#so instead of getting stuck finding clips for the laughter i just cut it oh well

[soundwavemain]

This one was a long time coming.

Original scene with closed captioning can be found here!

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

It is I, here to Officially Request™ absolutely chaos All Named Characters Molina Family Board Game Night because honestly? The chaos needs to be freed.

THERE'S SO MUCH CHAOS I'M NOT SORRY.

Have the official sequel to this fic because when @screamin-amuseum requested the first part as "the whole gang + boardgame" I took that to mean All Named Characters playing board games and so here's that continuation. It's so unnecessarily long. It's so unnecessarily angsty??? TW for mentions of Trevor with an eating disorder, nothing graphic though.

I don't know what else to say. This is really chaotic. I can't write scenes with more than two people in them and yet this fic has 13. Hope you all enjoy.

Read on ao3 here:

--

Unfortunately, the Molinas’ extensive board game collection does not actually include Pretty Pretty Princess (it was just a tad bit before Julie’s time).

But on the bright side, she knows someone they can borrow it from. Even if Luke’s not happy about it.

“Why’d you have to invite him?” he complains the second Julie gets off the phone with Nick.

“Because��” Julie barely spares Luke a glance as she passes him on the way to the living room. “We’re borrowing his little sister’s board game.”

“So? That doesn’t mean he has to play it with us!”

Julie rolls her eyes. “Luke, are you seriously still jealous of him?”

Luke lets out an indignant squawk. “I am not jealous . I just don’t like him!” He poofs out and back in again to cut Julie off in the doorway, and she stops out of instinct, never quite sure these days if she’ll end up walking through the boys or into them. “Julie, in case you’ve forgotten, we’re talking about a kid who was literally possessed by Caleb five minutes ago. And you want us to hang out with him? You want to bring him into your house? Where you live? To play Pretty Pretty Princess? ”

Julie gives him the most exasperated look she can muster, trying to ignore the smile threatening to tug at her lips. “Luke. First of all, Nick’s already been to my house, so that argument is invalid. Second, he’s not possessed by Caleb anymore, and the fact that he used to be is only more reason for us to offer him some extra friendship, I’m sure he needs it. And third, I already invited him, he’s on his way, and not even your pouting and puppy dog eyes can change that, so don’t even bother trying.”

Of course, Luke immediately breaks out the pout and the puppy dog eyes, but Julie doesn’t let herself so much as look at him. She pushes past him and continues through to the kitchen, shaking her head in amusement as Luke’s annoyed grumbling fades out behind her.

Her dad’s at the kitchen counter, just hanging up his own phone. He turns when Julie enters and offers her a small smile. “Takeout’s on its way. And your tía’s coming, with her own set of dice, so be prepared for those to be loaded.”

Julie giggles. “Well, I called Flynn and they’re gonna bring some sodas and snacks, and Nick’s bringing Pretty Pretty Princess since the boys were so excited to play it. It’s still cool that he comes, too, right?”

“Of course, mija.” Her dad looks at her for a second, and then away, busies himself with wiping down the perfectly-clean counter. “Did you, uh… Did you maybe want to invite Carrie to join us?”

Julie sighs. “Dad, you know me and Carrie aren’t friends anymore.”

“No, yeah, I know.” He scrubs harder at an invisible speck of dirt. “I just thought it might be a nice gesture.”

Despite everything, Julie finds herself considering it. Sure, she and Carrie are still decidedly not friends , but… they’re not quite enemies anymore, either. It’s hard to be enemies with someone who helped you save your shared ex-love interest from an evil jazz-singing magician ghost. Carrie knows about the guys now and didn’t expose Julie and the Phantoms as a fraud, and she hasn’t been as actively mean to Julie and Flynn at school the past few months.

Maybe someday, the three of them will be able to reconcile, officially. Julie might even want to. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready to have Carrie in her house so soon, doesn’t mean she wants to include Carrie in their first family game night without her mom.

“Maybe another time,” she says, offering her dad a soft smile so he knows she means it.

He smiles back, and there’s more relief and happiness in his eyes than Julie would’ve expected under the circumstances, leaving Julie to wonder why her dad would care about her relationship with Carrie Wilson so much.

An hour later, everything’s all set up, and all the guests—ghost and human alike—have arrived. They’re all spread out across the various couches and floor space in Julie’s living room, all ten of them—Julie, her dad, Carlos, Tía Victoria, Luke, Alex, Reggie, Willie, Flynn, and Nick. The four ghosts are all sharing one couch, the four Molinas another, while Flynn and Nick lounge on the floor across the room because the ghosts still make Nick a little uncomfortable (though Julie’s unsure if that’s because of his stint with Caleb or because Luke won’t stop glaring at him).

Knowing Game Night, the seating arrangements won’t stay as they are for long, as the various games require space or privacy or the occasional team-up. Julie’s certain by the end of the night, her friends and family will all be mingling and getting along.

Since there are so many of them, they can’t follow the usual Game Night rules—everyone picks one game and they play through them all. If they tried, they’d be here all night, and half of them have to go to school tomorrow. So instead, the plan is this: Everyone’s name will go in a hat. Whoever wins each game picks a name out of the hat, and that person gets to pick the next game. They’ll play a total of five, or until midnight, whichever comes first.

The only caveat to this strategy is that they’re playing Pretty Pretty Princess first, and since that was technically Alex’s choice, his name’s not going in the hat (a fact Alex seems perfectly fine with).

Game Number One isn’t nearly as much of a disaster as Julie kind of expected it to be. It’s only a four player game, so they play in teams of two and three: Luke, Reggie, and Julie playing for the purple jewelry; Alex, Willie, and Flynn playing for the pink; Nick and Carlos for green; and Dad and Tía for blue. The only fight that breaks out is when Luke takes the black ring on purpose and then refuses to put it back the next turn; otherwise, the teams work together surprisingly well.

Somehow, despite Reggie’s earlier insistence that Alex is a PPP master, the adults win, and then they insist on splitting their winning jewelry between them even though it’s all sized to fit five-year-olds.

Just as Dad and Tía are celebrating their victory, and Julie and Carlos are having a telepathic brother-sister conversation about how their aunt must have rigged it, the doorbell rings.

“Ooh, I bet that’s the pizza,” Dad says, hauling himself to his feet. He keeps one hand on the tiny plastic crown on his head so it doesn’t fall off.

He looks ridiculous, between the crown, the singular clip-on earring, and the ring just barely stuck on the end of his pinky finger, but Julie manages to hold back her laughter as she stands and says, “I’ll help carry.”

Her dad beats her to the door, only because Reggie holds her back and tries to convince her not to let Luke have any pizza (to which Luke gives another indignant squawk and immediately starts bickering), so by the time Julie catches up with him, Dad’s already got the front door thrown open, and whatever’s on the porch to greet him has left him staring, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and pale.

Like he’s seen a ghost or something.

“Dad?” Julie starts to say, but the word dies in her throat as she steps into view of the open door and sees none other than Carrie Wilson standing on her front porch.

Carrie looks nervous, and just as pale, as she stares back at Julie’s father, a clutch purse held in her white-knuckled hands.

Carrie says something, quietly enough that Julie thinks she might have imagined it, that sounds suspiciously like, “Hi, Papi,” and then her gaze flits behind him to Julie and her eyes widen. She clears her throat, straightens her shoulders, says louder, “Mr. Molina. Julie.”

“Hi, Carrie,” Dad says after a weirdly long pause, startling like he’s been struck. “What are—I didn’t—” He breaks off and glances at Julie over his shoulder, his expression screaming, I thought you weren’t going to invite her!

I didn’t! Julie shoots back, then trains a painfully plastic smile on her definitely-not-a-friend-but-not-quite-an-enemy. “Carrie, what are you doing here?”

“Sorry to interrupt, I—didn’t realize you had company…” She glances toward the driveway next to the house, where Nick parked his car. “I can leave.”

“No, don’t—It’s okay,” Dad assures her, a little too quickly for Julie’s liking. “What’s—did you need something?”

Carrie shifts her weight awkwardly from foot to foot, looking back and forth between Julie and her dad like she wants to ask Julie to give them some privacy. Julie just plants her feet and crosses her arms over her chest. Like hell is she gonna leave Carrie alone with her dad when he’s already acting weird and she still has yet to tell them what she’s doing there.

Julie doesn’t even remember the last time Carrie Wilson stepped foot on the Molinas’ property. It’s all too weird, like Julie’s stepped out of Family Game Night and into some strange, confusing alternate universe.

“Um… Okay, so, Dad and I were at this dumb charity event at Schaefer’s, and on the way back, our car broke down.” Carrie waves a vague hand toward the street. “Gerald—our driver—called someone, but Dad doesn’t trust mechanics, and I think it’s supposed to storm later, so…” She trails off, blushes, and adds, “We were only a block or so away so I thought…”

Julie’s not sure she’s following. Her dad must catch up quicker because he says, “Oh! Oh, well—well, you’re welcome to wait out the storm here, we’ve got food coming, we’re having a little game night. Why don’t you join us?”

He turns to look at Julie, almost as an afterthought, his gaze somehow pleading and apologetic at the same time.

Whatever frustration Julie might feel at his eagerness to let Carrie interfere with their lives despite knowing how Julie feels about her is quickly snuffed out by the look on her dad’s face, and the equally anxious look on Carrie’s.

Julie doesn’t like this. She doesn’t think putting her, Flynn, Nick, and Carrie in a competitive setting together is a good idea. She really doesn’t think putting Luke, Alex, Reggie, and Trevor Wilson in a competitive setting together is a good idea. She can think of very few scenarios in which this whole night doesn’t turn into a complete and total disaster.

But reconciliation has to start somewhere, and she does, deep down, want to be Carrie’s friend again someday, wants even more to help her boys get their bandmate back.

She takes a slow, deep breath, prays she won’t regret this, and says, “Of course, Carrie. Come join us for Game Night.”

Carrie visibly relaxes, something like a real, genuine smile fluttering around her lips. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll, um—I’ll go get Dad. He wanted to wait in the car, in case you guys… turned us away…”

Awkward silence falls, and Julie can’t understand why her dad looks so sad all of a sudden, but before she can think of how to ask, Carrie spins on her high heels and starts back down the porch steps.

The second the door closes behind her, Dad says, “I’m sorry, did I overstep?”

Julie sighs. Her dad’s always been particularly good with boundaries. And she thinks part of him might miss the days when Carrie was over more often than not, playing dolls and singing with Julie and Flynn. So Julie can’t be mad. “No, it’s okay. But you get to tell the guys the pizza’s not here yet, and the guy who stole all their songs is.”

His eyes widen in horror, only adding to the absurdity of his bejeweled look, and Julie stifles another laugh as she heads back to the living room.

All things considered, it’s not nearly as much of a trainwreck as Julie thought it might be. Flynn loudly declares that she will not be on a team with Carrie under any circumstances, and the guys don’t take the Trevor news well , exactly, but a sharp look from Julie and a badly whispered promise from Willie to do some serious ghost pranking later keep them from actively pitching a fit about it.

When the Wilsons and their driver Gerald arrive, the tension in the room grows so instantly thick and awkward that Julie’s worried someone might actually explode. Carrie breaks it by stalking confidently into the room and plopping herself on the floor between Nick and Carlos like she belongs there. Gerald soon follows, claiming a chair next to Tía Victoria, and smiles politely at them all.

Only Trevor remains hovering in the doorway, pale and shaky, taking deep meditative breaths as his eyes rove across each person one at a time, lingering a little too long on Julie’s aunt, skipping over Luke entirely. Finally, he swallows, winces like it hurts, and says to Julie’s dad, “I didn’t realize you still did these.”

Julie frowns, unsure what that’s supposed to mean exactly, but her dad offers up no explanation, just waves Trevor over to sit on the couch with him. Luke lays a gentle hand on Julie’s knee, leans in close to whisper, “Hey. You okay?”

She gives him a grateful smile, nods. “Fine. How about you?”

Luke shrugs, glances over at Trevor, who’s still very purposefully not looking in their direction, and winks at Julie. “Let’s just cream this guy, shall we?”

And so, Game Night continues.

The three new guests’ names get added to the hat, and Victoria shuffles them around before pulling a slip of paper out.

“Carrie,” she reads. “You get to pick the next game.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Carrie tries. “I just got here, someone else can pick.”

“Come on, Care,” Nick says, nudging her encouragingly. “Them’s the rules.”

“Your name came out of the hat,” Julie agrees, attempting a smile. It’s the closest she can get to a peace offering. “Pick a game.”

Carrie scans her face a moment, like she’s searching for any hint that Julie’s being mean or ingenuine. She must not find any, because she says, “Okay,” and gets to her feet, brushing invisible dust off her skirt. She peers into the game cabinet for a total of about five seconds before she says, “Oh my god, you still have Monopoly with the credit card readers? We are definitely playing that.”

“Dibs on banker!” Carlos shouts and jumps to his feet to dig the box out of the cabinet.

Julie grins at her little brother’s enthusiasm, and when she catches Carrie’s eye, her smile doesn’t fade.

Maybe they can do this. It’s as good a first step toward reconciliation as any, she supposes.

The pizza arrives while Carrie and Carlos are setting up the Monopoly board, so Julie and her dad bring it in and set up the stack of boxes on the kitchen island for easy access. The ghosts immediately descend on the food like a pack of rabid animals, Luke grabbing four or five slices at once and starting to stuff them in his mouth before Julie shouts, “Plates, boys! Plates!” and he deflates, grinning bashfully at her.

Once everyone who wants pizza has gotten some (Gerald takes a slice, Trevor and Carrie don’t—Julie remembers vaguely that the Wilsons were never big fans of take-out in general), they work out new teams, which leads to less bloodshed than Julie expected but takes way longer than it has any right to. Finally, they figure out a breakdown that everyone’s more or less happy with, despite now having an uneven number of players: Trevor, Gerald, Dad, and Tía; Carlos, Luke, and Reggie; Alex, Willie, and Flynn; and Carrie, Nick, and Julie.

It’s a chaotic game for sure, but no one outright attacks each other, so Julie counts it as a success. And her team wins, so.

The rest of the night goes like that, one game after another. Julie picks Willie’s name, Willie picks Mario Kart, Carlos wins. Carlos picks Gerald’s name, Gerald picks poker (“Oh my god, my driver’s a gambler,” Trevor sighs into his hands), and somehow Flynn smokes them all. For the last game, Flynn picks Luke’s name, Luke picks Candy Land because he’s actually eight years old, and Flynn and Carrie manage to eke out a victory despite being on the same team and bickering the entire game.

Luke and Trevor, also on the same team, don’t say a single word to each other, but Julie doesn’t miss how a smile tugs at Luke’s lips when Trevor makes a joke about Lord Licorice looking like their high school English teacher.

Gerald gets a call just as they’re finishing up and informs them that the broken down limo’s been towed away and one of his colleagues is there with a fresh car to take the Wilsons home.

“Perfect timing,” Dad says, clapping his hands together. “I’ll walk you out.”

Once they’re gone, Nick and Flynn soon follow. Julie thanks Nick profusely for letting them borrow his sister’s game and convinces him to take some of the leftover pizza home to his family. Tía kisses them all goodnight (including the ghosts, which leaves Reggie grinning and the rest of them bright red), and then she’s out the door too, and Carlos heads up to bed, and Willie poofs out, telling Alex they’ll catch him later, leaving just Julie alone with her Phantoms.

“That was actually really fun,” she says, leaning back into the couch.

“Next time, I think we should choose teams at the beginning and stick with them all night,” Luke suggests, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “More fun that way.”

Alex plops onto the couch on Luke’s other side. “But if we play Pretty Pretty Princess again, I’m not playing on your team, bro.”

“Yeah, man,” Reggie agrees, snuggling up under Julie’s arm. “We coulda won that game if you’d just put the black ring away. ”

“It made me look awesome!” Luke insists.

“And the purple one didn’t?”

Alex lets out a dramatic sigh as Luke and Reggie break into an argument over Julie’s head. She just rolls her eyes and tries not to giggle too audibly, though it’s hard when her boys are so lovingly silly.

When she looks up, her dad’s lingering in the doorway, watching the four of them and playing a little nervously with his hands.

Julie frowns, catches his gaze, and mouths, You okay?

He nods, smiles, but looks from her to the three ghost boys cuddled up next to her and back again. Julie instantly catches his meaning.

“Hey, guys,” she says, loud enough to be heard over Luke and Reggie’s bickering. They shut up right away. “I’m gonna help my dad clean up. Can you go wait in the studio for me, and we can rehearse a bit before I go to bed?”

“Oh, yeah,” the boys say, and “Yeah, sure, Julie,” and they all hug her and wave goodnight to her dad before disappearing with a gentle displacement of air.

Julie gets to her feet as her dad joins her in the living room. He sets his phone on top of the game cabinet and plays a Celia Cruz album her mom liked.

They work in companionable silence for a while, other than the music, counting all the cards and tokens and jewelry pieces to make sure everything’s accounted for and gets back into its proper box.

As Julie’s wrapping up the Mario Kart controllers, her dad says casually, “You have fun tonight?”

“Yeah,” she says, and finds she means it. “Yeah, you know, it wasn’t quite the same as playing with Mom, but I still had a really good time. Thanks for letting everyone come over.”

“Thank you for being such a good sport about Carrie. I know she wasn’t exactly part of your plan for how the night would go.”

“No,” Julie agrees, shutting the game cabinet. “But I kinda liked having her here. Although—can I ask you something?”

Dad grabs his phone to pause the music. “Of course, mija. What is it?”

Something’s been nagging at her all evening, but now that Julie actually has the opportunity to ask about it, she’s not quite sure how to put her question into words.

Finally, she manages, “When Mr. Wilson first got here, he said something like… like he didn’t know we still had game nights. But I don’t remember him ever playing with us when Mom was alive.”

Her dad doesn’t answer for a really long time. Julie knows him well enough to know she needs not be concerned—her dad, much more than her mom, has always needed to really take his time and think before he says anything, especially anything important. Finally, he sighs and says, “Honestly, mija… I’m not quite sure what to say. It’s not really my story to tell.” He sits on one of the couches and pats the cushion next to him. Julie joins him, hugging a throw pillow as she waits patiently for him to continue.

“Do you remember, when you were really little, Trevor and Carrie used to live with us?”

Julie’s mouth drops open. “What? No. When?”

“Only until you were about six,” Dad explains. “But for a while, we had a house together, the five and then six of us, once Carlos was born. Your mom and I, and Trevor, we all kind of raised you kids together.” He elbows her teasingly. “You used to call Trevor Daddy.”

“I definitely don’t remember that,” Julie says, eyes wide in horror.

His smile fades, face turning serious. “I think Carrie does,” he says softly, and Julie remembers when Carrie first got here tonight, how she called Julie’s dad Papi , so quietly Julie thought she’d imagined it.

“Anyway,” he continues, “before all that, before Trevor was even… Trevor … he lived with your mom and me, and he was going through a really rough time, had a lot of trouble with food because, well…”

“Because food killed his best friends…” Julie realizes.

“We used to play board games with him, after dinner, when things were hard. It kept him distracted, made it easier to keep things down. That was the real start of Molina Family Game Night.”

“Huh,” Julie breathes. “Well then, next time? I want to invite him and Carrie for real.”

--

Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @apples-bees @reggiescrookedteeth @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @shellydominique

[writingbeary]

Kingdom - Reborn (pt.2)

Minyoung’s Outfit

Note:

Texts placed inside brackets are Kingdom’s show subtitles

Italicized texts are in English

Texts that are block quoted are interview cuts

────────── ♔ ──────────

During the shoot before Round 2, the time when they got the experts’ evaluation for Round 1, ATEEZ revealed the reason behind why the chose iKON as the group they wanted to exchange songs with.

"Everyone wanted to do iKON sunbaenims' songs. San did his monthly evaluation with Rhythm Ta and Minyoung's video for her highschool admission was Bling Bling. It's like we're fated to do this." Hongjoong explained moving his hands to point towards the two metioned people.

Seonghwa nodded adding in his own experience "I really like iKON sunbaenim that I even performed it at my school event."

"That's true! There's even videos of it." Hongjoong chuckled while Seonghwa shifted uncomfortably knowing the editors would probably add in the said video

"Minyoung too. She was formerly a YG trainee, so she must have had to dance to at least one song?" Jongho turned to the girl who was uncharacteristically quiet

"Me? I was a trainee there when they competed in Mix and Match. Ah but we don’t really practice Korean songs a lot there. Although, it’s like a mentality of trainees? You want to learn all the seniors’ songs in the company in case you have to perform it suddenly." Minyoung looked as if she was hiding herself cringing at her trainee days, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"So what? You literally are a member of their fanclub! I’m sure you know their songs by heart." Wooyoung pointed out making the rest of the members laugh. This information prompted the production staff behind the camera to ask if she really was a member of the iKON’s fanclub.

"I am, I also attended their concert in Sydney before. I also have membership for SF9 sunbaenim and BTOB sunbaenim. Oh but I like everyone!" Minyoung quickly added afraid she'll get misunderstood

[Photo evidences that Minyoung loves K-pop!] Photos of Minyoung’s merchandise and being in concerts or fan meetings were shown after edit.

"Ah right! But your class performed with Killing Me during the festival." Yunho exclaimed, clapping as he remembered the performance

"Oppa! Don't!" Minyoung tried to shush him but she knew it was too late. She turned to the staff worried "You're probably going to dig up videos right?"

[Of course! Here it is!]

As if teasing the girl, the editors played a clip of said performance. At this point, Minyoung knows there's no escaping what she calls her dark past.

(Group Interview)

The staff asked the group if they have tried contacting someone other groups with Hongjoong answering that he will try to do that after the show ends.

“When we started filming for Kingdom, I decided to be close with Kim Jinhwan-sunbaenim.” Wooyoung confessed making the other members laugh as he did declare that he will do whatever it takes to become close with him.

“Why do you sound so excited?” San asked laughing

“I feel like I don’t want people to know that I know you when you act like this oppa.” Minyoung mumbled evoking laughter from everyone including Wooyoung.

“What do you mean by that? You’re also like this with the other seniors!” Wooyoung grinned teasing the girl, Minyoung stuck out her tongue playfully at him.

“Even before filming Kingdom, the only groups that I don’t have anyone I personally know is iKON-sunbaenim and BTOB-sunbaenim. I’ll work hard to change that and be a successful fan.” Minyoung answered smiling shyly

“You do know Chanwoo-sunbaenim though? Through Chani-sunbaenim right?” Yunho poked the girl chuckling

“Ah right. We haven’t really talked but when it’s possible, he said he’ll schedule for our group to have a meal together with iKON-sunbaenim.” Minyoung nodded making the members smile in excitement

“Are you thinking of making it a win-win scenario with iKON?” the staff asked and with no hesitation the whole of ATEEZ answered yes.

“I think it’ll be great if we could place 1st and 2nd with iKON-sunbaenim. That’s my wish.” Hongjoong answered as the rest of the members nodded.

“People complimented our narrative in round one and that’s because they could tell that we were pirates. When performing Rhythm Ta, we need an arrangement and choreography from which people could tell exactly what we’re going for.” Hongjoong explained his ideas to the group as they conceptualize the stage for the round.

“Let’s our heads together and come up with it.” Wooyoung stated as he looked towards the other members.

“Let’s really put our heads together” Jongho joked as Hongjoong asked them to say their cheer. “Say, 9 makes 1 king.” 

“9 makes 1 king! Fighting!”

(Preparation for the Stage)

“In the original song, ‘What’s up? Hurry up and nod your head.’ this is the part that I liked. It’s catchy.” Hongjoong said to the camera as he worked on the song. “I left that part in verse 1 and verse 2 but I changed the second part a bit to incorporate a Latin vibe.”

“Another thing we agreed upon is to have another movie reference for this performance. We borrowed ideas from ‘Pirates of the Carribean’ for our Round 1 performance and for this stage, we will borrow the theme from the drama called ‘Money Heist’.”

“So we’re becoming 8 pirates. It’ll be a prequel to <Wonderland>.”

(Phone call with Minyoung)

Hongjoong called Minyoung while he was arranging Rhythm Ta into their own color and was on the phone with her as the cameras were recording. Hongjoong: Minyoung-ah, so I was thinking.. Minyoung: Oh no. What is it? *nervous tone* More high notes? Oppa stop thinking. That’s bad for my heart. *laughs* Hongjoong: Instead of high notes, I'd like you to rap.

Hongjoong laughed hearing Minyoung groan over the line and there was a pause before Minyoung spoke again.

Minyoung: Oppa. Don’t do this to me. Save me. Please. I'll do the high notes or stunts Hongjoong: We have to showcase everything Minyoung-ah. You're a rapper. You already showed Atiny that you can do it. Minyoung: I knew it. Giving in to Atiny’s request for that cover was bad *sighs before letting out a laugh in resignation* Understood. I'll do it. I have to do it. I did say I'll follow your decisions all throughout and I don’t go back on my words. Hongjoong: Also, you know that we’ll be adding narration right? Minyoung: Ah no. I’ll go along with your rap request but I won’t do the narration. Hongjoong: Why? It’s in English and you’re our native English speaker. Minyoung: It’s because I’ll most likely laugh if I do it besides don’t you think having the leader do it would paint a better picture? Like you’re leading ATEEZ into a revolution. Hongjoong: *convinced* Oh you have a point there. Alright. Thanks bun. Come record your parts tomorrow and bring Seonghwa with you. Minyoung: Mhm. I'll come with Seonghwa-oppa. Fighting Joong-oppa! I’m hanging up. Bye bye~

“Let’s do it from the start.” The choregrapher called out as he counted out loud while the members dance. San laughing after they finished a part.

[Main dancer losing his mind]

Nodding, the choreographer clapped and called out “Okay let’s try the second part”

"Let me catch my breath first." San asked the choreographer

“We’re not going to jump. We’re not using our steps.” as they run through their dance routine only to find out the choreographer is doing the footwork while all the members laughed

"It's what we've been doing anyway. It's just the base footwork." the choreographer commented laughing when he saw the members' faces "Just roll your feet"

"I feel like I'm getting conned." Wooyoung laughed as he too was trying to catch a breath

Minyoung laughed as if she is losing her mind. "Why is this so difficult? This rolling is insane." before singing the song Rollin’ as she attempted the move again.

[Another one who is losing her mind.]

“I feel like we’ll all be sore after this stage.” Wooyoung remarked as the others laughed knowing that it’s going to happen.

“Where are we?” San asked as they walked into an establishment

“We’re here to practice for Kingdom.” Hongjoong answered as he explained what they need to do. They all agreed that it is important to try the action with one’s own body and Wooyoung pointed them to a place where they could practice those movements. The group went to a BB gun shooting place and played around.

“Ah. But won’t Minyoung have an advantage?” San grinned ready to tease the girl

“Why? What about me?” Minyoung asked tilting her head a bit.

“You’re small. You can hide behind almost everything here.” San got ready to block the girl’s slap laughing

“That would also mean Yunho-oppa is a great target though. Besides I can’t win if I stay cooped up in one place.” Minyoung shook her head slapping San’s arm “But rest assured. I’ll make sure to hunt for you oppa.”

“Everyone, aim for Yeosang.” Hongjoong reminded everyone of their goal today

“Okay.” “So it’s a 7 v 1 then.”

[It looks like they came here to have fun]

“But why are we aiming at Yeosang-oppa?” Minyoung asked as they shoot Yeosang who tried expressing how being shot by bullets felt like.

“<Rhythm Ta> is the title of the song right? We need to get the rhythm and enjoy the stage to the fullest. I think people will like it if we could perform while laughing and having fun like we did today” Hongjoong explained to everyone after the day of playing

The group went for their rehearsals with the props for a final time, everyone taking their places. San and Minyoung were together as they have to lead the last group dance together.

"What are you doing?" Minyoung could be heard asking San in the background as he was talking to the camera, then feeling embarrassed with his actions.

As Minyoung was practicing the dance for her solo part, she limped slightly when trying to change positions, the staff asked her if she's doing okay. "I am! I don't think it'll affect my performance during the show, I just have my knee wrapped as extra protection."

"She hurt herself during one of our rehearsals. It's nothing serious but to be safe, she was told not to strain too much." San explained for Minyoung who returned back to practicing her routine

[The choreography as expected is intense for all the members but she continues to practice despite the injury]

Noticing the camera focusing on her, she shared what was on her mind "More than this, I'm more nervous rapping in front of the seniors live. I’m worried that people wouldn’t take to well to me rapping and I'm especially scared that iKON sunbaenim might not like it. But I have to do it, I just need to do my part well since everyone else would surely kill theirs."

[The pressure must be heavy for the 22-year old girl to face but she continues on with a smile]

As the staff asked if they could win, San confidently answered “Win? If we do what we have to do properly, if we show what we got, I think it’s possible.”

“There was some pressure but I think we could prepare it with energy solely because we ranked high.” Jongho confessed during the group interviews.

“Right. I feel like we could prepare for the stage and just purely enjoy the process because the pressure isn’t as bad as before.” Minyoung said chiming in

“We were preparing for the next round energetically because we want to achieve another good result this round.” Jongho concluded

“I’m most curious about iKON-sunbaenim’s reactions” Hongjoong piped in making Yunho nod adding in “If we’re acknowledged by them, we already succeded a bit.”

“As we won first place in the previous round, we should show a performance fit for that title. That’s what we kept on thinking.” Hongjoong smiled as the other members nodded in agreement.

“A performance fit for the winners?” San asked

“We should meet their expectations.” Hongjoong nodded

“Shouldn’t we go above their expectations?” Minyoung asked making the whole group laugh as they end the interview.

"There were a lot of new things we tried for this performance. San doing b-boying and Minyoung would have more active parts in the choreography. You also have to look forward to her rap too." Hongjoong answered confidently smiling during the interview for Round 2.

When the music played ATEEZ’s version of Rhythm Ta, Minyoung felt adrenaline pump through her body as she felt herself suddenly no longer nervous, just excited. 

Everyone was surprised to hear her voice whispering their opening and even more when she rapped the pre-verse after Seonghwa's lines.

BTOB Eunkwang: She also raps? She’s insane! Didn’t she do the high note last round? BTOB Minhyuk: Right. Isn’t she a vocal?

SF9 Chani: She’s going all out, huh. *chuckle* 

Minyoung took center position for the first chorus as she sang “igeon gunyang noraeniggan rhythm ta” the cameras closing in, focused on her facial expressions before panning out to their group dance.

Stray Kids Han: *excited shout* Minyoung-ah! iKON Yunhyeong: She’s an all-rounder. SF9 Dawon: What’s scary is her facial expressions. How is she this good? It’s completely different from her usual aura SF9 Inseong: She’s an actress. But I agree, her facial expressions are fascinating. All of them do but she’s standing out in this performance.

As Hongjoong finished the Money Heist speech, Minyoung and Jongho sang together for the bridge with Minyoung supporting his high note before the dance booster where San lead the dance. For the ending, Minyoung once again took center position before doing a high kick in time for the last beat and smirking at the camera as the music fades to the intro of their Round 1 performance.

THE BOYZ Hyunjae: Minyoung is crazy. Pick one thing to be good at! Goodness.

SF9 Chani: *claps, standing up* SF9 Inseong: Minyoung-ie looked impressive during that last bit

Stray Kids Han: That's my friend right there! *laughs* Stray Kids Changbin: *laughs* You sound like you’re a proud parents 

iKON DK: They killed the stage. Like how we made our own from their song, they also created their own Rhythm Ta.

BTOB Eunkwang: They really made it their song. It was totally ATEEZ’ song.

 ATEEZ bowed and thanked the backup dancers and the staff after their performance, all smiling as they all thought they did perfectly.

Minyoung now feeling the high from their performance settle down a bit, finally felt the pain in her knee. Yunho noticing that’s she is having a hard time walking, crouched down in front of her. "Let's go and no, it's either you get on my back or I carry you over my shoulder Young-ah." knowing she'd refuse.

Sighing, she went on his back getting carried to the backstage to get their microphones taken out and treat Minyoung.

"Did you hurt it again?" San asked approaching the two with Jongho beside him, still trying to catch his breath.

"Same old. I just feel a numb pain but nothing too serious." Minyoung smiled trying to reassure the members that managed to gather around her and their manager who gave her a cold pack for her knee.

"If it's too much, sit out the rest of the filming-" Hongjoong started to say but the girl quickly rejected the idea

"No! I want to watch the rest of the stages too." Minyoung pouted trying to win over their leader with aegyo

Laughing, Wooyoung patted Minyoung's back lightly. "Okay case closed. Minyoung is staying for the performances. Hongjoong-hyung can never resist Minyoung when she does that."

"Fine. But you have to get that checked after the shoot and you have to tell us immediately if it gets too painful." Hongjoong sighed knowing how stubborn Minyoung could get when she wants something.

(BTOB’s stage)

“Okay. Another stage that I’m looking forward to. When Stray Kids picked BTOB-sunbaenim, I was already thinking of what songs could match well with them.” Minyoung stated as she made herself comfortable in her seat, playing with the wheeled chair a bit.

“Since <God’s Menu> was already performed last round, they probably won’t pick that.” Seonghwa laughed as he watched as the girl roll around her chair using her good leg

“What if it was <Hellevator> or <Double Knot>? That would be really cool!” Minyoung exclaimed clapping her hands “They could go for a complete 180 of the song. Imagine that.”

Hongjoong laughed at her excitement as Wooyoung grinned “Yeosang-ah, you and Jongho should probably get your ears ready if she squeals.”

“A bit too late for that warning.” Jongho laughed as Minyoung lightly punched his arm in protest

As BTOB started their stage, the camera was focused on the floor label ‘Stage 1’. Minyoung pointed at the screen. “It looks like a backstage..Omo! Are they going to perform <Back Door>?”

“Oh! <Back Door> <Back Door> <Back Door> <Back Door>” Yunho exclaimed excitedly with Wooyoung when Eunkwang pretended to warm up his vocals for their performance

“This is totally rock. The style actually suits Changsub-sunbaenim a bit.” Minyoung noted as Changsub opened the song with his verse “How does he go high that easily?”

Yeosang looked at the girl chuckling “You also go up that high. You and Jongho do that easily.” to which Minyoung deadpanned “Maybe Jongho but for me, I die whenever there’s a high note in my part.” at this answer all members of ATEEZ shook their heads, disagreeing with her but decided not to say anything and just focus on the performance.

“Wow! Crazy!” Wooyoung had his mouth open during the high note while Seonghwa could be visibly scene having the time of his life at the side

“Omo!” Minyoung let out a light squeal when Minhyuk came into the screen in his robe. Seonghwa suddenly switching from a fanboy mode to a protective mode and trying to block Minyoung’s view.

“What’s with everyone showing off their physique? We cannot win that!” Wooyoung laughed

“Peniel-sunbaenim’s rap is a bit…provocative?” Minyoung mumbled as she nod along to the music. “I guess they changed the theme quite a bit.”

“Oh! They’re finally going up the stage.” Jongho pointed out as the group walked out to what looks like a concert stage

“I want to go there too! I’ll be a backup dancer for them and just vibe up the stage.” Minyoung pointed at the screen copying the movements of the backup dancers

“Omo. Here it goes. Here it goes. BTOB-sunbaenim’s harmonies” Minyoung clapped excitedly as both Changsub and Eunkwang harmonize.

The rest of the stage was spent by the whole of ATEEZ just being the fans that they are, raising their hands up and down just like the dancers on stage. Most of them had their mouths wide-open as they’re amazed by the whole performance brought by BTOB until Minhyuk ripped his shirt off prompting Minyoung’s surprised gasp and Seonghwa’s frantic hand going to cover Minyoung’s eyes.

Wooyoung laughed at the two of them. “They’re at it again.” Seonghwa trying to cover Minyoung’s view while Minyoung trying to remove Seonghwa’s hand while laughing.

(Stray Kids’ stage)

“<I’ll be your Man>? This is song is so high though! I wonder how they changed it up. Also, Stray Kids’ openings for both of these rounds sounds so..” Minyoung paused trying to think of the word “you know the feeling you get during horror movies when they suddenly turn down the music?”

“Eerie? Mysterious? Creepy?” Hongjoong listed words that the girl could be thinking of.

“Eerie. That one. It feels so eerie but like you’re anticipating something but the general tone is just so solemn or something.” Minyoung commented as she watched Seungmin’s part in the opening.

“Han Jisung aye~” Minyoung smiled as Jisung did vocal parts right after Seungmin.

“So is this the part of Kingdom where the rapper sings and vocals rap?” Hongjoong chuckled glancing at Minyoung “You rapped today when you’re usually vocals then Han sings when he usually raps.”

“Minhyuk-sunbaenim did it first on this show though and Jisung has been doing vocals parts in their songs too.” Minyoung shook her head as she pointed it out to her leader

“You should give her more parts is what I’m hearing right now.” Jongho laughed, shaking his head before returning back his focus on the performance.

“it’s a difficult song. This one.” Yunho pointed out looking forward to the stage

When the screen changed, Minyoung got startled and jumped a bit in her seat as Changbin’s rap section started. “Changbin-sunbaenim’s parts always sounds so heavy. Oh but I meant it in a good way.”

Minyoung gasped with her eyes wide when Changbin fell from the platform. “Omo!” Wooyoung who was sat at the end grinned, proud of his friend. “My friend.” making Yunho laugh at him as Hongjoong praises Changbin for his rap.

“The kid disappeared!” Minyoung exclaimed making Yeosang chuckle at her. “Are they like dead? Is that why the dancers are wearing white? What is happening?”

“He’s gone!” “Where did he go?” both Wooyoung and Yunho gasped and spoke at the same time

As soon as Han took center and sang the chorus, Minyoung clapped excitedly in her seat. “Go get it! Let’s go!” then during Felix’s parts Minyoung couldn’t help but point at the screen shouting his name “Felix! Yes, go make use of your deep voice and dig deep underground.” as all of ATEEZ let out a sound in awe.

“Wait why are there axes and spears? Omo! They’re dragging him..I did say to dig deep but..” Minyoung gasped in realization “Omo! Is he like a devil?”

Noticing the backup dancers, Minyoung mumbled under her breath “So are all backup dancers in JYP this fit? It’s like they all have toned bodies.” Yeosang who was seating next to her let out a laugh, getting the attention of the rest of the members as he waved them off indicating he’ll tell them later.

“Is that blood? Are they going to summon Felix?!” Minyoung incredibly invested at the performance would have scooted closer to the screen if not for Jongho who was holding her chair back. “What is this? Did they sacrifice the kid? Or are they trying to save the kid?”

If Minyoung was excited during the first part of the performance, imagine that being doubled when both Seungmin and Han did the high notes. She was practically beaming, proud of her friends her attention on them before noticing the heavy rapping of Changbin in the background when Wooyoung pointed it out.

“I got goosebumps” Seonghwa confessed as Wooyoung exclaimed “Changbin, he’s super cool!”

“Our I.N-ie!” Minyoung raised her hands up high when Jeongin did the last bit of the chorus. “Oh! I’ve got goosebumps.” Jongho noted as the performance ended.

“So did they like sacrifice their blood to summon Felix and then save the baby?” Minyoung asked still a bit lost

“I think so. The statue seems to represent the kid in the beginning then they gave it a heart to save him.” Hongjoong nodded clapping for the last performance of the day.

“So did they save the kid? Or was the kid a ghost? I need answers!” Minyoung pouted as Yeosang chuckled and patted her back. “I believe it’ll be up to the interpretation of the audience.”

Outtake:

After everyone has performed, Minyoung laughed to herself gaining the attention of the rest of the members. “What’s funny?” Hongjoong asked her

"Should I just take it off too? Everyone ripped their shirts off and stuff." Minyoung asked patting her jacket, shocking the other members making them jump from their seat and yell out "No!" in unison. Minyoung laughed surprised at how loud they got.

"Why would you want to do that?" Seonghwa asked frowning a bit, trying to think up a reason to discourage whatever idea is on her mind.

"I don't want to hear that from you and San-oppa. You exhibitionists." Minyoung countered jokingly making Jongho and Wooyoung laugh. "It's not like I'll actually go topless that’ll be real bad. Maybe wear something sexy. I've already tried it during <HALA HALA> and <THANXX>...kind of? anyway, so it's not like it's anything new."

"After all this time? Why?" Yeosang asked curiously as there were lots of time when fan would question her stage outfits. She would always get something that doesn’t show that much skin, take her stage outfit for today. She has layers of clothing which worked in favor for the group since they won’t need to be on the look-out too much for ill-intentioned people. After that incident during their <Wave> promotions, everyone took turns on sticking by Minyoung’s side to avoid another incident.

"I mean everyone's been ripping their shirts off or showing of their physique and by everyone I mean including the backup dancers. They look good by the way.” Minyoung reasoned, taking her phone out already looking at potential outfits.

Jongho laughed as he patted Minyoung's back "Your image. Try to protect your image, you fangirl." making Minyoung laugh shrugging

"A bit too late for that Jongho. I'm pretty sure Atiny already knows that I have my fangirl moments. Besides, when could I ever enjoy myself like this other than off stage? I’ve had my fun with hair colors so maybe I could have fun with outfits as well."

"Why not her do what she wants? Better to agree and decide with her rather than her surprising us about it." Yeosang shrugged, chuckling when Minyoung raised her thumbs up exclaiming "You know me too well oppa"

"If you're comfortable with it...it’s not like we can completely stop you from doing what you want " Hongjoong sighed in resignation, patting Minyoung's head. He would have ruffled her hair if not for the thousand pins on your hair.

"Young lady, I am going to make sure it isn't scandalous. You better let me see the outfit first." Seonghwa wagged a finger trying to look threatening but only making Minyoung laugh and agree. "Like I said, you and San-oppa are the last ones I'll want to hear those words from. Well especially San-oppa. His clothes keep getting lesser and lesser." cracking up everyone

────────── ♔ ──────────

ATEEZ Minyoung Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. Any portrayal of real people is a combination based on what we could see on cameras and imagination of the author. This is purely fan fiction written for entertainment. Thank you for understanding.

━━━━━━ʕ ˵• ₒ •˵ ʔ━━━━━━

Writing Beary Corner

That’s it for the Reborn Round! I’m not sure if it showed but I had a lot of fun writing this round as everyone did a great job and this was the stage I looked forward to the most. 

I’m a bit busy this week so I cannot finish my drafted posts but I’ll post as soon as they’re ready. ♡♡♡

Thank you for reading!

-Mimi

20

[kpop-zone]

Blackpink reaction to their s/o being insecure because of shippers

Jisoo

Jisoo had noticed that something was bothering you for quite some time already. You didn’t speak up about your worries though and she didn’t want to pressure you into talking. Therefore, she kept quiet and simply opted to observe you in case your state would worsen. But overall, you seemed to be fine, so weeks passed without Jisoo ever figuring out what was wrong, and it took a stupid TV commercial to open her eyes.

The two of you were watching some TV when the teaser for the upcoming KBS Music Festival came on which caused Jisoo to chuckle.

“Great, now the shippers will go crazy again.”

She laughed amused, because the clip was cut very unfavorable and showed Jinyoung and her in the same scene.

Since they had been the special MCs for an award show together, countless dating rumors circulated, and a surprisingly high number of fans actually wanted to see them together. For Jisoo, this situation was really funny. She liked Jinyoung, he was a decent guy, but she couldn’t ever picture herself with him. Mostly, of course, because in her head, you were a fixed part of her future, but also because she didn’t think that Jinyoung and her were a good match. Therefore, she sometimes read all the weird conspiracy theories by the fans when she wanted to have a good laugh.

Apparently, however, you weren’t able to laugh about this situation. When Jisoo glanced at you, she could see that you were gulping thickly as if you were choking down some tears. Her demeanor immediately changed, and she reached out to grab your hand.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

She asked concerned, but you only shook your head in response.

It was clear to Jisoo though that something was bothering you. Intently, she thought about what could have caused your sudden mood change until the penny dropped at last.

“Jagiya, you’re not worried about Jinyoung and me, right?”

You stayed quiet for a while, confirming Jisoo’s assumption which made her feel guilty for not realizing it sooner.

“I’m not worried that you’ll cheat on me. But the rumors always remind me how much better than me you could do and that your fans would probably tear me apart if they knew that you are dating someone like me.”

Your words knocked the air out of Jisoo’s lungs, and she almost gasped in shock.

“What are you talking about? Please don’t say something like that ever again. You are the only one I want to be with and the only one that can make me happy.”

She stated clearly, wondering whether she hadn’t made her love for you obvious enough in the past.

“If you want to, I can talk with the management and ask whether they can make an official statement, denying the rumors.”

Jisoo wouldn’t let any possibility slide to make you realize that the rumors were absolutely ridiculous and that she didn’t want anyone else beside her but you. If those shippers were making you sad, she had to find a way to handle them.

Jennie

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Your question ripped Jennie from her train of thought, and she cursed herself inwardly for not being able to hide her emotions better.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

She smiled, hoping that you would believe her. It would be selfish of her to complain about a thing that she knew was making you insecure. Exes were a delicate topic in every relationship, but those conversations were even harder when there were thousands of people out there that still wanted to see you together with your ex.

“I can see that you’re lying, Jennie.”

You softened your voice and laid one hand on her thigh in order to catch her attention.

In defeat, Jennie sighed, but still avoided your gaze. She couldn’t make a scene now, but if she saw the concern in your eyes, she knew that she would probably break down.

“It’s nothing important; just the same old. Rumors have spread again about...Kai and me. Just because we’ve been spotted in the same part of the city on the same night.”

Only saying those words were making Jennie feel nauseous. They brought back the memories about all the hate that she had received during her dating scandal and now every ship with another idol that she was being associated with made her anxious.

“Oh.”

You answered simply, causing Jennie to feel guilty for bringing it up.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I swear, I would have never gone to that restaurant if I had known that he was in the area too.”

She immediately apologized, feeling tears starting to pool in her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jennie. None of that was your fault.”

You tried to flash her an encouraging smile, but Jennie could still see the insecurity in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry that you have to go through all of that because of me. If I could make it all stop, I would.”

She grabbed your hand and you squeezed hers tightly.

“It’s ok. I guess we both have to learn how to live with all those rumors.”

You sighed while smiling sadly.

Jennie wished that there was a way to stop people from stirring up both of your insecurities over and over again, but there was none. The only thing you could do was to try giving each other strength. Therefore, Jennie pulled you into a hug while apologizing once more for causing all that trouble.

Chaeyoung

New dream couple? 10 reasons why BTS’ Jungkook and Blackpink’s Rosé are a perfect match

When Chaeyoung read the headline of the newest article on one of South Korea’s most popular news pages, she rolled her eyes. For some reason, there seemed to be an army of shippers out there that wanted to see her and Jungkook together and were analyzing every little “interaction” of theirs to the smallest detail. In the beginning, she had ignored them, because there were a million rumors about her going around and she couldn’t pay attention to all of them. But when the voices of the people claiming that they were dating got louder and louder, she began to be bothered. Not because of herself, but because of you.

It was obvious that you were starting to feel insecure, because of the countless fans and reporters that were claiming that Jungkook and her were the perfect match. This article would only rub salt into your wound once more, causing Chaeyoung to feel endlessly guilty. Therefore, she immediately rushed home after work with your favorite takeout and some flowers in her arms.

“Hey baby.”

She greeted you happily right when she entered the apartment before snuggling up to you, causing you to chuckle.

“Hi to you too. What have I done to deserve all this love?”

You joked, but Chaeyoung just played it off.

“I love you and only you. That’s all.”

She smiled, but in that moment, you seemed to have realized what all of this was about.

“So this is about the article...”

Your expression changed immediately, and instead of your cute smile, a heavy frown was decorating your face now.

“I’m so sorry about that, Y/N. I don’t know where that is coming from again. I swear, I haven’t done anything. You are the only one for me. I would never do anything to fire up those ridiculous rumors. Please don’t worry about them.”

Chaeyoung started rambling, but she simply needed to make sure that you weren’t feeling upset. She knew where those insecurities of yours were coming from and they were absolutely valid, but she still wanted to free you of them; not only now, but sustainably.

Therefore, Chaeyoung started to be even more careful in the future. Not that she would have done anything to encourage the rumors in the past, but now she was paying even more attention to everything she was saying or doing. At award shows, for example, she always made sure to stand as far away from BTS as possible, so that there was not a single picture released that showed Jungkook and her in the same frame. In return, however, that lead to a number of opposing headlines.

All about the breakup of Jungkook and Rosé

Why do BTS and Blackpink hate each other?

Chaeyoung couldn’t care less about those articles though. As long as they helped to ease your insecurities, she would bare the hate.

Lalisa

“Which one sounds better, babe? LaBam or BamLisa?”

Lisa laughed while reading the newest articles about another addition to her countless ships; with her best friend BamBam. It was really amusing to her to watch all those fans colleting evidence to prove her relationship with the other Thai idol. Although she had to admit that if she wouldn’t know better, she might have believed those rumors too. Their stories sounded pretty conclusive sometimes.

“I didn’t even notice that I was looking at him!”

Lisa gasped before giggling when she looked at another Twitter post that made it look like she was looking at her friend in awe.

Her amusement soon died down, however, when Lisa realized that she wasn’t hearing any laughter from you. Confused, she averted her gaze from her phone to pay attention to you. You were staring ahead while the glistening in your eyes almost made it seem like you were about to cry.

“Y/N?”

Lisa called out your name in order to shake you from your trance.

“You would make a cute couple, wouldn’t you?”

You smiled, but the sadness in your eyes was giving away that you weren’t joking.

“What?”

Lisa asked perplexed, being caught off guard by your insecurities. She had never known that you were thinking about such things. The two of you were so happy together and Lisa had never even thought about dating BamBam.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Look, Leo is climbing up the curtain!”

Quickly, you tried to play off your statement by drawing attention to the cats, but while Lisa had to rush off to save her curtains, your question was still stuck in her brain.

This didn’t come from nowhere; you must have been seriously insecure all this time. A massive wave of guilt immediately washed over Lisa and she knew that she had to make it up to you. Therefore, she got off work early the next day in order to spoil you and treat you to a nice, homecooked dinner later that night. It took her several hours and some tries to get it right, but in the end, she managed to make some dishes that were actually enjoyable, and everything was ready for you when you came home.

“What is this??”

You gasped astonished and Lisa immediately wrapped her arms around your waist to pull you into the apartment.

“A token of my love and a thank you for always being by my side. I wouldn’t want to conquer this crazy world with anyone else.”

Lisa smiled, causing you to blush cutely.

It seemed like she had to surprise you more often from now on.

[valwrite]

empty lighter; daveed diggs

masterlist

summary: it’s fascinating, the things people leave behind in our lives. memories, possessions, scars, emotions. over the course of his life, daveed had collected so much from people who he’d left behind. but all he has left of her is a lighter and a broken heart.

warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive content, way too many cigarettes.

fic style: oneshot.

word count: 11.4k

author’s note: ah! it’s finally here! my first ever oneshot on this blog. hopefully, you guys enjoy reading it. is it the best writing in the world? no. but it doesn’t matter, i’m so proud of myself for actually getting back into writing, to the point where i was able to start and finish an 11k word fic. i’ve edited this over 10 times, so if there’s still an error in it, i’m going to cry. feedback, likes and reblogs are 100% appreciated!

December, 2015

Sweat was in the air and, with it, a scent one would hardly call enjoyable. With his behind comfortably sat in a cushioned bar stool, the man done his best to ignore the scenery of the busy club: the ever moving mass of bodies on the dance floor; the headache inducing remix of California Girls, which the evening's DJ was playing for what felt like the millionth time that night; the sight of his best friend hitting on some poor unsuspecting girl just trying to order drinks for herself and her friends. Instead, he focused on the drops of condensation and the pattern they left behind as they dripped down the side of his glass.

The speakers began to play yet another remix. Daveed rolled his eyes and welcomed another sip of his drink, this time not returning the glass to the counter top until the caramel liquor was all gone. The burning feeling was familiar and anchored him down in reality, a bitter yet accepted reminder that, once again, he found himself in the same situation he'd been in for over a year: alone, while being surrounded by sweating bodies. Sat at a bar, his friend off chasing some nameless girl and nothing but his loneliness, which only grew with each breath he drew, to keep him company.

His friend, Rafael, made eye contact with him and beckoned him over. So he stood but made no attempt to approach and discover whatever plan Rafa had in store for him. He knew the blonde haired man just a little too well at that point. He knew that the man was desperate to get his friend back to the state he'd been in four months prior, where every night was a thrill and an opportunity to get tangled up in some sheets with a pretty stranger and some pain numbing lust. In Rafa's weak defense, he had no idea what had switched in his friend to revert him back into a self pitying mess. He hadn't bore witness to the scene Daveed had stumbled upon all those months ago, a scene which sent him rapidly spiraling back to the rut he'd been stuck in the first two months after the break up.

Daveed shook his head, his wilder than usual curls bouncing from side to side as he focused on getting his mind off of the break up, off of the ring store, off of her. He couldn't afford another night of wasted tears. He headed in the opposite direction of Rafa and found himself breathing fresh air for the first time in hours as he stepped out on to the busy New York street. A car honked in the near distance and the street lights just about matched the neon lights which had lit up the club but Daveed felt as though a weight had been lifted off of his chest. Clubs had always been a part of his social and professional life yet recent events had left him feeling claustrophobic inside them. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't like that this was his social life again. Nights spent in clubs, mornings spent with uncaring strangers, afternoons spent in regret and nausea. Where had the nights of home cooked meals gone? The mornings he'd spent shielding his beloved from the harsh light of the rising sun? The afternoons where it didn't matter what wasted the time away, all that mattered was the hand clasped tightly in his and the woman it belonged to? He wanted them back.

Daveed wanted her back.

He'd been so consumed in his own thoughts that, when he finally focused in on his surroundings again, he was only a block away from his apartment and the club was long behind him. He figured he could text Rafa once he got inside, he'd understand why Daveed walked out. He probably already knew. A shy voice calling out his name caught his immediate attention and Daveed paused mid step. The voice seemed familiar, comforting, adoring. His breath caught in his throat and he swore he was dreaming. It took a moment or two for him to turn around and face his pursuer.

Disappointment burst forth inside him but he had to conceal the drop in his smile, especially when he noticed the young girl who was smiling at him with a gleam of excitement in her eyes and a familiar logo printed on her black t-shirt. He hadn't been dreaming, just delusional.

The fan was kind enough. She'd shyly asked him for a picture before gushing over how excited she'd been at one of last week's shows at the theater. Her brief mentioning of clipping. had meant more to Daveed than anything else she'd said, which he knew was a little selfish of him but he couldn't help it. Clipping., unlike the current Broadway show he was a part of, was truly something that was his to own. Sure, there were two other guys involved along with him, but the words he spat and the emotions and meanings laced within them were all Daveed's. To have it gain praise was a direct boost to his ego.

With a happier feeling installed in him, Daveed found himself unlocking the door to his apartment. He didn't bother untying his laces, his shoes simply being kicked off and left near the front door as he made his way into the familiar apartment. He ignored the state the place was in and dropped down on to the comfort of the leathered loveseat, finding some form of tranquility in the disorganization of his own belongings. It somehow made the place feel closer to home. Despite the fact he'd been staying there since pre-production of Hamilton, Daveed still felt disconnected. Not just to the apartment but the whole city. Perhaps, he felt too loyal to the Bay area to allow himself to get too comfortable with living on the east coast. More likely, it had to do with the fact she wasn't there with him, like she was supposed to be, like they'd both agreed.

Engraved in his mind was the memory of Y/N 's face, lit up with glee as she strolled in and out of the different rooms of the place, her voice rising in volume as she ranted and raved about all the ways they could set up the apartment- their apartment, a first of many homes together; god, just thinking of it brought a smile to his face and a dizzy feeling to his head-, and her list of all the ways they could spend any free time they could get: the little cafes they could visit, the monuments they could see, the streets they could walk. He could so vividly remember pulling her into his arms, his lips confidently claiming her own against them. He held her there for their own little infinity, one hand fisted in her hair, the other splayed out against her lower back as her own softly grabbed at his jumper and held him down to her, as if he'd ever dream of leaving her. Her soft laughter had echoed off the walls as she pulled away. He couldn't stand having his mouth off of her and settled with peppering kisses down her exposed neck whilst she jokingly accused him of just wanting her to shut up. He didn't even know how to begin to explain how far from the truth that was. That, in reality, he'd just felt such a desperate need to have her against him because he wasn't entirely sure if she was real or if the life and relationship they'd built together had been nothing but a cruel dream of his. She was too good, her love was too good and he, a man who's career was built off of his eloquence and mastering of word play, was at a complete loss for words when it came to loving her. Heavy breathing and discarded clothing was the way he'd chosen to express his love that evening, breaking in their new apartment. The very same apartment where their relationship would come to an abrupt end no more than two weeks later.

There was a pain growing in Daveed's chest, which he could only imagine was a side effect of his shattered heart attempting to continue beating. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He already knew it was Rafa before he even looked at the screen and answered the call.

“Hey man!” Rafa's cheery voice burst through the speaker and Daveed pulled the phone back from his ear, not having expected the volume of his friend’s voice or the questionable Cotton Eyed Joe remix in the background. “Where'd you go? I got a couple girls here that were looking forward to meeting you!”

“Yeah, I... I'm meeting Oak early tomorrow, got some magazine the cast is doing a shoot for.” In his own defense, Daveed wasn't lying. There was a photo shoot and he was meeting Oak in the morning but that wasn't the reason he'd left.

If Rafa knew his friend was evading the truth, he thankfully kept it to himself. “Ah, so the princess needs her beauty sleep? Your loss, man.”

“Yeah, yeah. Stop wasting your time on me and go enjoy yourself.”

“Have fun with your face masks and beauty creams! Oh, and Daveed?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't try shaving yourself tomorrow, leave it to the professionals. Don't want any nasty cuts on that precious face.”

Having hung up, Daveed carelessly flung his phone down on to the couch and watched it bounce once before laying flat on it's screen. The walls of the apartment were beginning to suffocate him, so much unfilled and unused space now suddenly feeling like it was caging him in, mocking him, taunting him with every echo of his own breathing that bounced off the walls. There was an itching in his lungs and his fingers had began to fiddle with themselves.

Daveed wasn't a particularly anxious person. Yet, anxiety was swelling in his throat and he ashamedly knew why. With his head hung low, Daveed blindly reached for the square packet and the cylinder lighter and headed straight for the balcony door. Opening it, he allowed the outside world to infiltrate his senses once more and it stole away some of his loneliness. The noise and lights and traffic were all a sign of life beyond his own, evidence that he wasn't truly alone in the world. Any loneliness he faced was product of his own creation, an isolation he'd comfortably settled with.

He hadn't put his whole life on pause. No, Daveed wasn't that careless. He woke up every morning and walked out the front door, prepared to face the day with as earnest of a smile as possible. He'd laugh with friends, speak with fans, give his all in his performances. But the feeling of longing would never truly leave him. Rafa could see it, most of the Hamilton cast too. They all knew there was an unspoken part of Daveed that was in denial of her absence. They could see it in the way his eyes never lingered much on beautiful women; in the way he kept her picture in his dressing room; in the way he still carried his part of their matching keyrings. But, what else could they do other than be there for him? She'd walked out with his lifeline and had left nothing but a Daveed shaped shell, hollow and devoid of life, just waiting for the day she walked back into his arms. He was pathetic. Foolish. Selfdestructive.

And so painfully in love with Y/N, even though it no longer seemed fair to feel that way.

The metal handrail was cold to the touch as he let his hands run over it, his eyes gazing down at the active nightlife below. His hands robotically opened the packet and out of it he pulled a cigarette. The nicotine stick found itself resting between his plush lips. The lighter was sparked up, the cigarette set a light and an inhalation of sweet smoke was taken. He'd always felt smoking alone was one of the most solemn of experiences. A couple more drags were taken before he became fixated with the lighter in his hand. He lit it up just to watch the flame dance, not a care in the world for the wasted lighter fluid. It didn't take much longer for his treacherous mind to drift towards the empty lighter inside his sock drawer and, most importantly, the memories attached to it.

A younger Daveed, freshly off stage and with sweat drying into his skin, had pushed past the drunken messes and the grinding pairs to escape for a breath of fresh air and a cigarette. Standing up in front of a crowd was a thrill, truly, but Daveed was still shy at his core and the hyperawareness of his own performance brought on a stress only nicotine could soothe.

The exit had taken him out into a back alley. The bass of whatever song was playing indoors could still be felt but the street was thankfully pretty calm, no one else there but another smoker and a couple making out further down from the door. A few steps out into the alley and he stopped, bending his right leg at the knee to perch his foot back against the brick wall as his hands occupied themselves fishing out a cigarette.

“Shit.” A curse escaped him as the realization hit that he'd forgotten to bring a lighter with him. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and huffed, a hand running through his curls. Maybe he wouldn't be getting that stress reliever that evening after all.

“Need a light?” Daveed nearly jumped at the unexpected voice, his foot slipping off of the wall and his back straightening. When his eyes landed on a girl, who was wrapped up in an oversized jacket and had her arm outstretched with a blue lighter dangling between her fingers, he was certain she hadn't been there when he'd stepped outside. Egotistically, he wondered if she'd perhaps followed him. Stupidly, he wished she had.

Daveed caught himself before he could stare at her for too long, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from her face down to the lighter she was still offering. With gratitude, he took it from her grasp and put it to good use. Seconds later, his lungs were filling with poison and his face with relief. Turning his attention back to her, he found the girl already staring at him. Unlike most, she didn't avert her gaze in shame of being caught. She only focused more intently on him, a ghost of a smile presenting itself on her features. “Thanks, uh, pretty lucky you came out here.”

“If you want to label me following you as luck, then sure.” The calmness of her voice, the way she shrugged so nonchalantly, the way her side was resting up against the wall and her eyes were shamelessly trailing over him were a hypnotic mixture strong enough for Daveed to nearly miss the words she'd spoke. Had he missheard or had she actually followed him? Freaked out would be the normal response. Flattery is what took it's place in Daveed, though. “That was quite a performance, very... lively.”

“Yeah,” A chuckle escaped him and his free hand shot up to rub the back of his neck. “that was one of our tamer crowds, believe it or not. Glad you enjoyed it.”

“I never said I enjoyed it.” The smile had slipped from her face, visually punctuating her words. Then, much to Daveed's relief, she broke out in a fit of giggles and the friendliness in her voice had returned. “I'm only messing! You were amazing but, honestly, the other two of your group are the unsung heroes. They really held it down.”

Daveed wasn't about to deny her statement, knowing fine well just how vital the two men were to him. If he were the ink, they were the paper he wrote on and the pen that encapsulated him. Her praise for them only made Daveed enjoy her company more.

From there, the two continued to partake in casual conversation: her asking about how long clipping. had been a thing, him asking her about her studies and the cold air of the night slowly urging the two to stand closer and closer and closer. There was laughter in the air and comfort in their bones, almost as if the two had been lifelong friends catching up and not two strangers meeting in a back alley. Daveed had long finished his cigarette and he knew his friends would be wondering where he'd disappeared to but he wasn't ready to walk away from the conversation, from her, and so out he pulled another, perching it between his lips. He hadn't had the chance to ask for her lighter, she'd beat him to it and sparked it up. He bent at the knee a little as he leaned down, both of them sharing eye contact whilst she held the flame to it. This time around, Daveed offered the cigarette packet out to her, hoping to repay her in some way.

“I don't smoke, but thanks.”

“You don't smoke, but you carry around a lighter?” His head tilted off to the side and a cheeky grin overtook his face. “You're kinda weird.”

“And you're a charmer, aren't you?” She rebutted, though no offence was really taken. “You're not the only smoker who forgets to bring a lighter. My boyfriend has a habit of doing it, so I carry one around for him.”

The window of hope inside of his mind was shattered by one simple word. Boyfriend. Of course she was taken. She was the kind of girl who you met in the morning and were in love with come the evening.

“Anyways,” Her voice interrupted his disappointment. “you distracted me from the reason I followed you out here!”

“Yeah? And what reason was that?”

“My friend thinks you're hot. Well, no, actually, I believe the exact words she used were "If he can rap that fast, I wonder what else he can do with his tongue. I don't usually climb trees but I could make an exception if the tree looks like him."” She'd used air quotes to signal just what her friend had said and, for the first time since the two had met, Daveed felt bashful. He hadn't expected her to say such a thing, even if it was just mimicking her friend.

“And you wouldn't happen to be this friend?” Daveed teased.

“I prefer my men on the shorter side, thank you very much." Her tongue darted out at him and he laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had someone stick their tongue out as an insult. Maybe in third grade? "My friend wants your number, though. And also wanted me to subtly convince you to invite us to come sit at your table but I'm really too tired to be subtle so, please just invite us.”

They'd returned inside not too long after, together, and off she'd gone to grab her friend to drag her over to Daveed's table. And while her friend was beautiful and flirting with Daveed the whole night, he found himself staring over at the girl from the alley every chance he got. He'd watched her do shots with Jonathan, watched as she and Rafa competed in a thumb war, watched as she'd knocked back a shot as her forfeit for losing. At some point in the night, Daveed had asked for her name and, at another point, she'd told him it was Y/N. And when he finally stumbled back into his own bed that night, his eyes staring up at his ceiling as he flipped the blue lighter in his hand, he thought of her.

Wetness dropped onto his hand and tore Daveed away from the memory playing on repeat in his mind. A single tear sat atop his hand and, in the other, a finished cigarette. Stubbing it out, he dropped the bud into a nearby ashtray and centered himself. Tears stung at his eyes and his breath was shaky but he was determined to push through and talk himself out of a full on breakdown.

Hours later, when sleep was finally coming for him and the warmth of his duvets embraced him instead of her arms, his wandering hands reached deep inside his drawer and pulled out the blue lighter as his eyes slipped shut and his mind drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

A blaring song and a loud buzzing noise woke Daveed up in a startle. He sat up, eyes still half shut and the duvet slipping down his naked chest. The noise persisted and he realized it was his own ringtone, playing from the pocket of his discarded jeans. He cursed under his breath when he stepped out of the bed, his foot landing on something uncomfortable before eventually meeting the soft carpet and giving him the leverage to reach the bottom of his trousers, dragging them over to find his phone screen lit up with Oak's name painted across the screen.

“What do you want?” Daveed was never a morning person and had no shame in this, especially when his sleep was interrupted.

“Good morning Oak! How are you? Oh I'm fine Daveed, how are you?” The overly chipper voice of Okieriete birthed a groan out of Daveed as he dropped back onto the bed behind him.

“It's too early for this, dude.”

“It's ten minutes away from being noon!”

“I rest my case.”

“C'mon man, we were supposed to be catching a ride together to head to the shoot. Now our car is ten minutes away and I arrive at your doorstep to find you're not even awake, never mind ready.” Oak's words were followed by a series of knocks, which Daveed could hear through the phone but also coming faintly from outside his bedroom.

“Shit.” Realizing that, amidst the flurry of pity and nicotine, he'd forgotten to set his alarm, Daveed begrudgingly pulled himself out of bed, tired legs with muscles stiff from sleep carrying him all the way over to the front door of his apartment, all the while Oak berated him over the phone and knocked away at the wood. Twisting the keys, Daveed pulled the door open at last and found Oak stood there, fist raised in mid knock.

“You look like shit.” Oak proceeded to brush past him and, after closing his front door again, Daveed followed the man to find him with his hand knuckle deep in a tub of peanut butter.

“Please, make yourself at home.” It was no more than a mutter under his breath but Oak had heard it and responded with a peanut butter coated middle finger.

The crappy coffee maker was switched on and Daveed went back into the messy bedroom. He'd just pulled some sweatpants over his legs when he heard Oak calling out to him from the kitchen. Slipping one of his t-shirts on, from his ever growing collection of Oakland attire, he made his way back over to the man and the freshly brewed coffee- which, without a doubt, was not going to be warm enough nor sweet enough- only to find his friend had abandoned the jar of peanut spread and instead was flicking through his mail. Despite this, a sip of underwhelming caffeine was more of a priority than questioning Oak.

“Who's Raquel and why is she inviting you to her wedding?” Now that, that was certainly more important than coffee.

Dropping his mug back onto the counter with almost enough force to shatter it, Daveed dove forward and ripped the envelope out of Oak's hands. Just like he'd said, inside of it was a wedding invitation from one Raquel Castro. The very same girl who'd once sent her friend to ask for his number. The very same girl who'd helped him plan out his first date with her best friend. The very same girl who'd been sneakily finding out what Y/N's ring size was only two months before his world came crashing down.

Given the memories he'd recalled the night before, part of Daveed couldn't help but think this invitation was more than a simple coincidence. A week after the break up, Raquel had called him. She'd been angry and accusatory with her words but it stemmed from her own confusion and inability to comprehend why things had ended so hastily between him and Y/N. Daveed couldn't understand it himself either. The call had ended up being the first thing to make him smile in his new found singleness. The two had maintained frequent contact from there on out, casual texts sent between them both just around once every month, Raquel had even taken a trip into New York with her fiancé and stopped by one of the Hamilton performances. But this invite, it had to be some sort of sign from the universe, a sign involving Y/N. Unfortunately, Daveed had not a single clue how to interpret this sign.

It took him a total of nine days to RSVP for the ceremony, playing out the pros and cons of his attendance. The fact Y/N would likely be there was the only pro that was also a con, and vice versa. Maybe he'd find some closure or, at the very least, answers to the questions he'd had on his mind since the day she'd slammed the door shut on their love. More likely, he'd spend the whole night alone at the singles table, nursing some old whiskey and watching her dance the night away in another man's arms.

January, 2016

This time, the DJ seemed to be enamored with some niche European techno music and Lin, a sweating mess on the relatively small dance floor, had become his number one fan. Next to the dancing maniac were the so called Schuyler Sisters, Jasmine and Reneé were busy taking turns dancing with the long haired man whilst Phillipa was losing herself in laughter between videoing the lot of them. Scattered along the club were the rest of the cast and crew. In fact, most of the people Daveed held closest to him were there, all banding together to celebrate something they had in common: him.

For them, it was the celebration of his 34th birthday. For him, it was a pity party for his 2nd birthday in a row without Y/N by his side.

He'd made a vow to not be bitter that night and focus on being grateful for what and who he did have in his life. Thus far, he'd done a good job. For the first night out in months, Daveed hadn't spent the night sat at the bar alone. He'd danced with friends and done shots with strangers and flirted with beautiful women. But it was hard to ignore the elephant in the room. All of his friends were there with their significant others whilst he was there with his bottle of champagne.

Tilting the bottle back, Daveed welcomed the bubbled drink in and gulped several times before dropping it back onto one of the many tables they'd all occupied. Just as he made the decision to stop thinking about her, destiny or the universe or whatever higher being was out there decided it was time for his birthday present.

He could hear the group of girls long before he could see them. A ruckus of screeching and slurred words was approaching and, from the neon bracelets and the sashes draped across scantily clad chests, it was clear as day to him that a bridal party had just entered the building, and they were far from subtle.

His curious eyes found themselves scanning over each girl of the bridal party as they filtered their way over to the other side of the VIP lounge. They were a sea of nameless faces, hooting and cheering like a bunch of frat guys on a night out and, as easy as it would be to find them irritating, Daveed couldn't help but chuckle and enjoy the fact that other people were having a great night. Until his eyes drifted to the back of the group.

At first, it just felt like a coincidence. A dress, laced with familiarity and the color red, which he was sure he'd seen before. But, then again, there were tons of red dresses in the world. Then, the girl looked up from her phone and Daveed felt the wind get knocked out from beneath his feet. Clinging to the table in front of him for support, he watched her smile at her friend.

It was the kind of smile he used to pull from her, whilst they were both spread out on each end of the sofa and a terribly romantic movie playing in the background of their happiness. He'd cheesily recite lines from the movie to her and revel in the way he could still make her blush, even if she hid it with a cringe. And when he'd agree to stop, he'd always tell her he loved her. No cheesy lines, no big words or unrealistic speeches that took place in airports. Just a flat out, honest, sincere “I love you”. Y/N would just smile and he'd already know she loved him back, no words needed.

“Wow buddy, you alright there?” The distinguishable voice of Anthony Ramos cut through Daveed's reminiscing yet his eyes never left her. He was frozen in time, hyper focused on each gesture she made. Most of all, he was desperately trying to spot the ring on her finger. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Daveed bit back a comment about the ghost being from his past, of a life he could have had. Grabbing a half filled shot glass, he threw it’s contents down his throat, not even grimacing as the liquor stung his nerves. “I'm great. Just tired. S'been a long day, y'know?” His words were a little more unsteady and slurred than he would have preferred but Daveed was sure he'd sounded convincing enough.

“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Anthony chanted enthusiastically over the music, gaining a few glares and side-eye glances from surrounding tables. He truly was the human equivalent of a beagle: energetic, kinda short, great with kids. “Let's go do some! Shots always work great if you're feeling tired.”

“How 'bout you go order us some then, Ant?” Daveed said, at last tearing his eyes away from Y/N and her red dress. “I'm just... Gonna go to the bathroom real quick.”

Daveed would have felt bad for lying to Anthony, he really would have, but he just needed a breath of fresh air. And maybe a dose of poison in his lungs. Out of everyday in which he could have ended up in the same city, in the same club, in the same section as Y/N, of course it had to be the night he'd sworn off thinking about her. How cruel fate seemed to him, not allowing him a break from sorrow.

The January air had a chill to it when it embraced Daveed as he stepped out on to the small balcony, which was really just a metal enclosure that looked as if it was violating some kind of health and safety code. The club music was still audible but it was playing in sync with noise of the city. A siren was ringing in some distance. He placed his vice between his lips, ready to light it up when-

“What's the birthday boy doing out here all alone? Not throwing a pity party, I hope.”

Daveed jolted and watched as the cigarette, now having slipped out of his mouth, fell to the balcony floor and dropped through the metal caging. Biting back a curse, he finally noticed the black satin and a familiar head of blonde hair. She hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen her. Yet again, it hadn't been long since she'd come to see Hamilton. “Raquel!” His enthusiasm was honest, as was the care he put into the hug he pulled her into.

“If only everyone was this excited to see me, the world would be a better place.” Raquel exclaimed, drawing back from his embrace and cautiously leaning against the handrail, tilting her head down as she looked over the edge. “Didn't mean to startle you, sorry.” A sheepish smile appeared. “But, hey, at least Y/N can no longer claim that I enable your smoking!”

Daveed realized then and there that it was no coincidence that Raquel had come up to him. Sure, it was his birthday, and sure, they were friends. But Daveed had been blatantly staring at his ex, her best friend, and clearly he'd been caught. If if weren't for the calming nature of her voice or the way she looked at him with equal amounts of kindness and pity, Daveed would have walked away from the conversation before it could even begin. But, it was too late now.

“Remember that trip we all took to Cancún? Where she threw the cigarettes you bought me in the bin?” For the first time, Daveed was sharing memories of her with someone else. For months, his reminiscing had been silent, not unnoticed but not shared either. It was almost like he'd been in mourning for so long and, now, he was finally ready to start celebrating the life he'd lost.

“How could I forget? She still owes me ten dollars.” Raquel laughed and he followed, even if he didn't find any humor in their conversation. His was an empty laugh. “Oh! Right! I actually needed to talk to you about something!”

“I'm all ears.”

“It's about the catering at the wedding. I know you're Jewish but I can't remember if you're kosher. Just in case you want us to mark anything non-kosher at the reception.”

“Ah,” Daveed nodded, silently appreciating that she'd even taking the time to ask him. “Don't worry, I'm not that strict about it. Honestly. Thanks for asking though.” By then he'd drawn and lit a cigarette, this time managing to not drop it. He let his eyes scan over her and he found himself unable to stop the small smile which took over his face at the sight of her bridal party wear. “The wedding isn't until August, isn't it a bit early to start up the bachelorette party?”

“This isn't my party, Diggs.” She rebutted, bumping his shoulder with her own as she stole a sip from her champagne flute. “It's a friend of mine's. That's actually why we're in New York.”

They didn't need to define who we was referring to, Daveed knew it was Y/N. If it were even possible, his heart stuttered over a beat. The question was at the tip of his tongue, longing for him to just get it over with. Rip the band-aid off, open up his wound and let it bleed out. Is it her wedding? Somehow, the answer seemed scarier than the question. “Seems everyone's getting married off then, huh?” Like a coward, he never asked.

“What about you, mister Broadway? Any lucky lady in your life?” Surely she knew the answer, considering he hadn't added a plus one on to his wedding reservation.

“No, uh, been too busy. Shows 'n stuff, y'know?” He said, not even convincing himself of his own excuses. And, from the pitiful look she was giving him and the hand she'd placed on his forearm, Raquel wasn't believing him either.

“Have you talked to her, at all? Since things ended between you guys...” She paused, as if searching for the right way to word things. “I just think you guys at least deserve some closure. Your relationship didn't even properly come to an end. One day, you guys were together, the next, well, you were over. Two years of building a life together can't just stop all of a sudden.” Daveed remained silent and Raquel took this as a sign to keep talking. “Sorry if you think it's not my place to say all this. I've been trying to tell her for months now to talk to you but she just won't listen. Not even when we came to your show.”

That had spiked his attention and his eyes widened. His show. The theater. Hamilton. She'd been there, somewhere in the mass of the audience. In anger, he wished he'd spotted her. In pain, he wished she'd have let him know. Now here was their friend, her friend, asking him to talk to her and get closure for them both. Even if it hurt him to think that Y/N was suffering, it hurt him more to think of them truly being over. And that's exactly what closure meant. The end of things. Daveed wasn't ready for her to become a part of his past yet. Besides, last time he'd seen her, Y/N seemed to be doing just fine, with or without closure.

Both of his hands were full from the tray of beverages in to-go cups he'd been sent to purchase for the cast, meaning Daveed had to shoulder his way out of the corner cafe, all the while cursing the fact he'd ever agreed to take part in the childish game of rock, paper, scissors. He'd drawn rock and wound up losing to the rest of the cast's papers. Laughter had echoed as he walked out the theater with a list of everyone's order.

A frustrated sigh escaped Daveed as he lowered the trays onto an outdoor table. Sitting unevenly on the pavement, the table wobbled. Those short three seconds had Daveed near crippled in panic as he watched the drinks shake, some almost toppling over completely. Luckily, they all stayed up right and he wasn't about to find himself buying a whole new order.

“C'mon, c'mon, hurry up.” He muttered under his breath, fingers drumming against the side of his legs, eyes staring down the street with a desperation to spot the familiar face of a fellow Hamilton cast member. He'd texted the group-chat just about ten minutes ago, someone should have been on their way to help him carry the order back.

The blaring of a horn had Daveed looking up from his phone screen. An elderly man was cursing out some taxi driver as he crossed the road, stick waving in the air as unfiltered words fell from his lips. Maybe, if Daveed hadn't stared at the scene before him for so long, he would have never noticed the jewelers directly across the street from him.

Maybe he would have never noticed a man and woman inside the store. Him, with his arm around her shoulder, and her, with her eyes fixated on the display of rings in front of her, and both with smiles brighter than any collapsing star. He watched, throat dry and limbs heavy, as the attendant in the store helped the woman slide on the ring. The engagement ring. She nodded, just one nod, and that's all it took for Daveed's world to implode. Of course, the couple were completely unaware of the heartbreak they were causing as they waited for the ring to be wrapped and bagged. The man had eagerly pulled out his credit card, as if he couldn't wait a second longer to purchase it, and the woman welcomed the bag into her waiting hands, like she was desperate to return the ring to it's rightful home: her left ring finger.

It was selfish, Daveed knew that, but he'd been hoping Y/N was just as torn up by their break up as he still was.

Instead, she was engaged. To another man, another future.

“There you are! God, this place was further than I expected.” Daveed turned his head to see one of the ensemble members, Ariana, approaching him. She smiled and he done his best to return the gesture. “Alright, what ones am I carrying?”

“Oh. Uh,” He blindly grabbed two of the sets of drinks, offering them to her. “these ones. I got the rest.”

“Okay! Let's go, pretty sure poor Leslie is gonna pass out from exhaustion if he doesn't get his dose of coffee soon.” Daveed hesitated following her and, instead, stared back over at the other side of the street. He found the store was now empty of customers and Y/N was no longer there. “Hello? Earth to Daveed!”

“Huh?”

“You okay there? You were just staring off into space for like, 2 minutes.”

“Yeah. Yes.” He swallowed the ball of emotion pent up in his throat and walked over to her, ignoring the little voice in his head telling him to look back. It just wanted to torture him some more. “Just,” He sighed. “thought I saw someone.”

“If she doesn't want to talk, then there's no reason for me to do it. Maybe it's just better for us both if we keep to ourselves.” The reality was that Daveed didn't think he'd be able to get through talking to her even if she did want to speak about it. Not when he'd spend the whole time staring at her hands, at the rock resting on her finger, at the pledge of love and fidelity she'd given to someone else. “So, how's wedding planning been treating you? You excited to just get it over with?”

“A hundred percent!” Raquel laughed and he relaxed, thankful for the fact she'd let him change the topic of conversation. “Don't get me wrong, some of the planning has been fun. Cake tasting? I highly recommend it. And I've got her learning salsa for our first dance. But, yeah, venue planning and the cost of it all has been a bit of a bummer. I'll be glad to never have to do that again.”

“Salsa? Great choice, bring a little flavor into the whole traditional wedding dancing.”

“Yeah! Fuck swaying side to side awkwardly, I'm putting on a performance! It's been a messy journey, planning everything. Even just something as simple as seating arrangements, who the hell knew it was such a process to organize all that crap?” She threw her hands up, the remainder of her champagne sloshing inside of the glass. “But it'll be worth it when I walk down the aisle with her. We're gonna put all other brides to shame in our dresses. Shit, sorry, all I talk about recently is the wedding! You can tell me to stop if you want.”

“It's fine, no worries. You're happy, it's nice.” He felt a tug at his heartstrings all of a sudden, very aware of the fact of how much had changed since the two had first met. It really did fill him with joy to see her so happy. “You deserve it, Kelly.”

“You know I hate being called that, David.” The two old friends laughed in unison after she lightly kicked him with her heeled foot, not even hard enough to leave a scuff on his jeans. “It's crazy, you know, that just about four years ago I was trying to get in your pants. And now I'm a few months away from getting married! To the love of my life! I mean, she's honestly the best thing that's ever happened to me, D, you have no idea.”

He had an idea and it was somewhere else inside the busy club, wrapped in red and the familiar scent of coconut- it had always been her favorite - but he wasn't sure he was allowed to speak about her like Raquel spoke about her fiancé. That was reserved for someone else now. He also held back on pointing out the pitiful fact that it seemed people who pursued him would wind up engaged afterwards.

At some point, they both went their separate ways, back to their respective groups. Daveed eventually threw caution to the wind, a fresh wound on his soul after having seen Y/N urging him on. Every drink he was handed ended up down his throat and, somehow, Lin managed to rope him into dancing to the shitty music with him. They all danced, cramped together in the limited space like canned tuna. When the last song was played, when the last drink had been poured, when the last cab had been hailed, a very intoxicated Daveed found himself stumbling into the apartment of a stranger wrapped in red. The fact she smelt like sweat and lavender was the only downside.

If he hadn't drank so much or gotten so reckless and careless, perhaps his phone wouldn't have been left abandoned among glitter and emptied glasses in the deserted club, it's screen lit up with two notifications:

00:49 am (+81) 03-3***-****: happy birthday, d. i'm glad to see you're having a fun night!

02:18 am (+81) 03-3***-****: you're wearing my favorite shirt of yours.

August, 2016

The sun setting over the horizon burned at Daveed's tired eyes as he stepped off the plane, thankful to be home yet dreading the next day. The whole flight over he'd practically gone through the works of all possible emotions he could feel towards his impending future. Excited, saddened, nervous, happy, frustrated, nervous again. Every possible scenario had played through his mind, ones where the two did not speak, others were they done nothing but speak and one, shamefully, where they done something but it was not speaking.

The wedding was one sleep away and he was no more prepared to be in such close proximity of Y/N than he had been the night of the club or the day on the sidewalk.

His dad had picked him up from the airport, lending him a hand with his limited luggage and pulling his cherished son into a warm hug. The whole drive back to his father's home had been filled with playing catch up, Daveed sharing stories of his cast mates and his father telling him about his new hobby of coaching a local junior basketball team. Daveed was grateful for his dad not asking about Y/N. If it had been his mother, all intentions pure and caring, she would have began to question him on the matter the second he was strapped in to his seat and unable to escape.

His parents had always liked Y/N, that was for sure. And, while it had been a blessing during their relationship to see his mother dote over her like she were her own daughter or to witness her beat his dad at guitar hero, it had become a curse when things had ended. The way things ended did not make matters any better. His own mother had given Daveed the silent treatment for a whole two days after he explained to her how things had gone down.

He fell asleep that night, his bag opened yet not unpacked, in the guest bedroom of his father's home. A belly full of pizza and beer, mind full of worry and doubt.

Hours later, after a shower, a shave and a shit ton of stressing as he pulled on his suit, Daveed found himself parked outside the venue. Finding a parking space had been stressful enough but it was nothing compared to the on-going battle between him and his crooked tie. It had only hit him that morning just how long it had been since he'd had to tie his own tie, too accustomed to his new normal of having a stylist dress him for most formal occasions. Before that, he'd had Y/N.

A few months into their relationship, when he finally felt confident enough to meet her parents, she'd went out of her way to learn exactly how to tie a tie and she'd wordlessly done it for him that evening, his hands too shaky and his nerves too on edge. From there onward, he'd purposefully mess up only to have her stand so close, where he could comfortably lay his hand to rest on her lower back as she worked away at sorting the piece of cloth around his neck.

“That's as good as it's gonna get.” The quiet of his car was filled with his disappointed voice as the less crooked tie stared back at him through the rear view mirror. Despite his words, he gave it one last tug and stepped out of the car.

He hadn't expected to be recognized by so many familiar faces. He probably should have expected some though, these were people who'd been friends to him once upon a time ago. To add tension to an already tense situation, everyone that felt the need to come up to him was dancing around the fact things had ended between him and Y/N and that was why they'd stopped talking to him.

“It's been so long since I've seen you! I've just been swamped with work, you know? And, New York! You were on Broadway. How's Broadway? Must be exciting to be on Broadway!” They'd all have the same excuses to avoid the obvious: they were Y/N's friends first and they'd be hers till the end.

Daveed wished he believed it when he told himself he didn't mind that.

The venue of the ceremony was breathtakingly beautiful and, now sat among (luckily) unfamiliar faces, Daveed took the chance to fully appreciate the scenery.

It was being held within a greenhouse, and in almost every inch of the place there was a strike of greenery. The surrounding walls were made up solely of glass windows, serving as a source of natural light. At the end of the aisle, where the exchanging of vows, crying of happy tears and giving of rings would be taking place, was a beautiful water display, with water so fresh looking it appeared drinkable. And the air? It was smothered in the scent of life: blossoming buds and flourishing flowers and ripening fruits. Splashes of red and yellow, of blue and lilac, of pink and orange effortlessly added more class and detail into the green venue.

If the venue was breathtaking, the ceremony was heartbreakingly tender.

The two teary eyed brides had walked down the aisle with the person they'd chosen to give them away and, by the time they were both facing each other at the makeshift altar, Daveed could already see a stray tear falling down Raquel's cheek. At that, he smiled. And stayed smiling throughout the whole ceremony. Until it came to Raquel's vows.  At some point in her big proclamation of love, she began speaking about how her and her bride had first met, about how she hadn't even realized she was being hit on by her and how, when she was asked for her number, Raquel thought she'd just wanted to be friends. She spoke of how two dear friends of her's told her she was being asked out on a date, not just to hang out as friends.

For the first time during the ceremony, Daveed finally looked directly at where Y/N stood in front of the other bridesmaids. He watched as a stray tear slid down her cheek, one she quickly tried to brush away, and her hands tightened around the bouquet they were wrapped around. His own eyes were welling up with tears in just a few seconds. While they weren't the only two in the room carrying tears in their eyes, they were the only two who's tears were made up of missed chances and broken promises and pure, untamed sadness. After all, they’d been there to witness the first meeting of the brides. They’d been together then and now, they were further apart than the stars above.

He'd told himself he'd just steal one last glance at her, remember her as she was next to the altar, all dressed up and looking beautiful albeit sad. His eyes lifted. And there was Y/N staring right back at him, a couple more tears already having fallen from her eyes. The eye contact never wavered between them both and, for the first time in a while, Daveed felt like he was actually being seen for who he really was. And when she smiled, he fell apart.

A tear finally escaped it's cage but Daveed made no attempt to wipe it away.

One luxurious meal later, and quite a few drinks from the open bar, Daveed sat in the very same situation he'd predicted. At the singles table- which was pretty depressing given who his company for the evening was -, with some girl he'd met about an hour ago talking his ears off about her job which he hadn't even asked about, a drink he’d been nursing for half an hour in his hand and his eyes hyper-focused on the dance floor. Taking another sip, he drowned out the stranger’s voice and watched how Y/N laughed at something her dance partner had whispered in her ear. 

This was how Daveed had chosen to enjoy the reception: playing a game of “Guess Who’s Marrying The Love Of Your Life?” with every man who so much as approached her. He was thankful her duties as maid of honor kept her so busy, she’d yet to have the chance to notice his incessant watching. 

Deciding he’d spotted the fiancé of his kryptonite- the man she’d been dancing with for just over twenty minutes, who she’d been sat next to during the meal, who seemed to make her laugh just as hard as Daveed once had - he pushed back his chair, straightened out the jacket of his suit and headed for his destination. 

Heavy footsteps, fists clenched, breathing erratic, Daveed stepped out into the fresh air and made his way over to the concrete railing of the balcony, a balcony far more sturdy and well designed than the one he’d stumbled onto back in January.

The silence and lonesomeness wrapped themselves around Daveed like the softest, warmest blanket on a winter's eve. For the first time since he'd arrived at the wedding celebrations, he'd found a window of peace for himself to take a moment and breathe. Recalling the conversation he'd shared with Rafa before he left for the airport- in which Rafa had been hyping him up and reassuring him he'd enjoy more than regret attending -, Daveed had to admit to himself that he was proud of how he'd done so far. Maybe not in the past hour of self pity with a side of substance abuse, but other than that he'd held himself together pretty well.  He'd congratulated Raquel and her official wife, even sharing a dance with both of the women; he'd rekindled friendships, once he and they managed to push past the original discomfort of not having spoken in so long; he'd met some interesting strangers with fascinating stories; he'd ate some of the most lucrative meals he'd ever tasted and bore witness to a demonstration of pure love.

He was enjoying himself.

The only thing that made the evening unpleasant was when he'd finally zeroed in on Y/N and her smile; and the way the lights were making her eyes sparkle; and the way her dress was draped over her skin effortlessly.

The alcohol was beginning to take an effect on him, his mind becoming a little resentful towards Y/N. He'd never once hated her, even if it had been she who'd called quits on them, but he couldn't help blame her now for his situation. How was it fair that she got to move on with her life while he still could barely sit in the same room as her and keep his eyes from watching her every move, her every gesture?

“Shit.” Daveed huffed out over the sound of crickets and the muffled sound of the celebratory music, just as his lighter gave up on him and decided it would not be lighting up the cigarette for him this evening.

“We need to stop meeting this way.” He hated the way the resentment left him with as little as seven words. “People are going to start calling us predictable.”

Sure enough, when Daveed spun on his heel to face the balcony doors, there she was in all her glory, arm stretched out and lighter in hand. He wondered if she carried it around for her new man. Out here, her eyes were a lot less sparkling, her dress a lot less light, her smile a lot less wide but Daveed didn't find her any less ethereal. He never did.

“Uh,” She'd cleared her throat and Daveed felt embarrassment creep in. Here she was, perfectly composed and unaffected by him, whilst he was just as nervous as the day they had their first date; the day he'd first told her he loved her; the day he asked her to move to New York. “thank you.” He plucked the lighter from her and hit the clipper.

“No problem.” She took a sip of the glass in her hand and approached him more, till they were stood in parallel, shoulders an inch away from brushing, staring off into the dark abyss of the night that lay past the grounds of the vibrant wedding. “I see you got stuck sitting next to cousin Delia. On a score of one to ten, how bad is your headache?” Why was it so easy for her to joke around with him?

“Probably a solid seven. She talks a lot but at least there's never time for awkward silence with her.” He pulled in a drag and held back a groan when not even the nicotine could untense his muscles. “The ceremony was beautiful, you must be so happy for Raquel.”

“Yeah.” She sighed dreamily, head turning back to look at the balcony door, as if she were remembering just how beautiful indoors was. “I'm so glad everything went smoothly, they were both so stressed during the planning but it turned out exactly how they wanted.”

“They're lucky to have each other.” Why couldn't he see her engagement ring? Was she hiding it from him, out of pity? Did she know he was hung up on her? Daveed had spent so many months missing her only to resent the time he was spending with her. Stood on that balcony, hardly any space between them, Y/N had never felt further away. “So, how've you been? Like, work and shit.”

“I've been... good. Yeah, good.” There was a pause and they stood in silence, her staring off into space, him staring at her face. “I took the job, in the end, so there's that. Moved to Japan, got to have some new experiences and make new friends. Tried Sashimi, realized I do not like Sashimi. Oh! I got to watch cherry blossoms bloom. Just, yeah, I've been good.” She didn't tell him what he'd wanted to hear about. “How about you?”

“I've been great. Honestly. Work has been on the up and up since the show opened on Broadway, I’ve got some acting jobs lined up. Done some photo-shoots, made more music. Every night, there was another celebrity in the crowd. I mean, the President invited us to perform in the white house. I've been great in other parts of my life too, made some incredibly interesting friends.” Is everything Daveed wishes he said.

Instead, he said this: “Awful. I've been doing shit, for a while now.”

“D.” He couldn't help but hate the fact she called him by that. “I don't think we should get into this at Raquel's weddi-”

“Then when, Y/N?” Oh, he had not meant to sound so confrontational. Unfortunately, the little voice in his head that made up his ego was enticing him to keep going. “Ten years from now? Fifty? Oh, or should we do it at your wedding? I can't put this off any longer, alright? I'm miserable and,” He tried to compose himself, eyes squeezed shut and hands shoved in pockets. “and it's your fault. So no, we're having this conversation. You don't get to just meet someone new and act like what happened between us meant nothing, whilst I'm left frozen in a time where a reality TV star isn't our President and you're mine. Ok? I need to move on but I can't if we don't get closure.”

“It's my fault? Meet someone new!?” She was using the same tone of voice she'd used that night, when the fight to end it all first broke out. “Daveed, you ended things between us, not me. Or did you forget?”

“Weird, I don't remember breaking up with a guy named Daveed and slamming the door shut on my way out.” He stepped back, dropping the wasted cigarette into an ashtray. “But I remember you doing something along those lines.”

“Well, do you remember the part where your girlfriend told you she'd just been offered her dream job and all you had to say was that you two needed to break up?”

“The job was in Tokyo!”

“Oh! So, it was okay when I made the sacrifice of moving to New York with you but you couldn't just deal with some long-distance dating?”

“What did you want me to say, Y/N?” Up until then, their voices had been rising in volume but this time Daveed was softly spoken. “I was happy for you. But I also realized how much things wouldn't work between us. Between Broadway and you being all the way in Japan and the time difference, when would there be time for us?”

“If you really want something, there's always a way.” Y/N said, resting her back against the balcony ledge. “Maybe you just didn't want us, enough.”

“You didn't have to leave though.” He followed suit, back against ledge and feet crossed. “Yeah, I messed up and said something I didn't mean out of fear of losing you, but you didn't have to take my advice and actually walk out the door.”

“How was I supposed to stay after that? It stung, D. I thought you had more faith in us. But you weren't wrong, I guess hearing you say we'd have to break up made me realize just how much the job change would really effect us both. I think we both played our part in ending things- Oh my god, I'm so sorry!” One second, Daveed had been quietly reflecting on her every word. The next, spilled champagne was seeping through his white shirt.

“It's, uh, fine. No worries. I'll just go try get this off me.”

“Let me help!”

As a man, Daveed was shocked to see just how perfectly clean and nice smelling the female restroom was. Everything seemed to sparkle in the light. He had traded leaning his back against the balcony banister for leaning it against the counter top of the sinks, his own hands wiping at his shirt with paper towels Y/N was handing him. She'd quickly and carefully dragged him into the toilets and stripped him of his suit jacket, all the while apologizing again and again for having soaked him.

Surprisingly, he didn't care.

“You can be honest with me, you know.” He glanced at her before refocusing on his shirt. They'd been talking lightly, of things that held no real value but were preferred over the discussion on the balcony. “You can tell me if you found someone new.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing, really. I just, I saw you. A few months ago. You were getting fitted for an engagement ring with some man at your side.”

“Do you mean my cousin? Who was planning a proposal for his girlfriend?” He could see the amusement on her lips as she handed him another paper towel. He felt his heart rate pick up. “My turn. Why didn't you answer my text? If you were doing so bad, wouldn't you want to talk it out as soon as possible?”

“Text? What text?”

“The one I sent you on your birthday? We were in the same club but, I don't think you saw me.”

“Oh, I saw you. I think you were all I saw that night.” He instantly regretted what he said. “I mean, I lost my phone that night. Haven't seen it since.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Silence kept them apart for the rest of the time. Eventually, Daveed decided his shirt was as dry as it was going to get. Then, he felt it. Y/N, without missing a beat, reached up and adjusted his tie. Both their breaths caught in their throats. The silence between them became tension. In a matter of seconds, everything was turned around, literally. She was hoisted up on the counter and he was stood between her spread legs, his hands on her hips and hers going back and forth between running through his hair and gripping on to his damp shirt. They were doing their best to keep quiet, swapping moaning out for heavy breathing.

Daveed was struggling to think straight, between the familiarity of her skin and the scent of coconut, it was as if they'd spent no time apart. Suddenly, anyone else he'd slept with between their break up and now hadn't really counted and this was the first time he was being touched in years.

When it was over, he was speechless and she was incapable of not speaking.

“Okay, so, um, I'll sneak out first and then you just, wait in here for five minutes. Then slip out. That way, no one has to see us both exit the bathroom together. Okay, great catching up, see you when I see you. Bye!”

By the time he came back to his senses, he was stood alone in the female bathroom, the top button of his shirt undone and his tie discarded on the floor. He shoved it into his back pocket and slipped on the jacket of his suit, not bothering to even discreetly leave the toilets. Luckily, no one noticed him.

Returning to the event hall, he instantly began his search for Y/N but he failed to spot any sign of her. Had she vanished into thin air? Had she even been there?

“If you're looking for Y/N, she just bolted out of here like the floor was on fire. Pretty sure she called a cab but you didn't hear that from me.” He turned to find Raquel staring at him, a smile on her face. “Stop wasting time on staring at me and go get her, lover boy.”

Daveed did not need to be told twice, his history with running track kicking in as he raced out of the hall. He sped down the corridor, dodging any oncoming guests before he burst out of the doors, stepping out into the fresh air. He could see her in the distance, standing with her arms around herself as she shifted from side to side.

“Y/N!” Daveed yelled out as he ran over to her. When she made no attempt to move away from him, he felt hope begin to rise in his soul. “Why'd you leave?”

“Daveed, we don't have to do this. In fact, we shouldn't do this.”

“Have coffee with me.”

“D, I don't-”

“One coffee, that's it. You can even get it in a to-go cup. Y/N, it's just coffee, I'm not asking for your hand in marriage.” He loved the way she was struggling to hold back a smile. “So, what do you say?”

August, 2020

The world from his garden felt calm, peaceful, as if everything wasn't falling to shit in the midst of all kinds of disasters.

It was the middle of the night and, no matter how hard he tried, Daveed couldn't sleep. Even after having more or less quit a few years back, he could tell there was only one thing that was going to calm his nerves. So, creeping out of bed cautiously, he'd reached into his bedside drawer and grabbed the little packet he kept hidden beneath his socks. Maybe it was just the recent times taking a toll on him, quarantine beginning to exhaust him, but Daveed had been feeling more stressed out than ever.

He sighed, one hand rubbing at the sleep in his eye and the other trying to light up his cigarette. Then, he noticed the blue plastic and a whispered “Fuck.” escaped from him. If he'd considered heading back indoors to find his functioning lighter instead of the empty one, it didn't matter because the cigarette and it's packet were plucked away from him by smaller hands.

“You shouldn't be smoking, D.”

“I know, I know, it's bad for my health. Just, a little stressed.” He welcomed the way she wrapped her arms around his waist, molding herself into his side as he wrapped his own arm around her shoulder. “Better now that you're here.”

“Hmm.” She hummed sleepily, squeezing her arms around him some more. “You're so warm. Like, a human hot-water bottle.”

“Just say I'm hot, I already know you're thinking it.” His lips rested on her forehead and the scent of coconut consumed him.

“Why did I agree to marry a man with an ego the size of the Statue Of Liberty?”

“Because that man's love for you is the size of Mount Everest.” He soothingly rubbed her back, feeling himself finally wanting to fall asleep. “Plus, he has really good hair.”

When he fell asleep that night, it was in the same way he'd fallen asleep for the past few years, and how he wanted to fall asleep every night that remained in his time alive: with her between his arms. He'd gone from being as useless, soulless as an empty lighter without her by his side to now, where he never had to worry about not being able to spark up again. He had Y/N and he wouldn't let anything change that. Not distance, time, health, anything.

[glitchh3d]

Halloween Party (Terushima x Reader) [HTF]

So, I didn’t proof read this. My apologies. 

Also, it’s not the best because I’m not the best at writing and i’m very tired and sad because my halloween went to crap but y’know. whatever. 

Ily guys!! Here you go! 🥰

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Cheating but not really. Language. Talk about sex. Talk about drugs. Alcohol and other college party stuff. 

Masterlist

(Y/n), Terushima, Futakuchi, Atsumu and Taichi walked into Kuroo and Bokuto’s house later than expected, but there was a round of cheers for them as soon as they were noticed. Kuroo bounced over excitedly, his drink spilling over the edge of his red solo-cup as he pulled (Y/n) away to lead her toward Matsukawa and Hanamaki who were waiting for her in the backyard with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. 

She giggled upon seeing them in their costumes. Hanamaki had darkened his hair somehow so it was red but Matsukawa had left his, instead styling it slightly. 

“Oh my god, you two-” She fell into a fit of laughter as they strutted around and showed off their legs that were covered in thin white tights. She pulled them into a tight hug, thanking them for doing the group costume with her. “I love you guys, thank you so much!” 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa both laughed and shrugged it off. 

“Anything for you, (Y/n). You’re our girl.” Matsukawa said, slinging his arm around her shoulder. Makki wrapped his around her waist and Oikawa flailed his arms around excitedly. 

“Let me get pictures!” He shouted, his halo nearly falling off as he jumped excitedly and rushed towards them. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes but smiled at his friends. 

(Y/n) giggled at his annoyed look, curious on how Oikawa managed to convince him to do a couple costumes with him. They were an angel and a devil. Iwaizumi looked like he didn’t really care though, only wearing a red tight fitting t-shirt and black skinny jeans with a little devil tail clipped to his belt loop and a devil horn headband on his head. 

Oikawa on the other hand, was wearing a pure white robe that had gold accents. His cheeks were dusted with gold and he had a halo headband on. Gold bracelets went up his arms and he had big angel wings on. 

“He looks ridiculous, huh?” Iwaizumi asked as he caught (Y/n) eyeing his boyfriend's costume. She smiled and shrugged. 

“It’s cute. Yours though, mister. Holy shit. Who gave you the right to be that hot.” She asked, making him blush. Oikawa snapped a couple of pictures of the trio in their costume and then turned to admire Iwaizumi with (Y/n). 

“Iwa-chan is hot, isn’t he? But stop ogling my boyfriend! Go ogle your own!” Oikawa said, shoving his cell phone into Iwaizumi’s pocket. 

“Hey-” 

“Oh shush. You’re my pockets for the night, deal with it.” Oikawa demanded. (Y/n) smiled at them and then saw Terushima, Taichi, and Atsumu walk into the backyard. Terushima smiled at her lovingly before approaching. 

His costume, Boomer from the Rowdyruff boys, looked good. They went for more of an e-boy route so he was wearing a black and white striped long sleeve shirt under a blue t-shirt that had the iconic black stripe across the chest. He was also wearing black fishnets under his ripped skinny jeans. He stuck his tongue out and winked at her as he approached. 

“Hey baby girl,” He said, pulling her away from Hanamaki and Matsukawa who raised their eyebrows at him. 

“Look at this tool,” Matsukawa said as Terushima wrapped his arms around (Y/n)’s waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. He cocked his head to the side and winked at them. 

Taichi and Atsumu approached on either side of them. Taichi looked bored, but Atsumu was grinning. 

“Wow, lookin’ hot Matsukawa.” He teased. He’d gone with Butch from the Rowdyruff boys but instead of wearing a long sleeve striped shirt, he was wearing a black hoodie under his green t-shirt. And he had dyed his hair back to black just for the night.

(Y/n) had tried suggesting to just use some wash out spray to do his hair but she was a few minutes too late. 

Flashback to the night before

(Y/n) walked into her apartment after a busy day at work, Taichi trailing after her tiredly. They had been on the closing shift for the night. 

“Teru! Atsumu! Ken? You guys here?” She called into the apartment. She heard a loud crash in the bathroom and hurried towards it, dropping her bag on the floor in her rush. “Holy shit, what happened? Are you oka….y?” 

In the bathroom, Atsumu was sitting on the toilet with a towel wrapped around his neck and shoulders. Terushima was holding a bottle of hair dye and Futakuchi was laying in the bathtub, watching. 

“Why the hell didn’t you just use the halloween hair dye spray that washes out?” She asked as Taichi peeked in over her shoulder. He groaned and turned and walked away. 

“...I didn’t think of that.” 

END of flashback

“Fuck, I know.” Matsukawa said back, a grin rising to his face. They fist bumped. 

Hanamaki grinned at Taichi who shook his head. 

“Don’t.” Taichi said. He was Brick and he absolutely hated it, even though he didn’t wear anything out of ordinary. He was in a red jumper with singular black stripes on the upper arms. He had a lock and chain necklace on and a single dangly cross earring on.  He also was wearing a black beanie and he looked cute in (Y/n)’s opinion. 

“But Taichi, bro! You look good. We’d make a picture perfect couple, don’t you think?” Hanamaki asked, batting his eyelashes at him. 

“I’m going to find Semi.” Taichi disappeared after that. Hanamaki pouted but turned and grinned at (Y/n) again a second later. 

“I’m gonna go harass him,” Hanamaki said, making everyone laugh as he sprinted off. Atsumu and Matsukawa followed after him, leaving Iwaizumi, Oikawa, (Y/n) and Terushima alone. Oikawa smiled at Terushima but it was a bit forced. 

“You two look good. Don’t they, Iwa-chan?” Iwaizumi stared at the couple then he shrugged. 

“(Y/n) looks good. I dunno about Terushima though,” Terushima gasped and pulled away from (Y/n), glaring at the two older men. 

“You two are fucking rude.” He said making (Y/n) snort. “I’m going to grab a drink, alright babe? I’ll be back in a few, yeah?” (Y/n) nodded. He kissed her cheek goodbye and then walked towards the glass sliding door that was wide open. (Y/n) smiled after him and then turned back to her friends who were watching her with fond looks. 

“What?” She asked defensively. They shrugged. 

“You just look really happy is all,” Iwaizumi said, crossing his arms. Oikawa nodded in agreement. 

“You do seem happy. I’m glad. You deserve it, (Y/n)-chan!” She smiled at them and pulled them into a hug. 

“Aw, you guys…” She said as they both hugged her back. Iwaizumi was the first to squirm away, claiming he also needed a drink. Oikawa and (Y/n) let him go with little pouts but when they curled up on chairs next to the fire pit and chatted to themselves.

“So (Y/n)-chan. You and Teru have been together for a few weeks now, yeah?” 

“Yup!” 

“And he treats you right?” Oikawa asked, eyes narrowing. She nodded. 

“Of course he does. He gets a simp of the year award.” She said with a smile. Oikawa nodded and fist bumped her. 

“Iwa-chan does too. He’s very sweet behind closed door,” Oikawa winked and she snorted. “Speaking of behind closed doors. Have you two-” 

“No.” She replied quickly making Oikawa freeze with wide eyes. Then he smirked. 

“My my, (Y/n)-chan. That was a hard no, wasn’t it?” He asked and she rolled her eyes, pulling her legs to her chest as she stared at the flickering flames of the fire. “Why’s that? You’ve had sex before haven’t you?” She shrugged. 

“I- I guess I’m scared?” (Y/n) said, not looking up. 

“Why?” Oikawa frowned. 

“Because Yuuji has this image, right? He’s popular. Nice. Funny… I’m scared that once he gets all of me then he’ll leave because he’s had better and-”

“Sorry, I’m gonna stop you there.” Oikawa grabbed (Y/n)’s hand and squeezed it gently. “I don’t know Terushima too well, but from what you tell me, he seems like a great guy. One who respects you and cares about you a lot. I don’t think you need to rush to have sex or anything but I don’t think you should be scared to have sex either.” 

She nodded and smiled back at him. 

“Yeah… You’re right. I just-” (Y/n) was cut off by the back glass door getting slammed open. Iwaizumi was fuming and his hair was dripping with water as he walked towards them. “Oh shit, what happened Iwa?” 

“I swear to god I’m going to kill your boyfriend (Y/n).” 

“What? Why?” Her heart was racing.

“He fucking- that bastard just almost drowned me in that stupid apple bobbing bullshit!” (Y/n) and Oikawa laughed as Iwaizumi ran his hands through his hair. He flicked droplets of water at them and then sat in the small gap of the chair next to Oikawa before pulling his boyfriend onto his lap. 

Oikawa whispered something into Iwaizumi’s ear and the ex ace began to turn red. (Y/n) smiled and looked away from them as they started having their own little private conversation. She didn’t want to intrude so she stood up, saying she was going to grab a drink. 

“Hey hey hey! What’s up, (Y/n)!” Bokuto asked as (Y/n) entered the house. She smiled at him and patted his arm as he pulled her into a side hug. 

“Hey Bokuto! I like your costume!” He looked down at her confused. “I LIKE YOUR COSTUME!” She shouted over the music. He laughed and nodded. He was a sexy firefighter, wearing only the pants of the costume with suspenders and the helmet. 

“I like yours too!” (Y/n) smiled at him and then eyed Akaashi who was standing next to him, wearing a lifeguard costume (aka just a shite t-shirt with a red cross on it and red swim shorts). He had sunscreen smeared on his nose and a cheap flimsy whistle around his neck. He smiled at her as she got done looking him up and down and then also pulled her into a small hug. 

“Hello, (Y/n)-san.” 

“Hi Akaa-chii! He smiled at the nickname and patted her head before he was dragged away towards a beer pong table by Bokuto who was screaming at Kuroo and Daichi for a re-match. 

She chuckled fondly and kept maneuvering her way through the crowd of unfamiliar faces and costumes. She dodged angel and devil wings and even a long dragon tail. She also had to avoid the ass end of a donkey costume that was dancing wildly on the dance floor. 

She sighed as she got to the kitchen, reaching into a random cooler to grab a drink. She popped the cap off the bottle and took a long swig, her face contorting in disgust at the taste of whatever she grabbed. 

“Hey, (Y/n).” Futakuchi said as he entered the kitchen. She smiled at him. 

“Hi Ken,” She smiled at him. “Where are the others?” 

“Ah, Terushima is dancing in the living room I think and Taichi and Atsumu are doing keg stands in the game room.” She nodded and thanked him, heading towards the livingroom to try and track down her boyfriend. 

Upon entering the living room, she immediately spotted him. There in all his glory he was dancing with their newfound friends. Suga and a bunch of people she’d never seen before were hyping him up, dancing and jumping around with him. He was in his element. 

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” A chant started and Terushima laughed along, rolling his eyes. There was a girl with blonde hair standing next to him that grabbed him by the back of the neck, yanking him down and into a kiss. 

At first (Y/n) didn’t realize what was going on. And then it clicked. 

Terushima had just kissed someone. 

Her boyfriend just kissed someone that wasn’t her. 

Her boyfriend willingly just kissed someone that wasn’t her, in front of her. 

“What the fuck.” (Y/n) said, her hand that was holding her beverage falling limp against her side. Everything felt like it was in slow motion. 

Everything aside from Terushima was blurred as he laughed and joked with the girl he’d just kissed. Like he didn’t do anything wrong. 

(Y/n) realized that the only reason everything was blurry was because of the tears gathering in her eyes. But if Terushima was going to act like nothing was wrong, then so was she. So she left. She set her bottle down on the counter as she walked towards the door. Kuroo and Semi both tried calling out to her but she ignored them, exiting the house quietly. She wrapped her arms around her bare arms as she walked down the sidewalk and towards the unfamiliar city of Tokyo. 

She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew Kait was somewhere within the giant city. She just hoped that Kait had her phone on her.

(Y/n) walked a little further to a little empty park, sitting down on the empty swings. By now all the trick or treaters were gone and the streets were empty aside from a few small groups of teens who were laughing and teasing each other. 

“What the fuck,” (Y/n) repeated to herself as the image of her boyfriend kissing another girl replayed in her head. She didn’t want to believe that it was true, but she’d seen it with her own eyes as Terushima pressed his lips to some blonde girls. 

She didn’t realize that the tears were falling until they dripped down onto her lap and through her thin dress. She was shaking from the cold but she didn’t care. She only had to wait 15 minutes and then she’d be with Kait and they could figure things out together from there. 

Would she break up with Terushima? 

Did he not love her? 

Was he just using her? Did he get bored that fast? Maybe if she’d done more he wouldn’t feel the need to go off and kiss someone else. 

She tried to be enough, she really did. 

School and work filled a lot of her schedule but she always tried to make as much time for him as she possibly could. 

Why was this happening? 

“(Y/n)?” A voice called out. Was that Kait? Had it been 15 minutes already?

 (Y/n) looked up as she heard Kait’s voice call out to her.

“Kait?” 

“Oh (Y/n),” Kait rushed forward, followed by three other figures. (Y/n)’s lip quivered as she stood up from the swing. As she met Kait halfway the tears she’d been holding back broke free and she let out a choked sob as Kait enveloped her in a hug. “Oh, honey, no…” 

_____________

Terushima laughed as he tossed back another shot of something clear. He knew it definitely wasn’t water as it made the back of his throat burn but he was okay with that. 

It was halloween night and he was at a party, the point of this entire night was to get drunk and have fun and that’s exactly what he was doing. 

“Yo, Suga! You were holding out of us with this guy! You knew he existed and didn’t tell us?” Tanaka laughed as he danced next to Terushima. Noya was jumping around excitedly next to them, screaming the lyrics to whatever song was playing on the speaker. 

Tanaka was wearing a blonde wig, an entirely pink outfit, imitating Regina George from Mean Girls. His girlfriend, Kiyoko was Aaron Samuels, wearing a simple blue mens polo shirt and some baggy jeans with her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Noya was Gretchen Weiners but his brunette wig had ended up falling off when he did a keg stand earlier and he was just too lazy to put it back on. They had convinced their friend Kinnoshita to be Karen Smith but he was currently puking his guts out in the bathroom upstairs accompanied by Ennoshita and Narita who were Cady Heron and Janis Ian. 

“Yo I could kiss this man right now,” Terushima said as Tanaka poured him another shot. Noya smirked. 

“Do it!” Suga rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement. 

“Do it! Do it!” 

And soon enough the entire room was cheering for the two to kiss. Tanaka rolled his eyes but reached and grabbed Terushima by the back of his neck, pulling him down into a quick kiss. When they separated, they laughed and fist bumped, taking another shot. 

After a few more minutes of dancing, Terushima made his way towards the kitchen where Semi and Kuroo looked concerned. 

“What’s going on guys?” He asked as he pulled a beer can from a cooler. He popped the tab and took a sip as they exchanged looks of concern. “Hey, either of you two seen (Y/n)? I left her in the back with Oikawa and Iwaizumi but I haven’t been back there and-”

“Terushima, (Y/n) left.” Semi said, making Terushima freeze. 

“What?” 

“We both just saw (Y/n) take off out the door a few minutes ago. She looked like she was about to cry,” Kuroo said, making Terushima enter panic mode. 

“And neither of you tried to stop her?” 

“I- we called out to her. We thought she was just getting some fresh air or something, calm down. I’m sure she’s fine.” Semi said, making Terushima shake his head. 

“No, I gotta go find her. She doesn’t know her way around Tokyo. None of us do, what if she gets kidnapped?” 

“What’s going on in here?” Matsukawa asked as Terushima slammed his beer can on the counter. He pulled out his phone and started texting (Y/n). 

“Did you see (Y/n) leave?” 

“(Y/n) left?” Oikawa asked as he and Iwaizumi entered the kitchen. Terushima shook his head as he got no response. 

“She’s not answering me. Oikawa, text her.” 

“What? What the fuck is going on?” Iwaizumi asked as Oikawa pulled out his phone and began texting their friend. 

“(Y/n) took off a few minutes ago and now she’s not answering her phone.” 

“Okay so check all the rooms and stuff. And check outside. Try and find her around the house before we go out looking, yeah?” Kuroo said, making everyone in the kitchen nod and split up. Terushima and Semi went out the front door, calling (Y/n), hoping to either get her to answer or to hear her ringtone but there was nothing. 

“Fuck!” Terushima shouted. “I lost my fucking girlfriend and she’s probably scared and upset and-” 

“Do you think someone drugged her?” Terushima’s head turned at lightning speed and he glared at Semi. 

“Why would you even say that?” 

“I- what! It happens!” 

Well. That happened. 

Another post tomorrow <3 

Love you guys! I hope you had a Happy Halloween! Goodnight! 

Taglist: @kaitycole, @cosmicmermaid25, @sempiternal-amour, @99astrid, @hidden-otaku-stuff, @vicassa, @elianetsantana, @ankl3s, @newfriendjen, @oikawa-simp, @dakotacecily, @axolotleyeliner, @heyyourecute, @tchalameme, @toobsessedsstuff, @marinovakovich, @disaster-rose, @tacosforexo, @sleep3deprived, @prettyinblack231 (Open)

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter one: principium

(or: the Red, White, and Royal Blue TRC AU, but no knowledge of the book is needed to read this! ao3 link in the rb)

Adam knew he was in trouble when he found himself covered in cake, champagne, and shattered glass while clutching onto someone’s sleeve.

Admittedly, the memory of the night as a whole is a bit fuzzy around the edges, softened by jet lag and overwhelming anger and a few flutes of champagne worth more than the house Adam grew up in. But he remembered enough to recall some key details: one, it was no ordinary reception, it was the royal wedding; two, the cake covering him was the 75,000-dollar royal wedding cake; and three, that he clutched onto His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan Lynch-Mountchristen-Windsor, while covered in the remnants of his champagne flute.

It was an international relations nightmare that a rational Adam Parrish, the first son of the United States, would pay to avoid at all costs. Even the slightly-inebriated Adam could feel a distant spark of fear over what Maura and Calla were going to say to him once he was not covered in frosting and brawling with a treasured member of the English monarchy. (Well, “treasured” was a relative term. Prince Ronan was more of a recently-reformed scandal than a treasure.)

But as he caught a glimpse of Blue’s expression, a carefully constructed mask of surprise for the cameras that only those who knew her personally could read the amusement behind, Gansey’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked Adam off of the ground. 

He must have abandoned his conversation with Roger Malory to come and bail Adam out; deep down, beyond the adrenaline and anger and alcohol pumping through his veins, Adam was touched at the gesture. Guilt also hit him with the knowledge that Gansey hadn’t had a chance to talk to Malory since he left England as a teenager and now Adam had ruined that, but he tucked it away to examine at a later moment.

Adam thought he might have heard Ronan mutter “Oh my fucking Christ” from somewhere behind him in his stupid posh accent. Slinging an arm around Adam’s frosting-coated shoulders to steer him towards the Secret Service Agents already surging forward, Gansey leaned his head towards Adam’s and whispered around a smile, “What the fresh hell did you do?”

And, well. It was a good question. He glanced back at Ronan where he lay on the ground, already brushing off the help of the royal guards and climbing gracefully to his feet, the bead of blood on his cheek sparkling in the majestic royal lighting. Just a few minutes before, the Prince had stood by himself, a dark contrast to the pristine tiered cake and tiny buttercream flowers and gleaming champagne fountain behind him. And Adam, who was rarely angry over anything but could easily go too far when provoked, decided to engage.

“If it isn’t His Royal Highness,” Adam had said, drawing Ronan’s eyes to him. He could see the moment Ronan realized he wasn’t himself, taking in the curled hand and slightly flushed cheeks. Adam was a convincingly sober drunk, and something about Ronan being able to see through it pissed him off. And the fact that Ronan had spent more than half the night hiding away from the cameras and drinking himself didn’t help. Adam would’ve expected to find him dead on his feet and barely standing, but clearly Ronan was less of a lightweight than he was.

Ronan’s lips curled in what might have passed as a smile but looked a little too much like a predator baring its teeth. “Mr. Parrish,” he said, all clipped vowels and stiff politeness that made Adam want to scream. His lips lingered on the ‘h’ shape for a moment too long. “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me.”

Honesty was the last thing Adam had expected. “Why, because you monopolized Blue and treated her like some kind of...toy to ignore?”

His nostrils flared suddenly. “No, I do not... use people. But you have been avoiding me all evening when I’ve done my best to be civil.”

Adam laughed too loudly at that. “Civil? Yeah, okay,” he said, his mouth curved into a smile. “Most civil member of your family, I’m sure. Declan and Ashley would agree.”

Ronan went silent, swirling his champagne around in his hand and raising an uncoordinated hand to run over his shaved head. When he spoke, he grit his jaw as though holding back some impulse like the good repressed English boy he was. “I’d suggest you to go drink some water and find your way out before you do something you regret.”

“Or what?”

Ronan stepped closer to Adam so that they were nearly chest-to-chest, his two-inch height advantage only pissing Adam off more. “I said I’d advise you to stop.”

And Ronan, so subtly that he doubted any camera could pick it up, pushed Adam away with one hand. It would have worked splendidly had Adam not back-tracked and grabbed Ronan’s sleeve, sending them both falling.

And now they were both covered in frosted roses and shame, Adam stuck with Gansey’s voice on the plane saying please table your rivalry for one night reverberating in his head.

What the fresh hell, indeed.

***

Silence hung over the West Wing briefing room like a wet blanket. Maura Sargent stared unblinkingly into Adam’s eyes from where she perched on the edge of the table. Adam, from his seat at the head, stared back with every ounce of courage his mother’s PR campaigns taught him. Maura seemed to be studying him, and Adam simply didn’t know how to look away.

“Blue,” Maura said finally. On Maura’s other side, Blue wordlessly handed over a stack of newspapers, her gaze shifting from Maura to Adam as though watching a ping pong tournament. Adam knew of Maura’s “no restrictions” policy at home with Blue, but everyone knew this policy in no way related to her work life. Still, Blue watched attentively with knitted brows as though trying to guess the outcome or will a better one into existence.

“Gansey?” Maura asked, all without removing her eyes from Adam’s. The touch of anxiety in Blue’s expression didn’t even begin to reach the anxiety in Gansey’s face, as he stared at Adam like he was a lost puppy. Still, Gansey had more poise than most politicians did, and he managed to smoothly relinquish a stack of magazines into Maura’s free hand. Maura combined the stacks into one in her right hand before dropping them into Adam’s lap with a dull thwap.

“These are just the ones being sold outside this morning, not to mention what’s circulating in the British tabloids,” she said, finally turning away and reaching for a mug of coffee. “Read them.” She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Jesus, but Adam didn’t try to discern it. He went for the stack instead, glossy pages almost slipping through his thin fingers.

    THE $75,000 STUMBLE greeted him on the front page of The Washington Post.

    BATTLE ROYAL: Prince Ronan and FSOTUS Come To Blows at Royal Wedding

    CAKEGATE: Adam Parrish Sparks Second English-American War

Everywhere he flipped, images of he and Ronan covered in sparkling broken glass and frosting assaulted his eyes. The images and headlines blurred together, and he flicked his gaze back up to Maura. All he could see for a moment was Ronan’s rumpled suit and the sliver of red on his cheek. He blinked three times in rapid succession and Maura returned, her brown eyes cool and calculating over the rim of her travel mug.

“Isn’t this a topic for the Situation Room, Ms. Sargent?” He asked. His mother, seated across from him, and Blue both pursed their lips, although for entirely different reasons; Blue appeared to be holding back laughter while his mother must have been holding back something else. Maura narrowed her eyes, oblivious to Gansey’s tightening expression behind her.

“Don’t Ms. Sargent me,” she replied, her tone cool. “I knew all your secrets, kid. I’ve been watching you since you were five. The sass will get you nowhere.” She snatched the Sun article from out of his hands, flipping it open to the correct page and hiding Ronan’s buttercream-smeared frown behind her fingers. “‘Sources inside the royal reception report the two were seen arguing minutes before the cake-tastrophe. But royal family insiders claim the First Son’s feud with Ronan has raged for years. A source tells The Sun that Ronan and the First Son have been at odds ever since their first meeting at the Rio Olympics--’” here Adam made an odd, strangled noise -- “‘and the animosity has only grown—these days, they can’t even be in the same room with each other. It seems it was only a matter of time before Adam took the American approach: a violent altercation.’”

Adam locked eyes with Gansey at the last line, watching Gansey’s lips thin just as he felt the blood drain from his own face. His eyes slid over to Blue, who yielded much of the same reaction. His mother, surprisingly, didn’t change her posture. If she was thinking of Robert Parrish like the rest of them, she had a better poker face.

“They’re blaming this on Ana’s administration,” Maura continued, pushing on through the stony silence. “Please, explain the joke to me.”

“He started it,” is all Adam was able to say, which was probably one of the worst ways to defend himself. Sounding like a petulant toddler helped nobody, but he had made his bed and so he would lie in it, too. “He shoved me and I grabbed his sleeve to-”

“Adam,” his mother said, raising one hand to cut him off with the smooth, brown skin of her palm. He quieted at once, recognizing her demeanor as half-presidential and half motherly. Ana’s voice was caught somewhere between the sugary drawl that lulled him to sleep as a child and the All-American southern twang that helped win her an election. “You know I trust you, sweetheart, but the press sure as hell doesn’t give a fuck about the nitty-gritty of who started what.”

“Ronan definitely touched him first,” Gansey said, his voice unhurried but his face clearly eager to shift some of the blame off of Adam. Maura shot a cool look in his direction.

“He-said, she-said, that doesn’t matter. The press thinks and we can’t change their mind, we can only prove them wrong.” She held out a hand again, and with a sigh Blue acquiesced a new, thick file. Maura dropped it in front of Adam like a hot potato. “Here’s damage control. This rivalry with the prince of England ends now.”

“It’s not a-”

“Rivalry, we know,” his mother interrupted wryly. The tone was odd from her president-mode self, her wayward curls tamed into a perfect ponytail and her face made up instead of the more casual expression she normally had when joking. “But, sugar, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. You can call it whatever you like, but it’s always gonna be seen as a rivalry.”

Adam sat silently, flipping through a section entitled TERMS OF AGREEMENT. Maura continued. “You’re flying to England on Saturday and spending the weekend with Ronan.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did he couldn’t stop thinking of them. Dread settled just below the surface of Adam’s skin. He looked at his mother. “I’d prefer to fake my death, actually. Or just really die. I know Calla would be willing to help with either, and Persephone is good with that stuff, right? Death of a son should boost your polling. The voters love a sympathetic case.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she warned. She looked to her watch with a heavy sigh and leaned over to kiss him on the head. “I’m too overscheduled for this. Adam, listen to Maura and don’t ignore her plan. You two,” she gestured vaguely at Blue and Gansey, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything irrational while we’re wrapped up.”

Blue lazily saluted while Gansey nodded reassuringly. With one last glance at Adam, Ana was gone, her heels clicking away from the heavy doors. She slipped away from being Ana Parrish, Adam’s mother punishing him for stupid behavior, to become President Parrish, leader of the country. Adam envied her compartmentalization.

Maura leaned over the table, flipping pages in the file. “We’re releasing this statement in conjunction with the Crown as soon as they approve. It was an accident, no harm was intended, all that jazz-”

Adam lifted one eyebrow. “So the truth?”

“Call it what you’d like. And we’re clarifying that you and Prince Ronan have been close personal friendships for several years despite conflicts in schedule making it difficult to appear publicly.”

Blue laughed out loud at that, clamping one hand over her mouth. Maura didn’t even look over to her, but Adam’s expression must have been similarly dumbfounded because she sighed resignedly, taking another sip of coffee. “Look, it’s better for all sides if your tussle just looks like some...frat boy joshing.” Blue’s laughs crescendoed louder, and Maura shot her a cool look. “If you need to step out, please feel free to, Blue. I’m sure Gansey will fill you in later.” Adam looked to Blue and her wave of dismissal, gripping onto the wrist of Gansey’s blazer to steady herself. Maura turned back to Adam.

“I know he’s difficult. You can hate him for all I care. In privacy, feel free to construct intricate arguments for his removal from this earth. Fantasize about dumping yogurt on his head. Compose songs to drive him insane. But, for the love of God, you will act like he hung the moon with nothing but yarn and a sewing needle whenever there’s the slimmest possibility of a camera or another living being witnessing it. Kapeesh?”

It wasn’t like he was allowed any true reaction, but he nodded all the same. His powerlessness was because of his own actions, not Maura. It was his own fault, and he would own up to the consequences. Even if the thought of willingly spending time with Ronan made his stomach turn.

“Your job is to not piss anyone off and to gush about Ronan. You’ll memorize this fact sheet-” she slid another page from the file and tapped it, “-and be prepared to answer any question with these as an answer. Your deal includes a minimum of two social media posts a day about Ronan and your visit. On Sunday, you have an on-air interview with ITV This Morning, and you’ll be fresh as a daisy with nothing but sunshine to say about Ronan’s competitive yachting hobby. There are only two photo ops, one in private where you can bitch and one charity appearance. That’s it, you’re free.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Maura said before Adam could make a noise. “You ruined the Royal Wedding and a cake that’s worth a year of college tuition. He’ll attend a state dinner in a few months for his part, and you will pay your penance now.”

Adam nodded slowly. He gathered the file in his hands along with all the decorum Gansey taught him over the years. He smiled a small smile at Maura. “Well, it will be an experience, won’t it?”

“I’d expect it, yes.”

“Thank you, Maura. And I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. Your apology will be not screwing this up even more.”

“I’ll try.”

Adam rose, Blue and Gansey following his lead. As he turned to walk away, Maura spoke again. “Oh, and Adam?”

“Yes?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she looked younger, somehow. Almost amused. Guilt panged in his chest at the thought that he’d caused the tiredness on her face before. “Try to have a little fun. It’s a trip to Europe and you’re not even missing class.”

He paused, thinking of Ronan and his shaved head and cruel smile in front of the wedding cake. He tried to imagine what fun might be for him - whether to trust the fact sheet proclaiming fencing and yachting as Ronan’s pastimes or the tabloids that traded stories of illegal drag racing and getting black-out drunk. He wasn’t sure which version of Ronan sounded worse. “Sure,” he agreed quietly. “I will.”

***

Those who work in the White House know a few things about the First Family’s habits, but they never know the full truth.

They can observe things the average citizen would die to know; they see staffers pacing the halls and tearing their hair out over Instagram captions, overhear expletive-laden and fond familial conversations, and occasionally see the pristine members of the executive branch with dark crescents burning under their eyes and old high-school sweatshirts adorned like the newest fashion. But none were more elusive and two-sided than the White House Trio.

In their case, two-sided didn’t necessarily mean something bad, only something drastic. Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey, and Adam Parrish presented the perfect dynamic for the press to eat up: three attractive early twenty-somethings inside the White House who were notoriously open to the public about their lives. There were veneers crafted and stories concocted every day, all designed to get the perfect media response without sharing too much. There was Blue, the Indigenous American daughter of a single mother and prominent staffer, barely five feet tall but laser-sharp with any numbers you threw at her; there was Richard Campbell Gansey III, better known as the single-named Gansey who came from the billions that funded the Vice-Presidency but wanted nothing more than to give it all away, always ready with his winning charm and a new polo shirt to distract the press from his scathing op-eds; and there was Adam Parrish, a true American Dream born from a father from the Heartland and a mother from Mexican immigrants, a single First Son set to graduate valedictorian from Georgetown amid a political campaign with an ease most of the country only wished to possess.

Together, they hit every demographic that they could without even trying too hard. Their progressive politics were helped along by their identities, and so they aided their parents by nature of existing within the White House walls. White House staff saw these versions of them, but only glimpses of what lay beneath - Blue wandering the halls in self-created shirts and dresses with stacks of newspapers clutched in her arms, the scent of mint clinging to Gansey everywhere he went at all hours of the day, Adam’s frequent requests for coffee at midnight and propensity to wear coca-cola tee shirts.

They all knew very well that no one really saw the full picture of them, but that was how the White House Trio liked it.

The three of them spread out in the music room, one of their only haunts where they could be truly alone. For once, they weren’t a marketing ploy of their own creation or a group of kids on a pedestal; they were just Blue, Gansey, and Adam. After that meeting, they had to be.

Adam sprawled on the couch, laying exactly horizontal, flipping over the HRH fact sheet.

“You’re on the cover of Us Weekly, Blue,” Gansey called across the room, undoubtedly fulfilling his guilty-pleasure hobby of obsessively tracking their tabloids. “Full portrait of your Royal Wedding outfit.”

“It’s about time,” she responded from her perch on the windowsill, a bottle of red wine and a bottle opener in her hands. “I wore that lace to catch attention, thank you very much. It’s been at least four months since a solo cover.”

“Well, they do mention the cake-tastrophe in the corner.”

Blue waved her hand dismissively. “That was bound to happen. Scandal sells, but so do I.”

“Okay, ew,” Adam said flatly.

“They’re speculating about you two again, you know.” Gansey scrolled to a new part of the magazine, lifting a thumb to rub against his lower lip. “‘Tryst with a mystery brunette: Heartthrob First Son Adam Parrish caught sneaking back to the W hotel for an amorous rendezvous in the Presidential Suite. Sources say the brunette is none other than Blue Sargent, the twenty-two-year-old member of the White House Trio.’”

“Less than a month!” Blue exclaimed, popping the wine open. “You owe me, Gansey. Pay up.”

He ignored her, dropping the hand from his face. “You didn’t really…”

Neither Adam nor Blue responded. Gansey knew very well that their short-lived relationship on the campaign trail was due to die a quick death, but something - perhaps the lingering stares he seemed to throw Blue more and more often - was making him touchier to the subject of their former relationship. Of course, Adam and Blue did nothing of the sort, only watched the West Wing and made sex noises at young Rob Lowe with a bottle of champagne passed between them. Confusing the tabloids was an added bonus to their game. Blue took a swig directly from the bottle of red.

“You’d think they’d be talking more about your spat with Ronan than your possible sex life,” Gansey said, returning his focus to Adam. Adam finally looked away from the HRH fact sheet and towards Gansey’s squinting eyes. He really needed to put his glasses on, but far be it from Adam to mother Gansey. It had to be the other way around.

“No one cares about what happens over the pond.”

“Don’t they?” Blue said, scrunching her nose in a similar fashion to Gansey. “They seem to follow the royals pretty well. Tabloids were in a tizzy over the Prince’s lack of date.”

“In a tizzy,” Adam mocked. From where she sat on the floor, Blue stretched her short frame as far as possible to nudge Adam’s leg with the toe of her socked foot. “Why does anyone care? It’s not like he’s, you know, interesting.”

Blue and Gansey were staring again, he could tell. “Adam, honey,” Blue started, her southern accent heavy and thick. Gansey reached for the bottle and she relinquished it easily. “I know you hate him, but he’s probably the most interesting royal out there.”

“Wasn’t he caught in a club with his underage brother right after their father died?” Gansey asked, taking a prim sip from the bottle of wine.

“Apparently has a huge sucker of a tattoo on his back, too.”

“Isn’t that against royal etiquette or some shit?”

“Probably.”

Adam waved the fact sheet around, spinning himself so that his head hung off the edge of the couch. “Explain this, then. He’s more wonder-bread than Gansey, and that’s saying something.” Blue spluttered out a laugh, and Adam slung an upside-down apologetic glance at Gansey. “Sorry, man. No offense.”

“None taken,” Gansey said, reaching for the fact sheet and plucking it from Adam’s grasp. “What’s wrong with these? Charles Dickens as a favorite author? What do you have against Charles Dickens?”

Adam and Blue exchanged a glance. “Nothing in theory. It’s just a bunch of garbage I don’t need in my brain.”

Blue snorted. “No thoughts, brain full of GDP calculations.”

“You know I just finished my macroeconomics midterm.”

“That’s the point,” Blue said, snatching the bottle back from Gansey and peeking at the sheet. Her nose scrunched again, squinting her eyes as she always did when drinking. “Mutton pie? Who loves mutton pie?”

“It’s a very versatile meal,” Gansey defended.

“I mean, sure, these are boring as hell,” Blue conceded, ignoring Gansey’s scandalized look. “But this is clearly slapped together by his PR team to make him look like the perfect prince.”

“So?” Adam said, unimpressed.

“It’s not a reason to hate him.”

“Oh, I know. I hate him anyway. But I have better use for my brain space than facts about His Royal Dick.”

“That just sounds like you’re talking about Gansey.”

“To be fair, Adam,” Gansey said, “it’s your fault. You fought him.”

“What happened anyway?” Blue asked. He knew the question was coming, but all the same, he didn’t want to answer. “He was fine when I danced with him.”

“Fine,” Adam said curtly. “Cold and severe sounds more like it.”

Blue’s eyes scanned over him with an uncanny feeling she could see into his thoughts. “So you were...defending me? God, please don’t blame me for this.”

“That’s actually kind of nice, Parrish.”

“No,” Blue interrupted, a hard edge to her voice.. “Not if he does stupid shit because of it. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I know!” Adam rushed to say. “Believe me, I know. It was…” he withered under her look. “...An excuse?”

“Look at me,” Blue said, voice firm. He did. Her lips were thinned with seriousness. “Don’t protect my honor again, please. It’s a weird-ass fishbowl world we live in, but if you do, I will leak to the press that your favorite song is Africa by Toto.”

“Please do,” Adam said, scoffing. “It’s a bop.”

“And do you want it dogging your every step?”

“Maybe I do.”

Blue shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“This is quite Shakespearean,” Gansey said, most likely in hopes of interrupting their budding argument. He gestured grandly to the gaudy tapestry-ridden walls and golden tassels on the furniture, although Adam imagined that Gansey thought it would look more impressive in his head. “Two sworn enemies forced into friendship for the sake of tension between their countries.”

“We’re not enemies,” Adam said. “That implies we’re...on the same level. Have actually spoken.”

“Exactly. Shakespearean.”

“Then let’s hope I get stabbed at the end of this. Blue, will you do the honors? I know you’ll do it mercifully.”

“Oh, cheer up now,” Blue said in a false British coo. “You’ll be the darling of England before Sunday even rolls around.”

“What does it matter?” Adam said, not lifting his gaze from the fact sheet. “They just think I’m another violent American over there.”

He could feel the weight of Blue and Gansey’s stares above his head. No one needed to say the words themselves to invoke the double-wide of Adam’s earliest years, where blood covered most of the carpet. “They don’t mean it like that, Adam,” Gansey said finally, breaking some of the tension with his reverberating voice. “They mean it like… UFC fighters, or rioting after the Patriots lose the Super bowl. Or win.” Gansey’s frown deepened. “I can never figure out how they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, lips twisted downwards. He regretted bringing it up. “I know.”

Blue nudged him again with her foot. “Want to watch Parks and Rec and make fun of the Prince’s fact cheat-sheet?”

“God, yes.”

She snatched the sheet from Gansey, reading it over again. “Drinking game: drink whenever Prince Ronan’s interests are laughably terrible.”

“Counter-offer: drink whenever Adam overreacts to his interests.” Gansey offered. Blue passed him the bottle to reach for her laptop instead.

“Either way, we’re getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“We’ll quiz you,” Gansey offered Adam, just as Blue pulled up an episode of Parks and Rec. “Not season seven, Sargent, what the hell are you thinking?”

“Season seven can be great!” Off of Gansey’s glare, Blue complied, clearly not wanting the fight. “Fine. Season three?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Blue balanced her laptop on an old piano bench and joined their huddle near the couch, beckoning the bottle back.

“Alright,” Gansey began, eyes settled on the top of the sheet. “You better be ready to learn something, Parrish.”

***

None of them succumbed to alcohol poisoning, but they did learn several facts about Prince Ronan.

There was the basic information, things Adam knew already: his mother, Queen Aurora, took the throne with a dreamy demeanor and high hopes at the age of 19 after her parent’s untimely death and her twin sister’s abdication. The year before, she married Niall Lynch, an Irish actor, and practically upset the whole place. Niall died in 2015, not too long before the Rio Olympics, and Aurora’s public appearances had dwindled ever since, leaving the press to have a field day with rumors of illness and mental breakdowns. Ronan had a raven (why, Adam could not fathom) named, of all things, Chainsaw. His best friend, Henry Cheng, was heir to Cheng Industries and managed their charity branch.

Gansey actually knew both Cheng and Ronan, having spent a year at Eton in high school, and Adam just rolled his eyes at Ganey’s relentless knowledge of every human person.

His music tastes were listed as baroque, death metal, and Irish jigs, a combination that left Blue wheezing. “His Royal Highness may be my new favorite person,” she insisted, leaving Adam scowling.

The week came and went, and Adam found himself on a private tarmac following a trans-Atlantic flight with a man in an impeccably pressed suit and a cup of tea nestled into his hands. Calla, one of Blue’s pseudo-aunts and a secret service agent accompanying him, pressed forward to shake his hand and exchange a few words under her breath with him. He almost pitied the man. Calla, with her high bun of perfectly-contained curls and steely gaze, oozed intimidation out of her very being. But to his surprise, Calla actually smiled at the mystery man. She wasn’t quite warm, but he received considerably kinder treatment than everyone else subject to Calla’s jurisdiction. When she stepped back, the man turned his gray eyes on Adam. He smiled without any mirth.

“Mr. Parrish,” the man said, reaching out his free hand. Adam shook it, trying to keep it short and firm as his mother taught him. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us in England. I’m Mr. Gray, Prince Ronan’s equerry.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I apologize for the turn of events that led to this weekend.”

“Well,” Mr. Gray said, turning and beckoning Adam to an Aston Martin with blacked-out windows, “once you reach my age, Mr. Parrish, you’ll find that these matters are quite simple to see coming.” Adam barely had a chance to blink in response before he was sliding into the back seat of the car, the rumbling of the tarmac shut out succinctly with the door’s closure. A lull in conversation settled around them; Adam, after clicking his seatbelt in, favored looking out the window to London’s scenery over making conversation. The blur of grey and white passed for a few minutes before Mr. Gray finally informed him of his role.

“There are a few matters of paperwork to go over before entering Kensington Palace. They’re currently next to you, and signing them is of highest priority before we begin this weekend.” Adam was no stranger to non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality paperwork; he’d expected the practically novel-length stack. By the time he’d finished signing on all the correct lines, the car slowed to a crawl. “Prince Ronan has just finished his tennis practice, and we’re here to escort him to our first activity.”

“Splendid,” Adam whispered under his breath, unconsciously mimicking Mr. Gray's crisp voice.

The English countryside hit Adam full in the face as soon as he stepped from the car; fresh air, the kind you never find in DC, welcomed him like an old friend, and though the English air was nothing like the air he remembered growing up with in Virginia, it felt nostalgic all the same. He suddenly wanted to be back there, in the home he remembered so well. He wanted to be anywhere but England with the goddamn Prince of Wales loping his way towards him in an all-white outfit, a racket swinging in his hand.

Jesus, how pretentious could he be?

Annoyingly, Ronan was not sweating and not fatigued looking in the slightest. He actually looked incredibly refreshed, the harsh lines of his face softened and a flush under his cheeks, his blue eyes charged and alight. Looking into them, Adam felt startlingly as though he was staring out at the horizon on a cloudless day.

“Parrish,” Ronan called, jogging the remaining distance quickly and closing the gap between them. “You've found the directions, I can see.”

“It’s difficult to miss,” Adam replied tightly, holding out a hand for Ronan to shake. “Extensive wealth tends to smell for miles around.”

Ronan took his hand, and his smoothed palm slid uncomfortably against Adam’s calloused hand. An unpleasant jolt started in his stomach. Ronan affixed his same unkind but not terrifying smile to his face, looking ridiculously like Declan for a moment, before continuing their conversation. Both knew to disconnect their words from their faces, conscious of the photographer unsubtly circling them. “It’s a rather pleasant odor, yes? I prefer it to fried food and pollution.”

“London, known for its fresh air, right?” Adam laughed, the charming laugh that beguiled TV hosts and entranced his mother’s constituents. “Excited for the days ahead?”

“I’d rather lie on the NASCAR racetrack, or even concede an argument.”

Adam slipped his palm from Ronan’s, choosing instead to slap him jovially on the arm. “I never thought I’d see the day where we agree on something, Your Highness.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said, the words slipping through his unkind but certainly camera-friendly smile with practiced ease, and oh, there was the difference between this weekend and all their other interactions: Adam couldn’t speak of their interactions at all, locked behind an NDA. Ronan could swear as much as he pleased and not face retribution from his family.

“Gladly,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“The car is ready if you’re ready, then,” Mr. Gray said from behind Adam.

“Perfect,” Ronan said, any hint of his bleached teeth disappearing. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”

And they set off, side by side, for the car.

[chatonne-rousse]

The Pole Kit and Kaboodle

Written for @smutember, Day 3: Striptease

@tsuki-chibi, I owe you one for all your encouragement and the great ideas you provided.  You’re the best!  ♥

This can also be read on Ao3.

They break apart for air, heaving breaths amplified in the silence of Adrien’s cavernous bedroom. Marinette’s hands still clutch at his back beneath his t-shirt; he lowers his head to her bare shoulder and sucks a possessive mark into her skin.

Her sundress is long gone, unbuttoned an hour ago by eager yet careful hands and parted reverently to reveal the lacy bra that now hangs from one shoulder.

Lips and tongue and teeth explore that same shoulder now, claiming every inch of skin up, up the curve of her neck and oh! The jolt of arousal that zings down her spine has her hips pressed to his of their own accord, while he soothes the spot his teeth have just nipped.

“You like that, Mari?” He purrs, huffing a pleased laugh against her skin before dipping back down to do it all over again just behind her ear.

She can practically hear the smug grin in his voice, but imagining it on Adrien’s sweet face seems wrong somehow. It’s a look more suited to a certain black cat, whom Marinette has no intention of thinking about while her boyfriend tugs her bra strap further down her arm and follows its path with kisses.

This is wonderful, of course, and her senses sing with delight at the smell of his shampoo, the taste of his minty lip balm still on her tongue, the delicious weight of his body between her legs and his soft skin beneath her fingertips. But when her bare thighs rub against his jeans as her hips search for more friction, it’s not difficult to notice the disparity in their states of undress.

He’s just freed her breast from its confines when she decides they need to even the score a bit.

Her hands glide whisper-soft down the plane of his back, and she’s gratified by the surprised gasp she hears (and feels) at her chest. She takes a quick detour just below the waistband of his jeans to feel the warm skin and tight muscles there before grabbing his t-shirt hem and starting to pull it up so it can join her dress on the coffee table.

It’s a shame he has to pause the magic his tongue is working right now, but the sacrifice will be worth it when she can feel their bodies pressed skin to skin, a pleasure she’d imagined in fantasy but still hasn’t gotten used to the wonder of in real life.

When he realizes what she’s trying to do, he makes a noise of disapproval against her skin before quickly sitting up and tugging his t-shirt back down.

It happens so fast that Marinette is left wide-eyed in surprise, the cool of the room making her still-wet nipple harden further.

This does not go unnoticed.

“I’ll be back for you,” Adrien reassures her bare breast, pointing a finger at it, “And I haven’t forgotten you,” he reminds the other, still tucked behind lace.

It’s one of the most ridiculous things she’s ever witnessed in her life, and she can’t stop the bark of laughter that bubbles up in her chest, cutting through the sting of his sudden retreat.

She quirks an eyebrow and gestures between them. “I'm feeling underdressed. Care to even things out?”

“Uh uh uh,” he sings, wagging his index finger dramatically like a ticking metronome. At the confused furrow in her brow, he deflates a little, his hand moving instead to the back of his neck.

“I, um, had an idea,” he says sheepishly.

“O…kay?”

His answering grin is pure elation, his playful swagger returning as he leaps from the sofa.

“I think you’ll love it!” She hears him call from the vicinity of his desk.

Her heart swells, her smile returns.

Oh, this boy.

She pulls her wayward bra strap back up onto her shoulder and resituates everything comfortably. Whatever he has planned will probably lead them back to the sofa - or the bed, or his desk, or the skate ramp - and her underwear will be added to the clothing pile in a few minutes anyway. At least, she hopes so.

Intimacy isn’t brand-new for them, but it’s still as thrilling as it was those first few times they’d explored each other’s bodies and discovered just how euphoric it could be to fall apart against the fingers and tongue of another, turning love into something tangible by way of racing hearts and trembling hands. Alone time in the quiet of her loft was eclipsed forever the first time she saw his climax cross his face at the same moment she felt it inside.

They’re still clumsy sometimes, still learning about sex and each other, but the shine hasn’t worn off yet, and she hopes it never does.

Peeking over the sofa, she finds him holding his desk lamp in one hand and scrolling frantically through his phone with the other. She smiles to herself when his face lights up upon finding what he was looking for. He lifts his head and finds her watching him, his eyes going soft with adoration at the same time his lips quirk in a sly grin.

Seriously. This boy.

He pushes the foosball table toward the corner with his hip before tucking the base of the lamp between the rows of players and setting his phone on the turf beneath their feet.

Looking around for a nearby plug, he has to push the table back in the other direction until he can find a spot the cord will reach. He finally switches on the lamp and maneuvers the adjustable neck to create his own spotlight as Marinette watches with amusement as the scene unfolds. That is, until he fumbles it and shines the bright light directly into her eyes.

She shrieks and hears him curse before running over to her.

“Shit!” he mutters again, placing a finger under her chin and tilting her face toward his. “I’m so sorry, Marinette.”

It takes a few blinks to clear the blinding spots from her eyes, but the relief in his gaze is a sweet consolation once her vision clears. She rises just enough from the sofa to press her lips to his and delights in his sigh against her cheek.

“I’m fine, Adrien,” she assures him as she settles into the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her and propping her elbow on the back cushion. She shoots him a cheeky wink. “You certainly have my attention.”

His lips quirk in a crooked smile and he rubs the back of his neck as he returns to the foosball table, reaching down and pressing play on the song he’d chosen earlier. A slow and sultry melody begins as he takes his place and strikes a pose that makes her giggle.

“Are you ready, Mari?” He asks with an eyebrow wiggle.

“You have the floor. Seduce me, beau gosse.”

His cheeks pinken but he catches the rhythm of the song’s intro and starts to sway his hips with the music. A moment later, he bends down to quickly untie his shoes, still punctuating each beat with a shake of his behind, even as he struggles with the laces.

Marinette bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, thankfully keeping the warm smile on her face when he pops back up to meet her gaze again.

He shucks one shoe, which she watches sail toward his desk before landing with a thunk. The other shoe is kicked off just as the words to the song begin, but neither of them pay attention to the English lyrics as they watch the orange plimsoll head straight for the television. It clips the top edge before tumbling to the floor behind, leaving the giant television rocking precariously for several long, long moments until it finally settles back in place, unharmed.

Crisis averted, Adrien continues unfazed.

His socks are quickly discarded, mercifully without incident.

Next comes his t-shirt, which Marinette doesn’t think will be any trouble since she’s watched him tug it over his head by the back of the collar numerous times in their haste to undress and come together again.

She is wrong.

In the momentary struggle to remove his shirt from where it’s somehow become stuck on his head, Marinette is treated to the sight of his very, very chiseled abs, muscles rippling as he flails his arms above his head. She’s always wondered how on earth he got so ripped - when does he have the time? - but she’s definitely not complaining.

Finally free, Adrien gleefully throws the shirt to his solo audience member, who catches it with a laugh and clutches it to her chest like the prize that it is.

This striptease is proving two facts she already knew: One, he is an absolute doofus, and two, she loves him beyond measure.

Refocusing on her beloved doofus while shamelessly inhaling the familiar scent of his t-shirt, she watches him begin to unbuckle his belt and feels a little fluttery all of a sudden.

When a few sweet kisses while watching an anime an hour ago had led to roaming hands and discarded clothing and his body pressing hers into the sofa, the destination was clear. However, the entertaining detour of the last few minutes got her sidetracked. Suddenly, the clink of his buckle has her very much looking forward to the removal of those last few articles of clothing.

Buckle undone, hips still swaying languidly with the beat, he takes a moment to unbutton and unzip his jeans before whipping his belt from its loops with a flourish.

Just as the singer croons, “Throw your clothes on the floor,” Adrien’s jeans fall to the hardwood.

Marinette’s jaw is clenched, lips pressed tightly together, practically vibrating with her attempt to keep from laughing.

Undeterred, he steps from his jeans to the tune of “I’m gonna take my clothes off, too” and promptly trips, falling toward the armrest of the sofa and just barely catching himself with one hand instead of his handsome face, though his knees hit the floor with a heavy thump.

Marinette jumps up, nerves alive with adrenaline and worry, and rushes around the sofa toward him.

“Oh my god, Adrien! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He’s clearly mortified, blushing from the tips of his ears to the top of his chest.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he hastily assures her as he gets to his feet again and kicks his traitorous jeans under the foosball table, sending a withering glare in their direction.

Marinette perches on the sofa again, but she’s still wound tightly after watching him fall.

The song nears its end, trailing off in a medley of warbling voices. After a pause, the slow and sexy intro builds again as the song repeats.

Adrien matches the rhythm with his hips once more, now clad in only black boxer briefs, and dance-walks to the fireman’s pole.

"No..." she whispers under her breath.

"Yes!" he sings, drawing out the vowel on a long, dramatic vibrato.

He grabs the pole with one hand and leans away, letting gravity take over as he spins once, then twice around it.

In the next moment, he's shimmying to the top, only his bare feet visible beneath the mezzanine floor. Suddenly, his upper body drops through upside-down, his head missing the metal by inches. Right knee wrapped around the pole, his right hand grips loosely as he slides slowly toward the floor.

The look of sheer joy on his face is contagious. Marinette squeals with laughter and applauds his showmanship when he unhooks his knee and flips to the floor, throwing his arms in the air like an Olympic gymnast who's just landed a perfect dismount.

Clearly soaking up her approval, Adrien spins lazily around the pole, this time locked around it by the crook of his elbow.

Soon he scrambles up the pole again, calling down to her, "Hey, Marinette! I'm Père Noël!"

When he pops up against the mezzanine railing, he finds her face looking up at him scrunched in confusion.

"I'm at the North Pole!"

"Boo!" she heckles, rolling her eyes. "Two out of ten. You can do better."

He's still laughing on his next descent, this time going for a "Look Mari, no hands!" approach. He leans his entire body away from the pole and slides down on one hooked knee, using the core strength that must be hidden in those sculpted abs she enjoys so much to keep his torso nearly perpendicular to the pole.

Now, that's at least relatively impressive.

Marinette whistles her appreciation, judiciously ignoring his crash landing.

"Bravo, bravo!" She blows him a flurry of kisses as he bows. "You make a great case for why every child should grow up with a stripper pole in their bedroom."

His face falls into an indignant pout. "It's a fireman's pole and you know it," he huffs.

She waves her hand. "Semantics."

This is quickly devolving into a nearly-nude comedy routine punctuated by feats of strength and agility, but the sultry music still plays in the background, the song now entering its third encore.

Adrien shakes his head at his girlfriend in mock solemnity.

"I should've known you weren't ready for the pole shebang."

She bites back the immediate and obvious retort that comes to mind on a wave of red and black and green déjà vu. There's no way she's heard that awful joke before...right?

Marinette shakes the thought of her superhero partner from her mind and focuses instead on watching - okay, appreciating - Adrien's delicious backside when he bends forward and grips the pole with both hands. Although this current view of a muscled back, strong thighs, and black-clad ass that could've been carved from marble by a Renaissance master is eerily reminiscent of her longtime partner, she is absolutely not thinking about Chat Noir right now.

No. Way.

Except she is. She can't help it.

Because when Adrien hops from the floor and uses the strength in his upper arms to hold himself upside down, knee hooking around the pole, she knows she's seen this before.

Long ago, on a dark rooftop in La Défense, high above the city, two teenage superheroes out way past their bedtime talked and laughed and ate day-old pastries, sharing a thermos of hot tea.

"Hey, Bugaboo! Watch this!"

Famous last words, she thinks, giving him an amused half-smile and shaking her head at the disaster that's certainly to come. He's such a try-hard. Such a dork. No one could be a better partner than he is.

Chat Noir walks to a spot beneath an air duct that crosses the roof about fifteen feet overhead. He presses the button on his baton, and it creates a vertical tension rod between the ground and the metal above. He tests its sturdiness before cracking his knuckles and grinning at his partner.

It's almost impressive, watching him climb upward using only his hands and his Miraculous-granted strength, back and legs perfectly parallel to the pole until he gets to the top and slides back down in a curving arc to the roof below.

Ladybug claps politely when he bows but can't hide her grin.

"Well, what else can you do, Acrochat?"

"Ha! Good one, My Lady! Prepare to be amazed." He claps once to psych himself up before taking to the pole again, this time holding on with only one hand as he kicks out from the ground in a spin, whirling around the pole like a superpowered human tetherball. He catches the pole with his other hand after a few rotations and uses the momentum to bring his legs up over his head to hook one knee around the pole. Dangling upside-down, he spreads his arms wide with exuberance.

She giggles at his antics and claps again, this time adding a little cheer for good measure. It was a pretty cool trick, after all.

"That, Bugaboo," he says cockily, shooting her upside-down finger guns, "is the pole kit and kaboodle."

Ladybug rolls her eyes and groans. "That was bad, even for you, Minou."

She wonders how he'll get down from that position, but isn't left wondering for long. He grips the pole with both hands close to the roof above his head. This looks...precarious. When he unhooks his knee, he tries to hold himself up with his arms, but gravity is too strong for even a superhero sometimes.

He flops to the ground, then konks his elbow on the baton when he tries to stand up. He shakes out the tingles and grabs his staff with his other hand, shrinking it to its stowable size.

Howling with laughter, Ladybug whips her yo-yo from her waist and opens the communicator, typing the number 10 in a large font on the screen. When he turns to face her, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, she holds it up high, hollering, "Woohoo!"

The true, celestial stars really aren't visible above major metropolitan cities like Paris. But tonight, Ladybug sees them in her partner's eyes as he laughs along with her. Moments like this with your very best friend don't come along every day, especially for two 16-year-old superheroes carrying the weight of the world.

"You might want to practice that dismount, Chaton," she wheezes.

"You know what, My Lady? I think I can do that."

It's a precious memory, and Marinette is reliving it right now.

Adrien's knee is hooked around the fireman's pole that's inexplicably part of the decor of his bedroom and not a superhero's baton wedged beneath a commercial air duct. But it doesn't matter. The sheer joy on his face, the way he spreads his arms wide and gazes at her upside-down - it's Chat Noir through and through. She didn’t know it two minutes ago, but she knows it now with an ironclad certainty.

And she knows exactly what he'll say next.

"That, my love," he declares, finger guns and all, "is the pole kit and kaboodle."

Marinette laughs because there's nothing else she can do.

When he grasps the pole above his head to prepare the dismount, Marinette reaches for her phone on the coffee table and opens the text app. This time, he lands on his feet, though he still konks his elbow on the pole as he stands up.

"Why does that always happen?" He mutters under his breath as he shakes the tingles out of his arm.

Adrien turns toward the sofa but stops in his tracks when she holds up her phone, a large-font perfect 10 lighting up the screen.

"You might want to practice that dismount, Chaton," she says softly, voice trembling with both nerves and the hysterical laughter she can barely suppress. "You did better than last time, though."

She watches the emotions cross his face one at a time - surprise, confusion, shock, and a dawning incredulity - before he looks from her eyes to her phone and back again.

"My...Lady?"

She nods, wide-eyed, blushing, her pulse roaring in her ears. There's no way this is happening. There's no way she's sitting on Chat Noir's sofa in her bra and panties.

Adrien stares at the floor and rubs the back of his neck. (Of course he does. In all these years, how did she not see it? How did she not see it in every little thing he did?)

"I..." he trails off, taking a deep breath. "I forced myself to get over you...because I'd fallen in love with you."

Marinette nods again.

"And I turned you down over and over because I was in love with you."

Forget him talking to her chest. This exchange is the most ridiculous thing she's ever witnessed in her life. Wild laughter bursts from her again unbidden, and this time she can't stop.

Hundreds of moments and memories of the past five years crash over her, friendship and love and heroic duty, anguish and joy and everything in between. Four separate lives become two before blending into one incredible relationship.

Holy shit.

She’s been dating Chat Noir for more than a year. She’s been sleeping with Chat Noir for six months! She is, in fact, intending to have sex with Chat Noir in approximately the next ten minutes.

She’s...truly, wildly, deeply in love with Chat Noir.

Of course she is. Of course.

Tears spring to her eyes even as she laughs herself toward hyperventilation.

Adrien - Chat Noir! - kneels on the floor in front of the sofa, his beautiful features painted with worry, and takes her shaking hands in his.

“My Lady? Marinette? Talk to me, please. Are you--?”

“I’m fine,” she manages to croak. “I promise.”

Several deep breaths later, she’s almost gotten herself under control. Her pulse is racing, but that’s probably not going to settle for quite a while, especially if he’s still amenable to what she’s now nearly-desperate to do in the next few minutes.

The relief in his eyes when she smiles and reaches out to caress his cheek makes her heart ache.

“I love you so much,” she whispers. The words are spoken without thought, as though they’ve come straight from her heart and bypassed her brain entirely, but the statement shines with the same truth it held the first time she said it to him and every time since.

“Still?” He asks quietly.

Oh, Minou.

“More,” she answers. “Always.”

He surges up on his knees, wrapping her in his arms and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss so full of passion it sends a shiver down her spine.

Marinette responds in kind, willing him to feel every bit of love she has for him, no matter what name he goes by.

This is beyond her imagination, and she'll undoubtedly freak out about it later, but right now, in Adrien's arms, it's shockingly easy to slot the two together, her partner and the love of her life. Of course they'd been in love with each other all this time. They're meant to be partners in every facet of life, it seems.

There is a very important discussion in their future, but it's already waited five years, and it can wait until they show each other exactly how much they love one another. Moments like these don't come along every day, especially for two young adults in love, who also happen to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.

The blissful, lovestruck look on his face as he enters her is stamped on her memory anew each time they find themselves entwined like this. It’s so beautiful, and only, ever, always for her. Tonight when he fills her and she gasps, “Yes, Chaton!” against his lips - oh, his expression is priceless.

From the other side of the room, Boys II Men quietly sing “I’ll Make Love to You” on an endless loop. And Marinette delights in letting Adrien do just that.

[what-big-teeth]

Reveal (Cambion Boyfriend, pt. 2)

Gender Neutral Reader x Male Monster [Part 1] [Part 3] tw: hostage situation ; threats ; blood ; death

An icy sharpness jolts you awake. 

You hear dripping as you splutter out a breath, but can’t determine the source. A wetness that stings at your face and gathers on your pants soon becomes apparent. Water. It’s aggravating the scratches on your nose and brow. With a small hiss, your eyes dart around the area to find the source. 

They land on a woman holding a dented, metal pail. She stares at you with a piercing green gaze as she tosses the bucket to the side. It lands with a sharp clang that hangs in the air and skids against the concrete to a stop. Makes sense as you’re inside some sort of warehouse. The rusted appearance of the rafters, the sporadic flickering of the fluorescent lights, and the gaping emptiness surrounding you say enough. This place has long been abandoned.

Which means nobody would think to look here to find you.

The woman huffs out a breath, almost sounding inconvenienced. She turns on her booted heel and seemingly glides to a nearby pile of wooden palettes. One of her pale hands cards through her straight, short, jet-black hair while the other grabs onto something. A wickedly, sharp gleaming battle axe. 

You instinctively attempt to place some distance between you and the weapon. But your back only slams against something cold and solid while your arms refuse to budge. Glancing up, you see the rusted remains of one of the metal support beams. You’re stuck in every sense of the word. But maybe if you can just maneuver—

“Don’t bother.”

A deep masculine voice reverberates in the air, making you freeze in place. The man it belongs to is tall and muscular with short, natural hair. But it’s the wicked scar that interrupts his light brown skin diagonally from one eyebrow to his chin that draws your eye.

“Your meager human strength isn’t enough to break the bonds holding you. So just stay still, like a good little hostage.”

As if you had a choice. But that doesn’t mean you have to remain silent.

“What are you planning to do with me?” you ask.

Unsurprisingly, you receive no answer. The temptation to ask more questions is squelched by a heavy, palpable tension that vibrates in the stale air. It all but screams for your complicit silence...lest something horrible happen to you. You swallow your words with a muted gulp.

In the meantime, the man loads his weapon. Its shape reminds you of a shotgun, but just barely. It’s nothing you’ve seen before thanks to the illegible etchings in the metal and the strange enhancements. The woman smiles as she skims the edge of her axe with the pad of her thumb. It draws blood, which beads onto her skin then drips onto the concrete. Her smile widens into a sharp grin.

“Do whatever you want to the cambion, Saul,” she says. “But I claim his head. Don’t mar it.”

The man gives her a more subdued grin.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mara. I’d rather not get in the way of that infamous bloodlust of yours.”

The casual way they speak of dismemberment and killing roils your stomach. The surrealness of the situation begs the question of who these two are. As if reading your thoughts, Mara glances your way with a pleased smile on her painted lips.

“I guess we can let you in on our little secret,” she says, hefting her broad axe over her shoulder without any effort. “It’s the least we can do since you won’t live to tell anyone what will happen.”

Before you’re able to fully process her words, she fishes something out of her jean pocket with swift fingers. 

It’s a photograph. Of you. 

The still image portrays you at work behind the bar, serving customers on one of the restaurant's more busier nights. You appear in your element, as you usually are, and look carefree. Too busy conversing with Cam and handing him a drink to notice a camera pointed at you both.

“You’re a rather dull person,” Mara states. You think you hear a hint of boredom in her tone as she says your full name. She then rattles off more information. Where you attended school, where you currently live, the previous jobs you had in the past. 

“Simply put,” she says, “you're bait. To lure out the cambion.” 

Your eyes widen as she taps a fingertip against the image of Cam. But that doesn’t make any sense. You’ve known Cam since kindergarten, all the way until high school. Surely you would’ve noticed something different about him. Your mind’s attempts at grasping Cam’s hidden supernaturality is interrupted by Mara’s harsh laugh.

“Look at you. Your body language all but screams how much you want him. That smile, that open stance, the way you brush your fingers against his. Disgusting. In any case, you’ll be helping us rid the world of another demon. You should be grateful; the Conclave is rarely so hands on when it comes to such missions.”

It takes all your efforts to not retch in disgust. Nipping your tongue to steal yourself, you try talking again.

“You don’t know if he’ll come for me,” you say. “He could be working with the authorities instead.”

“Oh, he’ll come alright.”

The man, Saul, steps forward, carrying his weapon with a self-assuredness that makes you shrink away. He primes it with a quick motion of his hands.

“Monsters like him have a tendency of releasing their pheromones around those they’re close to. Think of it as a warning to other supernaturals that they’re protected. In turn, those pheromones react to the hormones of those they’re attached to.”

“The cambion’s keen sense of smell will pick up your distress along with his own scent,” Mara says. “And he’ll follow it all the way here.”

You try to refute their words, but are interrupted by the lights overhead flickering and shutting off. 

“I’ll check the perimeter,” Saul mutters. 

“Go.”

You’re barely able to hear Saul’s fading footsteps; in fact, they fall completely silent in the massive, empty space. When the electricity is restored, the grin Mara shoots you promises bloodshed. You can barely stand up to her stare.

“Right on cue.”

Thankfully, Saul’s return acts as a distraction. His loose grip on his modified weapon sends a frisson of fear up your spine. You hadn’t heard anything resembling gunfire. Or maybe the weapon has a silencer of some sort?

“False alarm,” Saul says. “Breaker box must be on the way out.”

Mara doesn’t reply. She only stares at him. And slowly, but surely, a vivid glow bleeds into the green of her irises. She hurls her axe at him with a swiftness you can barely see. Saul dodges out of the way with a jump, landing beside you in a crouch as the axe bites into rusted metal. There’s no time to flinch away. Not with Mara’s harsh words.

“Cut the shit and reveal yourself, demon.”

Before your eyes, Saul’s appearance wavers, like ripples on a pond’s surface. It shifts and ebbs, revealing someone else. 

Red, slitted pupils stare up at Mara surrounded by black scleras. Massive black, bat-like wings protrude from their back as black, scale-like armor appears on their upper arms, ending at the black, sharp claws tipping their fingers. The scales also cover their pelvis and digitigrade legs, ending at their clawed, three toed feet. Something long and whip-like sways out of the corner of your eye. It’s their tail, which flares out into an inverted triangle at the tip.

“Are you alright?”

You’ve know that voice and have since you were little.

“Cam?”

He nods and you notice the curled, ram-like horns jutting out from the sides of his head. 

“I’ll get you out of here,” he says softly. “Promise.”

A strange, low hum fills the air, making the hair on your neck stand on edge. In a matter of moments, Mara’s axe flings itself from where it struck and its handle comes to rest in her outstretched hand. 

“Nice illusion, cambion,” she says. “It would’ve fooled me if I wasn’t able to smell you out. Guess that’s a perk of being infused with the blood of a demon.”

Like Cam, the whites of her eyes bleed black until there it’s the only color surrounding her glowing, green irises. They soon turn a sickly green shade, one you can’t help but wince against.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Mara hurls her axe again. But this time, Cam barely dodges out of the way. The force of her throws creates a breeze that skims by your sweaty face. And like before, it returns to her hand when called. 

This continues for a time with you scarcely able to keep up with their movements. If Cam isn’t fully human, then neither is Mara with the way she moves. Her motions bring to mind a feral animal in the heat of bloodlust. 

“Adding your head to my mantle will be easier if you just. Stay. STILL!”

Mara uses her whole body into her next throw. It hits true, to your horror. The blade clips Cam’s shoulder, laying him flat on his back. His wings twitch with the sudden impact as he hisses. 

“Cam!”

Mara laughs with glee, the sound crazed as it grates on your ears. You ignore it and focus on Cam.

Only to blink and see he’s vanished. 

Mara’s laughter has ceased; she’s noticed as well. Her eyes dart around and above her as she grits her teeth. 

“Show yourself!”

Only silence. Cam is nowhere to be seen. That’s when she turns her inhuman gaze to you and gives you a bloodthirsty grin.

“Guess you’ll be useful after all.”

Axe in hand, she stalks towards you. You can only mutter “no” over and over as she raises her weapon and aims the blade at your head. 

“Mara?”

She freezes. Mara looks over her shoulder with her weapon still poised over your head. 

Cam stands a stone’s throw away, holding onto his injured shoulder. In return, Mara gives a sadistic smile. Before you can formulate a warning, Mara is bearing down on Cam with a chilling scream.

“No, wait—!”

Something blocks your vision before the axe hits true. But you can still hear the wet, pulpy aftermath intermingled with pained, piercing howls and laughter. A gentle touch to your clammy cheek grounds you, refocusing your attention and blurred vision. Bat-like wings, curled ram horns...

“Cam?”

It shouldn’t be possible, but as if to confirm what you see, Cam brushes the back of his knuckles against your skin. 

“I’m here. You’re okay.”

The more he keeps repeating those words soothingly, the more you’re able to believe them. They’re so effective, you’re able to tune out what’s happening behind him. Soon enough, you’re free from your bonds and attempt to stand. But your legs buckle and a sudden dizziness overtakes you, leaving Cam to catch you. He repositions you so he holds you in a bridal carry. As a reflex, your arms wind around his neck and lock together for leverage.

Cam tucks your head under his chin, as if to prevent you from accidentally seeing any carnage. 

Neither of you say anything, even after he carries you out of the warehouse and onto the empty streets. The warmth his body naturally gives off almost lulls you. But you’re able to regain clarity after seeing what he looks like.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“You’re...normal now.”

He looks exactly as he did when he stopped by the restaurant earlier, coke-bottle glasses included.

Cam lets out a chuckle, but you hear the nervousness interwoven in the sound.

“Can’t really walk around in my true form out in the open.”

His strained laugh is a tell-tale sign of him clamming up. You know you’ll have to keep him talking if you want any answers. 

“That woman...she mentioned illusions. What happened back there, was that an illusion?”

Cam slows to a stop and his grip on your back and thighs tightens marginally.

“Yeah. It was my doing.” 

He explains to you how he first encountered Saul and managed to get the jump on him. He then took on Saul’s appearance to get close to you. When Mara injured him, he was able to hide and retreat using another illusion. Your rescue was assured once he tracked down Saul, gave him the same injury, and cast a more complex illusion which let the both of you escape. With the crime Mara committed, she’ll soon be no more, thanks to the Conclave and their stringent rules. 

“So then,” you hedge, “the one that Mara killed was Saul.”

And it was technically by way of Cam’s doing. Cam doesn’t confirm or deny your statement. In fact, he can’t even bring himself to look you in the eye. The realization causes a painful thud in your chest. 

“Can I at least know how you found me?”

Cam resumes walking. You mention what Mara and Saul told you about pheromones and human hormones.

“That’s part of the reason. But you should actually thank Jacqui and Ben. She was able to deduce how you were taken and Ben was able to help me after I lost the trail. She used to be a hunter for the Conclave and Ben...well, he’s like me. Him and his family.”

That...would explain why Jacqui was always traveling while visiting sporadically. Your best guess is that her unpermitted absence goes against one of the Conclave’s rules, if not many of them. But with Ben… Your brows knit together, wondering if it’s possible for a whole family to be half-human and half-demon. You ask Cam this, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“What I mean is they’re supernatural,” he says. “They’re werewolves.”

Cam pauses after, and you wait quietly to see if he has anything else to say. 

“Sorry. But that’s all I’m comfortable sharing. You should talk with them directly if you want to know more.”

You nod in agreement and let your mind wrap around what you’ve learned. Without Cam’s explanation, you honestly would’ve never known about the double lives Ben and Jacqui led. After all, you didn’t know what signs to look for concerning an ex-Conclave member or a werewolf. 

The same is true for a cambion.

You push that thought towards the back of your mind for later. With the awkward air surrounding the two of you, now isn’t the time.

“Can I know if they’re safe?” you ask. 

“Don’t worry. As soon as Ben confirmed your location, he returned to his family to inform them of the situation. Don’t be surprised if the Moores decide to keep a closer eye on you. As for Jacqui, she volunteered to handle the hunters. Or at least, what’s left of them.”

“She’s going to have to leave afterwards, isn’t she?”

Cam answers with a nod. But in spite of the truth, you can’t find it in yourself to be sad. Jacqui has always been resourceful, even before meeting you. And without fail, she always shows up in town for a visit, no matter how short it may be. You know she’ll be alright, now knowing a bit more about her past and thanks to the Moores. 

That just leaves the odd air between you and Cam. 

Ignoring the fatigue building behind your eyes and in your body, you look up at him.

“Can I stay at your place for a while?”

Cam tenses, but does his best to hide his nerves with a small smile.

“I was actually about to ask you the same thing. If the hunters knew enough about you to track you down and kidnap you, it’d be best for you to lay low for a while.”

You mutter your thanks as you lay your head against his shoulder. Before exhaustion can fully take hold of you, you manage one last question.

“Are we going to fly to your place?”

Cam lets out of a muffled snort. 

“I was thinking it’d be better if I drove. My car’s back at Papa Ruben’s. It won’t take long for me to walk us there.”

With the sound of Cam’s steady heartbeat against your ear, you can’t find the energy to respond. You close your eyes and let him take control, finally feeling safe.

[flowers-creativity]

Whumptober day 3: Forced to kneel/held at gunpoint

Fandom: The Musketeers

Characters: Aramis, Porthos, Athos (Comte de la Fere)

Warnings: Blood, canon-typical violence

Notes: Giving up on summaries, sorry, everyone...

Living on the wild side writing in real-time and posting with barely any editing *yeet* ... If you find any mistakes, you're free to keep them.

AO3 link

“Kneel.”

Aramis raised his head and straightened his shoulders, ignoring the muzzle of the pistol digging into his back. “Excuse me?” he asked mildly as if he hadn't understood what he was asked to do.

The man, a minor noble with delusions of grandeur, scowled and repeated more forcefully: “Kneel. That's what you do before your king every day, don't you? Scraping and slobbering for his attention like the dogs that you are.” A sneer twisted his features. “Though you're a pretty one, so you're more of a lapdog, I guess, not one of his attack dogs.”

Aramis tried to smile pleasantly though he could feel tension seeping into it. It was one thing to deal with a disgruntled and rebellious man but this one was clearly approaching madman territory. “You should give him more credit,” he said, “he's quite content with bowing, most of the time.” He raised an eyebrow. “I could indulge you with one of those, maybe?” he offered. It was risky, of course, but if he twisted just right … After all, there was only the man at his back, the others of the noble's small force still out there looking for his brothers. He needed to get free before they returned, with or without the other Musketeers. Preferably without them, though that could also mean two very different things.

In any case, he would show this man that he was anything but a lapdog.

The muzzle dug deeper into his back, and the noble snapped: “On your knees! I won't ask again.” At the same time, the heavy hand resting on Aramis' shoulder began exerting pressure, and even though he tried to resist, his legs bowed involuntarily until his knees hit the dirt.

He held his head high and stared at the man with all the scorn he could muster, which was quite a bit. “Happy now?” he asked.

The noble pursed his lips and stared hard at the kneeling man. “It'll do,” he finally said. “Stay there and don't move – I will think about what to do with you once your friends have joined you.” He got up from the box he had used as a makeshift chair and moved away, leaving Aramis' field of vision and leaving him in the company of his silent sentinel, the hard edge of the muzzle pressing against his neck now as a constant reminder not to move.

It did not take long until his knees and back began to hurt from the uncomfortable position he had been left in, but Aramis refused to show any outward signs of his discomfort. Instead, he finally broke the silence and said to his warden cheerfully: “The weather is nice these days, isn't it? Almost summer. And in a region like this, it's surely quite enjoyable!”

The man grunted and shoved his head forward with the pistol. “No talking!” he barked.

“Don't be like that. I'm just trying to pass the time until your friends come back,” Aramis said. “They seem to take their sweet time with it, don't you think? And here you are, stuck back in camp watching me kneel. Very rewarding, I assume.” Sharp pain at his temple interrupted his stream of words, and he gasped, swaying slightly. But the pistol at the back of his head had disappeared.

“I said no talking!” The guard stepped to the side, and Aramis took his chance. He threw himself to the other side, his leg shooting out and hooking behind the man's knee, and he half pulled, half kicked him. A short outcry escaped the man as he was wrenched to the side and overbalanced, following his prisoner down to the ground. Aramis breathed in sharply when he landed on the rough ground but did not waste time. He pushed himself up and turned around, launching himself at the other man. His bound hands grappled for purchase, and for a moment, he could take hold of the man's belt and one flailing arm. Then another hit clipped his temple, he was shoved to the side and rolled over, and the guard loomed above him, face dark with fury. “You insolent worm!” he spat as he grabbed Aramis' upper arms.

Aramis didn't bother replying. At least the man had lost the pistol, and while his hands were bound, he could still fight this way. He brought his hands up between them, interlocked in a double fist, and rammed them into the man's face. Something gave way under his hands, and blood began rushing out of his opponent's nose down on him. The Musketeer gave him a feral grin that would have made Porthos proud, then pulled up his knee and shoved it into the man's lower body. A grunt was his reward, and he pushed again, feeling the hold on his arms loosening. Slowly, the guard toppled off him to the side, and he wasted no time to shove him away and scrabble upright, then shuffle forward until he was directly above him. “You deserve a nap,” he told him as the man blinked up at him in a daze. Again folding both hands together in a fist, Aramis brought them down on the man's head, and with a small sound escaping the guard, his eyes rolled back in his head.

Aramis let himself slump to the side, breathing hard. He knew he needed to move, to find a knife to free himself and then his weapons, but for a moment, all he could do was blink his eyes and convince his body that no, having a rest was not in the cards for him.

He straightened up – and froze at the sound of footsteps approaching. He had hoped the noble was not close enough to hear the scuffle but today was not his day, it seemed.

“Aramis?” a voice came floating from behind him, sounding almost uncertain – and oh, he would know this deep, rolling bass everywhere. Tension seeped out of his shoulders like water, and he turned his head and grinned over his shoulder at his brother. “Porthos! So nice of you to join us!”

Porthos' worried frown only deepened, and he hastily took the remaining few steps to Aramis' side. “You alright?” he asked even as he already drew his main gauche and set to work cutting Aramis' bonds. “You're hurt?” His gaze lingered on Aramis' face, and it took the marksman a moment to understand before he remembered the guard's nose breaking and the amount of blood that had rained down on him.

“Ah, not much.” Aramis shrugged and drew back his hands when Porthos released them, now free of the rope around his wrists. He rubbed them with a wince and added: “The blood's not mine. I got a hit to the head but I can see straight – so I possibly escaped a concussion, this time.”

Porthos grunted, the worry lines in his face smoothing out slightly. “Your lucky day.”

Aramis grinned, nodding. Then he looked around and frowned. “Where's Athos? d'Artagnan?”

“Athos is--” Porthos started, then stopped. “Athos is coming – and look, he's made a friend!”

Aramis looked in the direction Porthos was pointing in and had to laugh. There his friend was, striding towards them with long steps, and behind him, he was dragging the noble who was ineffectually sputtering at him in sentence fragments like “you have no right!” and “--hanged for this!” Their leader came to a stop before them and looked Aramis up and down. “Are you alright?” he asked in a clipped tone that was barely covering the worry underneath – at least for someone who had known him as long as Aramis had.

“I'm fine,” the marksman said. “You have great timing.”

Porthos snorted. “Not really,” he said. To Athos, he added: “He already took out that one before I got here.” He nodded at the guard lying insensate on the ground. The noble devolved in another bout of incomprehensible outrage.

Aramis smiled and got up laboriously, gratefully accepting Porthos' hand in support. “Still great to have you here now.” He looked around again and frowned, repeating his earlier question: “d'Artagnan?”

“I sent him off to send a message to Treville – informing the Captain of treason took precedence over a rescue mission, I'm afraid,” Athos explained. “As much as it seems the latter was not all that needed.” He nodded at Porthos. “Tie that one to his master,” he ordered, with a gesture to the unconscious guard, ignoring the protests from the noble with a great deal of experience.

Aramis shook his head, the last bit of tension evaporating and leaving him feeling wrung-out and beaten. “I bet he loved that,” he murmured and got a bark of laughter from Porthos and a half-smile from Athos in return.

“He did not,” the swordsman allowed. “But alas, duty called, and we are the King's men.”

“That we are.” Aramis nodded and then grinned at the captive noble. He playfully snapped his teeth at him and gave a short bark. “But not his lapdogs.”

[heyyyharry]

Idol

(from the Flatmate!Harry Series)

...in which everyone’s obsessed with the new star on campus, and Y/N is no exception.

Warning: mention of sex, jealous Harry, and a bit fluff as usual.

Harry's not foreign to seeing people walking around campus with their face glued to their phones. It’s 2018 now and obviously everyone prefers social media than real life interactions, that’s fine by him. However, today as he’s walking to his favorite food court on campus to meet his friends for lunch, Harry finds it unusual as almost everyone he passes by are watching the same video on their devices. In fact, now he has the audio stuck inside his head and he hasn’t even watched that viral clip yet. 

Is this the part where everyone turns into zombies and he has to save the world on his own?

“What’s up with everybody today?” Harry asks the girl friend next to him while scanning his eyes around the room.

“Oh, some guy posted a clip of himself playing instruments and now the whole school is obsessed,” she replies, making him furrow his eyebrows in confusion. 

“What’s so special with that?”

“The fact that he plays 90 instruments and can sing very well,” the girl says then shows Harry the clip on her phone.

It’s a three minute cover of the song God Is A Woman by Ariana Grande, played by 90 instruments, and it was creatively arranged. Harry’s got to admit this guy is talented.

“But I still don’t understand all the hype for him, sure he’s good but...” 

“Okay, honey, Lemme educate you real quick!” The girl snaps her fingers as she clears her throat and sits up straight. “This man is anything but ordinary, he recently moved here from France, he was very popular there because he won a national talent show, got here on a prestige scholarship, blessed with a look of a Greek God but like...French, and he plays all kinds of instruments you can think of, and has a voice of an angel, most importantly, he’s an Aquarius, which is perfect for me!”

Harry widens his eyes whilst his mouth falls open, unable to believe she just said all that in only one breath.

“I don’t understand how you don’t get it, he has zero, ZERO flaw!”

“Who has zero flaw?” Niall returns with his tray of food and joins his two friends at their table.

“Layla’s telling me about this new French guy everyone’s obsessed about,” Harry answers, holding the straw between his teeth, smirking like what he just said was most ridiculous thing ever.

“Oh, so you’ve seen the clip then?” Niall sits down in front of them and nods his head knowingly. “Eliot Thériault, we had a class together this morning, cool dude, he’s hilarious.”

Layla rests her chin on her knuckles and her elbows on the table. Her eyes twinkle with excitement. “What class? I’m gonna take it, gonna be his new ‘study buddy’, if you know what I mean.”

“Jesus, calm down woman,” Niall chuckles before turning to Harry, who’s cringing at Layla so hard. “By the way, Y/N was in the same class with us, I think you should hold on to your girl, she’s one of the victims, like Layla here.”

“Oh please, Y/N’s not like that.” Harry snorts, but right after finishing that sentence, he hears his name being called from a few tables away. His girlfriend’s walking fast towards them with that familiar big smile on her face, which alarms him that she’s here with some news, it’s either really great or just severely terrible.

“I just met a Greek God, but he’s French!” Y/N announces once she stops at the table.

That is, apparently, all Layla has been waiting for just so she can shout out, “see??? That’s what I fuckin’ said!”

Harry facepalms himself, while Niall bursts into laughter, and Y/N finds it amusing though it’s not the first time she’s seen these reactions from the two of them simultaneously.

She takes a seat next to Niall and reaches forward to pat her boyfriend gently on the cheek as a loving gesture.

“C'mon, H, I had to fangirl a little bit,” she reasons. “It’s not every day that I’ve got to sit in class next to a viral star!”

“I second that!” Layla cuts in. “But please stick to Harry so I have a shot with a hot guy.”

“Wow, Layla!” Y/N chuckles at the girl’s statement. Most of Harry’s friends are not very supportive of his relationship with Y/N since the two of them are poles apart, so to hear his friend say something like that is a whole new experience to Y/N.

“That doesn’t make me your new best friend, princess.”

“How unfortunate.” Y/N rolls her eyes in a sarcastic way, which makes Harry snigger. He likes how sassy she is sometimes, as a matter of fact, her eye-rolling never fails to turn him on.

“Niall, have you told Harry?” she suddenly asks. No matter what that news is, she sure looks very eager for her boyfriend to know.

“Oh, right, Eliot has a live show tonight at a restaurant downtown, Y/N and I are invited but we’re allowed to bring some friends.”

“I’m gonna cancel my family dinner!” Layla immediately unlocks her phone and stands up right away which surprises the other three at the table, “mum, yeah, I cannot come tonight-”

“I think she hasn’t had sex in a while,” Niall admits once his female friend is gone, then he asks Harry if he wants to come as well.

“No, I’m good, I don’t even know the guy so,” Harry replies with a shrug, promptly given the look of doubt from his best friend and girlfriend.

“You sure, mate? Because I think he’s quite fond of Y/N.”

Niall’s assertion causes Harry to nearly choke on his water.

“I’m going,” he declares in less than no time. “I’m definitely going.”

...

Eliot is...nice. Harry was hoping he would be an asshole instead, but he looks exactly like the perfect human being his friends described, which makes him a lot more intimidating, because he could be faking his down-to-earth personality and nobody would know for how well he does it. 

“That was great, mate!” Niall compliments Eliot who just leaves the stage to another performer of the night.

“Merci! I’m glad you guys enjoyed it!” says Eliot in a thick French accent, and whilst Layla obviously swoons, Harry has to take a glance at Y/N to see her reaction. She has her usual smiley face on, but who knows what on earth she’s actually thinking about.

“And don’t worry about dinner. My uncle’s the owner of this restaurant. You don’t have to pay.”

“Looks like I’ve found my Christian Grey.”

“Damn it, Layla!” Niall cries out as he throws his head back and everybody else laughs, except for Layla, who rolls her eyes in a sassy way and tells Niall to fuck off.

“So Y/N...” Both Y/N and Harry flinch when her name is called. “Did you like my performance?”

“Yeah, I love it, I think it’s great, you’re so talented.” She sighs, holding both of her hands together. 

Layla slightly nudges Harry, then leans over to whisper to him, “if you’re secretly plotting his death, you gotta be more discreet than that murderous look on your face.”

“Shut up,” Harry says, though he cannot deny he’s been giving Eliot the death stare ever since their first met, just to clarify that his Y/N is untouchable. 

He has no idea whether it’s just his imagination playing tricks on him or he just thinks that way about every guy around Y/N, but Eliot’s been extra nice to her compared to how he treats others. This guy would always make eye-contact with only her when he speaks, only ask if she’d like some more water (as if nobody else drank water besides Y/N)! Then he would find some lame excuse to touch her in some ways, either it’s a supposedly ‘friendly’ hug or him brushing his fingers against her arm during a conversation. Harry’s not usually short-temper, but tonight he has to tolerate a lot!

He’s told her about it, but she shrugged it off as always, telling him that he worries too much. How can she blame him? He has a solid reason to worry. He knows what Eliot wants by the look on his face because, before Y/N, Harry himself used to look at the other pretty girls just like that. His instinct is never wrong.

As the group walk back to their cars parked a few blocks away, Harry has his arms secured around his girl’s shoulders and doesn’t let go for even one second. It’s apparent enough for everyone else, but he just doesn’t see why Eliot cannot stop coming for Y/N. Maybe the guy is not perfect, after all.

“I just can’t follow Dr. Friedrich’s lectures! Those concepts are so hard to grasp,” Eliot complains while looking at Y/N, who’s just awfully sweet as always (sometimes Harry hates how nice she is, ironically that what made him fall in love with her in the first place).

“If you don’t understand anything Niall and I can help.”

“Oh, leave Nialler out of this please. All I did was sleep in that class,” Niall’s response makes Layla snort.

“Then I think you’re my only hope now, Y/N.”

“It’s an easy course,” Harry speaks up all of a sudden, watching in amusement as Eliot’s expression hardens. “I mean, I don’t even need to attend those classes to understand what’s in the text-book.”

“I find it more challenging to learn something entirely in English.”

“Really? Did you get your scholarship by doing an entrance exam in French?”

Niall hurriedly steps in between the guys, holding up his hands in the air as he tells them both to chill. “Are you guys seriously gonna fight over a university course?!”

"They’re fighting for Y/N, actually,” Layla corrects and all eyes are on her. Y/N looks utterly confused and surprised, but ironically now neither of those two guys pays attention to her.

“I was speaking to Y/N, do you know how rude it is to interrupt people, Harold?” Eliot asks with a smirk, clearly starting a war for saying so, and Harry’s just so fed up right now.

“Do you know how rude it is to flirt with someone’s girlfriend right in front of them?”

“Not when your girl is thirsty for a bit of my attention.”

Just as Eliot finishes that sentence, Harry’s fist knocks him onto the ground! Y/N and Niall have to hold Harry back from causing more damage to the other guy’s face, and if it’s not for them, Eliot would probably end up in the hospital for what he said.

“Harry, leave him!” Y/N tugs on her boyfriend’s arm and looks worriedly at Eliot sitting on the ground, painfully cupping his bruised eye. She’s not worried for him, she’s worried for Harry, if his fans know Harry did that to him, she’s afraid something bad would happen. But Harry doesn’t seem to give a damn, he turns to Y/N, asks if she’s alright then tells her he’ll take her home.

“Are you fucking filming this?” Eliot asks as he sees Layla pointing her phone at him. 

She gives him a smirk. “The new viral star getting punched in the face for being an asshole, that, I would pay to watch.”

“What the-”

“Sorry, handsome. If I had to pick between you and Harry, you wouldn’t stand a chance.” Layla puts her phone away and walks off, leaving Harry and Y/N shocked as hell. Niall, on the other hand, looks particularly impressed as he hurries up to catch up with Layla.

...

“Are you mad at me?” Harry finally dares to question when he follows Y/N into their shared flat. She throws her bag onto the couch as well as herself before turning her head to him.

“Not at you, at myself!” she answers.

Harry takes a seat next to his girlfriend then asks her why she said that when she didn’t even do anything wrong, it was him who punched someone in the face.

“I’m so easy to be taken advantage of! It seems like everyone’s an asshole to me and I just let them!”

“That’s not true, he kind of had Layla and Niall fooled too.”

“Not just him. Everyone! And every time you warned me about it, I just completely ignored, now I’ve got you in trouble! How can you walk around campus tomorrow if Eliot tells his fans you hurt him?”

Harry chuckles at her facial expression. “Baby, I don’t even show up at school to begin with.”

“Are you seriously making a joke right now?”

Harry laughs as he apologizes and lies down on the sofa with his head on her lap like a little boy. Sometimes it’s still overwhelming for Y/N that Harry can just go from the guy who’s willing to punch anyone he dislikes, to the guy who lets her paint his nail and cries while watching rom-com, and it makes her feels like the luckiest for she’s the only person who gets to see the soft side of him.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” she breaks the silence between the two of them after a while, fingers gently running through his dark locks. “You’ve been doing that ever since we met, I know you don’t have to, but you do it all the time.”

“What do you mean I don’t have to? You’re a baby.”

“Said the one lying on my lap so I can stroke his hair.”

“Alright, I’m gonna let you win this time, only because I’m enjoying this.” Harry closes his eyes and chuckles when Y/N leans down to kiss him on the cheek. 

“But you’ve got to learn not to trust everyone you meet, for when I’m not around.”

“Then I have to make sure you’ll always be around,” she tells him, her eyes flicker with joy, but Harry doesn’t say anything back.

He just hopes she doesn’t notice how his smile slowly fades away.

...

Y/N wakes up way too early the next morning because of Harry’s alarm. Somehow he never wakes up before 9 o’clock but always has his alarm set at 6 AM. 

Harry’s still deep in his sleep to be bothered by that annoying sound. He has one arm locked around her waist, both of them naked, tangled up under the wrinkled sheet as a result of their crazy night. 

Careful not to wake Harry, Y/N reaches over him to grab his phone on the bedside table on his side. She turns the alarm off, then it hits her like a train when she sees multiple notifications on his locked screen, all tagging and mentioning him in an Instagram post. Quickly, she grabs her own phone to check if she’s received any notification as well; and she has. 

Apparently, Layla wasn’t kidding when she said she would post that video.

“Harry, wake up!”

“What?” Harry groans and buries his face into his pillow, but Y/N shakes his shoulders even harder.

“Wake up! Harry, you’re famous!”

“Nice try.”

“No, I’m serious, Layla posted the video!”

Harry immediately sits up straight and his eyes bug out when he looks at the screen of his phone. Holy fuck, Layla!

“Ugh look at these angry people. Eliot’s so canceled.” Y/N cringes when she scrolls down the comment section on the clip.

“No, look at all these girls calling me hot, I guess I don’t mind being famous.” Harry gives Y/N a toothy grin only to have his girlfriend skew up her face at him.

“Not funny!” She curls her lips. “Well, but at least they’re in love with you not hating on you so I think that’s good.”

“Aww, look at you being supportive.” 

Harry laughs and goes ahead to check the rest of the notifications. That’s when he realizes how lucky he is that Y/N hasn’t seen all of them, because there’s a new message from Niall earlier this morning, which would get him in so much trouble if she was to find out.

Congrats on that internship! But how are u gonna tell Y/N that you‘ve got to be in Japan for 6 months?

[voidendron]

The Outside: Chapter 64

Series Ask Blog: @asktheoutside

Chapter 64: Coffee Chapter Warnings: Swearing Characters: Chase Brody, Bingiplier, Google Oliver POV: Chase Brody

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

April 30, 2031, 10:03 AM Los Angeles, California

Eyes pinned on the television, Chase thrummed his fingers over his knee. Jim was on. He was talking about the ongoing investigation of the murder of Jay Ross. The Septic had to admit: Jim’s poker face was flawless. Damn. He knew exactly who’d killed the guy and there he was deadpan at the camera, acting oblivious to anything but the information in front of him.

“Today marks one month since the murder. Detective Jesse Clarke has been leading the investigation,” Jim stated into the camera. “He was available today, so we’ll hand the show over to Melissa for an interview.”

The screen cut to an alleyway. There was police tape behind the on-camera pair, but the crime scene looked empty aside from them.

Clarke was a severe-looking man; it didn’t appear that he’d smiled a day in his life. His gray eyes were harsh and tone clipped. Even the interviewer looked fed up with him the longer the questions went on. What he said wasn’t really rude. He kept things to the point but was patient and explained when the need arose. But his tone and expression paired with his words really gave mixed signals. Like he’d trained for interviews and had a surprising level of patience, but would really rather be somewhere else had he the option.

“Happy dude,” Bing snorted.

Chase jolted at the voice. “Jesus, man. When did you wake up?”

“Mm…few minutes ago?” He detached his charger, then folded his arms behind his head. “Anything amazing happen while I charged?” He nudged Chase’s shoulder with his boot.

“You gotta keep your shoes off the couch, man.” A roll of the eyes and he pushed the android’s foot away. “Not really. I don’t get how Jim stays so straight-faced when he talks about the investigation, though. Like, seriously!” He threw his hands up. “The Twins are giggly bitches, and look at him!” He waved at the screen, then blinked.

Bing laughed. “Uh. Hate to break it to ya, but that’s not Jim.” No. That definitely wasn’t. The detective was still being interviewed. “He does look like a giggly bitch though, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.” He shoved Bing’s feet off the couch, then burst out laughing when the android threw his hands out to catch himself.

Chuckling, Bing reached down to adjust how his jeans tucked into his boots. “Hear anything from Ollie yet? I thought you were gonna meet him downtown today.”

“Haven’t gone yet. I actually didn’t think you’d be awake when I did go, so wanna come? Bet he’d be happy to see you!”

Chase couldn’t help but laugh when Bing nudged him with his shoulder. “Duh! Haven’t seen Ollie in fuckin’ forever, man! When you leaving?”

Phone lighting up when he turned it on, Chase shrugged. “Eh. ‘Bout half hour if we wanna take an Uber. Ollie’s walking, so we don’t have to rush.”

A quick text to Anti (who was hopefully still upstairs with Jameson and the kids) to tell him they’d be leaving soon, and Chase reclined back into the soft cushions of the couch. “How you think Ollie’s doing without all the repairs?”

Bing huffed through his nose. “He’s said he’s fine, but I’ll bet it’s drivin’ him crazy. Y’know how awkward it is to move a limb when you can’t fuckin’ feel it? Surprised he hasn’t accidentally crushed something yet.”

“Crush somethin’?” Chase snorted. “It’s his leg.”

“And? Goes to nudge somethin’ out of his way, he could break his foot right through it.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right.” He could…actually rather easily see that happening now that he thought of it.

On glancing back to the television, Jimmy was on (or “Tim” as his name tag said). Was the interview over? Or just on pause or whatever? Regardless, the Iplier had a bright smile on his face as he went over the week’s weather predictions. How did he make something so boring so amusing to watch?

“C’mon.” Chase hopped to his feet after turning the TV off and shoving his phone in his pocket. An Uber would be arriving shortly. Damn were those convenient.

The chains on Bing’s boots clinked as he followed the Septic down the sidewalk to wait for their ride. He’d gotten new shoes recently. Chase still wasn’t quite used to the sound they made. They fit him, though. Bing just seemed like the type of guy to wear boots like that, he thought. Bing had his sunglasses on—the ones Amy had picked up for him months ago—but the case with his glasses from Oliver was sticking out of the pocket of his hoodie.

Despite them, Chase knew the android’s eyes were probably as bright as his smile. Literally.

The drive to the little diner was short. They could have walked, but then they would have been late. Being late would have meant Oliver had to sit and wait for a good long while for them to actually arrive.

As it were, their Uber pulled up on the curb just as Oliver was reaching the corner for the crosswalk. He was hard to miss. While he wasn’t tall by any means, his raven-colored hair faded into an odd straw yellow like a botched dye-job where it fell past his shoulders. It was easy to pick out among the crowd.

He grinned when they met at the entrance.

“How are the kids liking school?” he asked.

“They start next week,” he answered. Well, Kyler and Sophie did. Yan had decided last-minute to remain at home, but would have one of his classes at the school. Chase grabbed the door and attempted to push. All he succeeded in was running into it as both androids tried their best to stifle their snickers while the Septic glared at the “Pull” sign right next to the handle. It seemed like every goddamn business had a different door, he thought with a roll of his eyes as he yanked it open.

“They’re excited, though,” he added as the trio went to find a table. “Hopefully they’ll make some friends.”

They started nudging each other when they reached a booth to fight for getting a seat to themself. Chase ended up victorious and grinned smugly as he sat opposite the androids.

Bing ordered a black coffee. Oliver, a Coke. Chase couldn’t help the little twitch at the corner of his lip when the Google said that to the waitress. A part of him almost wanted to say The Phrase. God. How long had that meme survived among the fans? He cleared his throat when the woman turned to him expectantly. An iced tea sounded good.

Somewhere during the drink orders, Bing had swapped out his sunglasses for the thick-framed spectacles Oliver had given him a while back. Looking at them side-by-side, Chase noticed that it actually made their eyes very similar golden browns when they both had the glasses on. Then again, yellow-orange and dark yellow were pretty similar to begin with. He had to wonder if that meant Red’s eyes would be a darker brown.

“Hey.” Oliver was rolling his eyes when Chase finally snapped to attention. Had he been talking that whole time? “Where’s your hat?”

Patting the top of his head like he’d only just realized it was gone, Chase blinked. Where was… Oh! That’s right. “Sophie stole it. Again,” he laughed. Drinks were brought shortly thereafter. Chase was the only one to give a food order.

“Should get her one,” the Upgrade suggested as the waitress wandered off. He ripped the paper off his straw and stuck it in his drink; his eyes followed it as the carbonation lifted it back up, only for him to shove it back down. It reminded Chase of a little kid playing with their drink, but he cleared his throat to stifle his laugh. Oh, Oliver.

“I’ve thought of it,” he said instead, “just need to find her one that has somethin’ she likes on it.”

Bing leaned back in his seat, coffee pulled close to his chest. “Bet you could find one from one of those medical shows she likes online. She’d love it to bits!”

That was…a good idea, actually. He’d look into it. Maybe for her birthday, he thought.

Chase’s eyes drifted up toward the TV near the cash register. It was one of those boxy old ones that hadn’t gotten the memo that it was outdated as it happily chugged along to show the news in…well, not full color. The screen was grainy and things on it seemed desaturated. It was definitely past its prime, poor thing.

Jim was on again, giving missing persons reports. “You worried?” he asked the Upgrade without looking at him.

A shrug. It was all Oliver offered for a while. Then, quietly, “Not really? I mean, how it anyone going to figure out who did it? No fingerprints, no blood from the suspect. At least, not what they would know is blood.” Oil was what he meant, of course. What human in their right mind would ever think oil could be blood? “They will search for a good long while, and then the case will be filed away as unsolved. Simple as that.”

“Have you seen the dude investigating it?” Bing asked with a shake of the head.

Oliver snorted. “Yeah. Looks like he has a pole wedged up his—” he trailed off to take a long drink from his soda.

Chase couldn’t stifle his laughter that time. “You—you almost swore! Oliver almost swore!”

“C’mon dude, say it!” Bing nudged the other android, but only got a huff in answer. “Come on, man! The worst I’ve ever heard from you is fuckin’…dammit and that ain’t even a curse.”

Oliver made a face, nose scrunched up and all. Then proceeded to ignore the fact he had a straw to drink right from the cup and crunched the ice he got as a result.

A shudder passed down Chase’s spine. “Eugh—no! Don’t do that!”

A smug grin passed over Oliver’s face just then.

Crunch.

“Ollie!”

[mymusehatesme]

Silver and Gold

Words: 1322

Part: 4 of 7: In which you meet a new friend.

   Part one, two, three, five, six, and seven.

Summary: A beanstalk in the woods and your curious brother are not a good mix.  He steals from the giant that lives in the floating castle and you are left to deal with the consequences. [Gender neutral reader.]

This is an at least half-white Mixed!Reader, as their mother is Kelly Kline, but the father is not described.

Warnings: Sarcasm, anxiety, trust issues, yelling, and over-protectiveness.

Masterlist

Air.  Air, not water surrounding you.  Dry sand at your back, drying on your skin; not floating weightless in an endless blue.

Distantly aware you weren’t breathing.

Your mouth was open slightly and cool lips pressed against yours.  Something strange touched the tip of your tongue and electricity lit up your insides.

Your eyes shot open and the person pulled away, pushing your head to the side and pressing down on your abdomen to make you breathe out.  Heaving up all the water in your lungs, you heard a male voice gently tell you, “That’s it, get it all out.  It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Coughing up the last bits of water, you curled in on yourself and held your hands to your chest as you trembled.  A cool hand ran up and down your back in a soothing motion.  It felt nice and you didn’t want it to stop.  You didn’t want to open your eyes and accept the past week had truly happened.

Water in your lungs. You remembered drowning.  Shining eyes in the darkness as cold hands pulled you down, down, down-

If you kept your eyes shut, you could pretend you were asleep in your bed high an insanely high fever and that hand at your back was your mother trying to make you feel better.

“It’s gone now,” the strange voice said.

“You sure?” Balthazar.

“Yep!  Lungs are able to breathe air now instead of water,” the stranger chirped.

A sigh from Balthazar. “Thank you,” he replied softly.

Exhaustion seeped into your bones and you drifted off.

When you came to, everything hurt.  You groaned, shifting against the sandy surface you were lying against-

Your eyes shot open and you sat bolt upright.  It was dark, a sliver was left of the moon, the waves lapped against the shore, and the stars twinkled kindly from the heavens.  Not taking your eyes off the sky, you got to your feet and smiled widely.  Then you burst out laughing.

You were alive!

Your laughter cut off short and your smile dropped.  Wait.  Where was Balthazar?

Spinning around, you took in your surroundings.  It was an island – fairly large with a small forest.  The air was warm and the sounds of the ocean calmed you.

“He almost died, you know,” a voice said, startling you.  You spun around and looked for the source.  “Down here,” the voice offered.

You looked down and saw a man half-submerged in the water.  He snapped his fingers and fireflies started blinking, giving some light for you to see.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt.  He had kindly golden eyes, slicked-back hair, and a tail.  When he smiled, you saw his mouth was full of razor-sharp teeth.

You gasped and scrambled backwards.

He laughed slightly, as though he was expecting your reaction.  “He said you might be jumpy – what with everything that’s happened to you,” he offered in a soothing voice, careful to cover his teeth with his lips, “Balthazar will be back shortly,” he waved a hand in a dismissive manner, “It’s all right, you’re safe now.”

You blinked as you remembered how Balthazar was talking to the stranger.  “You, uh,” you stammered, “and Balthazar, you.  You’re friends?  Know each other?”

“Pfffft,” he rolled eyes dramatically and chuckled, “Friends?  Was that what he told you?”

“Sir,” your voice was clipped and thin, “Literally all I know about him is that he plays the harp, was willing to jump out a window to be free of a curse, and knows how to engage with mythical creatures.”

The man blinked at you a few times, his face carefully calm as he took in your words.  “Oh, wow,” he breathed, “You have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

Anger sparked and flared in your chest, forcing you to take in a deep breath to make the red in your vision go away.  “Yes. I mean no.  No, I don’t know what’s going on. Look, a few minutes after meeting him, he pulled me out of a window.  A window… of a castle in the sky! When I was falling through the sky, I had to accept that I was going to die without having my last words to my living family members being, ‘I love you.’ That was my first day with him. The second through the fifth was on a ship.  Which we got thrown of off.  And I almost drowned and he almost died, so.”

He was silent. Quietly studying you.  Then he reached out to you, extending his hand, “My name’s Gabe.”

You hesitated a moment before moving toward him, getting to your knees and sitting on your heels as you took his hand.  “I’m Y/N.”

He smiled widely and crowed, “Well, it’s nice to meet ya!”  He shook your hand enthusiastically and chattered on, “I gotta say, I haven’t met anybody new in a while and sailors aren’t that keen on starting a conversation with a mer, so you’re a most welcome change!”

Footsteps approached and you turned to find Balthazar walking toward you.  “Ah.  Y/N, this is Gabe; Gabe, Y/N.  I mean, I trust you’ve already introduced yourselves, but you know.  Just being thorough.”

Gabe waved a hand at him.  “Cover all your bases, Balthy,” he said jovially, beaming a close-lipped smile at the blond, “That’s what I taught you, after all.”

“Yes.  Yes, you did.”

“How,” you asked slowly, looking between the two of them, “do you know each other?”

“Long story. Involves a few curses,” Gabe offered, giving you a look, “My curse, to be precise; and it can only be broken by a kiss.”  His expression turned slightly smug.

You blinked at him. “Uhmm, okay?”

He pushed himself on his elbows, moving his head closer to yours.  “C’mere,” he nodded, tapping his cheek twice with the tip of his index finger, “Give me one.  See if it works.”

You hesitated. Then, seeing no reason not to, you leaned forward and planted a kiss on his damp cheek.  When you pulled back, his eyes were closed and he had a ridiculous smile on his face.  He opened his eyes and looked down, his smile only dropping slightly.

“Huh.  I guess that didn’t work.  How about we try on the lips this time?”

You blinked again. While you weren’t opposed to doing that, per se, you’d never had someone just… up and say, ‘Kiss me, please.’

A hand clapped on your shoulder.  “Gabe, that’s enough, you’ve had your fun.  Come along now, Y/N.”

Gabriel stuck his tongue out.  “Spoilsport.” He pushed himself back further into the water and away from shore.  “Get some rest.  I’ll get something to help you out.  Leave it to me!”  He winked at you again and then dipped beneath the waves.

Balthazar sighed and helped you to stand.  “Come,” he said gently, “We’d best do as he suggests.”

You followed him to a stone-ringed campfire that had two piles of leaves on either side of it. You asked in disbelief, “Did you put this together while I was out?”

“Of course I did,” he said, lying down on his makeshift bed, “What did you think I was doing?”

You shrugged and laid down on your back on the empty one.  Crossing your arms over your stomach, you looked up at the stars and listened to the crackling flames.  “Hey, Balthazar?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to tell me about how you and Gabe know each other?  And pretty much... everything involved with how we ended up here?”  There was too much you didn’t know.

What curse was Gabe talking about?  How did Balthazar end up saving you AGAIN?  How did you both get to this island?  What curse kept Balthazar in the giant’s castle in the first place?

He sighed softly. “If you wish.”

You laughed slightly. “Thank you,” you said, relaxing into the leaves.

“You’re welcome. Now, get some rest.  You’re going to need it.”

< part three     part five >

[spared-sans]

United in Hell

In which Mercy finds herself siding with Talon.

[Okay so

I got carried away.

Overwatch fanfic hath arrived. Enjoy~]

The unease began as soon as the recall was issued. Angela of course joined her comrades at their former Gibraltar base. Winston, Tracer, Reinhardt and herself were all that had arrived as of now. They were happily catching up on 10 years of stories and she could hear their laughter as she made her way down the dim hallways.

Rounding a corner, Angela entered her old medical lab. Everything was as she’d left it, if not a little dusty from the years. It was almost nostalgic as she ran her fingers along the counters. A decade away and it was almost exactly as she’d left it. Beakers in their cupboards. Everything in its place. But something nagged at the back of the doctors mind. Something was missing. Something important. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it. Perhaps she was just tired from the trip. Or perhaps not. Something pulled her forward to her old desk as she sat down and pulled open the drawers. They stuck slightly, but opened after a little wiggling, a small plume of dust making her cough softly.. 10 years felt like forever and no time at all. Her memories weren’t nearly so clear and they’d left the base in such a hurry. Still, Angela knew everything in her lab. Knew where everything was. She was meticulous in her organization. So why was she having such a hard time figuring out what was missing?

As she moved aside a small stack of papers her eyes widened. “No…” Of course. Why hadn’t she realized before now? The pieces clicked into place as she took in the room again. The dusty room. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. But her desk wasn’t. Not even her monitor or computer tower.

Angela stood quickly from her chair, it rolling back a few feet as she scanned the room. Winston had said he didn’t go into her lab. He had his own area and Athena kept tabs on his vitals, so why- Her gaze halted on a corner of the room bathed in shadow, a figure shifting slightly before moving forward and Angelas eyes narrowed.

“Moira. How did you get in here?” Her voice came out harshly toward her ex comrade.

As the scientist stepped further into the light, she crossed her arms, a pleased smile on her face. What could she possibly be so smug about? Breaking into overwatch? Somehow getting past Athenas security- No… Let through. Moiras smile widened as realization crossed Angelas features. The recent attack on Gibraltar. Of course.

“It’s nice to see you again, Angela. It’s been far too long. I’m glad you accepted the recall too.” She chuckled as the doctors eyes narrowed further. “You forgot? I was just as much a part of overwatch as you were, doctor. Did you not miss me?” Angela hissed softly. There were three people down the hall that could help her, but if Athena was corrupted, they’d be clueless unless one of them came to find her. She wasn’t nearly so defenseless, however. As much as she hated fighting, this was a battle she wouldn’t lose easily. Her Caduceus blaster was unclipped from her side and pointed at Moira in a split second, but she didn’t pull the trigger yet.

“You still won’t talk to me? No more words? You used to be better than this. Ask questions first. Heal those in need. What happened to you?” Moiras tone was a mix of condescending and… pain? No that couldn’t be right.

“You know damn well what happened, O'deorain. You sold out to Talon. Overwatch got shut down because you betrayed us. Betrayed me.” Her tone faltered for a second, but she steeled her nerves. Sentimentality would only blind her right now. No matter if her and the scientist used to be close. They weren’t anymore.

“I didn’t betray you. I found an opportunity to advance my research. You know better than anyone how much my work means to me.” Moira took a slow step forward and Angelas pistol straightened firmly, her grip tightening.

“Stop. I won’t listen to your dreams of megalomania, Moira. We’ve been through this.” The doctor watched as Moiras arms unfolded, her palms held upward.

“They’re no longer dreams, Angela. I can end this war. The advancements I’ve made can stop the fighting. Can fix everythi-“

“I said stop!” A blaster shot echos in the room as it singes the shell of Moiras ear, halting her completely. “I don’t care. Whatever you’ve done, I don’t want to hear it. You lost your chance over a decade ago when you sided with them.”

Moira seemed almost at a loss, the shot having shocked her more than anything else. She’s silent for a moment before her gaze meets with Angelas. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, if you’d just listen. Talon is shifting its movement. It’s motivations are changing as my work progresses.”

Angelas blaster lowers just slightly as she processes Moiras words. Changing? She knew she shouldn’t even entertain the idea of listening, but something in her old comrades face and tone made her hesitate. She was so cocky a few moments ago, now suddenly this? The doctor didn’t understand. She really should be calling for Winston. Instead her arm drops and she gestures to a chair, expression set hard.

“Fine. Sit.”

Moira took the offered chair, folding her hands in her lap, though angela stayed standing. She wasn’t ready to trust any of this or relax completely, but she’d listen. Best case, she got information on talon. Worst case, Moira was lying and this was a distraction. Her old fondness of the scientist made her want to believe, no matter how much she hated everything she’d done.

“Changing how?”

“Talons goal has always been purity of the human race through conflict. That is both before Akandes lead, and up until the past few months.” Moira began. “Since my recent discovery, we’ve learned of a far better way of purifying humanity and growing it to its highest potential.”

Angela was already finding herself disgusted. She knew of talons motivations. Humanity didn’t need to be purified. Moira noticed this look and held up her hands in a sort of surrender. “Listen, Angela. I never cared for their views. My only goal has been-“

“I know what your goal has been.” Angela cut her off sharply. “Get to the point.”

The scientist sighed softly, returning her hands to her lap. “My point is I’ve shown them humanity need not be purified. Not through conflict. Most of them want power. They have it. Some want only misery for others. Those people have been snuffed out. The only way to change their view completely and stop this endless war,” Moira seemed to stare into Angela, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. “is if you agree to help.”

Angela was completely taken aback. What could possibly make them listen to her? She’d fought against them and tended to those they’d wounded for years. Why all of a sudden now did they care for anything she would have to offer? “I don’t believe you.” Her blaster rose again, lining the barrel with Moiras forehead.

Moira didn’t flinch, keeping eye contact with the doctor. “I know you don’t. They’ve never stopped before, so why would they stop now for you, right?” Moira raised her right brow. “Because you are the only person in the world who is superior to me, and you always have been. If you show them the same results I’ve received, if not better, they’ll have no choice. The council will usurp Akande and Talon will disperse.”

She couldn’t believe a word of this. It had to be a trap. A fabricated lie to trick her into walking willingly into talon.  Angela steeled her nerves once more as Moira sighed and stood, moving around the doctor. “I get it. You think it’s a trap, and I don’t blame you. You have no reason to believe me. At least think about it.”

Her blaster followed Moira as she moved and she hissed under her breath. “Don’t take another step, Moira! I will shoot you.”

That made the scientist pause with an incredulous laugh. “Then do it.” A long moment of silence passed between them before the scientist glanced over her shoulder. “You never could. Call me should you decide to believe me. My number’s in your desk.”

Angela cursed as Moira vanished into smoke, the doctor dashing to the door of the lab. Her head whipped to look down both directions of the hallway, but there was no sign of her. “Damnit!”

She smacked her hand against the door frame as she walked back to her chair, sliding heavily into it. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she set her blaster onto her desk, Moiras words running through her mind. Of course she didn’t believe her. Couldn’t. The uneasy feeling washed over her once more. Why was she even considering this? She knew why. Because her and Moira used to be close once. Because she was tired of this war. Tired of seeing her friends and comrades injured and dying. Because she would gladly take any opportunity to break talon apart. She was seriously considering it. She needed to take her mind off this.

Angelas distraction came in the form of a chipper British voice startling her from her thoughts and nearly out of her chair. “Hey doc! You do know there’s beds you can use if you’re tired. Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

She forced a smile as her gaze met Lenas. “It’s alright. Just a lot on my mind. Too many memories here.” Angela stood, pushing her chair back to her desk and clipping the blaster back onto her hip. “I heard you brought earl grey with you? I could use a cup, Lena.”

Lenas eyes seemed to light up and she beamed at the doctor. “Absolutely, doctor Ziegler! I’ll get right on it!” A flash of blue and the pilot was gone.

Angela made her way to the door, hesitating as she looked back to the desk. A few short steps and she opened the left bottom drawer on a hunch. A sticky note was inside with a number written on it. Moira always stuck important notices in that drawer when they worked together. Of course she wouldn’t have forgotten about that. She stares at the note before picking it up. Everything told her to burn it or throw it away, but she stuck it in her pocket and headed toward the dining hall. She could burn it later, after her tea.

[crestedcurls-blog]

Come Home To Me

A commission piece for the lovely @idiotcrusader

SFW, Reaper76, some violence in the beginning.  

6.6k words

Read it on AO3

Los Muertos was a plague on the small town of Dorado. They had intercepted several weapons shipments and had used them to terrorize tourists and extort protection money from local businesses among other crimes. Their spree of violence had gone unchecked by the officials who were spread too thin to deal with the threat. It required an outside set of skills.

The vigilant had moved quickly after the first reports came in, moving from his search in Canada for answers to the warm streets of Mexico. After renting out a small hotel room--paid in cash, under a false name--he began his search, following the movements of the criminals. There was one skirmish involving a little girl and a grenade, but nothing had come of. He was simply left with some new bruises and the girl’s voice, ringing in his ears: You’re one of those heroes, aren’t you?

He was no hero. Not anymore.

76 geared up for another assault. This time, he would be ready for them.  A shipment was being moved and he needed to get ahead of it before the weapons could be used to hurt more. Oh, how he claimed he didn’t care, that he worked solely for himself and his own interests, but that was a damn lie to himself. 76 cared about every person who his actions saved. Which is exactly why he was here, and why the weapons needed to be stopped.

Into the darkness he moved, using only the glow of the visor to define the world. Los Muertos was not a quiet gang and he could hear the laughter of the grunts loading the expensive tools of war into crates before moving them onto the transport. Rapid fire Spanish echoed down the alley, a joke before sharp, barking laughs. Serious tones took over, and something about the guns were mentioned--god, 76 wished he remembered more Spanish. Despite his itchiness to head into the firefight, his training stayed his hand, forcing him to remain down the alley, out of view.

After minutes passed, his patience was rewarded and 76 was able to gain a better understanding of what opposed him. A team of gangbangers, armed with heavy weapons and perhaps a little too much of whatever drug had hit the market recently. Without taking his eyes off the scene, he took stock of his weapons--a couple of biotic canisters, several extra pulse clips, and a Beretta strapped to the outside of his thigh.

This was doable.

His inventory stocked and prepared, 76 waited for another minute, listening to their movements. His restraint was rewarded in the form of one of the scouts stumbling slowly down the alley that hid 76--it was go time.

Soldier 76 moved all at once, appearing from the shadows to grab the scrawny man by the jaw and slam his face against the wall, hearing the bones in his jaw and cheeks crack under the pressure. 76 didn’t stop to listen to his screams, climbing up the nearby fire escape before the fallen criminal’s friends could investigate too closely.

Three of the gangbangers moved into the dark alley, toting oversized weapons that even an experienced 76 regarded as lethal. Once they were below him, 76 dropped from the rusty metal, already firing his pulse rifle. The three barely had time to make a noise before high-powered shots slammed into their bodies and they fell to the ground.

Bullets peppered the ground around his feet, hardly missing the worn boots as 76 threw himself to the side. At the entrance of the alley, a man stood with a large minigun, and it was already spinning up for another onslaught, sure to shred the little cover that the vigilant had managed. Quick thinking led Jack to the fallen man that had originally tested his luck, and the belt of grenades slung so casually around his chest.

Grab, pop, throw and go.

He didn’t even look at the bomb hit the ground, blowing up the man with the impressive weapon and another who had been approaching as backup of sorts, toting additional ammunition for the gun.

That left only two more lackies and the two big guys who seemed to be calling the shots at the moment; Unsurprisingly, they remained back by the shipment in order to protect their precious stolen goods.

Turning, 76 barely had time to raise his rifle again before a bullet sliced through the skin of his right shoulder, cutting it in two down to the bone. With a grunt and a gasp of pain, he raised the pulse rifle with his non-dominant hand, feeling the pull of skin and muscle,  and blindly sprayed the alley, connecting with the taller of the two lackies and dropping him beside his fallen friends. The clip was now empty and one arm was solidly out of commission, but he had managed to cut down the crew that much more.

As the final underling advanced down the death-ridden alley, looking nervous, 76 cast aside his precious rifle in favor of the pistol strapped to his thigh. A full clip and the practiced ability to reload with one hand made for a better close-quarters weapons. The brute had three bullets emptied into him, killing him instantly. Rapid Spanish filled the air, the remaining few gang members growing concerned for their friends who had met their fate in the narrow alley.

76 rounded the corner to a hail of curses and bullets. Languages were never really his thing--there was no need for a foreign language in the fields of Indiana--but 76 managed to pick up on a few of the phrases from his time with--No, no.  No distractions. His friend was gone, he wasn’t worth 76 losing his life over too.

Dodging behind a pile of trash and old broken boxes, 76 let a curse slip from him. Jesus, he was too old for this anymore. How long could this firefight go on before someone gave up? Before everyone was dead? Before even he was running on total empty? It had been days since he had slept soundly, and the meager meals he had managed made it difficult to feed his super-soldier metabolism. Could he really keep this up?

The next second found him rolling forward, spraying bullets as fast as his sidearm would fire. One nailed its target but the others missed widely. 76 cursed the injured arm for his failure.

Almost in slow motion, 76 watched the large rifle nestle against the shoulder of the brute, watched him take aim and fire. Then, pain, raw and visceral, exploded in his left shoulder. Two more of the shots connected with 76’s legs, one with his stomach.

Soldier 76 let out a scream as he hit the ground.

Despair began to replace that resilient, bitter flame of hope that he had managed to keep kindled since the explosion. Now, death lurking at the corners of his eyes in an inky black smog that threatened to choke him. Bitter and unyielding, the soldier stayed on his knees, trying and failing to rise to his feet once again. Sensors in the visor picked out the backs of the escaping targets as they sped off through the streets with the stolen weapons. He failed to protect himself or the streets. He had failed the mission, failed the objective. 76 had lost.

God damn it.

The old soldier felt a tear slip down his face. That little girl, the shopkeepers, the homeowners, they were all relying on him to clear this evil out, to extinguish the crime spree that put all of their lives at risk. And now he was bleeding out in several places. Instinct told him to reach for a dwindling biotic canister, but exhaustion stayed his hand. Maybe it was his time. Maybe he could finally rest, and be done with all of this bullshit. 76 had been fighting it for so long, but now he was stuck. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Even Reaper, his ultimate adversary, had vanished like the ghost he was. And now 76 couldn’t even defeat a small gang in Mexico.

Pathetic. He could hear the voice of his old commander from the army screaming at him in his ear. The mission’s not over until you get your guy.

“The mission was long over,” 76 argued with the dead man in his head. “I failed, and my family paid the price. Let me rest.”

The mission’s not over until you get your guy. Reaper’s still out there. Go finish this.

Maybe it was the voice of the man who changed his life, who had saved him from a life on a dusty farm that had 76 reaching tiredly for one of the biotic canisters. Maybe it was just angry old spite and a need to finish something, anything, before he dies. Maybe it was just because he was too lazy to let himself bleed out and ultimately too scared to pull the trigger himself. Hell, who knows if the serum would even let him die then? No, it was much better to remain on his feet, even for a bit longer.

But his hand never made it to the small canisters at his hip, interrupted instead by the sensation of a shotgun resting against the back of his head. 76 didn’t move any further, just froze as much as the injury in his arms would allow him to. Looks like Death had found him in more ways than one.

“Soldier 76.” That ruined voice rasped at him.

“Reaper.”

“Didn’t think I’d find you cleaning up the trash in Méjico.”

“I figured you needed a break from me chasing you. But I guess you ended up chasing me anyway.” 76 bit back a grunt as more blood leaked from him. It had struck him that the old CO was right, he didn’t want to die, not yet, not like this. One hand creeped further toward the the canisters, hoping that Reaper might take this small mercy for him. “Can I just--”

The shotgun pressed harder against his skull, grinding into the bone. “I don’t think so.”

76 began to grow angry with the arrangement. It wasn’t meant to be like this; they were meant to meet on fair fields, faced off in a duel to a death. Not Reaper preparing to murder him, execution style. Twisting to look up at him, 76’s lips twisted up in a scowl; not that Reaper could see behind that mask, but the emotion was still there, clear in his voice. “Either kill me or tell me what you want, asshole.”

Behind the porcelain mask of his own, Reaper’s face gathered into a snarl as well. How dare he talked to him like this, this disrespectful little sh--

76’s face blanched, the blood loss making itself known. Screw the gun to his forehead, he was going for the canisters. And to his surprise, Reaper held his trigger finger. The crimson hands cracked the tube and bathed both of them in a golden hue, beginning to erase many of the fresh wounds and repleting his energy some.

The vigilant now distracted by the sudden relief and with dark eyes obscured by the hooked visage of the owl mask, Reaper gazed over the body that seemed so familiar. Stolen intel had referenced the fact that 76 may be the hero of before, the golden boy immortalized in a permanent statue. Funny how permanence had no place anymore. But here, now… Reaper’s suspicion had been confirmed. This was him, this is the man he once protected and cared for, a partner he had once loved. Once upon a time...

The gun against his head seemed to waver for a second. 76 glanced sharply up at the man, confused as the deadly weapon slipped from his forehead and back into a cloud of smoke. What was even more concerning than was watching the shadowy form fall to his knees facing 76, bowing his head in what seemed like a sorrowful gesture.

“I’m so sorry, Jack.” The rasp was less pronounced, the words more familiar this time.

76 pulled back sharply, confusion lacing his brow. That voice…

“G-gabe?” He reached out toward the man, hands wrapping around his shoulders--The texture was bizarre, solid, but wispy around the edges.. “Gabriel Reyes?”

The hooded form nodded. “It’s me, Jack.”

“You’re a-alive.” Jack managed out, wounds still making it hard to focus. “What… what happened to you?”

Alarmed at the blood that refused to cease, Gabe chose to dodge that question in favor of wrapping himself around Jack, supporting his battered body. “C’mon, Jack, let’s get you safe.”

                                                      …

Jack was set carefully on the bed of the dingy motel room. The former strike commander enjoyed the security of the streets, of being anonymous, but nothing could beat a hot shower and a semi-decent bed and for as long as he planned on staying in Dorado, having both was a advantage to his cause.

He had fallen asleep as Gabe carried him back. Perhaps the blood loss was greater than he thought, or the day’s emotions were just too strong. Either way, Jack dropped off shortly after Gabe had scooped him up in those all-too-familiar broad arms. At the sensation of being set down into the cool sheets of his hotel bed, Jack slowly cracked his faded blue eyes. From behind the red visor, Gabe was regarded with suspicious eyes as the wraith bustled around, pulling the first aid kit and a glass of water from the small bathroom.  

Jack tried yanking the kit from the figure and insisting on doing it himself. Gabe couldn’t be trusted, not yet, and Jack was always the better medic of the two. But that wasn’t obvious by looking at Jack; he was tired, drained, and the boring eyes of Gabe didn’t help the crooked stitches and the gentle stabs with the tools that were meant to help, not harm. Where was Mercy when you needed her?

“Let me help you, Jack.”

“I don’t need your damn help.”

But nothing deterred Gabe as he settled down next to a wounded Jack. Something about this felt more familiar than either one of them would have liked to admit, but neither one commented on the eerie similarity to the past years. Jack watched him carefully as Gabe pulled out a knife, designed to cut away the ruined fabric of his pants. While he was aware of what Gabe’s goals were, it didn’t make the sensation of his enemy brandishing a weapon over his form any easier.

Gabe ignored the way that Jack reached automatically for the comforting feeling of the now-missing sidearm. Jack’s weapons had been collected by the wraith, sitting in a pile in the corner to be cleaned and fixed up, and to avoid Jack shooting him. He’d get the weapons back, later. For now, Gabe set to the gruesome job of slowly cutting away the ruined material, revealing the two major holes in Jack’s legs. Blood still leaked weakly from the bullet wounds, forcing Gabe into action before he could help with the rest of the battered soldier.

With the help of a set of tweezers and some sterile thread, Gabe was able to remove the bullets and close the wounds. Jack’s face had gone ashen silently, as he faded in and out of consciousness. The super soldier never attempted to escape. Healing needed to happen and honestly? It was nice to have someone else taking care of him.

Once satisfied that the injuries in Jack’s legs would heal, Gabe moved up to unzip that gaudy leather jacket with 76 depicted on the broad shoulders. Internally, he reminded himself to tease Jack about the ridiculous call sign later, after the danger was removed. Jack’s eyes flashed open behind the visor, but the man was too weak to fight Gabe off; He’d just have to have faith that he was here to help, not to harm.

And slowly, the old soldier was patched together again. Once satisfied that Jack wasn’t going to bleed out from the major injuries, Gabe cracked one of the biotic canisters in order to clean up some of the smaller scratches and bruises while Jack napped. Reassured that the vigilante would survive the night, Gabriel got up, gathering a small spread of snacks for the two and booted up the old TV to play some old novella while Reaper attempt to rest.

“Gabe?” Came the weak voice from beside him as he settled back into the bed. “What happened to you?”

“I was in the explosion. That witch Moira had been playing around with some of these nanites. Gave ‘em to me before a major mission in Dubai. Been using them since, but after the explosion--” Gabe remembered it bitterly, body burned and crushed under a piece of the Overwatch logo. He recalled the blood pooling in his mouth, in his shoulder, pain sparking from every nerve. Gabe desperately screaming, trying to get his hands to turn to wisps in order to free himself. It was only as he felt the life fading from him that Gabe’s entire body had splintered into pieces and escaped the embrace of twisted metal and concrete. He had never been able to maintain the same body again, too ruined to get every piece back where it should be. Now he was just some grotesque husk of a man once was, an abomination of humanity and death.

Shaking himself, he returned to the conversation at hand. “I was scattered into pieces after something fell on me. I’ve been piecing myself back together since but… It hurts. And I can never maintain it for long. I can never really go back to the way I was.” Gabe finally managed out the truths that had locked themselves away in his head for so long. “What happened to you, after the explosion?”

Jack laughed, a bitter, soulless laugh that hurt his stomach. “Everything. I was a mess. I just ran, Gabe. I just fucking ran. Been surviving, running, since. Trying to figure out what happened, but it’s just not there yet. I’m missing something and I have no idea what.”

Gabe nodded; he knew the feeling. Thankfully, Jack hadn’t mentioned anything about Gabe’s own viglianting, about the masked figure only known as Reaper. Gabe was scared to go back, scared to show what was left of the once powerful Blackwatch commander. He had signed on with Talon, if only to have O’Deorain there to maintenance the nanites. Since joining, Gabe had hidden behind the mask and cloak to prevent his identity from getting out. Anonymity was his protection.

Glancing over at him, the former Blackwatch Commander opened his mouth, just to close it again. A smear of red on Jack had caught his eye, something missed earlier. The large gash began just above his eyebrow and disappeared downward in a slant over his nose. “Jack, your face--!” Gabe reached out, claws moving slowly to Jack’s face, but the vigilant jerked away before he could touch him.

“Don’t touch it.” His voice was grim as he shifted away on the bed, carefully. Shit. That broken glass behind the boxes; he was too preoccupied by the gunshots at the time, the pain hadn’t registered. And now Gabe wanted to take the mask.

Jack had never told anyone about the poor eyesight that plagued him after the explosion; the smoke and bits of glass had shredded his corneas, rendering him completely blind at the time. The sight had returned somewhat, over the years, but everything remained blurry, colorful shapes.  The only thing that helped was the red visor, stolen from a locker in a long-forgotten Overwatch base. It had been made for him years ago, in case of a hands-free mission, but now provided his aid in day-to-day activities. Very rarely did the man go without it anymore, and never in the presence of others. Especially not Gabe.

Gabe sat up, brow furrowing under his own mask. Self-esteem issues plagued him too--a face that never seemed to be solid greeted him when he lifted up his own mask. It was a mockery of what he once was--handsome, with a strong jawline and a broad nose ever-so-crooked from the years of abuse that he endured in the military. Now, it was a mish-mash of a dead man reanimated, a travesty of who he was before.

It took concentration to keep his face together. Tiny wisps of inky black smoke billowed from it, the nanites keeping him alive burning off and regenerating at rates faster than he could keep track off. Without focusing, his face could be engulfed by the inky smoke, ruining his features and turning him into stuff of nightmares. A fair amount of mirrors had been broken over the new look. And so, the man devised his own disguise. A harbinger of death, someone to seek out the guilty and enact as judge, juror and executioner. It was a mission to hell paved with good intentions. After a while, Gabe lost sight of who was the good guy and who was the bad. And now he was just the Reaper, angry and lost, wandering the streets in search of a clue to his past life and what happened to Overwatch.

Gabe sucked in a breath, watching Jack carefully through the slits in the porcelain mask. It was obvious that the idea of being without his mask in front of Gabe made him uncomfortable, so it was up to Gabe change that. Clawed gloves rested over Jack’s hands, gently guiding them to his own white mask. Trust starts somewhere, and Gabe was willing to extend that olive branch.

“Are you sure?” Was Jack… concerned?

The pointed chin dipped down in a nod. It was time. Together, the old partners removed the owlish mask and set it aside.

At first, the space behind the mask was blank, a wall of inky darkness that resembled nothing that Jack had ever seen. After a couple of beats, though, Gabe’s face slowly began to solidify in the darkness. Smoke dripped from mounding nostrils as the blackness hardened to form tired eyes and a sagged face. Gabe released Jack’s hand, resisting the urge to hide himself from view.

Jack resisted the urge to pull back. The face was seemingly intact, but whatever lurked behind it was a smoky mess, wisping out from behind the hood to create a ghost-like effect. It was as monstrous as it was familiar--a hard jaw, peeking out from the elements, the half-curve of his lips into an amused smile, a richness deep within the man’s eyes. Jack had been in love with him since their days in the SEP but it was only after their promotions that his desperate pinnings had been realized.

In the back of his head, Jack remembered the first time they kissed; in his office, after Gabe had gotten back from a particularly dangerous mission. After weeks spent in the infirmary, Gabe had shown up with that infuriating half-smile and Jack found himself pinning him up against the wall, taking his lips angrily, hands roaming an injured body. It was only after a few minutes of kissing that they had broken apart, gasping and laughing.

Gabe had loved him.

In a way, Jack still loved him.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, huh.” Gabe interrupted Jack’s thoughts with a bitter laugh, running rampant of those hours spent in his office together. “Kids call me a monster. Maybe I am.”

Jack reached out with one hand, almost nervously. Red leather brushed against Gabe’s face as the long fingers of the super soldier curled around his jaw, resting his thumb on his nose and gently rubbing it. Though the mask could help him view, this was a better way to see. Gabe was alive. Hidden by his own visor, Jack began to weep, tears filling ruined eyes and dripping down a hooked nose to collect somewhere below his view.

“Easy, Jackie, I’ll put it back on. I know.” Gabe had cried, too, when he first saw himself. Or at least tried to. He couldn’t distinguish between tears and smoke anymore.

“N-no. Leave it off.” Came the command, thick in his throat. “I love it like this, love you like this.” His thumb rubbed carefully over Gabe’s face, mapping it out--as if it was impossible for Jack to have forgotten it in the first place. Jack spent the next minutes taking in his face, the scars and changes it had underwent since they had last seen each other, so many years ago.

After the moment had past and Gabe had shifted under Jack’s hands--clearly uncomfortable at the attention--Jack removed his hand. It was time for Jack to reciprocate the man’s trust and allow him to work on the gash that laced his own face.

With a similar nod, Jack indicated that he was ready for the removal of the visor. The claws came up to rest against the red glass, ready to catch it, as Jack reached back to undo the clasp that attached it to his face. With a click, it came undone and rested in Gabe’s hand for a moment, before he pulled it away from 76’s face and set it to the side of them, next to his own mask.

Milky blue eyes didn’t look up at Gabe. His face had been ruined by the explosion, debris burying itself in the soft flesh of his head and neck. Jack still remembering the metal pole that swung down, slicing his face in two as he pulled desperately at the rubble pinning him to the ground. Blood had blinded him, spilled into his mouth, choked him out. He had panicked, screaming and sobbing, but the oppressive darkness refused to respond, didn’t help him. Just miles and miles of crushed concrete, blood, that damn blue jacket…

He shook himself, bringing himself from the nightmares of the past that had left him with years of claustrophobia and blindness. Without the visor, Jack only had vague, colorful shapes to define his world; to go without it was a nightmare, but Gabe was right, he needed to clean the wound. Yet another scar slashed into his face--so handsome, in his youth--that would need to be cleaned up. Usually, he’d do it himself, cleaning the blood from his gear and stitching up the ruined skin by feel alone; But this time, smooth hands came up to brush against his face, making him jump nervously.

“Be calm, Jack. I’m not going to hurt you.” Gabe had removed his clawed gloves, revealing hands that certainly looked like his, but were too frighteningly flawless to be his. The nanites had forgotten the calluses and scars from years spent fighting, leaving only cold, too-soft skin. Knuckles brushed against Jack’s cheekbone, remembering the exact moment when he fell in love with his SEP partner.

It was just after they were deemed successes by the SEP scientists. Gabe and Jack had been deployed on a mission somewhere in South Asia to take care of a small group of insurgents who had been kidnapping and executing the local people there. Jack had volunteered to be some kind of distraction while Gabe had snuck around the back to successfully free some of the kidnapped. But before long, they had caught onto the trick and grabbed the nearest person, a girl no older than fifteen, and placed a gun to her head. Jack had volunteered himself, traded his life for the girl’s, and it was in that moment that Gabe got the satisfaction of putting a bullet through the insurgent’s head. It was also in that moment that he realized he was falling stupidly in love with the wide-eyed golden boy from Indiana of all places.

Gabe retrieved the first aid pack, practiced fingers wiping away the dried blood and removing the contaminants from the gash. The needle was strung and the ruined skin was pulled back together.

So far, Gabe hadn’t guessed the man’s weakness, but Jack wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t soon. Jack was a twitchy mess, jumping slightly every time the creeping hands brushed against his face. Between his inability to see more than a cloudy shape near his eyes, and the fact that Gabe was Reaper, the current bane of his existence, Jack wanted nothing more than to sink through the bed and disappear. The pain of the needle barely registered; the old soldier was too distracted by his thoughts to even think about the minor prick against war-leathered skin.

Azure eyes finally looked up at Gabe shortly after he finished with the stitches. There was a pause as Gabe’s gaze devoured the man’s face, taking in each scar and bump, seeing the stories of the years between the explosion and now, the pain and weariness lurking just behind a carefully-constructed wall. But his eyes--there was something wrong. They weren’t the bright blue that took away Gabe’s breath as a young commander, the ones who burned memories in his brain of tired nights looking blankly over war plans, of weeks spent on the battlefield, serious and angry, of the time spent together when Gabe tried to teach Jack how to dance and then they were laughing and falling over each other, rough lips embracing each other in the early hours of the morning where nothing could touch them for those ten minutes--

“What happened to you?” Gabe finally managed out, around the torrent of memories that washed over him.

“War. What else?” Jack had been rasping like that since the explosion, doing everything he could to hide his identity. Today, he’s just Soldier: 76. He couldn’t go back to Jack Morrison even if he wanted. “Things have changed since we last saw each other.” Quietly, he prayed that Gabe didn’t see the way he tried to lean away, to hide his face.

“Jackie.” Gabe caught his chin and pulled his face back toward him. “Are you--the explosion… Are you blind, Jack?”

There was a long pause. Jack closed his eyes and released a long breath. If he didn’t talk about it, if he didn’t acknowledge it, then it wasn’t true, it didn’t happen. But here came Gabe, destroying those foundations. Shit.

He didn’t realize, the one small tear that leaked from his ruined eyes. Jack hadn’t cried since the explosion, since extracting himself and turning his back on everything that he helped to build since he was a young adult. The crystalline drop fell from him, falling onto the blanket below. More followed it, just silently slipping from the closed eyes.

Gabe sat and watched the display for a couple of seconds before gently scooting forward and wrapping his hands around the man’s jaw and cheek. Jack didn’t fight him for the first time since they met. Ghostly hands, dripping in smoke, brushed over his nose, wiping away the tears, catching Jack as he leaned forward into the man’s hands. And just like that, Jack lost himself in the arms of the man he once loved, quietly crying with their foreheads pressed together.

They stayed like that, two old soldiers pressed together, holding each other through the horrors of the world once again. They were the seawall in the storm, standing strong together, finding faith within each other, weathering everything the world had to beat them down with. Nothing could touch either of them now.

Jack was the one to pull away and carefully wipe the rest of tears away. Cloudy eyes opened again and he could almost detect a smile where Gabe’s lips should be.

“I missed you, Jack Francis Morrison.”

Jack snorted at the use of his middle name. Gabe was the only one, aside from the legal documentation, who knew his full name. A name that he had left behind in Indiana, on a farm in the middle of dusty nowhere, where he wanted nothing more than to escape. Now, the only thing he wanted was to go home, but he wasn’t sure where home even was anymore.

“Ya know, Gabe, you never told me what your middle name was.” Jack laughed a bit, moving past the tender moments of before.

“Don’t have one.” The man shrugged, laughing with him. “Parents never gave me one.”

Jack slowly fell silent, the laughter disappearing from his face as the stitches pulled uncomfortably. “I’m not totally blind. Can see alright with the mask, but when I take it off…” A hand waved in front of his face. “It’s all gone. Just blurry shapes and colors.”

Gabe sat quietly next to him, introspecting, before slowly taking the vigilant’s hands. Jack tensed but didn’t pull away, moving forward with Gabe. Gabe carefully placed Jack’s hands on his chest before letting go, allowing Jack to feel him, to feel the sensation of his body disintegrating and repairing constantly. It took effort for him to maintain the shape of Gabriel; the nanites wanted to simply fall apart into a ghost-like matter, but for now, Gabe would keep the energy up to allow the man to feel him, feel what happened to him.

Jack pulled back a bit, shocked to find the man’s body thrumming beneath his hands. Jack had been with Gabe long enough to understand the full extent of what the super soldier bodies could do, but this was… too much. Frighteningly too much. It felt like there was a buzz of a current, throbbing beneath his touch.

“I’m a monster, Jack.”

“You’re my monster, Gabe.” A wry smirk touched scarred lips. “I still can’t believe you lived.”

“I wasn’t supposed to. It was everything that Moira did, that witch. Suppose I could thank her, but this life isn’t worth thanking her over.”  

The pair fell silent, thinking about what could have been, where they were in life now, and what’s to happen next. Jack would need more help than this, and his face still had to heal before he could go back out there. Gabe wasn’t welcome back with Overwatch, he figured, so the world awaited; after all those who caused the fall of Overwatch were still out there, and they still needed to be punished for what happened.

There was a sound next to him--Jack had fallen asleep. The day’s trauma had finally caught up with him. His body, though super, had faced enough trauma that just the act of relaxing was enough to push him over the edge into unconsciousness.

Gabe laughed in his smoky way and settled in next to him. The old ghost didn’t need to sleep anymore, but it was nice to play the illusion.

                                                         …

Gabe was up before him, having never gone to sleep. Not to be fooled by Jack’s tricks, though, he snatched the mask up from the bedside table, to prevent him from stealing out and leaving while Gabe was making some kind of food.

Minutes later, the sound of panic pulled him from the hot plate where eggs were cooking. Jack was on his feet, hands darting wildly around for his mask, for his only sense of vision that he had left anymore, that was clutched loosely in Gabe’s left hand. Unknowing of where he was in those few seconds, Jack snatched up his rifle from where it had been left, and pointed it squarely at Gabe.

“Where is it?!” There was a mess of red in Gabe’s hand, that could have been the mask. He considered diving for it, but Gabe would react too fast. If only Jack could see.

“Easy Jackie, easy. It’s right here.” Gabe lifted the mask, with the other hand outstretched slowly reaching for the barrel of the impressive weapon. Once he managed to point it toward the ground, Gabe handed Jack the mask back. Even the sensation of snapping the mask back into place relaxed the man some; Gabe was thrown into sharp relief against the light, and Jack felt himself soothed. The gun was replaced on the bed and Jack slowly moved forward, investigating what Gabe was making.

“Why’d you take it?” He asked warily, following the ghost-like shape into the other room.

“I didn’t want you to leave on me; we have to talk about what happens next, after all. And you’re notoriously slippery, Jack.”

“Ha! I always was the sneakier of the two of us.” The joke was light, a stress reliever of sorts.

At that, Gabe laughed out loud. “I was the one leading a covert strike team under cover of darkness and media blackout, and you had a goddamn statue. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The pair sat down to the eggs that would soon go cold. Neither one of them needed to eat much. For Jack, it meant going without the mask for even longer in order to eat, and that was out of the question for now. His sight was too important for that. But for now, the pair just sat over the quaint breakfast and continued their conversation, desperately yearning for some semblance of normalcy in a world wracked by war and anger.

“What happens next, Jack?” Gabe asked, sipping quietly at his coffee. Unlike Jack, Gabe didn’t mind going without his mask, so long he managed to avoid any reflective surfaces. Watching himself constantly disintegrate and regenerante was not his idea of a good time.

“I don’t know, honestly. Overwatch wants me back, wants us all back. Talon’s been getting too close, and Winston’s already faced them down twice. But at the same time, I don’t know if I can give up all of this.” Jack waved vaguely at the air around him, talking about his current profession of faceless heroism. If he were to step back into the eye of the world--even illegally, as the current Overwatch state was--Jack would be forced back into control, forced to take the helm of a sinking ship. That is, of course, if he revealed his identity. For now, Jack Morrison was enjoying the freedom that being dead gave to him. The thought of losing it scared the hell out of him.

“Heh, yeah. The monkey was always faster than I took him for.” Gabe mumbled softly with a small smirk. “I didn’t want to hurt him. He got in my way, everytime. If he just let me get past him, let me in, I would have taken the information I needed and been on my way.” At Jack’s questioning look, Gabe took another sip of his coffee. “I work independently of Talon. Sure, I work for them occasionally, as a contractor of sorts. Help them get what they need, while they help repair me when the nanites can’t. It’s a trade of power. they don’t have anything on me that I don’t want them to have.”

Jack nodded, quiet for a moment. He was thankful for the return of the mask, so his expression remained anonymous. “I want to go home, Gabi.”

“Me too, Jackie. I miss them.”

“I wonder if they’d accept a couple of old soldiers.”

“Something tells me they’ll take all the help they can get, even from a dead man and a ghost.”

                                                          …

And so they had began their journey back north, to where Overwatch was starting their roots again in the scorched Earth of where the former organization used to tower. Stops came along the way--raids on Talon bases, sidetracked days where they’d hunt down small cells of terrorists and gangs, helping the odd family in crisis, but they always trekked north. Something about it seemed so right; sleeping by day, moving under the cover of darkness at night, but being together and whole and right again.

There’s a Greek myth that humans used to come in pairs, with four arms and legs. Fearing their power, Zeus split these humans in two, dooming them to travel the world, constantly searching for their other half, their soulmate. And though Jack was no longer a religious man, he could understand the myth. He had found his other half.

Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes were whole again.

[marmotsomsierost]

(i totally read this backwards at first, so this is instead 'death's family meeting regular mortal's family for the first time')

"Thane!"

"What?!"

He turns to see Suze staring pointedly and angrily at the table to his left where the massive bouquet of mixed yellow roses, white and purple anemones, and eucalyptus was carefully packed and waiting. The operative word being 'was,' as they were...well. Not dead, not yet, but definitely faded. Petals were already littering the burnished wood beneath the arrangement. He turned back to Suze with a wince. "...Sorry, Suze."

"Keep it together! For one dinner! Fuck!"

"Hey, I'm not the one who had to revive their neighbor's dog because she got a phone call from their girlfriend's dad and panicked."

"Oh, you want to star-" Roger stepped between them, folding his arms across his chest. Some variant of this dance had been repeating itself frequently since they'd been invited to dinner with the Huldersons, and he was beyond tired of it.

"I'm not listening to this for the fifth time in three days. Stop freaking out. It's just dinner." Laughter from behind him ruined the stern glower he'd been indulging in to cover his own nerves. Inge leaned out from the mudroom, kicking their boots off behind them as they waved hello, still chortling.

"You should see your faces, it's like a children's book. 'this anthropomorphic personification's smile is too small! this anthropomorphic personification's smile is too angry! this-" They had to dodge a wilted rose and sighed, picking it up off the floor. "C'mon, don't take it out on the flowers. you should've planned for that." They watched the head rise from its droop and the color return with a bit of focus before sticking it carefully through the clip holding their hair.

"Okay, not all of us won the personfication lottery like you did, sue me for thinking Thane could keep his-" Suze broke off in an aggrieved screech. Roger watched in resignation as his siblings once again devolved into a wrestle-slap-fight before turning back to face Inge properly.

"I assume you have some sort of plan, then, since you're over 30 minutes late and not dressed nicely and..." He blinked, looking more closely at their forearms. "...covered in dirt??"

"Yeah, whatever, it'll wash off fast. It took me forever to find some nice enough, it's totally the wrong season."

"For what? More flowers that are just gonna wilt in minutes because Suze is head-over-heels in happiness and none of us want to ruin it for her?"

"Yeah! Wait, no. Not like- hold on." Inge darted back towards the mudroom, returning to thump (gently) a large cardboard box on the table. "Flowers aren't the problem! Cut flowers, that's hard, they're already on borrowed time & highly susceptible to changes in just general environment, much less Thane being moody." Thane paused in his attempt at getting past Suze's curls for optimum noogie-strength to raise a rude gesture their way, leaving an opportunity for Suze to hook a heel around and drop him to the ground.

"That's why I found these!" They said proudly, lifting a shallow earthenware pot out of the box. It was filled with precariously shaped and piled dirt wrapped in some kind of silvery moss. A smallish green shrub stuck up out of the dirt, with five or six small yellow roses in varying stages of blooming tucked between the canes. Inge grinned at the three of them. "See? They're active, right, alive and growing and they've got their own dirt & water & sunlight, so not even Thane could make 'em wilt without actively meaning to. Plus if the Huldersons like 'em they can plant it right in their yard and I know where there's a whole bunch, they can have a whole hedge if they want!"

Suze was staring at the bowl with a bemused frown, distracted enough that Thane was able to shove her off, hopping gracelessly to his feet and straightening up his clothes. "Is that Grandma's lekanis?"

"Yes," Roger answered for Inge, closing his eyes as though that would change the view when he reopened them.

"What? All the pots at the store were too big or too boring or too fancy, and it's not like Grandma ever uses it, especially after she lost the lid. She's not gonna mind."

"Too fancy- Inge, that's almost 2,400 years old!"

"So? It doesn't look it, we've taken great care of it, it's fine." Suze was still staring at it as though it were some potential mimic waiting to eat their faces off. "I thought you'd like it," Inge added, a bit more quietly.

"Inge, that's a wedding gift."

"No, Grandpa bought it for Grandma after the third time they got drunk, ended up on Knossos, and needed rescuing by her parents."

"No, I mean- it's often a wedding gift," Thane explained, "The lekanis, not the roses."

The brief silence that oozed into the room after that sentence felt portentous, at least until Thane made a fist and banged on the wall behind him. "C'mon, Del! Stop eavesdropping! You're leaking again!"

The heaviness to the room cleared abruptly, followed by a muffled "It's not my fault y'all are loud and panicky! Keep your shit together, it's just dinner- which y'all are gonna be late for unless you leave now, there'll be traffic on the bridge."

Four gazes met, briefly united in a different kind of panic, before breaking away in all directions: Inge, to pack the plant back in the box carefully but quickly before grabbing a garment bag and box of wetwipes from the mudroom; Roger, to dash out the door to start the car; Thane, to run for the neoprene carrier containing two bottles of wine and sparkling pomegranate cider; and Suze, to indulge in a brief moment of silent contemplation about running the other direction until she ran out of landmass. Then she considered the level of 'i'm not mad, i'm disappointed'-face she'd get from Livia after she caught up with her, groaned, then flinched as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished it out, eyeing it warily until the contact appeared on the screen. Del's roommate? Suze answered it, but before she could speak they were already talking.

"You better get a move on, Del's muttering about yelling out how long til release and in what plot direction the next book in that series you like is gonna go."

"I'm gone, I'm going, I'm-" the line was already silent. Suze booked it out the front door, pausing only to check her reflection in the window on her way out. Thankfully Thane hadn't screwed up her hair too badly- a few swipes with her fingers and the streak was back to being neatly contained, an accent rather than a mad scribble-cloud. It'd be fine.

Assuming nobody realized Inge had stolen roses from the arboretum, again, and sent a basilisk after them. Was that still a thing? No, whatever, it didn't matter! It was just dinner with her girlfriend and her girlfriend's family and her family, like normal people do. In a normal restaurant, in public. With other normal people.

Oh, no.

No. Suze shook her head as she slid into the car, glaring at Thane until he scrambled out of the passenger seat into the back. It was going to be fine.

You’re a regular mortal with a regular family. After a very odd “meet cute,” you’re now dating the anthropomorphic personification of Death. You got to meet their family, and it went really well. Now they’re going to meet yours and they are terrified that they’ll make a bad first impression.