#or if not perfect because nothing is beyond fault then at least perfectly able to tickle my fancy on this umpteenth rewatch

[marta-bee]

With DS9, it’s the little things. Take this exchange from “For the Cause”: 

QUARK: Can't you do something about these lapels?

GARAK: Such as?

QUARK: I don't know, I'm not a tailor. Just make them look good.

GARAK: Oh, make them look good. And all this time I thought you wanted me to try to make them look bad. I wish you'd said that before. It's so much simpler when the customer explains what he wants.

QUARK: Rudeness will get you nowhere. I don't need another waiter. 

At which point Kira bursts in; Garak has been making googly-eyes with Ziyal, a half-Bajoran teenager Kira has taken under her wing and whom she does not want Garak to have anything to do with. After she’s done, Quark goes back to berating Garak about his tailoring choices: “ You told her. The pants are about a metre too long. So, are you cancelling your date with Ziyal? “

I can’t emphasize enough that Garak is a dangerous former spy and assassin, and at this point that’s the worst kept secret on DS9. Sisko knows. Odo knows. The dude who changes the lightbulbs and flushes out the quantum residue from the power generator almost certainly knows. Quark definitely knows. Three episodes later he hires Garak to kill him. 

And he accuses this man, who is also quite skilled as a tailor, of making his bloody pants a meter too long.

Quark, who’s a Ferengi which are notable for being ridiculously short. Quark, who is complaining in the middle of a fitting about how things still aren’t right, meaning this is almost certainly a custom piece he’s been fitted for at least once already.

And I can’t stop laughing. Because it’s delivered in this utterly deadpan, self-entitled “the customer is always right” tone. Put in the current vernacular, Quark is being the perfect Karen; but he’s doing it with a vicious glee at being mean, at being able to be mean but in this utterly witty way, to a man who could quite easily snap his neck.

It’s perfect. This show is perfect. How were they all so gosh-durned good?

[shig-a-shig-ah]

@nasti-bnha​ I put these together cuz they seemed to work real well :)  Love the thought of Twice being a little creep, gah. 

» pairing: Twice | Jin Bubaigawara x gn!reader

» cw: voyeurism, masturbation, noncon. 18+, minors DNI. 

» a/n: Another from my 1k event. 

» wc: 1k

Jin shouldn't be doing this. God, he's such a creep, such a pervert—it has his palms sweating even as the other voice whispers that he's just taking what the universe gives. That you'd do something if you didn't want him to watch—stop changing in front of the window, or close your fucking blinds. And if you don't well, should that really be his problem?

He can never decide.

His first peek at your exposed flesh was entirely an accident. The right place at the right time, leaning against the peeling wood of his windowsill with an American Spirit dangling from his lips. He'd taken a long drag, eyes wandering idly over the scenery only to land on your window, across the street and a floor lower. You were fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a tiny towel that left just a little too much to his imagination but still had his face flushing.  

Jin's a good guy. He'd looked away, at least that first time. Pulled the shades down abruptly and tried to ignore the way his cock twitched in interest at the sight of your exposed flesh. But then he'd woken up in the middle of the night, achingly hard with the image of your glistening skin floating just before his eyes, and he hadn't quite been able to talk himself out of wrapping his fist around his cock and focusing on that mental picture until the knot in his gut was nothing but guilt no longer mixed with growing arousal.

Just once, he told himself. He's only a man, can't help being a little weak. Can't fault himself for indulging this one time.

But after that, he couldn't quite help himself.

He knows your schedule, now. Wonders often if maybe you want him to see, because his window gives him a clear view through yours, into your bedroom and the shower beyond. You never close the blinds. Never shut the bathroom door when you bathe. No, you come home from work every day and it's like you're putting on a show just for him. Standing at the foot of your bed where he can see you perfectly. Stripping slowly, your fingers taking their sweet time with each button on your shirt. Jin can barely make out slivers of skin at the start but it doesn't matter—his cock is already half-hard, stirring to life from anticipation alone.

It's not until you shrug that fabric off your shoulders that he'll finally bring one hand to palm his length through his pants, that familiar mix of guilt and excitement weighing in his stomach, his breath catching when you take it one step further and shove your pants over your hips. He doesn't catch more than a glimpse of the prize between your thighs when you finally peel off your underwear, but that doesn't matter. He can be patient.

A moment later you're moving towards the shower, the perfect curve of your ass on display for him. His fingers twitch as he imagines what it feel like to cup that soft flesh, to squeeze it with his fingers. Maybe even sink his teeth into it. Not enough to hurt—no, Jin would never want to hurt you. Just enough to leave a mark, a claim. A little secret between the two of you, if you would let him.

His fingers work quickly to undo the button on his jeans when you step beneath the shower spray. He pumps himself once, twice. Uses his rough palm to spread to pre leaking from his tip, eyes fixed unblinking at the sight of you lathering yourself up, massaging suds over your chest, your thighs.

Your thighs. Your hand lingers where they meet. Less efficient than your usual motions, and such a new development that for a moment Jin doesn't quite understand what that rocking of your wrist means, or why you're suddenly shuddering under the spray.

But oh god, when he realizes? He has to sink his teeth into his lip to keep from outright moaning as he starts to work his own hand in time to yours. It's nice. Like he's close to you in his own perverse way. Not a voyeur anymore, or not just a voyeur, not when you're pleasuring yourselves together, even if you don't know that's what you're doing.

He's learning, too, or likes to think he is. What you like, how you want to be touched. The fingers of one hand tease at your nipples—pinch and pull, and god what Jin wouldn't give for it to be his teeth teasing those perfect nubs. You seem to like teasing, too. Every time you get close, your body tense and quivering, you slow those movements and he follows suite, stroking himself lightly, languidly, delaying the inevitable until you hand starts to work faster and he's once again rutting into his fist.

His need for release it so bad it almost hurts by the time he finally finds it, watching with wide eyes as you work your own hand faster and faster, trembling and stiffening and not slowing down this time, keeping the pace until your lips are parting into a perfect 'O' of pleasure and Jin's fist is milking out every last drop of his own orgasm.

And just like that, the illusory connection Jin had forged is evaporating, lost the moment you step out of the shower and cover yourself. But that's okay. Jin is patient, and he doesn't need much. He'll content himself with the memory of this for now. Treasure it, because who knows when he'll get the chance to see you in quite so vulnerable a state.

But even without the sight of you touching yourself, he knows he can count on your return. On the sight of your body exposed before him, filling him with a heady mixture of shame and excitement. So tomorrow, when you come home, even if you only change out of your work clothes and bathe yourself in the usual fashion? He'll still be waiting at his window.

[hornime]

saeko, an angel

you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

warnings: gay lol

w/c: 2k

a/n: i’m so in love with her. also this is sfw which goes to show how much i am in love with her.

you crack your eyes open, a bright white light blinding you and forcing you to close them again, the burn settling into your pupils. you wait a minute, letting the red behind your closed eyelids warm to a fiery orange, before trying again, squinting as you let your eyes slowly adjust to the morning sun. and then you see her, through the blurry haze of dawn.

an angel.

you silently blink early tears away, too afraid of moving or making a noise and scaring the divine being away. as bubbles of light start sharpening into crisp clarity, you realize where you are: a hotel bed, with clean white curtains and walls framing a heavenly scene. and you realize what you’re seeing: saeko. so yeah, close enough, you think. an angel.

you remain immobile: your hands are tucked under the pillow and quickly going numb at the uncomfortable position, and the kink in your neck is demanding more and more of your attention as your nerves realize that you’re awake, naturally refusing to give you a mere minute of painlessness. but the aches in your joints and throbbing behind your eyes become secondary as you become transfixed on her, her. her, silently sitting on the edge of the bed and playing with the linen beneath her with the tips of her fingers, only half of her face towards you. she hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet, a serene smile gracing her face as she remembers a joke, something between her and herself. saeko, an angel.

it’s funny, you think, how mom always told me that mornings were times of clarity, times when things make sense. you remember a story she’d tell you when you were little.

“there’s something about the time when half the world is sleeping and the other half wishes they were sleeping,” she used to say, “that makes things make sense. everyone’s too groggy to start thinking their thoughts for the day. so the universe has all of these thought bubbles in the air, floating around, waiting for someone to just pluck it out of the air.”

“like a ballon?” you’d ask.

“yes,” she’d chuckle. “like a balloon. and you can just pluck it out of the air! sometimes, when the universe needs you to realize something, all those thought balloons will come rushing towards you, and they’ll form a big,” she’d spread her arms for emphasis, “big, big cloud of thoughts. and suddenly, everything would make sense. and you’d get the courage to do something that you’ve been wanting to for a while.”

you used to laugh at that story, imagining someone with a giant thought bubble sneaking out of their ears, carrying them up, up into the air. what could someone even be thinking about, you’d wonder, that would make their bubble so big? you couldn’t fathom contemplating something so large and important that you’d worry it could whisk you away into the atmosphere.

but now, laying here in silence, mom’s words were resurfacing to the flesh of your chest, warming it with something that had been burning there for a while, burning with what the universe had been wanting you to realize for quite some time now. 

you were just scratching the surface of what that was threatened to make you weightless, the strings of balloons tugging restlessly at your arms and legs, wishing you’d just let them fly already. wishing you’d just let yourself fly.

you don’t even realize your eyes are closing until you glance back up again, at the angel perched next to you, wingless yet still able to show you the wonders of the sky. saeko, an angel.

you study her for who-knows-how-long, noting the sheer beauty before you, so delicate yet strong you worry it’ll break itself or break you from the weight of its magnificence. she doesn’t even know, you register, she doesn’t even know that each moment around her is a blessing.

and you know for a fact that each moment is a blessing, because angels are blessings, and she’s an angel. somewhere in the murky depths of moral ambiguity, between drops of bitter vodka from a teenage birthday party and stolen quarters from the mall fountain, there is a glow of truth and irrefutable certitude: that she is an angel. saeko, an angel. 

and you, blessed.

wisps of blonde hair curl from her forehead to her jaw, whispering words in gold that you can only partially translate into a hymn of some kind, its rhythm vibrating along the headboard of the bed and prodding at your ears. you wish to brush them behind her ears, so cliche, she’d say, just so you can see more of that heavenly face. god, you groan internally, why’d you make her so fucking perfect? how’s that fair to any of us mortals? how’s that fair to me?

you trail your eyes down the bridge of her nose, slanted perfectly. you’ve never really thought about what the perfect nose bridge would be, but you know without a doubt that she has it. of course she does. saeko’s perfect. saeko, an angel.

and before you can help yourself, you’re tracing the curve of her lips, plump and pink and oh-so-kissable. you’d drown in those lips if you tried: visions of how they stretch into cheeky grins and purse into pouts could flood your mind if you let them. and you don’t let them, at least not as often anymore, especially since her lips can be really distracting, and last time you thought about them you were driving, and saeko shrieked in laughter when you called her telling her the reason there’s a new dent on the side of the car. 

“we can’t both be bad drivers!” she’d giggled. “that’s feeding into the gay stereotype!”

“it’s not my fault,” you’d grumbled, “that i can only concentrate on one thing when i’m behind the wheel.”

“that ‘thing’ should be the road! not my lips!”

“yeah, i know! but ‘i kissed a girl’ was on the radio and then i thought about kissing a girl and that girl was you and then one thing led to another and...”

the corners of your lips turn up at the memory. although you had been pretty pissed about having to pay for a repair, saeko proceeded to try and fix the dent herself with a plunger since she has a vendetta against auto shops because “they’ll take advantage of pretty things like you” and “motorcycles aren’t that different from cars anyway, so its fine.” and she was sure to give you some quality time with the lips that you’d been so distracted by, so even the fact that your insurance company had upped your rates hadn’t bothered you too much.

the strings of your thought balloons dangle in the air, glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window. you wonder how saeko hasn’t seen them yet. she must really be lost in thought.

your gaze remains steady on her face, her glory, her beauty. i’m lucky, you decide. so so lucky. you can feel your limbs be lifted slowly into the air. the balloons are getting restless.

you’re almost taken aback when you feel something wet roll down your cheek. are you... crying? seriously? you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to get a hold of your emotions. when’s even the last time i felt this in lo—

“hey.” saeko’s soft voice makes you crack open your eyelids as she runs a hand along your hair. “are you okay? you’re crying.”

you smoosh your face further into the pillow. “i don’t know,” you mumble through the comforter.

she repositions herself on the bed so that she’s sitting criss-cross towards you, leaning forward to bring her face closer to yours. “are you on your period?”

“no,” you respond immediately. you nuzzle further into the sheets, but poke your head out again. “wait, i’m not sure. what day is it?”

“the 21st.”

“oh,” you roll over onto your back, stretching your arms out hoping that she’ll hug you. “then maybe.”

saeko obliges to your silent request, crawling her way over and straddling the blanket over your legs before resting the top half of her body on yours. “i knew it,” she whispers into your neck.

you don’t dare look her in the eyes. you know that mortals will disintegrate if they look directly at an angel. you read that in a percy jackson book or something.

but the thought balloons are yanking at your arms, forcing your fingers to run down her spine and through her hair. i must be insane, you think. i’m insane to think that i’ll ever be enough for her. 

she’s an angel, you remind yourself to no avail. wingless, but can still fly. and you are nothing but a human, rooted to the ground by gravity and inevitable death. you’d be a fool to think that you’d ever be enough; after all, what bird would choose to stay on the ground when it can explore a limitless sky?

but you are a fool. you know that now, even if you were in denial before. you’ll let your delicate and fragile thought bubbles carry you into the air and bask in the temporary feelings of freedom before they pop and you crash and burn through the atmosphere. you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

you most certainly are a fool, because you let your thought bubbles wrap their strings around you like a harness, pull themselves taut, and prepare yourself to jump out into the morning heavens, putting your trust into the wind to carry you alongside her. your toes are dangling across the edge, the open beyond becoming more and more appealing than the safety of the hotel room. you know that there is no do-over once you take the leap, once you try to fly. you’ll either get to fly beside her or you’ll fall to the ground and face an untimely end. but fuck if you aren’t daring, yearning, stupid enough to jump. 

you swallow. there really is no going back from this.

“saeko?” you let the words carry through the stagnant air of the room, filled with the lemony scent of an air freshener and saeko’s shampoo.

“hm?”

“i—” the wind whips widely at your back and at your balloons, sending them into all directions as they maintain their hold on you. it’s compelling you to fall, to throw caution into it and hold tightly to your faith and let go of your tether. you must be crazy because you’ve already made up your mind. this decision shouldn’t be that easy, but you are scarily sure. 

the earth’s roots are retreating back into the grass and your body is free for the first time. you can’t tell if the air will catch you, but it doesn’t matter anymore. you’ll be the first human to fly, even if it kills you. it probably will.

“i love you.” your feet leave ground and find nothing below them. the helium in your balloons is straining against your weight. your breath hitches—maybe this is how your life ends. maybe this is how the illusion that you’d created for yourself, a love between a human and an angel, disappears: shattered like bones on concrete.

you open your eyes. you hadn’t even realized you closed them. they meet a sky of warm brown, glinting with the promise of flight. the brightness of her smile makes the light of the sun pale in comparison, the same sun she’s gotten closer to than you ever will. her nose is dotted with freckles, mirroring the constellations that you’re sure she’s flown through countless times. you can practically see her wings, her halo. your confession, one you thought would land heavily in the space between you, feels like its expanding into something light. something... weightless.

the air seems to grow solid beneath you. it’s like you’ve realized you can fly. you’re starting to think you can.

“i love you, too.” 

she loves you. saeko loves you. 

saeko, an angel.

[riotwritesthings]

I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks​

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

[xxtoothachexx]

anon asked: I liked the breaking up with Daki but getting back together so can I ask for the same but with Shinobu and Mitsuri?

a/n: I loved how mitsuri’s turned out!! hopefully you like them, I had to split the two drabbles up because of length!

find Shinobu’s here!

the title comes from the song “be here” by the orchards

Be here to love me when all else is gone

(Mitsuri x reader)

You hated how every time you saw Mitsuri giggling along with the snake pillar, a subtle feeling of anxiety seemed to overtake you. You never wanted to accuse her of anything but it bugged you beyond being able to push it away.

She was so incredibly lovely, all smiles and sweetness. And then there was you. Nothing more than average, insecurities found themselves home along your body. You felt as if you could never live up to her

You hated even more the tears that rolled down her face when you told her the two of you weren’t fit to be together. It was your fault wasn’t it? This is why you weren’t meant for her, someone who was perfect for her wouldn’t make her cry. They wouldn’t be having this conversation.

Her cries stung worse than anything you’d felt. Slashes from the claws of blood thirsty demons or aching muscles from drawn out battles couldn’t even compare. None of those made your heart ache like this.

You couldn’t even look her in the eye, running away with your own tears once you’d told her. You hoped that she’d find someone better but deep within you felt jealousy coil like a venomous snake.

And it stayed there for weeks on end, holding you in a tight grip with its fangs buried deep into your heart. It remained dull but kept you aware of it, with a sharper pain whenever you’d pass the dear love pillar. The sadness on her face told you that you weren’t alone.

Despite what you’d done, she never seemed to not get closer with Obanai. It was odd, you would’ve expected things to change between the two of them but she still kept her eye on you. It didn’t make sense.

But you refused to care about it. You’d practically convinced yourself that she’d be better off without you. Throughout your travels you’d met plenty of people that would be better for Mitsuri. They’d treat her perfectly, while you on the other hand would only make matters worse.

You carried on your duties as usual while trying to avoid her as much as possible. You wanted to spare her any emotions of seeing you around. She’d get over it, wouldn’t she? You would too, you’d tell yourself that whenever you’d feel guilty.

You were resting after a mission, not too bad injuries but painful enough. At least they took your mind off the issue that’d been bugging you ever since breaking up with her. Shinobu finally permitted visitors soon enough but you expected no one.

Footsteps thumped against the wooden floors and a familiar scent of sakura mochi let you know who was there. Peering towards your bedside, Mitsuri stood bashfully beside you with a plate of food. “You should eat, so you can be strong soon.”

You nodded and took the plate from her, fighting the heat spreading across your face. You expected her to step out but she kept talking. “I hope you know I still love you, even if we aren’t dating. You still mean so much to me.” She smiled shyly.

“You w-what-” You asked, fully awake despite the meds Shinobu had put you on.

“I still love you?”

The fangs seemed to unlatch while your heart sped up at her words. Sitting up you leaned in closer to her, feeling her warmth close to you. Oh how you missed it. “But you… you deserve better Mitsuri.”

Stunned into a quick silence she only blinked at you. “Better? But you were already perfect, how could I get anything better?” She smiled and dissolved into light laughter. “That’d be impossible. You were already perfect for me.”

“I’m sorry, I was an idiot for breaking up with you.” You shly admitted to her and she laughed again at you, pulling you into a hug that would’ve been bone crushing if you hadn’t been injured.

“That’s what the others said about you. I loved you too much to listen though.” You would’ve started yelling about the others apparent comments but her lips pulled you into an intoxicating kiss.

[staywritten]

Phobia│Bang Chan

Phobia │Bang Chan

Synopsis: Relationships were about give and take. Putting in effort and compromising, but there was only so much you could do when he stopped trying. Based on Phobia by Stray Kids

Genre: IdolAu, One shot, Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Song Fic? 

Word Count: 4444

Masterlist 

Six weeks.

It had been six weeks since you’d actually seen Chan. Normally you’d be understanding he was a very busy man. Songwriter, singer, producer, rapper, and leader he was in high demand especially these days. He was working a full length album for Stray Kids and even assisting in the production of fellow label mates, but six weeks was just too long to go without actually seeing your boyfriend. It wasn’t as if he was on tour or promoting he was just a few blocks away at the studio that he basically barricaded himself in.

Chan being a workaholic was pretty normal. Him not sleeping and spending hours or days in the studio wasn’t unusual. But once in a while, around album time it got bad.

You made sure that you brought food, and clothes and just dropped them off for him. Occasionally you’d get Felix to deliver something since you knew he’d have a slightly easier chance of getting Chan to actually eat something instead of continuing to work himself to death.

Normally it wouldn’t be this bad, you had a life of your own so you understood keeping a healthy distance from one another and that was part of your relationship that worked so well. You both loved each other, but you valued alone time. You worked full time at an office and it was pretty daunting, and having some time to yourself was nice. It allowed you to go and visit your mom, and to spend some time with friends, even indulge in your hobbies. 

Dating Chan for three years had gotten you used to his routines and how he got when it was album time. However six weeks started to make you wonder if you were even still in a relationship. He’d call occasionally here and there for a few minutes, but he hadn’t been home in over a month. 

If it wasn’t for his weekly vlives for Stays, you wouldn’t even get to see him. On a particular night you caught one. Him going live at an unsettling 4am. In your defense you were also awake but him not being home in your bed had made sleep hard to come by.

He put on that beautiful smile for Stays. Entertained, gave warm words of comfort, shared his favorite songs and listened to their suggestions. Although he smiled the entire time. He looked so tired. His skin, paler than usual. He was always pale but you never thought he looked sickly. His skin wasn’t as bright, slight bags noticeable under his eyes. His hair, not as shiny and bouncy as it normally was. He looked so physically exhausted. He hid it well, to not worry Stays but you knew. 

At the very end of his broadcast he wished Stays goodnight, gazing at the camera and for a whole moment it was like he was all yours again. 

I'm stuck with a phobia

Although I want to stay with you

I'm stuck with a phobia

I can't go there, where you are

I can't approach you

It was like he could prioritize you, because you were a Stay and he loved his Stays. “Big hug” he smiled, going in to hug his camera, wrapping his arms around it. And the moment he came in close, the screen filling with his chest your body tensed as if you were actually being embraced. A soft smile grazing your face because that was the warmest you felt in six weeks. That was the most attention he’d given you in six weeks and you shared it with thousands of others. 

You had the day off and you were determined to get Chan out of that studio even if it was only for a few hours to have a good lunch. He needed fresh hair, he needed the break. You managed to get a little done up today. Your comfortable jeans traded in a favor of a light sundress that hugged your form in the right places. Your hair down, neatly styled, framing your face. Your make up topped off with a nice glossy red that complimented your skin tone.

The walk to the studio was nice, the weather had been pretty amazing the past few days and it would have been a shame to let it go to waste. Walking into the JYP studio you waved to the receptionist, who had once again given you a small smile. She had gotten used to your visit and she would do her best to try and get Chan to at least come out but it wasn’t her fault your boyfriend was a workaholic.

You smiled brightly seeing a familiar face walk down the hall. “Hey How are you!” you chimed waving to Changbin. You met Chan through Changbin a few years back. You’d been a close family friend and it was a meeting that was merely by chance but you and Chan hit it off and the rest was history. It only brought you and Changbin closer, and he'd been a welcomed constant in your life, acting more so as a surrogate brother. 

He brought you into a big hug, squeezing just a bit and patting your head. “Long time no see, you look beautiful.” he looked at you proudly. ”

“It’s been a while” your mood seemed to brighten greatly as soon as you saw him. “How’s Chris?”

His smile faltered for a bit. “Honestly…he's in one of those moods…he finished his new track weeks ago but..he just hasn’t been able to record it properly…you know how he gets…expecting absolute perfection…” he sighed. “It’s wearing all of us out, him and Jisung keep getting into it”

“He hasn’t been home in over a month…” you looked down.

“I figured as much…His studio basically became an apartment…He won’t even go back to the dorm” he crossed his arms over his chest “He’s being way too hard on himself. If a studio is supposed to represent your mind then his is just a mess right now…I don’t think he’ll ever get the song perfectly if he doesn’t take a break.”

“I was hoping to get him to take a break today…ya know have a lunch date. Go for a walk, enjoy the weather” you gave him a hopeful smile. “Wishful thinking?”

He chuckled “I think that’d be amazing for everybody.” he whispered “He’s been driving the staff absolutely crazy.” he gave you his studio key and a small wink. “Good luck, I’m gonna go grab a drink” he walked down the hallway back to the lobby.

You unlocked the door to the studio and was floored to see just how cluttered it was. Chan wasn’t exactly the tidiest person in the world but this was beyond ridiculous. Clothes, blankets and pillows covered the couch, the garbage can was overflowing. You were grateful that he wasn’t one for alcohol, energy drinks or caffeine but there was an alarming amount of juice bottles. The sugar probably being the only thing keeping him wired.

Chan turned around hearing the door open. “Changbin, I need you to run your rap through one more time something’s just not-” he stopped and furrowed his brows seeing your face. 

A soft smile formed on his face, he really did miss you. Your beautiful smile, your bright energy always made you his haven, but right now it was a distraction. He needed to finish this song. Seeing you was supposed to be his reward for finishing everything. He wanted you to be proud of him the next time you saw him.

He wanted to be able to present to you his hard work. But right now he had nothing. He had about seven unfinished songs and nothing he was proud of. He didn’t want you to think his hard work was for nothing. He’d been working non stop for six weeks and had nothing to show for it.

“Chris...” you stepped into the room and moved closer to him.

He stood up and pulled you into a hug, kissing the top of your head. “Babe…what are you doing here?” He sighed happily feeling how you fit so perfect against him. How with just the feeling of your small arms around him his anxiety was lifting.

I want to hold you in my arms so bad

Even if I treasure you

You're so precious it isn't enough

You're radiant

The more you shine, the more I tremble as I get closer

“I missed you so much.” You leaned your chin on his chest. “I wanted to go out to lunch…” You missed his warmth, how safe you felt in his strong arms, the way the lul of his heart instantly calmed you. Your eyes softened as he caressed your cheek, running his thumb against your cheek.

“I missed you too, but I’ll take you out when I finish the song.” He kissed your forehead. He intended to pull away but he couldn’t. His lips found your mouth as he pulled you into a sweet, and tender kiss. Your lips moved against his lovingly as he gripped his shirt. It was the most intimate contact either of you had in a long while. He cupped your face, pulling away softly. That would be enough to hold him over. You just had to wait for him. 

 “I’m sorry Babe but there’s still so much I have to do” he reluctantly let you go and moved to sit back at his desk. “I would love to goof off but the guys are counting on me” he slipped his headphones back on and turned his attention back to his laptop.

You gasped, feeling him pull away so suddenly. “Chris…” Watching him get back to work as if you weren’t even there broke your heart. Six weeks of not seeing each other and you got a hug, and an ‘I miss you’ before he just dismissed you. Did he really miss you? Did he even care? You turned away, biting your lip and keeping your tears at bay. It was just so frustrating.

He had already slipped his headphones on and got back to work. You didn’t want your visit for be for nothing. You were hoping to help him in some way. You wanted to get him to take a break but he made it very clear he had no intention of leaving.

You cleaned up the blankets, folding it neatly on the couch and frowned seeing all of your notes and letters you wrote him for encouragement just crumbled in the trash. They were just tossed aside, like they were nothing. 

Like you were nothing. 

You’d seen how he so carefully took care of his letters from Stay’s each one saved and delicately handled. Preserved in a box to later act as motivation for him. And yours just crumbled like they were trash.

Then it hit you. Why were you even doing this?

At the thought of me making you smile

This shaking becomes in a little happiness

Don't know why I'm like this

Even if I pretend to not be bothered

My heart is racing like it'll burst

He turned around and saw that you were still standing there staring at the garbage. “Baby I really need to work, why are you still here?”

“What is this…” you mumbled, your fist tightened. You turned around, tears threatening to spill out. “What are we even doing?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I…we haven’t even seen each other in weeks and you don’t even care.”

“Don’t start this, we agreed that work comes first.”

“I agreed not to guilt trip you when you have concerts and tours, and you agree to understand when I have to work over time but this isn’t the same thing Chris…you’re just refusing to come home…what about me? where do I fall in your priorities?”

“Is that what this is about? I don’t need this right now! I need to finish the album!” You flinched hearing him raise his voice. He was known to have a bit of a temper but he almost never raised his voice to you. “The guys, the company, JYP, Stays, everyone is expecting me to put out the next big hit. The comeback is in a few weeks and I’m not ready! I don’t have time for you to sit here and just bitch about it!”

“A bitch? is that what I’m being….” you whispered. “I just wanted to see my boyfriend…” tears streamed down your face as you stepped closer to him. “I always support you…I make you food, and bring you clothes, and always encourage you. I’ve always been your biggest fan, but you’re not taking care of yourself… You’re making yourself go mad sitting in the studio all day, you’re pushing yourself too hard and-”

“The only thing making me go mad right now is you! So why don’t you do me a favor and leave!” He kicked over the chair and yelled. “Do us both a favor and get the fuck out! I don’t need this!”

You bit your lip and shook your head “Y-You don’t mean that…” you stepped closer slowly. “Chris…you’re just mad…Let’s just calm down…and we can-”

“Leave! Why are you still here!?” In his fit of anger his hand swung out hitting the can on his desk causing it to fling at you. It flailed past you, hitting the wall.

You screamed from the sudden movement and shielded your face feeling it splash on you. Even though it didn’t hurt you, it scared you enough. All in one day Chan yelled and threw something, he’d never done something like that before and for the first time you can say that you were genuinely afraid of him.

The second it hit the wall it was like his anger began to dissipate. Seeing the fear in your eyes he stepped closer but you stepped back and let out a yelp, cringing as he lifted his hand toward you. He just meant to caress your face, but you wouldn’t let him get that close. You couldn’t look at him, you were almost frozen in fear, you just couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact.

He called out your name in a soft desperate whisper, but you shook your head. “I’m…I’m sorry, it was an accident...”

There was a loud bang on the door which only caused you to scream again. “It’s just me” Changbin opened the door and let himself in “I heard yelling what-” he looked down at your small shaking form. Tears streaming down your face, you were literally shaking, something splattered on your sundress. ”What the hell happened? Are you ok?”

You pushed past him, sniffling as you ran out of the building. He stared at Chan in disbelief. “What did you do?”

You hurried home going as fast as your feet would carry you. Honestly you should have taken the scenic route, there was nothing to rush home to. Your apartment, far too large holding nothing for you. You sighed looking down, you had been ignoring the pestering feeling that this wasn’t a home anymore. It lacked warmth, life, him. All the memories that you once cherished were nothing but photos on the wall.

You just couldn’t do this anymore. 

You couldn’t be the only one trying.

You packed up your largest suitcase, filling it with as much of your clothes as you could. Anything that couldn’t fit in the suitcase was stuffed in boxes, books, photos, anything that you contributed to this shared apartment. It would have been easier just to pack up Chan’s things since he had a lot less things as you did, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch his stuff or to stay here a moment longer. The apartment looked much colder without your touch. It was as empty as you felt.

Stay with me

Don't hesitate no more (Don't hesitate)

There's no point in speaking

As long as I'm in front of you

Back at the studio Changbin grabbed Chan by his collar. “Chris what the hell was that?!” his grip tightened.

Chan looked down. He regretted the whole situation. He never meant for it to escalate so much, he just didn’t understand why you couldn’t just leave him alone and let him do this for work. He was also aware that the situation looked a lot worse than it was. “I didn’t hit her…” he felt the need to clear it up.

Changbin scoffed. “Do you think that you’d still be standing if I thought for a second that you laid a hand on her?” He wasn’t usually this aggressive, but he had gotten so close to you, and loved you very much. If you were to get hurt because of someone he introduced you to he’d never forgive himself.

“I just…lost my temper…” He grunted pulling away from Changbin. “Why can’t she just let me work?”

“Because she loves you! She wants you to be healthy and happy and sane!” Changbin crossed his arms over his chest. “Because she doesn’t want you to end up making yourself sick”

“She wasn't understanding at all!”

“Oh no the girl that goes out of her way every day to drop off clothes and food for her boyfriend. The girl that understands that you have to go away for weeks or months on end for work and never complains about it. The girl that understands that you get annoyed when she comes to see you but she still wants you to have a good meal so she sends Felix to deliver it. That girl? Are we talking about the same girl? The girl that came all the way down here just because she wanted a little lunch date. Could you really not give her that? A few hours to show that you still love her.” Changbin scoffed. “She’s way too good for you…”

Chan looked down and clenched his fist. He never realised how good you were being to him, how kind. He just got spoiled by your understanding nature. He took advantage of the situation. “I messed up…I really fucked up…I yelled at her…I scared her….” he looked at Changbin. “She was really scared of me.”

“You’re going to lose her…” He sighed “And since I care about her well being that doesn’t actually sound like a bad idea.” He turned away. “Either fix it, or sit here sitting in you own self pitty..I can’t fight your battle…not this one.”

It still took another two days before he made it back home. Somehow he did manage to finish the title track, up to his standard. Jisung and Changbin were going to work on his guide for some of the B-sides and he was going to take some time off. 

He picked up a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and a teddy bear to apologize on the way. Unlocking the door he sighed “Babe…I’m home.” he announced as he slipped off his shoes. As he walked into the apartment he looked around frantically. The walls were bare. All of the photos you had were removed, the little plants that you decorated the apartment with were gone, his bookshelf that you filled with all of your favorites was now empty. He dropped the flowers and bear and ran into the bedroom. The bed was neatly made but all of your clothes were gone, half the closet stripped bare. It was like you were never there. As if you completely lifted out of his life.

I'm stuck with a phobia

Although I want to stay with you

I'm stuck with a phobia

I can't go there, where you are

I can't approach you

A week had passed and he was unable to reach you. You refused to answer his phone calls, your friends, and family refused to tell him where you were. It wasn’t until he caught you leaving your office building that he finally saw you.

You had worked overtime that night just to finish off your workload that you were slacking on. You’d been staying at an airbnb for an extended stay while you looked for an apartment. The rest of your things in storage at your parents place. It wasn’t permanent, but this transitional period felt good. Like you were finally doing something to take back your life. You froze hearing your name being called, knowing the voice all too well. He grabbed your wrist softly, pleading for your attention. He turned you to face him. He looked so sad, you just weren’t prepared to see his face like that. “Chris let me go…”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I’m surprised you noticed”

“I came home and you weren’t there…”

“You told me to leave.” You yanked your hand back from him.

“Leave the studio. Not my life.” He looked down. “I missed you…I didn’t know where you were… if you were safe… I was so worried.”

You sighed. “It only took me leaving for you to get that….All the nights I spent alone…you didn’t even care. When you were locked away in the studio you didn’t know if I was home safe, and you know what Chris? You didn’t care”

“I care!” he groaned, not meaning to yell at you. “I care…I always care…I’m so in love with you… please…just give me a chance to explain everything …please…even if it’s the last chance please…just…give me this..”

Every time I meet you

I shake, shake

Your voice echoes loudly in my head

Saying I can do even better

I boldly shout

I know too well that chances only come once

I'll do anything for you

*So that you can believe in me*

You sighed deeply before leading him back inside your office, borrowing one of the empty meeting rooms giving you two some privacy. This wasn’t the kind of talk you wanted to have publicly and you’ll be damned if you ever returned to that apartment again. Sitting across the table from him you gave him the coldest look you could muster. Arms crossed over your chest as you glanced at your watch. “Talk”

He looked down, trying to find the courage to speak.  “I’m sorry…it’s just…you’re so good to me…you’re beautiful…and kind…and you love me more than I deserve…” he sighed. “Changbin’s right…he’s always been right about you being too good for me..but I figured if I worked hard then maybe one day I’ll be good enough for you too.” He buried his face in his hands. “I”m not good with relationships…I’m fucking horrible at them…You’re the only one to ever put up with me this long…I was just so scared of disappointing you..scared that you’d realize that I’m not good enough”

Your eyes softened hearing him pour his heart out to you. This was new, he never opened up this much. He just bottled things up, put on a happy face for the sake of others. This was deep rooted and he never addressed it before.

“I…I figured if I stayed busy…I could never get into a fight with you…we would appreciate the time we had together…no fighting, no anger, just happiness…If I stayed in the studio and work hard then I’ll have something to prove to you that I’m good enough...Make a new album and get wins… it’s not just for you but for Stays, the guys… I have to prove to all of you...”

Placing your hand on the table, you leaned closer. Not touching him, but the gesture was huge. It showed that you were more open to him. “Why…why do you think you have to do this? There’s not a single person that doesn’t think you’re good enough. Stays...The guys...I...we all love you more than you can imagine”

He gazed up sadly. “Because…when you gusy realize I’m not good enough you’ll all leave me too...I fuck up everything good in my life…and you’re the best thing that’s happened…and you stayed…And then you left...” he slowly reached out and tried to take your hand, only if you were accepting. Seeing how you didn’t pull away he held your hand. “I wanted to beg for you back…but then I realised how better off you are without me…that if you truly love someone you let them go…a good man would let you go.”

Your eyes softened hearing that. You could feel his grip slipping on yours. You opened your mouth to say something, but you could find the words. His hand lingered on yours, not quite wanting to let you go, and to be honest. You didn’t want him to. You wanted him to fight for you, that’s all you ever wanted.

You needed him to try.

“I’m not a good man…I’m a selfish man…a man that loves you and can’t be without you..” He took your hand in his again before pressing his lips to it. “I promise…I’ll treat you better next time…no more tears…I’ll work less…I’ll cherish you better…I’ll be the man that deserves you…I” he stopped himself taking a deep breath, holding on to your hand for dear life. “I don’t know if I can be perfect but I’ll try-I’m trying”

“Chris…this can’t happen again…I love you…I really do…but…I love myself too much to let you hurt me that much again…”

“I promise! I won’t ever hurt you again…I know I’m a fuck up…but with you…I can be more than that…you make me better…I need you.”

You leaned closer taking his cheeks into your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Listen to me…you are not a fuck up. You are good enough…I love you.”

“I love you more” he leaned in pulling you into a kiss. “Come home please…” he whispered against your lips.

“Then make it feel like a home again…” you whispered back, pressing your forehead against his.

“I will…for you I’ll do anything..” he smiled softly leaning against your touch just enjoying your feeling. The feeling that made him feel whole again. He had always put his music first, it was about time he started prioritizing the very person he does all of this for. His motivation, his love, his inspiration. It all came from you, and he was going to prove how important you were to him, even if it took him a lifetime. 

Because you were worth it.

I'm stuck with a phobia

Although I want to stay with you

I'm stuck with a phobia

End.

You guys ever think about your ult and they’re just so perfect you make yourself sad over imaginary situations? Ok cool, I’m not alone. 

Also please  forgive any mistakes, or typos it’s 3am and I have to be up for work in three hours, so I’ll edit it later

Also If anyone wants to be part of my permanent tag list let me know, you’ll get alerted any time I post a new story. As of right now I’m only a Skz writer so if that’s your vibe lemme know~

Once again this is another fic I wrote like 5yrs ago and re-wrote it for this

∘Tags List:

@skzsprinkles @tophuphu @hugs4chan @channieboyo

[feeling-weirdy]

Here's a more serious prompt. Before the fallout of Team Captain A and Team Iron Man. Every citizen is saved from a tragic natural disaster... all but a 2 year-old child. Vision is the only one who can reach her, to recover her body. It effects him deeply because it is the first time in his short life that he has held a young life snuffed-out in his arms. Wanda notices the difference in his demeanor afterwards as he processes. Comfort and lesson on mortality and heroism even in "failures."

Vision had noticed the distinct difference in the number of disasters that had occurred over the past couple of months.  Ever since the fall of Ultron and his subsidiaries, ne’er-do-wells were becoming more brazen than ever before.  While he may not have been “alive” per say before Ultron, the data spoke for itself.  The rise of villainy had increased by at least 23%.  That number did not sit well with him.

Every outing, he pushed himself like never before.  Not allowing himself to do anything less than his maximum output.  He was fully aware at the stark difference in capabilities between himself and the other Avengers.  His power was far greater than theirs at an exponential rate, only growing stronger with time.  Vision’s strength and abilities were unmatched, making him the perfect sythezoid for the job to scan for survivors inside the building as it began its descent.

The very memory of everything that had transpired earlier that very day still shook him, unable to fully describe the odd feeling that rushed through him.  

Vision had done everything in his power to ensure that everyone in the building had escaped, but upon searching the rubble after the building had fallen, the team had discovered one small body.  Not everyone had been saved.

A heavy weight sat upon his shoulders as they made their way back to the compound.  No amount of thanks from those he had been able to get to a safe distance had been enough to shake the image from his mind.  Her small, lifeless body hiding beneath the debris.  Somehow, his programming had missed her.  The density of that realization crushed his very being, constricting his insides as he tried to focus on the task at hand: discovering the source of his malfunction.

The other members of the team had kept their distance, clearly sensing the unnatural aura that surrounded him as he remained in deep thought.  They kept to themselves on the other side of the plane, happy to give him space.  Their partnership had still been so new and Vision hardly blamed them for staying back.   Vision couldn’t help but notice his colleagues who taken it upon themselves to start celebrating in the back of the cabin, something that seemed frivolous after what just happened.  

Wanda was the first that came up to him, awkwardly sitting in the chair in front of him.  She was quiet for a moment, silently searching his features before speaking up.

“Hey...you alright?”  Her voice was soft and comforting, a small smile twitching the corners of her mouth.

“I'm conflicted...”  Vision rolled his head from side to side, hoping to fully understand himself and these strange feelings that kept him from finding the answers.

“Oh?”

“I am well aware that my capabilities allow me to do exponentially more than some of the others on board this very plane.  But, I...clearly have some faults in my programming as I was unable to locate everyone before evacuation took place.”  Vision tried to go through what had happened methodically, unable to fully discern why he had missed her.  A blind spot had to have been the culprit, but any internal scan he performed on himself turned up nothing amiss.

“Vis...”  Wanda drew out his name, chiding him softly.

Holding his hand up, he stopped her.  “I do not make errors.” His voice hardened as his throat hitched. He had been created as this perfect being, a fact he had slowly begun to doubt little by little as the days passed.  And now, he believed that to be completely false.  He should have been able to locate the girl as well.

Vision remained quiet, anger and frustration welling up inside him.  He had never felt so many complex emotions at once and feared the process would overwork his circuitry if he continued down this path.  

“It was just a mistake," Wanda said softly.

“A mistake that cost a child her life.”  

A silence grew between the two. He watched as Wanda grimaced, obviously unsure whether she was doing more harm than good by talking with him.  Loss and grief were factors he never understood, but he was uncertain whether those were the proper terms for what he was feeling at this moment.  He knew nothing of this girl, but the responsibility that he had to her and the failures that followed were beyond what his algorithm was able to bear.

“I know...I’m not exactly the best role model when it comes to this type of thing.  I mean hell, you talked to me about the same thing not that long ago.”  Wanda chuckled softly, running a shaky hand through her hair, playing with the tips as she reached the end.  

“This is quite different than your predicament.  That girl’s life sits on my shoulders.  I have failed.  Perhaps...”  Vision paused.  “My programming needs a more thorough scan once we return to the compound.  Sufficient measures should be put into place so that my mistakes do not take another life.  A full reboot may be in order.”

"Oh, Vis...You can’t think of it like that...”  A panicky look washed over her as she moved to the edge of her seat.  It was necessary for the Avengers to make sure that he was operational, should a reboot become necessary it seemed only logical.  Adjustments had to be made so these bugs do not repeat themselves.  

“And how should I think of it?”

Wanda sighed softly, leaning back in her chair.  Her eyes scanned the floor, mulling over her words carefully before she spoke her mind.

“Same way you told me.  Focus on those you saved and do better.”  She looked down for a moment, glancing out the window at the clouds that passed them.  While part of her words had indeed been from him the day Pietro died, Captain Rogers words had been added.  Do better.  The very words resonated with his core, only seeming to confuse him even further.  “Because of you, we saved a lot of people, Vis.  More than we would have had you not been there.  I don’t think that was a failure.”  

“Wanda,” he started, a hint of sadness still present in his voice.  “You misunderstand the point.”  

“No, you misunderstand,” Wanda snapped, looking back at him with sharp eyes.  “You’re more human than you realize...Mistakes happen.  We learn from our mistakes and save more people the next chance we get.  That’s it.”

Vision never expected this sort of outburst, a fascinating human trait that took even the being who said it completely off guard.  Words meant wholeheartedly, but perhaps not meant to be said.  A fact made evident as Wanda’s eyes widened at the realization of what she just said.  She bit her bottom lip, regret crossing her features as she curled her legs into her chest.

He knew perfectly well that he wasn’t human, but they both knew that wasn’t what she meant.  

“You’re allowed to make mistakes, okay?  You won’t miss anyone next time,” Wanda admitted in his place.  “I know you won’t.  You’ll do better.”  Vision nodded, not entirely sure the confusion and worry had been erased from his mind, but the wholeheartedness of Wanda’s words gave him hope that maybe she was right.  Next time, he’ll find a way to do better.  

Check out my other drabbles here or feel free to request some!

[consumedkings-archive]

v. equitable exchange ✤ pre-cult au

john/elliot + “ew, that is so sappy i might vomit” taken from this prompt list!

word count: 2k

warnings: john being himself. elliot’s mother is terror. otherwise, they’re just being cute and enjoying each other. also naughty language, of course!

“It’s incredible how relaxed you get,” John remarked, sitting across from her, “as soon as you get out of Hope County.”

Elliot blinked at him. They’d only been dating for six months, but in that short time, John had proven he was more perceptive than she might have given him credit for. Sure, he was a little dense (read: selfish), but he was exceptionally good at reading her, which was rapidly becoming a problem.

That was to say—Elliot did not like being so easily read. Especially not at a dinner table in a fancy restaurant, after not having seen John for two weeks because work had gotten so busy she’d thought about pretending to be dead to get a few days of rest, and then resurrect herself Christ-like to get back on payroll.

“It’s not Hope County,” she explained after a moment. She opened her mouth to say, it’s my mom, she’s fucking bananas and will not stop harassing me about dating some nice boy that one of her ex-debutante frenemies mentions on the phone every day, but that felt like a lot to say all in one go, and a lot to say to John Seed, so she didn’t. “It’s just—stuff.”

“Ah, the ever-enigmatic and elusive stuff,” John reiterated, snagging her hand and bringing her fingers up to his mouth to kiss. “Turn that brain of yours off for a few minutes, won’t you? If you’re not going to elaborate on what it is that’s bothering you.”

“Sure,” Elliot replied dryly, “let me just find the switch here and…”

As she was busying herself mock-searching for the non-existent flip that would shut her brain down—and wouldn’t that be nice, to be fucking brain dead for a moment?—her eyes traveled the length of the room and stopped short on a tall, lean blonde laughing with a few other women as they walked into the restaurant.

Their eyes locked. The woman said, “Elli?” and in an act of self-preservation, Elliot scooted her chair out from the table abruptly and came to a stand, as though to sprint away.

“Ell?” John asked as she ripped her hand away from him.

“Uh,” she said. She then failed to elaborate.

“Elli, is that you?” her mother called, more fervently now, that sugar-sweet Southern drawl ringing around in her head as the alarm systems went off. Oh no, she thought frantically, trying to think of quick ways out—bust a glass open and just end it, maybe, pretend like she had amnesia, or literally anything—oh no, oh fuck no, oh God, fuck, I can’t do this, not right now, I’m not prepared.

“We have to go,” she blurted out. “John? Earth to John? Code red, we’re leaving.”

“But I just opened the wine—”

“Elli, that is you!”

Bless his heart, John continued curiously, “Who is that?” when he noticed the woman, and Elliot stifled a moan of agony.

“That’s stuff,” she hissed, grabbing his hand, “please, can we go—”

All of her fight-or-flight had kicked in, which was ridiculous if someone were to look at the situation objectively—that she was having this kind of a reaction, but if anyone knew anything about Scarlet Honeysett it was that—

“Go where?” her mother asked, now standing directly in the nearly-perfect geographical center between Elliot and John, on the other side, and it was painful to experience. Scarlet looked, per usual, absolutely polished; meticulously-maintained golden hair perfectly curled, her blouse and skirt pressed and prim.

“Nowhere,” Elliot managed out. “I’m—nowhere, mama. Just—” She scrambled. “Just thought I saw a… Spider on the table.”

“Ah,” Scarlet replied, and she didn’t sound convinced. A long moment stretched where she was aware of her mother waiting for her to introduce John and John waiting for her to introduce him, when finally her mother said, “Well, who’s your little friend, honey?”

Little friend. Like they hadn’t been dating for six months (not that she knew), like she didn’t let John fuck her filthy every time they visited each other. Elliot felt a dizzying surge of anxiety shoot through her body and tried to push it down.

“He’s m-my—John,” she said, and immediately kicked herself. Dropping his hand unceremoniously, she added, “My… boyf-uuh… boyf-f-”

“… boyfriend,” John finished for her, like she hadn’t just gone fucking stupid in the last five minutes for some reason. He gave her a funny, questioning look before he turned his full charm on and reached his hand out to Scarlet. “John Seed. It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Honeysett, I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you.”

Scarlet shook his hand. Her gaze flickered down, and before John could retreat, she turned their gripped hands so that the top of his was facing up, inspecting it critically. Her eyes turned back to Elliot.

“He has tattoos,” she said and did not ask, in the kind of forced friendliness she used when she was talking to one of the aforementioned ex-debutante frenemies that liked to gossip about her.

“Yes,” said John, which was really all he could say.

“It wasn’t a question, darlin’,” Scarlet murmured idly.

“Mama,” Elliot began, “we should—um, can we—it’s just—”

“Elliot Savannah!” came an additional voice, and oh, she just wanted to shrink up and disappear when the flowery rose-perfume scent washed over her. The shock of bright auburn hair immediately came into her vision and warm arms were thrown around her neck. “I was wonderin’ if we were ever gonna see you again. Aw, honey, look at your red little cheeks.”

“Delia,” Elliot greeted, feeling faint. She returned the hug but could not ignore the way that John stood to the side. She was sure that he wasn’t accustomed to not immediately charming the pants off of anyone, and certainly, it was partially her fault they were now in this situation—after all, she hadn’t prepared him at all for what her mother was like. “It’s—so nice to see you again.”

“So nice to see you, my sweet girl,” Delia replied warmly. It was not lost on her that her mother’s one true friend was the first to reach and hug her, not her own mother. “And your very handsome man-friend, too.”

Delia swept away from Elliot to rescue John, who looked almost relieved to be admired and chatted to rather than glanced over with the sort of critical eye that Scarlet afforded to just about everything and everyone that came across her path. Delia’s apparent rescue of John left Elliot to shift under her mother’s gaze.

“Bunny,” Scarlet said, keeping her voice very mild, “have you been cutting your hair short?”

“Mama,” she sighed.

“I just think you look so pretty when it’s long. You know, your daddy never knew what to do with all that hair, but he learned to braid it just for—”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Elliot interrupted before her mother could wax poetic about the things that her father did well prior to his clinical and methodical abandonment of them. “And I haven’t seen John for a few weeks, so.”

So. The word hung between them, the sound of Delia fawning over John and feeding him all of the admiration and older-woman-flirtation he could probably want, and Scarlet waited. She didn’t speak; she was exceptionally good at this kind of little game, which they had always played, where Elliot would say something like so with the implication that Scarlet should be able to infer what she meant and her mother would refuse to.

“… just love our Elliot,” Delia gushed warmly. “You’re taking good care of her, aren’t you?”

“Oh, the very best,” John assured her. “It’s been—”

“Six months,” Elliot supplied.

Scarlet arched a brow upward. “That’s a long time to be seeing someone.” She glanced at John. “And so alternative, too.”

“Mother.”

“I only mean,” Scarlet continued, “that I wish you would have said something. I’ve been chatting with Blaire and her son is very interested in meeting you. It just feels rude to take it back, is all, and if you answered my phone calls—”

“I’m busy with work,” Elliot protested.

“But not busy enough to date someone secretly for a few months,” her mother shot back with all of the practiced politeness of a woman who made a living out of it.

John cleared his throat. “Six months.”

Elliot passed a hand over her face, exhaling sharply through her nose as she muddled through the anxiety and fury that her mother tended to inspire in her. A moment of silence stretched, too long and far too uncomfortable, before Delia clapped her hands together and made a soft sound.

“Well, I am just starvin’!” she exclaimed. “Scarlet, honey, you ready to eat?”

“I haven’t any kind of appetite,” Scarlet responded spitefully, and Elliot groaned and said, “You are so petty,” just as her mother plunged on, “but I suppose I’m ready to go.”

“Great,” Delia said, feigning cheerfulness. “Elliot, you’ll come and find us before you leave, won’t you? We’ll let you get back to dinner with your honey, and we’ll be waitin’ for you.”

As Delia steered her mother away and back to where the gaggle of ladies were standing around and watching the interaction from a safe distance, John sat himself back down at the table and poured his glass full of wine—far beyond what was normally considered a regular pour—and then did the same for her glass.

Elliot sat too and brought the glass to her mouth. Even though her mother’s presence inspired in her the most homicidal tendencies, so much so that she tried to avoid drinking at all around her, it felt necessary at this moment.

“That can’t be your mom,” John said conversationally. “She’s so tall.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Bunny?”

Elliot moaned, burying her face into her hands. It was the worst possible series of events that could happen: there was nothing in her that had prepared in the least to have to explain herself to her mother, and so of course the thing that she had done was not explain anything, because Scarlet Honeysett could not resist taking a dig at her daughter at any point in time.

“Hey,” John said lowly, scooting his chair over so that they were no longer on opposite ends of the table but rather perpendicular from one another, “drink your wine, we’ll lock the door on their insanely pretentious bathroom-with-a-couch, I’ll get you nice and relaxed, and then you’ll be ready to deal with your mom again.”

“You don’t get it,” Elliot protested, even when John’s words made heat crawl up into her cheeks

“I don’t really need to,” John replied flippantly. “Who gives a fuck if your mom doesn’t like me?”

“I do!” she insisted, distressed. “I care, and I had a very specific way that I wanted you to meet her, and she’s—God, she’s so—she always ruins fucking everything, John, you don’t get it.”

John leaned in, tilting her chin up, and kissed her. When he did, he tasted like red wine; his fingers slid to the back of her neck and cradled her there so that he could say against her mouth, “I’m not worried about it, hellcat.”

“I am.”

“Well, stop,” he replied amusedly. “You’re my girl, and regardless of your—very tall and honestly, statuesque—mother’s opinion of me right now—”

She sighed. “John.”

“—I will make sure that she likes me,” he finished. “I will charm her so fucking hard she’ll be begging you to marry me.”

Elliot made a low, tired sound. After a second, she said, “You’ll have to go to galas. And gatherings. Weddings. There are always so many weddings. Not to mention the charity functions, and—”

John hummed. “I will. Every single event that she invites me to. Maybe even a few she doesn’t, you know, just for fun.” He paused, and kissed her again. “All for you, baby. Anything for you. Even suffering through debutante events.” And then, playfully: “Bunny.”

“Ew,” the blonde groaned, suffering through the saccharine. “That is so sappy, I might vomit.”

“Please don’t,” he said, “I’m really enjoying kissing you.”

Elliot smiled against his mouth. “Okay,” she murmured, “but only if you don’t ever fucking call me bunny again.”

“Fair trade.”

[magioftheseas]

Rose Stem Asphyxiation

Summary: In one life, Hilise and Gabrielle try to be sisters.

Rating: T+

Warnings: References to violence, murder mostly fraticide, suicide, child abuse... Canon-typical stuff, tbh, even if this is canon divergence.

Notes: I just don’t get enough opportunities to write fucked up sisterly relationships and if Untouchable Lady is going to give me a dynamic that I think has potential, then I’m gonna go for it. Sorry that there’s no Axion. There’s no male characters at all beyond a couple of cursory mentions. Sorry~

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

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“Hiliseeee!”

Gabrielle tackles her arm with innocent glee, but there’s a maid nearby who flinches. Unperturbed, Gabrielle beams up at her. The perfect image of the adorable little sister.

It should be satisfying if not endearing. No matter what Hilise does, it’ll always be Gabrielle who is the darling of the Inoaden household.

And yet, Hilise remembers the first time she saw Gabrielle embrace their father.

The way Gabrielle embraces her right now.

And the bitter resentment that stains her soul burns like a fresh wound.

“Are you going out, sis?” Gabrielle asks, and her bright inquiry snaps her from her dark mood. “I can come, right?”

No, it’s different.

The way Gabrielle squeezes her arm is with a hint of desperation. Unease. Gabrielle’s usually effortless smile twitches at its edges.

“Of course you can come,” Hilise says, watching Gabrielle relax.

Gabrielle who nuzzles against her, giggling all the while.

Gabrielle who has never had to fear their father, but her fear here is quite justified.

Hilise could kill her, after all. Has killed her before, in fact, albeit in a past life.

And she could never quite forget that look of sheer terror.

How Gabrielle cowered, scrambling back pathetically and looking up with those usually bright eyes torn up with hideous tears.

Hilise had let her scream her throat out raw. Begging for someone—anyone—

That...had perhaps been too cruel of her.

Next time, she’ll just snap Gabrielle’s neck first. What good came from saving her for last? If it was meant to be mercy, it was a poor execution.

The two sisters go shopping and it’s overall an uneventful trip.

--

She already knows there’s no usurping Gabrielle’s status as a darling, but at the very least, she can play the role of a loved older sister. Rather, she can pretend.

Unlike her father and her brother who will never truly love her—will never even pretend to love her, Gabrielle is different.

Gabrielle will give her easy smiles and shower her with easy affection. Gabrielle will offer her jewelry and adornment and this time, it wouldn’t be a mere childish prank. Even now, Gabrielle enjoys treats with her, humming with pleasure.

Hilise smiles at her mildly, but it feels miserable. Doesn’t fit quite right on her face, either. Well. It’s not too bad. Better than her disastrous relationship with Christian. At least Gabrielle lacks the depth to hate this arrangement.

Gabrielle is happy as long as she is doted on and spoiled.

It’s as enviable as it is contemptible.

“So, for the next ball,” Gabrielle is saying. “There’s this dress I really want to wear. You should see it! It’s going to be the start of a new fashion trend!”

She is well aware.

“I’m sure,” she replies simply, meaning it. “However, you are looking to impress Christian Parvenon as well, right?”

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Gabrielle asks, eyes alit with anticipation. She’s so radiant it makes her stupid. “I don’t want him able to keep his eyes away! Oh, but, you should get dressed up too all nice and pretty too, sis.” A touch of discomfort at Gabrielle’s smile. “As long as you don’t distract Christian, then it’s fine...”

Even now, Gabrielle can’t help but be a little entitled. It’s fine. Hilise doesn’t have any interest in him.

“I...” She doesn’t... “I don’t really care about getting a husband.”

“You don’t?!” Gabrielle gasps, aghast at the idea. She’s just too naïve to not be sincerely surprised. “Do you not like anyone?!”

“No.” There is no use in hesitating or drawing it out. “I’m not.”

“You should let me introduce you,” her sister says, already excited. “There are plenty of handsome bachelors from good families! I hear aaaaaaall about them!” She brags, proud of the social life she has that Hilise was never allowed. “I know all the gossip, too! I’ll make sure not a single scandalous guy enters the equation! You can count on me, dear sister!”

...the thing is that Hilise doesn’t doubt it.

That’s the thing, isn’t it, that Hilise never doubts a word Gabrielle says.

Gabrielle can play pranks, but like this, Gabrielle would never lie. In fact, she offers up answers without even needing to be prodded. Hilise nearly needs to sip her tea like so, and Gabrielle is already chatting up a storm about the aforementioned gossip. Quite spiritedly, at that.

She’s so eager.

So desperate.

As if this is life or death, when it’s just another vapid method of filling space and passing time. Something to do as Hilise waits for the end of this loop.

How shall I attempt dying this time?

She considers, for a second, pushing Gabrielle into it. But with how Gabrielle is still yapping away, Hilise thinks it would be too tedious an avenue to pursue.

It’d be a change of pace, but she’s not like my father nor my brother. She doesn’t have the bloodlust nor the blood running through her veins.

(Or so she thought.)

“Sis!” Gabrielle exclaims, realizing that she is not being listened to. The indignance has her cheeks puffing out. “Are you paying any attention?!”

“I am,” Hilise says simply, thinking of puncturing those perfectly round cheeks with thorns. “It’s just—that I’m not interested. Sorry.”

“Why not?!” Gabrielle demands, more out of confusion than frustration. “Don’t you want to...?”

“No.” Hilise doesn’t care to hear the rest. “I don’t want to court, much less marry.”

There’s no point. I won’t be loved either way.

“Y-You can’t just stay alone forever,” Gabrielle points out shakily. “I mean, that’s just...that’s really... Hilise...”

Oh?

Is that pity?

Is that sympathy?

Is Gabrielle sad for her?

Hilise straightens up. She sets down her cup. She folds her hands into her lap. She stares, bores holes into Gabrielle’s twisted-up face from her trembling downturned lips to her downcast eyes.

Gabrielle is at a loss for words for once.

It’s quite the sight.

“Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle perks up immediately. Attentive. Outwardly anxious. Adorable. Precious.

“If I have you,” Hilise says smiling. “I won’t ever be alone, right?”

Gabrielle doesn’t smile back.

Not at first.

When she does, it’s clear she has to make an effort.

“O... Of course...!” She trips over her words. “You’ll always have me...!”

I think...

“I’m glad,” Hilise replies, still smiling. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Gabrielle insists. “We’re sisters, aren’t we? Obviously, I’ll always...”

When I get bored of this...

“...be with you...”

I’m going to throw myself off the roof without a bed of roses to embrace my fall.

--

She had dreamed of having a normal family once, but it was always a distant, childish dream. Even when given other chances, she had known on some level that it was impossible for her. That she wasn’t meant to be loved by her father and brother—it just couldn’t be helped.

As for Gabrielle, well—Gabrielle filled the void of beloved little sister and daughter. Even if it wasn’t Gabrielle’s fault, that was the simple fact of the matter. At least she was still innocent, Hilise thought.

And  Gabrielle could be swayed and won over with such ease. What was the harm, then, in indulging a little? What was wrong with wanting some familial love? Even if it was shallow, it was Gabrielle.

Gabrielle was innocent and lovely, right? Everyone loved her for a reason. Even if Hilise couldn’t be her, she could be with her and pretend, if only for a moment, that Gabrielle loved her.

Gabrielle was bright. Gabrielle was lovely. Gabrielle—was never going to understand.

“You’ll die for Gabrielle’s sake, won’t you?”

Whatever sisterhood she may have wanted, had wanted dearly at that, was just another pipe dream.

There wasn’t much point in wanting it. Not when she was never going to get it no matter what she did. Illusions were always meant to fade and the loop was always going to restart.

“It’s fine, you can come back, so it’s fine. Just bear with dying one more time.”

Her father was always going to hate her. Ricardo was never going to love her. And Gabrielle, well—she was too innocent of the world. Even when she snapped, she was going to be sheltered and protected. Gabrielle could be persuaded to love her, but they weren’t ever going to inhabit the same world. Not when one of them only knew love and the other...knew nothing of the sort, even as she longed so much for it.

Whatever.

Just.

Whatever.

I think I’m done with everything, with both love and family, Hilise thought tiredly. I don’t even care anymore.

--

The truth is that I could have been fine never being loved. I just wanted someone to worry about me. Did I ever have that, even for a moment? Or was that just a delusion?

It didn’t matter anymore.

It didn’t.

She couldn’t do this anymore. Because regardless of the end, they’re never going to care about her.

Trash till the end, Hilise thought, exhausted. Still...do you want to know something? It wasn’t too bad to pretend for a bit. Thanks for that, Gabrielle.

But I’m still going to throw you away with everything else.

[quixotin]

Adrinette April Day 2: Rebellion

@adrinetteapril

Read on AO3  scene adapted from Chapter 9 of The Wall Between Us

Marinette let go of a long sigh as she reclined her back against the cool wood of the bench. She was at the park next to her house. It had been a long, long day at school and she was happy that it was finally behind her. Sketching for a few minutes, sitting under the cool shade of a tree always helped her shed the frustrations of the day; particularly one as taxing as this one. She made herself comfortable on the bench, took a deep breath, and gathered her creativity, focusing it at the tip of her pencil as she prepared to spill it into a design. As she did this, she lifted her sight to find the muse of the day, something that might be worth putting into paper. 

Something like... Adrien sneaking out of fencing practice?

The girl observed him from a baffled distance, witnessing the way he sported an uncharacteristic devious smirk on his face as he hurriedly descended down the steps of the school, two at a time. He looked to each side of the street, as if looking for spies, and darted in Marinette’s direction; to the park. 

The comical then happened: Stepping into the park, he shed his usual white overshirt and shoved it into his sports bag, produced an unassuming grey hoodie along with an insulting neon green cap, and quickly put them on. Merrily, he walked with a light spring towards the park kiosk to buy himself a soda and then proceeded to find a bench to sit on. 

Witnessing Adrien being so evidently pleased at breaking the rules was like watching a cat walk on its hindlegs: bizarre, to say the least. 

Marinette giggled at his confidence; at how sure he seemed that no one would be able to tell his identity under this poorly-thought disguise. She gathered the courage to go talk to him, just for a quick hello. Making the most of the fact he had not spotted her yet, she approached from behind him.

“FYI, you stick out like a sore thumb with that cap on,” she said, startling Adrien and prying a tiny gasp from him.

“Marinette!” he cried, tugging at his cap as if doing so might conceal his face better. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um... Designs,” she said lamely, lifting her sketchbook for Adrien to see. “But what are you doing here? Don’t you have fencing today?”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow. “How do you--”

Marinette’s face became red with embarrassment, quickly interrupting him hoping she hadn’t exposed the things she knew about him. “Just a lucky guess, heh, heh.” 

“I’m sneaking out,” he said, scanning the surroundings. 

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because you never know. Natalie always catches me. Sometimes I feel like she tapped my phone or something.”

Marinette pressed her lips into a sympathetic smile, with her courage quickly returning to her to poke fun at him a little more, “Well, one thing is for sure. You’re making it easy for her with that neon green thing on you.” 

“It’s the only cap I could find in the morning! Is it really that bad?”

“Take it off. You call less attention without it,” Marinette said with a giggle. “You wouldn’t be able to hide your identity for the life of you.”

Adrien laughed. “I’ll have you know I have excellent camouflaging skills.”

“Right, right. And I’m Ladybug.” 

Adrien grinned at her. His delighted heart missed a beat or two as he relished in the possibility. 

“Anyway,” Marinette said, nervousness building up inside of her at the prospect of being alone with Adrien. “I should probably get going, good luck with the sneaking out.”

“Wait!” Adrien said, more disappointed than he wanted to sound. “I, um... Would you like to spend some time with me? We could find something to do. If you’re not busy, that is.” 

Marinette ignored the warm blush that crept on her cheeks. “What-- yes. Co fourse! I mean of course! I mean--heh. Yeah, what--what did you have in mind?” 

Adrien beamed at her, stood up, and then gave her a little devilish smirk. Marinette couldn’t help but be both a little worried and infinitely curious to know what sorts of trouble Adrien wanted to get into.

They headed back to the kiosk again, this time with the mission of filling Adrien’s backpack with as many snacks as they could fit. To the clerk’s satisfaction, that involved practically emptying the little hut out of the day’s stock. 

Loot packed up and horrible neon green caps out of the way, Adrien led Marinette to stage two of his plan. They headed a few blocks away from the park, to a residential area where Adrien started testing for unlocked front doors in the apartment buildings. 

“What are you doing?” Marinette asked, a bit bewildered. 

“Looking for an open door,” Adrien explained, simultaneously finding what he was searching for. “Ah! Success!” he exclaimed, pushing the door open. “After you prin--After you.”

Marinette gave him a suspicious look but did his bidding, following him inside and then onto the building’s stairs. 

“Adrien what are you doing?” Marinette asked again, more evidently worried. “We’re going to get in trouble!” 

“No, we’re not,” he assured her as he consistently climbed up the staircase. “Trust me.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before,” she said as she reached the very last floor, finding Adrien negotiating with the lock of the only door there. 

He pulled what looked like a fancy, metal credit card from his wallet, and used to click the lock open. Marinette snorted at the sight. 

“Why use a platinum credit card in the Champs Elysees when you can use it to perform a misdemeanor,” Marinette said. 

“My thoughts exactly,” Adrien said with a wink, pushing the door to the roof open and seizing an indistinct brick that lay there to prevent the door from shutting close. 

“You are an actual teenage vandal aren’t you,” Marinette said, absolutely bewildered at Adrien’s criminal tendencies. “So is this how you spend your free time? Breaking into people’s roofs?”

Adrien giggled as he found a spot to sit near the edge of the building. “In a way, I guess you could say that.” 

Marinette shook her head, still in shock as she joined Adrien. 

Worried at her silence, and that she might think less of him for this little escapade, Adrien hurried to look for her validation. “Are you mad? I swear I’ve only done it a couple of times and if it makes you really uncomfortable we can go down. I’m sorry.” 

Marinette turned to see Adrien’s worried, expectant face. “What? No, no. I’m not mad! It’s okay. It’s just... I never thought you had it in you to be this...”

“Bad?” he asked, sadness staining his tone.

“Rebellious,” she offered instead. “It’s a bit odd. At school, you’re always so, so... perfect.”

Adrien scrunched up his nose. “I know, I hate it,” he confessed, pulling his legs to his chest responding to a subconscious need to hide. 

Trying not to delve too much into the thought, he reached for the bag where the snacks were and emptied their little treasure between them. He gestured for Marinette to have the first pick, which she indulged by grabbing a bag of chips and a bottle of sparkling pink lemonade. 

Adrien grabbed a pack of fruit gummies and plain sparkling water as he spoke again. “Most of the stuff I do, I do it for my father.” He sighed and then continued quietly. “But it doesn’t matter how hard I work, it always feels like it’s not good enough for him and I’m tired of pretending to be someone I am not.”

Marinette’s heart wrung at Adrien’s confession. A small part of her did wonder what brought him to trust her like this so out of the blue, but this and any of her other reservations flew out the window at the sight of him being so evidently upset. It pained Marinette to see him like that.

“I’m so sorry, Adrien,” she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Why? It’s not your fault.”

“I mean, I’m sorry that... that your father makes you feel that way.”

Adrien looked down, hugging his legs a little tighter. 

“But you can always be yourself around me,” she offered, with her voice trembling.

Adrien’s saddened pout slowly melted into a warm smile. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I like spending time with you, Marinette. You’re the greatest friend I could possibly have asked for.”

She tried not to pay too much attention to the utter disappointment that washed over her at the idea of Adrien seeing her as just a friend. Instead, she focused on the part that mattered: That he could have someone with whom he didn’t feel the need to pretend or put up an act. As Ladybug, she knew the burden all too well and didn’t wish it on anyone, certainly not on Adrien.

“Yep,” she said. “That’s what friends are for! Heh, heh.” 

“And um, you, too.”

“Me, too?”

“I mean, you don’t have to pretend around me...” he said, taken aback by the fact he was inexplicably blushing. “I notice that you always get, er... a little tongue-tied.”

“Oh!” Marinette piped, perking up with the dread that suddenly seized her. “That. Ha, ha. That’s nothing! I just... have... uh... you know me. I don’t-- I, why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien said, shrugging. “It’s just, this is the first real conversation you and I have ever had. It’s... nice. I wish we could do it more often.” 

Marinette laughed nervously, beyond herself with mortification and wondering whether Adrien actually knew the kind of influence he had on her. Maybe he did and he just enjoyed messing with her.

“I just... get a little nervous, that’s all,” she said sheepishly.

“Why? Is it because I’m famous?” Adrien said, adopting a smug flair. One that helped Marinette overcome her embarrassment faster than she could say ‘Lucky Charm’. She didn’t know exactly why, but Adrien’s smug, rebellious side--the side she had been witness to for the good part of the last few hours, helped her feel more at ease, more willing to use her own sass on him.

She rolled her eyes and playfully jabbed him with her arm. “You’re so full of yourself, aren’t you?  And here I was, thinking you were a perfectly polite, quiet, well-behaved boy. How wrong I was.”

“I’m all of those things!” Adrien protested as he shoved an indiscriminate handful of gummies into his mouth and leaned back. “But, you know,” he added with a small wink. “What other people don’t know, won’t kill them.”

“Show-off,” Marinette teased. 

“Only with the right audience,” Adrien said, defending himself.

Adrien was about to remark how Marinette was one to talk. How she convinced him of being the class sweetheart when in reality she was as sassy as they come. Unfortunately, he’d have to save that joke for later, because as they bantered, an Akuma rose in the distance. 

Duty called. 

[sproutsgcrden]

sentinel of naruhata | chapter two

mr. nice guy

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, one short scene implying sexual harassment (non-graphic), manga spoilers for my hero academia: vigilantes

word count: 3383

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If someone had told Koichi that he would get jumped, well, he may have believed them. That’s not too uncommon, especially around Naruhata. And it really wouldn’t be odd if it happened to him specifically. He just had that kind of luck. However, if they had also mentioned that a nine-year old would jump in and save him, he’d be a bit skeptical.

He honestly didn’t know if he quite believed what he had witnessed. One moment he was about to get hit by a guy he had managed to piss off earlier in the day, and the next some kid had shown up seemingly out of nowhere, threatening to steal his attacker’s quirk. Koichi didn’t think that was possible. Sure, there had been copying quirks, and erasure quirks were rare, but a quirk that allowed a person to take another quirk? That didn’t seem right, at least, it didn’t seem too entirely possible. A quirk is an integral, unique part of each individual- there’s no way somebody can take that, right? He could be wrong, it wasn’t like he was studying quirk theory.

As soon as the kid hightailed it out of the store with his strange assortment of items, Koichi knew he’d been in for it. He had already been late to work today because of the whole fiasco from earlier. He didn’t mean to run into Spiky Dude- it had just happened! Yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have been using his quirk in public, but he was running late! And then, of course, Spiky Dude just had to show up at the same convenience store Koichi worked at, and had to rough him up on the same day he was late. His manager was already absolutely pissed, and Koichi really didn’t want to stick around any longer than he had to in fear of a lecture, or something worse.

Luckily for him, he was nearing the end of his shift by the time Spiky Dude had entered the store, and the kid had helped him waste a lot of time due to the insane amount of items he was purchasing. All he had to do was clock out and sneak out of the door, which should be fairly easy. After punching out on the system and closing the register, Koichi grabbed his bag and began to get ready to leave.

“Haimiwari.” Koichi closed his eyes in disappointment, sighing before turning around with a fake grin.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

The angry tapping of the shoe really should have been enough warning, in hindsight.

------

The streets of Naruhata were busy for the late hour, not too unusual but it was something that Koichi didn’t want to bother with after the night he had. Of course that stunt had gotten him fired. Perfect. It wasn’t like it was his fault! He was the victim in all of this! What, did his boss really think that he wanted to get dragged into an alleyway and get beat up? Koichi grunted as he walked around a slow-placed couple. He would have to find another job and fast. Rent was coming up, and he still had payments due on his tuition. His left hand adjusted the strap of his backpack while his right passed over his face. This was too stressful to think about right now.

There was something he knew he could to help take his mind off of things for a while. Koichi’s eyes narrowed in determined concentration. Yeah, tonight was a good night for that.

------

The wind rushed through Izuku’s loose hair, tousling it beyond fixing. It felt wonderful, racing across the rooftops of an unknown city in the dead of the night. He was barely let out of his room and the training hall on good days- he could never hope to leave the confines of Kurogiri’s watchful eye. Which, unfortunately, meant that it was a rare opportunity to go outside… ever.

Izuku let out a harsh giggle, letting it echo in the air with a wide smile. He had never felt so free.

Slowing to catch his breath, Izuku pulled a wrinkled, old notebook out of his bag. Skimming through the pages, he stopped on the last entry he made. When researching Eraserhead, it wasn’t that hard to find out that the underground hero mainly patrolled in the Narahata Ward. However, it was a bit more difficult to find out specific times and locations of his daily patrols. He assumed that it changed quite frequently due to Eraserhead’s cryptid-like nature, but it was still frustrating to not know exactly where to find the hero. Especially since he wasn’t aware how much time he had before Tomura caught on to where he was.

However, Izuku did have a few locations that seemed to be promising. Most of them were hidden back alley’s, which made perfect sense. A majority of petty crimes took place during the day- they were a beacon to spotlight heroes, those who lived off the praise and popularity from civilians. But the nasty, evil villains? Oh, Izuku knew from experience that the worst of the worst were always found in the dead of night. Underground heroes always had to be on their toes, and it spoke volumes to Eraserhead’s vigilance that he’s remained pretty much untouchable and unnoticeable to those who wished ill intent.

Pulling up the map on his outdated phone, he inputted the first location he had written in his notebook. The specific alley was only about three blocks away. With a manic grin, Izuku pulled up the hood of his jacket and let Enhance swim through his veins once more.

------

The discs of air underneath Koichi’s palms lit up with a familiar burst of light, making the nineteen gleefully chuckle. The feeling of his signature All Might hoodie snugged tight over his torso provided him with an unexplainable comfort, as did the plain black mask covering the lower half of his face.

Koichi was inexplicably known for his plain nature at college (save for the rumors that said he was some creep that tried to lure girls into abandoned buildings. He really was just trying to make friends!), so it wasn’t like anyone would expect him to be the vigilante that ran around Naruhata at night.

Well, he supposed the word “vigilante” was a bit of an exaggeration. It wasn’t like he sought out and fought criminals, he just used his quirk to get around a bit faster and help out the common man. Koichi lost out on his chance of being a hero a long time ago, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t help people when he had a bit of free time. As Mr. Nice Guy, he was able to get a glimpse of what he had dreamed about being his entire life.

Koichi zoomed through the lit up streets of Naruhata, providing directions to the lost, helping find missing items, and picking up bits of random trash. Everytime he received a “thank you” his eyes lit up- it was nice to be appreciated sometimes. The chorus of grateful civilians echoed within his mind as he continued to do good deeds throughout the night. After a few hours, he found himself moseying down a side road in hopes of heading home.

“All that do-gooding sure does make a guy thirsty.” He slipped down his mask, mumbling mostly to himself as he readjusted the straps of his bag.

A water bottle was thrust in front of him, followed by a peppy voice. “Here ya go!”

Koichi took the water bottle without thanking, shouting a quick “thank you” to whoever handed him the drink. And then, once he realized what had just happened, immediately did a double-take. Wide eyes looked over to the side of the road, only to see a young girl with pink, puffy pigtails staring at him with a bemused smirk.

“Pop Step?!” Koichi straightened his posture. “What are you doing here?!”

Ignoring his question, she began to walk out in front of him, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket. “So… you’re the guy picking up trash around town?” Her hand went to frame her cheek in wonder. “What’s your name again? Cockroach Guy?”

Wide, admiring eyes became downtrodden in an instant, an annoyed glare taking their place. “It’s Nice Guy!”

“Whatever! You’re the one who alerted me to the fuzz during my show, right? I wanted to say thanks, somehow!”

Koichi was the one who let her know the police were coming when she was performing her illegal street show earlier in the day. He didn’t care much for her music, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see her get arrested. Either way, he wasn’t sure why that provided an excuse to essentially stalk him. “So, you’ve been tailing me all day, huh?”

“Yup! I saw you almost get pummeled by those customers while you were working at that convenience store! I probably wouldn’t have stepped in either way, but wow! You were lucky when that little kid showed up, huh? Gotta admit, Cockroach Guy, that was pretty lame!”

“I don’t do well with violence, okay!” Koichi felt his eye twitch in annoyance; it was probably time to get out of this conversation before he lost his temper.

Pop Step’s face twisted with confusion. “Isn’t that dweeby hoodie supposed to be an All Might cosplay? And yet, you suck at fighting? That totally makes sense…”

“Sure, I look up to the guy. I wanna be useful to society however I can, just like he is! It’s got nothing to do with fighting! And the hoodie isn’t dweeby! It’s cool!”

“However you can?” Pop Step giggled, using her quirk to jump ust high enough to appear a little taller than Koichi. “So you know your place, at least!”

Koichi clenched his teeth in frustration, stepping around Pop Step to try and speed around her. “Stop getting hung up on the details! Knowing your place is important! If you keep playing at being some sort of pop idol, the cops will catch you sooner than later.”

Pop’s face scrunched up with a flash of anger, and if Koichi hadn’t had the night he had, he may have even been terrified. “Hey! I’m not ‘playing’ at anything! I’m the real deal!” She sped up, stopping in front of him as she pointed a perfectly manicured finger in his face. “You’ll just have to keep an eye out for the police! Also, I’ll need you to usher in my fans, set up the venues, and sell some merchandise!”

“Are you pissed off or hiring me for a job?!”

“Don’t you need one? Wouldn’t be surprised if you got fired after what happened!” Pop didn’t even take a moment to notice Koichi’s crestfallen glance towards the wall. “Anyways! If anyone can help me, it’s you- Know Your Place Guy!”

“Ugh. It’s Nice Guy!”

“Oh whatever!” Pop Step turned away from Koichi in order to run further down the alley, sparing him a glance backwards as she made her getaway. “I went through all of this trouble to express some gratitude… I didn’t think it’d be such a big deal, asking a ‘Nice Guy’ like you to do a little work to help a girl out!”

Koichi, good mood effectively ruined once again, went to bite back with a response. That was, until a familiar group popped into his view. He flinched as he saw Pop Step run straight into the leader, none other than the Spiky Dude who threatened to pummel Koichi into the ground just hours before. He could do nothing but stare as the group cornered Pop Step up against the wall, no doubt making her uncomfortable. Probably much more so than he was when he was in her position.

Now, if Koichi were a hero, this is when he would pull out all of the stops. He would crouch low to the ground, speeding to the men terrorizing the young girl and knocking them all on their asses. He would make sure he sped Pop Step to a safe location before coming back to make sure those bozos got arrested like they deserved. But, Koichi wasn’t a hero. And he would never be one. What could he do? His quirk was essentially useless in a fight. The only thing he was good at was running away.

But didn’t he have a duty to try and help? After all, if he couldn’t find the strength to help a young girl in this kind of situation, how could he try to help anyone else? With shaky legs and a determined glint in his eyes, Koichi bent low to the ground. The familiar pulse of his quirk activating below him provided little comfort, but he knew he had to push through this fear and go.

Mask pulled up, Koichi flew against the dirty pavement, locking eyes onto one of Spiky Dude’s lackeys. Now, if he could just get by unnoticed this time, he could knock this guy off his game and get Pop out of there. But of course, things never go Koichi’s way. That’s his luck.

The man caught him, large physique towering over him. The small tuft of flame acting as his hair cast an eerie shadow against the ground. “Well, well, well… look who we have here! Hey, boss! It’s the cockroach from earlier!” Still holding onto the back of Koichi’s hoodie, the large criminal threw him against the wall.

The pain of his head hitting against the rough edges of brick didn’t compare to the spikes slashing against his cheek.

“That annoying brat ain’t here to save you this time.” Spiky Dude’s eyes seem to glow in the dark night, and Koichi couldn’t ignore the sinister feeling pooling in his gut. “You ain’t getting away with just a small beating this time. I’m going to crush you. And I’m gonna enjoy it.”

The spiky criminal stalked closer to him; Koichi’s eyes immediately latched onto the blood dripping from the thick barbs protruding from the knuckles of his enemy. Shit. Shit. What could he do?! He really was going to die. Koichi shut his eyes in gruesome anticipation, hoping that at least Pop Step was using this opportunity to get away. A rush of air flew past his nose, and he blinked slowly. Looking up, Koichi locked eyes with Spiky Dude. The skewers had vanished from his knuckles, and the same, pale look of absolute petrification the criminal wore earlier in the night was on his face once more.

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t going to warn you next time?” The familiar voice of the kid that had stepped in during Koichi’s earlier encounter with this group echoed through the street, venom and animosity clear as day in his tone. Even Koichi shrunk into himself in fear. His wandering eyes latched onto a figure leaning down from the rooftop above, All Might hoodie bright against the black of night.

“I was looking for Eraserhead, but maybe I can do his job for him tonight and knock you fucker’s out.” Holy shit, what was up with this kid?

Koichi had noticed earlier that the kid had bright green eyes, but they seemed almost electrified, bright green sparks lighting off in his pupils as his glare deepened. He jumped off the roof, floating just above the ground before he hit it at full speed. His hand was held out, and Koichi glanced at the numerous scars stretching against the palored skin.

While Spiky Dude was distracted, Koichi took the opportunity to get back on his hands and feet, and forced himself to crash into the lizard looking man that was still holding onto Pop Step. She used the momentum from Koichi along with her quirk to jump out of the way and out of the alley. In his happiness of the fact that Pop was able to make a getaway, he wasn’t able to stop his momentum. Koichi ended up crashing straight into the other wall, the force of it knocking out the criminal he held tight in his grip.

“There’s no need for that!” A deep, grudd voice echoed from the other side of the street, and before anyone could react, a large fist connected straight into Spiky Dude’s nose. “The name’s Knuckleduster. And it’s my job to take out the trash like you.” Koichi barely even blinked, and the next moment the other tone was conked out right beside the leader.

What the fuck was happening?!

------

Izuku sighed in relief as he felt the rubber band snap against the quirk he held in his grasp, sending it back to its original owner as some random old man knocked him out. He didn’t want to steal a quirk, but that dude really wasn’t going to give him any choice. Luckily some geezer showed up before he could make good on his threat. He watched the man with a careful stare, seeing as he checked each of the criminal’s tongues before standing back up. His red sneakers crunched against the pavement as he lowered himself back to the ground; he walked towards the cashier he met earlier and held his hand out for him to take.

The man sitting across from him scratched the back of his head in a sheepish manner, choosing to take Izuku’s hand in order to get back up. “Uh, suppose that’s twice you’ve saved me, huh kid? We really have to stop meeting like this.”

Izuku chuckled, nodding his head in agreement. A cough sounded behind the two of them, and they both turned around to find the old man staring straight into their souls. Knuckleduster’s bandana covered his entire head, including the top half of his face, only leaving holes to see out of. His black trench coat was grimy, not to mention ripped on the hemlines. Everything about this screamed “homeless old man”, even down to the gritty way the man seemed to fight.

Izuku couldn’t help but think the man seemed familiar.

“You take quirks or something, kid?” The man’s eyes narrowed, his already gruff voice deepened.

“No! I don’t take quirks! I was just playing a bluff, really!” Technically, Izuku wasn’t lying. He hadn’t ever willingly taken a quirk before. “I have an erasure quirk! That’s why I’ve been looking for Eraserhead. I’m hoping he’s willing to train me.” Now, there’s the lie.

“Hmph.” Knuckleduster’s eyes stayed on Izuku a little while longer, tense silence following before he shrugged it off. “You both show promise. Gotta admit, when I heard about Naruhata’s newest vigilante, I wasn’t expecting him to have a sidekick.”

Both Izuku and Koichi stared at him in shock, making the old man laugh. It was a hearty laugh, scratchy and sarcastic. “People are gonna make that sort of assumption when you’ve got two kids helping fight crime in the exact same hoodie.” The two boys flushed, causing Koichi to shake his head.

“We just met today.”

“So? Doesn’t mean the two of ya don’t work well together. I almost didn’t need to come down here. If it weren’t for the threat of Trigger I probably wouldn’t have. Don’t know if it’s luck or not, but these thugs didn’t have a trace of the drug on ‘em.”

“Trigger?” Izuku knew what he was talking about. His father was one of the main benefactors of the production and distribution of the drug. Or well, he was before he got forced into a coma. He had originally thought the distribution would slow after the underworld had found out about All for One’s current medical status, but it seems that wasn’t the case.

Knuckleduster waved it away. “I can explain that later. After you two accept my offer.”

Koichi paled, backing away from the crazy old man. “What offer?”

A sinister grin formed its way onto Knuckleduster’s face, making the duo in front of him back away even further. “Let me teach you kids what it takes to do hero work, and how great it feels to pound some villains!”

Koichi thought this man was absolutely insane and would only lead him to more trouble.

Izuku thought that he had enough training from the villains themselves.

They met each other’s gaze before turning back to Knuckleduster.

“We refuse your offer.”

[wiypt-writes]

Riding High

Ch19: Unfair Comparison

Chapter Summary: Fliss is not a happy bunny when she realises Frank hasn’t dumped the card.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, NO UNDER 18s!)

Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 18

  “What an ass hole." Greg shook his head, tossing the card onto the coffee table. "Tell me about it." Frank sighed as he ran his hand through his hair and leaned back heavily against the cushions of Greg's sofa. "I just..." "I know pal." Greg soothed him, "Technically you’re right, he has breached his parole. So Fliss would be perfectly within her tights to call the police. However, he’s gonna deny it, there’ll be an investigation…you’re back into statements possibly court again...all it needs is one member of a jury, if it even goes that far to doubt he sent it and..." "So I'm just supposed to sit back and let it lie?" Frank looked at Greg, almost pleading with the man to give him some kind of advice he could use. "In a word yes." Greg shrugged "and not least because that's what Fliss asked you to."

“I’m worried Greg.” Frank shook his head “Yes, it’s just a card but it proves he knows where she is…” “Not hard, her business has a website.” “Yes, I know that…” Frank started but Greg cut him off. “Frank, he can’t come out of Massachusetts. He cannot physically set foot outside of that state without his GPS tag tipping the police off.”

 Frank bit the inside of his cheek, his jaw twitching.

 “Look, buddy, I get it.” Greg continued, his tone soft “I really do…it’s shit. But for now the best thing for you to do is listen to Fliss.”

 “This is bullshit.”

“Tell you what. I’ll keep the card. If she gets any more stuff from him then we can build a portfolio and send it to the police. It’s more likely to come to something if we have more incidents.”

“So basically, we just have to wait until he sends her more crap and then we might, or might not be able to do anything?” “I’m sorry pal.” Greg shrugged.

“It’s not your fault.” Frank sighed, shrugging. “Sorry I snapped. I appreciate the advice.”

 “I wish I could be a little more positive.”

 “Don’t we all?” Frank said, slapping his thighs with his hands “I best get off, got stuff to do this afternoon.” Greg eyed him for a moment as he stood up, before he rose from his seat to see Frank out of the villa.

 “Just be there for Fliss ok?” he said as they walked to the door “Frank, if she’s asking you to do something, unless it’s really dumb then do it. Give her the control, yeah?” Frank merely nodded and then climbed into his truck, still as pissed off as he had been when he had arrived. He reached for his shades, slipped them on and headed down to the marina. He spent the afternoon cleaning the boat. And whilst it didn’t take him long as they hadn’t taken an awful lot with them, he decided to give the entire thing a good wash down and polish inside, more to keep him occupied. Paul arrived at just gone 3 pm, and was over the moon with the fact his boat had come back to him in a better condition than it had gone out in…making a quip that Frank could borrow it whenever the hell he wanted if it meant service like that.

He was just heading back to his truck when Fliss called him.

 “How are my girls?” he asked and she chuckled slightly. 

“Good, we’re done now so be heading home soon. What do you fancy for dinner? Anything in particular?” “I’ll swing by the store, pick up a few steaks and we can grill.” Frank said, climbing into the truck “And a bottle of Rioja?” “Perfect. Did you get rid of that card?” Frank hesitated for a second. “I took care of it.”

 “Frank?”  her voice had grew a little sterner. “What does that mean? What did you do?” “I took it to Greg.” he grimaced as she made an angry noise on the other side of the phone.

 “Damnit Frank, I asked you to get rid of it…” “I just wanted some advice. Thought I’d see what Greg made of it and-“

“You had no right to do that…” her voice was angry “That wasn’t your decision to make…” “Lissy…” he sighed “Look, let’s not do this on the phone. We can discuss it at home ok?”

 And then the familiar tone hit his ear, signalling she’d hung up.

 With a groan he banged his forehead against the steering wheel in frustration. He wasn’t looking forward one bit to that conversation.

He walked into the store a few blocks from their home, and for a second debated taking his time, just to stall but he knew he would simply be delaying the inevitable. It didn’t matter how long he left it, there was going to be an argument. He grabbed what they needed for dinner, and a few packets of snacks before he headed back out to his truck. 5 minutes or so later he was home, and walked up the steps, letting himself in. Fliss and Mary were both in the kitchen, Mary sat on the counter with a juice box, Fliss clutching a beer.

 “Hey…” he said, a little tentatively. Fliss gave him a tight smile and turned her head so that his kiss landed on her cheek. 

Yeah, he was in for it. Big time.

“You had a good day?” he asked, placing the bag on the side and looked at Mary.

 She nodded eagerly “I cantered today, off the lead line,” “Did you?” He smiled at her “Nice work Stack.” “Fliss got a video. Can we show Frank?” “Sure.” Fliss smiled at her, and pulled out her phone. She swiped at the screen and passed it to Mary who took it, and Frank moved so he could watch the footage over her shoulder.

 “My balance is still a little bit crappy…” Mary shrugged “But I didn’t fall.” “Your balance is fine.” Fliss said gently “You just need to keep your lower leg still but that will come in time. You’re doing great.” Mary beamed and handed Fliss her phone back.

“Why don’t you go get showered?” Frank looked at Mary “I need to speak to Fliss for a moment ok?”

 “Can I go on my computer once I’m washed up?” “Sure.” Frank nodded. She hopped down from the counter and wandered out of the room. Frank watched her go for a moment before he turned to see Fliss was stood looking at him. “So what did Greg say?” she asked, folding her arms

 “Nothing different to what you said.” Frank looked at her.

 “Right, and if he had said something different, like told you to go to the police, would you have done that behind my back too?” “No, of course not!” Frank shook his head as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, both hands either side of his body on the edge of the worktop, “That’s not what I-“ he took a deep breath “Honey, I just want to make sure that we do everything right. Greg’s gonna keep the card on file, says if you get anything else then he’ll keep that too, build a case.”

 Fliss looked at him for a moment before she shrugged “Whatever” “Whatever?” Frank frowned “That’s all you can say, whatever?” “Well what else am I supposed to say?” she looked back at him “You clearly know best…” “Fliss…” he sighed, “Don’t be like that…” “I’m not being like anything.” she shook her head “You’re the one that went behind my back, ignored what I asked you to do.”

 “With good reason…” “You know, I thought I might be at a point in my life where I get to make the decisions about things that directly affect or concern me but clearly, I was wrong…” “Woah, woah, woah, now hang on…” Frank pushed away from the unit he was leaning against, holding his hand up “Are you seriously comparing what I did to him….” “No, of course not.” she snapped. “Well that kinda sounds like what you were doing…” his hands fell to his hips.

 “Oh don’t be a dick, Frank.” she glared at him. “That’s not what I meant.” “Well what did you mean?”

 “I already said exactly what I mean!” she said, her voice rising in volume “You had no right to do that, no right at all to go behind my back like you did. I couldn’t do anything about him getting released, but the one thing I can control is how I react to this entire situation…and you took that away from me!” “You’re completely overreacting…” “Overreacting?” “Yes…” he strepped towards her “Liss, I didn’t do it to take control…nothing of the sort…” “How would you feel if you told me not to do something with Mary, something that meant a lot to you, and I still went and did it anyway?” “That’s…” he shook his head “That’s completely different.” “No, it isn’t!” she yelled back “It would be a complete disregard for your wishes, it’s exactly the same…” Frank looked at her, his eyes locking onto hers as she simply snorted and shook her head “You don’t even see what you did wrong do you?” “No, and I’m not apologising either.” he shook his head

“Of course you’re not.” she snorted “This is getting us nowhere.”

 With that she turned and called for Thor.

 “Where are you going?” he frowned, following her into the hall as she slipped on her sneakers.

 “Out.”

“Where?” he asked, when she didn’t reply he pressed again “Lissy.” “Piss off Frank.” she shot back, and with that she stormed out of the front door, slamming it behind her.

 Frank stood still, his hands on his hips before he dropped his head with a sigh.

 “Nice job…” he heard Mary say from behind him.

 “Shut up.” he snapped, a little harshly as he turned to face her. She glared at him and then rolled her eyes.

 “I’m going back to my room.” she said simply, stalking off down the corridor, laptop under her arm.

 Frank watched her go before he shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Way to go Adler, you fucking idiot.

**** Fliss angrily stomped across the lawn and took a right, Thor trotting at her heels. She walked down the path that led to the Marina, took a left and dropped down the stone steps onto the beach, pausing to remove her sneakers. She dug her toes into the sand, rolled up her riding britches as much as she could before she headed to the waters edge, allowing the water to splash over her legs, Thor giving an excited bark as he gambolled in and out of the waves.

She was angry. Angrier than she had been in a long time. But it was more than that, she felt betrayed in a way. She had asked Frank to do something, something she felt she was perfectly within her rights to request and he had deliberately ignored her.

 She wasn’t sure how long she had been stood there, simply looking out over at the horizon but she was jolted from her thoughts by her phone ringing. She debated ignoring it for a while, but eventually she pulled it from her pocket and took a breath as she realised it was her Dad.

 “Hey Pops.” she greeted him. “You ok?” “Yeah fine Titch.” he said, “Just noticed I had a missed call…” “Oh, yeah…” she said, for a moment she had forgotten she had called. She had been planning to tell him about the card but as she stood there, she wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore “It wasn’t important.” “Charming…” she heard her mother and Fliss let out a chuckle.

“You got me on speaker?”

 “Bluetooth.” Bill replied “We’ve been to the store.” “Stocking up for tomorrow.” Verity said “Can’t have a roast dinner with no potatoes…Mary would have a fit.”

 “Yeah…yeah she will.” Fliss said with a sigh.

 There was a pause before Bill spoke again “Lissy, you ok?” “Not really no…” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “Me and Frank, we had an argument…a pretty big one…” “What about?” Bill asked.

“So, this morning I had a card arrive at the yard…and it was from John…” Bill made an angry noise as Verity let out an exclamation.

“That’s…he’s broken his parole…” “I know, but they’re not gonna launch an investigation over a card…so I asked Frank to get rid of it. But he took it to Greg behind my back and…” She trailed off, rubbing at her temple.

“So I’m guessing you discussed your disappointment with him in a calm and collected manner…” Bill said sarcastically.

 “If by calm you mean calling him a dick and storming out then yeah.” Fliss replied.

There was another moment of silence and Verity spoke again. “Honey, look…I’m sure he did what he thought was right…” “That’s not the point!” Fliss groaned “the point is I asked him not to. And he did it anyway. The one thing I can control in all of this is how I deal with it. And he completely disregarded that.” “Look, Liss, I love you to pieces, we both do” Bill spoke “But so does Frank, and him taking that card to Greg won’t have been about going behind your back. Have you considered how he feels in all of this?” “How he feels?” “Yeah, this is…this is something he will never have dealt with before. Seeing some other man basically trying to terrorise his girlfriend…he’s going to want to hit back, try and see if there’s something he can do. This isn’t about control. It’s about keeping you safe.”

Verity picked up the conversation at that point.

“I see your point sweetheart, and yes, he should have discussed it first but...” “So you both think I’m in the wrong?” Fliss asked gently, as she looked at her feet, Thor returning to her side and flopping down on the damp sand. “No…that’s not what either of are saying, is it V?”

 “No, not at all. He had no right to go behind your back, I get that honey I do, but…well, this can’t be easy for Frank either. And maybe…” “Maybe you should cut him some slack.” Bill finished “He’s a good man Fliss, and heaven knows you waited long enough for one to come along.”

 “I know.” Fliss said quietly, the tears trickling down her face. “I know…” “I can hear the ocean…so go home.” Bill said gently. “Talk to him. Calmly. Don’t let that asshole get in the middle of what you two have Titch, you both deserve more than that.”

 She nodded to herself, wiping her face and then bidding her parents good-bye she placed the phone back in her pocket.  Mulling their words over she turned and headed back across the sand, the sun setting behind them as she made her way over to the food truck parked by the side of the boardwalk.

******

 By the time Frank had convinced Mary to speak to him so he could apologise for snapping, it was getting dark out. Fliss had been gone for a good hour and a half, and Frank was getting a little concerned. He was just about to call Roberta to watch Mary whilst he went out looking, when the door opened and Thor padded into the living room.

 Frank stood up and turned to see Fliss in the doorway. Her eyes locked onto his and he gave her a small smile.

 “I was getting kinda worried.” Frank said softly “Wasn’t sure you were coming home.”

 “Neither was I.” she replied honestly and Frank swallowed slightly as she looked at him and sighed “I’m going for a shower then to bed. I’m tired.” “Ok.” he nodded “Do you want something to eat or…” “I grabbed a burger when I was out.” she shrugged, “I’m fine, thanks.” There was a moment of silence during which Frank simply nodded and then Fliss turned and headed down the corridor, popping her head into Mary’s room to say goodnight. Once he watched her open the door to the bathroom and shut it behind her, he set about quickly tidying the kitchen up, tossing the empty beer bottles into the recycling box under the sink before he loaded the dishwasher and set it going.  He moved around the living room, tidying a few things away before he turned the lights off and made his way into the bedroom.

Fliss was led on the bed, remote to the TV held in her hand as she glanced up at him for a second, her eyes flicking back to the screen on the wall. 

“You still mad at me?” he asked tentatively as he pulled off his t-shirt. She looked at him for a second and sighed.

 “Dad told me I was being an idiot.” “Right.” he said, sitting down on the bed next to her, extending his legs down the bed “That’s not answering my question sweetheart.” “I don’t know anymore” she shrugged “Yes, I’m still mad you did it…but I understand why. The fact you had the right intentions doesn’t make going behind my back any better.” “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that, and yeah, ok, I should have asked you first, talked it over.” Frank conceded nodding “I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry if you thought before that I was saying you’re anything like him because you’re not…and I know that…because I can get mad at you and…well, that makes it impossible to stay mad at you for long…”

“What?” Frank looked at her, smiling, his eyebrow raised. “What does that even mean?” Fliss looked at him, a faint smile on her face as she sighed “It means that I can get mad at you, and shout, and leave in a temper tantrum for a walk or whatever, without worrying that when I come back you’re gonna hurt me.” Frank looked at her for a moment, as her words sunk in. Something so simple as having an argument was such a huge thing for her, and the fact she even saw having an argument as a measurement of how much she could trust him because she felt comfortable enough to call him out on the things he did that she didn’t like or agree with, was utterly fucked up. But in a strange way, made total sense.

 She could argue with him because she felt safe…

 Frank moved so he was led on his side, propped up on his elbow facing her, his hand gently reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked down at him where she was led, shoulders leaning against the bottom of the head board of the bed. He could see she was getting upset now, her brown eyes were watering and with a sigh he gestured with his head and opened his arms and she shuffled down further, allowing him to pull her into his chest, gently kissing her head.

 “I love you.” he said softly “So much. I only went to Greg because I was worried. I’d do anything to keep you and Mary safe, you know that.”

 “I know…” she said quietly as he slid his finger under her chin, lifting her head so that she was looking at him. Lowering his head, he kissed her softly, his hand cupping her cheek as his lips gently worked against hers. She relaxed into him, allowing him to deepen the kiss, his hand tangling in her hair as her fingers softly skated through his short beard. Frank let out a smile against her mouth and she pulled back to look at him, her soft, brown eyes searching his.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing…” he smiled, “I just like it when you do that…” “What? This?” she asked, her nails scratching slightly against his whiskers and he let out a sigh of satisfaction, giving a nod. Fliss watched him for a second as his eyelids flickered shut, those ridiculously long lashes resting against his cheeks as she continued to gently run her hands through his beard, before she shuffled closer and pressed her lips to his.

 “I like it when you do that too…” he chuckled and she smiled against his mouth. They continued trading soft, tender kisses before Frank slowly moved so that Fliss was led under him, caging her with his arms as she gently ran her hands through his hair, pulling his head back down to kiss her again. His lips gently trailed along her jaw line to that spot on her neck just below her ear where he gave a soft nip causing Fliss to let out a soft moan. Her hips bucked upwards slightly, drawing a soft growl from Frank’s throat at the feeling as she pushed against him, all the time his mouth continuing its path downwards, tracing the line of her throat as his hands reached down and gently tugged at the hem of her vest top. She sat up slightly allowing him to remove it and he fell back over her, his lips latching back onto her neck, drawing another soft groan from Fliss at the feeling of his beard scratching against her skin and the contrast of his soft lips. His tongue circled the swell of her breast before he gently took a nipple into his mouth, listening to her keens as he teased her, his other hand sliding down over the curve of her hip, fingers brushing the hem of her sleep shorts before he slid his hand beneath the material, parting her folds as he began to tease her with his fingers, coaxing more and more wetness from her as he went. He glanced up to see her head was thrown back against her pillow, eyes shut in utter bliss as she bit her lip.

 “Look at me.” he said softly, moving so that his face was hovering over hers again, fingers still working. She opened those deep brown eyes he felt he could drown in and her pupils were blown with desire. His fingers picked up their pace and he slid one, then two inside her, curling against her spot over and over again.

 “Frankie…” she panted as her back arched, “I..”  her words stopped as she found herself unable to form them any longer, instead issuing a low gasp which turned into a groan as her eyes fluttered shut and she convulsed underneath him, tighten around his fingers. Eventually she relaxed and her breathing evened out slightly and she looked up at him, a soft smile on her face before her hand slid up into his hair, as he slanted his mouth over hers.

 Then it was a fast scramble to get both of them out of the last remaining, thin barriers of clothing before Frank nestled into the v of her legs, mouth nipping at her collar bone.

 “Want you…” she purred into his ear and fuck, did he want her too. Her hand reached down between them, and she gently lined him up, pressing her lips to his.

“Don’t keep me waiting Sailor.”

 And Frank, not one to refuse his girl what she wanted did as she asked, worked into her with a steady, gentle movement which made him shudder, dropping to his elbows over her as she gave a soft moan. Her hands gently gripped at his broad shoulders as he began to move, his thrusts slow and gentle at first, hips rocking against hers. Their mouths crashed together in a sloppy kiss as she raked her nails down his back, the sting on his skin caused desire to lance through him even more and he gave a groan, picking up the pace slightly, her body moving with his from each steady thrust, skin sliding against skin, the soft sounds of sex and groans and whimpers filled the air and half the time Frank was at a loss as to who exactly was making them. 

 “More…” she begged softly, and he hooked his hand under her knee, wrapping her leg up round his waist allowing him to drive deeper. She gave a loud mewl underneath him as her nails dug further into his shoulders as he moved faster, reading the signs she was giving him, his hips now snapping back and forth with a needy desire, the carnal want he had for this woman consumed him and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

 “Come on baby…” his breath was ragged on her ear as he gently sucked at that spot again, feeling her writhing underneath him. “I got you, let go…”

 His breath caught slightly as she tipped her head to press her lips to his, the kiss heated and he swallowed the loud groan she made before her head fell back her hands gripping to his back as if her life depended on it.

 “Frankie…I’m…gonna…” she managed to stutter before her mouth once more slackened and her sultry lament made Frank shudder as her body shook underneath him, her leg twitching as he held it tight round his waist. Her heat gripped him, pulsing again and again and he felt the burning deep in the pit of his stomach, the surge of his own orgasm felt like it was rising from his very toes as he drove into her once more.

 “Fuck, Lissy…” he mumbled and a guttural rumble erupted from his throat as his hips stuttered slightly before he made another few shallow thrusts before he collapsed forward, burying his head in her neck as the afterglow consumed him.

 He had no idea how long passed before he managed to muster enough about himself to raise his head. She still had her eyes closed but there was a satisfied smile playing on her lips, one he couldn’t help but mirror. As he watched her face, the tip of his nose gently resting against hers, her eyelids flickered open and he smiled down at her, gently pressing their foreheads together.

 “Ok?”

 “Yeah…” her voice was raspy and she swallowed “That was more than ok…” He chuckled as he met her lips in a soft kiss, before he gently rolled off her, laying on his back and reaching down for the duvet which was tangled around their legs. After a short wrestle with it and a bit more giggling they both settled down, Fliss’ head on his chest as he lay on his back, his hand softly carding through her hair.

***** The next few weeks skipped by fairly uneventfully, bar the almost meltdown Mary had when it was revealed to her that she wouldn’t be going back into Bonnie’s class when September rolled around. Frank tried to explain to her that wasn’t how school worked but she was besides herself, declaring she wasn’t going back to school if that was the case, leaving Frank groaning about the possibility of repeat of the scene they had the previous year.

 In the end, it was the twins that managed to explain it to her. Steve and his family came over to visit again for 2 weeks in the middle of August and the boys Charlie and Joel spent a lot of time at Fliss and Frank’s for sleepovers, Fliss loved having her nephews to stay and the boys thought Frank was the best person ever when he took them out on a boat he borrowed from work, allowing them each to take a go at sailing. Or being Pirates as they excitedly exclaimed.

One night when they were all sat in the lounge getting ready to settle in for a movie, Frank overheard Charlie telling Mary all about how he was looking forward to moving into the bigger classroom and learning cool news stuff. He could see the cogs whirring in her head and Fliss had smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek, whispering that she’d told him it would all work out in the end. And, thankfully, she was right.

One person who was NOT looking forward to the return of the school year was Bonnie. One Thursday night she called Fliss begging her got on a girl’s night out as she needed to blow off some end of holiday blues. Fliss agreed and arranged to meet up with her on Saturday evening. The weekend rolled round fairly quickly and Fliss was in a good mood when she arrived at work, a few lessons to do before she could head home and start getting ready. She was just heading out to the first one when her phone rang. The number was withheld but that wasn’t uncommon as a lot of people called about lessons in such a way.

 “Fliss Gallagher…” she answered. No one spoke in response. “Hello?”

 Nothing.

 With a shrug she cut the call and replaced it back into her pocket, making her way over to the paddock, when the phone went again. She repeated the process and there was still no one talking on the other side. 

“You ok?” Joanne looked at her, as Fliss frowned.

“Yeah, I just had 2 silent calls…” Fliss shrugged

 “Probably someone ass-dialling”

 “Yeah, maybe…” Fliss said, not voicing where her mind had instantly gone, straight to John.  She stuck the phone in her pocket once more and strode into the paddock, greeting her client.

 There were no more calls that day, which made Fliss comfortable enough that it wasn’t her ex. If it was and he was playing some stupid game he wouldn’t have stopped. So by the time Mary appeared to do her stable chores and ride Monty she was in fairly good spirits. Fliss decided that they were going to do something a little different on Mary’s lesson today, and she placed a few poles on the floor and had Mary walk Monty over them first, then do them in trot. It wasn’t hard for the pony, and he knew his job but it was different for Mary, making her concentrate fully on where she was going. Frank leaned on the paddock fence watching the pair of them as Fliss walked along side Mary, chatting away to her before she stepped back and allowed Mary to try it on her own. The smile on Mary’s face was all Frank needed to see and he nodded to her as she looked over to him, his hand falling to Thor’s head as the dog had jumped up, leaning his paws on the top of the fence.

“Alright buddy?” he asked, scratching his ears as Thor panted in response, giving a sharp bark at Fliss who turned to look at them, grinning.

 One the horses were fed they all made their way home and after dinner Fliss grabbed a glass of wine and headed for a shower and then to get ready. 40 minutes or so later she emerged dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a white off the shoulder top that had large pineapples printed on it and on her feet she wore a pair of gold sandals. To finish the beach-chic look, her auburn hair was pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck and she was wearing a pair of gold hooped earrings along with her Pandora bracelet.

“You look lovely.” Frank smiled at her, and she grinned back. “Ready to go?” “Yeah…” she nodded “Can we pick Bonnie up on our way?”

 “Sure.” Frank nodded, turning to Mary “Come on Stack. We’ll swing by for ice cream on our way home.” “Yesss….” Mary gave him a hi-five as they all headed for the door.

 It took them about 15 minutes to get to Bonnie’s and Fliss hopped out of the jeep heading up the steps to the small villa. Frank watched her go, quite happy to appreciate her ass in the shorts she was wearing, and smiled as she turned round, Bonnie following her down the steps.

“Hi…” She greeted Frank who nodded to her as she climbed in the back of the jeep. “Hi Mary.” “Hi Miss Stevenson…” “You can call me Bonnie out of school.” The dark-haired woman chuckled.

“I know.” Mary shrugged.

 Bonnie hesitated for a moment as Frank and Fliss exchanged a look, the pair of them grinning at Mary’s blasé tone before Frank shook his head.

“Mary…” he chastised her gently.

 “What?” she looked at him.

 “Just…oh, I dunno, whatever.” he mumbled, setting the car going again. Fliss and Bonnie struck up a gentle conversation about where they were going, Frank not particularly listening to be honest. His right hand absentmindedly dropped to Fliss’ bare thigh, his thumb gently rubbing at her skin and she dropped her left hand on top of his, gently intertwining their fingers.

 He was almost disappointed when he pulled up outside Rio’s that she had to let go.

 “Have a good time.” he said as she leaned over to give him a quick kiss.

“Will do.” she smiled “See you later Mary.”

 “Yeah bye!” Mary said, hopping out of the backseat to take up the vacant front one.

 “Ice cream or hot dogs?” Frank looked at her, tearing his eyes away from Fliss as her and Bonnie headed into the bar, already knowing full well what Mary’s answer would be.

 “Dur…” she looked at him “I got me a hankering for some Cookies and Cream.” Frank snorted and with a final look at the bar set off towards The Shack.

*****

“Did he just…” Fliss looked at Bonnie, her eyes flicking from the young man in front of her to Bonnie, then back again. They’d had a few drinks at Rio’s, then headed up to another bar a few doors down and had wandered over to see what was going on round a pool table, soon finding themselves watching three younger guys as they were racking the balls up, ready to start a game of killer. By this point they’d had a fair amount of beer and shots, so Bonnie, clearly emboldened by alcohol, had cheekily quipped to the boys that Fliss would kick their arses and one of them, a tall guy with floppy sandy hair had responded with an equally cheeky little smirk and invited the “Grandma” to join them.

 “Yeah, he so did…”

“Fucking Grandma…” Fliss glared at him, snatching up a pool cue.  “I’ll have you know, kid, I’m 34…not that old…” “You got 13 years on me.” he looked at her.

 “Experience…” Bonnie nodded sagely “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” “You offering?” the lad looked at Bonnie who burst out laughing

“Sorry, we’re both taken…” “With each other…” Fliss said, causing Bonnie to snort again into her drink “We’re lesbians.” “Awesome!” the guy grinned, looking Fliss up and down before he arched an eyebrow at her. “I’m Joe by the way.” “Oh, I’m Felicia and this is Linda.” Fliss said, this time causing Bonnie to choke on her gin.

 “Nice to meet you…now…”  Joe clapped his hands and then everyone around the table looked at him as he began to write their names on the blackboard adding 3 lines after each. The game was simple, you took your shot, if you potted you kept a life, if you missed you lost one. The last person standing was the winner.

 “Money in and…”

 “Oh, hang on…” Fliss looked around “I didn’t know we were competing for money…”

“You chicken?” One of the lads looked at her.

“No, I just…you know what?” She shrugged, pulling a ten note out of her purse. “Fuck it.”

 “You can break.” One of the lads said and she shrugged. Taking up position she hit the ball, deliberately hitting the group of colours in the wrong place ensuring she didn’t pot one.  The lads all took a turn each and on her next turn she sank a ball into the pocket, then on her next go she missed again, deliberately.

 “Ok,ok…” she said, as the guys started to tease her. “You’re all so confident double up…double the money…” “Whatever…” Joe snorted, pulling another $10 note out of his pocket. Bonnie, grinned and started to play along.

 “Felicia,…is that…” “Shut up Linda I got this…” She lined up and took another shot, smashing a ball at the top straight into a pocket.  The lads all exchanged a look, shrugging and continued, the game. Fliss continued to nail shot after shot and eventually it came down to her and Joe on the last ball.

 “So if I manage this…I win?”

“Yeah…” “Ok, top right…” Joe let out a groan as the ball dropped into the pocket. Fliss straightened up, leaning on the cue smirk on her face as she turned to the boys who were all laughing and shaking their heads.

 “Here’s a tip…” she smirked, taking the money “Don’t call people grandma…pleasure doing business boys…”

 Bonnie laughed, sliding her phone back into her pocket, as Fliss looped an arm round her shoulders and steered her back to the bar.

 “Shots?”

 “Yes…” An hour later they were multiple shots down and half way through a crucial game of Fuck, Marry or Kill. 

“Ok…” Bonnie looked at Fliss “Fuck, Marry or Kill. All the Chrises…Evans, Hemsworth or Pratt…” “Oh man…” Fliss groaned “I mean…I’d probably kill Pratt. No offence but I couldn’t murder Thor or Cap…I just…no, not possible”

“So…which ones getting the one night treatment and which one is here to stay…”

“If I marry him does that mean I’m fucking him as well?” Bonnie paused “Yeah, I would assume so.”

“Ok, in that case I’d fuck Hemsworth, marry Evans.” Fliss said, shrugging. “Do you not think Frank as a bit of a look of him…in the face?”

 “I’ve not thought about it…” Bonnie shrugged, before she grinned “I think you just have a thing for guys from Boston…”

 Fliss frowned as Bonnie looked at her, her face dropping. “Shit, Fliss, sorry, I mean Frank…” Fliss couldn’t keep her face straight before she burst out laughing “I know…”

 “Bitch!” Bonnie nudged her on the arm and Fliss smirked, picking up another shot. 

********

Frank was sprawled on the sofa, channel surfing when he heard his phone go. It was a WhatsApp message from Fliss and he opened it, giving a loud laugh as he saw her holding a shot of tequila, her face screwed up in a huge fake crying gesture.

“Bonnie is making me do shots…”

“Course she is…” he replied “And did Bonnie make you hustle those boys at pool too?” “How do you know about that?” “It’s on Facebook sweetheart, Bonnie uploaded the photo of you winning. Those poor kids stood no chance” “In my defence they called me grandma…cheeky bastards.”

Frank laughed out loud as he could just see her indignant expression. “Well that’s just fucking rude. How much did you sting em for?” “Sixty…we’ve nearly spent it all

“Sixty bucks…” he mumbled to himself with a snort as he tapped his response “That’s my girl.” “Always…” she replied back, with a winking emoji and he smiled again before dropping the phone back on the coffee table as he stood up to go and grab himself another beer. Simon had already called him to say he would pick them up, which was a relief to Frank as he knew he couldn’t drag Mary out of bed at whatever time they were ready to come back, and he also wasn’t one hundred percent happy about her cabbing back alone. Stupid, he knew that, she was a grown ass woman but still. Thankfully, Simon had been on the same wavelength. With a fresh beer in his hand, he flopped back onto the sofa and resumed his channel hopping, grinning when he found that American Pie was just starting on one of the movie channels. Tossing the remote down he settled back against the cushions to watch the film, Thor jumping up besides him, his head resting against Frank’s thigh.

He had seen this film countless times, but it still reduced him to tears, and Fliss for that matter. He watched, laughing along and the end credits had just started to roll when his phone buzzed again.

“On my way to collect the girls and just a warning, Bonnie sounds smashed.” With a snort he replied “I didn’t expect anything else. Thanks Si.” He stood up and threw his empty beer bottle into the recycling, debating whether or not he wanted another. Deciding he would leave it he started to clear away the remnants of the nachos and popcorn he’d been munching on, gently re-arranged the damned scatter cushions that Fliss had made him buy, which he grudgingly had to admit were actually pretty comfy and then grabbed the recycling box and headed out to toss it into the containers, Thor hot on his heels. Just as he had finished he looked up to see Simon’s Audi pulling up at the road and he made his way over.

 “Hiiiii!” Fliss grinned at him as she got out, Thor stopping by her legs and she gave him a quick pet.

 “Hey…you have a good time?” Frank asked, as she gave a giggle and nodded.

 “Bonnie’s fallen asleep. She can’t handle her alcohol.” she snorted and Frank looked round her to see that Bonnie was, indeed, passed out in the passenger seat.

He shook his head and leaned down to speak to Simon “Thanks pal…”

“No problem.” Simon smiled, before he cast a look at Bonnie and then back to Frank “She said she was tired, not drunk…” “And I’m the Queen of England…” Frank snorted as Simon let out a huff of a laugh.

“Well hello your majesty…” Fliss hiccupped and Frank looked at her, grinning as she winked at him, her eyes glazed.

Simon shook his head and Frank rapped the top of his car twice as he pulled off and headed back up the road.

 “Frankie…” Fliss looked at him as he dropped his arm round her shoulder.

“Yes baby?” “I’m hungry.” “Are you gonna stay awake long enough if I throw a pizza in the oven?” “Hey, I’m not like Bonnie, I can handle my tequila…” “Yeah, you say that now.” he grinned “Bet you won’t be tomorrow.”

 “It’s Sunday…I can die on the sofa.” she shrugged, heading up the steps into the house. “But now I really need food.” Frank snorted, “Ok, I’ll throw one in. Go get changed.”

 “Can you undo the button at the back of my top?” Fliss asked, spinning around. Frank obliged, gently sliding the silver pin shaped tab through the hole at the back of the collar, his hands gently rubbing her bare shoulders as she dropped a kiss to her neck. “Hey, Bonnie made a good point before…” she spun back to face him, he hands smoothing over his chest.

 “And what was that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Both of us, as in me and her, have seen you naked.” she grinned, arms connecting round the back of his neck.

“Jesus Christ.” he groaned, his hands falling to her hips.

 “And you’ve seen both of us naked…but we’ve never seen each other naked…” Frank looked at her for a moment, “What?” “Me and Bonnie I mean… don’t you think that’s unfair.”

 Frank looked at her for a moment, stumped for words before he gave a snort of laughter at her face. She was grinning wickedly at him, mischief shining out of her eyes. “Yeah.” he nodded, seriously, fighting to keep his face straight.  “Really unfair. In fact, I think it’s so unfair you should do something about it.” “You’re a pervert.” she narrowed her eyes at him as he laughed and shrugged.

 “You started it…” “Technically you did when you fucked her.”

“Ouch…” Frank raised an eyebrow at her as she smirked up at him “Low blow sweetheart”

 “I’ll give you a low blow later.”she winked and Frank’s eyebrow arched further up as she pulled his head down to kiss him softly “But first I need proper food…” “Well let go o’me and I’ll make you that pizza.” he reasoned.

With a final smile she kissed him again “Love you sailor.”

“Back at ya cowgirl.” he grinned, watching as she made her way to the bedroom, reasonably steadily as well all things considered, Thor padding along behind her. With a final snort and shake of his head, knowing full well she was going to be hungover to shit the next day, he turned and headed back towards the kitchen to make her something to eat.

**** Chapter 20

[astarryon]

1980s Horror Film

No Good Deed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: typical criminal minds stuff

Chapter Summary: You’re beginning to think your unadulterated hatred for unknown phone calls is actually justified.

A/N: The first installment of my Halloween inspired mini series! This fic was dreamt up during a very long, very intoxicated conversation with @johnmulaneyslut​ and my mind hasn’t been able to focus on anything else since! I hope y’all enjoy, and if you want me to add you to this fic’s masterlist, shoot me an ask or a message!

Masterlist

—

“There are horrors beyond life’s edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man’s evil prying calls them just within our range.”

- H.P. Lovecraft

—

The agents were starting to get on your nerves.

There really wasn’t any good reason for it. They were being perfectly kind — when they bothered to talk to you like you were actually in the room, that is, though with three other victims of the deceased variety and a serial killer actively gunning for you, you figure you shouldn’t take that too personally — and the one named Jennifer had asked more times in the last hour than anyone else in your life had in maybe, well, ever if there was anything she could get you. You declined each time, sometimes rudely, sometimes in defeat, but that never stopped her coming back to ask again. When this was all over — and you prayed that an end would come quickly, if only so you could go back to not being quite so on edge — you’d need to be sure to thank her for all her efforts to make you comfortable.

But that wouldn’t come until later, when you were safe, and each of the agents in the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI didn’t pause every six seconds to analyze you in some attempt to figure out the psyche of the serial killer gunning to cut you open. In some ways, you understood — you were, currently, the only direct key they had to understanding how the serial killer who was after you selected his victims, though it wasn’t like you could answer any of the questions they had about the matter. Just because you understood, though, didn’t make the wandering eyes any less irritating, and you were counting yourself lucky that they were all just about to head home for the night so you wouldn’t have to worry about snapping in the next few hours.

“Okay,” Jennifer began as she approached, yet another kind smile occupying her features. “I’m stepping out for the night. The rest of the team will be leaving shortly, but our colleague Agent Anderson won’t be far. If there’s anything he can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You try for a small smile of thanks, but it’s hard to say whether it reaches your eyes. Judging by the poorly concealed concern in Jennifer’s gaze, you don’t think it does. “Thanks, but I’m all set. I already got this cozy cot set up in your boss’ office. What more could a girl ask for?”

Jennifer frowns, something like guilt tightening her perfect features. “I know the situation isn’t ideal, but this is—“

“The safest place for me to be, especially since this psycho likes to strike at night,” you sigh, unable to help a dejected roll of your eyes. “I know. I’m grateful, truly, but this still isn’t exactly what I would call great.”

“We’re gonna catch him,” Jennifer assures you. She sounds so resolutely positive that you’re inclined to believe her, even though there’s the issue that they still can’t even tell you who he is. “Just… try and get some rest tonight, okay? You’re safe here. I’ll have whoever from the team leaves last come check on you one last time before they head out. Good night.”

“Night,” you tell her, and she smiles one last time at you before heading out the office door, once again leaving you to your lonesome.

You should try to get your mind off it, you know. Thinking of something else was imperative to getting to sleep for the night, and though that was the last thing on your mind right now, trying to wind down was certainly more productive thank sinking into your own body numbing panic. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, and now that you were by yourself, you had all the time in the world to think.

Someone wanted you dead. Someone out there in the world, someone you’d had contact with in your daily life, someone wanted to kill you. You hadn’t managed to get much information out of anybody — There’s no point in working yourself up over it, Jennifer had told you. You’d wanted to scream at her, tell her she’d be of a different opinion if she was the one whose life was hanging in the balance, but you’d managed to hold yourself back. Though you had every excuse in the book to lose your cool, she didn’t deserve you your verbal abuse. Even in your state of frightened paranoia, you could recognize that none of this was her fault.

Why this was happening to you, you didn’t know. You wished you did. If whatever was making you a target for the rampaging serial killer was something changeable, you’d take care of it in a heartbeat. If it was the way you dressed, you’d fix it. If it was your willingness to be kind to strangers, you’d be meaner. Anything, anything to get you out of this terrifying mess. Anything that meant you got to go home and sleep in your own bed and not have to worry about whether someone was going to break in to your apartment and—

“Are you doing okay?”

The gentle voice startled you out of your reverie, though you couldn’t help flinching out of reflex at the sudden intrusion despite how quietly it had been spoken. Blinking yourself back into focus, your eyes shot over to the door, where you found the tall, lanky frame of one of the BAU agents taking up space in the doorway. The one with softer features than the rest, though you didn’t know whether that spoke more to his youth or his naivety. The one with a certain boyish quality about him that you couldn’t quite place, though he carried his head high and had a surprisingly confident set to his jaw, one that contrasted directly with the sheepish, almost bashful tone of voice he’d had when speaking to you. The one whose name you couldn’t quite recall, which was a testament to the ordeal you’d been through in the past few hours because you’d never be careless enough to forget the name of such a beautiful man on any regular day.

The itch of tears trailing down your skin brought you back to your senses, and as you reached up to swat them away, you realized there was no way he hadn’t seen them. “Just peachy,” you snarked, instantly feeling badly over the tone you’d taken. Whatever; there was nothing to be done for it now, and you could agonize over your rudeness when a pretty stranger wasn’t busy witnessing your terror. “Really just having the time of my life. Can’t you tell?”

And you swear if you concentrate, really concentrate, you can just make out the ghost of an amused smile curling the corners of his lip upward in response to your bitter attempt at sarcastic humor, but it quickly becomes overshadowed with concern at spying the tears still brimming in your eyes. “Sorry to interrupt it,” he murmurs, stepping out of the entrance and closing the door behind him, and something about his tone is so meaningful that you believe he’s genuine. He detours by the desk at the far side of the room to pick up the box of tissues sitting on its corner before making his way over to you and setting them on the filing cabinet just beside your cot. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Agent Jareau asked if I would check in on you before I went home for the night.”

You blink, reaching for a tissue and wiping the rest of your tears away, thankful that this man is kind enough not to force you to talk about your emotional state. At his introduction, though, you pause, the familiarity of the name taunting at something in your mind. “You… you’re the one who called me. Before.”

Spencer nods leaning his weight against the filing cabinet he’d set the tissues on and absentmindedly tucking a particularly unruly strand of hair behind his ear. “That was me,” he confirms, leveling another kind smile your way. “I, um, I was actually the one to get you out of your house, too, but… I mean, you were pretty upset, so you might not remember much of that.”

The unfortunate truth, actually, was that you remembered Spencer collecting you from your home and escorting you into the protective arms of the FBI a little too well. More specifically, you remembered having nothing short of a mental breakdown on the phone at the news that a serial killer was targeting you, looking to murder you in some horrible, awfully gruesome manner, and all for some reason that Dr. Reid had declined to inform you of over the phone. He’d been kind enough to talk you through all your debilitating paranoias, kind enough to stay on the phone with you until he’d gotten to your home with his partner — Morgan, if you remembered correctly — and rushed in to make sure you were in one piece. Though he’d told you on the phone that they were just outside, though he’d warned you that they’d be coming in to collect you and take you into protective custody, you’d still lost your mind at the sight of a stranger in your home and immediately rushed him, kicking and screaming and begging for your life, your safety, your… well. Everything, really.

Luckily for Spencer, you were a horrible right hook and ended up doing more damage to yourself than to him, but unluckily for you, you’d been out of your mind in that moment, and had lost the impulse for self preservation. Spencer had calmed you down and restrained you long enough to stop your attempts at gouging his eyes out in self defense, but every last bit of composure you’d been clinging to instantly vanished, and you’d been left a bawling mess, falling apart in the loose, awkward embrace of his arms as you begged him not to let anything happen to you, as you desperately implored him to keep you safe.

More than a little embarrassing once you’d managed to calm down, to say the least.

“Right,” you muttered, dropping your eyes to the floor. It was nothing against Spencer, with his kind eyes and reassuring expression, but you were just about at your wit’s end, here, and you really didn’t have enough composure left in you to be the sweet, dainty girl you assumed he’d enjoy interacting with. “Well, all things considered, I’m just fine. So, if that’s all…”

Instead of taking the hint, instead of leaving you to your solitude and allowing you to wallow in your misery, Spencer simply readjusted his position against the filing cabinet and folded his hands together. “I’m… Look, I don’t mean to pry, but you’re crying, and I… kind of get the feeling that when you say you’re fine, you’re not really telling me the truth.”

“An astute observation, Dr. Reid,” you muttered, wringing your hands together. “Really, someone ought to give you a medal.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind passing that along to my boss,” Spencer chuckles, and the gentle joke is so at odds with the defensiveness that anyone else would have responded with that it practically jolts you into civility. By the time you realize this, he’s already shifted from the filing cabinet to sitting at the edge of your cot. Not quite close enough to invoke feelings of familiarity, but just enough to let you know that if you want to, you can confide in him. And, it’s silly, but you kind of think you want to. “So… you don’t have to tell me why you’re crying—“

“Oh, thank you for the permission.”

“— but if you want to,” Spencer presses on, “I’m here to listen. No offense, but I imagine pretending nothing’s bothering you gets to be exhausting after a little while.”

“You’d be the expert,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest, but you turn more fully to face where Spencer’s seated himself.

He was being kind to you — that alone was reason enough to grasp at some manners and stop being so defensive, but there was another, more personally beneficial one as well. Jennifer had been awfully tight lipped about the man pursuing you — who he was, what he did to his victims, why he was so interested in you. But… Spencer wasn’t Jennifer. Spencer also felt kind of bad for you. Taking all that into consideration, maybe he would be more willing to give you the answers you were looking for.

More willing, and more interested.

“You know, I do have a few questions” you begin, hugging your legs to your chest and tucking your chin against your knee. You wondered if you looked as small and pathetic as you felt. “I don’t… know that you’d be willing to answer any of them, though.”

Spencer arches a brow at you, and you subconsciously take note of the way that his eyes narrow the slightest bit, though it’s hard to tell whether that’s fascination or a sweeter kind of curiosity. “Well, I can’t try to answer them until you try asking them.”

Alright, well. Worth a shot at least.

“I was wondering...” You trail off and set your jaw, clearing your throat before trying again. “I want to know about the man who’s trying to kill me.”

—

[anxiouslyfred]

Lockets and Emo’s

Summary: Virgil can guess a lot about their soulmate from the knife locket they were drawn too, and the portrait within, but they’ll wait for them to visit the shop he works in.

/\/\

People always talked about how accurate the portraits in their lockets were, and that they'd never have been able to find their soulmate if not for the picture held inside. Frankly, people talked a lot of nonsense and no matter how accurate a painting was, it was still limited by the paint, the artist and the amount of space available in how detailed it could be. Even photographs suffered that limitation.

When Virgil first got their locket, they had been far more interested in the process of the caravan, being blindfolded in the room with the lockets until one called his hands to them, and afterwards sitting with the soul artist as though for their own portrait but actually so they could get their energy to reveal the image of their soulmate. They'd been lucky enough that the locket in their hands filled them, providing more space for the image to appear in. That gave him more details to look for in the faces of others alongside the reflections of who their soulmate is in the design of the locket.

Remus hadn't cared when he was taken to get his locket. It wasn't that he didn't want to meet them, but that he'd spent the week reading about the soulmates who didn't work out, and just wanted to discuss with all the workers there if there's anyway to know how soulmates will actually react to each other. After all, even in fiction there were soulmates like Heathcliffe and Cathy who were perfect to destroy each other, as well as political ones, where the soulmates might try to be romantic, or friends, but their connection really only grows when they work together as colleagues and nothing more. Surely the different types of soulmates had been studied and the people in the caravan should know if he could tell just what he was heading to having.

He had kept asking those questions while blindfolded and being led from the room with a rather bland looking lockets and even while sitting with the artist as the tiny thing had his soulmate painted inside it. None of the staff replied or even spoke to him beyond gentle words to guide him through the process, no matter how many times Remus insisted they could throw him through the areas if they wanted to.

It wasn't until a week later than Remus looked at his locket and found the spider webs and checked patterns engraved into the locket, only visible in some lights. It at least made him more interested in the soulmate that was supposed to be portrayed within it, with dark eyeshadow showing from beneath a long fringe. At least it wasn't any of the emos he'd been through school with, none of them had worn eyeshadow underneath their eyes and almost all of them hated his rebellious punk style.

Virgil wasn't going to go out socialising to try and find the guy with a wild smile, a fringe bleached white and green-brown eyes, but they could just about cope with a retail job, so long as the shop was small and wouldn't insist he speaks to people as they enter. That would at least give them a change to people watch in case someone similar to their portrait wandered through.

Well, that and they could hopefully watch for anyone causing a scene because whomever the locket represented definitely would grab attention quickly. Virgil wasn't quite sure what they were most amused by when looking at the locket, just how gaudy it was or how intricately made  it was. The main body seemed to be made out of a dagger, cut in half width ways and blunted just enough to be safe to wear, although still functional if they wished to stab someone. There was even a hilt instead of a normal ring to attach it to the chain.

Remus had tried visiting all the normal areas he'd heard of emo's hanging out in, making a scene and sometimes getting into fights at all of them. They might agree that the police needed to be shut down and capitalism was a burden but apparently got very protective over the bands they claimed. It wasn't Remus's fault he sometimes was looking for something with a bit more of a dancable beat to it.

He only decided to try to shops in local towns that emos might visit on a whim, or rather after Roman had gone on a long speech about “It's not merely fashion Remus, any fool could follow that, it's about aesthetic and truly reflecting the prince within me.” All he had asked was just why his brother was dragging them around shops that seemed to sell mostly steampunk accessories when his brother usually preferred swords, leather and ruby jewellery.

Seriously, Remus could and would make anything his style within a day of climbing around in it. A few tears, a bit of dirt and perhaps some thorns from the bushed he scrambled through and the jobs done, but it definitely made sense that someone who's locket reflection hid the details probably wouldn't be out around the town regularly.

When he first entered an out of the way shop, Remus had been torn between making a scene and just trying to steal a couple of the spiked piercing they had in a display case. It was always more fun to steal things that were locked to normal shoppers, but he actually knew the words to the song that was playing so obviously had to make a display table his stage and sing along. Checking the staff out for patchwork clothes or under the eye eyeshadow could wait a while.

He made it halfway through the song before someone caught his arm and essentially through him to the floor as they yanked him down. “If you're going to dance on the merchandise you had better get to cleaning it up right the hell now, Maniac!” The store assistant who'd yanked him down demanded, glaring and waving a hand at where he'd been dancing a second before.

Remus would have argued, except he could recognise that long fringe anywhere. They eyeshadow just underneath them only cemented that his was his soulmate, and the shaking in their hands was probably because they were realising the same thing.

“Hi, I'm Remus, he/him, and sure thing. You gonna give me instructions on what to do, Spiderpatch?” He asked instead, bouncing up, as close as he could to the other, pouting a little when he was still looking up at them.

“Virgil, they/them, and if that's what it takes then yes, but I think you're smart enough to figure it out yourself.” They growled out.

Mentally Virgil was still freaking out. Usually when people started making a scene to that degree they would actually wait until they finished and then clean up after them. This was way too close to a confrontation for them to be comfortable with, but the man was more accurate to his mental image of his soulmate than anyone they'd ever seen and it at least gave them something to say without bringing that up.

“Smart enough, sure, willing to do it without my soulmate or some kind of threat to motivate me, yeah, I don't wanna.” Remus teased, not expecting a knife to be pulled from Virgil's hoodie and held up towards him.

Virgil smirked at the blink that flickered between their face and their hands. “Well I've got both thanks to your locket, so how about you get folding?” They asked, gesturing once again to the ruined display, although thankfully there were no footprints on any of the tops. Glancing around they saw why as Remus had apparently thrown his shoes across the room while climbing onto the table.

“It's a knife locket? Oh my god, I have the most awesome reflection in locket form ever! I'm in love with this locket even if you're making me fold shirts to get a date with you.” Remus was bouncing even as he finally turned to start tidying up the display, already rattling of other thoughts and well aware Virgil was stood watching him.

“So what's mine like then, if you're so enamoured with the one for you?” They hadn't decided about going out with Remus yet so decided to ignore the offer when they finally spoke up again.

Remus barely paused, grabbing the locket from his pocket to shove into their hands. “Really interesting. The best light to look at it in is like night club strobe lights. They bring out the designs on it perfectly. I bet in here you can barely make out there's even any pattern on there. Seriously, date? Hang out as friends? Phone number? Can I have something to say I'm seeing you again? Hell if you'd prefer just to make me work here I'm down for it.”

Virgil snickered at the ideas but shook their head playfully horrified when Remus mentioned them working together. “I'm not giving you more chances to damage the merchandise. How about we text for a while, get to know each other and see what we'd like from there?”

“Phone number then.” Remus turned around pulling his phone out only to pout and exaggeratedly deflate when his realised they were no longer holding the knife locket out at all. “Come on, I liked having you ready to cut me. A bit of pain is brilliant.”

“Not what I meant when I said getting to know you, but noted, if we ever get to a sexual relationship, you have a pain kink.” Virgil remarked, quickly typing in their number before waving towards the staff area. “I can't have my phone out on shift since I got too grouchy with my co-workers so text me and I'll reply when I get out of here.”

Remus took his phone back with a grin, “Sure, I'll go and see what mischief I can get into before I come to walk you home.”

“Didn't agree to that.” Virgil tried to call after him, but Remus had already turned to race out of the store.

[delicrieux]

Omg I loved the last one shot you wrote with the reader being in the resistance base and taking care of Kylo! I would love to see another part for it and see what will happen when the reader discovers the truth of who he is.

OMG ur one shot with kylo and him being injured i absolutely adore it and need a continuation !! ur writing is amazing too !!

thank u everyone for ur kind words and support 🥺🧡 u be asking i be giving . i mean .... prepare for some angst? yes? 8k words baby. also, same goes as always, if u want a continuation let me know ! xx

tags ( i wasnt able to tag some people!:( ): @taina-eny -- @shesakillerkween -- @leilei-draws -- @mitsuhkai -- @olivebolivee -- @fav-fan-fic -- @punxataniunderworld

requests are open! | masterlist | part 1.

Long tendrils of smoke rise slowly, spiraling into a clear, starry sky. Jet fuel ignited by a match; angry, red sparks glittering in the dark. It’s hot. Though it’s not the familiar, comforting heat of the wilderness, of the jungle you live in, nor is it the scratchy, dry heat of the deserts you grew up surrounded by. This heat is different, molding, tangible and felt deep within you. It spreads, achingly almost. Shortness of breath, of thought; the world is too quick, too fleeting for you to catch up and everything spins so wonderfully. Desire; the world is wax dripping from your fingers; red dots, red hues, bright orange flames. But that desire twists, rags your body and grows to...

Rage. It hits you in waves and you tremble. Violent shivers and horror; anger fueled by such uncontrollable passion that it goes beyond you, reaching for something, for anything to grasp onto. It destroys. It destroys everything around you. It’s a machine coming from within you; the small specter of purity now devoured by such hate directed at no one in particular that you come undone — nothing left, not even you. Just anger and power — a combination of the most terrible kind.

But this rage is not your own. It’s borrowed. Adapted to you. Fitted perfectly for your flesh, yet still a foreign entity latched onto your bones, no, this goes deeper, latched onto whatever makes you — you.

It is so easy to slip into it that it hardly registers. That raw energy within you twists and burns and you want to hurt someone because you are so hurt that you feel like you might die. One life to save yours; then, however many should follow, anything to keep that pain at bay. You don’t consider it much, you don’t have the capacity to. Blisters; it feels like you’re standing on the surface of a sun.

Where did this anger come from? Who deformed you so horribly? There’s a pull — a gentle tug that feels like a caress from a lover — that wants to turn you back; to purge the rage, the red, the dark, and bring you back into the light. But the pain stays, persistent, at home within you. It’s trying to tell you something. To make you understand. To make you feel what he feels.

And then—

You fall out of bed, breathless and terrified and soaked head to toe in cold sweat. You scramble away from your bed in blind panic, trembling and pressing your back against the icy wall of your bedroom. Your heart beats like a wild drum; your pulse is loud and violent in your ears. You raise your hands to touch your face, to grasp onto reality, to make sure that you are still you. A sigh of relief escapes you and all your energy with it. You slump, cast your head down in shame. You had never felt so... Strongly. You had felt anger, grief, passion— but never so visceral, never so raw. It terrifies you that you are even capable of feeling so, in a dream or not.

Whatever it was that had possessed you had left you feeling hollow. Numb. All your strength had been wasted in destruction of dream worlds that were, up till now, mostly pleasant. Whatever it was you don’t want it to return, ever. The pain was too much. The hate too real. And the potential of that power... Frightening beyond compare.

Your room is bathed in pleasant morning light - dawn is always beautiful and silent. You had slept for possibly only a few hours. You get up, your knees cracking from the weight of your body. Using the wall for support you decide to get ready. You will not sleep. You cannot. The carnal fear of the darkness behind your lashes is reminiscent of that of a child seeing scary shapes in the night.

You’re early to breakfast, though the cafeteria is already festering with life. You give a few waves to your colleagues, offer a few tired smiles when they chirp “Morning, Seven!”. With your tray full you stride to your table, noting that one seat is already occupied — July. He regards you with cold indifference, quietly drinking his coffee. If he is surprised to see you up so early, he does not show it.

Suddenly you hate the silence. The stiffness. The cafeteria echoes with snippets of chatter and laughs yet your table is a crypt — stale and uncomfortable. You can’t be alone with your thoughts. They still don’t feel like your own.

“Hello,” is your lame attempt at conversation. July grumbles something, chewing on his food, “decided get an early start today.” You explain yourself, not that you need to, but you feel better letting him believe this lie and yourself, too. “Taking pointers from you.” You add, taking a sip of water. It feels like a blade going down your throat. You hadn’t even noticed how parched you had been.

“Great,” July mumbles, “congratulations. You’re finally taking this seriously.”

“I’ve always taken this seriously.” You bite back, “War is no trifling matter.”

He snorts, “Could have fooled me.”

You don’t like his tone. Then again, it is your fault for engaging him in the first place. No one to blame but yourself.

In an attempt at casualness, you shrug, “You are still mad at me for not getting rid of our guest, aren’t you?” You don’t say his name. July would find it suspicious. You don’t dare share it. It was a secret passed on to you as a show of trust. You can’t break it, not even among friends.

A frown pulls on his face, cool, steel eyes locking yours, “You’re fraternizing with the enemy.”

“He is not the enemy.” You reply coolly, chest heaving with controlled frustration, “I conducted the interview. I did what we had all agreed on. I relayed the results and you were part of that discussion as well, if you had forgotten already. No threat was detected.”

“At the time.” He says hotly, setting his cup down harsher than intended. It echoes, a cracking, unpleasant sound, “There was no threat at the time.”

The wild flame in his eyes takes you aback. He had always been paranoid and it mostly never had any backing to it. But now he speaks with conviction; grits his words and laces them with honesty. He knows something. Something you don’t.

You sit up straight, swallowing down your concern before it reaches your face. “Elaborate.”

He looks away suddenly, irritated, scowling almost. Familiar tendrils of anger slither around your throat and your grit your teeth. You know better than this, better than arguing with him, better than stooping to his level of mindless shouting. It takes all of your willpower just to keep your mouth shut.

“Ah— Someone stepped out of bed on the wrong foot, as it seems.” Q’s pleasant voice chirps as they promptly plop down beside you, “Seven. July. Do hope the arguing will at least wait till lunch.”

“Fat chance!” Vendetta grins, sitting beside July and dropping her tray on the table with a silent click, “Look at them.” She snickers, “I know who’s fighting who at combat training today.”

“Perfect timing, you two.” You blur, your eyes drilling into July’s profile, not once wavering, “July just said something interesting about our guest.” The temperature, the warmth your two friends brought with them, seems to drop as their laughter abruptly cuts off, “In fact, he was almost insistent that our only patient in the Medical Wing is a threat. Know anything about it?” You finish quietly. You almost expect exasperated stares, surprised faces, hisses of “What?!” and “July, not this again...”. But nothing changes. Nothing comes. Just quiet admission. First blossoms of guilt.

You had always assumed that if your group of four would ever break into three it would be July as the odd man out. Not for any particular fault of his, but out of pure convenience. Vendetta is charismatic; Q is adaptable; you are compassionate. July is, despite his brilliance, almost deliberately difficult. The three of you fit like puzzle pieces, harmonious. You never withhold information from them, never needed to. The four of your share everything, no detail left behind.

Though it seems that your observation was paltry. They share looks and you realize that it’s no longer a quartet but rather a triad. You are left to sink or swim on your own.

“Seven, we...” Vendetta starts, thoughtful, gentle; her hand reaches for your own across the table but you pull it away and she stills, disappointed, “We...” She glances around, “We were going to tell you, but...We...”

“—Had no proof.” Q mutters bitterly, their face uncharacteristically blank, “Besides, of course, the mystery of his past, his sudden appearance, his... Unpleasant behavior.” They squeeze out the last part with a sour little smile.

“Seven, please, listen to me.” V tries to catch your attention, yet you stubbornly stare into your plate of food, “There is just...Something not right with him. It’s like this inching in my chest, I...I think I heard him...talking in his sleep again. Something about a base, but I-” At this you look up at her, and her face crumbles into a soft frown. “I would never lie to you, you must believe me. I just--“ She sighs, frustrated, “I just don’t know what, but something is wrong. I can feel it.”

“I told you not to trust him,” July states, “I said it since you—“ He points accusingly in your direction, “decided to drag him in.” He scoffs, “Should have left him to die.”

Something cracks within you. Something that sounds close to a ceramic cup shattering on linoleum. It spills over like hot liquid all over you, scalding. You pull your chair back suddenly. It’s a knee jerk reaction that halts the chatter and the laughter and the mindless bits of gossip as all eyes turn to you. You say nothing. Just stare. The unspoken “How dare you” fizzling at the tip of your tongue that now feels too big for your mouth. Your muscles cramp up; dull pain in your upper arms, your legs, your chest. You’re trembling again, eyes wide, dry, stinging.

“July.” Q hisses, “Even if we feel something amiss, he is still a person.”

You remember it clearly — the evening you met July. He wore a hard shell, scarred from life before finding the base, before finding a purpose. He was hard to approach and those who dared to glance at him withered away into the shadows. But you saw a glimmer of hope, of light; saw something in a man that has been wronged and has done wrong and now wants to devote his life to protect. He regarded you with the same cold stare, measuring you, challenging you to turn away like everyone else. But you invited him. You were the one that said that the Resistance is happy to have you. You were the one to offer him a seat by your table, Vendetta chirping and blushing and cooing once he joined. And even if he stayed silent through the conversation, you knew that he was glad to be here. Glad to find companionship. Glad to be among those who too want only one thing: to help.

Then came Q, a year later. A group that was equal amounts tough as it was tender was formed. A group of leaders. Nothing ever felt so right as to sit among them.

Now you feel like you’re drowning.

“You’ve changed.” You rasp, boring into July’s eyes. He does not back down, he never does.

“So have you.” He says evenly, “I have never seen you as irritated as I have this week. It’s affecting you. He’s affecting you.” If you did not know any better, you would say there’s a note of worry in his voice. But you always know better. It’s pity.

You decide that you hate him. You decide that you will never be able to look at him the same way, with the same distant respect, with solidarity. You hate him and you hate that he’s right. You have changed. Everyone has. You aren’t the scared, naive girl that ran away from home in hopes of finding something greater. Greater as in friendships; greater as in happiness. It was never about riches or fame or any other form of empty opulence. You wanted to help because you knew how it feels like to be helpless. And perhaps this week had been the most trying: you had been sleeping little, tossing and turning all night, staying up past dawn as to not draw any suspicion. Had been hitting harder than necessary in training. Had been less lively in conversation. You were one of the best because you needed to be in order to protect those who could not protect themselves. It was the source from which you drew your strength. But now that had shifted subtly in wanting to win. Wanting something for yourself. You always offer everything to the world, why can’t it give you something in return?

“That’s enough, July.” Q mutters calmly, their hand landing on your shoulder, a warm, comforting gesture that fills you to the brim with sadness. “You had said enough.”

You exhale a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment to collect your thoughts. Honesty had always been your policy. Honesty is the currency of your group. You are fighters, but you are also diplomats. Vulnerability is the price of compassion.

“I feel responsible.” You finally say, “For him.” You clarify, “I brought him here. I enlisted you to help and share our resources. He is my responsibility. And if you feel that he is unfit to be here, or that he threatens our values in any way, I shall make sure to deal with him accordingly and I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions should it come to it.” You finish dryly.

“He’s not your responsibility, Seven.” Vendetta mutters, “He’s ours. We’re a team. A family.” Q squeezes your shoulder, silently agreeing with her words. Her lips slowly rise into a loving smile, “And we’re worried about you. You seem tired. Let me bring him food today.” She suggests gently, “I can keep him company. That or, I know Michel is dying for a chance to talk to him.”

“You don’t have to carry this weight alone.” Q says, “A little break can’t hurt, can it?” He glances at July, “Once our heads are cooled...We’ll discuss this in detail at dinner. No stone left unturned. If the decision is unanimous, we bring it to the Commander. All in favor?”

“Aye.” Vendetta chimes. You nod stiffly. All eyes fall on July.

“You already know what I think.” He mumbles, “But very well. We meet at twilight.”

.

The day is long. Hours pass in a slow daze and exhaustion nearly crushes by the time a little over two hours is left till dinner. Dread grows and fester; it’s hard to breathe, and the humid air is constricting. You can’t help but feel how different things had been barely a week ago, and how rapidly and uncontrollably they have changed. It should be just another day in stolen paradise; just another day in the line of days before you are, as the rest, called into the main base. Finally ready. You had felt ready. Now you feel uncertain to the brink of madness. How easily your friends had turned... How easily you had been turned. But despite their concerns you fail to see any hidden evil in the man now know to you as Ben.

But perhaps that’s the point. Evil rejoices in the presence of naivety.

You feel him before you actually see him. It’s a sort of warning bell; a presence carried by the wind. You turn your head slightly, wiping away beads of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. You’re on the porch, in the same spot you had found Ben brooding last night. His footsteps are quick and heavy and his hand latches onto your upper arm, yanking you to face him.

“Where were you?” His question is demanding and a twinge of anger burns in his hazel eyes. All thoughts rush out your head with that; you stare dumbfounded, your lips parting to speak but the words sizzle and die on the tip of your tongue. His face contorts, the prominent anger shifting to confusion, “Have they been keeping you away from me?”

An astute observation. Eerily correct.

“What? No!” You say quickly, shrugging out of his hold and crossing your arms over your chest in pretend casualness, “Just been busy today! Lot’s of shipments, new training regime, yada yada...” He traces your face carefully for a lie, but whether he catches it or not you can’t tell. “How... How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He states coldly, irritation dripping in his tone. His brows knit into a frown and he looks away, peers into the wilderness. Pensive. Something lays heavy on his mind and all your intuition born last night evaporates. Nothing. No whispers. Not even a slither of familiarity. The connection you felt had been cut like a thread with scissors.

Is he actively pretending yesterday did not happen? The thought sounds plausible: he’s volatile and prideful, after all. “What are you doing up and about?” You inquire, matching his cool tone.

He exhales through his nose sharply, “Can you take me to the place you found me?”

You blink. He looks at you, expectant. “I...Sure.” You relent under his stare, “Yea, I... Follow me.”

Silence from his part. His lips are shut tightly as he follows after you into the maze of tall trees. Birdsong; buzz of insects; dangerous hums and hisses from creatures hidden in the bushes. The sun is merely a kaleidoscope of shapes seeping through the branches and leaves. The heat intensifies. You feel a prickling in your spine -- he’s watching you intently. His guard is up and so is yours. After everything you had heard today confusion is the only palpable emotion you can name. Can he see it, you wonder. Can he tell that the tension in your shoulders is because of him. You trust him, at the very least, you thought you did. But now he’s luring you into seclusion.

Or are you luring him? You could have said no. Or you could have agreed and went to fetch your blaster just in case. But you didn’t. Obeyed blindly without question. He is not the authority here, you are. 

“That woman brought me breakfast today.” He says coldly. You tilt your head to him, inclining him to continue. That woman. Vendetta.He doesn’t continue. It’s almost like he’s complaining. 

“Yes, I asked her to.” You say softly, “I told you already I was busy.”

“You didn’t look busy.” He counters hotly.

“Ben.” You say sternly, stopping, turning to him fully to catch his gaze. He’s so much taller than you that it’s difficult to not be intimidated, “My world does not revolve around you.” He gulps at your words, glaring, “And her name is Vendetta. The least you could do is remember that.” 

You continue the trek forward. He’s silent, moody. You focus on not tripping on roots and stray branches; focus on keeping your balance once passing through small slivers of ground between sudden drops to the caves bellow. 

Finally, a clearing. Water flows and twists like a serpent, glimmering in sunlight, splashing joyously. The river is long and wide and there is no bridge connecting the two sides, just piles of slippery stones. It’s a challenge getting past it, yet you did so almost every other day. The beauty of untamed nature cannot be compared to anything, and getting lost in it is liberating.

You hop on the first rock, then the second. The water is loud; the current is strong and it splashes your feet.

“Are you angry with me?” He asks silently. You jump and feel the knot in your throat tighten. You wobble and your arms stretch wide to keep balance and you promptly still.

“No, Ben, I’m not angry.” You admit, a bit breathless, but don’t elaborate any further. You are not sure if you’re telling the truth or not. You don’t want to think about it.

“Did you really find me so far out?” He continues questioning.

“Yes.” You mumble, “Why? Do you think I’m lying to you?”

“I never said that.”

“But you thought about it.”

“Oh, so you can read my mind now?”

“It’s not that difficult to tell what you’re thinking, you know.” You state sharply.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You still. A flare of anger rises from your chest to your throat and it take everything you have to control the frustrated sigh from escaping. Your hands ball into fists. Sweat drips from your forehead. With a dry mouth you turn to him, careful of your footing, finding him closer than you expected and just as irritated as you. His brows are kit into a frown, lips turned downward, chest heaving. A soft breeze kisses your heating cheeks, your shoulders, ruffles his dark hair.

“Exactly what you think it means,” You snap, “you’re always angry, always displeased, ordering everyone around, assaulting” You stress the word, “ or berating if something doesn’t go your way. Being secretive and malicious and just when I think I’m starting to understand you, you demand and demand and I literally can’t say anything or else you’ll be upset and then who knows what you’ll do.” You rant, “And all I wanted, all we wanted, was to help you. But you-” You jab your finger into his chest; an action eerily similar to what July did to you this morning, “-you treat us like we’re your servants. Can’t even bother to remember the name of the doctor that had been taking care of you all week. We could’ve left you to die.”

He grabs your wrist, squeezing tightly, pulling it away from his chest, “I never asked for your help.” He growls.

“But you got it anyway,” You retort, voice dripping with venom, “though I suppose you’re too arrogant to even say thank you. You spoiled, selfish, inconsiderate prick-”

“You don’t know me.” He seethes.

“I know everything I need to know about you.” 

He falters for a second, something akin to disappointment flashing in his eyes but it’s gone before you can name it, “You do?” He sounds smug, in a cold, displeased way, “Ah, you do.” His grip loosens and you yank your wrist from his hold, fire raging in your chest. What a condescending look.

You’re so heated that you feel like you might cry. Now you see what July, what Q, what Vendetta see when they look at him - a malevolent, resentful asshole. How could he have fooled you? Was it the pretty eyes and the confused puppy-like stare? His sharp handsome features? Low voice, pleasant when whispered? All a font. You feel ill. Tarnished in some subtle but irreversible way. You don’t want to take him anywhere, you just want him to leave. A part of you wants to run away and leave him stranded, or push him into the water and watch satisfied as the current carried him away.

You genuinely believed you had formed some sort of a connection, as silly as that sounds. You hadn’t known him for long, but what you felt was real and it was special. But this is not the same man that did not let go of your hand, that did not want to left alone in the rain. 

You shake your head, “You make me sick.”

He has no reply to that. He looks away, almost ashamed, and you turn back to the stones you stand on, the slippery rock unstable under your feet. The sky lights up with first shades of pink. Twilight is approaching. 

The sooner you take him there and back the sooner you can request him to be escorted out of the premises, taken where he needs to go. And then this will all be over. He will be nothing but an unpleasant memory. The thought does not make you feel any better, rather it makes you feel hollow, like a balloon, acutely aware of the emptiness within you.

You continue forward in ill-tempered steps. You just want this to be over. His presence clings to you like second skin. Electricity at your fingertips, coursing through your veins, settling in your bones. You cannot shake it, cannot shake the hurt and the discomfort and-

You slip. For a heartbeat there’s only looming dread but before you can touch the water strong arms envelope you and keep you in place. You feel him breathing behind you, his chest rising and hitting your back. He sets you down back on the rocks, letting go only after you’re out of harms way. His arms drop and the heat with them. Wordless, you continue forward, not sparing him the satisfaction of a thank you.

.

You suppose wishing for an uneventful journey is unrealistic; trekking through the dense, suffocating undergrowth, fighting through the heavy, still air, all the while a million wild souls observe and track you and wonder are you here to hunt or be hunted. The colors, deep evergreen and rich brown, mute once the sun is is orange and halfway down. Not far now, not far at all. That idea was the only thing keeping you from crumbling into the dirt. But today is not your day, nor his. Everything always happens for a reason, even if that reason is simply bad luck.

You had been lost in your head, and he lost in the maze of looming trees. He’s unfamiliar with the territory - you were his guiding star, ushering him to where he needs to go. But you were too absorbed; too preoccupied with your blossoming hurt, with the near obsessive need to feel it whole so you could never forgive him and not feel an ounce of it once he goes back to his damned life outside your base. But the jungle is an obstacle course that demands attention and worship. Each step careful, each parting of leaves intentional and gentle. It either allows you to advance, or it does not.

You have no one to blame but yourself. No one to curse at for the forming bruises and muddy skin. No one to yell at for the stabbing pain at your rib cage, and no one to shun because of one fatal mistake. A misstep. A confusion of left and right. The fall was instant and painful and long. 

Birds gawk and spill into the violet sky like ink. You lay in the dirt, your body aching with each intake of breath. Water roars; small droplets from the waterfall sprinkle on you and you wonder just how far down had you fallen. The clearing is unfamiliar to you, but right now everything is. Ben groans beside you; you see him sit up slowly out of the corner of your eye. He pushes his hair out of his face and exhales. You can’t move. You forgot how to.

You feel cold. Something hot and sticky runs down the side of your temple, pulsing down your jaw.

“...Seven?” His voice is rough and rushed and he instantly falls by your side, his hands cradling your face, “Hey. Seven, can you hear me...?”

You remember the leaf covered ground giving out; remember falling into darkness and hitting your back harshly on the steep decline and skidding through sharp rocks and branches; remember suddenly being plunged into icy water and spat out into the air before tumbling to the ground and smacking your head into something hard and blurry.

His fingers gently wipe away the dirt from your face, “Hey, you with me...?” He calls gently, his voice silent, seeping with worry. Through your haze and confusion your find his eyes - such a pretty hazel, now darker in the shade - and manage to squeeze out a painful, crooked smile.

“...Hi.” You whisper, almost voiceless. He cracks a smile, but his lower lip quivers.

“Hi.” He mutters, “Are you okay? Can you sit?”

You try to move but it proves to be too difficult. Noticing your struggle and sluggish movements, he gently eases you into a sitting position, his hold strong but not forceful, not even an echo to what it had been on the rocks. Your head spins, too heavy, buzzing. You gingerly lay it on his shoulder. Water laps by your feet. You are dripping from head to toe. The breeze makes you shiver, and he carefully wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers pushing strands of wet hair from your face.

“Do you know where we are...?”

“The jungle.”

You somehow sense he doesn’t appreciate your sarcasm.

“You’re hurt.” He laments. Weakly, you clasp onto his arm and slowly pull away from his shoulder. You’re so close your noses brush. You can feel his breath ghosting over your lips. You see worry in his eyes. You feel a twinge of life light up in your chest.

“I’m okay.” You mutter, even if it is obvious that you are not. 

“I’m sorry...” He utters, his eyes, half-lit and tender, pouring into your soul. His fingers brush your cheek, trembling lightly, lastly settling on the side of your jaw, “I’m sorry,” He repeats in a breath, “This is all my fault.”

Your heart spurs to life; the same pleasant buzz of energy flows back into you in forms of butterflies. The aching relents, the sharp pain in your side easing as if soothed by a cold touch. Your hazy vision sharpens and for a moment you can see everything in its minute detail, before all goes back to normal. The pulsing in your head stops, blood drying by your temple. You blink a few times, your brows knitting into a frown, lips parting to intake a slow breath. Your hand reaches to graze his cheek.

It’s back. What ever this fragile, beautiful thing is, it has returned to you.

“Who...are you?”

Vendetta had been right, there is something different about him, but perhaps not in the way she had intended.

“I’m Ben.” He says softly, “Just Ben.”

“No...” You observe him, “You are not.”

You feel a pull in your chest, as if you were a moon beckoned by his gravity, “How do you do it?” You ask, not quite certain what you’re referring to. A thousand questions swim in your mind and you shut your eyes, trying to focus on just one. But he still pulls you in, somehow, and gently you rest your forehead on his, each simple touch sparking a feeling of this is right and this is how it should be. Like a current of a river taking you where you need to be.

“I’m not doing anything.” He admits softly against your lips with an ache in the back of his throat.

Your eyes pry open, “Liar.” is all you say with quiet disappointment.

You untangle yourself from him and rise onto your feet, swaying a bit and he hurriedly jumps to aid you but you hold out your hand to stop him. His arms fall by his sides. The roar of the water momentarily absorbs you completely. It’s dark glimmer makes your stomach drop. You look up. The sky is already budding with stars, the last light dying by the horizon.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to return to the base now.” You mutter, a shiver crawling down your spine. Your wet clothes cling to your skin, leaving no bend and curve obscured to his watchful eye. But it doesn’t bother you, at least not as much as it should, “Before we lose light completely.”

He nods solemnly. “Why did you want to see where I found you?” You ask, knowing he will not deny you an answer. It’s that feeling, that connection, open communication that leaves him vulnerable to your prodding.

He glances away from your prying stare, his jaw locked tight. Your chest swells as you regard him — a picture of divine loneliness. You almost fall pray to it, to those whispers, to those instincts that urge you to rush to his side and comfort him. He sighs heavily, his shoulders falling. “I wanted to see if you would go with me.”

“What?” You sputter, eyes wide in disbelief, “Why?”

“Because I want you to join me.” He seems to find his voice, the first uncertain notes glossing over with purpose, “To leave with me.” The corner of his lips quirk into a half-smile, “Have you ever seen the snow?”

“No...” You admit, taking a step back, “No, I haven’t. The Rebels need me. I don’t want to leave.” You finish quietly, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s more of a comforting motion rather than a defensive one.

“But you agreed to go with me today.” He says.

“Because you asked.” You counter.

“Then I’m asking again.” He extends his hand in an offering, “Come with me.”

You stare at it, your instincts urging you to take it. But you don’t know what entails going with him; you don’t know about his life and what sort of deal you would be signing by lacing your fingers with his. A part of you wants to agree — the part which you desperately try to explain, but cannot — and the other reminds you of duty. Of your mission. It reminds you of everything you will be unable to do if you take it.

.

He watches you, half worried and half irked as you stare at his hand with distant eyes. He can’t read your mind, can’t hear snippets of your brooding thoughts, but he knows you’re considering his offer, and he knows that this is all a charade which will end in his victory. He knows you will accept — it is now impossible for you two to be apart, the consequences of that severe enough to burn out a star.

But you’re guarded. Your mind sits behind a wall that can’t tear down — he’s not close enough, and you won’t let him. It is most likely an unconscious effort, a shield of some sort that your untamed energy had built in order to protect you from the likes of him. He likes that. He always enjoyed a challenge: everyone always danced around him and to find someone actually worthy of his attention is a rare sight on its own. That being said, he could invade your mind, could hurt you, could force you to spill all of your secrets in one breath. But he won’t. He wants you to come to him by your own volition. He wants you to allow him into your mind because you want him to see and feel and hear everything that’s hidden behind those pretty eyes and tender smile. Therefore he will not be forceful or rough; instead he will open your eyes - sway you, offer you something for your kindness, because he cannot fathom the fact that some things in life have no price. But he knows that you will join him - sooner or later matters little in the grand scheme of things.

Though, it is his fault he is so terribly impatient.

It’s frustrating to think that the Force would connect him to you out of everyone in the universe. That must be why he’s feeling this tightness in his chest, this, if he wasn’t so prideful to admit it, fear festering inside him — you’re a member of the Resistance that is not only Force sensitive, but also now linked to him. If the Rebels should become aware of this sensitive information, there is no telling what they would do. In the First Order you would be hailed like royalty; showered with praise and opulence and given authority to do as you please, given the life so many in your base believe he has. But the Resistance would not be as kind, if they would be kind at all - they would use you, abuse you, transform you into a weapon or a helpless little lure. Because they would know he would come looking for you. He is now destined to always look for you; destined to follow you across the galaxy and back if it meant you standing by his side in the final battle. They would change you into something unrecognizable. The safest side is his, and his shadow is the only place you’d find solace. He could train you. Protect you. Allow you to harvest the power that is capable of so many beautiful, terrible things.

He knew you were Force sensitive when he first laid eyes on you — the silence was confusing and heavenly and at the same time oddly irritating. Everyone else was an open book full with loud, useless mussing, overloaded with trifling information of which the only value he found was the exact coordinates of your base. He could return any time he wished and destroy everything in a slow, arduous way that would break you down and rebuild you, make you see that he is doing you a favor if you were so stubborn that it would come to that: you had saved his life, and now he is trying to save yours. And despite your proclamation that you can tell what he’s thinking, he finds great difficulty understanding you. Kindness is alien to him. Kindness had been ripped out of him by betrayal and replaced by hate. It is the only real emotion, and the only source of his strength. If only he could tear you away from those people you call friends, then you could finally understand. 

But knowing you had the Force dormant within you wasn’t enough, he needed to test you, needed to know just how far your powers went.

He didn’t expect it. To be connected. It wasn’t until you touched hands did he feel your happiness as his own.

Though it’s unstable, your connection. Wild emotions sometimes ebb and flow and pass one person to the other. And he, too, in moments of surprised vulnerability forgot to keep himself tempered and in control. His anger, hatred, all things wretched and deformed have slipped into your dreams and your day to day life. A part of him, now permanently a part of you. It felt like he finally found something he had been unknowingly searching for — a missing piece of him that has returned to make him whole. Without you, he would feel like carved bark, a half-finished project incapable of reaching its full potential. To let you go is not an option anymore. 

Stronger together, he reminds himself in a scolding tone. He is not supposed to care about you, rather of what’s in you — raw, untamed power, a well of untapped potential. You are his half, and he is yours. You are connected by the Force, and there is nothing else to it. Cannot be anything else. 

The human shell is hardly his point of interest.

.

“No,” You say, taking a small step back from him, from his offer, from the temptation, and casting your gaze down into the gleaming water, “no, I can’t go with you. I have to stay here.”

You don’t dare to look at him and see just what expression he is wearing, though you guess he’s not too happy by your rejection. You cheeks heat uncomfortably - his gesture was noble yet crafted so carefully that you suspect an ulterior motive behind it. You can’t throw your life away, not before you understand what’s actually going on between you. You clear your throat awkwardly, sparing a blank look at the swaying trees and trying to think of the best route to return home, “Come on.” You utter, “We shouldn’t be standing around here. Not safe.” You add silently.

Though you can’t help yourself. You spare a glance at him and freeze up -- it looks like you slapped him, his eyes wide with hurt and pale face blotching red. He slowly retracts his hand, his motion stiff and mechanic as if he does not know what to do with it if he’s not holding yours. It feels cold again, and you are fairly certain it has nothing to do with the lukewarm water dripping from your clothes.

Snow. You see it in quick flashes -- a white, hazy storm -- that fulls you to the brim with dread. What was it that Vendetta had said? A base somewhere existing in his memories, a place he will return to, a place where he wants to take you. A palace hidden in the snow.

July, in all his brutality, was right: you had been fraternizing with the enemy. Ilum, the planet of frost and snow and home to the Starkiller Base of the First Order. And someone from that same Order had offered you to come with.

It’s a different kind of pain -- you’d prefer the headaches after a day of mental gymnastics, the dull pain of muscles after training, the sharp stabs of a sprained ankle, the pulses and red flashes of an open wound. Anything would be better than this winter in your soul. You feel tired, in an incurable, empty way. As if you lost a half of something integral that you will never have again. Love can bloom only so much before it withers.

You turn away from him and approach the trees, not entirely certain if he’s following you or not. You feel like you’re a cloud in the sky, heavy with rain and thunder but unable to release it. The capacity for that had been robbed from you. He, you realize, is the first person in the line of people that you won’t be able to save. He’s going where you can’t follow. He’s another chess piece on the board that is this war - and one day you will face him among blood and slaughter. 

It is hard to believe that mere minutes ago he had been cotton on your fingers, almost destroyed by longing he can’t explain. 

Ben...To you the name is now forever cursed.

.

It is night when you return to your room, leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind you on the alabaster floor. You collapse onto your bed, your head heavy thoughts, each more confusing and cumbersome than the last. Your agreed meeting at twilight was completely forgotten after the tumble. Somewhere half-way through the jungle you recalled that your friends might be missing you.

The door to your room slides open and you look up - Q. They watch you for a silent moment, assessing the damage: messy hair, dirtied linen clothes, blood dried on your cheek, tired, deep eyes that face the world without truly seeing anything. They clear their throat, giving you a smile, “When we noticed your absence and the absence of our esteemed guest,” They start, their voice even, diplomatic, perfectly neutral, “it is suffice to say we were frightened that you had been lured to a trap. Fallen to an early grave.” They approach you easily, taking a seat beside you and landing a hand on your knee, “Though, fall you certainly did from what I can tell.” They finish with a note of amusement.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, “He wanted to see the place where I found him and we got lost.” You explain, sparing the details. They accept your answer, even if it’s full of holes. “Did the meeting commence?”

“After we unanimously decided that you aren’t stupid enough to get yourself killed.” They huffed, “V was especially eager to send out a search party. I must admit that I was, too, swayed by the idea. July, however, as always, shot us down. Had more faith in you than us. For that, I apologize.” They pause, pensive, “But you care little for that, I suppose. You want to know what we decided.”

“Yes.”

“Your vote still counts, Seven. And if you want, we can call a-”

“No.” You cut them off sadly, “No, I agree with your decision, whatever that decision might be.”

“Then first thing tomorrow morning he will be taken to the nearest station,” They say softly, “and released from our care.”

You think you could feel sorrow if you were not so exhausted - right now the only thing you want is to shut your eyes and forget the world exists entirely. You nod stiffly, replaying the dream you had this morning. Flames like hands grasping for the sky, chaos and wind and blood -- but the smoke dies down eventually, and now you stand in the aftermath. There is nothing left, just ash.

They tap your knee once for good measure and stand up, sparing you a rueful glance.

“I may not know exactly what your, ah...situation is, per se,” Q utters, “but know that if you ever wish to share it, you can come to me. Or any of us. Even July. He may be tough, but he still cares about you. In the only way he knows how.” They stand there for a beat, waiting for you to say something, anything really, but you don’t. “Goodnight, Seven.” 

Q leaves and the door shuts and you wonder if today had been real or a factitious, terrible nightmare. Perhaps you never woke up, perhaps you are still sleeping restlessly, trapped, unable to open your eyes and look at the sun with a smile while saying, “It was just a dream.”. The pain had passed leaving nothing behind. The night is dark and endless and the bleak light of your bedroom illuminates your surroundings without an ounce of warmth. Still silence, suffocating air. This blanket of loneliness lays heavy on your shoulders before it all piles and piles and--

You, laying in bed, shivering, tears crawling down your cheeks and lips red from biting, and Ben, in the Medical Wing, heaving, watching the broken glass bottles glimmering on the floor, supplies smashed, sheets thrown about haphazardly in sudden rage, feel the same scorch of heartbreak.  

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hope you liked it!

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[hibibun]

i don’t want your crown

Series: The Magnus Archives Pairing: One-Sided Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Summary: Jon and Martin reach the Panopticon. It doesn't have the answers they're looking for, and it doesn't go how Elias expects.

for days 6 & 7: beholding and dynamic shift Notes/Warnings: Possessive Behavior, Reluctant Relationship, Manipulation, Dynamic Shift, Body Horror, Eye Horror, Discussion of T erminal Illness, Jealousy AO3

The tower looms overhead, ostentatious and as daunting as it was when only a blip in the distance. A horrid beacon that Jon knows they’ll have to enter, however much he’s torn on it. He’s being called—has been presumably by both Elias and the Eye itself, but he doesn’t know what awaits them up there, nor if it will help anything.

He wants to know what’s up there.

He doesn’t want to know his place up there. Acknowledge the burning desire to see it all.

“So this is it,” Martin’s voice breaks his thoughts, and it’s grounding to hear against the stress of the impeding climb.

“Yes, this is it,” Jon reiterates a bit pointlessly. He’s done his best to avoid looking directly, but it’s obvious Martin has more questions for him. All he can focus on is trying to steel himself for whatever remaining trap Jonah might have for them, and what Martin might expect him to do once they’re up there. There are so many more people he owes it to, to fix things, but he can’t think of them right now either. If he even can do anything about Jonah, there’s no guarantee it would fix anything or mean anything beyond petty revenge.

Whatever he expects Martin to ask, he’s instead surprised to see his outstretched hand.

“Ready? Walked long enough to get here, couple of flights of stairs can’t be that much worse.”

Jon only offers an uneasy smile back, but accepts his hand as they enter.

It is a quiet climb. Stained glass surrounds the outer walls of the spiral staircase and the eyes painted in them watch as they ascend. Jon is long used to the gaze of eyes, but this time he is keeping a secret they want to feed on.

“So, can you see any better, now that we’re here?”

“No, but I can feel him still. He knows we’re here.”

“Great,” Martin mutters, unsurprised. It’s not like coming in with the advantage of surprise would be helpful anyway. As they round the corner, the glass gives way to cobbled walls and iron fixtures befitting the prison the old Panopticon was structured in.

“We’re close,” Jon warns, though there is little either of them could do to prepare. He thinks Martin might ask him once more, what their plan is, but either he’s tired of Jon’s ominous and unsatisfying answers or like him, knows there isn’t one. They climb a few more floors until there is only one large door left to open. Inside is a wide room that more closely resembles the top of a lighthouse, its windows giving the perfect view of countless domains, not that Elias needs them for a proper look considering anyone on the ground floor could give it if they still have eyes to spare.

Yet, there he is, as perfectly composed as always and staring down at the ruined world below them. He turns to greet Jon and Martin, and as he does, the cascading blinking eyes trailing down one side of his face and speckling his neck widen and stare.

“Have a nice trip? Breathtaking down there isn’t it? Of course, I only have the bird’s eye view, but from what I can tell it’s quite lovely.”

“Mhmm, people suffering over and over while a big eyeball in the sky watches. It was wonderful. Might have even seen a cow at one point,” Martin answers him with an eye roll. Despite his new monstrous form, Elias at least doesn’t seem to have changed much.

“Come now, Martin, it couldn’t have been that bad. You and Jon seem fine. If I’m not wrong, you even had a bit of fun on your way here. How does it feel, Jon? You can do so much more than just compel now, enthralling isn’t it?”

“I-It wasn’t fun. I only wanted to settle a score, nothing more. I didn’t enjoy doing it.”

Elias’s multitude of eyes settle on Jon and his skin crawls again. It was one thing when Helen insisted otherwise—the Spiral is centered on lies meant to hurt. They both know he didn’t find it fun, but to say he doesn’t enjoy it entirely…

“Mm, feels nice to not be so helpless, doesn’t it? Which reminds me, I’m supposed to be the last stop on your little hit list road trip, correct? Is there anything you’d like to discuss beforehand? I’m all ears,” he asks, his smile dancing on the edge of a joke that for once Jon understands and almost flinches at when he hears. Martin, however, doesn’t see.

“Do it,” he encourages, and while it’s something Jon hasn’t been pushed to do recently, he was waiting for it. Compared to Callum or Simon, this makes sense to do. Elias—Jonah—is the one who caused all of this. He’s caused so much suffering with his tugging of strings, but Jon is still shaking. It’s his fault too.

Beholding thrums between them, even nestled in the Eye’s blind spot, as Martin looks to Jon and Elias repeats Martin’s urging.

“Yes, Jon. Do it.”

The words feel like a compulsion even though they aren’t. Still, it’s the thing that draws the words from Jon’s lips.

“Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing!”

The static is loud and overbearing, but of course from where they are, how could the Eye twist itself in? Desperately it hears its Archivist calling, but the hunger it senses hardly comes from the one its stare is being directed towards. No, it is only Jon the Eye wants to devour right now. For when its heavy weight bears down on them, tries to bear down on Elias, he is absolutely thrilled. He’s watched Jon’s other ‘smitings’, and like all the other times Jon has tried to channel the power of Beholding against the man before him, he takes to it proud and rapturous.

“Oh, Jon,” Elias breaks the silence, softly. His skin prickles with shame, embarrassment and Martin’s heavy stare beside him.

“That was exhilarating. I wasn’t sure if you’d really go for it, but surely, you knew it wouldn’t work.”

“Wouldn’t work?” Martin asks, the words pointed and sharp. Their accusing tone isn’t directed at Jon, much too infuriated that Elias is still alive no doubt, but they punch the air out of him nonetheless.

“He’s too… it’s Beholding, of course…” Jon stammers, guilt clawing at his veins because he had a suspicion, if he could call it that by this point. He couldn’t tell Martin—perhaps maybe didn’t even want to, but as a result it only gave him false hope. Something Jon continuously felt awful trying to pry away from him.

A dry laugh cuts him off.

“No, no, of course. With the way everyone talks about you here, it makes sense. It’s just, of course.”

“M-Martin…”

“Yes, of course, Martin. Jon would never want to crush that precious optimism of yours, but it’s merely a wonder this place hasn’t managed to do so. Are you starting to get it now though?”

“Elias—”

“Aren’t you tired of it Jon? Had enough of the guilt? Plus, Martin really deserves to know doesn’t he? There’s so much you keep not telling him and that frustration must surely be wedging between you.”

“Know what Jon?”

It always came down to secrets and trust, didn’t it? And in the end, as much as he asked from Martin, Jon has never really been adept at sharing—giving back to make up for what he takes.

“He’s like me Martin, w-we… I can’t kill him. I know I told you I wouldn’t hesitate, and I thought maybe, I would still be able to do something but…”

“You can’t,” Martin finishes for him, soft and brittle. He isn’t angry. Jon, out of fear, breaks that respected boundary not to look, but the disappointment is crushing and painful. His attention snaps away when he hears the telltale click of Elias’s shoes on the floor.

“No, he can’t. And he wasn’t going to tell you, but really Jon what did you expect to happen when you got here? Were you hoping to be wrong?” He laughs at that considering just how much both of them know about the world and its inhabitants now. His hand reaches for Jon’s shoulder and Martin reaches out to try and stop him or put himself between them, but falters, pinned when Elias’s eyes glance towards him.

“Are you ready to join me now, my Archive? You may not be able to die, but it’s unpleasant to keep denying yourself from looking isn’t it?”

The possessive note in his tone makes his want to run because it only adds to the things he doesn’t know how to talk to Martin about. For as much as he loves him, there is a connection forged here and twined in spider’s silk that Jon hates and craves like the air he used to need to breathe. He is hungry, especially after that failed attempt to use the Watcher’s gaze, and Elias is trying to goad him not so subtly into doing something cruel, not realizing there is another option. One he does have the power for now.

He raises his scarred palm and cups Elias’s cheek. The voices and sights and pain and misery are a wafting miasma and while it serves to remind him he’s hungry, they are not the meal he is looking at. Jon tries not to think of Martin—not to dive into the desire to know just what this must look like and what he must be thinking as Jon reveals his intentions.

“Jonah Magnus, tell me about the first time you thought you were about to die.”

The pupils in Elias’s eyes shrink, and Jon feels ravenous as he drinks in for the first time fear evident in that normally arrogant expression. They may both be connected to the same power and share it’s horrible gifts, but its desire for terror is indiscriminate. There’s a crinkle in the line of Elias’s mouth and Jon watches his throat bob with a painful looking swallow as he tries to resist.

“Tell me. Tell me about the many days in that sick room. How the doctors said you wouldn’t make it.”

“A-Ah, but it was a chance recovery. Quite lucky, right?” Elias strains, still evidently in pain. Jon’s grip tightens, and he gasps.

“How did it feel to have them discuss your own funeral thinking you were asleep? Knowing you were so young and helpless. Your whole life falling to pieces right before your eyes and you could do nothing. How every cough, every wheeze, you thought might be your last. How sometimes you wondered if you would go to sleep to not wake again. Even long after you no longer felt that weak, your lungs never quite felt right, did they? And each mild cold after only served as a reminder it could happen again. That maybe it was already happening.”

Jon doesn’t want to think about how good this feels. To see the very man who’s driven him to this point crumple before him over centuries old memories. To watch him be the one full of fear for once.

Elias’s body can’t seem to make up its mind on whether it wants to flee or lean into this. He’s captivated by Jon using his power in this manner, but also it’s his own painful memories dragged to the surface.

“You may not be able to die now, but if you’re going to push me to it, you will remember how afraid of it you were—not even kings are exempt from fear. Now let me go.”

Jon moves to pull away and is more than grateful Elias doesn’t try to hold onto him or use him to help himself up. It’s uncomfortably satisfying to see him on the ground like this and Jon takes another shaky breath before turning to Martin.  

“We’re done here. Whatever it is we could do to fix things, it isn’t here.”

Martin stares between Elias and Jon who’s steadily heading back towards the door, still unsure what to make of what just happened. Getting out of there and away from Elias isn’t something he’ll say no to though and follows. The jealousy is still stirring somewhere, but it’s clear that whatever weird claim Elias thinks he has over Jon, it isn’t reciprocated. At the very least, it’s something Jon is demonstrating he wants no part of, and that’s enough for Martin right now. However, Elias’s voice stops them before they leave.

“You’ve done well, Jon. When all’s said and done, I’ll be here. The Panopticon is partly yours too, after all. None of this would have been capable, if not for you.”

Jon lingers at the door for a moment listening, but doesn’t deign to answer him. Martin catches up and is happy to let the door close behind them. The silence lingers for a few minutes as they make their way back down before Martin breaks it, needing to ask the obvious.

“Where do we go now? Do we… try meeting up with the others again? Come up with a new plan?”

“I don’t know,” Jon doesn’t mean to sound dismissive; he’s just drained from the encounter. It’s easier to not think of the others and try to see where they are or what they’re doing right now.

“We’ll figure it out when we’re out. I just… I just need a minute.”

“Okay,” Martin accepts, and quietly repeats.

“Okay.”