#this fucking gap year is annoying as hell with my mom breathing down my fucking neck

[burguesinha24]

opened my math book and did one whole problem before going back to doomscrolling on this godforsaken website

[avintagekiss24]

one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber

→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader

→ word count: 7074

→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)

→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics​, gif by @evansensations​

There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.

“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”

“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”

“Well, you could try a little harder.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”

Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”

Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”

You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”

There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”

Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”

“Why would I get mad?”

“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”

“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”

“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”

You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.

Just wonderful.

She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”

“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”

He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”

He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”

“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”

“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”

“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”

“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”

You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.

Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.

“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”

Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”

You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”

Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.

Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.

One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.

Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.

You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.

There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.

A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.

“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.

“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.

His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”

“Smells good in here.”

Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”

Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.

He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”

He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”

You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”

He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”

He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced—  oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.

A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.

There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.

You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.

Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.

“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.

“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”

Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.

There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.

Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.

“You like watching me, huh?”

Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.

He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.

Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.

A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.

“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.

A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.

“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”

A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.

“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”

You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”

Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.

He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”

His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.

Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”

You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.

Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.

Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”

You shudder at the thought.

He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”

You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.

“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”

He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.

Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.

You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.

Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.

“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”

He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.

“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.

Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.

His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”

Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.

“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.

Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”

A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.

He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.

His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.

“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”

The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.

“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”

You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”

He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.

“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”

And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.

It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.

You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.

Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.

A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.

You 1:15am

You up?

Andy B. 1:17am

What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?

An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.

You 1:17am

I can’t sleep…

Andy B. 1:18am

Want me to help with that?

You won’t be getting much sleep tho…

You 1:18am

That’s what I’m hoping…

Andy B. 1:19am

LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open

You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.

Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.

The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.

You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.

The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”

You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.

“Well, come on. Come touch me.”

It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.

“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”

You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.

He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.

“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”

Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.

You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.

Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.

“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”

Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”

A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.

Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.

“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”

Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.

“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”

Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.

Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.

Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.

“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”

Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.

“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”

He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.

A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.

Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.

Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.

You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.

There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.

Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.

“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”

“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.

You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.

There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.

Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”

“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”

A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”

Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.

“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.

His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 3:

“Okay, so that’s about it.” You smile brightly, pressing a band-aid into the  boy’s skin. “Thanks for being so brave for me!”

“Mhm. I’m the bravest!”

The child before you beams, all teeth gaps and kicking legs as he bounces in his seat. You’d just given him a few routine vaccinations, and true to your praise, he had been very brave about it. All he’d done was sit there, holding his breath until his face went red, and trying not to grimace. It reminded you of someone else you’d recently treated- someone else who was currently blazoned in all his snarling glory on the little boy’s shirt.

“Oh, I’m sure! Just like Dynamite!” You agree enthusiastically, gesturing to his clothes. You turn your head, catching his mother’s eye from where she sits next to him. “Isn’t that right, mom?”

“Oh, not if I can help it.” She smiles something a little exhausted, but ultimately fond as her son starts making explosion noises. “Not if I can help it.”

If you’re being completely honest, you sort of agree with her. Just a little bit- actually, on second thought a lot.

“If that’s everything and you have no other concerns for me, then we’re about done here.” You say gently. “Do you know where you’re going? I can point you toward reception again if you need it.”

“No, we’re alright, thank you!” 

You nod, holding the door open for them as they leave. 

When the door closes, and you’re swept back up into silence, you can’t help but think of that interaction as just more proof- more proof that no matter where you were, no matter what you were doing, you absolutely could not escape Bakugou.

When you weren’t actively thinking about him, then you were seeing his face everywhere. He was on television, and he was on the cover of newspapers, and as evidenced, he was printed in perfect grumbling, snarling accuracy on children’s t-shirts. It didn’t help either that every day brought another civilian who was saved by him, and every night brought another small-time criminal who was beat to hell by his fists. You swore he was responsible for a solid 70% of all of your hospital’s traffic- it was pure insanity when you really started paying attention. 

You quickly come to realize that Bakugou is a plague; and a horrifyingly effective one at that. You’re not sure how you never noticed it before. 

Still, you can’t help but find yourself worrying a little bit. When you think of him, all you can see is his face covered in blood, the pallid hue of his skin under the hospital’s sterile lighting, and the deep-set bags under his eyes. You remember the way he practically fell asleep, laid out and injured on a hospital table. The way he was drifting while you were digging a needle and thread through his skin. 

Thinking back on it always makes you a bit sick. No one who wasn’t absolutely exhausted would ever fall asleep in a hospital- especially not in the middle of being sewn up. When you match that to the anger and terror you’d felt, that very first night you’d ever met him, it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. You come to realize that even if Bakugou was an asshole to you, you still wouldn’t wish that kind of mental torture on anybody. 

Your rest of your week goes by quickly after that, and by the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve gathered quite a few bones to pick with him. It seemed the amount of criminals you were patching up was only increasing, and their injuries were only getting worse too. Each passing day only brings more lowly criminals and thieves flooding into your hospital, all covered in the same scorch marks, broken bones, and dark bruising. It was overkill, plain and simple, and you knew exactly who the culprit was. 

You began to think that, even if it was Bakugou’s job, he really shouldn’t have been digging graves for people who were just stealing purses. There was a massive difference between a super villain and a petty thief, but he didn’t seem to understand that. Dynamite punished everybody just the same. You saw that first hand.

Still, you try to shake off those lingering frustrations. You were on your way to take out his stitches, and you didn’t want to accidently bring them up. Bakugou only mildly tolerated you the last time around, but you were sure that generosity would cease the moment you criticized anything about him. True to his quirk, Bakugou had proven himself to be a teetering powder keg- just a little bit of friction, and he’d explode on the spot.

“On your way to help his majesty?” Your superior remarks, smiling sardonically as you pass her. “Good luck, I’ll be praying for you! Try your best to come back with your head still intact, yeah?” 

You nod, smiling uneasily, but your stomach turns a little bit. 

That had been another reoccurring theme that week- jokes about how your impending doom was imminent. Apparently, Bakugou had been making a name for himself for years now- a name that was a lot less loved by your hospital then it was the rest of the outside world. You’d been hearing horror stories for days now; tale after twisted tale of nurses and doctors getting chewed up and spit out by his bad temper. It always read as a little strange to you though; in every story you’d heard, he was either hardly injured or on his death bed- no in-between whatsoever. You figure that it didn’t really matter though, the result was always the same. Relentless, explosive anger. 

Which you sort of begun to think you were in for, when you opened the door to his scowling face.

“Hey!” You greet unsurely, trying to walk into the room with a confidence you didn’t really feel. Moving past him, you rinse your hands, drying them and then slipping on a pair of latex gloves. You then pull the medical cart over to him, taking out the blood pressure cuff. Just like his last visit. “You ready to get those stitches removed?”

“Yeah. Obviously. Why the fuck else would I waste my time here? Witch.”

Yep. There it is- just what the other nurses and staff were warning you about. His attitude.

“Oh. Okay, so I see we are still using that nickname. Great.” You mutter wrapping the cuff around his arm. You fall back, crossing your arms as you wait to jot down his vitals. There’s angry tension rolling off of him, and you smile uneasily, trying to discharge it with a subject change. “On an entirely different note, though, I did want to congratulate you.”

Bakugou just scoffs, turning up his nose. A beat passes and then he folds, minutely nodding at you to continue.

“You’re not covered in any blood this time! Congrats!” You say breezily, unwrapping the cuff from around his arm. “Guess the third time really is the charm for us, huh?”

Bakugou just looks away, hardly even acknowledging you as he rolls his eyes. You think you see his lip twitch though- just a bit, and it only lasts half a second, but you count it as a success.

“So, any worries about the stitches? You been cleaning them as instructed?” You ask, gently taking his forearm in your hands. You remove the bandages and gauze with feather-light touches. “Wow, you must’ve been. They look pretty good to me.”

When you look up at him, he’s got that same prideful smirk you’d seen before; it doesn’t distract you from his condition though. His skin somehow looks paler than before, skin purple and darkened under his eyes. You see the cut on his head, still hardly healed and scabbed over. He’s overworking himself, but you didn’t need to have any medical background to see that.

“Obviously they look good. You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” He says.

“No, but I really did think you would’ve exacerbated them by now. Especially with all the hero work you’ve been doing. Which, believe me, I know is a lot.”

“What- you stalking me now or somethin’?”

“Not exactly. Me or somebody else here always end up treating all those people you save.” You tell him, setting his arm down on the empty surface of the medical cart. You try to keep your voice light, keep it entirely void of anything accusatory, but you can’t help your next words. “And every person you beat into the ground.”

Bakugou’s eye twitches when you look at him. He breathes deep, eyebrows creasing.

“Oi- somethin’ you wanna fuckin’ say to me?” He utters, eyes glinting like blistering wildfire. He leans forward, flipping his palm up towards you as it begins to crackle. “Better choose your next words real fuckin’ carefully.”

It’s his tone that catches you off-guard.

You knew it was a stupid move, your comment, but the pure poison in his response surprises you anyway. His voice is dark and angry, smoldering like a low heat as he stares you down. The words are vicious thing, a gripping threat that drips from his mouth, seeming to bite back around his teeth as he speaks it. It makes you shrink. You think that it would probably make even the strongest people shrink.

“No. It’s- I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” You apologize professionally, pasting on your best appeasing smile even as you fight off the anxiety. There’s nothing left to do but try to defuse the situation- so you turn away from him, busying yourself with grabbing a discard tray and your stitching kit. “It’s really wasn’t my business. Shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.”

Bakugou just huffs at that, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He somehow looks even more annoyed than before and you don’t know what he wants from you. Doesn’t he know how intimidating he is? Why does he even bother acting surprised when people fold for him? Especially if he chooses to address them like that?

You wish you were the sort of person who could stand up to him- the sort of person who could put him in his place. After all, there was no room for arrogance in a hospital, and you’d always thought egotism to be a selfish waste of valuable time. But, even so, you just couldn’t be that person this time. There was a lot you could power though, but you’d never seen hot-and-cold anger like his before. He wasn’t like any of your other difficult patients- none of their threats ever sounded like promises. 

There’s tense silence as you start removing the stitches, only the sound of your scissors and Bakugou’s own breaths. You try to keep your hands steady, try to keep focused, but you’re finding it hard to keep still under his intense gaze. You feel he’s looking right through you again, waiting for any excuse to blow up again.

You’re almost done removing them entirely when he huffs, rolling his eyes as he shifts uncomfortably.

“You’re so fucking sensitive, you know. It’s pathetic.”

You stiffen.

There’s a lot you’re willing to put up with- being underappreciated and overworked was pretty much your entire job after all- but Bakugou was really wearing on you. He wasn’t the first patient to insult you, and his comment was far from the worst thing you’d ever been told; but it’s something in the way he spits the insult. Sly and challenging like he knows something you don’t. It makes you look up at him, and all you see are his sharp canines. His smirk and the way he looks down on you.

He’s picking a fight, but there’s no threat. He’s testing you.

It makes your blood boil.

“If you don’t like me, and the way I do my work,” You bite out, staring right back and speaking through own clenched teeth. “Then you shouldn’t have asked for me. No one made you come back.”

“I told you, witch. No cutting corners. You put the fuckers in my arm, you take them the fuck out.”

“Why are you fighting with me?” You ask, swallowing as you try not to shy away from his glare. “I told you last time, if this works better for you silent, then just say that.”

He flares his nostrils at that, setting his jaw. When he goes silent, you go back to snipping away his stitches. At this point, you just wanted to finish as quickly as possible.

“Silent is fuckin’ boring.” He grits, flexing his fingers. It makes the skin on his forearm shift, throwing off your work. When you look at him in frustration, you can see he did it on purpose. “It’s wimp shit.”

“Pardon?”

“I said-” He leans in close, voice low and venomous. It feels like he’s trying to paralyze you with his stare alone, sitting up straight until he’s glaring down at you. “Silence is boring. You’re fucking boring.”

You’d had a long day- you’d had a very long day and he was being extremely rude and your patience was wearing thin hours ago. That’s why you let him break your careful composure- at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Oh yeah, I’m boring?” You ask in frustration, entire face warming in fury. “I’m boring? Really! At least I don’t spend my entire day blowing things up and beating people half to death!”

Bakugou blinks. He blinks, sucks a breath, and then you watch his smirk crawl slow and sure across the entirety of his face. He got you. He got you to break, and he won, and he knows it.

He knows it and he settles back on his good hand, leaning away to get a better look at your flustered face. He cocks his head to the side, studying and analytical for a moment. He nods.

“There. We’re fuckin’ even.”

“Excuse me?”

“Even. You shouldn’t have fuckin’ pried around in my head and not expected me to pry in yours.”

“That’s what this is about?” You sigh incredulously, putting your scissors down on the medical cart. “Really? You’re still on that- how- how does this even tell you what’s in my head? You’re just insulting me. It doesn’t!”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you so fuckin’ pissed right now? Hah?” He squints his eyes, voice smooth and dripping with arrogance. “It’s cause I’m right. You’re so fuckin’ boring when you play nice all the time.”

“Play nice? What the hell are you even on about? You don’t know me.”

“I know that you piss me the hell off bein’ fake. If I fuckin’ irritate you then say so. Don’t put on your fuckin’ kid gloves and try and be professional. It’s weak.”

“No. It’s how I keep my job. Which you know, you wouldn’t understand, because you literally pick fights for a living!” You huff, pushing the medical cart off to the side and stepping back from him. “Actually- you know what, no. I’m done with this. This conversation. Your stitches are out, and you can leave since you obviously can’t stand me and would rather be anywhere but here.”

You watch him flare his nostrils again, a snarl ripping from his mouth. He slams his closed fist down on the hospital bed, eyes like blazing conflagration. Bakugou looks pissed, but more than anything he looks vulnerable. Worn raw.

“I can’t.” He grits.

“Yes! You actually can! Just walk out! Literally just walk out an-’

“God, you’re so fucking dense! I can’t leave without figuring out how the fuck you do it!”

“Do what?” You nearly scream, your owns hands beginning to clench into fists.

“I need to know.” He repeats again, hopping off the hospital bed.

His feet hit the ground, steps like rolling thunder as he nears, broad shoulders and muscular arms casting an intimidating shadow. Bakugou looks like an angry bull storming toward you. Like he’ll obliterate you given even half the chance.

“Take your fucking gloves off.”

You’re scared now, eyes darting over to the door. You knew nobody was doing rounds in the luxury wing right now, and sound didn’t pass through walls that were made to ensure silence. Heart racing in your chest, you size him up, try to think of a way to escape but he’s so close to you and he’s built like a linebacker and-

“Jesus christ. Not like that. Fuckin’ idiot.” He growls, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He stops a few feet in front of you, sneering. “You’re not my fuckin’ type, so don’t flatter yourself. Now, grow the fuck up and take them off before I do it for you.”  

You’re not sure what makes you listen, maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s something else, but either way you listen. You pull a glove off, just barely dropping it on the counter before Bakugou speaks again.

“I’m gonna touch your hand- but do not use your quirk. Don’t even think about using it. Just fucking stand there. And don’t freak the fuck out and put up a fight about it. You’re just gonna waste time.”

You nod, hand shaking as you extend it. Bakugou seems to roll his eyes at that, but he surges forward anyways, fingers meeting yours. 

You feel it almost immediately. Your heart speeds up, but just slightly, beginning beat against your chest where it had just barely been grazing it before. You breathe deep, close you eyes, focus in on the buzzing of your skin- the way your bones sing of subtle fire. It’s barely there but it feels like warmth. Reminds you of that night, with Bakugou, when you were burning alive. Reminds you of how your bones felt too large and your skin felt too small and there somehow wasn’t enough room in the entire world to hold the weight of your rage.

“You ambient fucking bitch.” Bakugou swears under his breath. When you look at him, he’s fluttering his own eyes open, dropping your hand like it burned him.

Then he steps back and you’re gasping for air. It’s not entirely back again- but it’s reminiscent. There’s an inkling of that bone-deep exhaustion. That weariness that so often stole the air from you lungs and the ground beneath your feet. 

“Your quirk. It’s ambient. Through your skin.”

You shrink back even more, blinking owlishly up at him. 

“What? You didn’t fucking know? Jesus, how clueless are you?”

“It’s-I-” You drop your head, running a hand through your hair. “I never- I always wear gloves. Always. And long sleeves. Since I was little. Never wanted to take the chance- how did you even know.” 

Bakugou seems to turn his nose up at your question. He steps back, further and farther until his back hits the hospital bed. There’s distance but somehow he keeps the air just as charged, averting his eyes when he speaks next.

“Went to sleep. A week ago. When I saw you-”

“What? Bakugou that doesn’t- you’re not-”

“If you’d let me fuckin’ finish,” He glares down at you again, trying to beat you into submission with eye-contact alone. It works and you fall silent, holding your breath as he resumes. “You put me to sleep. Then and three months ago. I haven’t slept peacefully like that in fuckin’ years. So obviously you used your quirk on me. It’s easy. A fuckin’ moron could’ve figured it out.”

“No- but I didn’t touch you! Well, the first time, yeah, I did, but not a week ago. I was wearing gloves and I-”

“When I told you to do the splint over, the sleeve of your coat rode up.” He grits out, cheeks slightly flushing as he averts his eyes. “Then I almost fell asleep. Not like the first time, but still. Asleep. So obviously it’s your fuckin’ skin.” 

Suddenly, the ground is ripped out from under you.

Your entire life you’d always been tired. Day in and day out, constantly dragging your feet like you could never get enough sleep. Like there wasn’t enough hours in the day for you to live and be rested. 

Was it your quirk this entire time? Were you somehow ambiently draining people of their pain- even if you just accidentally brushed their skin with yours? 

You don’t know how you never realized it. How you never put two and two together. 

You’d spent your entire life purposefully using your quirk to help people-  had then sacrificed days and weeks of your life afterwards tucked away in bed and sleeping off the exhaustion. When you used your power on purpose, depending on the severity of someone’s pain, it would debilitate you. But you still did it- over and over and over again because you wanted to help people. Because you knew you could and that became the only reason you needed. 

You’d always just assumed your constant exhaustion to be aftershocks of how often you used your quirk- you never even considered the possibility that it was something you were doing unintentionally. That you were draining yourself with every hug and handshake and high-five that should’ve made you feel better.

You’d always sort of disliked being touched. Somehow always walked away with your skin prickling uncomfortably for as long as you could remember. You just never knew why until now. 

“Oi- I thought I told you not to freak the fuck out.”

“It’s- how the hell am I not supposed to freak out about this?” You gasp, hands braced behind you on the counter. “I didn’t know! My entire life! And you met me like, what, twice and you figured it out and- Are you falling asleep right now?”

In your spiral Bakugou had somehow ended back up on the hospital bed. He was still sat up, but his shoulders were completely slumped over and his eyes were half-lidded. He looked completely drained of all previous anger, swaying slightly as he blinked himself back to perfect alertness.

“Yeah. Probably.” He grumbles. “It’s your fuckin’ fault.”

“You barely touched me! How the hell is-”

“Don’t ask me, you fuckin’ leech.” He yawns, hand closed into a fist as he rubs at his eyes. “You’re the one with the stupid goddamn quirk. Not me.”

“That’s- sorry. I didn’t know. Holy shit,” You curl arms around your stomach, eyes widening. “Have I been doing this shit to everyone? My entire life?”

Bakugou groans. Audibly. Loudly.

“You’re the stupidest goddamn idiot on the face of the planet. Swear to fuck, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“You’re not helping!” You exclaim. “It was rhetorical question! Excuse me for freaking out right now- I’m sure you’d freak out too if you suddenly found out you were osmosis-ing people’s emotions your entire life!” 

“Heh.”

“God, and just what the hell are you laughing about? This isn’t funny!”

“Osmosis.” He reiterates, mouth drawn up into a shit-eating grin. “Change your quirk name. To osmosis. Alleviate is shitty and stupid and it makes you sound fucking dumb.”

You bristle again, suddenly shaking any and all tiredness, rounding on him as you seethe.

“You- you are a goddamn asshole! You know that?” You start, stopping just a few feet in front of him. “You come in here, and insult me. Call me boring! In my own fuckin’ workplace! While I’m literally taking your stitches out! And then you tell me how my quirk works- somehow have the audacity to be fucking right about it, and now you’re insulting me? Again?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just sitting there, completely fine, smiling like there’s something funny! This isn’t funny! I’m not funny! This is my life- which you literally have been bulldozing through for months now- are you falling asleep? Again? No! No! Not in my- wake the fuck up! Asshole!”

You’re snapping in his face, just inches away from his eyes, and Bakugou hardly even blinks. He just sits still, calm and sated as you seethe just inches away from him. You huff in absolute hatred and that finally shocks some life into him. He smiles. Tiny and barely-there, but he smiles.

“See, not so nice anymore. Knew you weren’t. Fuckin’ liar.”

You want to scream. You want to tear your hair out and maybe take Bakugou’s too, and scratch and claw until you’re bathing in all the rage you’d accidentally stolen from him. You can’t though- you can’t because suddenly the sun starts to set. It falls behind the horizon line, seeping the gold from his skin and drowning him in sterile, white, artificial pallid-ness. His skin goes translucent and the only color in the entirety of his image are the bags under his eyes. Well, the bags under his eyes and the stark red of the barely-healed slice on his forehead. 

You curse your own heart. Nearly collapse under the weight of your own sympathy. Bakugou was an asshole, an absolute, irredeemable dick, and you still wanted to heal him. Help him. Somehow. Miraculously.

So then you’re centering yourself, rubbing a hand down your face to soothe your wound-up features.

“God, you actually do look pretty bad.” You say, all attempts at grace and keeping it professional completely gone. “You really weren’t kidding about needing to sleep, huh?”

“No shit. Leech.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. That’s fine. Trade one mean nickname for another- I mean, hey, at least this one’s accurate right?” 

Bakugou does actually exhale a laugh at that remark, limbs a flurry of chaotic movement when he throws himself back on the bed. His head hits the pillow and it’s only seconds before he’s shutting his eyes.

“So, what, you’re just, like, sleeping now?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“This is a hospital, Bakugou.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He mumbles, yawning into his hand. “‘m fuckin’ Dynamite. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“I’m sorry- do you, do you actually think you can ego your way out of rules? Seriously? You can’t sleep here! Not unless you’re critically injured and need like, round-the-clock care.” 

He stills, breath evening and you think he’s fallen asleep. Then he’s lazily bringing a hand up, pointing it loosely at his head.

“I’m critically fuckin’ injured.”

“No- you’re not. That’s a cut and it’s already healing and-”

“I need round-the-clock care.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?”

“No.” He grunts, flopping as he turns away from you. Then he’s facing the wall, nuzzling into the pillow. “I’m tired.”

“It’s-” You start, but then you’re once again falling victim to your own empathy. One look at his translucent skin is all it takes. “Fine. You know what? I don’t give a shit. Do what you want, I guess. Nobody else is using these rooms.” 

“Okay. Leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get the fuck out.” He slurs, cheek pressed up against the pillow as his eyes flutter beneath his eyelids. “Bein’ too loud. Leave.”

“Fine. Enjoy your sleep. Jerk.”

“Leech.”

You nearly punch him in frustration- until you realize that would probably only relax him more; because apparently this really is Bakugou’s world and you were the unlucky one just living in it.

He’s out before you’re even finished packing up. You’re wiping down all the surfaces either of you had touched, just about to leave, when he starts snoring. It’s a soft, almost kitten-like sound, just barely audible over your own breathing. It pisses you off. Boils your blood in your veins because it’s so goddamn humanizing even when he acts like the anti-christ with an even worse temper. It’s stupidly endearing and ridiculously sobering and incredibly, incredibly irritating. 

That stupid sound is why you double back upon leaving the room. Why you’re suddenly choosing to reverse instead of moving forward, why you’re suddenly reaching into the cupboard instead of shutting the door behind you. 

When you carefully unfold the blanket, settling it gently over his sleeping form, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Fuck being an empath.

--/--

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness 

[lubdubsworld]

Falling for you( Falling from grace) Jungkook

Falling for you ( Falling from grace) Jungkook

Read Chapter 1 here

Read Chapter 2 here

Read Chapter 3 here

Rated : 18 +

Warning : . Fuck buddies? Or rather enemies that have sex. They just really hate each other but also can’t keep their hands off each other. Fair warning this has no plot. its just them being idiots .

Chapter warning : a little bit of plot just to keep things interesting yeah? 

Chapter 4

The washroom on the seventeenth floor was the unofficial gossip hub and normally I would steer clear of that place but desperate times called for desperate measures. I was pretty sure I looked like I’d been dragged backwards through a hedgerow and I had to get it fixed before I got written up . 

Willing myself not to openly flinch with every step, I tried to curb the trembling in my thighs, almost painfully sensitive to how wet and messy my lower half as. What the fuck had I been thinking. 

When I entered the restroom, I moved to the huge ornate mirror in the center and took a nice long look at myself. 

 I felt my throat seize up in shock.

Good God. 

I looked ten times worse than I felt. The hair in the back of my head was sticking up , four even gaps from where he’d gripped my hair too tight. Yelping, I pulled on the dozen hairpins holding my hair up in a messy bun, letting my hair fall around my shoulders. Panicking , I threaded my fingers through the strands, wincing when I touched my jaw. What the fuck...

I leaned closer, peering at the small abrasion near my chin. It was a bruise, shaped exactly like Jungkook’s thumb. And it was already turning into an ugly shade of puce. 

Slightly hysterical because, Hoseok was so incredibly unbending when it came to office etiquette and  I did not want to get fired, I flipped at the fancy taps, sticking my hand underneath the cold water and splashing it all over my face. 

The door opened behind me and I flinched.

“Oh, hey Areum....” Three of my colleagues walked in . I recognized two of them , Jieun and Hana . The third one looked new.

“Hey...” I croaked out, trying hard not to look like I’d just been fucked to an inch of my life in a supply closet by the boss’ son. 

Oh fuck, what the hell was I thinking? 

The girls moved to the mirror , spreading out across the long counter and pulling out their compacts and lipsticks . I kept my head down, still trying to calm my pounding heart. 

“So let me get this straight, he called you at eleven in the night yesterday and wanted to meet you ? At your apartment?” Hana was saying. 

The new girl was blushing as red as a tomato.

“Yeah...he uh... he told me he was just returning from his training. He’s a boxer.” There’s a shy sort of admiration in her voice and I felt an odd sense of foreboding. 

“Booty call.... He wanted to fuck you for sure.” Jieun said firmly. “ You’re a lucky bitch, Sana... ”

Sana.....

My fingers started trembling when I heard the familiar name. I tried to calm myself down but it was impossible . A red hot sort of rage began licking its way up my spine. It wasn’t new. I knew he fucked other people. We both did. 

but I’d never stood within two feet of one of his conquests. 

“ Yeah...but then he called me like an hour later and said he wasn’t coming around.” Her voice was tinged with disappointment and I felt a sick sort of satisfaction. 

Jungkook had cancelled because of the pic I’d sent him. 

“Maybe he thought he wanted more.... like you told me he asked you to come meet him at practice tomorrow right? To get coffee afterwards... ? Maybe he wants to do this properly....take you out on dates...get to know you....”

I couldn’t stay there a second longer. 

“Ladies...” I bowed quickly and they offered me cheerful smiles. I all but ran out of the restroom, hating the sharp sting of tears somewhere near my lashes. 

I stumbled to the back stairwell, which was mostly unused and usually deserted. Gripping the walls, I slid down to sit on the floor, drawing my knees up to bury my face in. 

There was a reason I didn’t do public sex, I thought, shaking. Despite the way I mouthed off at Jungkook, sex with him always took a toll and I had always, always made sure I had space and time to recover from it. Gripping my thighs and trying to fight the urge to whine, I fumbled with my phone. 

“Areum?”

“Can I have the day off?” I whispered, shaking a little. 

“You alright?” Hoseok’s voice sounded genuinely worried and I hummed.

“ Got my period.” I said blankly. 

“ Gotchu. I’ll fill up the form and get one of the interns to pack your stuff up. You need to get some meds or something? Need a ride home?”

I felt warmth bloom in my chest. This is why Hoseok was such a great HR manager. He genuinely cared. 

“ I don’t need a ride. Or anything else.” I said quickly, “I’ll take a cab...”

There was a slight shuffling and then, an altogether familiar and unwelcome voice in the background went.

“Who’s that?”

Oh fuck. What the hell was he doing there? 

“Areum...hang on, Jungkook’s here....he wants to talk to you...” Hoseok said quickly and before I could protest , I heard Jungkook’s low raspy exhale against my ears.

“Where are you?” He said shortly. 

I considered protesting but remembered that Hoseok was still there. 

“ The back stairwell... I... I’ll come there , I...”

“Stay right there. I’ll come get you.” 

Before I could respond, he had hung up. I stayed on the floor, staring stright at the opposite wall. I forced myself not to think, trying to take deep breaths. The truth was I was exhausted. Physically and otherwise. 

Letting my head fall back against the wall, I closed my eyes, trying not to think about what Id’ heard in the restroom. Was Jungkook interested in Sana? Meeting him at practice? Coffee? 

That just screamed dating to me. I’d always assumed that Jungkook wasn’t into dating. That he just enjoyed quick fucks because that’s all he had ever offered me. So maybe, it wasn’t because Jungkook didn’t want to date. It was because Jungkook didn’t want to date  me. 

 Which was fine. I didn’t want to date him either. I really didn’t . 

“Hey....you okay?”

I had to inhale shakily, just to bring myself to look at him. I felt my heart ache something fierce because he was kneeling in front of me, strands of hair falling into doe back eyes. Eyes that fairly glistened with genuine concern. There was no infuriating smirk or haughty smile....instead his lips were parted in genuine concern, eyebrows furrowed in worry and one hand resting on my knee , fingers just so unfamiliarly gentle. 

I stared at him for another second and smiled evenly.

“Guess I’m gonna be needing that wheelchair after all.” I quipped. 

He stared at me for a second before his face split in a wide grin, a genuine bark of laughter spilling out of him. He looked so carefree and unabashed that I bit my lips, staring at him some more. 

“Let’s get you home , yeah?”

I nodded, letting him grip my arm to help me up. 

“It’s okay. I can walk... “ I said softly and he hummed, but still kept an arm around me and I noticed that he had my handbag slung on the other shoulder.

We reached the elevator and rode down in silence .

I followed him to the basement parking and he fumbled with the smart key to his car , pointing in the direction of the multitude of cars and I watched one of the flashy red ones blink. 

“Let’s go to my place...., yeah?” He said casually and I groaned.

“Jungkook, I know this going to make your ego swell but I’m not joking when I say that I cannot physically take your dick at least for another couple of days.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t want to fuck you, God. I’m working on a project for the Art Fest down at the Museum and I’m staying home. You can rest there....” He said casually, moving to put his seat belt on. He fixed the mirrors by prodding a few buttons and I watched the tattoos on his arm flex as he gripped the steering wheel, one arm coming around the headrest of my seat so he could turn and back out of the lot carefully. 

I frowned at the broad shoulders near my face. .

“Why would I rest there? I have a home....” I protested , watching him hold the door open for me. 

“Because I know for a fact that , it being Monday, both your sister and your mother are supposed to be coming over today to cook and clean for you because you have no life skills, “ He grinned and I glared at him, “ . They’ll probably notice the limp and I just thought I’d spare you the humiliation.” 

I didn’t respond because he was right. My mom and sister were home and it would be impossible to get any rest with them around. The fact that Jungkook somehow knew this made me feel jittery and nervous though. 

“You have a fight this weekend?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. 

He kept his eyes on the road, sparing me just one questioning glance.

“How’d you know?” He asked curiously and I bit my lips.

 I’ve been following your boxing career for a three years.

 “ Just heard someone say something at the office...” I said vaguely. 

“You aren’t invited.” He said sharply and I gripped the seats, annoyed.

“I don’t want to be there anyway.” I snapped back. 

He huffed.

“I’m serious about what I do Areum... I don’t want you interfering in that part of my life, alright? We’ve been through this before.”

I sneered at that.

“I know....isn’t that why you literally banned me from your gym. “ 

He didn’t reply and I stared at my hands. 

He had invited that girl, though, my mind supplied helpfully. 

He invited her not only to the gym, to watch him practice, but also for coffee afterwards...you know...to get to know her better....probably because she’s not the kind of girl who would spread her legs as easily as you do.....

 I stared out of the window, remembering how pretty and put together Sana had looked. The dainty walk, the perfect make up and the long hair, styled perfectly. 

I was beautiful too. Of course I was and I knew it. 

Men like Jungkook didn’t go for unattractive women even if it was for a quick lay. But, there’s beauty and then there’s actual charm? I wasn’t charming in any sense of the word. But then, did I have to be charming and attractive and perfect to go see him fight? 

Why?

What about the other people there? If literally anyone could go watch him fight, why wasn’t I allowed? 

“I want to come watch you train....” I said impulsively, my anger getting the better of me. 

Jungkook turned to give me a shocked stare. 

“What? Why?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion and I shrugged.

“No reason.” I said shortly. I could physically feel his irritation build. 

“Areum....” He began , voice holding a note of warning but I refused to back down.

“Literally anyone can visit your gym. You own the thing and you love offering discounts to everyone you meet...and yet somehow, I’m ‘ banned’. Why?” I demanded.

“Because I don’t want you there...That’s a good enough reason for me.” He snapped back and I clenched my fists harder. 

“Well, sucks for you. I’m gonna be there. On the front row. Let me see what’s so great about Jeon Jungkook in the ring that drives women wild...” I scoffed.

He stared at me for a second and then chuckled.

“Ahh..... so you just wanna watch me get wet and sweaty.... ? Understandable.”

I sneered. 

“You have been wet and sweaty on top of me enough times and trust me the novelty has long worn off.”  

He groaned.

“It genuinely feels like anytime I try to be halfway decent human being to you, you repay me by being as annoying as you can....” He said thoughtfully and I couldn’t say anything to that. 

i flinched when his hand reached out, moving to my knees and squeezing /lightly.

“What are you doing?” I frowned slapping at his fingers and he merely moved his hand higher up my thigh. I flinched when he squeezed again.  

“The only time you’re remotely bearable is when I’m touching you....So I’m gonna keep my hand here...” He gave me a smug grin, eyes practically dancing with mirth and I grimaced. 

“I’m still going to come. I want to.” I said firmly. 

He didn’t argue further.

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

Much to my surprise , I slept away the better part of the day, buried in Jungkook’s soft white sheets , head pillowed in the dozen fluffy throws he kept around. It was vaguely arousing that someone so intensely masculine like Jungkook preferred a comfortable , soft toned bedroom. The sheets smelled exactly like him, a fresh citrusy scent that managed to be soothing and sweet and yet somehow seductively warm as well. 

I woke up to fingers in my hair, lightly stroking. The room was dim, a little bit of light from the streets spilling in through the gaps between the curtains. 

“Areum.... It’s almost eight.... I’m gonna order us something for dinner... You wanna wake up now?” 

His voice. Fuck. 

I rolled over , groggy and disoriented. My eyes took in the splendor that was Jeon Jungkook, taking in the fact that he was only wearing grey sweatpants . I stared at the smooth expanse of his chest, feeling arousal bloom , slow and steady all over me. 

“I wanna suck you off...” I croaked out before I could fully filter my own thoughts.

Jungkook chuckled a bit at that. 

“I’m not gonna say no to that, but why don’t you take a shower and wake up fully.

I shook my head.

“ Let’s get messy first..... we can shower later...” I whined, still blinking and he groaned, slipping into the bed with me, under the covers, grabbing me by the waist and lifting me up till I was on him, my chin resting on his chest as I stared at his beautiful face. 

 What am I doing here? Where is this leading?

“I’ve never seen you like this. “ He commented mildly.

“Like what?”

“Sleepy and horny....Usually you‘re just angry and horny.” 

I shook my head. 

 “I should go.” I said hesitantly.. Jungkook didn’t respond for a few seconds, merely staring at me with a blank look on his face. Then he gave me a slight squeeze around my waist and moved out from under me. .

“I can call you a cab...” He said simply, moving to get up off the bed again. I felt something jump in my throat . It was unlike him to acquiesce so fast, and it was unlike us to just.... hang out without mutual orgasms thrown in the mix and somehow that felt like a change I wasn’t ready for. A bit of panic flashed through and I reached out blindly when he stood up, grabbing his waist and yanking him closer.

I looked up at him, scooting to the edge of the bed and kneeling till I was right in front of him. 

Eager to get things back to normal, I smiled and casually, pressed both my hands behind my back, looping my fingers together at the base of my spine. 

“Get those handcuffs.” 

Jungkook’s dick literally twitched in his pants and he swore.

“Fuck baby....” He grabbed my face roughly, crashing his lips over mine. I kissed back, almost desperate, trying to remember all the reasons why he annoyed me, why this was all we were to each other. A quick fuck, a quick lay, fuck buddies. that's what we were......

“Stay here. Stay right here...Don’t fucking move.” He pulled back and dove for his bed stand. I watched as he pulled out a silky black tie. 

I grinned when he nearly fell, scrambling up on the bed and pushing up behind me. He grabbed the hem of my blouse, yanking it up over my head before grabbing my wrists together again , tying them swiftly behind me. 

“Only you...” He whispered against the back of my neck. “ Only you can do this to me. Drive me wild with want just by fucking existing....” 

And then he was lying down near me, grabbing my waist and jostling me around till I was straddling his waist. It took me a second to orient myself I managed to steady myself, staring down at him in surprise. 

“ Seeing as you said you needed a break from my dick, how about you come sit on my face, today?” He smirked. 

I tested the give on my hands, before carefully leaning down to him

“Sure you have the lung capacity for this , Jeon?” I whispered, lips brushing his as I spoke. 

He responded by gripping my waist hard, easily lifting me up till i was straddling his shoulders. 

“I’m ready to drown in that sweet sweet honeypot, baby...” He winked and it was such a ridiculously bad joke that the laughter got wrenched out of me. 

And just like that , we were back to being us again. Or at least, that's what I convinced myself of. 

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

AUTHOR’S NOTE : TELL ME WHAT YOU GUYS THOUGHT ....I WANTED THIS TO BE JUST PORN BUT APPARTENTLY I CANT WRITE ANYTHING WITHOUT ANGST FML. 

Also requests open :) 

[brockkboeserr]

how to mend a broken heart: step one - rafe cameron

Breaking Rafe Cameron’s bones didn’t work, but your plan to break his heart did. You falling for him too and having your heart shatter as collateral was an unexpected side effect. Ever the schemer, JJ’s come up with a new five step plan to mend what was broken.

co-authored with my love, freya @rekrappeter​

pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader, unrequited!JJ x reader

warnings: angst, starting a relationship under false pretences, drinking and drug use

word count: 2.5k

a/n: and here’s step one, listen to the part two playlist on the series masterlist for maximum effect :). please please please leave us feedback, freya and i read every comment and cry, love you guys so much!!

“This is ridiculous, Pope,” you pouted, arms crossed over your chest as you leaned against him on John B’s sofa. You were pointedly ignoring JJ, equal parts furious for his part in your heartbreak and frustrated that he had tried to kiss you. The you of only a few months ago would have probably died for JJ to confess, the thought of pressing your lips together used to make you dizzy. Now, you were angry, and annoyed, and sad, and you wanted nothing more than to return to under the comforter where you had made your home for the past week as you cried.

“I have to agree,” Kie piped up from her spot at the kitchen table, “two weeks ago we were plotting to break his heart and now you want us to believe you’re interested in fixing things?”

“Look,” JJ started, screwing his eyes closed for a split second to gather his thoughts, “I don’t give a flying fuck about Rafe Cameron, but I care about you, y/n. You’re my best friend and I hate how the last plan panned out, but I want to make it up to you.” His eyes were focused on you, ignoring the other pogues staring at him.

Your lip wobbled as you avoided his stare, “You made it pretty clear how you felt about me on that beach, JJ.”

JJ sucked in a deep breath, looking at Pope for some silent advice but his friend gave him a doubtful look. He glanced at you again, noting your legs curling into your chest and how your eyes were raw and puffed. He hated that it was his fault that you were like this. “y/n,” JJ sighed, he closed the space between your bodies, kneeling down on the floor in front of you and gathering your hands in his larger ones, “You know me, you know me more than anyone in this room. You know I’m a little bit stupid, that I don’t think everything through, that I’m a liability sometimes..”

“And the rest,” Kie chimed in, but closed her lips when JJ shot an annoyed glare in her direction.

“You’re not stupid,” slipped out before you could stop it, years of reassuring the volatile blond before you having conditioned you to respond, “but you hurt me, and then you used my feelings for you against me.”

“That’s not-” he sighed, stopping himself before he could run his mouth again, knowing that of all times, you would not be impressed with his impatience. He looked around at your friends again, “Look, we can talk about that night in more detail later, just know that I’ve actually thought this thing through and I want to help you. Even Pope thinks it’s not a terrible idea.”

You turned to look at Pope sitting beside you, expecting him to deny JJ’s claim, but Pope nodded slightly in acknowledgement, causing you to sigh. “Alright, hit me.”

JJ smiled, crooked teeth on display, before letting go of your hands to get up and cross over to the forgotten chalkboard, spinning it around to reveal his five-step plan to mend your broken heart. You rolled your eyes at the childish doodles around the list, including but not limited to several broken hearts, one of which had a bandaid closing the gap between the two halves. You scanned the five steps he outlined, confused by what was written. You were about to question the last step, when he dramatically stepped forward, holding his arms wide open.

“Step one: tell the truth, see it through.”

You were standing outside on the back porch, leaning against the railing like you had so many weeks ago when the first plan had begun. JJ was leaning on the railing beside you, and the silence was starting to drive you mad.

“So,” you stated simply, eyes scanning the horizon. There was a light breeze that rustled your hair around your shoulders and JJ found himself looking at your side profile as you looked out.

“So,” he repeated uselessly, fidgeting with his hands.

“You said we could talk about that night in detail later, well it’s later and you need to start talking,” you told him.

He sighed, uncomfortably shifting his weight from his left foot to his right and back, “I didn’t tell you I love you just because of what we have, i-it’s different. You read all those shitty online stories about best friends becoming lovers and it comes with so much complications-”

“And I’m not worth that?” you ask, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“N-no, that’s not what I meant,” JJ spluttered out, “My mom left, my dad’s… well you know about that, and fuck, y/n, you’re all I have left. If it didn’t work out and I lost you…”

“Well, look how that turned out,” you snapped, “you nearly lost me anyway.”

“Nearly?” He asked, the slight lilt of hope shining through his voice.

You looked up, eyes rolled to the sky, “you’re my best friend, J, and I don’t want to lose you anymore than you want to lose me.” A smile tugged at the corner of JJ’s lips, but you raised your hand to stop him from grinning, “I’m not saying I forgive you for what you did, what I’m saying is that I’m not going to let Rafe Cameron come between us, no matter how I feel about him.”

“Okay…” JJ trailed off.

“And that goes both ways. If we’re doing this, you can’t argue with me over my feelings for him anymore. I’m telling you now, I love Rafe a-and if this works, I’m going to be with him.”

JJ tried to hide the grimace that graced his face but he failed miserably, making you groan in annoyance. “No, y/n, I promise. I’ll try, I’ll try my god damn hardest if it means I still have you in my life because I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t in it.”

“You’d probably be stuck in jail.” You giggled, and JJ lit up at the sound. He hadn’t heard you laugh in at least a week, if not longer and it filled the hole in his chest a little.

“Probably,” he shrugged, offering his hand to you with the intention of starting your secret handshake, but you pulled on his arm and pulled him in for a brief hug.

“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” you told him sternly as you pulled away, poking his chest, “you’re going to have to earn it.”

“Noted.”

Finding Rafe was easy.

It was nearing sundown and you had a strong feeling you knew exactly where he would be. There was something soothing, calming, about watching the sun set over the cliffedge where he had confided in you about his mom. You spotted him when you pulled up, sitting on the hood of his truck. The fading sunlight cast a glow against his face that had you shielding your eyes as you approached. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him for the first time in a week. You had gone from seeing him every day, wrapped in his arms to nothing, not even a cursory text or notification.

Getting Rafe to hear you out was harder.

The utter look of betrayal that mirrored his expression only a week ago greeted you when he turned around. You felt your heart clench at the knowledge that your actions were responsible for such loathing in his eyes. That you had been the one to hurt him and cause him pain. You hadn’t seen him look this devastated since that day that you had sat on his lap and held his face in your hands as he shared the most traumatic event of his life with you. Without realizing, your eyes had filled with tears, the tip of your nose burning at the sensation.

“What are you doing here?” he asked harshly, “I thought I told you to never speak to me again.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head up to keep the tears from spilling, “I know, I just. I wanted to tell you the truth, all of it.” You want to explain to him, really explain to him, until he understands that while it had started out with poor intentions you had really fallen in love with him. That he owned your entire heart, held it in his hands, and controlled its fate.

“JJ painted a pretty accurate portrait of it all, I think.” He replied, tone still unpleasant. Your stomach dropped, you knew he would be upset and angry, but a small part of you had hoped he would be open to listening to you.

“Just hear me out, please listen to me. You can tell me to fuck off after I’m done, and I’ll leave you alone.” You say, completely genuine. If he really wanted nothing to do with you, you would respect that. It would hurt like hell, but you would understand. You could only imagine if the roles had been reversed, if Topper or Kelce had cornered you and told you the entire thing had just been some bet to break your heart.

When Rafe didn’t reply, you slowly closed the gap between you, lifting yourself up onto his truck, you felt him stiffen beside you and let out an exhale of annoyance. “You know what, y/n? I can’t even look at you right now.”

“I-I understand that, Rafe, but this week has been one of, if not, the worst week of my life-”

Rafe scoffed, cutting you off, and his hands balled into fists on his lap. “You don’t have the right to shove that in my face, I fell in love with a girl that was playing me. I thought you were different but you’re exactly like those other pogues. You’re no better than who you thought I was.” You feel the white hot guilt spread across your body uncomfortably as you consider his words. When this had all started, you never thought you would succeed at actually breaking his heart, didn’t really even consider that he had one. More importantly, you never thought you would succeed at crushing your own heart in the process.

“What I did, what we did as a group, was wrong and I know that now but I got so caught up in the whole island feud that I wasn’t thinking right,” you sighed, “I never thought I’d get you to fall in love with me, I thought it was something I’d do for a week and then give up, but-”

“But you succeeded.” He states simply, arms crossed as he cuts off your rambling.

“But I fell in love with you, Rafe. The whole thing backfired, and I ended up breaking my own heart in the process.” You can hear the desperation taking over your tone of voice, recognizing his closed off body language as an indication that this conversation was about to be over before it had really begun.

“That’s really great, y/n, thanks for the insight.” Rafe retorted, rolling his eyes and jumping from the bonnet. His tone was raw and hateful, and it felt like a knife pushing through your chest as he walked away from you, again.

You followed him, protesting for him to stop but he wasn’t listening. He opened the driver’s door, and you mustered up the courage to slam it shut with all your force, making him swing his head to look at you bewildered. Tears were brimming in the corner of his eyes, his chest heaving heavily with every breath he took. “What more do you want from me, y/n? I listened, I processed, and the only thing I got from that was that you didn’t even apologize for what you did!”

Watching the tears slide down his cheeks made you speechless, you did truly break his heart. “I-I thought…” You mumbled, and he shook his head in disappointment.

“I thought you were different, you did a great job playing someone you’re not.” He’s looking at you and it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time and doesn’t like what is in front of him. You shrink a little under his heated gaze, so similar to that first night you spent together but yet millions of miles of distance between then and now.

“Rafe, you don’t understand. When I was with you, that was the real me. Yo-you fell in love with me,” you whispered, taking a step closer to him and reaching for his hand but he pulled it away. “Just know, that every moment we spent together, I fell deeper in love with you.”

Rafe Cameron has never been loved before. No one has ever told him how much they loved him for who he was. His own family found it an effort to love him, and looking at you right now, declaring your love for him with tears streaming down your cheeks, he couldn’t help but think that maybe not being loved was a good thing. You never had to deal with the heartache and unexpected complications that came to giving yourself to someone. The only time he experienced true love was when you were lying underneath him, the softest smile on your face and you kissed the palm of his hand, in that moment, he felt on top of the world. But his world came shattering down when JJ Maybank found him that day. He wasn’t sure if he could survive another heartbreak.

“Have a good life, y/l/n,” he muttered without sparing you another glance, successfully navigating his way into the driver side of his vehicle as you stood uselessly beside it, tears falling from your eyes.

You stood there watching as he drove away, not moving from your spot until the truck had turned the corner, disappearing from your sight entirely. Rubbing away at your eyes and at the tear tracks on your cheeks, you were despondent at the prospect of Rafe Cameron never forgiving you and having walked out of your life for good this time. Fuck this plan, fuck the other plan, you thought angrily to yourself, walking back to your car. And especially fuck JJ Maybank, as you drove away from the cliffside that had meant so much to you. You found yourself wishing, not for the first time and likely not for the last time, that you had listened to Pope in the first place and never gone through with the stupid bet in the first place. Sure you would have never known Rafe’s love, but you also would have never known this heartbreak.

htbah taglist (link in the series masterlist!!):

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rodeo rafe babies who said they were interested:

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diverdcwn everything taglist:

@velyssaraptor​​ @danicarosaline​​ @copper-boom​​ @x-lulu​​ @prejudic3​​ @downbytheouterbanks​​ @ilovejjmaybank​​ @bricksatanakinswindow​​ @jellyfishbeansontoast​​ @sunwardsss @rudyypankow​​ @im-a-stranger-thing​​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​​ @hoodpankow​​ @sortagaysortahigh​​ @socialwriter​​ @euphoricheyward​​ @anxietyandtacos​​ @diverrdown​​ @stargazingstarkey​​ @rafej-cambanks​​ @stfukie​​​

[kinglazrus]

What You’ve Become

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @kiinotasha​: Jazz and Danny swap ages, she is the younger sibling he is the older one. All the other kids have their ages changed accordingly. (Those in Danny’s year would still be in his year)

Summary: Two years after the first ghost appears in Amity Park, Jazz Fenton sees a face she never thought she'd see again.

Word count: 12726

Jazz keeps her head down as she checks out her book. She usually avoid the public library if she can, but there are only so many psychology papers you can read online before you hit a paywall. All the good ones are locked tight on websites made for scholars, not high schoolers. The one downside of devouring ever psych text she can get her hands on for two years running is that, at a certain point, she has to leave the house to do it.

When she started at Casper High just a few months ago, she went to their library. It offered her privacy from all the prying eyes and hushed whispers, since most students didn't like spending time under the librarian's eagle eyes. But the school's selection was rather... lacking, which forced Jazz to seek out other avenues. Namely, the public library. Which shouldn't be so daunting, because she loves books and this building used to be her home away from home.

But that was two years ago. Now, when she goes to the library, it's no longer a safe haven. Now, when she walks through its doors, people see her and stare. That's the problem with Amity Park. It isn't a small town, but it's not a big city either. Everyone knows someone who knows someone else who knows you.

Which means everyone knows poor Jasmine, the last Fenton in Amity Park.

As she passes her library card over to the clerk, she catches their grim, pitying smile and quickly looks away. She fixes her gaze on the counter for the rest of the transaction. The second it's over, she takes her library card and the textbook and flees. She can feel the librarian's stare burning into her back as she leaves the building. It's hard to ignore. Marching across the parking lot, she heads for an old green Volvo, yanking open the passenger door when she reaches it. She throws herself into the seat and slams the door shut.

"Didn't have the book you wanted?" her best friend, Spike, asks from the back of the car. He doesn't look at her, instead focusing on the soles of his platform boots, picking mud out of the grooves.

Jazz slams the book down on the console.

Spike's gaze jumps up at the noise. "Oh," he says, eyes falling on the book. His expression, a default disaffected scowl, doesn't change, but he starts toying with his eyebrow ring, spinning it around. It's a subtle Jazz has become well accustomed to over the past two years.

"Fuck 'em," Spike says. He slouches forward, dropping his hand into his lap, and raises his middle finger in the library's direction.

"That would be an unsanitary and highly inappropriate response," Tucker quips from the driver's seat, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

Jazz wrinkles her nose. "Please never say anything like that again."

"No promises." He cackles at Jazz's expression. When he looks over his shoulder to start backing out, he catches Spike's deepening scowl, and grins even wider. "Sorry, kid, I got a goth best friend, too. That kind of look doesn't work on me."

"I told you to stop calling me that," Spike says.

Tucker hums, pretending to think deeply, and bares his teeth in a teasing smile. "Nah."

"You know, he had a goth phase," Jazz whispers.

"We don't talk about that!"

Jazz keeps talking about it. She eagerly regales Spike with the time she walked into the bathroom and found Danny painstakingly doing Tucker's eyeliner. She's halfway through Tucker's first disastrous attempt at wearing platform boots when a droning alarm goes off, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Turning away from the back seat, she leans her head against her window and tips her head back, peering up at a white and black siren hanging off a streetlight.

"Aw, man." Tucker sighs and turns his blinker on, pulling over to the side of the road. The car in front of them does the same, along with a truck passing on the other side of the road. None of them can pull all the way over, because of the vehicles parked parallel up and down the street, but there's a sizeable gap right down the middle of the road.

"Think we'll see some action?" Spike asks.

"I bet it's just that box dude or something," Tucker says as he rolls down his window.

Jazz slaps her hands over her ears as the siren gets louder and elbows Tucker's shoulder. "Close the window!" she shouts.

He doesn't have to. A second later, the siren cuts out. All three passengers strain their ears, listening for any sounds of fighting. It's completely silent.

"False alarm?" Jazz suggests.

"The Guys in White don't do false alarms. Could be the box guy," Tucker says. He hoists himself halfway out the window, slapping his arm down on top of the car to keep himself balanced, and waves at the truck across from them.

The driver rolls down the window.

"Hey! My radio's busted, is there any broadcast going out right now?" Tucker calls.

The driver looks down, fiddling with something, then looks back up and shakes his head.

"Thanks!"

"See? False alarm," Jazz says. "Get back in the car."

"Jazz, you are way too young to be sounding like my mother," Tucker says, ignoring her request. He looks up and down the street, head swiveling as he scans the skies. Completely empty. "Okay, maybe you're right."

No sooner have the words left his mouth than a green blur goes shooting past, flying so fast the car rocks. Tucker yelps, losing his grip on the car, and would have toppled out the window if Jazz and Spike hadn't lunged forward to catch him. Tucker chokes as Jazz grabs the back of his shirt, his collar cutting against his windpipe. Spike snags Tucker's belt. Together, they haul the older boy back into the car.

"Okay!" Tucker says, rubbing his throat and coughing a few times. "Not the box dude!"

Pushing his glasses up his nose, he glares out his window to the truck across from them. "'No broadcast' my ass."

"You should just get the Ghost Watch app," Jazz says, already pulling out her phone. She flicks through the apps until she finds one whose icon features a ghost holding binoculars.

"Like hell I'm gonna do that. The government can already spy on my through my phone, I'm gonna make it worse by downloading one of their apps," Tucker sneers.

"If they're already watching, then why does it matter?" Spike asks.

Tucker takes a breath, then pauses. "Huh," he says.

While he struggles to come up with an answer, Jazz opens the Ghost Watch app. Sure enough, as soon as it loads, she's met with a red exclamation point. Tapping the icon, she turns her volume up and holds her phone out.

"–class four entity. Agents have been dispatched to take care of the threat. Phantom protocol is in place. Please remain in your homes or vehicles or you will face criminal charges for interfering with a G.I.W. Operation. Thank you. Attention Amity Park. We are under threat by a class four entity. Agents have been dispatched–"

Jazz mutes the broadcast and raises and eyebrow in Tucker's direction.

"Shut up," he says. "You're the one who thought it was a false alarm."

"You're the one who can't afford to fix his radio," Spike points out.

"Well, maybe, I should start charging you since I'm apparently turning into your chauffeur. I'm sure your moms would be so happy to know your abusing my kind heart."

"Sounds fake."

"Boys, stop it," Jazz snaps. "Let's just wait for this to be over so we can go home, okay?"

Spike and Tucker share a look and nod in unison.

With an annoyed huff, Jazz pulls her new textbook into her lap and cracks it open. She might as well read to pass time, there's no telling how long this will take. Sometimes the G.I.W. have the situation under control in minutes, other times the city's on lockdown for hours. Hopefully, with the Phantom protocol in effect, it'll be a short wait.

Jazz closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Don't think about it, she tells herself. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

"Jazz, if this is about­–"

"Let me stop you right there, Tucker," Jazz says. She stares resolutely down at her book, refusing to lift her gaze. "It's not about anything. I just want to go home, okay?"

"Okay," Tucker says. She can tell he doesn't believe her. That's fine, as long as he lets it drop.

—

Danny was dead. Or he was dying. Jazz didn't know which and she didn't know how to help. She was frozen at the bottom of the stairs, every inch of her trembling, too shocked—too scared—to do anything.

Her big brother was slumped in his best friend's arms, skin blistered and bleeding. His right hand was smoking, the sleeve of his jumpsuit burnt away. A strange green substance oozed out of him, staining Tucker's sweater. He was dead. He had to be dead.

"Danny! Danny!" Tucker shouted desperately, slowly lowering Danny to the floor. He leaned over Danny's prone form, hands hovering just above his blistered body. "Shit, shit, Danny, no. Sam, what do we do?"

Jazz's gaze jumped from her brother—her burnt, broken, probably dead brother—to Sam. She had collapsed on her knees a few feet away, pressing a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and horrified. She looked like she was about to throw up, or pass out, or both.

"I­–I–" Sam stuttered. It was all she managed before she turned to the side and retched all over the lab floor.

Jazz finally regained control of her limbs then. Seeing Tucker and Sam, who were older and supposed to be smarter, lost and panicking spurred her to move. She rushed across the lab, her socks slipping on the smooth tiles, and almost slid right into Sam.

"Sam, Sam, where's your phone?" Jazz asked. She couldn't believe how steady her voice sounded. Inside, she panicked. Inside, she screamed that her brother was dead, and she was scared, and why weren't their parents home, why was the portal that wasn't supposed to work suddenly on, glowing so brightly it hurt her eyes? Why, why, why?

"Sam!" Jazz shrieked when the older girl didn't respond.

Sam flinched, spitting on the floor and wiping her mouth on her arm, and turned to Jazz. "Jazz," she said. Her dark eyes flickered over to Danny, then back at Jazz, and a fresh wave of horror filled them. "Go upstairs. You should go upstairs."

"Your phone!" Jazz pleaded. She didn't have the patience to wait, instead reaching into Sam's pocket herself and snatching her phone. Jazz backed away and dialled.

"911, what's your emergency?" a smooth voice answered.

"My­ brother was in an accident. He's hurt, really badly, and I– I don't know if he's breathing," Jazz said.

At her words, Tucker lowered his head to Danny's chest. Everyone held still, afraid to move or even breathe. Jazz could hear the operator saying something, but his words fell on deaf ears as she waited, anxious, for Tucker to say something.

"Fuck," Tucker said. He shot upright, hands hovering over Danny's chest, then pulled back. "Sam! I don't know CPR, do you know CPR?"

Sam scrambled toward Danny, her knees slipping in his blood—why was there so much blood? She shoved Tucker aside and straddled Danny's waist, kneeling over him, and started chest compressions.

Tears welled in Jazz's eyes. She sobbed and turned away.

"Are you alright? Please answer me. I need your location to send an ambulance."

"He, he's not breathing, and his, his heart's not beating," Jazz said. She hiccupped and squeezed her eyes shut, but that didn't help. She could still hear Sam panting heavily as she tried to keep Danny's heart beating. "His friend is doing CPR."

"Okay, that's good. What's your name? How old are you?"

"I'm Jazz Fenton, I'm twelve years old. My brother is Danny, he's sixteen. We're at Fenton Works at the corner of Cordia and Lennex," Jazz recited. It was oddly calming. Nothing more than simple rote memory, but it helped. It would help Danny.

"Fentons."

"Yes?"

The line was silent. Jazz bit her lip, wondering if the operator hung up, which would be incredibly unprofessional and also probably send her into a panic. She was certain the only reason she hadn't fallen to her knees in tears right then was that, as long as she was on the phone, she was helping. She had something to do. She was making sure Danny would be okay because he was going to be okay, he had to be.

A quiet huff caught Jazz's attention. She clung to the phone with both hands, pressing it against her ears, and barely heard the operator mutter, "Of course," on the other side of the line.

Jazz didn't want to be on the phone anymore.

"An ambulance is on the way," the operator said, louder. "Stay calm until then. Is there anyone else home with you? Your parents?"

"No. Thank you, goodbye."

—

"Please stay calm and remain in your vehicle. The threat will be dealt with shortly. Please stay calm and remain in your vehicle. The threat will be dealt with shortly. Please stay calm and–"

"I hate that voice. So. Much," Spike says, glaring at the siren.

Jazz can't blame him. The siren started spewing the city-wide warning almost five minutes ago and hasn't stopped since. There hasn't been another sign of the ghost, or any G.I.W. for that matter. It doesn't exactly mean much, because they could be anywhere in the city, but it makes the so-called safety protocols seem highly unnecessary. Besides, wouldn't they be safer in a building rather than as sitting ducks in the middle of the road?

The guy in the truck must have thought so, because he ditched his vehicle almost a full minute ago and disappeared inside a bar up the street. Jazz thinks he had the right idea, minus the bar part. It's always better to be somewhere you're comfortable during an emergency, even if it only provides slight relief.

"We could just, you know, drive home," Spike suggests.

"Great idea, until we get caught in the middle of a ghost fight," Tucker says. "Then your moms would kill me."

"No. The ghosts would kill you."

"Delightful."

"My moms would obliterate your ghost."

Tucker groans in distress, but Jazz can tell he's seriously considering Spike's suggestion. He keeps lifting his hand off his leg, toward the keys, before letting it fall back to his knee. "Who thought having a ghost infested city would be so damn boring?" he asks.

"You mean you don't enjoy sharing this plane of existence with pale shades of people long dead, forced to stay on this Earth by their own anguish and tumultuous emotions?" Spike asks.

"No. No, I don't."

"I do."

"Of course, you would."

Jazz ignores the boys, flipping to the next page in her textbook. It's a fairly new branch of psychology, focused on ghosts and their mental processes. Its surprisingly thorough. A stamp on the first page marks it as a G.I.W. endorsed text. It makes her wonder how many of the ghosts they catch become study subjects. With how comprehensive the textbook is, they must have been observing ghosts for a long time.

Unbidden thoughts of the Phantom leap to the front of Jazz's mind. Her grip on the textbook tightens, nails digging into the cover.

"Okay, I'm getting out," Spike says, breaking Jazz out of her thoughts.

"No, you aren't," Tucker says.

"Yeah, I am." Spike pulls on his door handle and starts pushing the door open.

"Your arrest record," Tucker says, rolling his eyes. Halfway through the motion, he freezes. "Actually, no, get back in the car."

"Asking nicely won't make me­."

"Spike! Get back in the damn car!" Tucker shouts. The alarm in his voice makes Jazz look up from her book. The next second, the street beside them explodes in a shower of concrete.

"Shit!" Spike ducks, narrowly missing being brained by a fist-sized rock. In his panic, he dives to the side rather than back inside the car.

"Seriously!" Tucker shouts. He throws his door open and leaps out, Jazz following suit on her side of the car. She squints, covering her mouth with her arm, trying to keep the dust out. As Tucker goes for Spike, Jazz watches the middle of the road. She sees something moving in the cloud of dust.

The sound of a roaring engine draws Jazz's attention to the corner of the block, just in time to see a bulky armoured truck rip around the corner. On top of the cab, a row of bright green lights flash as the truck tears down the street. It comes to a stop fifty metres from the crater. The cab doors are thrown open by two bald men in white suits. They jump out onto the road, raising sleek white and blue guns that look out of place outside a sci-fi filmset.

One of them, the taller of the two, sees Jazz and calls down the road, "Return to your vehicle or face the charges."

"But my friend!" Jazz calls back. She looks to where Spike had fallen and finds the road empty. Panic shoots through her, until she hears someone clearing their throat and drops her gaze to the sidewalk.

Tucker and Spike are huddled behind the next car down, out of sight of the G.I.W.

"Return to your vehicle, now!" the agent demands again.

Jazz obeys. As soon as she's inside with the door shut, she climbs over the console into the front seat. The cloud of dust in the middle of the street is almost gone now, the silhouette of whoever—or whatever—is inside more defined.

It looks like a regular person, but with sharper angles. A sharp chin, broad shoulders, wide chest. Before the dust can settle complete, the ghost shoots forward, too fast to see, and slams into the G.I.W. truck, the front of cab crumpling in It goes skidding across the road, tires squealing, leaving thick black lines in their wake.

It's still sliding when the ghost zooms back and slams into it again, this time from the side. The sidewall caves and the truck tips onto its side.

"Damn it, the asset!" the shorter agent shouts.

Both men open fire, but every shot misses, the ghost flying too fast for them to catch. The shorter agent curses again and grabs something from inside their suit, tossing it on the ground. The object, a small cube, hits the ground and an antenna pops out of the top. A ping, not unlike a sonar pulse, songs from the cube and a wave of blue energy cascades outwards.

When it hits the ghost's blurred form, the ghost goes flying. Jazz shouts in surprise and ducks as it soars toward her. There's a loud crash, but Tucker's car does little more than shake. Lifting her head, she sees the ghost has hit the car behind her. Her heart leaps into her throat as she searches for Tucker and Spike amongst the wreckage.

It takes her a few seconds to fine them, but they're safe and sounded, hiding in the shadows of a convenience store doorway. The sign on the door says closed, and it must be locked, so they can't slip inside out of danger, but they're hidden at least.

The crumpled car creaks. Jazz's gaze jumps back to it and she gets her first good look at the ghost. It doesn't look like any of the ghost's she's ever glimpsed. Rather than an animalistic, amorphous form, it looks like a large mechanical man. With green fire for a mullet and goatee, apparently.

"Surrender, ghost!" the taller agent yells.

"Release him!" the ghost demands in a deep, layered voice.

The G.I.W. share a look.

"Agent O," the short one says. "Release the asset."

The mechanical ghost grins. But, judging by Agent O's grim but eager expression, the ghost isn't going to like what happens. Agent O holds their wrist out and presses a button on their watch. A heavy clunk reaches Jazz's ears. Everyone's focus snaps to the overturned truck as the back door slides open. A thin blue shield wavers over the open door before snapping away.

Jazz peers into the shadows of the covered truck bed. Slowly, a figure emerges. They float through the open door, body twisting to they don't brush the sides of the van, and hovers in the air.

It's the first time Jazz has ever seen the G.I.W. secret weapon, and the key component of the Phantom protocol: Phantom themselves. They wear a baggy white jumpsuit, the G.I.W. logo emblazoned across their chest in a slightly darker off-white. Not an inch of skin is visible, a mask clamped tightly over their lower face, round goggles covering their eyes, and a loose hood pulled over their head. They hold themselves awkwardly, arms raised in front of their chest, fingers curling toward their face. Thick cuffs bind their forearms together, forcing this strange pose upon them. Similar cuffs bind their ankles.

Their head turns slowly as they scan the street, the lenses of their goggles flaring. One is blue, the other green. They stop when they face Tucker's car.

Jazz's breath hitches. She presses one against the window, her other falling to the door handle. The ghost mimics her, spreading their fingers, although their palms are turned the wrong way.

She's never seen Phantom before. She's never seen their face. But she knows exactly what she would find under that mask. She pops the door open, lowering one foot to the pavement, ignoring the danger of the ghost to her left.

"Phantom!" Agent O snaps. He presses another button his watch. The cuffs on Phantom's legs fall to the found with a thud, cracking the pavement when they hit it. His arms stay bound. Another press, another button, and a collar around Phantom's neck, hidden by their pose, sparks dangerously.

Agent O points to the mechanical ghost. "Go hunt!"

—

Jazz waited out in the hallway, where her parents told her to be. She sat on a hard, plastic chair, tapping her feet on the tiled floor. It must have been freshly buffed, because when she leaned forward, she could see her reflection on the gleaming ceramic. The tiles were marbled white and pink, the colours blending together in milky swirls, and when she stared right at it, it looked like her face was covered in scars.

She lifted a hand and touched her cheek, almost expecting to feel puckered, raised skin where the marbled pink cuts across her pale face. She wondered if Danny would have scars.

"Jazzypants?"

Her head snapped up and she was surprised to see Jack, her father, standing before her. A burly man who took up nearly half the hallway, he didn't exactly have the lightest steps, but she didn't even notice him arrive. He crouched so they were eye to eye, hunching his shoulders to take up as little space as possible, and touched her hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Jazz glanced to the side, toward the closed double doors with the words "STAFF ONLY" plastered across them in big, bold letters. "I'm fine. Is Danny okay?" she asked.

"He's okay," Jack said. He smiled and squeezed her hand. "The doctors are still working on him, but they said he's gonna be fine."

Jazz didn't match Jack's smile. She tried, but it felt weak and flimsy, and she let it fall away. "Okay," she said quietly.

Jack's smile tightened. "Listen, there's someone here who wants to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because of what happened. Danny's gonna be okay, but he got really hurt, and that made some people worry. So, they want to talk to you, so they know they don't have to worry."

Jazz frowned. "You don't have to talk like that. I'm not eight. Who are they?"

Jack laughed, but it was soft and humorless. "Right, you've always been so grown up. Are you okay to talk to them?"

"Yeah." Jazz nodded and pushed off her chair, standing up. She barely reached Jack's elbow.

With his hand on her back, Jack guided her out of the waiting room. They turned down a quiet hallway, farther from the hospital's entrance, and headed toward a bench set into an. It was small and private. A woman in a blazer and slacks waited there, sitting with her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap.

The woman's hair was tied back in a ponytail, smooth against her head, but cascading into a waterfall of dark curls at the nape of her neck. Jazz touched her own hair, red and pin straight. She always wanted curly hair like that, especially after seeing pictures of her mother in college.

Jack cleared his throat as they approached. The woman looked up. She smiled warmly at Jazz, scooting down the bench as if to make room, even though it was a fairly large bench and there was lots of space. Jazz sat down on the very end, as far from the woman as she could get.

"Thank you, Mr. Fenton. I know you may want to stay, but this needs to be a private conversation, so I know you aren't influencing anything she says," the woman said.

"Right," Jack said. He gave Jazz one last pat, then turned and lumbered down the hallway.

"Hello, Jasmine," the woman said, drawing Jazz's attention back. "I'm Jamila Faizan. You can call my Jamila. I'm a social worker. Do you know what that is?"

Jazz nodded, eyeing the woman warily. She had nothing against social workers, but she heard people threaten her parents with them before. It made her uncomfortable.

"I just want to ask you a few questions about what life is like at home, okay?" Jamila asked.

"It's fine."

Jamila smiled. "Of course. It might seem that way, but your brother got really hurt in your parent's lab, and I need to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again. I just want to make sure you're safe at home."

Jazz bit her lip. She knew her home life wasn't exactly normal. How many twelve-year-olds had a lab in their basement? But they had good parents, and this was the first time anything like this had ever happened.

"How often do you go into your parents' lab?" Jamila asked.

"Not a lot. I don't like it down there that much, it's really cold."

"Do you parents ever bring you down there?"

"Sometimes, if they want to show us something interesting."

"Okay. Are you allowed down there any time?"

Jazz shifted in her seat, tucking her hands between her knees to keep from fidgeting. "Mom or dad has to be with us if we go down there," she said. She quickly added, "But I don't want to go down there, anyway, unless they want to show us something. So it's okay."

Jamila hummed. "How are you at school?"

"Good. I get all A's," Jazz said, a little thrown by the topic change.

"And your brother?"

"He doesn't really like school. I don't think it's a good learning environment for him, so he doesn't really get good grades."

"And you're happy?"

"Yes." Jazz narrowed her eyes at Jamila. "Are you trying to take us away?"

"I'm only trying to make sure you're safe, healthy, and happy," Jamila said.

"I will be once I know my brother's okay."

"I've been told he's going to pull through just fine," Jamila said, giving Jazz a placating smile.

"Then, then I don't see what the problem is. He's okay, I'm okay. It was just an accident. So, I'm going back to my parents, where I will be safe, healthy, and happy, okay? Okay." Jazz got up and walked away before Jamila could say anything else. It wasn't like the social worker could stop her.

—

The asphalt beneath Phantom cracks as they shoot through the air toward the ghost.

"Phantom, wait!" the ghost protests, holding up his hands. He jumps into the air, arcing over Phantom. A gun pops out of his shoulder and fires a green net. The net snaps out, heading right for Phantom.

Jazz doesn't even know how to begin describing what Phantom's body does to dodge the net. Only their arms and head stay solid, the rest of their body twisting, and morphing, and stretching so the next passes harmlessly through them. Their torso and legs snap back into existence as if they hadn't just melted into an amorphous cloud and Phantom continues unhindered. They slam into the mechanical ghost, wrapping one leg around the ghost's arm, the other around their neck.

Electricity crackles up Phantom's spine and shocks the ghost, making the whole suit go slack. Phantom drives the ghost into the ground, crouching over him. A low moan builds in their throat.

Jazz automatically covers her ears. She may have never seen Phantom in action before, but she's definitely heard their signature attack. And had to deal with the damage it leaves behind.

Just before the wail reaches its glass-shattering, tree-tearing, foundation-shaking crescendo, the mechanical ghost shouts, "Sorry!" and launches a mini-rocket out of his arm. It hits Phantom and explodes, blasting them straight across the street.

Jazz winces when they collide with the sidewalk, a sharp crack echoing down the street.

"Stop fighting!" The mechanical ghost holds up their hands as Phantom peels themselves off the crumbled sidewalk. "It's me, Skulker!"

Phantom answers by smacking something on the side of their mask. Green fumes start pouring out the front. Reaching up, their fingers curl around their collar, yanking it down as far as it'll go, and they thrust their head forward. Ectoplasm spews from the mast. It roars outward, a mesmerizing mix of gas and flames that seeps into the air.

As Phantom leaps forward, the ectoplasm pours over a nearby mailbox. The ectoplasm turns liquid the second it touches the mailbox, coating it in a thick slime, melting through the metal. Watching the metal bubble and ooze, Jazz swallows nervously.

She's reminded quite suddenly that Phantom is a tool for the G.I.W. The supreme weapon. The thing they throw at every passing threat. Thinking back to her textbook, she wonders how much of that information was garnered from Phantom. They would certainly make an impressive specimen, not that Jazz wants to think of them like that. But it's undeniable.

The way they move is otherworldly.

Every time Skulker dodges, Phantom's head snaps toward him, lightning fast, as ectoplasm spits from their mask. They mutate their body into grotesque shapes at a moment's notice, deforming and contorting as needed. It's hard to watch them. Not just because of the brutal display, with Skulker's protests falling on deaf ears, but because their body can't seem to settle. It's constantly moving, blurring, flickering. The only time they look completely solid is when their whole body crackles and electricity arcs off them.

Phantom's ectoplasm spews over Skulker's arm. Skulker yelps, forced to flee, and tries to shake off both the acidic sludge and his feral tail.

And Phantom really is feral. They follow, relentless, remorseless, moving like a wild animal prowling after its prey. Every attack is a pounce, a noxious cloud of ectoplasm following their every move. It's both mesmerizing and horrifying. The only word Jazz can use to properly describe them is monster.

—

Two hours after speaking with Jamila, Danny was out of surgery. Jazz was on her own when a nurse came over to deliver the news. Her parents were off with the social worker, had been for some time. The nurse was hesitant to give Jazz the news on her own, but she bullied the man with tear-filled eyes until he caved in.

Danny's surgery was a success. They fixed the rupture in his hear, stopped the bleeding, and now he was sleeping. He would be for a while because his body needed to heal, but once he woke up, he would be good as new.

The nurse waited with Jazz for her parents to return. When they came walking down the hallway, accompanied by Jamila, Jazz hopped out of her seat and ran forward to give them the good news. She faltered when she saw her parents' expressions.

Her mother's eyes were red from crying. Seeing that unsettled Jazz. She had never seen her mother cry before, and even if she didn't actually witness it now, knowing it happened threw her off balance. She knew parents cried too. They were regular people with all kinds of emotions; but, still, they weren't supposed to cry.

Jazz stopped at arm's length, watching them warily.

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie reached down and hugged Jazz.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"You're going to be staying with someone else for a little bit," she said.

Jazz pulled away. "Mom?"

"I'm sorry," Jamila interrupted, placing a hand on Jazz's shoulder. Jazz wanted to throw it off. "Maddie," Jamila continued.

"Please, call me Dr. Fenton," Jazz's mother said, a bitter smile cutting across her face.

"Dr. Fenton," Jamila amended coolly. "May I?"

Jazz felt helpless as Maddie stepped away, instantly missing her comforting presence. Jamila took her place, crouching down to Jazz's level.

"I really am sorry, but I can't let you return to Fenton Works until I know you'll really be safe there. I want you to go home with your parents, I really do, but I want to keep you out of danger more."

"I'm not in danger," Jazz insisted.

"Tonight's events prove otherwise. I was contacted by both the hospital and the dispatch operator you spoke to. It's only temporary. Until I'm sure your parents can take proper care of you. I've made arrangements with a foster home for now."

"Do you really have to do this?" Maddie asked.

"Mom," Jazz said. She reached out, searching for Maddie's hand, squeezing it until Maddie looked at her. "I'll be okay. It's just for now, right? You guys can set everything straight and then we can all go home together with Danny

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie pulled Jazz into another firm hug. "It's not right."

"But it's okay, isn't it? Ms. Faizan can do her work, and she'll see that, and everything will be fine by the time Danny wakes up." Jazz motioned for her father, who quickly joined the hug. It was tight, and warm, and Jazz never wanted to let go, but she had to after a few seconds.

Danny always went on and on about how grown up Jazz was, how she acted so much like an adult even though she was four years younger than him. If she was as mature as Danny always said, then she could do this. She could be grown up right now and be okay with all of this.

She could go with Jamila now, and later, she could go home with Danny.

—

The fight is taking too long. Despite dealing with ghosts for two years now, Jazz has never seen a real fight. If it's someone minor, a single agent is all it takes to swoop in and clean things up before anything bad happens. Mildly destructive ghosts require a few agents, who sometimes block off whole sections of the city, pushing citizens back until the problem is dealt with. Usually, this takes no more than half an hour, although the aftermath of the fight affects the city for days.

But when they send in Phantom, the fight ends before it really begins. Swift, effective, and destructive. Bringing in Phantom means bringing in the big guns.

But they're not so swift today. The minutes drag on, the ghosts caught in a stalemate. It takes Jazz far too long to notice the problem: Phantom is distracted. They keep pulling back at the last moment, holding off from delivering the finishing blow. She doesn't think it's to spare the ghost they're fighting. It's the result, but it's not the reason. Each attack aims to kill, up until the moment it doesn't.

Because Phantom's head keeps swivelling. Toward her. As soon as Jazz realizes this, she scrambles out of the car, ignoring the agents shouting at her to get back inside, and runs over to Tucker and Spike.

"What are you doing?" Tucker asks. His head jerks up and down as he looks between Jazz and the G.I.W. agents. He waves his arms emphatically at the short agent. "He's coming this way now!"

"I don't care. Tucker!" Jazz grabs Tucker by the front of his shirt and pulls him down. She shoves his head forward and points at Phantom. "Do you see it?"

Tucker's face twists in confusion, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brow. "They're... looking at us.

"Yeah."

Phantom snarls, finally managing to get a hold on Skulker, and rips his arm out of the socket, tearing into the limb like a rabid animal. There's only wires inside, thank god.

Tucker pales. "I don't know about you, but... I don't think I want its attention."

"Tucker! He's not an it!" Jazz protests.

"Phantom is a ghost, Jazz. I'm sorry, I don't get what you're trying to say here," Tucker says.

"Don't you remember what I told you? What happened after you left?"

Tucker stares at her. A few seconds later, realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. Yeah! I do! Do you think–"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"I know. "

"Jazz, if it is, I don't think..." Tucker trails off. He gives Jazz a pointed look as Phantom screeches and dissolves into a black cloud, reforming behind Skulker. They swing their arms down on Skulker's head, smashing him into the ground.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Spike asks. "All I see is a pissed off government goon heading our way."

"Phantom," Tucker and Jazz chorus. Jazz adds, "They keep looking over here."

She can't help the hope that swells in her chest. Two years. Two whole years since the ghosts came, since the G.I.W. took over, since it happened. Two years of stares and whispers behind her back.

Look at that girl, isn't it a shame what happened?

I heard they tried to shoot her too.

I bet he ran away because he couldn't stand to see her.

"So?"

"The hospital," Jazz stresses.

"Oh. Oh!" Spike glances at Jazz from the corner of his eye. "That's good, right? It means they're, you know?"

"He... if they are... if it is." Jazz fumbles over her words, but Tucker seems to understand. He gives her shoulder a reassuring pat.

He didn't run away, Jazz thinks. He didn't mean to leave her. She leans into Tucker, torn between crying out of grief or relief.

Spike taps Jazz's other shoulder. "Hey, this is super gross and touching and all, but we're fucked," he said with a jerk of his chin, motioning to the approaching agent.

—

The Miller family was nice enough. Max and Hannah treated her well. They had fostered their son, Spike, before adopting him when he was six. Jazz only saw him once her first day in the apartment, and he immediately reminded her of Sam, with his black clothes and dark makeup, but a little more punk thanks to his mohawk.

He left Jazz alone for the most part, which she was more thankful for than anything.

Max and Hannah told Jazz they would do their best for her, and that they hoped Danny would be okay, and they would give her whatever she needed to make it through this tough time. The way they talked annoyed Jazz a little. They weren't patronizing, but they acted like they knew exactly what she needed when they didn’t.

They thought she needed a soft bed, a good meal, and a comforting smile, but she really just needed her brother.

The first day at the Millers, Jazz occupied herself with her memoirs. She had been working on them the day of the accident, until the power cut out and Danny's scream filled the house, so loud it made her ears ache. She put in her headphones to drown out the residual scream in her head and got down to work.

Before... it happened, she had been writing down her significant childhood memories. The earliest ones weren't full memories, more like snatches of moments. Danny's soft hand in hers. A small hand rubbing her back after a nightmare. The glow of her star nightlight, which originally belonged to Danny, but he passed it on to her when he learned it made her sleep through the night better. She only learned this fact a few months ago, but it warmed her heart nonetheless.

The memories got stronger after that. Her first time seeing Santa, she was four, Danny was eight, and he took her across town on his own to the mall. Danny teaching her to ride a bike, because their parents were too busy in the lab. Danny making cupcakes for her birthday, because their parents were away at a convention. Danny helping her with her homework, even though he wasn't very good at it, but he still tried his best.

Jazz's pen paused. All her best memories had Danny in them. It wasn't that she had no good memories with her parents, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized they weren't really there as much as they thought they were.

"It's fine," she told herself. She pressed her pen into the page, intending to keep writing, but she couldn't stop thinking.

How many kids learned to cook at eight years old because their parents sometimes forgot to feed them? How many kids were more of a parent to their little sister than their actual parents? How many kids lived above a lab full of dangerous chemicals and volatile weaponry, and were told to clean said lab as part of their chores?

Jazz could think of at least one: Danny. Would things be the other way if she were older? Would she take Danny out on Christmas day so they didn't have to hear their parents fighting about a fat man in a red suit? Would she have been forced to grow up too fast?

She didn't want Danny to be her dad. She wanted her father to be her dad.

"Jazz?"

She jumped, hand shooting across the page, pen ripping the paper in half, tearing through her carefully penned memories and the photocopied photograph taped in the corner.

"Oh, shit, sorry. Was that important?" Spike asked. He held one of the house phones, pressing against his chest.

"Language," Jazz said softly, staring forlornly at the ruined page. The pages beneath were ruined, too, a heavy black line cutting across the first few.

"Weirdo," Spike said. "Anyway, Mom­­—that's Hannah—wanted me to tell you that social worker is coming on Friday so you can visit your brother."

Muffled noise comes from the phone, and Spike raises to his ear. He listened a moment, nodded, then lowered it again. "And she's sorry they can't take you sooner, but they work during visitor hours, and they don't want you walking through the city on your own," he recited.

"Why not?" Jazz asked.

Spike looked at her funny, cocking his head. "Because it isn't safe."

"Oh." Jazz would be perfectly fine with going on her own. She needed to see Danny with her own eyes, to make sure he was okay. The nurse said he was, but she had to see it for herself. She had to be certain.

Her second day with the Millers, she couldn't bring herself to work on her memoirs again, so she occupied herself with the collection of books in their office. A lot of it was literature, some classic, some poetry, some plays. Jazz gravitated toward the single shelf of textbooks, particularly the psychology. She didn't know much about the field, but something about understanding brains and how they worked fascinated her.

She stayed holed up in the office all day.

Her third day with the Millers was Friday. She waited for Jamila to pick her up and take her to the hospital. Jamila never showed up.

Her fourth day, she learned about the monster that attacked the mall, sending everyone into a panic. It glowed and couldn't be hurt by anything anyone threw at them, until Maddie and Jack showed up with the volatile weapons they made Danny clean and put the monster—ghost—down. All Jazz cared about was why no one was with Danny in case he woke up.

Her fifth day, Jazz thought, and thought, and didn't stop thinking until she couldn't stop thinking about why her parents didn't seem to care as much as they were supposed to.

On the sixth day, Jamila said she could finally see Danny tomorrow. For the first time in a week, it felt like everything would be alright.

—

Spike panics. Jazz knows he panics because he grabs her wrist and makes a break for it before the agent even reaches them.

"Spike!" Jazz stumbles, almost tripping, and tries to resist. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees the agent giving chase. Until Tucker surges after him and tackles his legs. They both go down.

Spike yanks on her arm, forcing Jazz to run faster, and drags her around the corner of the block.

"What was that?" Jazz asks. She grabs her hair. "Tucker's going to get arrested!"

"So were we! You heard what the emergency broadcast said. You know how many laws we're breaking being 'out of our vehicle?'" Spike shouts back. "All of them!"

"They aren't real laws!" And they aren't. They're a guideline of what to do in ghostly emergencies, and the G.I.W. treat every ghost like an emergency. Although, considering the destruction they had just run from, this was a real emergency.

"Funny, doesn't stop them from arresting people!"

Jazz rips her hand out of Spike's grip. "I can't leave them behind!"

Spike stops and turns. His scowl is softer, and he bites his lip, looking at Jazz with worry.

She glares back at him, refusing to move. "I can't."

"This isn't about Tucker, is it?" he asks. He doesn't need Jazz to answer. She doesn't need to give him one. He sighs, pressing a hand to his cheek, one finger spinning his eyebrow ring. After a long moment, he says, "Fine."

Jazz feels a wave of relief that has her grinning.

"Don't expect me to tackle a government agent for you, though. That's all Foley."

They turn back around, sprinting down the street. Overhead, Phantom and Skulker are still battling it out. Skulker's lagging, the plating of his suit warped and melted. The missing arm definitely doesn't help. But Phantom's not looking so good either. A few lucky shots from Skulker's plethora of hidden guns had left them burnt and bleeding.

Can it really be called bleeding? Ectoplasm, rather than blood, seeps out of Phantom's wounds, indistinguishable from the substance dripping from his mask. A wound on their torso slows them down the most, a large scorch mark stretching from the bottom of their ribcage, across their stomach, to their hip on the other side of their body.

Every time it looks like they're about to slow down, the collar on their neck sparks. Phantom hisses in pain each time and dives back into the hunt with renewed vigour.

Jazz forces herself to look away when Spike grabs her shoulder and pushes her behind the same crumpled car Skulker destroyed earlier. Pressing a finger to his lips, he motions her forward, and together they peer around the bumper and look down the street.

The agent has Tucker pinned on a nearby car. Straining her ears, Jazz can just barely hear what he's saying over the grunts and snarls of the fighting ghosts. "You're under arrest for assaulting a G.I.W. agent and interfering with a government operation."

"Come on, Mr. K, that's not cool," Tucker says.

"Agent K. And neither was assaulting me. G.I.W. operations are a matter of national security."

"It's a green blob in a metal suit, fucking chill!"

Agent K pulls out a pair of cuffs and slaps them on Tucker's wrists, keeping him pinned with a hand on his back. Agent K's focus drifts up toward the fight and scowls. Seeing his hesitance, Jazz realizes Agent K isn't going to move Tucker until the fight is done. Too much debris is flying everywhere and it's safer behind the cars than anywhere else. Agent O seems to have found cover, too, behind the overturned truck. He stands there with his gun lowered, hand poised over his watch.

Jazz looks back to Tucker. Neither he nor Agent K has noticed her and Spike yet. "Okay," she says. "I know what to do."

"No," Spike says.

"I haven't said anything yet."

"No. We're not tackling a G.I.W. agent."

Jazz gives him a pleading look, with wide eyes and a small pout.

"No, we're not tackling him!"

Jazz doesn't give him much of a choice. She charges, dashing out from behind the car.

"Son of a biiitch!" Spike shouts, sprinting past her. Agent K hears Spike and turns to face him, but none of his government training could prepare him for the pure shock value of a sickly looking punk goth kid charging at him at full speed. Spike barrels into the agent's chest, throwing him off Tucker and down to the sidewalk.

Jazz is about to throw herself on top of the pile when a loud crash and a panicked cry stops her.

"No, Phantom, no! It's me! Remember? Stop!"

She jerks back at the sound of Skulker's steadily rising voice and peeks over the car Tucker had been pinned against. Skulker lies on the ground in the middle of the road, Phantom hovering far above him. But something's off. Specifically, Skulker's head. It lies a foot away from his body, the eyes dull and expression completely blank.

"Please!"

Jazz's gaze snaps up to Phantom. In his hands, he holds something small and green, and Tucker's words come floating back to her: a blob in a metal suit. Phantom holds Skulker's real form inches from their face, clutched tightly in their hands.

"No!" Jazz cries, jumping out into the street. Everyone freezes, their heads swivelling toward her, and she falters.

"Jazz, what are you doing?" Tucker hisses.

She doesn't know. Phantom is a dangerous, powerful ghost. There's nothing she can actually do to make him stop. There's no real reason she should even try to stop him. In Amity Park, ghosts are like rabid wild animals. They come in, destroy stuff, and then they get put down. Jazz has never met someone who felt sorry for the ghosts.

But she had also never really met a ghost before. And she had never heard one scream and beg for its life as it tries to help the very thing that is going to kill it. She can't watch that. She can't just stand here and witness Phantom squeezing the life—the afterlife—out of this little ghost that says he wants to help.

Whoever this Skulker is, she can't let that happen.

Whoever Jazz suspects Phantom might be, she can't let them do it.

She can't tell if Phantom is looking at her, but she thinks they are. Even as Skulker wriggles and squirms, popping out of their grip, Phantom stays focused on her. A small smile touches Jazz's lips. In the corner of her eye, Skulker flies down to his suit, free to escape.

Jazz takes a step forward. A burly arm loops around her waist and hoists her off her feet, dragging her back.

"Hey! Stop!" Jazz squirms, feet kicking in the air, and throws her head back. She hits Agent K's chin, but he doesn't falter.

"Hey, calm down! It's not safe out here!" Agent K says, his arm tightening around her midsection.

Jazz gasps. "Let me go! You're hurting me!"

Agent K's hold immediately loosens. "Sorry. But what's with you kids, tackling people trying to help you?"

"Wait, what?" Jazz asks, confused.

Suddenly, white fills her vision. Jazz feels a burning, crackling heat, then she's falling, and Agent K her screams. She rolls on the ground, pushing herself up on her hands and knees, and looks over her shoulder.

Phantom has Agent K pinned against a convenience store window, arms pressed against his throat. Their body blurs as they move, leaning in closer. The glass cracks. With a great heave, the window shatters. Phantom sends Agent K flying through the store, flipping over rows of shelves. He crashes into a row of coolers at the back and falls to the floor.

Phantom spins around and faces Jazz. Up close, they look even more feral, ectoplasm dripping like saliva through a series of jagged slots in their mask. The lenses of their goggles are cracked, but the eyes behind them glow so brightly it hurts to look right at them.

Phantom's collar sizzles and they cry out as the shock courses through them. Turning away from Jazz, they lock onto Agent O and howls. Jazz blinks and Phantom is all the way cross the street, roaring in Agent O's face, immersing him in a haze of ectoplasm.

Agent O drops to the ground, clutching their throat.

"No," Jazz whispers, horrified.

Phantom turns back to her. They stumble forward. Jazz takes a step back. As if that's some signal, Phantom lunges toward her. Jazz screams and drops to the ground, crawling toward the sidewalk.

"Phantom, stand down!" Agent K shouts as he clambers out of the broken shop window His demand is met with a roar of ectoplasm that soars right over Jazz. She screams again, folding her arms over her head, but can't do anything against the blistering heat.

Jazz crawls faster, scrambling to her feet as soon as she's able. She heads for Tucker and Spike, both of them wearing cuffs now, but Phantom cuts in front of her. Backpedalling fast, her arms flail as she pivots and runs the other way.

A hazy mist surrounds Jazz and she shudders, a tingling chill passing through her. Phantom reforms in front of her, too close for her for her to stop in time. A green blast soaring over her shoulder saves her. It bursts against Phantom's chest and throws them back.

"Run!" Agent K shouts, training his gun oh Phantom.

Jazz doesn't question she order. She doesn't wait for Phantom to get back. She already knows they will. No matter what Agent K does, Phantom will come after her. She's their prey now.

—

Everything was not alright.

Monday night, Spike once again passed along the message that Jazz would be seeing her brother the next day, a full week after she'd seen him last. This time, Jamila actually showed up, apologizing for Wednesday, citing the chaos at the mall and the havoc it wreaked throughout the city in general. She brought with her the good news that Danny was awake, had been since Friday.

"I'm sorry no one informed you sooner. There were some complications at the hospital," Jamila had said.

Those foreboding words quelled Jazz's excitement but couldn't snuff it out completely. She would finally get to see for herself that Danny was fine. But when she got to the hospital, the nurse said she wasn't allowed to see him.

"Why not?" she asked.

"He's in for tests right now," the nurse said. She turned to Jamila and continued, as if Jazz wasn't there. "We contacted an expert. Apparently, this is something the government's dealt with before. I don't really understand it, but his parents will be seeing him soon, and Jasmine can see him after that."

That was how Jazz ended up in the waiting room, on her own, again. Jamila had gone off to find her parents and speak to them about Danny's situation, whatever that was. Everyone was treating her like she didn't need to know anything, but she was twelve! She was mature, and smart, and she could handle whatever they were keeping from her.

"It's not fair," she muttered.

"Damn right. Although I have no idea what you're actually talking about."

Jazz looked up and saw Tucker claiming the chair next to her. There was no blood on him, and for one wild moment, Jazz realized she expected to see some. It was the first time she'd seen him since the accident, and for some reason, she pictured him frozen in that moment back at the lab, clothes stained red and green.

"Uh, you good?" Tucker asked.

Jazz stared a moment longer, taking in his pale face. "Are you?"

"Ha, you caught me. I don't really like hospitals," Tucker said. He glanced around the room warily and slumped in his chair. "But I heard they were letting you see him today, so I thought. I don't know. Maybe I could sneak in."

"Who told you?"

"Spike."

Jazz blinked in surprise.

"His moms used to babysit me, and my mom watched Spike to return the favour sometimes. When I heard you were with the Millers, I kind of asked him to keep an eye on you for me," Tucker said, smiling sheepishly. "Got to make sure you're alright for Danny."

"Thanks, I guess," Jazz said. She peered closer at Tucker. More than pale, he looked tired, like he hadn't been sleeping, and it made her wonder. "What... what happened? In the lab."

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. "It doesn't really matter."

"I think it does."

"What difference will it make?"

"Because then I'll know."

"That won't—"

"Tucker, please." Jazz wasn't mad. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She just looked at Tucker, feeling helpless and lost.

"Sam thought it'd be cool to go inside," Tucker muttered.

"Oh." Danny would do anything Sam asked, whether she meant him to or not. Everyone knew it.

"Yeah," Tucker said.

"She hasn't come to see him, has she?"

"She feels guilty."

Jazz didn't know how to respond to that. A small part of her was mad at Sam, but at the same time Jazz knew it wasn't completely her fault.

Silence fell between her and Tucker as she sank into her thoughts. Jazz didn't know how it was with other siblings, but Danny's best friend had always been such a staple in her life that she didn't mind being alone with him. He was almost like a second big brother, although Danny would be the undisputed best.

Tucker stayed with her until Jamila returned. She wore a wary smile and gave Tucker a questioning glance.

"I'm Danny's friend," Tucker said, answering her unasked question.

"I see. I'm sorry, but I've been told only family can see him at this time. His should be seeing him now," Jamila said.

"You're not family."

"Due to the nature of the situation, I am his medical proxy."

It was amazing how Jamila could sum everything up without actually explaining anything useful. Jazz wanted to snap at her, but she held back. After all the thinking she had done about her parents, she was no longer certain how she felt about Jamila. Maybe the woman really did want to help.

"It's fine, Tucker. You can just get Spike to tell you all about my visit," Jazz said.

"Oh, that's cold," Tucker said. He pushed himself up and stretched his arms above his head, then let them flop back down at his sides. "I guess I can leave Danny in your capable hands. Give him hell for scaring us like that."

"That's the plan."

Jazz waited until Tucker was gone before turning to Jamila and motioning for her to lead the way. Soon, all her fretting would be over. She could confirm with her own eyes that Danny wasn't still bleeding out on the floor, and maybe even get one of his comforting smiles. Maybe he would even come with her to stay at the Millers until everything got sorted out with their parents. If it got sorted out.

Before they rounded the corner into Danny's hallway, Jamila took Jazz aside and spoke to her softly.

"Something happened on Friday that the doctors can't really explain," she started. "Your brother appears healthy, but he's... different. And I just want to prepare you for that."

Determined, Jazz nodded.

Jamila looked relieved, her wide brown eyes softening, and she smiled. "Okay. Let's go see your brother."

They turned the corner. Nothing happened. Which made sense, because it was just a hallway, and the door to Danny's room was further down. But Jazz was so tense that the brightly lit hospital hallway felt out of place. A long, foreboding corridor would have been more appropriate.

Hospital staff bustled about. A couple patients were stretching their legs. Some visitors had claimed benches that were interspersed along the hall, none of them too interesting. A woman in a pretty blue dress, a man in a white suit, two teenagers with watery eyes and red noses. Jazz wondered who they were all here for.

They were halfway down the hall when a door burst open and a nurse stuck his head out.

"Security!" he shouted.

"That's not my son!"

Jamila's arm curled around Jazz's shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. The way Jamila's hold on her tightened when a security guard went rushing by told her exactly who's room that was. Her fears were confirmed when Maddie and Jack backed out of the open door, herded toward the security guard by the nurse. Danny's door closed behind them.

Jazz twisted, breaking free of Jamila's grip, and ran toward her parents.

"Mom, what's going on? What's wrong?" she asked.

Maddie turned to Jazz and her face fell, tears welling in her eyes. She was barely holding it together "Oh, honey. Danny's... Danny's gone, sweetie."

"No." That wasn't right. Jamila just said Danny was fine. What could have happened in that short time? She refused to believe it.

"No!" she repeated, louder.

Maddie reached out to her. Jazz ducked under her arm, skipping out of reach. She glanced at Jamila, the nurse, the guard, checking to see if any of them would stop her. None of them moved.

"Stop, Jazz!" Jack shouted, taking a step forward.

The security guard stopped him, getting in Jack's way and holding out his arms. "Sir, I will remove you form the building," the guard said.

"Jasmine, do not go in there," Maddie said in a scolding, motherly tone

Jazz went in. She whipped the door open, spinning around and slamming it shut. There was no lock. A quick peek through the window confirmed the guard was still holding her parents back. Satisfied they weren’t going to barge in and drag her out of there, Jazz turned.

She froze. The person sitting on the bed had a familiar head of messy hair, but it faded to white half-way through. His eyes swirled blue and green, the colours constantly shifting, pushing against each other, battling for dominance. When he raised his hand and waved, his arm blurred, trailed by an afterimage.

Bandages crawl up his right arm, wrapping stiffly around his fingers, and winding all the way up to his shoulder, stopping just before the sleeve of his blue gown. She's only seen it once, but Jazz knows there's a gauze patch on his shoulder under that sleeve. A matching patch is plastered against his neck. Thin, spidery blisters creep along his jaw, but don't go much further than that.

His face is sallow, cheeks sunken, eyes looking bruised. The blood is gone. The green goo is gone.

"Jazz!" There was a slight echo to his voice. He beamed. "About time you got here. I was starting to think you didn't care."

There was no mistaking that smile or that teasing voice. Jazz ran forward and threw her arms around his waist, burying her head against his chest.

"Danny!" Jazz cried out, already tearing up. Because it was Danny. He looked different, and he felt different—cold—but it was him.

"You are not gonna believe what's on the other side of that portal, took a lot of work to get back here–"

"Get back?"

"­–but here I am!" Danny threw up his arms, grinning even wider.

Jazz noticed his teeth looked a little sharper. "What happened?" she asked.

"Oh, man, you're not gonna believe it. So, the portal turns on, right? And then everything just goes all." Danny waved his hands around. "Hold on, wait, I had it before. Everything just goes all," he snapped his fingers and electricity crackled down his arm, "like that!"

Jazz jumped away from him, staring at his arm as the electricity fizzled out.

Danny's smile slipped. "Oh. You're scared too, aren't you? Mom and Dad... they didn't take it well either."

Jazz opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the door banged open. Startled, she whipped around and backed up until her hip bumped the side of Danny's bed. Maddie stood in the doorway, holding a silver and green gun. An ectogun, Jazz recalled. Her parents made them to fight ghosts, if they ever saw one.

"Jazz, get away from it!" Maddie said. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.

"Mom," Jazz said.

"That's not Danny!"

"That's kind of rude," Danny muttered.

"Mom, what are you doing!" Jazz slid in front of Danny, holding out her arms the same way the security guard had.

The barrel of Maddie's gun dipped as she watched Jazz, disbelief written across her face. It looked like she was going to stop. To Jazz, it looked like Maddie was about to reconsider. Until Jazz felt Danny's hand on her shoulder. Maddie's disbelief was drowned out by a furious snarl fueled by grief and rage.

Everything happened so fast.

Danny shoved Jazz out of the way just before the bang. She tripped into a chair by his bed, smacking her head on the armrest. The world went fuzzy for a moment. There wa a shout, and a thump, and her mother started wearing. A stampede of feet come running.

When Jazz's vision cleared, she saw Maddie on the ground, pinned by the same security guard from before, reaching for her gun. No less than three new guards had Jack pinned out in the hallway. The nurse was speaking frantically into a phone. The man in the white suit tapped the nurse's shoulder, holding out his hand for the phone, jerking his chin toward the room. The nurse relinquished the phone without protest.

Jazz crawled backward, away from the chaos, and almost fell when her hand slipped on something warm and wet. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Danny on the floor, bleeding.

—

Jazz has been afraid many times in her life. When she was little, walking through the house in the dark. When she sat in the backseat of the RV while her father had the wheel. When she sat in the hospital, alone waiting to hear if Danny was alive or dead. When she realized he was gone from her life forever.

None of that compares to how she feels now. Her heart beats against her ribs, moments from bursting out of her chest. Her lungs burn and her throat feels tight and she struggles to breathe. Her senses narrow until all she can see is what's in front of her, all she can hear is Phantom inches behind her, all she can feel is the icy heat they give off, so cold it burns.

Jazz makes the mistake of looking back to check how close Phantom is. Practically nose to nose, the green and blue lenses of his goggles are all she sees. She shrieks and stumbles. Phantom reaches out to catch her, latching on to her hair, yanking her head back. She cries out again, tears springing to her eyes.

Phantom jerks away from her, releasing her hair, and raises their hands to their face. They start moaning. Jazz takes off, the ominous wail building behind her. Clapping her hands over her ears, she tries to shut it out. The distraught cry grows louder and louder until the ground shakes, and windows rattle, and a wave of green energy blasts Jazz off her feet.

She soars through the air, screaming, arms wrapping around her head. She hits the ground hard and curls into a ball. Phantoms wail tears into her, a painfully familiar cry of pain amplified a hundred times over, fueled by the power of ectoplasm.

Her ears ring long after it ends, so loud that she doesn’t even realize Phantom's stopped until she notices the ground isn't shaking anymore. She rolls onto her back and lifts her head. Phantom stumbles toward her, clutching their still-bleeding wounds. Gas pours from their mask, ectoplasm erupting from the slits every time they breathe.

Fear keeps her pinned. The only thing Jazz can do is weep, her heart slowly cracking as Phantom edges closer, vicious and unrelenting, not a single shred of humanity with them.

"Please stop!" Jazz wails. "This isn't you! Just stop. See me! Stop being so stupid!"

Phantom's breath rattles as they loom over her.

Jazz screams, "Danny!"

—

Jazz waited until two a.m. before slipping out of her hospital room. A nurse had given her slippers before final rounds, so she wasn't walking barefoot, but they made a loud slapping noise if she didn't walk carefully enough. She stuck close to the wall, one hand on the plastic rail that stretched down the length of the hallway.

Danny was only one room over, but it would only take a second for a nurse to walk around the corner, see Jazz up and about, and usher her back into her room. She slipped through Danny's door, quiet as possible, and tiptoed over to his bed. There was a new swathe of bandages on his left forearm, to go with his growling collection.

Maddie had missed hitting anything vital, but whatever was in her gun sent Danny into a seizure. The police came and took Jack and Maddie away after that, and Danny's doctor admitted Jazz with a concussion. She was only meant to be there one night, and she didn't want to spend it alone.

Grabbing one of the chairs, she dragged it toward Danny's bed, one inch at a time. It made a high-pitched squeak every time she pulled it forward. Nobody came barging in, despite the loud noise, and soon enough she had the fhair right where she wanted it.

She was about to sit down when Danny opened his eyes.

"You could have just picked it up," he said.

"You were awake! Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it was funny."

Jazz crossed her arms and turned her back to him.

"Aw, come on, I'm sorry. Turn around."

She did, albeit reluctantly, and found Danny had kicked the covers off and shuffled over to the edge of the bed.

"Come on," he said.

"I'm not eight."

"Congratulations. Come on."

Jazz rolled her eyes and climbed in. Using Danny's arm as a pillow, she settled next to him, just like when they were little and she used to come to him after having a bad dream. They would stare up at the stars on his ceiling while he pointed out constellations to her.

There were no stars to point out now but sitting next to him still brought comfort. Danny was all she ever had, and he was all she would ever need.

"Are we gonna be okay?" she asked.

"Totally." Jazz could hear Danny's smile in his weird, new, echoing voice. "I talked to Jamila earlier. She told me about the Millers."

"Are you coming there too?"

"Yeah. Jamila's already made the arrangements. You and me? We're gonna be okay as long as we're together." Danny wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You should head back to your room before someone finds you missing. I'll be right here if you need me."

Jazz nodded, sliding out of the bed. Danny gives her one last smile before she left. On the way back to her room, she paused. The hallway wasn't empty anymore. Someone stood at the very end of it, watching her. It was the man in the white suit.

Jazz waited to see if he would do something. He only stared. Breaking their little stand-off first, she lowered her head and slipped through her door, rushing over to her bed. Pulling the covers up over her head, she curled on her side. It didn't take her long to relax, though, Danny's last comforting words echoing in her head. She drifted off with a smile on her face, thinking of how much better things would be from here on out.

When Jazz woke up in the morning, Danny was gone.

—

Phantom's stopped.

Afraid to move, Jazz holds herself perfectly still for a few long seconds, but no attack comes. She opens her eyes and looks up.

Phantom looms over her, seething. Ectoplasm drips from their mask like toxic drool. Their breathing is ragged, shoulders rising and falling with each pant. They don't even have the strength to holds his arms up so the cuffs don't strain his elbows. Their whole body shakes.

A glob ectoplasm drops to the ground by Jazz's foot, a few specks splashing against her ankle. It burns. She flinches, scrambling back, but Phantom doesn't move. Warily, she pushes herself up onto her knees. When Phantom doesn't react, she gets on her feet, slowly rising out of a crouch. Phantom just stands there.

She should be running. She should take advantage of this reprieve and whatever caused it and get the hell out of there. Over Phantom's shoulder, she spies Spike, Tucker, and Agent K running down the street. They're waving their arms and yelling, probably telling her to get away while she can.

She moves closer to Phantom. Reaching out, she grabs their hood and pulls it down. Their hair is mostly white, but at the roots, there's the thinnest line of black. Now that she's close, she sees how the mask digs into his cheeks and goes for that next. It probably hurts.

It takes her a moment to find the locking mechanism. It rests at the nape of their neck, a simple latch without a key. Cruelly simplistic. She has to get in close to reach up and around their head, and Phantom flinches when her arms circle them.

She freezes, expecting them to attack, or leap away, but they don't. She flicks the latch. The mask doesn't fall away as she though it would, but it's looser now. Carefully, she pries the mask open and pulls it off. It resists, for a moment, so stuck to Phantom's face, but eventually gives. She tosses it away as soon as it's off and can barely hold in her gasp.

A deep imprint cuts across Phantom's cheeks and nose. Ectoplasm smears the lower half of Phantom's face, blisters surrounding their lips. She didn't think a ghost's own ectoplasm could hurt them but looking at how thin the slots in the mask are, it probably takes a lot of pressure to push it all out.

Jazz touches Phantom's cheek, her thumb tracing their jaw, wiping away some of the ectoplasm to reveal a series of thin red lines branching across their skin.

Phantom's shaking has stopped, but Jazz's hands tremble as she reaches for their goggles. She pushes them up to their forehead. The eyes that stare back at her are wild, pupils stretched wide. They look right through her, uncomprehending, but she recognizes them instantly. One has a little more green, the other more blue, but both colours swirl in each iris.

Jazz squeezes her eyes shut. She can't hold back her tears any longer, pressing her head against Phantom's shoulder. She wraps her arms around her brother's neck and sobs.

[stachmousworld]

Steve is dumb (part 1)

Pairing: First Bucky x Y/N but endgame Steve x Y/N

Tags: Somnophilia kink, Daddy kink, vaginal fingering, a lot of teasing too, unprotected sex, breeding kink.

CONTEXT (It’s a lot so bear with me):

Family situation: Y/N’s mom died when she was younger. Y/N was raised by her dad, who later married another woman, Sylvie. Then divorced her. Sylvie is now Steve’s wife. Y/N lives at their, Sylvie and Steve, house because it is closer to college.

Y/N is well into her twenties. The age gap between Steve/Bucky and her is around 10 years. Sylvie is older than Steve. And Y/N’s dad is older than Sylvie.

So, Steve and Bucky are in their thirties, Sylvie her forties and Y/N’s dad his fifties. Phew…

I hope it was easy to understand. To make this story less porn-y, with the famous “plot what plot” that we find in most pornos, I had to go through so many loops to try and make it “believable”.

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

 Bucky didn’t really why he came. When Steve had talked to him about a brunch, he had been genuinely excited. But now he was there, he regretted. 

Why did he keep falling into Steve’s trap...it wasn’t the first time Steve had persuaded him to come to these kinds of gatherings, and despite knowing him for decades, Bucky fell head first into this trap.

The food so far was bland and Steve’s wife, Sylvie, was grating his nerves. Bucky raised his glass toward Sylvie. She glared at him and spun around. Bucky smirked behind his glass happy.

“Your mom is really a treasure,” he joked to Steve’s stepdaughter next to him.

The young woman sighed and nodded. Bucky sipped his drink watching the young lady next to him. Her mahogany skin shone under the sunlight. Her hair was braided and raised in a high pony. She had traded her sunglasses for her prescription ones, making her whiskey eyes look bigger and more innocent. 

 Bucky unconsciously leaned toward her and took in her sweet scent. A mix between her perfume, shea butter, and hair products. He clenched his fingers trying to get a hold on himself. 

 “So –” 

“Baby girl, I hope Buck’ is not annoying you,” Steve joked as he stopped in front of them. Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve’s misplaced protectiveness. It was his own fault for missing his opportunity. She blushed and played with the hem of her dress. Well, that was quite unexpected.

“It’s okay, Steve,” she mumbled, eyes dropping to the grass. Steve was about to reply when someone called him. He patted her back and made his way to the table. 

“So, Steve, huh?”

Her head snapped up. “What about him?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I’m not blind. I have seen how you looked at him.”

She struggled to speak for a couple of seconds. He watched her face closely and recognized the signs of someone who was ready to flee.

“I’m not judging. It’s normal.”

“Really?” she asked, hopeful. Her body relaxed. Slightly. 

Bucky internally rejoiced. If he played his cards right, he’d be able to help Steve. The poor lad only got one braincell and it only worked once in the blue moon. That explained why he was married to a gold digger, who had been sleeping with her ex behind Steve’s back. Steve knew it but didn’t want to divorce for some obscure reasons.

“Yep, it’s the most researched practice on any porn site,” he said, as a matter of fact. Her blush intensified and she looked away. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, a little too unsure. 

Why would she...? Realization dawned upon him. “You’ve never been on a porn site?”

She choked on her saliva. Bucky’s grin grew wider. Well, that was unexpected.

 “Are you a virgin?” He blurted. 

Her eyes bulged. She spluttered and looked around quickly. As she made her move to escape, Bucky grabbed her arm. His grip was loose enough for her to break free. 

 “It’s okay, I’m not going to judge you. It was merely a personal question. And I’m sorry for being intrusive. I forget that people generally don’t like to be questioned.”

She stared at his hand around her arm. He let her go. She shook her arm and crossed them under her breasts, pushing them higher.

Bucky appreciated the sight. He licked his lips and rearranged himself. If Steve didn’t want her, he’d gladly accept any caress from her.

“It’s okay,” she said, clearly meaning the opposite. Bucky put on his best sad puppy face. If being friend with Steve has taught him something, it was this ability. Steve has always been better than him. But Bucky had been a quick learner.

“I really meant no harm. Steve has talked a lot about you.” Her entire demeanor changed. She uncrossed her arms and smiled softly. “No…” He said, looking torn. He looked away and pretended to be guilty of revealing too much. “I’m sorry I can’t talk about it. It’s wrong.”

“No, wait!” She exclaimed, placing her hand on his bicep. “You said it was normal. So, there is nothing wrong if Steve feels like that, right?” Bucky grinned inwardly. Gotcha! He thought.

“Yes, but…it’d be like taking advantage of you and I don’t want that,” he explained, still faking his contrite.

“I’m of age and Steve didn’t raise me. And I’ve known him before my stepmom.”

 “To whom she is married,” he added. She seemed to think about it for a second.

 “But if Sylvie doesn’t know about it…”

“Would you be able to have sex with Steve knowing he has sex with your stepmom.”

Her mahogany skin turned pale. She grimaced, pressing a hand on her stomach. 

“That’s disgusting!” She screamed, indignant.

Bucky cursed himself. What the hell! He was supposed to help Steve and now he fucked it up. All trace of arousal left his body. She quickly made her way to the table, not looking once behind.

This time, Bucky didn’t try to make her stay. Added to that, Steve, who witnessed the entire ordeal, was glaring at him. Bucky flipped him off and walked to the table, where everyone was gathered.

The only seat available was next to Steve’s stepdaughter. She has avoided looking at him for the first part of the brunch, but now she was more relaxed and even laughed at his jokes. Until the conversation turned to something more sexual. Bucky thanked the Lord for this new chance to help Steve.

“I’m never going to let you do that to me, Brad!” A blond woman exclaimed, making all of them jump.“That’s disgusting.”

“I don’t judge your kinks don’t judge mine,” Brad grumbled. He unclenched and clenched his fingers around his fork and knife.

“That’s not kink that’s rape,” she retorted, with a disgusted grimace.

“I already told you, Sash’, when it is consensual, it is not rape,” Brad said through gritted teeth.

“How can someone consent if they are not awake.”

Brad took a deep breath. “People, on the receiver side, give their consent while awake. They plan it. So no, it’s not rape.” His wife’s face went redder by the minute. Brad rolled his eyes, visibly bracing himself for the blow up.

“Did you do that to me? Did you rape me, Bradley!” She shrieked, standing up.

“You know what Sasha, go fuck yourself! I have never raped anyone, and you know it,” he answered, barely raising his voice. The only proof that he was furious was the way he gripped his fork and knife.

Sasha snickered. “How would I know if I’m asleep.”

Brad laughed, bitter. “Awake, you complain like a little bitch because I’m too big. So, I’m pretty sure you’d feel it. With all the bragging you surely do, I’d think you knew how to take a dick.” He placed his cutlery down. “At least you know I’m not with you for your sexual abilities.”

Sasha looked around and suddenly started crying. She mumbled a few accusations and ran in the house. Brad looked down, took a few breaths, and kept eating. The others, who have stopped talking, looked at each other wearily.

“You should eat, she won’t come back,” Brad spoke after wiping the corners of his mouth. Steve glanced at Bucky who shrugged.

“What did they talk about?” The young woman whispered to him. It took some time to understand what she asked about.

“Forget about it,” she replied quickly, misinterpreting his silence. “Somnophilia,” he said, nonchalant, as if the topic wasn’t a part of his favorite kinks. He felt a stir in his groin just talking about it. She raised her eyebrows and repeated the word silently.

“Why did she think it was rape?”

“One person, the receiver, gives their consent to their partner to have sex with them while they are asleep,” he explained visibly calm. Inside his blood was rushing to his neither region.

“Oh,” was her only answer. She played with her food, eyes darting toward Steve, who was laughing at a stupid joke. It had to be a stupid joke, only them could make Steve laugh like that, anyway.

“It’s one of Steve’s favorite kink,” Bucky added. He was particularly enjoying playing matchmaker.

“Really?”

“Hm. We talked about it a few times and he was always…” Bucky pretended to be embarrassed. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t talk to you about that.” He started eating his food, which still had no flavor. He suppress a grimace.

“No, you can. Like I told you I’m off age.”

She placed her hand on his thigh. Bucky tensed under the warm touch. He unconsciously licked his lips. Was she teasing him? He tilted his head and examined her face.

Nah, she looked innocent.

“Okay, but it’s between us,” he warned up. She nodded eagerly. “What do you want to know?”

“Why does he like it so much?” Her bambi eyes rendered him speechless. He didn’t know he had a thing for innocent girls. Most of his relationships had been with experimented people. Bucky struggled with girls like her. He was scared of taking one bite and being stuck forever. Because this sweet girl would be as addictive as a drug. He was sure of it. Just sitting next to her put him on edge. 

Damn Steve…

Bucky leaned closer. “First, your consent would be extremely sexy. Knowing that your partner gives you that much power is thrilling. Can you imagine, Steve comes back at night and wants to give you good night kiss” Her breath hitched. She didn’t seem averse to this idea. “He knocks on your door, but you are already asleep. So, he opens the door and get in. He looks at you with longing and love, but the real reason he came to you was else. He undressed completely and walks toward you. As he does, he caressed himself, thinking of your sweet pussy around him.” She chocked on the water she was drinking. Bucky patted her back and reassured the others. She was beetroot red, despite her complexion. Her eyes were now dark brown and burned with desire.

Steve cleared his throat attracting the others’ attention, not before sending a suspicious look to Bucky, who raised his hands in mock defense. Steve shook his head, muttering something.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked her. She nodded vehemently. Her face still looked red but less than before.

“Can you continue, please?” She asked, timidly.

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice.

Part 2

[kareofbears]

blinding lights, chapter 4/4

Their height gap is a wide one, but in no way is Sumire going to let Akechi keep looking down on her. “It became my business the minute we wanted the same thing: to fix this reality."

---

Akechi and Sumire have to traverse through the events of the third semester without Akira (or rather, against him).

read on ao3 or under the cut :)

No matter how long fate will allow him to live, Akira would never forget Ryuji’s awakening.

Blood splattering on the carpet as he rips the mask carved into his face, the explosion that erupts from his very core like an airstrike, the scream so raw and guttural and unleashed, as if a part of Ryuji that’s always been strapped down and chained has been freed after years of confinement.

But it was the look on his face, the manic grin that emerged from the pitfalls of anguish is the part that’s burned into his memory. Any hesitation that was there was wiped clean—all that’s left was triumph and sheer rage, an insurmountable amount of it laid bare on his face and in his eyes so prevalent that Akira had barely noticed Captain Kidd behind him.

“What the hell—” Akira stammers, unable to process that Ryuji’s here, in Maruki’s Palace. There’s a sag in his shoulders, the effect of the curse attack probably causing him to feel heavy and drained. That’s why they should always be wary of curse skills; they’re a direct attack on their physical and mental state. (Once, it had hit Ann particularly hard in Futaba’s Palace. If Akira’s hits became harder after that as a precaution, nobody mentioned anything.) “Why are you—”

Ryuji turns and anything that Akira might’ve said dies in his throat. He barely looks like someone who took Eigaon head-on, but it doesn’t stop Akira from feeling waves of nausea anyway.

“Are you hurt?” Ryuji asks tersely.

“No, but—”

“Good,” the look on his face was one of pure, irrepressible fury, one to rival his awakening. “Then I can get pissed off without having to feel bad.”

Akira nods and touches his mask. “We will, I know you’re probably confused but you got hit pretty bad—”

“I didn’t—”

Personas burst in and out, flickering like shadows from TV static. “Sorry, just give me—”

“Stop looking for—”

“You got hurt, at least let me—”

“God dammit, Kurusu!” he snaps, and grabs his wrist, grip lax. “Why aren’t you listening? I said I was fine, wasn’t I? I’m not hurt, I don’t want your effin’ diaharan. I just want you to talk to me about why you’re here and I wasn’t.”

“Ryuji, it’s a long story,” Akira starts, forcing his voice to be steady.

“Long story, my ass!” Letting Akira’s hand fall, his glare hard as steel. “I was in some messed up world where Kamoshida didn’t slap my leg like a toothpick and everyone was in it with me. I have zero clue if you were in it from the start or if you got out if it later on, but I know one thing:” he jerks his thumb behind him. “I had to rely on Yoshizawa and Akechi Goro of all the damn people in the world.”

“They told you?” Akira hisses quietly.

“Jesus Christ, this isn’t about them!” Ryuji shouts, and his hands are clenched into tight fists. “Why does it matter that they told me? The point is that you didn’t, and it really fucking sucks that my leader, my best fucking friend would let me live like that!”

“It’s because I’m your leader!” he snaps, and he realizes his voice is raised. “It’s because I’m your best friend that I did that!”

“What are you even saying?” His fists are shaking, his frustration threatening to break out.

“I’m saying that the crap you guys went through was hell. God, just look around! Yusuke lost what was supposed to be his father figure, Haru actually lost her dad and had to put up with some predatory douchebag, and Futaba…” Akira clenches his teeth. “She’s fifteen, Ryuji. She’s a year younger than us, and she’s gone through so much—”

“And they still moved on, didn’t they? They still get out of bed everyday, still go out and live life, they still have a purpose. They want to live in the reality they fought for and you just want to, what, take that away from them?” his jaw locks tight. “Did you forget that it’s always, with no damn exception, supposed to be a unanimous decision?”

A long, heavy beat fills every crevice of their bones.

And then: “Your mother.”

“What?”

“You love your mom more than anything,” Akira says. Early memories of Ryuji roll in his mind, and even those are filled with him raving about his ma, about how she was the only one on his side when it felt like the entirety of Japan was against him. And how she just smiled when she found out Ryuji lost his scholarship. “You want to be in track for her again, to help her. That’s what you wanted—”

“Are you seriously bringing in the mom card? She’s moved on, Akira! She’s swallowed what happened, and we’re fine. Yeah, it’d be a hell of a lot easier to have that scholarship, but she’s over it. We all are.”

“But don’t you wish it never happened?” Akira insists, urgent. “You don’t have to put up with it, Ryuji. You have that choice.”

“And my choice is to live in a reality that we all decided to live for! It’s our choice and you almost took that away from us! I just don’t get why you would do that, Akira. You’re so damn smart, but why couldn’t you see that we learned to be happy?” Ryuji takes Akira’s face in both of his hands. “What were you thinking, Kurusu?”

He opens his mouth, ready to argue, but he finds himself looking into brown eyes instead—still furious, but beneath it all is confusion, and above all, hurt. It was the one thing Akira wanted to prevent above everything else.

He realizes, a bit belatedly, that’s he’s so, so stupid.

“I just want every single one of you to be happy,” Akira whispers.

“I know.”

“I thought this is what you wanted.”

“I know,” Ryuji begins to deflate a little, the tension seeping out of him.

“I’m—” Akira swallows past the lump in his throat, and averts his gaze. Shame burns hot as fire inside of him. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For not talking to the group first. You’re right—I forgot about the unanimous decision part.”

“Damn right you did.” Ryuji lets go of his face, sighing. Scrubs his hair. “I’m still mad at you. Like, crazy mad.”

Before Akira can say anything, Ryuji pulls him by the shoulder and incases him in a tight hug. “But I forgive you.”

Slowly, he hugs him back. “I won’t do it again.”

Ryuji squeezes him tighter. “I know you won’t.”

They stay like that for awhile—in between realities and in each other’s arms.

—

Footsteps. Lots of them. Not as fast as Ryuji’s, but louder, overlapping one another. Approaching fast.

“You’re screwed, dude,” was all the warning Akira got before he was released and promptly tackled onto the ground by two separate entities screaming into his ear.

“Akira!”

“I’m gonna punch you so hard—”

“Kurusu, I am so crazy pissed at you—”

“What did you expect?” Makoto sighs as Ann grabs him by the collar and shakes him vigorously. “It’s only natural we react like this since you abandoned us.”

“I—did—not—abandon—” Akira tries, but Mona clambers onto his shoulders and is attempting to restrain him in a headlock. He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he can barely even feel it.

“You didn’t tell us anything!” Ann yells. “We had to rely on pancakes over there—”

“I had believed that the relationship we had forged was an admirable one, but I would have thought you’d talk to us about it first—” Yusuke says, but stops short when his eyes land on Futaba.

The group quiets down, and even Ann and Morgana cease their harassment.

Hands gentle and heart thudding, he coerces the two off of him and sits cross-legged on the cold tile, awaiting his execution by the hands of a fifteen year-old girl.

Her Metaverse footwear adds about two inches to her stature, barely breaking into the realm of five feet, but as she slowly walks to where Akira is, he can’t help but feel her towering presence.

She stops an arm’s length away, her goggles perched on top to reveal her expression; blank except for the slight twist in her mouth.

Unconsciously, everyone else had forced a semi-circle around the two like a mediocre street fight, waiting on bated breath for the verdict. It takes some effort, but Akira manages not to look away from her gaze.

For a moment, only the buzz of the lights can be heard.

“I have some guesses about what’s going on,” she says eventually. “But you know everything, I think. And you didn’t tell us.”

Akira swallows and Futaba pushes on. “I get the feeling of wanting to be alone. I’ll help you have that if that’s what you want. But,” her blank expression cracks and her voice begins to wobble. “Don’t try and leave like that. You helped me, back in the summer. And you won’t even—” her breath hitches, and Akira’s chest clenches. “You won’t even let us do that for you.”

“...Futaba—”

She reaches forward towards him and he tenses for the hit, only for her to pat his head firmly. “I know,” she says softly. “Ryuji chewed you out pretty good, and there’s no hecking way I’m letting you pull something like this again. I just wanted to tell you what I was feeling.”

Akira nods and tries for a smile. It probably doesn’t come out right. “As if I could ever leave behind my annoying, genius key item again.”

“You’re such a loser,” she snorts before throwing herself on Akira, arms opened wide and crushing every ounce of air out of him.

Somewhere behind him, Ryuji yells out: “Group hug for the dumbass leader!”

“I am not a—” Akira gets out before his breath is snatched out of him four, five, six more times.

“Ouch, Yusuke that’s my back—”

“Don’t be mean. You know he’s got a lot of sharp angles cause he eats six times a week, max—”

“Mona-chan, your fur is so soft. Do you use a conditioner?”

“Well, sometimes when Akira is in the bathhouse and I’m feeling a little brave—”

Voice muffled, Akira groans dramatically. “I can’t breathe…dying…”

“Oh, puh-lease, you can’t die from too much love!”

“Besides,” Makoto pops her head out from somewhere in their impromptu football pile. “I doubt Ryuji would let you die after he took the hit from—”

“Oh, hell,” Akira blinks. Patting random limbs around him, “Let me up. I need to check-in with Akechi.”

“It’s okay, senpai.”

A pause, and they all gradually turn their heads to the sound of the newcomer’s voice.

With a little struggling and some light shoving, Akira stands. “I missed,” he says quietly. “I got sloppy.”

“Did you really believe that that messy attack would cause lasting damage?”

Akechi comes up from behind Sumire, face gaunt and trudging, but his contemptuous expression immovable. “It’s insulting that you believed I’d be anything less than fine.”

The group tenses, all sense of levity evaporated—in its place is wariness, layered with a thick coating of distrust. Akira opens his mouth, but Haru beats him to it.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Akechi-kun.”

A few gasps were let out, and Sumire’s mouth hangs open. Akechi’s shoulders tense ever so slightly.

“...Thank you.”

Haru shakes her head, smiling. Whether or not it’s forced or legitimate is anyone’s best guess. Next to Akira and Akechi, she has the toughest mask to crack. “I should be the one thanking you. You assisted us greatly in supporting Akira-kun. Ah, and Yoshizawa, too!”

Haru, Akira had learned very early on, can wield an axe better than a lifetime-trained lumberjack can. Yet her ultimate weapon is being able to kill people with kindness despite—no, because of what happened to her. The strength to pursue compassion in the face of vile circumstances is what compelled Akechi to silence now.

Sumire spoke for the both of them. “It’s no problem!”

“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” Ann says. “But I’m beat.”

“As am I, but I can’t find it in me to return to dorms after all this,” says Yusuke.

“Me neither,” Makoto pipes in.

“I think we all want to keep hanging out, right?” Futaba asks. “So I’ve got two words, bolded, italicized, underlined, and highlighted: Leblanc party!”

Ryuji squints. “That’s three words, dummy.”

“Ooo, that’s a great idea, Futaba!” Ann exclaims, clapping her hands together, “I can get the cupcakes and some sweets!”

“I can get chips and snacks!” Haru beams.

“Drinks are on me, y’all!” Futaba says.

“Fear not,” Yusuke says, self-satisfied. “I will let Boss know.”

“I want sushi!” Morgana yowls.

“Not too sure I gave the okay to this, given that I live there,” Akira says, only to be booed from all sides.

“No one likes a tsundere, man!” Ryuji yells.

“Akira isn’t violent,” says Makoto, frowning.

“That’s ‘yandere,’ Mako-chan.”

“I’m expecting everyone in Akira’s room in two hours!” Futaba announces, and hesitates, before looking at Akechi. “Everyone! And I mean it! At least...just for today.”

Akira blinks before Haru cuts in. “Yes, I completely agree. A celebration for being together again, and to everyone who helped us get here.”

They all nod in agreement. It’s incredible; it’s the people around him that elected him to be the leader of their little group, but he will only ever be half as strong as they are. For them to be able to set aside their feelings, their hate, for one day just because they’re grateful that Akira was saved from his own delusions—Akira really doesn’t deserve them. (But there’s no way he’s saying it out loud. They’ll all eat him alive if they even suspect that he’s thinking that.)

“I’ll politely have to decline—” Akechi attempts, before Ryuji scoffs.

“Dude, come on. One party ain’t gonna kill you and there’s no way you’re beating Haru in a manners competition.”

“Or Futaba in a battle of obstinacy,” Yusuke finishes.

When Akechi looks like he’s about to argue once again, Sumire clears her throat and levels him with a loaded look. Looking away, Akechi accidentally meets Akira’s eyes with a carbon copy of the same expression.

You’re not getting out of this one, detective.

Eventually, he relents: “One evening.”

—

After a quick group discussion about who’s getting what, Akira offers to get sushi and all but drags Akechi with him, saying that if the restaurant recognizes the Detective Prince they might get a discount; though judging that Akira had tipped a generous thirty percent and the way he had pulled Ryuji aside to make sure he wasn’t hiding any wounds or pain (“the only pain I have is you. You’re a pain in my ass, ‘Kira”), Akechi assumes that Akira had an ulterior motive.

They stand outside the restaurant somewhere in Ginza, the empty alley more bearable than the crowded inside. For once, the weather is approachable—gray clouds in the early evening sky, though the chill is as present as it always is. Few are out and about on leisurely walks and mundane errands, finding no need to celebrate on an arbitrary Wednesday, but every once in a while there are those with laughter and frivolity trailing them; a reminder that their work is far from over.

Someone in the distance buys a drink from a vending machine when Akechi’s eye twitches.

“Do you mind?”

Immediately, Akira averts his eyes from Akechi. Embarrassment isn’t present in his expression, but the disgustingly thick layer of concern couldn’t be clearer. “Just checking.”

“For what? If I was bleeding out over a scratch?”

“Because I know you could've avoided that scratch,” Akira says, voice hard. “Yeah, my aim was shot, but that shouldn’t have hit you. You’re good in short, all-out fights like that. It’s your element. Yet I still hit you.”

“We all have our off days.”

“I guess,” he says, and the corner of his mouth tilts up, just a bit. “You looked pretty tired by the end of it.”

Akechi throws a glare at him. “I suppose I’m not used to someone who acts like he’s in the middle of a dance contest while he’s in battle.”

“Okay, okay,” Akira chuckles and the last dregs of uneasiness seems to wash away, the hard line of the corner of his eyes fading. His fingers gravitate to his pockets. “You’re too feisty right now to be injured.”

He feels himself about to retort against ‘feisty’ (Akechi’s never been called feisty in his life and he isn’t about to start today) when Akira looks up, staring at the sky. “Mind if I say something?”

Akechi gestures a gloved hand and Akira turns to give him an unreadable look. “How’d you convince them?”

An odd question. “After seeing you be triggered by mentioning or seeing memories from the real reality, it wasn’t too difficult to create a plan surrounding that.”

Akira was shaking his head before he even finished. “No,” he says. “I mean how did you know what to say to them?”

Squinting, Akechi thinks on his next words, wondering if it’s some sort of trap, not unlike a traveller poking at the ground in case of quick sand. He comes empty-handed. “Have you forgotten that I, however unwilling, worked with your thieves for a good chunk of time?”

“Huh,” Akira muses. “That’s nice.”

He feels his teeth clench. “What?”

“I always wondered how much of it was, you know, an act. Like which one was the fake detective spiel and which was the real Goro,” his mouth twists into a sour expression, but Akira doesn’t notice. “But you got to know them. At least, enough to know what to say.”

“Don’t speak like I had any intention of using that in any condonable way. Information and trust was what I needed to get the upper hand, fruitless as it was,” he replies. “Or had you conveniently forgotten my past actions?”

Akira smiles, though it could just as easily be a tight grimace. “Unless Maruki decides on a do-over, I’d have to say no on that one.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But wow,” he scuffs at the pavement—whether it’s flipping a pen through his fingers or tugging on his forelocks, he never seems to stop moving. Akechi hates it. “I know you think we’re naive and stuff, but Haru and Futaba sure are something else by inviting you, even if this,” Akira gestures between them, “Is temporary.”

“Temporary, hmm?” Akechi ruminates. “I was fairly baffled as well. I don’t believe I’d have it in me to be able to recreate what she did if it were Shido.” Looking back to the restaurant, he wonders if their order will ever be ready. “Truth be told, Sakamoto not taking the green light to summon Taisai the moment he saw me is almost as surprising, given his temper.”

“He’s working on it,” Akira shrugs. He side eyes Akechi. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Trying.”

Him and his stupid games. “Trying to what?”

“You know,” Akira waves a hand. “To be a good person. Or a half-decent one.”

Silence stretches on. The clattering of plates and cutlery fill up the empty space.

And then: “Do you think I did this for you?”

“No, jeez!” he rolls his eyes. “I get that you hate me, despise me, loathe me, whatever. You don’t like me. I just thought that—”

“That somehow empathy bloomed within me?” Akechi scoffs. “Hilarious. What would be the point of that? Are you honestly telling me that if I got down on my knees, tears positively streaming down my face and apologized with my whole being, you’d forgive me?”

“Maybe?” Akira answers, and Akechi freezes, not expecting a genuine response. “Only if everyone else does.”

He tries not to make his relief obvious—he wouldn’t know what to say if Akira had said something as ridiculous as actually forgiving him, especially when in Akechi’s mind, he’s already accepted what is and isn’t possible. “Given the possibility of that, a simple ‘no’ would be more efficient.”

He raises a shoulder half-heartedly. “Who knows? With enough time, anything could happen.”

Akechi stays silent.

“Oh,” Akira blinks. “Speaking of time—”

“This sushi place is scamming us?”

“—you and Sumire are pretty friendly with each other.”

“Hardly,” he crosses his arms. “She’s always insisting on teamwork, and communication,” he spits it out like a curse. “Too much time was wasted on useless endeavors. I had to watch her eat half the table at one point. However, in fairness, she provided valuable insight about the other...what?”

Akira’s looking at him with a strange expression—the lovechild of awe and disbelief. “Nothing, it’s just…” he trails off for a second, before his eyes crinkle in mirth. “I’m happy for you, Akechi.”

Before he can reply, make a comeback, quell the sudden cold in his fingertips, Akira lights up.

“Looks like the food’s finally ready. Let’s head to Leblanc—Mona’s probably gnawing on the stools by now.”

He moves past him, and Akechi swallows back the bile in his throat.

—

“You think Boss’d mind if I grab a couple of glasses?” Ryuji’s muffled voice leaks through the thin walls of the cafe. To a nosey passerby, they’d be able to hear conversations with a concerning amount of clarity. It’s a miracle no one’s called the police on them before.

“Nah, he’s too big of a softie to mind. Since I’m the heiress to his grand, lackluster estate, I want you all to feast and be merry without worry! Am I right, Haru?”

“Absolutely, Futaba-chan!”

“Is it me, or is Mona acting kinda...rabid?”

“I’m sorry to act so garish, Lady Ann, but I’m starving and Akira’s probably already stuffing his face with—”

The bell chimes and Akira’s eyes lock with a wild, salivating cat. “—Sushi!”

Like an untamed beast, a ball of fur sprints at Akira. “Yeah, it’s all here, just—ow, Morgana, let me—okay you know what?” Akira tosses the bag to Ryuji, who catches it by the handle with ease.

“Ann, grab lover boy over there before he claws into the furniture.” Ryuji takes out the paper boxes as Ann picks up Morgana, and his face looks stuck in a euphoric state; awaiting sushi and cradled by Ann, Morgana looks like he could die happy.

Akira takes a moment to examine the small, overflowing cafe—Yusuke and Makoto are behind the bar setting up drinks (orange soda and water, no alcohol lest they want to taste nukes by the hands of Johanna), with Yusuke making sure that each glass has the same amount of liquid and ice cubes (more than once has the ice slipped out of his hand and onto the floor). Sumire smiles at him, and waves when Akechi saunters to her, rolling his eyes. Futaba is still trying to explain to Haru how they’re basically the same person given their ‘societal circumstances’ and he can see that Haru is genuinely agreeing with her. Ann is chiding Morgana when he starts purring so intensely he’s nearly vibrating out of her grasp.

“Whatcha smilin’ about over there?”

Prying his eyes away from the sight, Ryuji paused his rummaging to look up at him.

“I wasn’t smiling.”

“You weren’t,” he agrees. “But your eyes kinda—” he gestures vaguely at his face. “So it’s pretty much the same thing.”

Of course. Let Ryuji figure him out in four seconds or less. They can make a gameshow out of it. “Maybe it’s because I’m excited for sushi.”

“Well, tough luck buddy,” Ryuji crumples up the now-empty plastic bag. “Cause you forgot the soy sauce.”

“You what?” Morgana crane his head backwards to glower at him. “Akira, please—”

“Doesn’t Boss have soy sauce in here?” Ann asks.

“This is a coffee shop, so I wouldn’t think so,” Makoto says.

Akechi mutters under his breath, “That sushi place is truly vile.”

Sumire whispers back, “Is it because they didn’t have a dessert menu, or…?”

“Shut it.”

“No biggie,” Akira says, feeling his pockets to make sure his wallet is still there. “There’s a 777 down the street, it’ll be quick.”

“I’ll come with,” Ryuji hops the bar, inciting a ‘Ryuji!’ from Makoto. “Forgetting can be such a pain, yeah?”

He nods, and the two of them set off, Mona yowling behind them.

—

Yongen-Jaya never gets old.

The back alley is jam-packed with small businesses, motorcycles, vending machines, stray cats and much more—it’s the equivalent of shoving all the clutter to the back of an already cramped closet. But it’s not the organized chaos that tugs at Akira’s heartstrings; it’s the memories that come with the mess, with the atmosphere of Yongen that makes him ache. It’s how Morgana whispered what he should get in the grocery store, or watching a movie 20 minutes late with Ann, or Yusuke tripping over a bike.

Right now, walking side by side with Ryuji, he thinks about how he had insisted on walking Akira home after he awakened Arsene, making sure he got home safe even though his apartment was on the other side of the city.

Even then, Ryuji was always looking out for him.

They’re silent as they walk, footsteps falling in time with one another. There’s no rush between them, despite Morgana’s insistence. It could just as easily have been a nightly stroll between two people who find comfort in the crisp, nighttime air.

But Akira knows better than that. Ryuji isn’t as slick as he thinks he is, and his jumping at the chance on soy sauce is as subtle as a neon sign. So he waits—as long as he needs to for Ryuji to speak, which never takes long. (He’s so honest and forthcoming, it’s insane. As someone who insists on having two meters of caution and deliberation up at all times, it’s a trait Akira’s always been a little jealous of.)

It took some time, but Ryuji finally starts. “Yoshizawa explained what happened while you were out getting food.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot to catch everyone up to speed.”

Shaking his head, “S’fine, we get it. She let us in on the whole Maruki thing, how it worked and stuff. The whole...what did she call it? Reality? Yeah, how our reality kinda molded around our desires. It fits the bill with everyone—Yusuke with Madarame, Futaba with her mom. Me with the track team.”

He must’ve seen something in Akira's eyes, because he puffs out his chest. “No, this ain’t me second-guessing my decision.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Damn right,” he huffs. “Well, after Yoshizawa explained all that, Makoto—y’know, she’s got a big brain and all—asked her something that’s still on my mind. Then Yoshizawa kinda got a little nervous, didn’t give a decent answer.”

“She knows as much as I do, but I can try my best to answer.”

“Good,” Ryuji shoves his hands in his pockets. “Cause Makoto was wondering what your wish was.”

Akira’s footsteps stall for a split second. Ryuji keeps walking.

“I got these memories, ‘Kira,” he says, slowing down, and Akira directs his eyes to the ground. “Don’t really understand it—like flashes of pictures, of people, of places, but it’s real annoying. Keeps slipping away like those crappy prizes in claw machines. Wanna know something though?” he stays quiet. “I asked around, and no one else was getting them.”

“That’s odd,” Akira manages, despite the frantic rhythm of his heart.

“See, the memories are crap, they’re no good. Can’t remember them. But the feeling that’s there—” he lets out a long, shaky breath. “I dunno if I can ever shake them, man.”

Silence.

Ryuji stops and turns. “Akira.”

Slowly, Akira looks up. Ryuji’s frowning, brows wrinkled together like unfolded laundry (he wants nothing more than to reach up and smooth it away), and his fingers are flexing as if he wants to squeeze something to get rid of his confusion. That’s the thing about Ryuji; he always feels so much more than anyone Akira’s met, and it translates to physicality. More than once during a Thieves meeting did Ryuji have to take a break and go for a run to process.

“You’ve got to tell me because—” he scrubs at his hair, sighing. Clenches his jaw. “Because if those—those memories, that feeling isn’t what I think it is, I’m gonna go fucking nuts.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you need to know?” Akira asks. “What if knowing would make everything worse?”

“That’s impossible.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Because this feeling is the best thing I’ve felt in a really long time.”

Speechless, Akira doesn’t know how to respond. He stares at Ryuji, his palms facing up like he doesn’t have anything left to give, his eyes open and sincere. There isn’t a hint of malice in them and it makes Akira feel like he can tell him anything and receive nothing but support in return. Like he had a hundred times before.

And then, in a single moment of clarity, Akira realizes that Ryuji’s seen him, has been with him since the very beginning of everything, and still calls him his best friend without a drop of hesitation.

If Akira can’t tell him this now, can’t respect what Ryuji’s been giving him, then what would be the point of any of this? He won’t (can’t) lie to Ryuji, and he’s not about to change that now.

A small gust of wind comes and Akira’s hair gets blown back, just a bit.

“My wish was for us to be together. For you to love me in the way that I love you.”

At that moment, a meteor could have struck. An airplane could have crashed. The ground could have swallowed him in his entirety. The world could have destroyed him, but nothing could’ve possibly taken the feeling of sheer relief that thrums through his veins. Like a concrete block that was pressed against his shoulder blades, relentlessly weighing him down everyday, suddenly gone.

Ryuji’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open (he wills himself not to look at his mouth). It doesn’t matter what disaster could possibly arrive; Ryuji’s next words would crumble Akira more than anything else could.

The Metaverse had never once terrified him like this.

“Seriously?” he asks, voice hoarse. “You can’t mess around right now, Kurusu.”

“I’m dead serious, Sakamoto.”

Ryuji blinks. And again. And then takes a step forward, and all but sprints towards him.

“Wha—”

“You are—” he bends, arms extended. “So annoying!”

“Ryuji!” Akira yells as his feet are suddenly swept off the ground.

“I wanted to say it first!” Ryuji screams back, and then he starts to spin and Akira has to hold on to him for dear life. (Did he hear that right? Probably not. He must’ve said something else.) “But nooo, Joker over here has to steal the kill!”

“Wait, wait—” it’s hard to think when the world is blurring together mercilessly, but Akira knows that Ryuji will never drop him.

“I guess ain’t no time like the present.” The spinning slows, and Akira gradually feels the concrete beneath him once more. Hands find their way to his shoulders and despite his coat, Akira can feel their warmth.

“Kurusu Akira,” his eyes are bright and his grin could’ve led ships back to the coastline. “You are, without a doubt, the best that’s happened in my existence—you’re my best friend, super cool, and obnoxiously good-looking. I am so fucking in love with you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Ringing. Akira’s ears are ringing as he processes what came out of the other boy’s mouth. It was impossible—so impossible that Akira had thought it needed another impossibility to make it possible. It was a fantasy so buried that he never let himself think it, and only let himself indulge in the idea in moments of weakness. It was a hidden shame, a chain that binds him, a broken record that mocked him for ever believing it could happen.

Yet here they were; Ryuji’s still grinning and Akira gradually, ever so slowly, starts to smile. That smile morphs into a grin, and eventually—

“You love me,” Akira laughs, unable to hold back his joy. “You love me, Sakamoto Ryuji.”

Ryuji joins in, doubling over, shoulders shaking, his hands still glued on him. “This is crazy!”

“So crazy!”

They both laugh even harder. They must’ve looked like a couple of idiots, standing around some random alley and practically crying of laughter for no reason. Neither of them give a damn.

After a bit, they sober up, mirth still clinging in their eyes and cheeks sore.

“So…’ Akira says, unable to stop smiling. “That feeling you were mentioning before…”

“Yeah, dude?” Ryuji has these tiny little dimples at the very top of his cheekbones if he’s grinning hard enough. It drives Akira crazy.

“Was it this? Was it love?”

He tilts his head. “Hell no. What I’m feeling right now, y’know...love,” Ryuji fumbles over the word, despite his brazen confidence from early. “I’ve been feeling that since Kamoshida’s castle.”

Akira’s mouth twitches. “Same here.” Shoving his hands in his pocket, he gives Ryuji an inquisitive look. “So if it wasn’t love, then what was it?”

Ryuji hums. “It took me awhile to realize what was going on with me, and it took even longer than that to let myself feel it. And, y’know, I was scared shitless that you wouldn’t feel the same way, so when we were—” he gestures between them. “Even if it was Maruki that made it happen, I guess I felt… accepted,” his expression turns sheepish. “And let me tell you, that feeling? It sticks with you.”

“I get that,” Akira says, voice hushed like confessing a sin.

They stare at each other, at a loss for words but finding no need to find them right away.

“Oh,” Akira blinks. “I haven’t even properly said it yet.”

Ryuji gives him a questioning look, and he responds by lifting one hand and places his fingertips to Ryuji’s cheek (where his dimples would be), touch featherlight. “Sakamoto Ryuji, I love you in every reality.”

To his delight, blood rushes to Ryuji’s face. “Quit it, ‘Kira,” he mutters. “You’re not fooling anyone with that cool bullshit, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Oh yeah?” letting his hand drop, Akira takes a step back. “Is that a challenge? Because I’ve been wanting to do this since the festival.”

He squints. “Don’t you dare.”

Akira takes a deep breath and cups his hands over his mouth.

“Akira, I swear—”

“I love Ryuji!”

“Oh my God—” Ryuji slaps a hand over his mouth, face beet-red. “Someone’s gonna call the cops on us now, thanks to your dumbass!”

Voice muffled, “So what?”

“So your ass goes to jail, for real this time.”

Akira says something incomprehensible.

“What?” he drops his hand.

“I said that you’ll probably just bust me out, won’t you?”

Ryuji snorts. “Duh. Give me a week, and you’ll be out on the streets making a mess again.”

“You know it.” If he doesn’t stop being so ridiculously earnest, Akira would have no choice but to squeeze him until he pops. He readjusts his glasses instead. “We should probably grab that soy sauce before Mona—”

He stops when Ryuji showcases a handful of soy sauce packets from his pocket, expression smug.

“First rule of thievery: a slick hand is a slick man.”

“That is definitely not the first rule of anything.”

“Thievery is a crime, Akira.”

The two of them banter as they head back, side by side. Despite everything, there’s still a bit of a shyness between them, but that’s okay—they’ll take things at their own pace, the way they want to do it.

Their shoulders bump, and if Maruki had asked him for a second wish, Akira would decline without hesitation.

—

“Give it up, Futaba. You’re playing to lose.”

“Ha! I haven’t lost a game since I misclicked in Solitaire when I was eight.”

“Ladies, neither of you know the art of the hustle in the way I’ve perfected it.”

“You going around random parks and picking up cans for three hundred yen isn’t a hustle, Yusuke.”

“And who taught him that word?”

“Ryuji.”

“Definitely Ryuji.

“You bet I did.”

“Um, no one’s played anything for two minutes now.”

“Trash talk is gameplay, Haru.”

“This is less trash talk and more senior citizen bingo chitchat.”

“Shut up Akira, winners can’t join the banter.”

“‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown.’”

“Wow. That’s deep, man.”

“Don’t fall for it, it’s from Spider-Man.”

“It’s Shakespeare, Ann.”

“See, this is why Makoto’s college bound and you’re not.”

“I don’t want to go to college. It’s a scam.”

“You wanna know what else is a scam?” Futaba slams her cards down hard enough to rattle their drinks. “A revolution!”

Groans fill the air, and Akechi looks over Ann’s shoulder from the next booth. “Mind if I mention that you’re done for?”

“I’m blonde, not stupid,” Ann whispers back fiercely. “And besides, it’s not like you could’ve predicted a revolution.”

He leans over and points to one of her cards, careful not to touch her. “Judging by the way Sakura and Kitagawa are holding their cards, they’re chock-full on pairs. If you use this,” he flicks one of her cards. “They’ll have no choice but to—”

“Time! Red flag! 911!” Futaba stands, pointing an accusatory finger at the pair. “No outside help allowed, it’s cheating! Akira, make them stop.”

“Oh, so now you want me to talk?”

“Yes, I command you.”

Akira turns to give Akechi a stern stare. “Stop cheating, it’s making Futaba upset.”

“Then why hasn’t she said anything about Sakamoto giving you strategies?”

“Pfft,” Futaba snorts. “That’s more of a handicap than anything.”

“Hey!” Ryuji tips his chair towards Futaba, balance precarious. “‘Kira, she’s bullying me!”

“You think I can stop her?”

“Good point,” he scans the room. “Yoshizawa, stop her abuse!”

“Huh?” Sumire tears her eyes away from Yusuke, who started rearranging his cards by pattern instead of… anything that can help him win. “Why me?”

“You guys are the same age, so,” he waves his hand in a need I say more? gesture.

“Can you just get on with the game?” Makoto sighs. “I’ve been wanting to play, but all you do is argue.”

“Don’t worry Makoto,” Futaba’s glasses glint like an anime villain. “This won’t take long.”

Three minutes later, Ann shoves her head into her hands, brutally defeated. “Akechi, you suck. Yusuke beat me.”

“You did the exact opposite of what I told you to do, how is that possibly my fault?”

“I thought it was reverse psychology!

Sumire can see Akechi physically restrain himself from commenting any further.

Their impromptu party has been nothing short of a success—surrounding them and littering the bar are empty sushi boxes with Morgana snoring one of them. After everyone ate the (ridiculous amount) of food, Haru suggested a casual game of Tycoon, but there had been a glint in her eyes that told Sumire it would be anything but. It was an array of cutthroat games topped with poor trash talk and a complete lack of camaraderie with one another; the opposite of what had happened in Maruki’s Palace.

When Ryuji had sprinted past her, swift as a lightning strike, Sumire was ready to join him until a hand gripped her forearm. Ann shook her head. The rest of the Phantom Thieves were geared up and ready to go, yet none of them made a move towards Akira. It was as if there’s a silent agreement from all of them. She explained to Sumire why, all while keeping an eye on the two boys fighting with each other.

“Akira… he takes his role in the group seriously,” Ann said. “Sometimes a little too seriously, but that’s because he has to. Nothing bugs him more than someone on the team getting hurt, so he ends up trying to do everything himself. And Ryuji,” she nodded at him. “He hates it. Tells him off every time. Akira doesn’t usually lose his focus like this, but whenever he does, it’s just better to let them sort it out. It may not seem like it, but Ryuji’s been doing this as long as Akira has. They’ll make it work.”

Her voice had been so certain, so confident and sure of that fact that Sumire could only nod and wait for them to finish.

Now though, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. They had accepted Sumire with open arms, had made her feel comfortable and welcomed in what’s clearly a tight-knit group.

“Okay, who’s next?” Akira calls, gathering the cards with deft hands and begins to shuffle the deck. “Makoto called dibs already.”

“I’d like to give it a try,” Haru says. “Many older fellows from the company seem to judge power through the hierarchy of cards, so I’d love to get more practice in.”

“Sounds problematic,” Ryuji comments.

“It is, but I’ll never back down from the chance to see defeat flood into their eyes.”

A beat.

“...Okay, so Makoto and Haru are in, anyone else? Winner gets to poke Morgana while he’s in a coma.”

“Speaking of—elephant in the room,” Ann leans forward and drops her voice. “Was it just me, or was Mona—”

“Super, really, mega, ultra weird as a human?” Ryuji finishes eagerly.

Sumire gasps, “Oh my God, you too?”

“Duh!”

“I’ll admit it: it truly made my stomach hurt to witness such a sight,” Yusuke shudders.

Haru frowns. “Don’t be rude to Mona-chan.”

“I ain’t saying he’s ugly! I’m just saying it’s effin’ weird to see our not-cat actually not a cat.”

“He looks like he’d hold a skateboard but not know how to skate,” Futaba says.

“He looks like he’d be carded for a PG-13 film,” says Ann.

“He looks like he’s a throw-in for an up-and-coming J-pop band.”

Everyone turns to Akechi, who raises an eyebrow. “What?”

All at once, everyone bursts out laughing, the sound filling up the every crevice of the room.

“You’re all mean people,” Akira crosses his arms but is unable to keep the humour out of his eyes.

“Don’t act all high-and-mighty, leader,” Ann snorts. “There’s no way you didn’t think that human Morgana wasn’t insane.”

“I absolutely did not see anything insane.”

“Probs cause you can’t see, period.” Ryuji moves forward and pushes Akira’s bangs up. “Christ, how can you see with this mop in front of you?”

With his hair no longer obscuring his view, nothing is hiding Akira’s smug lilt of his chin, his eyes seeming to glow blue when he says, “Third Eye.”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Impossible in the real world, dude.” Without seeming to realize it, his hand was combing back Akira’s thick locks. “You’re just too nice to that damn cat.”

The act seemed so gentle, so tender, so natural and unhesitating that it’s almost as if she shouldn’t be seeing it. Maybe it’s because Akira seemed to almost lean into his touch, or the way Ryuji reached out like he was drawn to him. Or maybe it’s because no one even comments on it, like this was so common that it wasn’t even worth mentioning. Whatever it was, it’s enough to make her look away.

Only to see Akechi bring up his phone.

“I have to take this,” he stands, grabbing his coat.

Sumire frowns. “Who’s calling?”

“Business,” AKechi pushes past the door, bell ringing as it swings back.

Yeah, right.

“That reminds me,” she says, pulling up her own phone (dead, but no one needs to know that). “I have to call my father.”

“You can head up to Akira’s room,” Futaba suggests.

“No, it’s alright,” she notes that she didn’t suggest that to Akechi, but Sumire can’t exactly blame her. “I need to speak to Goro anyway.” She stands and bows to everyone deeply. “Thank you very much for inviting me.”

Grabbing her coat, Sumire follows Akechi out, leaving the warm glow of Leblanc behind her.

—

Somehow, she isn’t surprised to find him at the rundown laundromat once more, back pressed against the unmoving dryer.

They regard each other for a long moment.

“It’s a little chilly, compared to the last time we were here,” Sumire says.

“No one’s using the bathhouse right now.”

“That’s a shame,” she walks over to the washer on the far right, and with a little hop, makes herself comfortable on the off-white steel. “I quite miss the scent that was here. Kind of like a gust of wind wearing perfume. Now it smells like… well, nothing really.”

“I never liked the scent. It made me prone to headaches.” Akechi crosses his arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Your phone didn’t ring,” she says simply. “And you never put your phone on silent. Really, it was like a light in the sky that says ‘Goro is in trouble, send help!’.” She leans forward, propping her chin in her palm. “I’m just responding.”

Akechi stays silent as a brick wall.

“Why did you leave? I don’t know about you, but I thought it was going pretty well, all things considered. You hate them, I know, but you seemed to be… well, not repulsed by them at least. And they seemed to get along with you alright.”

“That’s why I left,” he says, expression impassive. “They just had their perfect reality ripped away, everything they could want, and they’re all in there pretending that they’re fine. Lying to each other. It makes my skin crawl. They fight for the truth, yet cower behind a mask, an act—”

Sumire’s gaze turns icy. “Don’t try and make them out to be like bad people. It’s not an act. You know it’s not.”

They study each other, and then Akechi’s shoulder drops slightly. “I know. It would be considerably easier if it was. That group…” his eyes slide sideways. “Is perplexing, to say the least. I don’t understand how they function, I don’t understand how their dynamic doesn’t turn vicious over time, and I especially don’t group how they can forgive Kurusu despite his—his meddling of their lives.”

It’s the most candid she’s seen Akechi without him bordering on a breakdown. Sumire chooses her next question carefully, one that’s been bugging her.

“Why did you ask Akira for help back then?”

“Here, you mean?” At her nod, “I told you—when he’s feeling cooperative, he can prove to be of value.”

“Why did you come back to Leblanc with them today?”

“Allies are advantageous,” he answers a hairsbreadth too quickly.

“Why are you still here, Goro?”

Akechi hesitates. That’s a first. “I don’t know.”

“You seem to always have an excuse, don’t you?”

“What are you getting at?”

A silence falls over the two of them, heavy like a weighted blanket. The vending machine whirrs loudly behind her.

“How long have you been in love with Kurusu-senpai?”

Akechi stares at her, long and hard, as if he was considering his handful of moves in a game of chess. And then he walks towards the other washer, leaving the middle one empty between them and jumps on.

“Not as long as you, I don’t think.”

Immediately, blood rushes to her cheeks relentlessly. (Of course he figured it out.) For all her insistence of teamwork, she forgets that this isn’t a one-way mirror. “That’s probably true,” she admits.

Rotating on the smooth steel, Sumire faces him. “It happened pretty much the day I met him. Damsel in distress, knight in shining armor—the works. He was nice, I was flustered. Ripped straight out of a textbook shoujo manga,” she chuckles. “Considerably less cherry blossoms and way more weapons, though.”

“I’ve never found the appeal of those,” Akechi muses. “Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever picked one up for myself.”

“They’re really sweet if that’s what you’re into. I have a collection at home, I can—” she stops. Clearing her throat, she instead asks, “And you?”

“Are you asking me to gossip with you?”

“Less gossip, and more a conversation.”

He hums. “Perhaps I should’ve corrected you before,” he shifts his torso to her direction. “Kurusu Akira is something of an anomaly. He’s on probation, an outcast, hated by his peers and authority in his life. Barely a penny to his name, he was a nobody living in an attic at the top of some cafe. And yet, he ended up leading the phenomenon, the internationally acknowledged and polarized group of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.”

His tone is flat, inscrutable when he says: “And I have never met anyone I hated more.”

The smile that was nestled in Sumire’s face drained as she watched Akechi’s expression: eyes glazed over and posture completely relaxed—like he was informing her of the weather next week. “By rule of the formula, he shouldn’t have had the success that he did. He doesn’t deserve the victory the Thieves did, the friends he made. Because if someone like him can possibly be more than the scum he is…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know if what I’m feeling towards him is love. It’s possible. But just as possible as that is a simple, unencumbered infatuation towards him, an unhindered obsession.”

Akechi crosses his legs, and the action makes him look younger. “Take that information as you will.”

“That’s how I figured it out. The way you spoke about him was very…” she struggles to find a suitable way to describe how Akechi speaks about Akira—it was loaded with backhanded compliments (heavy on the backhand). Every time he spoke about him, for or against, it was like a battle of semantics; he was almost arguing with himself half the time. “Telling,” she finishes lamely.

Sumire shifts from where she’s sitting, almost wishing that someone would go into the bathhouse if not to create enough steam to warm her up. Though she considers herself lucky to finally be having this conversation, the venue is much to be desired.

“Diction aside, you have strong feelings for senpai. Be it love or hate or some sort of amalgamation of the two. So why didn’t you wish for him? It would’ve been easy. You wouldn’t even notice the change.”

He considers this for a moment, fingernails tapping away at the hollow of the washer. “Do you know much of existential topics?”

Blinking, “Like those tarot card tables in Shinjuku?”

“Not quite. Moreso on topics such as karmic retribution, fate, ‘destiny,’” he air quotes, mouth twisting in mockery. “Basically, the idea that certain things are out of your control.”

“Sure, I know of them. I can’t say I’m anything more than a casual believer, if I can even say that.”

“When I was young, I was as well. But I learned early on that the concept of the universe providing aid is nothing more than a fever dream,” he fiddles with his glove absentmindedly. “So everything I have, I fought tooth and nail for: my reputation, my studies, who I am. I made it happen, not anyone else,” Akechi shrugs. “So why on earth would I start now relying on someone else to get what I want when I know that it won’t work? Clearly, the universe—if such a thing exists—doesn’t give a shit. ”

“Wow,” is all she could say.

“Wow indeed.” He runs his hand over top the panel and comes up with dust. “I have a question for you, now.”

“Go for it.” Admittedly, she’s curious about his question. Akechi simply exudes the aura that he just knows everything there is to know. She wonders if he calculated that into himself, along with everything else.

“Since what Maruki did was essentially getting your call answered by the universe, how did you get over your wish so easily?”

“I didn't.” Raising an eyebrow, “Did you think I did?”

Her question is answered by a lack of retort. She tries not to feel satisfaction from it.

“I’m not over it,” she admits. “Of course I’m not. I still struggle with it, when I’m alone. The guilt gets crazy at night, so it helps to keep busy. Busy is… busy is good, usually,” Sumire looks down and swears she sees blood on her hands—flashing in and out like bad reception. “It helps to treat it like a regimen. A muscle to train.” Looking up, the corner of her mouth quirks up at him. “Kasumi was always the one to remind me to stretch when I overdid it.”

“I never figured out how altruism like that works,” says Akechi. “How do you live, serving others even at the expense of yourself? What’s the point in all of this if it isn’t for personal gain?”

The way he says it so matter-of-fact stops Sumire from dismissing him right away. There isn’t an ounce of malice in his words or any intent on meanness—only pragmatism.

“I get it,” Sumire says. “But in a way, selflessness is easier. It’s straightforward, helping others. For many cases, people don’t even know themselves well enough to be selfish.”

“Can’t say that I can relate. Not knowing the end goal is practically a death sentence.”

Sumire hums. “Figures. It’s almost scary how sure you are of what you want,” her eyes meet his, red on brown. “Are you so sure that you’d die for it?”

Akechi’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “What are you really asking?”

“If we defeat Maruki and return everything back to before,” she swallows. “What happens to you?”

Surprise morphs its way into Akechi’s face like watching moss grow on timelapse. And then he suddenly snorts, startling Sumire more than anything they’ve faced in the past week.

Akechi clears his throat, but there’s still traces of humor. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

Despite how morbid the conversation has shifted, Sumire still feels her lips stretch wide. “Not like you gave me much choice.”

“Point taken,” he says. “How’d you figure that I’d die as soon as all of this is over?”

“Maruki mentioned something back then, about people losing their wishes if this was all reversed. And that, partnered with what Kurusu-senpai said back then,” she shrugs. “It’s hard not to assume.”

“You’d make a fun verbal sparring partner, Sumire.”

“Oh, no way,” she waves her hand, hastily trying to hide delight. It’s not everyday you can pull a compliment out of Akechi Goro. “I’m all about the practice—put me on the spot without prep and I’ll fold like a bad poker player.”

“Like Takamaki?”

“Worse.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Impossible.” Akechi rests his elbows on his bent knee, propping his chin up on his hand. “Are you going to ramble on with some mindless monologue to try and talk me out of it?”

“I don’t know. Probably not,” she admits. “You’re too stubborn to fall for something like an intervention.”

Sumire understands, though, the extremities of the situation aside. If she gained the ability of hindsight and saw herself still pretending to be Kasumi, she’d probably be revolted enough to choose death, too. “There’s a good chance that Kurusu-senpai would try to stop you though.”

“He can try,” Akechi sniffs. “It’ll be a waste of time on his part.”

She makes a noise of agreement, and they lapse into a comfortable silence once again (they’re starting to make a habit of it, but she doesn’t mind), with only the buzzing of fluorescence serving as white noise.

Whether he’s doing this for himself or not, his sacrifice would ensure that reality would return to normal for everyone, granted that they can stop Maruki. His intentions are self-serving, completely indifferent to how this would affect everyone else, yet his forfeited life would mean that everyone would get their reality back. Even if it’s a means to an end, an egocentric reason, Akechi is willing to act as a martyr to achieve normalcy.

She lets her eyes drift towards him, lost in thought yet posture still perfect; no doubt another addition to his handcrafted state of being, and wonders if his accidental philanthropy is enough to atone for what he’s done.

Sumire almost cracks a smile—she’s stressing more about this than he is, but she can’t help it; she sees herself in him. Not completely, but in chunks. Specifically how they see Akira—his pride would never let him admit it to himself, but Sumire has no such reservations. There’s a substantial way they both revere him, place him on a shiny pedestal complete with those red velvet stanchions wrapped around.

Everyone must see him like this, she thought. Like fog on a mountain, something impossible to grasp. But then she saw how Akira was with his group for all but one evening and realized just how wrong she is.

Stretching her legs over the center washer, her knee bumps against his ankle. He doesn’t jerk away.

“Have you really not tried reading manga?” she asks.

“No. But once, I picked it up and pretended to read it for a publicity stunt,” says Akechi. “Why do you ask?”

“Because everyone reads manga.”

“Clearly not.” A pause. “I’ve caught a few episodes of Featherman, however.”

Sumire claps her hands together. “Really? That’s amazing! My sister and I used to cosplay them when we were young.”

“Oh, I only started watching recently. In Leblanc, actually.”

“You have to watch it from the beginning,” she frowns. “How else do you understand the plot?”

“Are you implying that Featherman has a plot?”

Akechi is not a good person, in the grand scheme of things.

“Of course! How else do you feel the pain of episode eighteen?”

Because of that, any place that he may have had with the Thieves had been scrubbed clean.

“Death of a Condor? Did you actually feel anything when you watched that? I thought it was a filler episode.”

And for Sumire, she didn’t have a place there to begin with.

“Interesting. I thought you were a casual fan?”

(But maybe—)

“I know a trap when I see one.”

They can form a place for each other, instead.

Sumire’s about to retort when Akechi cocks his head. “Why are you here, Sumire?” he asks again.

“For good company.”

“You were with them.”

“I was,” she confirms. “And then you left.”

A palpable beat passes.

“You’re wasting your time, befriending a dead man.”

Sumire’s mouth curves into a bittersweet smile. “Maybe we’re both wrong about that. There’s always a chance that we’ll see each other down the line, you know.”

“In a cemetery, maybe. When has optimism ever worked for me?”

“It could start working now.”

“I doubt it,” he scoffs, and then his expression softens ever so slightly. “If that did happen, us meeting again down the line… I don’t think I’d be against that idea.”

Akechi gives her a warning look and rushes, “But odds are—”

“Let me worry about the odds,” Sumire says. “I think I’m allowed to spend my time doing what I want. I mean,” she shrugs. “That’s what we fought for, right?”

He smiles, just a little. “I suppose it is.”

Chattering and laughter can be heard from the inside of Leblanc, but they don’t bother to listen.

[lonelypond]

Au Yeah August: Cafe Quarantine, Part I

NicoMaki, Love Live, 9.1K, 1/2

Summary: Nishikino Maki is working at the Nishikino Hospital's coffeeshop to learn customer service from her boss, Yazawa Nico. Then coronavirus shuts down the coffeeshop and they decide to quarantine together in the Nishikino mansion.

Cafe Quarantine, Part I

The small 24 hour coffee shop in the lobby of Nishikino Central Hospital was silent tonight, the lights lowered for a calming, post midnight atmosphere, everything serene until a loud groan echoed throughout the lobby.

“I’m in hell.”

Sure Nishikino Maki could do math, but math with her sexy spitfire “boss” present, whose glances lingered and practically licked? Nope. Inventory attempts were failing, boxes were falling, Maki was faltering.

“Throw the binary in the trash, along with that apron you just burned a spot through.” Yazawa Nico’s voice snapped.

“What?” Maki muttered through her fingers.

“That apron’s ruined. And no binary choices, no hell, no heaven, no good, no bad, no straight…”

Maki could get into no straight.

Nico continued, being unable to read Maki’s mind or face, “no crooked, no up, no down, and…” huge inhale, “don’t even get me started on black and white.”

Maki raised her head from the facepalm pose to stare, “What the fuck?”

“No binaries. Supports the oppressors. You know…” Nico winked, “the idle rich.”

Maki huffed and pointed the scanner in a random direction, “I am not idle.”

Nico stepped up to the counter, leaning forward until the scanner connected with her chest, “One Nico Ni, number one cafinista in the universe. And that’s not where Nico’s bar code tattoo is.”

Maki’s eyebrows scrunched at the same time as her mouth opened in shock, “You have a bar code tattoo?”

Nico rolled her eyes and grabbed the scanner, “Nico likes the morning shift better.”

Maki glanced at the wall. 2:07. “It’s morning.”

Nico shook her head, “Before your parents decided you needed customer service training, Nico had the morning shift. But you can’t be trusted with actual customers yet.”

“Yes I can.”

Nico put the scanner on the counter, “I had three complaints yesterday, one of them from a woman crying after you yelled ‘make up your mind, ditzy you’.”

“I didn’t say ‘ditzy.’”

“What did you say,”

Maki frowned, trying to remember, “Make up your mind, didn’t you…”

“Nico would have failed high school hwith grammar like that.”

“She cut off my sentence.”

Nico sighed, grabbed a cupcake, pulled down her mask, and sat at a table, pointing across from her. Maki sat. “Your parents think you’ll make a better doctor if you learn some empathy and basic courtesy.”

Maki kicked the table, not disturbing Nico at all, “How does pushing addictive substances on hyper caffeinated rude and rushing zombies teach me empathy?”

“How much coffee do you drink a day?”

Maki mumbled, her arms crossed over her torso, perpendicular to Nico’s glance.

“People might be inclined to forgive some awkwarrdness,” Nico licked icing off her finger, “I mean you’re super hot, so some of them probably aren’t listening…”

“What?!?!?!?!” Maki spun, angrily facing Nico, “how is that not sexual harassment?”

“Do you want Nico to say you’re plain?”

“Discussing my appearance at all is the problem.”

Nico leaned back and closed her eyes, licking some icing off her lips. Maki grimaced. This is why she was in hell. Nico. Tossing compliments like they meant nothing while doing extremely provocative things that shouldn’t register on Maki at all, because Nico was just her annoying, very temporary boss.

“Why do my parents like you so much?” Maki whined.

Nico laughed, “You think making me supervise you, o queen of cold, means your parents like me?”

“Ha. Funny.”

“Nico is good at her job, charming, and always helpful. Maybe they want you to be more like Nico.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want to be more like Nico. I don’t want to be anything like Nico. I don’t want to be here.”

“So go home. Nico was all set to have a doctor-patient role playing session so that once you go back to college and med school you’ll be able to talk to people without freezing or flaming up…”

Maki had stalled on role playing, “You wanted to play doctor?”

“No, Nico wants to open the coolest jazz cafe in Chicago, once coronavirus gets cured.”

“I like jazz.”

Nico sighed and pulled up her mask, “So leave big tips after you…” Nico’s arms swept out in an gesture that embraced the whole of the building. Nico’s demonstrativeness was one of the things Maki liked about her, there was no mistaking what she meant. “But Nico’s break is over. Go home. It’s a slow night. Nico will see you next week.”

Maki frowned. There was a lot to inventory. But she was all fumbling and grumping and Nico’s voice had started to tighten. And Maki didn’t want Nico yelling at her like so many of the customers did.

“I get a lot of things right.”

Nico nodded.

Maki slumped. “Can’t you teach THEM empathy?”

Nico patted Maki on the head, “Nico tries.”

###

Back on Monday. Nico had Maki cleaning every spare minute. There was an entire cleaning staff, with teams specifically assigned to the cafe, but Nico hadn’t been happy with their work for weeks. So Maki was wearing the apron she’d burned, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and was scrubbing metal racks while Nico flirted with customers. Amazing how much charm Nico could glow with in even 30 seconds of interaction. No one seemed to mind the slowness and the six foot gaps when Nico was the goal. Maki grumbled as she scrubbed. Med school was going to be easy after Yazawa school.

“Hey, Maki.” Nico called out. Maki spun. Nico pointed to the nose region of her mask. Maki breathed out and she felt fabric shifting. Hers was slipping. Damn. She put the rack down to dry and adjusted her mask. The behind the ears got painful so she’d found a style with a toggle and had her parents order them for the cafe. Nico had insisted they say “SMILE.”

“Hi, Dr. Nishikino!” Nico said brightly.

Maki turned to see her father walking in. He deliberately locked the door behind him. Maki could tell he was worried.

“What’s wrong, Papa?”

“The cleaners who work in here have tested positive. We’re going to close it for a week of deep cleaning. And all the employees need to self quarantine. We’ll also offer testing.”

“Ha!” Nico snorted, “Nico told you it wasn’t clean enough.”

“Is that really what matters?” Maki’s thoughts had started to race through had she had any symptoms, had Nico been almost coughing, was either of them running a fever.

“No, what really matters is that Nico might have taken the virus home to her siblings. And my mom. That would be bad...so bad...Nico’s going to have to stay away...and…Cocoro will have to cook and...Nico’s place is so tiny....”

Maki's suggestion was quick. “Stay at our house. We have extra rooms. I’m as likely to have been exposed as you.”

“So we give each other more germs?”

“All the space will help. Masks will cut down transmission possibilities. As will surface cleaning. And opening windows for ventilation.” Dr. Nishikino said, “As long as you both stay asymptomatic….although your mother and I aren’t really there much, Maki.”

“I know.”

Nico was surprised by the down note in Maki’s voice, but D. Nishikino just nodded as if it were a familiar one.

Nico was pacing, talking to herself, “Cocoro can cook a few things, Mama will be okay, if Nico thinks quarantining might be trouble, Cocoa will be so bad at it...uuugggh” Nico stomped, “Okay, but Nico cooks.”

“Sure.” Maki brightened at that demand.

“Good. That’s settled.” Dr. Nishikino pulled out his phone, “I’ll have the car drive you there and if you text me a list of food you need, I’ll have it delivered. And if you develop any symptoms, let me know at once.”

“Thanks, Papa.”

He smiled as he unlocked the door, “Just be careful, girls. I’ll call you, Maki.”

Maki waved. Nico was still pacing.

“What am I going to tell the kids…”

###

Maki heard a muttered “I’m in hell” and spun to be greeted by a Nico sparkle smile and the gesture.

“Nico Nico Nice place. Suits Nico.” Nico closed the door behind her. “Where does Nico stash her stuff?” Nico bounced her custom camo pink messenger bag on her hip.

“Um…” Maki hadn’t really been thinking about practical things. She’d spent the car ride over trying not to kick anything or fidget too much. No conversation. Anything she thought about saying involved the coronovirus survival percentages her parents had recently been obsessed with so she just hummed. Nico always had something to say, at least for the three months Maki had been working with her. Yes, for Christmas this year, Maki’s parents had decided to give her a demon boss while she took a sabbatical to decide on her degree path.

“It’d probably be easier if we were on a different floor than my parents, if we actually have it. Better for isolation.”

“Nico just needs wifi, her laptop, phone, and a Bluetooth speaker system. And your kitchen.”

Maki’s phone pinged, her father answering that where to sleep question.

P: Your mother and I are going to stay in a hotel suite near the hospital for a couple of weeks at least. We need to plan for a surge. The staff will be in to clean three times a day.

Maki sighed. “They’re going to stay near the hospital. They think there’ll be a surge. So you can just take the room down the hall from mine.”

“Thanks.” Nico sounded subdued, it was odd to hear her like that. “Is it really bad?”

“Well, you’ve been following the news, right?”

Nico shrugged, “A little. I know China and Italy are bad.”

“My parents have to plan for the worst case scenario so they’ve been paying careful attention.” Maki sighed, and turned into the media room, “Me being exposed…”

“Parents get extra worried.” Nico tossed her bag on an empty chair and stretched out her legs.

It was a much more complicated situation than that, Maki knew, with her father probably recalculating everything if the virus had gotten as close to their relatively safe social bubble as Maki. But Nico sounded sympathetic so Maki didn’t correct her.

“What are you making me for breakfast?” Maki

“A nap.” Nico stretched back with a huge yawn.

Maki laughed, “Good idea.”

“Always listen to Nico.”

“Can’t commit to that.”

“You will.”

“C’mon.” Maki grabbed Nico’s bag, “Let’s head upstairs.”

###

10 a.m. Four hours was a pretty decent nap. And nowhere to go for a couple of weeks. Maki grinned. Lots of time for piano. And whomping Rin in MarioKart. Thank you, online gaming. Was Nico awake yet? Maki glanced, the door to the room she’d given Nico was closed so no clue there. Maki could at least start coffee. There’d been donuts on the list so that was a breakfast start if the driver had come back.

Singing and talking were coming from the kitchen, as well as other noises. Maki stopped in the doorway, watching Nico chop and dance along the length of the counter as she carried on a conversation.

“So the rude smart doctor needs you to teach her how to cook?” A young voice sounded confused.

“That’s right. Dr. Maki can’t cope without Nico.”

“What happened to the last chef?”

Nico stepped back, arms crossed, and tilted her head toward the phone. Maki couldn’t see her expression, “Nico doesn’t ask.”

“Smart thinking, sis. This way the Nishikinos won’t make you disappear.”

“You got it.” Nico waved a cleaver at her phone. Maki assumed there was a “Nico has everything under control” wink involved. Then what the other voice had said actually registered.

“We’re not some kind of crime family. We own a hospital. It’s been in the family for more than a century. We save lives.”

Nico jumped, the knife falling to the counter, “Maki!”

“Hi, Dr. Maki. Nico’s going to fix you. You’re so lucky.”

Maki came up behind Nico and glanced down, a miniature Nico was smiling up at her and waving

“Hello.”

“Maki, this is my sister Cocoro. Cocoro, Nico has to finish Maki’s breakfast.”

“Don’t let her yell at you, Sis.”

“Nico’s got this. Don’t worry. Talk to you soon.” Nico closed out the call and spun to confront Maki. “Hey, it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“I didn’t know I was walking into a call.”

Nico leaned back against the counter, “Well, if you walk into another call, don’t mention quarantine. I don’t want to worry my siblings.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Nico didn’t even let Maki finish her thought, let alone her sentence, “I told Mama, she’s going to keep them mostly at home, Nico didn't visit last weekend, it’s Spring break anyway, everything will be fine.”

Maki waited.

“So if you talk to my siblings, Nico is teaching you to cook.”

“What if…”

“We are not getting sick.” Nico turned and picked up the knife, pointing to a pile of minced white chunks, “Garlic, your new best friend. Every meal.”

Maki scratched her neck, “Shouldn’t you actually teach me to cook. Just in case…”

“Yeah…” Nico’s face jumped through all the phases of thoughtful, “Cocoro might quiz you. Okay, Nico will come up with a few simple things...I’m assuming by your inability to properly warm up cookies, you have no kitchen skills.”

Nico remembered every little incident, even from Maki’s very first week, when she’d been on the afternoon shift, the line of customers had gone out the door and everything she touched had shattered, imploded, or sprayed whipped cream over Nico’s apron. “The oven was broken.”

“Nico was almost broken, trying to cope with Maki’s trail of destruction, like Tokyo after…”

“Please don’t.” Maki raised a hand, interrupting what she was sure was a Godzilla reference. While definitely a Godzilla fan, Maki was not awake enough for a pre breakfast recanting of her inabilities. “What are you making?”

“Omurice, although no leftovers so instant rice. Do you want hot sauce?”

“Anything tomato will do.”

“Good. Nico doesn’t like spicy so this way we can share.” Nico grabbed a nearby bowl and whisked the eggs. “What do your parents eat?”

Maki shrugged, “Fast things. Breakfast sandwiches. They’re usually gone when I wake up.”

“Well sure, you work the night shift. You probably go home and go right to bed like Nico, then see people when you wake up.”

Maki opened the refrigerator, not replying to Nico. Fresh squeezed orange juice. She took the carafe out, “Want juice?”

“Yes. And you can set out plates wherever you want to eat.”

“Okay.”

“Nico will find you.”

Maki perched on a stool, pouring juice into two glasses, “Here’s fine.”

Nico glanced over her shoulder, “Makes it easy. Nico doesn’t have to look.”

“So do you see your siblings often?”

“Spend weekends there sometimes. Nico’s not dating anyone so…” Nico wiggled the spatula to the right, Maki not able to read her expression.

“Me neither.”

Nico whistled and waved the spatula to encompass the kitchen, “Somebody’s missing out.”

“Kitchens are usually a third date thing.”

Nico laughed, “Morning after, right?”

Maki considered, realized, and blushed…”no, uh….I didn’t mean that...three’s just a number I picked...I didn’t….”

“Calm down, Maki. Nico is teasing, makes the food taste better.”

“Doesn’t.” Maki muttered, still blushing.

WIth a flourish, Nico flipped the omelette on the platter and spun, presenting it with a wink and a sparkle, “Taste it and see.”

Nico had expected more enthusiasm. Maki was spinning her fork and almost pushing the omlettle.

“Something wrong?”

“You shouldn’t call me Dr. Maki.”

“But you’re going to be a doctor, right.”

“I guess.”

“So what’s the problem. Cocoro’s not going to ask you to take out her appendix.”

Maki stabbed the food, her stubborn glance confronting Nico’s curious one, “”Doctor is a title you earn.”

“You’re smart, you’ll get there.”

“That isn’t the…” Frustration darkened Maki’s eyes as she shook herself and ate a forkful of breakfast. “Thanks. This is…” She paused, swallowed, and took an ever quickening series of bites, “amazing.”

“Nico is number one at everything she does.”

Maki hoped that wasn’t true about catching novel coronaviruses.

###

Maki and Nico were in the music room. Nico had poked her head in there and insisted Maki play some jazz records on the cabinet sized record player. Looked retro, but all the best tech. Maki had opened the windows for ventilation and Nico was lounging on a chaise, singing along with Carla Cook. Maki had chosen the piano bench, but not to play. She faced Nico, not the keyboard.

“So why a jazz club?”

Nico tapped her fingers along with the beat, humming, then swung into her answer, “Nico decides things, NO AUDITIONS, classy, good story for Nico to sell, rich people like jazz and will buy expensive things, Chicago native, hint of blues...Nico’s a people person, the best cook you’ll meet, and the number one ‘interpreter of a lyric.” Nico feels what the audience feels…”

“Didn’t they say that about Carmen Macrae?”

“Dee Dee Bridgewater, Ella Fitzgerald, probably Sinatra, if you like that type,” Nico paused to glance at Maki who raised an eyebrow, “Sarah Vaughn, Meloney Collins, Diana Krall, Nancy Wil...”

“Okay, I got it. Nico knows jazz.”

“Nico knows singers.”

“So how’d you end up managing my parents’ coffeeshop?”

Nico sat up, “It’s a good gig. Nico’s saving lots of money. Always make the bonuses. Well,” And Nico glared, “at least until nepotism kicked Nico out of ‘exceeded expectations’.”

“Surely my parents aren’t blaming you for my…”

“Nah, nah, don’t worry. Nico’s a master negotiator. Your dad’s promised to help me when I’m ready to step out on my own. I’m learning a lot about running a business, inventory, managing difficult employees.”

Maki ignored the tweak. “If it’s your jazz cafe and you’re planning to perform, wouldn’t you hire people for the practical things?”

“If you can’t do it yourself, how are you going to hire the right person?”

“So do you get any practice performing?”

“Open mic nights mostly, weekly TWIG lives. Nico was pretty serious in college, sang with a concert band, chorus in a few musicals, helped out a jazz trio a few times, but they broke up when the drummer took a studio musician gig in LA.”

Maki was watching as Nico’s eyes sparkled, obviously remembering some of her experiences onstage.

“We had to play through a Wisconsin blizzard one Halloween, five hours, no power, just a huge fireplace in this ski lodge until they plowed people out and got them to their buses. Nico slept for three days after that, under a HUGE pile of blankets.”

“You sang for five hours?”

Nico leaned forward, her grin the most natural Maki had seen and the most luminous, “Led singalongs for a lot of it. 90’s boy bands always a hit.”

“So not always jazz…”

Nico raised a finger to her lips, winking as she air kissed. “Shush.”

Maki forgot what her question had been.

“Oooh, this is a fun one…” Nico bounced up, “Tulip or turnip…”

“Sounds like a bad recipe.”

Nico waved Maki off with two fingers and continued to sing, “Sapphire or sawdust, champagne or just home brew, tell me tell me tell me, dreamface, what am I to you? Rosebud or rhubarb, diamond or doorknob, filet or plain beef stew, tell me tell me tell me, dreamface, what am I to you?”

Nico stopped, ruby eyes demanding a reaction from Maki, who began to feel feverish. Probably not a virus though. Just needed a little more air to move through the windows, cool things off.

“Am I Dreamface now?” Maki drawled.

Silence for too long and Maki started twirling a strand of hair by her ear, then Nico doubled over with a huge laugh that echoed, even in the open room, “Sure, Ms. Modesty, you can be Dreamface.”

“So what would you be?”

“Bankroll.” Nico echoed a word as Carla Cook continued.

“Pragmatic.”

Nico started going through albums. “So are we just going to listen to jazz for two weeks.”

“Sure.”

“That was way eager.”

“But you like jazz.” Maki left the “and I like jazz” unspoken.

“Jazz isn’t the only thing Nico likes. Nico didn’t even like jazz at first. Nico likes sunshine and movies and K-pop and K-dramas and Nintendo and talking to her friends and cooking for her family and dancing and cute girls and…”

Maki would have listed jazz, long bubble baths, taking flower photos, and staring at the stars, but that just sounded like cliched, boring please date me desperation that would be laughed off any dating app.

“Hey, Dreamface, Nico asked what you like. Besides jazz.”

“Tomatoes.”

“Tomahto.”

“Either will do.”

Nico giggled.

Maki, suddenly bold, decided to share the thought that had just thudded into her head. “Let’s make a Quarantine Cafe.”

Nico tilted her head, “Explain.”

“You sing,” Maki turned to the piano, “I play, we stream on TWIG…”

“And Nico gets so many new fans…”

“Yeah.” Maki found her enthusiasm fading at that thought, but Nico was spinning around the room.

“This is a great space. The acoustics are amazing, Nico will find the perfect spot for lighting….don’t have the right clothes, but maybe Eli could bring my things over, yeah, we could definitely start something…”

“Eli?”

“College friend. We took dance classes together. She’s great. Her wife’s so nosy it’s in her name, but Eli’s a sweetheart. Let me text her.” Nico pulled out her phone, typing quickly.

Maki decided it was time to switch albums, no lyrics, just Ahmad Jamal and his piano.

“Eli’s in. She’ll drop a few things off when she gets off work so we can start tonight…” Nico paused, “if you want.”

Maki turned, leaning back against the cabinet, flexing her fingers. “I’ll check my schedule.”

With a laugh, Nico sat on the couch, patting the seat next to her, “Tell Nico what you like to play.”

###

“You’re a loser!” Rin shouted in headset as King Boo sped by Cat Peach.

“Just crossed the finished line, how is that a loss?”

“You had to shell me. You can’t win without shelling. You suck on turns.”

“I do fine.”

“You never brake.”

“You never beat me.”

“Play me with no shells.”

“You got it. Pick the course.” Maki flicked through screens. She and Nico had developed afternoon habits. Nico would sit at one end of the media room and video chat with everyone she had ever met anywhere and Maki would be at the other end of the room, playing Switch games with Rin. Maki hadn’t heard Nico say anything for awhile though so she turned around. Nico was lying back, staring at the ceiling, rubbing her forehead. Maki whispered, “Hang on, Rin. Gotta check on something.”

“Ooohh, Maki’s scared.”

“I am not. Go get a drink. I’ll be back.”

Maki slipped her headset off her ears, and went halfway to Nico, “Nico? Were we too loud?”

“No. Nico just has a headache.”

Maki tensed, “That’s a symptom, take your temperature, are you feverish, do you need…”

Nico sat up, almost smiling, “Calm down, not a doctor, Nico is fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well.” She looked around, “This place is too big.”

“You are too tiny.”

Nico frowned, blinking slowly, her face suddenly drawn and tired, “Nico is perfect and cute and adorable and not up to teaching lessons about how not to be rude right now.”

Maki shoved her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt, “I can race Rin some other day. Do you need something?”

Nico stood, wincing a little, her response sounded automated. “Nah, you kids are fine. Nico’s going to take a nap.”

“I’m not a kid.”

Nico just shrugged and shuffled to the door, looking smaller. Maki fought the urge to galumph after her. Knocking Nico down because of worry would have been a fail.

“If you order a pizza or something for dinner, save Nico some slices.”

"Okay.” Maki tried for cheerful and just hit loud.

Nico waved, “Win your race for Nico.”

Maki put her headset back on, “Rin?”

“Ready, loser?”

“Nico’s sick.” Maki heard the panic in her voice and hoped Nico was already up the stairs.

Rin whistled, “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Talk to Papa.”

“Good idea.”

“Yeah.”

“Text me if you need anything. Kayo-chin and I’ll drop it off.”

“Thanks, Rin.

“Don’t let the Rona getcha.”

“I’ll shell it.”

Rin’s laugh was infectious as the call cut, although Maki added undertones of nervous to hers.

### Nico had looked pale when she’d joined Maki in their #1QuarantineCafe livestreaming set up in the music room, the microphone set in front of the open windows, but as soon as Nico hit record, it was all pep and personality.

“Anybody remember the 50 Shades Of Grey soundtrack?” Nico asked the audience. “So many songs that deserved a better movie.”

True. Maki thought.

“Nico’s going to sing two for you tonight, that Maki and I worked super hard on. So forget Sinatra and Annie Lennox, and definitely forget Mr. Grey and let Nico enthrall you.”

Maki snorted. Nico had been having fun at breakfast running through all the synonyms for magic, but vetoed Maki’s “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” suggestion, which is how they got on to songs better than the play they’re written for, which is how they got to soundtracks and Fifty Shades of Grey” since Nico also vetoed the Madonna songs from Dick Tracy. And Nico would have totally killed “Sooner Or Later.” Maybe another night.

Maki must have heard her cue and started playing automatically because when she came out of her segue, Nico was halfway through.

“I put a spell on you Because you're mine You're mine

I love ya I love you I love you I love you anyhow And I don't care If you don't want me I'm yours right now

You hear me I put a spell on you Because you're mine”

And then Nico was leaning on the piano. And Maki made the mistake of making eye contact and froze. Nico’s face was layers of expressions, masks sliding on and off one after the other, over a foundation of pale, amused, tired. Mischievous flamed to flirty, flashed to fathomless, smooth sped into spellbinding, charisma crashed through charm, and then curious connected and Maki could speak, stretching her arms across the keyboard.

“Nope. Piano. Mine.”

Nico chuckled, “Not really what Nico was aiming for, goof.” Then the aggressive charm flipped back on for their audience, “And now that we have Maki’s attention again, we’ll give you another track, one so many famous people have done, but Nico will do it better.” As Nico headed back to “center stage,” she tossed a smirk back at Maki, “try not to get so distracted. Nico can give you a private show later.”

Maki blushed and focused on the keys, the frisson down her back making her want to actually bolt. What she really had to concentrate on was NOT listening to the lyrics.

"Those fingers in my hair That sly come-hither stare That strips my conscience bare It's witchcraft And I've got no defense for it The heat is too intense for it What good would common sense for it do?"

"Yeah, that." Maki thought.

###

Nico crashed on the couch as song as she turned off the video.

“Nico?” Maki put the fallboard in place.

“Nico’s fine.”

“Don’t believe you.”

“Did Nico teach you how to make tea yet?”

“I already knew how to.”

“Make Nico tea. Something…”

“I’ll make you the tea I make when I’m getting a cold.”

“Works for Nico, if you don’t get the colds. Is it tasty?”

“Little minty. Kinda bitter.”

Nico clucked. “Bring Nico a cookie too.”

“Okay.”

Time to text Papa. Maki wondered if their tests had come back yet. Surely Papa would have said. Nico had worked all weekend so more potential exposure. Hydration. Maki would bring water. And check Nico for a fever and…

Maki shook herself and sat at the kitchen table, head in hands. What if Nico wasn’t all right?

###

Nico was napping. She'd been keeping to her room. Maki had called Rin, who had jumped at a chance to kick around a soccer ball in the backyard. No hands, masks, no tackling, but at least Maki would be out in the sun instead of waiting for Nico to wake up or her father to call. And then he walked into the backyard.

“Papa.”

“Hey, Dr. Nishikino!” Rin waved and started to juggle the soccer ball.

“Hi Rin. Good to see you being careful.”

Rin saluted, losing her rhythm and chasing after the ball.

“So, positive test, right.” Maki reached down and pulled up her sock.

“Nico, yes; you, no. We should move her to the guest house.”

Maki had already had this conversation in her head, “No. She’ll be lonely. She already misses her family. I’ll be careful, Papa.”

“Has she been wearing a mask?”

“Yes.”

“Is her family quarantining?”

Maki nodded, “But Nico was too busy last weekend to see them anyway.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Has she contacted everyone she interacted with?”

Maki was tired of all these practical questions, like Nico was some impersonal puzzle, “Yes, Papa. We did everything on your list.”

Maki’s father raised his hands, “I’m sure you did, Maki. I just want to keep as many people as possible safe.”

“So do we.”

A long pause, “How is Nico?”

Maki kicked her heel into the grass, “Headachy, tired, feverish sometimes, doesn’t want to eat, no cough.”

“Good. We’ll hope it’s a minor case. But make sure she stays isolated. She should see a turnaround in the next few days. If she doesn’t...”

Maki didn’t want to talk about that. Of course Nico was going to get better. “How’s Mama?”

“Busy, lots of meetings. Making me listen to operas.”

“Rossini?”

“Wagner.”

“Oh.” Everyone was worried, Maki thought.

“We’re proud of you. You’re staying calm.”

He hadn’t seen her up all night, pacing in the hallway, frantically trying not to open Nico’s door to check for breathing or suddenly wide awake wondering if the slight scratch in her own throat was going to lead to endless, racking coughing,

“You always do.”

“It’s what doctors need to do, especially in situations like this. So we can help people.”

Maki nodded, and waved to Rin, who was waiting for a cue and kicked the ball in her direction.

Dr. Nishikino recognized he’d lost his daughter’s attention, “Well, I have to get back to the hospital. Give Nico my best. We reassigned those cleaners outside the hospital. I should have taken her complaints more seriously.”

“Give Nico my best.” After suggesting Nico move to the guest house. And ignoring her concerns about the cleaners. If he’d actually listened, Nico might not be sick. Nico who had this irresistible energy, a spark that made Maki almost cheerful to be spending hours working in her company, was now a Nico who dragged herself from bedroom to kitchen or media room. And crying. Nico shouldn’t be crying. Nico shouldn’t be sick. Maki shouldn’t be feeling this worried, this useless. But instead of accelerating her medical training, to feel less useless, she just wanted to spend more time playing piano for Nico, to make Nico smile, like Nico wanted to make their audience smile.

“Talk to you tonight. 9 o’clock.”

“Yes, Papa.”

He left with a wave, and Maki flumped into one of the lounge chairs, Rin flumping next to her.

“So…”

“Nico’s got it.”

“You’re fine?”

“So far.”

“Did he want to take you off somewhere?”

“Wanted to put Nico in the guest house. He knows I won’t leave the piano.”

“You said no.”

“I said no.”

“That’s nice.”

“She misses her family. She was crying yesterday. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Hug her.”

Maki turned to look at Rin. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Maki threw her hands out, “And I’m useless.”

“You’re here.” Rin reached out a hand and squeezed Maki’s bicep, “It matters, Maki. You know it does.”

“Thanks.”

“We forgot to bring out drinks.”

“You forgot to bring out drinks.”

“It’s your house.”

“You want a serving of Rona?” Maki teased.

“Ha! I’ll out run it.”

“You outrun everything.”

“But Kayo-chin.”

“Smart.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to get her to do 5Ks but she won’t.”

“Don’t blame her.” Maki was starting to get cold, even in her hoodie. March wasn’t really outdoor weather, but she was enjoying just hanging out with Rin.

And then Rin did the Rin thing.

“So you going to tell Nico about your crush on your hot boss?”

Maki slapped at Rin. Rin giggled.

###

“Fever.” Nico grumped, her mask covering most of her face. She sat at the kitchen table. The windows were open and Maki was staying more than 10 feet away.

“Tea?”

“Yeah. The elderberry stuff?” Nico asked.

Maki glanced at the box, “That and a bunch of other stuff.” “Put in a little honey.” Doorbell rang. Maki left the electric kettle to do its job and went to answer. No one there, but a big box. Addressed to Nico. With hearts and bunnies scrawled in marker everywhere. Maki took it to the kitchen. Nico had pouring her own tea. “Better leave before I pull down the mask and drink.”

“Yeah.” Maki put the box on the table. “It’s for you.”

“Really!” Nico spun with a smile, then winced, “ah, maybe Nico needs to take things slower.”

Maki took the step back from where she’d reached out to catch Nico.

“Looks like someone had fun decorating the box.” “Oh, that would be all of them. Hey, wash your hands after touching this. If you’re going to catch the coronovirus, catch it from Nico, not being careless.” “Is that supposed to cheer me up?”

Nico shrugged, cutting the box open with her tea spoon. Maki washed her hands, watching Nico, who was giggling and happy as she pulled out containers and cards. “Nico’s favorite cookies, thanks Mama. And Cocoro made Nico some muffins for breakfast. Cocoa probably put extra berries in them...and what’s this…” Nico pulled out a large card, “This is for you, Maki.” She slid it across the table. Maki saw her name on it and lots of music notes and hearts.

“They’ve been watching you play piano for Nico.”

Scrawled in children’s handwriting were “Thanks for taking care of our Sis,” “Hi,” “Don’t get sick” and more carefully written, “I hope Nico has helped you learned to cook well enough that you can survive while she gets better.” “I’m not a child.” Maki growled.

Nico snorted, “What did Cocoro say.” “Never mind.” Maki took the card, “Better have your tea.” “What are you going to do?” “Practice piano for tonight….” “And…” Nico went through the optimal handwashing sequence. “You’re not my big sister.”

Nico laughed, “Nico might manage one song tonight.”

Maki hesitated in the doorway, “You should rest.” “You’re not Nico’s doctor.”

Maki’s jaw clenched. Then she started to speak a few times, breathed out fiercely enough to flare her nostrils, and stomped away. 

###

Nico believed in theme weeks so they were still on songs better than the shows they were in. Which meant Pal Joey.

Nico managed to sing, barely getting to the end of “The Lady Is A Tramp.” It didn’t sparkle.

Maki played a very gentle “I Didn’t Know What Time It Was” as Nico snored on the couch.

Then the song was over and it was Maki alone with the camera. Twisting a curl, she glanced at Nico, but no help there. Even alone by herself, the mood was elegiac. She shook herself, flexed her fingers, and started singing the song that had been looping in her head.

"If they asked me, I could write a book

About the way you walk and whisper and look

I could write a preface on how we met

So the world would never forget

And the simple secret of the plot

Is just to tell them that I love you a lot

Then the world discovers as my book ends

How to make two lovers of friends”

Maki looked straight into the camera, raised a finger to her lips, winked, and shushed the audience.

### 

Nico was feverish and obviously sleeping through all of the day. Maki had managed to get her to sip some soup.  

So Maki had her phone out.

M: She needs to sleep. What do I do about the Café?

R: Play something.

M: What?

Hanayo frequently “eavesdropped” on their text conversations.

H: Keep the theme going. Songs better than the plays or movies they're in.  M: With what? 

R: Kayo-chin’s looking up stuff.

M: Does she want a job?

R: Looking up stuff?

M: Handling the social media.

H: ＼(★^∀^★)／

H: The Bodyguard. 

M: No. I was trying to talk Nico into Madonna and Dick Tracy the other day. I’ll do something from that. Right feel. I can wear my fedora.

R: We should have a double feature night. Dick Tracy and Who’s That Girl. Kayo-chin wants a mountain lion. H: Just text me the TWIG password.

R: Can you sing “always get my man” with a...straight face (∩╹□╹∩) Won’t Nico get the wrong idea.

In her head, Maki could hear Rin giggling until she couldn’t breathe.

Maki spoke as she typed, “Shut it, Rin.”

“Maki?”

Maki yelped and jumped, her phone flying out of her hand.

Nico laughed, then coughed and couldn’t stop. Maki froze, her phone lying forgotten as she stared at Nico.

Cough finally quieted, Nico grimaced, then winked at Maki, but it was a wan substitute for her usual flirting, “So what’s the verdict, Doc? Got a cure or am I gonna die?” Maki couldn’t handle the surge of anger and sadness at Nico’s question, the two huge forces that grappled on her like riptides and started to tear her in opposite directions. And the tears, why were there tears? There must be a lot of tears, Maki could feel them running down her face, sliding into the side of her nose, blurring her vision so she didn’t have to see the shock and exhaustion on Nico’s face above the mask. 

Maki ran out of the room, to her bedroom, to a pillow, to hide her face, to soak her scaredness and sorrow into something, to scream out frustration. 

###

Maki must have fallen asleep at some point. Achey too. She raised a hand to her forehead. No fever. Probably just dehydrated from all the crying. And hungry. Maki rolled out of bed. First, wash face, then change into pajamas. It was still dark out. Then grab cereal and curl up and watch She Ra until she fell asleep again. Serious plan. Don’t think about anything.

Maki stared into the refrigerator, deciding between chocolate milk and milk. The most serious question she wanted to deal with today. Chocolate, along with some super cinnamony cereal with a hint of apple. Yep. That was a breakfast win. Grabbing the milk, Maki turned to get her bowl and there was Nico in the door. Maki jumped again, the milk hit the ground, Maki’s slippers were a fashionable new chocolate brown, and Maki couldn’t hold back a whine.

“Aw c’mon. Why?”

Nico snickered, but carefully. “Does this only happen in the kitchen? Cause it’s too adorable to hide in just one room.” “Be quiet.” Maki picked up the carton, grabbed paper towels, raised them as a shield when Nico stepped forward, “I’ve got this. Why are you up anyway?” Nico breathed out, a dry, raspy sound, “Nico is too dry.”

“Oh, I’ve got a Thermos somewhere. You can take tea back to your room with you.”

Nico’s mask had sparkling strawberries not nearly as bright as her eyes scattered all over striped pink fabric, It was so very Nico. Maki’s mask was functional, hospital issue.

“Where did you get that mask?” 

“Mama sent some cute ones, along with fabric and elastic in the care package. She’s got the girls making them for the neighbors. Does Maki want Nico to make her a cute mask?”

Maki shrugged, “Maybe when you’re not exhausted.”

“Hey, Maki?” Nico's question was so quiet it amped Maki's uneasieness.  “Yeah?” Maki was making the mess a little messier, but eventually absorption would work. Physics always won, right?

“Why do you freak out whenever Nico mentions doctors?”

Maki froze. 

“Are you allergic?” Nico was trying to keep the conversation light, but Maki could tell her tiny, too frail interrogator was fading.

“Kind of.” “Maki.” A demand for more. Maki finished cleaning in a blur of motion, then stood, “My parents are glad to be medical professionals, continuing our family tradition, they love what they do, it’s all they do…” Maki tossed the sodden towels in the sink and sighed, “That’s a lot sometimes.”

“Yeah.” 

“Now I’m going to go watch cartoons and eat cereal. You should, in my I-spend-so-much-time-adjacent-to-doctors-I-know-EVERYTHING opinion, go to bed. Immediately.”

“My little brother is probably up watching cartoons.” “Cotaro is a wise man and will grow up well.” Maki declared with a nod, tucking the cereal under her arm, and picking up her bowl, spoon, and milk, stopping before she stepped into the Nico bubble they’d gotten used to keeping between them.  “May I?”

Nico stepped out the way, with as grand a flourish as she could manage, grabbing the back of a chair when her legs wobbled, but not until Maki was safely down the hall.

###

Nico was still sleeping. Day Seven of the Quarantine Cafe. Hanayo had kept insisting that finishing Nico’s theme week was important. And teasing the next one on TWIG. Maki had spent most of her afternoon, after a brief mid morning nap, arranging two of Madonna’s songs from Dick Tracy into piano arrangements. 

Now Hanayo was on a video feed arguing with her. 

“It’s about branding, Maki. Nico’s been wearing cocktail dresses, you’ve got gowns, wear one.”

Maki froze. She had propped her phone up on a shelf inside her walk in closet. “I don’t want to.”

“Pretend you’re in a movie, Maki.” Rin chirped.

“That’s a great idea, baby. Rin’s right, pretend you’re in a movie. Channel your inner Madonna.” “I don’t have an inner Madonna.” “Channel your inner Pearl.” Rin crowded next to Hanayo. “She wore a suit.” Maki twirled a curl, biting her lip, “I’ve got a tux.”

Hanayo kept pressing. “Wear a gown, like Adora, Maki. Nico will see it when she gets better, but for you it’ll just be playing dress up alone.”

A gown like Adora. Maki had a white and silver gown that she’d bought for some New Year’s Gala and hadn’t had the courage to wear. Nico was feverish, sweating through clothes and now just muttering things that made no sense whenever Maki cautiously cracked the door open to check on her so she probably wasn’t going to be awake for the livestream.

“Like a movie set, Maki.” Rin rolled away from the camera. “Like a movie set.” Maki set her shoulders, “I can do that.”

“That’s great, Maki.” “I recorded ‘Sooner Or Later” so I can just sing.” “Good.”

“Yeah, Maki, don’t think, sing. You can do it.”

“You can do it.”

“I can do it.” And that wasn’t just an empty echo of her two best friend’s confidence boosting. Maki could do it. She could see the scene in her head, just like a movie. And Nico would see it later, maybe like it a little, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Maki was positive about the music going well. That confidence made the thought of boldness easier.

“Sooner or later you're going to be mine

Sooner or later you're going to be fine

Baby, it's time that you face it

I always get my gal

Sooner or later you're going to decide

Sooner or later there's nowhere to hide

Baby, it's time, so why waste it in chatter?

Let's settle the matter

Baby, you're mine on a platter

I always get my gal

But if you insist, babe, the challenge delights me

The more you resist, babe, the more it excites me

And no one I've kissed, babe, ever fights me again

If you're on my list, it's just a question of when

When I get a yen, then baby, Amen

I'm counting to ten, and then

I'm going to love you like nothing you've known

I'm going to love you, and you all alone

Sooner is better than later but lover

I'll hover, I'll plan

This time I'm not only getting, I'm holding my gal”

Maki finished with a wink, said “see you tomorrow” into the lens, and reached to turn off the camera.

Nico’s voice, at a third of its normal volume, sounded behind her.

“That was…”

Maki whirled, “Why are you here?” “Is Nico under house arrest?” “Yes.” It was a shout, a panic shout, an attack of embarassment. 

“Nico is surprised you didn’t go full be gay, do crime and s and m by singing ‘Hanky Panky.” Full flaring blush, Maki reached for a throw, wrapping up, trying not to notice too obviously that Nico looked disappointed. Nico also looked gray. “You said you’d never heard of Dick Tracy.”

“Nico got bored sometime between shivering and  hallucinating and looked it up.”

“You’re hallucinating?”

Nico grimaced, “Maybe right now. It’s hard to tell.”

“No, this is real.” “Good. Because Nico likes this part.” But there was an odd tone in her voice and she suddenly leaned forward, coughing taking over and shaking her tiny frame. Maki instinctively reached out, but Nico batted away her advance, forcing out words, “Don’t get near me.”

“But you....” “Keep away.” Nico hissed, falling into a chair as the coughing continued. 

Maki opened the windows, sorry she didn’t have a mask handy.

“I’ll get a mask.” “Yeah, we need to keep spares handy.”

“I’ll be right back.”

When Maki returned, Nico was curled up in a ball.

“You’re probably shedding less virus now than before you had symptoms.” “Did your doctor parents tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“Did they tell you how long Nico was going to feel like Godzilla’s tail was on her chest?” “No.”

“You should leave.” “No.”

Nico rolled her eyes, and coughed into the couch.

“I’ll tell the staff to clean thoroughly in here.”

Nico raised her thumb, but refused to turn over. 

It wasn’t silence, was Nico...crying? “Nico?”

“Nothing tastes right.”

“It messes with your sense of smell.” Nico flipped, “DON”T BE A DOCTOR, NOW!”

The NOW echoed for a moment. Maki was briefly glad that Nico had that much air in her.

“Sorry.”

Nico turned away again, definitely crying.

“What’s wrong, Nico, what do you need are you in pain do I have to take you to the hospital should I call…” “Stop.” It was soft, but Nico meant it.

“But you’re cry…” “Nico is scared okay. This is scary. Nico wakes up at night and…” Now silence. Maki had had panic moments too, some of them triggered by the sound of Nico coughing down the hall. So she imagined the panic moments for Nico, who was actually coughing, would be worse.

“I’m sorry, Nico.” “‘S not your fault.” “You’ll be fine, Nico. You’re going to get better. I know you will.” Maki sat in the window, throw falling off her shoulders, staring at the moon.

“Thanks for letting me stay here,  Maki.” Maki smiled, “No reason for us both to be lonely and scared in two different places.” A pause, “So Nico is doing Maki a huge favor.” “Sure.” Nico’s eyes couldn’t stay focused on one spot, Maki felt like Nico was memorizing the details of her dress. “Nico always takes care of pretty ladies.” “Sounds a little pervy.”

“Shut up. Nico was paying you a compliment.”

“Compliments usually start with “Wow, Maki, you’re…”

Nico inhaled deeply and Maki held her breath, but no coughing.

“Wow, Maki, you’re a pain in Nico’s…” Maki laughed, “I’m going to heat you up some food. I’ll leave it outside the door here. Or by your room, if you want. If you have enough energy for this, you have enough to eat.” “But Maki....” “Nope. You’re eating.” “Make it sweet.” “I’ll think about it.”

###

Korean again, really loud. Maki wasn’t sure if Nico was awake or asleep. But Maki was sure that Nico was addicted to multiple Korean dramas. Nico had texted her the list when Maki got curious about why Nico had created a portal to Seoul in the Nishikino’s guest bedroom. There were half a dozen, all with very convoluted plots, mostly involving rude, spoiled, handsome, rich heirs to corporations and the women they refused to admit they were crushing on and let their mother-in-laws harass. At least most of them were hard workers, not propagating the ‘idle rich’ slander. Although, Maki did have a few distant cousins who started partying in high school and hadn’t stopped, even after children. 

She flopped on her bed and texted Rin.

M: Why does she keep watching these stupid Korean dramas with these stupid pretty boys.

R: R U jelling? M: No, I just want to know if the coronavirus damaged her brain.

R: Maki, don’t lie.

M: Rin, don’t nag.

R: Maybe her mom watches them…

M: Hadn’t thought of that.

R: Or maybe… M:  What? She wants a rich, pretty FICTIONAL Korean boy to marry her?

R: (*＇Д＇)ﾉｼ)ﾟﾛﾟ) M: ◔_◔

R: Or maybe…

M: (¬_¬)

R: SHE CAUGHT A REALLY SCARY DISEASE AND WANTS TO NOT WORRY ABOUT IT.

M: oh

M: She’s been crying.

M: I don’t know what to do. R: Play music for her.

M: She’s in the guest room. R: TAKE YOUR MIDI KEYBOARD AND RECORD SOMETHING.

R: ‾͟͟͞(((ꎤˋ⁻̫ˊ)—̳͟͞͞o

M: oh

R: (っ⇀⑃↼)っ

R: You got this. Don’t be scared.

M: Thanks.

M: Good night.

R: Get some sleep. I’m bringing donuts in the morning ~(=^‥^)_旦~

M: (•’╻’• ۶)۶

R: (≧ω≦)ゞ

###

The next couple of days for Maki were a blur of really random text conversations, SheRa, and music.

N: Nico’s really bored.

M: It’s 4 a.m. try sleeping.

N: 4 a.m. means coughing so Nico’s sitting up.

M: Need tea?

N: Nico’s fine. Today was better.

M: Good.

N: What do you do when you’re bored?

M: Play music, play video games, listen to music….

N: No talking to cute girls? M: At 4 in the morning, no.

N: You used to be working at 4 in the morning, like Nico.

M: So you were talking to cute girls.

N: Nico still is ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡

M: Was it really a better day? N: Yes.

M: Are you really watching ALL those Korean dramas or is it just background noise?

N: Nico takes fashion notes. Want to see? M: No.

N: Nico’s watching an old one, Tomorrow’s Cantabile, to get better at piano players.

M: Tired of rich, pretty boys already?

N: Oh, Maki, Nico watches the ones where they have sexy, snarky friends who are girls.

M: So what’s Tomorrow’s Cantabile? N: Bunch of weird, music geniuses at college and one pretty boy pianist with emotional scars. You might like it. The music is beautiful. M: You never watch that one when I’m upstairs. All I hear is pop stuff.

N: Do you listen at Nico’s door?

M: Go to sleep Nico.

N: You too.

M: (-_-) zzz

N: ( ˘ ³˘)♥

 Maki woke up to Nico’s ringtone.

N: Why did you give your friend the password?

M: When people talk about “K-Pop hacker-stans” on TWIG, they mean Hanayo.

N: So she didn't really need Nico’s password ; )

M: Isn’t it our password? N: Maki wants ownership? Okay, 70-30, Nico is always the tie breaker.

M: 70-30, me. My house, my piano, my idea…

N: But Nico’s dream. And Nico’s dreamy. I bet you’re dreaming about Nico.

Well, yeah, about Nico unconscious and being swept away in a flood of donuts, coffee, and Korean zombies. Rin really deserved to be kicked for suggesting Maki learn about Korean culture by watching Train to Busan.

N: Nico can do 60-40. And let you pick the next theme.

M: We already did. 

N: Shouldn’t you have told Nico? M: You can sing?

N: Nico is better.

M: ( ¬_¬)

N: I’ve got six hours.

M: You can’t have a fever.

N: I know. What’s the theme, Maaa-ki?

M: *drumroll*

M: Coffee.

N: Jerk.

M: (⊙_◎)

N: You’re trying to get Nico back to work.

M: There’s not going to be any work to go back to for awhile. N: Your dad’s going to keep it going for the doctors. So Nico’s good.

Maki frowned. Papa hadn’t said anything about that to her. She’d have to talk to him. 

### 

6 hours, no texts, no Nico. Maki was looking at herself in the full length mirror in the closet. Tonight, she’d chosen a black dress with slashes of lilac across the torso. She’d gotten many compliments at last year’s Halloween fundraiser. She was going to skip the delicate lilac butterfly mask. Hanayo, of course, wanted to see the look. Maki told her she’d have to wait. Rin laughed.  But Maki was glad Hanayo had pushed her into dressing up. Maki adjusted where the waist sat, smiling at herself. It added an extra thrill, plus she’d seen, last night, that as tired as Nico was, she’d still been paying attention to every detail of Maki’s gown. And there had been all the text exchanges, with a new level of flirty. 

Maki inhaled. She was confident about the instrumental version of “The Coffee Song.” She liked how sprightly it was. But then the mood switch to “Black Coffee.” Hanayo had sent her texts with comments and emails 1Café Quarantine had received. People who were worried about Nico, young men and women who appreciated the mix of upbeat and melancholy, older audience members who were enjoying songs they remembered hearing, a couple of huge Dick Tracy fans who asked if Maki had seen Ishtar. There were even a few musicians who wanted to jump in on the livestream and collaborate. Nico’s dream was working, even without a physical location or selling “expensive drinks to rich people.”

Time to stream. Maybe tomorrow, she’d invite somebody in so that duets could happen again. Hanayo probably already had someone in mind. She was also working on a logo. Maki’s cheer up Nico suggestion was a snowball gathering momentum on a downhill jaunt. 

Sitting at the piano, Maki crossed her legs, straightened her posture, and smiled. Just talk to Nico. Nico will eventually watch this. Maki shivered. Wrong thought, that almost made it worse. Okay, channel that thrill, that love, that draw that music had, just let the song flow.

“Hello, welcome to tonight’s Café Quarantine.”

A/N: Well, the wife requested a coffeeshop AU this @auyeahaugust so I was thinking about how different the coffeeshop experience is now, thanks to Covid-19, and started writing this monster of a fic that just took over everything. Some liberties have been taken with isolation protocol. And the story has reached intermission, but don't worry, Nico's on the upswing.How you?

[ayellowcurtain]

could you maybe when you watched the final write an alternative ending?

could I maybe ask for some Alexia+Arthur I miss them terribly!

lola and baz hanging out, being friends, lola maybe mentioning maya

please tell us you have more ArthurxAlexia, spare some for the broken hearted that miss S5 with all their soul pls!

Arthur watches all his friends gathered around him, talking excitedly like this is not one of the last times they’ll all hang out together. Arthur would like to be more optimistic, but he’s struggles with that after this hell year.

Maybe he’s getting drunk, that’s it. When he gets drunk, he gets in the worst mood ever, remembering all the shit he did for the people he loves. And he shouldn’t be drinking this much tonight. Yann and Manon are moving across the country tomorrow, Emma is going away for her gap year and that feels like the start of the end.

Soon they’ll all leave, get their shit together and Arthur will still be stuck here, as lost as one can be.

“You okay, bro?” Baz squeezes his shoulder and Arthur looks at him, blinking a few times to be able to focus his hazy eyes and brain on his best friend right next to him, his hand still on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Fuck, yeah. Sorry, got distracted.” He smiles and hopes Baz buys it, lying his head against his best friend’s shoulder. From this new angle he can see under the long wood table, Alexia’s hands on her lap. Arthur looks around, nobody else is paying them much attention so he quietly holds her hand. Alexia looks down, at their hands now together and he looks at him.

Arthur misses her so much it’s almost disorienting.

“Stop being annoying! He’s just drunk and sad, he’s not dying.” Arthur hears Lola’s voice behind him and he looks at her direction, sitting next to Baz. He smiles at Arthur with that guilty and fond smile of his and Arthur pretends he’s too focused in other conversations to hear his with Lola.

“He’s too drunk, Lola! You’ll have to help me carry him home...”

“No way. I’m not doing that.”

“Lola!”

“No! He’s a grown ass man. If he can’t drink, I’m not the one that’ll carry him home.”

Arthur sighs, sitting up again, able to intertwine his fingers with Alexia’s now.

“I’m gonna get some water,” he thinks out loud, not sure if he’s telling that to Lola, Baz or Alexia.

This place that Eliott showed to them a few weeks back feels like a piece of them now. Le Gang, family size. The cooler with drinks is almost empty now, but Arthur manages to find a bottle of water, drinking half of it at once, hoping it’ll make him get sober quicker. It’s not how it works, but Arthur likes to pretend.

He walks around the abandoned building a little bit. It feels like the end of an era and Arthur doesn’t know how to feel about the future. Everything changed so quickly he’s still trying to make his brain stop spiraling. He loves his new place, loves being just him and his mom, redecorating his new bedroom.

If this is what he can have after everything, Arthur can also accept having Alexia just as a best friend, she’s a great (and free) interior designer. They’re still as close as they were when they were dating, they just don’t have sex or kiss. But he would be the luckiest man alive if she ever decided to give him a second chance.

“He’s here...” Lola’s voice makes him look back. She’s walking to his direction and Baz appears, smiling when he finds Arthur.

“I found you!” Baz rushes to him and hugs him from behind, resting his head against Arthur’s back. Lola walks slower and stops next to them, looking at the tall and broken building behind them.

“Alexia sent us here,” Lola says, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. Arthur feels stupid that even Daphné’s little sister can tell something is going on with him and Alexia.

“Yeah...”

“Hm...so! We’re leaving. Daphné is saying goodbye to Yann and Manon, are you coming with us?”

Arthur doesn’t want to go, he wants to hang out with everyone - and especially Alexia - a little more, but he knows he should go home. Baz probably thinks that too, his best friend wouldn’t worry if Arthur went with them. His raised eyebrows and expecting and weird smiles are there, staring at Arthur. So he nods his head and Baz laughs, clearly relieved. Lola rolls her eyes, texting someone.

“You’re going home? Is Maya going there? I need to know so I can make something special for us to eat and-”

“No, I’m going to her place. Don’t wanna be there with just you and Daphné.” 

-

The sun starts overheating his body and slowly waking him up. Arthur moves to lie on his back and there’s someone on the bed. He opens his eyes and blinks a few times, finding Alexia sitting next to him, busy with her computer, looking at him and smiling.

She waits as he streches his body, getting his glasses and hearind aids, putting everything on.

“Shit, I’m sorry for last night. I got fucking shitfaced.” Arthur breathes slowly to calm his stomach as he pushes himself to sit, leaning against the headboard, remembering he went to Alexia’s place instead of his. He covers his face with both hands, his mouth so dry and bitter, still tasting like what he ate and drank yesterday. Alexia laughs and holds him by his wrist.

“It’s okay. You were funny.” She turns to the other side, grabbing something on her nightstand, turning back to him to offer a bottle of water.

“How did you sleep? Did I snore much?”

He looks at her, frowning, watching as she stops smiling suddenly. “So loud, Arthur. You’re worst than my grandpa.”

Alexia laughs and he exhales, a little more relaxed that this wast a joke. “Shut up, you liar...”

“I slept well. I feel like you steal the blankets less now that we’re...best friends.” Alexia tries to act normally, but she does sound like this is the most weird thing, which probably is. Them sharing a bed again, a small bed like Alexia’s.  

Arthur looks at Alexia, his elbow on his naked thigh, noticing that he slept with just his underwear, no jeans, and he puts his face sideways against his palm, watching her.

“I wish I could steal your blankets then. I wish we were together. I miss you so much.”

“I’m right here...”

“You know what I mean, Alex.”

“I do.” She smiles fondly, resting against the headboard, looking relaxed, not really bothered by his presence, she looks down and back at him.“...And Noée?”

Whatever happened between him and Noée finished with that first and only kiss. There was never real romantic feelings from his side, he was just extremely dumb and confused and he noticed that when it was too late already, the damage was done. They still hang out every Saturday morning and sometimes they go out to eat or something, but they don’t talk about them. Because Arthur doesn’t think they have anything else to talk about.

“She’s just a friend. Whatever I thought I felt romantically for her wasn’t...real. She’s dating a girl now too. She seems very happy.”

Alexia raises her eyebrows, very surprised and Arthur was too when she told him over a month ago, but just because she never talked about the girl before, not because he was jealous. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah...”

Arthur stares for another minute and Alex is looking back at him too. He moves to his knees and leans forward, kissing Alexia after what feels like a lifetime.

Her hands come to his cheeks, touching him so gently. Arthur tries to go slow, to keep his hands to himself. Alexia is the one to break the kiss, resting her forehead against his, sighing.

“Can we try again? I promise I’m better...I know I don’t deserve you, but please, let me try again.”

“I still like you...we can’t control with whom we fall in love with.”

He nods his head, letting himself get hopeful.

“No, we don’t.”

[cocastyle]

Family

Pairing - Steve Harrington x platonic!reader

Word Count - 5,997

Warning - none

A/N - this is my first request and I couldn’t be more excited about writing it! if anyone would like to request something, I write for so many different fandoms that can all be found under my master list! some that I write for haven’t even been added yet so always feel free to ask! for this request I have decided to explore a Steve and Y/N brother/sister bond much like the one seen in my In-Between series (this is in no way connected to the series though and will showcase a little Dustin Henderson x reader) anyways, I really hope everyone likes this!

Request - I love the fact that Steve and Y/N have a brother sister relationship in the In-Between and I was wondering if you could do something on that like him being protective of the reader during the tunnels scene in ST2 @nerdy-collector-festival

Steve Harrington and Y/N L/N didn't have the best parents in the world. With neither one of their parents ever home and an empty house most of the time, the two were often left to fend for themselves and it had been like that from a young age.

The only source of comfort either of them had was each other. Y/N and Steve's parents had been best friends since college, so since the day Y/N was born Steve was always by her side. Neither of them even minded the five year age gap between them and still considered the other to be their best friend and the person they hung out the most with.

Or that was how it used to be before the events of 1983 where the two witnessed some horrific events that were sure to be in their nightmares for the rest of their lives. It was that night when Y/N was fighting to save one of her other best friends Will Byers and Steve was trying to protect Y/N from a demogorgon that the two realized just how much the other meant to them.

And that realization was almost too much for either of them to handle. After having practically no family for their whole lives and then realizing that their best friend, the person who they cared about most in the world, was their family was enough to make them both take a step back and away from each other.

They didn't know how to handle this new realization and neither wanted to harm their friendship, even if by the two pulling away it meant exactly that.

So the year after the events of 1983 was tough for the two. It's not that they never hung out with each other cause they did, but their normal hangouts just weren't as frequent, the two finding new people to hang around more often. For Steve that was Nancy Wheeler, his girlfriend who he put all of his time and love into. For Y/N that was the members of the Party or more specifically Dustin Henderson who she had grown to develop a small crush on over the past year.

But then Halloween in 1984 hit and the two were thrust back into each other's lives, both of them realizing how stupid and ignorant they had been over the past year but still knowing that nothing had changed. Steve was still the protective brother — or mom as Y/N liked to say — that he was and Y/N was still just as loving and protective as any other sister.

However, the year they spent semi-away from each other made Y/N realize just how much she had depended on Steve. She had expected him to keep her steady when she needed it most, to protect her from everything bad, and to cheer her up whenever she felt down. It annoyed her when she thought about it and she felt guilty and ashamed for having put such a big responsibility on Steve for all of these years, wondering if all he had ever seen her as was just that—a responsibility.

So when the Party had all decided to head to the tunnels that connected to the Mind Flayer, the latest antagonist who currently had control of Will and who Eleven was trying to defeat, Y/N knew that Steve was only tagging along to make sure that she was safe and to keep her out of trouble. This was enough to make her frustrated and even upset, especially when she saw Steve get beat up by Billy Hargrove just because of her.

"Guys," Steve's voice rang through her ears causing the young girl to snap out of her thoughts as she continued to get supplies out of the back of the car, the others all roaming around her as they too got ready to enter the tunnels down below. "Oh, no. Guys."

"Hey, where do you think you're going? What are you, deaf? Hello? We are not going down there right now," Steve yelled almost deliriously as he looked around at the kids. His eyes flickered over to Y/N and Dustin who were busy putting goggles on and bandanas over their faces. He gave them a pointed look and said, "I made myself clear."

Y/N rolled her eyes and continued to struggle putting her goggles on while Steve babbled on beside them, slowly coming more and more to his senses as he managed to pull himself up onto his feet.

"Hey, there's no chance we're going to that hole, all right? This ends right now!" Steve yelled in frustration, but everyone continued to ignore him.

Dustin told his eyes at the boy and turned to Y/N, gently grabbing her goggles and fixing them on her face as he looked back at Steve.

"Steve, you're upset, I get it. But the bottom line is, a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance," Dustin said, not noticing the small blush on Y/N's face as he finished fixing her goggles and gave her a small smile.

Y/N quickly cleared her throat and looked to the older boy who furrowed his eyebrows slightly at the two before shaking his head and locking eyes with her. "Listen, Harrington, I know you promised Nance that you would keep us safe," Y/N said as she grabbed a backpack that had Steve's bat poking out of it. She shoved it into his hands a little roughly before saying, "So man the fuck up and do your job."

She then gave the boy a sickly sweet smile and pulled her bandana over half of her face and grabbed a crowbar and a container of fuel before walking away without another word. Dustin smiled after her before noticing Steve looking at him. "She's amazing," Dustin said almost dreamily before he hurried along after the girl leaving Steve frowning and mumbling to himself.

Y/N didn't hesitate to jump down into the tunnel, the others surrounding her as they looked down the dirt tunnel that had floating pieces of decay in the air. The young girl grimaced before someone landing beside her had her turning to see Steve standing there. His head moved towards her and they both stared at each other for a moment before she nodded her head at him, the boy returning it almost instantly.

Steve then looked away before letting his eyes flicker over the scenery around him. "Holy shit," he breathed out, the fact that the decaying place they were in was supposed to be the ground underneath a pumpkin farm seeming totally wrong.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's this way," Mike called out as he glanced up from the map he was looking at, an X marking the spot that they had determined to be the best place to set up their trap.

"You're pretty sure, or you're certain?" Dustin called out from where he was looking just a little ways away.

"I'm 100% sure!" Mike replied. "Just follow me and you'll know."

Y/N glanced at Dustin and the two shrugged before beginning to walk after Mike who had started down one of the paths. Steve looked at them as if they were crazy, which was hard for them to see because of the mask, and he quickly stopped Mike before saying, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, hey, hey, hey. I don't think so."

"What?" Y/N asked annoyed as she turned to look at the boy.

"Any of you little shits die down here, I'm getting the blame," Steve explained. "Got it, dipshit? From here on out, I'm leading the way. L/N, you stick by my side, okay? Come on, let's go."

Steve began to walk forward, but didn't go far because Y/N wasn't by his side. He threw his head back in her direction as if to give her a pointed look and Y/N huffed before reluctantly leaving Dustin's side to go walk beside Steve.

It was only when she was by his side that the boy began to walk forward, knowing that if she was by his side he would be able to see if anything was going to happen to her. Steve glanced back at the others and gestured in front of him as if to tell them to hurry up.

"Come on. Hey, a little hustle."

- - -

The further the group got into the back of the tunnels, the grosser it became. Y/N felt as if she were going to puke by the time they reached these decaying flower looking things, the way they moved and the sound it made making her stomach churn.

"God," she muttered as she held a hand to her stomach.

Steve instantly glanced over at her. "You okay? Do you need us to head back?" he asked worriedly, the action making Y/N groan inwardly as she was once again reminded by how much of a burden and responsibility she was.

"I'm fine," she grumbled, but that seemed to be enough for Steve who looked back ahead as he led the group forward.

"What is this place?" Max questioned, her nose crinkling up underneath her bandana.

Steve ignored the girl seeing as he didn't know the answer to her question and just said, "Guys, come on. Keep moving."

The kids all shared a look before following after the older boy, none of them noticing Dustin who had paused to look up at one of the pulsing flower buds above him. "What the hell?" he muttered, but the words had barely left his mouth before the thing was suddenly shooting something through the air at him, the decay and dust hitting Dustin right in the face and causing the boy to scream.

Y/N was the first to hear Dustin scream and she instantly perked up before turning and realizing that the boy was no longer with them. "Dustin!" she cried out before running back in the direction they came.

"Y/N!" Steve yelled as he tried to grab her, but the girl was already gone.

"Shit! Help! Help! Help!" Dustin yelled as Y/N turned a corner to find the boy stumbling in her direction. His body collided with hers almost instantly and he gripped onto her arms while she tried to steady him.

"Dustin," she breathed out as her eyes scanned him for any injuries, but it was hard for her to tell when he was moving around frantically  and still screaming slightly out of terror.

"Shit!" Dustin screamed.

"Dustin!" Lucas, Max, Mike, and Steve exclaimed as they came running back over to them.

"What happened?" Y/N asked worriedly as she gripped onto the boy.

Dustin whimpered slightly before saying, "It's in my mouth! Some got on my mouth! Shit!" The boy pulled away from Y/N to have a coughing attack all while the five of them stared at him worriedly. Y/N backed into Steve slightly in fright, the older boy placing a hand on her shoulder to tell her that he was there.

Dustin continued to cough for a bit longer and even pulled his bandana down before he suddenly went quiet, his body freezing before he turned his head to them and said in a totally normal voice, "I'm okay."

"You serious?" Max asked as the group all relaxed, Dustin just staring up at them through his goggles as he gave them a nervous smile.

"Very funny, man. Nice. Very nice," Steve muttered before he turned and began to walk away. "Jesus, what an idiot."

Everyone began to walk away except for Y/N who just stared at Dustin with her arms crossed in front of her body. Dustin stared at her in silence before whispering out a questioning, "I'm sorry?"

Y/N couldn't stop herself from chuckling softly as she went over and held a hand out for the boy. Dustin quickly took it and she helped him up onto his feet, the boy stumbling slightly into her so that they stood face to face.

"You idiot," she muttered as she stared at her, her eyes flickering over his face while he just gave her a small smile. "I thought you were about to die before my eyes or something."

"I would never," Dustin replied making Y/N chuckle before she pulled her bandana down and leaned forward to press a small kiss to his cheek.

Dustin's smile instantly fell, his whole face being covered by an expression of shock while Y/N put her bandana back over her face. "Good," she said all while Dustin looked to her and let a goofy grin appear on his face.

"Y/N L/N, why is there any empty spot by my side?" Steve's voice echoed through the tunnels making Y/N groan and lean her head against Dustin's shoulder for a moment.

"I'm coming! Don't get your panties in a twist," Y/N yelled back before she chuckled and held a hand out for Dustin, the boy smiling at her and taking her hand before the two ran to catch up with the others.

- - -

"Alright, Wheeler," Steve said as he looked at the room around them that had multiple tunnels attaching to it, "I think we found your hub."

"Let's drench it," Mike announced as he looked to the Party, the kids all nodding in response. Y/N picked up her container of fuel and was about to start dumping out its contents when Steve stopped her.

"Yeah, you and flammable liquid? Not a good idea," Steve muttered as he took the container from the girl's hand and shoved it towards Max who took it, but not without giving Y/N an apologetic look.

"Steve," Y/N sighed in frustration, her eyes flickering up to the boy who she knew was just trying to protect her. "I can help."

"I'm just trying to keep you safe. That's why I'm here, isn't it?" Steve questioned as he glanced at the girl. He noticed Y/N's shoulders slump and sighed before squeezing her shoulder. "I know you can help, squirt. But right now, it's my responsibility to make sure you're safe."

Then the boy walked away to make sure the other kids weren't being idiots, leaving Y/N staring after him practically shaking in anger.

A presence beside her had the girl turning to see Dustin standing there with his head tilted to the side. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft and laced with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just frustrated is all," Y/N replied as she glanced back over at Steve. "I'm not just some responsibility of his, you know?"

"Y/N, Steve doesn't think of you as just some responsibility. You're-" Dustin began, but the girl shook her head.

"Sorry, Dustin. I just. . .I need to be alone for a couple of minutes," she muttered before walking away, obviously still upset and frustrated much to Dustin's dismay.

Dustin sighed and went back to drenching the area around him, the others all working silently as they could practically feel the tension radiating off of Y/N towards the unsuspecting Steve.

They drenched every inch of that place while Y/N watched from the side, her scowl hidden by the bandana over her face. It was only when the place was covered that they joined the girl at the edge of the tunnel they had come down a couple of minutes before.

Y/N shook off her anger and reached into her pocket for the small lighter, a smile beginning to grow on her face as she realized maybe she wasn't going to be completely helpless.

"You ready?" Steve asked, his eyes staring at the place before him, still not having noticed Y/N holding the lighter.

"Yeah."

"Ready."

"Ready."

Dustin glanced at Y/N and gave her a small nod before saying, "Light her up."

Y/N smirked under her mask before opening her lighter, a flame instantly becoming visible and finally drawing Steve's attention. The boy's eyes widened and he was quick to reach out and try and stop the girl.

"Yeah, no. Someone else is doing this, not you," Steve demanded as he tried to grab for the lighter, but Y/N was quick and held her hand away, making the others back away from the flame in her hand.

"What? Why?" Y/N asked in a panicked voice.

"Cause I don't want you getting hurt, you got that?" Steve muttered angrily as he tried to reach for the lighter again. "Y/N."

"Can you stop worrying about me for one second and let me help out?" Y/N asked a tad bit aggressively. "Since we've gotten down here all you've done is baby me! I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

Steve's eyes widened and he raised his eyebrows even though no one could tell. They did see him cross his arms, however, and heard him say, "See, this is where you're wrong. All I'm trying to do is protect you."

Y/N scoffed and Steve tried to reach for the lighter again. "I'm trying to keep your ass from getting hurt, got that? I've been taking care of you since day one, L/N! You've gotten into so much shit that I can't even count it anymore!" Steve groaned in frustration.

Y/N froze slightly before turning to the boy in anger, her eyes blazing with a fire more intense than the one in her hand. "Well, quit taking care of me! If I'm such a burden then why don't you just leave me the hell alone, huh? You didn't even have to come here, asshole!" she yelled.

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You know I did," he said.

"No, you didn't. I'm not your fucking responsibility! So quit acting like that's all I am," Y/N hissed, her eyes pricking with tears and making Steve freeze.

A silence fell among the group and Steve was frozen for a second longer before he glanced at the others who had all looked away. It was then that he realized that Y/N actually did believe she was nothing more than a responsibility to him. This made the boy frown and he went to place a hand on her shoulder as he whispered, "Y/N, you're not-"

Y/N was quick to shove the boy away, a determined look on her face as she turned back to the tunnel. "Not right now, Harrington. It's time to light this motherfucker up," she muttered before tossing the lighter into the pit.

The room instantly went up in flames and their eyes widened before Y/N began to whack Mike and Dustin who were closest to her. "Go, go, go!" she yelled as a loud shrieking sound filled the air, the ground popping up and flailing around them, finally exposing the parts of the Mind Flayer.

Y/N stumbled slightly as she tried to get up, but Steve didn't hesitate to grab ahold of her jacket and pull her onto her feet. Y/N glanced back at him, but he wouldn't meet her eyes as he shoved her forward and in front of him, the fire beginning to make its way towards them as he yelled, "Let's go, let's go!"

Y/N felt a feeling of guilt wash over her and she frowned slightly as she realized that she might have been a little harsh on Steve. However, the boy didn't give her time to do or say anything before he was shoving her again and yelling, "Move, Y/N!"

The girl nodded and began to rush forward along with the others, Steve right behind them. All Y/N could hear as they ran was the shrieking coming from the small cave and Dustin beside her yelling, "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

It was only when they were a little over halfway of the way back to where they had come in that something grabbed ahold of Y/N's foot, instantly yanking the girl to the ground while the others all ran forward.

A scream escaped her lips, her arms outstretched as she yelled, "Help! Help!" Steve was the first to react and it was like his instincts kicked in making him run faster than he ever had before. Steve was back by the girl's side within seconds, his bat raised in the air before he began hitting the slimy tentacle that was wrapped around Y/N's leg.

"Steve!" Y/N cried out in a panic as the thing began to drag her, but then Mike and Lucas were behind her and pulling her back while Steve continued to whack the tentacle.

It took a few more hits before the tentacle thing broke in half, instantly letting go of the girl. Y/N was screaming at this point, the part still attached to her leg squeezing her ankle so hard it felt like it was cutting off the circulation. Steve had the thing off of her leg in a matter of seconds before he quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her up onto her feet.

Y/N gripped onto the boy's arm frantically while he stared at her with wide eyes. "Are you okay? Y/N, are you okay?" he asked as he tried to calm the shaking girl down. All Y/N could do was bury her face into the boy's side while Steve just held her tightly.

"Guys, we gotta go! We gotta go now!" Dustin exclaimed as he tried to shove the group forward, but a growl suddenly had the group freezing in place.

Standing behind them, in the direction that they needed to go was a demodog. However, this one seemed to be a little different than the others.

"Dart," Dustin breathed out as he took a step towards the creature, an action that had Y/N quickly reaching out for the boy and patching onto his arm before pulling him back to her.

"Dustin, get back!" Y/N exclaimed as she held the boy close to her, her body leaning against Steve for support while the group all looked at the boy like he was crazy.

The demodog made some sort of noise that sounded like chatter and Dustin stared at him for a minute before glancing at Y/N. "It's okay, Y/N. Trust me," he whispered. Y/N was wide eyed as she stared at Dustin, but she eventually let her hold on him drop as she put all of her trust into the boy.

Dustin nodded slightly at Y/N as if to say thanks and to assure her that he would be fine before he turned and took a step closer to the demodog. "Hey. It's me, it's me. It's just your friend, it's Dustin. It's Dustin, all right?" he said as he pulled the goggles up onto his forehead and the bandana down from his face. He smiled softly at the creature before kneeling down in front of it. "You remember me? Will you let us pass?"

Dart suddenly snarled in Dustin's face, its own face opening up like a flower to showcase its teeth making the group all jump back and Y/N gasp in fright. Dustin didn't seem fazed and just sighed, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the storm cellar. That was a pretty douchey thing to do. You hungry? Yeah?"

The group watched as Dustin began to take his backpack off with the intention of pulling food out of it for the demodog. Lucas raised his eyebrows and muttered, "He's insane."

"Shut up," Y/N and Steve hissed at the boy making Lucas hold his hands up in surrender.

"I've got our favorite," Dustin announced as he pulled a small candy bar out of his backpack. "See? Nougat." Dart grunted in reply and Dustin took that as a good sign before breaking off a piece and tossing it onto the ground. Dart leaned forward and sniffed the candy before slowly beginning to eat it which made Dustin smile.

"Look at that. Yummy. Here, all right? Eat up, buddy," Dustin said before tossing the rest of the candy onto the ground. He then stood up and glanced back at his friends before nodding at them to go ahead.

"Come on. Come on," Steve whispered as he began to walk forward, his hand intertwined with Y/N who wouldn't let go. "Let's go."

The group slowly snuck by Dart and watched as Dustin smiled at the creature, "There's plenty. I've got more." Dustin threw one more bar onto the ground before staring down at the demodog. He smiled sadly before whispering, "Goodbye, buddy."

He then turned and his eyes locked with Y/N who merely held a hand out for him. Dustin took it and the group began to move forward again, leaving Dart behind to eat his nougat while Steve's voice echoed in the air.

"Let's go, let's go!"

- - -

The group hadn't been walking for long before they soon realized that the demodogs were after them, the roaring behind them being enough evidence to prove the fact. Steve was pulling Y/N along at this point, the other kids all stumbling behind them as they ran through the tunnel.

"Run! Run! Let's go! Let's go!"

"There!" Y/N yelled as she pointed a little ways ahead of them where the rope they had used to get down into the tunnels could be seen hanging in the hole.

The group picked up their speed and made it to the rope where Max instantly began to climb up with the help of Steve. Lucas went next and then Mike before Dustin quickly followed.

That left Steve and Y/N, the later shoving the boy towards the rope and saying, "It's easier if you go up and then pull me up from there! Now move!" Steve didn't have time to yell back because the growling was only getting closer and the kids were all yelling at him to hurry up.

"Come on! Let's go. Go, go, go! Let's go! Come on! Come on!" Lucas and Mike yelled as they struggled to help the boy up. Y/N felt herself relax once she saw that Steve made it, but as soon as he had turned to help pull her up, the growling had reached them and Y/N could see the demodogs barreling towards her.

It was like everything moved in slow motion at that point, her head moving so that her eyes locked with Steve's, a panicked look on her face as she screamed out, "Steve!"

"No!" Steve yelled, but it was too late, the demodogs were there. Y/N gripped onto the rope and squeezed her eyes shut, wanting nothing more than a peaceful and quick death, but before she knew what was happening, there was a soft thud in front of her before two arms wrapped around her.

Y/N blinked her eyes open before gasping at the sight of Steve holding her protectively as he held his body like a shield for the girl. Y/N knew it wouldn't do much to keep the demodogs away, but she didn't think too much of it as she just gripped onto the boy and dug her face into his side.

The demodogs pounced at them, but to their surprise, they only seemed to move around them, their destination being something behind them. The two pulled away from each other to watch the demodogs rush by, both of them confused as to what was going on before they heard Mike whisper from above, "Eleven."

It was when the demodogs were gone that Y/N finally allowed herself to look to Steve, her eyes wide with surprise at the fact that he had just tossed himself in front of her to protect her. Steve was breathing heavy and he pulled the bandana off of his face before tossing the goggles off and letting his eyes lock with the girl.

A heavy silence fell among the two and all Steve could do was stare at the girl who was staring back at him with teary eyes filled with confusion.

"You're not just my responsibility," Steve finally said, his eyes flickering over the girl's face as he watched her inhale sharply. "I've known you since you were just a baby, L/N. I care about you more than I care about anyone else in this shitty town."

He paused for a moment before whispering, "You're my family, Y/N." The words were enough to make her breath catch in her throat, a few tears rolling down her cheeks as she just stared at the boy in surprise.

Steve gulped and ran a hand through his hair as he gave her a nervous smile, "And it's my responsibility to keep my family safe."

Y/N's mouth fell open slightly as if she were about to say something, but nothing came out. Luckily for her, she was saved by Max yelling out, "Guys, come on!"

Steve nodded and quickly picked Y/N up before pushing her up so that she could grab onto the hands of her friends. She was instantly pulled into Dustin's arms, the boy gripping onto her tightly as the others all joined in on hugging the girl who they thought had been a goner only moments before.

While this happened, Steve managed to climb his way out of the hole, letting out a small grunt as he pulled himself up onto his feet. He took in a deep breath before turning his head, his eyes instantly locking with Y/N who gave him a small smile.

Steve couldn't help but smile back before he nodded at the girl and began walking back towards the car. And all Y/N could do was stare after him with unspoken words on the tip of her tongue.

You're my family too.

- - -

"Holy shit, aren't you looking gorgeous tonight," Steve teased as he leaned against his car, his eyes on Y/N who was walking towards his car in a navy dress, her hair back in a messy braid while her navy converse squeaked against the ground.

Y/N blushed and tugged at her dress slightly, feeling a bit uncomfortable and wanting nothing more than to be in her favorite pair of sweatpants right at that moment. "Shut up," she muttered, her cheeks heating up even more when Steve let out a small laugh.

"Oh, come on. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I can't compliment you?" Steve questioned, his eyebrows raising as he stared at the girl with a small sparkle in his eyes, his smile so wide that his cheeks had begun to hurt.

He couldn't help but feel like a proud older brother in that moment as he stared at the girl before him. It felt like only yesterday she was still learning to tie her shoes and now here she was all dressed up and about to attend the big dance at school with a boy.

"No, I just. . .I don't know. I feel weird," Y/N muttered as she stared down at her feet.

"Don't be. You look beautiful and I'm sure Dustin is going to love it," Steve teased, the girl blushing even more at the mention of the boy who had asked her to the Snowball dance only a couple days prior. It had taken him two weeks to build up the courage to ask her and, with the help of Steve, the two were now going to be attending the dance together with Steve being their chauffeur.

"Speaking of Dustin, we need to go pick him up," Steve muttered as he glanced at the time on his watch. He pushed himself off of his car before opening up the door for the girl and smiling at her. "Come on, Princess. Let's go pick up your Prince Charming."

"Steve!" Y/N complained, but all the boy could do was chuckle in response as the girl hopped into the car.

The two sang along to their favorite songs all the way to Dustin's house, but by the time they reached the place and were waiting on said boy to come out, a silence had fallen among the two that made them both shift uncomfortably in their seats.

The two hadn't spoken about what Steve had said that day in the tunnels, neither of them knowing how to address it or what to even say. Their friendship was finally back on track, now with the exception of Y/N spending some more time with her other friends and allowing the two to have the necessary space away from each other that they needed in order for their relationship to grow.

But something was different and it mostly had to do with what had happened in the tunnels. Y/N knew she needed to address the situation, but she was still unsure on how to bring it up. Luckily for her, her nerves from having to see Dustin in a couple of minutes had her blurting out her feelings on the spot, making her predicament a whole lot easier.

"I think of you as family too, you know."

The words falling from her lips were enough to make both Steve and Y/N freeze almost instantly. Steve was the first to move and he let his eyes flicker over to the girl who blushed and looked down at her hands as she shrugged.

"You're all I've ever had since day one," she whispered as if it were obvious. "You're the only family I really know. I don't even care that we aren't blood related. You're more of a family to me than my own parents and sometimes I don't always show it. And I just. . ." Y/N paused before looking to the boy. "I really am thankful for you, you know?"

Steve was silent as he stared at her and Y/N couldn't help but feel like time was ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace as she awaited some sort of response. But finally, a smile appeared on the boy's face and he softened slightly as he looked at her before he whispered, "I'm thankful for you too, squirt. I love you."

Y/N smiled almost instantly and whispered, "I love you too."

Steve chuckled and reached out to ruffle the girl's hair. "Hey!" Y/N cried in protest and she quickly tried to fix her hair, however, that was the moment that Dustin decided to walk out and she let out a small scream before smoothing out her hair the best she could. This only seemed to make Steve laugh louder and Y/N glared playfully at the boy before she quickly got out of the car to go and meet Dustin.

Steve sat there for a moment with a smile on his face before finally letting himself watch Y/N as she walked over to Dustin who had paused in his front yard, his eyes locked on the girl who was walking towards him as a look of shock crossed his face.

Steve couldn't help but smile as he watched the girl, his heart swelling with pride for the person who was his sister even if not by blood. And when she began to wall back to the car with her hand intertwined with Dustin, her eyes locked with his and she gave him a small smile.

It was in that moment that the two both realized just how blessed they were to have each other. They really were like family. They were the brother and sister that the other never had.

Steve and Y/N may not have the best parents in the world, but with each other as family, they couldn't have been luckier.

* * *

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@marvelismylifffe

[offical-dystopiantale]

*Chapter 2: Talk to me..*

Ink: Age 16

Error: Age 17

Part 1

Ink sighed, leaning back against the large oak tree behind him. Error, who sat beside him, looked up from his own math textbook, adjusting his red framed glasses. “You good?”

“My brain hurts.”

Error hummed, closing his book and tossing it aside. “We don’t have brains.”

Ink groaned and rolled his eyes, earning a snort from his friend. “Since when have you cared if something was accurate or not?”

“Since just now.” The taller skeleton took off his glasses, placing them into their special case. “The sun’s gonna go down soon. We should probably head back.”

The two boys were about half an hour out of town, at a small hill with a tree at the top; they found out about the place when they were younger, when Winter had taken them out for a picnic. Once they had gotten their driver's license, it became one of their regular hangout spots; along with Ink’s room.

… Speaking of which, it suddenly occurred to Ink that he’d never actually been in Error’s room. Or his house in general.

“Hey, earth-to-shorty.” Error gave him a gentle push, Ink blew a raspberry.

“Don’t call me that, you jerk.”

Error snorted again, leaning over to rest his arms on his knees. He gave Ink a wink, making the smaller skeleton’s ‘stomach’ do a flip, and his cheeks to flush. “It’s not my fault you’re only 4 feet tall”

Ink sank into his turtleneck sweater, efficiently hiding his ever growing blush. “I’m 4’11, not 4 feet.”

Error scooted closer to him, poking his cheek. “Aw, come on. Don’t be mad, I was only teasing you.”

That’s the problem, you idiot…

Ink had known for a while now that he had feelings for his taller friend. When they first started grade nine he started noticing he enjoyed being with Error more than just a friend would, and he’d get moments where he just wanted to hug him, or cuddle him and fall asleep curled up to his chest, or hold hands as they walked together.

Or kiss him.

He really, really wanted to kiss him.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts, he pushed Error’s hand away and stuck his tongue out. “Not all of us were blessed with incredible height”

.”Awe, you think I’m incredible?” Error wiggled his eyebrows as Ink’s blush darkened.

“Screw you!”

The ebony skeleton erupted into laughter, rocking backward. “You’re like an angry kitten, oh my god!”

Ink huffed, throwing a pencil at his friend, and gathered up the rest of his stuff into his bag. “Oh, whatever. Let’s head back, you big Glitch.”

Error gave a weak chuckle at his nickname, standing up to follow Ink to their car - since the two of them were almost always together, they decided they would buy the car together, and take turns driving.

“Do you want to hang out at my place for a bit? I think my mom was planning on baking cookies today.”

“Oh hell yeah, her baking is the fucking best.”

Ink slid into the car’s passenger seat, laughing and rolling his eyes. “Didn’t you say you were going to work on not swearing so much?

Error started the engine, and it made a whirring noise as it came to life. “I lied. I’m here for a fun time, not a long time, so I’ll say whatever shit I want to.” Ink giggled quietly, but there was a part of that sentence that made a lump form in his throat.

The ebony skeleton switched on the radio, an upbeat song suddenly filling the silence. Ink felt his worries wash away; things were good, they only had one more year of high school after this, and nothing bad was really happening in the world.

And he had Error.

The small monster felt himself relax, singing loudly and happily to the songs on the radio.n Eventually he got his friend to sing as well which only made his cheeks bloom with colour once again.

*****

Error grabbed another one of the still warm cookies off the plate in the middle on Ink’s bed, listening to the smaller monster ramble from the other end of the bed.. He always enjoyed being with Ink in his room; obviously not only because he was with his friend, but because the room was so colourful, cozy, and so very ‘Ink”.

The walls were painted baby blue with a soft gray carpet covering the floor. Above his plush bed - that was easily big enough for the both of them to sit (or lay) on at the same time - was Ink’s rainbow flag. In grade ten, during their school’s pride day, all the students were encouraged to wear rainbow items, or anything that supported the LGBTQ+ community. Ink managed to get Error to wear two buttons- one with the pan flag, and the other one with a rainbow - since he didn’t own any pride items himself, and the smaller skeleton has decided to tie his flag around his neck and wear it like a cape all day.

The poor monster had been bullied ruthlessly by a lot of their classmates because of it, and it came to the point that Error debated beating the shit out of them. He didn’t though, per Ink’s requests.

Now the flag stayed in his home, behind closed doors.

It pissed Error off to no end. He could still remember the way Ink’s eyes had drained of their sparkle when the flag idea backfired.

At least Winter was accepting of her son.

Unlike some people Error knew...

He shook his head, slipping back to the moment at hand.

Next to Ink’s bed was a side table with a glass of water and a lamp sitting on it. Next to the lamp was a framed photo of Error and Ink taken when the where 10 and 11, during their first summer as friends. Error remembered once asking his shorter friend why he decided to frame that photo, and not one that was more recent. The white skeleton had smiled and explained that that photo was extra special because it was taken so soon after they met; and that it meant a lot to Ink that they became friends.

Error didn’t know why someone like Ink cared about him, but he was thankful nonetheless.

“Error?”

The ebony skeleton snapped his eyes away from the picture and focused back on his friend, his cheeks turning blue. He’d completely zoned out, and had no idea what Ink had been saying.

The monster giggled, cheeks coming to life with a dusting of colour. “You got kinda distracted there, you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Uh, sorry, can you repeat what you were saying?”

Ink giggled again, making Error blush harder: it was such a soft sound… it made him want to hold the smaller monster close to him, to find other ways to make him make that sound.

… wait.

What the hell has gotten into me?!

It wasn’t necessarily the first time he had thought something like that, and it always made him do a double take on himself.

He wondered what it meant.

“ I was talking about how I get my braces off in a few months!” He smiled widely, showing off the brackets and wires that covered the surface of his teeth.

Error hummed, then said, “I still don’t understand why you wanted to get those in the first place. The teeth gap was cute.”

Ink’s eyes widened, his blush darkening immensely. He covered his face, grumbling. “No it wasn’t… it gave me a lisp when I started getting older, especially if i was talking fast. Besides, Bylk and his friends said-”

“You shouldn’t listen to what those assholes say.”

“COme on, Error, they’re not that bad anymore…”

Oh, sure. They weren’t ‘that bad’ because Bylk was absolutely terrified of Error, all because he beat his ass back in fifth grade. Truth be told, Bylk was also only 5’6, while Error was a towering 6’0. Not that he was complaining about it, he liked that Ink wasn’t getting harassed as much anymore, but the griffin’s little gang still took jabs at the small skeleton when he was alone (since Error and him only had two classes together this year).

At least they knew better than to actually lay a finger on the skeleton now.

“Whatever, they’re assholes.”

Ink huffed, leaning back against his pillows. “It’s getting late.” He said after a few minutes.

Error groaned, turning to his phone. Sure enough, it was almost 10:30.

Fuck

“Guess I should head home then.”

“Mm… yeah, I guess so. Oh! That reminds me. I’m not going to be at school tomorrow morning!”

“What? Why not?”

“Another doctor appointment.” Ink rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. For as long as Error knew him, Ink had always have to miss at least a day of school every two months for a ‘doctor’s’ appointment. From what the small skeleton had explained, all they did was take a look at his soul, make sure his magic levels were good and somehow they checked to make sure he was feeling things normally.

… Error didn’t really understand it.

“Do they bother you?”

“Eh, not really. They used to make me kinda uncomfortable but, you know. I’ve had so many, they’re normal now.” He let out a small laugh. “That being said, they are pretty annoying.”

The ebony skeleton couldn’t help but wonder what that must be like for Ink; what goes through his head when he really thinks about it.

“I...should be going” Error stood up, grabbing his school bag off the floor.

Ink waved. “See ya, Error!” He called after him as he waved and left the room.

He gave a short goodbye to Ink’s mother - who was sitting at the kitchen table, reading through some papers - and thanked her for the cookies before exiting out into the chilly night air. A wave a dread hit him as he stood at his front door.

Sucking in a breath, he unlocked the door, and pushed it open; praying his father was passed out.

Light from the TV in the living room eerily illuminated the dining room and front entrance. The stairs in front of Error looked like a tunnel, leading into a dark abyss. The seventeen-year-old pulled off his shoes and silently leaned into the living room. His father, Cyber Sona, sat spralled out on the reclining chair, empty beer cans and bottles littering the tables and some floor space around him: some were old, and others were new.

Error’s nose scrunched up in disgust and he quickly left the room; trying to be as quiet as possible as he went upstairs to his room, careful not to wake up his dad. Closing the door, Error sighed, sinking down onto his bed and dropping his bag carelessly onto the floor.

His room wasn’t anything like Ink’s; while his friend’s room was colourful and full of life, his was dark and gray. His bed was pressed against the wall next to the window and pointed towards Ink’s room - there had been many nights where they’d both sit by their windows, talking to each other through their phones. On the wall adjacent to his bed, he had a wooden desk covered in grade school assignments and writing utensils with his laptop sitting on top of it all. He also had a closet for clothes and such, but that was about it.

The house was deathly quiet, aside from the mindless chatter of the TV and occasional snore from the sleeping monster downstairs. Rolling over on his bed, the skeleton plucked his earphones off the cluttered side table next to his bed and plugged them into his phone.

He pressed play on a playlist, setting his phone down beside him, and stared up at the ceiling.

A recognizable numbness washed over him as the music made the house disappear around him, leaving only him...all alone. The feeling usually came when he got home from Ink’s, though sometimes it wasn’t so bad. Some days it was worse. Sometimes it lasted for days at a time, and he could barely bring himself to drag his ass out of bed.

Most days the numbness evolved into a deep and desperate sadness.

He rolled onto his side, pulling his comforter up and over top of him and burrowing his face into the pillow and blankets. He knew that sleep wouldn’t come to him, not yet at least, but the warmth gave him at least a little comfort; like a leash, keeping him tied to the real world and protecting him from falling into his thoughts completely.

Things always got worse when that happens.

[canumoveurseatup-no]

Little Girls Like You

Summary: it’s little girls like you that don’t know how to keep their mouth shut unless it’s stuffed.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Black!Reader 18+

WC: 3.5k

Warnings: uuuuhh daddy kink, degradation (bc I love that shit), face slapping (bc I love that shit),  dirty talk, unprotected sex, age gap, virgin reader, cheating, basically one of those taboo adult film plots, don’t sleep with your estranged mother’s hot older boyfriend!

A/N pt. 1: I like the idea of dominant Tony so let me have my dominant Tony

A/N pt.2 : If you’re tagged please leave verbal feedback. If you like it at all please say something <3

You were far from little, you were a grown ass woman for crying out loud. But Tony, the man your mother was dating referred to you as just that, a little girl. Your relationship with your mother wasn’t the best. She was estranged with you and you knew it wouldn’t be long until she became that way with Tony.

Throughout your life you realized that your mother was too selfish to even have children and that you just popped out of nowhere, pretty much an accident. She was too invested in her career which is how your relationship with her became the way it was. It was practically nonexistent. 

But Tony, he was around more than her. He was very involved with you and he hadn’t known you that long. You came back from college and that’s when she introduced you two, after she had been dating him for seven months. You saw the way his eyes lit up when he saw you and he saw the way yours did the same. Your mother was trying to kill you with this one. Had she known you were so into older men she would have never brought him around you.

It’s been about a year since you and Tony met each other and the sexual tension between you two was intoxicating but, no one else realized it because your mom was always away for work or trapped in her office budgeting everything for her business.

You and Tony were alone often but no moves were ever made. You were scared, what move could you even make? You don’t know jack shit about making moves.

Yeah typical, the shy virgin with a crush on a guy who is literally old enough to be her father, but you couldn’t stop it. With your mother always gone and pretty much out of the picture, you wondered why Tony even stayed until one day it became clear.

———-

Your mother was out on a business trip again and Tony had just come back from work. The two of you bumped heads a lot and you sometimes would purposely annoy him just to see him irritated with you, to have him raise his voice at you.

“Y/N!” Tony called up the stairs to your room.

“Yeah?,” calling back down, watching your favorite movie and stuffing your face with chips.

“I thought I told you to do the dishes before I got back,” he came up and just burst through your door.

In nothing but a thin tank top and pink sheer bedroom shorts you covered yourself with the blanket, “Tony!!,”

“Why aren’t the dishes done?” He arches an eyebrow, he didn’t seem to care about your attire

“Because I fucking forgot. Now can you get out, I’m in the middle of the best part,”

He walked over, turned your tv off and stood in front of it with his arms crossed.

“Tony, what the hell?,”

“Watch your mouth and your tone,”

You rolled your eyes at him and got out of bed to try and push him out the way but he grabbed your arms and pushed you back down on the bed.

“I want you to go back downstairs and do the dishes like I asked you to do, Y/N,”

“I’ll do them later,” you started playing your game, intentionally disobeying him just to get a rise out of him.

“Y/N. I’m not going to ask again,” he undid his tie and snatched it from his collar.

“Well great because I’m going to say no again,”

What happens next surprises you and has your thighs clenching. He smacks you in your face and the stinging had a moan bleeding from your lips. He grabs your cheeks in his hand, squeezing them to make your face seem chubby.

“It’s little girls like you that never know how to listen. Always opening your mouth to talk back. How about I stuff it so you finally shut up and do as you’re told,”

A squeak left your lips and your eyes wide, “Smack me again,” you whimpered, “Tony, smack me again,”

He smiled at you and pushed you away from him, “Do the damn dishes and maybe I’ll think about listening to your requests,”

He slams your door and you’re left there panting and starring at the door. You stood up, your legs felt like jelly as you walked to the door and slowly walked down the steps. Tony was sitting in the living room with a beer in hand while flipping through the channels. He felt a smile creep up on his face when he heard the water running and the dishes clinking as you started washing them. You loved being a brat around him but you never thought he’d do anything about it and boy did his actions excite you. You still felt his hand making contact with your face and you zoned out while drying the dishes and ended up cutting your palm on a steak knife causing you to call out in pain. Tony stood in the door way.

“What happened?”

You held your hand on the other side of the sink and whined.

“I cut my hand,” you pouted. He walked over to you and held your wrist looking at the cut.

“Nothing we can’t patch up, sit up here,” he patted the counter top and lifted you up when he saw you struggling with only one hand to boost yourself. Tony got the first aid kit from on top of the fridge and turned on the water. He took your hand and held it under warm water.

“I told you to do the dishes, not hurt yourself,”

“I guess little girls like me gotta be more careful,”

You heard him suck in a breath before looking up at you, “Yeah, you do,” he ran a thumb over your cheek and smiled before going back to tend to your hand.

“Sorry for slapping you,” he shook his head, “You just act like such a brat and it drives me insane,”

You felt your face heat up at him calling you that. You loved to hear him call you a brat. He finished disinfecting the cut and wrapping it up and kissing the bandage.

“You’re a good girl, you just don’t like to listen,” he breathed in sharply.

You practically swooned at him calling you a good girl, you clenched your thighs but that action didn’t go unnoticed by him. He ran his hands up and down your thighs and and wet his lips with that God forsaken tongue of his.

“You just frustrate Daddy so much,”

There was no reason in trying to hold the whimpers back at this point. You looked so cute with your eyes wide and your bottom lip poked out.

“You like seeing Daddy frustrated don’t you? You like being reprimanded,” he didn’t break the eye contact, he gripped your thighs, opening them up and stepping closer. Your words got stuck in your throat and your jaw hung open not knowing what to say, you’ve never been in this position but damn you wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

“A little brat like you never been tamed is that it?”

You softly nodded your head. He smiled at you before going to smack you again, a wide smile spreading on your face and your eyes closing in contentment.

“Again.” Wrapping your legs around him absentmindedly, he did it again and you moaned loudly. “Harder please,”

The last slap had you calling out in pleasure. You’ve never been slapped like this before, who would have known you liked it so much? You loved the heat and stinging in your cheek as the blood rushed to the area.

You opened your eyes to look at him and he looked in conflict with himself.

“I can’t do this to your mother,” he muttered to himself.

“She never pays attention to you,” you run your hand down his chest, “how have you lasted so long? Why are you still here?,” You finally got the courage to speak more than a word.

“Because of you,” his tone was strong and certain, "I know it’s wrong and I know I shouldn’t want you but dammit Y/N I can’t help it. Your mother is so wrapped up in her work that we haven't been intimate in over a year and I've been waiting for her but she's never in the mood and that’s her right but it makes me feel like she doesn't want me,”

"I want you, so have me then. You want me, I want you. Take me, Tony," your voice was so gentle and you rubbed his chin with your thumb, "I've been a brat and I- I think it's time for you to handle that, don't you think?,"

He took a minute to contemplate what was happening, and in a blur, he grabbed the back of your head to smash his lips to yours. Your grabbed his collar to pull him closer and he wrapped his hand around your throat before pushing you away from him. You looked so fucking cute to him. Though your eyes were a dark brown, he could see the way your pupils were blown. You were panting and your mouth hung open. You made Tony feel things no one has made him feel. He felt so invigorated when it came to you.

"Little girls like you need to be taught a lesson,"

He smacked you again and you couldn't help but smile. His left hand gripped your throat as the right slapped you again and again until you were bucking your hips.

"Such a slut for pain, aren't you?,"

His language was so vulgar but it only caused your core to throb even more.

"Be a good girl and answer me when I'm talking to you," his hand squeezed your throat harder as he gritted his teeth.

A gasp getting stuck in your throat with a moan you frantically nodded, "Y-yes, Daddy,"

Hearing the word finally seep from your lips he couldn't help but tear the shorts from your legs. He shook his head with a smirk when he saw the wet spot on your panties. Running a thumb up and down the seam of your crotch, your thighs shook.

"Those innocent little gasps are driving me crazy, Y/N,"

You looked up at him through your lashes and recoiled, "I'm sorry, Daddy,"

He smiled and stepped closer, running a thumb over your bottom lip, "It's okay baby, you're finally putting that mouth to good use other than mouthing back to me like a fucking brat... better yet," He grabbed you by your hair and pulled you off the counter moving you to your knees, "Time to stuff that pretty mouth of yours, then maybe you'll think twice about talking to me like you're crazy,"

With one hand he undid his belt and unzipped his pants, pulling them down and his hard on bobbing up and down right in your face. The tip leaking pre-cum, you couldn’t help but lick your lips. You smiled brightly at it, finally getting some action in your life. Tony took himself in his hands and slapped his cock on your pouted lips

"Suck it like a good girl,"

You peered up at him and were nervous, "I- I never,"

He gets a mischievous glint in his eyes as he bents over to be eye level with you.

"Stupid little girls like you just need to be taught everything don't you? Always needing direction," He laughed in your face and while in any other situation you would be offended by those words, coming from him you couldn't help but be turned on.

"Open,"

You did as told and he rested the head on your tongue, lapping up all the saliva that was there, on the head, he slowly pushed himself deeper inch by inch until he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, but he kept you there.

"Breathe through your nose," he hummed

You coughed and felt your spit thicken in the back of your throat. The weight of him felt good in your mouth and your eyes started to water, making your eyeliner and mascara run, this in turn, made Tony throw his head back in a moan.

"You look so pathetic," he smiled down at you, "It's so hot when you look like that,"

You wrapped your lips around him and stared moving back and forth with a little of his direction. With his hand tangled in your hair and him thrusting in your mouth as he leaned against the counter he looked so irresistible with his collar popped like that and his mouth hanging open. He was fucking your mouth and he loved it when you gagged on him.

"Such a good girl," he grunted.

Saliva was dripping from your mouth and black streaks ran down along your cheeks, nipples poking out in your tank top, you were straight out of a porno.

He withdrew himself from your mouth leaving you gasping and coughing. Strings of your spit on his throbbing length you just wanted to go back to sucking it. Tony lifted you back on the counter and took your panties off, admiring how wet you were,

"Jeeesus," he muttered. Running a middle finger up and down your slit you shivered at the contact.

"Guess you've never been eaten out either? No one ever broke you in?," He bit his lip as he continued to stare at your throbbing clit, glistening in your slick.

"N-no, Daddy," you leaned your head on your shoulder as you whined at the feeling of him rubbing you. He pulled a chair up and sat in it as he pulled you closer to the edge.

"Keep those pretty brown eyes on me. Close em and you'll regret it,"

Goosebumps cover your arms at the sound of his gruff voice. He leaned forward and spread your lips open and smiled, "So pink, just like a strawberry cream filled chocolate,”

He looked up at you as he dove in and started to suck on your clit, never feeling this before you had a hard time keeping your eyes on him. He was enjoying seeing you struggle though. His mouth worked on you as whimpers fell from you open mouth. You shook your head in bewilderment and wondered how something so wrong could feel so right. You shouldn't be doing this but you're too far gone to stop.

"nnnn, fuck, Daddy I-," you were cut off but him stuffing two fingers in your mouth, his ring and middle finger swirled getting them wet. He stood up and watched himself fuck your mouth with his fingers and he was entranced.

"Gonna get you nice and open for Daddy, okay?,"

You couldn't help but just nod. He withdrew his fingers and started with just the middle finger, he slowly pushed into you. The feeling was foreign as you never even fingered yourself. He twisted and thrusted slowly getting you worked up until you were begging for him to push a second one in. Once both were in you were done for. With his right hand fucking into you, he placed his left on your pelvic bone and pressed down, massaging as you could feel his fingers fucking into you. The sound of your own wetness intoxicated you.

"Look at you," he smiled in your face, "Looking all fucked out and I haven't even given you the best part. Tell me baby girl, you think you can take it?,"

You were dizzy with the feeling. You were close to cumming and you didn't know what to do. You legs started to shake and you were having trouble keeping yourself up right. He slapped you in the middle of your orgasm fit and that was the push you needed,

"Yes! Yes, Daddy I can take it, I'll be a good girl and take it!," you wheezed for air and looked up at Tony.

"Give it to me, please Daddy," you bit your lip as the tears fell from your eyes.

"You look so stupid when you cry, I love it," He planted his lips on yours as he pumped himself in his hand. The kiss was so sloppy and rushed as you pulled him closer and felt his head nudge against your entrance.

"This might not feel the best at first so I'm gonna need you to look me in my eyes so I can talk you through it okay?," He caressed your cheek and looked at you as he used your juices to get his head slick. He slowly pushed into you and you waited for the pain to hit but it didn't really come, it was just an uncomfortable pressure from something big and foreign from being inside of you. You grunted at the slight discomfort and he slowly rocked his hips back and forth while rubbing your clit. Talking you through it to make it as pleasurable as possible. The attention your clit was getting easily took away the discomfort and you started whining for more.

"More, please," you whispered as you stared back into his eyes, "Give me more, Daddy please," you buck your hips and he smiled at you before pulling out and snapping his hips back into you. You call out in a mixture of pain and pleasure and that's the begging on your end.

Tony was pounding into you relentlessly, not caring if you weren't used to this, you would be used to it now and only for him.

"Fuck, you're so deep Daddy," grabbing at the hair at the nape of his neck your eyes rolled into the back of your head

"Yeeaah," he wrapped his right hand around your throat before placing his left on your lower stomach, "You like feeling Daddy all the way up in your tummy, baby? Like that?," He pushed down at the spot and you could feel him nice and deep. "How's it feel to have me all up in your virgin pussy? Saved this all for me didn't you?,"

You threw your head back as you reclined on your elbows against the counter.

"This is what good girls get when they listen and don't talk back. You gonna be a good girl or are you gonna continue to be a stupid brat like you have been?," He pushed your tank top about your breasts, leaning down to litter your skin with kisses and bites.

You were dazed, you didn't answer which resulted in a slap to your clit, jolting you back into reality, "You're already off to a bad start, baby. Answer Daddy," he was speaking to you so condescendingly and it only pushed you closer to cumming again.

"Yes, Daddy I'll be a good girl. I'll be a good girl just for you!," The pleasure was turning you inside out as you cried.

He wiped the tears to make a clean canvas for the painful yet pleasurable slap he delivered.

"You're gonna make me cum, baby," He hummed.

Your walls tightened at his words, throbbing to feel him cum for you and because of you.

"Gonna paint those pretty pink walls nice and white. You like the sound of that?,"

You got the strength to sit up and stare him dead in his eyes, "Do it, Daddy. Cum for me,"

He rubbed your clit faster and fucked you harder. You raised your legs to your chest and he rolled his hips to hit deep in you causing you to choke on air.

"Look at you. So pretty and spread open all for me. Your sobbing is so cute, knowing you're crying for this dick because it feels so good,"

Your back arched off the counter top as you moaned out and trembled, your hips involuntarily thrusting up. Your walls pulsed against him as you came again.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he grunted, his eyes screwed shut. You tiredly rubbed his cheeked and coaxed him through it.

"Cum for me, Daddy. Cum for your good girl,"

You sounded so fucked out it made Tony weak. He gave one hard thrust and came deep inside you, causing you to moan at the warm feeling. He jutted as the ripples died down and he rested his head on your chest, kissing your breasts and licking your sore nipples.

"Fuck," you laughed out and sit up the best you could. He supported you against him as he stood up all the way. He kissed along your neck and whispered in your ear.

"Daddy's so proud of you,"

You felt the heat rush to your face once again as he kept the act up.

"I'm gonna carry you upstairs, clean you up and take care of you, okay baby?," He ran his thumb on your sides and you shivered in his grip.

"Yes. Thank you, Daddy," you kissed his cheek and whined as he finally withdrew from you. A sloppy squelch sounding threw the kitchen as his cum ran down your lips.

"Don't worry about that, we have plan B stocked under the sink in my bathroom for emergencies. Though this wasn't the emergency I imagined, it couldn't come in handy any more than now,"

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

WHEW! okay, I hope you guys enjoyed this because I enjoyed visualizing it! Please let me know what you think and remember requests and tags are open!

If your tag has a slash through it, it didn’t work

Tags: @sideeffectsofyou @chonisberonica @majikmelanin @babybubastis @fir3flies-light-up-my-sky @ineedmorefanfics @chanchi12 @brownbuble @thevanishedillusion @purplekitten30 @tinylaura @pride-sarcasm-and-pizza @scarletsoldierrr

[hazelandglasz]

"I meet and fall in love with you in every lifetime at the same age but your age is always different so it never works out and for the first time I’m meeting you when we’re the same age and I’m horrified that I might fuck this up." Sterek with Derek as the one who's always the same age *w*

On AO3

Derek is 20 when he meets Stiles for the first time.

Derek is always 20 whenever he meets Stiles after that moment, until now.

But let’s catch them at the start, shall we?

Earth 745, Year 1650

Derek rides into the forest, his battle wolf happily howling at being allowed to run so freely.

“Steady, steady.”

The forest is always Derek’s favorite place to run and hunt. The spirits welcome him as one of their own and light up his way, but other creatures are not as welcoming.

If Derek came today, it’s because his Queen heard about a rumor.

A worrying one.

That Sparks have settled on the edge of their forest, using the spirits and the kingdom’s resources.

Triskel comes to an halt, muzzle raised in the air to sniff it.

“Aroo?”

Derek pats her neck to calm her, closing his eyes to visualize what she sensed.

Sparks are definitely moving around this area.

No aggression in their feelings.

Just … settlement.

There is a particularly strong Spark that seems to lead them.

There!

Derek opens his eyes, glowing just as red as Triskel’s, and they both turn them toward the entrance of the meadow.

Where a Spark stands, arms crossed over his chest.

In Wolf years, he looks to be just a bit younger than Derek, but Derek has been raised, taught, better than that.

Sparks may be a unique brand of Spirits, but they still belong in their family of beings.

A Wolf lifetime barely counts as a Revolution for a Spark. 

This one may look young, but his age must already be in the three numbers range.

The power exuding from his fingertips is proof enough.

“You’re on private property,” Derek calls, keeping his hands on Triskel’s neck.

The Spark sends a half-crooked smile his way. “This land was Spark land long before you lot bonded with the first pup.”

Triskel hums under Derek’s touch, leaning her massive head toward the spark.

“But I’m not here to escalate an argument with you, your highness,” the Spark says more gently and more seriously. 

“Why are you here, then?”

“To offer an alliance between our packs.”

Derek blinks at the offer. Legends about Sparks do not depict them as a fraternizing lot, even less helpful than Foxes and Hunters. “An alliance?”

“Quid pro Quo, my prince,” the Spark says, stepping closer. The grass curbs in front of his naked feet, and though there is no wind, his brown hair moves gently in an invisible breeze. “You let us stay where we settled, we protect the Eastern border of the Kingdom, everybody wins.”

“How do we know you won’t betray us at the first chance?”

“Please,” the Spark says, blowing air at Derek. “We may be powerful, but you Wolves have the strength to disseminate us. I quite like living, thank you very much, especially with all my limbs still attached to my body.”

Derek unconsciously drags his eyes down the Spark’s slender frame and can’t help but nod.

It would be a shame to hurt this particular body.

“I’m but the prince,” he finally answers, refusing to acknowledge either the heat he can feel on his cheeks or the smirk on the Spark’s face. “I cannot sign a treaty of this magnitude.”

“And I am not my pack’s leader,” the Spark replies. “Let’s consider each other as intermediaries for our people.”

“I will still need some proof of your trustworthiness.”

“How about a blood pact?”

“That would work.”

“Here,” the Spark says, bringing his wrist to his lips and biting, tearing the glowing skin and letting a droplet of bluish blood run down his forearm. Derek dismounts from Triskel, mirroring the Spark’s gesture, before bringing his wrist to the Spark’s.

Their bloods mix, and for a second, their attached wrists glow golden.

Triskel whines, breaking the enchantment that took over Derek for a moment.

“Bonded,” the Spark says with a beaming smile. “I can’t hurt you and you can’t hurt me.”

“I suppose I could give you my name now.”

“That’s called manners, your highness.”

“Call me Derek.”

“Call me--” the Spark starts, but the sound that follows does not belong in a Wolf’s throat.

Derek’s confusion must be obvious, as the Spark lets out a burst of laughter.

“Call me Stiles, then.”

“What’s a Stiles?”

“A me,” Stiles replies, licking his wrist clean. “Only one of me.”

Somehow, Derek does not doubt him for a second.

--

When Death comes for Derek, once his hair and beard have turned white, once his face is covered in more lines than a tree, when his eyes close on a smile, Stiles is still by his side, leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

“See you in the next life, big guy.”

xxxxxx

Earth 504, Year 52

Somehow, when Derek turns three, he knows.

He knows that he was a prince, he knows that he’s on a new cycle, and he knows …

He knows that he has to find Stiles for this life to be worth living.

That is a pretty hard concept to formally have in a three-year-old mind, but the idea is there to stay.

Though what Stiles will look like and how they will meet is a mystery.

When Derek turns twenty, he meets Stiles.

More precisely, he meets flight instructor Stilinski.

Though Stiles is a dragon rider in this life, wrinkles around his eyes and mouth signaling his propensity to smile and laugh, Derek has no doubt that this Stiles is his Stiles.

“The young Alpha worships you, Stiles,” he overhears a conversation between Stiles and Master Martin.

Stiles laughs. “He’s a good kid. Will be one hell of a rider some day.”

“I think he has a crush on you.”

“Can you blame him?” Stiles gestures at himself and through his embarrassment, Derek feels a surge of fondness for Stiles, from their past camaraderie.

“I’m serious, Stiles.” Master Martin swats at Stiles’ shoulder. “You need to be careful with him. Don’t go and break his heart.”

Stiles opens his mouth, eyes glaring in offense before he lets it all out in a sigh. “All I want is for Derek to be happy.”

“I know that. Be his tutor, be his friend.”

“I will.”

--

When Spark falls under a vicious attack, his rider as good as dead on his back, Derek can only let Triskel follow them into the Darkness.

“See you in the next life, Stiles.”

xxxxxx

Life after life after life, Derek gets reunited with Stiles.

Whenever they meet, their bond is reignited and they remain by each other’s side until one of them moves onto the next life.

Life after life, Derek remembers all of their common pasts, too.

And as much as Stiles can be annoying, frustrating, too bright for his own good, Derek finds himself drawn to him, life after life after life.

In this life, though, Derek has almost met Stiles when he was just a bit younger.

In this life, he’s fifteen when he feels Stiles in his proximity, but at the time, his family just got decimated and he can’t find it in his heart to make the move toward that connection.

But the presence he feels is young, just a bit younger than him but not by a wide margin.

For the first time ever, it’s even a relatively small gap that separates them, age-wise.

Not that he dwells on it at the time, consumed by grief, rage and shame as he is.

But they do meet when Derek is twenty.

“You’re on private property.”

He may be scowling, but in his mind, Derek allows himself to be sentimental.

Maybe it is Fate that brought us together, making him repeat his words from their first encounter on the life where they have a real chance of bringing this relationship to another level.

A thought which is immediately followed by, “I’m going to fuck this up”.

---

The pull toward Stiles is just as irresistible as it always is, but Derek resists.

He knows he will, can, fuck this up, damage Stiles and perhaps break the bonds that has lasted through centuries.

With the many life of retrospects he has on their lives together, Derek is convinced that the first Stiles, the Spark, the magical being, created that bond to make sure they would meet again.

To get a chance to be together, as lovers.

But if there is one thing this life has taught Derek, it’s his propensity to fuck things up beyond repair.

Especially relationships.

Especially the people he loves.

The last thing he wants is to hurt Stiles.

The next to last thing he wants is to lose Stiles.

His life is a fucking conundrum and he hates it.

---

And then, Stiles saves his life.

Derek has to admit, he didn’t see it coming.

As they manage to stay afloat in the pool while the kanima prowls its edges, Derek allows himself a moment to consider that really, this is a repetition of their first shared lifetime.

After all, despite his frail appearance, Stiles the Spark did save Derek the Wolf prince many, many times.

This time around, Stiles’ fragility is a calculated ploy to deceit people into underestimating him.

Derek admires this wit more than he would like to admit.

Falling in love with Stiles is just as easy as breathing, but Derek remains terrified.

Not of hurting Stiles, because fight after fight, Stiles proves how strong and resilient he really is, but of, again, fucking everything up.

---

Until the Berserkers.

Until his full shift.

Because managing to push his shift to this extreme, reconnecting with his mom, with his powers, with himself, brings Derek to one conclusion.

He may have found his balance, but in order to be complete, he needs Stiles by his side.

In a more permanent way than simply being “here”.

Once the decision has settled in his mind, there is no more room in Derek for fear, uncertainty and doubt.

Only focus on making it become a reality.

Because now, Derek knows how to avoid a fuck-up.

AKA, How to Woo a Stiles 101.

Going all out and romantic would just freak him out, that much Derek is sure of, no matter how much Stiles may be, is, attracted to him.

But by going in small, subtle touches--getting the pizza he likes, wear comfortable and unthreatening (yet flattering) cloth, creating a safe environment--Derek slowly manages to get closer to Stiles.

Even that would be enough, if he’s honest to himself: having Stiles close, close enough to touch, to smell, to protect.

That’s where he is in his thoughts one evening, when Stiles is the only one left in the Pack’s loft, the pizza has been reduced to its crust and neither one of them knows what is playing on the TV anymore.

Stiles laughs at something silly Derek just said, and with a contented sigh, drops his head to Derek’s shoulder.

And Derek freezes.

And Stiles looks up, long eyelashes slowly revealing his beautiful brown eyes..

Derek stays still.

And Stiles considers him, a wall wrinkle apparating between his eyebrows before it clears out.

Derek stays still, still.

Stiles slowly leans upward, his breath tickling Derek’s neck until his lips meet Derek’s cheek.

It all happens in slow motion, and Derek stays still.

Stiles straightens up, still focused on Derek, before cupping Derek’s face in his hands.

A golden light appears in his eyes, taking over the ring surrounding his pupils. 

Derek gasps, just as Stiles leans forward.

Their lips could be touching, barely kept apart, as Stiles smiles.

“Hello again, big guy.”

Before pulling Derek in for a long, long-awaited kiss.

------

Same Earth, same year, some months later

“You knew?”

“I don’t know. Not knew, knew.”

“Nyunyu?”

Stiles rubs his nose against Derek’s stomach before blowing a raspberry there. “All those lives, I never knew for sure. I had a, a …”

“A feeling?”

“An instinct, yeah.”

Derek sighs, his fingers tangled in Stiles’ hair. “I’m glad we found each other in this life.”

“I hope we’ll find each other in the next.”

“Me too.”

“Though the later the better.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

[wordsbydorothy]

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.”

-          Stanza 24: You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

Morning Silence

Chris’ parent’s CRV had that distinct old car scent. It was a mix of Wendy’s fries that rolled under the seat, spilled drinks and sports bags that had accumulated over the years. I leaned the chair back, pulling my feet up to my chest. It was too late for us to be sitting on the Western Esplanade. Two other cars were in the lot, but too far for us to be concerned. In the distance, the light thud of bass from Arawak Cay whispered in my eardrums. I could taste the salt in the ear, but my eyes were focused on the way the ocean battered the shoreline. The waves were rough, hitting the sand over and over.

Three weeks ago I flew back from Atlanta to visit my family. For my own mental health’s sake, I made the decision to stay at a hotel. I loved my family but being alone taught me that the way my family interacted with me only stressed me out. My first night, I ate at hotel’s ramen restaurant, too afraid to walk onto the streets, mostly out of fear that I’d see someone I knew. It was too early. I needed to get settled first. The restaurant was mostly quiet. I saw in a corner, watching stray tourists walking past – aware that I too could now be considered a tourist.

“You straight?” The waiters voice pulled me out of my stare.

I nodded. “Yeah I straight.”

“Une been home in a minute, I could tell,” he laughed.

“That obvious?”

He raised one eyebrow as he poured more sake into my glass and walked away. Pulling out my notepad, I doodled for a moment, biting into an eggroll when I remembered I needed to eat. I was deep in sketching when an all too familiar voice echoed down the hall. I paused, knowing it was too late to pay my bill and escape, so I sat still, hoping I’d blend in with the wall.

The waiter seated Chris and his family directly across from me, but on the opposite side of the restaurant. His sister’s laugh sounded the same as I remembered. I sketched for a moment, letting my hair fall into my face - an attempt to hide it but curiosity got the best of me. I looked. He looked back.

“You sure you good.” The waiter was next to me suddenly. He looked at me, then looked at them, then back at me.

“You know what, this een my business,” he said, leaving the bill on the table. I placed my card on top of it. It was my escape ticket, but I was too afraid to leave. So I sat. The waiter came and took my card but said nothing.  When he brought it back, I stopped him.

“Is there another way out of here?” I asked.

He looked curious for a moment. His eyes seemed to be in search of a story, but it was clear he wasn’t going to ask.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “You have a good night ma’am, don’t do nothing too crazy ya hear.”

Closing my sketchbook, I took a deep breath and stood up, making my way towards the exit. As the gap between myself and his table started to close, I looked up once more. His eyes met mine and smiled this time.

“Alyssa,” he waved. His parents and siblings turned. Out the corner of my eye I saw the waiter pour himself a drink.

“Hi,” I whispered. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I said it. He got up, walking towards me and embraced me, but I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. He pulled back, looking at me for a moment then took my hand and pulled me towards his parents. When we got close enough he let go, my hand flying into my back pocket.

“Good evening,” I half smiled.

“Mom, Dad, this is my friend Alyssa,” he said. I knew them already, but they didn’t know me. His brother and sister stared in awe.

“Nice to meet you,” his mom said. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Church,” his sister coughed. He ignored her.

“We used to work together at a firm in Atlanta,” he said.

“So we lying now,” his brother mumbled. He ignored that too.

Chris’ brother and sister knew the full story. For the most part, they took my side. His sister called him out when we were younger for not letting me meet their parents. His brother ignored him when he ghosted me. To some extent, I knew they liked me, but sibling loyalty was a boundary I refused to get in between.

“So you’re visiting,” his dad asked.

“No sir,” I answered. “I’m from here.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well it was nice to meet you.”

I nodded. In the corner the waiter was watching, shaking his head.

“You all have a good night,” I said, backing away. His father had gone back to eating, but his mom looked at me like she saw everything I was feeling. I turned quickly, walking towards the exit when I heard footsteps behind me and a hand grab my wrist.

“Wait,” Chris said.

“For what,” I mumbled.

“I- do you want to get drinks tonight? After I drop them home?”

“Don’t fucking do it,” the voice of the waiter called out.

I stared at him for a moment, about to turn away.

“Room 1172” I mumbled.

“Well Muddafuck,” I heard the waiter say as I turned the corner to walk back to my room.

------

Last winter at the bar, we both agreed we would stay friends for a while. We went out and got drinks, we shopped together, ran the Beltline together in the mornings. Our friendship felt like it was growing into something real. But suddenly, he stopped answering texts. The silence came back and once again, it was just me, my cat and the Atlanta Winter.

It was 2:30am when he knocked on the door. I curled up on the chair unable to sleep when the sharp sound startled me.

“It’s me.” The text lit up my phone. I wanted to text back something snarky, something that said how annoyed I was with him disappearing on me. But there was something about the morning silence that advised against it.

The bright light from the hall felt blinding as I opened the door. He looked at me, his locs in a bun on top of his head, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?”

“You’ll see,” he answered.

I didn’t change. Walking through the hotel in a sports bra and some shorts felt strange, but at the same time it didn’t. His car was parked in front. The valet guys didn’t question or charge him, but I felt their eyes on me. I pulled my hair out of my bun to hide my face again, to avoid their boring eyes.

“Dis gyal can’t be serious,” I heard as the hotel doors opened again. Turning, I looked into the eyes of the waiter and burst out laughing, the sound echoing against the walls. It was a strange sound to hear early in the morning. He waved at me dismissively and I got in the car, thinking to myself that I really couldn’t be serious at all.

“What was that about,” Chris asked.

“Inside joke,” I said. He stared at me for a moment, then put the car in drive. Nassau at night was peaceful, atleast to the untrained eye. If you listened closely you’d hear sirens in the distant, the late night cruise ship pulling out of the dock, the honk from a driver upset at a pedestrian walking in the road or the steady thud of the night joggers. We passed Go Slow Bend and I stared out to sea. It had always been one of my favorite spots. There was something about the way it was beautiful but could be so deadly that attracted me to it time after time.

He pulled into Western Esplanade and rolled down the windows. He got out the car and I watched him, unsure of what he was doing. Pulling open the trunk I heard the sound of ice clink against a metal cup. When he came back, he passed me a cup that said Calvary Bible on it. I listened as the ice clinked against it, thinking back to memories I had of the place. It almost felt sacrilegious drinking whiskey from it. Then I thought of the way the youth leaders called me a whore. The way the people I called friends turned against me. The way church leaders told me I was ruining the men of the church. But by men they meant Chris.

“Do you not… drink whiskey anymore?”

“No, I do,” I said. “I’m just … thinking.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Calvary Bible,” I answered.

“Oh,” his voice was light then, like he was tiptoeing into a room he knew he wasn’t supposed to be in.

We sat there in silence for a long while, staring at the ocean, the stars, anything but each other. The two cars in the lot left and then it was just us.

“You have a habit of ruining me,” I said. The whiskey had found a home in my veins, and I found strength in it.

“I- what?”

“At Calvary. You knew the power you had, and you let people say what they wanted. You made me the bad guy, and never once corrected your friends,”

“Im so-“ he started but I cut it.

“I’m not done,” I said. “You took so much from me and couldn’t stand up for me. Your parents don’t know me but all your girlfriends before and after me met them. Your best friend made my life a living hell. Then you disappeared. Not once, not twice, but three times. You promised me you wouldn’t leave this time.”

He was quiet then.

“You promised,” I whispered.

I chugged the rest of the whiskey then and got out the car, tossing the cup into the ocean. The waves pushed it against the sea wall and it clanged. Against the nights silence it was loud, echoing down the beach. I felt it in my bones, that echo. It felt like dragging nails down a chalkboard. So I screamed. I screamed against the waves crashing the shore. I screamed because I was in pain and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Then I turned, tears in my eyes and sat down in the car.

We were quiet then. Everything was. The ocean went still. The light thud from Arawak Cay had stopped. The sound of the windows going up startled me. Then his hand was on my knee. I stared at it, not sure what to think. So the whiskey thought for me. I pulled myself over the passenger seat and sat in his lap. Pulling his cup out of his hand and placing it in the cup holder, I looked at him. I looked at the man I knew I loved but shouldn’t. Reaching over, I cracked the window slightly then put my hand against his heart.

“I don’t want you to feel the way I feel, it would ruin you” I said. “This pain, it would kill you.”

Pressing my lips against his, I didn’t let myself think, I just let it happen. It was the only way he could understand what I felt. This was the only way to express the anguish that had made a home in my heart. First kisses turned to last kisses. I was present in my skin but watching myself simultaneously. For a moment it seemed there was no end, just a means for us to explain the way the words we could no longer say. When we finished he was in tears. They fell down his face like a torrential rain. He reached to cup my face, but I pulled away, shifting back to the passenger seat.

He does not move. He lies where he has fallen, and I stare at the orange light creeping up along the horizon.

- to love a church boy is to break your heart

[artificialqueens]

learning to be silent (multi) — chapter two - Roza

[ summary ] : the grand prix qualifications are building splendidly even if it means a self discovery for some and nothing but piling towers of stress despite that, new bonds seem to happen every day when you're a professional figure skater.

[ author's note ] : this au has been a real fun one to write, as always, I enjoy introducing new characters when I can, next chapter will probably (definitely lmao) be huge since it'll be the short program and all that jazz, hope y'all enjoy xx — lily.

AO3 / My Tumblr / (◍•ᴗ•◍)✧*。

— ✧*。

Alaska hadn't intended to spend her last day in the states for a week helping Trinity and Detox pack for France, though it was an excuse to ignore everything that was building up on her plate for Moscow, they all had reserved their own row on the plane to Paris, now it was just a matter of time and driving before they would be supporting their teammates in their journeys to the Grand Prix, stacking their points. Every step was one more day closer to Olympic qualifications in January.

"Jesus, how many suitcases do we need? We're only there for a week and not even skating at the event!" Trinity called out as she scrambled through Detox's closet, wearing her oversized jacket from Skate America, Alaska sitting on her best friend's bed, spread out and staring at her phone, unable to breathe at the moment, everything was beginning to crumble and she promised Sharon to not tell anyone but it was reaching a breaking point.

"Just get one big one and we'll have two bags, Alaska is coming to don't forget we have three people in the equation!" Detox yelled back before stepping into the room with an unopened bottle of sparkling wine, Trinity clapping at the sight of alcohol as she skipped over to her girlfriend who brushed their lips together, her hands brushing through her blonde hair though she pulled away cackling hearing Alaska's blantant sickness noises, wanting to throw up at the sight of her best friend since she started skating and Trinity trying to get it down in front of her.

Detox fixed her hair and huffed, blowing the small strands out of her face before she handed the bottle to Alaska who was an aficionado at opening caps with her long acrylics, "To Aquaria, Shea and Adore! Let's hope the best for all of them." She toasted simply, Trinity nodding, "I'll drink to that, Grand Prix here our girls come! Olympics ain't ready honey." The Floridian raised the bottle once Alaska got it to pop open with a small flick of her nails.

Rotating the bottle around one by one, Alaska took a long and hard swig, causing Detox to widen her eyes and take away the bottle, the older skater groaned. "Oh c'mon you're not my fucking mom." She snagged it once more before finally putting it down in front of Trinity who adjusted the sleeves of Detox's jacket.

"What's wrong? I know you too damn well, fess up." Detox's tone one of concern as well as aggression, she could tell when Alaska was in her tantrum stages. Trinity sat uncomfortably, not knowing if she should be involved in the conversation invade it took an extremely personal turn.

"Nothing, I'm fine, just had a bit of a fight today with Sharon is all."

Trinity moved towards the door, knowing that Detox and Alaska had their own code of when they wanted to be alone. "I'm gonna go and get some food, I'll leave y'all be." The skater shut the door gently even at the dismay of Detox who's eyes focused on Alaska whose eyelids drooped after putting the half empty bottle on Detox's cabinet shelf right near her bed.

"What the hell happened?"

"Girl, we're packing, let's not do this now, please." The affirmative tone in her voice telling Detox to back off and focus on what she was currently doing, though Alaska's head was definitely elsewhere, a minute later as they folded up another dress the blonde finally broke down in tears, at first letting the sniffling come and playing it off as allergies or some bullshit like that.

"I'm retiring, I'm fucking retiring at the end of this season, I can't take all the stress and pain any longer and seeing Aquaria and all the new seniors do so good out a real fucking gap in my confidence, I give up!"

"Alaska..."

"No! Don't fucking tell me I'm overreacting and don't tell me that's how the skating world is now, I know that and I can't take it anymore."

Detox dropped her skates on her bed before sighing aloud, knowing there was no use in even attempting to knock sense into or out of Alaska during her breakdowns, she just needed support: not as if the decision was something people liked to hear, to make.

Opening her arms Alaska looked up and immediately jumped into them, Detox tightening the grip around her shoulders, patting her back as she sobbed all over her jacket with no remorse, she could always wash it later. Fighting back tears she spoke up, not ever wanting to hear the fact Alaska, her best friend since they started skating, was retiring: "Are you really sure, I'm not gonna push it but are you atleast gonna try for your last Olympics?"

Alaska took home bronze in her first Olympics, a truly incredible feat, she proved to everyone even back then that as long as you had passion, drive, charisma and raw talent you could win a medal no matter if you were skating to Vivaldi or Bon Jovi, which she did.

"Of course I am you shady bitch, gotta knock you off somehow."

Detox couldn't help but completely lose it on her lap, slapping her on the stomach before letting her head rest, "What am I gonna possibly even do without you? Truthfully, who else will drink three entire bottles of Gatorade and almost piss on the ice—" Alaska yelled, her cheeks becoming hot remembering the indescribable amount of embarrassment she felt during her warm up skate of World's back in 2017.

"What does Sharon think?"

It shouldn't have made Alaska's lips twist when her name was mentioned, she knew it was coming since Sharon was her coach and her worst kept secret after all. A muscle in her jaw seemed to twitch as she spoke, "She wasn't very happy to say the least but my career, promised her I'd of course try for the Olympics."

* * *

"I'm retiring."

Alaska whispered the words she honestly hoped would never have to come out of her own mouth, when she was still young, not as young as the rest but she still had a good amount of years left for herself.

Her tears falling down her cheeks one after another, trying to speak but not letting any words come out before Sharon's fingertips brushed her eyes, wiping them in utter confusion, "What do you— what do you mean you're retiring?" Lifting her face with her hands, being sure to make direct eye contact with the blonde who was in the middle of either a mental breakthrough or breakdown.

"I can't do this anymore, I can't compete with all the new seniors, I'm reaching my breaking point and you being my coach has been both the greatest and worst experience I've had in this sport."

She didn't respond, a bit offended by the poor choice of words however. "Worst? Fucking jesus, I know I retired earlier than expected but I wanted to coach, especially since Aquaria was getting older, I wanted to care for her and look out for you!" She snarled out of anger, a flush creeping out on her face once she noticed Alaska so generously hanging onto her every word by a thread.

"Sharon, I'm just losing touch and I know you're supposed to be my coach. I know you're hard on me because it's your job and because we've been together since we were teenagers but anytime you and I sit in that kiss and cry and you stare at me blankly, your eyes look so disappointed and want to scream!"

"I'm never, ever disappointed in you."

Alaska winced at the unexpected rough diction in Sharon's voice, she never looked so terrifying and serious in her entire life. Granted she had known the blonde for only god knows how long and had seen every little piece of the puzzle to her, expecting all the unexpected.

"I love you Sharon, I love you dammit and I thought about it for weeks, this isn't a personal vendetta, you know how this sport pays my bills and keeps me alive but I want to retire and just help you with the girls and finally settle down with you like I always wanted."

Sharon's face contorted, unable to express whether she was honored that Alaska was for once, being so serious about their relationship, whatever that was— or, completely saddened by her will to just throw away her entire life and success to just be another coach, she had so much untapped potential even if she was a bit older than the average girl's nowadays.

"You're so talented and have so much to give, you're not even the oldest American competiting, remember how Chad retired when he was 39? I mean, he wasn't even pushing it either." It was true that she skated a while, still even did tours time to time, she had completely pioneered the skating world as did her students which of course, had Sharon in the line up.

"I just don't want you to do this purely for me or because you're feeling stressed, because that's the reality of the sport." She took Alaska's hand in her own, squeezing firmly as her words left with baited breath, "I will never force you to keep skating but as your coach, I'd be so fucking upset if you did."

Her lips pressed a kiss to Alaska's ring finger, "I'll always be here and be ready, skating won't." A hand crept to Sharon's cheek as the younger blonde smiled gently, feeling a genuine stir in her emotions, her heart beating twice as fast whenever Sharon kissed her.

"I know but, I think it's my time to be able to relax after all these years, I can always be an annoying commentator." She grinned, lightening the mood as her ears heard Sharon whisper a faint, "I love you." under her breath before laughing at her out of time response, pressing their lips together and caressing her face.

"If you promise to be at the Olympics, I can maybe say aloud that I'll handle this better."

"Of course I'm gonna try to qualify dumb bitch! You really think I'd just give up after finally getting allowed to do an Arrowsmith song for my routine? In an all black and grey costume? I promise you I'm gonna kill that shit."

* * *

"So, if I may add an interlude..." Her words spiraling back to her usual extended holds, "What's the deal with you and Miss Taylor, I know clearly you guys are comfortable outside of the rink but, is it actually official?"

Detox pondered her words a bit, not exactly knowing how to respond.

Her and Trinity in the rink had always been buddy-buddy with eachother starting three years ago, Trinity had trained with Agnes (who they all called Peppermint since their junior skating years) a while before making the move into Sharon and Chad's training camps, she fit in almost instantaneously and caught the attention of Detox as fast as she did Chad who saw endless supply of potential when it came to her style of skating.

Alaska coughed obnxiously, signaling she overthinking far too much. But what was she really supposed to say especially with Alaska, who she adored with her entire soul and heart and always would, who everyone knew was just about the biggest tease and the quickest to break secrets when simply asked, you didn't even have to coddle her for them.

"She's very beautiful and talented, has a great personality and we're just both seeing where we're going, we kiss here and there but mostly it's just in an awkwardly endearing phase, we don't know exactly what we want either."

"So basically you're finally into a girl and just checking out from fear and delusion that she doesn't like you back even though all she does is steal your jackets and excitedly smile whenever you come into the room. Match made in heaven if you ask me."

They toyed with eachother's hair and hands before Detox threw a pillow at her face, "C'mon, we have to be at the airport tomorrow and if you don't wake up I'm just gonna leave without your sorry ass."

*.✧

"We're here!" Yelled Adore in the back of the large car, her legs sparwled onto Bianca's lap, the coach dazing in and out of sleep having been wide awake during the plane ride there, she had never been so sober in her entire damn life even when she was still a competitive skater.

"We are and thank god for that, I was about to fall asleep in this fucking rental." Bianca spoke up with genuine honesty, a yawn leaving her lips before she stepped out the car, reaching out her hands so that Adore could easily jump from the car.

"Hallelujah for that." Bob grumbled under her breath before taking her carry on from the back of the van as Shea wondered off into the hotel, that was conveniently placed beside the convention center and arena where they would skate and then have their Gala afterwards, the best part besides winning gold and racking up points for the Grand Prix.

Shea hadn't had a clue of what time it exactly was, far too lazy to even pick her phone from her pocket as she stumbled through the doorway and took in the sight: being in Europe wasn't new, she had traveled many times for competitions but she had yet to truly be in France for a Grand Prix assignment, the years she had been a senior she either was in China, Japan or Canada— it would be her first time truly getting some time, even if her focus was to win a medal, to beat her fellow competitors, she never turned down a good few hours of walking through a new city, buying overly expensive touristy souvenirs and she always promised herself to buy some kind of local chocolate, she could restrain herself pretty well for diets and competition days but otherwise she definitely wasn't one to turn down a bar of chocolate.

Hearing the usual cooperation banter didn't phase her much, she knew people had a job to do but a familiar face caught her eye almost immediately, that distinct face shape and sweet smile. Thick blonde curls hiding her steel blue-grey eyes, sported of course in the Russian national team jacket, this had to be Sasha.

The Sasha Velour.

Her heart was racing at a million miles an hour, all the affirmative respect and distinguishing of titles made it seem like she was old when she was indeed a year younger than Shea in the first place, it was more meant as a title with sentimental value. She was beautiful as always and had a great reputation to uphold and did so with honesty and a tolerant mindset, two things the Russian figure skating association was exactly known for, despite how dirty of a sterotype that sounded.

The American waited patiently as she seemed to be sorting some issues with her keycard, requesting she be given another one. The conversation tuned out in Shea's mind until she felt a brushing and gentle hand against her shoulders and a wide smile from Sasha, the touch making the girl jump, completely frazzled. "Oh I'm so sorry!" She whimpered, unknowingly holding her hands to make sure they weren't shaking, "I'm so sorry."

"Oh c'mon it's okay girl." She immediately bit her tongue, this wasn't Adore or Trinity whom she was causal with, she had nothing but respect for Sasha and felt nothing but maddening anxiety in their one minute interaction, of course they had seen eachother before when competiting but not as if they had time to converse during or after the matter. "I mean Sasha, shit, I'm so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm perfectly fine with what you said, I know I'm supposed to be a bit more rough and tough since I'm Russian and all but, I promise you I'm not as bad as everyone else." A subtle wink leaving the corner of her eyelids as she placed a hand on her hip, "It's really wonderful to finally meet you."

Shea didn't want to say she had completely felt her face get hot, red and her entire body froze when she spoke to her but that was exactly what was happening and it was driving her insane, she practically kicked herself for being such a fool. "It's so great to meet you to! You're so talented and so gorgeous and I've never felt more pressure to skate beside someone."

"Please, you are far too sweet for your own good."

A smile lit up her face as Sasha chuckled in response to her growing confidence, "What are you smiling for? It's completely true, I saw your routine at the American national's and almost had a nervous breakdown knowing I have to compete against you and your friend, Aquaria, it is an honor to meet Sharon's daughter? I believe she is..." The sentence trailing before Shea shook her head before also nodding the more she thought about it, "Well she is but not by birth."

"And that's okay, family isn't always blood, it's about the people you choose in your life to be a part of you."

That was either extraordinary deep or Shea was far too smitten with finally speaking with her skating crush of years, this was the moment she had been craving.

"You are absolutely correct, have you met any of the other girls yet? I can always introduce you to my squad of course." Sasha clapped her hands together, slinging a backpack over her back that was a light baby blue, most likely where she housed her skates. "I would love to but I'm going to go and get some private time, come with me!" She mumbled under her breath as they held eachother's wrists.

Shea instantly nodded, not even thinking of the girls, "If you're okay with it." Sasha rolled her eyes, texting someone quickly on her phone before sliding it into the back pocket of her leggings, "Of course I am, my coach doesn't define my life, I already told her I'm gonna be going out to find a rink anyway so, Shea Couleé..." The name rolled right off her tongue in a way that made the older girl completely melt into her hands as she interlocked elbows, "Let's go!"

It would seem odd for two girls of rival countries to just wonder off in the time of sunset, going to the definitely empty ice rink nearby the arena, together as if they were teammates and didn't just formally introduce themselves.

They had barely wandered out of the building when Adore recieved a text telling her to not snitch if Bob asked where she was, explaining best she could in the time she had allotted trying to walk and talk with Sasha that she was going to go and skate, she had taken her bag with her anyway. Shea telling Sasha she needed a quick minute to tell her friend where she would be at.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Adore Delano 🍕

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀—

Don't snitch on me bitch, I'm going off somewhere near the hotel, I really wanna practice.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Do you actually or is someone catching your attention? 👀

If I said it was Sasha Velour would it make you back off lol

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sasha?! The fucking russian girl who's won literally every damn 🏅???

Yup and she's way prettier in person...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Oh Jesus, I won't snitch tho! I'm a good friend like that bitch <3

—

"You coming?" Sasha's irresistible smile spearing her straight into the heart. Not as if she would say no to her newfound friend and fellow skater, how could she ever even refuse the chance to spend some alone time with the Sasha Velour, her curls bouncing off her face.

"Absolutely."

*.✧

Sharon wasn't sure what to expect when warm-up training had begun taking shape the day before their first day, the short program for ladies beginning tomorrow though they did have a chance to cheer for the American ice dancers who were performing their short program's yesterday, happy to see that they still had it: scoring a silver medal and having two more teams in the top five.

After the medal ceremony, Aquaria decided to stay with Shea in their hotel room, taking the night off in the comfort of their bed's and the giant flat screen, ordering whatever food they wanted and could find off the hotel service menu.

"Aquaria, you're under rotating that quad again, you know how harsh they're going to be on you now, look at these mistakes and fix them." The words leaving her lips gently, fixing her hair as Aquaria took it all in with a nod, adjusting her jacket's zipper before she hummed, skating off. It was difficult to process all the cameras, she had been photographed and interviewed of course but most people focused on the senior level, it wasn't as if junior competitions were sold out and had photographers everywhere, this was going to be an entire different environment even if she grew up with media in her face already.

"Well, well!" A voice spoke from her behind her, Sharon's entire body running completely cold. It didn't matter what her profession was or how old she was, she could recognize certain voices anywhere she went, she turned on her sneakers, not feeling a need to wear heel's in a damn ice rink.

"Of course it's you..." She grumbled knowing that the utter disappointment in her voice was completely visible though she played on with a fake smile, giving a quaint and polite handshake and kiss of the cheek to Phi Phi, who looked fantastic, the fake tanning did her horrible and Sharon was beyond happy she had stopped a few years ago, and seemed to be comfortably warm in her large knitted white sweater.

"How are you?" She asked, her hands in her pockets, acting sweet for the camera's, it wasn't right to fight like cats and dogs when there was media and their skaters were just attempting to focus. Besides, what had happened when they were competitors was simply past them at this point atleast to Sharon who almost never lost a single medal to Phi Phi, there was definitely some resentment from the latter.

They hadn't always fought, in fact they had gotten along splendidly when they first met at World Championship's almost twelve years ago, neither of them medaled though Sharon had come close with her fourth place accomplishment but it was difficult to compete when Bianca, Morgan and Jinkx were still knocking everyone out of place, seasoned skaters already.

Phi Phi had been her training partner when she decided to stay a year with their old coach, she represented Philippines, which she explained was a huge deal to her, being the first women and the second to ever skate for the southeast asian country. Her temperament was always an issue with her, coach having to repeat stuff and talk over her yelling, that would also be projected into Sharon when she lashed out, claiming she only scored higher on her components because she had the ideal skater body and aesthetic attributed to the sport.

"Oh I'm wonderful, just here to see how my skater does, the usual." It wasn't much until the words faded and she had to ask about Aquaria, Sharon's eyes glimmering with absolute love towards her adopted daughter, "She's fantastic, has a quad and everything, they're definitely way more expecting of them compared to us even Alaska complains with all the new elements they keep adding, I think we retired at a good space." She joked though Phi Phi didn't laugh, she only nodded.

"And Alaska? She still with her boyfriend? I know she's skating with you now, wonder if you still liked her after all these years."

Sharon wanted to shoot herself for even bringing her up, she knew it would immediately cause tension in her body and make her confess more than she wanted: honesty was the best policy even if it was a bitch and it had to be said in front of one of the people she disliked most.

"She's not, she lives with me now."

The pursed expression across Phi Phi's lips was enough to signal she already knew the answer, she just wanted to hear it said aloud. "I had a feeling you two would always end up together, I mean for god's sakes, as if that wasn't fucking obvious." Her fingertips brushed her sweater under her pants, adjusting the laces of her shoes, "She's getting older to, she's only a few years younger, this her last season you think?"

"Phi Phi, Stop."

"Sharon please, I'm asking simple questions, you getting defensive about your girlfriend isn't going to help either of us at this qualification."

Her body swayed, their eye contact setting flames ablaze again in old rivarly, it had been years since they last physically saw eachother, every other time they stayed away or kept it formal and only found out news from Social Media, as most did.

"Just cause you're training your daughter—" her fingers putting air quotes around the word which only made Sharon want to absolutely break her knee with a piece of metal, Harding style. "Doesn't mean she's any good at a senior level or as good as her coach, she's now with competition unlike before, she has a lot to learn like they all do."

"I know that, she's been training hard and I believe in her, of course she has competition, it wouldn't be a Grand Prix if she didn't."

"Well, we will see how she does, I hope she has a good experience though!" The doubt of Aquaria winning shining in her reply, the snicker hidden deep in her throat waiting to come out lodging before she gently coughed and adjusted her posture, "Good luck, genuinely."

"Good luck to you to."

Can't wait to see the look on your face when Aquaria fucking pummels your skaters score into the ground.