#they’re shut off for different reasons too. Wednesday is just that way while Hope has is to busy guilt tripping herself over everything

[darthluffy]

So reading some Wednesday/Enid fics, and having written many Hope/Lizzie fics, it occurs to me that there are 3 similarities between them when it comes to writing:

1. It is really easy to write Enid/Lizzie having a crush and even pursuing Wednesday/Hope romantically.

2. It is simple enough to write Wednesday/Hope being in a relationship with Enid/Lizzie.

3. It is hard as hell to write Wednesday/Hope being the one to pursue Enid/Lizzie. Both are very restrained and not outwardly emotional, and demonstrate how they feel through actions more than words. And both are sooner to jump into fire than make the first move to actually get their girl.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

RW: Guard duty - Percy Jackson

(A/N) Not me going: It’s Wednesday. IT’S WEDNESDAY! and then quickly grabbing my laptop and going through my requests. Anyway, Anon, I hope you find this post and like it! Thank you so much for the request!

Pairing: Percy Jackson x gn!Reader

Warnings: swearing, idiots, teenagers in this universe actually having fun for once

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re at it again?” As if to answer his question, screams echoed through the camp.

“And if I only could…!” There was a slight pause before an answer came.

“I’d make a deal with God…!” Chiron sighed, and started to rub his temples, something that has become a habit whenever he had to deal with those two.

Y/N arrived at the camp a few years after Percy and the two hit it off right from the start. Annabeth always said that idiots attract idiots and that’s the reason they got along so well. And that might as well be true, but their connection ran deeper than just the two of them being idiots, even though no one at the camp would deny that they are both idiots.

The shouts continued and another deep sigh left Chiron’s lips before he looked up at Annabeth, who had wanted to warn him.

“Should we cancel capture the flag tonight? We both know those two will cause trouble.” Chiron was right of course, but canceling the game everyone was already excited about would do no good.

“I’ll keep an eye on them.” Chiron nodded in thanks and Annabeth left, on a mission to find her boyfriend and Y/N, his idiotic friend. And when she did find them, she wished she hadn’t.

Percy and Y/N were huddled together, giggling like small children, while shushing each other and breaking out into more giggles. And the fact that those two were right next to the Aphrodite cabin worried Annabeth.

“What did you two do?” Two pairs of eyes landed on the blonde before Percy quickly pulled her down beside him.

“Sssshhhhh…don’t blow our cover.” Percy held his index finger to his lips, grinning from ear to ear. Annabeth rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to, again, ask what you two were doing, when a high-pitched scream came out of the Aphrodite cabin.

The daughter of Athena quickly jumped to her feet and drew her dagger, when Silena, the head of the Aphrodite cabin came out, her hair a bright blue.

“Oh no…” Unable to do anything but stare, Annabeth watched as half of the residents of the cabin came out, their hair the same color as Silena’s.

“Percy! Y/N!” If Annabeth’s position didn’t give their location away, the hysteric laughter they broke into, as soon as Silena’s yelling reached their ears, definitely did. The children of Aphrodite rounded the corner and glared daggers at the duo.

By then, the two had gotten to their feet and held up their hands as if they were innocent, something no one would believe. Silena opened her mouth, about to yell at them, when as if they were in a cartoon, they took off, leaving clouds of dust in their places.

Another, this time frustrated, yell escaped Silena before she turned around and stomped back into the cabin, her siblings following her while angrily muttering.

Although she tried, Annabeth could not find Percy and Y/N until the game of capture the flag began and the teams got moving to hide their flags. They were both battle ready, or…at least they were wearing their armor. Annabeth slowed down a bit until she was right besides them.

“Listen to me, no fucking around today, okay? I promised Chiron that I’ll keep an eye on the two of you, so you are on guard duty.” The duo wanted to object, but Annabeth immediately shut them up.

“Guard. Duty.” Before the two could say anything, she took off and joined her siblings at the front.

After finally placing the flag, everyone but Percy and Y/N parted ways, going in different directions to either search for the enemy’s flag or interject them before they got too close to their own flag.

“Guard duty is boring…” Percy had sat down next to the flag and was plugging at the grass, frustrated with their indirect punishment.

“Agreed.” Y/N leaned against a nearby tree and sighed, letting their eyes drift up to the sky. And then, a wicked grin took over their face.

“Can I leave you here for a second?” Percy frowned but nodded and without hesitating, Y/N took off.

They had won. Annabeth had secured the other team’s flag with a few of her siblings. They were celebrating on the way back to their own flag when the campers in front of her started whispering and giggling.

“Oh no…” Annabeth passed the flag to one of her brothers and pushed through the crowd to see what was going on.

The first thing her eyes landed on was Percy and she sighed in relief that he was okay. Then she spotted Y/N. And then she spotted the campers from the other team. Paint was dripping off of them. Some were even on the ground, just bathed in blue paint.

As her eyes moved back to the two troublemakers, she took in their satisfied grins.

“What did you do?” Percy started to explain.

“Well, we were bored. So Y/N came up with an idea. They ran back to the cabins, grabbed paint, ropes, buckets and a blue shirt. We more or less made a decoy flag that, if taken, triggered a bucket of paint to tip and…yeah…” Annabeth stared at them.

“I don’t know if that is the most stupid or most intelligent plan you two ever came up with.” She hadn’t meant for those words to escape her lips, but what was done was done. Great…now she had to deal with them gloating about that for the next weeks.

“Either way, no more guard duty for them.” Chiron sighed and all Annabeth could do, was nod in agreement. No more guard duty.

[aomine-ryo]

Your last ask was seriously funny! We need more of that. If possible, can I request different scenrios where the s/o of the gom gets asked questions by the s/o of their boyfriend's teammate(s) about their night (because reader has a looot of love marks).... this is so freaking specific, im sorry😂😂 if you cant do it it fine, if you do, then i appreciate you and your writings (i love your blog and im also a simp for Aomine)

Aren’t we all a simp for Aomine 😭💕 I really couldn’t think of anything for Midorima and Murasakibara without it being too repetitive and boring so I unfortunately left them out of this one, so I’m sorry and I hope you don’t mind too much!! xx

Scenario: Kuroko, Kise, Aomine and Akashi’s s/o being questioned about their love marks

Kuroko

It was a rather chilly Wednesday afternoon and you were watching Seirin’s practice as you usually would. While you initially came there to watch your boyfriend play, you actually also ended up becoming quite close with Kagami, Izuki and Mitobe’s significant others who also came to watch quite often.

As you watched over the practice while chatting away with your friends, you began to feel rather warm due to the gym’s heating, so you took off the scarf that you’d wrapped around your neck. Not thinking too much of it, you continued with your conversation, only to notice that your friends had their eyes fixated on your neck. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?” you questioned, trying to decipher the strange smirks and nods they shared with each other.

“Y/N, your neck...” Mitobe’s s/o trailed off, getting caught up in giggles before they could finish.

“What? Is there something on my neck?” you asked, beginning to panic as your hand immediately reached for it in the fear that there was a bug on it.

“I’m guessing you and Kuroko had some fun last night,” Kagami’s s/o giggled, causing you to freeze as you came to a realisation of what they were referring to.

You quickly wrapped the scarf around your neck again to conceal the red marks your boyfriend had left the night before. Filled with embarrassment, your averted your gaze and fixated on the boys’ practice to avoid making eye contact with your friends. Of course, they didn’t let you off the hook that easily.

“I didn’t think Kuroko was the type to leave marks, but damn he really went to town on your neck, huh Y/N?” Kagami’s s/o teased, making your face turn red with embarrassment.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“So, was yesterday a special night? Or does he always leave marks like those?” Mitobe’s s/o interrogated.

“It’s always the quiet ones...”

“Oh my God, stop,” you said, unable to hold back the giggles from the ridiculousness of their comments. “It was just a normal night okay?”

The two of them shared a look before hooting a long “oooooh,” making you wish you didn’t say anything at all.

“So it’s a normal thing then?” Kagami’s s/o continued, the grins on their faces growing wider and wider.

“I’m gonna pretend like I can’t hear you,” you said finally, looking everywhere but at them. You didn’t lie when you said that though. They kept teasing you, but you just sat there as though they weren’t talking to you.

Eventually, they got tired of it, but they didn’t hesitate to shoot you knowing glares when practice ended and you hurried over to Kuroko to escape them.

“Is everything okay?” Kuroko asked you, when he noticed how much of a hurry you were in to leave.

“Yeah, they just saw the marks from last night,” you informed him, making him blush at the memory of the previous night’s events. “So can we just leave before they come here and embarrass me even more?”

Not wanting to draw any attention to himself, Kuroko agreed with you after letting out a small chuckle. “Sorry about that, Y/N,” he said sincerely, not knowing how he’d respond to remarks if he were in your position.

You gave his hand a tight squeeze and flashed him a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, I’ll let it slide because last night was really fun,” you beamed, causing his face to flush red before the two of you left the gym after exchanging brisk goodbyes with the team.

Kise

It was just another practice day at Kaijo where you were casually chatting with your friends. They weren’t normally people you would hang out with, but you’d gotten quite close during these practices since they were the significant others of your boyfriend, Kise’s teammates. Whilst you considered them friends, they weren’t exactly close enough where you’d feel comfortable sharing personal details about your relationship, so you would often stick to light hearted stuff— which you quite enjoyed because they always gave you a good laugh.

“Y/N, is this the first time you’re wearing a scarf?” Moriyama’s s/o asked you, eyeing the bright blue scarf that Kise lent you this morning.

“Yeah, it is,” you nodded.

“I can tell. It’s really not your usual style— it’s not even wrapped properly,” they continued, giving you a pitiful chuckle as Kasamatsu’s s/o bobbed their head in agreement.

“Yeah, I know. I was trying something new, but I’m not sure I like it,” you sighed, fiddling with the end of it. To be honest, you didn’t even want to wear it. It was only there to cover up the bright red marks Kise left all over your neck the night before. You wanted to cover it up with makeup, but you remembered that morning that you needed to buy a new bottle of foundation because Kise accidentally knocked your old one over while playing around with you and broke it.

“Here let me wrap it properly for you,” Kasamatsu’s s/o offered, shuffling closer to you and taking your scarf off before you had time to protest.

And just like that, you were left bare-necked, with both of their eyes glued onto you in shock as your face flushed red. You immediately snatched the scarf back and wrapped it back out of embarrassment.

“Oh my God Y/N! Your neck was covered in hickeys!” Moriyama’s s/o squealed, making you want to dash out of there.

“So you and Kise got it on last night huh? Go on, give us the details!” Kasamatsu’s s/o urged excitedly as they nudged your shoulder with their elbow.

“Details? It was nothing,” you said nervously, desperately searching your head for a way to change the topic.

“Nothing? Y/N, those marks were plastered all across your neck! He barely left any spots untouched,” Moriyama’s s/o laughed.

“Well, what do you want me to say? We were just messing around,” you shrugged. “Can we please move on—“

“Hey guys,” Kise chimed in, cutting you off with a kiss on your cheek. You looked around in confusion and realised that he was on his water break and began to prepare yourself for what’s to come. “What’re you talking about?”

“Well, Y/N was just showing us those marks on their neck—“

“I wasn’t showing them to you! You saw them against my will,” you corrected as you buried your face in your hands.

“Shhh, seems like you two had fun last night,” Kasamatsu’s s/o giggled.

“Oh those! I kind of got carried away, didn’t I? Sorry, Y/N-cchi,” Kise said sweetly as he wrapped his arms around you apologetically.

“We were trying to get Y/N to spill some details but they’re too embarrassed,” Kasamatsu’s s/o said as you continued to pray that this hell of a conversation would end. You hated how charismatic Kise was sometimes, because it often ended with him slipping into conversations like this so easily and just fuelling the fire.

“Embarrassed? Y/N-cchi, you don’t need to be embarrassed. I left those marks there for a reason— you should be proud of them!” Kise sang as your friends nodded along, a smug look on both of their faces.

“Ryouta please stop,” you whined as he only hugged you tighter.

“But those marks look nice on—“

“Captain! Hasn’t this water break gone on long enough?” You called out to Kasamatsu all of a sudden.

“Oi Kise, get your ass back on the court!” Kasamatsu yelled back in reply, causing Kise to sigh.

“Why’d you do that?” Kise pouted.

“Because I like watching you practice,” you said innocently. “You’re playing a game now aren’t you? Why don’t you go score a cool dunk for me?”

Just like that, Kise immediately lit up. “I’ll score the best dunk you’ve ever seen!” He said cheerily before turning back to your friends. “Take it easy on Y/N-cchi, it’s my fault after all.”

“Yeah yeah, we’re just joking around for the fun of it. It’s not funny if it goes on for too long anyways,” Moriyama’s s/o replied reassuringly.

“Great. Thanks,” Kise grinned. Just as you thought he was going to leave, he suddenly leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “You know, those marks on your neck really do look pretty— I might just make some more later.”

And like it was nothing, Kise strutted off confidently, leaving you with a face that couldn’t be more flustered even if you tried.

Aomine

It wasn’t unusual for you to have marks all over your neck since everyone had already gotten used to it. The first few times the team and their significant others noticed them, there were a lot of questions and reactions, though they were mainly directed at Aomine so you didn’t mind all too much. Of course, you’d still try to hide them as much as you could, but makeup is expensive and to be spending so much on concealing marks that would just appear again within a week or so seemed quite redundant to you. You also tried to tell Aomine to limit the marks to places that clothes could cover, and while he’d agree beforehand, he’d often end up getting carried away and doing what he wants.

It was the day of an important preliminary match for Touou and you met up with the significant others of Wakamatsu and Imayoshi at the stands of the arena after wishing your boyfriend good luck. Upon greeting them, their eyes were immediately directed to your neck— which you expected. You tried covering the marks up with makeup but they were still quite visible. Furthermore, it was the summer so a scarf or turtleneck was not an option— you weren’t going to suffer for something this trivial.

“Y/N, did you even try to cover that up?” Wakamatsu’s s/o asked with a sigh.

“I did! I think I need to get some better foundation, honestly,” you groaned as you took a seat next to them.

“My God, that Aomine really doesn’t quit huh? Even before a big game?” Imayoshi’s s/o asked.

“Somehow he’s even more riled up before games. I really don’t know how he has the energy,” you sighed.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Imayoshi’s s/o said with a smirk.

“Well, of course I like it. Just let me complain, will you?” you joked.

“Haven’t you tried telling him to take it easy with the marks?” Wakamatsu’s s/o questioned.

“I have— many times. But he never listens.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d ever really listen to things like that,” Imayoshi’s s/o said.

“That’s just Daiki for you,” you shrugged.

“Well, was last night fun?” Wakamatsu’s s/o asked suggestively, nudging your arm.

“Yeah it was,” you said, beginning to feel slightly flustered as your mind wandered back to moments from the night before.

“Oooh, go on, give us the details,” Imayoshi’s s/o said excitedly.

“No way. That’s only for me to know,” you said firmly. “Besides, I’m way too tired to be going into details anyway,” you added as you let out an exhausted yawn.

“My God, how long were you up till?” Wakamatsu’s s/o asked.

“I don’t even remember— I think it was 2 a.m.?” you guessed, cursing Aomine and his stamina for keeping you up so late.

“Don’t you think he’d be too tired to play today then?” Wakamatsu’s s/o asked.

“He’s an idiot, but he wouldn’t be up so late unless he knew he could handle it,” you replied.

The topic quickly died out once the game began, and all of you were so consumed with it that all of you’d completely forgotten about the marks. And of course, Touou won with a massive lead— with Aomine scoring almost half of the points. He truly was incredible, you thought.

Akashi

You were often very good at hiding marks left behind by Akashi, but there was this one morning where you were in such a rush that you had no time to cover them up. So as you headed to the gym to watch Akashi’s practice like you usually would, he seemed to notice the red spots on your neck. As a smile spread across his face, he took his jacket off and handed it to you.

“Sorry for rushing you so much; I don’t like being late. Here, wear this so you can cover those up for the most part,” he said, eyeing your neck with a look that had no traces of regret whatsoever.

You took his jacket and zipped it all the way up so that it would cover your neck. “Shouldn’t you be apologising for leaving the marks instead?”

“I wouldn’t have left them if I thought I’d have to apologise for it. They look quite pretty on your neck if I’m being honest—I’m just saving you from being interrogated,” he explained coolly as you neared the gym.

“Well, I have a feeling that it’s gonna happen whether I like it or not.”

And just as you expected, when you got to the gym and met up with Mayuzumi, Hayama and Nebuya’s s/os, you were greeted with a few strange looks. “What’s up with the jacket, Y/N?” Mayuzumi’s s/o questioned.

“Oh, Sei gave it to me because I was feeling chilly,” you lied with a shrug.

“You don’t usually zip it up all the way though. It looks weird,” Hayama’s s/o pointed out. You didn’t realise that they were this observant until then.

“Y/N’s probably hiding something under there then,” Nebuya’s s/o said jokingly, almost as if they knew exactly what was going on but tried to pass it off as something humorous.

“What could I possibly be hiding?” you played along, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Nebuya’s s/o said suggestively, still clearly joking.

“Could it possibly be hickeys?” Mayuzumi’s s/o guessed, causing the group to break out into a chorus of hoots as you genuinely questioned whether they had psychic abilities.

“What? Why would you say that?” you laughed, still determined not to give it away.

“I want to say that I did some incredible detective work, but there are still marks poking out ever so slightly from your neck that gave it away,” Mayuzumi’s s/o explained, drawing all the attention towards your neck as the other two tried to spot it.

You let out a sigh, “Alright, you got me. I didn’t have time to cover them up this morning.”

“Let us see them!” Hayama’s s/o said a little too excitedly.

“Why do you need to see them?”

“It’s the prize for our investigative abilities,” Nebuya’s s/o said.

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly unzipped the jacket, revealing the bright red and purple marks spread across your neck and earning a gasp from all three of them.

“Akashi really doesn’t hold back, does he?” Hayama’s s/o giggled.

“Sounds about right— it’s Akashi Seijuro we’re talking about after all,” Mayuzumi’s s/o commented.

“So, did you have fun last night, Y/N?” Nebuya’s s/o grinned.

“Well, yeah,” you mumbled, beginning to feel a little embarrassed as you zipped the jacket back up.

“There are a lot of marks though. Is he really that rough?” Mayuzumi’s s/o asked, a slight hint of concern in their voice.

“Kind of? I don’t know. It feels weird talking about it. But he has his moments,” you answered, not knowing how much you should be sharing with them.

“He just seems so cool and collected that I can’t believe he did that much damage, you know?” Nebuya’s s/o explained.

“Yeah I get what you mean,” Hayama’s s/o nodded along as all of their heads turned to take a look at Akashi, who was instructing his team about something.

“Can we please move on from this topic, it’s weird,” you said quickly, not liking that they were all probably thinking about Akashi in a whole different way now.

They were somehow quite understanding of your request and the conversation quickly moved on to a different subject matter so that whatever happened between you and Akashi remained between the two of you— and you hoped that it would stay that way.

[gobayern16]

This is my gift work for @bad-batch-of-fics for the Star Wars Valentines Exchange! I hope you enjoy!!! And thank you so much @lilhawkeye3 for hosting @starwarsfandomfests !

Tags: Reader/Fives, Enemies to Lovers, Modern AU, Fives being annoying gym bro, but he has a good reason!, Gender Neutral Reader

The loud clang of weights hitting the floor startles you so badly you nearly hit yourself in the face with your dumbbell. You whirl around to glare at the culprit, getting your first good look at the two loudmouths.

They’re both incredibly fit, skin tight shirts highlighting well-defined muscles. And incredibly handsome, your mind unhelpfully points out.

Or: Your morning gym routine, and your life, gets interrupted by the appearance of a well-intentioned nuisance.

No Y/N used.

There’s a bird outside your bedroom window, singing the song of its people as loudly as it can. You blink blearily at the ceiling, mind hazy with sleep. A quick glance at the alarm clock indicates five minutes until it rings, so with a sigh you roll out of bed, shutting the alarm off as you go. 

The bright light of the bathroom does an excellent job of waking you up, and you hum under your breath as you go about your morning routine. 

Dressed in workout clothes, you double check you have your keys, phone, and a towel before leaving your apartment. You take the stairs down to the complex gym, jumping the last four steps in a sudden burst of energy.

You don’t see anyone on the short walk to the entrance, 630am being apparently too early for many of the residents of your complex to be awake. The sun is barely peeking in through the windows, and the snow piled on the sidewalk makes you glad everything is indoors. 

There are a handful of people already there, but not so many that you have to worry about getting adequate time on the various machines.

You’re almost done with your last set of bicep curls when they walk in. You pay just enough attention to check which equipment the two men are going to use, just a quick glance in the mirror, as you couldn’t care less about the other patrons, before concentrating on your workout again. 

But then the talking starts. 

It’s easy to tune out at first, focused as you are on counting your reps.

The loud clang of weights hitting the floor startles you so badly you nearly hit yourself in the face with your dumbbell. You whirl around to glare at the culprit, getting your first good look at the two loudmouths.

They’re both incredibly fit, skin tight shirts highlighting well-defined muscles. And incredibly handsome, your mind unhelpfully points out.

The bald one with the huge facial tattoo smacks the other on the arm with a loud “Watch it, dipshit! If you break it, they’re gonna kick us out!”

His friend just laughs, a warm, vibrant sound that makes you flush. His eyes crinkle, drawing attention to the blocky ‘5’ tattooed on the side of his forehead. Who the hell tattoos their face?

“It’s fine, Jesse.” He dismisses the other man’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “Now, you gonna try and beat my number? Or you just gonna stand there, complaining and stalling?”

Jesse squawks in outrage, immediately reaching for the discarded weights.

You huff, turning back to your own weights as the bickering picks up volume again. You hurry through your set, all the while mentally cursing the handsome nuisances with their powerful arms and thick thighs for cutting your workout short. It’d be too distracting to finish on the rowing machine like you usually do — the machine is across the room and it’d only give you a better view of their shifting muscles and gorgeous tan skin on display. 

You glance at the stranger with the ‘5’ tattoo one last time as you walk past them to the exit, blushing but staring back in challenge when you accidentally make eye contact. You pick up your pace to the exit, hearing laughter and a smack behind you.

You never notice the third man sitting on a nearby bench, prosthetics gleaming in the light.

🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️

Pushing through the gym doors, you groan at the sounds that greet you. The loudmouth and his equally aggravating friend were here again. This was the sixth time in two weeks! Your coworkers were even starting to ask if something was wrong, since you were coming in grumpy so often, mood soured by an unenjoyable workout.

You make your way over to the mats that are unfortunately right next to them, grabbing a resistance band on the way. Settling into the first of your stretches, you try to ignore the running commentary and aggressive grunting. You would not injure yourself because one disgustingly handsome tattooed stranger caused you to cut your stretching short!

You shake out all your limbs, checking for any soreness or tight muscles. Feeling loose and limber, you replace the resistance band and move to the treadmill slightly further away.

The only upside to those two clowns, you think as you program the treadmill, is that I’ve become stronger, faster because I try to spend as little time here as possible. Working out at a different time isn’t an option; work is too demanding for you to exercise after you get home in the evenings and you refuse to skip mornings just to avoid them.

So your only option is early morning and dealing with the Terrible Twosome.

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, before turning on the treadmill.

As the bickering behind you turns into an argument, you think you might set a personal best just to get away from them. 

🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️🏋🏽‍♂️

The clack of billiard balls colliding recedes into the background as you lean against the bar counter, patiently waiting for the bartender to finish with their current customer. It’s pretty empty for a Wednesday evening, so you don’t mind watching them as they mix the drinks with quick, efficient movements, placing them on the bar counter with little fanfare. Transaction completed, they wipe their hands on a towel and move towards you.

“What can I get you?”

“Could I please get a Manhattan, a Rum Collins, a Tequila Sunrise, and a Diet Coke?” You pause, trying to remember what else your friends had requested.  “Oh, and three shots of your best tequila, please.” The bartender nods, pulling down the requisite glasses for the drinks, starting with the shot glasses.

“That’s gonna be a lot to carry for one person,” a voice interjects from your left. “Need a hand?”

“No thanks, I can—” You turn, breaking off as you get a good look at the stranger next to you. At the blocky ‘5’ tattooed on the side of his forehead. “YOU!” You’d laugh at his look of shock if you weren’t overcome with sudden anger. “Do you know how hard it is to concentrate with the racket you’re always making?”

He gapes, helpless in the face of the outburst a month in the making.

“Mornings are supposed to be calm and peaceful! And your grunting and smack talking ruin it!”

“Is everything alright here?” The bartender’s stern interruption makes you abruptly aware of how you’ve gotten up in the stranger’s face, finger poking his chest. You flush in shame at making a scene, ducking your head and opening your mouth to apologize when the stranger beats you to it.

“We’re fine. I was just leaving actually. I don’t want to cause any trouble.” The reasonable voice cuts you, deepens your shame, and you reach out to catch the stranger’s arm before he can leave.

“Wait! I’m sorry. That was incredibly rude of me.” You lift your head, determined to make eye contact and fully own up to your behavior. “I’ve needed to get that off my chest for a while, but that doesn’t mean you deserved to be ranted at. Can I buy your next drink to make up for it?”

He regards you for several long moments, dark eyes intense before brightening with humor, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. “Sure, why not. Never turn down a free drink, huh?”

His full attention is enough to leave you tongue-tied, and you barely manage a nod. Glad I tried to stay away from him at the gym. I’d have definitely hurt myself if he looked at me like this. 

He stares at you, lifting an eyebrow as he glances down at his arm. You follow his gaze, choking on your breath as you realize you’re still clutching his arm. You hurriedly let go, cheeks heating as you mumble another apology.

“No harm done,” he chuckles, relaxing to slouch against the bar counter. “I’ll have the IPA on tap, please.” 

At his order, you’re reminded the bartender witnessed everything and you cringe, hoping they don’t throw you out for yelling at another patron for no apparent reason. But to your relief they simply move to fill the beer.

“So.” 

You look up at your companion (you should really ask him for his name). “Mind telling me what I’ve done that warranted getting ranted at?” He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. It serves to make him even cuter and you have to look away, face burning.

“Well, you see, um…” Just spit it out, can’t embarrass yourself any worse. “We go to the same gym at the same time, and you’re always talking and being loud, and it’s really annoying and distracting.” 

When several seconds tick by with no reply, you look up to find him grimacing.

“Oh, that. Ah,” he pauses, rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I promise I’m not trying to be an asshole and that I have a really good reason for it.” 

Really? There’s a good reason for dropping weights and getting into arguments with your gym partner? 

Your disbelief must be obvious, because he straightens up from his slouch, fire kindling in his eyes. “I draw attention to myself so people ignore my twin. He’s there every morning too, and if you haven’t noticed him, then what I’m doing seems to be working.”

“You mean the guy with the huge, questionable face tattoo?” you interrupt, eyebrow raised. “I hate to break it to you, but he’s just as noticeable as you are.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, Jesse’s my friend. He comes with me so it’s easier. Echo has prosthetics from a really bad car accident that left him a triple amputee. He doesn’t want people to stare at them while he works out, so I act up so people focus on me. ”

Shit. You laugh awkwardly. “Uh, congrats then. It definitely worked. I only remember ever seeing you and Jesse.” You lapse into silence, not sure how to continue the conversation.

Eventually, the stranger huffs. “Look, let’s start over, okay? Clearly neither of us is good at first impressions.”

That’s a massive understatement. You snort, ruefully shaking your head. “Sure. Let me take these drinks back to my friends, and then we can find somewhere to talk?” The last part drifts up in a question. 

“Sounds like a plan.” He grins crookedly. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach, inclining your head at him in a short goodbye before turning to grab the now full tray of drinks. You head back to your friends, the weight of his eyes on your back making something inside you shiver in anticipation. You hope your friends didn’t notice how long it took you to come back, but that hope is dashed immediately.

“What was that all about? You got kind of up in that guy’s face. Mirage was about to check on you when the bartender interrupted you guys.” Their palpable concern brings your shame rushing back. You squash it down, reminding yourself that not only had you already apologized, but you were going to reintroduce yourself. 

“Nah, it was just a misunderstanding. I’m actually going to sit down and talk with him.” That sets the wolf among the hens, and you do your best to ignore their questions and suggestions as you grab your jacket. 

Diet Coke in hand, you gaze around the bar until you find the stranger. You slide into the booth across from him and smile nervously, butterflies making a reappearance. He smiles back at you, and you sit in silence for a moment, neither of you sure how to restart the conversation. Gathering your courage, you take a deep breath.

“So, I gotta ask.”

He visibly tenses, smile growing a little strained.

“What’s with the tattoo? Does it have some special meaning?”

He relaxes at the question, clearly having expected something else. In fact, if he wasn’t so tan, you would say he was blushing. 

“It has to do with my name.” He coughs. “Well, my nickname.”

“Oh?” Now you’re really intrigued.

“Yeah. I’m the fifth of five kids, fifth with the name Felix, and part of the fifth set of twins to be born in my extended family that year. I heard it a lot, and at some point decided my name was gonna be Fives.”

You raise your eyebrows, amusement coloring your voice. “Really? You decided to name yourself after a number?” 

“In my defense, I was four and Great Uncle Felix spent the whole party counting all the Felixes, and always pointed at me when he said five.” 

You don’t try to stop the laugh bubbling up in your chest, Fives joining in with a rueful chuckle of his own. “Not my finest moment. What about you? Does your name have any “special” meaning?” 

“Not really,” you shrug. “It’s kind of the opposite of yours, actually. My parents had two names in mind for me and went with the one that wasn’t shared with five of their immediate relatives.” 

The ice properly broken between you two, the conversation flows easily. Fives is full of interesting stories, having led a very interesting and action-packed life, and you get lost in his passionate retellings, sucked in by his expressions and gestures. 

You’re so absorbed in your conversation that it’s a shock when the bartender comes over to inform you the bar is closing in half an hour. 

“Time flies when you’re having fun.” Fives winks at you, grinning roguishly. You laugh, shaking your head in amusement at his antics. 

Putting on your jacket, you call a goodbye to the bartender before leaving, Fives gallantly accompanying you to your car. 

“Don’t want anything to happen to you.” He shrugs, suddenly bashful.

Your heart warms at his thoughtfulness. Hours ago, you would have never considered thoughtfulness and Fives in the same sentence, but you knew better now. The regrettably short walk to your car passes in comfortable silence, the beep of unlocking startlingly loud in the late night quiet.  

“So…” 

You turn to Fives, head tilted in a silent question. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, seemingly gathering his courage before making eye contact.

“I had a really good time tonight, and I was wondering if I could get your number so we could meet up again.”

Your smile feels like it splits your face. “I’d love that.” 

Numbers exchanged, you pause, debating with yourself, before thinking fuck it and stepping close to press a kiss to Fives’ cheek.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Fives.” You get into your car, Fives standing stockstill with a dopey smile on his face. He moves out of the way when you start your car, but he’s still grinning the whole time he’s visible in your rearview mirror.

(Next time turns into a coffee date, turns into lunch, turns into dinner, and pretty soon you’ve been dating for 6 months. He introduces you to Echo and Jesse, and they both question your taste in men. Fives’ feigned outrage (“I am a catch, thank you!”) hides his relief at all of you getting along. The gym routine doesn't get any less annoying.)

[russian-romanova]

sunday

title: sunday

pairing: joe goldberg

warnings: spoilers through season one of ‘you’. adult language. mentions of death, stalking and sexual content. mature themes explored by and mentioned in ‘you’. JOE IS NOT A GOOD GUY, HE’S JUST HOT. 

notes: i have no idea what this is. word vomit. joe’s point of view because i’m dumb and edgy like that. why do i like this character so much whyyyyyyyyyy

summary: you just have to make it through the week, because come sunday you have the whole day off to spend relaxing with your boyfriend. at least, that’s what you have planned. 

+      +       +

MONDAY.

You are incredibly smart. That goes without saying. I watch you read books, devour them from front to cover before other people would even decide to begin them. You’re willing to try new things because the first two times you came into Mooney’s you wandered for close to an hour. You came in not knowing what you wanted but left with anything you could possibly be interested in. 

That was two months ago. 

You’re a regular visitor now because we’re an item. Dating. In a relationship. I never know what to say, but neither do you since I’ve heard them all in descriptions of your friends. It doesn’t even matter, anyway, because you smile to your friends no matter what you call us. I never know if I’m doing this right Y/N, but with you I’m positive. You’re happier than I’ve ever seen you. 

You’re here at Mooney’s now, talking to me as we eat lunch together. We’re both sitting behind the counter on stools, the flow of people slow for now. It’s always like this around this time of day, and we’re both plenty familiar with that by now. Every so often some asshole comes in looking for a Tolstoy they can stare at for years or some autobiography they’ll only skim through, but besides that, it’s just us. 

“Okay, okay,” You’re laughing and waving your hand about the answer you just gave. We’ve been doing this a lot, asking each other pointless questions like this to simply know the answers. For you, plenty of these questions lead to these marvelous stories. It’s as if you want me to know everything about you so easily.  “Okay, you see a pothole in the road ahead, do you swerve or straddle?” 

I’m not sure about my answer, but that doesn’t matter anymore. I can tell what you want me to say. “Straddle,” My voice comes out a little above a whisper.

“Oh really?” You respond back in a voice that’s even quieter, biting your lip without even realizing it. “Me too. Crazy.”

“Crazy,” I repeat, and my mouth is already pulling into a smile. You lean forward and kiss me once -- eagerly -- then pull back to look at me before we kiss again, slower this time. I want you here, and I know you want me too, but we also have some normal human decency and know when the bell rings to stop kissing quickly. The man who wandered in didn’t seem to notice the two of us at first, too absorbed in his fucking phone. 

“Hello!” He speaks up when he notices us. “Can you point me to where Marcus Zuzak would be?” 

You smile. “Over there, under fiction. Near the end, because it’s by last name.” You lean over the counter ever so slightly to point him in the correct direction. He’s lucky you volunteered to help him because I doubt I would have been so polite. 

“Oh, of course. Thank you, dear.” The elderly man nods and moves in the direction of your pointed finger. You smile at him for a moment longer before you turn back around, grinning. 

“Wow, I might just take your job.” You joke, moving back up to sit on your stool. I had secretly hoped you would return to kissing me, but I knew deep down that wasn’t a likely possibility. 

“Yeah, do you want the apron?” I pull at the apron. “You can have the apron.” 

“Yeah, apron and nametag. I’m changing my name to Joe now.” You continued, before softly laughing and transitioning the conversation into silence. You look at me again, but it’s a much different look than last time. It’s not the heavily passionate look that I got over questions and sandwiches, this is a much more caring look. A loving look. “Hey, it’s been a while since we had a date night.” 

I want to return the look you give me, and I hope I am. I hope you understand I love you as much as you love me, Y/N. “Yeah, you’re right. Hey, we should plan one.”

“Okay,” You nodded once, slowly as you plunged through your invisible mental calendar. “Are you free Sunday?”

For you, Y/N, I’m free any day. “Yeah, I think Sunday should work out. Seven?” 

You nod once more, kicking your legs. “Okay, seven on Sunday it is.” 

I want to reply, but the man returns with a book that is certainly not Zuzak, but I’m not one to say anything. 

“Ready to check out?” I ask him, but you hop up before I can move forward.

“Here, I can help you. My name is Joe,” You joke, and the poor old man nods his head. “Looks like a good book.” 

TUESDAY.

I’m not supposed to be at your apartment, which I suppose is part of the reason my heart rate spikes when the doorbell rings. I have been trying to get away from this, from the pointless apartment lurking, but I couldn’t resist today. I missed you, Y/N. 

For a second, I think the doorbell might be you come to pick up something you’ve forgotten, but then I realize you wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell. It buzzes again and is now followed by a series of pounding knocks. “Hey, Y/N, are you in there?” A man’s voice comes through into the apartment. “C’mon, it’s Arthur. Let me in.” 

Arthur.

He sounds vaguely desperate, his voice tinged with a whine. How could you ever have loved this man, Y/N? He’s like some distressed puppy dog who found his way home after being left on the side of the road. He says some word pleas, but I’m already turning over possible ways this could go down in my head. 

“Listen, I know that you probably hate me,” Arthur speaks again. You’re right; I’m sure you do. “But I just want to talk to you. I need to apologize. I’m sorry.” He sounds genuine. 

I open the door, and Arthur looks stunned. “Shit, is this the wrong apartment? Sorry, I’m looking for Y-”

“Y/N. I know.” I put on a fake smile. This is polite Joe, boyfriend Joe. This is the Joe that you know, Y/N. “She’s not home right now, actually.”

“Oh,” Arthur’s face turns red. 

“I’m Joe,” I stick out my hand. “Y/N’s boyfriend.” I almost smile at the words. 

He takes my hand and shakes it, although his mind is clearly elsewhere. “I’m Arthur. Bishop.” 

Jesus, Arthur Bishop? What kind of a name is Arthur Bishop? “I heard.” I’m still smiling, although it’s uncomfortable now. He’s ignoring me, and I know his thoughts are on you. “Did you need me to pass along a message?” I push, trying to get answers. I need to know if Arthur is a threat to you, Y/N, a threat to us. 

“Yeah, um, I haven’t seen Y/N in two years, actually. But we used to date-” I could see him remember who he was talking to. “It was a long time ago.” He added. 

“Yeah, I think she’s mentioned you.” I lied. Do you wanna come in?” 

When Arthur says yes, I really begin to doubt what you see in him. Is he stupid? Arthur has no idea who I really am, no proof that I’m your boyfriend or that I can be trusted. If he had been at least a little doubtful, I would have at least respected that. I almost feel bad for him, Y/N. 

An ex-boyfriend. Here we are, two of the people who you have loved in your apartment without your knowledge. He makes himself at home very quickly; without even taking off his shoes. He’s jittery, unfocused. His legs bounce up and down as he sits on your couch, and I’m suddenly self-conscious for you, Y/N, because of all the clothes you had strewn around. I walk towards the kitchen and kick a bra under the couch. 

“So, what did you say the deal was between you and Y/N?” I ask, moving towards the counter.

Arthur hesitates for a moment. Never a good sign. “Is there a bathroom I could use?”

No, dipshit, no bathrooms here. “Yeah, just down the hall. You okay?” 

He nods, clearly lying. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be right back.” He moves quickly, but once I hear the bathroom door close I move twice as fast. The bathroom, Arthur? Do you think I’m dumb? On second thought, are you dumb? 

I know where your medicine cabinet is, and I know where the prescription sleeping pills you keep are. My fingers grasp the small bottle and I shake a few out onto my palm -- not so many that you’ll notice they’re gone, but enough to take care of Arthur in the other room. 

I move silently back to the kitchen, pulling one of your knives from the display. At least your counter is clean enough that I can put the pills down directly and crush them with the knife. One, two, three presses and I’ve deemed them powdered enough to brush into my hand and shake into a glass of water. 

I hope you’re thirsty, Arthur. 

WEDNESDAY.

The cage is no longer empty, which is always a strange feeling. And Arthur is so quiet I practically forget he’s down there. 

I wonder a little if I overreacted with Arthur. If I should have just stayed put and pretended no one was home or let him come in and leave on his own time. But deep down, Y/N, I knew that he was a risk. I didn’t even have to know what this guy wanted and I could tell, from the way he spoke about you that he wanted to get in the way of us. And God, we’ve been so perfect together that I couldn’t fathom letting someone take you away from me. 

He was out for a while, and I worried I maybe overcompensated with the sleeping pills and his insides were slowly shutting down. If I had known your shifty ex-boyfriend was going to show up I would have maybe done my research a little better, but things like this never seem to want to pencil in a date on the calendar.

The second time I check on him during the workday, he’s awake. Quiet and confused, but awake. He asks the usual -- where he was, why he was there, if you had something to do with it. And I’m at least polite, Y/N. I answer his questions to the best of my ability and all he does is swear and yell at me. After a while, I think he realized that I wouldn’t be telling him this stuff with the intent of letting him go, which quieted him down. Which is not to say I don’t want to let him out.

“Listen, I didn’t do anything wrong. Please. Man, if you want me gone I’ll leave. I’ll leave to where ever the fuck you want me to go. Just let me out.” 

Even his pleading is in a soft voice. I wonder if he was a good boyfriend or the annoying, man bun and kale type you seem to have been interested in before.  “You just need to wait a while, Arthur. Have patience, it’s a good quality.” But even my sound reasoning doesn’t persuade him.

He’s quiet the next few times I come down, but he takes the fast-food bag I pass him and he eats, which is good at least. I considered asking him about you, but I decided that if he was comfortable and quiet now, it was probably better to keep it that way. Besides, you sent me a text asking if I wanted to come over and watch ‘Friends’ with you. It wasn’t the show I was excited for at all, but the idea of you, and the idea that you thought of me when you were flipping through the channels. 

I give Arthur his supper and then I’m off to you, Y/N. You open your door for me in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, and I swear you’ve never looked so beautiful. You smile at me and I come inside the apartment I know you cleaned especially for me and you direct me to the couch, where we settle down and you turn up the volume. 

“I hope you weren’t busy or anything,” You mention offhandedly during the third episode. “I don’t know, I just know you don’t watch a lot of TV but Friends is classic and I thought you might want to-”

“No, no, no, you’re good. I love it. I love Friends.” I lie, gesturing to the screen.

You look at me and I know you’ve read right through my little lie. “Do you know?”

I pause. “No. But I love it now!” 

“Sure, Joe,” You laugh before turning back to the screen and moving closer to me. We’re pressed together like we’ve known each other for years. And we may as well have, Y/N. 

THURSDAY.

I wake up Thursday morning, and you’re already gone. A glance at the clock -- which reads 9:51 -- explains to me that you’re already at work. A note you left me on the table reflects this thought, and I know that neither of us expected me to stay the night. I’m happy to be welcome here in the morning, and I pocket the note before sitting back to breathe it in. 

I love the way your apartment is decorated because it reminds me so much of you. It reflects your personality, from the way things are carefully placed to the way you so desperately want things to appear thrown into a particular spot. Even alone in your apartment, Y/N, you’re trying too hard. 

Last night was perfect, and I think my mind is clearer now. I know what I have known in the back of my mind for days, that Arthur needs to be taken care of. Nothing gruesome or excruciatingly painful, he’s been good enough. I almost hate to do it, but if he sticks around things are bound to go wrong for us. Please realize that I’m doing this all for us, Y/N. 

FRIDAY.

I have learned from my mistakes. I allow Arthur -- or what’s left of him now -- to wait for me overnight but come Friday I know the body needs to be taken care of. 

Ethan is too gullible and I tell him I need to close early to do some inspections of Mooney’s. At first, he asks some questions, but I tell him only simple answers and he eventually leaves. The day as a whole is normal but seems to drag on as the same type of men and women come in to buy the same books, or walk around and leave. The only half-hour that breezes by is our lunch together, where we sit in the same area as always and laugh and each and hope that time will freeze. 

I manage to slip into the conversation a small asking about ex-boyfriends, and you spill the beans on Marcus and Dwayne and Roosevelt, all of whom I know have long since moved on, before you bring up Arthur. 

“We dated for a year, I guess. But then he told me that he had some other life offers to pursue in Nepal -- whatever that means -- and we broke up and he left.” It doesn’t seem to mean lots to you, as you shrug and eat forkfuls of salad. “Then I met this really nice guy at a little coffee shop in New York and his name was Joe, and he worked at a bookstore, and we ate lunch together and have a date on Sunday.”

“Wow, Joe sounds like a great guy. Looks like I’ve got competition.” 

You laughed, the beautiful laugh that I know you try to keep in your mouth but it just bubbles out, and you lean over and bring your hand up to hide it. I have never understood why Y/N. Your laugh is beautiful, but it’s impossible to bring that up without sounding creepy.

But you leave eventually, sooner than you should have to, and I’m left alone again. It returns to the same boring routine, and the closing time comes after a hundred years. Ethan leaves with a wave and a farewell, but I’m already right behind him as I moved to flip the open sign. 

The basement has begun to reek of death. It only gets stronger as I push open the doors to the cage, allowing the smell to come out as I enter in. Arthur has already texted a few of his friends -- douchebags, by the sounds of it -- to tell them that he’s returning to Nepal. He missed it, and he misses the feeling it brought him and his idiot friends seem to accept it. I plan to bag him up -- which is more than vile and I can’t count how many times I throw up or gag -- and bury him in the woods, where the trees are thick and the dead leaves from several years have built up and no one will look. 

The gloves are the smartest choice I’ve ever made. There are things getting on them that I can’t identify and don’t want to be identified. He’s already in the bag -- deep and black, hopefully sturdy -- and I’m on the clean-up phase when I’m startled.  

“Joe?” I hear your voice. Fuck, tell me I’m going crazy. How the fuck do I hear your voice through all of this, unless…

I spin around to face you. It hits me almost instantly-- I didn’t lock the door. How the fuck could I forget to lock the door? Shit, one mistake and now… now this, Y/N. 

Unsurprisingly, you’re stunned. Eyes soaking in everything that they can, your hands already shaking. “Y/N,” I begin, but you don’t give me a chance to talk. A chance to explain myself to you.

“What the fuck, Joe?” You ask, and I know you’re hoping for some logical explanation to pour out of my mouth. And, Y/N, believe me when I say that I wish I had one, at the very least in the form of a crafted lie. “What the actual fuck is this?”

You want to run, but you also want this to all be a misunderstanding, so you stand there, frozen. I look at you, hoping that you’ll look into my eyes and remember how much we love each other, how perfect we are for each other. I hope you’ll forgive me and you’ll throw your arms around me instead, and you’ll know it was all a misunderstanding. You’ll love me no matter what, and we’ll get the happily ever after that you read in your books and crave so much. 

I see you look once more from me to the bag containing Arthur. Your breathing quickens again, the only thing to split the silence at first. Then your footsteps follow, tennis shoes hitting the concrete. 

Life is far from a book, Y/N. I’m sorry this is the point you have to realize this. 

SATURDAY

You wake up in the cage, and I’m already sorry that it has to be this way. You look like a small child, lost in the supermarket with no parents in sight. Sleep is in your eyes, but you quickly blink it out and lookup. For a split second, I think you have forgotten about where you are, about what has happened. 

You tried to run upstairs, to tell the world, Y/N, and I care about you too much to let that happen. You won’t understand this right away, no one ever does, but maybe you’ll have a change of heart someday. You refused to talk to me at first, so I talked to you and tried to act as if everything was normal.

“What the fuck,” When you spoke, your voice was rough from dehydration. I made a mental note to get you a coffee that you might drink, unlike the water glass you had disregarded in the corner. “What, you’re just going to pretend like I’m not in an actual cage, Joe?”

“It’s just temporary,” I assure you hurridly, but I can tell that you don’t believe me. “I’ve never lied to you, Y/N. Please.” And this is mostly true. 

Your voice is getting a little louder,  a little more passionate. “How am I supposed to know that? Huh?”

“Trust me,” I say, and I see an echo of Beck in myself. The thought startles me enough that I shake a little, and you think that I’m shaking because you’ve made some mental breakthrough. You were smart and kept out of my past, you trusted what I told you and never questioned the things I left out. 

 “How?” You ask me, bitterly. “How can I trust you in here?”

I look at you for a moment, our eyes locked. You look sad, Y/N, and I need to remind myself that it isn’t my fault. You could look for the best in this, you could choose to be happy despite what you see to be a bad situation. “You have to,” I beg simply, and I need to go back to the bookstore. I will be back down here, Y/N, I promise. 

SUNDAY.

The door opened with a soft noise, and your eyes follow me as I walked forward, watching you as well. I have nothing to say, but I can tell you’re waiting for me to speak. “It’s Sunday,” So I speak for you, glancing around to try and find the key. “We were supposed to have our date tonight,” I find the key and twist it around my fingers. 

“We still can,” Your voice comes out cracked from crying. “Let me out, please, Joe. C’mon. Please.”

I pocket the key and give you a look. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why, Joe? Because you think I’m going to tattle on you? I’m not fucking stupid.” You stand up and move a little closer to the edge of the cage. “You made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes, it’s okay. I forgive you, Joe.”

You forgive me. My hands are trembling and I take a step forward. You forgive me, or so you say. 

“How can I trust you?” My voice is a whisper, and suddenly I’m the scared boy in the supermarket again. “You already tried to run, Y/N. You need to trust me, this is what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me?” Your eyes water. “What’s best for me? Do you think being locked in a cage is what’s best for me? 

I don’t react. 

“Jesus, Joe, what do you want? What do you want me to do?” 

“I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy.” The words come out of my mouth before I even realize it. “But I need you to be happy in here, at least for a while. If you really still love me, you’ll wait.” 

“I don’t want to wait, Joe. Please. If you love me, you’ll let me out.” 

My hand reaches back for the key, and I’m fumbling with it as I say, “You know I can’t do that.” You seem to have given up with that, but you continue to stand against the edge of the cage and watch me. “Can you sit down? I have to empty out the bucket.” You glance back at the bucket you’ve been using as a bathroom and then back at me. 

You sit down, defeated, and I walk in towards the bucket. This is the most humiliating part of this whole ordeal, Y/N, and I’ll be happy when it’s all over and we can joke about the things I’d do for you. You’re watching me with big eyes that I can hardly look at up close because they’re swollen with tears by now. 

I’m near you, and you’ve gone silent. You watch as I reach down to grab the bucket’s handle, but you very swiftly stick your foot out, and I felt myself falling backward in slow motion. Fuck, Y/N, you weren’t supposed to do that. By the time I can turn myself over to look at you, you’re already up on your feet. Without pausing to look back, you’re making a run for the door 

Now, this is just fucking unfair. I push myself to my feet and stumble after you, and I feel like a toddler who doesn’t know how to walk. I push myself out of the cage for physical support and grab a knife from the shelves. I hope I don’t need this, Y/N, but your persistence worries me. 

It doesn’t take much to overpower you. I’m pumping my legs and feeling the adrenaline pumping through my body. I reach once and miss, almost stumbling but I doubt you notice. The second time I reach, my fingers grasp your arm and pull you back. I have to think fast here, and I push you against the wall to stop you. 

You’re quiet, panting and terrified. If you could, I’m sure you would spit in my face here. I turn over possibilities in my mind, and I must say that I’m not particular to any of them within my control. Shit, Y/N, I didn’t want this to turn out like Candace or like Beck. I thought you were different, I thought that maybe you would understand. 

I don’t want to kill you. Believe me, Y/N, it’s always the last thing I want to do. But I had to kill Beck before, and that turned out fine because I met you. I met you, and you made my life that much better. 

Your eyes flick between mine, your breathing steadies. The knife suddenly feels so much heavier in my hand, but we both know what I need to do. 

I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’ll make it quick. 

[tripleaxeldiaz]

all was golden when the day met the night

chapter 5/5

read on ao3

start from the beginning

As the weekend wears on, Eddie feels more and more like himself. He chalks it up mostly to staying inside with Chris, Disney+, and takeout for two days straight, basking in the unbridled happiness that always seems to surround his son. He knows, though, that a big part of his feeling better is also because of Buck — he’s never had a catharsis like that with anyone, and he thanked Buck by essentially slamming the door in his face as soon as he tried to dig a little deeper. He wanted to help, Eddie wanted him to help, but it was too much and he was too raw, so he just shut down. Defaulted to being closed off as he usually was because it was safe and easy. But Buck is his best friend, one of the people he loves most, and he deserves someone who could be open and honest with him.

Eddie really wants to be that person.

He really needs to apologize.

He tries multiple times, writing and deleting texts, planning scripts in his head but never hitting the call button. The words keep getting jumbled and they don’t feel like enough, don’t feel like they’re fully expressing how much Eddie wants to tell Buck everything, wants to fully let him in, if Buck is still interested. If he’s not, Eddie’s really not sure what he’s going to do. 

He braces himself on Monday, but Buck doesn’t come in. He sees him through the window as he parks and all but falls out of his car, hurrying toward Armageddon. He stops at the front door of the shop, knocks, smiles, and waves, before hurrying off again.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s just running late.

He doesn’t see him at all Tuesday, but gets a selfie of a sad looking Buck wrapped in a blanket with a mug of tea and a message reading sinus infections suck ))):. He smiles as he tells him to feel better, and things almost feel normal. Maybe this is just how Buck wants to play it — pretend that Eddie didn’t have a complete breakdown and go back to how things used to be, to how they used to be, whatever that was. If that’s what’s going to make Buck happiest and keep him in Eddie’s life, that’s what Eddie will do. He’ll smash all his feelings back into a box and set it on fire if he has to. Whatever it takes to make sure Buck never leaves.

The door above the shop rings on Wednesday morning, but Eddie’s too absorbed in trying to balance the numbers of a recent wedding to notice. A shadow falls over his laptop, and when he looks up, he’s face to face with Buck, backlit in the golden glow of the early morning sunlight, looking like an angel even in his usual all black. Eddie feels his mouth go dry and his heartbeat pick up.

“You know,” Buck says, his smile easy as always, even if his shoulders look a little tense, “you’re pretty cute when you’re trying to do math.”

It’s a knee jerk reaction to roll his eyes and shake his head, and he smiles too as he sees Buck relax. “At least I know how to do math,” he fires back, laughing at Buck’s mock outrage. Just like that, they’re back in their old routine. 

“That’s what I have Maddie for. She’s the brains of the whole operation, and I’m the beauty.”

“What’s Chimney then?”

“He’s dead meat after he let my flowers die while I was gone for a day.”

Eddie snorts as he gets the craft paper. “Well, math might be hard, but replacing flowers is easy. Any requests?”

Buck just shrugs, smiling softly at Eddie now. “Whatever you’re feeling.”

Eddie’s been trying to figure that out for the past four days, but it’s so much easier when Buck asks him to do it with flowers. He wraps the bouquet and turns back to Buck, holding the flowers between them like a shield. 

Buck cocks his head, confused. Eddie clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about last week. You were just trying to help, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’ve got...a lot of stuff to sort through, and I didn’t want to put that burden on you.”

Buck’s smile gets softer still as he reaches out to hold Eddie’s wrist. “It’s okay, I get it. But I meant what I said — I’m here for you no matter what. However and whenever you need me.” He takes the bouquet from Eddie, holding it in the crook of his arm. “Are these apology flowers to match your apology speech?”

Eddie laughs, trying to ignore the embarrassed blush he feels growing on his cheeks. “I guess so. Yellow roses literally mean apology, purple hyacinth means asking for forgiveness, and red carnations—” mean something that you absolutely can’t tell him, he finishes in his head. He freezes for a second, scrambling for any other reason for including them, before lamely landing on— “They just looked nice.”

Luckily, Buck takes it, no questions asked. 

As he leaves, Eddie feels a weight go with him, feels more like himself than he has in days. Buck is still here. He saw Eddie at his lowest and it didn’t scare him off. And while that’s all well and good, it feels fragile and new, like something that could break the minute Eddie tries to make it more than friendship like he still so desperately wants. 

Instead, he resolves to ball his feelings back up in his chest, hiding them away like he’s done for months and months now. He promised himself he’d do whatever it takes to make sure Buck sticks around, and he meant it. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The sun is setting as he enters Armageddon, in a surprisingly good mood given everything that’s happened the past two weeks. He makes his way to the back, distracted by trying to figure out what to do with his weekend. Maybe they can go to the art museum Chris has been raving about, look at all the works that don’t make any sense to Eddie but can keep Chris enraptured for hours. Maybe Buck will come along to explain everything.

He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t register Buck and Chris’s conversation until he’s halfway to the table they’re sitting at in the back room. When he does finally tune in, he stops, just out of sight, and feels his whole body start to go numb.

“It says they mean ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Please forgive me’. Is that what Dad said they meant? Was he sorry about something?” Chris is reading from a school library book, the bouquet from earlier this week on the table between him and Buck. 

Buck looks at the flowers, smiling almost sadly, before turning back to Chris. “Yeah, that’s what he said too. We just got into an argument, but gave me these flowers, so it’s okay now.” He turns back to the flowers, fingers playing with a stray stem that had fallen off as they wilted. “What does it say about red carnations?”

Chris flips through the book, eventually landing on the page he was looking for. Eddie braces himself as quietly as he can, because he knows exactly what Chris is going to read. “There’s a lot of meanings for different colors, but it says that if you give someone red carnations, it means you love them and feel something special for them. What did Dad say?”

His sharp intake of breath is completely involuntary, fueled purely by panic. Both heads snap toward him immediately, Chris’s face lighting up, Buck’s looking stunned. He tries to keep his own face as normal as possible, but his eyes feel wild and he’s hot all over and he just needs to get Chris and get out.

“Dad! I got a book about flowers from the library so I can know what they mean just like you!”

He really hopes his smile is genuine, because as happy as he is that his son wants to be anything like him, he also feels about 15 seconds away from passing out. “That’s great, buddy. Can you grab your stuff so we can go?”

Chris hops off the chair to pack up, filling the would-be uncomfortable silence with his usual chatter about school, what he’s reading, and what he did with Buck all afternoon. Eddie very pointedly keeps his eyes on his son the whole time, nodding and commentating more than normal so he’s not tempted to look at Buck and completely fall apart. Chris hugs Buck tight around the middle before heading for the door, forcing Eddie to acknowledge Buck without any kind of buffer.

“Thanks for watching him, we’ll see you later, okay?” he says, looking at a spot just over Buck’s shoulder. He doesn’t wait for a response, just rushes out, following after Chris even as he hears Buck call his name.

Surely, Buck will just brush this off. He won’t think twice about why Eddie actually included the carnations and just move on. They’ll be fine, Eddie won’t lose him because of his loud, dumb feelings, and the whole thing will blow over by Monday. He repeats it in his head over and over, willing it to be true.

They’re through the front door and halfway down the sidewalk before Buck catches up with them.

“Eddie, wait!”

Apparently, his force of will is not as strong as he thought.

Eddie skids to a stop, letting Chris run ahead to the store. He closes his eyes and prepares himself, because this is it. The moment he had been trying to prevent for months. He’s off the edge of the cliff, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He takes a deep breath before he turns around.

Buck is watching him. He looks confused and a little worried, and Eddie’s palms itch to reach out and somehow make it better. He jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead.

“The carnations weren’t just for show, were they?” Buck asks, slowly, quietly, like he’s trying not to spook a caged animal. 

He could lie. He could tell him they didn’t mean anything, that they really just looked nice. He could deny it over and over, and he knows eventually Buck would give in and let it go. They’d go back to square one where they’ve been for so long that Eddie can see ruts forming in their routine.

He’s so tired, though. Tired of lying, tired of wrestling with his feelings and trying to keep them from cracking his ribs and breaking free. And Buck had already seen him lower than rock bottom, and he stayed. Maybe he would stay after this, too.

“No”, Eddie says, shaking his head. “They weren’t just for show. Neither were the gardenias or pink camellias or red tulips, none of them were. You can look them up if you don’t believe me.”

Buck freezes, eyes wide, still as Eddie has ever seen him. And for as much as Eddie is usually a coward, he decides this is the moment to be brave.

“I love you,” he says in a rush. “I’ve loved you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it out loud, so I just gave you love in flowers instead. You’re everything, Buck, to me and to Chris, and I just didn’t want to lose you or scare you away because I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you left. We need you, in whatever way we can have you.”

He can feel himself shaking as he stops talking, face hot with a furious blush of embarrassment, he’s sure. He never stops looking at Buck though, waiting for him to say something, anything, even telling him to fuck off and never speak to him again would be better than silence. 

He waits, and Buck just looks at him with an expression he can’t decipher. He looks and looks, and with every passing second, Eddie feels the world crumbling down around him.

The numbness is back, this time laced with the sting of rejection. He takes a few steps backwards as he feels tears start to prick at the back of his eyes, turning toward the store before they’re too noticeable.

He stops when he feels Buck’s hand wrap around his wrist, holding him in place. “Eddie, please,” he says, sounding close to tears himself. “I— I don’t know what to say, I—”

Eddie pulls his wrist back, Buck letting go without a fight. “It’s fine, Buck. Just forget about it.”

He walks away, tears falling without shame. 

He half hopes Buck follows him. 

He doesn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is not hiding. He is strategically avoiding.

He tries to process everything over the weekend, but come Monday, he still can’t bring himself to face Buck, to have the talk where he tells Eddie that he just wants to be friends and nothing more. Because he’ll say that, but things won’t go back to normal. They’ll be awkward and stilted and they’ll drift farther and farther apart until they’re no longer in each other’s orbit, practically strangers. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know what he’d do with himself without Buck, and he really doesn’t want to try figuring that out now.

So Buck comes in every day like normal, and every day Eddie finds an excuse to busy himself in the back room and let Hen handle him. It only takes her two visits to catch on and pry every detail out of him.

“Eddie, I love you, but you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met,” she tells him when he finishes his story.

“Thank you for kicking me when I’m down,” he says, voice muffled from where his head is pressed to the table. She grabs a hold of his wrist, tugging it until he sits up and gives her his attention.

“Look,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on in Buck’s head, but he looks about as heartbroken as you do, if not worse. You have to talk to him. If you love him like you say you do, you owe him that much, at the very least.”

She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Eddie is happy about it. Nor does it mean he’s going to jump headfirst into talking about his feelings like he did the last time. He tried being brave, and look where that got him.

He’s still biding his time (and licking his wounds) when he comes back from a delivery a few days later to an eerily quiet store. It’s late afternoon, when they’re normally busy with people picking up bouquets for date nights on their way home from work, but he doesn’t hear any voices when he comes in the back door or see Hen running around with fistfuls of flowers. He walks to the front and stops dead before he can call out for anyone. 

Buck is there, once again lit up by the sunlight streaming through the windows, standing next to a vase holding the biggest bouquet Eddie thinks he’s ever seen. He looks nervous, biting his lip as he watches Eddie walk closer, no doubt waiting for a reaction. Eddie’s honestly dumbstruck, because not only is it huge, but he immediately registers the meaning behind each flower he sees.

Blue violets for devotion, forget-me-nots for true love, yarrow for everlasting love. Aster, red chrysanthemums, honeysuckle. Rainflowers asking for returned affection and jasmine for love without conditions. They’re all surrounded by moonflowers for dreaming of and hoping for love. The whole thing is an explosion of color and scents and emotions and it’s beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the man standing next to it.

“I didn’t know what to say last week,” Buck says quietly, gaze moving from the flowers to Eddie. There’s a blush crawling up his cheeks that rivals any rose or carnation. His smile unfurls like a lily in the summertime. “I figured I’d try speaking your language instead.”

Eddie turns to Buck fully, tries to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat as his mind tries to process the sheer amount of things he’s feeling. He has half a mind to pinch himself, make sure he’s not dreaming, but he knows he isn’t. This is better than anything in his wildest fantasies because it’s real.

He’s snapped back to the present moment when he feels Buck’s hands on his, slotting their fingers together. Eddie squeezes instinctually, holding on for dear life, because he feels like he’s about to crack again — not from despair this time, but from sheer, unfiltered joy. It only gets bigger when he looks at Buck and sees it reflected in his eyes, too.

“Eddie,” he says, a laugh bubbling out of him like the happiness is overwhelming. “I love you. I love you so much. I think I’ve loved you from the minute I ran into the store for the first time, and it’s been snowballing ever since.” He brings a hand up to Eddie’s cheek, wiping away tears he didn’t even know were falling. He leans into the touch, smile only growing because it’s warm and perfect, like he always knew it would be. “You said I was everything to you and Chris, but you two are more than everything to me. I want to be here, with you, for you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

And because he is who he is, because he’s been living with his parasitic self doubt for longer than anyone should, Eddie pauses. His mind flashes through all his shadows and darkness lingering under this momentary happiness, and while it’s overwhelming and good and true, he still doubts. 

“I’m a mess,” he says, feeling Buck tighten his hold like he’s afraid he’ll try to run. “You saw it up close. I can’t guarantee it won’t always be that bad. Are you sure you want to deal with all this?”

“I want everything with you, Eddie. Good, bad, and ugly. You can’t scare me away that easily. I won’t let you.”

For once, there’s no rebuttal. He knows Buck is telling the truth, feels it in every part of him. If he focuses enough, he swears he feels a little less darkness around him. But there’s so much going on in his head that he doesn’t know what to say anymore, can’t figure out how to express to Buck exactly what all of this means to him. 

He’s still not great at words, but he’s as good at actions as he is at flowers.

There’s no fireworks or angels singing when they kiss, and it takes a few tries for them to stop smiling enough for their teeth to get out of the way. But once they fall into a rhythm, Buck hands on Eddie’s hips, Eddie’s hands running through Bucks curls, the whole world falls away until it’s just them. It’s a slow, gentle thing, but Eddie pours everything he’s hiding into it, hoping that Buck picks up on how much and how deeply he loves him. If the smile he feels on Buck’s lips is any indication, he thinks the message is loud and clear.

They pull away eventually but only to rest their foreheads together, soaking up each other. Eddie’s still smiling as he leans in, placing kisses on whatever parts of Buck’s face he can reach, just because he can. He feels the rumble of Buck’s laugh in his own chest, and almost wants to cry again at the realization that he’s going to be able to feel that laugh whenever he wants, have it memorized and tucked away in his mind for when the darkness is too loud.

He always knew Buck had enough light in him for both of them. Now he gets to prove himself right.

He pulls back a little more, taking in every feature of Buck’s happiness, fingers coming up to gently trace over his birthmark.

“Does this mean I get free tattoos for life?” he asks. Buck’s laugh is sharp and surprised, and they dissolve into giggles and kisses and touches like they’re teenagers again.

Eddie knows that it won’t always be this perfect — things will be hard, they’ll be tested again and again, and sometimes things will feel too dark for either of them to bear. But the light will always come back, they’ll grow stronger, blossoming in ways they never could on their own.

Eddie has been hiding in the shadows for too long. Buck is finally bringing him into the sunshine.

[el-gilliath]

I Will Survive

Well damn, who would've thought something like this could happen at 4am (Norwegian time). So beware of any spelling errors, please and thank you.

As always, dedicated to my lovely @lsobelevans. I’m sorry it took me so damn long lol

BE AWARE of violence in this chapter. None graphic, but you do see aftermath

Ao3

He hasn’t stopped thinking about the kiss. Of Cowboy’s lips on his. Of his hands on his skin. Of the gorgeous hazel of his eyes. Of the face he can’t remember.

He realized quickly that Influence is probably the reason he can’t remember, it seems like something that is within her abilities. A part of him is glad, he doesn’t want to remember Cowboy’s face until he knows his name, and he does remember the feel of his gorgeous curls between his fingers. It felt good to run his hands through them, it’ll feel good when he gets to do it again.

After getting Cowboy out of the hands of the Russians, the bond, the connection, between them felt more profound. Kissing him made it even more so. Alex can feel it, in a way, the connection underneath his skin.

He also knows how dangerous it is, how many people who would love to use him as bait for Cowboy, should their tentative thing be known. Everyone and their mother has warned him about it, including Liz (who is very publicly dating Detective Max Evans and not Electrobuzz), Maria (who knows all the shit that happens in the vigilante world), and Kyle (that did not go over well). Even Arturo has given him the worried face and soft spanish proverbs, even though he doesn’t need them. None of them understands that being Jesse Manes’ youngest child has put him in the spotlight and kept him there for years.

No matter how much Jesse hates his son, he wouldn’t stand for anyone giving him the dishonor of taking his son. It’s the one thing he can count on more than anything when it comes to his dad, he doesn’t like dishonor. If nothing else, Alex will appreciate that about his dad, no matter how much shit he gets for it. It also means that he knows Jesse will come for him, even if it’s only for the glory of having rescued his son and not because of Alex himself.

Which is why he’s not afraid when he finds himself being dragged into a car as he leaves the Post on a Wednesday afternoon, Rosa screaming “No!” as his eyes meet hers when they take a hold of his arms and kick his legs out from under him so he can’t really resist. He just lets himself be dragged into the van, giving Rosa as much of a reassuring look as he can. He doesn’t want her to be afraid for him, even if he knows she probably will be.

He’s fairly sure he knows exactly where they’re taking him anyway.

The kidnappers throw him into the back of the way, screaming at him in broken english to sit down and shut up. They scream that if he makes any trouble they’ll kill him. Alex knows that they won’t, but he still nods, curling together like he’s frightened, like he’s cowering. He’s not, fear isn’t something he feels lightly anymore but he has to protect his leg. If they take that then he’s gonna have one hell of a harder time with everything. Thankfully the men only scowl at him behind ski-masks as they drive off. He closes his eyes, counting seconds and minutes to try to find out where they’re going, listening out for the murmuring that’s happening in the van with him.

He knows he’s right when the driver starts talking louder in russian, when they slow down after about 20minutes. They’re in the Russian compound. And he’s probably gonna meet Mr. Serkoff again, after getting the diamonds off of his hands. The diamonds he decidedly did not give his father.

He’s about to be in a bigger heap of trouble than he’s been in a while.

He’s roughly pulled from the car a few minutes after they stop, pushed ahead so quickly he barely has time to put his feet under him. His leg pulls in the wrong side of comfortable and he bites the inside of his cheek not to cry out. Instead he straightens himself, stands tall and walks into the lion's den. He ignores the pushing, he ignores the yelling. He’ll face this on his own terms, not on theirs.

He’s taken to a back office in the Diamond Storage and roughly shoved into a chair in front of a huge oak desk, where Serkoff is sitting watching his men’s rough handling with a bored look on his face. Anyone not good at reading faces wouldn’t see the underlying anger, the fury.

Alex Manes grew up with Jesse Manes. He’s seen more anger than he ever wants too.

“Mr. Manes.”

“Mr. Serkoff,” Alex replies. He makes sure his voice is calm, collected. He needs to stay strong. “I don’t think taking me right outside the Post was the smartest idea you ever had.”

“Perhaps not. But I doubt you are surprised to find yourself back here again.” The anger turns obvious, a snarl on the russians face. “You took my diamonds, Mr. Manes. And you did not deliver them to your father. He was not… pleased. And as a result, I am not pleased.”

Alex just looks at him. He hitches a brow slightly as if to say ‘get on with it’. He might not be the good little cop boy his father wants him to be, but that doesn’t mean he’s not capable. And right now he needs to be a Manes.

“He told me he never sent you to get the diamonds. That he would never.” The chilling grin is the first sign. “He told me to do whatever I wanted to you. He would rather find your corpse, than to find you alive.”

It breaks his heart, just a little, to hear that. But he also knows it’s not true.

“If you hadn’t taken me very publicly that would be true. But you did. My father might hate me, Mr. Serkoff, but he won’t stand for slights on his honor.” Alex’s top lip curls upwards in a parody of a smile. “Taking his son like that? His disabled son which the public thinks he loves? You can’t imagine the outrage.”

Something flickers in the burly Russians eyes. Almost like compassion. Almost like understanding. It disappears fast behind the mask of indifference.

“Give me my diamonds.”

“I don’t have them.”

Serkoff visibly bites his tongue, hard, most likely to stop himself from speaking too early. Alex understands him better than he wants to at that moment.

“Exactly how much does my father have on you, Mr. Serkoff,” Alex asks. The snort in response wasn’t what he expected.

“Your father has nothing on me, Mr. Manes. I deal with him because I want to, not because I have to.” Well shit. “And if you do not have my diamonds, I have no need of you.”

The knowledge that he means exactly what he’s saying churns inside Alex’s stomach. He has nothing to stop this, unless he gives up the diamonds. The problem is that he’s not lying, he doesn’t have them. But he does know where they are.

He also knows that giving them up would be the end.

“What if I could make you a deal?” Alex asks. Giving up the diamonds would be the end, but he can give him something different, something that might be worth more.

“And what kind of a deal would that be?”

“In exchange for me walking out of here, I could give you information. Information my dad probably doesn't want you to have.”

“And how would that benefit me?”

“When I take him down, I’ll keep your name out of it.” Alex takes a deep breath. “And in the end you’ll have your diamonds back.”

Serkoff looks at him in a way Alex is intimately familiar with, having grown up in the Manes household, like he’s a bug he wants to squash. But there’s also interest, a curiosity that Alex can’t help but feel hopeful about. If he can convince this burly russian that he can give him valuable information he might have a chance. It also means that his rig at the Pony will be brushing off the dust in a way he promised he wouldn’t do any more.

“Your offer is interesting,” Serkoff replies. “But you stole my diamonds, Mr. Manes. For that I cannot just let you leave.”

It’s the last thing he remembers as he’s hit in the head with a gun.

———

Pain. Harsh spoken russian words. The glint of a knife. Pain.

------

He wakes up, doesn’t know how much later, alone in a room. He’s on a bed, prosthetic still on. His head is pounding, his stomach is on fire, his hands filled with tiny cuts. It hurts, but he knew this was a possibility. It’s not like he hasn’t suffered worse before.

“Mr. Manes.”

He jumps, his heart hammering in his chest. His spatial awareness comes rushing back, recognizing the fact that the door’s been opened and that Serkoff is now in the room with him. He’s thankfully standing by the door, making no moves to come closer. It makes Alex’s heart settle a litte.

“Mr. Serkoff. Done beating me up?”

“Yes,” the russian replies, simple as that. Maybe it is. “Now tell me about the information you can give me.”

Alex swallows. “Will you let me go if I do?”

“I will. I could not let you go without some retaliation. My own people would think me weak if I did, but now I can. If you give me the information. From what my sources tell me, the youngest Manes is a very good hacker.” Serkoff grimaces. “I was also told hacking was how you lost your leg.”

“Yeah. It was. Doesn’t mean I’m not good at it.”

“On the contrary Mr. Manes, for you to have lost your leg you must have been very good, for someone to want to hurt you that much.”

“My dad is the reason I lost my leg, Mr. Serkoff.” Alex sighs, worn and tired. “Maybe now you understand why I want to stop him.”

Serkoff doesn’t say anything, but Alex recognizes the look in his eyes. It’s the look of someone who does understand, it makes the look in his eyes earlier make all the more sense. He knows exactly what Alex is talking about, probably better than Alex thinks he does.

“And you will keep me and my men out of it.”

“I will. I can’t keep the russian mob out of it completely, but I’ll try.”

“And I will get my diamonds?” Serkoff asks, and Alex just nods. His body is starting to shut down, in pain and aching. Talking is starting to become too much. “Good. I will get you a scapegoat, someone who should be taken down with your father. Now rest, your friend will be here soon.”

Alex opens his mouth to ask who said friend is, but he doesn’t have the chance before Serkoff nods sternly and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Alex to his own thoughts. Alone, deep in the diamond storage with the russian mob. A friend coming soon.

He really hopes Cowboy or Influence didn’t get themselves involved.

Still he lays back down and rests. He probably doesn’t have to fight his way out but he still wants to get some strength back. Even if that strength is skin deep, allowing himself to rest so he can walk out on his own is enough. Serkoff and his men are not someone you want to appear weak in front of. Especially if he’s going to have somewhat of a working relationship with them.

He doesn’t know how much time passes as he rests, lost in his own thoughts of where he needs to move his rig (he can’t keep it at the Pony just in case someone traces it back to him), how he’s going to keep Arturo from finding out (he already knows how mad Arturo would be, after how frightened he was the last time) and who’s coming to get him (he’s going to kill whoever it is for walking voluntarily into the compound).

Which is why he startles (spatial awareness, come on) when the door bangs open.

“Hermano, you better be alive on that bed so that I can kill you myself.”

He huffs a laugh, of course it’s Rosa. A spitfire latina would be the only one crazy enough to come get him in the middle of the russian mob and threaten murder.

“I’m fine, Rosa. Just resting,” he answers, smiling in amusement as her glowering only increases. He’s still thankful for the way she stalks over and throws herself down on him, hugging him tightly.

“I was so scared when they took you,” she whispers as he hugs her back, mindful of his aches. “I even called Maria and you know I prefer when she comes to me.”

“I appreciate your sacrifice,” he whispers back. Even though they both know that Rosa’s burgeoning interest in Maria means they’ve called upon each other half a dozen times (if not more) since the night at the Pony. Though he’s pretty sure Rosa actually prefers it when Maria does come to her. And when she doesn’t have to call her to find someone else.

“You better. I’m in Maria’s debt now, I don’t like being in anyone's debt.”

“I know. But you can get a date out of it?”

“Vato, don’t you even-

“Okay! Okay” Alex interrupts her with a laugh that turns into a cough. “Thanks for coming.”

“When the Russian mob calls and tells you to come to their secret base to pick up your best friend, who they just kidnapped you kinda go,” Rosa answers, grumbling into his chest. Alex just holds her tighter, squeezing her in his version of a thanks. Something he knows she understands, none of them are big on talking about their feelings in high strung environments. “Speaking of the Russian mob…”

“Yeah, no, I’m not telling you here. Later, okay?

“Si,” Rosa replies. “But you better tell me.”

“I will. But we need to get going.”

Rosa nods and gets up, pulling Alex with her. Standing is painful, but he can put pressure on the prosthetic without problems, meaning Serkoss left it well enough alone. It helps him move out of his own power. He's grateful for that much at least.

They walk out of the compound easily after that. All the Russian men are gone, vanished from their vicinity. Alex knows, he uses all the tricks in his books to look for them, as they move out to where Rosa’s car is parked. He looks back one more time before he gets in, and catches Serkoff watching them. He nods, a gesture of respect Alex didn’t expect. Still, he nods back and gets into the car.

“Where too?”

He looks over at Rosa. “The Pony. I have some business to take care of.”

He’s never felt more relaxed putting his back to the bad man than he does when they drive out of the parking lot and set course for the Pony.

The car ride is quiet, something Alex is grateful for. It gives him a chance to rest some more, leaning back into the comfy seat of Rosa’s car and closing his eyes. He breathes deeply and evenly as he listens to Rosa’s ever present grumblings about traffic.

He nods off, just a little, waking again as he hears Rosa call Maria and tell them they’re coming. Good, he doesn’t need the hassle of scared Super’s today.

Which proves to be his famous last thought as they walk into the Pony and Cowboy is there. Frantic with worry. Alex watches him with a surprised look as he walks back and forth over the Pony floor, rambling to himself with his mask on, but hat off, not listening to a word Maria says. Maria meets his gaze with an exasperated look on her face, tilting her head slightly to where Influence, Electrobuzz and Kyle are arguing loudly amongst themselves. He watches them with an artificial detachment he wills into being. He can’t afford to care. Especially now that he has a job to do.

“Cowboy.” He speaks the word clearly, a bit louder than he usually would. He needs his attention.

He’s not expecting to get the attention of everyone. Even Liz appears from the back room, cursing up a storm when she sees his bruised face. And Liz cursing starts the rest of them, besides Maria who just watches him and Kyle who walks over to Alex and silently asks permission to check him out. Alex looks at him and Kyle backs away, knowing that it’ll have to wait. Their friendship might not be all good, but their communication still works perfectly.

“Stop!” Maria yells. Miraculously it works. “This is my bar, and this is Alex’s safe space. Let him fucking breathe.”

“DeLuca-”

“No,” Maria interrupts, sending a vicious look Cowboy’s way. Alex can’t help that a tiny particle of him appreciates the way she makes him flinch. “Alex, please let Kyle take you in the back and make sure you’re okay. Please.”

Alex watches her, the way they listen to her speak even as they shoot him glances and he’s so proud. So proud of her and the woman she’s become since her mother died, since she took over the Pony and started protecting the people that might need it the most and the least at the same time. Maria DeLuca is a savior, though he really hopes that one day she will let someone Rosa save her right back. No one deserves it more than her.

He nods at her, shooting Kyle a look as well before he walks towards the backroom. He can feel Cowboy watching him as he moves but he’ll worry about that later. Right now he needs to focus on something else.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” Kyle asks as he closes the door. Alex just shoots him a look. “I mean worse than anywhere else.”

“No.”

“How about your stomach?”

“No.”

“Your leg?”

“No.”

“Damnit, Alex!” Kyle yells, startling both of them. “Just… Just please answer me properly.”

Alex runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply as he does. Time to treat Kyle like a doctor, and not an enemy. “My leg is fine, they didn’t touch it. Stomach is sore but seems fine. My head is killing me and my face is probably starting to get a real nice shiner. I’m fine, Kyle.”

“Only you would be kidnapped and beat up and say you’re fine,” Kyle mutters angrily and Alex can’t help but huff out a laugh. He has a point.

“You want me to apologize instead?”

“No. I just want you to stay safe.” Kyles gives him a look. “Within the range of safe at least.”

Alex rolls his eyes but doesn’t answer. Kyle knows him well enough to know that the Manes range of safety isn’t the same as everyone else's. Kyle snorts in derision at the eye roll but doesn’t say anything else either, preferring to finish looking Alex over in silence. Alex finds himself grateful for the familiarity and that they don’t need to talk. He might not have completely forgiven Kyle yet, but Kyle knowing what he needs and when to shut up helps. Maybe more than he thought it would, since it was Kyle opening his mouth that destroyed them the first time.

“Thank, Kyle,” he says, as Kyle moves back with a satisfied nod some minutes later.

“Any time,” Kyle replies as he packs away the nicely stocked first aid kit Maria has in the back room. “Want me to send in Cowboy?”

“No. I need to talk to Maria first.”

Kyle gives him a look of slight surprise, but nods before he goes through the door to the front of the pub. Alex waits until Maria joins him a minute later.

“You okay?” She asks, walking over to him and gently cupping his face in her hands. Her eyes are alight with worry, her frame tense in a way she usually isn’t.

“I’m fine, Maria. That was a necessary meeting.”

“Meeting? Alex, they kidnapped you!”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But now I have an ally against my father.”

“Is that what this is about, your dad?” Maria asks.

“No. It’s about keeping them safe,” he answers, nodding towards the front of the bar. “Kyle, Liz, Rosa. Cowboy, your siblings. You.”

Maria huffs. “My secret siblings out there can take care of themselves, as can Cowboy, the rest of them and me. I’ve been the unofficial Super bar for years Alex, the police can’t take me down for shit.”

“They can if my rig is here. Especially if it’s in use.”

He sees it happen the second it dawns on her, the second she understands just why he’s calling it a meeting.

“You can’t do that. The last time you hacked you lost your leg,” she says with frightening calm. “If you do and your father finds out again you’ll lose your life!”

“I will. But this time I have the Russian mob at my back.”

She just stares at him, eyes wide and wild with indignation and a fair bit of the classical ‘are you crazy’ look. But there’s no question, she knows that he’s serious. She also knows she can’t talk him out of it, like she couldn’t the last time.

“You better be careful,” she says through clenched teeth when she finally does speak, marching over and laying a hard kiss on his forehead before she walks out without a word. Probably best, so neither of them starts to cry. Matia saw him at his worst after he lost his leg, he knows she has a right to be scared but he’ll be more careful this time. He has to be.

“Alex?” Cowboy asks as he walks through the door. He looks worried, scared even. “Can I come on?”

“Yeah, come in,” Alex replies. Cowboy comes in slowly. His hat and mask is on, but Alex doesn’t mind. He never minds, especially now that he has to do what he does.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. “The Russians are pretty pissed, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

“Is this because-“

“No. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

Cowboy clearly doesn’t believe him, if the way he purses his lips is any indication. “Sure, I get stuck in their compound, you go in and use your name, and not two weeks later you get kidnapped and beaten up!”

“That was because-“

“And now you want to work with them? And hack for them when you lost your leg because of it the first time? How can you be so st-“

“Hey!” Alex interrupts. “You do not get to call me stupid, Cowboy. I got into trouble because of my dad, not because of you. It's my choice, not yours.”

He watches Cowboy bite his tongue, clenching his fists tightly in obvious annoyance. But he doesn’t say anything, breathing deeply for a few minutes before he relaxes his fists, his jaw following. Alex understands how he feels, he does, but Cowboy isn’t his keeper of any kind. He makes his own decisions.

“You don’t get to decide when you run around New York as a vigilante, protecting people left and right with no regards to yourself. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

He doesn’t expect Cowboy to kiss him. He just walks over, takes Alex’s face in his hands and kisses him. It’s sloppy, this side of too hard and feral, just a little bit painful to Alex’s bruised face. It’s perfect.

“Shit, I’m sorry. You’re hurt,” Cowboy says, pulling away.

Alex shakes his head, keeping him in place. “It’s perfect, please don't stop.”

Cowboy seems sceptical, but Alex doesn’t care. He pulls him back in, though he softens the kiss so it won’t hurt. Instead of hard it’s soft, instead of hurried it’s languid, instead of feral it’s tender. Painful turns way to heat, lazily curling up his spine and settling everywhere from his neck to his stomach. He sighs softly into the kiss, pulling Cowboy infinitely closer.

“Alex. As much as I love having your lips on mine, you’re hurt,” Cowboy says as he pulls back again. “And we both know Maria will kill us if we do anything in this backroom.”

Alex groans. “You pick now to be sensible?”

“I pick now to be scared of your best friend. I’m just… breaking. Not saying no.”

Alex sighs, nodding because he knows Cowboy is right. He also does have to remember that he doesn’t actually know who Cowboy is, yet.

“I need help, moving my rig back home. Will you help me?”

Cowboy gives him a long, hard look. It feels soul searching in many ways, but Alex endures it. For him. He’s admittedly surprised when Cowboy nods, but grateful.

———

He find another piece of paper hidden under his keyboard the next day, with the letter A.

[blakemetothemoon]

Love in a Laundromat - 7/? - SaifahZon, M

Notes: Soooo with everything going on, my NaNo has kind of changed into me focusing on this fic and I'm super okay with it. Thank you for all the support on this!

Summary: Zon's favorite place is a laundromat. That is until a certain tall, handsome stranger steals his washer and seems hellbent on making Zon miserable.

Read here or on ao3! :)

Marley Coffee Bar is only a short, five minute walk away, but it feels like ages.

Awkward pauses linger, like now that they aren't in the laundromat playing music they don't know how to talk. Saifah seems like he has something he wants to tell Zon, but every time he speaks, it's something mundane that comes out. Comments on the humidity, or how classes are going. There's this noticeable space between them Zon swears wasn't there before the party. Zon is starting to wonder if he’s the only one thinking about those intense moments of touching and moving together and kissing at all. In fact, Saifah barely looks at Zon. His eyes don't linger on Zon's lips like he’s caught them doing more than once…

And that’s when it hits Zon like a brick wall what Saifah is trying to say: that night was a mistake.

Of course, Zon thinks. Of course Saifah regrets it. He’s Saifah, and Zon is Zon, and—

"Here it is!" Saifah says, yanking Zon out of the heavy thoughts starting to weigh him down.

Zon glances up at the shop beneath the white “Marley Coffee Bar” sign and crinkles his brow at the darkened building, chairs on tables and no staff bustling about inside. “Um, it looks closed."

Saifah holds the door open for Zon and gestures for him to take a right instead of a left into the other side of the entrance where the lighting is dim and soft, jazzy music plays from an overhead speaker. “It’s a bar, too. Mostly wine and beer, but they’ve got some coffee-flavored cocktails and small plates.”

The barista-bartender is all smiles as he approaches them, white towel thrown over his shoulder. ‘Ban’ is handwritten pretty in white on his nametag. Ban raises an eyebrow when he notices the guitar on Saifah’s back. “Saifah! You’re not scheduled to play tonight, are you?”

“No, I’m just here with a…,” Saifah pauses. Then, he smiles softly and brushes past, smoothing out the wrinkle of hesitation like it was never there. “With a friend from university. This is Zon.”

Still stuck on Saifah’s pause—why did Saifah pause? What was he going to say? What was he ashamed to say?— Zon’s bow and greeting comes out a little awkward. Then, he glances up at the giant menu. Written in fancy, gold script, it stretches from one side of the bar to the next. Coffee, a column of roast types, teas, a beer and wine list, signature cocktails, food. Zon’s head starts to spin as he takes it all in.

“Just a cup of coffee black," he finally says. "Whatever the darkest roast is.”

“And the usual for me,” Saifah tells Ban. Then, he turns to Zon. “I’m going to put my guitar on the stage out of the way. I’ll grab our drinks on the way back, you go grab one of the booths.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Zon grumbles out of principle, but wanders off to do what Saifah demanded, ignoring the amusement in both Saifah and Ban’s faces. 

Only a few other people are in the bar: a couple conversing with each other at the bar, another at the booth closest to the stage, and a group of five girls at a table. Every single one watches Saifah as he walks to the stage, their gazes more than fleeting, innocent interest. Zon makes a face and rolls his eyes before dropping into the closest booth, tossing his backpack onto the seat next to him. While he waits for Saifah to grab the drinks, he finally takes in the coffee shop-bar hybrid.

Marley Coffee Bar is this bizarre mix of antique and modern, like a coffee shop version of those speakeasies he’s read about in old American novels. The chandelier lights are all different shapes and types, and the booths are made of red leather, while the wooden tables are rustic grey. There’s a mahogany curtain next to the line of booths to separate the bar from the coffee shop; it’s velvet and soft when he loses against the urge to touch it. The stage is the only part Zon recognizes, thanks to all those fan videos of Saifah. It’s small and intimate, while the grand black piano next to it adds another level of class he didn’t expect when Saifah invited him to a coffee shop.

Zon is finding the whole mix-match of it kind of...inspiring? His fingers twitch, craving to write. Songs, stories, a new world with Marley Coffee Bar at the center of characters' lives. And this is where Saifah plays? He’s part of creating this atmosphere, part of the reason people come here?

“Really amazing, isn’t it?” Saifah says as he finally slides into the booth across from Zon.

So are you, Zon thinks. He barely stops himself from saying it out loud.

Saifah’s now sans guitar and holding four drinks. He sets them down without spilling a drop. Zon’s black drip coffee is in a mug the size of his face. The marble is a faded blue. Saifah’s drink is in a tall white glass with, “est. 1929” in golden scrawl. It’s completely different from Zon’s, like there is no consistency beyond the cups having history that customers can converse over.

“What are those?” Zon asks, pointing to the extra drinks.

“Ban made them. On the house, since it’s your first time here.”

“It’s not yours though, so why do you get one?

“VIP,” Saifah says and winks.

Zon snorts. “You’re so cocky.”

It’s one hundred percent not a compliment, and he did a great job of keeping any sort of endearment out of his voice. But it doesn’t stop Saifah from looking annoyingly proud of himself. Zon reaches across the table to smack Saifah’s head, and the taller man grunts even though Zon had put barely any force behind it.

Saifah pushes both cocktails into the center in a peace offering. “This one is basically a cold brew with rum and orange, and this one is a white russian. And if you don’t want to drink that’s fine, too.”

There goes Saifah being all considerate and annoying. Except it’s not annoying, it’s stupidly attractive, and it makes Zon all frazzled and giddy.

“Which is your favorite?” he replies.

“The white russian."

“You have that one.” Zon grabs the cold brew with rum before Saifah can accommodate him again. His head is already a mess trying to read Saifah tonight, he doesn’t need another reason to fucking swoon. Plus the drink he grabbed is so good, he has to immediately take another sip.

“So…” Zon continues, setting his cup back down on the table, enjoying the coldness against his clammy hands. “This is where you play?”

Saifah nods. “Most Wednesdays and sometimes when they do open mic nights on Saturdays. They raise the curtain and keep both sides open for those.” He glances back over his shoulder to the stage, then turns back to Zon with a trademark smirk. “You know, there aren’t that many people here. Ban would probably have no problem if we played a song or two.”

The suggestion instantly makes Zon’s stomach plummet. “No.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun—”

“I said no, Saifah.”

Saifah seems taken aback, and Zon flinches, realizing the harshness of his tone a moment too late.

“It’s just—”

“No, I get it,” Saifah interrupts, saving Zon from fumbling out an explanation. “You’ve never even sang in front of someone before until recently. At least, not knowingly—ow!”

Saifah rubs his head again because Zon had hit him considerably harder that time.

"Stop bringing that up!” Zon snaps. “And how can I perform in front of people I don't know when I've never even practiced? If it was just us alone in your room or something, it would be diff…”

He slams his mouth shut, but the words are already out there, lingering and heavy with all sorts of implications, and Saifah definitely heard him because he looks both awed and then devious at the same time.

“Oh?” Saifah says, the word tilting like he’s singing it. "You wanna be alone in my room with me?"

“Music!” Zon rushes out. “Just to make music!”

“There are a lot of different kinds of music we can make—Zon, wait!” Saifah laughs as he grabs Zon by the wrist to stop him from storming off. “I’m kidding!”

Saifah gently tugs Zon's wrist and pulls him down into the booth next to him. The touch is so light, but his fingers burn heat into Zon's skin, and he hopes Saifah can't feel the sudden racing of his pulse. Thankfully, Saifah lets him go. Not so thankfully, Saifah slides his arm over the back of the booth, and he's so freakishly long, his hand can dangle over the edge. Saifah also has no trouble pulling Zon’s drinks to this side of the table, and now it would be too awkward for him to switch seats again, but… if he ignores the logic part of his brain, he knows he doesn’t want to.

There’s a soft buzzing against Zon’s leg. He thinks it’s his phone but quickly realizes it’s Safaih’s. In Saifah’s pocket. Which is pressing against Zon’s thigh because they’re sitting that close to each other, and now that he’s aware of it, it’s all he can focus on. When Saifah shifts to pull out his phone, Zon jolts at the movement.

“You’re pretty popular,” he says to distract from it.

“Well, obviously,” Saifah replies, meeting Zon’s snark with an amused quirk of his eyebrow. “But this time it’s just Day.”

“Day? Tutor’s friend?”

“Hey, hey, that hurts. You know who Day is but had no clue who I was when we met?”

Zon feels his cheeks grow hot which is dumb because he has nothing to be embarrassed about, just because he didn’t know who Saifah was. Maybe Saifah is popular with his music and maybe he’s a good friend of Tutor’s and maybe he’s so tall Zon would have at least noticed him once across campus. Maybe, considering all those things, some embarrassment was justified. Not that Saifah needs to know that.

“With how many adoring fans you have, I highly doubt me not knowing who you are means much.”

Again, Saifah looks like he wants to bring something up but drops his gaze back to his phone. He doesn’t sound particularly casual when he says, “I posted a new video earlier. Day likes to screenshot some of the more… fanatic comments.”

Zon doesn’t need to see the screenshots to know what those are like; he’d read plenty of them when he was looking up Saifah that one night weeks ago. (And a few more times, but only because they were playing music together and he wanted to know more about Saifah’s style. Research. It’s important when it comes to being a writer.)

Saifah is still reading through Day’s messages, and Zon is feeling the slightest bit ignored so he asks, “Do you want my line?”

They’re still pressed together; Zon feels immediately when Saifah’s entire body goes rigid. He raises his head slowly, like a puppet on a string. “Do you… want to give me your line?”

With an annoyed huff, Zon grabs Saifah’s phone and quickly goes to the contacts. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”

Saifah laughs when Zon hands the phone back. “ ‘Zon-Zon-Zon-Zon’ is your username?”

“If you’re going to make fun of me, then give it back, I’m deleting it!”

“Nope, nope!” Saifah hits the call button and wiggles his eyebrows when Zon’s phone rings. “Allow me to honor you with mine, too.”

After he digs his phone out of his pocket, Zon swipes his thumb, making a show of ignoring the call. Saifah’s affronted gasp makes it hard for Zon to keep a serious face, and he laughs. Apparently, regretting their make out session still doesn't stop Saifah from flirting with him. (This is flirting, right?)

“A giraffe?” Saifah says, incredulous, as he watches Zon set his contact name. “You’re using a giraffe emoji?”

“It’s the most accurate,” Zon replies with a smile, enjoying Saifah’s pout. Then, he sets his phone down and takes a long drink of his coffee, working up the courage for what he’s about to say next: “Okay.”

Despite the sudden backtrack in conversation, Saifah picks up what Zon is replying to. "Okay?"

The opening to back out is tempting, and Zon… he's scared but he wants to do this. "Let's do it. Write songs. At your place."

Zon doesn't expect silence. It stretches so long he finally has to look at Saifah to gauge the other's expression. His lips are tight and his small brown eyes are completely unaffected. "Okay. We can do that."

"Hey," Zon pouts, "why do you sound so unhappy now that I agreed?"

Saifah grabs Zon's arm and shakes it playfully. "My Zon, my Zon! I'm so sorry! Please come play in my room with me!"

Zon feels his entire face grow hot with a fierce blush, and he shakes Saifah's hand off. But before he can scold Saifah, the other unlocks his phone and opens YouTube.

“By the way, there’s a song I think would be fun to do together," Saifah says. "You know ‘Shallow’, right? I found this really pretty acoustic cover of it. Or we can do whatever you want. Maybe that Pardon Me song you wrote? I've been coming up with a bridge that I think works. I can teach you how to play guitar, too—” His excitement suddenly simmers when he meets Zon’s wide doe eyes. Like knowing he has Zon's rapt attention makes him nervous. He clears his throat and pushes a smirk. “You’ll have to ask me reallllly nice, though.”

Zon is about to remind Saifah he’s the one who brought it up. But Saifah’s enthusiasm is endearing and his closeness is a warmth Zon leans into without meaning to, and he can’t help but play along. “Oh, wonderful, Mr. Saifah. Please teach me how to play guitar with your paramount skills.”

The music video starts playing, but Saifah keeps the volume low so only they can hear. He hums and he sets his phone on the table. Then, like the coffee bar and Zon's answer have wiped away all that uncertainty he's been struggling with all night, he says, “I might need better convincing than that.”

For the first time that night, Zon catches Saifah looking at him like he did before The Party. In his eyes is that same heat he had when pressing Zon against that door before stealing his lips and his breath. A heat that holds words he isn’t saying but that Zon can read. The twisting confusion in Zon’s chest tightens while his entire being flares, burning hot and craving. He swallows against the lump in his throat and his mouth is dry as a desert. He chugs half his cocktail to try and moisten it, but his voice still cracks when he replies, "Guess I'll have to think of something."

Then, Zon presses in closer to Saifah's side, pretending he's more interested in the song than kissing Saifah until they're breathless.

[cherry3point14]

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 4

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader   Warnings: Like one big boy word. Criminal activity. Word count: 3,185. Chapter Summary: Staying late at work is usually nice and quiet. Usually. A/N: This chapter is so dumb but I love it a lot.

Ao3 if you prefer

Y/N would say that one of the perks of her job was getting out of the office from time to time. Sometimes a case required anything from a simple home interview to speaking to several family members over a number of days. She relished in the peace working away from inboxes and water cooler talk however, every once in a while she could find the same serenity in the uniform walls of her employment building. Today was one of those very days. Today she sat at her desk, alone, long past her colleagues' departure at five pm. The overhead lights were off and Y/N, whose fingers sped over the keyboard urgently, was lit only by the cool glow of her screen. 

“It’s not super peaceful when you won’t shut up.” As much as you fought becoming complacent to the voice in all honesty you were glad to have her back in some small way. You hadn’t heard her for days now, not since you started reading Supernatural. It’s only now that you’d finished, she was back to her usual tricks. Some ridiculous ten-minute lecture about you waking up late for work was your reunion this morning. While it was true that you were very late for work today—two hours to be precise��she didn’t once mention that it was because of your late-night finishing off Swan Song. 

That wasn’t too concerning. The voice ignoring your reading habits was minor in comparison to her being back at all. Her return meant your aneurysm hadn't been temporary and you were closer to one of two things. Solving the mystery of why Maggie Hall’s file was so important, or dying.

Obviously, option number one was preferable.

After an entire day of her, you have fallen completely into accepting that she's not going away anytime soon. For the most part, you have let her harp on like she’s looking for a book deal but now that you’re alone and trying to concentrate, you find yourself responding to her. For your own satisfaction of answering back.

She was feeling productive. Each word she wrote punctuated by the precise click of her fingers on the keyboard. A familiar sense of achievement swelled within her chest as she began to summarise her decision on the claim. Summaries are nothing more than detailed endings, which is why Y/N was particularly excited to be writing this one. More so than any other claim she had finished up before.

An ending was exactly what she was hoping for. The unusual situations she had found herself in over the last few days were too messy for even her to organize. Tangled up like a ball of string after being batted around by a cat. Logically then she was focusing on the only thing that made sense, tie up one loose end and the others would right themselves. Finish this piece of work and maybe she'd live.

How unfortunate then for Y/N that the universe did not look kindly upon her attempts to be orderly. How utterly unlucky that she had not guessed any of the answers correctly. Today was not fated to hold any happy endings for her. Not the closing of file twenty-four zero one, nor the reasonable explanations she had been searching for. 

Your fingers stutter to a stop. What the hell does she mean you weren’t closing this claim? You are ten minutes of proofreading away from pressing submit, you had stayed late to finish. At this point, it would take an act of God himself to stop you. 

That’s when you see a flash of light coming from reception. Flash is vague. A beam of light might be a better description, as in, the kind of beam emitted by a flashlight. Wait, there are two flashlights now. Oh shit. 

Suddenly you taste bile in your throat and your hands are clammy enough to be sticky. The voice said this case would kill you and now you’re sitting here working late, and she’s saying you weren’t going to close it and… and… is it going to happen now? You’d assumed it was something in the file that killed you but you’d also assumed you had more time. Really, truly, this could be it. Imminent death means about to happen, not will happen when it’s convenient for you. This is it, isn’t it? You’re about to be accidentally murdered in an office robbery because you stayed to work late. On that particular file. 

She was not prepared to die. Not while there still wasn’t a grey hair on her head or while she hadn’t been to the Grand Canyon. Y/N had no preparations for the end.

No. Not now. It couldn’t be. 

She had no will, no funeral plans, and no video message to her family about a series of clues leading to a great treasure. And on Wednesday night, early June with spring barely making way for summer was the last possible moment she would ever expect to meet her maker.

You want to hide but it’s impossible. Hiding would require you to have some control over your body. An impossible feat, while you're listening with bated breath to what you assume, is your last paragraph. 

Obviously, Y/N would not be dying tonight.

“Are you joking? How is that obvious?” You whisper into the dark, edging into frustration. Barely enjoying the relief of not dying when your narrator is toying with you. 

She still had a new life to begin. One which began and ended with two men that had left as quickly as she'd met them. Fate has a perverted sense of humor and had chosen to push her forward into the unknown. This is why these important men were breaking into her office at precisely that moment.

The footsteps of the intruders get closer. You don’t have a direct view of reception but you’d seen the flashlights on account of it being dark in here. They sound like they're near reception, maybe twenty seconds from coming in. Once they’re in the main part of the office then all they’d have to do is turn a little to their left and they’d spot you. In the corner hanging out. 

But it’s the guys breaking in? The cosplayers. They’re the wannabe Winchester’s who have turned to robbery to get their kicks? 

You don’t know if it's actually them, not really. Not until they do take those last steps into the room but you hear them before you see them. 

“Remind me why you haven't done some nerd computer thing to get this?”

“I already tried, remember? Their system says it’s still in process so none of the details are on their servers yet. And since we need to find out where the money went…”

“... we need to get the physical file. Got it.” Mystery man number one sighs before he continues, “S’no fun killing a monster if you don’t have to work for it.” 

A monster? It’s almost impressive how much these guys committed to whatever insane game they're playing. Almost being the keyword. These guys were genuinely crazy, and that was coming from someone with an unexplainable voice in her head. 

Y/N finally overcame the initial wave of fear that had hit her when the flashlights had cut through the darkness. She reached up and shut off the monitor on her desk, the last thing that had been lighting her up like a Christmas tree. Her laptop was still running in its dock, she had no intention of losing all her work. She only wanted to lose herself, hide, snuffing out the screen, and rolling her chair backward seemed to do the trick. She felt safer already. Her heartbeat returning to something akin to its normal steady rhythm now that she was cloaked in darkness. As soon as they were distracted she might even be able to risk slinking to the floor and hiding below her desk. It wasn’t a risk she was willing to take right now though, while they were still on high alert having just arrived.

You’re grateful that the voice is playing ball and giving you some useful information. It’s completely new, having so far only heard ominous foreshadowing and cryptic introductions, but it’s nice. Dare you say it, fun. For once in this whole ordeal, you actually feel like you’re in a story while you do exactly what she says. You sneak the smallest smile when you see their large shadows, finally step into the office. This might be where you have some luck on your side. 

“You check out the desks, I’ll go find the filing cabinets.” It’s pretty hard to make out with their backs to you but you’d wager it was the taller shadow that said that. 

The same bigger shadow starts walking towards the back of the office. He doesn’t know he’s heading towards the break room, although he probably thinks he has all night to figure it out. He can have all the time he wants as soon as you’re under your desk. Once you’re properly out of the way you look forward to not interrupting them as a stupid person might. You were perfectly ok with not being a hero.

Of course, she was not accustomed to the cat and mouse game of breaking and entering. Y/N was not used to dark corners and darker rooms. And since she hadn’t used one since the last time her power went out, she seemed to have forgotten how flashlights worked as well.

“What?” you splutter. Faith in the voice shattered in an instant. 

In the next second, you’re blinded by a light in your eyes, you reach up to block it out but as you do his voice booms out. “Sam! We got company.” 

The tall guy comes running and now there are two lights in your face.

“Do you think we could not blind me?” They start lowering their flashlights when the other shoe drops, “wait, Sam? You-you’re using the names too?” It shouldn’t shock you, they’re driving the car and wearing the flannel clearly, they’re adopting the names too. But until now you’d been able to compartmentalize the books you’d read and the men that drove around in a car with the Winchesters fictional license plate. 

Coming face to face with them she feels completely different now. The territory is hers; her office, her desk, her mug with her name on. The problem; this was not her game, it was theirs. Y/N was simply working late whereas they were more adept at the after-hours version of this story. She might think they were delusional but this wasn’t the first crime she had them on the hook for. She could only imagine the hundreds, if not thousands, of other illegal activities they had gotten away with, all to play pretend.

“Nobody was supposed to be here.” The guy pretending to be Sam says to the guy who you can only imagine is pretending to be Dean.

“Well, there she is anyway.” Wannabe Dean huffs, both angry and disappointed at the same time. “But hey, maybe this can speed everything along, no more looking around in the dark at least.”

They’re both very good at talking about you while simultaneously ignoring you. Neither of them even flinch when you get up out of your chair and walk over to the light switch.

The room flooded with light like any room would when a switch is flipped, however, this wasn’t any kitchen light switch. The office is a large space and the fluorescents required to illuminate it are industrial. It’s enough to pain anyone's eyes with how sharply their pupils contract. Unless you are the one pressing the switch in the first place. It was Y/N’s hand flipping the four switches required and so her eyes were closed in preparation. However the mystery men had been seconds from bickering so they jerk their heads as if trying to escape the inescapable, like it's the first time they've ever seen anything so bright. Y/N felt wholly better with the heat on her closed eyelids. Because she knew when she opened them the office would hers again, the control would be hers.

When you dare to look they both whip their heads to you, shocked that you’ve moved. You’ve managed to find an ounce of confidence in the light, or if you believe the voice in your head, a whole gallon. “I don’t know what game you’re playing pretending to be people, first at the house and now this. I didn’t tell anyone about this,” you motion a hand at where they're standing, “clearly that was my mistake. So, uh-just get out of here and I won’t say anything else about it.”

“Sweetheart, we ain’t playing games here and we ain’t leaving.” 

He steps towards you, a finger pointing to the floor to reiterate that he’s staying put. You wrongly assumed this would be as easy as it had been at Mrs. Halls when they'd run so quickly, forgetting that you'd had an audience there. 

“You are if you don’t want me to call down to security. I’m sure the cops would love a case like this—there’s an eyewitness!” 

Y/N would never in a million years be able to describe where the sudden anger that consumed her had come from. She was hardly an agitated person. She could be sad or sarcastic, she’d been known to give a measured but scathing comeback and some would even call her curious. That’s not to say she’d never been angry, she had, but anger was never the first thing she chose to be, or feel. It was always such a demanding emotion. So, then this agitation was almost foreign to her and the way it forced her hand, more so. 

“Maybe we should…” Not Sam starts before he’s interrupted. 

“No Sam. We need that file if we’re going to stop this thing and right now this is our only option.” He points at you now signaling that you are the ‘this’ part of his sentence; their only option. 

In another life, she might have rolled over rather than stare down the barrel of this argument. She might have seen the opportunity to get rid of them by giving them something small, like say confidential information, and done it without question. This was not her old life, nor the old Y/N. This was the new life she hadn’t realized was starting. The funny thing was she hadn’t needed to know. All she’d needed was this man in front of her to force her into a rage and as if by magic, she had begun to transform.

You push past fake Dean to make your way back to your desk, “that’s not happening. All client information is property of First National which means it isn’t mine to give. Not to mention the fact that you didn’t say please.”

Her shoulder connects with his and it's the exact moment she realizes how close he was standing to her. He realizes the same. He’s close enough to grab her and spin her around but Y/N's body shudders tellingly with his fingers pressing into the flesh of her forearm.

“I don’t know what kind of power trip you think you're on but..." He grits through his teeth still holding you.

“Dean, can you calm down?” 

The breaking point of your anger turns into a sardonic laugh aimed at him. “You too?” You pull your arm away and get back to your chair. “I can’t get normal criminals breaking in while I’m working late? It has to be two weirdos running around pretending to be the Winchesters.”

It’s clear immediately that you’ve said something neither of them was expecting. You’re sitting at your desk waiting for one of them to stop you from picking up the phone, while they don’t seem to even notice your hand is on the receiver. 

“How do you know that? I mean, how do you know about us?” The tall guy that you refuse to call Sam, even in your head, asks. 

Two pairs of eyes bore into you waiting for an answer and for some reason your hand goes lax on the phone. “I ran your plate from outside Mrs. Halls because you don’t work with me. And I found these books but I mean, why are you even driving around with fake plates from some books anyway?”

It was a simple question that you were hoping had a simple answer, you know, fanboys or something. Instead of any answer at all, they start having one of those lovely conversations that excludes your existence, again. 

“Goddamn son of a bitch, we’ve got to get rid of those things.” 

“Charlie said there’s no point now they’re online. How would we even start? Great example right here.” 

“So what? We just roll over and die?” 

Tall guy, not Sam, takes a reassuring step to fake Dean which means he takes a step away from you and your desk. “This might be a good thing ok, if she knows she can help us track it.” 

You refuse to believe it because it’s ridiculous. Those books are works of fiction and there’s no possible way they are real. Because if the books are true then that means monsters are… nope. You live alone so there’s definitely no way. But you should clarify. Even if it’s a thousand percent the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard, you should still double-check. 

“Are you trying to say that you’re actually Sam and Dean? Like, you think you’re Sam and Dean from the books?” 

It’s scarily-similar-to-the-description-of-Dean who leans in with both hands flat on your desk and growls. “Honey, we don’t think okay, we are them. I’m Dean and this is Sam, and those books you decided to read? Yeah, they’re about us.” 

“But that means monsters are…” 

“Real. Monsters, angels, and everything between.” 

She may not have known about the ticking clock already counting down the remaining seconds of her young life. She may mistakenly have thought that her newfound temper was the reason for her flushed cheeks. She did know one thing for sure. One completely life-changing fact with absolute certainty, because that fact was staring at her with more intensity than she'd ever known. A man named Dean Winchester just told her that every terrifying monster she could imagine was real. 

The voice in your head, unfortunately, had not been wrong yet.

Continue to Chapter 5.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23   Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278​ @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Mary, You’re Going To Burn For What You’ve Done To Me

[Tour; Wing AU]

Wing Reference Kid’s Reference

Title is a The Paper Chase song, just with the name switched to Mary instead of Abby.

Word count: 2045

TW: Violence, blood, broken bones

----------------------

Everyone knew there was something wrong with Mary Tudor, nobody just wanted to say anything about it. Whether that be because they feared her or her mother was debatable, as both of them were terrifying in their own right, however everyone agreed there was one main reason why everyone kept their mouth shut over the ex-princess’ return to the world.

Her reign.

If her burning hundreds of people alive wasn’t bad enough, she had a particular hatred for hybrids, Vespertilios, and the Flightless. She took after her step-mother, Jane Seymour, and ordered for a mass production of jaw traps to put on anyone of these three races, usually for no reason other than the fact that she believed they deserved it for how they looked. And nobody could do anything about it. And it remains to be that way because she and her siblings were back and nobody has attempted to scold her for what she had not. Not even her own mother.

Perhaps Aragon is scared of her, too. Or perhaps she just doesn’t care.

Whatever it may be, this did not bode well for the hybrid in the production.

Joan hated the way Mary looked at her- like she was some form of art that she wanted to hang on her wall for people to see. It wasn’t hate or pity or disgust like people usually had in their eyes when they had to see her, but something entirely different.

Lust would not be the right word, per say. But something along those lines in a very scary, bloodthirsty manner.

One day, as she was packing up to leave, one of the three Vespers in the crew, a pallid bat named Summer, came up to Joan. Her ears were folded back and her wings were drawn in close to her as if she were afraid of them being grabbed from behind. She seemed to be in obvious distress.

  “I don’t feel safe here, Joan,” Summer had told her. “Not since Mary has come back.”

Joan had nodded, then folded her own wings in. Her ears were up and swiveling around like a radar, and Summer copied her, hoping to catch some sign that Mary wasn’t nearby.

  “I love this job,” Summer had gone on. “I really do. But everywhere I go, I feel her eyes on me. Watching me. Even when she isn’t there, it’s like she’s right behind me.” Her ears folded back, then fanned out again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll think about it tonight.” She looked up at Joan. “Watch yourself, Joan. I’m afraid somebody might do something.”

And then, she left in a hurry.

Summer never went back to work.

Looking back on it, Joan wondered if it would have been better if she followed in her footsteps.

Too late now, though.

------

Mary had approached her on Wednesday. She had a smile on her face and something gripped in her hand. Joan backed against the wall, short claws brandished, and waited for the pain.

But it never did.

Instead, something wiped against her jawline.

  “You had some chocolate on your face,” Mary chuckled, stroking a napkin against her chin. “Silly bird.”

Her touch lingered on her jaw for far too long.

  “Uhh-- Th-thanks.” Joan stammered out.

She didn’t eat chocolate that day.

------

The second Vesper in the crew, an Eastern red bat named Randal, grabbed Joan by the arm and whispered in her ear on Friday, “Stop biting your claws. You never know when you may need them.”

He stopped going to work two days later.

Joan doesn’t know what happened to him.

------

There was clunking from inside one of the unused dressing rooms today. It sounded like metal grinding against metal. Mary could be heard muttering to herself over it.

------

Joan stopped biting her claws. They’re growing back in rather well,

------

There was a dead owl on Joan’s windowsill when she woke up that morning. It’s inner wings were stripped of feathers, as if to be bare like a bat’s. The lower beak was ripped off.

She never told anyone her apartment number before.

------

  “I know where you sleep” Was written on Joan’s work notebook when she arrived at the theater. When she showed it to Aragon in a panic, claiming Mary was stalking her, Aragon got mad at her. Tucked under one of her wings, Mary looked genuinely wounded. Joan felt foolish. 

She didn’t bring up any incidents again.

------

Morice, the spotted bat in the crew and only full-blooded Vesper left in SIX, sent Joan a voicemail at 3:26 in the morning while crying:

  “Hi, um, I-I-I-I don’t have a whole lot of--of time. Um, and, and… Oh man, I don’t know where to start. She’ll-she’ll-she’ll, uh, she’ll- she’ll, um, she’ll probably be coming here really really soon, um. Okay, um, um, okay, she--she is not what she claims to be. Uh, she-she-she wants to eliminate us all, uh, a-a-and she’s--she’s coming. She’s coming. She’s, uh, she’s, uh-- I’m sorry…” 

------

Morice wasn’t at work the next day. Nor was Mary. Aragon said she was home sick. Joan just thinks she is sick.

-------

Joan’s horns are starting to grow out more. They’re a bit too long for her taste, but she fears cutting them. She deals with them getting caught on her clothes when she gets dressed everyday. Mary complimenting them was slightly harder to deal with.

------

Joan felt watched when she was walking home late one night. She isn’t sure if she’s paranoid or actually being stalked. Still, she makes sure to be extra careful.

------

  “Don’t move. Or I will set this thing off.”

That’s what Joan heard when she woke up. It was dark, but by making a few muffled noises, she was able to activate her echolocation and find out she was still in her bedroom. There was something draped over her nose that vaguely smelled like sweet disinfectant and made her head fuzzy when she breathed in too deeply. The rustling of thick feathers filled her ears, which felt like they were stuffed with cotton. An uncomfortable pressure was bound around her head and the taste of metal made her feel--

Wait.

Joan’s eyes popped open wide when her tongue slid over the iron plate in her mouth. She whimpered, but the jaw trap heavily muffled the noise.

  “Don’t bother,” Mary said. “Nobody will hear you. There isn’t anyone for you to call for, anyway. The downsides of living alone, I suppose. More privacy, less safety.”

Tears were coming to Joan’s eyes rapidly. The abrasive metal of the jaw trap was uncomfortable and all too familiar. The bear trap-like maws were as heavy as she remembered on her mouth, feeling like they would rip her lips right off if it slid down just the slightest bit. The hinges and gears dug into the back of her skull like they were trying to attach to her brain.

It was too real.

  “Oh… Don’t cry, little one.” Mary murmured. A sharp black claw wiped away Joan’s tear, sliding dangerously close to her eye. “It’s going to be okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Nothing was ever okay when the jaw trap was on.

Joan sobbed, screwing her eyes shut like she was hoping it would send her back to a plain dreamscape. But when she opened them again, she now saw the full silhouette of Mary on the side of her bed, dimly illuminated by the glow of her nightlight. She sobbed again.

  “Shh, shh, shh,” Mary stroked her head. Her claws scratched behind one ear, but much too roughly for it to be comforting. Warmth spread throughout her scalp; she was bleeding. “Don’t cry, don’t cry… I promise, it’ll all be fine soon, little creature. Just don’t move.” Now, Joan has never been a violent person. When it came to fight or flight, she always chose flight. But adrenaline truly was a fickle thing. And, in that moment, she knew right then that she would not be flying away from this problem. Mary would just find a way to get her again. Unless she was eliminated.

Joan reared her stiff legs back and kicked Mary in the stomach.

The white vulture went sprawling. She fell backwards off of the bed, landing on the hardwood floor with a loud THUMP. That gave Joan enough time to shake feeling back into the rest of her body after being chloroformed and run out of the room.

The front door was unlocked when she exited it. Mary must have picked it. Joan ran faster.

She took to the air once she was outside, beating her malformed wings furiously to get as far away as possible. Mary was fast, though, and her wings had all the feathers they needed to fly, as well as being much bigger. Plus, she was fueled by insanity, and that gave her an unfair speed boost.

A heavy body crashed into Joan’s side and caused her to spiral out of the air like a plummeting helicopter. Mary met her on the way down, jetting into her and taking her to the ground. They tumbled against the asphalt of an empty parking lot, Mary using Joan to blunt the fall, so it was Joan who got to feel the oppressive pavement scrape across her wings and skin.

  “You beast,” Mary spat, holding her down. “You fucking demon.”

Joan growled lowly in response, though it was muffled by the jaw trap. Mary laughed harshly up above her and reached down for the triggering slot to set the trap off.

Panic instantly flushed through Joan’s system. She flared her wings out and flapped them wildly. The movement jarred Mary and made her miss the trigger. She braced her hands against the ground for balance, so Joan lifted her head and smashed the lower jaws of the trap onto Mary’s fingers.

Mary screeched in pain, but the sound of her crunching bones was music to Joan’s ears. Even when the jaw trap shuddered treacherously around her head and creaked like it was getting ready to spring on its own, Joan continued to grind the lower jaws onto Mary’s fingers until she was sure the bones were turned to dust.

Mary’s wings opened up and she began to beat Joan over the head with them. Joan’s skull rebounded against the asphalt, rattling the jaw trap and causing it to clang loudly. Even with two broken fingers, she came after Joan with vicious claws. Perhaps she enjoyed the pain. Masochism wouldn’t be too far fetched for her.

Joan struggled underneath Mary. She squirmed and flapped her wings desperately, letting out muffled yells from behind the jaw trap. She brandished her own claws, waved them uselessly for a moment, then settled for headbutting Mary as hard as she could.

  “I’m--” Mary’s roar of fury died rather quickly on her lips, which were rapidly turning redder and redder by the second. She opened her mouth and blood came dripping out. “You… You…”

Joan’s brittle deer horns snapped off when she tried to pull away. Mary collapsed backwards, a steady pool of blood growing around her. Red stained her white-grey wings, which were flopped out beside her.

  “Why couldn’t you have just let me kill you?” Mary rasped as Joan staggered up onto her knees and stood before her. “I was doing you a favor, you know. Avians like you--they’re suffering. We aren’t meant to live in mutated bodies like the one you have. I’m reliving them of that pain by getting rid of them. The same goes for the no-wings.”

Joan narrowed her eyes into a fierce glare. Her ears folded back in obvious anger, patchy feathers standing on end.

  “The bats--they’re just demons. They spread diseases, you know. And drink blood! I’m saving people!”

Joan just continued to glare, muted by the jaw trap. Mary coughed.

 “Mother is never going to forgive you if you kill me,” Mary said. A smirk came to her bloody lips. “She never loved you, you know? You were just a standby replacement until I came back. She loves me more. And if you kill me then, well, you’ve blown any chances you may have in the future.”

  “I know,” Joan said in her head, then raised her claws and slashed out Mary’s throat.

[bldreamer]

Soccer Love | TT

TharnType: 

Summary: Tharn surprises Type at his soccer match. It doesn’t exactly go to plan. Genre: Hurt/Comfort. EmotionallyBruised!Tharn. Warnings: Descriptions of a bloody nose.

A/N: Because I’m bitter we never got to see Tharn in the stands at a footie match. And thank you always to @kdramama.

Two months into their official official relationship, after the breakups and makeups, after the fights and the tears and the soft whispers of I love you’s, something rather shocking occurs to Tharn.

He realizes, one breezy Wednesday afternoon, that’s he’s never seen Type play a soccer match. Not up close, anyway.

Not because he doesn’t want to or because he doesn’t care. Simply because they’re in completely different faculties at university and their schedules never line up. Honestly speaking, they’re lucky if they get time to meet up for lunch once a week.

Type usually hates surprises, but Tharn hopes he’ll like this one. His afternoon classes have been canceled due to some AC issues in the music building so Tharn follows the steps down to the university field, butterflies in his stomach. He remembers Type saying that morning that he might be home late after the match if the team has something to celebrate. Tharn hopes he can be Type’s good luck charm and celebrate with them.

The stands are crowded in some places and empty in others, the match already underway. Tharn doesn’t spot Type right away and he doesn’t want to barge to the bottom step next towards the player's benches and risk making Type nervous.

Not that he’s the kind to get nervous. Then again, Tharn didn’t think he was either and yet he can feel his stomach doing backflips as he shuffles through the spectators.

Tharn settles on a spot roughly halfway down near a group of cheering girls holding banners. Tharn doesn’t know if he’s proud of jealous when he spots Type’s name on one of them.

He decides on the former and shakes his head fondly, eyes turning back to the pitch and the scattered players who all look the same from afar.

Save for one.

Dark hair, fierce eyes, sunkissed skin. The way he moves on the pitch, graceful and fluid. Tharn would recognize those toned legs anywhere.

He smiles at the sight, not at all surprised. Type is shouting at one of the players on the opposing team, ready to start a fight. Techno standing in between them as usual, trying to defuse the situation. Champ coming up from behind to step in if he needs to.

The referee comes in and barks at Type and the other player, waving his yellow and red cards at them. They quickly dissipate in opposite directions on the field, Techno patting Type on the back while he grumbles something no doubt full of swear words, and the game continues.

Tharn sits with his hands clasped together, knees bouncing nervously, watching the back and forth of the ball. He doesn’t pay the other players much attention, eyes focused on one in particular. His narrow waist and tanned thighs.

Tharn doesn’t know much about soccer, the positions, and the play, but he does know to cheer like he’s watching his gladiator defeat a rabid lion when Type skillfully kicks the ball into the net, scoring his team a goal.

He rises to his feet -as do the girls next to him- clapping his hands together hard enough to hurt in the excitement.

Type dives into the circle of teammates around him in celebration. Tharn places his fingers in his mouth to whistle, not anticipating it to be quite so loud.

Tharn watches as Type’s head whips around, eyes squinting in his direction. He leaves his circle of teammates and approaches the edge of the pitch. Angry frown clear as day and suddenly Tharn’s surprise seems like a huge mistake.

He wonders if he sits down quickly and quietly, whether he’ll get away with it until the end of the match. Maybe slip out before he’s caught for definite. He’s wearing the same white shirt as everyone else around him and it’s not like he has any distinctive features, he could lie and pretend he wasn’t even here.

Tharn isn’t sure if their relationship is common knowledge to the whole team or just Type’s close friends. He hasn’t asked and he doesn’t want to push it. He and Type have been getting back on their feet, finding themselves again as individuals and as a couple. They both have a lot of history to move on from and it’s no use in rushing Type into something if he isn’t ready. Tharn doesn’t want to do anything to risk losing him again. The mere thought of doing something that would upset Type makes his throat constrict.

“Tharn?!” Type shouts.

Tharn’s heart pounds in his ears, flashbacks of Type telling him he feels like a joke, he feels like he’s losing himself, he feels like he hates himself, running through his mind.

“Hey, asshole!” Someone yells in the background. “Are we playing or not?”

“Fuck off, I’m coming!” Type barks at them, before turning back. “Ey, Tharn!” he repeats, hand waving in the air. Frustrated confusing melting into a grin.

Tharn feels weak at the knees at the relief, smiling back, when out of the corner of his eye he sees the ball fly through the air and hit Type square on the side of his face.

The crowd of girls gasp in unison.

Type’s knees buckle and his teammates run towards him in slow motion.

Someone blows a whistle in the distance and Tharn feels frozen until he sees the blood. Pouring down Type’s chin as he grabs his nose, face twisted in pain as he drops to the ground.

Tharn’s feet are moving down the steps before he realises he’s even blinked.

“Type? Type!” he stammers.

There’s a fight starting on the pitch, half of Type’s teammate's verses a handful of the opposition.

“Fucking asshole! You are fucking dead!” Type promises from the floor. Words muffled but as ferocious as ever.

“Type!” Tharn calls, rushing towards the small crowd around him.

“Mother fucker!” Type grumbles, Techno knelt in front of him, face panicked.

“Is it broken?” Techno flails. “Oh, shit. Is your nose broken?”

“How the fuck should I know?!” Type whines through his nostrils. “Fuck!”

“Type,” Tharn says, swallowing the lump in his throat. Too afraid to push through to reach his boyfriend. His friend. His roommate. Whatever he’s supposed to be in front of all these people.

He takes a shuddering breath, fists clenched by his sides.

Like a moth to a flame, Type’s pain-filled eyes find him in the melee.

Tharn is moving before he can think. “Type?” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Tharn,” Type growls in reply and his teammates step back, like a parting sea. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Me?”

“You distracted me, asshole!”

His teammates laugh, one of them patting Tharn on the shoulder, pushing him forward.

Tharn’s fingers start to shake. Type is hurt and Type is angry.

“Are you okay?” Tharn murmurs, bending down. Unsure if he’s okay to touch, to cup Type’s cheek, to pull him to his chest as he bleeds.

“No!” Type barks back in his face.

Behind them, Champ pulls off his soccer jersey and bends down in front of Type, prying his hand away from his nose.

“Ah, shit!” Type yells when Champ pokes at his face before pushing his bunched up t-shirt into it. Each wince like a knife in Tharn’s gut.

“It’s not broken, but keep the pressure on,” Champ says, looking across at Tharn who nods.

Tharn cups the back of Type’s neck and pushes the fabric over his nose, pinching the bridge underneath to stop the bleeding. Type grumbles at him, eyes glaring. Tharn is just grateful he finally has a reason to touch him, even if he’s cursed the whole time.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers so that only Type can hear. His words catch in his throat. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m so sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” Type asks, voice at a normal volume despite how nasal he sounds.

“I wanted to see you play. I didn’t think it through.”

Type’s hand grips his wrist. “I’ve been dropping hints for weeks that I wanted you to come sometime.”

Tharn shakes his head, he shouldn’t have come.

“I always thought you were busy,” Type pouts. “So I stopped nagging.”

“I thought you were telling me when you had matches so I’d know not to wait up?”

“No, idiot.”

“You wanted me to come watch you play?” Tharn repeats.

“Mh, I just thought I’d actually be playing the ball, not be blindsided by it. And you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know I hate surprises.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry, asshole.” Type scoffs, “We should just buy an ice machine for the apartment at this point.”

“For your injuries, or for…”

“Shut up.”

The referee blows his whistle again in the distance, calling something about a penalty. Type’s teammates cheer above them.

“Does that mean you won?” Tharn guesses, but only from the reactions around them.

Type chuckles, pulling Champ’s t-shirt and Tharn’s hand away from his face. He’s covered in blood, his top lip is bruised and there’s a small cut across his nose. But he’s no longer bleeding and he’s smiling which Tharn counts as a win. 

Type holds Tharn’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I listen to you drone on about music, it’s time you listened to me while I educate you on the love of my life.”

“Deal,” Tharn smiles. “As long as it comes second place to your other love.”

Type smirks. “Don’t count on it, asshole.” He moves to stand with the help of Techno and Tharn hovers close as he walks back towards the pitch.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m taking my free kick,” Type informs him, wiping his hand under his nose, grimacing at the dried blood. 

“You’re still playing?” Tharn says, like he’s insane.

“That’s how a penalty usually works,” Type  tuts.

“Well, technically, I could take it for you,” Techno offers.

“Fuck off,” Type sniggers, pushing his friend off and walking on his own towards his other teammates waiting for him. He turns over his shoulder from afar, “Sit down over there,” he says, nodding at the players bench, “And watch me crush these guys.”

“Your fans will get jealous,” Tharn smirks, hearing the girls from earlier cheering.

“Who needs fans when I have a boyfriend?” Type shrugs, grinning ear to ear.

~Fin.

[shyvioletcat]

At some point in the fireman au: “I always sleep best when you’re next to me.” 😉

Here we go ladies and gentlemen. This one is long and I hope it doesn’t disappoint. Have a mentioned this is a slow burn? Maybe I should have….

Masterlist

~~~~~

Aelin watched her class packed up for the day. They had been pretty good today, well as good as 20 mostly eight year olds could be. The room was buzzing with energy as they all waited the 2 minutes until the bell. 

“Miss G, who’s our talker for Wednesday?” Harris asked from his desk near the front. 

“I can’t tell you, it will ruin the surprise,” Aelin explained with a smile. 

Truthfully she actually didn’t have anyone one lined up for the career week presentations. Each class would have someone from a different profession come in and present. Then the following week each class would set up their own presentation about the profession in the hall for the rest of the school to see. Two days out and Aelin still didn’t have a presenter. 

She had planned to ask Yrene but Lysandra has snapped her up first. She’d used Chaol last year so that wasn’t an option and just about everyone else was busy that day. If it came down to it Aelin would just do it. 

The bell rang and the kids were up and moving. She smiled and waved as they filed out then started to pack up her own desk. 

“I am ready to strangle Chloe and Sarah,” Lysandra said as she appeared in the doorway. “You’d think they’d wait at least until they were 13 before they started oozing attitude.” 

Aelin laughed. “Yeah. I don’t love teaching 11 year olds.”

“Well, someone has to,” Lysandra said as she sat on the edge of Aelin’s desk. “Who’d you get to present for job week?”

“No one yet. Seeming as you stole my presenter,” Aelin said as she slipped her laptop into her bag. 

“Whatever. You were just too slow,” Lysandra replied. 

“I practically gave you the idea.”

“How I remember the conversation going is “Yrene would be good” then I said “yeah” and then that was it. No dibs called,” Lysandra explained. 

Aelin snorted. “That’s a weak argument and you know it.” 

Lysandra just shrugged. Aelin flicked a pen lid at her. 

“I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you ask your temporary roommate?” Lysandra said as she flicked the pen lid right back. Aelin caught it. 

“I don’t know. It’s short notice and he’s been acting a bit weird since…” Aelin trailed off. She hadn’t meant to let that slip. 

Lysandra just looked as if she ha been handed a piece of her favourite cake. “Weird since what? Did you kiss him? Make out? Did you have sex with him?”Lysandra’s voice was rising higher and higher with each question and just as she asked the last one a small group of students walked past the open door. 

“Lys,” Aelin hissed as she swatted at Lysandra’s arm. “It no to all the above. But,” Aelin took in a deep breath and looked to the ceiling, “he is sleeping in my bed.”

“What?” The exclamation rang throughout the empty classroom. “You haven’t done A, B or C, but he’s sleeping in your bed?”

“He was going to lose his position at work. The couch was giving him a bad back and he refused to go home so I offered him the bed,” Aelin explained matter of factly.

“And where, pray tell, are you sleeping?”

Aelin shifted uncomfortably then mumbled almost inaudibly, “In the bed.” 

Lysandra stood and jabbed Aelin’s shoulder. “You haven’t told me this before now! You’re practically married.” Then she laughed. “But like, married for 20 years married. Because you’re sleeping in the same bed but there’s no sex.”

“First of all, ouch,” Aelin said and she rubbed where Lysandra and poked her. “Second of all… yeah basically.”

Lysandra cackled. 

“But like I said he’s been acting a bit weird since then so he probably won’t say yes.”

“Maybe it’s because he likes you. I’ve seen what you wear to bed. If I were him I’d like you a lot,” Lysandra said. 

Aelin shook her head. “No he’s just feeling guilty and has a caveman era need to protect.”

“Yeah okay, whatever you say,” Lysandra said as they started walking to the door. “Just wait until I tell Aedion.”

“Don’t. I don’t need his input on this,” Aelin said as she locked her classroom door. 

A dramatic sigh sounded from behind her. “Fine. You steal all my fun.”

~~~

Aelin sat up in bed reading by the light of the lamp on her bedside table. It was getting later than she usually stayed up but Rowan wasn’t here yet. She had a sneaking suspicion that he was waiting for her to be asleep before he came over, which he had in fact done last night. Hence the accusation of weirdness she’d explained to Lysandra.

She didn’t know what she had done, but she also could be reading way too much into it and nothing at all was wrong. It was after all just one night. Aelin started reading again when she heard the front door open and then the lock slide into place. Within a few moments Rowan appeared in her doorway, blanket and pillow in hand, with a look of surprise on his face. 

“Oh, I didn’t expect you to be up,” he said. 

“Hoping to sneak in while I was asleep?” Aelin asked as she shut her book. 

Rowan shrugged, “I didn’t want to disturb your routine.”

“You’re not disturbing me at all. In fact I’d say I always sleep best when you’re next to me,” Aelin accentuated her words with a pat on the bed and a sultry little smile. Which turned into a wicked grin as Rowan flushed. Tormenting him was becoming one of her new favourite pass times.

Rowan then pointedly ignored her as he approached the bed. Aelin removed her spare pillow and he laid down on top of Aelin’s bedding before pulling his own comforter blanket over him. 

Aelin then dropped the playful facade and steeled herself, readying for the disappointment.

“I actually have a favour to ask.”

She heard Rowan roll over to face her and Aelin looked at him, his hands tucked under his cheek. 

“Does it involve me having to vacate the apartment for an evening?”

It was Aelin’s turn flush at what Rowan implied. When did she become a prude?

“No. Lucky for it doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice a night away from my bed. There’s this careers week at school -”

“School?” Rowan asked.

“I’m a primary school teacher,” Aelin explained.

“I didn’t know that,” Rowan said.

Aelin just powered on. “So careers week. We get people from all different professions come in and give a presentation to a class. I’ve left it kind of late and it’s on Wednesday. I was wondering if there was any chance that you could come in and give a presentation to my class about being firefighter.”

Rowan’s brows furrowed as he thought about it. Aelin assumed he was he was working out the best way to refuse.

“You know what, never mind. It too short notice and -”

“I can probably do it. Wednesday right? I’ll have to talk to my Chief but I’ll most likely be able to do it. I might just have to remain on call.”

Aelin blinked in surprise. “Really? Because that would be great.”

“Yeah it should be fine,” Rowan said as he rolled to lay on his back.

Aelin smiled a little, “Well thanks.”

Then she turned her lap off and settled herself into bed, her back to Rowan. “Maybe discourage the breaking down the door thing though,” Aelin added.

Rowan chuckled softly behind her. The sound was like a gentle caress over Aelin’s skin making her shiver. Aelin promptly shut any other thoughts about that sound and the way it made her feel. It was increasingly obvious Rowan wasn’t interested so there was no reason for her to entertain that idea for one second. 

~~~~~

Rowan woke up to his phone buzzing and he quickly switched his alarm off, not wanting to wake up Aelin who was still asleep beside him.

As he got out of bed his eyes strayed to her. She was lying on her back, one arm draped above her head, her braided hair fuzzy and loose in places. When Aelin was asleep her face relaxed and she looked so peaceful and content. Definitely not like she was planning some way to provoke him, which seemed to be all the time.  

Not wanting it to get weird by staring and a sleeping woman he barely knew Rowan decided to leave and head back to his apartment to get ready for work. On his way out he remembered their conversation about the presentation for her class. Stopping by the kitchen bench to he wrote Aelin a message on a sticky note. As he did Rowan smiled a bit at the memory of how she had covered every inch of his door in them. In hindsight it was a little funny, but at the time he had been fuming.

I’ve got to head to work but here’s my number. Text me yours and I’ll let you know how I go.

He added his number to the sticky note and left.

~~~~~

Rowan and his team were checking their gear when he asked his boss about helping Aelin out.

“Lorcan, can I have an hour or two out of the station tomorrow? I’ll remain on call and will be able to respond to any call outs, if that helps.”

“Why?” Lorcan asked checking the fittings on his helmet.

“It’s to help out,” Rowan went to say friend but he stumbled on the word. Were they friends? He wasn’t sure. “Someone who I owe a favour too.”

“Why?” Lorcan asked again.

“Why do I owe them a favour or why am I asking?”

“I’ll take both,” Lorcan said as he moved on to checking his fire fighting suit.

“She’s a neighbour and she works at the local primary school. They’re having a careers week type thing and she’s asked if I can talk to her class,” Rowan explained. Avoiding that looming question of exactly why he owed his neighbour a favour.

“Wait,” Fenrys piped in. “Is this the same neighbour whose door you busted down because you thought you smelled smoke?”

Rowan glared death at Fenrys, who was just gleefully smiling.

“You what?” Lorcan asked, a rare glimmer of amusement on his face.

“Fenrys. Did you have to?” Rowan said as he glared at his friend. Fenrys shrugged, still grinning. “It was after that big factory fire a few weeks ago. I came home, still high on the adrenaline, thought I smelled smoke… and broke her door.”

Lorcan laughed. So did his other coworkers.

“Yeah, yeah I know,” he said as he finished up on his gear check.

“Yeah do whatever,” Lorcan said as he finished up as well. “If we get a call you leave. That’s it.”

“Thanks.” Then Rowan turned to Fenrys. “How’s about we get some training in before Friday’s fitness test?”

Fenrys groaned knowing that Rowan was going to murder him  

~~~~~

Aelin was at the coffee machine in the staffroom waiting for her cup to fill. She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt a piece of paper crumple beneath her fingers. Confused Aelin pulled it out of her pocket.

She left out a soft ‘Oh’ as she realised what it was. It was Rowan’s number. She’d stuffed it into her pocket this morning on the way out the door.

The coffee machine finished its job and Aelin picked up her cup and sat at a nearby table. She smoothed out the sticky note and entered Rowan’s number into her phone. Then she composed her message.

Hey. It’s your lovely neighbour. Will you me joining me at my workplace tomorrow?

Aelin read it over and cringed. She deleted it all and tried again.

Hi Rowan, it’s Aelin. Any word on tomorrow?

Much better. He was doing her a favour and I told was a professional setting, she’d have plenty time later for riling comments. Aelin pressed send.

“Hey Aelin.”

“Hi Elide,” Aelin said at the small dark haired beauty. “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty hectic,” Elide said as she sat. I was meant to have a session off but it seems my better time is better spent running errands.”

Elide worked as a teachers aide and she moved from class to class. But some teachers sometimes used her like a secretary.

“Just come into my and sit in the corner. I don’t care,” Aelin said. Then her phone buzzed.

All good for tomorrow. Don’t let the kids eat me alive. Please.

“What are you smiling at?” Elide asked.

“I just secured my presenter for tomorrow,” Aelin said. “I highly recommend you come to my class for it. You definitely won’t regret it.”

“Why?” Elide asked.

Aelin grinned, “You’ll have to wait and see.”

~~~~~

EDIT: Turns out I completely left out a chapter from my masterlist so I added to this chapter because it was really the easiest thing to do.

Tags: @tangledraysofsunshine @nalgenewhore @highqueenofelfhame @galyxsy @fucking-winchester-trash @literary-licorice @http-itsrebecca @highladyofthesith @aelinfire-bringer @soup-that-is-too-hawt @sleep-and-books @3am-reading @average-girl-at-best @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @rowaelinforeverworld @alifletcher2012 @westofmoon @tswaney17 @mydarlingfireheart @rowansfirebringer @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen @vanilla28 @fireheart-of-your-dreams @enquires-state-building @im-not-rare-im-rarr @your-high-lady

[marvinswriting]

tiny swap part one: damian and aaron

"This is stupid." Janis huffed. "I don't wanna go with Gretchen."

"Hey!"

Damian laughed at the girl in his hands. "It's only for a week. Besides, we all have pretty similar schedules. I'll be there."

"Who am I supposed to talk to while I'm in art?"

"Uh, Gretchen?"

Janis shook her head. "It's not the same."

Damian clicked his tongue. "Just don't be too reckless okay? No jumping off tables or climbing on arms. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Nu-uh. If I have to be miserable, I'll make it fun."

"Janis."

"Yes?"

Damian gave her a pointed look and the artist caved. "Fine. No fun. Totally boring week. Got it."

"That's not what I said."

"Sure sounds like it."

"Are you guys ready?" Karen called out. Each tiny and their giant were talking a bit before a swap. Damian wanted to laugh at how dramatic this whole 'event' was being made out to be. They're still gonna see each other. He'll just be holding Aaron in the halls and making sure Aaron doesn't dive of tables. Not that Aaron would do that. 

"Yeah," Cady said, Aaron gave a thumbs up.

Regina mumbled something and Gretchen just shook her head with a smile. "We're all good."

"Same here." Damian pulled Janis close to his chest as everyone met in the center of the empty classroom.

"It's Monday, seven am, before the official school day." Karen reminded them. "You will all be 'swapping'." She did air quotes. "The giants are in charge of making sure their new tiny gets to everywhere they need to be safely, whether that's around school or rides to and from school. Tinies need to make sure not to drive their temporary giant insane." 

Janis laughed nervously as Karen pointed to her. 

"This is mainly so Damian and Gretchen will stop arguing over who has more bullshit to deal with."

"Hey! Wait a second-" Regina made a noise of offense.

"Everyone will swap back, Friday at lunch." Karen continues. "Obviously if something bad happens, we can switch back, but let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Damian nodded. There have been plenty of times where Janis would get so worked up over something and only Damian could calm her down. It comes with being friends with her for so long. He knew Gretchen and Regina were the same.

But let's hope it doesn't come to that.

"Everything clear?" Karen asked. After receiving a chorus of 'yeahs' she grinned. "Then lets swap!"

Monday, 7:10 AM

Damian walked down the hall, Gretchen to his left and Cady and Karen on his right.

Aaron sat closest to Cady and talked with her, Regina, and Karen.

"So, Janis." He grinned to her girl on Gretchen's shoulder. 

The artist crossed her arms. "Sorry, I don't talk to traitors."

"Okay, Jan." Damian rolled his eyes at his best friend's antics. 

She blew a raspberry in retaliation.

She'll get over it in ten minutes.

The group made their way to period one. A class they all had together.

Gretchen sat in the front row with Cady behind her and Karen next to her, while Damian sat a couple of rows back. Typically Janis would be with him, probably trying not to fall asleep and it was easier to hide her from the teacher form the back of the classroom.

But not this time.

"Bye, you guys!" Damian said, waving to the group.

Aaron threw up a peace sign as everyone sat down. 

Damian watched as Janis let Gretchen place her on the table instead of slipping down herself. He smiled to himself knowing Janis was paying attention to what he said at least a little bit. 

Monday, 2 pm

"You sure?" Damian asked. 

"Yeah, I take the tiny bus all the time." Aaron said waving his hand. 

They stood at the tiny pick up zone.

"We both know Cady isn't the best driver. I just take the bus to and from school, it's no biggie."

Damian grinned. "Do I even want to tell Cady you said that?"

"Oh, she knows."

"Alright then. Get home safe Aaron."

Tuesday, 12 pm

"Lunchtime!" Regina cheered as Damian sat down, lowering Aaron to the table. 

"So," Karen grinned. "Everyone is here. Who's been dropped yet?"

"Almost." Janis wiggled her eyebrows.

"It was her fault!" Gretchen raised her hands in defense.

"I believe it." Damian teased. "Just be glad you only have her for a week."

"You love me." Janis huffed.

"I do." Damian agreed.

Aaron walked over, sitting next to Janis and Regina.

It was during lunch when things felt normal. Janis and Regina would bicker, everyone would ignore them until Regina threatened violence and shoving people off tables. Gretchen and Karen would carry the conversation for the most part, while Cady, Aaron, and Damian join in whenever.

"It sucks not to be able to just-" Janis made vague motions with her hands. "Take a nap whenever! I'm so fucking tired all the time."

Damian laughed. "Miss me?"

"Just your jacket."

Wednesday, 8:56 am

"Damian."

The boy looked up from his classwork. Aaron was sneakily texting on his phone. 

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna stay after today, do you think you could give me a ride home? I might not be done before the tiny bus, it's unclear."

"Of course." Damian nodded. "What are you staying after for?"

"English afterschool help."

Well, Damian knew what that meant.

Wednesday, 3:15

"They haven't had any of their secret rant meeting in months," Cady said, standing at the tiny pick up zone. "Do you know how crazy we must be driving them for them want to have English help again?"

Damian laughed. "Speak for yourself, I'm having a great time with Aaron. He doesn't jump off my shoulder while I'm walking."

"Janis is a nightmare," Gretchen said, sipping coffee at three pm.

"Damian tried telling you." Karen points out.

"I'm gonna be so grateful to get Regina back. She can yell at me for a month and I won't complain oh my god."

Damian laughed. Yeah, he was nervous with the idea of Gretchen carrying Janis around. It wasn't a big secret that Gretchen wasn't the best at not dropping tinies. Add that onto Janis's overall reckless behavior and somebody's gonna get hurt. 

Probably Janis.

"I will say though," Gretchen pauses to sip her coffee. "She isn't nearly as bad to me. Like yeah, Janis has no regard for her safety, but it's clear she doesn't trust me as she trusts you. For good reason, too."

Damian smiled softly. "For still seeing Janis all the time, I'm sure miss her a lot this week."

"I don't." Gretchen sighs. "You got the easy tiny, Damian."

"Yeah," Cady nods. "Regina is a nightmare. She's no Janis but I'm so used to Aaron that this is wild."

Karen laughs. "I have to deal with them whenever one of you is sick from school."

"A true wildcard." Cady grins.

"If this week is teaching me anything, its to respect Karen a hell lot more." Gretchen said.

Thursday, 12 pm

"I would like to take a moment to point out that Gretchen hasn't dropped me yet." Janis says from her perch on Damian's shoulder. The gang agreed lunchtime could be a free pass since the tinies typically sat with anyone regardless of whos giant was whos anyway. 

So naturally, Janis didn't hesitate to scale Damian's arm. 

Just when he was starting to get used to this whole, not having a reckless tiny thing.

"Thank you, Gretchen." He laughed.

"It's not easy." She grumbled.

"Trust me, he knows." Janis grinned, leaning into Damian's neck.

"I would like to say right here right now that Aaron no longer gets tiny support group rights. Cady's an angel." Regina said from her spot at the table, leaning against Karen's water bottle. 

"If we're playing that game, Damian isn't half bad when you aren't jumping off high points every thirty seconds," Aaron said from his vantage point in Cady's shoulder. 

"That's just because he's with you," Janis said shaking her head. "Damian would worry if I was in his pocket all day."

"It's true, I won't deny it," Damian said with a grin. 

"But I also think maybe Regina is more reckless than we thought. Because Gretchen drops her a lot more than she drops me." Janis said.

Thursday, 5 pm

"The final day is tomorrow." Damian said, Aaron's face filling his phone screen. 

"Yeah. This week wasn't bad, actually. For any of the tinies. I though Janis would go through it, but we all had fun."

Damian would never get over how tinies sounded on call or camera. Their voices were louder, more clear. And slightly lower. 

Aaron was no exception.

Wild. 

"It was nice to have a tiny who wasn't trying to jump off me at all times."

Aaron laughed. "I do try and prioritize health."

Damian smiled. "Seriously, thank you, for making this week easy. I have a hunch Janis wasn't on her best behavior, intentionally."

Aaron just laughed. "You know Janis. Did you ask Cady how Regina's been? When I asked Regina she told me to mind my own business."

Damian shook his head. "Cady had been oddly quiet about her experience. Gretchen and I won't shut up and she just sits there. I hope everything went okay for them."

Friday, 12 pm

Damian weaved his way through the halls, heading to the cafeteria with Aaron on his shoulder.

"You excited to be with Cady again?" He asked.

"You and Cady aren't too different, Damian," Aaron says. "This week wasn't a drastic change. I had fun."

"I did too." Damian smiled, entering the cafeteria. 

There was an excited buzz in the room-

-and a crowd around their lunch table.

"Oh, that's not good." Damian pushes passed people, mindful of the tiny friend on his shoulder. 

He reached the center of the crowd as gasped filled the cafeteria. 

Everyone fell silent.

well shit @realmisspolarbear @smallsoysauce @musicallygt @sourishlemons

[gavin-grey]

One-Sided Convos in Chicago

Wednesday Afternoon August 26, 2020 Chicago, Illinois  TW: Mentions death, blood Wordcount: 1645

TL;DR: Gavin goes to see his parents after more than 10 years for some advice on how to fix these relationship problems he has never encountered before. While his parents can’t give him advice, they do him a solid and send a little guardian angel his way.

“Hi, mom. Dad.” 

Gavin’s voice cracked as he stared down at the two headstones in front of him. It had been over ten years since he’d last seen their names etched into the grey stone. They seemed darker now, dingier, but unchanged other than that. Ten years hadn’t made them any easier to look at though. 

After three days in Chicago, he’d finally made it to the cemetery. The first day Gavin didn’t even make it out of his hotel. Day two he had walked by the entrance to the cemetery, trying to work up the courage to enter. Lucky day three had been the day he’d finally bought some flowers from a stand on the side of the road and entered. And now that he was there… 

Gavin had a death grip around the flower stems. A thorn digged into his thumb causing some blood to well and drop onto his shoe. Gavin glanced down, his mind was blank and not processing the small drop of red on his bright white shoes. He sucked on his thumb absent-mindedly while he tried to make sense of the words and emotions swirling around in his brain. Some time passed, he wasn’t sure how much, before he finally took the few necessary  steps forward to lay the flower next to his mother’s tombstone.

A few more seconds passed and Gavin sat criss-cross between his parents in the grass.

“I know it’s been a long time - since I’ve been to visit…” Gavin started, his voice already shaky. “Too long really...” And now he was here for completely selfish reasons. A selfish, impulsive reason. Then again, they were dead, so it wasn’t like they had been asking for him to visit. Still, he felt guilty for not having visited them. Who else was there to remember him except for Gavin and his aunt. He tried to push those feelings from his mind though, and took a deep, cleansing breath.

“It’s been a long time, I just - I miss you both so much.” Tears threatened to fall, but Gavin kept his feelings under control. “The first few years I was just trying to deal with what happened. School kept my busy. And- and- and- then college kept me busy. By the time I graduated and got a job, well…” He wasn’t sure why he was defending himself to his dead parents, but here he was. “Anyways… twenty-five was the year I decided I was going to try. With school and college I had always been alone, but I kept busy, so I could pretend things were moving forward. And I’ve got a great job now, but it doesn’t take up much of my time, and so I just - I knew I needed a change. And- and- and I did change. I started going to events. Meeting people. I’ve actually made a friend. A few actually. And they’re great,” Gavin said with a nod of his head. Gavin suddenly remembered how half of them were upset with him after his screw up on the double date though. And the reason behind his impromptu visit to his parents.

Now, small tears started to fall and Gavin wiped his eyes with the back of his arm. All he wanted was to ask his parents for advice. To talk out the problem with them. Heck, he wouldn’t likely even be in this position if his parents were still here. “God, it’s just not fair. All I want to do is to talk to you right now, and I can’t. This is a completely one sided conversation and I need you right now. I need your help. I’ve tried to be better and I’ve just screwed up everything. And I don’t know how to fix it. And sure, I could talk to Auntie, but she’s got her own things going on and I want to talk to you. You guys would know what to say. You always knew what to say. And now you can’t say anything and you can’t help me and it’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. You were my best friends and you’re just gone and I’m just supposed to figure out how to live in a world without you? It’s been ten years! If I haven’t figured it out yet then I’m not going to. I need you. I don’t know what to do without you. I don’t know how to fix anything without you.” 

Since he was rambling, he stopped himself and let himself have a good cry. A snotty, ugly cry that he hadn’t allowed to himself to have since they actually passed. This had been a terrible idea. It hadn’t brought him any insight like he hoped. The kind of moment you see in movies when the hero talks to their dead parent or at the sky so he can figure out what their motivation is. What their next step is. Gavin was more confused and upset than he was before he came to Chicago.

A hand was softly placed on his shoulder. Gavin looked up and was face to face with an old, wrinkly woman. Gavin jumped to his feet, apologies already flying off of his tongue. “I’m sorry. Was I being too loud? I can go. I didn’t mean to-” He sniffed and rubbed at his face with the edge of his shirt. 

The old woman shook her head, already trying to shut him up. “You just seemed like you could use some company, dear.” She led him to a nearby bench that was still in view of his parent’s resting place. “Your grandparents?” she asked him once they were sitting and he had calmed down a bit.

Gavin shook his head. “My parents.”

“How long have they been gone, dear?”

“Just over ten years now,” he replied in practically a whisper.

The other woman nodded in understanding. She pointed to a grave just a few spots over from his parents. There was a fresh bouquet laying in the grass. “My Gerald passed just three years ago. We were married for over fifty years.”

“That’s a long time…”

“It doesn’t seem so long now,” she admitted sadly, glancing over to Gavin.

They were quiet for a long moment before Gavin asked, “How do you do it? Figure out life without him, I mean. You were together for so long…”

She didn’t need him to finish the question. It was like she understood why he was there and what he wanted to know. “It’s not easy. He was my person, after all. But he’s with me every day. The little voice in the back of my head. The dollar bills he hid in different books because he thought it was a safe place to hide money. Things like that.”

“I feel like I don’t remember enough about my parents. They died, I moved to live with family, and it was just like my life with them was over.”

“Did your grandparents take you in?”

“My aunt… My dad’s parents died before I was born. My mom’s parents didn’t approve of the relationship. I’ve never met them,” he admitted with a frown.

The old woman gave Gavin’s knee a comforting pat. “Well, I know it’s cliche, sweetie, but the ones that love us never leave us. Your parents are watching over you. They’re the little voice in the back of your head.”

“But I messed up. I did what the little voice in the back of my head told me to do, and I screwed everything up.”

“Well, good parents have to let you mess up now and again. That’s how you learn.”

“Maybe… I just don’t know what I’m supposed to learn from this. What I’m supposed to do to fix things. And I can’t talk to them and the voice in the back of my head is silent.”

“Maybe that’s why they sent me,” she joked with a small chuckle. Even though he was still crying on and off, Gavin chuckled too. 

“Talking to you has helped,” Gavin replied politely. He still felt a little down, but he didn’t feel like breaking in half when he looked over at his parent’s graves. “Do you know anything about apologizing to people after you admitted to flipping a coin to decide who you were going to go on a double date with?”

The old lady chuckled, shaking her head softly. “That’s very specific, but I might know a thing or two about apologies. After fifty years of marriage, I’ve heard a lot of them.”

Gavin chuckled with a small nod at her joke. “He must have been very good at them…”

A beat passed and the old woman clapped her hands together. “You look like you could use something to eat, hunny. You’re wasting away in front of me. I’ve got some food at home I could bring you, dear.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose. Mrs…”

“Geraldine.” 

Gavin nodded not trying to make a face at the fact a woman named Geraldine was married to a man named Gerald. “I’m Gavin, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Geraldine. I’m fine really.”

“Nice to meet you too, Gavin. I’m serious. I can just walk home and grab some leftovers. It’s already all of it in Pyrex dishes!”

Before Gavin could say anything, the old woman pulled herself up off the bench and was walking towards the exit. Gavin let out an exasperated sigh, and ran to catch up with the older woman. “Let me walk you home,” he hummed offering her his arm.

“I knew you were a good egg when I saw you,” she remarked, giving his arm a small pat. “We can talk about those apologies you need to make, hun!” She said excitedly as they walked out of the cemetery.

[skeletonwoman]

Jay is for Jacket

Hi! 

So i recnelty posted J is for Jacket, and i really liked it but i felt that a lot of the nuance i was seeing as i was writing wasn’t being included. And i know it can be cheap to write the same story from two different perspectives but i just couldn’t not include the thought here, it was wriggling in my brain. so this might be a mini series and if it requires more Jason POV’s they’ll pair up in title like this

It’s him, Barbara, Cass and Steph. Not his usual group but sometimes a guy just needs some time with the girls.

Or that’s what he’ll tell Tim when he starts in on him about it. More than that, the girls are savages that definitely think exactly what he’s thinking.

They’ve all seen the texts, seen the smiles, seen the change. Dick had come right out and told them, he’s met a girl and shes his soulmate. It was a small kick in the chest for everyone, for different reasons, but none of them could deny the new wind of joy at the manor. Everyone was smiling more just Dicks radiant happiness.

He’d actually taken to avoiding the place.

And tonight, since it’s just him and the girls, they give in to the curiosity and take a wander over to her building. Light stalking aside, everyone is surprised when they see her just sitting there on the ledge.

He doesn’t think she’s there to hurt herself but Babs does, for a split second. He reads it in her stutter step.

Only one thing for it, he thinks. Just to reassure Babs, he promises. Just to see if they can see what Dick sees, he wishes.

 It’s a few days and he’s back.

He doesn’t have a clue why, he’s not in love with a strange girl who sits beside four idiots and somehow emits such a calming influence that the four of them are nearly drunk by the time they leave.

Barbara promised to look into that and her, without telling Tim, but he can’t wait.

So after blowing up some idiots, Jason lets Dick go when he says that she told him to tell Jason its bed time, and when it actually works, when Dick realizes they’re done for the night and he can go to class tomorrow, he grabs his face and kisses him.

Idiot.

She’s a terrible influence on him.

And there she’s sitting, staring into the bright lights and the bright night and she doesn’t react when he sits down and the wind picks up but he senses her calm at his presence. Maybe she likes him too.

The thought makes his mind whirl, both with embarrassment that he wants to steal Dicks girl and the desperate hope that she might like him too.

She shivers.

His jacket is halfway off before he’s realized he’s moved and then suddenly its draped over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” slides through the air to brush his ears and he smiles behind the mask.

“You’re welcome.” He’s unsure why she thanked him, he probably should wash the jacket.

She’s wearing his jacket.

Shit, Dicks girlfriend is wearing his jacket.

But he can’t just snatch it off her now, her arms are in it and she’s so close to the edge.

Leaping to his feet, he races off into the night. What is he going to do? He just left Dick and immediately went to flirt with his brothers girlfriend!

That wasn’t his intention, though, obviously, he just wanted to see her. Calm down.

He’s got class with her tomorrow, he never shuts up about how he can’t wait for Tuesday and Wednesday to hang out with her.

He gets it now.

No! Not the point.

He’s back at the manor before he knows it, mask off and hanging from his fingertips, knowing there’s no way he can patrol tonight and knowing he can’t go home to his dark, cold apartment. The manor always has room, and the lights are always lit and its always warm.

Hurriedly, he steps into the warmth of the foyer and exhales a long breath.

No place feels quite as much like home.

He didn’t spend much time here, in the before, but it probably has less to do with being familiar with the place and more to do with the memories of his brothers hidden in the spaces.

Damian creeps through a door and stares at him as he stands in the middle of the room like a weirdo.

“Evil Spawn,” he offers as a greeting and the kid scowls. “What’re you doing awake? What time is it?”

“Midnight,” he says with that eerie knowing voice. He shouldn’t be so young and have that voice. “You’re here very early.”

“Yeah, it really is early.” His eyes drop to his feet, still parked in the middle of the room.

“Where’s your jacket?”

He scowls at his feet before wiping the expression away and replacing it with a more defined scowl. “I fucking lost it.”

Damian scowls back at him. “What’re you going to do then? Where’d you lose it? How’d it even come off?”

“I don’t know! I think I fell off a roof, a low one obviously, and I guess it got stolen? I don’t know.” He moves toward the doorway Damian’s standing in, knowing what comes next.

“Kneel down here,” Damian gestures to the floor in front of him and pulls a torch from his back pocket. One small hand captures his cheek while the other points to the roof and moves left to right. Then comes the torch. It’s all so well-choreographed now, allowing an eleven year old to check him for a concussion. “You’re good.”

He grins up at his tiniest brother, who scowls and rolls his eyes.

Without warning him, he rises and ruffles his hand through Damians hair, drawing a vicious curse from the childs lips. “You gonna make me something to eat, favourite sibling?”

“No.” Damian immediately counters sullenly, but he heads toward the kitchen all the same. “I’m throwing the dog a birthday party, by the way. Gifts are expected.”

This is why the manor is home, this is what makes it warm and bright.

 He doesn’t get the text till late. 2pm late.

Dickson Grayne: Yo is your jacket missing I think ik where it is

Dickson Grayne: if urs is missing

He scowls at the phone, deciding not to respond. He doesn’t want to lie but she clearly wore the jacket in front of Dick without realizing they were connected. He’s gotta get it back, she can’t keep it, clearly.

He stares at the clock on his phone before he tosses it under his pillow and climbs into bed.

 “Can I have it back?” He blurts before he can think and she wrinkles her nose at him, clearly annoyed, though he catches her smile as she turns to collect it from across the room. She hugs it when she picks it up.

Honestly, it looks like she sniffs it.

Maybe she has no sense of smell because he suddenly really feels the need to wash it before he gives it back.

No! No giving it back. Damn.

“Here,” she says, holding it out with a sad face. “I’m sad to see it go, it’s amazing and I’m jealous you own it. Where’d you get it?”

Before he can control himself, a harsh no escapes his masked lips and she flashes a scowl at him before masking her expression.

“Thank you for lending it to me, I really appreciated it, and have a wonderful night, Red.” The words hit his back and he stops for half a second to absorb them before taking off. He can’t think of her or the nickname right now.

 Despite this, he thinks about her all night and when four am rolls around, he finds himself dropping his jacket onto her doorstep and taking off.

 The first pet shop he finds will be fine. He’d have gone to a supermarket but he knew the evil spawn would know and be able to tell the difference.

It’s Titus’s birthday, and Damian is demanding everyone be present with presents for the dog.

No one celebrated his birthday last year but the dog gets a full party? Sure.

The bell rings as he walks in, already heading where he can see the collars and leads. Is that what the dog needs? New leash?

The moment he thinks it a rejection follows. Ace, letting someone leash him? As if.

All the same, he takes his time looking over the options and colours. He has no idea what he’s looking for at the this point, as he moves to the dog toys. It’s a great dane? Do they need special toys? Does Titus need special toys cause he’s a “special” dog? Should he be getting him a bat shaped toy?

He moves to the cat toys. More likely to find something bat shaped there.

A tickle runs over the back of his neck and his eyes follow the feeling to see- her.

She’s here. Staring at him. Does she- know?

He never asked what Dick had told her, what she knows. Does she even know who he is? Has Dick ever even mentioned his zombie brother?

She starts toward him and his eyes flicker over her features- she doesn’t recognise him. She has no idea who he is.

A flush of pleasure fills his body as he notices her check him out.

Good.

No! Bad!

She stops next to him as he forces his eyes to the toys before him.

“Anything I can help you find today?”

She sounds so different. His jaw tightens slightly, irrationally, and he inhales an unsteady breath at the distance she places between them.

Christ, he sounds like such a stalker.

Lowering his voice to how he imitates batman, he says “dog toy.” Hesitates. “Great Dane.”

She beams at him, still distant, and gestures to a pink elephant. Her voice is pretty darn sweet when she explains. “Some customers have issues with the colour but this guy is really the best on the market right now for dogs like great danes. Its tough, light weight, machine washable and there’s a squeaker inside.”

He grabs it before she finishes speaking, absorbing every word she offers him.

Disgusting.

He can’t help himself from offering a thank you, despite the seething and roiling mass of self-loathing in his gut. No one deserves love as much as Grayson, no one.

His gaze trips down to the elephant in his hands and he smiles. Damian is going to hate this, and Titus is going to love it. By the time he looks back up, you’ve taken off and he’s following your beckoning wave just like the stupid dog he’s gotten the gift for.

A flurry of short actions finishes off the transaction and Jason clutches the bag handles in his fist.

“Thank you,” he says, keeping his voice as Batman as he can.

He turns in a rush, storming two steps toward the doorway before he feels his gut tug him hard, and spin him back around.

Without thinking about consequences, Dick, Barbara or the Red Hood, Jason nabs a pen and her wrist, scribbling down his mobile number and asking her to text him.

It’s only out on the street when the doubts and worries crash back in does he realize that he forgot to disguise his voice.

“F*ck.”

 Babby: Heads up, you know who is coming tonight

Jason stares at the text, his good mood melting away. Tonight was supposed to be his brothers, his siters, Alfred, the dog and Bruce. He was going to watch his brothers be happy, ignore Bruce and give Alfred a smile. Hell, he might have even let Dick hug him and rustled the Kids hair.

Now?

Ah, hell.

yea!!

Part two? yEAH!

[setaripendragon]

Trapped in the Amber - 1x06

Book 1 :: 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 This is the shortest chapter of this I’ve written to date. Meira just... didn’t have much to do, this episode, I guess. (It’s about... a quarter of the length of my longest chapter so far, so, there’s that. I may end up splitting that one in two, depending...) (This part is dedicated to @spideypoolalways; you’re awesome.)

Ankeny, Iowa – Tuesday 14th March 2006

The spot under the bridge where the kid died isn’t very informative. At least, Meira thinks, combing over the area for the third time and finding no tracks, they can probably rule out something corporeal. The only thing that’s even a little bit odd is the vandalised sign at the top of the turn off, which doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the attack.

Giving up, Meira ambles back up to the main road and drops down to sit on the kerb. She texts Dean to let him know the site is a bust, and then entertains herself texting Charlie about the validity of the more modern urban legends versus the reliability of ancient lore until the Impala pulls up. Meira feels kind of proud of herself for not resenting, too much, that she needs to be picked up at all. “So, where to next?” She asks as she throws herself into the back seat.

“We’re going to church.” Dean declares with a heavy sense of irony.

Meira makes a reluctant noise and slides down in her seat, staying there right up until they arrive. “Do I have to?” She whines.

Sam looks over the back of his seat, eyebrows all the way up to his hairline. Dean snorts and gives her an amused look in the rear view mirror. “No, you can always stay here and sulk like a whiny bitch if you really want.” He says magnanimously.

Meira grins despite herself, because that’s classic Dad. He means it, too, she thinks, which has always been the best part about her dad’s response to that sort of thing. He’d be quite happy to leave her in the car, if she’d rather, but they both know she wouldn’t rather, because she’d be bored out of her mind in the first five minutes. And it’s just nice, to see the shades of her dad in this younger version, instead of seeing all the places where he’s not, yet, what he will be.

“That sounds boring. Church it is.” Meira replies, and gets out of the car.

“You don’t like churches?” Sam asks, unfolding himself from the passenger seat and looking bewildered by the notion. Meira gives him a quizzical look, because when has she ever suggested that she does? “I thought you were religious.” Sam explains. “You quote the bible when you’re pissed, and you know exorcisms in a holy language.”

Meira tips her head to give him that one. “I have faith, I’m not really religious.” She corrects thoughtfully, considering the church. It’s not giving her any bad vibes, but then, it wouldn’t. She can’t feel when what is supposed to be a holy space has been violated anymore, so the church is just a building to her senses. A pretty building, admittedly, but still just a building, without either the glow of sanctity or the cloying of corruption.

“What’s the difference?” Sam asks as Dean joins them and they head for the door.

“Faith is in here,” Meira begins, tapping on her chest, “not out there,” she finishes, hushed, gesturing pointedly around at the building as they step into the church. Sam pulls a thoughtful, accepting face, and then winces when the forgotten door bangs shut behind them. They pick seats near the back, and Meira slumps down in hers out of habit, and just barely reigns in the urge to stick her boots up on the back of the pew in front. She knows Granddad wouldn’t care, but people can get pissy about it, and this is a job, so she can’t really afford to make people hostile for no good reason.

Meira can’t help but roll her eyes at the invitation to pray. God already gave humanity the power to protect their children, and peace is something they have to make for themselves. Sam tries to glare her into doing it anyway, but Meira just stares back, a little incredulous, and after a couple of seconds, he gives up with a roll of his own eyes.

After the service, they manage to talk to the only witness and her father, and given Sam and Dean’s proposed ruse of being students, Meira decides to flirt a little while asking Lori about what it’s like to live in a sorority, after Sam’s done subtly interrogating her. It makes Dean, who caught the tail end of the conversation, laugh all the way to the library, much to Sam’s irritation.

They find a suspect in the dusty arrest records, and a possible connection in the location that Dean wants to check out. “There’s nothing out there, though.” Meira points out. “I checked.”

“Maybe he only comes out a night.” Dean retorts.

“But he’d still need something to anchor himself.” Meira counters.

“He could be anchored to the place itself.” Sam suggests.

Meira stops to consider that. “If he were, that would make him more of a poltergeist than a spirit, with nothing to identify him as more than a mass of violent energy. We’d need a purification ritual. Which won’t do anything except free him from that location if there’s anything still holding him here, like his bones.” Meira muses. “So we should burn those first, and then purify the place.”

Dean makes a disgruntled noise, running a hand over his face. “We still don’t actually know that this guy is the ghost. We don’t even know if it is a ghost. Can we maybe go see if we can get an ID on this fucker before we go to all the effort of grave robbing, huh?” He asks impatiently.

Meira echoes his groan with one of her own. “You two have fun with that, then. I’ve spent enough time under that damned bridge, so I’ll dig into Karns, instead, see if there’s any other compelling connections.” She pulls a face at the thought of more proof. “Man, this is why I hate preachers. Like making a career out of bringing people pleasure is a greater sin than self-righteous murder.”

Sam snorts. “They’re not all like that.” He points out reasonably.

“Not all politicians are fucking liars, either, but no one complains when someone says ‘I hate politicians’.” Meira retorts grumpily. Then she sighs. “Maybe I’ll look into death records, too. See if there have been any other hook-man-like deaths. Maybe a pattern will help.”

“Alright.” Dean snorts. “We’ll pick you up once we’re done.”

Since the library is closing, Meira takes Sam’s laptop to an all-night café and goes through what records the town has online, and the ones the library let her borrow, which isn’t as much as she’d like, but it’s still enough to get lost in for hours.

Ankeny, Iowa – Wednesday 15th March 2006

By the time Meira looks up from her frustrating research, it’s after midnight, and Sam and Dean still haven’t shown up or called or anything. Ignoring the little trickle of anxiety that bleeds into her gut at the thought, she pulls out her phone and rings Dean, only to find out they’ve been arrested. Not for long, Dean somehow managed to talk them down to just keeping them overnight, but it’s a hassle. Meira resigns herself to a long walk, and goes to fetch the Impala.

“Did you hotwire my baby?” is the first thing out of Dean’s mouth when he sees Meira leaning against the Impala’s hood.

“No, I teleported.” Meira replies, giving him a look. “Yes, I hotwired her, what did you expect me to do without the keys?”

Dean is in the middle of ostentatiously checking the car over for so much as a scratch when a couple of police cars screech out of the station, sirens wailing. They all three of them share a look, and then get into the car and follow. “Guess that’s a no on being bound to the location?” Meira says as they drive past the sorority house.

“Yeah.” Dean agrees. “We should check out the crime scene.”

“I should check out the crime scene.” Meira corrects. “You two just got un-arrested, let’s not test your good luck, huh?” She challenges with a laugh. Dean makes a disgruntled face, but nods, so Meira hops out of the car and waltzes in through the front door when no one’s paying too much attention. The scent of ozone is detectable even out in the hall, where Meira spots a scratch dug deep into the wall and on into the door jamb that reminds her of the mutilated signs out on Nine Mile Road. And then there’s the message, and the symbol that she spent half the night staring at, on and off, through her research.

She heads back out to update Sam and Dean. “Well, that seems like enough of an ID to me.” Sam says, looking to Dean, who nods.

“Alright, well, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn his bones, and put him down.”

Meira sighs. “Jacob Karns was buried in an unmarked grave.” She tells them wearily. “I was going to go see if I could find it last night, but then you got arrested.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Sam asks, resigned.

“In a couple days, probably.” Meira capitulates with a grin. Sam gives her the bitch-face. “I also found, last night, a couple of other instances of ‘invisible killings’. 1932 and 1967. First one was a one-off, second one was a mass murder. Both were blamed on self-righteous religious douchebags who claimed that the murders had actually been committed by some invisible force.”

“So maybe the spirit isn’t haunting the place of its murders, but people who resonate with it somehow?” Sam suggests. “Poltergeists have been known to latch onto people instead of places.”

Meira whines. “Purification rituals on people are annoying.”

“It might still be a ghost.” Dean reassures her, and Meira clings to hope. “My guess is it’s haunting Lori this time around.” He adds.

Sam frowns at him. “Lori doesn’t exactly seem like the type to resonate with this guy.” He challenges, and then his expression turns thoughtful. “Her dad, though… He’s a Reverend, and he’s been preaching against immorality.” He glances over at Meira in amusement. “Is that enough to count as a ‘self-righteous religious douchebag’?” He wonders mockingly.

“Yes.” Meira confirms, crossing her arms defensively.

Sam snorts. “So maybe Reverend Sorenson wants to protect his daughter, and that’s why the ghost is going after the people around her.”

“In that case, you should keep an eye on her, in case this guy shows up again.” Dean instructs, and Sam nods.

“What about you two?” Sam asks, looking between them.

Dean tips his head back with a groan of reluctance. “We’re going to have to go and see if we can figure out which unmarked grave is Karns’s.” He explains unhappily. Meira thinks, ruefully, that this would be so much easier if she could use her grace to do the searching, but no, they’re going to have to go off guesswork.

“Worst comes to worst, we can just dig up the lot and torch them all?” Meira offers.

Dean looks at her in horror. “That’d take us all week! Grave digging ain’t easy!” Oh, yeah. Can’t use grace for that either. Meira slumps. “Christ, come on.” Dean sighs, and they all get back in the car. They drop Sam off a street away from Lori’s house, and then drive to the cemetery, pack a bag with everything they’ll need, and start searching.

“You know,” Dean begins suddenly, his tone nonchalant enough that it sets a warning bell ringing in Meira’s head, “it occurred to me that you haven’t really been brought up to speed on the whole ‘looking for our dad’ thing, even though you offered to help.” Meira blinks in surprise, which Dean catches, because he raises an eyebrow at her. “You haven’t even been asking questions.”

Because she already knows this story, but she can’t say that, so instead, she offers him a wry smile and says; “I was returning the favour.”

Dean snorts. “You return the favour on the background check, too?” He asks dryly.

Meira figures that’s as good an excuse as any for knowing the bare basics. “I read about what happened to your mom. I’m sorry.” She says quietly. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have a parent die on you, but she’s starting to become familiar with loss, and it sucks.

Dean nods, but otherwise ignores her sympathy. “Dad’s been hunting the thing that did it ever since.” He explains, using the excuse of looking for the grave to avoid looking at her. “He dropped off the grid a couple weeks before we ran into you. Right before the same thing that killed our mom up and killed Sam’s girlfriend the same damn way.”

Meira winces. “Ouch.” She thinks back, to when Sam lost his temper with the demon for taunting him about Jessica. “It was a demon that did it, wasn’t it?” She asks, as if she doesn’t already know exactly which demon it was. At Dean’s surprised look, she raises her eyebrows. “The plane crash demon said it knew what happened to her. Demons don’t really mess about talking to ‘lesser evils’, as far as I know, so…” She shrugs.

“Yeah, probably.” Dean grits out. “Anyway. I figured you should know what we’re doing.”

Meira nods, and they walk on in silence for a while. She thinks about just letting it lie, but she kind of feels bad that Dean is offering her this explanation she doesn’t actually need, because they’re really not the sketchy ones that just popped into her life and attached themselves to her for no real explanation. No, that’s her, and she doesn’t want to have to be secretive and evasive with them. “I don’t actually know what happened to my family.” She says finally.

Dean startles, and then raises his eyebrows at her. Meira looks away, shoulders hunched, and focuses on the graves. “My family pissed off loads of people.” She begins.

“Took on the devil, huh?” Dean asks.

Meira glances at him sharply, and then smiles bitterly at the sceptical look on his face. “Yeah. Dunno if you could say they won, exactly, but… they survived, which is pretty kick-ass all on its own if you ask me.” She points out, and Dean tips his head in acknowledgement. “Well, I got… accosted on my way home. Didn’t see what it was, but something made me crash, and…” Meira hesitates, trying to work out how to phrase it to make it sound plausible without adding in time-travel. “I don’t know why they didn’t kill me, but I figured I wasn’t safe, so I tried to get home.” She swallows hard.

“What’d you find?” Dean asks solemnly.

“No one was there. They were just… gone. Then-” Well, time to make some shit up wholesale to explain her inexplicable knowledge. “Then Pabbi called. Told me to run, to get away. That something had got to them all, and that he was going to hide and I should do the same, and-” Meira stops talking for a moment, and breathes, not even wanting to imagine a world where what she’s implying were true. “You have no idea how much the idea of something that could take on my dads and win scares the shit out of me. So I ran.” She explains, and then shrugs. “And that’s when you found me.”

“Huh.” Dean grunts, nodding slowly. Then he side-eyes her. “You don’t want to find the son of a bitch that did it? Get revenge?”

“Want to? Sure.” Meira laughs bitterly. “I want to find the little shit-stain and rip its spine out of its ass. Think I can?” She snorts derisively. “Not a chance in hell.” Not as she is now, anyway. She swallows again. “Pabbi wanted me to survive, so that’s what I’m going to do. This bitch wants my whole family dead? Well, good fucking luck to it, because I’m going to live forever just to spite it.”

That makes Dean grin a little, like maybe he’s proud of her for that sentiment, and it makes Meira’s eyes sting with tears for no good god damned reason. “Well, that’s a sentiment I can get behind.” He agrees, and then lets the subject drop. “You ever do the college thing?” He wonders instead.

Meira smiles. “Yeah. Got a Bachelors in Anthropology.” Dean looks reluctantly impressed, and a little bitter. Meira remembers what the shapeshifter had said about some of the things he’s been thinking. She knows it was putting a negative twist on things, but the things it had said about the inside of her head had been true, too. “Also got in a fistfight with one of my professors, once.” She adds, which has the desired effect of making Dean laugh out loud.

“What about?” He asks, delighted. Meira cheerfully recounts the story for him, and then Dean tells her a story of his own from his high school days, but stops mid-word as his focus shifts to something one row of headstones over. “There we go.” He says, and deviates from their methodical search pattern. Meira follows him, and sees the gravestone with the symbol from Karns’s hook on it.

“Helpful.” Meira says blandly, and Dean snorts. He drops the bag off his shoulder and pulls out two shovels. With a sigh, Meira takes one, and they get to work in the gathering dusk. By the time they reach the coffin, Meira’s back is sore, and her hands are stiff and aching. She’s used her grace to ease the worst of it, but she doesn’t want to look like it’s not affecting her at all, so she suffers through some of it.

“Next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house.” Dean complains, taking a moment to lean against the side of the hole and stretch his aching arms.

“I’ll fight you for it.” Meira agrees wistfully.

Dean snorts. “No way. You had your turn.” Meira blinks. “You got to go on a dinner date while me and Sam dug up a ghost’s bike and nearly drowned.” Dean reminds her, and Meira nods because, yeah, okay, she definitely got off easy on that one.

“Fair enough.” She agrees, and then they go back to breaking open the coffin. They pour in the salt and the gasoline, then Dean drops the match. It’s remarkably satisfying to watch the bones burn after that much hard work to get to them.

Ankeny, Iowa – Thursday 16th March 2006

They meet up with Sam at the hospital the next morning. They’d been on their way to pick him up when he’d rung to tell them not to bother, because he was going to the hospital with Lori. Once he’d been assured that Sam was okay, Dean drove them back to the frat house where he and Sam had mooched beds. It had been kind of awkward, knowing what all the frat boys had been assuming she was there for, but it did at least get the ‘room mate’ out of the room, and let Meira get some sleep in an actual bed, instead of in the Impala’s back seat like last night.

Meira waits in the car while Dean heads in to fetch Sam, and she’s surprised to see the grim looks on their faces when they come out. “What’s wrong?” She asks as they climb into the car. This time, Sam’s in the back seat, since Meira’s already occupying the passenger seat.

“Hook Man’s not gone.” Dean summarises. “Cause he’s using the hook as an anchor.”

“Great.” Meira sighs.

“And Dean was right. It’s latched onto Lori, not the Reverend.” Sam adds with a grimace.

He explains his reasoning again, and Meira pulls a face. “This is why I hate religion. Fucking semantics.” She grouses. Sam makes a confused noise. “People heard ‘your choices will have consequences’ as ‘if you do something wrong, you get punished’, when it’s not. If you drop a glass and it shatters, you don’t say you’re being punished for dropping it. It’s just cause and effect.”

Sam huffs. “What about Hell, then?”

“Metaphysical cause and effect.” Meira replies. “God doesn’t send people to Hell for being bad, we send ourselves there.” When she glances over her shoulder, she sees Sam looking thoughtful. She bites back the rest of the explanation, because she’s not sure she could give it in a way that makes it sound like it’s just what she believes rather than what she knows to be true.

They pull up outside the library, and get back to work researching what the hell happened to Jacob Karns’s hook. It takes them half the damned day to find out that the blasted thing was donated to the church and then melted down, no record of what. They go grab an early dinner and wait until it’s dark to go raid, purify, and burn the church’s entire collection of silver. Meira’s practically bouncing in her seat on the drive over.

“Dibs on the church!” She crows as they pull to a stop behind the church.

Sam snorts. “I’ll take the house, then.” He says, and looks over at Dean. “You go with her, make sure she doesn’t vandalise anything else.” Dean laughs his agreement, and they split up. They raid the church, make a fire in the furnace in the basement, toss a load of salt on it, and Meira adds a blessing over the flames as well, just in case. After all, being melted down hadn’t worked the first time around.

Sam brings the stuff from the house, and then they’re interrupted by footsteps above their heads. It turns out they belong to Lori, and after a beat, Sam goes to talk to her. “Not going to steal her out from under him?” Dean asks Meira as they head back downstairs to mind the fire.

Meira makes an exaggeratedly mournful face. “I’m pretty sure she’s straight. Possibly also mildly homophobic. She was giving me that sort of look when I flirted with her before. Religion.” She spits, and Dean just laughs at her.

It’s barely been a couple of minutes before they hear yelling and banging upstairs. They share a look, and then they bolt back up the stairs, following a trail of destruction through the church to find Sam and Lori being accosted by Karns. Meira takes the necklace when Sam tosses it to her, and leaves Dean to stand guard over his brother while she burns the necklace. Once it’s melted, she jogs back upstairs yet again, and checks in with the others. “Did that finally get him?” She asks.

“Yeah, definitely.” Dean confirms, and Meira slumps against the wall in relief.

Ankeny, Iowa – Friday 17th March 2006

Meira goes to find Lori after the police are done with them and have moved on to interrogating Dean and Sam. She sits down beside her on the edge of the grass, and ignores the faintly nervous looks Lori keeps shooting her. “I hope you know this wasn’t your fault.” Meira tells her without looking at her.

Lori sucks in a sharp breath. “How did you…?”

Meira glances over with a wry smile. “You had the ghost’s anchor. The only reason it would have gone after you was if you felt you deserved to be punished for some reason.” She explains gently.

Lori frowns at her. “Then it is my fault.” She says, and at Meira’s prompting look, explains. “It was my feelings that made that thing kill Rich and Taylor. That made it go after my dad. If I hadn’t- hadn’t judged them like that-”

“Like you’re judging yourself?” Meira asks, and Lori looks away sharply and nods once. “Lori… Did you kill them?” She asks pointedly. Lori frowns and opens her mouth, but doesn’t quite manage words. “Did you pick up a weapon and decide to kill them?”

“…No.” Lori says slowly. “But-”

“Did you, with full awareness and malice aforethought, ask or instruct the ghost of Jacob Karns to kill them?” Meira asks.

Lori sighs. “No.” She confirms.

“Then this isn’t your burden to bear.” Meira insists. “No one can control how they feel, Lori, and no one should be judged for the things they think. It’s what you choose to do with those things that matter.” Lori bites her lip, looking like she’s a second away from crying. “Personally, I think it’s fair of you to judge the hell out of a guy who won’t take no for an answer, or a girl who tries to peer-pressure you into things you’re not sure you want to do, or someone who has an affair with a married person. Do I think they deserved to die for those sins? No, probably not. But then, neither did you. That’s on Jacob Karns.”

Lori takes a deep breath, and nods her acceptance. “So… so it really was a ghost?” She asks quietly.

“Yeah. That charm you wore was part of his prosthetic in life, so his spirit clung to it after he died. Whether that was because of unfinished business, or because he was just afraid to move on? Who knows.” Meira shrugs fatalistically.

“Ghosts are real.” Lori says, as though saying it out loud might help her accept it.

“Of course they are.” Meira says, amused. “If you believe in souls, you kind of have to believe in ghosts.” Lori nods slowly, still lost in thought or possibly dazed by the revelation. “So, hey. Can I have your number?” Meira asks into the silence. Lori startles, and then gives her a wary, side-ways look. Meira snorts. “That wasn’t a come on, I promise.” She says, before Lori can try to find a polite way of saying ‘ew, no’. “It’s just for emergencies, I promise. In case you run into anything like this again, you can call for help.”

“Oh.” Lori says. “Okay.” She gets out her phone, and they exchange numbers. “I’m sorry.” Lori blurts out suddenly, looking pained. “I just learned this lesson about judging people.” She huffs, frustrated with herself.

Meira laughs. “It’s not an easy mindset to get out of.” She acknowledges. “For the record, unlike the rest of your judgement, I don’t actually think it’s fair to judge consenting adults for what they do with their own bodies, or for who they love.” Lori cringes a little, grimacing in acknowledgement. Meira’s heart goes out to her, struggling so hard to be good and not knowing how. “But I forgive you.” She adds, serious, but with a touch of humour. The humour fades as she adds. “And God does, too.”

Lori smiles wryly. “I hope so.”

“I know so.” Meira retorts, which earns her a grin.