#what happened in that afternoon gap after the explosion?

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

I'm at the conspiracy theory stage of my White Collar hyperfixation.

In the Season 3 premiere (3.01 On Guard), Neal's tie is sliced during a fencing match and he's forced to put on a new one at the WC office. He puts the new tie around his neck, but then takes a file out of the rack on his desk and moves it to a different part of the rack before starting to tie his tie. Does he have a mirror or something hidden in his file rack??? Was this established or hinted at somewhere else, either in the series or in behind the scenes content? And if there isn't a mirror, then WHY DID HE DO THAT???

[strangeinternetwasteland]

Cross the Line- Bakugo X Reader 18+

WC: 3.5K

Warnings: Angst, Anger, Unprotected Sex, Swearing

 “I am pregnant, Kaa-Chan.” You whispered as his hand was wrapped around your throat intent on killing you. He lowered his hands and walked away. You were the enemy, the one he had to kill.

~~~Eighteen Months ago~~~

“Y/N. You understand the mission, correct?” Shigaraki asked.

“You know I am not a fucking idiot? Who do you mistake me for? Chisaki or Dabi?” You retorted back.

“Y/N.” Shigaraki gave you a threatened tone.

“Get close enough to the loudmouth hero to kill him." The sarcasm dripped from your tone.

 "Good girl." He replied and left you alone.

For a few months, you followed Bakugo learned his schedule. You learned where he lived, how often he trained, his shopping habits, but most importantly, you learned that he didn’t have a significant other.

It was easy to become his neighbor, and for you to keep ‘bumping’ into him, but the hardest part would be getting to be part of his agency.

~~~Fifteen Months Ago~~~

“Hi! I am Quiver!” You were standing in front of Lord Explosion Murder in his agency. His crimson eyes narrowed looking at you in your hero suit. It was black and skin-tight with red accents.

“Do you want a fucking cookie?” He asked with disgust in his voice.

“Oh?” You feigned innocence. “Well, I am your new sidekick, but it looks like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I will just leave you alone.” You told him and you walked out of his office. You had heard he was difficult to deal with, but this wasn’t what you were expecting. You decided that if he was going to act like a complete and utter jackass you weren’t going to take it.

“Oi!” He came charging out of his office at you. “What the hell dumbass?” He yelled at you.

“Hm, well if you’re going to take that tone with me, I will come back tomorrow when you’re less stressed.” You told him as you walked out the door. You went home for the rest of the day.

The next day morning you had arrived and entered Lord Explosion Murder’s office again.

“Good Morning! I am Quiver!” You greeted him chirpily.

“Who the hell do you think you are leaving like that yesterday?” He yelled at you again. You turned around and left again. This continued for the rest of the week. He didn’t learn very quickly, but being cute probably helped him, you thought to yourself. By Friday, he had left you a seething voicemail saying how lazy, rude, and entitled he thought you were and that you were fired. You replied with a very short text stating, “K.” You knew it would probably anger him more. You weren’t there to make friends, you were there to kill him. 

When you arrived at work the following Monday, the receptionist's eyes grew wide. She very clearly heard the voicemail and very deliberately chose to ignore it.

“Good Morning, Sir.” You said as sweetly as possible. Lord Explosion just stared at you as if you were a ghost.

“I thought I fired you.” He said as calmly as he could. 

“Oh, you did? I didn’t really listen to the voicemail. I never do, but it seems as if you learned your lesson from last week.” You said with a hint of condescension.

“I don’t have time for you Dumbass. Just leave.” He told you with a huff of annoyance.

“Oh, Dumbass is a pet name?” You asked him. “I know that a sidekick isn’t what you want, but in order to be more appealing to not just the commission, but the general public as well.” You told him. Yes, you were all too well aware of his “image”, but with you working for the enemy, you truly didn’t care.

“Fuck, you’re right” he mumbled under his breath. He looked at you over steepled fingers. He stood quickly, to close the door to his office.

“Alright, Quiver, let’s begin.” He began as he sat back down in his office chair. The rest of the day, he went over rules for the office, his expectations for you, and how often he expected you to train. The rest of the week was tough but doable. The weekend didn’t come fast enough for you. As your patrol finished you got your weekly text from Shigaraki. You rolled your eyes and ignored him. The best thing about this job did not only do you have to stay away from the small hideout, but you could sleep in on the weekends, and you didn’t have to hear Kai or Dabi bicker.

Lord Explosion Murder noticed your smile. He saw how happy you looked after receiving your text.

“What’s got you smiling so big, Dumbass?” He asked you paying a little too much attention.

“Oh, nothing really. I get to sleep in tomorrow. As much as I enjoy working, I do enjoy a day off too.” You replied.

“You sure seemed happy after that text though.” He said with a hint of jealousy that did not go unnoticed by you.

“Oh, that was my annoying ass friend. He is going on about working hard and blah, blah, blah. I swear to goodness, his crusty ass is getting ignored all weekend.” You vented.

“Oh. Well. Okay, do you need me to walk your dumbass home?” He retorted not really sure of what to say.

“No, I am good!” You waved goodbye and ran at full speed to get home. You ran to your apartment in the building, showered quickly, changed, and fell asleep. 

The next morning you awoke to a yell, the voice sounded familiar, but you couldn’t place your finger on it. You walked outside to yell at whoever was causing the ruckus.

“I told you, nerd, that is not in bounds.” The male yelled. Looking down from your balcony, you saw Lord Murder Explosion. You did pick this apartment building because he lived here, but didn’t realize that he was his hero identity 100% of the time. 

“Hey, asshole? Could you shut your mouth? It’s too early for you to be yelling!” You shouted over your balcony to the group below.

“It’s the afternoon, dumbass!” He shouted back to you.

“Kaa-Chan, be nice. She’s your neighbor.” A green-haired man said.

“ You wanna fight? I could take you right now.” You shouted.

“Oi! Get down here and say that to my face!” He said the anger rising within himself. Without thinking, you jumped down ready to fight him. When he gave you his wide smile, your heart stopped for a moment.

“So you want to fight?” He asked with the most curious look on his face.

“Bakugo, don’t do this.” The green-haired man begged him. “The press will be all over this.” You knew with him there was always someone watching.

“Bakugo, don’t.” His friend with red and white hair said holding him back. It was no use though, he was in your face and chest to chest. You felt his warmth. The onlookers continued to gather, many with phones out ready to watch the fight. You knew that there was only one option in this case. 

You grabbed his shirt, and quickly closed the gap between the two of you. His lips against yours, and while his body was tense, he was not fighting it. You pulled back a moment, and looked up at him.

“Well isn’t this something Lord Explosion Murder?” You whispered before turning away and going back to your apartment/

~~~12 Months Ago~~~

The following Monday morning was awkward for Bakugo, but you didn't pay any attention to it, you really didn’t want to bring any attention to you at all. However, that isn’t what happened. You did bring attention to yourself and of course Shigaraki was very upset. The news died down pretty quickly, though, probably due to his one friend being Endeavor’s son.  The next three months though passed quickly and you never thought of the kiss again. 

The nights you patrolled with Bakugo he didn’t mention the kiss, he didn't’ mention anything about you knowing his hero identity, but he did try to get to know better. You were on the last patrol of the night, just before you said goodbye for the weekend, Bakugo spoke to you.

“So, uh. Quiver. Y/N. I don’t know what you want me to call you, but if you’re not busy, I’d like to take you out on a proper date or something.” A light pink dusting on his cheeks as he asked you.

“Is this because we kissed forever ago?” You questioned.

“No, Dumbass. Out of all the people, I hate you the least.” He retorted.

“Oh, how very manly of you.” You laughed at him.

“No. Forget it. It was very stupid for me to ask you.” He said walking away looking dejected.

“Tomorrow. 8PM. Don’t be late.” You told him as you skipped home. Getting this hero to die would be easy, so you thought.

The next day, you woke to a very angry phone call from Shigaraki. He demanded answers for why it was taking so long. If anyone else had done it it would’ve been done by now, and other bullshit you didn’t have time for. You knew that everyone would notice it was you right away. So while you ignored your phone call, you focused on your date this evening. The day flew while you were taking care of errands and miscellaneous tasks that you’ve been putting off for too long. 

Before you knew it, there was a knock at the door, you went to open the door, and saw Bakugo standing there with flowers.

“These are for you.” He thrust the flowers toward you while looking away.

“Thank you, these are beautiful. While I put them in water, why don’t you make yourself at home? I still need to put on my makeup.” You told him.

“Really? I don’t think that is necessary. I mean, you look beautiful the way you are.” His face was getting redder and redder. 

“Thank you, you’re very kind. I will be but a moment.” You told him as walked into the room. A few minutes you were ready.

“Okay, I am ready. What are the plans for tonight?” You asked him curiously.

“Well the stupid nerd convinced all of us that went to UA together to hang out. They want to have a few drinks and karaoke.” He admitted annoyance laced in his voice, but the look on his face told you otherwise. The night was fueled with alcohol, laughter, and memories. You knew that you had to keep it professional, and your job was to eliminate him, at least that is what you kept telling yourself.

The following months went by fast, when you weren’t working, or training, you were hanging out with Bakugo and his hero friends, or just the two of you. Everything was blissful.

~~~9 Months Ago~~~

Angry with the lack of contact and results from you. Shigaraki had enough and was going to take things into his own hands even if you were a casualty. 

“Dabi, I need you to go and see what is taking Y/N so fucking long.” He demanded. “Don’t kill her yet, we will kill her when we kill that loudmouth as well.” 

Dabi just shook his head and walked out the door. Whatever you were doing wasn’t his problem. To him, getting rid of you wouldn’t matter to his plan. So he did as he was told. He followed you and learned your schedule over the next few weeks. 

“She’s so fucking predictable.” Dabi said to himself as he snapped a picture of you and Bakugo kissing. When Dabi returned, he informed Shigaraki of what he found, and together, they plotted your downfall.

~~~6 Months Ago~~~

Bakugo had awoken to a phone call in the middle of the night. He felt you stir in your sleep next to him. He rushed getting his things together and left slamming the door behind him. You turned over in the bed and looked at the alarm clock. The bright red number read 2:43 AM.  You texted Bakugo quickly. He responded with Hero Shit. I’ll be safe and see you soon.

You couldn’t sleep. You got up and paced around his apartment. There was something gnawing at the back of your mind. If it was an urgent matter, you’d be called as well. If it was something more serious, they’d only call in the Professional Heroes. Which led you to believe that this was the case. 

Two hours later, a very tired Bakugo entered the apartment. You ran into his arms, and held on to him for longer than you should have. 

“Were you worried about me dumbass?” He asked you playfully, but the worry was thick in his voice. There was no mistaking it.

“No. Never, but if I didn’t get called in with you, it must be serious.” You told him. You knew you were lying. You were worried, and that scared you more that whatever he was just told. It meant that you had already failed in your mission. That you actually cared.

“Y/N. I need you to know this. I love you, and I will never let anything happen to you. The League threatened us. Specifically, you and me.” Bakugo told you honestly, and openly. “They didn’t give a specific timeline, it was just a general threat, but I thought you should know. Keep your guard up.” 

Your heart leaped at his words. You knew you failed. You knew you weren’t supposed to fall, but you did.

“I love you too, Katsuki. I will stick so close to you, you’ll wanna hurl me off the balcony.” You replied. He kissed you deeply with every emotion he felt. He pulled you into the bedroom to further explain how he felt.

~~~3 Months Ago~~~

The two of you were public, there was no denying it. The Commission felt the transparency was necessary to let the League know that a threat wouldn’t stop anyone from living their life.  The public cheered for you. The threat was always in the back of your mind. You weren’t sure what scared you more, Shigaraki ceasing all contact with you or the calm that had come over the city.

During your late-night patrol, you and Bakugo happened upon a crying child. Bakugo quickly picked up the child. Cradling her in his arms, and trying to soothe her. It was right then you realized, you wanted a family. Life of a villain wasn’t conducive to having a family. Bakugo found the child’s parents within a matter of minutes, and if you weren’t sure before, you sure were in love with him.

You dragged him into a dark alley where no prying eyes could see the things you were about to do. You took him and pushed him against the wall, and kissed him hard. He happily grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, pressing his hardening length against you.

“What are you doing?” He hissed into your neck where he left a trail of kisses, causing you to shiver.

“I saw you with that child, and I thought why not try right now?” You shot back. You unzipped his pants to free his hard dick. Your eyes grew at his size every time you saw it. You undid your pants and pulled them down, exposing your dirty little secret, that you weren’t wearing any panties.

“Y/N.” He groaned into your ear as he pressed eager fingers into you. “Shit. You’re so wet for me already.” You took him in your hand and started stroking him slowly. 

“You know if we weren’t in the middle of a patrol, I’d definitely take my time.” He told you in between breaths.

“I want you Ka-” He kissed you hard, entwining his tongue with yours. He was so needy for you. He grabbed you by the hips and lifted you on top of him, making sure you and he were lined up. He slowly entered you. The way his hips moved slowly at first to let you adjust and then quickly increased his speed made you moan loudly.

“Keep quiet, dumbass. I don’t want to get caught fucking you on camera. Although that would be pretty hot.” He smiled at you. You were already so close for no good reason. You felt yourself release on him.

“Well, shit. You were already hot for me huh?” He asked you cockily and he increased his speed. You couldn’t deny it felt amazing. 

“Tell me where you want me to come, because if you want a child I will give you one.” He teased you. All you could do was nod at him.

“Oh, did I fuck you stupid?” He asked you smugly.  He didn’t wait for an answer, he released deep into you, painting your walls white with his seed. He kissed you once more before dressing and acting like he didn’t just fuck you in a dark alley. You got your bearing and did the same.

~~~Present Day that Morning~~~

You had been feeling off all day. It wasn’t like you to feel sick, but here you were feeling nauseous. You ran to the toilet and slammed the door behind you. You let all of your breakfast out.

“Dumbass! Let’s get going, we’ll be late for the meeting.” Bakugo yelled at you. You immediately felt better, quickly rinsed your mouth with mouthwash and walked out the door.

The Commission had summoned all heroes and their sidekicks for a meeting due to the increase in League activity. You often wondered what Shigaraki was thinking, but since he was number two, whatever it was that number one wanted he got.  The meeting was boring and lasted a while, and there wasn’t any new information. You were dismissed and were told to continue on your patrol routes as normal. 

You felt that same feeling coming over from this morning. You quickly left and ran to the bathroom. You sent a quick message to Bakugo telling him you weren’t feeling well, but you’d see him on patrol. You went to the corner store where you picked up some medicine. You came across the pregnancy tests. You hesitated for a moment, decided against it and kept going. The gnawing feeling at the back of your mind started up again. It didn’t let up until you had a test in your hand.

You headed back home, took some medicine and ripped the test open. You knew you couldn’t be pregnant. There was only one time you and Bakugo haven't used protection, and you had your period since then...right? You didn’t think twice about it, peed on the stick and waited for the results. 

It was on your patrol route that evening, when you were confronted by the League.

“Hello, Y/N.” You heard a deep voice.

“Dabi?” You replied, he was ready with his quirk with intent to kill.

“I don’t think so.” Bakugo came charging at him with rage in his eyes. 

“Do you think that some pathetic grenades will stop me from killing her? She betrayed us for you.” Dabi confessed. The look on Bakugo’s face changed from rage to utter betrayal. He shook off the words. He didn’t actually believe you’d do that.

“She loves me, you dumb piece of shit. She’s one of us.” He barked at Dabi, firing shots at him. 

From the shadows emerged Shigaraki, he silently walked up behind you and clicked his tongue.

“Such a shame, that boy is a fool.” He left you alone for a moment and went over to Dabi.

“Well, if you are one of us, Y/N, finish the job you were sent to do.” Shigaraki shouted to you. “Kill this hero that stands in our way.”

Before you knew it, you were pinned against the wall. The anger that radiated from Bakugo’s body was undeniable. His hand wrapped around your throat, tight enough to kill. You gasped, clawing at his hands.

“Kaa-Chan, I’m pregnant.” You whispered. He lowered his hands and walked away. You were the enemy, the one he had to kill. He fought back Shigaraki, and Dabi enough until other heroes arrived to help. He walked back to where you were, all of the feelings he felt for you were real. How could you betray him like this? All his hopes of having a family, being a father, being a husband, and a great hero; were crashing down as soon as they were built. The pain in his face was almost audible, it broke your heart. He took a deep breath, got super close to your ear.

“You’re dead to me. I loved you. I gave you everything I had. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you right here and now. Get your shit out of my apartment. I never want to see you again.” The venom dripped from his words. He turned around and didn’t look back.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 111

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,900ish

Summary: Captain America: Civil War (sorry if this chapter isn’t that dramatic.... I can promise the next one will be....

Notes: make sure that you have read chapter 110. That chapter didn’t have the taglist with it.

Steve and Sam eventually made it out with an unconscious Bucky in tow. Hidden in some abandoned building. Steve was watching through a gap at a chopper flying overhead.

“Hey, Cap!” Sam called. Steve went over to join his friend, who was near Bucky. Bucky was sitting with his arm in a vice.

“Steve,” Bucky said.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asked.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah… You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”

“Can’t read that in a museum.”

“Just like that, we’re suppose to be cool?” Sam questioned.

“What did I do?” Bucky asked.

“Enough.”

“Was Y/N…”

“The whispers is that you attacked her.”

“Oh, God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are dead. The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don't know.’”

“He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?”

“Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier.”

~~~

Slowly blinking, Y/N let her eyes focus on her surroundings. She was on a plane. A Stark plane. She felt someone’s hand on hers. She looked over to see Tony’s hand on hers, head hung low.

“Where—“ She swallowed. “Where are we going?”

“Oh my—“ He quickly stood up and held a kiss to her forehead. “You… I can’t even… You shouldn’t have gone near him.”

“I had to try…”

“Doesn’t matter. His life is not worth yours.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Home.”

Y/N watched Tony for a second. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.” She sat up. “They got away, didn’t they? And you’re going to go after them.”

“I have to.”

“Please, Tony, stop this before it’s too late. Don’t wait until someone gets hurt and the team is completely destroyed.”

“I just doing what I have to do. And so should you.”

“What should I do?”

“Stay at home until this is all settled.”

“You’re going to keep me as a prisoner? Keep me locked away. You can’t to that.”

“That’s why I’m not telling you where I’m going. To keep you safe.”

“To keep me safe, or to keep me from protecting Steve and Bucky?”

“To keep you safe! Y/N, damn it! Look at your neck! Those bruises are in a literal shape of a hand! I don’t think they’ll disappear for weeks. Your precious Bucky did that to you, and I won’t let it happen again.”

“Tony, if you do something to harm them, either of them, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Tough sweetheart, because I’ll never forgive myself if you get hurt like that again.”

~~~

The compound was all but locked down. Vision and FRIDAY were both keeping an eye on both Y/N and Wanda. Y/N was worried about where Steve, Bucky, and Tony were, and if they were being stupid. Y/N and Wanda weren’t able to fall asleep, so they were in the kitchen. Vision was hovering in the corner, seemingly asleep, or as asleep as an android can be. 

Suddenly, the three were on alert. An explosion in the distance lit up the room for a moment. They hurried to the window to see another explosion near the fence line.

“What is it?” Wanda asked.

“Stay here, please,” Vision pled before disappearing.

Once Vision was gone the two women sensed a different presence behind them. Wanda compelled a knife to fly across the room. They turned to see it stop in front of Clint’s head and him flick it away.

“Guess I shoulda knocked,” he commented.

“Oh my god!” Wanda exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Disappointing my kids.” He shot arrows to both sides of the room. “I’m supposed to go water skiing.”

“Clint,” Y/n called, the worry extremely evident. “What’s going on?”

“Cap needs our help,” he answered, grabbing Wanda’s hand. “Come on.” Wanda grabbed Y/N’s hand as they began to head out of the room.

“Clint!” Vision greeted, appearing through the wall behind them. “You should not be here.”

“Really?” Clint retorted, him and the others turning back around. “I retire for, what, like five minutes, and it all goes to shit.”

“Please consider the consequences of your actions.”

“Okay, they’re considered.” Suddenly, the arrows Clint previous shot, catch Vision in a force field. “Okay, we really gotta go.” Wanda stepped towards Vision as Clint grabbed Y/N’s hand. He began to led her to the door. They stopped when they noticed Wanda wasn’t moving. “It’s this way.”

“I’ve caused enough problems,” Wanda responded, nervously playing with her sleeves.

Leaving Y/N at the door, Clint jogged back over to Wanda. “You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you wanna mope, can go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get off your ass. Shit.” 

Vision broke the force field with the Mind Stone. Quickly, he punched Clint to the floor, but Clint recovered. 

“I knew I should’ve stretched,” Clint groaned.

He extended a baton and tried to hit Vision but the blows went right through him. Clint resorted to punches before trying the baton again. It broke. Clint tried to kick Vision, but his leg wen right through him. Vision then quickly got Clint into a headlock.

“Clint, you van’t overpower me,” Vision warned.

“I know I can’t,” Clint responded. “But they can.” 

They look up to see Wanda and Y/N standing side by side, Wanda’s red glow between her hands. 

“Vision, that’s enough,” Wanda said. “Let him go. We’re leaving.”

“I can’t let you,” Vision replied.

Wanda held her hands apart, glowing with energy, forcing Clint to slip from Vision’s grasp. He grabbed Y/N and pulled her away as Wanda forced Vision to the ground.

“How far a long are you?” Clint whispered.

“What?” Y/N gasped, looking at Clint with surprise.

“My wife’s had three kids. I know the tells.”

“Five weeks.”

“Does anyone know?” Y/N shook her head. “Then you’re staying here. I’m not putting you or the baby in harms way. And I know Steve wouldn’t want that either.”

“No, I can—“

A crash is heard. They flinch as they turn to see that Wanda as forced Vision through several floors of the compound.

“If you stay here,” Clint turned back to Y/N, hands on her shoulders, “I won’t say a word. If you come or follow, I’ll tell everyone and they’ll force you to stay put anyway.”

~~~~

Vision disappeared out of the hole not long after Clint and Wanda had left. Y/N couldn’t stop worrying, pacing, rounding every inch of the compound. FRIDAY had blocked her from being able to contact any of her teammates or watch any news channels. It was late into the afternoon of the next day when she finally was contacted. She had just barely fallen asleep on the couch when FRIDAY announced the incoming call.

“Y/N?” Natasha panicked voice filled her room. She was immediately on alert. 

“Nat? Are you okay? What happened?”

“It got bad. There was a fight at the airport in Berlin. Sam, Clint, and Wanda are in jail. Bucky and Steve made it to the quinjet to go—I don’t even know where.”

“What? How did this happen?“

“And Rhodey was extremely hurt. Tony’s in the other room waiting for the results, but it doesn’t look good. I think he’ll go after them next. The only way to stop him is if you go with Bucky and Steve to wherever it is they’re headed. Tony will trust you if you’re with them.”

“Nat, I don’t—“

“I’m not asking you to pick a side. I’m asking you to save your family.” Y/N’s hand went straight to her stomach. “To save your child’s family.”

“How did you…”

“You were in the bathroom for way too long, Y/N. And I’ve noticed how your hand falls to your stomach. Do they know?”

“Only Clint and you.”

“You need to tell them before it’s too late.”

“I know… Thanks for the information, Nat. I’m assuming you helped them escape.”

“I did. Have to go on the run now.”

“Stay safe, Nat.”

“You too.”

The call ended and Y/N took a deep breath. Bucky and Steve had taken a quinjet from Berlin, the same quinjet Y/N had arrived there in. So she could create a portal there. It was just bracing herself for the inevitable vomiting that would follow. Opening the portal, she rushed through, stumbling into the quinjet.

“What the—“ Bucky immediately turned around, pointing a gun in Y/N’s direction. He lowered it when he saw her vomiting in the corner. “Y/N?” He hurried forward, kneeling beside her. “How did you— are you okay?”

“Y/N,” Steve rushed to her other side. A hand found the way to her back, gently rubbing up and down. “What’s going on?”

“I’m… I’m… fine…” she panted. She straightened up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “I’ll be fine.”

“Is there something going on with your powers?”

“I’m fine, Steve, really. How are you guys?”

“Really Y/N?” Bucky questioned. “You just appeared through a portal and began to vomit. I don’t think you’re okay.” As he looked her over, his eyes found their way to her neck. “No,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” His flesh hand came up, hesitant to touch the bruise. Y/N grabbed his hand and led it to her bruise. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine, Buck. I’m okay.”

“I promised to never hurt you and I keep doing it. Leaving for war, falling into HYDRA’s hands, back in DC, now this…”

“Bucky,” Steve called, slowly, watching the interaction. “How much to you actually remember?”

“I remember Y/N the most. Not everything, but I remember the feelings when we were together the strongest.”

“You remember me the most?” Y/N repeated quietly.

“Something happened the moment we met eyes in DC. Things kept creeping back.”

“Oh, Buck.” Y/N quickly wrapped her arms around Bucky. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, doll.”

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Steve asked, again.

She pulled away from Bucky, so that she could see both men. “Nat called me and told me what happened. I came to help.”

“You know that you can’t go back after this, right?”

“I may be able to get us all home safety and talk everyone down. I just need to see this through to be able to explain it and help the cause.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “I think you are safer staying in the quinjet.”

“Not a chance, Buck. If there’s a way I can bring you home, I’m going to do it.”

“I don’t think I’m worth all this.” He looked down into his lap.

Y/N guided her hand under Bucky’s chin, gently guided it up so that they were looking into each others eyes. “I think you’re worth it. I always have.”

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

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[forget-me-not-s]

Forbidden

Day 4 of Elriel Month

Word count: 2401

Content Warning: Slightly NSFW, spoilers for ACOSF and Azriel exclusive POV.

These past few weeks had been a new kind of hell for Azriel. Since Rhysand ordered him to stay away from Elain, his days have been immersed in darkness and his nights restless. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, her smile had lightened up every room, her laugh his favourite sound and her smell his favorite aphrodisiac.

Part of him understood the reasoning behind Rhys command, but Rhysand had risked everything for Feyre. What he didn’t comprehend is why his own brother wouldn’t want to see him happy. Elain should be able to choose who she wants to be with, even if she never ends up choosing him. He knew he would always put Elain’s choice first even if it meant destroying himself.

In the past months he had realized the true depth of his feelings for the seer. Azriel had thought he would never stop loving Mor, but since Elain came into his life, he realized that he was deceiving himself. He was in love with the idea of love, not with Mor, at least where the last centuries were concerned. Deep down he knew he had loved her once, but Elain’s kindness had opened him to another kind of love, more pure and real, one that he never thought he would have or deserve.

The Cauldron had to be punishing him for all the sins he had committed, Azriel knew he wasn’t deserving of love. He had finally found the female he wanted to share his immortal life with, just so the Cauldron would choose another male for her.

Today was going to be especially hard for him as he wouldn’t be able to escape seeing her. He had tried to avoid her after the incident on the stairs, but today would be impossible not to be near her. Part of him needed to see her one more time, as he was a starving man and her sight would be the only thing that would satiate him. Feyre had asked his council on a matter regarding the human courts, and Nuala had confirmed Elain would be present during the meeting.

Surprisingly, when he arrived at the River House Elain was the only one there, no sign of their High Lord and Lady to be seen. She looked beautiful, her hair down, ruffled by the early spring breeze, face sun kissed probably after spending the morning tending her gardens under the sun. Azriel knew the moment she saw him, as her scent changed, he had to contain the groan that wanted to be released.

Elain felt more than saw the shadowsinger appear in the kitchen, her breath catching and her cheeks blushing. She couldn’t help it, she had been preparing herself for this encounter for days. It had been almost three months since the ill fated night, and he had been avoiding her. She still couldn’t believe how close she had been to kissing him, part of her was still furious at the interruption. The moment she had believed what Azriel had told her, that it had been a mistake. That’s why she returned the necklace, because the last time a male had gifted jewelry, he had called her a monster and rejected her love and she didn’t want to feel like that ever again, even if it broke her heart parting with that thoughtful gift. But now she knew it hadn’t been a mistake. Azriel had been forced to flee her side and to never approach her again. What made her furious was that it wasn’t caused by an enemy force; the cause of this had been her own brother-in-law. When she saw what had happened in one of her visions, she confronted Rhys.

She had had enough, she wasn’t a child to be coddled. Her life had been taken away from her since the moment she was forced into the Cauldron, her future forever changed. None of it with her consent, none hadn’t been her choice.

So she was mad at Rhysand as he was taking away her choice once again, by forcing Azriel to never follow that path with her. Even if it meant hurting them both. It seems like she would never be able to choose for herself, the Cauldron forming a bond with a male who didn’t understand her, that played a small part in her trauma and that he wasn’t HER choice. For the first time ever she made her voice heard, she wouldn’t be stifled again, not with this and not with anything else moving forward. She had had enough, she was the only one who would decide her own destiny. And she had chosen Azriel. She wouldn’t hide her feelings for the shadowsinger, she wouldn’t let Rhysand or anyone dictate her life, she wanted to love freely, her love wouldn’t be a forbidden union. She realized that in her new world people would tell her who she needed to be but she would have none of that, she would fight back and say no, this is who I am.

Her first step had been speaking with Rhys and telling him she would talk with Lucien, that’s when she found out she could actually break the bond. Knowing this felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She clarified that she wanted to break the bond. Not because of what had happened during the Solstice but because she needed to make her own destiny and the bond was a prison for both herself and Lucien. Feyre had been present for the last part of the conversation as her powers had gone out of control with all her emotions running wild. That’s how she managed to trick Azriel into coming to the River House, he thought he was meeting her sister. She had tricked him, but they needed to talk.

Her conversation with Lucien had gone better than she expected, it hadn’t been an easier one, but necessary nonetheless. After hours of talking, they had agreed that it was better if they broke the bond. She wasn’t surprised when Lucien had been a bit reluctant at first, as the mating is more instinctive for the male, but what had shocked her was that Lucien told her how he believed he was starting to develop feelings for Vassa. She teased him endlessly. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking, morning came and they had still been deep into conversation, funny how the day they had finally broken the bond was the day they talked as friends, free at least from those invisible chains.

Azriel saw Elain’s shy smile appear and he couldn't help returning it. There was something different about her, her eyes were clear, she looked rested, and somehow free. Her distinctive smell had also been altered.

“Elain, I thought I was supposed to meet Feyre” he said while walking closer to her.

“I know, I asked her to fake the meeting so we could talk” he stopped walking, surprise appearing on his expression.

“Are you ok? Has something happened?” His facial expression turned murderous, if someone had hurted her, he was dead.

“No, I just wanted to talk to you about what happened that night” Elain's heart melted at his concern.

“Elain I…” Azriel started to say, part of him just wanted to tell her how he never thought she was a mistake, he wanted to make things right, but he was scared that it would hurt her more, as they couldn’t be together, he wasn’t deserving of love.

“Azriel I know what happened, I know it was Rhysand that stopped it” she interrupted him.

“What do you mean?” he knew he sounded stupid, but she took him by surprise.

“I know it wasn’t a mistake, '' Elain said while she closed their gap, her hands softly grabbing his “a few nights later I had a retrocognition. I saw everything that happened after Rhysand saw us. He had no right to stop what would have happened” she said while her hands brought his scarred ones to her lips. Azriel's voice cracked as he talked “I shouldn’t have said it was a mistake, Rhys or no Rhys you could never be a mistake Elain, you are everything that’s good” his hands moved to grasp her face, bringing his forehead to lay on hers. “I know that now, but I would be lying if I told you, you didn’t hurt me, it felt like Greysen all over again” Azriel heart broke, that was never his intention, he would kill himself before hurting her “I am so sorry, what can I do to fix it?” he needed to get things right, he would beg on his knees for her forgiveness. “Just kiss me and make me forget it ever happened” she murmured.

Azriel didn’t hesitate, he closed the gap and finally ley his lips on hers. The kiss was soft, innocent even, an apology and a promise all wrapped into one perfect gift. Elain’s arms wrapped around his neck, bringing them closer, her tongue graced his lower lip asking for permission, turning the soft kiss into an explosion of passion.

Azriel hands were everywhere, he needed to touch her, to prove this was real, that it was actually happening and he wasn’t in one of his dreams. Elain let out a moan when his hands graced her sides, getting closer to her aching breasts. “Elain as much as I love this we need to talk” he said trying to distance himself from her even though it pained him, but they needed to discuss what happened next, he still had orders and she was still mated.

“Fine” she said, not without giving him a quick kiss. She would be his death.

“What happened after you had your vision” he asked, his fingers running small circles on her arms.

“I told Rhysand that that would be the last time he would take away my choice for political reasons. All my life I’ve been an afterthought, I never had much choice, and when Hybern took me and I was forced into the Cauldron I was stripped of everything. Now that I was finally getting my voice back, Rhysand took it away from me once again, and I had enough. No one will tell me who I should love, not a High Lord and definitely not an ancient bond”

He now realized what the change in her smell meant, under the small hint of arousal, he smelled her and only her, no trace of the bond couldn’t be found. He almost fell to his knees begging for a chance to love her as she deserved to be loved. His kiss was bruising, the passion soaring, he wanted to convey everything that he was feeling on that kiss. Elain was giving him everything he thought he would never have, she was choosing him. For the first time in his life someone was willing to risk everything to be with him.

“Azriel” Elain said in between kisses, her melodic laugh appearing when he couldn't stop giving her small kisses around her neck, making her shiver. “All those moments we shared in our gardens, the small touches we were brave enough to have, made me realize that you are my choice, that even if the Cauldron didn’t tie us together, you are my mate, the one I choose. The one I love” she said while tears running down her beautiful face “don’t cry my rose, you have made me the happiest male, I love you more than words can convey, you are my everything Elain” he responded while lowering her on the soft grass, his hands tenderly caressing her face, collecting those happy tears.

Elain’s hands grabbed his hips, making him fall on top of her, straddling her hips. Azriel let out a groan at the friction this position bringed to his aching cock, her hands started untying his fighting leathers“ Are you sure Elain?, We have the rest of our lives for this” he said while giving small kisses where her neck met shoulder. “Yes I need to feel you, to feel our love in the most carnal of expressions ”

They made quick work of their clothes, Azriel started a trail of kisses, lowering himself between her legs. Elain’s hands wreaked havoc on his hair as he finally got his first taste of her, sweet, she was so sweet and wet. Her whimpers the only sound beside the birds chirping, his tongue creating an increasing crescendo of pleasure as he licked her soft folds, putting pressure on her clit making her even more wet. He was a starving male and Elain his only salvation. When she felt she was close to her climax, she pulled him off her “I want to fall with you inside me” she said, her eyes dark with lust. He kissed her, her mouth warm and soft, he bit back a groan as she took his cock and brought it to her entrance, the sensation overwhelming. They both moaned as he started moving. Slow at first, making her go crazy with desire, she needed to feel more “harder Azriel, I want to feel all of you, you won’t hurt me” she said while coaxing him with her hands on his back, his body went still, his entire world stopped at her soft cares on his wings. The groan he let out was feral, deepening his thrusts making them both moan louder. The sound of sink on sink and their encouraging sounds the sole symphony as they chased their climax. Azriel kissed her to stifle her moans, his hand touching her at the apex of her tights making her go over the cliff, Azriel joining her thrusts later when Elain found a sensitive place on his wings. Making him roar with pleasure.

Afterwards when they were both satiated Elain kissed him softly, her hands drawing small circles on his back. A sweet smile on both of their faces. Happiness, utter happiness ran through them as they rejoiced in their love making. They both knew this was a new beginning, their relationship barely starting, they had so much to learn and discover. War was starting once again and they would have to fight for it, this time would be different, the stakes higher as they would fight to get back to each other. But together they would overcome everything. Together they would fight as one.

[jimlingss]

Arcadia

➜ Words: 9.6k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Angst, Dystopia!AU, Utopia!AU

➜ Summary: In a new era, the human race has largely been eradicated through warfare and disease. You are one of the few left, living in the forest and making use of the wild. Or at least that's what you think until a man quite literally crashes into your home.

cr.

It happened in the afternoon.   A deafening noise from the sky. A thin whistle that crescendoed. Louder than what you’re used to hearing. Ringing in your eardrums. It shrieked horrifically — rumbling the ground — roaring through the silent forest. And you looked up to see a streak of white in the sky. Immediately, you dropped the animal in hand, abandoned the trap at your feet and ducked your head.   But the explosions never came raining down on your skull.   Instead, it happened in the distance. An explosion that made the evening sky spark bright white.    It took a full minute for it to die down, for the smoke to fade into the horizon as if nothing occurred a moment ago. Yet, you stalked the fumes and commotion, crept in the shadows. You knew better than to approach foreign things, to approach clamor and potential danger.   But the forest had been quiet for so long that it provoked your curiosity.    What you found past the shrubbery and trunks of spruce is a giant white cylinder with rounded edges. A capsule. So white that it burnt to the back of your eyelids, in no way natural whatsoever. But the colour had been marred by dirt and foliage after it crash-landed. The mud and ground hugged it, molded against the shape after it quite literally smashed into the Earth.   Before you could approach the thing and investigate, there was another noise. An unfamiliar whirring. It made you flinch and stumble back, taking refuge behind the trees.   But as you peeked out, you saw something crawling out of the open compartment. A groan.    Someone.   You hadn’t seen another person in years.   Immediately, you stepped forward and he saw you. Eyes darting to look into yours.   He was in stark white clothing from top to bottom, pants that stopped too short at his ankles, a shirt that was cut awkwardly and too small for his broad shoulders. It was vivid against his dark hair and golden skin, almost made him look ridiculous. But you supposed at the time you didn’t look any better — ripped jeans, dirtied boots, a worn jacket taken years ago from some loot and your hair tucked into a baseball cap with a logo too faded away to discern.   “I-I won’t hurt you,” he stutters out, putting up his hands. “I...I’m Seokjin. I’m part of the rescue fleet of Arcadia.”   Arcadia?   The man, Seokjin, sighs after your ongoing silence. “Sorry. Of course you wouldn’t understand me. I,” he enunciates slowly and points to himself. “Am. Friend.” His hands wildly form a heart for you to see and then he points at you with his left while still making wild gestures with his right. He tries to smile brightly. “I. Help. You—”   “I understand you,” you deadpan with an impassive expression.   The man is visibly taken aback, eyes rounded as his mouth opens and closes comically. “Y-You can speak?”   Your arm lifts and your index finger points at his head. “You’re bleeding.”   ... .. .   He looks around the interior of the tree house like a lost child, seated on the floor and waiting for his parents to return. It’s a meager shack made of alder, large gaps for windows, tattered backpacks stained and collected in the corner by some pairs of shoes and an old radio. There’s a fishing line hung diagonally across the room and above his head, used to dry clothing. But he finds himself drawn to the radio and crawls over to try to switch it on, tugging on its antenna, turning the dials.   Yet, all that answers is noisy static.   “It’s been broken since a long time ago,” you pipe up, nearly startling him to death with your sudden presence. But you had simply climbed up the ladder quietly. “I’m still tinkering with it.”   Seokjin sets the radio down. “I have a device similar to it. Thought this one would work.” He pulls out a black and thick rectangular piece of plastic from his back pocket and you scarcely recognize it.   “A walkie-talkie?”   “Kind of. It’s called an Erewhon device. State of the art technology, even if it looks chunky. It transmits radio waves without any limit of range and it syncs to one other device. No third can ever join or hack into it. I use this one to communicate with my base. Or at least I usually would, if the thing didn’t break in the crash.”   You don’t understand anything he’s saying, so you chalk it up to gibberish.   “It stings.” Seokjin sharply inhales as you apply pressure to his wound. But the ache soon alleviates when you wrap bandages around his head. “What’s your name?”   It’s your last roll of bandages.    “Y/N.”   It’s not like you to be so generous or welcoming towards a stranger. The nature of your upbringing and life has ingrained an innate suspicion to anyone who isn’t yourself. But there’s a characteristic about the man in front of you that doesn’t make you doubt his intentions.   It must also be partly because you’ve been on your own for so long and your inner subconscious is willing to dance with danger if it means having some kind of contact with another. But whatever the case may be, you don’t feel wary of Seokjin even if you should.   “Are...there any others?”   “Other humans? There hasn’t been any for years.”   “There’s….just you?”   “Just me.” Until now. “Where did you come from?”   “I come from a place called Arcadia. It’s a utopian society just off the Zion mountain and Elysian Fields,” he says as if you know what those places are. “It has everything and it’s where the remaining people have gathered for years. I actually rescue people like you who are still alive and bring them back. How...how did you manage to survive on your own out here?”    “I just do.”    “How long have you been here?”   “I don’t remember. The apocalypse happened when I was young.”   Seokjin makes a noise of acknowledgment like he understands. “It happened when I was seven.”   “I remember celebrating my fifth birthday in an underground bunker with my parents.”   He doesn’t ask where they are. If they aren’t with you now, it’s safe to assume your parents are dead like his are.    “I had a lot of people help me along the way, a lot of people who died,” you say, “I’ve been in sanctuaries and communities until they fell. Everything was only temporary. So, I’ve been on my own for a while.”   “Arcadia is different,” he says with bright eyes, breathy voice full of wonder and hope. “It’s where the new world is beginning. I can take you there.”   “Isn’t your flying machine broken?”   “You mean my Xanadu Shuttle?” Seokjin scratches the back of his neck and chuckles. You notice how the tips of his ears turn scarlet. “Actually, it was my first time taking it out that far. I’m kind of new to all this. But don’t worry! When it crashed, it sent a notification to headquarters and gave coordinates, so they should find me soon. I’ll try to fix my Erewhon device too.”   You don’t pretend like you know the things he’s referring to. “Are you hungry?”   “I have dried pemmican!” He lights up as if remembering and pulls a transparent wrapped bar from his back pocket. You wonder what else is in those endless pockets of his.    Seokjin must read the puzzled expression on his face since his smile widens. “Want to try it?”   “Sure.” You rip open the wrapper and you’re met with a dark red and gray block, and a meaty scent that makes you slightly nauseous. But you’ve eaten worse before, so you take a bite.   Seokjin instantly laughs when your expression wrinkles up. “It tastes better the more you eat it. Promise.”   “It’s awful.” There’s a temptation to spit it out the window, but afraid that it might be considered rude, you swallow it down and quickly hand back the monstrosity to him. “Do you want rabbit?”   “Sure.”   … .. .   It’s odd to eat a meal with someone — an experience that you’re unable to pinpoint your last memory of. It’s rather mundane, but mundanity has long been a privilege in this era.   “You can sleep in the tree house if you want.”   “Where will you be?”   “I usually like to sleep on the forest floor anyway.” It isn’t a lie. One of the few things you love is drifting off while gazing at the stars, that the last thing you see is the sparkling horizon before it’s blue again when you awake. “How many people are there in Arcadia?”   “About twenty five hundred people so far.”   So far. But if what he tells you is true, then it’s a big settlement.   As if able to see how he’s piqued your curiosity, Seokjin continues, “It’s an amazing place and we’re completely self-sufficient. There’s an agriculture industry that’s growing and greenhouses underground that gives us all the food we need. They developed a water filtration system as well and it’s connected to the mountain springs nearby. There are pods that people live in, schools that kids can go to, jobs, medicine— you’ll see when I take you back.”   “I never said I was going with you.”   “What? Why wouldn’t you?”   You don’t answer.   … .. .   “Morning.” You watch as he climbs down the ladder and nearly slips off. It’s an amusing sight to see his hair in a disarray and his eyes swollen beyond recognition. “Glad to see you’re finally up.”   Seokjin, on the other hand, is baffled at how you’re already moving so energetically. “When….did you get up?”   “Since sunrise. Changed your bandages too, if you didn’t already notice. I’m getting breakfast prepared. There’s a stream down this path that you can wash your face in. Collect water for me while you’re at it.”   You hand him a silver pail.   Walking off, Seokjin finally gets a good look at the forest. It’s quiet, save for the chickadees he notices in the thin branches of the spruce, twiddling as he passes and the woodpeckers hammering against the alder. There was just enough rays of light bursting through to allow the saplings to flourish and shrubs to overgrow. And the verdant green almost blinds his vision with how vivid it is. He’s never been so surrounded in nature before — never has it encapsulated him completely.   When Seokjin returns, he’s more alert than before.   “Thought you got lost for a second. You can set the water over there. Do you want to help me look at my traps?”   He follows you and nearly steps into a trap before you yell at him. But he’s amazed. You’ve designated a whole section full of traps made of loose string and branches, and when he asks, he learns they’re treadle snares to drowning snares.   “They don’t yield a lot of food. It depends on the season, but it mainly depends on luck.”    “What do you usually eat then?”   “I have some canned stuff from the cities, but there’s a lot of berries and herbs around here that are edible. I’m in the process of growing some basil and tomatoes too, so I never really starve out here.”   Seokjin is astounded. You can see it on his face, but you don’t know why that is. It’s not like any of these things are impressive. It’s just things you learn once you’ve lived out here long enough.   “You’re making a fire now?”   He watches as you take out a curved piece of wood with string attached and another piece that’s pointed at the end. You saw it back and forth on some more wood and Seokjin watches the smoke, how the friction creates the heat, how you transfer the embers to tinder.   “Is this how you always make fire?”   “Nowadays. At the beginning when I still had materials, I would use batteries and steel wool. Even flint and steel. But the bow drill method works fine. I save my matches for when I need them.”   “That’s incredible. Is this what you do? I mean, collect food and make fires.”   “I guess.”   “Do you do anything else? Do you ever get bored?”   It’s an interesting question — boredom. A privilege in itself to be bored rather than worried. Though you suppose that in this quiet forest with no one else, it’s a wonder how you never went insane. But while loneliness sporadically plagues you, you’ve never necessarily felt isolated or deprived. It’s always been this way. You’ve learnt to adapt to it. Humans can handle more than they think when push comes to shove.    “There’s always something to do. Whether that’s upkeeping the tree house or making more traps or planting. But sometimes in the summer, I go exploring for a few days. Into the cities. There’re lots of places I haven’t been. It’s a good opportunity for me to get seeds, food, and clothes, so I’m never….bored.”   “Wow, t-that’s...that’s impressive.”   “There’s nothing impressive. It’s just the way things are.”   “I...went to Arcadia in its early days,” Seokjin explains, “It was established twenty years ago, right after the apocalypse began, so I’ve never really got to see the outside world.”   “They don’t let you leave?”   “It’s not that. It just isn’t safe to. Actually, that’s why I wanted to join the rescue fleet. It gives me a chance to see the outside world.”   “You haven’t even seen anything yet. If you want….I can take you somewhere. Better than this.”   “Really?!” Seokjin’s eyes widen, irises practically glistening.   Your lips tickle, threatening to upturn. “Sure.”   … .. .   Past the stream and thicket is a clearing. A meadow of daisies. It’s overgrown grass that reaches to your knees, white petals spilling over with yellow centers filled among them. The sound of insects buzzing and circling through the field is heard as the sun beats down. You found this place a good year ago and while it doesn’t serve much of a purpose, you left it undisturbed.    The apocalypse was a catastrophe, but it did a lot for nature.   “This….this….” Seokjin is breathless, unable to force a coherent word out. He looks over at the blue horizon that seems to steal the land as the abundance of flowers overwhelms his senses.    “It’s beautiful, huh?”   He stays silent, taking in the sight in front of him. He has seen a vase of flowers at best — most certainly not a boundless field of them. Not like this. Not in the entirety of his life so far. Not in a way where he could inhale the fresh air, count clouds, memorize the azure shade of the sky, and not where he is unable to see where the end or the start is.   Seokjin is overwhelmed, and he realizes why the choice to stay remains. Why you would refuse his offer of coming back with him to Arcadia. A part of him also wants to stay here. Where freedom lies.   “I’m sorry,” he murmurs while still taking in the sight. The colours are so rich that he feels regretful he couldn’t see it sooner. “I didn’t mean to push you to come with me.”   “It’s okay. I’ll come with you.”   Seokjin finally peels his eyes away from the scenery to gaze at you.    Yet you continue to look forward. “You made me curious about this Arcadia.”   And the corner of his mouth turns into a smile.   … .. .   The next few days are spent with Seokjin — noisy at your side, but it’s entirely invited.   He goes back to his vehicle, his so-called fancy Xanadu Shuttle, and tries to contact his people. Much like your radio, there’s only static on the other end when he flips and fiddles with switches and the lights eventually die off. He messes with his Erewhon too, the little walkie-talkie device, though it’s to no avail. But Seokjin never becomes discouraged. He remains optimistic, a rarity in today’s climate. The man has no doubts they’ll come for him and even reassures you.   In the meanwhile, you show him how to start a fire, how to collect berries and certain plants, and he helps you sharpen the knives you have. But the man looks away when you have to kill the animal you trapped and he makes you kill the bugs that land on him as well. It’s a bit ridiculous and outlandish, but frighteningly natural how quickly he falls into place and adapts.   You forgot what it was like to have someone with you. To be able to talk to someone.   … .. .   “Are you ever lonely?”   Seokjin asks one night when he’s laid on the grass, arms tucked underneath his head and staring up at the stars by your side. He copied you after several occasions where he found you like that. You immediately heard the gasp that left his mouth the first time he laid down. It’s beautiful enough that he’s unconcerned with insects and doesn’t get up until you chide him to.   “Sometimes. Then I think about how people are more trouble than they’re worth.”   He grins. “Why do you say that?”   “People mess up things and always have their self-interest at heart. Learned it after I had a gun pointed on me by someone I thought was a friend.”   “I’m sorry.”   “It’s alright. Just the way things are. Anything to survive, right?”   “Is that why you’re on your own?”   “Partly. It’s hard when people die too. I’d rather not deal with that.”   “Why’d you agree to help me then?” Seokjin asks after a moment. “If people always mess things up.”   “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone. I thought talking to you would be worth the risk. And it’s not like you’re not messing things up. I’m leaving with you, right?”   Seokjin grins, meeting your eyes. It goes quiet and then you pipe up again—   “I do sing sometimes to myself. Helps keep me sane.”   “Like what?”   “I don’t know.”   “Show me.”   You outright scoff. “No.”   “Please?”   A sharp exhale later, you start mumbling, slurring words together in some obscure melody. Your voice is rigid and stiff, out of tune even to your own ears. But you’ve heard it from your parents before. It’s some jingle on television back when electricity still worked.   Instantly, Seokjin starts laughing.   “Hey, it’s not my fault I don’t know the lyrics!”   “No, no, i-it’s amazing, please continue!” Seokjin squeaks out in the midst of a giggling fit and the corner of your own mouth twitches into a subtle smile.   … .. .   Unfortunately, these simple days don’t last long. Seokjin continues messing with his Erewhon device whenever he gets the chance — banging it on the tree house wall much to your dismay, curling up with it using a screwdriver kit he got from his capsule — and one evening, it suddenly comes alive.   There’s the sound of static and someone’s muffled voice.   “Hello?! Code White. R-six-four-three. This is Kim Seokjin from fleet seventy two.”   “R-four-......three-nine.”   It’s difficult to discern, but that’s all the other line says before the device goes silent again.    You look to Seokjin, anticipating dejection and disappointment. But instead, a grin spreads into his cheeks and his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “Y/N. They’re coming soon.”   … .. .   It’s a morning of checking for traps, of hearing the orchestral songs of nature, of holding your breath as the breeze whisks through the strands of your hair. You’re tip-toeing to the simple snare laid on the ground when the familiar, deafening noise returns to the sky. A thin whistle that crescendos. Louder than you’re used to hearing. Ringing in your eardrums. It rumbles the ground, roaring through the silent forest. And you look up to see a streak of white in the sky.    It’s a larger white vessel with glass windows around. So white that it burns to the back of your eyelids, in no way natural whatsoever. And it descends to the same place Seokjin crash-landed.   Seokjin finds you and the two of you venture through the forest and shrubby towards it.   There’s a whirring and a compartment opens. Three different people step out, dressed in that unnatural white much like Seokjin is, pants and shirt cut off oddly. They look at Seokjin with smiles and incredulous expressions.   “I can’t believe you actually crashed.”   “It wasn’t my fault, JK!” Seokjin whines immediately and then quickly greets the other two females who he’s evidently less friendly with. “Amber. Lizzy. Good to see you too.”   “This something I expected from Namjoon or even Jimin, not you,” the shorter-hair girl named Amber huffs out as she playfully shakes her head.   “At least he’s safe,” Lizzy says with a smile. “Saves us from having to transport him back in a stretcher. But….who’s….that?”   Her eyes dart over to you and the other two strangers follow her line of sigh, re-directing their attention. Then their mouths drop open, eyes widening in surprise, having not seen you there.   Seokjin steps aside, allowing the light to shed on you. “She’s a lone one.”    “A-A lone one…?”   “Are you okay? Do you need help?” Amber whispers softly, lowering herself to meet your height and connect your eyes with hers as if you were a wounded animal. But then light flashes beneath her irises and her brows furrow. “Right. She might not know how to speak. Where’s my translation devi—”   The corner of Seokjin’s mouth tilts. “She does.”   You step forward, directly underneath the canopy spotlight coming through the spruce, walnut, and alder. “My name is Y/N.”

Arcadia. It’s protected by a dome-like structure reminiscent of glass, but as one of the strangers narrates, it’s supposedly a magnetic force field to protect against natural disasters. The place is ruled by tall buildings like the cities, but unlike it in the sense that they’re not decaying. They haven’t turned brown under wear and tear, don’t have moss growing on the sides of it. Rather, there are patches of green in between the paved pathways, flickering screens that are seemingly floating mid-air, masses of people walking past one another.    It’s a utopian society, they tell you. But you’re not sure what that means.   “Welcome to Arcadia,” the voice from above speaks rigidly.   The door whirs as it opens.   And white is all you see. White floors. White walls. People dressed in white. The white lights burn your vision as you stagger out, being aided by the strangers who were onboard with you.   They welcome you. Tell you they hope this place could be your refuge and new home. And you’re taken immediately by strangers until you begin thrashing, calling out to Seokjin until he consoles you. He promises that they mean no harm, that he’ll see you soon, and it’s enough for you to be relieved.   They lead you away, give you a new set of white clothing that are soft to the touch and a bin to place your old clothes in. You feel vulnerable as you strip from your grimy clothes and trade them in.   You’ve never been able to afford to hold onto sentimentalities. But it’s hard to let them go.   … .. .   “Hello—” The doctor glances at his clipboard. “You must be the new refugee, Y/N! Oh right, they call it newcomer now, not refugee. Anyway, nice to meet you, I’m Jung Hoseok. I’ll be assessing you today and setting you up to live in Arcadia. You understand me, correct?”   “Yes, I do.”   “Excellent! Makes things easier for me if we can speak the same language. But feel free to tell me if you want me to slow down. We’ll take things one step at a time.” The man grins brightly and sits on his stool, spinning around to a thin screen on the desk. “We’re going to be doing some tests together today, so I can figure out what I’ll need to help you with and we can make sure your transition is as smooth as possible.”   “Okay.”   You knew a doctor once. She was similar to him, whimsical as he seemingly is, until she had to amputate her own arm and then bled to death.   “Do you have any questions?”   “Not really.”   There’s an eye examination done until you tell him you don’t know all the letters of the alphabet. He switches to pictures afterwards and is enthused as he tells you that your eyes are apparently fine. He makes you lay down and open your mouth to examine your teeth. You spit into a vial, have your blood drawn. You step into a white capsule with black bars twirling around you. He shows you a picture of your bones and scanned brain with the excitement akin to a child’s afterwards.    And he asks too many questions.   “So you mainly ate rabbits, berries and other plants? Fascinating.” — “How often do you sleep?” — “So your bowel movements were pretty consistent?”   You miss Seokjin.   … .. .   “Seokjin, can you please tell us what happened on the fifth?”   The commander, chief, supervisor and several others are seated on the other side of the table.   “Yes. I was dispatched to forty one degrees, twenty four point two eight minutes north. Halfway there, I….became distracted by the scenery, and went off course. I became alert again when the shuttle skimmed along treetops. The console received a malfunction notification and I subsequently crashed into a forest area.”   “The maintenance record shows your Xanadu Shuttle was updated on the second of the previous month?”   “Yes.”   “Then do you accept responsibility for this incident?”   “Yes, I do.” There’s no point in putting up a fight. All the evidence is all in the machinery and Seokjin had made no attempt to hide it.   “I’m interested in the girl you rescued,” the Commander speaks up, tapping his pen on his clipboard. “When did you come into contact with her after you crashed?”   “After I crashed, I exited my Xanadu Shuttle and caught sight of her standing amongst the trees. I think...the accident got her attention and she came to investigate what it was.”   He nods and the people on the other side of the table look around at one another. There are soft murmurs and Seokjin stays quiet through their deliberation, keeping his eyes on his own report.   After a minute, it simmers down.   “The panel appreciates your honesty and integrity, Seokjin. In spite of your circumstances, you were able to rescue someone who will become a valuable member to our society and such a thing should not be overlooked. However, the crash was ultimately on your part and as such, you will have to be put on probation for a period of two months. The panel will also require that you retake your license class. Do you agree these actions are necessary?”   Relief washes over him. Seokjin thought this was it. He was anticipating that he’d lose his job.    “Y-Yes. Thank you.”   “You will have to pass your license class.”   “Yes, I will.”   “There is one more thing I would like to discuss with you, Seokjin,” The Commander speaks up. “I spoke to our Premier and Minister prior to this meeting and we came to an agreement that it would be in the best interest of everyone involved if you could foster the newcomer you rescued. Typically, as you know, we house newcomers for a while and monitor them. But she...seems to be a special case.”   The Chief furrows his brows. “Yes, she was isolated, wasn’t she?”   It’s known to all that the lone ones are usually the people that are most unstable. The ones with animalistic behaviour as a result of living in the wild and being socially deprived. The problematic ones. But they’re wrong. Seokjin doesn’t outright refute his own superiors, yet he’s certain that you don’t have any of those issues. You’re not violent. Uncivilized. Barbaric.   “Usually people are found in groups or clusters.”   “Exactly that. But it seems like Seokjin has built a rapport with her. It might lead to a smoother transition if there’s immediate integration. Or at least, it’s an experiment we want to try. He has a calm temperament as well which makes him an ideal candidate to attempt this new method. Would you be willing to house this newcomer for a period of time, Seokjin?”   He doesn’t need a second longer to think about it. “I wouldn’t mind whatsoever.”   ... .. .   Seokjin finds you and almost bursts out laughing with how relieved you look.   “Jin!”    He doesn’t mind the nickname either.   “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Hoseok twirls around with a blazing smile, his white coat fluttering with him. “But I have a feeling you’re here to see my little guest and not me.”   “You’re right.” He enters and stands by your side. “Has everything been alright?”   “Of course!” Hoseok interjects before you can answer. “I’m one of the best doctors here, what do you take me for? We had a very fun time together, right, Y/N?”   “Uh, sure.”   “I’ll take it.”   Seokjin smiles and looks at his old friend. “Is there anything…?”   “She’s healthy. She’s been taking care of herself well. Nothing that’s too concerning.”    Hoseok's eyes meet yours and he grins. “You’re approximately twenty to twenty five years old. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like you have any family here in Arcadia, but you don’t have any diseases, so that’s something to be happy about! Minimal dental work that needs to be done. Blood pressure is good. You have a slight magnesium and iodine deficiency, but nothing dark greens, whole grains, fish and eggs can’t fix. I’ll give you some vitamins to be safe and some medication to avoid illnesses you’re potentially susceptible to in Arcadia.”   “That’s good news,” Jin exhales.   “You’re also healthy enough to have children!” Hoseok announces and if possible his grin widens. You blink at him and he quickly reads your confused expression. “Right, you might not be aware but it’s one of the main ambitions of Arcadia to repopulate society. People with the most compatible genes get paired together into family units. Depending on how your integration goes, you might get paired up in a family unit by the end of the week.”   “What?” You’re reeling. Starting a family and having children are things at the very back of your mind, not even in the realm of what your thoughts are, and you’re not sure what to think at this news.   Jin sighs at his friend. “You’re freaking her out.”   “Am I? Sorry,” the man laughs and looks at you. “Don’t worry. No one will force you. It’s just...highly suggested and recommended.”   … .. . “That’s the dining hall.”    “What do they serve?”   “On Mondays, there’s quinoa. Tuesday is this dried beans dish. So on and so forth. Don’t worry, there’s poultry too, so there are eggs and chicken breast which you can order. There’s corn, milk, cheese and a selection of fruit too. They also serve protein powders you can mix with water that gives you the same nutrition value.”   “It’s not like...that stuff you gave me, right?”   “You mean pemmican? No, it’s better. Or at least I hope so.” He smiles. “Everyone has the same food. Sometimes during celebrations though, they serve different things.”   “There’s not much privacy, is there?”   Seokjin follows your line of sight to the glass buildings where you’re able to see the people working on each floor. “I guess not. I’ve never really thought about it.”   You suppose it’s something to get used to. “Are...people staring at me, Jin?”   “Don’t mind it. It’s not everyday we get a new face around here.” Right as he says that, you lift your head to discover your face plastered on one of the screens at the top of the building as if you were a wanted criminal. Seokjin laughs. “News spreads fast around here.”   “I bet it does,” you mutter, a bit unnerved.    “It’s a nice place if you follow the rules, trust me.”   “What happens if someone breaks a rule?”   “Well, there’s a focus on restorative justice for small crimes. So people often do community service or talk to victims or the people they affected and try their best to fix their mistakes.”   “What about big crimes? Like if you killed someone.”    Yet, Seokjin stays silent for a moment. “They disappear.”   Your brows furrow, not sure what he means. But he doesn’t elaborate and you don’t push for an answer, uncertain that you want to know more.   Arcadia isn’t as you expected it to be. When Seokjin told you stories, part of you anticipated it being lesser and merely blown up in proportion through his evident love of this place. You had predicted a community ridden with suspicion, like many of the sanctuaries you had been to before they inevitably collapsed. Leaders suppressing their people. Scarcity in resources.   Another part of you expected an otherworldly universe, full of gibberish and things you didn’t understand. Much like the technology he carried with him or the shuttle that crashed in the forest.   But what is presented in front of you is a sort of familiarity in a changed background.   People like you know them, except courteous and independent.   “This is my housing unit.”    It’s a blinding white, two stories with the top floor off center and extended off the right side. It looks like two boxes haphazardly stacked on top of each other with giant pane glass windows at the front.   “It’s not much but it’s my home.”   You nod as your eyes drift to his lawn — a tiny patch of grass that surrounds the path leading up to the front door. As if entranced, you launch forward towards it. But it feels different underneath your feet, past the soles of your shoes. The soil isn’t soft. There aren’t any lumps, no grip when you try to root yourself into it.   Seokjin notices your reaction. “It’s artificial grass.”   “What does that mean?”   “It’s fake.”   “Fake? You can’t get real grass?”   “Guess not.”   The interior of his home is less white than all of Arcadia. There are mismatched cushions, wooden tables and bookshelves, fake yellow flowers on his marble kitchen counter, paintings of oceans and cities placed on the wall next to photographs of himself growing up. You glance over the knick-knacks lining the shelves, snow globes and postcards, tiny things you’ve always seen lying around shops in the decaying towns, but never paid much attention to.   “Sorry. It’s a bit messy.”   “No, I like it.”    He shows you to your room, an empty one down the hall. It’s much less decorated than his living space and he quickly excuses himself to tumble back in with heavier blankets and proper pillows. “Had I known you were coming, I would’ve had everything already set up!”   “I don’t think any of us knew I would be here.”   He laughs. “That’s true.”   You walk to the window, taking a peek outside to the white city that towers over and covers the blue sky, the tiny patches of grass that alleviates the brightness of Arcadia, the flying shuttles hovering past the paved paths.    “You’re probably tired, right? Do you want to rest a bit? I have a few things to do, so…”   “You don’t have to worry about me, Jin. I can take care of myself. Probably.”   Seokjin ends up shutting the door after promising he won’t take long. But it’s the first time in hours that there’s finally silence. And you allow the quietness to simmer down on you as you take a seat on the edge of the soft bed that sinks underneath your weight. You stare at the sheets, the white walls and floor, the luminescent sunlight streaming through the windows.   You’re not sure how you feel.   … .. .   You stare down at your slab of white meat, so white that you wonder if everything in Arcadia is dyed in this blinding shade. It’s something you might have to ask Jin, even if it’s a bit ridiculous.   You’re just not used to having meat that isn’t charged by the flames of a bonfire. But still, you tear it with your fingers and when you bring it to your mouth, it tastes dry and heavy — like it’s fake.   “This isn’t very good, is it?”   “It isn’t?”   Jin blinks and you lift your head. Immediately, your eyes connect to a stranger who instantly turns away and it occurs to you that people are watching.   “Don’t worry. It’s because you’re not using utensils. Here.” He hands you a metal stick with three prongs at the end and another one that’s rounded. Understandably, it’s awkward in your hold, hurts in your grip. It goes silent as you fumble with it. The chicken breast almost flies off your metal tray.   “It’s okay.” He smiles at your visible frustration and reaches over to slice it with a knife. Jin gently takes your hand holding the fork and pierces the piece. “Like this, see? Not too bad, right?”   “It would be easier with my hands.”   He agrees, “It would be.”   “Hey, you’re Y/N, right?” A familiar red-head comes prancing up to the table and steals a seat next to you. “I’m Lizzy. We met on the Xanadu Shuttle, remember? I was the one telling you all about the history of Arcadia?”   “Yes, I do.”   “This is Namjoon. He’s one of our robotics engineers,” she introduces a gawky, strapping male with framed glasses. He takes a seat next to Seokjin.    “A pleasure to be of your acquaintance. I’ve heard quite a lot about you in the past two hours or so. I am friends with Hoseok. He doesn’t indulge me in much information, he told me he received a great person of interest in his office. I believe that person may be you—”   Seokjin interrupts his ramble, “Namjoon.”   “Don’t mind him,” Lizzy laughs, ignoring the two men as she leans over the table to intrude into your personal space. “How are you getting settled in? Everything okay?”   “Yeah. I’d say everything’s okay.”   “I heard you were living with Jin now. Tell me, is he as messy at home as he is at work?”   “I am not messy,” he protests.   “Only a little,” you divulge her with a small smile.   Namjoon smiles. “I heard you crashed. Glad to see you’re still alive and well.”   “Thanks.” Seokjin’s eyes roll as his voice drips of sarcasm. “I’m sorry you couldn’t use my body for your next humanoid robotic experiment.”   “Not now, but in due time,” the other man teases then turns to you. “It’s a shame you’re partnered with Seokjin. He can be quite clumsy and forgetful. You’ll end up becoming his handyman like I am.”   “His first time he got into a Xanadu Craft, he broke the console,” Lizzy tells, making your mouth upturn.   Namjoon swallows down his food before asking, “If I may be intrusive, Y/N, is it really true that you were alone? In the forest, I mean.”   “I...was.”   “How long were you alone for?”   “I’m not sure. I think maybe two years.”   “And before that?”   “I...uh...traveled around and met different people.”   He leans forward. “And what happened to those people?”   “Well, some...passed away and others went somewhere else.”   “What did they pass away from?”   There’s a loud scraping of a chair against the tiled floor, grating to your ears. “I’m stuffed. Aren’t you, Y/N? I think we should head back now. Sorry, Joon, Lizzy. Might have to cut your questions short there. Maybe you can ask more next time.”   “Oh, alright then.”   They bid you farewell and Lizzy waves with a smile. As you exit, you look at Seokjin. “Thank you.” He saved you from answering, from bringing up memories you had no intentions of returning to.   Yet he smiles and then looks away, feigning ignorance. “For what?”   … .. .   They’re wrong. It’s not a shame at all to be with Jin at all. If anything, you think you’re quite fortunate. Ever since you’ve met him, he’s proven himself time and time again to be thoughtful and considerate — traits that you thought were gone in this era. But it’s him who makes it easier to deal with these changes, to enter into this new world.   … .. .   “I thought you were gone,” he says, looking down at you with a smile. You’re laying on his lawn in the middle of the night in bare feet. “I knocked on your door and then searched my whole house.”   “Where did you think I was?”   “I don’t know.” Seokjin plops down on his artificial grass, stretching out his body and laying beside you like all those times before. “I was worried. I thought something happened to you.”   “I’m sorry.”   “Don’t be.”   “I couldn’t sleep.”   It’s quiet as the pair of you look to the sky with your hands folded on top of your stomachs. The lamp posts nearby casted warm glows on your visages. The warm breeze making his cheeks rosy. Yet, none of you can see the stars — not with the light pollution of Arcadia, not when all the buildings were towering so high and covering it, not like out there in the middle of the forest.   “Remember when we were in the forest, Jin?”   “I do. I remember that one time, you didn’t completely put out the fire and my pants almost set on fire.”   You giggle and Jin relishes in the sound. “I apologized for that and who told you to sit so close to that spot?”   “Hey, I just wanted to be next to you.”   You remember the nights when you were able to drift off while staring at the horizon and how you were awoken by the first blush of dawn, sunlight coming through the trees. You have a feeling it’s going to be a long time before you have an experience like that again.   It’s going to be a long, long time. If ever again.   “I feel homesick,” you whisper, finally being able to pinpoint your emotions and it’s the most honest you’ve been since you arrived. “I don’t want to be paired up with anyone or have kids.”   Jin reaches out and you feel his hand against the back of yours. He holds it, clasping it tight. You shift and your eyes meet. “Don’t worry. They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”   You trust him.   … .. .   “If you want, we don’t have to eat in the dining center anymore. We can eat at home.”   The corner of your mouth pulls. “Is that allowed?”   “I’ll find a way around it,” Jin promises.   … .. .   “Please, Hoseok.”   “You know that’s not how the system works. There’s not much I can do anyway.”   “But you can put in your recommendation.”   He’s silent in contemplation. “She’s compatible with you, but more so compatible with others. Plus, she’d assimilate better with someone stricter.”   “I want to protect her. She’s my responsibility. Pair her with me.” Seokjin won’t let you be paired up with someone else in a family unit, expected to stay together and have children. He’ll keep his promise to you and be with you until the end — it’s also his selfish wish to be with you.   The other man sighs. “I’ll make a note of it, but I can’t promise anything.”   … .. .   You’re unfamiliar with the devices at hand — the kitchen appliances with automated voices that speak when you come close, the machines with tens of buttons you can’t read. They’re all things you once overlooked when you scrambled for remaining supplies.   “Is everything okay?”   “I’m trying to heat this up. You said I could use it, right?”   “Yeah. Here.” Seokjin comes behind you and takes your hand, guiding you where to press. “Click this button and then this one.”   You don’t understand technology at all. Even the television is odd, an overload on your senses.   “What do you think?” he asks, watching your reaction in amusement and how your eyes are as wide as the screen flashing against your face.   “It’s...a lot to take in.”   “That’s okay. Do you want to go outside instead? We can, if you want to.”   You glance out the window. “I’m fine here. I’m not used to there being so many people.”   “How about we work on some more worksheets?”   “Again?”   Jin laughs and the sound is tinkling. “You have to learn eventually. Come on.” He pulls you up and is happy to sit next to you at his kitchen table to teach you how to hold a pencil, how to write each letter and answer your questions.    You’re a fast learner. Today your strokes are smoother and you learn how to spell his name.   … .. .    Seokjin often knocks on your door before going to bed to bid you goodnight. Yet he seldomly finds you there, where you’re supposed to be. He wonders if you’re outside on his lawn again, but instead, he discovers you standing in his living room. You’re gazing out the window quietly with an unreadable expression.   “Is there something wrong?”   You turn around with a small smile. “I’m just a little homesick.”   He joins you, staring out at the city and the lampposts lined on the paved paths.    “How do we go outside, Jin? Not just outside, but beyond the dome.” To the forest again.   “Most people aren’t allowed outside because it’s dangerous. You would need to have my job or something similar, and that’s after you graduate from a three year program and pass several exams.”   It’s quiet and neither of you look at one another or speak when you reach over, discreetly taking his hand into yours. Seokjin laces his fingers through yours and squeezes.   He’s the only reason you can starve off the longing sewed uncomfortably in your chest.   ... .. .   In the following days, he receives a notification. The leaders are interested in you as a newcomer and extended an invitation to the party. So he helps you pick an appropriate outfit and the two of you enter with your hand looped around his arm as he reassures you.   “You must be Y/N!” The strangers, leaders of Arcadia, welcome you with tall bubbling glasses, one of which that you receive from a waiter. It tastes disgusting, but you try to not let it show on your face.   “It’s good to see that you’re getting yourself accustomed to Arcadia. I see you’re with your future partner this evening.”   The man laughs boisterously while you exchange expressions with Seokjin.   “That’s supposed to be a secret,” the woman beside him chides.   “Right, right. The postings of the new family units go up on Friday. My apologies for ruining the surprise, but I assume it is a happy one.”   You look up at him, gazing meeting Seokjin’s at once. The relief is overwhelming and what follows is a kind of excitement. Part of the weight lifted off your shoulders and Jin smiles tenderly. He leans in close, whispering in your ear so you’re the only one who hears—   “You shouldn’t look at me like that in a place like this or I might just do something about it in front of all these people.”   It’s bold. Unexpected but you know with the heat that rises into your face, it isn’t unwelcome.   “Y/N, is it?” The intimate moment is intercepted by other individuals approaching in blue attire, form fitting dress simple and modest. “You must be the newcomer! I’ve heard so much about you.”   “Yes, how has your transition been? Are you finding everything accommodating?”   You hope they don’t come close enough to feel the warmth radiating off your cheeks. “Yes. Arcadia has been very welcoming to me.”    They smile. “It’s so fortunate you can understand us and we don’t have to use those translating devices.”   “You were alone, correct?” another asks. “How did you fare in the wild like that? How did you manage to even eat?”   “I trapped animals like rabbits and squirrels and roasted them over fires.”   Laughter is suddenly roused all around you.   “Aren’t you glad you don’t have to do such a primitive thing anymore?”   “What I’m curious about is how you’re still alive without any radiation poisoning.”   “I used a radon detector. It was given to me a long time ago by an older woman who was with me. She died.” Automatic silence sweeps through the crowd. You clear your throat. “But I used it when I traveled through the cities.”   “I see.” Some are fascinated while others aren’t. “How preserved are these old cities?”   “Most buildings are still relatively in-tact. There are abandoned cars and buses too, but they’re useless without fuel and everything’s been raided, so there’s not much left. It’s one of the reasons I started to live in the forest.”   “Poor thing,” someone sympathizes, “Someone should’ve rescued you sooner. You wouldn’t have to suffer so much.”   “I didn’t suffer.”   They’re taken aback, clearing their throats and moving on from the subject. A man directs to the refreshment table — all the while Jin pulls you closer to him and away from the prying eyes of Arcadia.   … .. .   Later on in the evening when Seokjin’s gone to relieve himself, you meet an old man seated alone at the table.   “I was outside too,” he croaks. “Until two years ago.”   Your eyes find his — past the wrinkles are bright irises — and you remain silent.   “Many things happened that the people here would never understand. But my biggest regret is coming here willingly. Arcadia offers many things,” he says, “it has everything but one.”   “Freedom.”   … .. .   The words stick to you. Like flies to honey. Or the magnets on Jin’s fridge. They don’t cease from your mind — a plague that spreads, a pollutant that you can’t shake off no matter how hard you try.    Jin worries about you, but he doesn’t ask. He knows every time he does, you’ll reassure him that you’re fine.   So one night, he takes your hand and shows you to his television.   “Put this on.” He hands you a black, heavy device and smiles at your visible reluctance. “Trust me.”   You slip it on top of your head and it sits comfortably over your eyes, obstructing your vision in complete darkness. Headphones are put over your ears and you discover both of your senses of sight and sound are completely disabled. “What are you doin—”   The words die upon your tongue the moment the machine flickers on.   There are chickadees chirping and woodpeckers digging against the bark. The sound of insects flapping their wings in the beating sun and the whistling wind intensifies. You see the forest, a forest. Canopies of spruce, walnut, and alder cascading light to the verdant floor overgrown in shrubbery.   A cry chokes in your throat, but then it bubbles into laughter instead. You jump up and down.   “I see it. I see it!” You whirl around, looking in each direction. To the blue horizon and the sound of the rustling leaves.    Your home.   But when you take it off, it’s all gone. You’re shrouded in darkness with Seokjin’s features barely discernible. You’re trapped in the very utopia you had followed him to.   And you cry.   For the first time in his presence, for the first time in a long while, sobs break through your frame at what you’ve lost — what you’ve traded in, what you’ve given up. Jin embraces you, arms wrapped around your frame, trying his best to keep you whole.   “I want to go back.”   … .. .   Jin makes it easier to be in Arcadia. He gives you reason to become accustomed to it. He makes you wish you wanted to stay. But he’s not enough to dissipate your constant wistfulness.    He isn’t the solution to your plaguing dilemmas, but you’re glad he doesn’t have to bear that burden.    You wouldn’t want Jin to harbour the hardship of being your fix.   … .. .   It’s in the dead of the night that Seokjin comes out of his room and finds you. In the dark, you’re seated on the floor with your knees folded to your chest and the virtual reality headset slipped on top of your head, over your eyes and ears.   You’re taking it all in. The orchestral songs of nature, the birds and leaves, the swaying of the grass and flourishing shrubs, bathing in the warm sunlight you cannot feel.    He sees you, but doesn’t say anything, merely turning away.   At same time, you feel the presence of another and slip the device in time to catch his retreating backside.   “Jin,” you call out for him, knowing you’ve been caught.   He hums, turning around and the two of you look at one another.   “I’m sorry.”   The dark-haired man smiles tenderly. “It’s me who should apologize. I’m the one who brought you here selfishly.”   “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who agreed to some and I’m...the one having trouble adjusting.”   “That’s not it. The problem is you’re not where you should be. Home. Not my home. Not Arcadia. But your home. “   You stand and he meets you halfway.   You press your face to his shoulder and he embraces you. “I’ll help you go back,” Seokjin murmurs against your hair. “I thought you would be happy here, but I don’t want to keep you against your will.”   “Come with me.”   “You know I can’t,” he whispers in spite of your soft-spoken plea. “I have a life here. Like how you can’t leave yours. Arcadia is my home. It always will be.”   You hold him closer, shutting your eyes to savour the moment. “Won’t you get into trouble?”   “I’ll find some way.” The corner of his mouth turns. “I always end up fine. You will too.”   … .. .   The year’s posting goes up and just as the man had said, you and Seokjin are paired together. The two of you hold hands as you look at it, taking your time to read it over. It’s slow, but you understand nonetheless.   You’re congratulated by those around him, people you recognize and friends you have yet to know. It’s fortunate it worked out that way, but it’s still bittersweet, knowing of your upcoming departure.   And that same night, five hours past twelve, Jin takes you across Arcadia. The white shuttle is ready when you arrive in the dark and you scarcely recognize its scratched paint and dented surface. It’s the same one that he crashed in, the one that took him to you.   “I programmed the path back. It’ll go automatically without you needing to drive it. And once you close the door, it’ll come back on its own. I’ll erase the data’s history. Take this.” Seokjin gently places the sling of a heavy bag on your shoulder. “There are clothes in here, blankets, medicine, a first aid kit, some canned food and seeds of new plants you don’t have. It should help you out.”   Tears threaten to spill from your lash line. “Jin. Wait.”   Hope blooms within him, wondering if you’ve changed your mind, that you want to stay. But he knows having such selfish desires won’t help him, so he puts them away. Just for a moment.   He tries his best not to hang onto you, to hold you down.   “It was because of you that I could even cope so well. You made it so much easier for me. I...I…”   But Jin lets his greed slip.   He closes the distance and kisses you senseless. The man swallows your soft gasp and comes to cradle the back of your neck as you ease into him. You relish in the gentle touch, his tender affections and taste one another’s lips. It’s bittersweet, yet he pulls away with a faint smile.   “You should get in.”   You nod, pulling away from him. Everything the two of you wanted to say has already translated through the kiss.   Still, you take every moment you can and look to him. “Thank you, Jin.”   The doors whir as it closes. He gazes at you till the very last second, till it shuts. The thin whistle diminuendos as it lifts into the air. He watches the shuttle fade from sight and when the sun lifts at the first blush of dawn, what’s left is a streak of white in the sky.

The world is limitless.    You have learned of such a fact at a young age, traveling from desserts to mountains, finding all the hiding places and safe spots that others had claimed no longer existed. But they did and you’ve sought refuge in this forest, found a home amongst the rustling foliage and canopies ruled by spruce, walnut, and alder. There was just enough rays of light bursting through to allow the saplings to flourish and shrubs to overgrow. And without the presence of others, you could listen to the woodpeckers hammering against the wood, the wings of insects fluttering about.   Everything was the way you left it. Unchanged from the time you left like it was waiting for you.   It’s as if Arcadia and Seokjin was a fever dream. Except the mementos brought back with you reminds you otherwise. You dig into your bag, looking through what he’s given you, everything he picked out that he knew would help. But you discover something special at the very bottom.   It’s a black, thick rectangular piece of plastic reminiscent of a walkie-talkie, synced up to only one other without a third in between.   You hold the Erewhon device to your lips and press the side of the button.   “Hello.” There’s a pause. “My name is Y/N.”   Silence follows.   But then there’s the sound of static and someone’s crystal clear voice.   “Nice to meet you. I’m Seokjin.”   A wide smile spreads into your cheeks.

[shadeswift99]

TnT Heals All Wounds

Words: 912

People: Bdubs, Zedaph, Impulse, Tango (no shipping)

Summary: A conflict of interest between the Boomers and Team ZIT leads to Zedaph and Bdubs becoming increasingly bitter toward each other. However, on a day when Impulse and Tango both turn out to be “too busy” for either of them, they’ll have to blast through the barrier and work things out on their own. (based on an anon ask on @hermitcraftheadcanons​)

"No way! We've had this meeting scheduled for weeks!" Bdubs crossed his arms and scowled, the ends of his red bandana quivering with fury.

Zed stuck his tongue out and grabbed Impulse's arm, tugging him closer towards his front door. "Well, I just need this one thing tested quickly, so you'll have to wait. I'm sure they won't mind doing a tiny favour for an old friend, right Tango?"

Tango opened his mouth to speak, then startled as Bdubs enthusiastically interrupted him. "Nuh-uh, Zedaph, he's booked! Take a number and get in line!" Bdubs stepped in front of Tango protectively, shuffling him in the direction of the shopping district.

Tango and Impulse made eye contact across the gap.

"... Actually," Impulse started, grinning softly and disentangling his arm from Zed's grasp. "We're both kinda busy today."

Zed and Bdubs froze in unison. "What?"

"Yeah, we're going end raiding together!" Tango slung his sword across his shoulders and readied some rockets. "We both need more shulkers, and it's a pretty good way to de-stress."

"But I need you to -"

"But we had a -"

"But I thought you said -"

"But we've been planning -"

"It's really quiet out there, in the end," Tango monologued over both of their protests, "Quiet, and peaceful, and -"

"- just a really nice place to spend an afternoon," Impulse continued, walking backwards away from the fuming pair. "I'm sure you'll figure something out in the mean time. Cya!" He activated his rockets and soared off into the distance, Tango following shortly after.

A long, awkward silence passed.

"Well if you hadn't ruined the schedule -" Bdubs growled.

"Well if you hadn't been so pushy with your ‘schedule’ -" Zedaph retorted.

Both trailed off into silence again as the anger and words drained away.

They knew it wasn't really each other they were mad at, just like they both knew that the thing they were wasn’t even ‘mad’ at all.

Zed sighed and sat down heavily on the doorstep. "This turf war stuff has really been keeping them busy, hasn't it." He ran his finger through the sand at his feet, avoiding eye contact.

Bdubs sat down too, taking a moment to rub at his tired eyes. "Yeah, me too. It's demanding stuff, all this war and keeping up with the Mayor's orders and everything.... We haven't had time for a Boomers meeting in months."

"I haven't even seen Tango or Impulse in months. I've been busy and they've been busy and it just - it just never happened, I guess..." Zed sniffled slightly and wiped his hand across the scuffed sand, obliterating the lines he'd made.

"...Hey, Zed?"

"Yeah?" Zedaph looked up, just barely.

"I could test your cave contraption, if you want. I usually test the stuff Tango makes for the Boomers, it couldn't be too hard to test yours, especially if it doesn't blow up like that other stuff does." He chuckled.

Zed thought for a moment, then perked up. "You know, I hadn't actually thought of making it explode before... That's a great idea!" He brushed off his hands and leapt to his feet. "I'm going to need you to test it before and after I make the modifications, and I'll need to know how different amounts of tnt affect the results - come on, I think I have a spare lab coat around here somewhere!"

Bdubs' face lit up. "Tnt and a new outfit? Oh, well this is just too good to be true!" He bounded toward the iron door and let himself be pulled into Zed's eccentric landscape of damp stone and colourful wires.

High above on the top of Zed’s mountain, Impulse and Tango quietly high-fived.

"I knew they'd come around eventually," Impulse whispered, mischievous crinkles around his eyes.

"...icky purple dirt high-five, won't come off for days -" Tango broke from muttering and wiping off his hand to peer down below. "Yeah, it didn't feel right, having them at each other's throats all the time. Hopefully they're having fun and working things out now." A deep boom vibrated through the mountain, followed by two synchronized shouts of glee.

Impulse winced. "Hopefully their working together won't be too risky for the health and safety of the server."

"Yeah..." Tango looked thoughtful. "Hey, we really should make more time for them after this, though. They were right, things have been a bit busy lately."

"Well, they wouldn't be so busy if some people would just let nature take its course and let the mycelium spread-"

Tango punched his arm and laughed, almost falling off the mountain as he dodged the return blow. "Not a chance, pal, not a chance. I think I can manage to clear my schedule without filling it up with stinky purple dirt."

"Fine, have it your way." Impulse smiled. "I better get back to harvesting - uh, to doing things. Boomers meeting after this?"

"Yeah, in a couple hours. I still need time to go find out what explodificating nightmare-machine Zed's got cookin' up in there." Tango looked longingly at the iron door.

"Not right now! Remember, we're not done 'end raiding' yet!" Impulse warned.

"Oh, right, uuh... Watch out for that shulker!"

Impulse dodged the nonexistent shulker shot and took off, soaring towards his base. "Thanks for the heads up, buddy!"

"Not a problem!" Tango called after him.

He winced at how loudly his voice echoed across the sand, but he had a feeling that the noise of explosions and reconciliation would be more than enough to cover the sound.

[softer-ua]

This has been living my drafts for half a century and I just wanna get it out lol just a silly little self indulgent fully unfinished thought 😅

Two Left Feet, And One In The Mouth

“I’m not into that fucken nerd, I could have asked any chuckle fuck, it just happens to be that Deku was the first I ran into after Awizawa told me about the dance ceremony, I’d have just as likely asked god damn CopyCat.” Katsuki could feel his ears were almost as red as the dumb ass’s hair.

It’d been about a week and a half since Aizawa had roped him into some fundraising bullshit dance and the idiots hadn’t let up on teasing him for asking Deku to partner with him. Didn’t seem to matter to any of them that they were well out of high school and pros. They weren’t about to stop teasing him and he wasn’t about to sacrifice his pride and let anyone think he was weak and mushy over anyone. Especially not his hero partner.

Sure him and the nerd had grown even closer since graduating and debuting as hero partners. And ya he could finally identify more than 1 emotion now, and sometimes he could even articulate them. He could even admit that he had friends and behind closed doors with someone contractually obligated to keep his secrets he could admit that Deku was something different to him than that. But his therapist was a human, not genie and quirks only do so much, so no he was not going to admit feeling anything but annoyed at being dumped with this stupid UA fundraiser shenanigan.

”In fact I kinda wish I had asked anyone else. Between you losers acting like total dipshits and making it out to be anything other than a burden and Deku’s shitty excitement I get no peace, fucker can’t even dance… God damn it Shitty Hair what?!!! SPIT IT THE FUCK OUT ! ! !” Kirishmas had been gapping at him like fish for a good half the rant as he shook his head minutely, he even looked a little pale

Kirishima finally shut his mouth and gave his head a vigorous shake before dropping his head in his hands and grumbling. “Duuude why can’t you ever just shut the fuck up and take the teasing like a man?”

“Don’t tell me what to do you box of rocks,” Katsuki mumbled confused and irritated, wasn’t like Kirishma to swear. Had he gone too far in his haste to save his pride? He wasn’t really sure…he wasn’t watching his words...again, ugh if Deku found out he’d upset one the few friends he had the nerd was gonna flip.

A whole afternoon of awkward dancing in sullen silence and heavy disappointed sighs. Katsuki didn’t know if he’d survive it, he could handle yelling and anger but Dekus quiet disappointment felt like being lost in space and knowing your oxygen was running thin.

Denki, also uncharacteristically pale, gave him a rather annoyed look, “Kacchan, my dude,, you’re gonna wish You were an actual box of rocks when we fill you in on who just left the kitchen”

Bakugos stomach felt like it had filled with lead and dropped straight through it and out his ass to the center of the earth leaving behind nothing but a husk of dread.

“No.Fuck no. Do not tell me the nerd just heard all that…. Tell me it was one of the nerdsquad, and if I run I can kill them before Deku finds out I was more or less running my mouth.” Katsuki already knew by the sad pity looks Kirishima was giving him between his fingers the question was futile.

Maybe All Might had enough left in him to united states smash his skull in or maybe Nesu would want to set up one of those death domino puzzles and drop a skyscraper on him?

A cold monotone voice spoke behind him interrupting his morbid death wishes, “guess you’re gonna have to find some other chuckle fuck.”

Bakugo flipped around to blast IcyHot straight to the infirmary in one shot but Kirishima had popped up in time to grab him under the armpits with his quirk in full effect. “Dude you do not have time for a rage fit, stop with the petty pride, you gotta go get Midoriya and apologize”

“Then let me go so I can fucken do that” Katsuki was wriggling like a worm on a string, firing off mini-explosions trying to wipe that exasperated expression off that shitty half and half bastards face.

After a few seconds more he finally pushed off, using Kirishima looking like a springboard, and went full speed to the door only to lose his balance and slam face-first into a wall of ice.

“God damn it IcyHot I don’t have time for your shit.”

“You have nothing but time now actually”, came a voice seething with rage. Just as Katsuki realized he was in fact floating and that was probably what caused his lack of balance. The face-first into ice was just a fun touch added by the icy-hot bastard. “You give respect to people you care about, and unlike you, we respect Deku-kun and his wishes. He specifically asked us before leaving to not let you talk to him for the rest of the day” Fuck, gravity princess was here to save Deku.

Katsuki slowly somersaulted in the air as he tried to get his brain to work again but before any thought other than swears could filter through he was unceremoniously dropped on his back, knocking all the air out of him.

[syntheticpoetry]

Kintsugi

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have a mature heart to heart involving Blaine's insecurities. 

Tested reaction fic where I just really gratuitously expanded on the dialogue and included the missing smut scene that very obviously must have occurred off camera.

AO3 Link || FFN Link

Author’s Note: So during our Tumblr Gleewatch group viewing I was left wanting so much more out of this scene and it kinda just spiralled from there.  There's some smut, but a lot of dialogue driven conversation following the canon dialogue where I felt like the conversation should have continued rather than end with their little heartfelt hug.  The way Blaine just shattered and started crying and Kurt just held him with a straight face.... yeah.  There was definitely more that happened there.  So here you go. See more notes on the end explaining the title.  Huge thanks to @blog-carmex​ for beta reading for me and offering her invaluable input :D 

__________________________________________________________

It has been three hours since class ended.  Three long hours since Blaine watched Kurt stride right past him without so much as another word after they changed out of their fencing gear.  After their sparring match they had retreated to opposite ends of the classroom, huffing in silence and shooting daggers at one another.  The mutual refusal to speak to each other had persisted all the way into the locker room where Kurt then proceeded to peel off his shirt in front of everyone.  Blaine had slipped into a bathroom stall to change, a mix of embarrassment and guilt beginning to wash over the anger as he shimmied out of the white pants plastered against his sweaty skin.  By the time he had emerged again Kurt had shouldered past him, tight lipped with eyes fixed in the distance, leaving Blaine to stand alone, his mouth hanging open and staring dumbly after him. 

“I just find it funny that we haven’t been intimate in like a week and maybe this is why.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I got up early and forgot to text you.”

“You know what, Blaine? Sometimes I think we talk too much.”

After class Blaine had retreated to Kurt’s apartment in the hopes of another attempt at conversation, but has been melding himself into the couch for the last two hours with nothing but the silence and Kurt’s words to bounce around his skull as he waits for him to return.  It feels like such a stupid fight.  All of their previous discussions about just going to one another to air out their grievances, to talk about when things are bothering them feel like a distant memory.  Blaine tried to talk to him.  He tried to take the steps that they had outlined.  But Kurt just shut him down.  Kurt didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to let Blaine try to explain himself.  Instead they were left to physically act out their aggressions in combat class of all places.  Okay, so maybe Blaine wasn’t being completely open about the extent of his insecurities, but Kurt’s instant decision for distance and his ability to become an ice prince once Blaine had actually tried to initiate a conversation reminded him why it has always been so difficult to speak his mind.  

Blaine is terrified.  Terrified of rejection, terrified of Kurt finally peeling away his loosely fastened mask of confidence and seeing him for what he truly is— a coward.  He had never felt brave until the day Kurt stared at him from across that table in Dalton like he was this wise old sage so full of advice and wisdom.  It had been so easy to slip into the disguise, to feign the persona of a boy who had suffered and prevailed.  Who was he kidding? Prevailed.  What a joke.  Blaine knows that whatever semblance of true bravery he ever possessed in the first place to compel him to bring a boy to a school dance in Ohio had been beaten away all those years ago in that parking lot.  He told Kurt that he ran from his bullies and regretted it, but the truth is he knows he is still running.  That he has never stopped.  

Not like Kurt.  Kurt, who had suffered in silence for months at the mercy of his own bullies and still emerged with his head held up high.  Kurt, who had experienced his own hate driven assault, and had learned to become stronger and stand his ground so much quicker than Blaine could even begin to wrap his head around.  Kurt, who is so much braver and resilient than Blaine can ever imagine himself being.  Kurt, who does not actually need Blaine to guard him and guide him the way that he once used to. 

And it terrifies Blaine to feel this insignificant again.  To become a shadow of doubt beneath a rising sun.  

The door to the apartment slides open and Kurt strolls in, phone pressed to his ear, instantly catching sight of Blaine on the couch.  Blaine hunches over, arms resting against his knees, and braces himself for the explosion.  All afternoon he has been waiting for Kurt to return, but now that he is actually here his instincts are screaming to just get up and run.  Keep running.  Don’t stop. 

“Yeah, he’s here.  Okay.  Okay, bye,” Kurt slings his bag onto a chair at the kitchen table and turns to Blaine.  “That was Rachel, she was just confirming us for her opening night.”

“What’d you tell her?” Blaine asks.  

“I said, ‘Yeah, if we don’t kill each other in combat class, count us in,’” Kurt replies, eyes trained carefully on Blaine.  Blaine does not want to return the focus though, choosing instead to tip a can of ginger ale into his mouth to douse the desert in his throat.  Little distractions for idle hands and a restless mind.

“What happened in there?” 

Here it comes— the avalanche.  There’s a sudden tightness in his chest as he avoids meeting Kurt’s eyes.  “You were really coming at me like— like… as if you had something to prove. What, I’m not sure.”

“That I’m as strong as you are,” Blaine says.  The words sound surprisingly more bitter and resentful than he had initially intended them to.  He remembers his place— don’t lose control — and tries to reign in some of the tension, just bottle it back up again.  

“Okay,” Kurt says and strides towards him.  Blaine takes note of the distance he keeps between them, the minuscule gap that feels like the Grand Canyon.  Is it intentional? “But it’s not a contest.”

“Isn’t it though?” Blaine responds with the same bitterness again.  “On some level? Cause for the first time in my life, I really feel like I’m losing.”  

He can feel the loss of the control, the steady spiral into the depths of despair and uncertainty that he has trapped himself in for months.  The knot in his stomach twists itself tighter, yet he cannot help himself.  Once the train derails, there really is not much else to do but let the collision run its course.  “I’ve felt that way ever since I got to New York.  I feel like,” Blaine sets the can down and waves his hand between them, “We’re in this race together and you are just so much farther than I am. Like, it just feels like the whole balance has shifted.”

“What balance?” Kurt’s eyes narrow.  He takes a seat in an armchair, keeps his distance. 

Now he really has gotten himself in too deep.  

“I guess it started when we first met,” Blaine shrinks back against the couch, avoiding Kurt’s piercing gaze.  “And you came to Dalton because you were trying to get away from Karofsky, and I wanted to help you through that.”

“And you did,” Kurt says quietly.

“And I loved the way that felt.  I loved it,” Blaine swallows and leans his head back against the couch, speaking to the ceiling.  “I loved being able to protect you, but now I look at your life and…”

And now it hurts.  Now it feels like I don’t fit into any part of it.  Now it feels like I have never been, nor will I ever be enough for you because you don’t need me anymore.  Nobody needs me the way that I need you.  Why is this so hard?

“It’s completely different,” Blaine finishes and finally settles his eyes onto Kurt.  “You’re a star at school, you have all these cool new friends, you started this band and I just,” Say it.  Stop hiding.  Say it.  Tell him. “I feel like you don’t need me anymore, to protect or anything.”

There is a glint in Kurt’s eyes that sends Blaine’s heart careening down into his stomach.  This has been a mistake.  Saying anything at all, letting his guard down— it has all been a mistake.  He springs up suddenly, anxious to disappear.  “I mean, you asked me to move out, for God’s sake,” He murmurs bitterly as he walks past Kurt.

“We made that decision together,” Kurt replies, tone heavy and unimpressed, as he spins around in the chair to face him.  “So is that what all this stuff is about that’s going on? I mean, you trying to get me to eat more?”

You are missing everything.  You are missing the entire point.  Do you even see me when we’re together? Can’t you tell?

“I don’t like the way I feel about myself anymore, Kurt! Okay?” Blaine’s raised voice takes them both by surprise.  Through the open window, the sound of sirens permeates the post-confession silence.  Blaine closes his eyes, already feeling the tears clinging to his lashes.  He knows opening his mouth again is going to be yet another mistake, but so far he has been a glutton for punishment and self pity tonight, so what more is there to lose? 

“And you have this amazing new body— do you know why we haven’t been intimate? It’s because I feel insecure around you.  I feel insecure around my own fiancé, and Fratboiphysicals.com isn’t gonna judge me!” 

Somehow this feels worse than keeping everything bottled up.  The terror of Kurt’s reaction leaves him feeling dizzy and sick as he finally opens his eyes to absorb the blow.  Somehow Kurt’s eyes exude a softness beneath the two smoldering flames.  A sort of fierce protectiveness that only leaves Blaine feeling more pathetic than he did in the first place. 

“Neither will I.  Ever ,” Kurt responds and stands up to approach him.  “But I am not going to apologize for not being some delicate flower that needs his boyfriend to protect him.”

“Kurt, I—”

“And you know what? Maybe you’re right.  Maybe it is a contest.  Maybe that’s the way it has to be with two guys.  But I would much rather be running this race with you than against you.”

Blaine knows what it is to be lectured.  Understands all too well that familiar feeling of being put in his place, his actions chalked up to overdramatics and oversensitivity.  Looking up at Kurt towering over him, he feels even smaller now.  Whatever certainty he possessed, whatever feigned strength he must have siphoned off of Kurt when he entered the apartment to stagger his way through his confession has evaporated completely, leaving behind a hollow shell.  His words come out apologetic and frightened, tiny and remorseful. 

“Me too, I just—”

“As equals ,” Kurt says sternly.

Equals.  Something about the word flips a hidden switch.  Equals.  He has never felt a kinship with that word before, never understood what it felt like to stand beside someone and hold each other up, sharing the weight.  He has always struggled to be the pillar for someone else, to mask the cracks in his own foundation.  Something about the way Kurt says it makes him feel ashamed.

“I know, I know,” He presses both palms over his eyes, keeps pressing until spots of crimson and white appear scattered across the darkness behind his eyelids like bursts of fireworks.  “I-I know.  I know that , I’m so sorry.  I’m just…”

I am not worth this.  I am not worth your time.

“I’m just so scared that you’re gonna...” 

His throat constricts because he can already envision it.  He drops his hands, shaking his head, and focuses on the door just past Kurt, pictures him walking right through it like it is the easiest decision he has ever had to make.  Kurt holds all of the power in this relationship, and Blaine knows that.  Knows that whatever semblance of equality Kurt is preaching about right now is only a mirage.  Blaine ruined their perfect balance the night he let his demons take control of his emotions and lead him to that weak moment of infidelity.  One more wrong move and they are bound to break again.  But Kurt does not walk away, he stands before him and continues to wait patiently.  

“I’m just so scared that you’re gonna keep changing, and you’re gonna keep getting stronger, then one day you’re gonna wake up and realize, ‘I don’t love him anymore.’” Blaine shrugs his shoulders, tears glistening, and smiles in resignation to the paranoid confession as fact.  Even children discard their favourite toys once they are broken beyond repair.  So why would this be any different?

“Never,” Kurt replies, his gaze unwavering on Blaine.  The quiet intensity of his determination makes Blaine’s stomach lurch again, anxiety twisting tighter and tighter.  “I’m always gonna love you.  And I don’t want you to be insecure or ashamed around me.”

It’s only when Blaine exhales that he realizes he had been holding his breath, clinging to the tension in every centimeter of his muscles.  

“Next time you’re going through something like this you— you have to be honest with me.”

Blaine can feel himself nodding without any actual control, like it is a trained reflex in place to diffuse the rest of the uneasiness and settle the confrontation.  Anything to make this stop.  His lips go numb, eyes still fixed on the door as the next word comes out on autopilot, drained and defeated, “Okay.” 

Kurt’s arms around him spark the calamity laying dormant though, pull him away from the resignation and suddenly he is grasping at every inch of Kurt that he possibly can, sinking into the embrace as though clinging tightly enough will fill the gaping hole in his chest.  The ebbing shame becomes a tidal wave, crashes over and over again and threatens to drag him beneath the riptide as Kurt’s thumb brushes over his shoulder blade.  He feels so undeserving of such kindness and patience.

“Blaine, I think maybe we should have a conversation about where all of this comes from,” Kurt presses his lips to the thick layer of gelled hair atop Blaine’s head.  “Don’t you think?”

“What more is there to say? Can’t we just cuddle on the couch for the rest of the night?” Blaine mumbles against his neck.

“Don’t deflect, I think this is the most honest you’ve ever been with me about yourself and I want you to keep talking to me,” Kurt pulls away, hands on Blaine’s arms to push him back enough to look at him.  “I want you to feel like you can talk to me because you know I’m not gonna judge you.  I love every piece of you, no come on, don’t look away,” Kurt’s hand is immediately beneath Blaine’s chin, tilting his head back to center.  There has always been a sadness buried beneath the constant glimmer in Blaine’s eyes, usually well hidden and mostly undetectable.  In these rare moments of vulnerability, that sadness is always directly on display. “I love everything about you, even the pieces you try to hide away from me, especially those.”

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers urgently, his face contorting as he struggles against the grief, and tries to keep the controlled tears from transforming into full on ugly crying.  But Kurt does not let him go.  Kurt does not let him look or run away.  

“How many times have you seen me cry? There’s no shame in letting go sometimes, Blaine.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Blaine breathes out.  He tries to take a step back, but Kurt does not drop his arms.  They remain firmly wrapped around him, rooting him to the spot.  “I don’t want—”

“I’ve got you, and I am not letting you go,” Kurt says.  “You remember what you told me the first time we met?”

“I said a lot of things,” Blaine closes his eyes and feels the warm streaking of tears down his cheeks.  He has cried in front of Kurt before, but he’s never cried in front of him.  The breakdowns have been reserved for solitude, behind locked doors, hidden away from the world.  

“You told me that you ran away when things got tough, and that you regretted it ever since.  Don’t run from me too, Blaine— stay.”

The perfect catalyst.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine chokes out.  “I’m sor—sorry, I’m sorry,” He continues murmuring, the words becoming an incoherent jumble of consonants decorating the layer of heaving sobs and gasps for air in between.  With eyes shut tight, he nestles his face back into Kurt’s neck, body trembling against his steady arms, and continues mumbling the only two words his brain seems capable of conjuring. 

“Blaine, honey,” Kurt strokes his back and presses kisses to the top of his head.  “Blaine, why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine shakes his head, forehead against Kurt’s shoulder.  “I don’t know.” 

Now that it’s begun, it feels like it will never end.  Control feels like a foreign language as he continues to shake and cling to any part of Kurt he can get his hands on.  

“Come on, come here,” Kurt commands soothingly, leading them over to the couch.  He drops down, pulling Blaine onto his lap.  Blaine snakes his arms around Kurt’s neck, burying his face into his own arm.  “I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The reassuring words seem to be having the complete opposite effect on Blaine and only draw out more tears.  Crying feels like an effort rather than a cathartic release.  The mask has finally been ripped away, leaving him feeling exposed, dissected.  He feels weak.  Ashamed and self-conscious.  How could he lose control like this? What’s worse, how can he be so incapable of reigning it back in?

“Sweetheart, talk to me,” Kurt won’t stop pressing kisses to any area of skin he can reach.  His lips are warm and wet against Blaine’s temple.  Something tangible he can tether himself to.  “Please?”

How do you condense years of pent up doubts and microaggressions of self-sabotage into a logical explanation?  Where do you even begin? 

“You know,” Kurt runs his fingers over the protective layer of gel, wriggling them in between to break up some of the strands.  Blaine bites down on the inside corners of his bottom lip and allows Kurt to continue burrowing his fingers past the barrier.  He had caked on so much of it after class it is a wonder Kurt is even able to break up any of it at all.  Yet his dexterous fingers reach beneath and he massages Blaine’s scalp.  It’s another calming, tangible gesture Blaine can tether himself to. “I have that keyboard in my bedroom.  I can get that if you would rather sing something first right now.  Usually helps you open up.”

The more Kurt’s fingers tangle and twist his hair, the calmer he feels.  Once the tears have ceased enough he trusts himself to speak.  “Okay,” Blaine has to mouth the word first before clearing his throat and rasping it out.  He shuffles off of Kurt’s lap and spends the literal seconds of his absence wrenching his fingers together, both legs bouncing hurriedly against the wood floor.  Kurt returns, keyboard secured underneath his arm, and sets it up on the coffee table in front of the couch before taking a seat beside Blaine.  Before turning it on Blaine runs his fingers over the plastic keys.  Will it ever get any easier to channel his emotions without a crutch? Kurt simply sits and watches, palm draped over the small of his back.  Blaine exhales, the breath shuddering with the weight of all he tries to expel to lend his voice the strength to begin.  He slides the switch up to turn it on and positions his fingers on the keys, gently tapping out a somber melody. 

“ When you come home I feel the earth start to change, I am alive, I am alive, I am in love with this place. I love it most how you whisper my name And so I catch it in a bottle for my lonelier days.”

He never has to think when it comes to music.  His fingers always seem to know just what notes to play.  And the words always come easier when they are borrowed from someone else.  He shifts closer to the keyboard, hands steady and certain as he continues with the melody.  Kurt understands him so well, knows just the right things to say and do to coax him through the storms. 

“The moment slows inside the palm of your hand, Oh I could stay like this forever or as long as we can. And in the morning I pour a warm cup of tea And hope you'll stay a little longer, stay a lifetime with me.”

He straightens his back, puts more vigor into the tempo as he pushes past the fear and lets his voice crescendo into the next verse.  The one that means the most.  The one he wishes he could say without having to hide behind the safety blanket of song.  Maybe someday he can learn.  But for now it is easier to parrot the words that bare a glimpse into his heart. 

“Cause when you go, like summer gives to the rain, I am uncertain, but I'm certain I am losing my way. When you let go, I don't see straight anymore— I am unwinding, I am broken, I am losing my core.”

His voice breaks on the last line, raspy and watery with the weight of tears once again.  He closes his eyes, languidly drags his fingers over the keys, lulling back the gentle melody as Kurt slides his hand up to his mid-back.  He continues with the interlude, repeats it, drawing out the time to build up the courage to continue again.  Kurt shifts closer beside him, wraps an arm around him and rests his chin on his shoulder.  Tangible.  Comforting.  Reassuring.  

“There is a door that opens at the sight of your face, I feel it all, I feel the warmth of every long summer day. And like an angel, you circle back with a kiss, You are the one I'm dreaming of, you are the one, you are the one. You lift me up with every step that I take, You are the reason, you're the answer when I'm drifting away. And through it all, when I start making a mess, You are forgiving, everlasting. You're my everything.”

The warmth of Kurt’s breath raises the hairs on the back of his neck.  When Kurt’s lips press into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder the notes start to get sloppy, crescendoing and decrescendoing when a wave of goosebumps runs its course throughout his entire body.  He abandons the keys, voice so low that some of the sound cuts out as he half-whispers a fragmented collection of the remaining lyrics.

“You are the one who holds my heart. When you come home I feel the earth start to change, I am alive, I am alive— there is a reason to stay.”

They sit in the stillness for a while, Kurt’s arms fastened loosely around Blaine’s waist, with only the distant muffled sounds of the city coming to life in the early hours of a Friday night to keep them company.  Unlike the bustling renegades of New York City, there is no sense of urgency or obligation between them tonight.  Blaine sinks back against Kurt’s chest, sluggish and exhausted, but he knows the night is nowhere near its finale.  The song was merely an introduction, a segue into the next section of the grand orchestral piece.  

“I remember telling you once that I’m not good at romance,” Blaine breaks the silence.  “That I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to this.”

“Probably the biggest lie you’ve ever told,” Kurt responds affably.  Blaine can hear the tentativeness as he tries to keep the conversation light and playful and knows he is trying to work out just where he is headed with this train of thought.  

“Is it though?” 

“Blaine, you are probably the most romantic person I know.  I used to think I was the hopeless romantic in this relationship, but you definitely have me beat.” 

“I hate that phrase,” Blaine says indignantly, trying to shrink back against him more, but there is nowhere else to go.  Kurt deciphers his body language and embraces him tighter. “Hopeless romantic— why does it have to be a hopeless romantic?” 

“It’s just a phrase.  Of course you aren’t hopeless,” Kurt begins pressing kisses to wherever he can reach again.  Blaine closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the couch cushion.  Maybe Kurt was right.  Maybe a week without intimacy really was far too long.  The soft desperate whine that falls from his lips as Kurt continues to litter his neck with delicate kisses definitely suggests as much. 

“Kurt, can we—”

“Soon,” Kurt says.  “We aren’t done talking yet.”  He sucks the skin at the base of Blaine’s neck between his teeth and gnaws gently and Blaine can feel the slight upturn of his lips against his skin as he lets a sharp, breathless exhale slip out. 

“Well, I don’t know how well I’ll be able to concentrate if you keep—” Kurt moves his head away, only centimeters but he may as well have relocated himself across the room.  Blaine scoots closer, practically sitting on his lap again now and whines, “No, no, no! Come back!”

“How about we play a game?” Kurt replaces his lips on Blaine’s neck and runs his tongue over the reddened bite mark. 

“What kind of game?” Blaine rasps out, shivering as a new wave of goosebumps breaks out. 

“A game of trust and honesty,” Kurt raises his head to whisper against Blaine’s ear.  Blaine turns ever so slightly to face him, their noses touching, vision blurred and unfocused at such a close distance.  

“Sounds like truth or truth instead of truth or dare.  What are the rules?” He asks apprehensively.

“I’ll ask a question, you give me an honest answer.  You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but if you do you can tell me what to do next,” Kurt replies.  At Blaine’s continued exhibition of hesitation he adds, “We can even take turns, if it makes you more comfortable.  You can ask me anything you want.” 

Blaine tilts forward, resting his forehead against Kurt’s and hesitates before he nods a fraction of an inch.  “Okay.  Who goes first?” 

“I’ll ask first,” He leans back and Blaine falters in the absence of his support before adjusting, back straight against the couch cushion.  Kurt twists sideways, shoulder against the couch back and places one hand over Blaine’s.  “Why did you pick that song?” 

Blaine furrows his brows, tilts his head slightly, caught off guard.  The song choice seemed self-explanatory.  “Because it makes me think of you.” 

Kurt doesn’t ask, he says, “Elaborate.”

Blaine squirms, doesn’t understand.  Didn’t he listen to the lyrics? What more is there to say? Kurt merely smiles back at him, interlocks their fingers, and waits. 

“Well, I guess because that’s how I feel with you.  You make me feel safe.  You remind me what it is to truly be alive and without you I feel,” He stops, throat suddenly tight.  

Lost.  I feel so lost without you sometimes.

“Feel what, honey?” Kurt prompts softly. 

“Lost.” The word sounds small and fragile when he says it and yet it feels so heavy now that it is out in the open.  But Kurt shows no indication of surprise at the confession.  On the contrary, he seems pleased, as though this is exactly what he was hoping to hear. 

“Why?” He rubs his thumb into the back of Blaine’s hand.

“Because,” Blaine starts and stops again.  Talking used to feel so effortless between them before he had created this rift.  Ever since their breakup every word has come carefully selected with the fear that it will be the absolute wrong thing to say.  Just because Kurt has agreed to marry him, that does not mean he cannot still change his mind. And what if he does? Blaine cannot even bear to think about that.  “Because you make me feel like I am really worth something when I can’t remember why.  You gave me— us, you gave us another chance and I am so afraid of fucking it up all over again because you are the best thing to ever happen to me and I can’t… lose you again.  I can’t go back to being alone and just pretending to be brave because everyone expects it of me.” 

He feels winded by the end of it.  One question in and already the endeavour feels draining.  Kurt’s expression is unreadable when Blaine summons the courage to look him in the eyes.  Is that… fear? He lifts one leg, drapes it over Blaine’s lap and leans forward to kiss him.  Blaine kisses back hungrily, desperately.  

“Tell me what you want and then it’s your turn to ask,” Kurt whispers against his lips.  Blaine swallows, already half-hard from the simple act of kissing.  With the weight of an entire day of silent brooding being lifted, his body cannot help but remind him just how desperately he needs to be touched.  Needs to be needed.  How many questions will they have to get through first though? 

“Bite my neck again, harder this time though,” He requests.  And Kurt obliges.  He allows himself to be swept in it for the moment, palm riding over Kurt’s thigh as he feels the gentle brush of teeth and tongue over his skin before he sucks and bites and fuck that feels good.  Too soon though, he stops and Blaine wants to whine and protest but remembers what he is waiting for.  Right.  A question. Something he is afraid to ask, but wants to anyways.  That look in his eyes… Okay.  Truth time.  He can do this.  

“Does that scare you? What I just said.”

“A little bit,” Kurt does not even hesitate, which does nothing to quell Blaine’s nerves.  It feels like a slap in the face, affirming all of his fears to be true after all.  A strange swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach leaves him looking crestfallen, but Kurt slides a hand up to caress his cheek and continues.  “I think you use me to define yourself and measure your worth a lot of the time, and that’s the part that scares me sometimes.  I don’t want you to need me to tell you that you are enough, I want you to feel it because you know it.  And I have a funny feeling that this is something you’ve been doing long before we ever met.” 

Kurt holds his face there, eyes soft and intense.  Blaine’s lip quivers, eyes darting wildly as he searches Kurt’s face.  Searches for what? He is not wrong.  Deep down, he knows he is absolutely right.  For as long as he can remember he has tethered himself to the attention of others, weighing his worth in compliments and just being noticed at all.  Kurt had just been the first one to take it a step further, to love him in all the ways a human being could be loved, to make him feel seen and needed and wanted .  He does not know how to verbalise this though, so instead he asks, “What do you want me to do?” 

“Take off your sweater and your shirt.” 

“Shouldn’t we move to—”

“Rachel has rehearsal all night, she won’t be back for a while.”

Blaine’s eyes automatically dart to the door but he nods stiffly and works the sweater over his head.  He moves his hands to the base of his shirt, pauses and swallows.  Yes, Kurt does not want him to feel insecure around him.  But one conversation is not going to fix that.  With the way they’re sitting on the couch, with the lights completely on— Blaine is completely aware of how he will look once that shirt comes off.  Kurt presses a kiss to his cheek and slides his hands over Blaine’s, murmuring, “This too, my beautiful boy.”  Pink in the face, Blaine licks his lips and allows Kurt to help him lift the shirt over his head.  He tries to sit up straighter, keeping his eyes on Kurt to distract from the way his stomach protrudes and hangs over the edge of his pants.  

“Your turn,” Blaine says, throat taut, so the words come strained and thick. 

Kurt languidly drags his fingertips over his bare chest, just drinking him in for a moment.  He rests his palm over Blaine’s heart before he asks, soft and loving and gentle as he possibly can, “Why do you think I would just get up and leave you? Where does that come from?”

It’s immediately evident why Kurt has positioned his hand over his chest when Blaine instinctively tries to sit forward, ready to stand and pace and will himself to vanish because, remind him again— why do they have to be doing this right now? Why can they not just be naked and sweaty and rutting against each other, drowning out the need for words and difficult conversations between desperate kisses and breathless moans in the dark? 

You were right, we talk too much. 

Kurt’s hand moves deftly over his chest, warm and reassuring, and his voice comes as eloquently and unwavering as it has all night, “Remember, you can skip, but I hope that you don’t.” 

How is he supposed to just shut him down after that now? It is a request, not an obligation, but Blaine wants to please him, wants to make him proud.  Because what does their relationship even mean if he is too afraid to speak to his own husband-to-be about the horrible things he has only whispered within his own head for years and years and years? 

We’re getting married.  He wants to marry you.  The hard part is over.  He said yes.  Just let him in.

“Because,” He inhales sharply, exhales it into a long trembling breath and holds his hand over Kurt’s, pressing harder against his chest.  Kurt nudges himself closer, wraps his other arm around his shoulders and draws him in.  “Because everyone else does, so it feels like it’s only a matter of time before you do too.” 

“This has to do with your family, doesn’t it?” 

And of course Kurt knows already.  Of course he has just been waiting for Blaine, stupid Blaine, to come forward and finally say it.  How can he possibly have been this clueless? Despite the recent miscommunications and misunderstandings, the missteps in their natural abilities to decipher each other’s body language with nothing more than a glance of understanding, how could he ever think that Kurt would not know how to trace the root of all of it with such precision that he may as well just write the instruction manual on how to operate Blaine Devon Anderson? 

“How stereotypical, right?” Blaine asks, partly because he does not know how else to respond, but mostly because he is soberly aware of the fact that he is sitting here, shirtless and defenseless, ready to cry for what feels like the thousandth time in the past week and just wants to maintain the shattered art of deflection.  Sardonic and dizzy and bitter and angry with himself for bottling it up for so long when it was always in plain sight to begin with, he can’t help but think—  So much time wasted.  And for what?  

“Stop that,” Kurt says quietly, tone so serious it feels like a kick straight to the ribs.  Kurt was usually the one to crack a joke, humour cynical and so biting that he could take the edge off of anything.  But then again, that was usually reserved for his own tragedies.  Today has not been about laughing away the pain and self-deprecation, he has tried to make it something more.  “Don’t make it less than it is.  It’s something that matters to you, don’t make it a joke.” 

“Sorry,” Blaine says, a pre-programmed response that makes Kurt’s brows furrow in what can only be perceived as disapproval.  He simply shakes his head though, runs both hands over Blaine’s bare chest and varies his gaze, eyes darting back and forth between Blaine’s lips and eyes. 

“You barely talk about them.  I don’t know if you even still talk to them.” 

Blaine moves to fold his arms over his chest, another defensive play that Kurt refuses to yield to.  He moves his leg off of Blaine, drops it to the floor and then he’s tugging and coaxing and murmuring affections until Blaine is situated on his lap, their torsos pressed firm.  The material from his sweater is scratchy and rough against Blaine’s bare skin and he thinks, desperately, Please just take that off and fuck me until I forget. 

“Do you?” Kurt asks delicately. 

Blaine swallows and the words come out thick as molasses, “Coop, sometimes, if I call him.  My parents,” He licks his lips, shimmies down against Kurt’s lap so he can hide his face into the crook of his neck.  With arms firmly around his waist, he presses fingertips into his back, that damn scratchy sweater, he just wants to rip it off of him and beg and beg and beg— make me forget, just make me forget. “My mom texted me when I first moved to New York to ask if I made it, I haven’t heard from her since.” 

“And your dad?” Kurt probes cautiously.  

A pause.  Blaine spends the next few seconds just breathing against his neck and presses his fingertips down harder.  “Fuck my dad,” He finally says, quiet and fragile.  It is a wonder the words don’t crack and slice his throat right open on the way up.  

He feels Kurt’s arms, so strong and protective, close tighter around him and maybe it is the silence that follows— because when does Kurt Hummel ever become speechless?— or the way Kurt keeps pulling and squeezing, trying to weld them together as one or the sudden influx of scattered kisses he presses to his forehead, but something in him shatters .  His entire body shudders with the riptide of the sob that courses through him, but Kurt just holds him steady, rocks and whispers his little mantra, “I’ve got you, I love you, I’ve got you.” 

“Hate him, I hate him— He’s just— And I’ve never been able to— He hates me, he's always—”

Blaine hiccups and babbles and gasps and cries, unable to pluck one coherent thought from the rush of water now that the dam has finally broken wide open.  Kurt presses his lips to his forehead, whispers affections and instructions against his skin, and strokes his hair, his arms, his back— every possible inch of him that exists, Kurt is sliding his hands over, fingertips grazing and pulsing.  Drained and dazed from the weight of everything the insane idea enters Blaine’s head— if you’re looking for the ‘off switch’ I have no idea where it is either.

One shuddering breath collides into the next with no space in between until Kurt is lifting his head, cupping his face between both hands.  He tries to twist away, but Kurt’s thumbs stroke his cheeks, hold him steady and Blaine is just so tired he has no strength to fight him.

Please don’t look at me, I can’t stand it. 

“Sweetheart, you’re hyperventilating.  You’re gonna pass out if you keep going like this.  Just let me help,” Kurt’s thumbs brush over his cheek bones, already red-raw and stinging.  Blaine burrows his fingers deep into his back again and barely notices the feel of the sweater he has been scornfully regarding as he nods a few times between Kurt’s hands. 

“O-o-o-k-kay,” He sputters, gasps and cries some more, wishing, again, to just simply disappear. 

“Purse your lips together, I’m gonna count while you breathe,” Kurt kisses his forehead.  He closes his eyes, tries to focus on the feel of soft, wet lips against his skin and nods again.  He makes it to three on the trembling exhale before breathing in, sharp and quick.  Thumbs against skin, lips against forehead, they reset.  Kurt continues kissing his way across his face between murmured instructions, lips planting invisible X-marks-the-spots all over the raw geography of familiar terrain like it still needs to be thoroughly explored and mapped out.  Blaine has been so focused on following his voice, desperate to latch onto each whispered command, he does not realise his breathing has slowed until their lips are finally touching.  He lets Kurt take control, allows himself to be cared for and coddled and carefully handled like he is actually a broken sheet of glass filled with cracks, bound to shatter at the slightest hint of pressure. 

Lips still pressed together, he whispers into Kurt’s mouth, “I feel like such a mess.”

“My beautiful boy,” Kurt breathes back and it is a conscious effort on his part not to just start crying again because fuck , he feels anything but beautiful right now.  “We can stop for now, if you want.  I know that was a lot.” 

“No, I want to tell you.  I–I know that I just… shut down sometimes, but I want you to know.  It’s just,” Blaine leans backwards enough to look him in the eyes.  “It’s hard for me to talk about these things.” 

“I know,” Kurt’s thumb brushes his cheek again and Blaine leans into the touch.  “Take your time.” 

“I feel like I don’t even know him, you know?” 

Kurt just watches him, one hand still caressing his face and the other rubbing gentle circles into his back.  Kurt doesn’t know.  Kurt will never know.  Blaine releases a shaky exhale before continuing. 

“He was never home, always working.  And when he was home it’s like we were living on two different planes of existence, I felt invisible around him.  He hasn’t been able to see me for a very long time.  And my mom has just been so checked out— honestly, she’s been a mess for as long as I can remember.  It was just— It wasn’t a happy home, Kurt.  Cooper got out the second that he could, and I can’t really blame him for it.  Even though we didn’t always get along and he was constantly trying to show me up, it was really lonely without him.  I didn’t have a lot of friends at school, there was no Glee club— no safe space for anyone who was gay.  It was just me and one other kid who were publicly out.”

“The one you went to the dance with?” Kurt asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Blaine nuzzles his neck and breathes in deep.  “Afterwards he told his parents going to the dance together was my idea, and it was, and that was it.  They didn’t want us being friends anymore, they blamed me for what happened and he just… walked away.  Well, I think they moved, but he just stopped talking to me.”

“I’m sorry.  That must have been— I’m sorry,” Kurt kisses the top of his head. 

“My parents shipped me off to Dalton after that.  I didn’t even want to go at first, if you can believe that.”

“Really?”

“Really.  A boarding school with a dress code and a bunch of snobby rich kids? I was dreading it.  But it became home.  They didn’t care that I was gay, they accepted me right away.  Then joining the Warblers? There were so many times I was convinced I was just in a coma and dreaming the entire thing up.  We were treated like rockstars, it was the first time I felt good about myself in a long time.”

“Now I feel bad for making all those snarky remarks about everyone just being back-up singers to you,” Kurt says, earning a quiet laugh from Blaine. 

“Well, you weren’t wrong.  You were right to call it out.  The whole reason I fell in love with being a Warbler was because everyone had an equal say, I just got so swept up in finally being noticed that I lost sight of the fact that there were probably some other guys that wanted to be noticed too.  You kept my ego from overinflating.”

“You seemed like the most confident person in the world to me when we first met,” Kurt says.  “I never would have guessed you struggled with any self-esteem issues.”

Blaine shrugs nonchalantly and presses a kiss to his neck.  “You didn’t know because I didn’t want anyone to know.  We didn’t… talk about feelings at my house.  You started bringing that out in me, making me believe I didn’t always have to hide and pretend.  But I lose sight of that sometimes, I guess.  It’s easier to just shut down and bottle it up, but you’re right… I have to be able to come to you, we have to be able to come to each other.  I’m— I’ll be better, I promise I will.”

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me.  I’ve been able to guess at some of it for a while now, but hearing you finally say it— I’m proud of you.  I always want you to feel safe with me, so I hope that you do talk to me more about things like this that are bothering you.”

Blaine nods against his shoulder, eyes stinging and blurring.  He does not know why he expected anything other than absolute understanding and compassion from him, why it was so difficult to force the words out in the first place.  

“Do you want to keep talking?” 

Make me forget.  Love me and don’t let me go and just make me forget everything else. 

“I think I need a break from talking.  I just need you, I—”

And then Kurt is kissing him and Blaine is kissing back like it is the first time all over again.  He catches Kurt’s lips with his teeth, sloppy and hungry and desperate to be as close to him as possible because the great gaping canyon in his chest demands to be filled.  Please! Please! Please! His heart thumps away the greedy melody and when Kurt pulls away, widening that endless cavern, he actually whines .  But Kurt is tugging at the sleeves of his sweater— normally a crime , you always pull from the collar, he constantly tells Blaine— and Blaine’s hands hurry forward to help him strip it away.  

Blaine has watched him while he works out, has witnessed firsthand the care and consistency and the effort behind those hardened muscles in his arms and chest and oh god those abs .  He is like a living statue and Blaine is the only one privy to the private viewing of his full display of perfection.  How could he let his stupid insecurities keep him from this? 

“You’re staring.”

Without even looking Blaine can tell he’s smirking.  “Can you blame me?” 

He looks up to see another playful smirk, and that Kurt is staring right back at him, lower lip ever so slightly tucked in beneath his teeth.  Fuck .

“So,” Kurt says, voice low and husky.  “You still have to tell me what you want me to do next.”

Make me forget.  Make me forget. 

“Take control,” Blaine says softly.  When Kurt’s hand travels up his thigh to fiddle with the button of his pants, he rasps out, “I’m all yours, take control.”

The caress of lips against his jaw, the ice cool touch of smooth fingers dipping below his waist band, teasing and exploring— Blaine closes his eyes and surrenders himself to sensation.  Who needs pretty words when he has the tender touch of a lover’s fingertips to ignite bursts of starlight beneath his skin? Kurt’s hands find his and the gentle pull against them forces his eyes open where he finds Kurt ushering him off of his lap.  He shifts off and allows himself to be lifted as Kurt stands, eyes alight with curiosity and wonder until Kurt’s mouth is on his again and he is lost, lost, lost once more.  

Kissing Kurt is everything.  Early November and his lips are slightly chapped, leaving only the faintest hint of his current favourite chapstick.  It reminds Blaine of their nights nestled up by the fireplace in Dalton, coffees from the school cafeteria in hand and stealing vanilla and mocha flavoured kisses in between every break in conversation.  He forgets that they are standing in the middle of Kurt’s living room, forgets that they are drifting through borrowed space as Rachel or even Santana, devious in her ways of sneaking around, could waltz in at any minute despite Kurt’s insistence that they won’t.  As Kurt hooks his thumbs into belt loops and draws him closer, both of their bodies desperate for the heat and friction, he forgets about his insecurities and doubts.  There is only the handsome man before him and nothing else in the world matters. 

Lips locked, Kurt navigates them towards his bedroom.  Neither of them wants to disentangle from each other long enough to lead, Blaine just has to trust him not to let him trip.  His knees hit the edge of the bed and buckle, but Kurt grips his hips, digs his fingernails in and grinds their bodies together until they’re both moaning into the kiss.  His pants feel unmanageably tight at this point now. 

“Kurt—” 

“Working on it,” Kurt kisses his way down to his neck, teeth gnawing sweetly until first the button, then the zipper and Blaine’s suddenly being pushed backwards onto the bed.  He hastily props himself up on his elbows, panting softly, eyes lust blown and following Kurt’s every move.  He’s kneeling down in front of the bed, yanking Blaine’s pants off from around his ankles now and every second feels like it is being stretched too long.  Finally free though, his cock bounces against his stomach, throbbing and aching by the time Kurt settles between his legs.  Blaine’s eyes dart to the bedside table, hand just starting to reach out when Kurt bends over and curls his fingers around his cock, flicking his tongue over the head before sucking hard.  He pulls his mouth off with a faint pop! and brushes his thumb over the underside of the head.

“F-Fuck,” Blaine trembles, arm outstretched, its purpose completely forgotten.  “You’re right, a week was too long.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Kurt says and takes him completely into his mouth, palm cupping his balls.

“Jesus— Fuck!” Blaine instantly bucks his hips and fills the spaces between his fingers with Kurt’s hair, breathless as he quickly adds, “Sorry, are you—”

Kurt hums his response and hollows his cheeks, breathes in through his nose and takes him further down.  They have just barely gotten started and already Blaine feels himself coming undone.  He struggles to keep his hips steady, but Kurt is moving torturously slow through all of this until he just stops moving his head altogether, mouth very much still full of Blaine’s cock and he could honestly scream because how dare he just stop like that—

Oh. 

Blaine knows what he wants. 

“Please,” The word comes hungry, breathless and on the verge of a whine.  “Please, I need you, please—”

And Kurt’s head moves backwards, sucking as he goes until he reaches the tip of Blaine’s cock, where he flicks his tongue over it playfully.  Blaine balls up the sheets of the mattress in his other fist and tugs on that instead of Kurt’s hair, the quiet desperate moans falling out of him like whispered secrets in the night.  Kurt pulls his mouth off of him again, turns his head and kisses the inside of his thigh, before biting down and sucking.  Blaine hisses in a breath, knuckles turning white, and lets Kurt mark him.

Yours, I’m yours, and no one else’s.

There is a moment when Kurt pulls away to rummage through the nightstand when Blaine cannot help but to stare again.  How far they have come from the shy teenager who could not even look him directly in the eyes when discussing pornography.  He remembers so vividly the day Kurt lamented he would never see himself as sexy , the word whispered with such discomfort like it was dirty and inconceivable.  It was the day they were practicing in the mirror, Kurt had been trying so hard to get the look right but ultimately kept shying away, embarrassed and self-conscious with the effort, saying Blaine just made it look so easy.  Neither of them had a clue what they were doing, but disguises had always come easy for Blaine.  Now, Kurt looks up at him, dark-eyed, mouth slightly parted before that devilish smirk takes over again, and Blaine is weak and breathless beneath his gaze.  How the times do certainly change.  

Kurt’s fingers are already coated in lube when he starts kissing Blaine’s thigh again and circles one finger around the tight ring of muscles.  Blaine wants to rush ahead, squirms his hips down and Kurt tuts disapprovingly, leaving him to lie still once again and wait patiently at his mercy.  He really can be such a goddamn tease sometimes.  But he does not make him wait long before sliding one finger in, stroking and twisting, until Blaine pants, “More, please, more.”

He takes his time, adds another finger and scissors and stretches him as Blaine squirms and begs beneath his touch.  Only two fingers in and Blaine is beginning to completely unravel, hips involuntarily jerking up as Kurt strokes and twists and kisses and bites, leaving tiny reddened marks all along his thighs.  It never takes Kurt long to find that sweet spot, and sure enough Blaine is arching his back and panting as his fingers continue to brush over and massage his prostate.  Slowly, he withdraws his fingers and when he pats the side of Blaine's leg and tells him to sit up he cannot help but whine loudly in protest. 

“So impatient,” Kurt says, eyes twinkling with amusement as he settles himself against the headboard and tugs until Blaine is positioned above his lap.  Kurt’s in control, but he knows this is Blaine’s favourite position.

“Condom?” Blaine’s thighs are already shaking as he holds himself up.

“I trust you,” Kurt replies, bringing his hands up to cup his face, voice so low and sultry it is a wonder Blaine doesn’t just stagger into his orgasm right on the spot.  “And I want you to feel it.”

What did I do to deserve you?

Blaine groans into the kiss as Kurt strokes himself, coating his cock with lube before he holds it firm for him to lower himself down onto.  The sweet heat and friction already feels like it is almost too much to bear.  There is no way he is going to last like this, and they both know it.  He positions his hands on Kurt’s chest, sinks all the way down and pants loudly against his mouth, pausing to let himself adjust before rising up again.  Kurt relocates his hands to his hips, fingernails digging in and helping him rise and fall, their rhythm slow and synchronized.  It doesn’t take long before it becomes more sporadic and urgent, Kurt’s hips bucking up as Blaine’s thighs tremble and burn to match his rhythm until he’s hitting just that right spot again.  He yelps his moan, fingernails burrowing into Kurt’s skin.

“There, there, there— right there!” Blaine exhales quickly, winded and sweaty as he clenches and shakes.  With the way Kurt’s gripping his hips he knows there are going to bruises where the thumbs sink in.  The thought of it alone sends a rush of heat up his spine that erupts as another breathless gasp.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Kurt groans out.  “ So fucking gorgeous.”

Blaine’s laugh comes out half-strangled as he gyrates his hips faster, thighs trembling violently as he slams one palm against the headboard to keep himself balanced.  “So are you, fuck, so are you.  So—” Kurt slides his hands down, cups his ass and quickens his thrusts, throwing the rest of Blaine’s thoughts to the wind as he all but crashes his head forward against the headboard and cries out.  He becomes acutely aware of Kurt’s mouth against his chest, of his tongue circling his nipple, but barely registers Kurt’s breathy laugh, “Sorry, you okay?” 

“Don’t stop,” Blaine breathes back.  “Don’t stop, don’t— fuck, you feel so good.”

Kurt sucks on his nipple as Blaine’s breath hitches, heavy and desperate.  Kurt slips one hand down and closes it around his cock, earning another loud strangled sound somewhere between an exhale and an actual word.  

“You’re perfect, you’re so perfect— Kurt, fuck I’m gonna—”

Kurt works his hand faster, hips bucking wildly as Blaine cries out again, stars exploding behind his eyes as he comes.  Kurt cups his ass again, squeezing and panting heavily against his neck as he keeps thrusting, chasing his own orgasm only seconds later.  Blaine’s legs give out, leaving Kurt’s firm grip on his ass, his hips still jerking upwards sporadically, as his only support.  Blaine keeps his eyes closed, fingers curled tightly around Kurt’s shoulders and forehead resting against the headboard, as Kurt finally slows to a stop.  He does not want to move, does not want Kurt to pull away and leave him feeling empty again.  As though reading his mind, Kurt holds him there, pressing lazy kisses to sweat soaked skin as Blaine’s body continues to tremble. 

“God, I missed you,” Kurt whispers, raising his head enough to kiss his neck.  

“I love you,” Blaine rasps out.  “So much.  More than anything.” 

Kurt feigns a dramatic gasp, lips brushing against his neck and tickling him. “Surely not more than hair gel.”

The smile on Blaine’s face almost hurts before they both break out into laughter.  

“Need some help?” Kurt squeezes his ass playfully, earning a soft, sleepy moan. 

“My legs don’t work anymore,” Blaine laughs breathlessly, limbs heavy and useless.  Their earlier conversation feels like a lifetime ago.  

“I’ve got you,” Kurt says soothingly, lips back against his neck.  

In the post-orgasm haze Blaine is barely aware of their movements as he comes to settle down beside him, limbs tangled and still desperate for touch.  Kurt wipes cum off of his stomach with a tissue— Blaine cannot help but think about the midnight trip to the laundromat they will most likely be taking to salvage the sheets— before he draws him in close, those strong arms like a promise and a safety blanket.  It is moments like these he loves the most, where the world stops spinning and they are frozen in a perfect carefree moment of mutual adoration and comfort within each other’s arms.  

“I’m sorry about your dad, about all of that,” Kurt suddenly says softly, jarring him from the temporary peace.  

“Not your fault,” Blaine mumbles, snuggling in closer to him as though melding their bodies together physically will drive away the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness starting to creep in all over again. 

“Do you actually hate him?” 

“No, of course I don’t.  I just wish,” Blaine sighs and presses a kiss to his chest, arm curling tighter around Kurt’s waist to keep himself tethered down.  “I just want him to be proud of me and it really hurts that he’s not, that I basically don’t exist to him.”

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Hmm?” Blaine asks distractedly. 

“Have you ever thought about talking to someone?” 

“What do you mean?” Blaine shifts his head, too lazy to actually lift it off of his chest, and settles his eyes on Kurt’s jaw. 

“Like a therapist,” Kurt says carefully.  Involuntarily, Blaine stiffens between his arms.  “Have you ever thought about that?”

Blaine sluggishly drags his hand over Kurt’s chest, fingers tracing invisible patterns.  Kurt tilts his head down, nose pressed to his loosely gelled hair and breathes in deep before pressing a kiss to the top of his head.  “I might have,” Blaine whispers, heart thudding violently now.  Kurt has been nothing but understanding and patient, yet the anxiety still clutches tightly and forces him to want to retreat and hide.  

“Maybe you should,” Kurt says gently.  

“Maybe,” Blaine parrots quietly.

“I’m not suggesting something is wrong with you,” Kurt adds, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

How could you tell?

“It just might be good to talk to someone unbiased, don’t you think?”

Blaine continues trailing his fingers over Kurt’s chest, silent and pensive.  He had certainly contemplated the idea plenty of times in the past, never sure of where to even begin.  After the attack at the dance, when Kurt moved away, when they broke up— every time he had come remotely close to researching, shame and panic had chased the idea away.  

“Say something?” Kurt asks softly and runs his fingers through his hair, far more pliable now that the gel has been somewhat dissolved by sweat.

Blaine’s hand stills against his chest and he props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at him.  There is no judgement on his face.  Those eyes like endless oceans of concern and compassion.  Everything about his expression screams I see you, I love you and I see you.

“You’ll uh,” Blaine starts and struggles to hold his gaze, his first instinct telling him to stare at anything other than his eyes.  “Will you help me look for one?”

“Of course I will.  We’re a team, aren’t we?” 

The smile on his face makes Blaine’s heart beat just a little faster, but there is no feeling of shame behind it.  “Yes.  We’re a team.” 

He settles down in Kurt’s arms again, but silence between them never lasts long.  It is only a matter of moments before Kurt’s speaking again. “Have you ever heard of Kintsugi?”

Blaine furrows his brows and tilts his head up towards him again.  He is always full of these random little tidbits of information.  “No? What’s that?”

“It’s a phrase used in Japan.  It’s the art of mending broken pottery.”

“Okay?” Blaine trails the word out, the tickle in the back of his throat not quite a laugh just yet.  He usually has a point when he brings things like this up, but sometimes he does not.  Right now it is not obvious which side of that line he is on.

“Instead of using clear glue, they use powdered gold or silver, usually gold.  So when they put the pieces back together, they’re not trying to hide the fact that it was broken.  The process of being broken and repaired is part of its history, and they choose to highlight and display that fact by turning it into something new with these golden scars to show for it.  I think that’s beautiful, don’t you?”

“So, are you calling me broken pottery?” Blaine asks, the laugh finally breaking free.

“No,” Kurt replies, placing two fingers on his chin to tilt his head up.  “You’re a perfect work of art with a history to show for it.”

And as he leans forward, eager to press their lips together and soak up as much of him as humanly possible, Blaine thinks, And you are the artist.

________________________________________________________________

The song Blaine sings is When You Come Home by Mree, which instantly made me think of our boys when I first heard it.

I don't remember where I first learned about Kintsugi, but I became absolutely obsessed with it.  To be able to take something broken, mend it and showcase all of its imperfections as something beautiful and apart of its history... just something about that really hit close to home for me.  Here is one example. Take some time to google image search some pieces, they are absolutely breathtaking.  And I think it is a perfect metaphor for how we can come to deal with our own traumas.  

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, First Impressions, Slice of Life, Character Study

No additional content warnings apply. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Kirishima Eijirou had stared at the grin on Bakugou’s face when he pulled the pin in his gauntlet and thought: Holy shit, this guy is insane.

Over multiple screens, a good chunk of Ground β went up in a blast so strong the floor trembled with its aftershocks even here, miles away. Concrete and steel and glass were incinerated in a gust of fire and debris until all that was left was Midoriya’s crumpled form amidst plumes of smoke and Bakugou standing tall in the ruins.

The cameras shorted out once, twice before the image stabilized; the transmission remained silent. There was no sound needed to see how Bakugou’s grin got an edge sharper in the wake of the explosion.

Insane and absolutely deadly.

It wasn’t Kirishima’s first impression of him, per se. Certainly he’d had some sort of reaction to the only name ranked above his own after the Entrance Exams and the total sum of zero rescue points listed beside it. He can even remember the twinge of something in his chest after seeing that infamous quirk in action on day one – be it awe or envy or plain curiosity, that innocent question of How does it work, though? that accompanies most encounters with a new power.

Still: In those first few days, when Kirishima thinks of Bakugou Katsuki, he thinks of the mad glint in his eyes as he went above and beyond in his attempt to murder their classmate (or seriously maim him, at the very least).

In hindsight, having him play the villain was perhaps less coincidence and more fate, given the optics of what could reasonably be described as a shitshow. And, okay, Kirishima knows it’s not exactly fair to judge someone based solely on fleeting observations. His parents taught him better than that. Crimson Riot showed him better than that. It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.

Endure and overcome, just like any other obstacle looming over the difficult path ahead. Kirishima smiles around the pencil he’s chewing on as Aizawa drones on, eyes trained on the uniquely tense set of shoulders across the room.

Yeah. Bakugou won’t even stand a chance.

*

It takes many cold shoulders, rebuffed lunch invitations and countless glares – and a villainous intervention Kirishima could’ve honestly lived without – for a rough voice to say:

“You there. Shark Teeth.”

The sun is starting to peek into the room as it hangs low and lazy in the sky. Class 1-A has just been released into a well-deserved weekend: Kirishima is very much aware his mothers want him home as fast as possible after what happened at U.S.J., and he’s throwing his things into his bag at peak velocity. Only after a tap on his shoulder and a subtle nod from Sero does he register it’s him Bakugou is talking to.

Perhaps ‘growling at’ would be a better description, but… semantics. Kirishima throws the guy a look and a smile over his shoulder either way, “Hey! What’s up, man?”, and given Bakugou’s eyes only narrow a little, he’s about 70% sure he’s not done something to land on his shit list.

Yet.

All Bakugou does is direct a decidedly less neutral look towards Sero, who jolts and stumbles over a quick “Um. Gotta– Yup, okay, bye!” before he books it out the classroom. Kirishima watches him go with some bemusement and a muttered “Dude”, not that Bakugou reacts to it in any way.

“Spar with me”, Bakugou says instead – demands, really – and Kirishima feels his brows tick upwards before he can stop himself, hands pausing in his quest to cram his notepad next to his books without wrinkling its cover page too badly.

“Uh. Like, right now? ‘Cause I can’t. Well, I could but I’m about to miss my train as is and I’d have to tell my–”

A slow blink, and even that is threatening when it’s coming from Bakugou. “No, asshole. This weekend, or something. I don’t care.”

Oh. Kirishima blinks. Something about Bakugou approaching him out of his own free will must be causing a substantial lag between different areas of his brain because– Oh.

“Wait. You wanna hang out?”

Maybe he could’ve hidden the clear surprise in his voice a bit better, that emphasis on you that sort of slipped in there without him really wanting it to. Kirishima’s heart sinks at the twitch to Bakugou’s brow that pretty much guarantees whatever he actually meant to say is forever lost to the ire perpetually simmering in that red gaze.

Well, it was nice knowing what going to U.A. is like. At least none of his classmates are present to see Kirishima’s inevitable – if incredibly untimely – demise.

Then Bakugou… rolls his eyes, exhales a harsh tch for good measure. “Whatever.” He shoves his bag further up his shoulder and, without a glance back, walks out the room–

Oh no, you don’t.

Out of all foolish thoughts it’s that one that shoots through Kirishima’s head before he grabs his stuff and goes after him. Bakugou somehow manages to maintain that no-fucks-given air to his gait despite how fast he walks, and Kirishima falls into a light jog to close the gap.

“It’s a great idea, man. Can’t have us going soft over the weekend! Plus Ultra, just like All Might said, right?”

Bakugou gives him a withering glance of a side-eye for his trouble. Kirishima notes the distinct lack of explode-y manslaughter, though, and allows himself to settle right into Bakugou’s pace.

“Besides, it’s been like a week and we’re already having villains crashing our lessons. I mean, we showed ‘em what’s what and all, but still! Some extra training can’t hurt.”

It’s not like Kirishima minds being the one to carry a conversation yet the fact that he hasn’t been told to shut up is… something? Not enough for Kirishima to point out, it’s just a thing he notices, just something, so he keeps talking. Past U.A.’s gates, down the stairs and onto the busy sidewalk they go, and Bakugou’s hands never leave the pockets of his pants as he marches past clusters of people in an unflinching line.

Head held high, eyes dead ahead. Cutting through the crowd with his presence alone, and in his wake Kirishima follows.

The afternoon light is hitting that glow-y hue that paints even the most mundane of things in shades of gold when Kirishima realizes they’re headed to the train station. He draws up short, slows his step in the split-second it takes to ask himself if the other even takes the train home or–

Bakugou’s eyes are on him, “What?”, that one word barked so impatiently Kirishima throws the thought right out the metaphorical window and keeps walking.

“Nothing!” A flash of his home screen proves: Five minutes left. They’re making good time. Which, actually– “So what time were you thinking for our sparring sesh? I’m good whenever, unless it’s super late at night. Overprotective parents, you know how it is.”

That gets a huff out of Bakugou. That, and a gesture that’s sort of a grab, sort of a wave that has Kirishima a little stumped until Bakugou sighs gruffly. “Your phone, dumbass.”

“Oh, sure! Here.”

The device changes hands. Kirishima contemplates feeling embarrassed about the obvious crack that takes up half the screen; he’d designed his hero costume without his delicate tech in mind, and with the whirlwind of starting and then surviving week one of the new school year, he hasn’t been able to spare a minute to get neither the phone fixed nor the costume amended.

Bakugou doesn’t comment on it – in fact, he pulls his sleeve down to hold the thing as if to cushion it, and when he taps the screen it’s with his knuckles. Before Kirishima can ask, the pre-installed voice control AI chirps its distinct jingle and Bakugou tells it to make a new contact, rattling off a long string of numbers.

Even before the AI has confirmed the input, Kirishima is catching the phone chucked rather carelessly at his head. “There”, Bakugou says, starting to climb the stairs to the tracks two steps at a time.

Kirishima doesn’t have much time to process any of that before the telltale rattling of an incoming train sounds above them. “Oh shit”, he breathes, hurrying onto the platform and to the closest door just in time to see the last passenger get out. Once inside, he pumps his fist.

“Hell yeah! Dude, we–”

The person next to him, who is not Bakugou, looks rather startled. What the…? Kirishima turns a full 360 degrees before a knock just inches from his face startles him and he meets Bakugou’s smirk, firmly on the other side of the window.

Not a moment later, the train starts pulling away. Kirishima presses close to the thick, faintly scratched glass to watch Bakugou turn and walk right back where they came from. His hand is raised, the light catching white and glinting on something in his hand.

A phone. Oh, right!

Kirishima swipes across an image of Crimson Riot’s iconic pose to unlock and reads Bakugou Katsuki, having left the tab open in his haste. First things first: With a soft snort and a few swift taps, the name is changed before Kirishima hits the speech bubble icon next to it.

Baku💣💥

bro what the hell (sent 17:14)

but thanks (sent 17:14)

it’s kirishima btw (sent 17:15)

just text me the details whenever 💪🏻 (sent 17:15)

He watches the tick next to his messages turn blue almost immediately and waits. One station passes, then two. By the third Kirishima is sure he’s been left on read and laughs, shaking his head. Of course.

The rest of his way home is spent assuring Sero he has not, in fact, exited life in a flurry of explosions as well as letting his moms know he’ll be home in a few. The next time Kirishima checks his phone is between brushing his teeth and climbing into bed, two unread messages waiting for him.

Baku💣💥

[link] (received 19:35)

6AM tomorrow, don’t be fucking late (received 19:35)

The link leads to a location which his phone matches to a quirk-friendly gym pretty close to the U.A. grounds. Kirishima scrolls through a few images of the facilities with some interest before his brain registers–

6AM. On a Saturday.

Baku💣💥

/dude/ (sent 22:08)

srsly?? (sent 22:09)

😩😩 (sent 22:19)

f @ my sleep schedule but ok (sent 22:25)

Minutes later, Kirishima stares at the near-painful sight of an alarm set to 5AM before he sighs and flops face-down into his pillow. The things he does in the name of friendship.

>>Chapter 2

[thexam-union]

Riverside Relaxing

First fic to be put up here!! It’s the Chessy Boys up first, which surprises me just as much as it might surprise you! It’s just some soft fluff because that’s what got made :>

Length: 2031 Words

General Overview: It’s too hot outside, and the gang get together to cool off by the water in Land of the Tiger. Also ship moments between Tevel and Apollyon!! They’re grooving!

Warning(s): Mentions of heatstroke (no incidents or harm done, simply concern)

( If you need anything else tagged/forewarned about let me know!! )

The worst thing about the Digsite was the heat. The baking sun made it borderline impossible to work during the middle of the day, the sun’s glare roasting everything through to the point of burning without any hesitation. It was fine when nothing was scheduled, but when you were stuck there all day waiting for sunset? Pain. Suffering, even.

Tevel half-heartedly pushed open the door to Alcor’s office, the beige and yellows of the walls being anything but welcoming as they set themselves down in the chair after haphazardly hanging their jacket on the back of it.

“Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say, but what are you here for?” Alcor said with a short, sharp glare in their direction, before looking back at the computer screen on their desk. He seemed taken aback when they gestured towards the ceiling he got in response. Specifically, the fan. Normally when Tevel comes in all sheepish, it’s probably because something broke, so this was a surprise. “Right.”

“How mad would you be if I said I’m just hanging out here for that and that you’ll have to put up with me or let me go elsewhere.”

“Not very, but that’s just today.” Alcor simply shrugged behind his glasses, sipping at his drink before putting the fan in front of him in Tevel’s direction. “I’m glad you haven’t broken anything.”

“In this weather? No way, I wouldn’t. Thanks, by the way. But yeah, who’s in your personally-manned hell of emails today?” It was a joke, but clearly not anything rough-sounding. Surprising, given it’s Tevel of all people, but he already knew they didn’t like his email practices.

“The Marquess, and a few other people. You don’t get the emails.”

“I’ll level with you, chief, I’ve got your address marked as spam. Doesn’t work, though, you’ll be glad to know. Also, Aludra’s letting people hang out. I know you’re as antisocial as they come, and that neither of us like each other, but it’ll hurt my one entire moral,” They very dramatically put up their index finger, “If I don’t tell you and you get heatstroke.”

“Right. I’m glad you’re conscious of safety on the digsite. I’m actually surprised you didn’t just go.” Tevel shrugged. “Or did you want the go-ahead for tonight to be cancelled first? I know you used the last workplace safety book I gave you as a fuse to spite me. Impressive, but you know how I feel about that sort of thing.”

“Yeah mostly I guess. Heatstroke sucks, and I like to annoy you. Not almost kill you with negligence. Anyway, if you want to CC the information to people that don’t even go here, fine by me, I’m leaving. See you there, yeah?”

“Mhm. I’ll be right out. Thank you, Tevel. Are you sure you’re alright?” They’d just stood up and picked up their jacket, holding it over their arm as their sunhat covered their eyeline. “You’re acting a little strangely, today.”

“I’m fine. It’s too hot to blow up the place, and I can’t burn down Aludra’s place, I’ll feel so bad.”

“I thought you had one moral standard.” Wait, did Alcor just make a joke? What the fuck. What the fuck? He even laughed and everything.

“Uh-- Right, uh, stay hydrated? I’m going.” And with that, the office door was closed and they were braving the sun again. That was so weird? Alcor had never made a joke, and they’d known each other for years. It was mostly disappointed and annoyed glaring in their direction. At least he was going to cool off later? Acting weird is a heatstroke thing, even when you have the fans in the area in your office you’re not safe, they supposed. But, they did their bit, and it was time for some - as Lesath put it - “much needed splashy splashy”.

To be honest, everyone apart from the Marquess was going to be there now Alcor’d been convinced, and even then, Aludra had been trying to set up a nice canopy so the Marquess could get out more? Unsure, though, they weren’t in the building things business. More the blowing things up business. More their speed.

Walking down to Aludra’s perch took a very short amount of time, and getting under the forest cover was all they needed to get going, really! The comfort of the running water was also very nice, although they didn’t expect a short tap on the shoulder. There, but short.

“Hey, chief, what’s up?” They asked, knocking their hat brim up a little.

“I haven’t been officially invited, so I think my presence would go over better if I’m with someone who was invited, if you get what I mean.” Tevel shrugged. “That’s common practice for social engagements.”

“Yeah, but it’s also Aludra. If she can put up with your slew of emails, she can put up with you in person. Plus I don’t think she dislikes anyone. I gotta say, you’re acting off.”

“Off..? How so? I feel fine.”

“Yeah. Too... Person-y.” Tevel made a vague gesture with their hands, like someone would when describing the movement of a bug. “And that sorta thing’s a sign of heatstroke. You’re my boss who’s allergic to fun, and I heard you make a joke earlier.”

“I assure you, I’m fine. I’m not allergic to fun, I’m allergic to your idea of fun. You’re about as self-aware as a teabag at times.” He sighed, shaking his head, but Tevel seemed… happy with that response? And he was the one that was acting strangely?

“That’s the Alcor that I know.” Tevel half-cackled as they tended to, swinging their jacket so it was over their shoulder rather than over their arm. “Good to hear you’ve still got it, chief. Was actually half-worried something’d happened to ya.”

“I appreciate the concern for my safety? That’s weird coming from you, though.”

“Eh. I like things being consistent and-”

“You’re a demolitionist. What part of that is ordered?”

“Explosions happen in the same way almost every time, and it’s pretty. Consistent behaviour’s what helps me sleep at night, I’m sure you can agree on that.” Tevel laughed, nudging Alcor with their arm as they got to the clearing, and the others were starting to come into view. “Besides, I do pay attention to safety laws. I’m qualified, actually.”

Apollyon had their shirt - jacket? - open over her swimsuit, Lesath was curled up on a well-made perch, Aludra had her laptop open a bit away from the water, and even the Marquess was out here! She was sitting on a deck chair near the side of the water under a parasol, though clearly not dressed for it. Hell, even Citala’d been convinced to drop by! That was slightly less impressive than Tevel of all people dragging Alcor along, but the gap wasn’t that big!

“Yo, you brought him along? How?” Apollyon asked as the pair got up to the side of the water, Tevel sitting on the edge of the waterfront beside her and Alcor settling near Aludra, who’d put down her laptop. Probably to talk to each other rather than sending emails.

“Concern about heatstroke.” With a wink and a slight poking of the tongue, Tevel yawned and leaned back. “It’s so cool here I love it so much.”

“And he set with that? I’d thought he’ll drag you over to my place to toss you in the hoosegow instead of coming over!”

“Consider the following, Apple, it’s Aludra’s thing, right? And look at them.” Apollyon nodded a little. “No one can say no to Aludra, sure as hell not him, you know?”

“Them? Mashed? I didn’t know she had taste that bad!” They looked around everyone else, who seemed quite happy to spend a hot afternoon there. “I didn’t know she did that at all to be completely fair. Same with Alcor, he’s a barn sour and that’s it, I thought. Clawing at the gate when he has to leave it.”

“Yeah? I don’t know, I don’t talk to her much and Alcor’s harder to talk to than a brick most of the time.” Apollyon laughed a little at that. “But yeah, bad taste if true, but also the only thing I thought he loved was his email inbox, and I’m probably right on that one.”

“Yeah, he’s a bit of an odd stick, isn’t he? But enough about your work, how you doing, Tev?” Apollyon reached into a small covered hamper crate on their side of the water, and passed over a can of soft drink, cold to the touch. Perfect. “Also, love to see everyone get together like this, y’know? So glad Morava had the idea.”

“This was his idea?”

“Well yeah. Aludra can’t say no to anyone, and Morava’s all over logistics. He got all of us a half-crate of our favoureds, who else would get that done? Even Ali’s roaming around here, she’s having a great time!”

“True! I’m just glad I don't have to do work today, you know how it is.” Apollyon nudged Tevel in the side for that, setting both theirs and her own hat down on top of the drink crate in that order.

“You? Not wanting to blow things to high heaven?” She gave a slight laugh in response to her own point, before taking a sip of drink.

“More likely than you’d think, Apple! It’s dangerous in high heat. You should know that. As much as I joke about ignoring safety, I do pay attention to a little bit. Don’t tell anyone, though, I have a reputation.”

“Secret’s safe with me, Tev. Will say, very surprised the Marquess came down. Must be awkward. She’s just kind of sitting up there with Citala, y’know?”

“I mean if she’s happy to be here? I don’t know her that well. And no, not your time to go ‘I’ll check it out’ and get us both in it. I like being the spooky chaos one no one knows in any meaningful way.”

“Consider the following: Some of us want to know you. Perceive you. Behold you, even.” Apollyon said, looking directly at Tevel for a moment. “You’re knowable! Sorry Tev, I know you! I don’t know how you got here without letting me be there to see you.”

“And to that I say: I better not be! You’re different, though. You know that.”

“If I don’t get to know you I’ll actually be a little upset.” Apollyon laughed a little, yawning before stretching, although it was a quiet invitation for Tevel to lean on her. “You’re one of the funner people to be around.”

“I’m sure you would think that, Apple. You’re also very biased.” Tevel replied, pulling Apollyon’s arm over them in a way that was comfortable for both of them. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, though. You get to see me outside of work.”

“Mhm. Don’t you think your relationship with everyone else would improve if you were knowable, though? I know you want that.” Apollyon had started to gently run their hands through Tevel’s hair with a gentle smile, as they were just comfortable with their eyes closed and resting more on her lap than her shoulder at this point.

“But having to actually talk to people though. Plus, I’m not moving. You can suffer.”

“Oh, I’m suffering with my beloved lying on my lap. The struggle of being with the person I care about most. The anguish that comes with having a day off and spending it with you.” She said with a dramatic emphasis and feigned a fever for a moment. “We’ll improve your mess later.”

“I can’t believe this.” Tevel sounded offended, but didn’t really mean it. After all, how could they? They did in fact sign up for it.

“I hoodwinked you real good, darlin’. Until then, just us, okay?” A wink from Apollyon, and a laugh. This was going to be a rough few weeks, but if Apollyon really thought it was this good idea, then it probably was? Who knew. But hey, it was something for Future Tevel to think about, not the Tevel at this moment by the river. They were more than content.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XL (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: This is where we start to use romans numbers we’ve never seen in our whole life.

Words: 2,451

Warnings: Blood, mentions of death.

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Two: Ginny's Rescue.

Mel didn't like the idea of being underground and so far away from everything.

Even if the ceiling was high enough for them to walk upright, she feared that at any moment the walls would just fall and bury her under thousands of stone and no one would ever know where to find them. That was quite a nasty thought she didn't want to have, yet it was the only thing she could think of.

There was no need to watch Lockhart now, he couldn't exactly flee from the place. They walked through the damp hall, dark and cold with only their shadows as their company, carefully moving forward.

"Guys - there's something up there -" Ron pointed.

At the end of the corridor, they could see something huge and just... laying there.

"Maybe it's asleep," Harry whispered.

Harry and Mel walked closer to it with their wands ready for any kind of attack when Harry's light got to the body, they realized it was only the skin, the monster wasn't there.

Lockhart fell to his knees, overwhelmed or maybe, just tired from all the emotions.

"Get up," Ron demanded, pointing his wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart suddenly jumped on top of Ron, now both of them were on the ground, struggling. Mel got closer but by the time she and Harry got near enough, Lockhart had already taken a hold of Ron's wand.

"The adventure ends here!" He said. "I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you tragically lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body - say good-bye to your memories! Obliviate!"

An explosion divided the group, Mel threw herself to the right and covered her head as best she could from all the rocks falling. Her worst nightmare coming true and all she could think of was that if they died, there was no way someone could recover their bodies. Then the rocks stopped, and she was still breathing- and she could hear someone breathing beside her.

"Ron!" Harry shouted from some point in the distance. "Mel! Are you okay?"

"I'm here!" Ron's voice sent a wave of relief through her body, he was next to her, she wasn't alone. "I'm okay - this git's not, though - he got blasted by the wand- Mel?"

"I'm fine," She panted, standing up, "I'm full of dirt, but I'm fine. What do you mean he got blasted?"

"Well," He grunted, "take a look..."

The boy got closer to the man's body, who laid on the ground with a confused expression. Ron kicked his leg and Lockhart complained briefly before going back to analyze the place. He seemed lost.

"Harry!" Mel approached the pile of rocks that were now separating them from each other. "Harry, are you alright?"

"Yes," Harry's coughed, "one piece and all..."

"What now?" Ron asked anxiously. "We can't get through- it'll take ages..."

She knew Ron was right, they were trapped and Harry was the only one who could keep going. Once again, she knew what they had to do, only this time was harder than the first, cause it meant she had to let go of what she felt was part of her person.

"Harry has to keep going..." She said, very quietly.

"What?" Asked Ron.

"Harry has to keep going," She repeated, louder this time, "I hate saying this, but he knows what he's facing and he's the only one who can get to Ginny on time. If he waits for us your sister... she has more chances if he moves right now than if he waits for us"

There was a heavy silence after her words. She didn't want to wait; if she could move the rocks with just a wand movement she would, but there was no time. Worse yet, she didn't want to leave Harry alone- her whole life she'd been standing beside him, they were a team. She was supposed to protect him, to never leave him alone, and now...

It was time to trust and let go. She could only trust in his abilities, trust in her best friend, wait.

"Wait there," Harry replied after what seemed like ages. "Wait with Lockhart. I'll go on... If I'm not back in an hour..."

"You will," Mel tried to find a small crack between the rocks so she could glance at her best friend. She found none. "You're smart... and lucky."

She heard a tiny, trembling laugh.

"Glasses?" She said with a tint of distress, "You can do it."

"We should try and shift some of this rock," Ron cleared his throat, fighting against the tears that were threatening to get out. "So you can- can get back through. And, Harry -" His breathing was uneven, he couldn't end his sentence.

"See you in a bit," Harry sentenced, she also caught fear on his voice, yet she didn't comment on it.

"I think this is the longest you've spent without talking," Ron mentioned after ten minutes of moving the rocks away so Harry could pass through. "I mean by choice. You were silent this afternoon but that was because of me and my brothers"

"That's not odd, just means I'm terribly worried," She said tiredly, "I just want this day to end- and to have a happy ending, if possible"

"Harry'll come back, and he'll bring back Ginny," Ron said with certainty, "he's clever, he'll know what to do."

"He better," Mel mumbled, "otherwise I'll have to go in myself and drag his ghost back to life"

Ron let out a short, dry laugh.

"If we find a way to get out of here you'll have to learn to worry less, or your hair'll be grey by the time we're sixteen"

"S'not that I don't know how to calm down," She snapped, "it's just- ugh- it's just Harry, you know? He... he's a headache."

"He's a headache because he went alone to try and save my sister?" Ron asked.

"He's too nice!" Mel exploded, throwing a small rock without seeing and accidentally hitting Lockhart, "Sorry, Gil! Anyway, Harry's always doing things like this, the time he looked for Justin to clear things up and ended up being blamed of his attack- or when we decided to help Hagrid with Norbert and lost all those points? What about the Christmas present he gave me, and what about Grey? Merlin's beard- isn't he just perfectly lovely?!"

She ended her rant, kicking a few stones that laid beside her. Ron was looking at her with a strange expression.

"Why're you so upset about all that? Harry was a good bloke all those times, is that bad?"

"It isn't!" She exclaimed, "Which is why it makes everything so much harder for me, can't he be a normal boy and be annoying and stupid?"

"Thank you," Ron frowned, moving another rock out of the way, "Why, are you trying to hate him? It does sound like you're trying to like him le-"

Then he stopped, looking at her with a new realization shinning on his eyes.

"You like Harry."

"Shut up, you don't know what you're saying-"

"It's quite obvious, actually," He raised a brow, "wonder how Harry can't see it..."

"Don't mention any of this to him," She jerked up, pointing a single finger to his chest.

"I'm right, then? You like him?" His smile grew, "that's gross, Mel"

"I'm aware! That's why I'm trying to make it stop!"

"I've never heard those sorts of things can be stopped," Ron shrugged, "think you're doomed"

"Oh no..."

"Sorry, just being honest"

"No- I'm not saying it because... of what y-you said," Mel gulped, "I'm not feeling well..."

Ron stopped what he was doing again, eyeing her up with worry.

"Mel?"

She dropped a rock dangerously near her foot, stepping backward and holding her arm tight against her chest. She let out a strangled scream.

"Mel! What's going on?"

She couldn't answer, a sharp pain spread through her right arm and disoriented her, making her fall back and curl up without being able to understand what was happening.

However, it seemed her subconscious knew.

"Something happened to Harry," Mel whimpered.

Then something even stranger occurred, and a scene flashed in her mind, one that was definitely nothing she'd ever lived before:

Harry was kneeling on the floor, he was holding his arm just like her, though his was covered in blood, a boy- older and taller- stood above him, a nasty smile on his face.

"What?" Ron asked without understanding.

She cried again, the pain only increasing- Her sight got blurry and now everything was pulsing, not only her forearm.

Then, just when she was thinking that maybe she was somehow dying and this was some strange hallucination, the pain stopped. She gasped, her vision becoming clearer and finally able to look up to Ron, who was now kneeling in front of her, holding her back.

"You scared me!" He yelled at her, terrified,  "What was that? What happened?"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" She yelled back, "I-I don't know! It just sort of happened!"

Ron examined her face frantically looking for a sign of mental illness. When he found none, he hugged her briefly and stood up, offering a hand to help her back on her feet.

"I'm glad it's over," He nodded shortly, "I don't know what would've done if I was left alone with this twat"

Both of them turned to see Lockhart, who was wandering around a few meters away.

"Probably search for my ghost and force me to come back as well," She replied, still slightly weakened, "I truly don't know what was that, but what I said... I meant it. I know it's true, somehow."

Ron bit his lip and looked over to the wall, they still had a lot of work to do.

"Let's just keep going." She nodded and continued their labor.

How did she manage to see what she'd seen? And was it real? Merlin, she hoped it was all her mind's invention.

After almost an hour, Harry's voice felt like a huge weight lifting from their shoulders.

"Ron! Mel! Ginny's okay! I've got her!"

"Yes!" Ron beamed, leaning closer to see through the gap they had created.

"Ginny!" He exclaimed after a few seconds, pulling his sister through the gap. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened?"

"Gin!" Mel hugged her tightly once Ron let go of her, "Oh, I'm so happy to see you!"

"How - what -- where did that bird come from?"

The girl looked back just then, finding the most beautiful bird she'd ever seen landing softly in front of her.

"He's Dumbledore's," Harry grunted as he passed through.

At the same time he mentioned it, the bird got closer to Mel, almost as if he knew who she was.

"How come you've got a sword?" asked Ron.

Once again her attention moved from the bird to Harry, who was holding a large, shiny sword on one hand.

"I'll explain when we get out of here," Harry glanced at her and Ginny.

Her friend was holding her tightly, she cried against her shoulder and mumbled apologies, Mel tried to let her know that any of that was her fault, but Ginny wasn't having it.

"But-" Ron started, but Harry was quick to interrupt.

"Later. Where's Lockhart?"

"Back there," Ron pointed to the other side of the pipe. "He's in a bad way. Come and see."

Ginny finally let go of her, though she was still very affected. The bird lifted himself from the ground and decided to land on Mel's left shoulder, scaring her to death. He was so pretty and gentle that she let him there, knowing it wouldn't harm her.

When they found Lockhart, he was humming placidly to himself.

"His memory's gone," Ron explained. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself.."

"Hello," Lockhart said gleefully, "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?"

"No," said Ron.

Harry got closer to the pipe where they had first entered and frowned.

"Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" He asked them.

The bird flew and stopped in front of Harry, he was strange, acted like he... understood.

"He looks like he wants you to grab..." said Ron, tilting his head. "But you're much too heavy for a bird to pull up there-"

"Fawkes," Harry smiled, "isn't an ordinary bird. We've got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand. Professor Lockhart-"

"He means you," said Ron to Lockhart in an exasperated tone.

"You hold Ginny's other hand-" He kept the sword and the hat -it looked like the sorting hat, which was weird- on his belt, and offered his hand to Mel, "Let's go."

It was quite a strange moment when the five of them flew up through the pipe like they weighed nothing to Fawkes. They landed softly outside the pipe and onto the wet floor of Myrtle's toilets.

"You're alive," she frowned at their sight.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed," Harry took off his glasses and casually cleaned the bloodstains off.

Mel only realized she'd been staring when Ron nudged her arm, a knowing smile on his face.

"Bugger off," She hissed.

"Oh, well..." Myrtle started, "I'd just been thinking... if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet."

"Oh," Harry and Mel said at the same time.

"I-I think we better go and... we should look for McGonagall," Harry hurried back to the door, face completely red.

"Urgh!" said Ron once they were outside in the corridor. "Harry! I think Myrtle's grown fond of you! You've got competition, Ginny!- Oh, but don't worry Mel, Harry only thinks about you"

Ron broke the record of embarrassing more than one person at a time. Mel blurted out half a sentence before giving up and avoid any kind of eye contact with her friends, Harry had managed to punch Ron without the girls noticing, and without making any noise. Ron tried to complain loudly but then saw his sister's face and noticed she was still crying silently beside them.

Fawkes landed back on Mel's shoulder, she noticed his feathers had a wonderful gleam, they shone and covered her with a good sense of comfort.

"Where now?" asked Ron behind them.

"To Professor McGonagall's office," Mel retorted calmly, "I think she ought to know what happened..."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018​ @vampiregirl1797​ @siriuslysirius1107​ @celestialhayi​ @mikariell95​ @omiwashere​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​ @tomshollandz​ @steve-thotgers​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @reverse-hxlland​

[reidimagines]

Sorry for bothering you

Moments series part 4! Italics are a flashback! I hope you enjoy :)

“Call me, okay? I don’t care what time it is… I just want to know you’re okay.” You whispered as you were hugging her. It wasn’t every day your girlfriend left to catch a bomber. 

“I will,” She reassured you, seeming just as hesitant to let go. “I love you.” 

“You’re making this sound like a goodbye,” She left for dangerous cases all the time. But usually, she left to catch psychos with knives or guns. She had a chance against those. But what chance did an FBI team have against a bomb they didn’t know about. “Please don’t.” 

“It isn’t,” She tucked hair behind your ear, catching a falling tear with her thumb. “It’ll be just like any other case. Don’t worry too much, okay?”

You smiled, leaning into her touch. “Shouldn’t I be reassuring you? You’re leaving on a dangerous case.” 

“You being here is enough.” She smiled softly, closing the gap between you. “I have to go.” 

You pulled her in for another quick kiss. “For good luck.” 

She smiled, squeezing your hand, before leaving to go save the world. Or one city, at least. 

— 

The last time you heard of Emily was two days ago. She said they might have a breakthrough, and then… nothing. You didn’t want to bother her, she was getting tons of work related messages, you were sure, but your fingers were itching to at least ask her how she was doing. 

The good thing, you told yourself, was that no one had called you. Not Emily, but also no Derek, JJ, Spencer, Hotch … 

You were laying in bed, it was after one in the morning, and you had to give a class at half-past eight. But you couldn’t go to sleep, not without any word from Emily. 

The volume was turned all the way up, but you kept checking, anyway. When it neared two, you reached for your phone, dialing Emily. 

After a few rings, it went to voicemail. Instantly, you felt stupid. What if she thought something was going on? What if you gave their position away? What if-

Before you could spiral down any further, your phone rang in your hands. Without thinking, you accepted the call. “Emily?” 

“Hey, babe, everything okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry for bothering you,” You whispered, relieved that she seemed okay. “I just hadn’t heard from you, and I was worried. I’m glad you’re okay.” 

You could almost hear her smile. “You’re not bothering. I just got to my room.” 

“Any closer to catching the guy?” You didn’t want to be hopeful, but the bed was feeling extra empty now that you could hear her. 

“Yeah, we might be,” You could hear a bed creak. “How was your day?” 

Your chest fluttered a bit, as if butterflies were trying to escape, making you smile. “A guy in my class asked to guess my shoe size, and a girl had a water gun filled with vodka.” 

She chuckled, and your day couldn’t get any better. “College.” 

“Tell me about it,” You listened to her breathing; despite the situation still steady and calm. “Are you going to be able to get some sleep?” 

“Yeah, we have a few hours. It’s going to be an amazing sleep, now that I talked to you.” 

You grinned. “Hmm, smooth talker,” You tugged your lip between your teeth. Talking to her was amazing, but it wasn’t the same as if she was actually with you. “I miss you.” 

She didn’t miss a beat before saying; “I miss you, too. Wish I could sleep next to you.” 

After a weak “me too”, silence fell over again. It wasn’t the uncomfortable kind where there was nothing to tell, it was more like the “thank god you are okay and smiling and breathing and alive” kind, where words just fell short. 

After what felt like an hour, and two seconds all at once, Emily spoke: “tell me something nice.” 

“Like what?” You were willing to tell her anything, if it made her happy. You’d come up with a whole novel, if you had to. 

“Have you been writing?” 

You smiled, getting out of bed to move to the study. When she’d moved in, you had said it could be her space, but she was home too little for you to not write there, especially when you missed her. “You know I have. Just a bit, though. Want to hear it?” 

You opened your notebook, a bit disappointed by the few non cohesive lines you’d scribbled down over the past few days. 

“Please.” She said, and you couldn’t deny the need for something beautiful and soft in her voice. 

“It’s kinda disappointing and little,” you warned her, but spoke before she could tell that it ‘probably wasn't’, like the good partner she was. “Stealing my heart was the most evil and beautiful thing you’ve ever done.” 

The silence on the other end spoke parts, and you continued. “I long to see the sunset with you, and be torn between staring at the sky or staring at you, because you’ve become the sky, anyway.” It were little lines, that one day, hopefully, would belong in a poem.

“I like that one,” She said softly. 

“One more?” You offered, nearing the end of your scribbles. “Tomorrow will be another day, and I’ll love you more,” you chuckled at yourself, reaching for a pen to scribble it out. “That one is horrible, sorry.” 

“It's a bit of a line,” she admitted. “But you can make it work, I’m sure.”

“You’re too sweet,” you smiled, letting the words rest on the paper. “Not that I don’t love to hear from you, but you should sleep.” 

“Already tired of me?”

“You see right through me, huh?” You chuckled, spinning slow circles in the chair. “I’m serious, though. Don’t get hurt because you didn't sleep.” 

“Fine,” She sighed, the covers shifted, and you knew she’d turned on her left side. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you smiled. “Get some rest, be safe.” 

—

The next day, she did call you, but you were giving a class, and couldn’t pick up. She’d left you a voicemail, though. 

“Hey, I know you’re in class, but I wanted to call you. It’s just to say that we know who the unsub is, we’re waiting for him after work. I’ll be home in the morning, if it all goes right. Okay, have a nice day, love you.” 

You smiled at the voicemail, knew you’d listen to it at least three more times. She was coming back. Those were your favorite moments. She came back early, probably not ready to sleep yet, so you’d get breakfast and spend the day on the couch, watching movies of your choice since she would fall asleep, anyway. 

That didn’t make every second you heard nothing from her easier, though. She was going to catch a bomber, if that didn’t scream risk, you didn’t know what did. You tried your best to relax, which, you had to admit, was hard. After all this time, it didn’t get any easier. You knew how to deal with your worry, most of the time. But there were still exceptions, and a bomber was one of them, for sure. 

You were able to fall asleep, though. She’d sent you a quick message, saying it’d be afternoon, since it got late and they’re staying a day longer. She was alive, and in a hotel to finish up work. Plus, she’d be on her way home the following day. 

—

“What, not happy to see me?” Emily smiled, placing her bag next to the door. 

You frowned at her black eye, at the small cuts on her face. “What happened?” 

She walked over to you, wrapping you in a hug you gladly gave back. You let her rest her head on your shoulder. “There was an explosion, we were a bit too close.” 

“You could have called me!” You pulled back. “Are you hurt?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Black eye and cuts from glass, that’s it.” 

“Promise you’re okay?” 

“I mean…” She gave you a sly smile. “I could use a massage.” 

Fighting a chuckle, you ran your hands over her back, smiling at her. She was back, and while her face looked like it hurt, she was okay. “Is that so? You do know what that means, right?” 

“Enlighten me.” 

“It means,” you ran your hands up to her shoulders. “That I’m on top. Can you handle that?” 

You could tell she was trying to keep a straight face, but couldn’t help but laugh at your words. “Feeling dirty, aren’t we?” 

“You’ve been gone a week,” and a pout was your explanation. “What did you expect?”

“Nothing else,” She leaned in to kiss you , smiling slightly into the kiss. “But to answer that, I’m kinda tired anyway, so…” 

“Well,” you grinned. “Maybe we should skip dinner.”

[vengfulfate]

Both of Them, and Only Them, Ch. 10

Story Summary -   Melanie and Miltiades Malachite have trouble with love. They share everything, and this has either scared people away or made them think their relationship was more open than the twins would wish. Then along came Ruby Rose… could she be the one the sisters have searched for?

Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine

I apologize to everyone who looks forward to this story for the extended gaps between updates. This is kind of a side project for me. It's getting a chapter now because I haven't settled on my next project yet and wanted to get some writing done. It might get another chapter or two in the next few weeks, or it might not. It all depends on how things go.

Please enjoy!

   ---

The morning came, and neither Weiss nor Ruby knew how to breach the subject. They prepared for their mission around each other in uncomfortable silence. The tension between them only grew along side the silence, and Yang and Blake feared it would boil over badly. As much as they wanted to avoid it, neither of them knew how to get the former ‘BFFs’ to an agreeable conclusion either.

Even the arrival of Zwei, Ruby and Yang’s corgi from Patch, did little to lessen the anxious air. The subject was all that was on their minds, but none of them had to courage to breach it. Not until they were almost on the airship, anyways.

“Hey, Yang?” Ruby asked for her sister to get some words in the air, “What are the details of the mission you guys picked, anyway?”

“Oh yeah, about that…” Yang began cautiously, “We tried to pick a mission that turned out to be restricted to first-years…”

“Then Ozpin came out of nowhere, basically told us he knew exactly what we were up to, and approved us for the restricted mission,” Weiss finished matter-of-factly.

“So… our mission is to actually look for the White Fang?” Ruby asked, confused.

“Not officially,” Blake answered, “But I’m pretty sure that’s what was implied.”

“And… our thing?” Ruby finally directed to Weiss. Getting a conversation out had exactly the effect she hoped. “It won’t get in the way, right?”

“Of course not,” Weiss stated sharply, her classic cold demeanor reemerging.

Yang wouldn’t exactly call it progress, but at least the team knew they would still work efficiently together. It was enough for the team, at least for now.

   ---

Their mission brought them to the ruins of the township of Mountain Glenn. A failed expansion of Vale, Mountain Glenn was a concrete jungle of crumbling buildings and wandering grimm. The concentration of grimm had spiked in recent weeks, which was not unusual on it’s own, but it still lined up with the information Blake had obtained. After a long afternoon with little progress, RWBY and their chaperon set up camp for the night in one of the many collapsed buildings.

Ruby was keeping watch when Doctor Oobleck, their history teacher and huntsmen chaperon clad in safari clothing, approached her. “Good evening, Ms. Rose.”

“Hey, professor,” Ruby greeted in turn in her usual cheerful demeanor.

“Doctor,” Oobleck warned.

“Right, sorry,” Ruby giggled.

“You team is very impressive, for first year students,” Oobleck complemented.

“Thank you!” Ruby smiled. After a pause, she added, “Doctor.”

“But there is a tension here, isn’t there?” the teacher pointed out.

Ruby’s smile failed. “You see it?”

“I do,” Oobleck nodded.

“It won’t get in the way,” Ruby promised, “we’ve talked it over.”

“But not resolved it?” Oobleck pressed further.

Ruby sighed. “Doctor, how do you feel about… polygamy?”

“Hm...” Oobleck thought. That seemed a lot more complicated than what he initially assumed teenagers would argue over. “I believe there is too much negativity in the world deny someone something that makes them happy.”

“One of my team mates doesn’t believe it can be real,” Ruby explained.

“And another is partaking in a polygamous relationship?” Oobleck deduced.

“I am,” Ruby confirmed.

Oobleck couldn’t help but think back on the various observations he had made that day. “Not to be inconsiderate, but Ms. Schnee...?”

Ruby did a double take, panicking for a brief moment. She felt like confirming such was akin to bad mouthing her behind her back. “I… shouldn’t gossip.”

“Of course,” Oobleck nodded, understanding. “I admit I don’t have any advice for you. Much as he may seem it, Professor Ozpin is not omnipotent. Teams are not always a perfect storm of friends and confidants. Being able to work together regardless is part of being an adult.”

“We’re trying,” Ruby nodded. “I just wish I could make her see she’s wrong.”

“She may be wrong in this specific instance, but her fears are not entirely unfounded,” Oobleck defended. “There are those in this world who would prey upon the young, hopeful and niave. If she is concerned for you, it proves that she indeed cares about you.”

Ruby cast her gaze behind her, landing on the heiress’s figure bundled in her sleeping bag. She smiled. “I guess it does. She’ll come around. I can feel it.”

“You are her leader and friend, and would know her better than I,” Oobleck explained, “if you feel as such, I’m sure it will be so.”

“Thank you, professor,” Ruby nodded. Oobleck opened his mouth, but Ruby quickly cut him off, “Doctor! Heh, sorry.”

Oobleck closed his mouth and smiled. With a nod, he left the young leader to resume her watch.

   ---

Weiss gazed over the city with blank eyes. It was her turn to watch camp, but her mind was engulfed by other thoughts. Truth is, she was wide awake when Oobleck prodded Ruby about the tension in the team. She heard the entire conversation, and it gave her plenty to think about. She knew her upbringing was oppressive, to say the least, but there had to be a line somewhere?

“Hey, Weiss?”

Her concerns weren’t baseless, that much Oobleck agreed with

“Um, Weiss?”

But was it really true that Ruby’s relationship could be fine? Healthy, even?

“Weeeiiiiissss?”

Weiss was ready to wait in the wings with an ‘I told you so’, but maybe-

“Weiss!”

“Huh?” Weiss spun around, finally broken from her train of thought.

“Finally,” Ruby sighed in relief, having finally gotten Weiss’s attention. “Are you still tired? We can swap watches if you need more rest.”

“No, I’m fine,” Weiss insisted.

“Alright,” Ruby shrugged, “anyway, I wanted to say I think I noticed something. It’s probably nothing, but I’m gunna go check it out.”

Weiss nodded, “don’t rush into something, okay? Call us if you need us.”

“I will,” Ruby promised.

Weiss nodded and cast her gaze back over the city once more. Ruby may not be a genius, but she was far from stupid. Crescent Rose alone could attest to that. And she is training to be a huntress, so it wasn’t likely the twins had physically overpowered her at any point.

I was ready to standby with an ‘I told you so’, but maybe that’s not how I should be thinking. And it won’t help Ruby should that come to pass. Perhaps I should support her now, and be there for her later if the worst indeed happens. And if it doesn’t happen, if Ruby’s relationship is valid…

“I don’t want to lose her as a friend,” Weiss finished her thought aloud.

The sunrise wasn’t far away, and soon the light and warmth of morning was rousing the sleeping hunters.

“Well!” Oobleck stretched and took a swing from his portable mug, “Who’s ready for a brand new day!?”

“Wait a minute,” Blake looked around, “something’s not right...”

“Yeah, where’s my sister!?” Yang noticed.

“What do you mean?” Weiss asked, “Isn’t she back?”

“Back?” Blake questioned in turn.

“She told me she was going to check something out,” Weiss explained, “and she promised to call in if it turned out to be, well, something. I never got a call.”

“And you didn’t notice she never returned!?” Yang shouted, “How long has she been gone!?”

“Girls!” Oobleck quickly took control of the situation, “now is not the time for anger. Whatever lessons this mistake can teach must be pondered later. First, we resolve the mistake itself. You leader may be in danger, and we must stay calm as we search for her.”

Camp was packed hastily and the group set out with no delay. Blake was the first to spot Crescent Rose, folded on the ground in front of a large sinkhole. Oobleck began a rant about sealed subway lines underneath the township, but Weiss could barely hear it.

She was looking forward to telling Ruby about her change of mind and hopefully mending their friendship, and subsequently the connection with the rest of the team, in the process. Now the girl was in danger and Weiss would regret it the rest of her life if she never got the chance to repair that particular bridge.

“Well, Weiss?” Blake broke through the heiress’s haze of thoughts, “You with us?”

Weiss quickly deduced what they were asking, not that it was very hard. They needed to go down into the dark. Weiss picked up Crescent Rose, steeling her resolve. She looked to the others and nodded, “Let’s go save our fearless leader.”

   ---

Melanie yawned as she leaned across the bar. “Why on earth are we awake again?”

“Because Junior agreed to host a wedding reception and he needed hands,” Miltiades reminded her sister.

“Who the hell has a reception at a nightclub?” Melanie stifled a laugh, “They’re probably under 20. I give them two months.”

“Don’t be rude,” Junior scolded, “They’re paying customers. Well paying customers.”

Melanie sighed. “Can you at least turn that off?” she pointed to the television currently displaying the morning news. “It’s putting me to sleep.”

Junior nodded and picked up the remote.

“Wait!” Miltiades stopped him, staring at the screen.

“What?” Melanie looked up and read the screen.

BREAKING NEWS: Explosion! Huntsmen and Grimm brawl in downtown Vale!

“Holy shit...” Junior read, “Don’t think that’s near us, though.”

“Mel...” Miltiades pointed again as the ‘huntsmen’ came into frame.

Black hair. Combat boots. Red cape. “Ruby!”

Now wide awake, Melanie dashed out of the club. Miltiades made to follow, but stopped short. The less brash twin didn’t want to leave without her boss’s blessing.

“Go,” Junior told her. Miltiades nodded and ran after her sister.

By the time the twins reached the battlefield, the chaos had already passed. Someone in handcuffs was being loaded onto an airship and a tall blonde the twins recognized as a Beacon teacher from the dance was talking to a man in safari gear. Ruby and her team stood close by. Blake spotted the twins first, nudging Ruby’s shoulder.

“Girls!” Ruby’s eyes lit up as she jogged over to them, “what are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Melanie turned it around, “I thought your mission was outside the kingdom, not blowing up downtown Vale!?”

Ruby, perhaps still high on battle adrenaline and victory, giggled.

“What?” Melanie asked, confused.

“I’m sorry,” Ruby continued to grin widely, “but you acting all super concerned like is adorable.”

In another rare display, Melanie stuttered and struggled to respond, simply crossing her arms as her face lit up.

“She does has a point,” Miltiades defended, “What happened?”

“Well...” Ruby searched for where to begin.

Before she could, the three were interrupted by an approaching Weiss. “So,” the heiress cut in, “Which of you is ‘Miltia’?”

The twins shared a silent conversation, quickly deducing this was Weiss. They crossed their arms defensively before Miltiades answered, “I am Miltiades.”

“And I don’t believe I have heard your name?” Weiss looked to the other twin.

“Melanie,” the white twin answered.

“I am Weiss Schnee,” the heiress introduced herself elegantly.

“We figured,” the twins answered in unison.

“Right...” Weiss nodded, slightly unnerved. She pushed through regardless, saying what she wanted to say. “I have made some comments recently that I have come to regret. And I apologize.”

Melanie raised an eyebrow at this while Miltiades cautiously lowered her crossed arms. Ruby placed her hand on her partner’s shoulder. “Weiss?”

Weiss lowered Ruby’s hand before continuing. “The team is trusting Ruby would let us know if anything untoward is happening, and I can’t deny you are making her happy. I won’t attempt to disguise that I still have my doubts… However, I look forward to the three of you proving me wrong.”

“Was that… acceptance?” Melanie looked to her twin.

“It sounded like it to me,” Miltiades answered.

“I knew it!” Ruby drew her partner into a crushing hug, “I knew you’d come around!”

“Off! Ruby, get off!” Weiss panicked, trying to pry herself away. “Get off me! Down! Down!”

Ruby let herself be peeled off, retaining her grin. “You like it.”

The heiress huffed, but made no real rebuttal. Instead, she turned back to the twins. “As much as I’m sure Ruby would love to run away with you right now, we’re still ‘on the clock’, so to speak, until we debrief at Beacon. I’m glad to have finally met the two of you.”

“Wait, we still haven’t heard what happened?” Melanie recalled.

“I’ll call you the second I’m free!” Ruby promised as she and Weiss walked back to their team. “I should be going before Professor Goodwitch gets angry. Well, angry-er. I love you both!”

Melanie frowned at missing the story. Miltiades supplied, “We love you too.”

As Ruby and Weiss fell back in line with the team, Ruby offered a, “Thank you, Weiss.”

Weiss smiled. “I know I don’t show it well, but I do appreciate our friendship. Same with Yang and Blake as well. You constantly show me how to better myself, really better myself and not just… well, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Weiss,” Ruby smirked, “We’ll have you wearin’ PJ pants all weekend with some wicked bedhead like the rest of us lazy commoners before you know it!”

“As if!” Weiss defended. “I will hold on to some decorum, thank you very much! There is a difference between elitism and harmless class.”

“You’re definitely a class act,” Yang jabbed.

Weiss turned to the blonde. “Yang, I-”

“Stop worrying,” Yang cut her off. She flashed a smile for good measure. “Just messin’ with ya, shortstack.”

Weiss returned the smile. “Brute.”

[egoiistas]

may i feel, said he (19)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn 

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

a/n: mmmm that was a long break wasn’t it? let’s go ahead and jump in! there are some important notes on the ao3 author notes that you should totes check out! enjoy!

Warnings: Sexual Content ™, cursing, roy being cute af Words: ~8.5k || Rated: M - Royai 

Chapter Nineteen, in a minute

Summer arrives and officially, Riza is no longer his student.

Throughout the months, he’s tried to rationalize the pros and cons of jeopardizing her academic career from her perspective. A better grade? A decent fuck? Or a nice basket of both with a bow on top? His worst case scenario had always led him to the conclusion that if there was an ulterior motive, then she’d leave as soon as her grade was administered. If this was an elaborate, painstakingly cruel ruse, she would know him by now and have every advantage over him, forevermore holding this over his head because of a thoughtless impulse. She would know that he had unwittingly fought for what they shared, exposing himself freely, and that he’d never be the one to hold it over her. That cool façade in the beginning of the year had never collapsed so quickly and he would have fallen for the trap; hook, line and sinker.

Yet, his fears remain as unfounded as they ever were.

Time passes.

The newborn summer days swiftly turn into sweltering, humid weeks and in those weeks, he wakes with her at his side more mornings than not - passing by uneventfully, comfortable just existing in each other’s presence, finding solace indoors with air conditioning, lazily planning day trips to the countryside and never going.

Their heated, explosive start has transitioned into something that simmers comfortably now.  They’re turned into an average couple, falling asleep in the middle of movies or ignoring them altogether for a bit of naked reprieve, swapping one heat for another. The root of any of their short-lived arguments usually stemmed when either of them were hungry or tired or both. It’s bizarre to Roy how easy it is to just ...be.

During one idle afternoon, he wonders on the the microcosm of their relationship, built up in these walls. In some ways they had come to rely on the self-imposed rules, and moving beyond those parameters into something that resembles a normal relationship was going to come with its own set of challenges.

This is the one and only detail that simultaneously vexes and excites him when he thinks of Aerugo. The walls that constrained them would be knocked down now and they would free to roam around an island, holding hands if they so dared. And he would. But the real test in question was the structural integrity of their relationship on mostly neutral ground - with her and him finally as equals.

In the days before they embark, the photo of a time past resurfaces on the surface of his dresser. A younger him and another woman that he’s been trying his damnedest to forget, even jumping dangerous chasms to do so. He doesn’t exert much effort into deciphering it’s whereabouts or the delayed journey it took from his old box of mementos to finally arriving on his dresser. The why is not important in the wider scheme of things.

And as the day arrives that they set off for another country entirely, Maes reassurances him that her answer is still “no.”

With that response, he departs with a lighter weight on his shoulders that perhaps this trip can be just about a celebration between friends, family, and the sun. Perhaps he can aid her in lifting some of the weight off her own shoulders. Not forgetting, but enjoying herself as her own person and coming out forward for all that she’s been through in the years.

Already, he sees excitement beyond the surface of her eyes as she boards a plane with dissecting curiosity and hints of dread when the aircraft bumps. The window seat proves to be the optimal choice and her eyes hardly tear away from looking outside to the stretching landscape up until the vast ocean comes into view.

This restrained curiosity doesn’t change when they get on the ferry that’ll take them to their last stop. Immediately she’s drawn to the outside deck, eyes wide and bright as she drinks everything in. San Clavel shifts from a distant formation, to an outline, and then to a shimmering, bright beacon as the sun reaches its zenith.

Upon seeing the approach on the island, he checks the time on his phone and sees a message that should have been seen earlier. “We have… a slight problem.”

Completely and utterly enthralled since first sight with the ocean, Riza hesitates and rather reluctantly tears herself from the balcony edge of the ferry. She takes one last cursory glance, as if the azure water would disappear the instant she looked away, and a smile of endearment appears on his face.

She squints looking up at him with the sun in her eyes, her hand flat over her forehead to try to see. “What kind of problem?”

Roy takes off his sunglasses and places them on her face. He decides it’s best to rip the plaster off quickly here. “Well, there are some guests we weren’t - well, I wasn’t expecting that are showing up.”

“Oh.” He can’t see her eyes anymore because of the reflective glass, but her smile drops. “Is that so?”

“My mother,” Roy confesses. “And some of my sisters.”

“Your mother,” she parrots back monotonously. Her poker face is practically bullet-proof without the nuances of her eyes to clue him in. “Is that what you were worried about?”

“I- what?”

“I was half expecting you to tell me the trip was cancelled.” Riza slides her arm around his waist and leans against him, looking out across the water once more as the ferry begins to dock. “I can’t say I blame them for being curious. I know you said we would visit them next week but-”

To say he’s blindsided would be somewhat of an understatement. “Yeah, for a few hours, not days.” He can’t help the petulance that creeps into his voice. “The whole point of this trip was spending time with you. Preferably with us naked for hours on end.”

She snorts a little at that, tucking her head slightly against his chest to hide her face - the faint pink tips of her ears betray her regardless. “Yes, well, that too. But you’ve met my dad. It seems fair.”

“No offense but I feel like you’re getting the short end of the stick when it comes to meeting the in-laws.”

To her credit, Riza doesn’t outwardly react to his slip of the tongue beyond adjusting her posture - the hand that had been resting comfortably against his hip flexes. From his position, her ears are bright pink now. “A family who clearly think the world of you? That’s hardly grounds to say they’ll be terrible to the people you choose to introduce them to.” Her tone is a little too measured, but nonetheless she draws back to look at him better, her hand instinctively raising to push the hair from his eyes. There’s a bright, nervous smile on her face - one that he knows is reflected on his own as well.

“Though, maybe hold off on talk of in-laws until I get the chance to actually meet them for myself,” she teases. “I’m sure it won’t be as bad as what you’re imagining.”

Roy will swear until he’s black and blue that he kisses her to stop her teasing - but that’s not the truth, not entirely. Out of the two of them he’s most certainly the one who is more practiced in dealing with emotions, and certainly the more likely out of the two of them to wear his heart on his sleeve.

There was always an undercurrent of emotional attachment with any of the women he had slept with, regardless of whether the relationship was serious or merely fleeting. Riza was meant to firmly be in the latter camp, a terrible means to the end for the itch that begged to be scratched. Instead, he had taken her out for breakfast the morning after, and offered her an open invitation for more if she pleased. He has the tendency to take the mile when he’s only meant to have an inch, and in hindsight he was already in too invested in a hookup that should never have happened.

So, it is difficult to not apply the same logic here. He knows Riza well enough to know she’d have no problem in telling him if he were wrong, but the fact that she doesn’t even seem to hesitate at an off-cuff mention of a more distant future with him, and even goes so far as to tease him - Roy knows exactly why his heart is beating in triple time. He deepens the kiss and pulls her close to him; Riza makes a noise of contentment, curling her hands around his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair.

Her nails scratch pleasantly against his scalp, and Roy hates himself for drawing back after a few blissful moments; even more so when Riza instinctively follows to close the gap. Her blush has abated somewhat, but her lips curve up into a secret smile, full of promises for later.

Instead, she contents herself with leaning back into his chest, rearranging his arms over her; he pulls her firmly against him and she hums in contentment,

“Why are you nervous about us meeting?” Riza asks after a moment. Her confidence in knowing the root of his anxiety is something he’d ordinarily want to pay greater attention to, but -

They’re a lot. Fiercely overprotective to a fault. I was selfish, and we’re dealing with those choices.

The truth is a little simpler than he wants to admit though. “There’s a right way about introducing you to all of them and this holiday wasn’t meant to be about that.”

“What’s the right way then?”

“With a bit more preparation.” He cranes his neck and checks his watch. “She just sent me a text that her plane comes in around four this afternoon.”

Riza twists to see his face, her mouth dropping comically open. “You’d better give me a summarized version then. Good thing I’m a quick study.” She pushes the sunglasses back, catching in her fringe.

He drops a kiss on her temple, guiding her back indoors. “It’ll have to be on the road once we pick up a car.”

When they finally disembark from the ferry with their luggage, Roy thinks they might have been blessed by the gods. In the terminal he can see no familiar faces and he feels himself relax. The company he’s ordered a taxi from on to take them to their lodgings is on the other side of the terminal and sweat is already glistening on his forearms from the heat of the midday sun. In his head, he begins conjuring an outline of how to breakdown who’s who and how to detangle the enormity of his unconventional family. It would take several hours to cover in its entirety and time is not his ally here.

“First things first,” he tells her as they move from the building into the forecourt, following painted yellow strips directing him towards the southern end of the terminal, “I call her my mother but she’s my aunt by blood. When I’m in trouble I’m Roy. When I’m really in trouble I’m boy. Otherwise I’m papito. She might pretend not to understand a lot of Amestrian, but it’s all lies. She just likes to be contrary and difficult because she can.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Anyway. For the most part we have a good relationship, but she’s never quite forgiven me for leaving Central. She…” he falters here, wondering if it is worth the pain to get this next piece of information out. “I think she took my and Greta’s breakup harder than anybody involved - myself included. She has a bad habit of not thinking before she speaks and I don’t want to put you-”

Riza’s hand covers his on the handle of his luggage and he slows to a halt, looking at her. “You’re very sweet, you know,” she tells him. “I know I haven’t been the most mature in regards to her but-”

“Hablando del rey de Roma.”

That coarse, near nasally call has always carried easily over crowds of people, and in the cavern-like forecourt, it bounces against the nearby walls and sunroof. He looks in the direction beyond Riza - the wrong one, because Chris’s manicured nails-cum-talons dig in sharply into the shell of his ear and pivots his entire body from where he stands to face her. From where she materialized is still unclear to Roy. His sisters titter and crowd around him unhelpfully. He hears several different sentences at once as he receives one hug after another. “You’re looking buff!” “No, he’s looking thin! Do you have eyes?” “You need a haircut!” “We’ve missed you!” “I’ve missed him most!”

Finally, the girls scatter when Chris swats them away and in the same carrying voices tells them, “All right, all right get back.” Her face is serious and grave as she looks at him. It’s that same intimidating face that lectured him when he did something stupid or dangerous or both. Roy  doesn’t say anything because he expects the signature arm cross, tapping foot, and demanding to know why hasn’t he called more often?

Instead her arms extend out and up as Roy takes half a step back. “Mi niiiiño!” she sings, an unmistakable happiness in her expression as she grabs his face and kisses each cheek. She hugs him tight and he returns it in kind, shelving the initial skepticism. “How I’ve missed you, papiiito.”

Then she shoves him back and crosses her arms. “Why haven’t you called, boy?”

Ah - there it is.

“I’ve been a little busy…” Not totally untrue, but somehow Roy doubts that will cut the mustard here. “But I should be calling more often.” He looks to the side and Riza, by some miracle, is still there and only a few steps away from him with their luggage. In fact, she has the strangest  grin plastered on her face. “But,” he continues, “since you’ve managed to get the drop on me…” Roy walks next to Riza who has suddenly changed in expression as he hugs her from the side. “This is Riza,” he says expectantly and after a moment of only faint chatter from the terminal, he adds. “My girlfriend.”

The girls look at each other and one by one he can see their lips curve upwards into coy smiles. They come closer, prowling like lionesses. The barrage of greetings begin with one at a time hugs and kisses as if handshakes were old fashioned.

“So you’re Elizabeth!” says Sofia.

Riza manages to turn her body to face Roy as she’s passed from one sister onto the next. “Elizabeth?”

“I gave you a code name.”

Her grin is knowing. “So they knew?”

“Some knew.”

“They knew?” Chris asks from the end of their man-made barrier of ladies. “Why is it then that I had to find out through other channels?” She glares between Sofia and Roy.

“Some knew,” Roy insists. “I couldn’t remember who I did and did not tell and you are all in deep shit for not warning me about this.” He inclines his head as subtly as he can in the direction of his mother.

“Roy. Please. You’ve kept Riza from us this entire time! Please, please we want to know everything.” Isabelle says.

Chris urges everyone to be prying banshees in an airconditioned car. It’s a welcome reprieve from the hot midday sun, although the subdued attitude of his mother is unexpected - and worrying.

As well as Sofia and Isabelle, Phoebe and Karina are also a part of the welcome wagon. They crowd around the two of them inside the car, waving off Riza’s protests about wearing seatbelts.

“He hasn’t told us anything about you, you know,” Isabelle laments, tying her long blonde hair into a high ponytail. “All I got told was he was seeing a very pretty woman and if I said anything to Mama we’d never get to meet you at all. So tell me everything - how did you two meet? What do you do? How long has this been going on?”

Riza giggles a little nervously at the onslaught. “Not a terribly exciting story, I’m afraid,” she begins. “I worked in the university library overnights and he would come in and make a mess of the private study spaces. We got to talking after a while and…” she gestures to the scant space between them, “Here we are.”

The disappointment from his sisters is hilarious: they seemingly deflate back into their respective seats, shoulders dropping.

“To be honest though, Roy hasn’t told me much about you guys either. He’s told me your names but it would be nice to finally put faces to them as well.”

It’s a good distraction from the other questions posed - an excellent one, actually; as Riza slowly makes her way through this small fraction of his family. His mother remains quiet, seemingly happy to watch the events unfolding with a curious eye. He lets his mind drift, gaze sliding to the view outside which shifts from the town centre to higher up, wide expanses of yellow-white sandstone spotted into the lush green hills. He fiddles with her hand in his own, and when Karina catches his eye with a knowing smile it’s hard not to beam in response.

The trip goes quicker than expected, much to his relief, but the girls won’t take ‘no’ for an answer when it comes to showing Riza the villa they’ll be staying at with Chris before letting them disappear for the afternoon.

“We’ve had a long trip from East City-” he tries.

Phoebe shoots him a withering look. “We’ve had a long trip from Central too,” she reminds him none-too-gently. “Honestly, when’s the next time you’re going to come around, let alone with Riza in tow? Last time you didn’t even bother to let us know you were in town! You owe us.”

He doesn’t have much of an argument against that, and from her new position being volleyed between his sisters, Riza nods in deferment. She winks at him from across the room, mouthing something he can’t quite make out. He moves to join them; they’ve taken her out to one of the balconies and are pointing out different parts of the island but from behind him -

“Boy,” Chris calls.

Heart sinking, Roy stops in his tracks, and dutifully makes his way back to where his mother sits, overlooking the bay. “Watch her,” he signals to his sisters, and Karina’s fingers flutter in dutiful acquiescence.

With the sun favoring the other side, there are more shadows in the parlor he’s beckoned to. The motherly air to her has vanished and her face is serious. Lips are thinned, her brow entertains no amusement and a hand on her lap and the other propped on the high table she sits next to, expectantly. A seat isn’t offered to him; instead, she nods to the door to make this conversation more private and he complies. It shuts with a soft click and the sounds of excited conversation become muffled and indistinct.

Chris is quiet. He imagines she’s choosing her words, perhaps even predicting his own, and if pensive could be deadly, then she might be the only one in the world who has mastered it. She shifts in her seat, crossing one foot over the other, and her fingers rest on her many rings, twisting them over and over. Until, finally, she takes in a drawn breath.

“What are you thinking?” She asks him. Each word is enunciated and calculated in a low and gravelly tone;  a night and day difference from her earlier greeting.

“Well.” He chuckles bitterly. “I’m thinking it’s been a long trip. The weather, the sun, the beach is gorgeous.” He walks towards her and she is unflinching in following his movements. “You’re looking well and the girls look well too.”

“Don’t you play coy with me. You know what I’m talking about, bringing her around here.”

He pulls the accompanying chair out from the table and takes a seat. At this level, the light shifts out of her eyes as if to perpetuate the gravitas of the situation on her behalf. “I’d prefer if you didn’t refer to my plus one like she was a disease. She’s here at my behest, as well as Maes’ and Gracia’s.”

Her only answer is a half-chuckle that sounds somewhere between a hah and a hmph. “My boy, you can prefer, refer, request whatever you want.”

“Then, what’s the problem here?”

“She’s twenty-one, Roy.”

His eyes close as he sighs. His fingers slowly ball into a fist.

“Did it ever occur to you how’d that look? Que va decir la gente? Or rather, what are they already saying? ‘He went off and got someone younger.’” She scoffs, rolling her shoulders back. “I’ve raised you better than that. Think of the example you’re putting on for the girls.”

“It’s more than that, believe me.”

“Ah, si?” She is mocking, sarcastic. She’s daring him to prove her wrong. And she is wrong - he knows this emotionally, more so than anyone else in this room. But no matter which way he would spin it to her, it would still sound the same to her: appearances are everything at home. “How selfish. Ask yourself what your reaction would be if the girls came home with an older man?”

He meets her hard gaze in equal strength. “If you’re wanting to lecture me you can do it another day, I’m not in the mood for it now.”

“No, now is the time since you decided to cut us out from your life when you moved. You are never around anymore and quite frankly I don’t know much of you since you left.” She is measured, near hissing. “Stop thinking with your dick for once, pendejo, and use that brain of yours-”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. His heart rate elevates; he feels it in the constriction of his throat. “Ya, okay?” He swallows the simmering emotion, the telltale prick of budding tears. “I have told you time and time again - endlessly - about why things didn’t work out before.”

“You’ve given me crumbs,” she says unsympathetically. “While she’s given me entire loaves, crying at my doorstep, hoping you would be reasoned with.”

Sighing, he says, “Why can’t you come to terms with this? Respect this decision that was made years ago? Or at the very least, have trust in me that what I have to say has more to do with the truth than whatever fabrications she’s feeding you?

“I’ve told you that relationship was toxic and brought out the worst parts of me. What will it take for you to understand?”

Chris thinks for a moment and it gives Roy the opportunity to release tense muscles that were winding themselves up again from the conversation. “Did you bring her because she’s pregnant?”

A hand runs down his face and mentally he apologises to Riza. “No.”

She hums, intrigued. “Do you love her?”

Yes.

The letters pop in his head; glowing, neon letters illuminating in his mind’s eye. He does not say it. His lips curl in to stop them from giving away the smile at the thought of Riza and love and the warmth that suddenly radiates in his chest. Pensive, he tries not to give any facial cues but his mother knows him far too well and she sighs, letting a hand fall to the table.

“How?” Chris asks, almost exasperated. “Where-” And then that word chokes and dies in her throat because it dawns on her immediately, because Chris Mustang is smart and sharp and where else would he find a woman of Riza’s age to be around him long enough to catch feelings? The color drains from her face watching him as he processes his own revelation - because the only thing more scandalous than this is if she was pregnant. “You were always so, so smart, but also so, so incredibly dumb sometimes, mi amor.

“You are toying with more than just your life here, but permanently with hers.” She gets up from her seat and her words are somber. “Make sure it’s worth it.”

He’s left in the parlor by himself, to his own thoughts; knuckles to his mouth.

The subject of his thoughts enters the room and softly crosses to where he sits. He perks up in his seat and his heart skips a beat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she greets him; her brows dipped in concern and she takes a seat in Chris’s chair. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” It’s a terrible attempt but she humours him nonetheless.

“Because you’re just sitting in here by yourself.”

“I just needed a moment of silence after being ambushed.”

She quickly moves out of her seat. “I can go if-”

Roy grabs her hand to stop her. “Don’t be silly,” he says softly.

She nods, slowly settling back in the chair - hands connected over the table. “What did you two talk about?” she presses after a moment, when he falls silent once more.

“Oh,” he says, stopping the circles he was rubbing on the back of her hand. “She was ripping me a new one for not introducing you earlier, for not calling.”

“What an awful son,” she teases. “And an awful brother from what your sisters were telling me.”

“I should probably go talk to them.”

Riza makes a face. “Actually… I came in here only because they were going to head into town for some food to keep in the house. They figured we would want to get settled first. I may have strongly suggested it. Karina was kind enough to back me up.”

“That’s right. You haven’t even seen the inside of where we’re staying, have you?”

“No, but I imagine it’s like any house with four walls and with rooms.”

He smiles knowingly, standing from his seat and an extending a hand for him to lead her. “Let me show you why I like to leave Amestris.”

With a slight hint of confusion, she takes it. After some quick goodbyes from his sisters - Chris is notably absent - they walk in comfortable silence to just a few houses down where the ocean waves hitting the shores becomes a little bit more audible.

Roy unlocks the door for her and her eyes widen as she takes in a breath.

Riza darts inside, taking quick strides between the rooms, jerking her head back towards where he stands, half-questions-half-incredulous-noises leaving her mouth in a garbled mess.

Yes, Roy splurged this time - but how could he not? There is something intensely satisfying about being able to elicit a reaction like the one she is giving him, to enjoy how she enjoys it. By the standards of his peers this villa might not be the fanciest, nor the most kitted-out, but Roy knows Riza doesn’t care about outward appearances. He chose it for the age and history of the stone walls, for the way it overlooks a portion of the island, and yet remains tucked away from the other villas in the area.

After he moves the luggage into the master bedroom, he asks into the house: “Just four walls with rooms, is it?” When he doesn’t receive a response, he finds her in a sun-filled study on the second floor, skimming through the book spines on the bookshelves.

Her mouth is slightly ajar. “You’re quite the schemer, aren’t you?”

Roy leans on the doorframe, arms crossed and feeling triumphant in his choice. “I’d prefer the word charmer.”

A reluctant grin appears on her face as she turns back to him. “You keep this up and I’ll be effectively spoiled. Surely, you understand that.” Her grin is infectious.

“Then my plan is working.”

She chuckles, shaking her head at him, and that tension from before simply evaporates. “So, schemer-charmer, what’s the itinerary for the day?” She absent-mindedly asks flipping through a book.

“Itinerary? That sounds so severe.” Roy pushes himself off from the door frame; overjoyed when she follows behind him as he opens the windowed white doors to the master bedroom’s balcony.

“You know what I mean…” She trails off and Roy feels his breath leave him from the view too. It truly is stunning - from the ocean to the lush green of the trees, the yellow-white sandstone fortifications bisecting the island cleanly in two. East City had its charms, but San Clavel was a blatant seduction by comparison.

Roy points out, “Now you can ignore me to look at the ocean from here.”

“Stop,” Riza warns playfully, darting her eyes between the ocean and him. “It’s not my fault I’m not well-travelled.” She stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss him - briefly, he supposes, from the way her hands rest only lightly on his chest. But her lips on his creates a tide of emotions Roy doesn’t anticipate. Hands on her hips, he pulls her flush to him, thrilling in the way she grinslaughs against his mouth, relishing in the contended hums from her throat. He is content to be, like this. Truly. Hours could pass, or even days - and yet how he is right now, a little sweaty and overheated, is where he wants to be.

One of his hands slides down over the curve of her arse, inadvertently hiking up the flimsy material of her sundress. His wandering fingers move too lightly against her skin, and she gasps, body instinctively moving away from the ticklish sensation.

She mouths against him “one minute” before ducking into the bathroom and door quietly shutting behind her.

Roy turns back to the balcony and walks out onto it proper, inhaling the sea breeze. The red carnations that dance around the sandstone pillars of the villa greet him as he steps outside. He’s missed this terribly, too. The temperature straddles a certain perfection of warmth with just enough wind to roll off the heat from lingering on his skin. In the distance, the ocean shifts below him, a mesmerising blue that softly crests until it blankets the alabaster coast; its surface is broken into fractals of light from the late afternoon sun, reflecting lazily like pieces of jewels over the water. The view is a welcoming sight and something about it breathes sunshine into his soul.

Years have elapsed since his last visit, and yet, San Clavel seems timeless; untouched by modern architecture common in Amestris and locked in a perpetual season of summer.

The air, the view, and the entire island may have remained static, but change was now a certainty for him. He looks out to the sea now with a different mindset altogether than even just hours before. He is far from the formative years of his youth, and the time he had spent here previously, saturated in alcohol, smoking Clavileño cigars, drunk on overconfidence and basking in his immaturity. Though, now he’s not so sure how much of that has changed.

“Interesting.” He hears behind him. “I can’t tell if you’re brooding or just enamored with the sight.”

A quick smile appears on his face as Riza rests her hands over the stone balustrade. There must’ve been a witty response to her tease but blown away by the wind when he manages to drink in the sight of her in the sundress. From where she stands, the midday sun hits her from behind, encasing her in a halo that filters drown from her hair into the soft white of her dress. There’s still a ghost of a grin on her face, and he’s tempted to bridge that space between them once more to kiss her, to see if the sheer warmth she’s radiating might transfer to him, even if only a little.

If he thought the sunlight on the water was mesmerizing, then the sunlight on her - the sunlight was made for her.

Her hair glows golden as it sways and brushes her pale skin. She puts a hand up to her face to stop her hair from flowing wildly with a squint in one eye.  The white dress hugs all the right places and somehow an ethereal aura surrounds her.  Roy composes himself, collecting his slightly ajar jaw, and eyes her up and down. “Well, enamored by the sight now.”

She grins at his response. “It’s beautiful out here,” she says finally. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Roy inclines his head in acknowledgement, his fingers drifting over hers; as if on instinct, her hand flips over to meet his, palm to palm. It’s a simple enough gesture, borne from repetition as much as affection. It tugs at his heart in a pleasant way. Tucked away in her words isn’t an I’m sorry, not quite - but an acknowledgement that goes beyond just saying thank you.

“You are very welcome,” he begins, shifting his weight to rest against the balustrade fully, pulling Riza into his space a little more. “This would be nowhere near as fun if you didn’t come.”

Her hands slide up his forearms, over his shoulders and curl loosely around his neck. She smells faintly like his soap and blinks demurely under dark lashes. “You take pleasure in me gawking at things, do you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Riza flushes visibly, immediately. There’s an attempt to push away from lightly but he holds her in place and she stays. “All this natural beauty and instead you’d be a slave to your phone, waiting desperately for me wake up.”

“I would be,” he tells her, enjoying how his honesty throws her for a moment. It is the truth. He would’ve still attended - Maes would have had his guts for garters otherwise - but at best he would only stay for a few days, and certainly not make a meal out of this trip, surprise family be damned.

“I’d be very demanding, you know,” Riza tells him matter-of-factly, tongue poking out to wet her lips briefly. “Video calls as soon as I wake up. A million souvenirs. That sort of thing.”

“If that’s your idea of demanding, how about a quick refresher?” Her eyebrow lifts momentarily, urging him to go on. “You storming into my office about a grade? Now that was demanding.”

Scandalized, she says “If I can recall correctly - and I do - there were ulterior motives for that changed grade. It was well warranted given the circumstances.”

Roy adjusts his hands on her hips, the thin material of her sundress rising a little once more as he brings her closer to him. He officially loves this dress. A finger lifts her chin. “I beg to disagree, avecilla. Not that I don’t appreciate the fact that we’re on the same page nine times out of ten, but I’d be a little disappointed if all you asked for was a call. In fact...” He pushes himself up from the balustrade. Riza cranes her neck a little to continue meeting his eyes. It’s perfect for what he wants - his hands leave her hips, and instead cup her jaw fully, thumbs resting against her cheekbones.

Deliberately, he kisses her temple, and then the other. Her eyelids follow, then her cheeks. He intentionally ignores her lips, barely grazing against them as he opts to leave soft, unhurried kisses against every part of her face bar her mouth. Her fingers twist themselves against the shirt he’s wearing.

“You’re mean,” she tells him breathlessly, brown eyes fluttering open after a kiss that skirts the edge of her cupid’s bow. “You never mentioned what’s going on today.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“A dinner. Nothing important.” With his mouth brushing against the edge of her lips, he says, “It’s basically tradition to be late to these things anyway.”

“I think you’re lying-” she responds, nearly cut off as he takes her lips onto his own. She tastes sweet as she always has, but the sound from her throat hints at something more mischievous. Any items on any itinerary ever is eviscerated by what is in front of him: Riza, his Riza, in a sundress and slowly eroding what sensibilities he still has left.

“Mi reina… you wound me. I would never,” he answers coyly. The aftershocks of their kiss still thrums on his lips. He feels electric, fizzing with the knowledge - the freedom - that he could have her here, that he could potentially love her here as her fingers grasps his shirt and she gasps over his fingers. She would let him, he thinks, with the way her lips seem to brush against him with the lightest of pressure, barely enough to feel but more than enough to tease. It’s beyond tempting to give into that baser desire, to have her as he wants her; but here he stills, thumbs drifting over her now-flushed skin.

He can feel the words on his lips, waiting to be said. There’s simply so much he wants to say to her, to tell her, divulge in her, that words fail him here. He hasn’t the faintest clue of where to even begin.

“Mi reina?” Riza asks, a flirtatious smile curling her lips upwards. “I guess that would make you ‘my king’, no?” She chews the inside of her lip, thinking. “Mi…”

“Rey.” He finishes for her. He doesn’t usually have a possessive streak a mile wide but for this nickname, Roy might make an exception.

“Quite a promotion you’ve been given, sir.”

Roy chuckles darkly - a reminder that she knows him well too. He tilts her head back slightly, enjoying how her eyes flit between his gaze and his mouth rapidly. “I think it’s deserved. An upgrade from the previous one you gave me.”

Riza swallows, focusing on something beyond his face. “The ones that I..?”

He tilts his own head to the side, to her exposed skin and in between kisses on her neck he tells her, “Back in East City. With your father.”

Understanding crests over her face. “Was I wrong?”

He pulls his head back. “No.”

“Because I happen to like that one,” she tells him, drawing back from his grip after a moment. “Still feels weird saying it though.”

“Then practice.”

Riza’s reply is shot out automatically with only a lick of her lips to prime it. “Make me.”

“Make you?”

She tightens the grip on his shirt, pulling him closer to repeat herself in his ear. “Make me, sir.”

Static screeches in his brain for a moment and he looks at her, amused, and she, so daring as she dons the smallest smirk on her face. “I think you and I both know I can make you say many things.” He breathes out through his nose, slow and deliberate.

“That was then.” She bites her lower lips. “This is now. In a completely different country.”  

“Is that right?” A brow flits up in her small act of defiance. His gaze drifts down to the thin straps straps of her dress and looks back at her; blood pounding in his ears. Riza takes a cursory step back and he steps forward. She seems to understand, quick study that she is. Wordlessly, he begins to unbutton his shirt and she never takes her eyes off him as she walks backwards towards the bed. She stumbles a little when her calves hit the edge of the mattress, releasing a tiny gasp, and he takes this opportunistic moment of her distraction to coax her onto the bed.

She moves deeper into the bed on her elbows to give him space to join her, and he does as his belt hits the floor.  

There is something deep and dark about how he likes her like this. Riza doesn’t show lust in an overt way: flushed skin, lips a brighter shade of pink, almost entranced when she sees what she wants... or perhaps it is him that’s been entranced by this very look the entire time. One loose strand of hair curls over her shoulder - perhaps by design - and Roy leans in to hungrily kiss her, situated in between her legs; hands roaming up her legs and he feels the goosebumps rise on her skin, under his fingertips. His kisses consume her, drinking greedily from her like a man dying from thirst. The straps of her sundress are pushed to the side as his hands shift up to her neck, thumbs splaying across her pulse point. She’s breathing hard when he pulls back.

“Take it off,” he orders quietly. To elicit a quicker response, his hand dips in between her legs, ghosting over the fabric of her smallclothes. Without needing to ask twice, she sits up and they both work to get the sundress over her head and he helps in freeing her of her bra.

Riza lies back down and is a sight against the sheets. Creamy thighs beckon to him like a ship to wreck, but instead he lets his fingers drift along her torso, up over the bones of her sternum and collarbone. He studies the edges of jawline, committing it to memory, before tracing the outline of her lips with his index finger. She trembles underneath his touch, and whimpers when his other hand slips under her underwear, slipping into slick folds. His fingers are coated in her sex with a single stroke. “Excited, are we?”

“I love a good menacing walk towards me,” she jests, grinning and arching her back as he toys with her.

“Tell me what you want, avecilla,” he murmurs against her lips, barely exerting pressure.

“That would be too easy, sir,” she manages between sighs. Her fingers fumble over the button of his trousers and he takes satisfaction in the fact that he’s reduced her to this state: hips gyrating in the hopes of some change in tension. She brings her palm to her forehead, mouth open and gasping.

His hand pulls back from her completely.

Riza opens her eyes in curiosity, concern or both and his fingers tug at the edge of her underwear. Her hips move up carefully to help him remove them: first through one leg and then on the other, he holds her leg as he glides it off her, kissing her calf gently.

“You have to tell me what you want. I could have you on your back and fuck you so slowly you’ll be begging me to let you come. Or should I eat you out instead, or fuck you so hard into the bed that everyone at dinner will know exactly what you’ve been doing and not just because you’ll be walking funny? Or if you really want, do all of the above and not recover until tomorrow?”

His fingers place her leg down with delicate care next to him. “But until then, we won’t start.”  

“Fuck you,” she manages in a sigh.

“Clearly. But how?” He moves in closer to her again and she watches him inch closer to her face. He closes his eyes, mouth hovering over her lips just so that they brush against each other as he speaks again, softer this time. At this distance he can feel the heat of her skin under his. “Avecilla, you have to tell your boyfriend how you want him to fuck -  you.”

-------

They finally arrive when the sun is melting into the ocean; its bright orange remnants are painted across the sea and gives everything else a deep red-orange hue.

Roy takes a moment to survey the view before him. Aerugo on a good day really didn’t disappoint, and San Clavel was certainly no exception to that rule. Despite the earlier heat of the day, it was getting cooler now and out of instinct he pulls Riza closer when she rubs her arm from a wandering breeze that passes through.

Riza hums in gratitude, casting a quick complementary glance at him, before she’s pulled back again to admiring the venue. It’s a converted battlement: the familiar white sandstone forms a parapet overlooking the eastern side of the bay, before dropping down into a garden seemingly overgrown with roses in every shade and hue of red. Beyond is where most of the party guests are congregating, on a raised terrace that hugs a large hall. The exterior is covered in dark green ivy, looking classically timeless rather than unruly.

Strings of fairy lights guide them towards the center of the terrace with a view of the sea, no doubt intending to create a glowing effect when the day’s light was finally extinguished. Soft, instrumental music plays from a quartet tucked away somewhere - a vast change from the stereo system and an mp3 player playlist manned by one of the cousins - behind round tables topped with plates and silverware and intricate flower arrangements for centerpieces. They are decorated with pristine white cloths that blow lightly with the breeze and the chatter around is light and pleasant.

Riza shivers again and she scoffs. “I think I underestimated how cool it would get.”

“Do you want me to go back for your cardigan?”

“No, don’t be silly. You can’t leave me alone with these people.” She points an index finger at him. “Not again.”

“They’re not so bad.”

She looks away with a noise that neither affirms of contradicts his statement. Roy grabs her hands, looking down at her with a smile. “I can understand that you’re anxious, but I’d also like this to be for us. It’s not every day we can do this without looking behind our backs and I have to say, I’m a little excited for it.”

Riza looks down to where he’s rubbing circles over the back of her hand and she laces her fingers with his, squeezing. “You’ve been giving this a lot of thought?”

“Have you not?”

She grins and turns away slightly like she does when she’s been caught red-handed. “It might’ve crossed my mind once or twice, yes.”

He smiles back at her and nods over to the bar set up from a market stand. “Then why don’t you go get yourself something? If not for the nerves but to help with warming you up.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re being awfully thoughtful today.”

“As if I’m ever not.” He pivots her shoulders as she cracks a laugh and he waves her on.

She hesitates for a moment, turning her head back towards him. “What do you want?”

He takes pleasure in making a meal out of admiring her; the affected way her gait has changed for the moment more than anything else. As if she could read his mind, Riza blushes a deep red. “Surprise me,” he tells her finally.

Roy watches as she disappears into the small crowd. It’s later than the start time but true to fashion, people are still trickling in. Some greet him with a courteous hug and a kiss on the cheek but thankfully, no one stays for a proper conversation as they make their way to the stars of this whole event.

Maes and Gracia stand near the parapet with a group of people around them. They are positively glowing in spite of the backdrop of the deepening sunset. Elicia is the most entertaining part of that picture, however - for every kiss and hug that’s transferred between the adults above her, Roy watches as she demands her own set. Maes is dutiful to the point of smothering, and her squeals of protest about his scratchy beard carry far over the gardens.

It’s a far cry from the family he knew three years ago, and he couldn’t be prouder of them for what they’ve endured and risen up from. He’d never tell the two of them out loud for fear of Maes’ ego never recovering to a normal size, but if he could get something even close to what they had found in each other, he’d consider himself lucky; amongst valued peers and someone to share successes and trials with.

Part of him thinks he may have found it; a smaller part of him whispers that he’s been wrong before. He’s even less sure about how to even approach the topic with her: they haven’t discussed it in any serious capacity and he’s loathe to bring it up in a space where she isn’t on equal footing with him.

The conversation with his mother from earlier floats to the forefront of his mind.

Large, neon-colored letters. Yes.

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe it really was that simple.

Behind him, he can hear approaching footsteps and the warmth in his chest reemerges as her hands wrap around his torso. Contently, teasingly, he says, “I thought you were going to bring me a surprise.” His last word is tapers off in emotion and volume as he notices the contrasting difference in skin tone on the arms around him. The breeze picks up once more, carrying a fragrance from a guiltier time. The warmth ices and turns into a quick-drop feeling of dread from his throat to his gut.

She doesn’t resist when he jerks himself out of the embrace, but her dark eyes are still locked on him, amused. Hand on her hip, she stands there in a red dress complimenting her deep, sun-kissed skin and dark loose ringlets of hair; the matching blood-red lips curl up into a self-satisfied smirk.

Greta sighs dramatically. “I am the surprise.”

next

[tsukiprotranslations]

[Translation] Machine Elements - Cast Presentation: SolidS

I’ve been gone far too long for comfort LOL But, I’ve gotten more free time now since most IRL stuff I have to take care of are over~ 

Continuing with the Machine Elements lore, we have SolidS up next~ Gosh, translating these really makes us appreciate all the hard work that TsukiPro puts into their AUs, huh? Anyways, here’s the cast presentation for SolidS! Up next is QUELL and then VAZZROCK ^^

Also, thank you so much to Deea for the scans and for helping with the editing for the previous Machine Elements posts~! 

※ Please don’t re-post any of these translations without permission. Please just like/reblog them instead.

Under the cut, enjoy~!

TAKAMURA SHIKI

My my, it’s quite noisy…”

PROFILE:

NAME: Takamura Shiki

GUILD: SolidS (※Guildmaster)

BASE: Machine City

☐ A young man who was once given the title as the youngest “Meister” and craftsman in history. Although he started his own guild as a challenge for himself, he did so under the pretense that he was refusing the invitation of the current existing guild. As a result, he was working alone for quite some time. Two years have passed and half-way through, his closest friend Rikka had joined the guild. Soon after, Tsubasa became a member as well.

☐ Since he was surrounded by fire from a young age, he has been fascinated by the element. As such, he has developed multiple tools to be able to use fire. He has however, remained indifferent to the profit, glory, fame, and some such things brought on by his developments. He sometimes even forgets to claim rewards and Tsubasa calls him a “work-a-holic idiot” from time to time.

COMMENT:

Good afternoon. I’m SolidS’ Takamura Shiki.

This time, my role is not only a “music idiot” but a “work-a-holic idiot” as well. Tsubasa laughed when he learned that my role is similar to how I usually am (bitter smile). It seems that SolidS is being targeted by a quite dangerous enemy this time and I take on the appearance of a pretty elegant gentleman… Will there be a fight happening in the second half? Please look forward to it in the theater. We’ll be waiting for you.

OKUI TSUBASA

“Shiki! You’re fi~nally back! Something really troublesome happened while you were away!”

PROFILE:

NAME: Okui Tsubasa

GUILD: SolidS

BASE: Machine City

☐ A young man who acts as SolidS’ publicity leader in place of their Guildmaster who doesn’t bother himself with fame, degree of popularity, achievements, and position. He keeps bothering Shiki with the usual “I wonder if development can be done even without money!”

☐ Though he marches to the beat of his own drum, he proves to be an unusually excellent craftsman. Being excellent in utilizing the powers of fire, he developed a new kind of technology that harnesses the power of the [Sky] that the people admire. Things like using explosions as a means to fly, and traveling a certain fixed distance in the air.

COMMENT:

Welcome to [Machine Elements]!

Are you interested in joining the SolidS guild? I’m Okui Tsubasa, the one who’s kinda like the one in charge of publicity here (laughs). ♪ This time’s costume is kinda steampunk-ish and everyone looks so cool so I think it’d be a fun play to the eyes. There are times in the story that are thrilling and some will make you want to cry but, normally, it’s a really light-hearted adventure story. Everyone’s all excited and giddy, huh? In any case, there’s a scene where I call Shiki a “work-a-holic idiot” and I think you’ll all enjoy that scene, too. ♪

SERA RIKKA

“Alright, leave it to big brother ♪”

PROFILE:

NAME: Sera Rikka

GUILD: SolidS

BASE: Machine City

☐ A young man who is childhood friends with the genius Shiki who was once given the title of youngest “Meister” and craftsman. Though, he possesses quite the skills as a craftsman himself. Contrary to his thin build, he is quite the bold person. A gap that is often mentioned.

☐ He is skilled at utilizing the element of fire and so he is often in charge of handling the parts of the tools that Shiki develops.

☐ He makes decorative ornaments similar to those of the Han people as a simple way of killing time during his free days but, it seems like they became popular to the young women in urban areas. He is also the manager of a branded store that opened half a year ago.

COMMENT:

Hello, I’m Sera Rikka! I’m Guild SolidS’ flourishing first guild member. After seeing Shiki’s attitude and indifference… Tsubasa and Dai laughed. They said that it’s just like the real us.

In this time’s performance, I feel like each of our every day personalities are reflected not only on the character but on the actors themselves. Thanks to that, I feel saved because I don’t feel like I’m acting at all (laughs).

I think the interactions really make for a real good feeling, doesn’t it? Please look forward to it!

MURASE DAI

“... Recently, it’s been getting unruly around the borders.”

PROFILE:

NAME: Murase Dai

GUILD: SolidS

BASE: Machine City

☐ In this world, he is a young genius who is very skilled in the manufacturing of medicine using the element of fire after re-purposing a tool that uses water as its foundation. He is Tsubasa’s childhood friend and they both grew up in an era where “Meisters” were abundant.

☐ When he was very young, he and his younger brother suffered from an illness whose causes were unknown. For some reason, he was the only one who recovered completely and his younger brother passed away. Since then, he has bestowed upon himself a lifelong mission to find a cure for that illness.

☐ He loves sweet things so, he visits the Commercial City of Seiryuu once a month to buy them. He looks forward to eating the latest kinds of sweets.

COMMENT:

I’m SolidS’ Murase Dai. Hello. “This time of year has come again, huh?” is what I’m feeling. To me, this joint stage has kind of become a standard.

Even if you say that we’re all from the same agency, it’s quite rare for us to actually interact like this even if we know each other by name and face so, I think that opportunities like these should be taken advantage of. First thing to do is eat ramen after rehearsals. And then, if all goes well from there, we’ll eat sweets at a cafe.

Recently, it’s been known to people I’m meeting for the first time that I love sweets so, please don’t hesitate to ask (laughs).

※ Please don’t re-post any of these translations without permission. Please just like/reblog them instead.

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[fallintosanity]

c’mon guys, stop poking the traumatized guy who happens to be strong enough to destroy the entire building

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

The rest of the week passed remarkably smoothly. Noctis did his single quota-filling mission each day, then vanished back to his bunk, presumably to nap the rest of the day away. Cloud couldn't help but wonder if Noctis was just bored. At the very least, he was entirely unfazed by the minor threats he was sent to handle: an unruly patch of razorweed on Tuesday, a flock of ahrimans Wednesday, more cripshays Thursday, and a little cluster of mandragora, likely attracted from their native grasslands habitat by the mako reactors in the city, on Friday. Noctis dealt with each set of monsters with the same agile swordplay he’d used on his first mission.

They didn’t talk much; Cloud wasn’t exactly one for small talk, and Noctis seemed content with the silence. It wasn’t the easy, comfortable silence of being around Kunsel or Vincent, though - Noctis gave the impression that he didn’t expect Cloud to talk. In fact, he occasionally seemed to forget Cloud was there, or at least seemed surprised when Cloud stepped out of whatever corner he’d retreated to while Noctis dealt with his targets. It made Cloud think uneasily of that first conversation they’d had by the riverbank, when Noctis admitted to believing SOLDIERs couldn’t talk.

Other than that, the only somewhat odd thing about Noctis was that he didn’t use his Thunder materia at all on the missions. Given what had happened when he’d tried casting it in class last week, Cloud could hardly blame him, but it would have been useful against the ahrimans. At least whatever had caused the explosion seemed to have resolved itself; when Cloud’s Thursday materia class rolled around, Noctis’s attempts at casting Bolt produced little more than a glorified spark. He did still cast almost instantaneously, though, which was unexpected and baffling. Artificial materia simply didn’t cast that quickly, not even fully leveled. It didn’t make any sense, and Cloud made a mental note to ask Genesis about it later, after the commander returned from the parade tour he’d been shipped out on with Sephiroth.

All in all, it was a quiet and uneventful week. Which was the only excuse Cloud had for lowering his guard.

Noctis hadn’t taken any missions Saturday or Sunday, apparently (and rightfully) unconcerned by his ability to fill his mission quota. But that meant Cloud had had nothing to do either day. Genesis and Sephiroth were on that parade tour, and Kunsel and Zack had been sent to accompany the Turks on a mission to Wutai to deal with a group of freedom fighters unwilling to acknowledge ShinRa’s grip on the region. Cloud spent Saturday with Aeris in the church, helping her tend the garden and listening to her talk about how her flower-selling business was taking off. But she was back out selling on Sunday, so Cloud retreated to the Training Room to get some practice in.

After the easy week with Noctis, battling the illusory monsters was almost interesting, despite the group of curious cadets who gathered to watch. Whatever technologists maintained the Training Room had updated it recently with new monsters modeled after the increasingly aggressive mako mutants that had begun turning up around the reactors. While even those posed little threat to Cloud, they were still more of a challenge than the previous grandhorns and sahagins it had featured.

He left the Training Room a few hours later, sweaty but invigorated, and all but ran into Lazard in the hallway outside. “Commander Strife,” Lazard greeted him. “Impressive show.”

Something about his tone immediately set Cloud’s teeth on edge. “Director,” he answered neutrally, and turned to walk back to his bunk.

“Do you have a moment?” Lazard fell in step beside Cloud without waiting for an answer. “I wanted to talk to you about a request from the Science Department.”

Cloud’s good mood evaporated in an instant. “Not interested.” He sped up his pace, trying to pull away from Lazard, but the director’s longer legs let him keep up easily.

“At least hear me out,” Lazard said. “I’m sure you’re aware that Hollander’s and Hojo’s deaths left significant gaps in ShinRa’s research programs—”

“Read my contract,” Cloud snapped. “No doctors.”

“I’m aware,” Lazard said. “This wouldn’t be a medical examination, though. Dr. Meridian just wants to interview you regarding the mako treatments you received—”

“No.”

“But—”

Cloud whirled on Lazard, teeth bared. “No.”

Lazard fell back a step, eyes wide, hands half-raised in a defensive motion. “...All right. I’ll let Dr. Meridian know. Thank you.”

It wasn’t until Lazard had disappeared around a corner of the hallway that Cloud realized his fingers were wrapped around the hilt of First Tsurugi. It took several minutes more for Cloud to calm down enough to make himself move, his feet rooted to the spot with a sickening swirl of terror and fury. He’d intended to return to his room, but when he finally made it to the dorms, he found himself lingering in front of Kunsel’s door instead. But Kunsel was out on a mission, and wasn’t due back for days.

Cloud made himself keep moving, stalking into his own room and stripping out of his sweaty clothes. He needed a shower, but that wasn’t going to happen right now, the narrow shower cubby in his room too much like a mako tank when Lazard had just yanked those memories back to the front of Cloud’s mind. He settled for wiping down with a damp washcloth and collapsing onto the bed. It was late afternoon still, too early to go to sleep, but if Cloud went back out into the building then Lazard might find him again. Or some innocent cadet who didn’t deserve to be around Cloud right now.

He hadn’t expected to sleep, not with the memories of Nibelheim and the labs swirling through his mind, but he’d worked out hard and his body was tired; and at some point the memories smeared and faded into nightmares. Green mako soaking his skin, his clothes, his hair. Men in lab coats standing over him, scalpels slicing into his skin. Screaming in agony, in terror, until his throat was ripped raw and he was dropped back into the mako, green pouring down his throat, filling his lungs, choking him—

“Cloud.”

He snapped awake, one hand reaching for the hilt of First Tsurugi where it sat beside his bed before he’d even opened his eyes—

—came up empty and he panicked, where was his sword—

Got his eyes open.

First Tsurugi was propped against the far wall of his room. Sephiroth stood between it and Cloud.

I can’t sleep through your nightmares.

“Get out,” Cloud snapped.

Sephiroth folded his arms and leaned against Cloud’s desk. Like the last time he was here, he wore only pajama pants, and there was a sense of tiredness around him which Cloud had the sick feeling was coming over their connection more than anything about his physical appearance. He didn’t say anything.

“You’re supposed to be on tour,” Cloud managed.

“We got back an hour ago,” Sephiroth said. Cloud glanced at the clock - not quite midnight. Sephiroth added, “Neither Genesis nor I got any sleep the entire mission, thanks to the President’s paranoia about AVALANCHE terrorists.”

“You won’t get any sleep here, either.”

“I told you, it’s still more restful than dealing with your nightmares.”

Something snapped in Cloud’s chest, that Sephiroth of all people could stand here and say that to him, Sephiroth who was responsible for everything that had happened to him, everyone who’d died in the last ten years of his life, all the pain and all the destruction and all the sorrow. Fists clenched, Cloud snarled, “If you didn’t want to deal with them, you shouldn’t have given them to me!”

Green eyes narrowed. “Hojo is the one who gave you those nightmares,” Sephiroth said. “Hojo and a version of me which exists nowhere but in your memories.”

I will never be a memory.

The voice - the other Sephiroth’s voice, the madman who’d nearly killed him - was so real in his head that Cloud almost thought the Sephiroth in front of him was the one who’d said it. His blood ran cold and for a moment he was back there, atop the decrepit ShinRa tower, Masamune spearing him and Sephiroth smirking at him. Phantom pain lanced through his chest and he doubled over, fingers knotting in his shirt.

Sephiroth whispered, “He impaled you.”

Cloud flinched. Looked up. Sephiroth had one hand curled over his chest in the same spot as Cloud, his eyes wide.

Do you remember this pain, Cloud?

Cloud almost laughed, was surprised when blood didn’t pool in his mouth. “Twice,” he said.

“I saw,” Sephiroth said. “In your nightmares, I saw that. But I thought—”

“It was real!” Cloud insisted.

Sephiroth stared at him.

“You impaled me,” Cloud hissed. “All but killed me. You nearly killed Tifa and Zack. You killed my mom.” His voice rose to a shout with the words, but he couldn’t make himself care. “You burned down my village and killed everyone in it. You killed—” remembering just in time not to say her name, not now, not when she was still alive— “my friend. You almost destroyed the planet!”

“You promised,” Sephiroth said quietly, “to kill me if I ever started down that path in this timeline.”

“I will,” Cloud agreed.

“I’m still here,” Sephiroth said. “Therefore, I’ve done none of that.”

It was Cloud’s turn to stare at him. Sephiroth met his gaze levelly, waiting. Still focused on the memory of Sephiroth, the one created out of mako energy and pure bitter willpower, Cloud was surprised to see him blink, to see his chest move slightly as he breathed. The Sephiroth he’d fought so many times since Nibelheim never showed even those faint signs of humanity.

When Cloud didn’t say anything, Sephiroth continued, “I cannot undo what that alternate me did in your memories. But if I can prevent you from reliving it in your nightmares…” He trailed off with a slight twitch of his shoulder, an almost rueful shrug, his eyes still on Cloud. “Let me do that much. And if you won’t believe I would do it for a friend,” he added, and there, there was that obnoxious smirk in the curl of his mouth, the gleam of his slit-pupiled eyes, “then at least believe I would do it for my own sake, so I can get some rest.”

Cloud stared at him for a few more minutes, but Sephiroth had apparently said his piece and was now settling in for the night, shifting to more comfortably lean against the desk and tossing his hair out of his face. “I hate you,” Cloud muttered, but even he could admit there was less heat to it than usual. He slouched back against the wall, folded his arms, and yawned.

At least he’d gotten a few hours of sleep before Sephiroth showed up.