripping a foreclosure notice.

Dear Mr. Y/l/n,

This letter is a formal notification that you are in default of your obligation to make payments on your home loan, account #1234567. The current account holds the sum of 5,000 payable May, 27, 2020.

The amount has been overdue since April 27,2020, you have ignored multiple requests to make a payment or reconsolidate your debt.

Unless the full amount is received within 15 days, we have no choice but to begin with foreclosure on your home. We have given you more than adequate notice on this issue, and we have no other choice.

Please act accordingly,

Wilson Lending Inc.

Your brows furrowed deeper as you looked over the notice once more, this couldn’t be right, your father was never behind on his payments, and you would know, your mother was always on top of the finances in your house hold. Looking through more of the papers you stopped at what seemed to be an email,

Mr. y/l/n,

I’ve been nothing but a patient man with you, and frankly I’m growing tired, you wouldn’t want me to send my men to pay you a visit to you and your lovely wife, would you? Shame that your daughter is no longer in the picture, such a tragedy to lose a child. You have a week to get my money, that you’ve owed for seven years now, again, you either pay my money, or I'll find a way to collect, and I assure you Mr. Y/l/n, you won’t want me to have to come collect from you.

Your breath was caught in your throat, fingers stark white from the grip you had on the paper. Tragedy to lose a child, money, collect, you couldn’t fathom what you were reading. What in the world had your father done, what had he been doing under the roof of this house. You sorted through the next one, this one completely knocking the air from you, leaving you feeling more confused and worried than ever before,

Mr. Y/l/n

It’s a tragedy for me to be writing this email, but had I done this in person I can assure you one of us wouldn’t be breathing when it was over. Do you take me for a fool, did you not think I wouldn’t catch on to what it was you were doing? Working with the enemy, such a shame, I know you know this is unforgivable, you were witness to what happened to the other fellow who crossed me. It’s a shame though that you continued to do business with who you did, you’re the only one to blame for your fate. I would end this by saying see you soon, but we both know that won’t be the case. My condolences to your daughter.

The email after that was just eight words long, but it was enough to shake you to your very core.

I’ll be seeing you very soon Mr. Y/l/n.

You threw the papers down onto the desk, your body slumping into the seat, trying to figure out what the hell was going on here. None of these papers except for the foreclosure statement contained any sort of information that could help you to understand what it was that your father was involved with. None of the emails which were your main source of concern contained any sort of information of the sender, and seeing as it was printed there was nothing for you to further dig into. Why was any of this laid out here in the first place, was this meant to be found, did your father want someone to see this information?

The longer you set there and looked at those papers the more you wanted to scream, to cry, you were feeling just as lost and scared, fearful of the uncertainty as you did seven years ago. You were frustrated because you couldn’t understand what was going on, you couldn’t even begin to grasp the reality of your situation. You’ve lost your parents in a tragic accident, you’ve just found out your father worked for the mafia, or at least laundered for them it seems, and to add to all this it would seem that one of the men Detective Stark mentioned earlier wanted to collect from your father, but what was there to collect, your father was losing it all.

You could feel the underlying pins and needles of your nerves, what were you supposed to do, should you contact detective Stark, take him all this information and see what he can make of it? What if you did just that and he thought you had been lying all long, what if he accused you like he accused your father, what if he suspected you did have a hand in all this. You chewed on your lower lip in worry as you thought about the next worry, your mind going back to the emails, were any of those emails from Pierce, Rumlow, or Barnes, and was one of those the men that was going to collect. Thinking back to the first email, you couldn’t place why your father would apparently fake your death, unless you had a sibling you were unaware of. You were stumped and you were only growing more and more confused the longer you sat thinking on all this new information. You felt like your whole life was a lie, everything you grew up in and around was all fabricated to the lifestyle of your father.

You went to pick up the same papers but were jumping back into your seat when the office phone trilled on the desk. Your heart was beating wildly away in your chest, eyes wide as you looked at the noisy device. You stared at it unmoving, should you answer it, should you let it continue.  You weren't given a chance to make the decision as the incessant ringing grew quiet an eerie silence filling the office once more. You stayed staring, once again jumping as it trilled again catching you off guard, it seemed to have gotten louder the second time. With shaky fingers you reached out picking the corded phone up and bringing it to your ear,

“h-hello?”

“Good morning, is Mr. Y/l/n in?” the voice on the other line questioned.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “No, I'm sorry sir, but my parents have been in an accident and they,” god you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“oh, I’m so sorry miss, wait did you say parents, are you Mr. Y/l/n’s daughter?” he questioned

“uh yes, I'm his daughter, may I ask what the reason for the call is?”

“oh yes right, well, I'm calling from Wilson Lending INC, I was needing to speak with your father, but since that won’t be possible,” a pause on his end an irritated sigh sounding through the line, “actually you wouldn’t happen to be y/f/n y/l/n would you?” he questioned.

“Uh yes actually that is me,” you murmured.

“that’s actually great, do you think you could stop by our office, there’s something I will be needing to go over with you, seeing as you’re the next of kin.”

“uh”

“great,” he cut you off, “I can squeeze you in for 30 minutes from now, so I’ll be seeing you here,” he chirped.

You could barely get a word in before the dial tone was sounding through the receiver, the call having ended abruptly. A loud sigh left your lips as you placed the phone back on the stand, your body slouching into the seat, what more news could you possibly take today you thought with a groan.

Thanking the driver your slid out of the seat, coat wrapped tightly around your shoulders as you looked up at the lavish building before you, Wilson’s Lending INC stared back at you in grey bold letters. A shaky sigh left your lips as you felt a sense of dread roll through you, taking tentative steps you pushed yourself to the revolving doors.

The office was quiet, the only sounds in the room was the tapping and clacking of a keyboard from the receptionist, sat a few feet in front of you. Having heard the door the woman looked up an almost bored expression on her unreadable features, “You can follow me this way, Mr. Wilson will see you now,” she mumbled. Your eyes darted around the room, but saw no one else was in the building other than you, “please,” she spoke up again, “follow me right this way,”

Trailing behind her she led you int a small office space, “right in here, Mr. Wilson is expecting you,”

Mumbling a quiet thank you, you watched her walk back the way she had brought you before turning your attention back to the office in front of you. Drawing further into the office you were met with a cheery smile and an ever chipper voice, “Good morning you must be Ms. Y/l/n, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man beamed as he stood from his desk to make his way over to you.

His firm was grip, his smile contagious, “Sam wilson,” he added, “owner of Wilson Lending INC, its in the name,” he grinned, “please come in take a seat,”  

“since I don’t want to take up too much of your time, I'd like to go ahead and jump into it,” he spoke up after you had made yourself comfortable in your chair. You nodded your head allowing him to go on watching him sort through the papers on his desk, “Firstly I extended my sincerest apologies that we have to be meeting given the circumstances, my deepest condolences miss, such a tragic thing to occur,” he murmured.

You wanted to open your mouth to question that last bit that left his mouth but he was too quick, “Now in regards to your home, as I'm sure you knew it is now being foreclosed because of your father’s failure to pay, because of this before we go through with said foreclosure we are looking to hand over your home to the other co-owner, he has informed us he is willing to take it,”

Your brows scrunched in confusion, “co-owner?” you questioned, “what do you mean co-owner, are you speaking of my mother?”

Sam chuckled shaking his head, placing down the files he had down in front of him, “Your father had a co-owner but it wasn’t your mother,”

You slumped in your seat slightly, “why would he need a co-owner, shouldn’t it have been my mother?”

He let out a sigh, rubbing at his head, “Ms. Y/l/n, your father had a co-owner because alone he did not qualify to even begin the process to home owning, with more challenging lending standards when it comes to an individual's credit score, debt to income ratio, it was easier to qualify with the individual your father asked to co-own with him.”

A frustrated groan left your lips, the web kept weaving around you, “so what does all this mean, why was I called in?”

“It’s difficult to walk away from a mortgage when you have more than one borrower,” he began, eyeing you to see if you understood, “your father’s co-owner has kept up with his half but your father just recently was unable to make the payments, due to this the co-owner was called upon and has agreed to take over your home,” he paused eyeing you again, “the thing is if a co-owner dies their share goes to the other owners, in the co-owner ship a TIC agreement was signed where each co-owner can pass along their ownership through a will, meaning the remaining tenants might end up sharing the home with someone they never intended to.”

“this still doesn’t explain why I was called in, I'm sorry Mr. Wilson but you’re just confusing me further,”

He rubbed at his temples, “what this means, is that on a will your father passed his ownership to you, so I can’t necessarily just give your father’s co-owner the home without your approval now,”

A hand rubbed over your face, “so then give him full ownership,” Sam raised a brow at you, “Look Mr. Wilson my parent’s and I had a fall out years ago, if I can be honest with you I barely even know anything about them it seems, so if that is the easiest way to settle this for my father then so be it, I don’t even reside here anymore, so I can assure you letting the house go to someone who is more suited for it will be the best thing in this case,”

He was eyeing you, studying you, it was beginning to make you slightly uncomfortable, “is there anything needed from me?” you asked hoping to finish this up soon.

“yes, actually you and the co-owner will need to meet, he will need to buy you out, and you will need to be there to sign over given that you won’t have a change of heart,”

You raised your hand, “I can assure you there will be no change of heart,” you murmured, “how soon can we get this done, I don’t plan on being here longer than a week, I'm just here to sort out my parents things and I'll be on my way,”

“If it makes things easier, we can come to you, that way you won’t be pulled from sorting through your parent’s things, though I'm not sure there is much more to sort through,”

You raised a brow at his statement taken aback by the change of tone in his voice, “excuse me?” you questioned.

He smirked at you then, “no, not a thing Ms. Y/l/n, well that is all I have for you at the moment, Mr. Barnes and I will pay you a visit later this evening to go over the legalities of all this,” he grinned shooting you a wink.

You couldn’t help but be taken aback by the behavior as you stood on shaky legs pulling your coat and purse tighter around you. In your fraught state you almost hadn’t picked up on the name he uttered, almost.

“Mr. Barnes?” you questioned the name bouncing around in your mind as your remembered Detective Starks words.

He was grinning again, “Yes, Mr. Barnes, the co-owner of your home,”

Your face paled, heart dropping in your chest, “Are you okay?” Sam questioned his grin never faltering almost as if taunting you.

You nodded your head shakily before you were stumbling back slightly, a feeling of not being able to flee fast enough washing over you. You could hear his laughter sound through the building as you tucked tail and ran.

Hailing a cab you ran back home, your heart thumping wildly in your chest, you couldn’t get off the cab fast enough, handing the cab driver your money thanking him quickly as you made your way up the driveway. You needed to leave, none of this felt right, none of it, and with the information Detective Stark had shared with you, and the emails you had come across, you knew you needed to get out and fast you should have never returned in the first place, you should have listened to your father. You had made your decision as you rushed up the steps of your home head down not wanting to be spotted by any of the neighbors or cars driving down the street.

Searching through your purse for the keys you gripped them tightly as you pushed them into the lock, a gasp left your lips as the door was pulled open taking your keys with it. A tall, bearded, honey blonde stood before you a glowering look on his sculpted features. A shiver ran down your spine, as you back up slowly, another gasp falling from your lips as you back hit a wall of muscle. You turned your head ever so slowly, eyes drifting up to be met with a nefarious grin, deep piercing eyes, and a wicked mind.

“hello y/n.”

Chapter 3

Family Matter’s Tag-list: @broco8 @spideyxxboi @scuzmunkie @person-born-winchester @jennisahoe @rougeone0911 @ilovesupersoldiers 

[greenninjagal-blog]

Fool Me Thrice

Hey guys! My three day spoiler free band is up so now you guys get to see what I did immediately after that new video (FwSA) came out! 

Summary: The aftermath of FwSA but Virgil was actually Janus in disguise the whole time. (featuring: Janus breaking down to tears and Roman being really confused.)

Word Count: 4734

Quick Taglist:@alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones  @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders  

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

“DON’T TELL ME TO RELAX!” Janus yells, but the incessant bubbling in his stomach causes the edges of his lips to quirk up anyway. It’s a ridiculous, intoxicating feeling, and it’s curling around his insides like a snake coiling around its prey. He wants to smile. He wants to jump. He wants to sing.

But Virgil doesn’t do any of those things unless under threat and pressure and Janus has to keep-- he’s still pretending-- Janus is impersonating Virgil.

He’s not doing a very good job of it, and he knows. Ever since that stranger at the food court, that stranger who might be gay, that stranger whose name is Nico Flores and happens to write songs-- Ever since Nico uttered those silly, little words, and Thomas’s Heart and Creativity had swamped the controls, the more….intellectual sides were finding it hard to….think.

Everything’s fuzzy and blurry and Janus keeps trying to hit back that buzzing between his ears that comes every time that Roman and Patton team up and get lost in their contagious excitement. Virgil, certainly, is probably docile by now, flooded with the warm feelings that make it hard to panic over anything for at least another hour because he’s too busy riding that high of the “honeymoon” phase of dating-- before he remembers that it's possible that Nico might be a Serial Killer who lures his victims into relationships before slicing their throats and hiding their bodies in the woods.

He doubts that Logan’s having fun either: he hadn’t even bothered to show up when they had first spotted Nico across the cafeteria, not even to throw out that suggestion of saying “I see from your stickers we have similar interests. Let us discuss the possibility of future copulation now.” Which, of course, spells all sorts of troubles that Janus is going to have to fix later.

Later which seems to be now, because Thomas is jittery from the excitement flowing off of Roman and Patton and he is going to text Joan all about it which requires none of Janus-Virgil’s help.

It’s a flawless escape. Janus smiles inwardly, at the gooey feeling of pride in his stomach. He did it! One whole video, completely undercover! 

It figures that Virgil would be the key. 

Of all of them...well, Janus has always known Virgil the best. Anxiety and Self Preservation have gone hand in hand since Thomas was in diapers still. Janus grew up watching the curve of Virgil’s tense shoulders, watching the flickering of his eyes watching the entry points of the room, watching Virgil’s smirk curl and his eyeshadow bloom and--

And Janus knows Virgil hates him right now, even underneath the gooey layer of good feelings Patton is pumping through all of the Thomasphere. Janus even thinks that if he pops in to check on the little ball of nerves, Virgil will come back to his senses and start a murderous rampage on his way to stop Janus from ever impersonating any of them ever again. Which is definitely what Thomas needs right now. 

Whatever. He can celebrate his victory privately.

Thomas is happy. That’s all that matters right now. The rest can wait until the good emotions in Thomas calm down and Janus can think clearly again: he’ll get out his fermented grape juice and pour it in a glass so he can feel fancy and then he’ll figure out how to deal with Logan, listen to Patton’s emotional-gushing-that-ends-in-overwhelmed-tears, entertain the Duke’s R rated fantasies with a polite smile, congratulate the Prince for his victory, and then after all that he’ll send Virgil a card via messenger dove to thank him for his...bravery.

And then he’ll go to sleep for two hours, and hopefully when he wakes back up Thomas will not be on fire.

That’s… that’s a reasonable hope, right? He’s not asking too much of the other idiot sides, right?

The buzz between his eyes sharpens for a second, as Thomas shakes his hands some more, with a grin that Janus would absolutely die for. It's almost regrettable because if anyone took a moment to look at him, to look at the way he looks at Thomas, they would see immediately what his weakness is: Janus is Self Preservation, Self Importance, Self, self, self. 

He’s weak for Thomas’s smile. The gut force that drives Virgil to do things is protection, so he tries to make Thomas recognize everything as a threat; for Roman its creation, so he tries to push Thomas to achieve all of his dreams. For Janus it's Thomas’s id wants, so he does whatever it takes to keep him happy.

A smile on Thomas’s face means that Janus is doing good, that he’s doing right by Thomas. Who cares if in the end he’s the villain of the story? Who cares about him when there’s Thomas?

Thomas thanks him again-- actually he thanks Virgil, but Janus' face flushes anyway. The feeling in his stomach washes over him, leaving his knees weak and his lips smiling. Is this what being giddy is? He suddenly understands, suddenly, why Patton subscribes to that whole “Thomas is morally and objectively the best” philosophy; It’s a nice feeling, even if it makes it hard for Janus to concentrate on keeping Virgil’s eyeshadow the right color.

Thomas rushes by him-- almost close enough to touch again and wow Janus’ hands were still tingling from that; He forgot that Virgil was always able to touch their host-- and runs up the stairs to go scream in a pillow and text Joan the brilliant news and Janus takes that as his cue.

Time to wrap it up and go. (to sleep. Oh god, he can hear his bed calling for him already.) 

But when he turns back to the last side in the room, Roman is pressing his knuckles to his lips and staring at the blinds in Thomas’s living room like he can set them on fire with his mind.

“Princey?” Janus asks, his own smile slipping. “What’s up?”

Roman snaps over to look at him-- to look at Virgil, whom he trusts and likes and appreciates and who is definitely not Janus at all. Despite that, the way that Roman is looking at him with furrowed eyebrows that would sing of a scowl if Patton had been doing his job just slightly not as well as he is currently, forces Janus to check to make sure he’s still wearing Virgil’s appearance.

“I can’t figure it out,” Roman says, looking like he just caught his best friends in the middle of decorating for his surprise birthday party. “Why?”

Janus squeezes his eyes closed trying to focus on what Roman was talking about. He knows that he missed at least one thing that was said in the hullabaloo all day, but he didn’t think it was something that Roman of all sides would be upset about. Why, what? Roman got the guy. What was so complicated about that?

Actually asking why is more on brand for Virgil.

For a ridiculous second Janus wonders if that was Virgil wearing Roman’s outfit and pretending to be him the way that Janus was pretending to be Virgil. But Janus is decently sure that Virgil can’t resist insulting Janus for more than five seconds at a time, and they’ve been side by side for hours now.

(And hadn’t that been nice? If Janus had just closed his eyes, he could have imagined the grateful smile Roman had given Virgil had been meant for him.) 

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Ro,” Janus shrugs. “But I’m gonna go. All these good emotions are like...disgusting.” He sticks out his tongue that way that he’s seen Virgil do every time that Thomas has to eat the carrots his mom put on his plate just to sell the act, but Roman’s jaw sets.

“Why did you do that?” Roman bursts out before Janus can get all the way out, “Why? Janus!”

Janus should have run then, should have pretended that Virgil hadn’t heard him at all and let the other sides argue with each other, but his name is so new and shiny and no one ever uses it. The words vibrate through the air like needles and the next thing he knows is that he’s pinned in place, frozen, and Roman is looking very not-happy anymore.

Ha, so he knew. Looks like Janus can’t get through a video without being outed.

“I know it's you, you slimy snake,” Roman says. “Will you stop wearing Virgil’s face already! I want an answer!”

Janus’s tongue flicks in his mouth, rolling over the back of his teeth as he tries to think of the best way to handle this when all of his thoughts have to process through the molasses that is the gooey happiness Thomas is feeling and his own exhaustion.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Janus says, as blase as he can make it.

Which is….maybe not his best idea. The buzzing in his head makes the rest of the room go blurry for a second, in and out of focus and it’s so very helpful. 

Roman’s face goes red, stuck somewhere between being angry and being insulted. He reaches out and Janus’ legs do that thing where they don’t work so when he throws his weight back, away, out of reach, his body goes plummeting to the foot of the stairs as well.

Roman yelps, leaning forward for a moment maybe with the intent to help him back up but Janus throws up a hand to stop him before he knows for sure. His eyelids are heavy, he realizes, and he’s tired and he really doesn’t want to have a fight with Roman right now.

“I had fun, Roman. Thank you for the... entertainment this evening.” He says, dropping the last of his stellar Virgil impression. He wonders how long he had Roman fooled, if he had him fooled at all for any point. Does he dare wonder how many of those smiles were given knowing that it was Deceit in disguise?

(He doesn’t and he resents the implication that he cares what the others think of him.)

“Congrats on wooing the boy or whatever.” Janus climbs back up to his feet and brushes imaginary dust off his tunic. Or it could be real. He’s not sure considering that he’s so tired he can’t see anything in front of him.

“You fiend!” Roman snarls, “What did you do to our Stormcloud?”

“Why don’t you go find out?”Janus suggests, with a half-assed flourish, even by his own standards, “Or better yet, don’t. In the meantime, I’ll be in my room.”

But Roman snags his arm and holds him up and Janus is acutely aware that sinking out with another side is troublesome and takes so, so much focus and energy. (And Romans touch is scalding. It’s burning. It’s white hot and Janus wasn’t aware he had been freezing before.)

“I’m tired of this game, Snakes and Ladders!” Roman says. “Tired of not knowing what you’re up to! Tired of not knowing what Thomas wants! Tired of getting backseat to self care and morality and-- and I’m Tired, Janus! Why do you keep doing this to me?!”

And hooooooo, does that strike something in Janus! The soft feelings in his chest burn right up in an anger he hadn’t even known he had been feeling. But it must have been there for a while because it boils right through him, leaving his chest smoldering and his mouth tasting like ashes.

“You think you’re tired?” He snaps, burns, blazes. There’s something in this throat, and it makes every word catch fire when it comes out of his mouth. And even Roman has enough sense to know that fire is dangerous and that he’s going to be cremated if he doesn’t step back.

“You think you’re tired,” Janus repeats, taking a step forward so that they’re nearly toe-to-toe and he can see the way that Roman’s Adam's apple bobs. “What about me, Roman? Don’t you think I’m tired? That I’m exhausted? That I know I’m going to have to sink back down and figure out what is wrong with Logan and listen to Patton and keep Remus busy and make sure that none of you morons overpower the others and drive Thomas directly into the ground? That I haven’t slept a full night since the whole start of these videos and moral dilemmas and whatever else? Every time I turn around Thomas is making another lie: to his friends, to his family, to himself! Don’t you think that I… that I…”

Roman is staring at him.

Janus’s head pounds. The room around him sways and he thinks that maybe...maybe the reason he can’t think straight right now doesn’t actually have anything to do with Patton’s elation keeping Thomas busy.

“Oh,” Janus says because he blinked and now he’s on the floor. 

He blinks again and Roman is right next to him, looking concerned-- how ridiculous. Roman being concerned for him. Ha.

“Janus…” Roman’s voice is low, which makes Janus aware suddenly that everything else had been so loud all this time. He grits his teeth when Roman waves a hand and magics up… what are those, tissues? Why would he--

Oh.

Janus is crying. He reaches a hand up tentatively rubbing away the tears, and has to swallow a laugh. Oh, he's crying. When was the last time he cried? When was the last time he cried in front of someone else? 

He's so, so tired. And that's the reason-- the only reason, mind you-- that when Roman scooches closer, a centimeter, an inch, a foot, and then rests his hand on Janus' shoulder, Janus doesn't push him off and immediately sink out to his room. It takes too much energy to lock a room, even his, from the others and Roman would surely follow after him and demand answers.

Roman’s touch is a shaky, changing warmth. Janus noticed it earlier when Roman had said the word “Bravery” and Janus hadn’t been able to form an actual response because he was so busy wondering if this was how all touch was supposed to feel. But now he thinks he can count every single atom that is touching him and the awareness hums in his veins in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

He sucks in an equally shaky breath and tries not to look like he’s leaning into the feeling. His stomach rolls around, twisting and churning to the point where it hurts. He might be able to blame this on a stomach bug. The other sides probably wouldn’t look farther than that. They don’t like him enough to look farther than that.

“Janus,” Roman says again, calling him by name and Janus wants to tell him to stop. He sounds like he cares and Janus knows it’s a lie. He thinks it’s a lie. He’s pretty sure it’s a lie.

It’s hard to tell right now, especially when his own inner desire is yearning for it not to be. He can’t trust himself when he’s like this. He always ends up doing something stupid.

Like sitting at the foot of Thomas’s stairs crying in front of Roman.

“Fuck,” Janus says, and laughs, like this was part of his grand master plan that definitely exists. He ignores the tissues Roman places at their knees and uses the back of his palms to get rid of those pesky, unprofessional tears. “My most humble apologies, my dear prince. Too much fun today I suppose--”

“Janus,” Roman cuts him off, and Janus wishes his sharp inhale was a little less noticeable. “Are you… Did….”

Janus can feel how Roman’s thumb is rubbing his shoulder, slow circles like a loading screen while he tries to weave together a sentence that makes coherent sense.

“Why?” Roman decides. “Why are you...why did you help Thomas meet Nico? Why did you force him to do it naturally without any lies? I thought you liked when Thomas tells lies!”

Janus snorts, which is a bad decision because his nose is runny and, god, now there’s snot all over his face, which just makes the lump in the back of his throat grow larger. He snatches up the stupid tissues and tears open the pack.

“I don’t--” Janus wipes away the snot, and tosses the tissue into oblivion. “I don’t want Thomas to lie all the time. Do you think I’m crazy, Roman? I have to manage every lie Thomas tells himself! It’s… It’s… imagine if you had to make a new video script every single day.”

Janus can see Roman’s confused look. It's adorable really, like a puppy that just got told to “Stay.” He recognizes that Janus is saying something, that Janus is talking to him, but the full meaning of the words is lost on him.

“If it's so taxing, why do you do it, then?” He asks, like it's some sort of choice and not his job.

“Why do you make video scripts? Why do you help Thomas practice his lines? Why do you take him on daydreams when he’s bored?” 

“Because he asks me to,” Roman answers without a single hesitation. “Wait….”

Janus leans forward pressing his chin to his knees. His eyes close for a moment, two, three while Roman struggles to understand what Janus isn’t blatantly saying.

“Imagine if Thomas asked you to make a new video script every single day. Do you think you could say no to that?”

Roman makes a wounded noise from deep in the bottom of his soul. It resonates in the air between them, like an elephant neither of them wants to admit is there. Janus breathes in deeply, and wards off the fresh round of lovely wonderful tears that come from his lovely wonderful headache.

“I’m sorry about the court case, Roman,” Janus says. The words feel dangerous, like throwing knives and Roman flinches back, leaving the spot on Janus’s shoulder painfully freezing. “I wanted-- I wanted Thomas to do what he loved. I wanted him to stop lying about wanting to go to the callback and I thought that if I just made it so that only you could make the decision it would be easier! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Janus breathes in, but somehow it seems that all the oxygen in the room had dissipated without their knowledge. He gasps a few times, trying to get a steady rhythm back but the white noise in his head and the itch behind his eyes keep throwing him off. 

There’s laughter-- it takes him a moment to realize it's his own. Which is just great, just fantastic, just what he needed. He finally got the sordid apology out and now he’s laughing. 

But Roman is looking at him not with a scowl, but with some other emotion Janus can’t quite name through his blurry vision. For a second he thinks it might be fear-- which is even more funny than the idea that Virgil had been pretending to be Roman this whole time. In the safety of Thomas’s apartment, when Thomas had just gotten the boy of his dreams, when Janus was on the ground out of secret agendas to hide, what is there for Roman to fear?

“I just--” Janus gasps one more time, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest. “Thomas deserves a win. You deserve a win. That's why I wanted to help with Nico.” He feels like his head is going to pop right off. Maybe if he asks nicely Roman will get out his sword and do it free of charge and relatively painlessly.

“So I...ha, so I spent all day playing dress up,” Janus hates the wobble in his voice. “And now I’m a day behind on managing all my work and now Patton’s going to want to talk about what happened today, and someone needs to listen to Remus and Logan is obviously not doing too well so I have to check on him-- and Virgil too even though Virgil will probably throw something at me but I have to….And then Thomas is going to need me and I have…. I have to…”

“You really… you really do all that?” Roman says in a small voice that doesn’t suit him at all. “All by yourself?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s anyone else to help, Roman.” Janus says before he can stop himself.

“I’ll help you!”

Janus freezes. Because, well.

He’s heard those words before, hasn’t he? Not all that too long ago. When the divide between dark and light was more defined and Thomas hadn’t started posting videos with them in it and Janus wasn’t afraid of the purple door in the middle of the hall.

He knows how this conversation goes all too well.

But Janus apparently can’t learn any new tricks because he still says, “No, I can do this myself.”

(“You’ll kill yourself from stress, Jan!” Virgil had yelled. “Then where will we be?”

“I have everything under control, Virgil! I don’t need any help! Just drop it, okay?”

“Thomas and the Light sides are running you ragged and you want me to pretend like it isn’t hurting you? Are you crazy? They need to stop lying so much!” 

“No! I can handle this!”

“Janus!”

“Virgil!”

“I can’t let you keep doing this,” Virgil had said, “If you won’t do something I will.”

“Don’t you dare!”

But he had. And now he was a light side, an accepted side, everyone’s favorite side. And he was slowly convincing Thomas to stop lying by turning Janus into something to be feared and avoided. How quaint. How trademark.)

Roman is staring at him. Janus can feel the weight of his eyes on him, and somehow that's worse than his hand on Janus’ shoulder. It’s heavier. It’s harder to just shrug off. It means something more.

Because Roman isn’t talking. And Janus isn’t hiding.

And if the words weren’t so hard to say, he thinks that maybe Virgil was right, and he should apologize.

“Huh,” Roman says after the silence threatens to swallow them both. He clears his throat and mercifully looks away, staring at that painting over Thomas’s couch. “I didn’t think you were stupid.”

Janus hisses at him, at the idea of him. But Roman flicks his fingers.

“Oh come on, Ouroboros,” Roman says. “You handle all of Thomas’s lies, and then you’re out there looking after each of us sides as well? I think after 31 videos we can all agree that one side being entire in control of Thomas is a bad thing! So why are you still trying to do everything?”

Janus has a very good answer. The best answer. 

But Roman’s elbow reaches out and nudges him and all his thoughts scatter into the air. Maybe that was intentional, but Janus can’t find the energy in himself to really be angry about it. 

“I…” Janus says, “I just want Thomas to be happy.”

“So do the rest of us too, Snakecrates!-- Get it? Like Socrates?-- Not gonna lie, your way to make him happy is truly… the foulest of methods, but at the end of the day we’re all a part of him.” Roman says. “Maybe instead of trying to puppet master this you could...try working with us? Like showing up as yourself instead of using Virgil’s or Logan’s face again?”

Janus snorts again. The backs of his eyelids shoot bright red stars across his vision. “As if. None of you would listen if I did things that way.”

Roman nudges him again. “It's just a suggestion, Slitherous Snape.”

“How many of those do you have?”

“Nicknames?” Roman pauses, and Janus guesses that he’s counting on his hand. “Dunno. A lot. I never get to use them because you show up in someone else’s clothes and I don’t realize it’s you. All the more reason you should listen to me and just show up as your usual self!”

Janus must have made a noise, but his brain is too preoccupied with the fact that the carpet in Thomas’s apartment is actually really comfy and if he buries his head in his knees the room is actually dark. His headache is a dull repetitive thob, like a drum beat that if he doesn’t focus too much on becomes a noise he can fall asleep to.

“I thought you hated me.” He admits, in a quiet tone and only partially hopes that it was too low for Roman to hear.

“Fool me once,” Roman says in a soft tone, humming like it's a melody. “Shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice…”

He sighs deeply.

“And I think that means we need to actually think about talking out things like adults.” Roman nudges him again, and then places his arm around Janus’s shoulders. “But not right now, when you’re half dead from exhaustion. Let’s get you to your room, Jan.”

There’s a cold feeling around both of them, washing over Janus’s muscles like a flood, as they sink down. His eyes open briefly just in time to make out his own room surroundings before Roman drops him on his bed.

Oh, it’s really comfortable. Has his body always sunk into his mattress like this?

“Get some sleep, Deceit,” Roman says.

“Wait... Logan…” Janus definitely does not whine.

“I’ll handle the nerd.” 

There are so many reasons why that’s a bad idea-- Janus knows there are a bunch of reasons because he wrote them down on flashcards to study in between grieving Virgil leaving the dark sides and managing the lies Thomas tells day to day and the ones he had going on forever and the ones that sides told each other and--.

But before he can say any of that, Roman sifts a gentle hand through his hair and Janus loses the ability to think again.

(Janus really doesn’t remember when Roman gained that power.)

He curls up almost unintentionally on his bed, and Roman makes a noise that could have been a laugh, if Janus cared enough to check.

“Sweet dreams,” Roman says softly.

“W…wait!” Janus gathers the last bit of his energy, the residue from the gooey feelings Thomas was harboring, and surges after Roman before he can leave all the way. “How did you... know it was me? And not…”

“Virgil?” Roman offered. “You kept messing with the eyeshadow, Janus. He has that angsty charcoal color on twenty-four-seven. You kept changing it to purple. I mean I liked it, but that’s not his style.”

Janus frowns. “No….he has the purple when he’s happy. I know he has the purple… He only started wearing the black...when he was trying to freak out Thomas.” He sighs and settles back into his pillow. “It glows...when he’s happy…”

Janus has plenty of memories about that, too. They were some of his favorites: Virgil on Christmas morning when the prospect of presents was more scary than the idea of all Thomas’s relatives coming over, Virgil on late nights watching cryptid history shows with Remus and talking about marrying Mothman when Thomas got older, Virgil right after he first appeared to Thomas, glowing in all senses of the word because their host knew who he was. 

Janus remembers being a little upset when Virgil covered it up, because it was another lie then: Virgil was hiding part of who he was and the three of them had always agreed on no lies between them. 

Besides Virgil had always looked younger with the purple, looked more happy, looked more approachable. He looked like he was excited to see Janus and not like he would rip out his throat if they ended up in a room alone together. 

Virgil was purple long before he had been black, and Janus thinks he might have been in love with him even before that too.

Who had he been talking to, again?

Janus gets the distinct feeling something is wrong, but his pillows are comfy, and his mattress is soft and he’s been running on fumes for far too long. He’s fast asleep before he realizes that Roman is still in his room, frowning, and wondering if that meant Virgil had never actually been happy around the Light Sides at all. 

[sweetchup]

Peppermint Twist

Type: Feitan x reader

Prompt: O’Inari’s Wisdom — On any day during this week, people of the ages of 19-30 years old will go through a walk in the woods carrying a clear ornament (Traditionally it used to be a Jar). The ornament is usually filled with the person’s favorite scent or perfume, Name and Phone number on paper slip, and their dream type of lover on a rose petal. When walking through the woods, the person allows the God/Goddess of the woods O’inari’s Imps to trick them into meeting their soulmate. It is a must to switch ornaments with that first person they see for it is said the imps won’t allow them to leave the forest unless they do so.

Author Note: I hope you guys like this one. I’m very proud of it and I think I’m getting better at my romance scenes :)).

(Prompts/Rules) (Holiday Masterlist)

You had no sense of time as you walked further and further along the frozen dirt road. Everything was just very repetitive with never ending rows upon rows of snow covered trees that surrounded you. With each continuous motion and action, you grew more and more tired. Something quite unusual for you, Though there was a simple answer on why.

You were bored. Extremely bored.

The only thing that seemed to give you some sort of entertainment out here was when you would occasionally come across a rock and you could kick it along as you walked to see how far you could keep it going. Occasionally, you would spice things up a little by passing it between you and your teammate Phinks who walked alongside you. Though that never lasted long because of course Feitan, being the spoilsport he is, would turn around to glare at you two making Phinks stop and ruin your fun.

Feitan Porter. Ever since you joined the troupe, you never understood the guy. You tried greeting him the first time you two met but he just scoffed and blew you off. You could normally deal with a cold shoulder from him, even on a dangerous mission. But you never, never, understood why he would get so mad at you for the randomest of things.

Playing a video game with Shal, Feitan will give you a scoff and a glare. A drinking contest with Uvogin and Nobunaga, a death threat and breaking all the alcohol bottles. You were almost positive that one time when you were talking too long to the boss that he “accidentally” threw a knife at your head. A knife! At your very own teammate that is!!

“Hey,” Machi says, cutting through the silence, “How about we stop at that place for the night?”

Following where she was pointing to, you are surprised to see an old hot spring hotel. How weird, what was this doing in a place like this?

“But it’s not even dark yet.” Shizuku questions, confused as she looks to the still blue sky.

“Well that’s because a snowstorm is coming so we can’t camp outside tonight.” Franklin explains as he follows Machi up the stone path to the hotel.

“Oh, now I get it.” Shizuku answers before suggesting, “(Y/n), Machi, We should get a bath in after we check in.”

“Sure. Sounds good to me.” You answer, quickly catching up to Shizuku. A few almost breathless whispers could be heard behind you making you let out a deep sigh, “Shalnark. Phinks.”

The two freeze as they hear you call their names. Craning your head to look at the two, you give them a nasty glare. As well as slightly releasing your bloodlust as you venomously spit out a warning to the two. “If you two even think of peeping on us, not only will I carve out your eyeballs but I will make you wish you were never born.”

Phinks pales and quickly nods his head in understanding while Shalnark lets out a nervous laugh. Those two knew not to mess with you when you were angry. Especially from previous experiences.

“Good. I’m glad you two understand.”

—.—.—.—.—

“Ah~~ That was nice.” You say out loud to the two other girls as you walk back from the bathhouse. You truly felt fully refreshed from the herbal bath you were just in. Man, did hot springs work wonders.

“Yeah it also helped that you stopped the boys from peeping in on—“

“Hello ladies.” You three turn to look at the elderly lady wearing a kimono that had cut off your conversation. As she walks up closer to you three, you recognize her as the owner of the inn. “I hope you three are having a nice stay. I wanted to give you ladies these.”

You watch as the elderly lady pulls out three glass ornaments from her pocket. As you grab one, it strikes you what day it is. You can’t believe you forgot it was the first day of O’inari’s Wisdom.

“Ah, I can’t believe I forgot it was the holiday season.”

The elder lady chuckles at you as you look at the items given in the ornaments, “I hope you three take place in the tradition tonight. It’s good luck to do it before a snowstorm after all—“

“No need.” Jumping at the new heard voice, you turn around to see it was just Feitan. As he walks over, he forcibly takes the ornaments from you, “Not interested.”

“Hey Fei! There's no need for that!” You shout at him angrily as he chucks the ornament at the lady’s feet. A loud shatter is heard as it breaks all over the floor as well as some of it likely sticking into the elderly lady’s skin. Quickly, you get on your knees to pick up the glass. Hearing Feitan scoff as you do so, “I’m so sorry Miss. I’ll—“

The Elderly Lady cuts you off by placing her hand on your shoulder and giving you a warm smile. “It’s okay dear. I was being too forward anyways.”

As she says this, she sneakily places another ornament into the pocket of your robe; giving you a small wink as she does so. With a bow towards you and the rest she takes her leave.

Angrily, you stand up and whip around to give Feitan a piece of your mind. However, you only see that he was already long gone.

“Bastard…” You mutter under your breath, storming back to your room.

You were officially done with having to deal with Feitan Porter. Especially with his bipolar attitude towards you. You kept on wishing that he could, at the very least, make up his mind if he wants to ignore you or not. However you were now over with his antics. Clutching the ornament in your pocket a plan forms in your head. Feitan wasn’t the boss of you and you were going to prove that to him. First being by ignoring his orders and doing this tradition.

The loud slam of your door closing resounds throughout the whole inn as Machi and Shizuku continue to stand there. Letting out a sigh Machi finally starts to make her way back to her room.

“Machi, Why does Feitan do that to (y/n)?” Shizuku questions confused, following after her.

“Well, according to the boss and Phinks, it’s because he has a crush on her.” Machi explains. However, all she can think of is how stupid Feitan is being. (Y/n) has said, when drunk, that she does find Feitan attractive so he does have a chance of dating her. But all he keeps on doing is pushing her further and further away.

“I get that but don’t you think that was a bit much. Throwing the ornament at the woman’s feet.”

“I guess so…” Machi runs her hand through her hair as she gives one last goodbye to Shizuku before entering her room. Once in her room, she ponders for a moment. She didn’t think Feitan was going too far in that aspect. Afterall, She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly but something felt off about that elderly lady. It could be one of her hunches but she didn’t know if it was reliable enough or not right. Deciding to leave it alone for now, she goes to bed.

Afterall, everyone is safe for now so she can always deal with the hunch in the morning if she has to.

—.—.—.—.—

Lifting the lantern up further forward, you attempt to see what was up ahead through the forest. Honestly even though you haven’t seen or met your possible “Soulmate” like in the old tales, it was just an amazing time to be out by yourself like this. It was always a rare thing to get time to yourself, especially after joining the troupe. Though that was mostly because even after missions Feitan wouldn’t leave you alo—

A crunching noise is suddenly heard behind you. Whirling around you, you listen silently. You couldn’t see anything nor sense any aura right now but you definitely know you weren’t imagining that you heard something.

“I got you now!” At the sound of the voice, you quickly move away from the attack and hit behind you with your lantern. A sickening crack is heard as the lantern breaks against the person who attacked you. Moving away and turning around, you see oil that has leaked from the lateen has fallen onto the person and immediately caused them to catch on fire.

Walking up slowly to the burning body, you realize that it wasn’t a person at all instead it was a creature. A creature anyone could easily identify. Afterall, the ash gray skin with a sunken face and body was a dead give away.

“God damn blood sucking ghouls.” You curse under your breath as you throw the now useless lantern to the side.

Quickly, at the sound of more crunching of snow you get into a readied stance. Ghouls are known to work in packs or groups so more should be approaching nearby. Simply, you were in for a long night.

—.—.—.—.—

The knocking at her door immediately wakes Machi up. As she gets up, she immediately checks the time. It was only 2 in the morning. What was going on? She thought everyone was going to leave at 5.

As she leaves her bed, she hears the knocking only getting louder, almost to the point the person behind it was practically banging down the door.

“Coming! Give me a second!” Machi yells as she runs to the door. As she opens it she sees a bloody Shalnark at the door, “What the hell happened to you?! Where are the others?”

Quickly, she lets him in and attempts to bandage up the bloody wound on his arm. As Machi bandages it up she notices it wasn’t any sort of wound caused by battle but an unusual bite wound. As she goes to ask what happens, Shalnark was already ahead of her and begins to explain, “Turns out that the old lady running this inn was actually a ghoul in disguise. Her and her buddies use this hotel to attract customers to be easily attacked and eaten.”

“Shit,” Machi murmurs under her breath as she finishes up tying the bandage, “Where are the others? Do they know what’s going on?”

“They sho—“ Suddenly, the opening of Machi’s room door cuts the two off. Machi quickly gets in a fighting stance but, thankfully, all that walked in was Feitan.

“You idiot. Knock next time, I was ready to cut your head off.” Machi scolds as Feitan looks around the room. Though when he walks out from checking the bathroom, both Shalnark and Machi finally notice the worried look on his face.

“Fei. What’s— Hey wait!” Shalnark shouts, watching Feitan run off. Standing up, Shalnark and Machi go to the door. “What was that—?”

“Machi! Shalnark!” Turning their heads the other way, they see Shizuku and Franklin running down the hall.

“What is going on with Feitan?” Shalnark cuts in quickly as the two approach.

“It’s because we can’t find (y/n) anywhere. She’s not in her room nor anywhere else.” Franklin explains as Shizuku begins to look around. “Did you guys see her last night? Or hear anything?”

“No, the last I saw her was after taking our baths.”

“I haven’t seen her since we’ve checked in.”

Franklin lets out a grumble as he hears another door get broken down by Feitan, “Well I need one of you two to calm down Feitan while we try to look for her. She couldn’t have go—“

“Guys I found something!” Phinks yells out from somewhere in the hotel. As he does so, Shalnark is almost knocked to the ground by Feitan running past him to where Phinks was located.

“Calm the fuck down Feitan!” Shalnark shouts out as Machi catches him from falling. Clutching his injured arm as he runs after the man, the others close behind as well.

As they approach to where Phinks was, they see him outside, yelling off into the dark woods with Feitan nowhere in sight. Turning around at the opening of the door, Phinks angrily says, “I found (y/n) footprints but once I tried to explain the bastard ran off on me!”

“Well we sho—“ Shizuku grows silent at the loud noise of a growl. Conjuring up her vacuum, she gets ready to fight, “Actually, it seems we have some company.”

“Yeah.” Franklin agrees as the others grow tense at the growling getting louder, “Feitan will be fine on his own. We need to first deal with the ghouls still in the hotel.”

—.—.—.—.—

You shakily inhale and exhale as you focus on your breathing. The fast falling of snow flurries melting on your warm face. Shit, you didn’t expect a sudden drop off the hill like that.

You attempt to move your feet but it only causes you to groan in pain. Not good, you bet you broke at least one of your ankles from that fall. Not counting the injuries in other areas you probably sustained.

Rolling off of your side, you drag yourself through the snow to the wall of the hill you fell off of. You could hardly move right now, so you don’t know how you would fight or defend in a situation like this. Your only possible choice was to hide and wait. At least until the sun rose.

Carefully, as to not injure yourself further, you shimmy and lay your body underneath the thick bushes that covered the edge of the wall. Once settled in, you feel a harsh gush of wind hit against you. The wind was so cold, so frigid, that you have to close your eyes because it practically burned to keep them open.

As you continue to squeeze your eyes shut as you lay there, the wind only grows more and more stronger. Almost as if it was attempting to pull or drag you somewhere.

“(Y/n)”

Your eyes shoot open at the call of your name. Though as you open them, you don’t see anything in the pitch black forest around you. Was it just the howling of the wind deceiving you?

“(Y/n)!”

There it was again, it can’t possibly be the wind. The voice sounds familiar as well. Who was that calling for you?

“(Y/n)!!”

Now closer, you recognized who the voice was. The feeling of hot bubbling tears roll down your cheeks as you attempt to answer back.

“F-Fei” The first time hardly comes out as a whisper and you have to call out again, “Fei!!”

The wind pricking at your skin slowly dies down as you hear the loud sound of snowy footsteps running up to the bush you were hiding in. At first, you were worried that maybe you had attracted a ghoul to your location instead of Feitan but once the feeling of a warm collapsed hand touches your cheek, that worry goes away.

“Fei.. Eep!” You can’t help but let out a whine as Feitan harshly pulls out of the bush by your collar. The pain from all your injuries shooting up and down your whole body. “Ow! Ow! Be gentl—“

Without a single warning nor care, Feitan harshly grabs the back of your head and kisses you. He kissed you so harshly it was as if he was telling you how much he hated you. As if he loathed every single part of you. Rough with a harsh grip on your hair. Painful with a harsh bite at your lips. The bite was hard enough to cause you both to taste the harsh taste of iron, of blood, hitting your tongues.

As Feitan slowly pulled away from the kiss, you were sure, even with it being a kiss, Feitan Porter was telling you he hated you.

You weren’t surprised, you think to yourself as you close your eyes. Feitan had proved to you many ways before that he hated you. Honestly, he probably thought it was so annoying to have to come find you out here.

A wetness suddenly hits your cheek. At first you think it was snow just melting. But, then you realize it wasn’t cold like snow. No, it was warm.

Then, another one hits you again causing you to finally  open your eyes.

“Fei?” You question, shakily lifting your hand up to the man’s cheek. Calmly, even though you are quite confused, you wipe the tears from his face.

“Idiot.” He curses out almost silently as he glares down at you, “What were you thinking?”

“I-I-“

You want to tell him why you did this. How annoyed you are with him with his constant bipolar attitude towards you. How you hate how he bosses you around. How much you hate him—

You feel yourself pause at that thought. The thought that made your heart ache. Was that correct? Did you really hate Feitan Porter?

“You weren’t!” Feitan shouts out snapping you out of your thoughts, “Did you leave for this?!”

You feel Feitan harshly grab something from your pocket and shove it into your face. It was the ornament you had made.

“You just had to go off in the forest for some stupid ass male that doesn’t know two shits about you?! Just because you want to go live happily ever after!”

You grit your teeth as you push the ornament out of your face.

“Is it wrong to want to meet your true love, Feitan? Someone to stick by my side, someone to care about me, someone who—“

“I LOVE YOU, (Y/N). ISN’T THAT ENOUGH?!” Feitan screams at you, breaking the ornament with his bare hand. Even with the feeling of glass and blood hitting your face, you don’t flinch nor attempt to move. Neither does Feitan as he just continues to look down at you. An unreadable expression on his face.

“I-I… You...” You attempt to speak. Possibly to answer Feitan, give him some sort of reassurance but the words die in your throat. You just didn’t know what to say.

You think for a little bit longer before you chose what to say, “Feitan you’ve always been enough. But…

You can’t stop yourself from shivering in the cold. You’ve been out here for way too long.

“B-but… I’ve never known how you felt. You might have thought I did but I never. I’ve always thought you’ve sort of.... hated me.”

It’s silent once again, yet this time you can’t bring yourself to look at Feitan’s face. You think for a moment maybe you should try to suggest to just head back. But, before you do that, you already feel Feitan standing up as he holds you firm in his arms.  

You believed that you two were heading back to the hotel but Feitan doesn’t make an attempt to move or even make his way back to the hotel. You finally turn back to look at Feitan and, for the second time that night, Feitan captures his lips in yours.

This time the kiss wasn’t harsh, not even the slightest bit. His lips moved softly against yours, moving carefully and slowly to perfectly model against your lips. Feitan places a hand in your hair but it wasn’t like before, no not at all. His calloused hand caressed softly through your hair, almost soothing and petting you in a way.

So soothing in fact, that you didn’t even realize you had draped your arms over his shoulder and were kissing Feitan back.

As he pulls away, he can’t help but go in to peck your lips once more, and then another, before finally pulling away.

He stares at you for a couple of seconds, as if he was taking in how looked right now, before saying, “I’ll prove to you me loves you and then…

Feitan slowly leans into your ear, his harsh voice against it causing goosebumps to pop up in that area,

“...I’ll steal your heart. So, that you can never love anyone else other than me….”

[language-of-love]

For the intimacy prompts: 3. Touching foreheads and/or 51. Slow dancing

For some reason, this sparked a little high school AU idea, so I hope you enjoy it! Read on AO3.

❅ ❆ ❅ ❆ ❅

Spreading his fingers wide inside his mittens, he tries to soak up as much heat as possible from the roaring bonfire as wisps of snowflakes mix with the embers shooting up towards the stars. It’s too cold to be out here and there’s a million reasons why he should have gone home hours ago, but the one reason he’s stayed is inching ever closer. 

And he just can’t help but wonder. 

The music coming from the open windows of Twyla’s hatchback changes to a soft guitar intro that’s familiar, but his memory of it is too far out of reach as his mind is so focused on the proximity of Patrick Brewer as he hums along beside him under his breath.

David doesn’t usually come to these high school parties, but Patrick had asked him if he’d be here as they’d put a final coat of black paint on the chairs for Cabaret and David had found himself so tongue tied that he’d somehow mumbled that he'd “maybe make an appearance”. Patrick’s smile had been immediate, wide and welcoming before he’d quickly tucked it back away with reddened cheeks and David knew he had to show up. To see. To put himself in the path of a possibility. 

“What song is this?” he asks, needing to break the silence with something.

“The Civil Wars and Taylor Swift. I can’t remember the name of it though.”

“It’s pretty.”

Pretty. That’s the best he can come up with? Patrick’s the best musician at their school and…

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Oh. Okay.

“Where did everybody go?” Patrick asks.

When David lifts his arms to tug his beanie down over his ears, his elbow rustles Patrick’s coat and swirls of anxious anticipation erupt in his belly at the unescapable knowledge that Patrick is choosing to stand very, very close to him right now. Ten minutes ago, he was standing on the other side of the bonfire. He’s not now.

“I heard something about a beer run and I think some of the couples have retreated to their cars. I’d steer clear of Jake’s truck by the barn unless you’re into that sort of party.”

Patrick’s chuckle is deep and rumbly and the breath he expels creates a cloud that mixes with David’s before disappearing up into the smoke. 

“Nah, I’m good here…” Patrick’s words trail off into the cold air and David conjures some courage to look over at him, finding him staring back with a look so full of questions David feels a bit uneasy at the multitude of possible answers. “...with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah. Is that…? Is that okay?”

David’s face gives away his answer as his mouth curls up into a half smile that he can’t seem to stop, even as he chews at the inside of his cheek. God, he just likes Patrick so much and he’s wondered, for a while, if he was picking up hints. But Patrick’s always been with Rachel. Until a few months ago. So...David just wasn’t sure of his preferences. 

Stevie had chastised him just last week about that though, spread out on her bedspread as she puffed smoke from her joint towards the ceiling. “David, you’re not going to learn his preferences hanging out every night with me.”

Fuck, she’s going to be unbearable if she learns she was right all along.

The music gets louder suddenly and David shifts his attention to Twyla’s car, spying her through the window holding up her thumb in a silent show of encouragement and oh god, does everybody know? How mortifying. Looking back over at Patrick, he has to catch his breath at the smile he sees there, waiting, patiently for whatever is supposed to happen next. 

“Do you want to dance?” he hears himself ask.

When Patrick’s eyes go wide, David regrets that impulse immediately and tries to conjure up something to say so he can take it back.

“Um, I’ve never,” Patrick says, his voice quiet as he speaks towards the frozen leaves at his feet. “With a guy, I mean.”

“Oh, okay.”

Patrick’s fingertips from where they are poking out of his fingerless gloves are bright pink as he tentatively reaches out for David’s arm, and David lets his body move in the direction he’s being lightly tugged until he finds himself face to face with a very flushed, very nervous, Patrick Brewer.

“But I’d like to.”

“The song’s almost over though,” David hedges, suddenly overcome with a wave of insecurity.

“David.”

“What?”

Patrick’s hands are on his waist now, pulling him forward and David, well, he takes a deep breath in and lets the cold air shock his system into action.

“Come here.”

He does. 

His arms anchor into the thick padded shoulders of Patrick’s brown corduroy jacket and his eyes dance everywhere except Patrick’s face for a good ten seconds as he lets himself acclimate to this new, dreamlike reality he’s found himself in. When he does force himself to meet Patrick’s gaze, he almost stumbles in surprise at the warmth reflecting from the fire in Patrick’s whiskey colored eyes and the soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Too strange?”

Why did he ask that? God, he needs to stop self sabotaging himself all the time.

“What?”

“Dancing with a guy.”

Patrick’s hand at the waist of his entirely weather inappropriate leather jacket clenches a little and David’s afraid he’s about to let go, but instead, he slides that hand inside the open jacket and spreads his fingers wide along David’s back and David’s unsure of what to do next. But something he’s heard his mother say many times as she’s prepared for another role pops into his head and maybe for the first time in his life, he heeds her advice. 

He leans in. 

And so does Patrick.

Their foreheads are thankfully warm from the fire as they meet and David waits with bated breath for Patrick to answer the question he probably shouldn’t have asked. But now that he has, the answer has somehow taken on monumental importance.

“It feels right.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

Before he can respond, the song ends and there’s a jarring shift to a driving beat, but things go silent and David chuckles softly as he pictures Twyla in her car, frantically searching for another slow song on her drugstore brand MP3 player. He could let go of Patrick’s shoulders while they wait, but he doesn’t, and neither does Patrick. They just keep shuffling their feet and smiling down at their shoes crunching the dead leaves and the thin layer of snow.

When the first few notes of Christina Perri’s “Arms” comes on though, he huffs and can’t stop himself from turning towards Twyla’s car and shouting “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“But David, it’s so romantic!” 

She gives her horn a little honk and David gives her the finger, but he’s grinning from ear to ear as Patrick’s arm winds its way into his jacket to join the other one to draw him in closer. 

“David,” Patrick says, so soft, practically a whisper, drawing David’s attention back where it belongs, back to where Patrick’s eyes are darting new questions straight at his mouth.

Okay. 

So, this is happening.

His cashmere mitten gets snagged a little in the short hairs at the back of Patrick’s neck as he tips his chin and draws him in and their lips are a little chapped from the cold, but the tiny pant of breath Patrick expels the second their mouths touch spreads like fire all over David’s skin. Patrick leans into it, just lets himself be kissed, smiling sweetly into the firelight when David pulls back too soon to let him, both of them, take stock of what’s just transpired. Patrick doesn’t say anything, but his fingers are pushing tenderly into David’s plush sweater and he’s keeping the tip of his nose close so it’s brushing David’s as he takes a few uneven breaths, so David just waits. He wants Patrick to make the next move.

Thankfully, he does.

“Wanna go warm up in my car?”

“Did you fix the heater?”

He can’t help it. The last time he was in Patrick’s car it was an icebox.

“Yeah. I watched a YouTube tutorial.”

“That does not dispel confidence, Patrick.”

“Fine, you wanna stay here and makeout in front of Twyla and whoever else is watching us from their cars right now?”

David’s jaw drops open at the return of the overly confident Patrick Brewer he’s been crushing on for weeks and he just shakes his head and lets himself be led through the parked cars, many with windows scandalously fogged, to the passenger side door of Patrick’s little silver sedan. Away from the prying eyes of their classmates and past the unknown of their first, Patrick doesn’t hesitate, not even for a moment, from initiating their second kiss. He presses David up against the car and with fingers so cold David can’t help but flinch, he holds David’s face steady as he kisses all the breath from David’s lungs. His stocky frame is warm and pulled tight as he settles his weight between David’s legs and it’s not long before the back door is opened and they scramble into the back seat in an uncoordinated tangle. 

Through laughs and demands, he manages to wrestle the car keys from Patrick’s pocket and climbs over his lap so he can reach up into the front and turn the car on and get the heat going. The radio station is set to some sports talk show and he’s about to start turning the dial to find something more appropriate for the mood, but Patrick’s hands are on his hips dragging him back and he abandons that task for the prospect of more kissing. 

Patrick’s thighs are thick and wide and a perfect perch as he settles himself onto his lap and smiles down at flush pinked cheeks and lips wet from his kisses and he honestly can’t believe that all of this is real. Pulling off his mittens, he finally gets his hands on Patrick’s skin as he wraps his hands around his neck and lowers himself down to his waiting mouth, shivering at the eagerness of Patrick’s lips and hands welcoming him back. Patrick’s ineffective tune-up of his heater is no match for the stamina of teenage hormones and it eventually sputters out, but they’ve done a pretty good job of warming themselves all on their own at that point anyway. 

Their drive back home is spent with fingers clasped, shivering, and smiling from ear to ear as Patrick’s death trap of a car trudges slowly along the back country roads with fogged up windows and young love blooming warm in their hearts. 

He hears it from his mother the next day at dress rehearsal when Patrick’s neck is covered with hickeys and the makeup team can’t seem to cover them up. He can’t help it if Patrick was already wearing the lightest shade.

From the look on Patrick’s face as he smiles over at him from center stage, he can honestly say that neither of them have any regrets. Not a single one.

[paversandplatters]

||𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙|| (3/20)

Apocalypse! Au (TW! Minor gore and cussing)

Reader x multiple

Chapter 3: A Site to Behold

Nick manages a slow shake of his head as she looks up at the railings of the church choir loft, it’s about 20 feet above them. She reaches for the knife at her hip, pulling the bloodstain instrument from her belt keeping it at the ready. With a few hand signals motioning to follow.

With some great reluctance they begin to ascend the stairs with her cringing slightly as each wooden step creaks softly in protest. Once at the top she realizes that there are three doors two on the left hand wall, both a women's and men’s restroom and at the very end of the narrow walk way is a door slightly ajar leading into what they can assume is storage. With bated breath she listens silently noting that the sound seems to be coming from the women's restroom. loud rattling and scraping of metal against the floor, heavy footsteps marching back and forth; faster and not as clumsily as the cadavers below them were. Chains, she realizes, it sounds like chains.

With a few hand waves they position themselves around the doorway with their backs against the wall she reaches for the handle of the door slowly pushing it open. The rattling of chains and footsteps stop in time with the dull whine the door makes- silence returns. Heart pounding in her ears, she glances towards Nick and George seeing how both are white knuckling their guns In anticipation of the worst.

A moment passes ...

Then another ...

Nothing.

Not a sound.

They glanced between each other- a conversation carries on silently. Who is going to look in? Though the question isn't left unanswered for very long before she takes the first step to move into the doorway, craning her neck to peek at what hellish creature maybe waiting there.

Her breath is caught mid step,She'd been expecting this but somehow the site still caught her off guard. Perhaps it's just the sheer towering height of the thing stood there in the middle of the room- it's figure outlined in the dull orange morning light that’s managed to seep through the cracks and opening of the boarded up window in this dirty abandoned restroom... Or maybe that it’s the bulky metal chains connected to each appendage. Each end of chain is anchored to different areas of the room some to the ceiling, other to the walls and the floor very obviously meant to restrict the movement of this thing. But the most striking feature was the large circular mask on its face bearing no features save a simple smiley face. Much like the biters downstairs a large crudely made cage framed his head connecting to a heavy and equally crudely made metal collar around its neck.

She's frozen, examining the creature before her. The very presence of this thing is almost overwhelmingly terrifying. It's just standing there stock-still faced in the vague direction of the door, covered head to toe in caked blood and dirt. She almost doesn't notice it at first but… it’s shoulders are rising and falling in a slow rhythm. It's breathing. It’s ALIVE.

“Holy shit!”

She must have been caught in her trance too long as Nick’s reaction not only makes her jump but also the person before them suddenly starts to move and reel backwards, thrashing violently like a wild predatory animal trying to escape its bindings. He’s backed himself into a a corner pulling on the chain hard enough she sure his wrists have to have taken some sort damage but he makes no reaction to such. Nick unconsciously stumbles back crashing into George sending them both onto their asses, George whines at the Jostling of his still unattended wounds.

“Nick what the fuck-“ The thought is suddenly cut off as he catches site of the thing before them.

“What isI the fuck is that?!”

George squeals out now three shades paler, be it from the shock or loss of blood. Nick is the first to level his gun at the figure. Instinct takes over as she knocks the gun from his hand the single round missing its target and lodging itself into the rafters above.

“WAIT!” The proclamation is met with two very confused faces.

“He's alive! don't shoot hold your fire.” She doesn't so much ask, as much demands. They exchange a look of complete disbelief, truthfully she knows they can’t be blamed.

“Just hold on they're still alive and obviously being kept here forcibly.” she clarifies. The ominously large figure pauses in its violent thrashing to turn an look in her direction or well the direction of her voice. Can this thing even see? The tension in his posture is enough to let her know he still hasn't let his guard down but is obviously listening to her words. Lord only knows what he's seen and experienced in the time that he’s been shackled here.

Cautiously she steps forward.

“You are alive aren’t you…?” It takes a moment but she’s answered with a curt nod.

“Why are you being kept here…” nothing happens for a long moment before he shrugs. She moves to take another step.

“Can you speak…?” The knife in her hand is still raised and ready. A glance behind her assures that her two companions are poised and ready for back up.

Again he doesn’t speak but his body language tenses a bit more but he doesn't make a move to oppose her coming closer. Boots thump softly against the floor, his breathing sounds labored now, likely exhausted.

“You’re injured aren’t you..?” The massive figure takes a moment to tilt his head questioningly before nodding.

“I can help, I won’t hurt you unless you hurt me… understand?”

Another nod. Good this makes this much less complicated. When her hand finds his arm, it’s quickly yanked from her grip drawn backward away from her in protest.

“Woah hold on big guy it’s just me, I have to check you over… make sure you’re not infected or something. “

He slowly stills, allowing her hand to rest on his forearm.

She begins to narrate her next steps as she moves her hands to grab the bottom of his shirt. there's too much blood, dirt and grime on the garment to be able to tell the extent of the wounds there. The shirt ends up being peeled off, having been stuck to the skin with now long coagulated clumps of blood. It reveals a long gash that starts at the bottom of his ribcage curved down to just under his left hip. She has no idea how he still holding together- from the looks of it his guts should be spilling out onto the floor. She’s not sure whether or not to call this a miracle or some hellish punishment he’s meant to endure. Continuing on to check him over, there are numerous blossoming bruises and welts, all in different stages of healing. she swears she that one of his ribs is poking out at an odd angle. The more she inspects the more it sickens her to look at.

“You’ve really been through hell haven't you..” there is no response to her words.

“He’s clean. No bites just fucked up.” She calls out confirming her findings to party waiting in the doorway.

“That thing is really alive…?” the Brit mutters out still looking on with complete shock still settled into his features.

“So now what? He must have been chained for a reason, are you just gonna let him out..?” Nick questions voice obviously portraying his concern. Again she doesn’t blame him, there’s no evidence to suggest any of this is a good idea.

“He could’ve killed me already if he wanted… besides he knows he’s out numbered..”

“What- you’re not actually going to- y/n no absolutely not!” George squawks protest.

“I can’t just leave him here.” Y/n confirms, hands already in her pocket fishing for the one of the most invaluable items she owns: a hair pin.

“He could be a murder for all you know!”

“Like we aren’t..?” She mutters back. In the two years the worlds gone to shit, survival comes at any cost- even at the expense of other people lives. It’s a harsh reality sure, but what other choice is there? You do what you can to keep moving, if you’re lucky you find a party that’s willing to move with you for the sake of safety in numbers and a common goal. George of all people should be aware of that more than anything…

With out any further words of protest, she produces the pin from her pocket setting to work on freeing his arms and legs first. He keeps to himself but begins to tremble slightly. It’s takes some time and finessing, but shackles clatters to the ground one by one. The only thing that remains on his person is the cage and mask on his head.

“You’re too tall, lean down so I can get that stupid thing off you.”

He bows his head almost eagerly, nearly folding himself in half trying to grant her as much access as possible. The angle is awkward, making the task that much harder, none the less after a few minutes of fidgeting the collar pops open. Just as soon as it does his hands fly to his neck, desperate to remove the cage. He tosses it aside, and frantically his hands reach to the back of his head pulling the straps of the mask still stuck on his face. With sheer brute force it’s pulled free, joining the cage at the other end of the room.

Suddenly she’s met with wild green eyes that peek out under from long wavy dirty blonde hair. Just barely, able to make the faint marking of freckles on his face before he turns quickly to stare down at the two men guarding the doorway. The cloth gag in his mouth is pulled free as if were made of paper.

His voice rings out raw and cracked.

“they’ll be back soon.”

Let me know if your like to be added to the tag list!

@the-wandering-pan-ace

[welllpthisishappening]

On This Night and in This Light (1/3)

Emma Swan knows she's pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn't the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there's a lot of paperwork, but she figures she's helping people and that's the important thing. It's structured. Calm, even.

Until. It's always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma's office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they're really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

----

Rating: Teen, but I’m me, so kissing is guaranteed Word Count: About 6.5K this chapter AN: About a week ago @shireness-says​​ sent me this post, about a job agency that specifically helped people with supernatural abilities or supernatural problems find a job. I believe my exact response was “Don’t do this to me” and then Devon probably laughed or something and over the course of the last three days I wrote about 19-thousand words. Nonsense is guaranteed, as is the kissing, hopefully some banter and a bunch of magic. The next two chapters probably Tuesday and Thursday of next week? 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

----

“So, that’s basically it. The guy was cursed, super greedy and—” “—Babe c’mon, that’s my dad.”

The guy shrugs. 

Which Emma figures is pretty fair, all things considered. Although she also can’t remember his name, so maybe she’s a quasi-villain in this story. She’s fairly certain it’s in the paperwork. The guy’s name, not her potential villain status. 

In her defense, that one lightbulb above her head is very distracting. Flickering on and off, she’s going to have to tell Graham about it, which will probably somehow alert Regina and Emma isn’t sure she’s capable of dealing with Regina right now. It’s been a very long morning. 

At— she glances at the tiny string of numbers in the bottom corner of her computer monitor, nine twenty-six in the morning. 

“Jeez,” Emma mumbles, drawing the attention of both of the people sitting in front of her. Not very often that a pair comes in. She supposes that’s nice. 

In an overwhelmingly, romantic kind of way. 

God, maybe she’s bitter. 

She’s totally bitter. Thinking anything else is ridiculous. 

And if Emma doesn’t get some coffee soon, she’s going to fall asleep at her desk and inevitably offend this nameless, albeit nice-looking guy who until recently was spending his days as a solid-gold statue in front of an antiques store on Broome Street. 

“Not—not you guys,” Emma says quickly, and the girlfriend’s eyes widen. Her name is Abigail. Emma’s, like, forty-six percent positive. 

“You know he didn’t mean it,” maybe-Abigail says. “It was...well, Freddie was very heroic about it. Protecting my dad and—he was head of security at the building. Kids thought it’d be funny to try and break in, but Freddie was—” “—Courageous?” “Very. The kids wanted my dad’s gift, but Freddie wouldn’t let them near him. Of course that made sure he was close to my dad and he...well, he got touched by accident and....”

Humming noncommittally, Emma lets the rest of the details float into the back of her mind. She doesn’t particularly want to hear this story. Most of them are the same, anyway. Heroic deeds beget undeserved rewards, and there’s always some sort of deus ex machina fix that’s inevitably magical, and she figures that’s part of the deal at this place, but that bitterness of hers runs far deeper than she’s willing to admit. “And you didn’t want to go back to work at the cursed dad’s office?” Freddie shakes his head. “Not really all that interested in security anymore. Ya get frozen for three years and it kinda loses its shine, y’know?” “Makes sense,” Emma replies, and she hates to admit it takes her that long to realize what he just said. Maybe she should have read the paperwork closer. She didn’t have time. “Wait, wait did you say three years?” “And, uh, like fourteen days. That’s right, right babe?” Abigail smiles. That must be the answer. “We’re just looking for a fresh start. My dad is—well, maybe greedy is the right word. He doesn’t view this as a curse, it's...I called it a gift before, didn't I?” Emma nods, trying desperately to ignore the state of that light bulb. “Nothing we do is going to change his mind. He’s going to keep it, and he tries to be careful, but—one wrong move and there’s a golden something right in front of you. We don’t want to risk it again. That’s why we came here. It’s supposed to be the best placement service in the city.”

Biting back the immediate retort of it’s the only placement service like this in the city, Emma plasters what she can only hope is an encouraging smile on her face. The lightbulb stops flickering. 

It dies. Completely. 

She hopes that’s not a sign. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” she stammers, before turning back to her keyboard and a monitor with time that must be going backwards. “So, three years removed from any interaction with society and that’s—” Her smile is making her cheek muscles ache. “What kind of skills do you have, Mr. Greyston? Any specific interests or ideas about what you want to do?”

Freddie does not have any ideas. Or interests. Or concerns besides Abigail, it seems. Who is not just his girlfriend, but his fiancée, and a rather vocal wealth of both ideas and interests, none of which fit any of the potential jobs Emma spends the next forty-seven minutes finding. 

Something is wrong with each and every one. Wrong location. Too far a commute. Weird hours. Requires a uniform and—“Have you seen the width of Freddie’s shoulders? There’s no way he’d be able to wear a mass-produced jacket like that.”

Emma hasn’t been paying much attention to the width of Freddie’s shoulders, honestly. 

She’s far more preoccupied with the pain blooming behind her left eye and, somehow, at the base of her skull and she’s a few seconds away from turning both Freddie and Abigail into frogs when she hears footsteps approaching her half-open office door and he actually has the gall to cross his feet at the ankle when he leans against the frame. 

“What about personal training?”

Both Abigail and Freddie freeze. One of them tilts their head. Presumably in thought. Emma can’t be bothered figuring out which one. 

Not with her fingers hovering over her keys, the pop of her lips as they fall open sounding far louder than it should and the stranger leaning against her door frame smiles at her. 

Smirks, really. One side of mouth tugs up, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. It’s offensive, that’s what it is. 

As is the overall shade of blue in his eyes. 

“Can I help you?” Emma asks. Demands, honestly. One word comes out sharper than the last, drawing a soft chuckle from the questionably good-looking stranger and that’s—

No. No compliments. Just insults. Of the sharp-tongued variety. 

Most curses require a sharp tongue, in Emma’s experience. And she suddenly finds herself fantasizing about the several different ways she could curse this self-assured bastard to the other side of the office. 

“I think, love,” he says, leaning forward like that’s allowed, “I might be able to help you. Couldn’t help but overhear—” “—Because you were eavesdropping?” “Inevitable when your voice carries the way it does.”

Her mouth is already hanging open, so Emma can only imagine what she looks like when it feels as if her eyes are also intent on falling out of her face. Not great, if the increased smirk'ness of the smirk is any indication. 

Smirk'ness is not a word. 

“Personal training could be kind of cool,” Freddie muses with interest. Abigail beams. Emma comes up with twenty-nine different curse possibilities. “Don’t you need something for that, though? Like a certificate or something?” Blue-eyed bastard, fuckface chuckles again. “You do, in fact. ‘Fraid you can’t simply approach strangers and start training them. But the requirements aren’t hard to complete and there’s always a fairly high demand for trainers. People want to get in shape, y’know?” Suggesting that there’s no way this guy with his stupid sleeves could know the exact tone Freddie had used to a voice very similar question not even an hour earlier is as stupid as his sleeves, but Emma cannot rationalize any of this and she should have known he was out there. 

Lurking in the hallway, as it were. 

There’s always some sort of—signal. A smell. A flicker of familiarity that ripples up her spine and latches to the back of her brain and she assumes the migraine that now seems pretty inevitable is not that. It’s just painful. 

Nothing else. She didn’t feel anything. She should have felt something, unless—

“No,” she gasps, and she’s got to get a handle on her audible reactions. “I, uh—I mean, no, no, that’s a great idea, actually. What do you think Mr. Greyston?”

Freddie narrows his eyes. “I...I just said it sounded cool.” “He did,” the wanker with that one piece of wayward hair hanging across his forehead says, “I heard it. Didn’t you hear it?” Nodding emphatically, Abigail is far too quickly swayed by all of this. “I did and that’s—Emma, why didn’t you think of that before?” Anger curls low in Emma’s gut. Rises in the back of her throat and threatens to scorch every inch of her tongue, like that’s something an emotion is capable of. Fisting her hands under her desk, the edges of her nails leave crescent-moon shaped cuts on her palm, but she doesn’t have another outlet for the energy running through her. 

Especially if she’s right. 

She’s seventy-two percent positive she’s right. Which is better than how she felt about Abigail’s name, and she was totally right about that, so. 

Math, or whatever. 

“Didn’t even cross my mind,” Emma admits through clenched teeth. “But thankfully we’re a collaborative effort here at Mills Personnel, and it’s always good to get multiple opinions, including some from our newest—” Swallowing her tongue isn’t the most embarrassing thing Emma can do in a moment like this, but it’s starting to feel somewhere in the top five and if this guy doesn’t stop staring at her like that she’s going to scream. 

Or self combust with magic. 

Her magic appears to be running on overdrive. 

“Killian Jones,” he says, answering a question she hadn’t actually gotten around to asking. “It’s my first day,”

“Is it just?” His answering hum isn’t as sarcastic as Emma’s was. She supposes that’s another failure of hers today. Her brain’s already started making a list. “Did you know they have an espresso machine in the break room?” “I work here,” Emma answers. 

“As I can see. Just—” “—Trying to tell me about espresso?” The other side of his mouth moves. That suggests Emma is staring at his mouth, which she might be, honestly. When she isn’t wholly preoccupied with his eyes or that one strand of hair, and she can’t believe that one strand of hair exists, but she’s also a witch and Freddie was made of gold and she never did ask how they managed to fix that. 

Emma’s starting to wonder if she actually sucks at her job. 

“Make conversation,” Killian says. “And maybe help a little bit. That’s the gig, isn’t it?” None of the muscles in Emma’s neck are particularly interested in nodding, but her hair moves so that must mean she accomplishes at least some sort of movement and the two pairs of eyes sitting in wholly uncomfortable chairs opposite her are watching the scene with open interest. “Alright,” she says brusquely, certain Killian’s eyes get brighter, “Mr. Greyston, let’s start working on a plan for getting your certification and then we can set up some contacts with area gyms.”

She’s not sure when Killian leaves, exactly. 

Only that he doesn’t try closing the door behind him and when Emma walks into the breakroom thirty-one minutes later, there’s a post-it with ridiculously swirly handwriting clinging to the espresso machine. Try this one, it says. 

And that doesn’t really make sense. It’s an espresso machine, there aren’t a ton of different options. Emma’s almost charmed all the same. 

It wasn’t True Love’s Kiss. 

Frederik Greyston wasn’t released from his gilded prison by the most sweepingly romantic bit of magic in the world. It was water from Nostos, which Emma knows is expensive and hard to come by, but knowing the little she does about Abigail’s father, it makes sense and she’s disappointed all the same. 

Six years working at Mills Personnel and still not a single person has been saved by the power of True Love’s supposed Kiss. 

She’s starting to think it doesn’t even exist. 

Honestly, the whole thing is Mary Margaret’s fault. 

She’s the one who got Emma the job after all, and maybe that’s more a commentary on Emma’s disinterest in joining the traditional workforce or being a functioning member of society, but she’s also quick to argue that society hasn’t really done much for her lately. Not a ton of professional options for someone with a record and the tendency to glow every now and then. 

So, Emma had agreed to the interview. 

On a Thursday at two in the afternoon, at the office tucked into the bottom floor of a building on 62nd Street, with etched letters on the door. 

Mills Personnel, it said. 

And still does, really. Not much has changed since Emma first walked into Regina’s office, least of all the lettering on her door, but she’d like to believe she’s maybe a bit more confident than she was that time and—

“Regina, is this a joke?” Emma asks, not able to sit in one of the chairs. Pacing seems entirely more reasonable, even as the muscles in her calves start to ache. “Because it can’t—none of this makes any sense.” “Why not?” “Repeating myself is redundant.” Making a noise Emma can only assume is an agreement, Regina doesn’t bother looking up from the paperwork in her hands. Another client. Another problem. Something else Killian Jones can probably solve. 

Nearly a week after the incident in Emma’s office, the new guy is apparently some kind of job placement wunderkind, able to match any person with their dream position while also boasting a wealth of contacts across the city. Yelp reviews have appeared in droves — sent to Emma nearly every morning because apparently Ruby has some sort of sick sense of humor, and only a few of them mention Killian’s rolled-up sleeves. 

That’s insane. 

Emma can’t imagine not mentioning his rolled-up sleeves.

Maybe she’s part of the problem, actually. Just like—with society, as a whole. 

“You want to repeat yourself, don’t you?” Regina asks knowingly, drawing a strangled sound out of Emma that nearly makes her trip mid-pace. One should not affect the other. And yet. Everything seems to be falling apart in rather quick succession, the kind of worry that’s already taken root in the center of her and wrapped its way around every single one of her ribs, and she’s got no idea how many ribs she’s currently in possession, but she figures it’s got to be a lot. 

Based almost entirely on the constant tightness in her chest. 

“How are you not freaking out about this?” Regina shrugs. “Nothing’s going to happen. People love him.” “People think he’s got a good-looking face.” “You think that and—” Sputtering on her own inevitably witty retort, if only she could get it out, Emma can’t do much more than dramatically exhale as soon as Regina does lift her eyes. Leveling her with that same look she’d used during Emma’s initial interview, like she’s got all the answers in the world and will be willing to share them. 

Eventually. At her leisure. 

“He doesn't have magic,” Emma hisses, feeling as if she’s lost her last tether to reality. No one else is worried about this. Ruby has at least eighty-four opinions on Killian’s face. David’s not totally swayed, but thinks the guy’s at least doing a good job so far. Mary Margaret wants to invite him to game night next week. 

To play goddamn Settlers of Catan. Like they’re normal people. And not witches, or some other unnecessarily gendered description of magic-users. 

“He—he,” Emma continues, and now her hands have joined the fray. Waving them around her head only makes her feel more insane. “How can you think that he’ll be able to place people in jobs when he doesn’t know why they really need jobs?” Her voice cracking on the question can’t help her cause much. 

But Emma needs this to stay the same. She needs consistency and maybe not comfort, but comfort-adjacent and the fucking Settlers of Catan. At some point, she’s going to win that dumb game, she’s positive. 

And Killian Jones poses a very real threat to all of those alliterative sentiments. 

Because Mills Personnel is not a normal job placement organization. Emma’s not even sure it’s an organization, technically. Maybe an LLC.

She’s not a lawyer.  

The point is, it caters to—a slightly different sort of clientele. The kind that’s been affected by magic. Whether that’s because they’re in possession of it, or have been cursed by it, or are only spending some time in this realm while hiding from a revenge-prone dragon in their homeland, who also happened to be their mother, and need a job while they wait it out. 

That last one has always been Emma’s personal favorite. Lily spent three years working for an appraiser on Park Avenue. 

She was really good at it. 

And Emma is good at this. At helping. At providing people with their own plan, and their own possibilities and she has got to get off this alliterative kick because—

“Hey,” Regina mutters, nodding towards Emma’s hands. Both of which are dangerously close to phosphorescent “Reign it in for me, huh?” “Seriously, how can you be so calm about this?”

“He needed a job.” “What? How did you even find him?” Squeezing one eye shut, Regina clicks her tongue thoughtfully and it’s almost enough to make her seem like a normal person. Instead of a person who can regularly summon fireballs from her palms. “Friend of Robin’s. I think you met him last solstice party, but—that’s not the important part. Anyway, we worked with Scarlet once. Or David did, helped him get a job in Brooklyn after he’d been stoned in Wonderland.” “I’m sorry, stoned in Wonderland?” “Mmhm, literally. Anyway, his girlfriend’s known Killian for years and he just moved to New York and one thing led to another and here we are.” “Here we are,” Emma echoes. “The repeating thing isn’t just redundant, it’s obnoxious,” Regina sighs, finally moving the papers. It’s not a victory for Emma. Not when it only ensures Regina can also lean back in her chair, cross her arms over her chest and tilt her head at that very specific angle that practically radiates judgment. “He just needs some money for a couple of months. He’ll be out of here before anyone will have a chance to enlighten him on what he’s actually doing.” “Giving jobs to magical people.” “Not all of them are magical,” Regina argues, “some of them have just been impacted by magical forces.” “Yuh huh. And how exactly are we hiding all of these magical forces from Killian Jones, totally mortal human being?” The head tilt’s at nearly forty-five degrees now. “You are mortal, you know that right? It’s important that you know that.”

“I know that,” Emma snaps, flickers of light falling from her fingertips for good measure. “I just—when you hired me, you made it very clear that the line between magic and the rest of the world was tenuous at best. We just...we exist and hope no one burns us at the stake, but now you’re totally cool with some inherently normal guy being here. Everything we do is going to freak him out.” “It hasn’t already. And so long as you stop sparking at regular intervals, I think you’ll be fine.” “I’m not worried about me.”

Widening her eyes, Regina's judgment reaches across the questionably originate mahogany desk, hangs in the air for all of fourteen seconds and then smacks Emma squarely across the face. In a magical sort of way that makes her skin tingle. 

“Not cool,” she mumbles, but Regina doesn’t do much more than sneer. “Alright, fine, fine, you think this is a totally great idea—” “—I didn’t say it was great. I said it wasn’t going to be as bad as you thought it was going to be, and we’re doing some old customers a favor.” “Sounds suspiciously like nepotism.” “Or good business.”

Emma rolls her eyes. She’s getting another migraine. “Tell all your friends about Mills Personnel, the only option for the magical and magic-damaged to ensure they can keep paying their rent.” “Not as catchy as I’d like, but I accept that it’s a work in progress.”

“Yeah, yeah, something like that.” Having never sat down, it’s easy for Emma to make a quick and relatively drama-free exit from Regina’s office, swinging open the door and marching into the hallway and—

“Ah, fuck,” she grunts, slamming into something far too solid to be anything except another human being. Who smells suspiciously like laundry detergent and salt water. 

“Swan.”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Tries to remember that she is in fact mortal, and that requires a consistent stream of oxygen in her lungs. But breathing is something of a challenge now, and he’s smirking at her when she finally lifts her head. “What are you doing?” “Walking,” Killian answers easily, but there’s a hint of laughter clinging to the word that manages to frustrate Emma and do the exact opposite all at once. “Do you have somewhere especially important to go?” “No, no, that’s—why do you say that?” “Seems you’re in something of a rush.” “Or you take up way too much of the hallway.” Full-blown laughter is at least twenty-thousand times better than the clinging variety or whatever sound Emma’s managed to imagine he makes in the last week or so. She hasn’t imagined it that much. She’s a God awful liar, actually. 

“That might be true,” Killian admits, taking a step back, and there’s a pile of papers resting on his hip. A pen barely stays behind his ear, that same wayward strand of hair taking up residence across his forehead and the rolled-up sleeves of this shirt appear to have some sort of floral pattern on them. 

“What are—” Emma swallows. Licks her lips, Tries not to spend too long thinking about the undeniable way Killian’s eyes fall to her lips. “Where are you going?” “Back to my office. Woman in there who claims her only talent is singing, but she’s not too keen on performing. Says she doesn’t want to draw a spotlight. So, trying to come up with some other options for her.” Mind racing, Emma tries to figure out what the woman actually is or who she’s hiding from, but explaining any of that is impossible and she’s admittedly having some trouble forming sentences when Killian keeps doing that thing with his face. Having one. 

“Any suggestions?” he asks, and there’s no sarcasm. No joke. Just blatant interest and possibly some veiled hope, which is not a word Emma’s all that familiar with. 

That’s more Mary Margaret’s schtick, and at least this is passably cyclical. Somehow this has to be Mary Margaret’s fault too. 

“What about working for a promoter or something?” Emma ventures. “You know—backstage sort of stuff. Keep her in the industry, let her work with other talent, but none of that pesky spotlight. Probably plenty of people looking for an assistant or something.”

Stunned surprise could be very insulting, as far as expression-based responses go. Luckily for Killian and his face, it’s a pretty fantastic look. Particularly when it’s directed at Emma. And mixed in with something that feels suspiciously like awe.

She’s not especially concerned with the adjectives. All she knows is it makes her magic roar in her ears, threatening to knock her knees together. 

“Wow,” he mutters, “that’s genius.” “Happens from time to time.” “More often if breakroom information is anything to go by.”

On second thought, embarrassed regret is her new unexpected favorite. Color dots Killian’s cheeks, a red tinge to the tip of his ears and it really says far more about him than Emma’s powers of observation that it’s only now she realizes he’s missing his left hand. 

“I, uh—” Killian stutters, and Emma can’t help the stretch of her smile, “well it’s not that I’m gossiping about you per se, just...making conversation.” “And I’m a hot topic of conversation?” “No, no, you’re just—” His inability to finish sentences is also oddly endearing, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallows back what Emma can only hope would be a slightly twisted compliment. Regarding her and the word hot. “Well, I appreciate the help. Sometimes it feels like it’s impossible to get a straight answer out of these people. None of them know what they want to do.” Cold sweeps over Emma, in the form of crushing realization and a return to a reality with starkly-lit hallways. He doesn’t know. Can’t know. About this place, or what it really does, and Regina’s surprisingly cavalier attitude aside, non-magic users finding themselves in the entirely magical world never ends well. 

Someone always gets hurt. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Emma says as she takes her own step back, and that shouldn’t be as difficult as it is. “If—I mean if you ever get another hard one or…” 

Her face is on fire, she’s sure. Spontaneous combustion would be a small miracle, giving her a legitimate out of this conversation and the latest expression that’s now standing several feet away from her. Self-satisfied, that’s the word. 

Or phrase, as the case may be. 

“If you need some more ideas,” she clarifies, “I’m around. You helped me with that Greyston case, after all.” It’s not a cease fire or metaphorical hatchet buried under Regina’s questionable taste in carpet, but it’s something and if this is going to happen, then Emma reasons she might as well try and keep it all in check. Helping Killian helps everyone, really. 

She’ll repeat that on mental loop for several hours if necessary. 

Right after she stops obsessing over the precise way he leans forward, ducks into her eye line and says, “thanks, Swan.”

It isn’t until she’s managed to plug her phone in, exhaustion creeping up her spine and fluttering behind half-closed eyelids that Emma realizes she never once told Killian her name. 

When she was twelve years old, she lit up. Like, her whole body. Light hung from the ends of her hair and circled her right wrist, wrapped its way up her arms and settled on either one of her shoulders until it was difficult for anyone to spend too long looking at Emma. 

None of it was on purpose. 

Magic’s always been something almost instinctual, at least for Emma, and the yelling from the living room of the latest foster home she’d only recently been shipped to had been grating on her ears long enough that she didn’t know what else to do. She reacted. Power rippled off her in perfect cadence with her frustration, and she hadn’t known all those words when she was twelve, but she’d known exactly how everyone would respond and Emma was not disappointed. 

At least not like that. 

Standing halfway down the steps, she’d glowed. Bright and determined, like being strong enough would protect the rest of the kids in that house, and that was never really Emma’s job, but she always felt like she could do something more, or should do something else and—

They’d sent her back the next day. 

Something about a bad fit and just not right and that second thing could have been the sub-headline of Emma’s entire life. 

Just not right. 

Nothing about her was right. Her magic was often untempered and prone to outbursts, flashes that Emma couldn’t always control and inevitably led to lingering glances and confused stares that rather quickly morphed into fear when they looked too long. 

Sometimes people pretend they’re not totally freaked out. Sometimes they tell her that she’s ok, every lie settling under her skin like it’s something she should believe in, and it’s been awhile since Emma’s allowed something like that to happen, but she imagines there’s a cliché about scars and the way they don’t always disappear and—

That’s not important. 

History is just that and Emma’s not one to make the same mistake twice. Or at least make it more than twice, and she might be intrigued by Killian Jones, with his smirk and his stupid sleeves, but she doesn’t entirely trust him yet. 

She can’t imagine that changing any time soon. 

She nearly runs into whoever is opening the Mills Personnel front door at five-oh-four on a Friday evening. 

It’s a habit Emma would like to break sooner rather than later, this trend of not looking where she’s going — although, if she’s being honest it’s also because she’s distracted, and has been since the game night announcement, and the phone in her pocket hasn't stopped buzzing for the last hour, the most recent texts regarding pre-game night plottings and alliances for Settlers of Catan or whatever else they decide to play. 

She has respond to Mary Margaret soon. 

Presumably after she apologizes to the woman she very nearly plowed over, and it’s almost the end of business, but this woman doesn’t look like she operates on traditional schedules and—

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma says, backing up quickly. Partially because of good manners. And the rest because of the look on the woman’s face. 

Furious. A little threatening. Decidedly magical. 

“I’m looking for Ms. Mills.” “Right, yeah, of course. She’s, uh—” Emma’s phone buzzes again, and she knows it’s another message about games. What she can figure out is why that particular thought leaves her feeling frozen and a little threatened and the woman’s eyes narrow at the first shift of Emma’s magic. “Still in her office, I think. I can let her know you’re here, if…” The woman doesn’t nod. Doesn’t move, really. And all Emma wants is to sprint out of that office and maybe to her couch, but she can’t seem to move any of her limbs and the clack of Regina’s heels is strangely hypnotic. 

“Zelena. What are you doing here?” Rolling her shoulders back, the woman Emma assumes is Zelena only looks passably annoyed at being addressed by her first name. “We have some things to talk about.”

“That so?” “Several, I’d say. You have a few minutes?” It doesn’t sound like an actual request, hackles that are more likely part of Ruby’s genetic makeup than Emma’s rising as Zelena breezes by her. Glancing over her shoulder, she notices a muscle in Regina’s temple jumping.

“You want me to stick around?” Regina shakes her head. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Ok, but—” “—Go, Emma,” Regina finishes, and there’s no mistaking the command in those words. She nods once, not running into anyone else on her way out and hoping the sense of dread currently twisting itself around one of her kidneys is only those pessimistic tendencies of hers, instead of the warning she’s worried it actually is. 

The problem is, she likes him. 

Like, as a human being. Mortal or otherwise. No other reason. Nothing to do with his hair or his eyes or that dim, but still visible scar on his left cheek. 

She just—

They might be friends. Emma hopes they’re friends. 

Over the next two weeks she comes to realize that Killian is not only very good at his job — the siren who was certain her only talent was singing in dimly lit clubs and inevitably luring grown men to their doom, but wanted to turn over a new leaf, without telling him any of that, of course, sent a gift basket to thank him for all the help — but he’s funny, and more than capable of working the espresso machine so it doesn’t produce its usual bitter swill, and, Emma realizes, one Wednesday afternoon, a little lonely. 

“Trying to find somewhere to live in this city is impossible,” he announces, slumped in one of the breakroom chairs with a stack of files splayed in front of him. “Like a needle in a haystack.” “Try finding somewhere with laundry on site,” Emma grins, “and then talk to me.” “Sounds like a palace, and that’s far too mythical for me to believe a place like that exists.”

Stomach flying into her mouth, Emma bites the side of her tongue so she doesn’t do something stupid like list all the clients of hers who, at one point, lived in a vaguely mythical palace. She can think of at least a dozen off the top of her head. “No palatial experience wherever you are now? Where are you now, actually?” “Scarlet’s couch.” “Ah, so decidedly non-palatial, then.” Killian grins. “Not as such, no. Although if you could not mention that to him, that would be great. Bastard won’t ever say it, but I've vastly overstayed my welcome and I’m pretty positive he and Belle spend their nights plotting ways to kick me to the curb.” “Metaphorical or…” “Absolutely literally,” he says, and that smile is nearly blinding in a way that isn’t quite like Emma’s magic, but feels as powerful. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I’m pretty positive they want to have a family soon.” “You think I gossip about Will Scarlet way more than I do.”

His ears do that thing again. That blushing thing, that apparently only Killian’s ears are capable of, but it’s also entirely possible that Emma is just far more aware of Killian’s ears than anyone else’s. She’s also perfectly aware what a psychopath she sounds like. 

“Did I apologize for that?”

“For?” “Not necessarily gossiping,” Killian says, “because it wasn’t entirely that, but—getting information on you, I guess.”

Tensing, Emma’s jaw clenches hard enough that she’s briefly worried about what it will do to her teeth. And it takes her a few moments to school her features — more than enough time for Killian’s eyebrows to lift, and the ends of his mouth to tilt down, but she’s almost confident she doesn’t look like she’s totally freaking out when she opens her mouth. 

“What did you find out?” Ah, so not freaking out was a total lie, then. 

Killian’s lips twist as he stares at her, like he’s considering the exact tone of her voice and how to properly proceed from there. Leaning forward, his hand inches towards hers and for one genuinely blissful second Emma is certain he’s going to cover her fingers with his. He doesn’t. He pulls away at the last moment, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter and that’s fine. It’s fine, everything is fine and great and—

“You’re very popular here,” he replies, “good track record of even better work, which is why If we’re also keeping track of required apologies, I should mention I’m sorry for butting in on the Greyston case. Was an absolute dick of a move.” “Would you use of in that situation?” “I mean, I just did so—” “—You were kind of a dick,” Emma agrees, “but that was mostly because you were showing off and it totally worked.”

His eyebrows get higher. Pointier. It’s absolutely absurd. “That so?” “Don’t sound so amazed, you know it did. Freddie the former—” She’s about to say statute. The word sits on the tip of Emma’s tongue, waiting to be said because if she was talking to anyone else she’d be able to say it, but she’s not talking to anyone else and doesn’t really want to and she can’t imagine it’s very comfortable sleeping on someone’s couch for the better part of a month. “Former security guard,” Emma exhales, “is reportedly doing really well at the new gig. Ruby said she saw a bunch of social media posts advertising his recently-certified personal trainer services.” “An ambitious start for Freddie.” “Eh, you know how it is when you get psyched about something. Full-speed ahead and all that.”

“I believe that is the appropriate cliché, yes. So what do you think?”

“About?”

“Accepting my apology for being something of a dick, and because Ruby is the absolute worst gossip in this office who told me in no uncertain terms that she thought our prospective children would be very attractive.”

Emma’s not drinking anything, so the choking sound she makes at that bit of information is not really correct for the situation, but she can’t stop herself. Laughter bubbles out of her, mixing with something that isn’t quite stunned surprise, but might be a hint of put-upon frustration and the overall width of Killian’s smile is in the realm of overwhelming. 

“How did you end up here?” Emma asks, and she’ll blame the state of her teeth on her inability to censor her own questions. 

His smile falters. For just a moment, before it’s back and a little less legitimate than it was a moment earlier. “Worked with Belle at the Central Library in Boston. For years, actually. And you know how it is when you meet someone who...well, they’ll go to bat for you?” “Another good cliché. And yeah, I do.” “It was like that for us. She’s—it’s pedantic to suggest she’s my best friend, but that’s what it is and what it’s been and we’ve always helped each other. So, couple months ago when they cut staff, she told me to come to New York.” “She was already in New York?”

Killian nods. “Has been for a while, ever since she met Will.” “And how did she meet Will?”

If he’s put-off by her twenty question approach, Killian doesn’t show it. He just keeps leaning into her space, like there are magnets involved or several other words and feelings Emma’s wholly incapable of dealing with right now. “Strictly happenstance as far as I know. She was in New York for a library conference—” “—They have those?” “Mmhm, whole bunch of nerds losing their minds over recently stocked books and stories that fascist governments said we should burn.” “Do those normally go together?” “More often than you’d think,” Killian laughs. “Anyway, Will was working at the bar he owns now and—” “—He owns it?”

“If you keep interrupting, I’m never going to get to the interesting part of the story, love.”

Goosebumps explode on her skin. Her heart threatens to explode out of her chest. Magic rushes from the top of her hairs to the toes of sneakers that are now emitting a faint gleam, and maybe Emma should trim her nails. 

So as not to keep cutting up her palm. 

“Took him some time to save up the money to buy the bar,” Killian continues, “but if you know Scarlet, you’ll know he’s something of a stubborn asshole. Which also circles us right back around to the romance of the story. Suffice it to say, there were conversations, requests for phone numbers, a refusal to let time or distance damper their connection and—” He clicks his tongue. “—Two years ago, I gave a very impassioned speech regarding the power of love at a wedding that made several people cry.“

“You included?”

He winks at her. Not very well, but it’s the thought that counts or something and Emma’s starting to have several thoughts about Killian.

None of which are going to make it any easier to keep her magic a secret. 

And part of her isn’t even sure she wants to. The other part of her wants to stretch across this wobbly table, some of which is deceptively sticky, grab the front of Killian’s floral-printed shirt and kiss him until neither one of them think about anything except how fantastic they are at kissing. One another, specifically. 

So, really, she’s absolutely and monumentally fucked.