#this is the one mug in my collection nobody else is allowed to drink from

[cowboylikeyouu]

appreciation post for my most prized possession💜💜

it’s still not big enough for my liking tbh

[moxfirefly]

So I’ve been working on this for a little while now after a comment @supershiny-raven left on one of my post. I present to you:

How the others find out you and the turtles are dating.

Raphael entered the Lair with you in his arms. His brothers stumbling by him, Leonardo actually tripping.

The gang had gone to drink at Vern’s fancy penthouse, a round of drinks had turned to four and before anybody had common sense he had broken out his fancy wine collection.

That had truly been everyone’s undoing.

Yours as well.

Raphael the tank had pretty much only gotten buzzed, even more so upon seeing your state he figured he needed to somehow get you and everyone else home safe and in one piece.

“Where do we dump Donnie?” April had one of his arms slung over her shoulder while Mikey had his other, they had quickly found out the purple banded terrapin was a fan of wine. “Whatever is flat and comfortable, you think you can manage him and Leo?” Raphael nudged his older brother who had dozed off while resting against the couch.

“Yeah yeah brah, we totally-“ He unceremoniously let his brother fall on the nearest cot, poor April taken along for the ride. “Shit, sorry girly”

Raph shook his head, you groaned stirring awake and tightening your hold on him. Raph was basically carrying you with one arm beneath your rear. Making his way towards his room he gently placed you on his bed and set about the task of removing your shoes. “Hey hey mister, I got a boyfriend” You squinted at the large terrapin at the end of the bed.

“Yeah I heard, lucky guy gets to put ya drunk ass to bed, where’s your makeup bag baby?” He got up when you half hazardously pointed at the dresser.

Pushing yourself up a little on your elbows you watched him gather your face creams and a pack of makeup wipes. He sat back down but next to you and motioned towards his lap. “C’mere, let’s get your face off” You giggled when he manhandled you onto his thigh and took out the wipes. Slowly and in the most excruciatingly loving way Raphael set out to wipe off your makeup. Each stroke removing foundation and eyeshadow, you mumbled something he somehow understood in your inebriated state. “Yeah yeah I got ya kid” With all the careful dexterity he developed over time, he gently removed your eyelashes.

“Somebody has been paying attention” You giggled, feeling the buzz in your body shift into grogginess. Raphael looked inside the bag, adding some cream to your face to hydrate it. He examined his work, a lazy smile as he caressed your face. It felt bizarre he could actually do this, touch a beautiful girl and do something so silly as help them out with their face routine. The two of you had been rather quiet about your relationship, enjoying it all to yourselves.

“Ya were the cutest drunk at that party” He ran his knuckles across your chin, You smiled sleepily lifting up enough to catch his lips in a languid kiss.

The door creaked open and there stood April, her own slightly drunk face breaking out into a sweet smile. The two pairs of eyes that landed on her read ‘get out’ and ‘keep your mouth shut’ slowly April backed up nodding with a giggle.

Then there was a ruckus of what Raphael only assumed was April tripping and Leo drunkly laughing his ass off.

____________

Michelangelo

Oh he was screwed.

So insanely screwed.

How could he misplace something he kept on his person so diligently?

Mikey turned over everything he could in his room, currently he had done just that with the mattress but to no avail.

His phone was missing.

His phone with that very scandalous polaroid you’d taken for him.

Mikey had nearly passed out when you gifted him the picture and to his delight he had stuck the polaroid on the back of his phone in its clear phone case. He kept his phone on him all the time, sure he’d have to be a little sneaky about placing it down but he could manage.

Now though? He was about to have a coronary.

Okay, currently in this disaster there was no trace of it. This meant he’d have to scavenge the living room.

Where his family was.

Mikey swallowed and scurried out with a silent prayer that it would there.

Raphael and Leonardo were currently watching a basketball game. They seemed pretty engrossed and perhaps wouldn’t notice that he was scouring the ends of the earth for his actual girlfriend’s literal boobs. He peaked aglance at the couch, his large brothers had to take up so much space to make it worse.

“What are you looking for?” Came Donnie’s voice from the kitchen. The orange banded turtle froze, he tried giving him a nonchalant shrug. “Just checking how I can give Raph a wedgie ya know” Donnie raised a brow ridge, mug of coffee to his lips.

“I double dare ya numbnuts, the Knicks are down ten points and I’m pissed” Raph grunted as the opposing team landed another shot and Leo sighed exasperated with the outcome. His eldest brother got up thankfully which allowed him to take a look at the that side of the sofa. To his dread but relief there wasn’t anything.

Where the fuck was his phone?!

“Hey snot face, can ya order a pizza?” Raph grumbled as the game seem to worsen, a pizza could fix up his mood. Mikey frozen, mouthing a series of ‘shit shit shit’ as he frantically looked around.

“Oh man that would fix this terrible game, can you order it with extra bacon too?” Leo went straight to the fridge to grab something to drink. “Order some cheesy sticks too will you?” Donnie asked as he poured himself another mug of coffee.

Yes all of this sounded wonderful and his stomach did grumble but

HIS GIRLFRIENDS BOOBS.

Raph had scooted further to grab his own soda from the coffee table and just as he did he saw his phone. Relief washed over him but to his immense dismay and terror, the back of his phone was facing up. Which means the clear case he had was displaying the infamous polaroid he had been gifted.

You had simply asked him one thing.

‘Please don’t let your brothers see my tits’

It all felt slow motion, his eyes going wide, his hand diving to the couch and just as he did, Raph’s quick reflexes kicked in unfortunately and he turned to grab his youngest brothers wrist. “Ya ain’t giving me a wedgie man!!”

Raph’s eyes followed Mikey’s hand and then his eyes bugged out.

“Why are there titties on the sofa?!” Raph made for the phone but only got a face full of pillow cushion. He snatched the phone before it could be grabbed by anybody else. The red banded brute grinned as his brother hugged the phone to his chest. “Advert your gaze you perv!” Mikey all but shrieked.

“I’m not the one walking around with a titty pic as my phone cover” Raph grinned, just to make matters worse Leo and Donnie had gathered.

“Mikey why are you walking around with a random porn pic on your phone cover” Came Donnie’s disapproving tone.

“It’s a polaroid” Was all Raph needed to say.

The silence that fell was brief, then a series of ‘ooh’s’ sounded off and Mikey all but frowned and felt his cheeks heat up.

“No way! That can’t be...” Leo was incredulous. The relationship between Mike and you had remained rather on the down low. It was fun, a little secret away from the world that could stay between the two of you.

“Mikey, are you and y/n a thing?” Donnie asked exactly what the rest wanted to know but Mikey dreaded to answer. He sighed dramatically and tucked his phone into his pocket, shooting Raph a glare as his green eyes followed the motion.

“Listen dudes she made me promise that nobody would see that picture and I’ve already broken that cardinal rule thanks to this jerk face” He frowned at Raph, who in turn rolled his eyes.

“Well maybe keep the picture in your wallet or your room?” Leo sipped his soda with a matter of fact tone.

“Or as a background on your phone cause honestly man” Donnie smiled to himself when Mikey shot him an incredulous look. “Why’d she give you that?” Raph inquired sneakily with a smirk.

“For our three month anniver- AH YOU DICK” Mikey huffed out as Raph began to laugh, it was so easy to trick Mikey when one played their cards right.

____________

Donatello

Investigating could take a toll on anybody, even if by all means you weren’t a detective it still didn’t mean you wouldn’t find yourself researching and investigating crime. It seems to be part of the job description when you befriend four giant crime fighting terrapins.

In away you could help, you did.

Everyone had huddled around the living room, the coffee table littered with pictures, clues and all sorts of pieces of evidence that could possibly lead to the culprit they were trying to catch. You had set down a stack of papers, eyes already screaming for a break. Leo and Casey were at the kitchen talking, Casey had just clocked out and was reporting back what the nights investigations had gathered. Raph and Mikey were checking out the pictures Casey had brought over and Donnie naturally was researching on a laptop he’d placed there.

You had nudged him to come over and join the huddle, and secretly you just wanted him close. The two of you were dating, quietly and unannounced, but in those first few stages of just wanting to be glued to one another it was a little difficult to do said glueing.

On a few occasions with prying eyes preoccupied with their investigating, you had reached over to rub his cheek, his sleepy eyes spoke greatly of how tired he felt. Donnie had been at this already for a while, you’d been there with him along the way.

With a stretch of his arms, Donnie yawned and rolled his neck. The clock on your phone read 3:45am, he was due for a nap at the very least. “Why don’t you lie down, I can keep helping out here” You reached over again and took off his glasses, he smiled tiredly but shook his head. “I’m fine, I can keep going” Despite his entire body language screaming otherwise, Donnie would always soldier on.

By the time another hour passed, people consumed enough Coffee to give themselves an additional pulse (and somebody committed the mistake of giving Mikey said coffee) the investigation had died down. A few walls were hit but a few leads had come from it as well. Everyone was ready to call it a night (or morning).

Casey yawned, twisting his neck to let out a few pops. “Okay who’s staying and who’s coming with me?” By the sounds of April softly snoring against an equally happily snoring Raph, it seemed she would stay. Casey had a few hours of sleep to catch on before heading for his next shift and you had to preoccupy yourself with the same before tackling a night shift at your job. Donnie’s tired eyes expressed how he wanted you to stay over but he knew work was closer to your place.

“I guess I’m carpooling with you” You told Casey, already grabbing your jacket and bag. A quick hug to Leo and Mikey, a bow to a recently awaken Splinter and you were next to Donnie.

He’d been sitting on the kitchen table, arms crossed and looking closer to being k.o’d.

It was the sleep deprivation honestly, on both your behalves.

Because you had spread your arms for a hug and so had he, but your face had met in the middle and before either of your foggy brains could comprehend what was happening you had smooched him.

On the lips.

For about a minute.

Minute and a half honestly.

You both froze, the awake members of the family staring with raised brows. Donnie furrowed his brows, lips pursed in a thin line, you still had your own in a kissing motion.

“Well at least we solved one mystery tonight” Spoke Mikey with a snicker, Leo nudged him.

Donnie sighed by shrugged. “Not exactly how I wanted to announce this so yup, I’m her boyfriend, she’s my girlfriend, please hold all inquires for a later time when I’m actually awake” He pulled you in again for a hug, and another kiss (greedy boy) and instructed Casey to deliver you home safely.

With a blush but albeit happy look on your face you waved everyone off.

___________

Leonardo

Keeping a relationship quiet had never proven to be so difficult. Truthfully it came easier when the circle of people surrounding you was bigger, but a close knit one? Everyone suddenly had the powers of observation up to God level.

But Leo’s ninja skills were God level too and you knew how to keep your trap shut and not sigh like a love struck teenager every second you saw him. So it had gone good, real good for a while. The thrill of maybe sharing an intimate kiss while others we’re around was a sensation you never expected to enjoy. When it was time to leave, Leo would ‘walk you’ home safely and by ‘miracle’ run into a few thugs on his way back.

Because there’s no reason a brisk ten minute walk to your apartment should turn into an hour and a half.

Raph wasn’t buying but cared little to stick his nose into it. Donnie was too busy to bother. Mikey had an idea but decided due to bro code not to voice it.

His father though?

Splinter knows what’s going on because well, he’s Splinter. You live long enough with four giant sons all with their unique personalities and traits, you pick up a thing or two about parenting pretty easily.

And Splinter is a phenomenal parent.

Both Father and Mother to his sons.

So naturally he’s irked that his eldest is sneaking out at odd hours and trying to conceal his return. Because Splinter feels that out of all four, Leo has always been the most open with him. Once Raph hit those pre-pubescent mood swings, Donnie began to teach himself all matter of subjects and Mikey was too busy trying to set a new record of heart attacks to give his father while skateboarding; Leo always remained the same.

Even with all the acolytes Leo has achieved in his ninjutsu training, he still had his hiccups and his father would never spare the opportunity to turn into a teaching moment.

So when Leo had kissed you passionately on his way out of your window, you still in nothing but the skin that he had dedicated a fair amount of time in kissing and bitting. He thought he was being slick, he thought he was going to ninja his way into the Lair, into the showers and straight to his bed.

What he didn’t account for was his father waiting up on him. A mug of hot tea on the kitchen table and hands clasps together in what Leo recognized all to well as ‘Dad Mode’.

He’d been caught with the proverbial hand in the cookie jar. His gear was half hazardously on, mask slipped down around his neck and for Christ sake he was holding a shoe. It was 6:30am and he smelled like a girl, a pretty girl no less. The jig was up, especially when his dad motioned for him to come forth and seat opposite him at the kitchen table.

“Dad I can ex-“ Splinter held up a finger and pushed the mug of tea towards his disheveled eldest son.

“My son, I am not angry” Which was truthful, he wasn’t, in fact he was ecstatic that Leo had found somebody, somebody good and somebody that loved him for he has. Long ago he had accepted the pain that his sons would not find suitable partners and the ache it would come with for them. But here was Leo, nervous and trying to adjust his clothing because he’d been with a woman, a woman he clearly loved.

“I like y/n, she is kind, thoughtful and caring to us” Splinter emphasized each trait with a tap of a long nail on the table. “She should be treated with respect, I hope I have instilled that teaching unto you, a lady is to be respected Leonardo” Leo nodded at his fathers words, he nodded and prayed that the underwear he had stuffed into his pockets wouldn’t magically transport on the table to further humiliate him.

“So please my son, do not lie to me, do not come home late in this state and not expect me to know what has transpired” Dad voice was on, coupled with the sympathetic eyes though, man Splinter was good at this shit.

Leo hung his head, clearly ashamed of his dishonorable doings. “Hai, sensei” Even as an adult being scolded by his father never stopped hurting.

“And please do tell her that there isn’t anything hide, she is welcomed in our home, I would not mind getting to know my future daughter in law a little bit more” Splinter enjoyed the way his son nearly choked on his tea.

“Perhaps I can tell her a few anecdotes of your growing up” He smiled when Leo looked at him with pleading eyes. “I believe I have a few embarrassing ones she will find most delightful” He stood up and placed a hand on his sons broad shoulder. “I’m sorry dad, sorry for sneaking around and not telling you” He was earnest in his words and Splinter bowed his head.

“I know, thank you Leonardo” He walked away, hands behind his back.

Leo sighed and pulled out his phone, shooting you a quick text.

-so my dad wants to formally meet you... as in introduce you as my girlfriend.

It felt nice to hit send on that message.

[shiversdownyerspine]

5. Deprived

Gettin a little hot in here. :B

18+

The kittens arrive in the quiet of the night, stars dotting the deep dark blanket of sky. Sleep had failed to find you, and so you had shuffled your pajama-clad way to your kitchen with a chunky knit blanket wrapped around your chilly shoulders. The thick charcoal colored material dangles to the backs of your knees as you wait impatiently for your kettle to boil water for a big cup of chamomile tea.

As the water softly bubbles to your earnest desires of being lured to sleep, you find yourself distracted by a soft knock on your front door. You perk up, knowing by experience that this would be your nameless, faceless animal transporter. And just like with every other task animal, when you open the door you find nobody in sight, just a randomly sized pet kennel resting on your doorstep. You kneel and scoop up the crate to bring it inside.

Excitement momentarily stealing away your drowsiness, you quickly switch off the heat of your stove and carry your cargo to your room. Tea can wait a moment, the water will still be plenty hot by the time you're done. Closing the door behind you, you take a quick peek to find two fuzzballs huddled together at the back of the crate. The kittens are awake but clearly tired, and judging from their quivering bodies, probably a little bit stressed. Not wanting to cause more discomfort, you quietly unlock the kennel door to slowly reach in and gather them up for a quick health check.

Eyes, ears, and noses look clear and healthy, tiny claws and whiskers and tails are where they should be, no bumps or scratches to be seen. You briefly tut at the lack of towel or blanket in their kennel, worried about the absence of warmth and comfort. You've tried requesting some basic amenities for when your task animals are being prepared for delivery, but your needs have yet to be met. You're fairly certain by now that they never will be.

Both kittens are male and look to be around seven weeks old, still a bit too young to be neutered. As a matter of fact, they are still too young to be away from their mother, but some things just can't be helped. Judging by the pale bodies and dark brown coloration of their ears, face, tails, and paws, they are chocolate points. Satisfied, you pop the babies back inside and grab up the fluffy towel waiting on your dresser, carefully pushing it in and around the kittens before moving them to your bathroom.

Nestling their kennel in the corner of their 'room', you drape another blanket over them to offer privacy and leave the crate door open a crack for if they choose to explore. Softly closing the door to your bathroom, you head out of your bedroom and step once more to your kitchen to finally fix your mug of tea. Hot drink in hand, your gaze settles on the stove clock which reads 4:57 AM. With a sigh, you sip your tea and tug your blanket further up your shoulder, lamenting the lack of sleep you will be suffering from come morning. You suppose in the end you'll just have to rely on good ol' fashioned coffee to offer you any sort of alertness today. Resigned, you wander off to your bedroom, but are interrupted before you can make it there.

Midstep, you nearly drop your mug when the door to your guest room opens and there in the doorway stands a groggy, long john wearing Otto. Long hair ruffled and eyes half-lidded, he peers down at you questioningly. You freeze, your eyes sweeping up and down over his defined muscles before a blush rises to your cheeks and you drop your gaze to your feet, murmuring an apology for waking him and quickly explaining away the disrupted sleep because of the kittens arrival. You apologize once more and quickly scurry to your room as a befuddled Otto looks on, wondering why you had been up long before the kittens arrived.

Three cups of coffee in, the morning comes and goes relatively uneventfully. You do have to insist to an avidly interested Oscar that he wait just a little while longer to meet the kittens as they are still waking up and quite uncertain about their new home. You promise after their breakfast he can visit, lightly patting the grumbling man's back in reply as his brothers drink their coffee. With kitten food in hand, you hope this will help coax the babies out of their kennel. You amusedly eye Butternut and Pumpkin who are crowded around the door to your room, smelling intently.

You nudge them away with a hum of, "In due time you goofs."

To your delight the kittens perk up noticeably after feeding, and after some consideration you poke your head out your room to softly call for anyone interested to come see. As long as they keep the other cats out, that is. Oscar is naturally the first one up out of his chair while Axel and Otto hesitate before joining their younger sibling. They were simply bored, but they did have some interest in the mystery surrounding you and thereby extending to your room as well.

You tell the brothers to mind their feet before noticing Otto subtly eyeing your odd assortment of bits and bobs you have collected in a small jewelry box that had long since lost its shine and its lid. As Oscar and Axel carefully slip into the bathroom, they linger to watch you curiously from the doorway as you step to Otto to reach in your treasure box.

"I'm a bit of a collector, if something has a good texture and makes an impression, I tend to keep it."

An old bullet casing brushes your searching fingertips; you hold up the item for Otto to take, which he does, warm fingers brushing against your own slender digits. He rolls the hollow shell between thumb and forefinger as he inspects it closely. Perusing your other little knickknacks, you muse aloud how you never really plan to do anything with the trinkets, just allow yourself to indulge in an odd whim every once in a while.

Hearing the squeaky inquisitive sounds from the kennel in your bathroom, you and your little entourage find your attentions being redirected. With a gentle bump of your knuckles against Otto's wrist, you motion to follow you. Behind you the man's eyes drag up and down your figure in a surreptitious slide, settling minutely on the full curve of your rear before forcing himself to focus instead on the little jewelry box as he returns the tiny article to its rightful place.

With curiosity sated and more information shared about the tiny fuzzy additions to your home, you usher your guests out of your room as the kittens settle in for a much needed nap. You're tempted to follow their lead and crash on your bed, but you have a couple more things to do. One task being to introduce the towel you had rubbed the two kittens down with to your cats as a pseudo meeting. The Swedes watch in the living room from the sofa as Pumpkin takes a whiff, fluffs up, and slinks away while Butternut just plops herself down next to the towel like it's the most interesting thing she's ever smelled.

The other task? Well, technically you owe Axel and his brothers a tidbit of information after you refused to answer a question about your feathers during his 'interrogation'. And as you admit to the Swedes that you owe them some extra information, Oscar jumps right in.

"What is...favorite animal..no..task animal?"...It's technically against the rules, but it's a good question so you'll allow it.

Excited, you gush, "My pekin duck! Now, I love all my animals, but being my very first task, she's special. Most likely she was going to be prepared for food but the target never made it to dinner. She was wild-caught so it wasn't difficult to rehabilitate and release her. Good thing the woods have a lake. Well, more of a glorified pond really, but she loves it."

Axel side-eyes you slyly, "Duck makes good meal, shame."

You gasp, "No!..Well okay, probably, but I could never eat Ducky!"

Simultaneously, Axel's brows lifted high, Otto choked, and Oscar gasped, "Ducky?! Her name?"

You hesitate, ears red, before exclaiming proudly, "Yes, Ducky. Ducky the Pekin duck...come on this shouldn't surprise you, I named my cats after squash! Don't you dare laugh!"

Otto was roughly huffing into his fist as you floundered. Oscar had shifted closer to you with a wide grin, bumping his knee against yours. 

Axel smirked, teasingly sounding out the two syllables, "Duck-y..."

The glare you send his way is intended to be irritated, but is quickly ruined by your twitching lips fighting back a smile.

"I-It's a childhood thing! I couldn't bring myself to call her anything else!" You rub your cheeks, as if that would somehow lift the vivid color from your face.

"The lake by our orphanage had a variety of birds, and every single one in that water was Ducky. I was too young to really care about the differences. Also it drove our poor caretaker crazy, which ah...kind of enforced the habit."

Your mirth falters as you process your little slip up...that's what your lack of sleep gets you, you suppose. Okay, no use fretting. Push on.

"So when I saw my first animal, her name was already decided really." You smooth the material of the towel in your hands, relaxing your posture. 

"Chickens." You blink, looking quizzically to Axel. He nods towards Oscar.

Otto shifts his weight from one leg to the other, hands tugging his suspenders as he adds, "Chicken thief."

Your gaze settles on the youngest Swede with a playful gasp, "Oscar, really?"

The man meets your feigned incredulity with his ever-wicked smirk and declares with devilish pride, "Salt and Peppar."

It clicks, "...You named them after seasoning. Because you were going to eat them?"

Axel drags his eyes from Oscar to you, "Eventually."

You can't help but giggle, the three men twitching at the sound, "So, when you were younger you stole chickens? Wait wait, I'm going to guess...it wasn't just Oscar..and he roped you two into it?"

Oscar barks a laugh as the other two sigh and nod. You grin, "Goodness, chicken thieves in my home. Did you all get caught?"

Smug, Oscar shook his head as Otto responded, "Nej. Too fast. We...kept for eggs, ate later...old age."

You bump your elbow gently against Oscar's arm, immediately drawing his attention to you, "I've never had chickens before, but my old Ducky does have a bit of an attitude. How were Salt and Peppar?"

Axel snorts, leaning forward, "Angry. Not bad killing mice. Also good flavor."

Otto folds his arms across his chest, nodding in agreement. You chuckle, "Okay if any of you see Ducky, you can't eat her. It's just not allowed."

Still staring, Oscar licks his lips, "..Can we eat you?"

Axel and Otto tense, eyes boring holes into the scoundrel. You scoff, completely missing the lewd innuendo, "Oh ha ha clever; I have feathers, like poultry. Very funny."

You stand with a smile, realizing you should really grab some kind of food mat for the messy eaters resting in your bathroom before lunch time rolls around. You retreat to the kitchen to search while the brothers linger in the living room, staring Oscar down. Butternut in his arms, the youngest removes himself from the floor just to lazily stretch out on the sofa, innocent as can be as he ignores his brothers obvious ire. Pumpkin slips out from under the coffee table to hop up and settle on his stomach in classic cat-loaf position.

Axel begrudgingly turns his attention to you, recalling your cheeky attitude and fiery stubbornness concerning his prior questions in the kitchen a good while ago...yes, he won't deny how heat had pooled in his loins at your antics, bubbling even more when he glimpsed charming pink shyly sweep between your lips. But obviously it wasn't enough to tempt him; no, he didn't imagine himself seated at that very same chair, boots planted firmly on the kitchen floor as his hands squeeze your rear, bouncing you naked in his lap, fucking the defiance out of you as you moan and beg and promise you'll be good- he sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring. Taking a moment to reign in his hormones, he stalks off to the garden for fresh air, scowling all the while. Oscar.

Otto grimaces at Oscar's impertinence and clenches his hands, hesitating as remorse unsettles his stomach as he remembers the feel of you, your back against his front, his hands holding your body helpless and trembling with distress...and wonders instead about making you shake with something else; smoothing his hands over soft fabric to push under your sweater and up quivering belly to gently palm your breasts, pushing fabric away to bare them to his touch, fingers brushing your nipples, lightly pinching and plucking as your head lolls back, your hips rolling to push your ass against him- he exhales, trousers feeling just a tad uncomfortable. With a rough swallow, he lumbers off down the hallway to their room to...regain his composure. Fucking Oscar.

Oscar knows damn well what he's done. He's noticed the way his brothers' eyes linger on you, their growing infatuation not nearly as hidden as they thought. At least not from each other. Now they won't be able to get some rather debauched ideas out of their heads; just like he can't get rid of the thought of your pretty startled eyes blinking up at him, but instead of up, you're peering down, doe-eyed as he moves down your body and between spread legs, preparing to demonstrate the actual meaning of his joke as his hungry mouth hovers teasingly over your panties, just close enough that he can smell you as the heat of his breath warms the dampening fabric.

Oscar strains his neck to sneak a glance at you in the kitchen, adoration softening his expression as he hears your joyful exclamation when you track down the food mat for the kittens. It's possible you were just doing your hostly duties, but they all notice how you blossom as you accept their presence and he and his brothers gradually accept yours. He has no doubt his brothers are subconsciously beginning to consider you theirs; he saw with his own incredulous eyes as big, brutish Otto held you still, firm but careful, not a single feather crushed under fist...or how Axel, steely, stern Axel, was opening up to you about their own lives, tiny piece that it was. He had almost been stunned into silence with that one.

The thought of you in their beds had been just that; a tempting thought, conjured by night and temporarily sated come morning. But seeing his brothers' walls cracking, little by little? How curious. He can't resist giving his stubborn brothers a little push, jostling their imaginations, maybe some taunting thrown in to strain those cracks?...oh, this will be fucking fun.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.15}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 6.2k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

They hadn't technically agreed to meet again before breakfast, but Robin almost counted on it that Snape would be waiting for her at some point between where they had parted half an hour ago and the great hall. And indeed, it was the entrance hall where they crossed ways as if by coincidence, and for a brief moment Robin wondered how he always did that. Snape seemed surprised to see both Jorien and Cas following after Robin, which was understandable after what she'd told him a few hours ago, and Robin didn't waste time to address the matter at hand.

"I gave both of them detention for today." She said with a small sigh. "And now they-..."

"She can't actually give us detention." Jorien cut in, glaring at Robin, then turned to face Snape. "Right? There's something called rules, which Robin obviously has never heard of before! She's in no position to give us orders!"

"And what, pray tell, gives you the audacity to judge that?" He replied with a sharp glance at Jorien, and it took the wind out of her sails immediately. "If you had questioned my decisions like that, Miss Blakeley, you would be serving more than one day of detention."

"So she's actually allowed to do this?!" Jorien looked entirely exasperated now. "Her word is law?"

"Obviously." Snape scowled at her in his usual manner. "I will be seeing you in my classroom after breakfast."

"That's got to be a bloody joke!" Jorien groaned and stormed off without another word, entering the great hall with anger radiating off her in palable waves.

"I, uh… Sorry, for… her." Cas said quietly, giving both Snape and Robin an apologetic look. "We, I mean, I… will see you. Both. After… yeah." Without another glance at either of them, she made her way through the large doors as well, disappearing into the direction of the Ravenclaw table.

As soon as the doors fell shut again, Robin closed her eyes and sighed deeply. After a night like the one she's had, this is not how the morning was supposed to go. And it certainly wasn't a good idea to treat the healing wounds of one relationship with the cutting edges of another.

"I'm so sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen, and it certainly wasn't supposed to happen like this." She finally said as she opened her eyes again to peer up at Snape. "Thank you for having my back nonetheless."

"Any time." He replied calmly, as if he hadn't just given Jorien a death glare half a minute ago. "And don't be sorry. This conflict obviously has great significance to you, and therefore I would like to see it solved as well."

"Thank you." She sighed softly, then ran a hand through her hair while collecting her thoughts. "I just wanted to sort this out… but then things escalated and I did the only thing I could think of."

"You gave them detention."

"Yeah." Robin still was entirely unhappy with that fact, but she would make the best of it now. "Cas was quick to accept it, but Jorien…"

"She reminds me of you in your first year."

"Ugh… I know." Robin groaned, rolling her eyes, but she still couldn't help smiling a little. "She's heard too many of the cutting remarks I direct at other people. She's gotten rather good at hurting people with her words herself."

"Perhaps I should indeed have given her even more detention for her behaviour then."

"Nah… Wouldn't fit in with your punishment policy, would it? She would hardly have learned from that; her problem is her anger, not discipline or authority."

"Indeed." He mused, watching how Robin leaned against the wall behind her with a sigh. Almost curiously, he raised his eyebrows at her then. "So why did you choose to give them detention in the first place? Not that I wouldn't approve of that decision, but it surprises me nonetheless."

"It's the only possibility to get them to stay in the same room, with each other and with me. The only legal one, at least." She shrugged, clasping her hands between her back and the wall.

"Clever. As always."

Robin's lips tugged upwards into a small smile upon the comment, but she tried not to let it cloud her focus on the problem at hand. "I'm going to make them talk to each other, and it won't be pretty. I've gotten a good glimpse of it already, and I'm honestly not looking forward to the entire thing unraveling. But they've got to stop what they're doing to themselves, and to each other."

"Their actions have an effect on you even more than on each other, I believe."

"Yeah… But they don't know that, and they don't have to. I'm good if they're good with each other, and I'm willing to do a lot to get them there. They won't have to thank me afterwards, not even talk to me if they'd prefer not to."

"You'd be surprised by how much some people are willing to forgive." He quirked an eyebrow at Robin, and she had to smile yet again. Alright, he had a point.

"We should go in, or breakfast will be over before we've had a bite." She finally said and pushed herself off the wall. "Should be dreadful as always, without anyone to talk to."

"Actually, I would be glad to miss the inquiries about my whereabouts that are certain to come up at the head table."

"Since when do you bother with inquiries about anything at all?" Now it was Robin who quirked an eyebrow at him with a small smirk.

"Just because I have no intention to reply to them unfortunately doesn't spare me from hearing them."

Robin couldn't help laughing at the pout in his tone, and she found herself wishing that she could just fight off all the inquiries he didn't want to hear. She didn't particularly like answering annoying questions either, but she didn't dread it nearly as much as Snape did. Somehow, she thought it to be her task, her privilege to spare him from that.

"You could always pretend to be listening while really thinking of something else. With your usual range of reactions in public, nobody would notice a difference." She mused with even more of a smirk, and for a short moment, she even got one in return.

They entered the great hall then, each moving to their respective tables in silence, but as far as Robin could tell, both in as much contentment as the situation allowed. Of course, both hid it in their own way. Snape with the usual public scowl, and Robin with the usual calm neutrality. She would get Cas and Jorien to talk to each other today, there was no doubt in it. She would make sure that this would be a good day after all.

… … …

The detention served its purpose wonderfully indeed. Being forced to stay in the same space for an entire day meant that Cas' and Jorien's conflicts were prone to escalate eventually, and once they did, it was also inevitable for the storm to pass. Even better, they were quicker to forgive each other than Robin had anticipated. By lunchtime they were mostly talking to each other again, and by the time detention was over they were back to being best friends after all.

Neither remembered to apologise to Robin when they left detention that evening, they didn't even acknowledge her involvement in their conflict at all. But on the flipside they were quick to treat her as their adult friend again, their big sister rather than their enemy, which left things off as if nothing had happened in the first place. To Robin that was a good enough result, she didn't need an apology nor a thank you. Only for things to return to normal between the three of them, and she had definitely achieved that.

So when she sat in the office again that night, drinking coffee with Snape while refusing to leave just yet even though she was tired enough to fall asleep over her mug, she knew that she had been lucky. From here on, things would start to be alright again indeed.

_______________

Robin cursed under her breath when she flipped the book in her lap shut with a bang that was loud enough to echo through the curves and edges of the arcades around her. Her free period was about to be over, having passed all too soon, while yet the dreadfully slow pace of her classes on this mid-May Friday seemed to be trickling by like endless seconds turned to dust. It was just two more weeks until the end of term, until exams. Two more weeks until her N.E.W.T.s in herbology and potions. She had been studying relentlessly ever since February, and ever since that day in March she's had Snape by her side again to help her as well. Still, she felt like there wasn't enough time to cram all that unnecessary and redundant theoretical knowledge into her head. All those facts she knew would never be of any relevance to her, or some of which she straight out believed to be wrong. But she still had to know them if she wanted a good grade, and thus she used every minute of every day for studying.

Things between Robin and Snape had returned to normal quickly after their shared crash-and-burn experience in March. Well, perhaps not quite back to normal. There were certain things that were different now, positively different. Honestly, they were closer than ever, and Robin couldn't be more glad about that. Ever since the beginning of May they had paused their usual evening lab work (which usually was of a more experimental nature by now, if not mandatory restocks or preparations), and instead started trying to perfect Robin's skills in making every and any potion that might possibly come up in the practical part of her final examination. It was a great way to practice, and she was thankful beyond measure for his help, but still Robin couldn't help feeling entirely unprepared. Snape kept on telling her that she would be fine, but honestly it didn't ease her nerves too much. She would never be as good as him at actually making potions, and she would never be as good as she wanted to be either. If that was even possible in the first place.

So when another free period ended with an entirely unproductive feeling, she climbed out of her arch in the arcades with stiff limbs and a scowl. Stupid textbooks… who the hell wrote these bloody things anyway? They were practically useless for anything other than passing standardized tests. She seriously considered writing a potions textbook herself at some point, while she made her way towards her charms class, just for the sake of it. Perhaps she would keep it in mind as a career option.

Luckily charms was the last class of the day, but it would still be a dreadfully long afternoon if Flitwick would continue his endless lecture about a spell to write in different fronts on blackboards, which he had started last week and never quite managed to finish. Robin sat down at her desk with a sigh, but only took off her sunglasses at last when Flitwick gave her a pointed look for it. Yes, perhaps it wasn't polite to wear sunglasses inside, but had he ever tried to see anything while facing a window the sun was shining through?! Obviously not. Thus, Robin was left squeezing her eyes together to keep looking at the charms professor while he started the class. But her misery didn't last long.

Two minutes into class time, the door flew open and in strode the only saving grace that was even better than sunglasses right now. Still, his trademark billowing robes and overall dramatic entrance made Robin smirk way more than she probably should have. Without even knowing what Snape was here about, she started packing up her things already on instinct. If this was coming to be a repeating pattern, she would gladly oblige.

"Severus?" Flitwick asked in mild surprise that equalled that of his students. Perhaps it was the fact that Snape never bothered to knock that came as such a surprise to everyone, or perhaps they simply were scared to be in trouble.

"I'm afraid I need to steal Miss Mitchell from you, Filius." He stated as neutrally as ever, and Robin tried her hardest not to smile like an idiot. Of course he was here because of her… he would've sent one of the second years he was supposed to be teaching right now for anything else. Robin took a quick moment in her mind to pride and chide herself for the fact that she knew his class schedule better than her own.

"Uh, certainly! I mean…" The slightly dumbfounded charms professor glanced at Robin who had already gotten up and shouldered her backpack without a concern in the world. "For… for how long?"

"The entire lesson, of course." Snape drawled in feigned annoyance and gave his colleague a look that made it abundantly clear that he wouldn't answer any more questions. Thus Flitwick merely nodded, averting his eyes from the intense gaze, and then continued his lesson as if nothing had happened.

Robin followed Snape out of the room, and only once the door had undoubtedly fallen shut behind them and they were alone in the hallway, she allowed herself to smirk up at him. "Am I needed somewhere or did you just miss me?"

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly in return, a shadow of a half-smirk ghosting over his lips for a second, but then he started leading her down the hallway with a serious expression. "I have a favour to ask of you."

Robin's eyebrows rose in an instant, and she looked up at Snape again instead of where she was walking. "Do go on."

"I need you to take over the second year potions class that I am supposed to be teaching right now." He said in an instant, as if glad to get the request out at all, but after a moment of silence, doubt obviously made him continue. "If you are in your right mind, you will straight out decline any participation in this and-..."

"I'll do it." Robin cut in with a small smile that threatened to grow into a smirk. When he gave her a surprised glance, she added, "Have I ever been in my right mind?"

"Probably not." He mused, and finally the doubt faded from his face to be replaced by subtle relief. "Thank you."

"Anytime." She smiled, then quirked an eyebrow at him as they made their way towards the stairs to the dungeons. "Might I ask though, why do you need me to watch over your class?"

"Because I need to teach Morgan's seventh years." He sighed, obviously discontent with the fact. "Morgan reported that he was feeling ill after lunch, and Professor Dumbledore asked me to take over the class in respect to the impending final examinations. That, however, leaves my own class unattended, which I strongly disfavour for the very same reason. Even second year students should be well prepared for their exams."

"And why would you ask me, out of all people, to teach a class? Don't get me wrong, I'm honoured… But why choose the one person who has close to no experience with this thing, while there's a bunch of competent professors at this school?"

"They are not competent." He said, but when Robin gave him a look, he rolled his eyes and added, "They are competent in their subjects, not in ours."

"Alright, so you picked me because I'm good at potions. Better someone who knows the subject and nothing about teaching than someone who knows teaching but nothing about the subject. I get that. But what if I'm horrible at both?"

"Keep in mind that they made Morgan a professor. I think you should reevaluate your perception of what it takes to teach a class around here."

Robin let out a snort at the comment, shaking her head, and she did indeed feel more comfortable with the circumstances in an instant. If bloody Morgan could do this, she could too.

"I can only hope I won't screw this up." She finally sighed when they reached the crossing where they would need to part ways. "But I'll do my best to fill in for you. Even if the gap is quite a bit too large for me."

"Thank you." He was quick to reply, but then paused for a second. "You will be perfectly fine; the gap isn't nearly as large as you believe it to be. In any case, you can always scowl and have them write an essay should you find yourself uncertain what to do next. Works every time."

"I'll remember that." Robin huffed with a small smile, and only when Snape moved on to his own class, she remembered to ask the important questions. "What am I supposed to teach them anyway?"

"Revision of the term, ideally." He replied over his shoulder, and Robin couldn't help wishing he wouldn't go. "But try to remember that they aren't you. Lower your expectations, or teach the students to meet them."

With that he was gone, rushing up the spiral staircase while Robin made her way down. Oh God… had she actually agreed to teach a freaking potions class?! Second years, admittedly, but still! What was she supposed to do, make an entrance like Snape and scare the hell out of them? Actually… no no no, she couldn't do that. Fuck. She should just try to do the same thing she always did when tutoring Cas and Jorien, that had always worked just fine. Even with up to twenty people at once! Wasn't much of a difference to an entire class, was it? Only that they were actually going to expect her to teach them something, not just help with revision. But then again, it was supposed to be revision after all. Breathe, Robin… She could almost hear Snape's voice in her head by now, as often as he had said that to her over the last few weeks when she started panicking over exams. And breathing she did indeed, as she stood in front of the door to the classroom. She could do this. It was potions, she loved potions. She knew potions. It would be alright.

With a perfect calm neutrality she opened the door, and made her way towards the front without a hint of doubt shining through. At least she finally got the desk she's always been meaning to trade for.

… … …

A little more than an hour and a half later, Robin was surprised to find that everything had been alright indeed. Nothing had exploded, nothing had been damaged, and everyone had come out alive and a little smarter than before. She had done a revision of the entire school year with them like she was supposed to, and surprisingly enough, the students had actually been more than willing to accept her as their teacher for the day. A good mixture of calm politeness and menacing scowls had kept everyone in line without making them despise her, which was as good an outcome as Robin could've hoped for. And perhaps some of them had actually learned from her explanations and little tricks after all.

It was only when the students started leaving the classroom that she allowed herself to feel out of place again, being the teacher, and sitting on the edge of Snape's desk like that. He surely wouldn't approve of such a thing, but for some reason Robin was intrigued to find out what he would do about it. Unfortunately, she wouldn't get to. Just when the last student had left the classroom, someone else came in instead.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Robin jumped off the desk immediately when the headmaster came sauntering through the aisle between the students' rows. "I, uh… Sorry, I didn't… What brings you down here? I mean, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Mitchell." He bowed his head ever so slightly with that small smile of his. "Actually, I-..."

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Robin looked at Dumbledore almost expectantly, uncertain what to do or how to react, but he merely mentioned for her to go ahead before retreating to a shadowy corner of the room, picking up and studying a few jars in well feigned interest.

"Come in." Robin thus called out, feeling like an idiot to do so when there was an actual authority figure in the same room, but Dumbledore's wordless prompt for her to see to whatever was the issue had been clear enough.

"Sorry… if I'm interrupting." A small voice spoke from the door, and a second later one of the girls who had been part of the class just moments before reluctantly came back into the room. "I… uh, I was just wondering if perhaps… you had a minute?"

Oh god. Robin's mind raced with a million questions in return. She wasn't supposed to be a replacement for Snape! Well she was, in a way, but just for the revision part of the class! But as long as he wasn't here, she might as well fill in as good as she could for this as well.

"Wouldn't you like to speak to… Professor Snape about whatever the issue is instead? He should return soon, you can wait here if you wish." She asked, but the girl shook her head vehemently in return.

"No, I mean... do you… uh, have time for me perhaps? Before he returns?" The girl asked again, barely loud enough to be heard, and Robin did her best not to display any of the unease she felt. This wasn't her place… but she wasn't one to let people down who asked for her help.

"Certainly I have, if it really is me you wish to talk to." She finally replied with a calm little smile, much like the one Dumbledore had shown her seconds before. Sometimes inspiration was drawn from the most desperate of places. With a certain glance at the young girl who only nodded, Robin motioned to the chair in front of the desk. "Come sit down then. I don't bite."

The girl quickly scurried to the place she was pointed to, then looked up at Robin who sat down on the edge of the desk again like it was the only suitable place for her to claim. Really, she wouldn't dare to take a seat on the other side of the desk. She didn't want to give off the impression that she actually had anything to say around here.

"What can I help you with?" She prompted when the girl still wouldn't speak up after a while of quiet observation. Bloody hell, this felt odd… she wasn't supposed to be in this position.

"Well, I… uh, I noticed that you are… explaining things differently than Professor Snape, and you know so much, and I… I'm just horrible at potions!" The girl broke into tears so suddenly that Robin had a hard time keeping up with the sudden shift. "I always feel like I don't understand anything at all, and everyone else got what you explained today so well and I just… I didn't understand at all! I will fail my exam for sure! I just… I don't even understand why I have to learn all this nonsense! All those stupid little details… Why is that even important for anything?!"

While the girl kept sobbing relentlessly even after her rant, Robin honestly just felt lost in return. For a moment she was frozen, then she frowned, and finally she simply felt helpless. What was she supposed to do now?! What's one supposed to do with crying children? Bloody hell...

"I am certain the situation isn't half as bad as you make it out to be." She started, trying to use her most comforting voice, but the girl just kept on crying and crying as if she had been holding off just to unleash it all on Robin now. Oh geez… what was a professor to do in a situation like that? Use their brains. So Robin did. "Hey, look at me for a moment, yes?"

The girl did look up indeed, which was something at least, and Robin grabbed the first object on the desk she could get a hold of (which happened to be a burning candle), then held it out in front of her. "You know this spell?" She asked, while at the same time turning the candle into a drinking glass.

"Yes…" The girl sniffled, looking first at the glass and then at Robin. Without hesitation, Robin handed the object to her.

"How about this one?" She asked again, and this time she filled the glass with water to the brim.

"No…" The girl replied in a quiet voice, and while the water didn't spill over the edges of the glass, tears kept spilling over in her cheeks nonetheless. She looked at the glass in confusion for a moment, then back at Robin.

"Drink it." Robin ordered calmly, keeping her eyes on the girl who frowned a little at the odd request, but obliged without protest. Half a minute later, the glass was empty and Robin took it from her to set it aside. By now the girl had stopped crying and merely looked a little confused, but by far not as devastated anymore. So far so good. "Do you feel better?"

The girl nodded quietly, so Robin went on.

"See, you knew the charm to transform the candle into a glass, yes? It is a very basic spell, one of the fundamentals of transfiguration, you could say. The second spell I used served to fill the glass with water. You didn't know that one, but I can assure you that you will learn it sooner or later. But now imagine… What would you do if you knew how to conjure water first, but nobody had ever taught you how to get yourself a glass? Would be awfully hard to drink, wouldn't you say?"

Again, the girl nodded, and she even smiled a little at the image Robin was painting with her words.

"So we need the basic spell first, to make any use of the more advanced ones after that. Because without the basics, the difficult things wouldn't be of any value to us. Do you understand where I'm going with this?"

"I think so… It's important to know the basics, because you need a ground and matter to build on and work with."

"Exactly!" Robin offered her a small smile, even if it was feigned. "And it is exactly the same with potions. You need the basics and the details first, if you want to understand the complex structures later on."

"I can see that, I guess…"

"Good!" Robin sighed under her breath. "Now, did I understand you correctly that you're afraid of the exam for this class?"

"Yeah... I've been having problems in potions for a while now. I just don't understand how things work together and how they relate to each other. And you obviously are great at it, so I just… wanted to ask for help, I guess. Or even just some advice."

"If you have problems in a subject, you shouldn't hesitate to talk to the professor as soon as possible. Not just two weeks before the exams." Robin replied, but tried to keep the accusation out of her tone at least, if it was already so very present in her words. Calling out wrong behavior probably wouldn't help right now.

"I know…" The girl peered down at her hands in her lap, picking at the edge of her skirt while effectively avoiding Robin's eye. "But I was too scared to say anything, before now. I just… I thought I would only get yelled at anyway."

Again, Robin wanted to sigh. Somehow, she always ended up stuck between what people believed about Snape and what he wanted them to believe. There was fairly little she could do in between those two, without disregarding the reality of either. "I understand. And I won't tell you to talk to anyone you feel afraid of, even if I probably should. But I will say, out of my own experience and sincere belief, that people sometimes will surprise you if only you give them the chance to."

"Really?"

"Yes. No matter what you believe to know about someone, you must always leave open the possibility for them to change your mind. Nobody likes being trapped inside a box not made for them."

"You mean people should stop categorising?"

"No. Categorising is important for us to function in a world of such complexity. It would completely overwhelm us if we didn't categorise. What I'm saying is that you should keep in mind that you never know all there is to someone, that the picture you have of them isn't necessarily who they really are. And that when you put the world into boxes in your mind, you should always leave the lid open."

"I've never thought about it like that… but I guess you're right. Thank you." The girl gave Robin a timid smile in return. "I will try to talk to Professor Snape tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps he can help me find a point to start catching up with the class."

"Make that tomorrow morning and you might actually find him in a good mood." Robin said before she could help it, and upon the girl's confused face, she added, "When you've known someone for a while, you also know the best time to talk to them about certain things. Tomorrow morning, yes?"

"Yes! Definitely!" The girl nodded and rose to her feet with more energy than anyone should have at this point. "Thank you, professor!" With that she grabbed her back and skipped down the aisle towards the door, where she disappeared and was gone two seconds later. Only then Robin's mind snapped out of it, and she frowned to herself for a moment. Had the girl actually called her 'professor'? Robin shook her head at the odd encounter and turned the glass back into a candle before she would forget about it.

"That was quite impressive, if you allow me that one remark." Dumbledore's voice startled Robin enough to make her jump off the desk once more, heart jumping into action equally while a rush of adrenaline spread in her veins. Bloody hell… she had completely forgotten about him. And honestly, Dumbledore was remarkably good at making himself practically invisible. Perhaps actually indivisible, who knew.

"I wouldn't call it impressive. Self-defense would be more like it." Robin replied sincerely, while trying to keep up her facades nonetheless. There was no use trying to fool Dumbledore, but she wouldn't make it easy for him to see through her either. "I really just wanted her to stop crying. It made me uncomfortable."

"Still, your advice was remarkable, even if perhaps a little difficult for a child to fully understand. Say, what did you put into that water?"

"Nothing." She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's something my parents did with me when I was little. Just give a crying child a glass of water and they will stop crying to drink it. That means they will stop crying for crying's sake, and a great majority of children's problems will already be solved at that point. At the very least, it'll be easier to have a calm conversation from there on."

"Interesting. After long years of teaching at this school, I still find myself learning something new about human behavior every day. Even if by now, I believe to have quite a bit of insight into the… mind of the common person."

"I don't. I mean, I'm not good with people, neither with children nor adults. Remembering little tricks like that, or making use of logic and knowledge to manipulate someone for their own good… Some people might call that insensitive or rude, but it really only is a means to function like any other." She said, as the question about Dumbledore's presence here came back to her mind. "Anyway, I think the girl will be fine if she actually takes the advice about keeping an open mind. But what was it you wanted to say, before we were interrupted in the first place?"

"I meant to say that I came here looking for Severus." Dumbledore smiled, and finally sauntered out of the dark corner he had been dwelling in. "I believe he might be in the possession of a book I would like to borrow for a few days."

"May I ask which one?" Robin inquired, curiosity winning over reason and definitely over manners as well. "I've read all of them at this point, so I'll probably be able to tell you if what you're looking for is part of his collection."

"Of course you have…" Dumbledore's smile turned into a sincere one, and Robin couldn't help wondering why he seemed to be so very amused by what she'd said. "The book I am looking for is a collection of spells about literature and literary mediums. You see, I unfortunately made the mistake of leaving a book of great value too close to Fawkes when it was time for him to burn… You certainly can imagine the outcome."

Robin eyebrows rose in surprise at first, then she had to smile at the coincidence, and finally her brows furrowed into a frown. There was no such thing as a coincidence when it came to the headmaster. And even if that story was true, a great wizard like him surely didn't need a random book about literature spells to help him out. Curious…

"I believe I can help you with that. As it happens to be, I'm in the possession of the very book you are looking for as well. That might spare you plenty of waiting time." She said anyway, putting on her own calm neutrality once again as she turned to summon her copy of the book out of her bag. Then she skipped down the two steps in front of the desk and approached Dumbledore, handing it to him with a smile that mirrored his own. "Well, actually I was the first to have the book, but then I gifted him a copy as well… Anyway, you might find something suitable on page 46… or perhaps it was page 64, it's been a while since I've read it."

Dumbledore accepted the book with a small bow of the head, and a peculiar glance at Robin that to her was more unsettling than reassuring. "Thank you, Miss Mitchell. I will be sure to return it to you before the end of term."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Sir. I know where another copy is, should I need it."

"Of course you do…"

Somehow Robin found herself annoyed by the many times he said that, by the way he said it even more, but she didn't let it on. Instead she merely held his gaze, unfaltering and steady even though it was still so very unsettling. Deeply inquiring and invasive even, while yet hidden behind the calmest contentment and innocence. He was so much more difficult to read than Snape was. For Robin, at least, but she knew that it was an unfair comparison to make from her perspective. She was as biased as she could be.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?" She finally asked, after what seemed like hours of silence.

"Not that I am aware of. Thank you for the book." He mused with a knowing smile, then turned around to leave. As soon as the door fell into its lock behind him, Robin let out a long breath and returned to the desk in a slow saunter. What an odd encounter. Another odd encounter.

When she took her perch on the edge of the desk again, putting the books she had used during the class back into their place, she finally realized what had bothered her about the entire thing. Dumbledore had been the one to tell Snape to take over Morgan's class, and therefore he must've known that he wouldn't find him down here. That means he had either come here to wait for Snape, which was highly unlikely, or he had meant to seek out Robin in the first place. In which case he must have known that she possessed the particular spellbook as well. And he haid lied to her without her noticing even in the lightest. But… why on earth would he do any of that?

______________________________

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[wildlittlefoxsworld]

Loving you against all odds | The Old Guard | Andy x Fem!Reader

Part 1

A/N: I got this idea from a prompt of @promptsforthestrugglingauthor.

You find it here.

Summary: Andy meet the reader in San Francisco in 1929. The reader is twenty-three years old and will marry her fianceé in a few weeks. Andy and the reader get very close, but is this enough for the reader to stop the wedding? Leaving her family to be together with Andy? A family curse makes the reader's life difficult and the reader will need to fight for what her heart desires.

Warnings: slow burn, family curse, minor character death and temporary main character death (in later parts), soft Andy, more tags follow

The Old Guard Masterlist

***

San Francisco, 1929

As the firstborn, you had never worried about the family curse; every second child was doomed to short life of misfortune, but everyone else was left unharmed.

But after your father passed and your mother remarried a partner with a child older than you, you discovered that the curse considered step-siblings as part of the order. But you only noticed it when it was almost too late.

The life of your younger sister Mary, the second the child of your mother, was filled with castastrophic incidents since the day she was born. As a premature infant the pediatrists gave her a loss expectation of life, but your mother called Mary a miracle when she was allowed to take yor sister home after twenty weeks in the children's hospital.

Mary was of slight build, always smaller as the children of her age, caused by the consequences of two months born premature. Children were cruel and made fun of her. You were three years older than her, which made you her protector on the schoolyard. It was something your mother had wished for, but you were well-informed about the family curse. Unlike your mother you understood the impacts the curse had on Mary. Everyone were powerless, nobody could stem Mary's future of never ending misery.

Nobody, until the day your mother married a rich, kind-hearted man named Chandler Prescott. His first wife died a few years ago and together they had a son, Jonah Prescott. Handsome, tall, icy-blue eyes, dark-brown hair. A boy that broke every girl's heart one day. You never hated him, nor did you liked him.

The summer you, Mary and your mother moved in with the Prescotts will you never forget, it was very sticky for early June and you remembered the smell of azaleas, this time changed your life irrevocable.

You were curious of the new town where you lived now. Unknown and mysterious places to discover, but always the voice of your father in the back of your head: never trust strangers. You did follow this rule on every day and it came a day when you didn't. In a little café a half hour by feet away from your home, you met a brunette women, a few years older, maybe in her early thirties. Pretty green eyes, tall, slim figure, very athlectic. You couldn't tell what was special about the woman, but you were impressed by her.

The curve of her mouth formed a charming smile and you felt your stomach doing a flip. It was a foreign feeling when you looked at her, but you ignored it and left the café hurriedly.

The next Wednesday you found your way miraculously back to the little café you liked so much. And there was a spark of hope you would see the stunning woman with the green eyes again. Your eyes roamed the room for her, but you were dissapointed when she wasn't anywhere to find.

“Hello,” spoke a melodic voice behind you and you flinched slightly. You turned your head and looked at the woman that haunted your mind for an entire week. “Hi,” you replied shyly.

“I hoped to meet you again,” she acknowledged and smiled at you. Her gaze was earnestly and you felt your cheeks heating up. You had the same feeling in your stomach as last Wednesday, it was familiar with your typical reaction when a handsome man had complimented you.

“I'm glad to see you. My apologies… for leaving so fast … last week.” You wondered that her presence made you nervous and stuttering. “Well, you came back today,” she appreciated.

She told you her name was Andy. No surname. You respected it and she was relieved that you didn't ask questions about her origin. You spend the whole afternoon together, time flew by like the wind. You talked about casual things, your childhood and parents, but the curse wasn't a topic. And Andy simply listened. You had the feeling that she was the first person in your life who was really interested in you. The moment for your goodbyes came and she hugged you like an old friend. You agreed to meet on next Wednesday at the same time.

At the weekend your mother was buzzing with excitement when the daily newspaper arrived and she read the announcement on page three that the heir, Aaron Grey, of the richest bank director of San Fracisco will marry you on 28th of July in St. Margret's Cathedral.

At twenty-three you could call yourself lucky to get a outstanding match with an noble man like Aaron Grey. You met him at one of the countless parties your step-father hosted. You danced the whole evening with Aaron and you fell in love his his dark brown eyes and warm-hearted laugh. At least you thought it was love you felt.

You couldn't await Wednesday. Andy sat at the same table and you sat down across from her. Her charming smile was back the second she looked at you and a warm feeling spreaded in your chest. You felt bad for the blink of an eye, because you never were so happy when Aaron smiled at you. But you brushed it off, you needed to know him better first.

You forget about Aaron on this afternoom completely. Andy spoke of the places she visited in her life and you decided that you want to see them, each of them. Andy chuckled and responded vague she would take you there someday, but you saw in her eyes she wished for it.

When you walked home, after you promised Andy to come next Wednesday, you thought about your up-coming wedding and if you should tell your new friend about it. Shouldn't you be happy to marry a good man like Aaron Grey. You weren't. In your mind were only green eyes and a charming smile.

Aaron picked you up for dinner with his parents in one these fancy restaurants at Friday night. His parents were very polite and friendly. Aaron and his father talked about business and his mother couldn't wait to have grandchildren. In your opinion the evening was a disaster. But you assured Aaron how lovely his parents were and you looked forward to marry him. You lied to him. You were dissapointed of the outlooks for your future, but you still hoped it will get better. Anyway you liked Aaron and you were sure he would be a caring husband.

The meetings with Andy on Wednesdays were becoming a routine. You entered the café punctual at 2.30 p.m. and spotted Andy in your usual corner. You learned she loved her coffee black, no milk or sugar. You approached her and noticed the white mug with hot chocolate. She remembered your favorite and you beamed with delight. A simple gesture that showed you she cared.

Your conversations were easy, you found always topics you could discuss and you were impressed how adept Andy was in arts, history, languages and travelling. She talked about those things like she had expierenced all of it, like she lived hundreds of lives. Yet you didn't know what she did for living, but you knew she lived with good friends in a cottage at the outskirts of town, near a forest with a lake. She was always vague with informations of her current life and spoke only about her past. One time you asked about her family and she went silent, her mouth a thin line and her eyes cold that it made you shivering, she answered they were passed away a long time ago. You never asked her again.

At home you didn't tell your mother or sister about Andy. She was your only friend here and you wanted something for yourself. You knew it was selfish, but you were sure Andy wouldn't like to be pomped for information about her life.

On the Wednesday three weeks before your wedding she brought you a gift. A box full of conch shells she collected all over the world in different shapes and colours. You loved it. You took a few in your hands and admired their beauty. But you had to admit you never saw more appealing or dazzling than Andy. Sadly you weren't brave enough to tell her. Little did you know she thought the same about you.

The box got a special place in your room.

A week later you had your usual drinks. Andy seemed pensive.

“Are you alright?” you asked her worriedly and knitted your brows together. Andy nodded slowly and glanced outside on the street. It was a sunny day, no cloud in the sky and pleasant warm.

“Would you like to take a walk? There's a park around the corner,” she suggested smiling suddenly. You were excited. You never went anywhere else with Andy than the café.

“Sounds good,” you agreed. Your mugs were already empty and you followed her out of the café. She walked elegant, her back straight and head up. Andy was confident and you wished sometimes you would be like her. She was free to go wherever she wanted and you would marry a man in one and half weeks who you didn't love. The more time you spend with Andy, the less you were in Aaron's company.

The park was marvelous, pink and red and yellow and white flowers everywhere. You weren't the only people here and you walked along the gravel walks.

“It's long a time ago that I was in park. Well, with someone else than the people I live with,” Andy confessed. “I feel honored,” you replied truthfully.

You knew that Andy didn't have many close friends and you were happy that she considered you as a friend. You were lost in thoughts and didn't notice that you went into an area of the park where was only Andy and you. You didn't mind privacy, but it took you by surprise when Andy interlaced your fingers with hers. You watched her with widened eyes, but when you noticed her insecurity, you felt sorry for your reaction. Your expression softened.

“Is this okay?” she asked carefully. You nodded smiling slightly and squeezed her hand in reassurance. Andy's touch, feeling her warm and smooth skin, made your heart beating faster and your stomach flutter. You thought a lot about the feelings you had for Andy and admitted it was more than a friendship between two women. You read about feelings for the same gender and it wasn't common in the society. But your private life wasn't an issue of the society. You knew your mother expected from you to marry and have children, but in this moment you got doubts if you could ever be a loving wife for Aaron and if the wedding was the right decision. Andy made you to question every decision of your potential future and you thought if you could have a future with Andy.

Andy savoured every minute with you. She felt so alive like she hadn't in centuries and you made her life brighter. She hoped that you cared for her as much as she cared for you. Andy was happy when you didn't pull your hand away and it was a milestone. She knew that you were mortal, but maybe the both of you could make it work, even if these thoughts were ridiculous.

Andy felt like someone watched you both behind her back and glanced over her left shoulder. Not far away stood Booker and nodded once. Something was wrong and she knew it was time for her to leave today.

“I'm devasted, Y/N, but I need to go. I know we usually spend more time together,” Andy declared and her heart ached a little when she saw you were dissapointed. “It has nothing to do with you. A friend need my help,” she added hastily.

Andy didn't want to leave you and she thought about what would make you smile. She looked down at your hands and got an risky idea. She lose your hands and pulled you in a gentle hug. She rubbed the small of your back and then shortly before she pulled back, a feathery kiss was pressed on your cheek. You felt your heart racing and the blush rised up your neck. The skin tingled where her lips touched and you smiled bashfully.

“I'm fine, Andy. Go help your friend,” you responded. Of course, you were sad that she wanted to leave so early. You only had one and a half hour together, usually you spend three to four in the café and you were glad about Andy's choice to walk in park. It made up for her early leaving.

With a small nod she went the way back you came before and you watched after her until you couldn't see her anymore.

*****

“She is a pretty, young woman, boss,” Booker remarked with a half grin.

“I know,” Andy answered simple.

“She seems nice.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Is it then wise to make her any hopes?” Booker accused and Andy stopped walking. She looked back to you and shook her head. “It's too soon to assume that.”

“I don't think she was uncomfortable when you kissed her,” he interjected. Andy snorted and went to the car she parked down the street.

“I didn't kiss her,” she gainsaid.

Andy groaned annoyed. “I don't know if I tell her. I know her for five weeks. It's not like… well, I will see.”

“But it was close. Next time it will be her mouth,” Booker said shrugging. “I only recommend you to be careful. She's mortal. She will age. Does she know you don't?”

Booker glanced at Andy when she started the engine of the car and pulled out into traffic. She didn't want to think about the possibilities she could have with you, how it felt to be loved by someone she loved back. You were the first human that catched her interest in her entire life. She spent time with you, because she liked you, but she didn't know it was worth it to risk everything because she could fall im love with you.

“How got you here?” Andy asked to switch the topic. She needed to be focused and concentrated for the mission. There wasn't any other reason she knew about why Booker would come to get her.

“Nicky and Joe dropped me off. Their already on the way. We will meet them at a dinner,” he explained and Andy nodded.

“Good.” The drive was silent and Andy tried hard to suppress the memory of the shimmer in your eyes after she kissed your cheek.

The job went off without a hitch and Andy was statisfied with the precise and flawless teamwork. She only suffered a few injuries from gun shots and a knife, but she didn't die this time and everything was already healed.

“Good job,” she told her family members and they drove back to the flat they stayed in a small town in the north Texas.

Andy's thoughts wandered to you and she asked herself if you would want a life like that. Always on the run, without knowing what will come tomorrow. And could she on the opposite settle down with you. Spending fifty or sixty years or a little more with you before the nature would take back the life it gave you.

Andy took a deep breath. She had to make a choice: destroying the tender bonding between you or letting her feelings grow for you and risking that it could break her heart.

***

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[opheliacassiopea]

CHAPTER 10.

TW: Mentions of a weapon.

Landing back in Quantico that evening was a welcome feeling, the few hours of sleep you managed to get on the plane making little difference in rejuvenating your body and you were practically on auto-pilot for the short twenty-five minute drive back to your apartment. Typing in your alarm code, you quickly tidy your things away, securing your weapon and your credentials. It might seem odd to start tidying your apartment when your body is aching all over, and you’re practically dead on your feet, but it calms you, tethers you to some form of normalcy. So you cleaned the small amount of mess you’d left in your rush to get to work once you’d gotten the call to come in, you weren’t really a messy person anyway so it didn’t take long. Apartment cleaned, you set about fixing yourself dinner and hopping into the shower, turning the water to the highest temperature, the hot water bringing you comfort, easing your sore shoulder and side as you wash away the stress of the last few days.

Despite how tired you are, you fear that sleep won’t come to you easily, you had a lot to think about, your mind still focused on the case that technically still wasn’t over as the paperwork hadn’t been completed, and of course you couldn’t help but think of Hotch, what had happened between the two of you. Realistically you knew nothing would come of it, but that didn’t mean you could suddenly stop thinking about it altogether, it was incredibly good sex after all, and the sweet moments afterwards were something you couldn’t forget any time soon. Clambering into bed and getting comfortable under the covers, you find that sleep washes over you quickly, leading you into a dreamworld. Many hours later you awaken from a peaceful sleep the next morning, feeling well rested and slightly less sore than the day before and decide to make the most of your morning off, choosing to change the bedsheets and open all the windows to let in some fresh air. Along with the rest of the team, you were having to head into the office later that afternoon to fill out the paperwork for the recent case in Bend. 

Much like your appearance, you look pride in your apartment looking the very best it could be, and much like your appearance, your apartment truly resembled you too. It was a fairly decent sized apartment, the reasonably sized living room decked out with fashionable, yet vintage looking sofas and chairs that were situated around the antique coffee table that faced toward the TV. Arguably the best part of the living room was that in the cupboards of the small coffee table, was a small projector that allowed you to play some of your favourite films, or productions of your favourite books and it was something you often did on your days off. Stacks of books, plants and knickknacks lined the shelves that covered many of the walls, all arranged to look neat and tidy, rather than cluttered. The back corner of the room was home to your record player and cart of vinyl's, next to your beautiful wooden piano, plants and candles covering the top. There were many smaller lamps dotted around on the side tables throughout the room, small trails of fairy lights used to accentuate certain accessories.

The back wall of your bedroom was painted in your favourite colour, a deep forest green, your bed placed directly in front of it whilst the rest of the walls were exposed brick, which was the main reason you’d fallen in love with this particular apartment. There was a decent sized wardrobe along with a full length mirror, chest of draws and a small vanity, all home to strategically placed plants, accessories and yet more fairy lights to make the room warm and inviting. You used the smaller box room at the end of the hallway as an office so had decided to keep the colour scheme fairly neutral since it also doubled as a spare room, but was still filled with yet more books and little knickknacks that you absolutely adored and truly made your apartment feel like home and the walls were adorned with your various achievements. Your bathroom could be described as a jungle, multiple plants lived on the window and hung down from the ceiling in macramé pots, loving that it made the room feel more open. The kitchen was relatively simple, a decent sized dining table with benches and chairs always sporting fresh flowers in the middle and the windowsill lined with various cookbooks you’d yet to even open. In short, you loved your apartment, it was your sanctuary, where you felt safest and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride when it came to your home.

Filling the rest of your morning with errands and odd jobs like laundry and food shopping, your morning off scurries by in a hurry and you’re soon headed back to Quantico, ready to speed through the necessary paperwork and potentially catch up on any other administrative tasks you needed to complete. The bullpen is relatively quiet upon your arrival and as you walk through the glass doors, you can already see Reid halfway done with whatever he’s working on, smiling to yourself you stop by the breakroom to grab yourself a tea. 

“I’m surprised that you’re here on time, you looked dead on your feet yesterday” Prentiss greets you as you enter, handing you your mug from the cupboard.

“How charming of you” you rebuke, swatting her on the shoulder as you take the mug. “I feel way better after a decent night's sleep” you tell her as you finish making your drink.

Sensing she wants to say something you turn to face her as she begins to speak up. “That case, I know it was your first of its kind and it was pretty intense, I just want to check in with you”. Concern was apparent in all of her features and as always you appreciated how the team looked out for you, for each other.

“Seriously, I’m fine, all good I promise. Not looking forward to sorting out this paperwork, the reports are gonna be much more complicated, and with that being said, we better get a move on” you say as you exit the breakroom and head over to your desk, freshly made tea in hand. 

After a couple of hours of completing various forms and case reports, you begin to bring the report you were working on to a close and as you came to the end of the sentence you were writing, you lean back and flick your gaze to Hotch’s office to find that he was already looking at you. Sending him a small smile, which he returns immediately, you dip your head down and continue working the day away, offering to help JJ with some of her extra case consults.

Finally the weekend rolls around and you’re buzzing with excitement, once a month the team meets for breakfast in a local diner and if you’re being honest, it’s one of your favourite pastimes with the team. It’s laidback, it’s easy and you relish in the simplicity of it. It’s not even been ten minutes since you’ve all sat down at one of the large round booths at the back of the diner, conversation flowing; Spencer telling Emily and JJ about traditions for new homeowners, Derek and Penelope swapping office gossip, whilst you’re engaged in a conversation with Dave and Hotch about the upcoming FBI triathlon in a few months when you’re interrupted by your phone ringing.

“SSA Paisley Selwyn” you speak into the phone, wondering why nobody else was taking a phone call, let alone a phone call from a bureau phone number; normally the entire team would receive a phone call if you were all out of the office to inform you of a new case or potential emergency. 

“This is Heather Price, Chief of the Crime Translation Unit. We’re in need of a translator for a case we’re working and as a language and linguistics expert, you’d be the perfect fit to help”

she tells you over the phone and you’re slightly unsure, you’d heard of the unit a few times in passing, but never been involved. This might strike an outsider as odd considering as the woman rightly stated, you did specialise in linguistics, but the BAU appealed to you much more.

“I’m flattered, but is there nobody else that can fill in for the case?” you query, you loved your work, but sometimes you needed a break and you weren’t overly keen on leaving breakfast with the team. With such bizarre schedules and hectic jobs, sometimes dealing with unspeakable things, you welcomed any normality that you can find. For that morning the eight of you aren’t FBI agents, you’re just eight friends out for breakfast and today that’s exactly what you needed. 

“Unfortunately not no. We’re keen to make use of your profiling abilities too. I’ll see you here in no less than forty minutes” she informs you, hanging up shortly after. Letting out a small sigh, you twist with the two pendants hanging around your neck, you’d been looking forward to this morning since the moment last month's breakfast ended and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the team. 

Seeing your slightly crestfallen facial expression as you place your phone on the table, Derek is the first to question you. “What’s going on, Lee? Who was that?” concern evident on his face.

“Heather Price, she’s requested my help on a translation case” you tell him, looking down at the table as you do and when you look back up, you have the entire eyes of the team focused on you, a range of facial expressions on show; JJ and Emily look slightly surprised, Spence and Dave looked proud, whereas Hotch’s expression never falters, staying stoic as ever.  

Spencer’s eyebrows suddenly shoot up. “The translation unit? Isn’t that where Oliver WIlliams works?” he questions and you know he already knows the answer, his voice raising slightly being the dead giveaway and despite your slight annoyance at having to leave you can’t help but laugh at him.

“Don’t act like you don’t already know that, you’re not that smooth, Spence. I’ll tell him you said hi” you tell him, through Derek's confused expression only makes you laugh all the more, clearly he hadn’t been clued in on Spencer’s slight crush. Collecting yourself, you turn your attention to the brightly dressed woman to your left.

Penelope however, looked outraged that you had to leave. “What?! Now?! But it’s your day off, you can’t miss our breakfast, you’ve been looking forward to this for ages! Is there really nobody else they can call?”. Penelope exclaims, waving her hands as she expresses her annoyance at the interruption. Arguably, Penelope valued these outings with the team more than the rest of you might have done, working back in her office to perform her technical magic whilst the rest of you were out in the field, or even another state, left her somewhat isolated and therefore occasionally missing out of the odd inside joke so times like these were perfect for filling her in on any missed gossip and it broke your heart to see her upset at the change in plans.

“I know, I know, sorry PG, we’ll just have to do something another time” you tell her, kissing her cheek as you begin to gather your things in order to leave. Standing up, you bid the rest of the team a hurried goodbye, hearing the end of their conversation as you go.

“How many languages does she even speak? I lose track of her sometimes” JJ questions, though you can tell she’s joking and it’s Reid who answers.

“Three; French, Spanish and Italian. Though if you count sign language, it would be four, which is marginally impressive because statistically speaking..”.

Quickly swinging by your apartment to pick up your weapon and credentials, you decided against changing out of your very casual outfit, this was meant to be your day off after all. 

It was an odd feeling riding the elevator to a different floor, nerves building in your stomach for whatever it was you were about to work on. Stepping out of the elevator and taking a deep breath, you’re greeted by who you assume to be the woman you spoke with on the phone. “Unit Chief Heather Price, nice to meet you, please, come this way” she introduces herself to you with a welcoming smile, gesturing for you to follow her to her office.

“As I mentioned on the phone, we’re in need of an translator, specifically for Italian translations. I realise that your primary work for the bureau isn’t in fact translating, but you’ve come highly recommended to us and we think your knowledge of language and linguistics, along with your profiling abilities would prove to be an incredibly useful asset for this case” she informs you, handing you a brown folder that clearly contains the case information that you flip open and start to read over, leaning back on one of the office chairs when there’s a knock at the door.

“You wanted to see me?” the voice questions. Head snapping up from the file in your hand, you see that the voice belongs to a male detective and you immediately placed him to be Oliver Williams thanks to Spencer’s descriptions. He’d confided in you about his small crush during

one of the late night sessions in the library; the two had met around a month ago when the team was working a local case and in order to solidify a theory you and he were working on, Reid had gone to the translation office to collect a transcription manual and bumped into the man and since then the two had been buying each other coffee

“Ah, yes I did” Price tells him, ushering him into the room. “This is Dr Paisley Selwyn, I requested her help on this case as you know”. Pushing yourself up from the arm of the chair, you lean forward to shake his hand and the two of you exchange pleasantries and you can tell that the both of you will get on well as Price starts going over the case plan, explaining that 

essentially the two of you would be left to your own devices, taking the lead on the case and she would only be stepping in when it came to the interrogation of the suspect. 

Following Williams back out to the larger desk spaces, the two of you begin working the case, starting over from the very beginning, and coming up with entirely new strategies regarding everything from the translations of smaller articles of evidence, to various interview methods and spoken translations. Eventually you found yourself working in a rhythm with Williams, discovering that the two of you had similar methods in translating which sped the process along and soon you found yourself enjoying the work you were doing; applying theories, methods and techniques you hadn’t used since doing your masters degree and it came as an easy reminder as to why you loved working with language. When it came time for the interrogation of the suspect, it wasn’t hard to tell that both Price and Williams were impressed with your translation skills, picking up on the smallest changes and inconsistencies that eventually brought the case to a close at around eleven o’clock in the evening. 

Now you were sat with Williams filling out the huge stack of files for the case, because you weren’t officially part of the unit, there was more paperwork than usual and by the time you were both done and finally out the door, it was pushing midnight. Walking to your cars, the two of you conversed like you’d known each other for a lot longer than a day and you called across the car park to him “Oi, Williams, Spence told me to tell you hi” which caused him to smile from ear to ear and blush a deep pink and you smiled to yourself as you made your way home, singing along to the radio as you drove.

A/N: I can’t believe I’ve written 10 chapters of this fic already! Tried making this a slightly shorter chapter as the past few have been quite long. Don’t forget you can follow along and read the story over on my Wattpad: @opheliacassiopea

As always, let me know what you think; any feedback is welcome!🖤

[callmeunstable]

Angels & Demons - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Characters: Reader, Godling, Savilla, Jaskier

Summary: After finding a friendin Jaskier their friendship get tested. Unsure of the danger ahead Alva tries her best to live in the village.

Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Death

Words: 2.000+

A/N: Hey! This is the fourth part of my fic. It took really long this time due to personal problems. I’m sorry but it probably will happen again. Thank you for you patience and enjoy!

Disclaimer: GIF’s and PNG’s are taken from Tumblr and are not mine! Credits to the creators!

Tags: @marvelbrat @charliestuff

Song: 

“Did ya hear the rumors?”

“The folks are saying the Nilfgaards want to overrule Cintra.”

“That’s never been a secret, mate. Cintra will fall and we all know that.”

“Got to hell. Our Lioness is strong. Don’t ya ever doubt her skill.”

These were the latest accusations browsing around the village. Cintra, the kingdom Alva was currently staying, was about to fall. The men were right when they're saying that. Even Savilla was under tension these days. She said they could arrive any day by now. 

The Lioness was the Queen of this state. Calanthe of Cintra, known also as the "Lioness of Cintra" and "Ard Rhena" called by the Elders. The mother of Pavetta, and grandmother of Ciri. She was known for her bravery and beauty. That is at least what she figured while serving in the tavern. She heard tons of rumors but couldn’t understand what that meant for her.

Sevilla had already started packing the most important goods and she collected all the money she received. Rarely spending anything except for once. She bought two horses. They weren’t expensive she said and necessary for traveling. 

When the Nilfgaards want to overrule Cintra the will stop here. Their town was called Walen. It’s close to the capital of Cintra. Where the Queen and the King had their castle. It may be a small village but you will get everything you need in this town. Food, animals, tailors, and a blacksmith.

Overall this village was not a poorly town. It had more than enough money to keep everyone well fed through the winter, which was a rare thing in this century. They didn’t necessarily depend on other nearby villages. They made everything they could need by themselves. Sevilla already had a plan figured out. James was still living in his forest and promised to alert them directly if he’d see something unusual and he would try to save them some time. In the beginning, Alva didn’t understand why the had to take all these precautions until the mage explained it to her. The Nilfgaardian Army was strong and powerful. They raided villages, stole their good, and raped the women. Their goal was to overrule Cintra, which means they wouldn’t hesitate to torture the people living here to receive any information they would mark as useful.

It was horrible and disgusting but it was the way this world worked. You have to protect yourself because nobody else will.

The job at the tavern kept her busy. It was quite fun now that Jaskier decided to stay. She liked his singing and his humor, even if sometimes he’d get on her nerves. He was flirting with every woman he could come across and needless to say, it didn’t stay with flirting if the girl agreed.

Gladly Jaskier understood rather quickly not to tease Alva's patience because she didn’t care about the girly behavior this world was used to. She was quick with grabbing any nearby object and chasing the bard with it. Once or twice even with his lute.

She would consider them both as good friends, which is why she was asking the bard about his plans when the Niflgaards arrive. “They don’t scare me. I’m not scared of anything. I could even get some new stories to tell in my songs.”

The bard was sometimes naive but he assured Alva that he knew what was coming and that he will be prepared.

Another day another workday for Alva. It was all peaceful and quiet, especially in the mornings. She liked that shift a lot. But not today. She was the first server to enter and she quickly realized that. Dozens of mugs were laying on the floor, bear and gin spilled everywhere.

“Was there a party I don’t know about?” Alva let that question settle in the room, soon recognizing that no one was there to talk to.

“All right, fuck all of you then.”

“Why you gotta be so mean all the time?” 

The mumbling sound of Jaskier's voice broke the silence and Alva spotted his hat in one of the corners of the room. The rest was hidden behind a barrel. He looked rather ruff. His Jacket was thrown on the chair beside him and his shirt was unbuttoned pretty far down. Thankfully he had his pants still on.

“Because you're sleeping quietly in your corner while I have to scrub the floor that you probably spilled you drink on.” Alva throws her bag at Jaskier, hitting him right in the belly.

“That was uncalled for. And to be exact it wasn’t only me. The men last night were enormously friendly and gave everyone a drink for free. Let me tell you it was fantastic.”

“Glad to hear you had a good time. Did you earn more than usual.”

“Probably. Can’t remember if I shall be completely honest.”

That sounded like typical Jaskier. 

Alva grabbed some towels and a bucket, filling it with water and soap. She dipped one into the liquid and searched for her target. Jaskier was standing a few meters away. His back was facing her.

“Don’t you know that turning your back to someone is just plain rude.” And with these words, the towel was being thrown, right on Jaskier's head. But the bard didn’t seem to mind the wet cloth sitting on top of his head.

“What the hell are you doing Jaskier?” The girl made her way over to him, to take a look at the interesting thing Jaskier was concentrated on. 

She didn’t like was she was seeing. Jaskier had opened her bag and grabbed one of her leather notebooks, Sevilla gave her exactly 3 of them, so she could keep track of this world and for anything else, Alva wanted to write down.

“You lied to me!” Jaskier let out an offended sigh. “You are a bard yourself and you didn’t tell me? I'm deeply offended, Alva.”

Alva tried to snatch the book out of his hands, unsuccessfully. “Jaskier, I will kick your ass! Give it back!” Jaskier was probably about 1 ½ head taller than Alva. That made it far more difficult.

“Why would I? These are amazing. Why did you hide them from me?”

“I’m not a bard Jaskier. I just like to write songs, get it?”

“You have to sing for me sometime or at least allow me to use some of your poetry.”

“For Christ's Sake Jaskier give me the book or I will kick you in your balls and that is a promise.”

Jaskier's shocked eyes stared her blank in the face. “No need to threaten me. But I've heard worse than that.” The bard still didn’t give the book back. Alva was struggling to get hold of his arm, that he held far up in the air. 

“That’s so romantic. May I quote ‘I've been hiding for so long, these feelings they’re not gone, can I tell anyone?’ What a poet you are little girl.”

“Jaskier I’m begging you, please stop!” Alva knew what the next line read. And she knew in which time frame she was captured. This will not end well.

“Why this is adorable! ’Afraid of what they'll say, so I push them away. I'm acting so strange.’ Does someone have a crush on good ol’ Jaskier?”

“Jaskier you don’t want to read further trust me.” Alva stopped reaching for her journal. It wouldn’t change what would happen next, she was too small and Jaskier to stubborn.

“’ They're so pretty it hurts. I'm not talking 'bout boys, I'm talking 'bout’ … oh.” There it was. Would he hate her now? Was she about to be abandoned from this village? She had no idea what would happen next.

“I’m sorry, Alva. I didn’t me to intrude your privacy.” Jaskier looked ashamed. That was a surprising sight. He quietly closed the book and handed it to her. She grabbed it and stuffed it bag in her back.

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

“No, don’t be afraid. I don’t mind that. It’s just a bummer, I thought you had a swarm for myself. I guess I was wrong.” Jaskier let out a friendly laugh and scratched the back of his head.

“Wait, you don’t hate me?”

“Why would I? I mean I’m fond of women myself so why would I blame you? I’m just a little bit disappointed. I thought maybe I had a chance to win you over, at least for a night.”

Alva punched Jaskier softly in his side. 

“You’re a douche. But if you want to know. I still think men are attractive. But in my opinion, women are as well. So why exactly decide?” Alva tried her best to explain Jaskier with the easiest way that she’s bisexual.

“Does that mean I still have a chance of winning you over?” Jaskier's typical smirk was setting and he wiggled with his eyebrows.

“Technically yes, but no thanks.”

“That was disappointing.”

The day went quietly after this. Alva was happy about the fact that Jaskier didn’t mind her sexuality at all. He was indeed a great friend. He kept it a secret as he promised. And he didn’t change one bit.

A couple of weeks later they were walking back from the village that was next to Walen. It was a one-day march but it didn’t bother them. Sevilla sent Alva to get herbs she ran out of and Jaskier gladly announced himself as her companion. He didn’t want her to get lost and a woman should never walk alone, in his opinion.

It was only about a half an hour walk left, they were just arriving in the forest of James when they saw black smoke rising from the direction they were heading. “What the hell?” Alva didn’t understand what that was supposed to be. It was new to her that the village people used smoke signals.

“That’s not good.” Jaskier started to run, Alva behind him. What’s happening? “Why are we running?”, called Alva so Jaskier was able to hear her through the cracking branches they were running over.

“I think Nilfgaard reached Walen! Hurry!”

Anxiety was crawling up her throat. This couldn’t be real. Sevilla warned her but she never took it that seriously. She thought this would never happen.

“Alva!” The familiar voice of James was ringing in her head. The Godling used this method a lot to talk to Alva without needing to be seen.

“What is happening, James?” “Nilfgaard raided the village not even ten minutes ago. You need to run away! Not in the direction of the village! It will be your death!” The Godling was panicking like a child. His voice sounded helpless.

“I have to make it. I need to see if Sevilla is okay. Can you shield us? I beg you, James.” Alva needed to flee with Sevilla, she was not going to leave her there. “I try my best. But there are too many. You won't have much time.”

“I don’t need long, just help us!”

In the far Sevilla's house came in sight. It looked like normal, only the pots and jar outside the house were broken.

“Be quiet. I saw some soldiers not far from here. It's Nilfgaard. We have to leave!” Jaskier was pushing her in a bush, trying to have at least a little bit of cover. Screams and cries became audible. Uncontrolled and painful.

“Sevilla had a plan. I need to get her. We have horses. You can come with us Jaskier. But I need to get Sevilla, do you understand?” Alva was determined. 

She was not going to leave her. She was like a mother to her, all this time. She gave her a home when anyone else would have left her to die. The girl pushed the fabric of her dress aside, grabbing the hidden dagger.

“You are crazy! Going in there.”

“You will not stop me.”

“Alright then. Let’s go, you crazy girl. When we die, at least we’ll die together.”

They were slowly approaching the cottage. Trying to make out any sound.

“There is no one around you. You can enter.” James was back in her head. Alva didn’t hesitate anymore, breaking through the door.

It was horrifying. Everything was broken. All of the herbs were ripped out of their pots. All of their clothing was laying ripped on the floor. The fireplace was burning and tons of papers were stuffed into it.

But the worst thing was yet to come. Sevilla was laying on her stomach. The back part of an arrow was sticking out of her back.

“Sevilla!” The girl let out a shrieking scream. Jaskier quickly covered her mouth and held her in his arms. 

The was so much blood. All of her clothes were colored in a dark red. She wasn’t moving anymore.

“Alva, you need to listen to me.” Jaskier was grabbing her face and trying to get her to focus. “I know this is hard but you have to grief later. She wouldn’t want you to die here. You told me she protected you, I understand. But we have to leave.”

Alva was frozen, not even noticing her tears falling to the floor. “I can't keep them away much longer Alva!” A panicked voice ripped her out of her trance state. 

She wouldn’t want her to die. She has to live for her. “T- The rug. Under the rug.” Jaskier pushed the carpet aside and a hatch became visible.

Jaskier opened it and there were 6 bags stuffed together. Each of them grabbed three.

Alva was still looking at the corpse of Sevilla. She was lost in this world once again. No help to escape it.

“The horses! Where are they, Alva?” Jaskier started to panic like the girl. 

“Behind the house in the shed.”

Both ran outside, with a last glance at the mage they left. The horses were still outside, visibly unsettled.

“Help me saddle them. Hurry up!” They fixed the straps and secured the bags. While doing that a not fell out of the pockets attached to the saddle. Quickly picking it up she stuffed it on the inside of her pants. 

“You need to ride with this dress. Are you able to do that?” Jaskier wanted to make sure the girl stayed focused. It was the most important thing at the moment.

“N-no, I can't. B-but.” She held up her dagger and sliced the fabric of her legs. Ripping every single part of it off her body. Anger was building up in her body. “Stop that! We don’t have time for one of your outbreaks. Get up! Now!” Jaskier helped the girl on the horse and fastly climbed on the other one.

The horses picked up on speed. They could sense that they were in a dangerous situation. Alva looked back at the small village she called her home. But now she has to travel into the unknown with a bard my her side.

[kbstories]

Axiomatic

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.)

Self-evident; unquestionable.

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

(Or: Remember that banquet Luffy promised? This is it.)

Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Partying

Set in Wano. Spoilers for all of Wano. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

“What do you think?”

Lipstick glides over thin lips, the wax malleable and smooth as it leaves a coat of rusty red in its wake. Killer makes sure it’s perfectly even before he glances elsewhere. In the mirror, Kidd’s face is all scowled impatience.

One last run-down – eyeliner, mascara, lipstick: done, done and done – then Killer grabs the mask waiting for him. “Alright, let me see.”

Their eyes meet and Killer sighs. Metal over skin-and-bone, Kidd’s arms are crossed; his shaved brows push together further. As if Killer doesn’t indulge his every whim by the regular.

“I’m looking. Show me again.”

Kidd grumbles, “Watch.” He opens his arms, reveals an unbuttoned shirt tucked into his favorite patterned pants, glinting gold over black under a double-belted cinch at the waist. So far, so very Kidd.

No, the point of discussion is the frankly massive coat slung across his neck: Nice soft-looking suede on the outside and glossy-grey fur on the inside, it hugs Kidd’s shoulders in all the right places to then cascade down his back in a display of near-ridiculous opulence.

Extravagant, over-the-top, flashy. It’s hard to tell which type of animal had to die for this. There must be a lot less of ‘em now, with this monstrosity in the world.

Kidd is swiveling it back and forth with critical glances to the mirror, the coat wooshing with the motions. Killer takes in the fluid glide of fur over Kidd’s exposed chest, the contrast of impeccable couture against jagged scars. Loses himself for a moment or two imagining how it would feel like to run his hands over both.

An appreciative hum. In Killer’s educated opinion, Kidd looks damn near sinful.

“Yeah?”, Kidd asks and Killer nods. “Yeah. Heh, told ya the detour’s worth it.”

Perhaps it was, although sifting through Onigashima’s treasury whilst bleeding all over heaps of shiny expensive everything might’ve been a case of skewed priorities. There’s no need to talk about what-could-have-beens, though – they’re here, they’re rich and they’re long overdue at Strawhat’s banquet.

Killer’s practically done, tight jeans under a shirt that’s done up to the third button and left to flare open otherwise. It’s not his old favorite (that one stopped fitting him a good year ago) but similar enough, patterned in geometric black-and-white shapes. Definitely one of his fancier ones, not that anyone will care one way or the other where they’re going.

It’s… been a while since it’s been anyone other than them and their crew. Pirates are pirates, allied or no; Killer eyes the scythes neatly stored next to the bed.

Kidd is touching up his lips one last time, the same shade as Killer’s. “Bring ‘em. That Roronoa guy keeps throwing you weird looks and I’m not allowed to kill him.”

Yet goes implied. Killer isn’t wearing his mask and so he doesn’t roll his eyes. “He’s got every reason to”, he reminds his captain, focusing on the heavy clasps of his weapons to keep the memories at bay. The red mark on his chest stings, stuck in the limbo between a healing wound and a fresh scar for a few days still.

A testament to his failure that Killer won’t hide. If Zoro hadn’t stopped him that day his hands would be stained with blood that cannot be washed off, not entirely.

Kidd’s eyes are on him, dark. “I don’t care.”

Resentful as always. Killer reaches for him, digs his fingers into the fluffy lining of that coat and oh, the fur is as soft as it looks. “I do, though.” A firm tug, one Kidd follows until Killer can kiss him, careful not to smudge anything.

“No killing of allies today, ‘kay? We just came back from a war. The crew’s tired. I’m tired.”

“Mh” is all Kidd has to say to that, a grumpy huff against Killer’s lips more than anything. Kidd does give him a proper kiss, however, and Killer knows he won this one.

All he can ask of Kidd is to try, anyways – with two equally hot-headed captains and a whole host of morons around to rile him up, there’s bound to be blood eventually. The trick is to make sure everyone’s drunk enough not to take it too personally.

A pinch to his ass tells Killer he was caught scheming. Kidd smirks, tells him, “We’re getting wasted tonight”, all triumphant like it’s the best idea he’s had all week, and Killer doesn’t miss the emphasis on we.

“Two Emperors down! Strawhat better bring the good stuff tonight or this alliance is over.”

Killer groans, “Kidd”, but he’s smiling, too. Before he can be called out on it, Killer shoves his mask into Kidd’s hands, metal clanking against metal. “Make yourself useful. We’re late.”

Kidd’s laugh is more of a cackle than anything else – “Yes, darling”, said in that sarcastic lilt Killer knows all too well – yet Kidd complies. His hands, organic or otherwise, handle the mask they’ve built with care and precision. Soon, Killer’s vision is narrowed down to dots, the audio filter of his helmet kicking in soon after.

Killer rolls his neck and hums, satisfied. “Ready?”

Kidd throws a final look at himself in the mirror, grinning into the collar of his new coat.

“Hell yeah. Let’s go.”

*

The banquet is a sprawling, messy affair that swallows the entirety of the ramshackle village the Strawhats picked as their home in Wano Country.

From the moment the Kidd Pirates get there they are surrounded. Wherever Killer's eyes roam there are knots of people drinking, eating, laughing and crying, sometimes simultaneously – there, at the heart of it all where the crowd is thickest, burns the largest bonfire Killer has seen in a while, perhaps ever. Smiling faces all around and for once, it doesn’t make Killer’s stomach drop because they’re genuine.

Survivors of SMILE just like him, caught in the rush of real emotions for the first time in who knows how long. Killer has a pretty good idea how that feels like.

Next to him, Kidd is so tense he’s stalking, gaze intense, oozing Haki to keep people away; Wire’s hand is clenched to bloodlessness around his trident while Heat exhales a bit of smoke with every breath and yeah, Killer gets it. Can’t help it himself, either, scythes kept close to his sides to make sure they’re there.

The thing is: They don’t do these kinds of things. Parties, yes, many and often but not like this. Killer can count on one hand the amounts of times the population of any island was actually happy to see them, much less willing to send them off with one big feast.

Actually, he wouldn’t need to count at all because it’s simply never happened. Even filtered by his mask it’s… a lot to take in at once.

The entire damn country is here, it seems, all breathing a collective sigh of relief so monumental the air itself carries their joy. For all that the Kidd Pirates were in this for revenge and glory, Killer can’t deny it’s rewarding to see a nation so ravaged by an Emperor’s greed do whatever they want for the first time in decades.

Finally, a few familiar faces start popping up. Some of the samurai greet them with nods of their heads, overly formal like the people from Wano tend to be; here and there they spot the distinctly branded yukata the members of Trafalgar’s crew are wearing and, rarer but all the more noticeable, those animal people Strawhat dragged along from somewhere.

Minks? Or something? Killer is inclined to say it doesn’t matter if they didn’t have the habit to jump on them out of fucking nowhere. Looking for bone-crushing hugs and wet-nosed kisses, of all things, and– Oh no, he did not sign up for this.

Much less for whatever that group of cat minks are gearing up to, staring at the holes in his mask with eyes nearly swallowed by black, round pupils. Killer is absolutely, solidly convinced he doesn’t even want to know what that’s all about.

“Captain.”

And yeah, his tone is a little more alarmed than he truly means it to be. It gets Kidd’s attention, though – himself having fought off a dog mink enamored with his metal arm not too long ago – and he barks a laugh even when he ramps up his presence to an almost stifling degree.

“C’mon, I feel Strawhat up ahead.”

To nobody’s surprise, they find him smack dab in the middle of everything. Strawhat and his crew are lounging around the bonfire, there’s no other way to describe it: All broad smiles and flushed faces amidst the chaos, completely in their element, and it’s hard to tell if it’s the closeness to the bonfire or the vaguely impressive amounts of empty bottles lying around already. They’re certainly boisterous enough for it to be the latter, even Jinbei.

And no, Killer hasn’t quite processed that turn of events yet. The strangeness of seeing someone of that caliber wheeze into his mug with laughter as his (new?) captain takes a disturbingly big bite out of an even bigger chunk of meat is… not helping things, in that regard.

What a bunch of weirdos. In the safety of his mask, Killer allows himself a small smile.

From here the flames seem to reach for the sky, tinged in warm pinks and oranges by the sinking sun and there, very faintly, Killer can make out the first stars. He can’t remember ever seeing them, not with the factories running over night as well.

“Spikey!!”

Ah. Killer’s head turns with Kidd’s and it’s a good thing, too, because there’s a stretched arm coming for his captain – Kidd bites out, “Nope, no, Strawhat”, red eyes going wide – and Killer manages to side-step it in the last possible second. One, twice it wraps around Kidd, fancy coat and all, and then the rubber recoils.

“Killer!”

Oh my, Killer thinks mildly as he watches him go. Behind him, half their crew is flabbergasted and the other half is in stitches. “Captain’s gonna be in such a mood”, Heat says to Wire, and it just sends them into another fit of chuckles.

For Killer, finding a drink becomes his top priority. So much for keeping things peaceful.

>>Chapter 2.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Between the Sky’s Grasp

Author: @magioftheseas

For: @kokikomachi

Rating/Warnings: T (darker themes such as abuse and violence are mentioned in a story within the story but in the main plot, there’s just the underlying toxicity of idol culture, permeating the atmosphere with a off-putting stink)

Prompt: Idol Izuru goes on a date with a Fan Komaeda (with an additional reference to the Sweets Paradise DR X Illustrator Cafe Collab Designs because I have no self-control)

Author’s notes: You probably wanted something fluffier and I’m deeply sorry if that was the case. I spend more of my time thinking about Perfect Blue than I should but while the story isn’t nearly that dark, I did still aim for the more darker elements since I’m pretty invested in them. I also feel bad because I feel like I could’ve worked in all three prompts and ultimately left one out, but hopefully this is still good! Dark fairytales are a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine and yeah, I could talk all day about idol culture, so hopefully this fic has appeal on those grounds if nothing else. I hope it has a more general appeal, too, aha. I kinda dig how the characterization turned out. I feel like this fic could easily be expanded, but for now, it’s a modest 5K. Please enjoy. <3

The song playing is one of his own. Someone hums along as they shift through CDs. With a restrained squeal, that person finds what they are looking for—and Kamukura recognizes the cover immediately. It’s his latest single.

“They have it after all!” is exclaimed. “How lucky!”

“So, you are a fan?” Kamukura asks softly and coolly. The other jumps, cheeks pinking as they twirl on their heel to face him. With that pallor and snow-white hair, the red of their blush stood out significantly. “I could not help but overhear.”

“I-I, um—yes!” They seem to be having trouble meeting his gaze. If Kamukura Izuru wasn’t already confident in his disguise masking his features, any remaining concerns would have been waived from just how uncomfortable and anxious the other was when being addressed. “I’m sorry, was I being too loud? When I get excited—I hear I can go a bit overboard, aha.”

“It is alright,” he said simply. “I spoke up due to being curious about you.”

“Are you a fan of Kamukura Izuru, too?” There’s a flicker within that gaze, though the fan’s eyes remain modestly diverted. “I collected everything of his—even the stage musicals. Even now hearing his voice puts my heart at ease.”

He’s infatuated. How boring. Kamukura clicked his tongue, remembering his manager’s words. I should still press further.

“There are other rising stars growing considerably in popularity.” Because they are more human. Because they put forth more emotion. Emotion which makes up for the lack of talent. “Kamukura Izuru being overthrown may be inevitable.”

“I-I definitely don’t believe that! Kamukura-kun’s incredibly talented and his voice is indescribably striking!” the other protested. “There’s no one else like that!”

Talented. All I really have is talent. This fan has provided me with nothing else. How boring.

“True. I suppose he is one of a kind. Just like anyone else.”

“You’re quite rude, you know,” the other pointed out irritably. “And I thought my social skills were poor. What bad luck. But I suppose I should’ve expected it.” With a pause, he gives the CD a fond smile before pushing past Kamukura. “Excuse me.”

“What is your name?”

“My name?” They paused, lips pursing. “Komaeda Nagito. What of it? I’d rather not continue to associate with you.”

Kamukura’s lips twisted at the irony.                  

How interesting. How will you react, then?

“That is a shame. I would prefer to continue our interactions, then, even if you already detest me.”

“Haaah? Why? Are you a masochist?” Komaeda’s head tilted. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata Hajime.” The lie slips off his tongue with ease. “Allow me to treat you to dinner. As an apology for my…poor social skills, I suppose.”

Komaeda blinks at him, eyes wide for a moment. The invitation left him baffled and mulling over it, and Kamukura could tell he was too taken aback to immediately say no.

“I insist,” he pressed. “I really would like to apologize.”

Even if I truly do not care.

Komaeda finally shrugged.

“If this ends with you stabbing me in an alleyway, I would still turn out alright. So why not? Oh, but, if this is an elaborate ploy to mug me, I’ll give you money here and now if you want. Um.” He waved the CD. “After I buy this. May I at least keep this?”

Huh.

“I have no plans to steal from you. Or to stab you.”

“If you say so…if you lied, that’ll reflect worse on you than on me.”

This fanatic—is actually peculiar as a person.

Interest flared in Kamukura’s gut, his heart picking up at the realization. It was an odd, almost overblown reaction—but it was one that drove him forward in a way he’d never experienced before.

Is this love at first sight? Or mere excitement?

His manager would be so shocked to hear of this, and that did bring a smile to Kamukura Izuru’s face.

“I’m not lying. Purchase your find and we shall leave together.”

Komaeda nodded.

“Okay, Hinata-kun.”

I can’t help but hope this feeling will fester.

–

“Tell me about yourself, Komaeda Nagito.”

“So demanding off the bat. How comforting,” Komaeda remarked with wry sarcasm as he sipped at his soda. “Um. I guess I’m a college drop out. I’m looking to get back into class but there have been—difficulties. I don’t have a job but I get by on inheritance. I have no outstanding features or abilities. Except I guess I’m good at cleaning. Maybe I should get a custodial job, then?” He begins to more muse to himself. “I have no need for money, though. I’m utterly aimless.”

“Interesting,” Kamukura replied. “You contribute nothing to society.”

“Yep!” Komaeda chirped. “I’m a total waste of space! I do try to help out other people who are much more worthwhile and capable but I tend to mess that up a lot, too. I really have nothing going for me except ridiculous luck, probably. The fact that I’m alive in spite of my many shortcomings and flaws must count for something. Haha.” A pause. “Although maybe a custodial job would be good for me after all…but I worry about making a bigger mess than I can clean up…”

Someone this useless should definitely evoke a number of emotions. Exasperation. Frustration. Disgust. Contempt. Pity. Such emotions could be applied to a song. I doubt this is what the manager had intended, however.

“You’re just listening to me ramble,” Komaeda observed, head tilted. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Hinata-kun?”

“No, I do not.”

“Oh. Okay.” He sips more of his water, quiet and contemplative. Likely still confused by this turn of events. Kamukura considered, for a moment, about informing him of the truth—but to shift that look of pondering curiosity into fervent fanaticism had little appeal. Especially when Komaeda met his stare, and those wide gray-greens narrowed. “So, what about Hinata-kun?”

“You want to know about myself?” Quirking an eyebrow, Kamukura pressed his elbow against the table as he leaned into his hand. A gesture made only because of the seeming appropriateness of it. “I am much like yourself. Directionless. Aimless. There is little to discuss.”

“Oh. I see.” Komaeda frowned. “Is this a social experiment?”

“Yes, it is. Quite perspective, aren’t you.”

“Ah, my luck would put me in this kind of situation, wouldn’t it,” Komaeda murmured. “Now is this good luck or bad luck? I wonder what to expect.”

Expect?

Kamukura did straighten at that.

“Komaeda Nagito. What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Komaeda cheerfully brushed him off. “It doesn’t concern you, Hinata-kun, if you really are just some nobody experimenting.”

Kamukura frowned. He couldn’t help but feel—frustrated at such a response, but he said nothing more as no response felt appropriate.

Their food was set out by the friendly waitress, who predictably smiled when Komaeda cheerfully thanked her. With a nod and the typical boring platitudes, she was off. Kamukura paid her no further mind. Instead he focused on Komaeda, humming as he bit into a slice of toast.

“It is unusual that you ordered breakfast food for lunch,” Kamukura remarked. “Perhaps that is a mere preference.”

“It’s not that strange,” Komaeda said through a mouthful of toast. “Quite a few people are like that.”

“I suppose.” He began to cut his meal into perfect pieces, each the same size. When he brought one to his mouth, it was with elegance. Not a drop out of place.

“The way you eat is much more unusual,” Komaeda pointed out. “But, I guess it’s endearing.” He softly chuckles into his hand. “Is this your first time on a date?”

“Could you tell?” Kamukura asked dryly. Komaeda laughs again.

“I-I’ve never been on a date before either and yet somehow I could still tell, haha!” Komaeda Nagito ends up coughing a few times, having to down more of his drink so that he could breathe. His cheeks are flushed from the exertion, and he clears his throat while avoiding the other’s gaze. Despite that, his lips are still curved upwards and it’s—certainly a sight.

“How would you say this is going?” Kamukura asked, less dry than before. “Would you care for a revisit?”

“What kind of wording is that?” Komaeda snorted, covering his mouth. Another muffled string of giggles. “I-I’m sorry, I-I don’t mean to laugh so much, it’s just…it’s just…!”

People laugh for all kinds of reasons. Mirth. Humor. Embarrassment. Disbelief. Misery. Although I have never laughed at all. Another aspect that others find unnerving. Inhuman.

“Another date,” he found himself saying. “After this one.”

“M-Mmm…” Finishing the rest of his drink, Komaeda’s eyes were wide and inquisitive. “Okay. If you’re going to demand with such a scary face.”

Kamukura nods, eyes intent and intense and yet Komaeda smiles without a care.

Oh.

Oh.

Komaeda’s smile is bright.

–

“Yooo, Kamukuraaaa! Heeeey!”

Kamukura pointedly ignores the calls in lieu of staring out a window, out at the clouds.

“Hey, heeeeeey!!”

Rather obnoxiously, he can see the caller reflected in the window glass. A wide smile—but not like Komaeda Nagito’s. Not like his at all. Komaeda wasn’t so outstanding with his appearance and force of personality. Kamukura stares at his own reflection, at his own features that have been called striking many a times.

“Enoshima-san!” someone else calls, firm yet friendly. “Kamukura-san seems busy. How about I show you around elsewhere?”

“Urgh, laaaaame! But would you really do that, Maizono-san? Aww, such a doll!”

That Enoshima is finally led away, and Kamukura lets his eyes flutter. He can’t see Maizono’s expression in the window, but he has observed her enough times.

“You do seem pretty deep in thought, Izuru-kun,” is remarked by another presence. The more mild-mannered man who likely kept his head down when entering rooms, although he too, had a particular smile. One that was likely as weathered into his face as the early wrinkles despite an arguable youth. “Have you been thinking about what I suggested?”

“Go out more, have more experiences, you may find the world more beautiful,” Kamukura droned, ever unimpressed. “Truth be told, those suggestions were too vague to be helpful.”

“Ah, sorry about that,” the other apologizes, smile apologetic. Again, Kamukura thinks of Komaeda. “But, for what it’s worth—you do seem to be in a better mood than usual. Has something happened after all?”

“You could say that,” Kamukura spoke more to the window, eyes more entranced by the overcast clouds floating above, blanketing the blue sky. “Kirigiri-san, your only desire is for efficiency. The details do not matter.”

Kirigiri’s face surely twisted a bit, but that smile would still remain.

“I do worry about you as a person, Izuru-kun, not just as your manager,” he goes on to say. Kind and gentle, like any well-meaning adult. “So, when you suffer a slump, it concerns me deeper than you may think.”

He assumes I think so shallowly of him. Even though he is, indeed, a shallow person.

“Perhaps,” Kamukura says. “The next song should be based on the sky.”

“Ah.” There’s a soft laugh from his manager. “That’s a surprisingly quaint subject for you, Izuru-kun. Head in the clouds, huh?”

He’s a shallow, shallow man.

“Something like that, I suppose.”

The perfect manager for an even more shallow individual such as myself.

–

He does not always write his own songs, because he finds he has too much and too little to say at the same time. And yet, when he finds a topic to focus on, it’s with perfect precision. Like a surgeon with a scalpel, he cuts through the ideas and meanings to delves into the core. Kirigiri had once compared his lyrics to a scholarly paper with one of those not-quite laughs. Despite the dryness of such a comparison, he had still been entranced by the song when recorded.

And yet, Kamukura Izuru could not say he felt much. Once he poured out everything, he was nothing more than a husk to be detached and left to rot. And yet, he was expected to continue. To write another song. And another.

Eventually, he is given the option to have a different songwriter—but he is told the results are less effective. Less interesting. More boring. And the brightness of the spotlights—both literal and metaphorical—are headache-inducing.

Truth be told, he’s not sure what the point of it all is. He simply remains because he has no direction.

No direction except for Komaeda Nagito, waiting by a sculpture of birds, with a couple pigeons even flocking by his feet. No aim towards anything except Komaeda meeting his stare and waving him over with a grin.

“Hinata-kun! It’s a special exhibit today!” he exclaims. “It’s the Underworld! One of the pieces is a re-imagining of Orpheus and Eurydice! There’s also paintings of spirits related to Taiwanese folklore…”

“Death is our certain, its hour uncertain,” Kamukura replied, cryptic and lyrical and Komaeda’s eyes sparkled.

“I recognize the reference! Hinata-kun’s actually quite well-read! How impressive!” Komaeda gives a round of applause. “You might have well seduced me then and there! Aha, kidding, kidding!”

With a twirl on his heel, Komaeda beamed up at him.

“Come on, Hinata-kun! Let’s hurry up and go inside!”

Kamukura is well-used to simply falling in line. To being manipulated and pulled along without complaint. He follows Komaeda ever compliantly here as well—and yet.

There is something else. Something that pulls him in rather than along. Even though Komaeda is lost within the museum booklet, still rambling about the various displays and exhibits. There is a minimal amount of space between them; it is all that could be considered necessary. And yet, Kamukura contemplates being closer. Pressing his shoulder to Komaeda’s. Allowing for the tickle of those wild white curls against his cheek.

It’s different. It’s odd.

“The map says this way, Hinata-kun!”

Kamukura follows. Ever compliant.

–

“Y’know, one of my favorite songs from Kamukura Izuru is about death,” was said at one point. Komaeda is looking upon a depiction of the Underworld, ever taken in. “It’s a natural human curiosity—and yet, it made me feel like no other. In that moment, Kamukura Izuru could’ve had his hands around my neck with how taken I was.”

“I see.”

“Such an impassive response!” Komaeda did pout but it was good-naturedly. “Hinata-kun, you strike me as hard to please. Except you’re here with me so I wonder how true that is.”

Komaeda skipped ahead to look at more art pieces. Kamukura followed after him. It’s largely quiet, despite the humble crowd gathered and scattered about. There are some couples, but mostly it’s groups college students, taking notes and talking amongst each other about their assignments. Komaeda does glance at them as he passes by but he’s careful not to linger. He doesn’t even make a remark.

There’s laughter from the group, and Komaeda nearly trips. Kamukura catches him swiftly, and takes note of how Komaeda’s face is flushed.

“I’m sorry,” is said as his date almost slumps into his arm. “Um. I feel like—I’m suffocating, Hinata-kun. Can we go outside for a bit?”

“Mm.”

–

There was a song I heard once—about a pair of children trapped in a museum. I listened to it, listened to the supposed heart in the song, and I still felt impassive. However—

Komaeda had clung to him as they made their way outside. Komaeda was slight and frail, as if simply dropping him to the ground could shatter him. Even through his coat sleeves, he felt the chill of Komaeda’s grip sink into his skin.

He remembers his song about death. The one Komaeda had mentioned. It is then and there, he realized how shallow and vapid it was.

“Sorry, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda murmurs to him in a soft voice, one that could so easily be crumbled by the wind. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Kamukura presses him close, embraces more of that chill and softness. Komaeda stiffens but he relaxes despite his clinging grip remaining ever tight.

How shallow and vapid have I always been?

–

The words come to mind, but never with emotions behind them. There is an art, of course, to pace and cadence. To beats and melodies.

“You really are talented, Izuru-kun.”

He thinks of wrapping his fingers around Komaeda Nagito’s neck. The image is quick to morph, with his hands moving upwards to instead cup Komaeda Nagito’s jaw. Brushing his thumbs over Komaeda Nagito’s cheeks and lips. Komaeda Nagito’s smile without a care.

“While you’re brilliant, you’re just—missing something.”

Komaeda Nagito sighing, pressing into his touch. Relaxing. Smiling.

“Why don’t you go out and just—experience the world a bit? You’ll find what you’re missing sure enough.”

It had been a ridiculous suggestion, because he knew what his manager wanted was undefined and vague. It was ridiculous, because to ask an idol to open up more to the world was dangerous. Treacherous. One might as well welcome contempt.

Kamukura Izuru knows that idols are expected to exist within a constrained paradox. Open to everyone, available to no one. Sincere while obscuring most of their true selves. Expected to act human while seated atop an inhuman pedestal. The perfect person in turns of looks, charm, and personality—a façade that was never to be shattered lest the pieces cripple the person.

It was—boring. Uninteresting. Egregious and yet expected.

Even Kamukura Izuru, who never really saw himself as a person, recognized the folly and impossibility. Really, approaching someone in spite of the dangers was an inevitability. Fixating on them for a change of pace was expected. Logistically speaking, it could have been anyone. It didn’t have to be Komaeda Nagito.

“Whenever you’re all deep in thought like that, I can’t help but worry, Hinata-kun.”

“About what?”

“About whether or not you’ve decided to kill me!” Komaeda exclaims with such wide-eyed seriousness, Kamukura notes birds scattering from the sound.

“If you truly held such concerns, you should worry more about your instincts of self-preservation,” Kamukura pointed out, settling on the bench, listening to the leaves rustle below and above. “You’re quite the peculiar person, Komaeda Nagito, not rejecting someone you distrust.”

“I haven’t seen a reason to reject you quite yet,” was Komaeda’s simple response. “And it’d be boring to avoid every bit of potential danger. Besides, I’m curious about you, too.”

Curious, he says. Thus, anyone else could be in my position. In this situation. Sitting with Komaeda Nagito in the park, staring at nothing in particular.

Kamukura tugs idly at his hat, conscious now of his wig and color contacts. The disguise he wore that reflected in Komaeda’s innocent stare.

“Do you wish to know more about me?”

In that moment, the rest of the world felt disconnected. Komaeda hummed thoughtfully, and he shrugged.

“Maybe? I wouldn’t know if I’m that curious about you.”

“Have you ever been that curious about anyone?” Kamukura finds himself asking. “Your beloved idol, perhaps?”

“No way! That’s way too presumptuous! Besides.” Komaeda laughs. “We’re not on the same level at all.”

“I suppose.”

“You only suppose! So naïve, Hinata-kun!” Another laugh. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t understand at all?”

“I cannot read your mind, Komaeda Nagito.”

“No.” Komaeda pauses briefly, rubbing his lower lip with a perplexed furrow of his brows. “Ah. Maybe it’s—you don’t understand why I love Kamukura Izuru as an idol?”

“It’s because of his talent,” was the obvious answer.

“Maizono Sayaka-san is also a very talented idol and I don’t love her nearly as much,” Komaeda corrected, shaking his head. “It’s more because of his presence. Even when in the same vicinity, Kamukura Izuru feels so distant.”

Distance is both a strength and a weakness for an idol.

“Come to think of it, Hinata-kun gives off that feeling too,” Komaeda went on. “Even when right beside you, you feel unreachable.” He leans against him. “It’s not as comforting as it is with Kamukura Izuru. If anything, I get incredibly anxious.”

Komaeda presses against him, rubbing his face into his shoulder.

“Mm… Kamukura-kun.”

His fingers trail down his arm, tugging gently at his sleeve.

“Even like this, I’m rather anxious. Shouldn’t you reassure me?”

Kamukura patted his head. Komaeda clung to him.

“Better than that.”

Kamukura kissed his forehead. Komaeda flinched, flushing quite darkly.

“W-Worse than that! Too much! Too much!” He rubs where Kamukura’s lips had been. “U-Urgh! I-I might faint, Hinata-kun…!”

Kamukura snorted softly.

“Ah!” Komaeda covers his eyes next. “Way too much! Now you’re smiling, Hinata-kun! It’s creepy!”

Smiling?

Kamukura stilled, impulsively wanting to feel it with his hands. He doesn’t. At least, not when Komaeda is still close to him like this. It would be—inappropriate.

“A-Ah, Hinata-kun!” Komaeda lets out a squeal when Kamukura presses him even closer, presses him into his shoulder so that it is physically impossible for Komaeda to see the expression on his face. That expression which no one else has ever seen.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda whined. “P-People are going to stare.”

“We can go somewhere more private, then,” is the obvious remark.

“E-Eh?!”

“Somewhere like your home, Komaeda Nagito,” Kamukura says then. “Shall we go?”

“What a thing to ask… Hinata-kun, you’re so dangerous.” Komaeda laughs. “And I’ve always lived so recklessly.”

He has no idea how this goes both ways, Kamukura thinks and it’s the first time it truly occurs to him. If anyone were to know—if even Komaeda Nagito were to know… I could be destroyed so easily.

The idea was beyond exhilarating.

–

Komaeda lived modestly but also sparsely. While it was a comfortably-sized home, it also was minimally furnished save for shelves of books and CDs. There were a couple of trinkets, but little else décor. Kamukura slipped off his shoes, and he breathed in the smell of bleach.

“I just cleaned earlier,” Komaeda explains about seeing his nose wrinkle. “I enjoy cleaning. I might even be good at it, ehe.”

“If you cleaned any further, I wonder what would remain of this place,” Kamukura replied, shuffling after him. “Goodness, your kitchen looks completely unused.”

“I don’t use it,” Komaeda said, just a little flustered. “I don’t know how to cook. My fridge isn’t really stocked either. I typically eat out. It’s not the healthiest way to live but—it is what it is.”

“Convenience is a virtue in these bustling times.”

He runs his fingers along the various spines of books. He pauses when he notes that there’s a journal on the table. He politely ignores it as he sits.

“Sorry, I don’t have a television,” Komaeda apologizes almost meekly. “I also still need to buy a new tea kettle. Actually, all I really do when I’m hope is read, write, and sleep.” He gives an almost careless shrug. “Maybe stare out the window for hours if that’s the mood.”

I’m the same way. I know how empty such a pattern is.

“I like writing stories and song lyrics!” Komaeda exclaimed next, lighting up as he indicated the journal finally. “This is full of ideas. They’re all awful, but not having anyone to share them with is boring so feel free to read through.”

With a huff, Kamukura flipped through. Indeed, there were meager attempts at poetry, even a few mindless scribbled sketches with the skill of a toddler. One in particular, caught his eye.

“The Rotten Wolf?”

“Ah, that one’s embarrassing,” Komaeda laughed, cupping his cheek. “But what do you think of it?”

Kamukura squinted, trying to decipher the truly abysmal writing before skimming through.

There was once a boy lost and starving in the forest. As he sulked, he was found by what seemed to be a friendly wolf. The wolf led him to his owner’s house, which was made of candy among other confectionery treats. Happy, the boy gorged himself to his heart’s content. When the witch returned however, shrouded in shadow and insulted by the insolence, that witch imprisoned the boy and snapped at the wolf.

The boy was terrified as the wolf was ridiculed. Eventually, however, the witch had the wolf bring the boy meals meant to fatten him up. Realizing that he was going to be eaten afterwards, the boy refused to eat anything. The wolf tried to cajole him, but it was to no avail.

The boy would then begin to cry, to the wolf’s dismay. Any attempts at comfort were ignored, even the wolf apologized frantically for putting him in this situation. After days past, the wolf was further scorned, punished, and even starved for the boy’s disobedience. The boy saw how cruel the witch was, how the witch sneered at what a pitiful monster the wolf was.

The witch finally grew fed up with waiting and decided to throw the boy into the oven then and there. However, while preparing the oven, the wolf snapped and shoved the witch inside, shutting it and trapping the witch to their death. The boy, dazed and dizzy from his self-induced starvation, could only watch as the wolf retrieved the keys to his cage and trotted over.

Mustering up the last bit of strength he had, the boy not only freed himself but sank to his knees in gratitude before the wolf.

“The witch was wrong,” the boy said, running his fingers over and over through the wolf’s coarse fur. “You are not a monster, wolf.”

For a while, the wolf enjoyed the affection he had never known before. His tag began to wag furiously, thumping like a racing heart against the ground.

“No,” the wolf said, for he too, was delirious and giddy and salivating. “I am a monster. But I will keep your kindness within me always. I’m sorry.”

And with that admission, the wolf gobbled the boy up, laughing and sobbing all the while.

Kamukura blinked once at the ending, he blinked again at the crude scribbles of what was to be assumed was a wolf tearing a boy limb from limb.

“It’s a miserable story, Komaeda Nagito.”

“I thought so, too!” Komaeda exclaimed, as if affronted. “It’s so depressing! Not hopeful at all! And, yet.” He frowned. “When I thought about the wolf taking the boy home, it didn’t sit well with me.”

“Perhaps this is a reflection, then, of a deeply held belief,” Kamukura said. “One so unpleasant that even you do not like to acknowledge it, and yet, it still resurfaces. Time. And time again.”

That of an abused monster who takes further destruction over compassion and forgiveness. I wonder—if Komaeda Nagito learned the truth about me, what would he think? Immediate love? Reverence? Or would he be wary and afraid the way that boy should have been?

“Aha, you sound so contemplative, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda hummed then, a smile tugging at his lips. “Did something strike you?”

Komaeda’s gaze briefly flickers between him and the open notebook. That smile waned. His lips pursed.

“What I would give to know the thoughts swimming behind that dense gaze of yours.”

You would surely drown if you knew.

“Y’know, Kamukura Izuru’s voice is also so densely packed with meaning, regardless of the words being said,” Komaeda went on. “It was overwhelming. Suffocating. And yet, I found myself enraptured. Hinata-kun is—different from that, of course. You’re tangible for one thing.”

An idol should not be tangible.

And yet, all the same, he took Komaeda Nagito’s frail, pale hand and held it within his own.

“So much of you is vague and indecipherable,” Komaeda went on, ducking his head with pinking cheeks. “However, you are still tangible, Hinata-kun.”

He squeezed Komaeda’s hand. It’s cold.

“I…think this is enough.” Finally, finally, he releases and pulls back, putting the appropriate distance between them. “I apologize. I may have pushed boundaries if not outright crossed them.”

“Eh?” Komaeda’s expression remains innocent if inquisitive. “Why does that matter to you now, Hinata-kun?”

What kind of question is that? Shouldn’t the answer be obvious? Then again, Komaeda Nagito really has no self-preservation at all, does he. He allowed it to escalate to this extent, and was clearly prepared to matters to go even further. Even deeper.

“I apologize,” he found himself saying in lieu of anything else. Explanations. Confessions. He felt deeply in the wrong. How bizarre. The sudden wave of guilt was—painful. “I truly apologize.”

Komaeda frowns.

“Goodness. I really don’t understand you at all. But I guess I forgive you.”

“I used you,” he burst out with. “Are you that detached?”

“I let you use me because I didn’t care, yes,” Komaeda admits it so easily. Kamukura sees himself and it’s startling. “I thought it would be interesting, after all.”

Despite that, despite everything, Kamukura takes Komaeda’s hand and squeezes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m sorry. I didn’t care either at first—and that was wrong of me.”

How treacherous this is, not just for an idol but for a person.

“You’re upset, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda’s frown deepens. “I really—don’t understand.”

“One day I hope you do,” Kamukura whispered, running his thumb over Komaeda’s bony knuckles. “For now, it’s best we part. Thank you for indulging a stranger—but please, for your own sake, be more careful.”

“Aha! What are you, a parent?” Komaeda laughed without a hint of mirth. “I’m not a fan of that, even if I’m definitely going to feel a little lonelier after you leave. Please don’t forget about me when you go, Hinata-kun?”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, but if you’re going to use me to tell embarrassing stories, I’d rather you didn’t,” Komaeda went on, waving his free hand. “I’d rather just remain in your thoughts if that’s okay.”

“Very well. I—do not think I can share you with the rest of the world either way.” Kamukura inhaled. “Because, I would like to keep you safe, I’ve realized. Which is why—it is best that we part.”

“Mmm, still don’t understand but I’ll accept it all the same, I guess.” Komaeda smiled brightly. “Hinata-kun, it was nice meeting you. Oh! Should I give you a farewell present for putting up with me this long?”

Kamukura is quiet for a moment before he reaches out and ruffles Komaeda’s hair. Komaeda giggles at the gesture.

“Just your regards are enough, Nagito. Thank you. I apologize. Please—take care.”

With that, he stands. Komaeda skips after him, following him to the door.

“If I ever see you again, can you tell me more about yourself?” Komaeda asks as he retrieves his shoes. “Like, maybe your actual name, perhaps?”

Ah. What a selfish desire on both our parts.

“Kidding!” Komaeda chirped. “I’m not nearly as indulgent as you are!”

Kamukura hummed, not responding as he slips on his shoes and opens the door.

“Take care, Kamukura-kun.”

He immediately froze, but by the time he spun on his heel, Komaeda had already shut the door between them. And there was nothing more to it.

Nothing but to duck his head in further apology before finally going on his way.

–

“Ah, good morning, Kamukura-kun.”

“Good morning.” He nods politely, playing with the petals of the various flowers set in a vase. “Early as usual, Maizono Sayaka-san.”

“Haha, yes, and that’s not the only thing we have in common either,” Maizono chirps, holding up her own bouquet of lilies. “How have you been? How are things going with Kirigiri-san?”

Always so quaint. Always with ease.

“I arrived early to give myself time to think about what to tell him, actually,” he said. “I would not be surprised if a certain someone caught wind of the ridiculous assignment that he gave me.”

“Enoshima-san might have mentioned something like that,” Maizono admitted rather sheepishly. “If you’re insecure about it, you shouldn’t worry, Kamukura-kun. Kirigiri-san’s not really expecting anything grand, I don’t think. Of course.” Brushing past him. “You’re not the type to admit to insecurity, even as part of the performance.”

“No, I am not. But. I did realize the folly of Kirigiri-san’s demands.” A pause, in both his words and Maizono’s steps. “He asked for something impossible. And something I ended up unwilling to share, anyway.”

“Ooh, how scandalous,” Maizono joked ever good-naturedly, such a practiced actress that the edge was near perfectly obfuscated by her sweet laugh and smile. “But it’s good to have some privacy from the public eye. Just be careful.” She does hesitate for a moment before smiling again. “You know how Enoshima-san is about gossip. And even Kirigiri-san can be stern. Not like his daughter, though.”

It’s similar. The way Nagito smiles compared to this.

“It’s selfish, but I hope I see that person again,” he whispered.

“I hope so too,” Maizono said honestly. “I can already tell you’re much brighter, Kamukura-kun. Just try not to be blinding! I can’t lose to you, after all!”

With a cheerful wave and skip, Maizono fled that scene. Idly, Kamukura wondered about her, but inevitably, his mind went back to Komaeda Nagito. It’s painstakingly simple for that image to warp in various ways. From twisted and troubling—to soft and sublime.

There was a note attached to the letter he got. The handwriting is neat and fancy, nothing like Komaeda Nagito’s shaky penmanship.

Too dizzying. Too distracting. Too blinding.

And despite that, a smile pulls at his lips despite the fact that he is still utter devoid of joy.

There is no scientific explanation for him and what he evokes the way there is for the sky and its sensations. And even though that is absolutely illogical, Komaeda Nagito is both as consuming and as distant as that same sky. How difficult for an idol. How difficult for me.

All the same time, he thinks he would have remained in blissful yet wretched emptiness if not for him and that counts for something.

I do want—to see his face in a crowd one day, but I’m not that selfish.

“Ah, Kamukura-kun!” Kirigiri lights up easily upon seeing him. “Ready for today already?”

“Yes,” Kamukura says, turning away even as everything about it lingered. “Of course.”

I’m happy to have just been heard by you. I do pray I can meet you properly one day. Perhaps at the end of all of this where the sky ends and the world begins.

[dogbearinggifts]

Little Tyrants, Chapter Three: No Other Superstar

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Vanya was four, Reginald Hargreeves visited her cell. But not to take her powers away. Just to let her know he could. Just to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her powers were a privilege he could rescind should she ever choose not to fall in line.

Years later, the old man is dead—and the last sibling Vanya wants to see has reappeared in the Academy courtyard.

This work is also available on AO3. 

Author’s Note: If you’d like to read the asks that inspired this story, you can find them here and here. Follow-up asks can be found under the tags “vanya keeps her powers au” and “five returns as a kid au.”

The title of this chapter is taken from Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi.” 

Prologue  Chapter One  Chapter Two

********** 

Leonard had never been overly fond of coffee.

He drank it when it was in front of him, drained the mug and didn’t complain. To call it a show of strength would be overstating the issue—were that the case, his fellow inmates would have hosted more coffee-drinking contests than brawls, and Leonard could have risen to the top simply by forcing more and more of the stuff down his throat. No, there was something else to the ritual, something less dire yet more crucial. Drinking coffee, drinking it hot and bitter with no sugar or milk to make the experience somewhat pleasant, wasn’t proof of one’s strength, but denial of one’s weakness.

The thought brought a smile as he watched Vanya shake cocoa powder over a pile of whipped cream.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He allowed his smile to remain. “Just the way you take your coffee, is all.”

The whipped cream, a perfectly formed swirl of white, was nearly covered in a layer of soft brown, like the last patches of snow clinging to a mound of dirt. “Sugar and coffee with more sugar on top. If you’ve got a better way to toast my dad, let’s hear it.”

Leonard covered a flash of irritation with a chuckle. He’d learned a lot about Sir Reginald Hargreeves from the man’s daughter. For their first few dates, he’d taken her into or past various coffee shops around town, hoping to jog her memory of the incident that had, by some miraculous failure of the justice system, not landed her in prison. He’d expected a monologue about her restraining order or the woes of anger management; instead, he’d been treated to long lectures on Sir Reginald Hargreeves’ views of sweets and caffeinated beverages. Coffee. Coffee with sugar, coffee with creamer, coffee with nothing. Tea with milk added. Tea with dried fruit mixed in. Tea from the furthest reaches of the globe, tea from the local supermarket. He approved of none and had once spent thirty minutes tearing into the poor courier who mistakenly left a canister of ground coffee on the back step with the rest of the groceries. Harold Jenkins would have snatched up Reginald’s hardline stance on decaf and stowed it away in his collection of Umbrella Academy trivia. Leonard Peabody had been left with no choice but to smile and nod and wait for her to whine about something he could put to use.

Vanya could have launched into another diatribe, but instead she lifted her mug and sipped, leaving a dollop of whipped cream on her nose. On another girl, Leonard might have found it cute. “You’ve got a…”

“Oh!” She fumbled for a napkin, then wiped it away. “Thanks.”

“How was the service?”

“You mean the one we postponed?”

Leonard’s spirits gave a small leap. “Aw, you’re kidding!”

“Nope.” She sighed. “Apparently, when some brother comes back, you suddenly can’t have a funeral anymore.”

“Brother…which brother? The druggie?”

“No, Klaus was there already. I mean, he was in rehab, but he wasn’t the one who came back.”

Leonard filed that bit of information away, though he didn’t spy an immediate use for it. “The Moon guy?”

She shook her head over another sip of coffee, one that left no trace of whipped cream behind. “That’s Luther. Five’s the one who came back.”

“Five.”  The boy had been given a name at some point, but the papers and magazines and comics had never introduced him as anything other than Number Five. For a time, Leonard had tried to work up the courage to ask his classmates to call him Number Eight, but that desire was long since dead. “Didn’t he leave when you were—what? Thirteen?” 

“Yep. Just ran out the door and never came back.” The bitterness that worked its way into her tone was slow, growing slightly with each word. “Well. Until yesterday.”

“Damn. Must’ve been weird seeing him.” 

“That’s an understatement.” 

“He try to shred your mask again?”

He said it with a smile, but Vanya’s expression darkened. Leonard couldn’t say what about moping could rouse her anger, but whatever it was, he’d take it. “Nah. Just moped around the house until I left.”

Leonard tried to reconcile that image with the prankster he’d once admired, the one whose smile always hinted at an amusing secret. The two meshed about as well as oil and water. “What’s he got to be sad about? Came home, didn’t he?”

“I know, right?” Vanya took a bite of her bagel. Leonard had stood by as she followed the barista around the counter, watching her slice it and place it in a toaster oven and then a bag. The barista had managed to complete the task without error, despite her frequent glances toward the phone and its promise of a speedy response from the police. “He pops back in after sixteen years and he’s all anybody can think about.”

“That’s weird.” If Vanya didn’t intend to explain Five’s drastic change in personality, it would be pointless to ask. “I mean, it seems like they’d want to get your dad’s funeral over with.”

“God, you’re not kidding. I told ‘em we should just have it then, and Allison’s all ‘Oh, well, we really should wait, Five’s upset and we’ve got to wait for him to get better.’” She rolled her eyes, letting the bagel fall to her plate. “Come on. How long does it take to go outside and dump some ashes on the ground?”

“I dunno. The Sir Reginald Hargreeves, dead?” Leonard nearly added at last and caught himself just in time. “Maybe they want to be in the right frame of mind.”

“What frame of mind? High? That’s what Klaus’ll be. Everyone else’ll just be bored.” She lifted her bagel again and talked around her next bite. “Don’t know why they keep dragging it out.”

“Nobody wants to be there, huh?”

“Nope.”

“So why’re they staying? Couldn’t you all just say nope, no funeral for you and move on?”

Vanya sighed again. “I guess there’s something in his will about how he needs a real funeral with all his kids there. Can’t leave until we get the service over with, but you know. Nobody in my family knows how to do things the easy way.”

“Or the smart way.” From the way Vanya spoke, he’d figured a family reunion would be about as welcome as a family case of scabies, and the sooner they could all leave the Academy and return to their lives, the better. That probably still held true, but if the five of them—six now—were legally obligated to carry out a memorial service which they’d chosen to postpone, then it bought Leonard some time, though he couldn’t say how much. 

She sniffed. “You think my family’s ever done anything the smart way?”

*******

Number Five. An odd name, but not the oddest Hazel had found waiting for him in a Commission file. 

Much of it followed standard Commission format: a photograph, a location, a handful of scattered facts. Sometimes the latter came in handy, sometimes they didn’t. Learning that Zoya Popova had a bit of a sweet tooth hadn’t aided in her death, though the tidbit stuck with Hazel long after her body had cooled. 

It was the photograph, in this case, that held his attention. Dark hair, dirty and dulled. Pale skin clinging to cheekbones more prominent than they ought to be.  Whoever had snapped the photo had cropped out his surroundings, leaving only his face, dominated by wide dark eyes averted from a camera they hadn’t seen. Most targets didn’t smile in their file photos, and Number Five was no exception. 

“What’re you looking at?” 

Fifty or sixty jobs ago, Hazel might have told her he was studying the target, seeking out any additional information that might help them carry out the job as quickly and cleanly as possible. Staring down yet another night on a mattress that should’ve been thrown out five years back with the smell of cat piss in his nostrils, Hazel couldn’t muster up a single reason to lie. 

“Target. Number Five. How old d’you think he is?” 

“I dunno. Twelve. Fifteen, maybe.” Cha-Cha opened the closet door, peered into the shallow space, and moved on to the restroom. “Should be easier than the last guy.” 

That was Hazel’s cue to offer a few words of agreement, maybe crack a joke before letting the matter drop; but Cha-Cha had nudged aside the curtain now. She might as well have grabbed a handful of his hair and given one good yank, for all the good that rustle did his aching head. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m making sure we have enough space to do what we’ve gotta.” 

Hazel let himself fall onto the nearest bed, the creak masking his sigh. “Run in, shoot the kid, run out. You really think we need another plan?” 

“If this one goes the way that job in Guadalajara did, yeah.” She closed the bathroom door behind her and moved past him to check the front window. “Should’ve had a backup plan for that one.” 

“Still did it on time.” 

“Doesn’t mean we did it well.” She pressed herself against the wall, leaning back to inspect the window without opening the curtains. “You heard what the Handler said.” 

He’d heard. And heard, and heard. The Commission was lucky they had all the time in the world at their command, considering their managers spent so much of it lecturing agents for perceived failures and slights. “Long as we get it done.” 

“You know that’s not how it works, asshole.” 

Hazel sighed. Working for the Commission wasn’t like delivering the mail or washing dishes in the backroom. Completing the task on schedule was never enough—no, they wanted flair. Nothing too noticeable, nothing that might be traced back to them, but speed alone wasn’t enough. Professionalism. Style. A body that left few clues for the authorities and enough questions to keep the case in their minds long after it had gone cold. One of those things on its own might earn a nod of approval; it took all three of them together to gain the Handler’s praise. 

Her inspection concluded, Cha-Cha turned from the window, but her foot snagged on the briefcase, sending her stumbling across the floor, nearly falling onto Hazel’s bed. 

“Shit!” Cha-Cha caught herself, arms braced against the bed, and pushed her way to her feet. “Why the hell’d you leave that thing on the floor? You know we’re supposed to carry it!” 

“I was sitting down! You expect me to carry it while I’m sitting here?” 

“I expect you to not leave it in the middle of the goddamn floor!” 

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t have tripped over it if you’d watched where you were—” 

“It’s not about me tripping, it’s about you leaving the goddamn briefcase out where anybody can grab it!” 

“Oh, like we’ll have the whole city walkin’ on through while we’re here.” 

“Just put it somewhere safe, will you?” 

Hazel could have tugged it closer to his bed, shoved it as far under as the boards would allow. That was the response she expected, the one she wanted. It would have been easier, ended the whole exchange on a somewhat peaceful note and made it less eligible to become the topic of a later argument. 

In one swift motion, he was on his feet. A few steps took him to a large grate set into the wall, and a few twists of the screwdriver attachment in his pocketknife had the screws in his hand and then on the table. 

“Oh, no. You are not putting it in there.” 

“You told me to put it somewhere safe.” He hefted the briefcase into the mouth of the shaft with a clanking thud. “And there it is. Somewhere safe.” 

“The Handbook says we’ve gotta carry it at all times.” 

“Well, then you carry it.” 

He watched her, grate in his hands. After a moment, she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and turned away. 

“Well, all right, then.” 

Hazel put the grate back in place, reached for the screws, and realized it would be more prudent to leave the grate unattached to the wall. Of all the things to land him in hot water with the Commission, not being able to reach the briefcase in time because he’d sealed it inside the wall seemed like one of the dumbest. 

When he got to his feet, she was now the one with the file open. Number Five’s photograph sat off to one side, the left edge of his face obscured by her thumb as she read what scant details the Commission had provided. “Any idea where to start with this kid?” 

“Should probably find him first.” 

“Thanks, dumbass. Couldn’t have guessed that.” 

“You asked.” 

Cha-Cha tapped a forefinger against the page. “Says his name’s Number Five. Can’t be that many kids in one city named after numbers.” 

“Probably not the only kid here with a shitty name.” 

She dropped her arm and the file with it. “Now why the hell would you think that?” 

“Oh, come on. With our luck, they probably sent us to the one city where every kid’s got some bullshit name. If there’s a kid named Number Five, there’s gotta be one named Gas Station Bathroom or That Year I Washed Dishes With a Man Named Hank.” 

“Well, if that’s what we’re dealing with, then we should still be able to ask around and find a kid named Number Five.” 

That tone, so purposefully even and intentionally calm, set Hazel on edge. He’d agreed to travel with a partner, not a parent. He’d agreed to work alongside her, not submit to extended lectures and constant condescension. “You know it’s not gonna be that easy.” 

“Doesn’t matter if it’s easy or not.” She hefted their package onto the bed. “As long as it gets done.” 

*******

Vanya didn’t discuss her family when she played the violin.

After their months together, in whatever one might call their semblance of a relationship, Leonard still hadn’t decided how he felt about that. No talking meant no endless litany of woes caused by a family she hadn’t seen in years or a court system that had decided a slap on the wrist was too harsh for what she’d done. It also meant a halt to tidbits about that family, snippets of information Leonard could commit to memory and scribble down later. There was a silver lining to every cloud, as he’d heard, but in this case he couldn't be sure which was which.

The comics had gotten her power wrong. Those writers, those artists—they’d understood her capabilities. They’d known how easily she could bend sound to her will, how she could magnify footsteps and rustling newspapers into a force ready to smash an entire wall to bits or toss robbers and kidnappers about like dishrags. All of those things had made it onto the page, though absent the blood and screams Vanya mentioned as matter-of-factly as she mentioned the time of day. 

Her violin changed things.

It didn’t rob her powers of their destructive potential. He knew as much long before the first strains of Tchaikovsky sent the curtains dancing as though in a gale and set her lampshade swaying back and forth, before the force of it hit him like a drumbeat blared through speakers placed too close. And it would be a mistake to say she had less control without her music. He’d seen and heard enough to know otherwise.

But there was a distinction. Without her violin, her power was a hurricane barreling down the coast, ripping trees up by their roots and tearing homes to pieces before tossing them aside. When she played, it was like an army marching in columns, guns at the ready and every step synchronized. Both were under her command, yet the difference between them was the difference between a man with a pistol demanding money in a back alley, and a man in a tuxedo demanding compliance from behind a revolver. After six months, Leonard still couldn’t say which he preferred her family surrender to. 

The final notes faded; the ripples through her apartment quieted. Vanya gave a small bow as Leonard clapped. 

“Was that okay? I felt like the middle was a little shaky.”

“No, it was great.” The sheer level of power she packed into a simple string of notes was enough to give him chills. Were that power intentional—had she infused the music with the full brunt of her fury—she could have easily brought the complex crashing down around their ears. 

She set her violin and bow in their case before returning to the sheet music, frowning over pages filled with notes she herself had arranged. “Something’s just not working there. Not sure what it is.”

Both her playing and composing held flaws, but Leonard knew so only from her habit of calling attention to them. Had he spent his teen years learning violin under the watch of Sir Reginald Hargreeves rather than waiting to be shuffled from juvenile hall to prison, he might have been able to spot them more readily than she did, point them out before she realized what she’d done, show her precisely which holes they created in the overall quality of her piece and tug at those holes until the whole production lay in shreds at her feet.

Instead, he kissed her cheek. She’d tensed at his first attempt months prior, but an apology, a frank discussion, and a pointed avoidance of similar acts for weeks afterward, had kept her from slamming the door in his face. Now, she relaxed at the touch. “It sounds fine to me.”

Her smile was genuine, soft and grateful. Almost charming. “Glad you like it. I’m still kinda new to this whole composing thing.”

It wasn’t enough that she could play music—oh no, she had to compose it too. Even with his limited knowledge, he could tell her efforts were nowhere near as complex as those of the composers she admired, but they sounded good. Pleasant. Had he not known the composer to be one of the Hargreeves, he could have enjoyed it. Here she was, writing her own music and playing the greats onstage, while he refurbished antiques for doddering old women and young people who thought themselves the first human beings in history to discover treasures in the past.

“Ever, uh….” The words were clear in his mind, the question more of a demand than anything; but he’d learned that the more uncertain his tone, the longer he hesitated before questions, the more it put her at ease. “Ever think of playing that for your family?”

“You’re kidding, right?” She stacked the pages together and slid them back into a folder, then stepped out of his grip as she snapped her violin case closed. “You know how many concerts of mine they’ve been to? None. Not a single one.”

It was amazing, he thought, how quickly bitterness could replace the uncertainty in her tone, take her smile and turn it into a scowl. Not every mention of her family did that, but those that did needed to be remembered, placed together and compared until commonalities emerged. “Aw, come on. I’m sure they’d listen to that.”

“Maybe if you tied ‘em up first.”

Leonard had considered the notion back when his plan was still an idea, when his dates with Vanya were still awkward and suffused with the sort of tension one might expect from international negotiations; but it had never progressed beyond that. A plan that took out Klaus and perhaps Diego before running afoul of Allison and Luther was no better than a plan that had him walk into the Academy unarmed and announce his intent to see none of them leave alive. “I’m sure it’d go better than you think.”

Her expression, never to be mistaken for one of joy and harmony, darkened even further. “Not with Five there.” 

“He doesn’t like violin?” 

“He doesn’t like me playing violin. I tell you he replaced all the strings once?”

“No.”

“Yeah. Changed ‘em out for yarn right before Dad wanted to hear me play.” Her jaw clenched. “Took me forever to find the strings.” 

“Couldn’t your dad just buy you some new ones?” 

“That’d make the most sense, wouldn’t it?” 

She didn’t elaborate further, and Leonard knew better than to wait for more of the story.  It could be difficult to predict when she’d launch into a longer tale and when the line or two she gave him was the story itself, but he preferred the option that didn’t compel him to listen and offer sympathy for minutes at a stretch. 

Vanya took her own composition back to where she kept sheet music for the orchestra separate from sheet music for her lessons. While her back was turned, Leonard cast a few quick glances about her apartment in search of some tool to turn the conversation back toward her family. As far as he could tell, she’d brought nothing back from the Academy, and kept nothing at hand to remind her of the eventual service in her father’s honor.

She glanced at the clock. “I’ve still got a while before I need to head to my next lesson. Want to walk around downtown for a while?”

Leonard would have sooner returned to prison, but she wanted to spend time with him. That was what mattered. He’d learned what she wanted, paid a little above asking price, and begun his investment. The more loyalty he gave her, the more kisses and hand-holding and rants about the unfairness of a world that bowed to her power he endured, the more trust she would reward him with.

He smiled. “Sounds great.”

********

Noon came and went. Hazel’s first year as a field agent had taught him not to expect meals at regular hours or intervals, that the job came first and his needs came second, if they placed at all. Combined with the jet lag he only managed to shake on jobs that lasted longer than they should have and the confusion that came with jumping from to day to night and back again, and Hazel had learned that mealtime was whenever he could set aside a few minutes to wolf down a bite. 

Even so, he was hungry by noon, so that seemed as good a time as any to start the usual argument. 

“Now? We’re this close to finding that kid.” 

“No we’re not.” 

“We’ve just gotta look a little longer.” 

“Look for what? It’s the middle of a school day. Even if we find out where he’s going, we’re not gonna get him. Should just wait until school lets out.” 

“If the Handler’d wanted us to do that, she’d have dropped us off right in the afternoon.” 

Hazel watched a red sports car pull slowly into the parking lot of a burger joint, then join a line of cars at the drive-thru. Sitting the way he did, elbow propped up near the window with his chin in his hand as though they were on a sightseeing venture and not a business trip, never failed to annoy his partner, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. “Just more shitty planning on her part.” 

“Shitty—” Only the motion of the car, it seemed, kept Cha-Cha from whirling in her seat. “They monitor time, Hazel. They know what they’re doing when they send somebody out first thing in the morning.” 

“Yeah. Right when they can’t even nab the kid they’re going after.” He shifted a little, trying in vain to relieve some of the pressure on his back. “God. Hate chasing down kids.” 

“How would you know? Number Five’s the first main target who’s not old enough for a driver’s license.”  

“Yeah, well, I hate it already.” 

Rather than launch into another lecture, Cha-Cha sighed, her shoulders sagging a little. “Yeah, me too. Been a bitch to find him.” 

That wasn't the reason Hazel would have chosen, but he didn’t offer one of his own. “You’d think they’d give us a little more information.” 

“They’re doing the best they can.” 

She had no proof they were, and Hazel had no proof they weren’t. As management styles went, the Handler’s was about as transparent as a soot-covered brick wall. She gave orders, and those orders were followed. Explanations were for those higher up the food chain. Questions were for those in charge. If Hazel broke into headquarters and found extensive profiles of past targets complete with facts that could have ended a job in minutes rather than hours, he wouldn’t even blink. 

He said nothing as Cha-Cha eased the car into a drive-thru. His stomach turned at the thought of another greasy burger, but searches for a target often placed her in a strange state of mind. If hours passed with no sign of the target, she’d push comforts aside. No glances toward scenery, no comments on the sights they prowled. No sitting down to rest. No water until her voice cracked or coughing set in. Most often it was Hazel who urged her to take a break for lunch, and then she’d complain about the smallest wait, try to sneak ahead in line when no one was looking. If she’d chosen to stop for lunch all on her own, hunger must have made it impossible for her to think of anything but. He tried to enjoy the anomaly for what it was, but his mind drifted toward a real, sit-down meal in an actual restaurant with table linens and napkins, a plate of manicotti that wasn’t warmed in a microwave beside a basket of garlic bread and a salad with housemade dressing and fresh croutons….

“Hey. Asshole.” 

Cha-Cha’s hand against his shoulder shook his thoughts away. Cool spring air floated through her open window; behind her sat a speaker and a menu. Faded letters on a backlit piece of yellowing plastic spelled out the names of simple meals. This place must have had the shortest wait, and it didn’t take a genius to guess why. 

“Just…uh…” The restaurant didn’t offer burgers, as he’d expected, but sandwiches. A nice tuna sub from a place like this would probably leave him flat on his back in the motel room, but the threat of hospitalization was enough to set him on a different course. The Commission didn’t take kindly to agents who brought their identities to the brink of discovery. “Roast beef is fine. Provolone cheese.” 

She repeated his order to the speaker, then pulled forward. Hazel half-expected her to snap at him, to remind him to get his head in the game because this job needed the both of them, but she kept her gaze forward. One forefinger tapped the steering wheel. 

“Number Five.” He couldn’t tell if she said to him or only herself. “Who the hell names their kid Number Five?” 

“Maybe they only wanted one kid and didn’t bother naming the rest.” 

“Why not just give ‘em all names that start with the same letter or something?” She passed a few bills to the cashier, took the change, and drummed her finger again. “There’s gotta be something else. Commission always gives us a couple clues, right?” 

He scoffed. “You call those clues?” 

“Well, they help.” 

“Since when?” 

“Beijing, 1411?” She didn’t give Hazel a chance to call that the fluke it had been. “That name. Number Five. Name that weird’s gotta be a clue.” 

“You didn’t say that when we went after Polly Esther Slack.” 

“We found her in—what? Two hours? Don’t need a real big clue for a girl who spends every Wednesday night and Sunday morning in the same damn place.”

“Well, far as we know, Number Five’s not spending his time anywhere.” 

“He’s somewhere, and somebody’s seen him.” 

She was right, but Hazel wasn’t about to admit as much. Not aloud. “So what’re we missing here?” 

She accepted the bag from the window and handed it off. Hazel took his sandwich and handed Cha-Cha hers. 

“I dunno,” she said. “But we’re missing something.” 

Hazel unwrapped his sandwich. Pale bread, suspiciously cold toward the center. Bits of dry beef stuck out from all sides, and a flash of yellow fought to tear his attention from the wilted lettuce. Part of him wanted to swear. Part of him wanted to demand they return to that godawful place and demand a redo. 

The rest of him lacked the energy for a fight with no chance of victory. 

He took a bite. The bread, at least, had been thawed enough for that, but not enough to conceal its origins. That was what held most of his attention—but it distracted him from the dry beef and processed cheese, so he followed that bite with another, and another. Cha-Cha didn’t touch her food. She drove in silence, pausing at stop signs but otherwise not deviating from whatever course the road set. 

In an instant, his sandwich was nearly pitched out of his hands as Cha-Cha slammed on the brakes. 

“Cha!” His hand snagged the grab handle and he clung to it. “What the hell—” 

She executed the fastest three-point turn he’d ever seen, one that left him glancing all around in search of police lights. None appeared. 

“We’re going downtown,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I know how to find this kid.” 

[hazzasoft]

the one where she hears him on one of the worst nights.

i wish i knew his name. i wish i could call up to him, knock on his door, even send him a note, to tell him i know how he feels. and one day, even if it might be the most difficult thing to picture right now, it’s going to be okay, i promise him. i moved into this apartment complex roughly three and a half months ago, on the outskirts of paris. rent isn’t too bad, i struggle to get by sometimes but i always pull through. somehow. i live one floor below the top floor, with rather thin ceilings. one thing i was blessed with was large windows outlooking the city, allowing me to listen to the boy’s beautiful voice from above me. oh, i’ve never heard anything like it. so tender, yet so grainy and raspy. the perfect mix, like wine and chocolate. his melodies drift and trickle down into the vast space of my apartment, if i want to listen more clearly i tiptoe onto the balcony, not too far in case he sees or hears me eavesdropping on his fairly private music sessions.

 it’s usually worse on friday and saturday nights, when she’s had a few drinks. crashing, banging, screaming, crying, mainly coming from her. i don’t know her name either, nor do i want to, listening to the vile things that tumble out of her mouth. why doesn’t he leave her? why? i’m so sure he can do better, that’s what i’ve gathered from the soft words that emit from him, always remaining at the same volume no matter how loud she becomes.

funnily enough, i’ve never even seen his face, despite many attempts of leaving my apartment at the same time as him, in hope to even catch a glimpse at what i’m sure is a beautiful person. the back of his head is a familiar sight however, watching him timidly carry himself down the apartment building stairs, short mousy brown curls bouncing atop of his head. stripy t shirts, billowy silk shirts on the hot days, knitted jumpers on cooler days. i lay awake sometimes imagining his eyes. bright blue? deep brown? glittering green? i’ll know one of these days, i hope. 

it’s 7.34pm and i’ve just pulled out a chicken pie from my oven, slightly burnt at the edges because well, i didn’t have my glasses on and i misread my mum’s text about how long to leave it in there for. leaving it to cool, i drink tea and listen to my sunday night playlist, a mix of piano melodies and slightly more upbeat songs. i bop my head along to the beats, mindlessly scribbling some thoughts i’ve had today. that’s when it starts. the shouting begins so loud, i drop my tea onto my hardwood floor, my favourite mug scattering all the way over to the walls, the tea just missing them, thankfully.

i scrunch up my eyes in pain for the boy, i know exactly what’s in store for him. her hurtful yelling goes on for roughly ten minutes before things are thrown. as i’ve said before, no loud noises come from him, only her. i wince at the smashing, it bringing back vague memories of an awful boyfriend from years ago. my heart goes out to him, i just wish he knew. that’s when something happens that’s never happened before. silence, but too quickly. then, a slam of a door. i hear heels clacking down the staircase, that’s when i know he’s free of her once again.

i creep to the balcony and listen out for anything, that’s when my heart stops. crying. small, quiet sobs from the curly haired man. and before i know it, i’m running up the stairs and knocking on the door.

“please go away, i can’t take it anymore.” he sobs, his voice muffled by the walls. i clear my throat, wondering what the hell to say to him. “hi, erm, it’s not her. i live downstairs. are you okay?” i ask, thinking how awful of an idea this is. instead of a voice, i hear slow shuffling and a bolt unlocking. the door opens ever so slightly, the mans green eyes greeting mine. green! i knew it. my breath catches in my throat, not because of his beauty, but because of the pain in his eyes. he shyly looks me up and down, not in a flirty way, obviously, but in a scared way. a look of sympathy flashes across my face, and before i know it, he opens the door just wide enough so i can come in. 

“sorry about the mess.” he mumbles, quickly turning away from me in a hurry to pick up the smashed glass and knocked over flowers. “don’t be silly. you never answered me, are you okay?” i ask quietly, i’m too scared of speaking loudly because he’s so fragile. “fine, yeah.” he mumbles. so he’s british, like me. i walk round to where he’s facing and i’m instantly horrified. crimson blood trickles down his face, the source coming from a small gash just above his right eyebrow. you can see where he’s wiped the blood on the back of his left hand, covering up a cross tattoo.

“oh...” i mumble, my face falling with my knees in attempt to get a closer look at  it. he flinches away, just like a hurt puppy would. the gesture brings tears to my eyes, you can clearly tell this horrible girl has broken him. he sits there, shoulders hunched in defeat, holding a couple shards of glass. i reach out and take them from him, collecting the rest too. we say nothing to each other during this process. i find a tea towel and dampen it, i can’t just let the poor man bleed. 

i walk back over to him hesitantly and attempt hand the towel to him, he doesn’t even react. so i do it myself. i’ve never been gentler with anything in my entire life. this man is being held together by threads, one wrong move could be fatal. i dab around the cut softly, soaking up most of the blood. i’ve been so focused on not hurting him anymore, i don’t even notice the tears trickling down his stubbly, tired face. 

“I’m so sorry.” i say. i say that because i can’t think of anything else to say and i know in this moment not many words can make him feel any better. trust me, i’ve been there. maybe not to this extent, but enough to know what the right thing to say is. and that’s nothing. i ever so gingerly wipe his tears away and he slightly leans into my touch, as if he’s been deprived of careful human sympathy for months. i think that’s why he’s not telling me to get out right now, that and the shock. 

i finally get to appreciate his beauty fully. his long eyelashes pressed closed, his plump lips wet from tears dripping on them, his ever so slightly tanned forehead, probably from lounging in the summer sun. this man doesn’t deserve the hurt he’s going through. nobody does. his eyes flutter open and reach mine, allowing a hint of a smile to tug on his lips. almost as if he’s thanking me. i return the smile, a tear rolling down my cheek. i don’t even know him, but the sheer pain in his face is all too familiar to me. 

“it’s going to be okay, i promise you.”

[nyalapeno]

Salt in the Sea - chapter 1

To celebrate Ei-chan’s birthday! <3 He’s my eternal fave character so I wanted to write something for him. 

So here it is - my Eijun-centric Miyusawa fic :) I’ve posted it on Ao3 as well - here it is. [Salt in the Sea]

I hope someone out there will smile reading it~

Chapter 1 ~ I don’t give a damn about my bad reputation~

She... she wasn't listening. At all. His protests went ignored. Gramps had slapped him, but that was still a reaction, if negative - she wasn't reacting, just saying whatever she wanted. Was she purposefully ignoring everything that didn’t fit in with her plans because she was even more bullheaded than an average Sawamura? Or was she deaf? Did she need hearing aids? Was she old enough to need hearing aids?

"Do you nee--" SLAP!

Thus interrupted, Eijun winced and rubbed his cheek to get rid of the stinging feeling. His Gramps couldn't read minds but having known him for fifteen years he could certainly make a fine impression of it. In this case the slap was a preemptive measure as he'd been about to indirectly make a comment about the recruiter's age, and age and calories were risky topics at times.

But it would've been fine! It wasn't like she was listening in the first place.

And now she was tapping on her phone while sharing a table with her hosts. Rude! His mom, instead of telling her off, was watching the proceedings with interest.

"I can reserve the tickets for tomorrow, will that be alright?"

"Certainly!" his mom agreed. "I'll inform Ei-chan's teachers. It's not every day an opportunity like this comes along so I'm sure they'll understand!"

"What," Eijun deadpanned as he listened to his immediate future being planned out without his say so.

"Don't you 'what' me!" Eitoku scolded him. "A recruiter from that Seidou comes here personally to invite you and this is how you react? You should be thanking her on your knees!" Eijun huffed. He already said exactly what he thought about schools like 'that Seidou', not that anyone’d paid him any mind. Wasn't he allowed to have an unpopular opinion?

The recruiter, with his family's full support and encouragement, reserved tickets for Eijun. The travel plan sounded complicated as he’d apparently have to change trains a few times. Tomorrow morning he was going to be visiting the place and there was nothing he could do about it. Well, in theory Eijun could ignore the summons and not go unless Takashima came back in person and dragged him to Tokyo by his hair - when he was younger he used to try such tactics. But they'd just gotten him slapped every time, and besides it was a waste of daylight. So yeah, in theory only. In practice he was stuck.

Honestly, half of the reason he was protesting so much was the woman's total dismissal of his objections. No one liked being seen as an opinionless doll to be dragged around the country willy-nilly. Maybe he was exaggerating but sitting here and being ignored was unpleasant. He'd even rather she yell at him or tell him he was an idiot for not wanting to go. And his family still wondered why he wasn't jumping on the Seidou bandwagon. Were all students treated like air, or was it reserved for prospective students like him? Great advertising. Exactly who did it attract? Masochists?

"...Blech!" Eijun made a face as his imagination ran away with him. His dad lightly smacked the back of his head. Probably decided it already took enough abuse today. Speaking of, the recruiter had been impressed with his slapping skills and in fact appeared to approve of him starting a brawl after the match. He was really beginning to wonder about this super fancy baseball school. Masochists and brawlers... was this real-life Deimon High? Did they maybe have Hiruma Youichi the second? If he went there and met a violent student a year his senior who was called Youichi he would scream, Sena style.

He already felt like screaming to be honest. What the hell was this situation?

The scout was already saying her goodbyes, apparently having finished up with the ticket thing. Everyone was bowing and spewing niceties with not a thought spared for basic human rights while Eijun folded his arms across his chest and scowled at everything, unaware that his attempt looked more like a pout. His verbal protests had been ignored so maybe a visual one...?

"Sawamura-kun," the recruiter said, turning to him. She paused, took in his Rebellious Teenager PoseTM, then smirked. What the-- "I've reserved tickets for you, your mother has the details. Make sure to not be late for the train."

"As if I would be!" Eijun snapped, his offense at the situation temporarily transforming into offense at the insinuation. He was never late! Unless it was on purpose.

"Very good," the lady smirked at him again. Eijun's mouth fell open and he stared, bamboozled. She pretended not to hear the stuff that didn’t fit with her plans but responded to stuff that did? How convenient! "Then I won't be imposing on you any longer. Sawamura-kun, I'll be waiting for you at the first interchange station so you don't get lost." with this parting shot she left, leaving Eijun spluttering as he was insulted for the nth time in one conversation.

"I won't get lost!!" he bellowed after her.

Slap!

"Shut up!" Eitoku shushed him. Like Eijun with scowling, he had his own unique version of shushing.

"Don't complain, Eijun," his dad scolded. "It was thoughtful of Takashima-san to offer, the metro system in Tokyo is confusing. If you really were to get lost you'd be in Big Trouble," he shuddered, as though remembering something unpleasant from his past. Eijun blinked.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked, curiosity overriding offense. He hadn't seen much of the metro during his time in Tokyo so he had no clue.

"Even natives have trouble navigating it," Eishi said gravely. "It's better now, with all the apps they made for passengers, but it's still too complicated for comfort. I'd feel better if you had a guide."

"And I'd feel better if I wasn't going at all," Eijun muttered crossly.

"You ungrateful grandson!" Eitoku shook a fist at him but didn't slap. Maybe his hand was tired? "People make the effort to organize transport for you and you don't have to pay and you still complain?"

"Aaargh, I'm not complaining about free transport! I just don't want to visit this school in the first place, like I keep saying from the beginning! But everyone turns deaf when I speak! What is wrong with this world? Nobody’s listening! Nobody understands me!" he dramatized. Eitoku side-eyed him.

"Well, if you can go on like this then clearly you're just fine," he commented.

"Everyone," Chieko called out before anything else could be said. "I think this calls for a family discussion so why don't we get back to the table? I'll make more tea."

"I'll help!" Eijun yelled then bolted into the kitchen before anyone could stop him or talk some more nonsense. His mom followed while Eishi and Eitoku sat down at the table. Eijun collected the necessities while Chieko put the kettle on. The water was soon ready because they used an electric kettle and not a tetsubin. They did own a tetsubin, but it was being used as a decorative flowerpot instead. Which was just fine with Eijun who didn’t want to boil water on the stove. Not that he boiled water by himself very often.

"Mom, can I have hot chocolate instead?" Eijun asked, hesitating over the fourth teacup. He wasn’t really in the mood for tea.

"Of course, Ei-chan. Just try not to spill milk everywhere again." The kettle clicked as Eijun pulled out his usual mug and the can of instant cocoa.

"Mom! That time it was a new carton, it couldn't be helped!" he defended and went to fetch the milk.

"It could if you poured more slowly."

"Urgh… fine," Eijun waited for his mom to pour the water, then added cocoa powder and milk, making sure to handle the carton carefully. Full cartons could be tricky. "Ha!" he beamed at his success when nothing was spilled. Happy, he stirred the contents of the mug energetically, which resulted in some of the liquid flying out and forming a chocolatey puddle on the counter. "..."

"It's all right, Ei-chan, just clean it up," his mom didn't even seem fazed anymore.

"Uh, yeah, cleaning up now! Sorry!" Eijun wiped up the counter. Somehow, Chieko managed to prepare the tea and snacks in the time it took him to prepare his own drink. Respect. Together, they carried everything to the table.

"All right, Ei-chan," Chieko asked once everyone was sitting down. "Out with it. Why are you so reluctant about giving Seidou a chance?"

Eijun glanced at all his family members one by one. Unlike when Takashima-san was still around this time they looked ready to listen to what he had to say, if a bit skeptical (Eitoku).

"Because..." he took a deep breath. "Because look at how that lady acted! She totally ignored my opinion and just did her own thing, and she's someone who takes care of kids at this fancy boarding school! What if everyone's treated like that all the time? That's really bad especially because they live there! And she told us how she always looks at matches to find and pick the best players for her school like players were flowers or something, and that's so impersonal! Is this a school or a bouquet?  And it sounds like they're all about results and winning and I just don't like it at all! When playing baseball you should enjoy it, not feel like a soldier who'll get killed if he doesn't succeed! And I already promised everyone we'll all go to Miyoshi and recreate our team there so that we can have fun playing together as long as we can and I can't just go back on that because I got scouted somewhere! It's just all bad! And-- and--” he stuttered, hesitant to mention the last reason in front of his Dad and Gramps who’d likely laugh in his face... or slap it. “And the place is probably stuffy and sucky and full of snobs! " With this crowning argument Eijun broke off, huffing. Face having grown hot from his rant, he placed his hands on his cheeks to cool it.

"All I'm hearing is that you're assuming a lot of things about this school you've never seen before, because of what one woman told you," Eitoku commented. "You know what they say about assuming, right?"

"Gramps!" Eijun made a face at the lame comment.

"Hmph," Eitoku scoffed but didn't dwell on the subject.

"Why don't you just go there tomorrow and see if you're right or not?" Eishi suggested. "One visit doesn't equal to signing a pact. You can use that chance to see the place and decide what to do."

"So long as it's an informed decision and not one you made based only on prejudices, we'll all accept it," Chieko added.

"That's right."

"But..." they'd missed the most important part! "But I already said I'll go to Miyoshi with everyone!"

"And I suppose you think that if something comes up that will make you want to change that decision, your friends will get so offended they'll shun you forever?"

"Whu-- huh?" Eijun spluttered, thought process derailing like a faulty train. The depressing vision was unpleasant to consider and made his chest clench, but it was also unimaginable. He just couldn't see such a thing happening. His friends... they weren't like that!

"Is that how little you think of your friends and the bond you share?" Eitoku thundered, probably sensing weakness and decided to strike while the train was derailed. "Is your friendship something so flimsy and shallow it'll break because of distance?"

"No!" Eijun protested, because he didn't think so. "But we made a promise! That matters, okay?"

"Rather than a promise, I think you've been making plans together," Eishi corrected. "Unless you summoned spirits of warriors from ages past and took a blood oath under the moon?"

"We-- what?" Eijun gaped. Where did his dad even get that from? And people said Eijun was weird. "There was no blood oath, what the--"

"Then you were making plans. And plans can change sometimes, which is something I'm sure your friends understand."

"But WHY should I even change those plans?" It was so exasperating. That woman turning deaf to his protests was in its own realm of irritating but this was something else. This was his family telling him that they valued a stranger’s opinion over his. And sometimes the family had a point but it was still grating. The one going to whatever high school he ended up in would be Eijun, not his parents or his Gramps or that recruiter. Didn't he have the right to decide by himself? Whether it was Seidou or Miyoshi or something completely different...

Oh.

"Yes, Ei-chan," Chieko apparently noticed the dawning realization. "We just want you to consider all your options properly, not get fixated on one and reject all others due to lack of information and your defiant, irreverent, bull-headed personality." The adjectives were like anvils falling upon his head and Eijun's elbows slipped, face meeting the table.

"Urgh," he groaned into its shiny surface. He knew he could be bull-headed – hello, his zodiac sign was Taurus the bull – and had no qualms admitting it, but having it pointed out by someone else was a bit... And what was wrong with being irreverent? Japanese were too reverent, someone had to break the mold--

"Ei-chan."

"Yes!" he jumped up like a startled cat. "I understand! I'll... give Seidou a chance..." he trailed off, grimacing. Now that his family was discussing things with him properly his earlier ire had dulled, but he didn't like going behind his friends' backs like this. When he failed to show up to school tomorrow and they asked around and found out he was visiting some snobby school in Tokyo, what would they think?

"What's the problem this time?" Eitoku got to the heart of the matter.

"It just feels like I'm going behind my friends' backs, not telling them about this."

"Then tell them! It's the 21st century, don't you have phones and emails and those liana accounts you use? Why do I have to tell you this?" Eijun felt his jaw drop from sheer disbelief.

"L-- liana account? Wha-- Gramps, you have a LINE account! You talk to me on it! You send stickers! I know you know what it's called!"

"Don't you sass me, young man!"

"Now, now," Chieko mitigated the bickering duo, unable to hold back a smile.

"I'm the one who plays the fool in this house," Eijun grumbled.

"We know," three voices answered in unison, flustering him.

"All things aside," Chieko fixed Eijun with her  ‘I’m onto you’ look. Had she figured out he’d omitted something earlier? Probably. His mom was smart like that. “I think you should consider challenging yourself more, and this is a great opportunity to do that."

"You're never challenged anywhere, are you?” Eishi picked up the line of thought. “Definitely not in baseball, because you're the one who's challenging your friends. And every child your age should test their mettle at some point or they'll never grow. Your mother is right, Seidou might just turn out to be good for you."

"Will it really? How am I supposed to know if it's for me?" Eijun was understandably skeptical.

"You can't know until you find out yourself. By going there if you have to," Eishi paused for a moment, thoughtful. "Did I ever tell you? At one point in my life I wanted to be a musician." Eijun blinked.

"No, you didn't!" He definitely would've remembered that.

"I thought it was what I wanted to do in life, so I set off for Tokyo," Eishi smiled ruefully. "It took me three months to find out that it actually wasn't for me, and then I came back home--"

"Crying to me how 'Tokyo was so scary!'" Eitoku mocked him. They started a minor brawl which was broken up by Chieko before it could escalate. Eijun watched it all and grinned. A random visitor might think Eitoku was in charge of everything going by his personality, but Eijun knew who really wore the pants around here.

"My point," Eishi continued once he settled down, "is that it's fine to decide on something and then realize it was a wrong decision. Making such mistakes is a part of growing up. If you decide to go to Seidou and it won't work out for you, you can always transfer to Miyoshi, or just go back and help out with the farm. No one will blame you for it or laugh at you."

Okay, Eijun took back every complaint he made about his family today. They were the best.

"Speak for yourself, I'd definitely laugh at him," said Eitoku right after Eijun thought that, making him facefault.

"This is supposed to be encouragement?! I take back what I just took back! Ha! See? I'm not that stubborn if I can change my mind twice in under a minute!" he announced triumphantly, causing confused blinking as the others couldn't read his mind and thus had no idea what he was talking about.

"...Back to the subject," Eishi attempted to move on from the weird exchange. "Now that you've been offered an opportunity to attend a school like Seidou I think you should take it, if only to try it out. Even if you're not convinced, being scouted by a school of such renown has to be at least a little flattering, right?" He gave Eijun a questioning glance. Eijun flushed and turned away, grumbling to himself. It was, but hell if he was going to admit that. The pleasure and happiness that bubbled up in his chest when he realized that someone thought he had potential as a pitcher just didn't fit with the rest of his emotions, so he'd made sure to push it to the back of his mind. The feeling was still there but he could ignore it... until his dad's comment right now.

"Right," Eishi nodded after getting a good look at Eijun's reaction. "Whatever you may think now I can assure you, this feeling won't go away. If you don't take the chance it may die down for a while, but then it'll come back when you least expect it and you'll end up wondering what could've been. But by then it'll probably already be too late."

Too late. Eijun flinched as he realized his dad was speaking of regrets. His least favorite flavor was bitter and regrets basically personified it. If he chose to not even see the school, would he end up regretting it? Forever wondering what the place was like and if he could’ve fit in there if he'd given it a chance? He… had no idea. He’d been so stuck on going to Miyoshi with his friends that he hadn’t considered anything else.  Now the possibility his dad evoked made him feel vaguely ill, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach. Remembering his hot chocolate he sipped at it to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth. The sweetness on his tongue washed away the bitter taste the thoughts left and the liquid settled warmly in his stomach, warming him up from the inside and slowly loosening the knot of nerves.

Now that he was trying to be less bull-headed about the issue (what, he could admit his faults if only to himself), he realized he was curious to see what the snobby school looked like. The recruiter’s stories didn’t count as she was expected to show her school in the best light, and besides he hadn’t been too impressed with what he’d heard. So he should probably go there and form his own opinion. Like his dad said, the visit had no strings attached so there should be no problem. Well, as long as no one expected him to pretend to be impressed if he wasn’t.

A slurping sound cut through his thoughts. Eijun blinked, coming back to himself as he realized he’d finished his drink and was now trying to drink from an empty mug. Snorting, he set it down.

"Right," he shook his head to clear it. "I want to talk to my friends about this first, but tomorrow I'll keep an open mind."

"That's the spirit!" Eitoku said, nodding grandly in approval as though this was a state meeting.

"That’s settled then. Crackers, anyone?" Chieko offered, moving the bowl to the middle of the table. One third of its contents was mysteriously missing. Caught off guard, the men (and boy) stared at the different types of crackers like they've never seen any before. Chieko rolled her eyes.

"Alright, more for me."

"You're gonna eat the whole bowl?" Eitoku wondered. "That's probably a lot of--" SLAP!

"Go ahead, dear," Eishi sweated nervously, hand still covering his father's mouth after the strategic slap. As previously stated, age and calories were risky topics.

"Are there any spicy ones?" Ignoring the byplay Eijun peered into the bowl.

"The triangles," Chieko pushed it towards him.

"Yay!" Eijun grabbed a triangle and happily stuffed it in his mouth. He loved spicy food... Wait a second. "Eeeh? These aren't spicy at all!"

"Not for you, maybe," Chieko corrected him. Out of curiosity Eishi tried a supposedly spicy cracker and frowned in thought.

"It is spicy."

"What? No it isn't!"

"Sorry Ei-chan, you're outvoted."

"Let me try," Eitoku also grabbed a cracker. "Hah? It's not that spicy, what’re you talking about?"

"Ha! Two for two! It's a tie now!" Eijun waved his hands in a mini victory dance.

"Your opinion shouldn't count in the first place, Eijun; you once put a whole habanero pepper in curry."

"Hey! I ate it later, didn't I?"

"Because no one else would touch it. Not even dad."

"Excuse you, I'm perfectly capable of eating real man's food! ...But that time he overdid it."

"I don't want to hear that from someone who later made jalapeno ramen!” Eijun protested. “Which I also had to eat, by the way!"

"Of course you had to eat it, no normal person would eat such a thing." What a hypocrite!

"Then why even make it in the first place?" Eijun yelled in exasperation.

"Now, now," Chieko soothed them. "Ei-chan, it's getting late. If you want to talk to your friends you should do it soon. There's no way to tell how long you'll take, and you should also make sure to pack something for the road. It's three hours from here to Tokyo, even if you take the shinkansen."

"Right! I'll just make a group chat, I guess," Eijun thought out loud. Eitoku rolled his eyes but didn't comment.

“But first please help with the dishes,” Chieko said with a pleasant smile. Somehow Eijun didn't think this was about the dishes - well, not only. But it couldn't hurt to have an additional talk with his mom.

He went.

Then he had to go back for the mugs.

[niallsstainedcoffeecup]

An RA Love Story

Harry and Y/N are feuding resident assistants, but Y/N has a plan to bring both floors together.  Feedback and Request are welcomed.  Enjoy!  Lots of Love!

          Harry skimmed the weekly university newsletter.  He grabbed the steaming mug, sipping the boiling coffee. Harry hissed as the liquid burnt his throat.  Harry’s tired eyes attempted to focus on the Dean’s advice.  Last night,  Harry’s roommate, Zayn, ditched his RA duties.  Even though last night was Harry’s only night off, Harry watched over the third floor.  Did Harry enjoy working in a dormitory filled with the annoying freshman?  No, but Liam stole the last spot at the posh senior apartments.  A shrill scream from upstairs startled Harry.  Harry’s mug sloshed, spilling coffee on Harry’s sweatpants.  Harry cursed, standing abruptly, escaping from the burning pants.  Harry grumbled, knowing who’s fault this was.  Y/N, the fourth floor RA.  Harry despised Y/N for many reasons.  Y/N and Niall ran the fourth floor with a carefree attitude.  The freshman upstairs threw parties, which woke Harry from his slumber.  Y/N filled the third floor’s bulletin board with flyers about recycling.  Harry always threw away her flyers because nobody in college cared about recycling.  Y/N was like a pestering fly that wouldn’t stop bothering Harry.   *  *  *  *

          Niall jogged down the hall, knocking loudly on the decorated door. The young freshman unlocked her door, glaring at Niall.   “What do you want?” She hissed. Niall smiled, “We heard a scream come from your room.  Is everything okay?” The girl huffed, “Do I look okay?  My boyfriend dumped me after we slept together.” Niall wanted to roll his eyes at the naïve girl, but that would be against RA policy.  Instead, Niall swapped the grin for a frown. “I’m sorry.  That must be rough.  Would you like to talk about it?” Niall asked, praying she said no. The girl grinned, “Are you asking me out?” Niall’s eyes widened, “No.  I am not allowed to date anyone from this dorm.” The girl pouted, “Life is unfair.  I’ll be fine, but I can’t promise I won’t scream again.  He won’t stop posting pictures with my best friend.” Niall nodded, “I understand.  Maybe you should delete the app.  Have a lovely day.” Niall walked to his room, waving at everyone. Niall unlocked his door, stepping into the room.  Y/N sat on her bed, typing up another research paper.  Niall exhaled, falling onto his bed. “Why did I sign up for this job?” Niall complained, rubbing his aching knee. Y/N giggled, glancing up from her screen, “You are a good friend, and applied so I wouldn’t have to do it alone.” Niall nodded, glaring at her, “You promised me loads of beer.  Do I even get a beer?” She rolled her eyes, “Will you stop being an old man and read my paper?” Niall nodded, sitting up to grab her whirring laptop.  Y/N grinned, watching Niall’s facial expressions as he read her thesis.  Y/N didn’t know where she would be without Niall. *  *  *  *

           Harry stirred the ramen, reading the textbook’s small text.  Zayn stumbled into the messy room, grinning from ear to ear. Harry looked up at Zayn, glaring at the lovestruck man.   “Guess who slept with senior RA, Gigi?” Zayn asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Harry scoffed,  “You are the worst.  While you were getting laid, I took care of the floor.” Zayn smirked, “You did an amazing job. Would you like a night off?” “I don’t need a night off.  I also don’t need you leaving every night,” Harry grumbled. Zayn nodded, “Okay, I promise to work harder. Why are you so grumpy?” “Y/N’s floor won’t shut up.  One girl screamed and made me spill my coffee.” Zayn chuckled, “Why don’t you just sleep with her and get the tension out of the way?” Harry flicked Zayn off, leaving the kitchen.  Harry locked his bedroom door, needing space and silence.  Harry laid on his bed, closing his drooping eyes.  Noise from upstairs kept Harry awake.  Harry grumbled, deciding that tomorrow he would complain to Y/N.   *  *  *  *

           A loud knock rattled Y/N’s room.  Y/N shot up, wiping the sleep from her eyes.  Did Niall forget his key again, or did someone need her assistance?   “I’m coming,” Y/N called out, slipping her pink robe around her freezing body.   She shuffled, opening the heavy door. Harry waited until his clock passed midnight before he strolled down to Y/N’s dorm.  Since Y/N’s floor bothered Harry, he decided to interrupt Y/N’s slumber. Harry smirked once he saw her tired eyes staring back in confusion. “Harry, what’s wrong?  Did someone on my floor bother you?” She wondered. Harry nodded, “Your freshman constantly annoy me.  Do you ever follow the rules?” Y/N frowned, “Harry, Niall and I run our floor the best that we can.” Harry ignored the guilt gnawing at his heart, “Well, you better try harder.  My floor never breaks the rules.” Y/N nodded, trying to calm the anger boiling in her blood.  How dare Harry accuse her of not working hard enough.  It wasn’t easy to tend to thirty students.  Harry strutted off, proud of his speech.  Y/N didn’t understand why Harry disliked her.  Whenever she first met Harry, she fell head over heels. Harry would pop up in the laundromat, and Y/N would spill detergent everywhere.  Harry would ask her a question during RA meetings, and she would stutter over her words.  Y/N recently moved on, sensing the increased tension between Harry and her.  She hoped one day they could be friends.   *  *  *  *

           Niall arranged the pizza boxes, greeting everyone that entered the common area.  Y/N scheduled an emergency floor meeting tonight.  Niall planned on grabbing dinner with Liam, but Y/N offered to write Niall’s paper if he helped.   “Welcome, I’m sorry to call an emergency meeting on a Friday night,” Y/N cheered, grinning at the scowling faces. Niall stood up, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, “We decided to buy everyone pizza.” “Yes, help yourselves to free pizza.  We have a fun idea for everyone,” Y/N giggled. “Lately, the third floor has complained about our floor; we cannot sit back while they insult us.  Y/N came up with a plan,” Niall mumbled. “We will have a prank war.  Whoever shall forfeit first will clean our bathrooms for an entire month,” Y/N stated. Niall smirked, “Is everyone willing to participate?” Everyone cheered, chatting among themselves about ideas.  Y/N chuckled, feeling excited to prank Harry.  Niall whistled, gathering everyone’s attention. “What will our first move be?” *  *  *  * 

           At the beginning of the semester, Harry handed out his number to every student on his floor.  He didn’t like the idea of his students walking alone drunk, so he offered to help anyone in need.  What he didn’t expect was a phone call at six in the morning.  Harry answered the call, pressing his phone against his ear. “Hello?” His voice thick with sleep. “Harry, this is Tim from room 301.  Have you seen our hallway?” Harry’s eyes popped open as he quickly tossed the blankets from his body.  Harry ran toward the hallway, throwing his door open.  Harry gasped, nearly falling onto the first prank.  Tiny paper cups filled with water littered the third floor. “Dammit!” Harry shouted, spinning around to call Zayn.   One by one, each student opened their door to find the cups.  If anybody attempted to leave their room, each cup would knock over another, creating a mess.  Harry and Zayn started collecting the cups with help from the other students. Harry’s phone dinged with a message from Y/N. I hope you loved our little prank.  Love, the fourth floor.  By the way, if you forfeit then your floor cleans the fourth floor’s bathroom. Harry growled, declaring war on the fourth floor.  If they wanted a prank war, then they would get a prank war.   *  *  *  *

           Y/N’s alarm blared in the silent room.  Y/N stretched, brewing her first cup of coffee. She grabbed her bathroom supplies, needing to shower before her morning classes.  Y/N opened her door, yelping whenever she ran into the saran wrap blocking her doorway.  Niall jumped awake, glancing around the room. “What?  What happened?  Did someone try to break in?” Niall slurred out. Y/N shook her head, glaring at Harry’s text, “The war has begun.” I hope you don’t miss class.  Sincerely, the third floor.   “That man doesn’t know what he just signed up for,” She grumbled.   Removing the saran wrap from her door took five minutes, but helping everyone else with their blocked doors took almost an hour.  Y/N nearly missed her first class of the day.   *  *  *  *

           Harry attended a local fraternity party, where he hooked up with a stunning sorority girl.  Sadly, she didn’t love the idea of cuddling and kicked Harry out of her room. The midnight air was thick.  The bright moon shined down on Harry’s stumbling figure.  His hooded eyes searched for his dorm.  Why did Harry drink so many shots?  Harry managed to find his dorm, tripping up the stairs.  Harry rounded the corner, groaning once he found his hallway.  The fourth floor created a toilet paper maze throughout the hallway.  Harry sighed, beginning his task of removing the maze before anyone woke up.  Harry wondered how much longer he could handle this prank war.   *  *  *  *

           Niall opened the door, cackling once he saw the floating bananas.  Y/N pulled each banana from the hanging string, presenting each room with a couple of bananas.   “Do you think they are giving up?” Niall wondered, tugging on his skinny jeans. Y/N shrugged, “Maybe they are saving something for the real deal.” Niall nodded, watching Y/N change out of her pajamas.  Niall sat on his bed, pulling his phone from his pocket.   “How was the frat party last night?” Niall asked. She winced, recalling the memories from last night.  Liam asked Niall and her to attend, but Niall couldn’t leave the floor all alone.  Y/N showed up, drinking whatever drink that Liam handed to her.  Her head ached from the loud music blaring from the living room.  She escaped up the stairs, trying to find an empty room to hide in.  Her sweaty hands pushed open one door, stumbling upon Harry kissing some sorority girl.  Y/N didn’t understand why her heart broke, but she quickly shut the door, escaping before anyone noticed her.  Tears blurred her vision as she darted out of the house and back to her room.  Whenever she came in, Niall had fallen asleep, so he didn’t hear her sobs.   “The party was amazing,” She lied. *  *  *  *

           Harry dragged his feet toward Y/N’s room, preparing his forfeit speech.  He stood in front of her decorated door, waiting until the courage bubbled up within.  He exhaled, knocking softly this time.  The door swung open, revealing Y/N dressed in a beautiful dress.   “Harry, what are you doing here?” She asked, shocked that Harry stood outside her door. Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “Do you have time to talk?” She frowned, glancing down at her dress, “I have a few minutes.” She backed away from the door, allowing space for Harry to slip in.  Harry noted the difference in sides.  Niall’s side of the dorm was neat and all about Ireland.  Y/N’s side was messy and filled with Tumblr inspired décor.   “What did you need to talk about?” Y/N asked with a short tone. Harry quirked an eyebrow, “I need to talk about the prank war.  Did I do something?” She rolled her eyes, “You always do something. You insult me nonstop.  You think you are better than me.  You are the worst.” Harry’s jaw dropped. Where was this outburst coming from?  Harry glared, she was not going to walk over him. “I’m the worst?  You and your freshman keep me up all night.  You always fill our bulletin board with nonsense.  Nobody gives a shit about recycling.  You started this prank war, so if that’s why you are mad, then you can get over it.” Her nostrils flared, “That is not what I am mad about.  I started the prank war to bring the floors together.  You are ridiculous.  I can’t believe I had feelings for you.” Harry’s argument halted after hearing her admit that she liked him.  Harry opened his mouth multiple times like a fish out of water.   Y/N rolled her eyes, “Do you want to know why I’m mad?  I’m mad because you always treat me like garbage and yet I can’t stop drooling over you. I saw you kissing someone else, but I can’t stop picturing us together.  I’m sorry for bothering you.  I won’t talk to you again.  You can do all business through Niall.  Now, I have to go.  I have a date.” Harry’s heart cracked into a million pieces. Harry’s stomach churned with guilt. The look of sorrow on her face messed with Harry’s mind.  Did he hate her?  Was he trying to hate her to push away his feelings?  Either way, he was too late.   *  *  *  *

           Harry carried the bouquet of roses up to Y/N’s room. Harry owed her an apology.  After their conversation, Harry couldn’t stop thinking of Y/N.  Harry knocked on her door, hoping she was home.  Niall opened the door, smiling widely at Harry. “Hey, what are you doing here?  Are you here to forfeit?” Niall asked, leaning against the doorframe. Harry shook his head, “No, is Y/N here? I wanted to give her these roses.” Niall stared at Harry then at the roses, smiling at Harry’s blushing cheeks.   Niall shook his head, “No, she went out with some guy.  Do you want me to give these to her?” Harry nodded, “Thank you.  Can you tell her that I’m sorry?” Niall nodded, stealing the bouquet from Harry. All week Harry attempted to catch Y/N and apologize in person.  Every time Harry knocked, Niall answered.  Niall promised to give Y/N the bouquet, but she never messaged Harry.  Harry’s plan was failing, but he had one last trick up his sleeve. *  *  *  *

           Y/N stepped into her room, groaning once she saw another bouquet from Harry.   Niall chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Loverboy showed up again.” She rolled her eyes, throwing her scarf on a nearby chair, “Don’t call him that.” “How was your night out with Louis?” Niall smirked. Y/N huffed, “Louis and I are just friends.” “Why did you tell Harry that you were going on a date with him then?” She glared, “Who’s side are you on?” Niall shrugged, “I’m on Harry’s side.  He may have been a jerk, but he changed. He’s sorry.” Y/N ignored Niall’s comment, focusing on changing out of her clothes.  Was there a chance between her and Harry? *  *  *  *

           The freshman sobbed, blabbing on about her cheating boyfriend.  Y/N rubbed the girl’s shoulders, listening to her heartbreaking story.  Nights like these reminded Y/N of why she signed up to be an RA.  She loved helping people, and college students needed all of the help they could get. Y/N remembered crying to her RA about one night stands and dates gone wrong.  Y/N stayed with the freshman until she fell asleep.  Y/N left, loudly yawning as she checked each room.  Y/N noticed the common area light was still on, so she walked over to flick the light switch.  Harry sat on the couch, reading his textbook.  Y/N nearly screamed, startled by Harry’s figure.   “Harry, what are you doing here?” She hissed. Harry looked up from his book, grinning widely, “I am reading about biology.” Y/N rolled her eyes, “What are you doing on my floor?” Harry nodded, standing up to straighten his outfit, “I am here to forfeit the prank war.” Y/N smiled, “Are you giving up already?” Harry smirked, “I had many plans, but I figured you needed it more.  I’m sorry.” “What are you sorry about?” Harry frowned, “I treated you horribly. I talk about being kind, but I didn’t follow my advice.  You are doing the best that you can.  You are amazing at your job.  Our floor is best friends with your floor, and that wouldn’t have happened without the prank war.  You tied us together, and I was wrong to call you a bother.  I’m also sorry that you caught me with that girl.  I didn’t think that I liked you until I realized why you bothered me so much.  I didn’t want to date you because I was afraid to fall for you.  Now, I know that I am a fool to run from you.  You are amazing, and I’d be lucky to date you.  Can you give me a chance?” She blushed, “Harry, you are the absolute worst.  You bother me all week, and finally, sit out all night to ask me out?  What makes you think that I will say yes?” Harry stared wide-eyed at his shoes, “I don’t know.  I guess I was wrong.” She laughed, “Harry, I’m joking.  I will go on a date with you but don’t think you are out of that punishment.  Our floor likes our bathrooms cleaned with lemon cleaner.” Harry rolled his eyes, chuckling at her comment, “We will get started right away.  First, I have a girl to kiss.” She smirked, strutting up to Harry. Harry reached forward to tug her closer, but her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling his rosy lips to her waiting plump ones.  Harry was thrown off by her taking the lead but quickly wrapped his arms around her waist. The kiss sent chills down Harry’s spine and sent Y/N’s heart into a frenzy.  Harry had a feeling that the two floors were going to get even closer.  

[imagine-loki]

Falling For(on) Her

TITLE: Falling For(on) Her CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 1 AUTHOR: KrakenScribbles  ORIGINAL IMAGINE:Imagine a few of the Avengers secretly knowing that Loki has the major hots for you. Like, he may very well be looking at “crush” in the rearview mirror… RATING: T for now I’ll up it to M later prob NOTES/WARNINGS: This is my first time writing fic, though I’ve written in rpgs for years, so I’d rather stay mostly anonymous. I do have a sideblog connected to the author name, but it’s private just so you don’t think I’m pulling the author name out of the sky. 

Considering the events of Ragnarok, I’m not sure when this would logically take place time-line wise so just consider it an alternate timeline from after Dark World? I wanted to keep the happenings of the imagine in the first chapter, so I tried to keep the setup short, you’ll learn more about Chess in later chapters.  ————————————–

It had been about six months since Chess had joined the Avengers through coercion. She hadn’t really wanted to join, but S.H.I.E.D. had tracked her down and sort of forced it upon her because as far as they were concerned she was a danger otherwise and needed to be monitored. So, she had been moved into the Avengers tower and had been slowly getting acquainted with everyone since then. Mostly though, she only really talked to Loki and Thor. Most figured it was because Thor was very hard to ignore and nobody could really figure out where she had been during the invasion, but it was apparently not New York or Germany as she didn’t seem to really care about it even when several people seemed to bring it up for the sole purpose of making Loki look bad.

Loki seemed to actively start seeking her out once he realized she didn’t seem to have an issue with him. Chess wondered if he was maybe a little lonely, as only Thor really spoke to him without snark in the tower. Just so long as she wasn’t reading she didn’t really mind being spoken to, which after someone had asked what she was reading once, she did only in her room. So, when she wasn’t in her room, she stuck to listening to music and observing how the Avengers interacted with one another. They were, definitely, a ragtag group who had some sincerely questionable ways of dealing with their problems. Many of them drank, a lot, and since Steve couldn’t get drunk he seemed to resort to punching sandbags in the middle of the night. She was a night owl who hated mornings, but seeing as she wasn’t the only one, after a few weeks, she had just sort of accepted that she would never be getting any quiet peace outside her room. It was frustrating for an introvert who was used to having so much space to herself only really having one room, but she supposed if she didn’t want to get thrown in prison she would have to deal. Though, she still wasn’t sure how she was a danger to others while running around a frozen tundra with nobody around for literally miles, but who was she to argue with S.H.I.E.L.D.?

Of course, after a few months of them talking, she had noticed Loki seemed to have some level of crush her, though she didn’t really understand why. He hardly knew anything about her, and she personally rarely developed crushes on people she barely knew. So she had no intention of approaching him about it. He was a grown ass adult, if he wanted to act on his crush then he could get it together and do so without her saying something first. Though, then the pranks started. At first, she had just thought he had become nervous around her due to his slight crush, but considering all she did was people watch, she knew the Avengers were behind at least some of the mishaps. Chess didn’t really understand their motivations behind what they were doing, but she was very aware by now they weren’t overly fond of him. Really, she just wondered why he never retaliated, unless that was part of his sentence here on Midgard? She wasn’t really sure of the details as they hadn’t really been important to her.

Today though, things were apparently going to come to a head. Chess walked into the kitchen with a coffee. She had very clearly just rolled out of bed and came into the kitchen as she had on a t-shirt that was too big and said ‘fight me’ across the front and a pair of shorts with a galaxy printed on them. She wasn’t wearing socks or shoes and her ice blue hair was fluffed into disarray from rolling about in her sleep. Still though, she was going to be polite to at least Loki. “Good morning, Loki,” she managed before putting a hand over her mouth and yawning. She had come into the kitchen for something, but what was it? Whatever it was, it was now forgotten, and Loki seemed about to return her greeting when he tripped and fell towards her. Honestly it was probably a miracle they hadn’t both ended up on the floor covered in coffee, but it was probably because when she saw him falling she had jumped backwards a few inches. It took her another moment to register that Loki was now on the floor in front of her and no longer falling, but she set the coffee, which she had accidentally frozen solid in surprise, down on the counter before crouching down to see if he was bleeding.

“Are you alright?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head before offering him her hands to help him to his feet. He took them and she pulled him up when Tony piped up with some commentary of his own. “Hey, Loki. Did you get a good feel?” Tony asked with a smirk. Chess was not the most coherent in the morning, so it took her a moment to realize she had kind of been groped while Loki was apologizing. “I do apologize, please forgive me, I really did not mean to,” he was saying while she shrugged. “It’s not like you did it on purpose, and I actually didn’t even notice I’m not awake enough for this nonsense yet,” she said with a sigh while the Avengers seemed to be laughing.

She tilted her head and looked around Loki to see Tony still had his foot outstretched. “Did you trip him?” she asked, suddenly sounding rather annoyed. The laughing instantly stopped. “I…um…y-uh. No…,” he started and Chess stared at him, hard. The temperature in the kitchen dropped about ten degrees while she stared at him.

She stalked closer and placed her hand on Tony’s coffee mug, it froze and he let go in surprise at the cold. She set it down carefully on one of the counters before pulling back and throwing a punch into his face. That may have been a little harder than she intended, but it was too early for this. He hit the floor and she looked at Steve. “Unless you would like to join him on the floor, Captain, I suggest you take him down to medical as he probably has a concussion,” she said with a frown and a huff before stalking back to the cabinets to get out two new mugs. She poured milk and put them in the microwave before turning and looking at the remaining Avengers in the room. “Anyone else want to be friggin stupid before I’ve woken up?” she asked as the room dropped another five degrees in temperature. Nobody responded. “No? Fan-freaking-tastic, fuckin children,” she hissed before mixing up two hot chocolates and adding whipped cream.

Loki had disappeared before she even threw the punch, but she wasn’t leaving the kitchen without some kind of beverage so that would have to wait. Besides, she personally liked time to cool off so to speak before dealing with people after being angry or upset. She always thought people needed a few moments to collect themselves after such, so she preferred to give a little time before even thinking about confronting someone. She left the kitchen, and it returned to normal temperature as she did, though, she noticed that everyone else had left by the time the microwave went off anyway. Perhaps they couldn’t handle the cold? She made a mental note that freezing her room might keep them from bothering her.

Anyway, she made it to Loki’s room, and as she was holding two mugs, she kicked the door to knock so she didn’t have to set down either of the mugs. She’d heard the door slam while she was making cocoa, so she was fairly certain that he was in his room just not answering. Chess took a sip of her drink before kicking at the door again. “Loki, it’s me. I come in peace, I even brought you a calming warm beverage am I allowed in now?” she asked rather lamely with a sigh. It really was too early for all of this. Just then though, Thor was walking past and clapped her lightly on the shoulder. “I heard you punched out man of irons for tripping my brother! Well done Lady Chess,” he said with a grin and a nod. Chess just snorted and shrugged. “I may have hit him a smidge harder than necessary. Any chance you’re willing to open Loki’s door for me? I have my hands full and he’s ignoring me which is rude because I brought him a drink,” she said with a pout at the blonde brother. “Certainly!” he said with a grin before opening the door and then continuing on his way down the hallway so Loki couldn’t yell at him.

Chess walked into the room and spotted Loki on the floor glaring at the ceiling. “I don’t remember saying you could come in,” he said with a sigh. Ignoring the comment, she stepped over him and set his drink on a table. “There is your cocoa, drink it while it’s warm, I’m going to drink mine and take a shower so that I can become a functional being. If you want to talk when you’re done laying on the floor come find me,” she said with another yawn before stepping back over him and closing his door behind her before heading up to her own room to fully wake up and prepare to deal with the day.

[cherry-kirsch]

2. a patch of thistles : wishing on dandelions

ushihina || multi-chaptered || sfw || hanahaki au

It’s Suga who comes to collect him for breakfast the next morning, all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

As Ushijima follows Suga out of his room, allowing the door to click shut behind him, he suspects that he himself must look a little like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, seeing as he didn’t get to check his reflection in the mirror this morning. While passing the glass windows that line the opposite end of the corridor, he grimaces and immediately tries to flatten the way his hair sticks up at odd angles and curls a little, while also trying to pull up his ripped jeans.

Suga, thankfully, pretends not to notice Ushijima’s panic to look somewhat presentable, and gestures him into the dining area—where everyone’s eyes snap to him as he enters.

“Ushiwaka! ~” Tooru coos, standing up so quickly the chair scrapes backwards and makes an awful noise that causes everyone else to smack their hands over their ears. “Come over here and sit with me and Suga!” He says happily, trying to shove the tall blond out of the seat beside him, only to receive a glare. Tooru glares right back and click his tongue at him. “Now, really, Tsukki!”

Ushijima holds up a hand when Tooru turns to tell him (or order him) to do something else. “It’s alright.” He says, a faint twinge of apology in his voice. “I’ll sit with Hinata.” He continues gesturing to the table that Shouyou and his friend are sitting at before he turns to Suga. “Where can I get food?” He asks and Suga grins.

“This way,” Suga says, leading the way to a buffet-style table and grabbing both a bowl and plate for Ushijima and handing them to him when he joins his side. “It may not look like much, but the food is pretty good.”

The row of white-cotton covered tables in front of them shows everything from cereal to toast to fresh fruit, as well as a selection of fruit juices and coffees and teas. Suga immediately reaches for an instant porridge, a banana and an apple, and then picks out a fruit tea before he winks at Ushijima and returns to a sulking Tooru, leaving Ushijima to himself.

Ushijima, unsure of where to begin, makes two slices of toast, slathers them with jam and butter and makes himself a coffee before he makes his way over to Hinata’s table and sits down.

Shouyou looks up from picking idly at his bowl of cereal and gives Ushijima a tired smile. “G’morning, Ushi.” He manages before he slumps face-first onto the table. “I’m so tired!” he moans, tugging at the sleeve of Ushijima’s plaid as he tries to shove his toast in his mouth.

“What time did you go to bed?” Ushijima asks him, his voice mumbled through the food in his mouth.

Shouyou and his friend make eye contact and have an entire conversation in a second, with only looking into each other’s eyes, before he turns back to Ushijima and tries not to look sheepish. “3 am.” He mumbles, pressing his face back into the plastic of the table.

Ushijima frowns. “You should go to bed earlier. Then you’ll be more awake.” He tells Shouyou, who groans and pulls himself up onto his elbows.

“But where’s the fun in that?” He asks with a small pout, before his eyes drop down to the mug clasped in Ushijima’s hands. “Ohh! Give me half of your coffee!” He says excitedly, already making grabby hands at it before Ushijima places his palm on the middle of Shouyou’s forehead and pushes him back into his seat.

“No.” Ushijima says simply, not yet moving his hand from where they rest on Shouyou’s forehead. “It’s mine.”

Shouyou makes a small noise of indignation and tries to surge forward again, only for Ushijima to push him back into his seat. “Why not? It’s a big mug! You can’t drink it all on your own.”

Ushijima makes direct eye contact with Shouyou. “Yes I can.”

Shouyou gives him puppy-dog eyes and claps his wrist. “A quarter of your coffee?”

“No.”

“A sip of your coffee?” Shouyou asks desperately and Ushijima considers this.

Finding himself weakening at Shouyou’s puppy-dog eyes, he gives a small shrug and holds out the mug for Shouyou to take, releasing his forehead and leaning back in his seat. Shouyou’s friend looks up at him and frowns a little in a way that makes Ushijima feel like he’s done something very wrong.

“Don’t give him coffee.” He says, so seriously that Ushijima swears he’s being given a prophecy that holds great fate. “If you give him coffee, nothing can stop him.” Ushijima blinks at the boy and his pudding-coloured head of hair. Well, fuck, if that wasn’t the most ominous and vaguely worrying thing Ushijima had been told about a person in the last 24 hours.

But, before Ushijima can take anything back, Shouyou’s hands close around the mug of coffee and brings the blue china to his lips, taking one long, drawn out gulp that seems to be more like half the mug than a single sip before he slams it back on Ushijima’s side of the table with an almost manic grin.

“Thanks!” Shouyou chirps, way to enthusiastically.

The boy beside him sighs and turns back to his DS. “You’ve done it now.” He says quietly.

Ushijima blinks between them. “Done what?!” he asks incredulously.

Shouyou stares at him very unnervingly and Ushijima stares right back. Shouyou leans across the table, his forearms crossed and his nose almost touching Ushijima’s, and Ushijima makes a weird facial expression and leans back in his seat; trying to put as much distance as he can between Shouyou’s drilling stare.

“You’ve got toothpaste on the side of your mouth,” Shouyou says seriously before he breaks out in a grin, licks his thumb and swipes it over the toothpaste to get rid of it. “There we go! All better!” He giggles, plopping himself back down into his seat with a little bounce.

As if called by the sense of intimacy, Oikawa slides into the seat next to Ushijima, giving him a small, fake pout as he grasps his arm. “Ushiwaka! Why didn’t you want to come sit with me?”

Ushijima gives him a very dry look. “Why would I want to come sit with you?”

Tooru punches him jokingly (and a little bit too harshly) in the shoulder. “Because we’re friends, stupid!” Tooru laughs. “And all of us fucked up, unrequited love-sters need to stick together. Side by side.” To make his point, Tooru presses so close to Ushijima that he’s practically on his lap.

Ushijima pushes him gently away. “I’d rather not.” He says and Tooru pouts, turns away and rests his chin on top of his hands.

“Most people rather would when I’m involved.” Tooru says with a pointed, mischievous grin, leaning up to poke Ushijima’s cheek. “Because I’m so devilishly handsome.”

Shouyou sticks his tongue out at Tooru. “Devilishly annoying more like.” He pipes up.

“Says you.” Tooru bites back. “You’re so small… and… tiny.”

“Stop using different words that have the same meaning!” Shouyou says, and an approaching blond has to prevent him from launching himself across the table at Tooru, who is taunting him and sticking his tongue out. “Let go of me you weird beanpole!”

The blond drops him back into his seat and slides into the seat to the right of him. “Says the toddler.” He replies, immediately picking up an apple from Shouyou’s tray and taking a big bite of it.

Shouyou snatches it from his hand and licks it. “Eating apples makes you look like an even bigger asshole than you were before, Kei.” He says, sticking his tongue out at him as Kei looks on, disgusted. He offers the apple again. “Do you want this back?” He asks.

Kei glares. “Not now that you’ve slavered all over it.” He says and Shouyou grins triumphantly.

“Thought so,” he says, and he shoves the apple into his own mouth. “Sweet revenge.”

Kei looks disgusted and turns to Ushijima, thrusting out his hand just as Ushijima shoves his other slice of toast into his mouth.

“My name is Tsukishima Kei,” Kei says. “One of the only dignified people here.”

Tooru pouts. “Why have you go to be so mean, Tsukki! Nobody else is going around sprinkling salt into pleasant conversation.” He says with a little huff. “The rest of us are being polite and civilised members of society!”

Kei makes a face at him. “Say’s the guy who’s practically salivating over Mr. Japan here.” He says, jabbing a thumb in Ushijima’s direction, and Ushijima immediately chokes on his toast.

“What?” Ushijima asks hoarsely before he gulps down the rest of his coffee in order to clear his throat. “My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. Where’d you get Japan from?”

Kei waves a hand dismissively. “Unimportant.”

“Au contraire, Tsukki!” Tooru butts in with a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s very important.”

“Just go back to drooling over Japan’s rippling biceps and toned abs.” Kei tells him with a curt nod.

Immediately, Tooru breaks out into a grin and presses himself against Ushijima’s side, replying with a chipper, “Okay!”.

Ushijima shakes him off, much to Tooru’s dismay, and he looks between Kei and Tooru. “I never agreed to that.” He says and Kei just rolls his eyes at him. “I don’t want anybody drooling over my body, I’m a person not a pair of walking abs.” While Tooru mutters a barely audible, ‘Hmm… Debatable.’, Kei leans across the table with a smirk and asks, very uncharacteristically sweetly; ‘Why? Do you have a girlfriend or something?’

“Or a boyfriend,” Tooru adds, resting his elbows on the table in front of him to resume the gossip pose. “We’re all gay here.”

The pudding-haired man barely looks up from his DS. “If you have a girlfriend you’d be the token straight.” He says and Shouyou grins.

“Token straight! Token straight! Token strai—” Shouyou begins to chant before he’s cut off by a raven haired girl sliding into the seat next to Tooru, who shoves a croissant in his mouth to get him to shut up. He doesn’t protest, but chews thoughtfully.

“No,” She says with a small shake of her head. “That’s Tanaka.”

Ushijima suddenly feels very out of his depth. “Tanaka?” he asks and the girl looks over to him.

“Tanaka Ryuunosuke,” The girl answers, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear. “He’s Saeko’s little brother. He comes here to flirt with a girl who is on nursing staff on a regular basis.”

Shouyou frowns. “But Tanaka’s bisexual, he told me himself.” He says and the woman gives a small shrug and turns back to Ushijima.

“I guess so, then—Ushijima, you’re reinstated as token straight.” She tells him before she daintily holds out a hand for him to shake. “I’m Shimizu Kiyoko. It’s a pleasure.” She says as he takes her hand and shakes it loosely.

“I’ve always wanted to be friends with a straight man,” Shouyou says a little too enthusiastically for Ushijima’s liking. “I’ve always wondered what straight sex is like. So, tell me, is it really as cringey as it is in porn?” He asks, peering at Ushijima with wide, curious eyes.

Ushijima stares back at him. “What are you doing?” He asks, feeling very perplexed.

“Subverting the gay-best-friend trope,” Shouyou says with a small smile. “You’re now my straight best friend.”

“But I’m not straight.” Ushijima says slowly and Shouyou blinks at him for a moment.

He frowns then, resting his chin on his hands as he looks to Kei. “By all accounts,” Shouyou begins as Kei nods along. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Tooru grins triumphantly, and with so much glee that for anybody who didn’t know the context of the situation it would look like he’s just won the lottery. “Oh,” he says, pressing himself more firmly against Ushijima’s side. “I think it does.”

Kei raises an eyebrow and looks to Tooru. “I guess we are all gay here.” He says and then his eyes snap to Shouyou. “And don’t chant that, for God’s sake.” He continues and Shouyou slumps onto the table, dejected.

“One of us.” The pudding-head says and Shouyou’s head snaps up.

Kei grits his teeth. “Don’t, Kenma.”

Kenma ignores him. “One of us.” He repeats and a grin stretches Shouyou’s lips.

“Don’t.” Kiyoko says in warning to Shouyou, who just ignores her.

“One of us! One of us! One of u—” Shouyou chants, only to be cut off my Tooru leaning across the table to shove an entire orange into his mouth. Shouyou, once more, doesn’t protest, but removes it from his mouth so he can peel it and eat it segment by segment; leaving him pleasantly quiet and content.

Tooru grins and breathes in deeply. “There,” he says. “Much better.”

“Incorrect.” Kenma says. “You’re still talking.”

By the look on Tooru’s face you would’ve guessed that Kenma just stood on his tail. “Kenma!” Tooru gasps, aghast at Kenma’s reply. “That’s so… so… rude! I’m a national treasure!”

This time, it’s Kei’s turn to give Tooru a look and add, “Debatable.”, in reply. Tooru looks like he’s going to melt into a puddle on the floor like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Kiyoko rolls her eyes and leans across the table for Shouyou’s carton of milk and pauses halfway to reaching for it, she looks down at Ushijima and then back up to meet his eyes, and then, very seriously, she says; “Your fly is undone, Ushijima.” And the table falls deathly silent.

Immediately, Tooru’s eyes dart down to his crotch and back up, a small, wicked smile curving his lips. “Nice boxers.” He comments and that’s all the prompting Ushijima need to turn away from the table and quickly zip his fly up, his hands shaking and his neck and ears flushed red.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Kei says, gesturing to his burning ears. “It happens to the best of us.” He adds nonchalantly.

Shouyou nods furiously in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. “Once my dick popped out of my boxers and I had my fly undone. I didn’t realise until I went to the bathroom.”

Tooru nods in agreement. “Yeah! The same thing happened to me.”

Kiyoko sips on her milk carton and shrugs. “Can’t relate.” She adds.

Shouyou finds Ushijima sitting down opposite the flower mural, and has no idea how he managed to find him after he disappeared without a word after lunch. But he just gives Ushijima a soft smile and sits next to him, his knees tugged to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, his head on his knees.

“Suga saw you,” Shouyou says. “He thought you might need company.”

Ushijima turns to Shouyou and considers this. “Why didn’t he come?” He asks.

“As much as Suga seems like the Team Mum, he’s very hard on tough love.” Shouyou explains with a chuckle. “Me? Not so much. He said you looked funny so I came to keep you company.”

Nodding, Ushijima turns back to the mural. “I see.”

“What’s wrong?” Shouyou asks, and Ushijima can’t remember ever being asked that with so much sincerity and concern. “Was it because of breakfast? Kiyoko tends to be a little blunt, but she means well, and she told me to tell you that she’s sorry because we couldn’t find you. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it.”

“I’m not embarrassed.” Ushijima says far too harshly to be convincing, but Shouyou nods anyway and scuffs the toe of his shoe on the linoleum. “It’s…” He gestures to the mural in front of him. “How can you stand it?”

Shouyou looks between the mural and Ushijima, frowning. “What?” he asks.

“The flowers.” Ushijima bites back, glaring furiously at the colourful petals and green stems, and how they swim before him in a river of red. “You’ve got them everywhere, and you’ve got to stare at them and look at them. Takeda says that some of you love them again, and I don’t…” Ushijima sucks in a deep breath, trying to swallow down his anger. “I don’t… get it.”

Shouyou blinks at him and then curls over himself. “Suga loves flowers.” He says quietly.

“Which were his?” Ushijima asks quickly and Shouyou gives him a worried look.

“Ushijima—” He begins with a small sigh and Ushijima’s eyes snap to his.

“Which were his?’ He repeats more firmly, standing up.

Crumbling, giving in, Shouyou points to the mural. Ushijima follows the line of his finger, walking forward as his eyes meet a cluster of pink peonies and daisies. He imagines coughing them up, petal after petal, until he’s almost gagging on the paper-thin, smooth pink petals. He images the scratch of the stems making its way up his throat, the way his lips can’t quite open far enough to let the head of the flower pass, and he imagines coughing, choking on it, drowning from the inside out on beautiful flowers. He imagines that the daisies come out easier.

He lifts a hand to clutch his throat and turns back to Shouyou, hoarse. “Which ones were Kiyoko’s?”

Shouyou stands with him then, his eyes creased in worry. “Ushijima, I don’t think—” He begins, only to be cut off by Ushijima’s glance; a pitiful combination of desperation and danger. His hands shaking, he points to the right of the peonies. “Those ones.”

His eyes meet the bright hues of yellow tulips, sweetpeas and crocus. He imagines the three flowers choking him, drowning his lungs in stems, leaves and colourful petals. They stain his lips like bright blood as he coughs them up, blood splatters his hands and the sink below him, and he heaves, trying to force the flowers up his windpipe.

As if possessed, he lifts his other hand to his throat. “Tooru’s?” he asks and Shouyou points to a crying cherry blossom tree surrounded by poppies.

The branches scratch his throat raw as he coughs up tiny, love-heart pink petals and wider, round red petals; the branches hurt so much he gasps, wheezes and heaves, suffocating, they pierce his throat almost like thorns. The poppies are easier, they slip out covered in blood and saliva, and he hardly gets a breath before the next waterfall of cherry blossom blooms are making their way up his throat,

“Kenma’s?”

Shouyou points wordlessly to a small collection of lilac’s and pansies. So… small that Ushijima can imagine suffocating on them easily.

“Kei’s.” He manages, less of a question and more of a demand now, and Shouyou points to baby’s breath, pink begonias, and white heather.

Ushijima nods at that, overwhelmed at the imagines sensation of the flowers and stems making their way up his throat and spilling from between his fingers like water, and staggers back against the wall, hardly realising the tears that leak down his cheeks until Shouyou is wiping them away with the sleeve of his jumper.

“I don’t…” Ushijima tries to say, only to be cut off by the saltiness of his own tears. “I don’t… get it.” He repeats. “You can look at them and see beauty. I look at them and I want to cut them like they cut me.” He manages, lifting his hands from his throat to tangle in his hair. “How can you not look at them and feel them suffocating you?”

Shouyou gives him a very serious look. “Do you still love the person you fell in love with?” He asks.

Ushijima shakes his head. “No,” he chokes out. “But I still feel like I’m drowning. Do you know what he gave me when he came to visit me in hospital?” Ushijima asks with a bitter, tearful laugh. “Red roses. Red roses. I don’t love him, I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.” He spits the words out like venom. “I hate… I hate…”

“I know,” Shouyou says softly, clutching Ushijima’s arms. “It hurts to fall in love with best friends. It hurts… to love. The lucky ones only get heartache. The unlucky ones get to choke on flowers."

Ushijima pressed his forehead against Shouyou’s chest. “I hate. I hate.” He mumbles into the sweet, lavender scented fabric of his sweatshirt. “I hate him.”

“He’s your best friend,” Shouyou says softly, sadly. “You can say you hate him all you want, but you can never force yourself to hate him. Trust me, I know. You get stuck on fake feeling so much that you’re not really sure that anything is real, and then you don’t feel anything.”

Ushijima buries his face further into Shouyou’s sweatshirt. “You know a lot about this.” He says quietly. “Is this the first time you’ve had Hanahaki?”

“I don’t talk about my past loves a lot,” Shouyou says. “You’ll never find out.”

Ushijima sniffs. “Is that a challenge?”

“If you want it to be.” Shouyou replies easily and with a hint of a grin in his voice. “Do you really hate the mural that much? Do you really… not see the beauty in the flowers?” He asks softly.

“Flowers… aren’t beautiful to me.” Ushijima whispers. “I never really liked them. They spread pollen everywhere and drop petals onto the ground, they’re a hassle to clean up. But after coughing up roses, petal after petal, flower after flower… I look at them… and all I can see is… something ugly.”

Shouyou runs his hand through Ushijima’s hair. “We painted that mural because Tooru and Suga thought it would be cathartic.” He explains. “It helped Suga, he got over his Hanahaki without a second bout. Tooru… I don’t know if it helped that much, but he’s always found flowers pretty. Kei did it because Tooru made him. Kiyoko did it because she loved—loves—the girl whose flowers she coughed up. Kenma...” Shouyou lets out a low chuckle. “I made Kenma paint his flowers.”

Ushijima pulls away from Shouyou’s sweet scent and gazes up into his eyes. “How long have you been here?” Ushijima asks him and Shouyou grins.

“Not telling.” He says. “You’ll have to guess that too.”

“So secretive for such an open guy.” Ushijima says and Shouyou grins harder.

“I’m getting déjà vu.” He says and Ushijima chuckles.

Shouyou lowers himself back beside Ushijima, leaning comfortably into his arm. “I love flowers.” Shouyou says softly. “But only the ones I haven’t coughed up.”

Ushijima looks at him. “Which ones are you favourites?” He asks and Shouyou considers this.

“Sunflowers,” He decides after a moment, smiling at Ushijima. “Because you can roast and eat the seeds.”

Ushijima reaches out to ruffle Shouyou’s hair with a small, barely-there smile. “They suit you.” He says and Shouyou grins wider and leans into his touch a little bit.

“Yeah?” He says and then he peers at Ushijima curiously. “If you had to pick; which would be your favourite?” Upon noticing Ushijima’s shocked and perplexed look, Shouyou shakes his hands in front of him. “I mean; only if you had to pick one.”

“Hibiscus.” Ushijima says after a moment of thought. “I had it in champagne at New Year’s one time. It tasted nice.”

Shouyou blinks at him for a moment and then bursts out into peals of laughter, Ushijima watches him in amusement until he’s calmed down enough to articulate himself. After a minute of solid laughter, Shouyou pulls himself back up into a sitting position and dries his eyes, still chuckling happily to himself.

Ushijima rests his elbow on his knee and smiles at him. “What’s so funny?” He asks and Shouyou’s chest moves up and down with the force of trying to swallow his laughter.

“I just—Give me a minute!” Shouyou wheezes, pressing his face into his knees before pulling back up and smacking his cheeks twice as he turns back to Ushijima, his lips immediately wobbling as he tries to prevent a wide grin. “I just think it’s funny that we both picked flowers that can be eaten.”

“That’s what you were giggling about?” Ushijima asks. “It wasn’t that funny.”

Shouyou scoffs and starts giggling again. “It was to me, and that’s what counts.” He says, looking at Ushijima very seriously. “Sometimes you’ve just got to stand up to what’s in your way, and what’s putting you down and laugh really hard until your stomach hurts and your head’s spinning.”

“Why?” Ushijima asks.

“Because things seem less scary when you do,” Shouyou says with a small nod. “Also, there’s just something very cathartic about laughing when you’re not supposed to be. It’s like… a giant middle finger to the world.”

Ushijima considers this. “There are some times when you’re not supposed to laugh.” He points out.

Shouyou frowns in confusion. “Like when?” He asks.

“Funerals, for one.” Ushijima says and Shouyou scoffs.

“Everyone needs a good laugh at a funeral.” He says.

Ushijima thinks. “When the bride is coming down the aisle at her wedding.”

Shouyou raises an eyebrow at Ushijima. “If her hair and makeup looks stupid, then I’m gonna laugh, Ushijima.” He says as if that much was obvious.

“But you shouldn’t.” Ushijima replies.

“Yes, but I will anyway.” Shouyou says confidently. “And that’s what makes it so cathartic! Laughing is the worst in that situation, but you do it anyway because you need to be less terrified and less caught up in everything. So, next time you’re upset about something or scared, just laugh, laugh until your stomach hurts; I swear you’ll feel better.”

Ushijima raises his eyebrows. “It really works?”

Shouyou nods sagely. “I swear it on my life.” He says, a hand on his heart. “Scouts Honour.”

“That’s two different things.” Ushijima points out and Shouyou shrugs.

“Double the protection on my advice.” He says and Ushijima can’t fault him on that.

“Okay,” Ushijima says. “Next time I feel upset, scared or less… here… I’ll laugh. But if it doesn’t work, I want my money back.”

Shouyou puffs his cheeks up at Ushijima and pouts. “But you didn’t pay me!” Shouyou protests as Ushijima laughs, leaning forward to pound his fists on Ushijima’s chest. “Pay me! 100 yen an hour! Don’t be stingy!”

Ushijima pulls out his pockets in front of Shouyou. “I don’t have any money.” He says. “I can’t pay you.”

Shouyou pouts and crosses his arms across his chest. “You can pay me later, and I will be reminding you of that fact!” He says, wagging a finger at Ushijima’s face.

“Alright, alright,” Ushijima gives in. “What was it? 100 yen an hour?”

“Yes,” Shouyou nods. “And dental.”

“Dental?” Ushijima says with a shake of his head. “I can’t afford that.”

“Fine,” Shouyou caves. “Free company lunches.”

Ushijima thrusts his hand out. “Deal, because you get that anyway.” He says and Shouyou grins as he takes his hand and shakes enthusiastically. “Looking forward to working with you.”

“And you, boss.” Shouyou replies, dropping Ushijima’s hand before he goes very serious. “Just… promise me one thing, okay?” He asks.

“What?” Ushijima asks.

“Don’t… do something that you’ll regret.” Shouyou tells him.

Honestly, Ushijima doesn’t think that will be possible.

[kidolate]

To Twirl Or Trip Pt. 2

Part 1 Part 3

Throughout the rest of the week, you had managed to avoid any other EXO members and the weekend was starting soon. Your plans to meet with an old friend was in place for tonight and you planned to sleep throughout the weekend. This week had seemed the most tiring for some reason and a proper break would be the perfect fix for you.

You were in sitting quietly on your bed watching videos of yourself dance and taking mental notes on when the move faster or where to make a sharper move. Your group had gone out with some of the other groups and your decision to stay home and away from them was because you knew EXO would have been there. You didn’t regret staying home though, although the privilege did not come easy with Jiwoo almost throwing your phone out the window if you hadn’t started crying, you almost felt bad for using your tears to get your way but it was something you couldn't help.

Ever since Kyungsoo had confronted you your emotions were in a turmoil and the fact that you had heard Jongin’s voice in such a long time probably affected you more than you would like to admit. Your video was interrupted when your phone received a call from Kyungsoo.

“Hello?”

“Y/N please come and get Jiwoo, she’s drunk off her face and I don't think this would be a good image for your group.

You rolled your eyes “All right I’m coming, where are you guys?”

“The usual bar down the road, we’ll be inside since waiting outside will cause a scene”

You hung up the phone and left the house for the car park. Was Jiwoo actually stupid?

You parked behind the building and grabbed the dark raincoat from the back seat, entering through the back door the loud music could be felt in your chest and you cringed. You made your way into the main area of the bar and looked around for your friend, instead, you found someone who had caused you to make it your life's mission to avoid them. Jongin was sitting on the stool speaking animatedly with another woman, you sighed, you were used to it.

You sat next in-between Jongin and Sehun at the dinner table. Jongin was turned away from you and was speaking with Jongdae about who knows what so you were turned to Sehun looking for entertainment.

“Sehuunn, I’m bored”

“Talk to Jongin then” he answered without looking up from his phone

You frowned “but he’s talking with Jongdae and I don’t want to seem like an intruder”

Sehun sighed, put his phone in his pocket and leaned turned towards you.

“Don’t you have games on your phone or something, or maybe some people to stalk on social media?”

You huffed and folded your arms “Sehun, I prefer physical company thanks”

He raised his brows before quickly pulling your hoodie over your head and leaning his forehead against yours, the hoodie hiding both of your faces from everyone else. Sehun dragged his lips from the side of your jaw down to your neck. You shivered as you stayed put. You had no idea what to do.

“Is this the physical company you mean? If so I’m all for it” he said sending shivers down your spine as his hot breath hit your skin.

You heard a loud scrape of a chair against the floor and then soon after a door slamming. Sehun backed away and rested his head on his hand with a raised eyebrow.

“Sehun! Shut up, you’re so annoying” you exclaimed before turning around to see that Jongin wasn’t there next to you.

“Where did Jongin go?” you asked.

Jongin was never around or his attention was always on someone other than you. What really confuses you is that you have no idea what you had done to deserve this from him. You sighed and turned around to spot Jiwoo sitting at a table with Kyungsoo trying his best to tame her.

“Jiwoo! What are you doing!”

“Oh Y/N, I was just talking about you and Kai, see Kyungsoo! Her face always gets sad whenever I mention him and I’ve kept it to myself because I don’t want to upset her or make her uncomfortable that would be really bad”

You rolled your eyes and went to hoist up but Kyungsoo stopped you.

“I don’t want you to collapse or anything, I’m sure your muscles are still weak”

You grumbled to yourself about him being such a worry wart and asking him to leave you alone but he was already walking towards your car without hearing a word. You quickly jogged after him. “Y/N wait!” You stopped in your tracks and turned around only to bump into a hard chest. You looked up and almost felt as if the world had stopped. “K-Kai, I’m sorry for bumping into you” you

“Y/N wait!”

You stopped in your tracks and turned around only to bump into a hard chest. You looked up and almost felt as if the world had stopped.

“K-Kai, I’m sorry for bumping into you” you went to turn around but he grabbed your hand...hard.

“Where are you going Y/N, and since when did you call me Kai it was always Nini for you” his other hand slid dangerously to your waist and roughly pulled you against him.

A lump grew in your throat as you stayed silent, you hadn’t been this close with him in almost a year. You glanced up into his dark eyes and immediately flinched away. It had also been a year since you made eye contact. His eyes still had the same effect on you and so did his touch, his hair was styled up and his white buttoned shirt was undone by two buttons so you were directly in front of his bare skin.

You almost let out a sigh when his plump wet lips moved towards your neck. Your heart was currently beating so quickly its sound overpowered the music within the room. A pained hiss escaped your mouth after he had bit you hard and then sucked equally as intense to lessen the pain.

After he had bit you again your breath hitched and you pushed him off you, the pain of his teeth ripping from your skin making you cringe.

Jongin stood there with a smirk on his face “Wow, your skin has already bruised”

Your hand flew to your neck before you bolted out of the bar. What the fuck had just happened? Once you were outside you found Soo waiting for you by your car, you unlocked the car and hopped in without giving him a second glance. You yanked the mirror down and looked at your neck.

“What the fuck..” you murmured. The area was already a deep purple and his teeth marks created large craters in the shape of a circle.

“What happened?” Kyungsoo asked.

You quickly covered your neck with your hair and shook your head at him “Not with Jiwoo in the car”.

He nodded and you drove off towards the dorms. Once you arrived you threw the raincoat over Ji Woo's head and walked back into the dorm building. Hauling her almost limp body was difficult but Soo was there to help, he left you the pleasure of throwing her onto the bed though.

You walked back into the kitchen and sat on the bar stool watching him make a tea for himself and you.

“Jongin gave me a monstrous looking hickey” you began to explain “It’s covered in bite marks and everything, it turned fucking purple within a minute! I just don’t understand what he fucking wants from me”

Kyungsoo whipped his head around and glanced at your neck but your hair was in the way.

“Move your hair, I want to see” he said as he brought over two mugs of tea to the kitchen table in front of you. You moved your hair to the left side and watched for his reaction.

You moved your hair to the left side and watched for his reaction. First, it was surprising, then it was anger and then he had reverted to a calm and collected demeanour.

“That’s pretty huge, the bite marks are still there”

“I know right, this is the first form of contact in a year! What was I meant to do! I just stood there and let it happen, what’s wrong with me!” you looked up to Soo “I want to forget him so bad, he causes me so much pain and I don’t even know why. I-I want to punch him for being so confusing and annoying! Who in their right mind gives their past lover or past nobody in this case, a huge fucking hickey after a year of no contact whatsoever!”

“I’m not sure Y/N”

“Kyungsoo, has he ever...mentioned me at all?” you got up and flopped onto the couch with a sigh of exasperation “I mean has he ever even hinted at my existence?!”

Kyungsoo put his mug down and came sat down next to you “I don’t think he has Y/N and I’m too worried to ask him about it in case it might all come back around to you” he then turned your chin towards his face with a tug of his index finger “But you talked of forgetting him didn’t you? I can be your...let’s say distraction, think of it as my of helping a friend out”

A small smile graced his face but you frowned and pulled away “Soo, I’m sure you’ve had some to drink as well and you don’t even know what you’re saying at the moment”

Kyungsoo pouted and moved towards you again, cornering you into the corner of the couch. His hand slid up your thigh and he brought it up next to his waist as he leant over you “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for you?” He frowned and nuzzled into your neck “I just don’t like seeing you upset because of one my friends, I feel as if it’s my responsibility to fix his mistakes”

You bit your lip in frustration because you had no idea how to turn him down without hurting his feelings “Soo, please just list-”

Kyungsoo let his lips fall onto yours before applying pressure on them. You watched his eyes flutter closed and his grip on your thigh tighten, and for some reason, you relaxed under him and clutched his chest. You weren’t expecting yourself to return the kiss or even allow his tongue to play with yours. Maybe it was because you hadn’t had the affection of a male in such a long time that you were using him and his affection to boost your ego. You didn’t know at the time that this would lead to a rocky road instead of a shortcut to fix yourself.

So you let him take over you, you let him take control because you were tired of being only one to steer the wheels without a word of guidance. Kyungsoo left your mouth and left small kisses down your neck and up until your chest. He looked up at you before watching you throw your head back in pleasure after he had roughly ground his hard-on where you were most sensitive at the moment.

“Y/N, as much as I would like to continue this I have to leave. This is the girl's dorm after all”

You nodded and watched him get off you after pressing a long kiss to your forehead and then leaving out the front door. As soon as you heard the door shut, you burst into tears.

If there was anything you regretted the most about yourself, it was your inability to say no and being unable to sort out your own emotions. You weren’t sure whether you had feelings for him or not, you weren’t sure whether he had feelings for you. He was definitely tipsy, you had tasted it. But he wasn’t drunk either.

You lay on the couch and curled into yourself as you cried. If he wasn’t drunk why would he put you in a position like that? You cried even more after you felt yourself getting angry at him, it was the last way you would like to feel towards him.

After a decent half hour of silently crying you moved into your own room and dropped into your bed. You had decided to fix everything tomorrow and somehow managed to reassure yourself that everything would return to normal. That night you had fallen asleep with a somewhat distorted illusion of your own reality.