#which is the smoothest fucking brain take i have EVER heard

[appleciderp]

for the ask game I'll have a number 7, a nr 15, 16 and a 25 thank you <33

I feel like I'm working at a drive-thru window.

7. Favourite works of all time excluding your own?

How pretentious do you want this answer to be??

Because the real answer is We Walked the Earth by Uffe Isolotto (TW: Suicide, and a bunch of other things I cannot explain but I'm sure will upset people. I'm not gonna put the examples here) though it's more of an exhibit than an illustration.

The sheer desperation that looking at the photographs give me is outrageous. I want to see it in person. But it's kind of pretentious.

Keaton Henson's work has always affected me, from the second I first heard his songs, to the first time I read his poetry, to the countless times I've looked at his sketches.

There's just a perfect imperfectness to his drawings.

15. Biggest artist pet peeve?

Anybody trying to tell anybody what to do. Yes, ideally you'd need to learn anatomy before bending the rules. Do you HAVE to? no.

Art, to me, is made from love and emotions and especially when you enter more classically trained areas, I feel like they say "Oh you can do that, once you learn the basics."

That only turns people off the idea. Do things that annoy you, THEN you can have fun. For example: Do I understand composition? Fuck no. Would it better my art? yea, definitely. Will I do it? Maybe when I feel like it.

Any time you create, you better your art. Whether that be writing, drawing, playing an instrument, or whatever.

The only rule to me regarding art is to create.

Another one is regarding pricing. Whenever I've taken commissions in the past, I've always done Pay what you want prices. I always see posts saying to not undervalue yourself as an artist and to at least ask for minimum wage as a pricing guide. I ain't charging anybody 15$ an hour for my drawings.

Art for me is a hobby, that I rarely do for money. I don't care that I'm valuing my work at less than 5$ an hour. Hell, I did a 6 character scene with a background a few years ago for about 20$, just because the concept seemed fun.

Not everybody who draws should make it a career, and I feel like telling everybody to treat as if everybody taking commissions for their living wage is not the way to go.

IF you want it to be your sole source of income, go for it. But I don't feel like saying that every artist needs to follow those rules.

16. What’s the most daunting part of your process? Ex, planning, sketching, lineart, rendering etc

Lineart, shading, and backgrounds.

Linearts are mostly due to my struggle with accepting the imperfections in my art. I used to have a very crisp and bold lineart with the smoothest brush you could ever imagine. It's just when I sat down and looked at the art that I enjoyed (both online and offline) that I realized I always preferred a thinner lineart and sketchier overall. I always used to think my sketches were so much better back then.

Shading pretty much follows the same vein. Thining my lines made imperfections in shading stand out more. I prefer lighting, and I have no idea how tf my brain makes those two completely different to me.

Backgrounds I believe are nearly universal. Everybody hates 'em.

25. Based on your recent reference searches, what would the FBI assume about you?

Guns, bombs, and kilts. BUT I frequently pop on a little (It's for a drawing, I promise) or (I'm writing something, I'm not killing anybody!) Which either amps my suspiciousness up or it makes me seem sane.

The worst is when I did the Midas piece and I wanted refs of oozing liquids, and like, blood was the obvious choice, but nothing was popping up exactly and it was frustrating to just have to google "blood oozing" "real blood oozing" "blood oozing wound" "Nosebleed" "hands covered in blood"

[baya-ni]

Renga Shouldn’t Be Canon (clickbait)

No but seriously, I hope that Renga doesn’t become canon, at least not in the way that I think a lot of people are hoping that it will. Personally, I’m not expecting anything close to a kiss and confession and that’s fine by me.

Queerbaiting is a problem in mainstream media, there’s no doubt about it, and many people both within and outside the queer community are right to feel wary about hoping for that kind of representation. Personally, I’m still caught by surprise every time a queer person or couple is depicted in a normalized and healthy way onscreen. And that just speaks to the appallingly poor representation queer people are so used to seeing.

But I think that fandom likes to throw the word “queerbaiting” around a bit haphazardly, much in the same way faux woke people throw around words like “gaslighting” and “cancel culture”. They’ve become buzz words to evoke immediate feelings of self-righteousness and to prey on person’s fear of appearing ignorant or bigoted.

Unfortunately, I worry that when the season inevitably ends without Renga’s “canonization”, people will unfairly label Sk8 as Queerbait. And I have many Feelings about this- mostly frustration.

But we’re only mid-season. I can only guess where the show is going to go and only make assumptions about fandom behavior based on personal experience, and there’s a high possibility I’ll be proven totally wrong so... take whatever I say with a grain of salt. But anyway, let’s get on with it.

Fundamentally, Sk8 isn’t shoujo, it’s not BL- it’s a sports anime. And while that doesn’t preclude a total absence of romance between its characters, ultimately those aren’t the kinds of relationships that sports anime concerns itself with. The most prominent relationships you’ll see will be more along the lines of Teammates and Rivals (there's also a third dynamic I'm calling Opponents which is Not the same as Rivals but the Opponents dynamic is less relevant to my point so I'll focus on just the first two).

However, it's not hard to see why romantic interpretations are so common among fans of sports anime. At their core, the basis of Teammate and Rival dynamics bear many similarities to that of a compelling romance. Both Teammate and Rival relationships are built upon two characters' mutual admiration and respect for one another, they involve characters learning from one another and being inspired to push themselves to be their best. There's a great deal of trust involved, as is vulnerability, communication, and empathy. In other words, all the essentials of any healthy relationship.

But context and genre are important. I think that a good romance is one that is unique to its characters specific personalities and needs, as well as is believable within the context of the setting and story. For an anime like Sk8, I would find an on-screen kiss strange and out of place (unless it was done for comedic effect which would be... bad).

I'm reminded of this quote from Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which is one of my all time favorite films:

"Do all lovers feel as though they are inventing something? I know the gestures. I imagined them all waiting for you."

And that basically sums up what I've described, albeit more poetically. Love is invention. Romantic gestures form a unique language between lovers. And if I may add, genre and narrative establish the basis for the emotional significance of these gestures.

In a genre like action/thriller, one of the most meaningful things a character can do is risk their safety or straight up sacrifice themselves for another, because bodily harm and physical risks drive the tension in these kinds of narratives. In the romance genre, confessions, physical intimacy, and grand romantic displays serve the same purpose. In something like sports anime, I argue that its gestures like physically accommodating for your teammate, supporting them when they feel dejected, and being motivated to train harder and be better for the sake of being allowed to stand beside them, that hold equivalent significance.

But this is all broadly speaking, and genre is just one element. Characters’ personalities, habits, insecurities, and trauma, as well as a story’s themes, further specify the kinds of gestures that hold the most meaning in a narrative.

Let’s look again at Portrait of a Lady on Fire, on my favorite scenes:

Portrait is interested in subverting the power imbalance inherent between the Artist and the Muse, the Voyeur and the Subject, the Looker and she who is Looked At. Heloise’s observations of Marianne hold great significance because of this theme; she disrupts the power imbalance by taking back agency as the Subject, demonstrating that she is just as capable of Looking at the Artist just as the Artist does at her. This is visually represented by the framing of the final shot. With the camera pulled back, we now see Marianne as Heloise has been seeing her, and she is now subject to being visually scrutinized in the same way that Heloise has been up to this point in the film.

This scene is so poignant because the romantic gesture it depicts ties heavily to the story’s themes, its characters’ personalities, and its existence is believable within its genre.

Now, let’s bring this all back to Sk8. In this show, what sort of gestures are given the most significance?

Skateboarding. Duh.

Basically, this line establishes that “basis for emotional significance” that I mentioned earlier, such that skating is the means by which characters and relationships are developed and the plot is driven forward, that any and everything related to skating potentially holds symbolic meaning.

And specifically, equating the act of skating to love then allows for more romantic interpretations of all kinds of scenes. Take for example, these parallel sets of shots from ep 1:

(I mean cmon look at his tiny blush, it’s fucking adorable) And:

In a show that equates skating to a “ritual of love”, these scenes can be realistically be interpreted as Langa and Reki falling in love with one another. Skating acts as both the catalyst for their relationship as well as later on being the means by which they express their feelings and develop their relationship.

Skating is their love language.

Ok, I’ll try to wrap this up since this post has gotten wayyy too long. But basically my point is that Renga is about as canon as this show could possibly make it within the confines of its genre and narrative. Romance in sports anime is different from romance in shoujo, but it’s romance all the same, in the same way that different people express love in different ways.

A kiss and confession is not the only means by which a ship can become canon. And I personally would much rather have this kind of carefully crafted symbolism than a kiss just randomly shoehorned in.

But I understand that in the face of centuries of censorship, cop-outs, and barely believable and forced heteronormativity, people want same-sex intimacy onscreen, unapologetic and normalized. I get that.

But in my opinion, Sk8 isn’t queerbait, and it shouldn’t be accused as such just because its characters won’t kiss onscreen. I think this show depicts a wonderful and loving relationship between two boys, that isn’t any less loving just because it doesn’t fit into conventional romantic tropes.

Edit: I did a followup post about Sk8 and its queer representation here, where I go more in depth into the ways that Sk8 represents queerness through beyond its implied homo-romantic relationships.

So yeah, I’d love to hear yalls thoughts :)

[batsandbugs]

A Kiss With a Fist

AN: Hey everyone another fic coming at you! This is for the Maribat Drabble Exchange hosted by @eat0crow I’m so excited to be participating! My fic was for @pixiebuggiewrites​ who wanted a Daminette soulmate fic. Sorry I couldn’t squeeze anybody else in here it was already getting pretty long! I hope you all enjoy! You can also read it here on ao3! (Pictures are NOT mine)

Damian stormed away from the hotel, aggressively zipping his coat. He didn’t care where he was going, only that it was away from here.

He didn’t want to be in Paris. He didn’t want to watch out for incompetent amateurs. He didn’t want to ‘control your anger, Damian’. He wanted to be sent home.

The calm night taunted him, the Parisian streets were too bight and too clean, resembling nothing like his dark city. He missed patrolling, he missed his animals, hell, a part of him (a small, barely negligible part he would never admit to) even missed his siblings. But no, he was stuck here, under his father’s orders until the situation in Paris drew to a conclusion.

Considering it took five years for outside help to be even called in, he had no clue how long the mission would last. He still hadn’t met the so-called-heroes of Paris, but the research he conducted showed they were ill-trained, undisciplined, and relying on so much luck it was a fucking miracle their city wasn’t a smoking ruin by now.

He sighed, sticking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He regretted not grabbing his gloves in his storm out. He’d been so irritated at his father that even though the man was on the other side of a screen, half-way across an ocean, Damian needed to physically leave to calm his anger. It left him little time to grab essentials for a chilly winter night like a hat, or gloves. He considered himself lucky for remembering to grab a coat at all.

He wandered for a solid hour, the cold sinking into his bones chilling the raging inferno that always seemed to bubble inside him. By the time he no longer wanted to scream at anyone, he was sufficiently lost, considering he hadn’t taken his phone with him either.

Coming to rest on a bridge he took a seat on a small bench. He puffed a warm breath of air into his chilly hands rubbing them together. Nighttime in Paris was so… different compared to Gotham. While big cities never truly slept, this was positively peaceful in comparison to what he was used to. He hadn’t even heard a single sound of ruckus or distress, which seemed strange considering the city was currently besieged by a magical butterfly terrorist.

Damian inwardly scoffed. Butterfly terrorist. True, being a Gothamite meant no room to judge, but he found it hard to think of a stranger string of words.

He sighed; Damian didn’t even know what his father wanted him to do here. Sure, he knew French and was a proficient fighter, but what could that even lend to the situation? They needed a detective, and, as much as he hated to admit it, Drake would have been the better option in that department. Unfortunately, he was off-world. Grayson was dealing with a problem in Hong Kong with Cass. Brown was paired with the rest of the Sirens taking care of Gotham along with Batman, and Todd…

Well, even he recognized what an awful choice Todd would be against a villain who literally used strong negative emotions as his weapon of choice. Damian had a temper; Todd was a ticking-time-bomb.

A high-pitched screech cut through the night air, before being noticeably muffled. Damian was on his feet and running before he even mentally acknowledged it. The thud of his boots on the cobblestone bridge sent small shocks through his legs. Another large clatter directed him off to a side street a couple of feet away. Three men had cornered a tiny slip of a woman, who held her purse like a weapon.

Damian saw red. “Hey, why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” he yelled in French. There was one benefit to being in a foreign city, Damian did not have to play the part of a clueless rich kid who couldn’t hold his own in a fight.

The brutes turned to him and grinned mean smiles. One guy stepped forward. “Come on man, we’re just having a little fun. You can join if you-” Damian cut off the disgusting words with a jab to the nose. Then he spun around, sweeping the second guy’s feet from underneath him, hitting him with a punch to the face to knock him out cold. The first guy hadn’t lost consciousness, but he was doubled over which allowed Damian to knee him in the stomach. Another punch to the face and he was out cold too.

He turned to finish off the last guy, only to see the woman roundhouse kicking him to the head. The burly man fell with a thud. The alley turned eerily silent, the only sounds coming from the sharp breaths of both Damian and the girl. His pulse fluttered fast; the heat of the battle warmed his chilled limbs.

A red purse laid on the ground near his feet. Picking it up he walked over to the small woman, no teen she looked about his age, who was still sharply breathing.

“Here, this is-” a blur is all he saw before a sharp pain spread across his nose.

Did she-

Did she just punch him in the face?

The shock of it sent him sprawling onto the ground, and he blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. Damian cradled his throbbing nose, anger bubbled once more under his skin before-

*Zing*  

The connection hit him like a train. A deep well of rightness spreading through him. He looked up through bleary eyes to find the woman staring at him in similar shock.

“You’re my soulmate,” they sputtered at each other.

Damian inwardly groaned. The League made initiates kill their soulmate should they ever find them to prove their loyalty. He grew up never wanting to find his soulmate, knowing they would serve as nothing but a distraction and weakness. Even when he joined his father, the idea seemed an unneeded liability. Sure, his brothers found their soulmates within the superhero community, but what were the chances he would too?

A small whimper escaped the mouth of the guy lying unconscious on the ground, knocked out by the woman the universe thought would be the perfect match for him. Damian tilted his head. She might not be a superhero, but maybe the universe knew him better than he first imagined.

“OhmygoshIamsosorry!” the flood of words spilled from his soulmate’s mouth, her face a deep shade of red. “I was just-”

“Acting on instinct and adrenaline? Appropriate, considering the threat you just faced,” he said without anger. “Your right hook is sufficiently adequate.”

“Um… thanks? Are you alright though?” She extended a hand to help him off the ground. He took it, his larger hand enveloped hers, but she showed a surprising amount of strength as she pulled him up. The contact sent another *zing* through his body, smaller and more subdued though. Damian found himself reluctant to let go.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He suffered worse in training before. With the initial pain dissipated, all that was left was a dull throbbing that would be gone by morning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a bright smile. He took the chance to finally observe his soulmate. She was small, couldn’t be more than 5’2, which meant at 6’1 he towered over her. She was of mixed descent, with dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and bright blue eyes. Her arms and legs were toned with muscle, and she held herself with grace and confidence. She wore a face of tasteful makeup and was clothed in a short red dress and a pair of strappy heels with no jacket in sight. He had no clue how she wasn’t freezing to death.

Her smile dimmed a bit. “Actually, no, I’ve had better days. Today has kinda been a perfect disaster; first I’m late for school, then I forgot my homework, and my class bully decided it was a pick-on-Marinette day. There’s a three-hour Akuma fight, involving mind-control, which is always a total drag. I finally get home to find my parents worried sick about me because I hadn’t answered my phone which got destroyed at the beginning of the fight. I go to my class’s senior Valentine’s day dance hoping to finally confess to the guy I’ve had a crush on for years, only to get humiliated because he already has a girlfriend, and everyone else in my class knew and decided not to tell me. When I get away not to cause a scene, not only do I forget my jacket, but I also get attacked by three bumbling idiots with more mouths than brains.” She chuckled, hollow and verging on manic.

Damian stood there, unsure how to take all of that. He filed away the fact she was being bullied, and that she commonly dealt with Akuma attacks. Both equally important, as far as he was concerned.

“Now, here I am, standing in front of my gorgeous soulmate I punched in the face, after beating up said earlier idiots, rambling my mouth off because I don’t know the meaning of the word chill. Yep! I’ve certainly had better days. Ohmygoshimatotalmesskillmenow.” She muttered the last part into her hands, but Damian understood her all the same.

He would come back to the gorgeous thing later.

“…Do you want my jacket? You look cold.” It wasn’t the smoothest thing he could have said, nor the most appropriate considering the mess of a day she’d had. However, the manners Alfred drilled into his brain came knocking and if he was cold with a turtle-neck long-sleeved shirt and a jacket, she must be freezing in all that… nothingness. He averted his eyes from her exposed skin, looking at her face instead.

His soulmate looked at him for a long moment, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“You know what, yeah, a jacket would be nice,” she said in a tired voice. Damian shed his coat quickly, not minding the sharp sting of cold that hit him. He helped his soulmate into the sleeves and took an odd little pleasure in seeing how tiny she looked in the folds of his jacket.  

“I’m Marinette, by the way, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She wrapped the jacket closer cuddling into the heat. “Sorry for kinda freaking out on you there.”

“The kind of day you’ve had has surely broken lesser mortals. Any coping method is your due. I’m Damian, Damian Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you Marinette.” He smiles, although the gesture feels odd, trying to appear non-threatening. While his soulmate (and maybe he was coming around to this faster than he thought possible) was obviously skilled at dealing with a variety of stressors, he didn’t want to add any more and risk her being akumatized.

“You as well Damian.” She shivered despite the added protection of his coat, as a gust of wind swept through the alleyway. “As much fun as this conversation has been, it might be best for us to get out of the cold.”

“Indeed. What will we do with these inconveniences?” he asked, poking one of the guys with the tip of his boot.

She sighed, picking her purse from the ground where he’d dropped it. “We’ll call the police to come pick them up. They’ll be cold, but fine.”

Damian scowled, “It’s better than they deserve.” He sneered at the guy who offered for Damian to join them. Join them in assaulting this tiny, bright girl, who’d been through enough. His soulmate. The bubbling rage began anew, and he wished he’d done more than just knock them unconscious, they deserved far worse for thinking, daring, to touch-

A small hand rested on his arm, dragging him out of his violent thoughts. “I’m fine Damian. Even if you hadn’t arrived, I would have been fine. I can hold my own in a fight. This is Paris after all.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “Fine. We’ll leave them to their fates.” And if their fates happened to involve complete ruination of their online lives, credit scores, and secure information? Well, that was hardly his fault, now was it?

“There’s a good café opened late around the corner. Would you- would you like to go there?” Marinette asked.

Damian smiled at the tentative offer. “I would very much enjoy that, yes. I’ve been out for longer than I should, coffee would be great right about now.” She giggled and he felt his stomach flutter. Funny, giggling always annoyed him, but that bright clear sound... he could grow used to that.

Walking out of the dark alley, listening to Marinette talk to the police on her phone, Damian sighed. The streets no longer felt too clean, or the lights too bright. Yes, he was colder, and yes this was a complication, but for some reason, Damian could not bring himself to care.

Maybe Paris wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Hii! Could u maybe do a 12 & 13 from fluff prompts with Bucky?

Also congratulations on the milestone! 🤍

Just say yes

A/N: Beware of the fluff attack and Bucky being an absolute puppy dog!

Not my gif! Credits to the owner.

Prompts - Dancing in the kitchen & Proposal gone wrong. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Warnings: Fluff town, a curse word or two.

Word count: 1500ish

Requests & Challenges

Bucky Barnes Taglist - @marvelgirl7 @mycosmicparadise @feetoffthetablee

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @littlegasps @little-baby-vixen @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @fyreball66 @asmigurub @avantgardium-leviosa @imerdwarf @gladiosamicitias @fanofalltheficsx @ladyburberry

Tags are open! Send me an ask or DM if you wish to be included in any of these lists ;))

.

As the saying goes, ‘everything that can go wrong, will go wrong’ Bucky found it applicable to his current situation now more than ever.

He had been planning the perfect evening while you were away on a small mission with Sam and were expected to be home in less than an hour. He’d ordered your favourite pizza, kept that special bottle of wine you’d been saving on the table with two glasses, even texted every single person in the team to not disturb once you were home. 

Bucky wanted you all to himself tonight. That and the fact that he was planning to propose. 

You arrived fifteen minutes later looking tattered and exhausted. Bucky frowned, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel as he heard the front door slam shut, concerned when he didn’t hear your usually chirpy voice, he walked out to greet you. 

“Welcome home sweetheart, how was th—”

He stopped mid-sentence after getting a good look at your state, hair in disarray, minor cuts decorating your forehead and chin. It wasn’t the first but today was supposed to be an easy one. 

“Oh you look terrible.” 

“Thanks I feel terrible.” 

Bucky chuckled, pulling you into a hug before pressing a kiss on your temple, immediately feeling your body sink into his. 

“What went wrong? I thought the mission was fairly—” 

“Yeah except it wasn’t. I’m going to take a bath okay.” 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” 

Sighing, you gently pushed him away to get to the bathroom, peeling off the unitard as you went,  exhaustion making you forget he was waiting for a kiss, but he understood.

“Alright, don’t be too long though. I made you dinner, and I can guarantee it’s edible this time.” 

“I’m sorry babe but I’m not really hungry. All I want is sleep.” 

You mumbled, your voice laden with sleep as you reached for the door, missing Bucky’s dejected face that he quickly recovered from, not wanting you to worry. 

“How about I get you a glass of wine and patch you up?” He offered.

“Yep.”

.

You practically crawled into bed after you bathed, falling asleep instantly. Bucky climbed in shortly after, racking his brain for yet another attempt of proposing as he draped his arm across your waist, gazing at your sleeping form for a while before kissing your forehead. 

. 

A lingering aroma of fresh bacon and eggs woke you up the next day. Peeking through a half open eye, you saw Bucky holding a tray of food in his hands and your favourite flower between his teeth.

“God bless you Bucky Barnes!” You exclaimed, sitting up against the headboard with the biggest smile on your face, making grabby hands at the food as your stomach growled. 

He placed the tray in your lap and tucked the flower behind your ear, whispering ‘good morning’ before leaning in for a kiss which you happily returned.

Bucky had already cleared your schedule for the day, made sure that no one bothered you today, he was determined to not let you out of the house before getting that ring on your finger. 

You took turns eating yourself and feeding your super caring boyfriend who had gone through all this trouble for you, not really saying much but rather enjoying the silence you shared. 

“Hey I got us a table at that Italian restaurant that you love for dinner.” Bucky announced matter-of-factly, hiding his nervous self under the facade of a casual dinner date. 

“I’ll have to check with Agent Hill if there’s some updates after last night’s blow-up but I’m sure th—” 

“Oh that won’t be necessary.” 

“It won’t?” You eyed the man who kept his gaze on the piece of fruit he was toying with in the plate.

“Y-yeah I cleared your schedule for the day.” 

“Really?”

“Yes. I want you all to myself.” Bucky’s soft smile warmed your heart as did his honesty, making you lean forward and place a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“So it’s a date Barnes.”

“It’s a date.”

.

Bucky went over his plan once more after deciding to drop the idea of proposing in a public place, he figured he would take you out for a nice meal first, get home, maybe open a nice bottle of wine with some cake and do it then. 

He still had some issues when people disturbed your peace while out at a public place or a social gathering. People would stare, ask for pictures with his vibranium arm or just generally give him the look making him utterly uncomfortable. He decided he couldn’t afford that tonight, everything had to be perfect. He even decided to take the efforts of making you a chocolate cake from scratch. 

Evening rolled by and the kitchen counter was a mess of broken eggshells, a thousand mixing bowls and spoons, the floor covered in sugar and cocoa powder while Bucky wiped the sweat off his forehead and finally got the batter in the oven. 

Looking around, he knew it would eventually have to be professionally cleaned or it would be sleeping on the couch for a week. Somehow he had to evade you from entering the kitchen until he popped the question. 

The super soldier double checked the ring box in his back pocket and set the timer, getting to make the ganache for the cake. 

“Bucky! Get in here right now!” You yelled from the bathroom, voice sounding downright pissed off. 

“Ah fuck what now.” 

Muttering under his breath, he ran, only to find your fully clothed self drenched as the water sprayed everywhere from the broken shower. 

“Oh God, are you alright?”

“Besides being fucking soaked and ruining my new dress & make-up? Oh just fabulous!” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest and stepping away to let him in the mini pool.

You stood next to him shivering while he tried his best to fix it, his vibranium arm doing the trick as he closed the tap, now completely soaked the same as you. 

A tiny box fallen on the wet floor caught your attention and you bent to pick it up, gasping when you opened it to find the most beautiful diamond ring sitting inside the cushioned box. 

It felt more and more real the longer you stared at it, unable to form words, glancing at the man you loved and who, by some miracle loved you back & enough to take this next big step. 

“Bucky…” 

“Hmm?” He wasn’t paying attention.

“What uh..when did you—please look at me.” You croaked, holding the tiny box up in your palm.

Bucky’s eyes turned wide before his hand automatically went for the back pocket of his jeans from where the ring must’ve fallen.

“Fucking hell.”

“What? I hope this isn’t for someone else.” You chuckled at your terrible attempts of a joke, tears already gathering in your eyes while Bucky scratched the back of his neck nervously. 

“Okay I’m gonna do this now. Wait fuck, let me get you a towel first, you’re shivering.”

He hurried to wrap you in a fluffy towel, walked you out and sat you on the bed before knelt down on both knees and cleared his throat.

“Here we go. None of the amazing things that have happened in my life in the past few years would’ve happened, if it weren’t for you. You have been one of the most integral parts of my journey towards healing and by no means is it over, but I know I can’t go ahead without you. You’ve loved me through my worst and by some miracle continue to do so even today.” He chuckled, tears gathering in his eyes while you were down right sobbing at this point.

“I mean it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, I had a whole thing planned and now the kitchen’s a big mess and we have a pool in the bathroom. But again when has anything worked perfectly for us right?”

You giggled through tears, nodding as your mind automatically played all those memories, first date, first kiss, the first ‘i love you’s, everything. It wasn’t the smoothest ride with Bucky but it was the best and you wouldn’t have it any other ways. 

“So Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N), would you be interested in spending the rest of your life with a semi-stable hundred year old man?” 

Wiping your tears, you knelt in front of the man yourself as fresh tears appeared, cupped Bucky’s face in your hands and kissed him with all the love you had in you.

“What do you say?” He mumbled, never breaking the kiss as he stood up with you and walked you over to the bed.

“What do you want me to say? I already found the ring.” You giggled, flopping on the bed and peeling your clothes off, dinner reservations  long forgotten. 

“Just say yes.”

“Yes.” Saying it out loud made you believe it actually happened, as Bucky climbed between your parted legs.

“Say it again.”

“Yes!” 

.

Two hours later when you were finally ready to leave the bedroom, you found yourself in the kitchen in Bucky’s arms, swaying to some 40s ballads that he put on, the floor was a complete mess but neither of you cared. The cake he’d prepared was mostly burnt - thankfully he ran to turn the oven off right before giving you your second orgasm of the night. 

But you wouldn’t trade this moment, this day or this man for anything. 

[hockeywhy]

lights out (1); t. konecny

PART 2 WARNINGS: language, smut. WORD COUNT: 5.7k

You [attachment: photo taken in what appears to be a dimly lit room. The image is taken from the nose down, mouth slightly open and evidently smiling, two fingers pushed down against your tongue. A white shirt hangs off your shoulders around your elbows, revealing a cage bra, the straps and lining black and the orange lace of the cup sheer.]

You bet you wish you were here now

You released a small sigh, sliding down the headboard of your bed until you felt the plush pillows behind your head again. For a while, you stared blankly upwards at your ceiling, your phone held loosely in one hand while the other rested against your stomach, fingers tapping idly against the exposed skin. 

It had only been around a month since you allowed your friendship with Troy to develop into something a little more than that, but less than a relationship should be. You have known him almost for as long as you could remember, going way back to the days when the two of you would be made to stand side-by-side for photographs while your families cooed over how adorable you looked. Had anyone told you that years down the line you and Troy would be exchanging messages meant for each other’s eyes only, you would’ve laughed at them, spun on your heel and walked away. He never once struck you as someone you would even consider dating, much less send semi-naked photos of yourself to for the simple fact that Troy was a friend and nothing else. Not once did you even bother sparing a thought to the possibility of liking him beyond that but, well, coming to think of it, you still didn’t. And you were pretty sure he thought the same but occasionally, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Measures which just simply happened to coincide with word floating about Travis possibly keeping a relationship away from public eyes. 

Your brother being traded to the Philadelphia Flyers coincided with your own college admission in the city roughly three years ago and you’d guess it was almost just as long since you started carrying a torch for Travis. If spectators got to see him as a dynamic, feisty, valuable for the team yet annoying for others sort of player, you got to know him as a laidback, funny, endearing and…well, occasionally annoying guy though apparently, only towards you. As if drawn to him by some invisible force, you found yourself in his vicinity often enough and it seemed that Travis welcomed it as an opportunity to tease you one way or another. You gave as good as you got though, and admittedly, that also helped you keep your feelings in check a little. Or at least, enough to never give even the smallest of hints to those around you that you might have a thing for Travis. Tolerate him, sure. Hold a genuine conversation by resisting the temptation to push each other’s buttons, no way. If, behind closed doors in the privacy of your own room, you wondered what it’d be like to have him next to you and occasionally, allowed that idea to take on an entirely different meaning while sliding a hand between your legs, then that was for you to know only. 

When you caught wind of the rumor that Travis may have finally, finally found someone at last, it was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water, cubes and all, on you. Of course, there wasn’t anything more to whatever weird back-and-forth the two of you had going. After all, the two of you were fully grown adults not five-year olds who pushed each other around in the playground by way of saying hey dummy, I like you. Part of you expected that to come at some point. Travis was handsome, young and successful, and you were witness to numerous instances in which he was approached by girls who wouldn’t hesitate to press their numbers scribbled on napkins or small pieces of paper in his hand. It was only a matter of time until one of them caught his eye and it was painfully obvious that person wouldn’t be you. There wouldn’t be a chance, anyway. Too weird with your older brother on the team, probably. And besides, you couldn’t see yourself as being his type. Regardless of how often you tried making a conscious effort of not comparing yourself to others, nagging thoughts starting with I wish I had or I wish I was or Maybe I should too still crept up on you now and then. Sure, you were plenty confident in yourself: personality, looks, individuality, but you could see little of yourself in the girls who Travis let his eyes linger on a moment longer than maybe necessary before pocketing their number. 

Troy was, for the lack of better word, convenient and not that awful of a distraction from Travis. Initially, you wanted to feel bad for thinking of him as such, but it quickly became clear to you that what Troy wanted was nothing more than someone he could count on for some release every now and then. So, really, you carried your fair share of convenience also. 

You casually dated since starting college, but you couldn’t bring yourself to trust anyone as much as you trusted Troy to get to the level where you’d exchange nudes. Perhaps it had something to do with the two of you being friends for so long, but you also knew that if you ever wanted to call it quits with Troy, you’d be able to go back to how you were before. Simple as that. No way would he ever reveal anything you sent him to anyone. Troy proved his honesty and ability to keep to his word on several occasions, and that was more than enough for you.

Your phone vibrated and you blinked rapidly several times, pulling yourself away from your thoughts. Lifting the device above your face, you unlocked it and pressed the message notification, focus zeroing in on the response.

Travis is this your way of getting me to agree with you and say that this party really is boring?

A quiet giggle left your mouth but in the next second, you would swear you actually heard your breathing being cut short. You scrambled up on the bed and in your haste, almost dropped the device on the floor. As if someone had suddenly intruded, you pulled the shirt up on your shoulders and gripped the material tightly around you, bunching it up in your free hand to hide your torso. The seconds during which that happened, you could swear you read wrong or were imagining things. Surely…surely you just didn’t click into the wrong messaging thread, right? Right. That’d have to be it. You breathed in, then out. In, then out once more and looked at your phone again. As you did, it vibrated again, indicating a new message.

Travis if that’s the case, it’s working

It couldn’t be. You weren’t that careless. You always made an even greater effort of double checking the contact you clicked into whenever you messaged Troy, except… Except you were a little distracted this time around. Distracted and somewhat excited, truth be told. It’d been a while since the two of you have had the opportunity to get together and during this time, your conversations were of the ordinary sort: general comments about campus gossip, heated agreements about surely written exams were an outdated method of testing. 

Your hands visibly trembled and you tried to steady yourself by inhaling deeply before daring to scroll just a little further up on the screen. There wasn’t any real need for that though: your photo was in clear view, not in the message thread you had with Troy but the message thread you had with Travis. Because he was the last person you messaged. Because he was the one who asked if you’d also be joining them for a get-together your brother organised at a venue often frequented by the team. Because maybe all you saw were the first two letters of the name and decided that was about as far as your concentration could manage before sending the photo. In hopes of getting a different type of attention from Troy at the time, you messaged Travis back to say that unfortunately, they ‘won’t benefit from my wonderful presence tonight, much as I know that’ll make things boring but try to find a silver lining if you can’. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily as if that’d help erase what you’d done. 

What you saw behind your eyes, however, wasn’t stars but Travis’ own messages relayed back to you over and over like blinding Times Square ads. You had to blink several times to clear your vision when you opened your eyes again, looking down at your phone to re-read them. As if, again, in your haste you’d done something wrong like misread what he responded with. It was there, though, on your screen – clear as day. You frowned.

You could think of a hundred different ways in which Travis could have responded to that – or even, not bothered with a response and save all the awkwardness for the next time you’d both be under the same roof. You read that back to yourself and it sounded less like what the fuck are you doing and more like now you have my attention. But that couldn’t be it… Had he not paid attention to the display name, hooked in simply by the photo alone? You wouldn’t put it past him. Or anyone else who’d be on the receiving end of photos like that, really. The selfie was suggestive in a way that invited action to try and get a better sneak peek. Maybe Travis hadn’t even checked to see who it was coming from. And besides, what about the rumors of him seeing someone? There couldn’t be smoke without fire, and you lived by that. 

You shit, sorry! wrong person

You do me a favor and forget this happened

Not your smoothest moment, you had to admit but it’s as if your brain had short-circuited. You had to direct most of your attention and effort in trying to not read too deeply into Travis’ response. As if you reeled him in. As if he were willing to allow it to happen and wanted more. It couldn’t be because at no point did he leave anything to the imagination that he might have a thing for you. All the teasing, all the back-and-forth, there was never anything more to it than what was on the surface. Besides, something told you that if there was even the smallest chance of Travis having a thing for you, he would’ve made it fairly clear. He was anything but shy. Definitely not the sort of person to beat around the bush, regardless of whether you were the younger sibling of a teammate or not. Maybe he was just surprised. Yeah, that had to be it. 

When your phone vibrated again, it wasn’t just a short notification for a new message. It vibrated and vibrated until you registered that actually, it was a call.

“Hey,” you answered, voice a little raspy. Your mouth felt dry, throat scratchy.

“You’re asking a lot from me,” came Travis’ response. On his end, you could just barely make out the muffled sound of thudding bass-heavy music. “Who were you going to send that to if not me, doll?” 

The pet name sent a rush of heat all the way down to your belly. Much as you didn’t want to, you knew you’d end up playing that back to yourself for days to come. Regardless of how much you tried to direct your feelings elsewhere, Travis always found a way to weasel back to being at the center of your attention. Or better said, you found a way to put him back there, but it was easier to deal with the idea if you blamed it on him. It was equal parts pitiful and desperate to carry a torch for him for so long, knowing damn well nothing good would come out of it. 

“Just a friend,” you responded, fingers tightening around the material of your shirt. “Travis, please—”

“I’m just a friend, aren’t I?” he interrupted, emphasizing his words in such way that he sounded almost…spiteful. “You still wearing that?” he added, a little lighter this time around.

“Travis.” His name fell from your mouth the way a plea would: whispered, urgent, tight. 

“Only a simple question, Y/N, all you’ve gotta do is answer it.” You were ready to respond, but Travis added, “and then I’ll forget about it.”

You glared at the wall across from you. “Sounds a hell of a lot like blackmail to me,” you said without heat because suddenly, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Saying yes, you were still wearing that. Yes, you still looked exactly as your photo indicated you did, all delicate lace and glossy lips. Minimal effort from your part that always seemed to do the trick for boys like Troy. For boys in general because most were easy to hook in like that. “Yes,” you finally admitted, and you were surprised by how confident your voice sounded. 

In your ear, Travis hummed thoughtfully. “Is it a matching set?”

You can’t help the small, breathless laugh that slipped from your mouth. It doesn’t take away from the fact that your hands were shaking, but it releases some tension from your shoulders. It was all it took for you to realize you wanted to cling to this, if even for just a few more minutes. “The second photo would’ve been the one to answer that.” 

A small pause followed during which you could hear the bounce of what sounded to be wood against wood and then, the unmistakable fiddling of a metal latch catching. “Tell me about it instead. If you want.” 

You wanted. You wanted so much that for a moment, his request made your breath hitch. Pressing your lips together into a tight line, you cast a glance towards your reflection caught in a tall mirror resting just opposite your bed. Unconsciously, you loosened your grip on the shirt and you shrugged the material off your shoulders again, tentatively as if you were being watched while doing so. The dim yellow lamp at the side cast a warm glow across the entire room which seemed to amplify the entire picture: you in the middle of your bed, legs bent at the knees and slightly spread to reveal a little of the thin lace material of your panties that left little to the imagination. You swallowed quietly, falling back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. There’d be no going back from this, you knew that, and you knew Travis was well aware of it also. But you could see his face behind your eyes, could easily recall the intensity of your feelings towards him and you heard the pet name he used just moments ago bouncing around in your mind incessantly. It didn’t just make heat crawl along the expanse of your skin. It made you actually throb for him.

“It’s not the usual red lace or black silk, but I could help myself when I saw it,” you admitted quietly, no lie in your words whatsoever. “It’s more memorable. More unique. Kind of reminded me of your alternative jersey, coming to think of it.” 

On the other end, Travis sighed a long, low sigh. “You thought about it when you saw it?” 

I thought of you, you think, but what you said instead was, “orange and black is a surprisingly good combination. That, and it was also one of the simpler sets. Made for taking off quickly, no hassle.” You could swear you could hear the pounding of your heart in your own ears. “Doesn’t need to all come off, though. I’m a panty pulled to the side sort of person if we’re short on time.” You swallow quietly, pulling in your lips a little to run your tongue across them. “Are we?” you asked quietly.

“A little,” Travis responded after a short moment of silence. His voice sounded a little weak; worn. “Panty pulled to the side sort of person, huh? Wouldn’t have pinned that on you.” 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Travis. Don’t tell me you didn’t at least think about that before,” you encouraged, thighs pressing together. “Wanting someone so much, so desperately that there’s no time to take all clothes off. Push them down on the bed, against a door…wherever it is you are just to get a little taste. I did. I do,” you admitted, turning a little to the side, eyes falling shut, all and any form of shame flying out the window. Might as well enjoy it. “I think about someone seeing me like this, wanting me so badly that that they can’t even bring themselves to take it all off. All it’d take with a little number like this is a pull to the side. It’s fucking sexy. Did you ever think about it?”

You heard him draw in a shaky breath and a moment later, the sound of metal and clothes being fumbled with joined as background noise. You closed your eyes and imagined him in a cubicle, tugging on the buckle of his belt, pulling on the zipper of his jeans, pressing a palm against his length to add that extra bit of much needed pressure. The idea of him growing hard for you, because of you, in a public place was nothing short of arousing. 

“Often,” came his response, voice gravelly in your ear. “That time you came along for the party at the end of our summer training camp, I thought about taking you away from all those people to a place where it’d be only us two. Thought about it again a couple of weeks ago when we went out to celebrate that win, remember? I thought, what would it look like if I took you in the nearest restroom, locked it and fucked you in front of one of these mirrors? What would you look like with my hand between your legs? How would you feel like?” he questioned and, when you didn’t respond to him immediately, too caught up in the fantasy he was helping build in your mind, demanded, “tell me”. 

Your hand was caught between your thighs, fingers brushing against your panties and there was no denying how wet you were becoming. “’m wet,” you whispered, turning your head slightly more into your pillow while pressing the heel of your hand against your clothed clit, circling it over your panties. “Travis, just… Just thinking about it makes me so wet.” 

Travis hummed a small, satisfied hum and you heard him release a low exhale. “Do me a favor, doll. Bring your hand up to your mouth and wet your fingers. Make them nice and slick, okay? It’s what you were doing in your photo, no? Do it properly this time,” he instructed. 

You withdrew your hand from between your legs with difficulty and once you did, you whined at the loss of contact. But you were weak for the guidance Travis was giving you and you did as you were told. You brought your hand up to your mouth, taking your index and middle fingers in the heat of your mouth and without hesitation, your tongue swirled around them, ensuring they were as wet as you were told they should be. 

All the while, Travis continued speaking in your ear. “Think of my mouth when you touch yourself with them, doll. Think about how willing I’d be to get on my knees for you to get a taste of you. Come on, touch yourself for me,” he encouraged gently. When you removed your fingers from your mouth, you released them with a ‘pop’ sound that had Travis groaning into the phone, the noise sending another rush of heat across your body, goosebumps forming over it. “Panties to the side, doll. Just like you like it, okay?” 

You hummed in agreement and did as you were told. You lifted your top leg just enough for you to be able to push the lace aside and when you dragged your wet fingers between your folds, you shuddered, moan muffled into the pillow. With your eyes closed, it was easy to picture Travis kneeling between your spread legs, tongue flat against your core, dragging upwards and downwards in slow languid strokes. You knew your fingers couldn’t compare but the sound of his heavy breathing into the phone meshing with your own breathless, almost restrained groans helped push your fantasy further. 

“Bet you’d taste so good on my tongue, doll,” Travis whispered just as the tips of your fingers pressed against your clit, causing you to curl forward a little as a small whimper slips from your mouth. He chuckled, although it sounded strained to your ears. “Right there. That’s the spot I’ll circle back to time and time again just to hear you cry out for it. Quietly though. Remember there’s a bunch of people just outside the room. Can’t let ‘em know what we’re doing behind closed doors, okay? Seeing you so worked up, so wet… We’ll need to keep that for my eyes only, yeah?” 

You nodded, belatedly remembering he couldn’t see it so you whispered a “yes” as you circled your clit, adding pressure and removing it the moment stars began dotting your vision. “God, Travis, I wish I could…just want to feel you inside.”

“And you will,” he promised. “I’d want to be inside you too, so of course you will. I’d want to use my tongue first though. Get as much of you in my mouth as possible so that I’ll remember how you taste. You know what to do, doll. Tell me how it feels.”  

You did. Slowly, you guided your hand down to the center of your heat, pushing a finger inside you. You did so with ease yet you still sighed in relief at the warmth surrounding you. “It feels so good, Travis,” you sighed, curling your finger upward tentatively and your breath caught in your throat. “Oh god, it feels so fucking good. All because of you.”

You pushed part of your face into the pillow as you added a second finger, slipping it in with ease as a result of how wet you’d become and with every upward push, you rubbed the heel of your hand against your clit. The sensation, coupled with Travis’ heavy breathing in your ear, was heady. Knowing he was on the other end touching himself to a fantasy the two of you shared, knowing you were in his mind as much as he was in yours while doing that pushed you just that much closer to the edge. 

“Travis, I’m gonna…ah, I’m gonna come,” you muttered, words leaving your mouth in a muffled slur. “Fuck, I’m so close…”

“You’re doing so well, doll. I want to hear you when you do, okay? Don’t hold back. I need to hear you,” he emphasized.

You were nothing if not obedient at the best of times and this, well this was one of the best times you’d ever gone through. All it took was just a few more thrusts of your hand, fingers finding that right spot and pressing against it continuously while your thighs closed around your wrist for extra tightness and finally, finally you called out Travis’ name followed promptly by an unrestrained cry. Your hips bucked unconsciously against your palm, trying to ride out your orgasm as much as you could and when you slowly withdrew from your core, you brought your glistening fingers up to your mouth. You didn’t lick them clean, opting instead to suck on them so that Travis knew exactly what you were doing. He did. You could tell by the way he let a curse slip from his mouth and when you took your hand away from your mouth, you did so with a satisfied hum. 

“Good girl,” he praised, evidently straining. 

Whether it was your heightened sensitivity, his words or a mix of both, the same dull white-hot heat crawled across your already warm skin. You allowed yourself an extra moment to compose yourself before the idea struck you as soon as your limbs ceased feeling like jelly. 

“I want to ride you, Travis,” you declared pushing yourself on your knees. You shrugged out of the shirt entirely, discarding it somewhere on the side of your bed and pulled one of your pillows lower down the mattress. “Imagine that. I’d be so warm for you, still so wet and loose. Bet I could take all of you at once,” you said, pitching your voice to a more playful though undoubtedly teasing tone. You pulled your panties to the side again before lowering yourself down on the side of the pillow, straddling it. “There’d really be no better time than now for you to be inside me properly, baby.”

“Fuck,” he bit out sharply and you heard the unmistakable sound of him spitting into his hand. And well, wasn’t that a thought? 

You chuckled in response. “You’d let me fuck myself on you however I want to, right? I’ll start off slow. You already made me come once, so gotta take it nice and easy,” you told him, rolling your hips gently against the pillow between your legs. Still pretty sensitive, the friction of the cotton made you tremble when you rolled your hips against it, almost losing your balance but you managed to support yourself just in time by pressing your free palm against the headboard. “Ha… I’d feel so good around you, Travis. You know I would. And it’s all thanks to you,” you praised softly, moving your hips back and forth against the pillow. “I swear, I’ll end up thinking of how good you made me feel for days to come. I’ll think of you for nights to come.”

On the other end of the line, Travis groaned. “Only me,” he demanded and there was so much clarity in his tone that for a moment, you thought that was something he meant even outside of the heat of the moment. 

“Only you,” you confirmed and knew there would be no lie in that whatsoever. “Who else do you think would get me to fuck against a fucking pillow, Travis?” A breathless, exhausted laugh left his mouth and you leaned forward, resting your forehead against the cushioned headboard. You could feel yourself approaching that very same edge again with every roll of your hip, every brush of the soft material against your sensitive clit and you had to bite down on your lip to hold back a shaky whimper. “Wish you were here though… I’d prefer you underneath me rather than a pillow. Doubt it appreciates the roll of my hips as much as you would, don’t you think?”

“Fuck, I’d be there in an instant if I could,” he agreed, voice tight. You’d bet anything his jaw was clenched, biting back on the back of his teeth. 

One thing was for certain: occasionally, Travis made his emotions clear so easily, you could even read him over the phone. A part of you was focused on the way you ground your hips down against the pillow though you paid as close attention to the noises Travis was making; he didn’t deprive you of them. It was only as he hissed into the phone that it dawned on you just how unfair it was you couldn’t also see him. Couldn’t even think of the sort of expressions he was making solely because you knew the reality would just be so much better than what your mind could conjure through the haze of the moment. Frustrated, you rocked your hips against the pillow quicker, eyebrows furrowing a little as you whimpered at the friction. It wasn’t enough. It simply wasn’t enough. If anything, it was only adding fuel to a fire you hadn’t even managed to come close to at least dimming, if even a little bit.

“Travis, I’m close—fuck, I’m so—”

“I know, doll. Fuck, I know,” he said shakily and your name fell from his mouth gruffly, accompanied by a rough, drawn out moan that you knew would haunt you for as long as possible. 

You fell forward against the headboard, blinking slowly as you stared down at the disheveled sheets. Vaguely, you could make out a small voice at the back of your head chastising you for needing to replace them even if you’d just changed them earlier in the day. And then, clearly, a louder, more rational voice suddenly snapped you to attention as the magnitude of your actions came at you like a bullet speed train with no breaks to hold it back. You swallowed quietly, heart hammering against the cage of your ribs. The feeling of frustration cleared the heavy post-orgasm fog fairly quickly and you wanted to yell. To scream and wish there was a way to turn back time. 

This wasn’t how your evening was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be straddling a pillow, half naked with Travis’ heavy breathing in your ear after he guided you through two orgasms. Whatever it was you felt for him should’ve remained locked off in a box at the back of your mind, guarded by the loudest warnings possible so you knew never to touch. And yet here you were, past the blaring sirens, flashing neon lights and spray painted ‘STAND BACK!’ warnings and into a corner of your mind that now had Travis’ moans and the way he spoke your name recorded second by second. 

“Fuck,” you whispered quietly, lips pressed against your forearm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Y/N, listen to me—”

“No. What the fuck? Travis, what the fuck did we—did I do?” In a flash, you scrambled off the bed but found you didn’t even know what to get started on. Ripping off the bedsheets? Reaching for the discarded shirt to cover yourself with as if that’d undone what was said and done? “Travis, you promised,” you said suddenly, vaguely recalling his words from earlier. “You said you’ll forget about it.”

On the other end of the line, you could just barely make out the sound of a roll of tissues being spun and then, a few seconds later, water being flushed. “You’re freaking out on me and you need to take a deep breath, okay?” Travis instructed.

You shook your head, to hell with whether he could see that or not. “No, no, you don’t understand—Travis, this shouldn’t have—It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Listen. Listen, Y/N,” he insisted more loudly when you were about to interrupt him. “And I will, okay? If it makes you feel better I can just… I’ll forget about it, okay? It didn’t happen if that’s what you want from me.” 

“Okay,” you said, tone neutral. You ceased your pacing but didn’t stop from casting a glare towards your bed as if it was the very thing that pushed you to do what you’d done. “Okay. That’s—yeah. Yeah, let’s forget about it,” you concluded tightly, vehemently trying to deny to yourself that the head you felt behind your eyes wasn’t the telltale sign of approaching tears and rather it was…shame. “Thanks. Uh. Look, Travis, I have to go. I have to… I have something to do.” He didn’t respond for so long that you thought the call had ended. You had to take the phone away from your ear to check the seconds were still ticking upwards and when you noticed they were, you frowned. “Travis?”

“What are your plans?” he questioned, tone neutral. 

Nothing aside from stripping my bed bare again and then taking a long, cold shower in hopes of not thinking about how you sounded like moaning in my ear, you thought. What you said instead was, “just”.

More silence. Again, you had to double check the call didn’t cut. “You meeting that friend of yours?” 

“Which one?” you asked, genuinely confused and then it dawned on you: Troy. The guy who should’ve been in Travis’ position instead. “Oh. Uh. Maybe…maybe not. It’s pretty late, so…”

“Okay. Good. Yeah, good thinking. Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe don’t send photos like that next time. To anyone. Just in case the wrong person gets them again,” he suggested and there was a certain sharpness to his tone you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It wasn’t a demand, but it sure sounded like it cocooned in a half-hearted excuse. “Can’t be too careful these days.” 

You swallowed, teeth clenching. Without thinking of it, you blinked rapidly several times and yeah, there they were. Those tears that’d threatened you only moments ago. You wished you could pour a bucket of ice over your feelings for Travis and wipe your hands clean of them instead of trying to distract yourself from them instead of searching for a convenient fuck and in turn, becoming a convenient fuck.

“I’ll pay closer attention next time, then,” you said by way of goodbye and ended the call before he could get another word in. 

Across from you, a framed photo of just you and Travis taken during the previous summer vacation was staring up at you. His arm was thrown around your shoulders, trying to reel you in just a little closer despite the look of disgust on your face while he held up a fish by its hook in his other hand, head thrown back with laughter at your reaction. In two short strides, you lowered it face down on the dresser before rushing into the adjoining bathroom. 

Regardless of how well you scrubbed your skin clean of all evidence to what you’d done, there was no soap and water that could wash away Travis’ praise and pet names. Certainly nothing that could remove the memory of how your name rolled off his tongue while at the height of his pleasure.

[fandom-monium]

For the Holidays - Part 4

Summary: In which Spencer doesn’t want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “You know, I don’t remember you being able to run this fast back at the academy.”

WC: 2.4k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), fluff, defensive Spencer, more angst but not from unnecessary trauma, more emotional-support Reader, reunion arc, song fic, emotional/physical intimacy (to the max)

Don't think we fit in at this party Everyone's got so much to say, oh yeah, yeah When we walked in, I said I'm sorry, mmm But now I think that we should stay

Not a lot of things shake Spencer. It’s a very short list; his knowledge is expansive, he reads studies and scientific journals for fun, knows the most random statistics and facts just for the slightest possibility of it being useful. There're the rare occasions where unsubs catch him off guard, but at this point he's hardly phased. Nothing surprises him. 

Although, this⎼this has made it to the top of that list.

“You’re sorry?” Spencer repeats, not sure if he heard correctly. His body cements in place and he holds his breath, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for one of them to jump him, for someone to say, ‘LOL jk’ like Garcia does when he doesn’t get the joke.

Because he doesn’t like this joke. It wasn’t funny back then, it’s not funny now.

But they don’t. Seconds pass and his tormentors, like him, are just as frozen, just as breathless, just waiting for his reaction.

They’re serious?

Spencer’s lips curl as his nose wrinkles. “You’re sorry? You think saying sorry is going to make up for everything?”

“God no, of course not. But over time, we’ve come to realize,” Alexa’s voice trembles, like she’s holding back tears. She exchanges glances with Harper and the football team before taking a tentative step towards him. “You deserve a real apology at least.”

Spencer recoils, the words jostling his brain. Alexa, Harper, and the few members of the football team all nod in agreement, as if they discussed this beforehand.

She adds, “We don’t expect you to forgive us now or ever. But we hope to try and⎼”

She’s preaching, something about regret and forgiveness and bridging gaps, but Spencer barely registers her voice⎼the words drowned out by the thrumming Christmas music. It becomes more garbled and muffled. Like he’s under water and he’s sinking. 

He struggles to catch his breath. His brain reels until the only thing he can focus on is…

Anger. Familiar and hot and so loud that it rings in his ears. Against the storm, it’s a buoy in a rumbling ocean, the clearest, safest, most tangible thing he finds as he’s caught in the undertow. 

Just like that he breaks the water’s surface. 

And he latches on.

“You’re not sorry,” Spencer lets out a dry chuckle. Alexa and Harper open their mouths to protest but he continues, “You want to know how I know this? Because I have several degrees, one of them being in psychology.” 

They shake their heads. “We are⎼”

He cuts them off, his tone rising above Santa Tell Me as it bellows overhead. “No, you're not. You don’t feel remorse. You don’t blame yourselves. You feel guilty, and your attempt at apologizing for what you did tells me that you can’t live with that guilt. That’s why you’re apologizing. You want a clear conscience. You want me to⎼to just act like what you did was okay, to act like nothing happened. But it did and I⎼” Spencer’s vision blurs and his eyes burn. He squeezes them shut. 

He will not cry. He will not cry. He’s wasted enough tears on these people.

Spencer meets their gaze, and he knows they have to strain their ears when he rasps, “⎼It wasn't okay.”

“Reid,” Harper’s calls, her voice wobbling. For a second he sees it; Alexa, Harper, the football team backing them up as gold and white spotlights roam over them. Their eyes glisten with worry, and he sees the pain, the honesty, all the signs of truth and genuine regret with a profiler’s accuracy.

A small part of him hopes maybe they are. Maybe they do regret it the pain they caused him. 

The concept is jarring. And Spencer doesn’t have the capacity to process it. Not now.

So he turns away, clearing his throat. “Excuse me.” Without thinking, he slips his hand out of yours, startling you, and pushes through the throng of people.

“Um,” You hesitate as your gaze switches between watching Spencer and his (ex?) bullies. Then his back disappears in the crowd and you start after him, “I’ll be right back?”

Not the smoothest exit, but it’ll have to do.

You quickly weave between party-goers, rushing towards the exit. By the time you burst through the doors, Spencer is gone.

You’ve lost him.

⎼

Okay, you didn’t lose him.

You’re not even surprised, catching your breath at the gaping doors. Light spills from the hall, casting a long shadow as you scan the room, your footfalls muffled by the old carpet. It takes a little browsing until you realize you’re in the fiction area.

You find Spencer in the deepest corner of the library. He sits on the floor, slumped against the shelves of the classic literature section. You bite back a smile; his legs are too long for the small aisle between the bookcases, so his knees are bent and his hands rest in his lap. 

He barely notices as you carefully pad over to him. “Hey.”  

“Hey,” Spencer mumbles, staring vacantly at the rows of worn books. They’re dusty, mostly 3rd and 4th editions. He’s fairly certain they’re the same ones he read when he attended⎼damn, the American education system is underfunded⎼and despite the comforting presence of you and his old friends, he can’t bring himself to look at you, ashamed of his outburst. 

“You know, I don’t remember you being able to run this fast back at the academy,” You let out an exaggerated wheeze, an attempt to lighten his mood.  

It sort of works. Spencer huffs out a laugh, but he sobers quickly. “Sorry for running out on you like that.” 

You squeeze yourself into the small gap, mirroring him against the adjacent bookcase, legs tangling with his. “I told you, you have nothing to apologize for.” 

“Maybe but it’s still not fair to you,” Spencer swallows the lump in his throat. He hears you snort and he looks up, seeing the wry smile on your lips. “What?”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you still manage to think of me, even though this whole thing is for you. Reid, if I wasn’t so concerned, I’d feel touched.” 

He flushes, and while it's too dark to see each other clearly, Spencer still ducks his head. 

You smile shyly as you nudge the toe of your shoe against his. A question.

A second later, he nudges you back. An answer.

Satisfied, you don't say another word as you both find comfort in the silence and in the musty scent of used books. If you strain your ears, you can hear Snowman faintly echo down the empty hallways. It's hauntingly peaceful. 

Then Spencer breaks the silence.

It starts with a sniff and you shrug it off. Probably dust, allergies. But there's another and another until all you hear is his breathes, unsteady and wet and⎼fuck.

Spencer is crying.

He bites his lip as he clasps his hands tightly in his lap, trying to pull himself together. Scrape together whatever semblance of pride he’s got left. He's been humiliated enough today; he doesn't need to fall apart in front of you too.

Tears well in his eyes. A whimper escapes him, and because you’re alone⎼no music, no loud guests to cover him⎼you feel the brunt of it, rattling your bones.

Your willpower snaps.

Touch is a powerful thing. There are people who simply don’t care for it but others, they’re uncomfortable with the intimacy behind the sensation. Many underestimate the tremendous courage it takes to let others into your personal bubble. And for you⎼ 

Touch is... personal. It’s giving a spare key to your place. It’s confessing your sins before you face Death. 

It’s sharing your sweaters with Spencer because he thinks they look cool. It’s cooking and cleaning the failed trials afterwards, standing at the sink and flinging soap bubbles at each other. It’s sharing the blanket when heading home after an exhausting case.

Touch is comfort. So that’s what you give him.

Spencer's breath hitches as you crawl over to him. On your knees, you settle between his legs and he freezes, terrified if he moves you will leave. Or disappear. He’s not sure. But you’re so close that his breath puffs against your chin. He tries to hold them in. It makes him hiccup. 

To his surprise, you pull out a handkerchief. 

Though his body trembles, he doesn’t protest as your hands gently push back his hair. He follows the movement, his head falling back against the bookcase as he watches your dark silhouette hover over him, softly outlined by the streetlight seeping through the windows. He lets you take the tears and the hurt, dabbing them away from his tear-stained cheeks. 

Every teardrop is a knife. Every droplet you don’t catch, it's a cut. 

Spencer wonders if he's dreaming. Maybe he tripped and knocked himself out? Or did the football team clock him so hard it put him in a coma? Or maybe he fainted? 

Because if the universe is rewarding him after all the bullshit he's been through, all the work he’s done, he hopes this is it. This is the closest you've ever been⎼you’ve hugged and comforted each other before but this is so much more intimate than any other moment you’ve shared. And given the chance, he knows he would spend the rest of his days like this. His face in your hands as you wipe away the misery and despair.

The thought sends him into a new wave of tears. If you mind, you say nothing.

Spencer shuts his eyes, leaning into every touch, every caress. It’s too dark to see, so he tries to memorize what his eyes can’t. Your hands are cool against his skin and your soap smells good (or maybe that’s just you?). And as much as he appreciates your mindfulness to his germaphobic tendencies, he wishes you'd come closer. To keep touching him. 

But it’s odd, Spencer thinks as you smooth back his hair. You offer no words of encouragement. No words of wisdom. No motivational speech that’ll prompt him to bounce right back. You simply wait, brushing away his tears as he hiccups and sobs.

It just… doesn’t seem real. Attending the reunion like Morgan suggested (and the fact you're kneeling between his legs, but he's trying not to think too hard about it). The idea sounded so simple and terrifying at the same time. He planned to show off⎼peacock, if you will⎼and you even helped him practice. Spencer was prepared to bring them to their knees (okay, not really but he was willing to try). 

And now years later, they decide to apologize?

The audacity.

They didn’t spend years pushing past the pain. They didn’t hope the memories would erode with time. They didn’t have to pretend everything was okay, like nothing happened, like they didn’t do anything wrong. 

So excuse him if a little ‘sorry’ doesn’t make him feel any better.

Is it⎼is he weak for feeling like this? It’s been too long. They shouldn’t have this sort of effect on him.

“I don’t think that matters.” 

Spencer frowns at you. After his tears dry up and his hiccups subside, you settle beside him, your handkerchief, moist with his tears, fisted in his hands now. He tries to ignore the way your shoulders and thighs brush against each other. 

“I-I’m not invalidating you. But I don't think this is about being weak or sensitive. What they did to you… cut you deep and you never got closure and-and you’re still hurting. Even if it’s just a little,” You speak low, gazing at the bookshelves across from you as you stumble for the right words. He sees you angle your head towards him. Feels you shift next to him. “It's been years, but time and space doesn’t make your feelings any less valid. So no, I don't think this is about strength. It was a prank gone wrong, and you were just a kid.”

That’s putting it lightly. Spencer bites his tongue. 

You don’t need to know that.

He folds the handkerchief in his hands as he murmurs, “Easy for you to say.”

He feels you stiffen, and he considers the possibility that he said something wrong. 

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“It’s not bad or anything,” Spencer sits up, hands waving about as he rushes to assure you. “You’re always so composed. Even during the worst cases, you hardly lose it. In terms of stoicism, you’re basically on par with Hotch.”

Spencer cringes, the words out of his mouth before he realizes. 

For a second you don’t respond, but his heart stalls as he practically feels you pull away from him, even though physically you’re still there. You turn away, pulling your knees to your chest.

“Is that what you think of me?” Fuck, you sound betrayed by his assumptions. 

“I⎼well… ” Spencer wrings his hands together. He’s at a loss for words, afraid he’ll say something wrong again. He wishes he had night vision; your body language is closed off, protective, and he knows your expression is pained. 

Oh god, he did that. It hurts knowing he did that.

“Believe it or not, Reid, I’m not exactly the poster child for calm and collected," You unfold as you look back at him, voice laced with vulnerability. "I've got cracks of my own."

"... Eh,” Like you, Spencer attempts to brighten your mood, elbowing you, “I need to conduct an observational study to back that up."

He knows you're smiling as you huff, “Is that your roundabout way of saying I can go to you? When I need a shoulder to cry on?”

I'd literally drop everything if you came to me for no reason but okay.

Spencer shrugs, grinning as you push him so hard he topples over. And as you laugh and shove at each other like teenagers, Spencer concurs. You both have your cracks. You're cracked and chipped and if you take the time to look there's damage in places hidden away from the naked eye.

You're cracked but it makes you all the more perfect. 

AN: 4/5 whoops

yall don’t kink shame me but i’m a slut for emotional and physical intimacy 😳 and not to be toxic but Reids hot when he mad 😳 

what kind of student were/are you in school, middle/high/college? 

i think i got the hang of the angst now im quite proud of my writing here :) i bummed myself out writing these scenes you dont even know

small background with Mysterious!Reader and Reid yes they were in the FBI academy together :)

fun fact: when i was writing part 3 and 4 i had to go back and watch the elephants memory episode after realizing i forgot the names of Reids bullies. i was already halfway done before i noticed i wrote Harry instead of Harper gdm

when i started FtH, i cackled at the idea of Reid confronting his bullies. just seemed funny to me to have him be pissed and ready to shank his enemies with words and just lose that chance bc his bullies are human too and realize their mistake so they want to make up for it lmaooo now here he is angry and he can’t really express it the way he thought he would

(also if you noticed the lines ref to @idmakeitbehave’s fic cracked perfection, just a little thingy bc they inspire me and i love their everything <333) 

[annaktheslightlygay]

The One Where She Closes the Door (pt. 2)

What happens if Beca never worked up the courage to ask Chloe how she felt, in her doorway at 12am. What if Chloe came to her door instead?

Dread filled Beca’s veins. 

“Can we have a conversation?” Chloe said, shutting Beca’s door. 

“My suitemates aren’t home,” Beca said, in response. 

“Okay,” Chloe said with a little laugh. “Is that supposed to be an innuendo?” Beca watched as she went over to the bed. Beca stayed where she was, suddenly feeling like this room wasn’t possibly big enough for the both of them.

“It’s supposed to be a fact.”

“I see.” Chloe heaved herself onto Beca’s bed, settling down on the end with the pillows as she waited for the younger girl to join her. 

“I- sorry,” Beca began. “Let me change.” Chloe had made some comments before on how it was Beca’s room, and how she could change whenever she wanted. Beca always felt like she wanted to run out of the room though, away from Chloe’s prying eyes– not because she felt uncomfortable, but because she knew the older girl would look at her, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. Still, Beca stayed in the room, pulling open the drawer near Chloe’s overhanging feet to grab a t-shirt. 

“That’s a cool font.” 

“Thanks,” said Beca, slowly, showing all of her teeth. Chloe tried not to compliment her, she’d noticed. Mostly just not in public, maybe behind closed doors was a whole different story. Beca gave the other girl a smile, as she pulled the shirt over her head, not bothering to take off the one underneath. 

When Beca had gotten dressed this morning, she hadn’t been thinking of changing in front of Chloe. But Chloe, like she always did, said that she needed help on a class project that she simply couldn’t do by herself. Which like– to be fair– she couldn’t. It’s not like the Bella could film herself; she needed an extra pair of hands, and Beca was happy (okay, willing) to provide. 

“I’m nervous, now,” Beca said as she pulled her hair out of her collar. “What did I do?” 

Chloe simply shrugged. 

“You’re not talking...” Beca said, struggling to get on the bed. Her natural inclination was to sit near her (she loved it when the two of them would touch, just a bit) but something about this conversation felt different. Beca scooted to the end of the bed, moving her body a bit to make sure she wouldn’t fall off the end.

Chloe smiled, and looked away. 

“Is this something I should be nervous for–”

“I’m nervous, Beca,” Chloe interrupted. Beca’s ears perked up with that. Primarily because Chloe called her Beca and something about the way she used her name was so intimate, so real, though Beca had a hard time placing it. And second– because Chloe was nervous. Chloe was never nervous. Okay, she was– and Beca knew her tells (twisting her hair up and down, walking around the room, shaking her leg off the side of the bed, like she was doing now.) But Chloe hardly ever admitted to it. In fact, Beca didn’t think she’d ever heard Chloe admit it aloud. It made Beca sweat. 

Despite her racing heart, Beca kind of knew what was coming. Or rather, she’d hoped the conversation that they were about to have was the one she’d been trying to start for the past week. 

“It’s just me, dude,” Beca said, resisting to place her hand on the other girl’s thigh. “Don’t worry about it,” she reiterated, following her words with what she hoped was an easy smile. She could imitate a calm person when she needed to– she just hoped Chloe didn’t see her wipe her palms on her sheets. 

“I– I think we need to talk,” Chloe started. 

Is that not what we’re doing right now?

“I,” Chloe looked at Beca, who smiled. “I really want to kiss you.” Beca looked down, lips turning into a smile. She could not imitate a chill-and-totally-cool person at that. Still, she looked up at Chloe as she felt her breathing increase. 

Chloe looked at her, eyes flicking down to her lips. 

“Ughhhh,” Chloe let out a groan, falling forward, nearly into Beca’s lap. Beca placed her hand on the other girl’s head, smiling and laughing too. 

God, this was awkward. Somehow, Beca couldn’t bring herself to respond. She just smiled as the other girl sat up. 

“I just... this is really hard. I thought when I became your RA.. there’s just a power dynamic and I... don’t ever want to pressure you...” 

“I don’t really see that. I mean- I know you’re my RA and stuff but when we’re hanging out, I just don’t see that. I don’t really see that until we have to do those awkward meetings with my roommates even though you’ve been over here every night this week...”

“You know I tried to get you out of that.” 

Beca let out a little laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah, tried to schedule it when I knew you had another meeting going on. And yet, you still showed up.” 

Beca laughed shaking her head. She remembered canceling her prior meeting. Any excuse to see you.

“God, I was so nervous to be your RA. I just– I didn’t know how to handle it.” 

I think you were nervous to see me again.

“I don’t think that changes things– for me, at least.”

“I just never want to pressure you, and no offense, but we met when you were a freshman...” 

“I’m technically a junior now, if that makes any difference.” 

Chloe shook her head, smiling.

“It makes me nervous, too. Because between the two of us...” Chloe stopped, trying to word her point without offending the other girl. “I really bring up our average of innocence. Like is that fair to say?”

Beca’s face flushed a bright red. “Yes,” she practically grumbled. It was a bit of a sore subject, she had to admit. It wasn’t her fault no girl actually wanted to date her, so she brought nearly no experience to the table. Is that the dealbreaker?

“I have to admit... when I thought about what I want in a relationship, and what I saw in you...” Beca took a quick glance to her photographs on the wall, wanting to look anywhere but Chloe’s eyes. “Some things did align.” Not everything. Like the fact that you smoke, or that you think stealing is okay, or that you have to have the most attention on you of anyone in a room. But some things - like your passion for music (and for anything really,) your ability to work through your emotions...

“You keep saying the word ‘relationship’.”

Well saying I want to fuck you just seems a little bit crude. 

“I am open to things that aren’t a relationship... I just.. I don’t know what I don’t know, ya know? Like I won’t know if I like things until I try them.”

“But emotionally...”

“I trust you,” Beca bagan. “I... don’t really know what I want to say yet. But just know I have a very positive reaction to this,” Beca said, with an attempt at a shy smile. Meanwhile, her brain was screaming: ‘ARE WE HAVING SEX? DO YOU WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH ME? I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU. I THINK! UNLESS IT’S AWKWARD?’

“I uh, I haven’t been in a relationship since I was 17,” was the only thing Beca could manage to say.

“Yeah, but that’s not that long. Like what– senior year, and then you had a semester here before everything went to shit...” Chloe stopped. “And now we’re here. You know, for all I talk about in high school, I only had seven relationships.” 

Beca deadpanned. 

“But I’ve only had two in college. Unless you count that Bernie Sanders girl,” Chloe added.

That was the girl you stopped seeing right after you met me. (Beca didn’t want to read into things.)

“Plus, global pandemic,” Beca added. Chloe gave her a nod. 

“Plus that.”

“I... I also don’t want to take that away from you, though. Like... they,” Chloe gestured to Beca’s wall, indicating her would be suitemates, “can’t know.” Would this be an awkward time to say that when I was mad at you/ the universe at the beginning of the semester that I told them you were my ex or no? Because I did? But I’m *pretty* sure they don’t care. 

Beca chuckled nervously. 

“I don’t want to take away you not being able to talk about your first relationship with a woman.” 

“That’s fair,” Beca said.

“And the girls can’t know....” Chloe stopped, her body wiggling against the pillows. “I, again, I don’t know. This seems unfair.” 

“I don’t know either, if that helps.” Chloe gave her a look like ‘it doesn’t, but thanks.’

“You just... you put your hand on my thigh...” Chloe started, a cheeky smile. 

Oh god, I’m going to die.

“Sorry, I’m not going to say that I’m not obvious. You know that I like you.” It was Beca’s smoothest response yet.

“We barely knew each other when we left. And I– at the time– Aubrey told me that she liked me, too.”

Suddenly, all the Snapchats from the summer that Chloe sent from Aubrey’s bed were threatening to make Beca retroactively jealous. If there was such a thing.

“But she’s dating Stacie...” 

“Yes, now she is.”

“I- in the summer,” Beca started. “I didn’t know how to feel. Fat Amy was always telling me that you liked me, that you had a crush on me, all those things. But I didn’t know how much of it was true, and how much of it was just Fat Amy being Fat Amy, you know?”

 Chloe nodded. “I tend to have crushes on a lot of people, Beca.” 

That hurt a bit, but at least it was honest.

“You make this hard, though, like I don’t know what to do.” There was a beat of silence, and Beca used it to look around the room, once again resisting Chloe’s eyes. 

“I don’t know what to say.” Beca wished she could say something bolder. But right now she was just trying to process. “Do you... is there something you want me to say? Like something you want to ask?” Beca asked.

Read: I have no idea what this means or what to do now or how to end this conversation but just like know I’m really attracted to you and would fuck you if asked. 

“No, I just... yeah,” came the response.

Beca couldn’t meet Chloe’s eyes; she glanced over to her desk instead. 

Chloe followed her gaze, a bit amused. “What are you looking at?” 

“I– nothing. I just wanted to know what time it was.” (It was barely 10 pm, and Beca knew this. She just needed something else to say.) 

“Here,” Chloe hopped of the bed, and handed the younger girl her phone. 

“Ten ohhh-five.” Beca said, reading the time like an idiot. 

The bubble they’d created was nearly broken. 

--

Chloe must have left the room at some point (no doubt somewhat of an awkward goodbye, on Beca’s part. Because all she remembers from that point onward was reeling for the rest of the night. She remembers waking up at 2am, and texting Jesse that she was freaking out. Then waking up at five and working on her mixes for the next 3 hours before class. 

Somehow, she doesn’t know where she landed with Chloe– so she sends her ill-written text at 3pm the next day.

[wickedmilo]

SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM | MILO & CHLOE

PLACE: A dive bar TIMING: 10:49 PM SUMMARY: After realising he has run out of money, Milo approaches Chloe and asks her to pay for his drinks. WRITING PARTNER: @chloeinbetween ​ CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcohol, references to emotional abuse, drug manipulation (Leanan-Sidhe kiss), chronic illness

There were a lot of things Chloe hadn’t done for years, banned because the only thing allowed to be a detriment to her health was the fae feeding on her. There were a lot of things she wasn’t supposed to do now either, against medical advice or the general opinions of the town on what wasn’t and wasn’t safe. Drinking a glass of whiskey by herself in a bar that was too dingy to have a crowd on a weeknight probably fell into all of the above. Which was why she was doing it. Her fingers drummed against the sticky linoleum of the bar, looking at messages on her phone that she had no plan of answering. Her old messaging app had kept all the old messages from before she’d been taken, so in her worst moments she scrolled through the texts she’d received demanding to know where she was, and why she’d abandoned them. 

It was hardly surprising in pits like this that she didn’t notice the young man sidling up to her curiously. Not until he was much too close. “Can I help you?” Chloe asked, looking him up and down. 

Until very recently, Milo had no reason to concern himself with boundaries. The circles he usually ran in had far more important things to worry about, like who had the drugs, and where they were going to use them. He was too used to stumbling, getting close to strangers, or sharing paraphernalia with people he didn’t recognise. Being forced to avoid people, Humans, was new. A habit he was being forced to form. That didn’t mean his other habits, the ones he had been establishing for years, weren’t demanding his attention though. Which was why he had made his way over to a quiet bar, a bar he knew didn’t often draw in the crowds. As depressing as it was to drink alone in a shadowy corner, that’s exactly how he had been spending his night. Up until the moment he had reached into his pocket for the crushed bills he usually kept there and realised they were no longer present. He shouldn’t be surprised, he had been handing them over for hours. But everybody knew running out of money was anxiety inducing, even when you didn’t have habits to maintain. 

His bank account was empty, that had been the last of it. He wasn’t stupid enough to assume he counted wrong when he had withdrawn the remainder of his funds. And he hadn’t been to work since his official time of death. He could make a run for it, but even in his inebriated state he knew being chased down and potentially tackled by a bartender would only end in said bartender being drained of blood. There didn’t seem to be many options ahead of him. So instead of eyeing the door, he began to eye his fellow patrons. It was very easy to single out the person least likely to punch him in the face, and he pushed himself out of the booth he had been slouching in, getting far too close before he could hold himself back. His limbs felt heavy, his entire body clumsy, and uncoordinated. But he pushed on. “Yeah, actually-” He insisted, a familiar rush of longing creeping up on him as her scent began to permeate the space. Taking a hesitant step back, he swallowed his craving, willing himself to stay where he was. “You can pay for my drinks.” Maybe it wasn’t the smoothest way of asking the woman for money, but his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity and pathetically, it was the best he could do. Maybe she would take pity on him. “I mean- I’ve probably had the worst fucking month of my life, and I… shit, I mean I have no money. What do you want me to say?”

“Excuse me?” Chloe replied, twisting in her seat to look him over. There was a buzz in her head, but it did nothing to numb the immediate annoyance at his request. If anything, it removed any social insecurity, Chloe was no longer interested in being careful with her words. A fae would be more eloquent than that anyway. She pushed her drink further onto the counter so that she would not knock it, and looked him up and down. There was a loose, chaotic way of his movements, like he didn’t quite know how to hold himself together. He was drunk, drawling, obviously. Her lip curled in disgruntled annoyance. “Why the hell are you at a bar if you haven’t got any money?” Chloe snapped back, looking right back up at him. 

“I really don’t see how that’s anyone’s problem except yours. And the bartender’s. How disrespectful do you need to be to expect something like this from other people?” She rolled her eyes pointedly at him. There was another thought, biting at the corner of her mind, after another moment of looking at him, the sentence slipped out before she could stop herself. “Can’t have been too shitty a month if you still have the capacity to make bad life choices.”

Milo knew the moment the woman turned to face him that she wasn’t about to hand over her credit card. Even if it hadn’t been obvious in her tone, it would have been obvious in the way she was looking at him. Letting out a huff of breath in response to the question, it was a sharp reminder of how important it was to take shallow breaths. He didn’t need the oxygen, and breathing in too deeply was only going to put her in danger. Each intake brought with it a wave of tantalising scent. “I had money.” He countered, an edge to his own voice. “I drank it.” Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he would do if somebody approached him and asked him to pay for their drinks. Maybe in the morning her reaction would feel reasonable, and valid. Right now though, in this moment, it was infuriating. It didn’t make any sense. 

“And it isn’t disrespectful to be a total dick when somebody asks you for help?” He demanded, twisting the situation to frame himself as someone to sympathise with, someone to feel sorry for. He fell silent again, his eyes narrowing as she carefully observed him. Even with so much alcohol in his system, it made him feel vulnerable, and exposed. He didn’t like it. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he felt a spark of genuine anger when she eventually commented on his life choices. Did he really look that bad? “Oh, yeah?” He snapped. “You’re here drinking alone too, you know? Seems like we’re both making shitty decisions. I’d like to see anybody go through what I’ve been through and not want to drink themselves into oblivion. Haven’t you ever heard of coping mechanisms? Fucking crutches? Maybe I just need a fucking break.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Chloe replied, matching his edge just as harshly, even though her voice croaked with the effort. There was a way he looked at her that made her skin crawl, like he knew more about her than he should, or that he wanted more than her money. Perhaps what was left of her life, she though, and shook the thought away. He didn’t have the charisma to be like Lydia. He was pitiable. Still a threat, maybe, but under her anger she understood just want this looked like. 

There was a knife edge difference between drinking to cope and drinking to lose herself, and Chloe was terrified of landing the wrong edge of the line. 

Then he opened his mouth again and her sympathy was quashed immediately. “Only if they’re not a dick in asking for it. You didn’t even ask! You demanded. You look young but not too young to know the difference.” If nothing, her barbed comment only seemed to raise his hackles even further, his voice raising. Her hands curled tightly around the edge of the barstool. “I’m not pissing off anyone else though, am I? I don’t think you’re in a place to throw rocks, dude. Oh fuck off, do you really think you have a monopoly on suffering?”

Milo glared at the woman, irritated by the tone she was taking although he had a feeling he might look back on this conversation and feel it was entirely justified. “I’m trying to make it an us problem.” He muttered, thinking of every time Dani had ever called him a smartmouth. “I didn’t ask for shit.” He added, his glare only growing in intensity. Clearly it had been a mistake to approach her. She must have known he was likely going to ask her for money regardless of how she chose to begin their initial interaction, but technically he was being honest. “You asked if you could help me, and I said yes, you could pay for my drinks. If anything, you offered.” 

Noting her voice growing in volume, the last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene. But he also felt as though he had every right to be angry. He hadn’t done anything wrong. “I didn’t come over here to piss you off. I actually have better things to do.” He snapped, running a clumsy hand through his hair as he struggled to reign in his frustration. “You know what? Yeah, I really fucking do have the monopoly on suffering right now. Why do you think I’m even here? I had friends, and a fucking family, and I’m really fucking tired. So forgive me for not realising I was nearly out of cash. And forgive me for thinking that maybe someone might actually take pity on me and offer to help me out. It’s whatever, okay? I’ll fucking go-” 

“I’ll remember next time to be clearer with my sarcasm as you don’t seem to get it. I fucking doubt that,” Chloe snarled back, eyes creased in a frown, back straight. She couldn’t say whether it was the alcohol or the attitude that was giving her a headache, but she was pretty sure he was the problem either way. But somewhere in his furious tirade, Chloe heard the hints of something that… well, nothing justified treating people shittily, but something awful, something Chloe understood a little too well. 

No friends. No family. Alone in a dark place with an unhealthy coping mechanism and a need to drown your thoughts in a buzz. Chloe hadn’t had access to alcohol for the last few years, but… well, there had been something available to take the edge off. Chloe shivered. “Wait.” She said curtly, jaw flexing, unable to believe she was about to say this. Maybe because in the biting harshness of his features she saw snippets of Todd and Sammy, young lost men who had found the wrong source of comfort in their troubled lives. Chloe already knew it was fantastical to think she could fix things, but if there was a kindness to be offered…. On the other hand, he was an asshole who had pissed her off, so she almost let him walk away just to teach him a lesson. “Just this once, okay? So you don’t end up in jail on top of whatever other shit you have going on. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Maybe don’t engage strangers in conversation and you won’t have to.” Milo countered. She had spoken to him first. He wasn’t about to take responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault. He was just turning to leave, his hands balled into fists, when he heard the woman call out to him. Surprised, but too irritated to show any gratitude, he faced her once again, a frown still fixed firmly in place. He hadn’t been expecting her to change her mind, and he was in too bitter a mood to be honest about just how much the gesture meant. Taking the bills she was handing out to him, he was careful to only take the amount he needed, leaving a few of them behind. There were other ways to find money if he became desperate. Right now, it seemed like the very least he could do to acknowledge she was offering him help. Crumpling them in his hand, he sheepishly caught her eye. He knew he should say thank you, but he was stubborn. Too stubborn to admit he might have been unfair to her. So he left, instead. Without saying another word. Maybe one day he might feel guilty about that fact, but it wasn’t as though he was ever going to see her again. Something, he thought, that might very well be for the best.

[moodysnowflake]

Hello there!

Warning guys, nasty SPOILERS ahead, both of FFVII (+ Remake) and FFVII Crisis Core.

The severity of spoilers is arguable, it depends on the level of involvement you have or you got in the series, so please be aware that what you're stepping onto might be a wildflower lawn as much as a war minefield.

I saw, read and heard a lot of people complaining about Cloud's dancing scene/minigame, grumbling about how:

1. Stupid it was;

2. Degrading it has been;

3. Zack would have been disappointed.

Let's take it in strides, shall we?

1. Stupid? I'd rather say silly, more than stupid. Stupid means doing something that you've no idea how/why you're doing. FFVII never made that a mystery: there was a goofy vibe in the original too, and that was on purpose. You couldn't handle the story otherwise, it would just have been a mess of violence, death, tears and blood. Light moods are needed for you to recuperate, recharge batteries and balance. Otherwise, we all would've ended up like Sephiroth.

Character perspective wise, Cloud might not have understood from the beginning (as much as I love him to the bottom of my essence, he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer - that's also why Sephiroth can do what the fluff he wants) what the hell Aerith roped him into, but when he gets the idea he accepts it (in his very Cloud way) and faces it with one of the most determined look he has ever sported. He's willing to let himself be dragged on and about the stage by Andrea, because he knows this is for Tifa, so it doesn't matter if he has to shake is ass in front of a bunch of strangers. He never really cared about his reputation since Crisis Core; he doesn't care about what people think, he's doing it for the woman he loves (shut your trap, he loves her as much as she loves him, he just needs time to untangle himself from his nightmares - and someone smacking him on the head really hard).

Secondly, player perspective wise, is it really such a stupid section? How many did manage to get a perfect score on the very first try? Camera speed, moves and angles pulled some interesting stunts, didn't they? Tricking your depth perception, together with the lights going bananas. Even if they weren't; everything has been coordinated and perfectly synced with the music. If you'd refrained for two seconds from blabbering insults you would have noticed that you could've actually used lights as another cue to help you sync, with the music and Cloud's movements. It's called peripheral vision, you need to expand your focus as much as you can and split it both on the background and the forefront. That gives your brain the capacity to better throw information at you so you can react faster, 'cause you're actively trying to remain perceptive of your surroundings too. Just like in battles.

If that shooting dynamic would have been present during battle, nobody would have survived, not even a doomrat.

2. Talking about degrading. Did Cloud strip naked? Did he have to put on a honeybee outfit? As much as he was very uncomfortable, Andrea (a.k.a. the game) pushed him only up to the limit that still felt secure enough and over which it could have been really perceived as abusive. Andrea could have done that and Cloud would still have obliged (because Tifa) but his objective was not humiliating him. He wanted to play with the dangerous SOLDIER, over which he, paradoxically, even for a tiny bit, had the power and control. Still, he didn't overdo nor overuse it (that is some good representation of a BDSM Dom, btw).

Moreover... I mean... Did you really look at him? Those were not exactly noobs moves, he nailed that too (but that's something I'll talk about next).

About the dresses: are you seriously complaining about them? I admit that the black/white one is not exactly the best (but it's your fault for ditching all Wall Market's quest... you had it coming), and I prefer the blue corset one over the lilac/black silk.

Point is: you have to sneak a guy who's built like a fucking BRICK WALL into Corneo's audition. How in the ever-loving hell are you supposed to do it? The only things playing in Cloud's favor are his facial features and his height: he's the smoothest skin I've ever seen, light jaws and is compact enough not to stand out too much among average-height girls, but that's it. He has shoulders and muscles for days. You have to cover him as much as you can, and how would you do that, if not with a broad gown, puff-sleeves, and a corset? If you're wondering about the chocker/high neck+thick necklace: it covers the Adam's apple, genius... And all the frilly, shiny laces of the lilac dress and the extensions are needed to divert the attention from his neck, clavicles and forearms, otherwise, you'll notice the buff.

That's why he had to look like a Victorian maiden.

Putting him in a catsuit, with latex or leather stretching over every inch of skin, or a sundress, with arms and legs on display... That would have been a bad idea.

Andrea is talking about not being afraid, and that's an awesome message: if you feel comfortable and beautiful, why not doing it? If you're happy, do it. It's not your problem if other people are insecure about themselves and try to pick on you because they're afraid and, most of all, jealous of your confidence, identity, and fortitude. They're just disrespectful and sad, and you should avoid them like the plague.

And again, Cloud doesn't seem that much fazed about it. I think he's more annoyed than anything; having to move in that huge-ass skirt, squeezed in a corset which is not letting you breathe and turn around would make everyone who's not used to it lose their shit. Women or men, regardless, it's a pain either way, especially if you're a fighter and need to move freely. Also, if you notice, the heels he's put in are not that much higher than his combat boots... Sure, they're thinner, but that's why he's not wobbling like a newborn calf. Did you see him swaying through the streets? That was some awesome heel-walking.

What ended me was how he was moving after he woke up. Have you seen how completely ungraceful he is, and at the same time fluidly stands to check on Aerith and doesn't trip over his own feet? In a dress like that, being that agile is shamefully amazing. Then, he swings like he's in the SOLDIER uniform, spine blocked because of the corset, moving his center of gravity too much because of too broad steps, awkwardly bobbing, switching too much weight from feet to feet, getting his stance rigid. That's precious. And hilarious af.

He has to held still as much as he can to try and convey the feeling of being scared, but we know he's just trying really hard not to wreak havoc in the audition room and slaughter everyone.

(Despise lighting, which being warm oriented would have mingled with the blue of his irises and shift them to green, I still believe that in that scene his eyes were going mako. In some millisecond-split moments, they seem to really flash out. That's hella relatable: you're using all your self-control not to cut open the scumbag who's lusting and sniffing and drooling and being awful to your friends. Plus, you're being groped and talked down too? The only thing you can do is look, and boy does he Glare™

(Cloud is not afraid/disgusted of other men touching him, but people seem to forget it. He just doesn't want Corneo to touch him. He doesn't move when Andrea touches his lips nor react when he swings him around in the dress, he doesn't move when Biggs pats him on the head on the pillar (I bet he would give everything to have Zack do that again, just one more time...dammit [I know what happens in the final cutscene of the Remake, but the post below this one explains why I think this]), he doesn't pull away when he grabs his hands, and not only he grabs it back, but grasps with the other one too. [Captain Levi vibes, anyone?])

He didn't have control over his eyes and I firmly think he didn't even intend to; he let them glow on purpose, just because that was the only thing he could unleash and nobody would have noticed.)

Cloud dancing is not stupid, nor offensive. Cloud is a loyal, caring friend, who doesn't have prejudices and is comfortable (as much as he can be) with his sexuality and identity that he's not questioning it nor getting scared (and violent) at the situation.

Do I have to dance and dress like a woman to help my girl? If it's the best way, so be it. She needs my help, I'm not gonna let her down. Gonna be a pain in the ass to fight, but I'll manage. I'm not that insecure of myself that a dress is going to make me have an existential crisis.

If you're a man or a male, and your friend/lover/person you cherish would ever be in a life-threatening situation (and this is, 'cause if they were on their own, they would have died), and the only option would be for you to dance and put on a dress to save them, but you refuse because you have to dance and it's a dress... Just a fucking dress... Well... You're not that decent of a friend, nor human being...

3. So. About Zack. If you think he would've been disappointed/disgusted... Are we talking about the same character? 'Cause I think we're not.

Zack Fair, SOLDIER 1st class (previously 2nd), 6 foot and a ladder, black hair, blue eyes, scar on his left jaw. Droll af?

Just because he's a legend, a powerful, passionate and strong-willed person, doesn't mean he couldn't be a quirky dumbass.

The first line said to him in Crisis Core is "Get serious" by Angeal... Angeal who described him to his mother as a PUPPY.

The same guy who jostled his mentor, a fucking SOLDIER 1st class, in front of their boss, when he knew he recommended him.

The same guy who tried to get Aerith on a date after 5 minutes.

The one who grabs a parasol to fight troopers without breaking a sweat.

The one who faked defeat by sixth-grade-Yuffie in Wutai.

The one who dances with the Cactua he summons?

When Angeal discusses the plan and tells him to charge the front gate of Wutai on the first game mission, he's jumping like an over-excited dog.

And, most importantly, the only living being who actually managed to:

- Make Sephiroth care (after Hollander with implanted Jenova cells escapes, he tells Zack Genesis’ copies had been seen in the slums... And with that frigging Knowing™ look, and a smirk, he tells him "Permission to return... Granted", Seph's gentlemanly way to say 'I know you have a girlfriend down there, you should go check on her':

Then Sephiroth says goodbye first

And fucking smiles (Zack wasn’t able to see it ‘cause he was already walking away)

- Yell at him over the phone and live;

- Pull a GENUINE laugh out of him. When they're trying to locate Angeal and Genesis, Sephiroth calls him. The conversation goes as:

S:"You and I are gonna find them [Gen & Angie] before they [Shinra] do, and..."

Z:'And WHAT?!?!' *angry bark, to which Sephirot pulls the phone away*

S:"...Fail to eliminate them"

Z:'For real?!'

S:"[AMUSED HUFF] Yes, for real" *playful mocking of Zack's words*

Okay, that was a huff, BUT STILL... Not even Sephiroth (when he was still a human being...because yes, he was, and a pretty decent one too) was immune to his Puppy Dog Energy. Look. At. That. Smile.

So this is what I think.

The only thing Zack would be disappointed about would've been Cloud not dancing enough.

Heck, he would've jumped on the stage as soon as given the signal and dragged Cloud along, yelling in his face to be heard over the music "This is gonna be great! Let's show them what a SOLDIER can do! We're gonna put all these cute bees to shame!" ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

Then again... If Zack would've been there...if we think about it, a part of Zack was there.

During his childhood and infantry training, I seriously doubt Cloud had any occasion to dance or learn how to do it.

Plus, he couldn't have done it during his 4-years mako-comatose state.

This doesn't leave that many options.

It is very likely that, like his fighting ability, his dancing moves were coming from Zack's memories too.

In a way, we can say that Zack, in the end, was there on stage with him.

Gosh, I'm gonna cry so much... ಥ_ಥ

[mollymauk-teafleak]

baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle (chapter two)

Huge thanks to my beta readers @spiky-lesbian and @minky-for-short!

Please reblog or leave a comment on Ao3! Really makes my day!

Chapters : 1, 2

-------

First rule of thieving, hiding something under the floorboards is as bad as putting it on a pedestal surrounded by flashing lights. First rule of thieving, don’t just have one planned exit, have ten. First rule of thieving, a smile and a joke can open some doors money can’t. First rule of thieving, doors are merely suggestions. First rule of thieving, be in bed before ten or I’m taking your comms off you, Pete, don’t try me.

Peter ran through every rule he could remember, every little pearl of wisdom or dry sarcasm he’d ever heard Mag say, smugly while they were on a job that was going well, whispered while they were sneaking through somewhere they weren’t supposed to be and had to be quiet, panted breathlessly as they were fleeing the scene of the crime, pronounced with a soft fondness back home after a successful gig, Peter sat reading at Mag’s feet, Mag’s hand coming down on his shoulder to give it a proud squeeze. Hundreds of first rules and he’d remembered them all.

And not a single one justified what he was doing right now.

He’d fallen behind the Steel twins as they walked through the corridors, Ben sometimes throwing a smile over his shoulder to him, Juno doing the same with suspicious scowls. Everything Peter Nureyev had been taught told him to go back the other way, find somewhere quiet to sit amongst the other students and play the role he’d built so fastitiously and shown off so proudly, promising to do a good job. And then, as soon as the day ended, he could begin the real work. Done in three days, back on Brahma before the week was out. Back home, clutching the proof that he was ready to do whatever it might take to fight for his planet.

And maybe make the weight on his shoulders a little lighter.

So why was he following these guys, one of whom seemed to actively despise him, going who knew where to do who knew what? Peter hadn’t quite figured that out yet, in spite of his growing army of doubts. And he wasn’t turning back either.

“I thought we were going to lunch?” he ventured, like he could just ask the right questions and he’d realise why his brain appeared to have fallen out the back of his skull, “Isn’t the cafeteria back that way?”

Ben gave a twirl and walked backwards so he could answer, apparently not caring if he crashed into anything, trusting Juno would jerk him out of the way, “It is. But us cool kids have a way better place to eat.”

“Where?” Peter asked apprehensively. He now realised they’d moved into corridors with empty, silent classrooms, with no other students loitering against the walls. Had he walked right into some trap? Were they about to jump him? Ben had a nice smile, he’d hate to have to shatter it.

“You’ll see,” Ben only grinned mysteriously, before Juno roughly yanked him back the right way so he would see he’d been about to but his foot right in a janitor’s bucket.

Peter sighed and shifted his backpack so he’d be able to free his knife more easily. So much for making friends and blending in. Maybe this would teach him to stick to the goddamn plan.

Luckily he wasn’t planning to stick around until detention.

Eventually they reached the very far corner of the school and saw two other students standing by a fire exit. One was an almost comically tall young man, taller even than Peter, long dreadlocks pulled back from his face by a band, both jeans and shirt ripped in places and stained with what looked like machine grease. The other was a girl with her black hair cut short and rather severe, the plain clothes and tight line of her jaw making her look thoroughly like someone not to be messed with.

Ben gave a shout of delight as soon as he saw them and took off at a run, throwing himself into the arms of the tall kid, who caught him and immediately kissed him fiercely, a little more than two people with an audience should really kiss.

Juno groaned and the girl rolled her eyes, saying, “You guys have only been apart for one period, you do realise that? You don’t have to act like one of you was lost at sea.”

“You know what they’re like, Sasha,” Juno grunted, approaching at a much more leisurely pace.

“Disgusting?”

“Hey!” Ben drew back, the tall boy’s face now thoroughly stained with his lipstick, “An hour’s a long time, it’s relative!”

“I’m your fucking relative,” Juno shot back, “And making me watch you suck Mick’s face every five seconds ought to be some kind of crime.”

“Since when have we cared what’s a crime and what isn’t?” the tall guy, evidently Mick, asked with an endearing sincerity.

“Speaking of which, let’s get going,” the girl, Sasha, got to her feet, “I’m starving.”

Peter stood, waiting for one of them to ask who the hell he was or what he thought he was doing here. They all interacted with the practised ease he’d seen in people who’d known each other for a very long time, who’d been through a lot together and had proven trust to be easily traded back and forth. And he was the outsider, the unfamiliar face. Not a feeling he was unaccustomed to, not by a long shot, but he was used to it coming along with hostile looks and questions.

But neither Sasha nor Mick even questioned his presence. Mick was far more preoccupied with Ben in his arms and Sasha merely glanced at him and then at Juno. Juno’s frown only deepend and his eyes went to Ben accusingly. To Sasha, that seemed to answer everything.

Peter kept his face impassive, like he hadn’t seen any of it. Though his heart seemed to sit lower in his chest than before.

“If you’re done scarring us all?” Juno raised an eyebrow at Mick and Ben.

“Sure,” Ben smiled primly and hopped back onto his own two feet, addressing Peter now, “There’s security guards that patrol the grounds but they’re lazy and their routines are so obvious it’s really embarrassing. All we have to do is run from here to the fence, jump it and be gone in five minutes. Easy peasy, yeah?”

Peter could only stand there and gape, “And...this is us going to lunch?”

Ben gave a bark of laughter, punching him in the arm again. He seemed to do that a lot.

“I love this guy! Hey, all you gotta do is keep up. Eyes on us, keep moving and you’ll be fine.”

Sasha already had the fire door open to the strange but not entirely unexpected absence of any alarm. She poked her head through the small gap, looking this way and that with a practised, almost military eye that Peter would envy if he wasn’t so sure of himself.

“Okay, it’s all clear. Let’s move,” she motioned them through, taking off at a run.

Ben and Mick followed, hand in hand. For a few moments it was just him and Juno, Peter wondering awkwardly if he should say something and what that something might be until the chance was gone and Juno ran after his friends without even a glance in his direction.

Last chance. He could turn and walk in the opposite direction now, the smoothest extraction he was likely to get. He could just avoid them tomorrow, get his head down, focus on his job and, after that, he’d never see any of them again. It wouldn’t matter.

And there was something about that fact that Peter couldn’t stand. So he ran.

Peter had learned a long time ago that he’d never win if the contest was purely based on strength so he’d gotten very good at running and running fast. And over the cracked, hard baked playing fields that were more crumbling dirt than actual grass, he practically flew towards the tall, barbed wire topped fencing that surrounded the school and made it look more like a prison than anything Peter had seen in streams about high school. By the time he was close enough to see, he caught Mick’s sneaker disappearing behind one of the buildings that surrounded the school, mostly businesses long closed down and housing with boarded up windows. And Juno had just reached the bottom of the fence and the scrabby, overgrown bushes that fringed it, ready to jump.  

In his head, Peter had been keeping a count ever since Ben had told them they had five minutes to make their escape. First rule of thieving, time is your best friend and your worst enemy so know how to keep an eye on it. There was just over a minute remaining.

With a grace that startled Peter, Juno scaled the fence, stamping down the barbed wire with one boot so he could lever himself over without so much as snagging his tights. He was just about to start on his way down when the two of them froze simultaneously at the same sound, above the distant noise of the city and the roads and the faint hollering from the school. These were voices, much more immediate, much closer, just from the other side of the wilting shrubbery. And getting closer by the second.

Juno cursed gruffly and eyed Peter, scrawny, anxious newbie Peter Ransom, just coming to the bottom of the fence, still with a climb and a tangle of rusty but still wicked metal to content with. For a moment, it was crystal clear what was about to happen. Juno would give him one last sneer then drop to the other side and run, leaving Peter to be caught by the security guards and dragged to detention. It was the only thing that made sense.

But it seemed like Peter wasn’t the only one who wasn’t following the rules. After half a beat, he held out his hand, reaching down to the guy he’d been growling at all day.

“Will you hurry up?” he snapped, voice an angry hiss but his arm outstretched.

Peter’s eyes widened, having to pause and check he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. And then he frowned.

Quick as a squirrel, he dug his fingers into the links of the fence and scrambled up without so much as a stumble, moving so swiftly and deftly that all he had to do was vault himself over the wire and land with all the flair of a gymnast. And then it was Juno’s turn to drop his jaw.

“Will you please hurry up?” Peter asked politely before running in the direction he’d seen Mick go.

Not the smartest thing he’d ever done. Definitely one of the smuggest. Hardly in character. But Peter couldn’t deny that the look in Juno’s eyes and the half second before he heard him climb down and run after him was incredibly satisfying.

Apparently what that daring escape had been in service of was an abandoned alleyway that the friends had turned into some kind of fort. Crates had been stacked up like walls, a sagging tarpaulin that looked like it had once been part of a display on a storefront would keep off the simulated rain, ratty fabrics had been strung up between the crates and another fence, shielded with broken down cardboard boxes provided seating and a trash can that had clearly held many fires inside it’s buckled and blackened skin was set down in the centre.

When Nureyev arrived, Ben and Mick were already sharing one of those improvised hammocks. Ben laughed in delight when he saw him duck under the roof that still advertised 50% off who knew what.

“I knew you’d make it!” Ben grinned, nearly tipping both him and Mick onto the filthy ground in his eagerness to give Peter a high five.

“I saw how fast you were running,” Mick agreed, gripping the neck of his boyfriend’s sweatshirt and the fence so he didn’t tumble, “That was way cool.”

“He did fine,” behind Peter came a sour growl that told him Juno had entered just behind him. If he’d been hoping for some kind of grudging respect or acceptance after what happened back at the fence, it was clear he’d be disappointed, “Where’s Sasha?”

“Getting lunch,” Ben collapsed back against Mick’s chest, either not seeing or deliberately ignoring his twin’s foul mood.

Juno grunted, collapsing into a hammock of his own. Peter realised he should take a seat too but he wasn’t sure where exactly. It was pretty impressive, as far as dens made of garbage in dank smelling alleyways went. Clearly they’d been coming here a long time, improving it slowly over time, adding and expanding. But something about it’s cobbled together half comforts reminded Peter too much of years he’d rather forget. Years when places like this had been all he’d had to call home.

But that was Peter Nureyev’s past, not Peter Ransom’s. Ransom didn’t have a lifespan beyond nine am that morning and three pm on Friday. Outside of that handful of days, he didn’t exist. As long as he wore that name, he didn’t have those memories.

So he sat himself down on an overturned trash can, folding his legs under himself and pretending to listen while Ben teased his brother, Juno bit back, and Mick interjected occasionally with his unique kind of empty headed sincerity.

Almost ten minutes passed and Sasha didn’t return though no one but Peter seemed to notice.

Eventually he cleared his throat, “Uh...there’s ten minutes before next period.”

“And?” Juno raised an eyebrow.

Ben rolled his eyes at his brother and shrugged to Peter, “We’ve always seen our schedules more as suggestions than hard and fast rules, y’know? We’ll slip in sometime before the last lesson. No one notices as long as you come back at some point.”

Peter bit his lip. He wasn’t sure how he felt about a plan that was optional. Whenever he was given a place to be and a time to be there, he took it seriously. Thieves who didn’t soon found themselves in prison. Or, on Brahma, worse. Even now, years since he’d lacked the skills to avoid it, he felt his chest tighten and a creeping sense of alarm making him glance nervously at the sky around nine at night. That was the curfew imposed by New Kinshasa.

“You can head back if you want? We don’t mind?”

Mick’s voice had quietened and, for the first time since he’d met him, his eyes weren’t on Benzaiten. He was letting the brothers continue their squabbling and looking to Peter instead, his eyes concerned and kind.

Peter swallowed and shook his head. As deep in as he already was, he’d rather stay amongst the people who smiled at him like that. And it wasn’t like there was much to preserve in Peter Ransom’s attendance record, seeing as he wouldn’t exist in a week.

Eventually Sasha reappeared again, coming right over the fence and dropping into their midsts, holding paper bags in both hands. On them was the logo for a fast food joint Peter always saw in streams but had never made it to the backwater planets like Brahma.

“They really should invest in better security. They’re a gazillion cred company, you’d think they’d be able to afford a guard on the door,” she tossed her short hair and started distributing parcels that smelled of grease, salt and unhealthy levels of goodness.

“Hope not,” Juno mumbled around a mouthful of meat and cheese, “I’m not about to start paying for this crap.”

“Food only tastes good if it’s free,” Ben nodded in agreement.

Sasha dropped one of the bags in Nureyev’s lap, “Sorry, I didn’t know what you liked so I just went for a cheeseburger and fries. That okay?”

Peter had to remind himself of his current last name to chase away the tightness in his throat. Peter Ransom had never gone hungry. Peter Ransom had never spent days not knowing where his next meal was coming from. Peter Ransom had no reason to want to cry at someone just handing him food like he was worthy of it.

“Yeah, that’s great. Thanks.”

The rest of it was all in jokes Peter didn’t understand, references to people he didn’t know and places he’d never been. Mick seemed to do a lot of the talking, he had a storyteller’s kind of cadence and a way of gesturing as he spoke to snag attention easily. Peter had heard enough bullshit in his life and had studied enough about Hyperion to not believe a single word of the rambling anecdotes he told but they were kind of comforting. So he stayed silent, ate and listened to descriptions of people and places that didn’t exist, letting the food and the scent of the cigarettes they lit warm him through.

He was so lost in it, it took Ben three attempts to get him to answer and he found himself jumping guiltily, “Sorry, what?” First rule of thieving, always be aware even if you don’t look like it. Especially if you don’t.

“I asked if you wanted to come to this party tomorrow night, one of the kids from my math class has their parents out of town and they said anyone’s cool to come,” Ben smiled encouragingly. He hadn’t taken a cigarette when they’d been passed round. Peter knew if he focused and thought, he’d have been able to work out why but something about that seemed wrong now.

Instead he bit his lip and answered, “Sure. Yeah, that sounds fun.” He could just say he was sick when the time came.

“Awesome! Anyway, what do you have last period, we’ll tell you where to head once we get back.”

Peter fished for the now creased and folded schedule he’d been given that morning, “Uh...Earth History?”

“No way!” Ben’s grin widened, “So does Juno! You guys can walk over there together and he can show you his notes. They’re shit but it’s a start.”

Over in his corner, Juno coughed and hacked for a reason that didn’t have anything to do with his cigarette. He shot Ben a scandalised look, thin grey trails trickling from his nose, “Benzaiten…”

Unconcerned, he met Juno's eyes. It really was scary how similar they were, past the dyed hair and the piercings, how they could hold the exact same fierceness. Benten just did it more subtly.

“What? That’s your class. Ransom doesn’t know where he’s going and he’s never taken the subject before. Why wouldn’t you help him?”

There was a tense moment, where Sasha and Mick shared an anxious look and Peter wanted to shrink down into his oversized shirt and disappear. But it was only a moment. Juno looked away with his jaw set in resignation and Ben continued smiling like nothing had happened. He just jumped up, pulling Mick along with him.

“So! Let’s head back.”

The way back was far more leisurely than their breakneck escape. No one cared when you were coming back to the place you were supposed to be.

Still seething, Juno put as much distance as he could between himself and Peter without being belligerently obvious about it. Which was all well and good, if you believed distance was the only factor in someone overhearing you. If you believed the kid you were mad at for some inexplicable reason was just a regular kid and not someone who’d been trained in finding out things people didn’t want him to know since the age of six.

Back in school, with the corridors silent except for the muffled noise behind the classroom doors, Mick and Sasha went off in their own directions, leaving just the three of them. Seeing that Juno clearly had no intention of walking to Earth History with him, Peter just gave them both a quick goodbye, saving grace by saying he needed to get something from his locker before class started.

He didn’t even know where his locker was.

From around the corner, tucked into the space between two banks of the regular metal cupboards, Peter could hear every word of the brothers’ conversation.

Almost as soon as he’d gone beyond the corner, he heard Juno round on his twin, “What the fuck is your-”

“I was going to ask you the same thing!” Benten didn’t let him finish, his voice tenser than it had ever been in front of Peter, “God, Juno, the kid’s done nothing wrong! He just needs some friends and you’re acting like such a bitch!”

“Come on,” Juno sounded uncomfortable in the face of Ben’s exasperation. Peter got the feeling, just from his voice, that upsetting his twin wasn’t something he made a habit of, “It’s not just that. I see the look on your face, the whole ‘ooh, Juno, why don’t you walk the new kid to class, ooh Juno let’s invite the new kid to the party’ schtick…”

“Well, enlighten me then,” Ben countered, softening a little too, “Because I’m confused. Someone showing up, looking like he does...Juno, I know you, you should have stuck your tongue down his throat by now! You’ve done it before with people way less good looking and nice than Ransom, you two would actually be good together! Is this a new weird way of flirting or something?”

In his hiding place, Peter swallowed hard and felt his face heat up. The immature thoughts he’d had when he first saw Juno made themselves known, skittering not entirely unpleasantly in his stomach. Until Juno’s words froze them.

“First off, rude. Second of all...look, I just can’t stand the guy. Something about him just...it doesn’t feel right. Like he’s hiding something. And I want to find out what it is.”

He decided he’d heard enough, walking away quickly, not even sure if it was the way he was supposed to be going or not. To his shame, Peter felt tears building hotly in his eyes. Whether it was because he’d derailed his job for a pretty face who couldn’t bear the sight of him or because he was ashamed of how he’d allowed himself to be taken in and slip up so dangerously or just because he was sick of being here where he didn’t understand anything, Peter didn’t know. But he knew what he had to do now.

He had to complete his mission and get the hell away from Mars and Juno Steel as fast as he could.

[sabraeal]

The Butterfly Effect, Chapter 2

Chapter 1

A continuation of the AU of Wide Florida Bay, starting after Ain’t Saying She’s a Gold Digger, for @infinitelystrangemachinex‘s birthday! I had hoped to get farther than this, but thing ended up getting....very long. SO I SUPPOSE YOU ALL CAN LOOK FORWARD TO MORE, ONE DAY.

The floor is packed; bodies pressed back-to-back and back-to-front -- and, in some memorable instances, front-to-front. There’s barely room for the Holy Spirit in here, let alone Obi’s set of shoulders, but he bumps his way through anyway. He may not be at his fighting weight anymore, but his gains send enough bros stumbling to reassure him that he hasn’t lost his edge.

Not that he cares much about that right now. He’s got a mission here: the exit and its tacky-ass bead curtain. Because once he gets there --

“Oh!”

He stares down to see red spilling down his back, to see a round pair of green eyes peek up from his shoulder.

“You all right?” he rumbles, hating the way there’s not enough air in his chest, how he doesn’t have enough blood circulating through his brain to come up with something more clever than that.

“What?” Her brow furrows, too cute, and he’s so tempted to just lean it, to just kiss where it wrinkles --

“I said,” he murmurs, pressing his lips right up to her ear. Her hand clutches his sleeve, nails digging in like kitten claws. “Are you all right?”

“Oh,” she breathes, sending sparks skittering down his skin. God, he is in trouble. “Yes. Yeah. I’m -- I’m just fine.”

He nods, turning back, trying not to notice how soft and small her hand is in his, how lightly she’s touching him, like she’s afraid if she grabs much harder he’ll turn to smoke.

Fuck, he doesn’t -- he doesn’t do this. Nanaki didn’t hold hands; if he wanted to fuck someone he’d just do it at the club or go back to the girl’s place, not -- not this. Not bringing her home, letting her into his space, letting her know where he lived. That was just begging to get his car keyed.

He was also someone who didn’t actually exist, except for on some registration forms somewhere back in Atlanta. He’d never been much more than a shadow to hide in, a shroud over a mirror. Something to keep his past from finding him, and his present from knowing him.

Obi peers back over his shoulder, watching how Red tucks in close to him, how sometimes her fingers lightly brush over his bicep to keep him close when the crowd tries to pull them apart, and it’s terrifying how much how much he doesn’t want to hide. Not from someone who sees him like she does.

The beads jangle as he pushes them aside, whacking at his calves like some weak-ass tentacles, and god, what he wouldn’t give for this fucking place to have some class for once. The last thing he needs is to trip on this shit straight out of a hippy teacher’s magazine and really ruin his night.

He takes the first step, but he has to squint in the dark to make out the next. Sure, that strip lighting is supposed to help, but all it does is make depth perception a learned skill. All these rainbow colors are killing him.

With a lurch, he takes the next step. His foot hardly fits on the stair -- god, how small were the people that built this place? -- but what worries him more is the tug on his arm. Red’s stalled out on the landing.

He sucks in a breath, steeling himself. He knew this was going to happen. One drink isn’t nearly enough to make him look like a good idea, especially not when the last time they’d seen each other, she’d called him a big meanie and told him to go hug a tree. It was only a matter of time before she’d come to her senses.

“Hey.” She startles at the word, watching him mount the last stair with wide eyes. He expects her to be wary, to be scared, but instead she just seems...confused. “You okay?

“Hm?” Her head tilts, hair bobbing to one side, and honestly, now is not the time to be wondering if that patch of freckles on her neck might be sensitive.

“It’s just...” There’s no reason for this to be so hard. He’s done this before, loads of times. He may be a garbage fire of a person, but trying to force someone into bed with him? Not his style.

Besides, he’s never had trouble getting girls to take their clothes off. It’s just -- just--

He’s never actually cared. If a girl didn’t want to fuck him, there were plenty of ones who did; he just had to walk back into the club and find one. But now that it’s her, the girl who orders extra whip on her hot chocolate because coffee is too bitter, he doesn’t know how to -- to say she has a choice, but also he would, really, really like to take her home. Specifically.

God, who is he anymore?

“Do you...?” No, scratch that, that sounds dumb. Begging is not a good look for anyone. “We don’t have to--”

“Oh! Oh no, it’s not--” these stairs may be darker than pitch, but that blush of hers lights up the place-- “These stairs are treacherous.”

Obi has met cute girls. Ones with soft little bobs just like hers, who always walk around on their shivering fawn legs and stare up at him with their too-wide eyes, saying cloyingly niche things like it’s a replacement for having a personality. They don’t do shit for him.

Except now here this girl is, leaning into him like she’s sharing a secret, her mouth rucked up at a corner, and his only thought is the last time he heard that word, it was in an SAT prep course he was firmly failing. Also, what scores Red might have gotten on them; he can already see the way she’d duck her head as she tells him about her 1700 on the first pass, how she kept going back to get the perfect score only to be foiled by one of the vocabulary words that wasn’t in the study guide --

All right. He needs to get a grip here. One solid, whole-ass grip. This is just -- sex. Sex stuff. Not share time at the local preschool.

Her small feet shuffle at the landing, and he spreads a smirk across his lips. “Do you need me to carry you down, my lady?”

“Oh!” He can’t wait to see just how far down that blush goes. If they ever manage to get out of here. “N-no! I can-- I can handle myself.”

“Are you sure?” He leans in, just a little, until he can feel the heat of her body against his skin. “After all, I’m at your service tonight.”

This close, her chest brushes against his when she gasps. Her lips are still swollen from kissing, and, god, he feels the gap between them like a physical ache. “If that’s the case...”

Her hand lets go of his, fingers brushing over his until they slip though, palms kissing, intertwined. Like -- like hand-holding with some intent. Some heat.

She flutters him a look somewhere between shy and coy. “Then just make sure you don’t let go.”

It’s the smoothest move anyone’s ever pulled on him -- that anyone’s bothered to pull on him -- and god, they really need to find a flat surface and some privacy. Now.

“Right,” he says dumbly, because that’s the kind of guy his is now: the kind that has their breathing go all haywire because a girl wants to hold hands. The kind that entirely lose their game because someone says to hold on tight.

Obi doesn’t know what the fuck is happening. But he also wants it to keep on happening, so he just turns around like he holds hands all the time, like he’s a real hand-holding pro, and guides her down the stairs like she’s wearing stilettos and a six-foot train.

Or, with the way she wobbles, like one of those robo-dog toys that cost three hundred bucks but never learned how to navigate a house with more than one floor. She looks hot as fuck, but those are definitely not her wedges. He’ll have to write a thank you note to whatever friend lent them to her, because with the way she’s clinging to him every time her ankle gives a good shake, these bad boys are going to be the MVP of the evening.

Obi isn’t exactly cozy with Jesus or whatever, but he’s pretty sure making it down to the last step without a sprained ankle in sight is something close to divine intervention. He throws one up for whatever saint or angel had dominion over hot hookups and turns away, making to open the door, but--

“Oh!”

His whole body stutters. He only looked away for a second, and yet --

“Something wrong?” he asks, letting the door shut in front of him. “Did you--?”

“Oh, no, not anything...” She shakes her head, and down here it’s too dark to see her blush, but he knows it’s there. “I just forgot I have, um, stuff at the coat check.”

He stares for a minute, trying to glean anything off those guileless eyes with only the rainbow lights to guide him. On any other girl, it would be a dodge, a way to duck out of a hookup she was having second or third thoughts on. Which would be fair, since this morning he’d locked her out of her school, tried to tank her academic career --

But he just can’t see it on her. If she didn’t want him, she’d just...tell him to fuck off and die. Or, more likely, go hug a tree.

God, that should really not be doing anything for him. But here he is, half-hard and holding the door open, hoping she likes holding his hand enough to come home with him.

“Okay,” he murmurs, following when she tugs him out the door. “Should I...?”

Stay? Go? He’s really starting to dig the way her hand fits into his, but if she wants to make a break for it --

“I’ll just be a second,” she promises, with the sort of earnestness that doesn’t belong anywhere outside of one of those movies they made him watch in English class. With one last squeeze of his hand, she peels away, getting into line just a few feet away.

He misses her already.

This is -- it’s trouble, pure and simple. He’s supposed to be thinking about how much he wants to fuck her, how good her red hair is going to look spilled out over his black sheets. And he is, on some level, it’s just --

He also want to know her favorite color. Her favorite food. Where she’s from and what classes she likes. What her major is and whether she’s got siblings. And it’s not -- not --

It’s not normal. Not for him. Other may people may be into this whole dating crap, begging for their hearts to be stomped on, but he isn’t. He doesn’t do feelings.

He glances over at the line. Red stands three back, stuck behind two girls trying to find their ticket with six drinks and no pockets between them.

She likes plain bagels and cream cheese, and hot cocoa with extra whip. Sometimes she’ll treat herself to the berry cream cheese too, instead of the regular, but only if she’s by herself, poring over one of those ridiculously thick textbooks of hers, the ones that cost bank because you have to buy a new edition every year. He’d watch her sometimes, glad that he at least hadn’t picked a STEM major since the books alone would put him in the red. She’s got a bad habit of biting her lips, and a hoard of lip balm to help, and every single one of them is made from local beeswax. Strawberry is her favorite, and --

And that should be enough for him. More than enough. He doesn’t need --

“Can I help you?”

A hostess blinks at him, service smile in place, and it strikes him that he’s just...lounging here, right where people wait to be seated for actual food and not just fried pickle chips and mozzarella sticks.

“Oh, no, I’m just--” he looks over at the coat check, catching the red in a sea of black-- “I’m not--”

Red glances up, catching his gaze, and she just -- waves. And smiles, her cheeks flushing a sweet pink, and he -- he waves back, just as cutesy and small.

“Oh, you’re waiting for your girlfriend,” the hostess says. “Never mind! You two have a nice night.”

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. “Thanks,” he says, definitely not squeaking, not even a little bit. “We will.”

Obi shifts, pressing his shoulders to the wall, and lets his legs settle out angle. Not a lot, but just enough to give him the real tall drink of water look. It may be cliche, but that cool guy lean makes girls crazy, and he’s something of a connoisseur of lighting a fire.

Still, it feels -- off. Weird. He can’t shake that maybe he doesn’t look like some bad boy, good for a night in the sack, but -- but --

A boyfriend. The kind you bring home to mom, or grandma, or -- or whatever sort of parental guardian situation you have. The kind of person you introduce to someone you want to believe your life is together.

And he‘s not that guy. He’s never been that guy. But Red keeps throwing him the cutest impatient looks, even tapping at a watch she doesn’t have and --

And maybe he could be. If the right person came along.

The club doors slam open so suddenly, even the bouncer jumps. The girl that stomps through is dressed to the nines, all black sequins and tanned skin, hair so dark that vantablack would be jealous. The kind of girl that would be just his type, if only that hadn’t suddenly shifted to cute red heads who think gosh and dang are four-letter words.

“Ha,” the hostess scrapes out at the girl beelines to the coat check. “Feel bad for whoever is on the wrong side of her.”

He can’t shake the feeling she’s familiar. “Tell me about it.”

“Shirayuki!” she yells out, and oh, of course, it’s Red who startles. Because this is Red’s friend, the girl who would catch breakfast with her on Tuesdays and Thursdays, right before her physics lab --

Kihal Toghrul. Father’s some big deal back in Puerto Rico, or at least big enough for it to warrant Haruka telling him to stay the fuck away.

Well, good thing Obi’s not working for him anymore, because it looks like he’s about to get all up in that business, and not in a fun way. At least he knows who to thank for the shoes, now.

He can’t hear their conversation; the coat check’s in sight, but with all the noise from the restaurant and the club, it’s impossible to make out anything but Sparky’s explosive gestures and Red’s calm, measured refusal. Even still, he knows the topic of conversation is him, namely, what the fuck are you thinking, going home with that guy. And not just because She-Hulk is throwing glares at him that would kill any man who possessed a sense of shame and decency.

Well, jokes on her. He hasn’t had any of that for years.

Obi leans back with his most disaffected slouch and smirks. Not just any smirk, of course, but his biggest, smuggest bad boy smirk he can summon, complete with insolent eyebrow raise. It’s gotten him kicked out of more schools than he can count at this point, and it must work just as well against overprotective girl friends as it does on priggish deans, because it sends Ground Zero over there through the roof.

Whatever, might as well have a little fun before she ruins his night anyway. Not like Red’s going to go anywhere once Little Miss Cockblock reminds her that it’s been T-minus 8 hours since she blew her fuse at him. Sure, he seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago, when it had been go home with him or commit acts of public indecency right there on the dance floor, but they’re not hot and heavy now, and --

“Hey!”

He turns, straight into a blinding flash. He’s still seeing afterimages when Valkyrie gets right up in his grille, glaring at him with face more thunderous than Ragnarok.

“I have your picture now,” she tells him, tone informing him that this is a threat-type situation, and he better act accordingly. “And I’m gonna send it straight to the cops if you pull anything funny.”

For a good minute, all he can do is stare. It’s not the first time he’s had someone threaten to call the cops on him, but honestly -- he’s seen himself in the mirror. That’s fair.

But still, still --

He laughs. Not even a good old chuckle, just a full on belly laugh, because here he is, Public Enemy Number One as far as this chick is concerned, and she’s -- what? Threatening to send campus police a really unflattering tinder pic because her friend misses check-in? He knows exactly how much attention that is going to get on Thirsty Thursday, when they’re out mediating ugly drunk break-ups and calling EMTs for stomach pumps. It’s like --

Obi chokes on a breath, fingers clenching his shirt. It’s like she tried to warn Red off, and she -- she --

She wants him anyway.

“Yuck it up,” Miss Empty Threats huffs, which is much less annoying now that he knows none of her ranting has put a stop to his evening, that even though Red has every reason to back out of this thing, she still -- still -- “If you put a hand on Shirayuki that she doesn’t like, I’ll cut it off. And your balls too!”

He wants to inform her that, against all odds, there doesn’t seem to be a finger of his she isn’t asking for, but for once, he knows better. Getting into it with Mother Duck will just make her scoop up all her ducklings, no matter how hard they protest, and anyway, he doesn’t --

He doesn’t want to upset her. Because she’s Red’s friend. A good friend, from the looks of it. And he respects that. He’s glad she has someone like that looking out for her.

Besides, getting into it with Mama here over nothing is only going to give Red second thoughts about whether she wants to -- to -- ah, hang out with him again.

Yeah. That’s it. Because he’s the sort of guy who hangs out with girls he hooks up with, definitely. This is -- is friend stuff. Not -- not anything more serious than that.

Red’s hurrying her way over, looking positively stormy, and Elena de la Vega gives him one last glare for good measure. “Don’t forget what I said!”

“Don’t worry,” he tells her with a grin, “you’ve made yourself memorable.”

Red watches her friend flounce off with a worried look, one she turns on him once Hurricane Kihal has stormed her way back up to the club. She’s had time to have second thoughts now, even third thoughts, and with Toghrul’s interference, she’d probably had four, five, and six, plenty of time to realize --

“Are you ready to go?”

He blinks. She’s flushed, collarbone to hairline at least, eyes fixed to his shoes like she’s afraid he might -- that he’s the one that’s going to call it off. Like maybe dealing with five seconds of her surrogate hover-parent has convinced him this whole thing isn’t worthwhile, that she’s not worthwhile, and --

And he doesn’t know how to say he’s talked to her for maybe ten minutes straight without her yelling at him, but he wants to know if she has anything spicier than tree hugger in her vocabulary.

So he doesn’t.

Obi hooks a finger around her jaw, tilting it up so she’s looking at him, and slow enough to give her time, he leans in. It’s not anything fancy; no clashing tongues or seeking hips like a few minutes ago, but it’s nice. A quick and tender.

It’s not until he pulls away, catching her wide eyes, that he realizes -- that’s a boyfriend kiss.

She’s the one to lean back it, to brush her lips against his, and this one lingers, long enough he wraps his hand around her back to steady her. Long enough that his breath starts to come quick, that his dick twitches in anticipation.

She settles back on her heels, eyes still closed, breath huffing softly between them.

“Yeah,” he manages, trying not to think how much he want to see her face like that again, all softly blissful. “Let’s...let’s go.”

He takes her hand again, and this time she threads their fingers right away, tucking in close. “Okay.”

She gives him one, bright smile, and he --

Oh boy, he is...he is in trouble.

[packsbeforesnacks]

A Case of the Moondays || Noah & Winn

TIMING: Monday, February 3rd, 2020, Evening LOCATION: Main Street Arena PARTIES: @noah-kalani​ & @packsbeforesnacks​ SUMMARY: Winn scents a boy on the first (not) date. Noah growls. WARNINGS: Boners.

Winn wasn’t a cruel coach.

He’d run the boys ragged on Tuesday, sure, but cancelling Monday’s practice was what a good bro would do — partly because teenagers couldn’t handle their baby hangovers, and partly because he knew they’d be behind on their work and could use the time to catch up. (Would they? As if. But never let it be said he didn’t try.) If he were in their position, he’d be nominating himself for Coach of the Year for that show of sympathy.

There hadn’t been too much carnage from the party, other than some (overly) concerned moms calling him up and asking why on God’s green earth their little Timmy had taken even one sip of the devil’s water. But Winn had spent half his lifetime charming the pants off of mothers, who were all too eager to forget his “transgressions” when they met his pearly whites and warm handshake and “aw, shucks, ma’am, those wily teens” routine.

He’d spent his afternoon meeting four or five moms at one of the back tables in the Arena’s bar area, and each came out of the meeting with a glowing review of their son and an afterglow from the thrill of talking to Winn Woods: Lady Killer. They didn’t need to know he wasn’t strictly bangable; it was like crushin’ on the pool boy. Would never happen, but it was nice to let ‘em dream. But, God, he needed a fuckin’ drink, and he knew exactly what twink to hit up.

He fired a text off to Noah and ordered the first of (hopefully) many drinks. The bar was dead on a Monday, so Big D was more than happy to make his tips off Winn’s wallet, and Winn was more than happy to talk to a pretty (if, and this was a goddamn shame, unattainable) face. Worst case scenario, Winn would have to lean into becoming the newest barfly.

It was safe to say Noah Kalani wasn’t exactly known for his “good ideas.” No, Noah was usually the first person you’d call when you needed someone with unprecedented durability who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

So, when the text came in from Winn asking to redeem the ‘one free shot between friends’ coupon that had been extended that weekend during the Super Bowl, Noah fired off a “sure thing” before even stopping to think about it. And, normally, he wouldn’t. It was just two bros doing bro stuff, after all. (Right? Yes, right.)

But this week there was a catch that made everything all the more difficult for Noah. Because this week was a full moon week. And maybe for a normal wolf that wouldn’t be such a big deal, but for someone like Noah? Well. He could feel it in his chest. The ache. The urge. The need to just fucking hit something. Not to mention he was already bracing himself for the immense change he was going to experience this weekend having a shapeshifting supernatural organ that was trapped in a body that wouldn’t, no couldn’t, accommodate it. But it was too late to think about that now, his body propelling him towards the only other lump in this bar.

“Hey.” Noah nodded Winn’s way, sliding onto the barstool next to the other man. And it was weird, how something about looking at Winn made Noah calm down, his (interesting?) scent soothing his already oversensitive nose, quelling the wolfy-ness lingering underneath his fragile human skin. “Soooooo I don’t usually drink on Mondays, but I did promise you a shot. So, here I am.” He flashed a cheeky smile at the other man.

Noah wasn’t taking forever to get over to the Arena, but it was long enough that Big D had started passing Winn glasses to dry off, ignoring Winn’s protests of “I am a paying customer” and cartoonishly mumbling something about kids these days having no respect for their elders.

His protests, as Big D knew from the weeknights after practice that Winn whiled away sitting at the bar and beating his head against his readings for class, were mostly token. There was an unspoken agreement between the two: Winn could loiter if he helped out occasionally, and Big D wouldn’t bug Winn once Winn got in the zone. After all, it wasn’t as if Winn had any place better to be.

Winn’s ears perked up a bit as he heard the mechanical whoosh from the glass doors, Noah bringing in a rush of midwinter chill with him as he entered the Arena. Something tickled Winn’s nose as he handed the last of the glasses to D, but he mentally shrugged it off — weird smells popped up in White Crest all the time, and, as he reminded his furrier half, Winn couldn’t chase down every mail truck.

Noah slid in beside him, making a token greeting and beaming at him. “Nice to meetcha sober, Noah. I don’t try to get smashed on Mondays, but a cooldown beer? Yeah, I fuck with that.” Winn laughed, a small rumble at the back of his throat, and clapped a hand down onto Noah’s back. “But you did say shots, and I hold a man to his word. What’s your poison?” He gestured broadly to the alcohol behind the bar — a pretty standard collection, as far as Winn’s experience went, though there was a bottle of Maker’s Mark near the top shelf that was calling his name. He had some manners, though. Boy buying the shot gets to pick the booze, least as far as the first shot went.

“Well, I guess by proxy I’m fucking with that too today.” Noah threw out with a smile, eyes already scanning the selection of alcohol behind the bar. He wasn’t a fancy drinker by all means. No, Noah was more of a “what can I get the most of for the least amount” kind of dude (his drink of choice could usually be described as piss water, but people his age rarely drank for the taste right?).

But Winn though.

Well, Noah scanned the other man for a few seconds, trying to figure him out. He didn’t look like he wouldn’t be able to hold his own with some ‘piss water’ of his own, but something inside Noah screamed at him to make a better choice. And maybe it was the fact that Winn was older than him that sparked this internal struggle, or maybe he just needed to grow up and order something nice for a change. Either way, he waved the bartender down, mind made up.

“Can we have two shots of Tito’s for starters Big D?” he asked, figuring vodka was a respectable choice for a shot, especially since it wasn’t Tequila. “So, what’s happened with you since I last saw you, like what… 24 hours ago?” Noah asked with a smile as he watched Big D pour the shots and slide them over to the pair.

“Aw, shit. Fuckin’ Tito’s? I haven’t had a swig of that in a minute. Solid choice, bro.” If Winn was being completely honest with Noah, he’d admit that he hadn’t had a shot of Tito’s since the last time he’d done body shots or, more accurately still, the last time his body had been used for body shots. Much as he felt no real shame for his days being the vessel for many a packmates first “legal” drink (was there a better way to ring in being legal than drinking a shot off your bro? no, there was not), he got the impression from his one-and-a-half interactions with Noah that that revelation might fry the younger man’s brain.

He paused as Big D slid them their shots, glanced at Noah, winked, and threw back the shot with practiced ease. Becoming a werewolf hadn’t fucked too much with his alcohol tolerance (if anything, Winn could hold his liquor better), but his enhanced sense of taste meant that the booze would always burn, just a little, even if it was the smoothest shit this side of the Mississippi.

He smacked the shot glass down on the counter, earning a glare from D (one time he’d asked, “What are you doing, kid, tryin’ to shatter them? Fuck’s sake.”), and considered Noah’s question. “Felt bad I didn’t have much time to chat last night, man. But I chaperoned this party, swiped some choice barbeque from another party, and then passed out in a food coma. Pretty lame, right?” He snorted. “Oh, and then today I got lovingly chewed out by the local MADDs for not keeping a laser sight on their sixteen year olds. I mean, I don’t know about you, man, but they’re lucky their kids aren’t more like me when I was their age. And, hey, least they’re involved enough to know when their kids’ve been drinkin’, I guess. How ���bout you, dude?” He leaned his head lazily on his hand, eyes bright and attentive (he hoped) on Noah.

Noah couldn’t help but beam slightly at Winn’s praise. Even for all his hesitation, his choice was apparently paying off. Maybe this was a sign he should get the good stuff more often? Or at least he should buy Winn the good stuff more often. That is, if they were going to make this a regular thing… God he hoped this would be a regular thing.

Focusing on the shot set before him, though, Noah almost missed the wink that was aimed his way as the older man threw back his liquor, his motions taking a slight pause. It wasn't like this was the first time a man had ever winked at him (no, he’d been winked at a BUNCH of times) but this was the first time that… Well, it felt weird. But good? In a way that didn't make a whole lot of sense to him at the moment. Which was probably why he should just take the shot and go on with his life before he overalayzed it to death. Okay. Okay.

Downing the liquor in his glass, Noah placed his down (albeit more getly) next to Winn’s, waving at Big D. “Two more please,” he grunted out, the burn still tickling the back of his throat. “Don’t worry about it, dude,” Noah said with a playful shrug. “Sounds like you had a busy night, and a full belly. The lamest of lames.” It was punctuated by a smile, one of his nicest and most genuine ones. But it didn’t last long as Winn started talking about his experiences with the mothers of his players.

“Ooooohhhhhh yeaaaah, that sounds rough,” Noah started as Big D placed the second round in front of them, “but looks like they didn’t cut you up too deeply.” He nudged the other man as he took the second shot and downed it. “Been alright. Floated around to a couple parties after you left with the boys. Went to work this morning, helped the vet cut off some balls. You know, the usual.”

“Haha, yeah? They couldn’t withstand my charm, clearly,” Winn said, dry as a desert. He had to admit… It was nice to just grab a drink with someone again. Sure, he had friends… or, at least acquaintances. Blanche, for sure. Ricky, though not for nearly as long and… well. Miles was a wolf, so they were bros for life, obvi. But Blanche couldn’t go out to bars yet (and, ‘sides, she’d probably think he was uncool to hang with?) and any hangout with Ricky could be (mis)interpreted as a second date and he didn’t want to make things weird. Miles… Well, he seemed, like, busy?

Noah was a new face, and a chill one, and he was buyin’ Winn a second shot, so, y’know, no complaints. Winn downed that shot, licking the residual vodka from his lips before he started again. “You make it over to Ricky’s at all? ‘S where I got the ‘cue. Ricky’s got some great meat.”

He inhaled deeply, something catching on the back of his throat. His eyes darted for a second to the sliding doors, but, no. No one had come in. Exhale. Somethin’ was buggin’ him. It was the same smell that Noah had carried in with him, he thought? Another subtle inhale through his nose, trying to both pay attention to whatever Noah was sayin’ and run through the possibilities in his head of where the smell might be coming from. Or what it was, even. His eyes flickered around the bar, and back to Noah. No. Could he be? Winn leaned forward, “to listen better” he’d say, and inhaled again. Noah smelled fresh, in the most basic sense of the word — clean, mossy, a little bit woodsy? But there was something under all of that that Winn couldn’t quite put his finger on. If he could just get closer…

Ricky’s got some great meat. Noah couldn’t help but snort at that comment, middle school lizard brain still finding puns like that funny, and not like… true in, like, the really gay way. Because that was definitely a crisis for another night.

“Yeah, I made it over for a few hours, talked to all the guys for a bit. Saw you get some of your own Ricky Cordero special.” Noah winked at Winn. Because, yeah. He’d noticed. And it didn't matter to him that those two were close. Not one bit. Because he wasn’t like other jocks. He was a Cool Jock, okay?

Watching, though, as the other man went curiously silent, Noah cocked an eyebrow as the other inched closer and closer. Wait. Was Winn smelling him? Blanching a little out of embarrassment, Noah discreetly (or not so discreetly) raised an arm, nose instantly going to his pit. No, that wasn’t it. Not that it would have been anyway, he knew, Noah wasn't insane about hygiene but he at least had the common decency to shower off the sweat and the vet building smell before he came out.

Feeling his heart start racing, he said, “Don’t know what you’re smelling, but I swear I showered before I came, dude.” Noah raised his hands in his defense, Winn’s head practically inches from Noah’s tanned chest. And if Winn was any type of supernatural, Noah was sure he could heart his heart beating out of his long sleeve, button down, Henley-esque shirt. That he was now noticing was unbuttoned really, really low and my god he was showing too much skin for Winn, wasn’t he?

Winn racked his brain, trying to figure out what Noah could’a meant when he said that Winn got a “Ricky Cordero special.” “Oh, you mean when he slapped my ass?” Winn asked, nose twitching. Closer… “Ricky’s jus’ like that, bro, y’don’t gotta anythin’ to be jealous over.” He was not thinking about the words coming out of his mouth.

Noah smelled almost like… a wolf? Fuck, what. But he wasn’t a wolf. Trust Winn to know, he’d had to dude in his damn lap! He would know if he had a wolf in his lap, he’d had plenty there, and he knew how they smelled, and Noah did not smell like them. Or like Miles! But… But…

He leaned farther forward, dimly aware that Noah had noticed him leaning forward. But, shit, if he was a wolf, then the only person he really had to be ashamed around was Big D and, eyes darting to the left, yeah, D had gone into the kitchen. The barstool creaked as it started to come forward with Winn, Winn eyeing Noah’s neck and chest, where the scent was the most concentrated.

He could hear Noah’s heart beating fast — huh, save that observation for a later time — as Winn approached his target. And Winn could appreciate an admittedly nice chest, but that wasn’t his goal. His nose hit the base of Noah’s neck, Winn took a deep breath… and everything went to shit.

“Fuck,” Winn said, tipping forward and falling into Noah’s chest, into Noah, and off of his stool. Like a domino, Noah tipped back, and Winn barely had time to throw his hands out behind Noah’s head to prevent him from cracking it open on the tile.

“Damn it,” Winn said softly, but, well, since he was here. Deep inhale. There was something off about Noah’s scent. He knew it. There was something of the wild there — maybe he’d just been fucking around with a wolf for a while and didn’t know it yet? But, no, this smelled like… a part of him?

Not for the first time, Winn wished he could just ask César… and, fuck, Winn was still on top of Noah, hands behind Noah’s head, nose in the man’s neck, and, if he was being honest, his mouth on the man’s collarbone. Winn’s legs were astride Noah’s own, bodies lined up nearly one-to-one. And… well, shit, this was about to get awkward, wasn’t it?

Noah huffed at the assumption that he was jealous, eyes rolling playfully. Winn probably didn't know, but Noah could most likely get Ricky to slap his ass too. You know if he wanted to. But before Noah could even think to respond, a certain chain of events unfolded before him.

First, there was the fact that Winn was now so close that Noah could feel the other man’s breath on the skin of his neck as he fought to hold back a shiver. Something deep down within him wanted this, wanted this to keep going wherever it might lead. But again, now was not the time, nor the place, to be having a big gay crisis.

No, now was the time to have another crisis of sorts. One where he really just needed to know what the ever living fuck Winn was doing with his nostrils jammed so far into his neck he probably could smell what he had for dinner. But, wait. Was he… scenting him? The thought hit Noah like a freight train as the dark thing that lived down deep inside him howled with approval. Scenting. Pack. Fuck. That was a werewolf thing, right? Holy shit, did he just befriend an actual werewolf? All on his own?

Noah didn’t have time to really contemplate this singular thought as Winn tipped them both over with the force of his curiosity. And Noah had been hit before. Hard, some might even say. But there was nothing like having a huge, bulky man push you over on a barstool when you were least expecting it, especially when Noah’s own body absorbed most of the fall for the both of them.

“Shit,” he wheezed as he just laid there, mind focusing mostly on getting his breathing in check, his lungs feeling as if they’d had every ounce of oxygen knocked out of them. And this wasn’t the first time Noah had had a large man on top of him. Oh, no no no. Noah was a football player, and this thing was more or less normal in his realm. What wasn’t normal was the amount (or lack thereof) of clothing between them, and the actual press of flesh on flesh. Fuck, he really should have stuck with the cable knit sweater.

“So uh. If you wanted to, uh, get me under you, dude,” Noah started after a few more seconds of silence, still laying there stock-still, trying not to look at Winn (or, the top of his head). Or, you know, think about the fact that the man was basically making out with his collarbone at this point, “uh, there might have been better ways to go about it. Preferably one that didn’t cause me bodily harm.” Humor. It was the best Noah could do in the moment, and he hoped it was enough to break the thick tension that was now hanging in the air.

You know, thinking about it rationally, from his spot down here functionally making out with Noah’s collarbone, Winn could think of times in his life where he’d fucked up worse.

There’d been that time in the Chi Alpha mug party with the dick marshmallows when he’d been a sophomore. Or that time he’d literally fallen down the side of a mountain during initiation one year — and thank fuck for werewolf endurance or he’d probably be toast. There were plenty of times in his life that he could look back on now, lying on top of Noah, that, maybe, he should’ve felt, y’know, more embarrassed about at the time. Shame wasn’t a foreign emotion to Winn, much as he liked to joke that he was as shameless as they came.

But he was blushing scarlet now, especially when Noah joked about Winn wanting to get Noah under him. (And, really, again, Winn needed more time to think about the other man’s heart rate when he wasn’t scrambling for ways to explain why he’d been literally smelling Noah.)

“Uh,” he tried, “I’m sorry, dude. Guess my tolerance is a little lower than I remembered.” He huffed out a laugh, breath dusting across Noah’s exposed neck.

And, wow, this close up, he could really see the tendons in Noah’s neck. Curse the full moon, but Winn really wanted to bite into that neck right now. Not to hurt Noah, ‘course, but something a bit more… primal. And, alllllright, time to get up, before Winn started making his (secondary) intentions extremely clear to the other man — jeans or no.

But the thing was, the wolf didn’t want to move. He felt himself growl lowly, and no. No, like the dumb dog he was, he just stayed there, hands gripped tight in Noah’s hair (Christ), and took another deep breath of the man, once again left to wonder what the fuck was under the very, very human smell of Noah. He wondered, absently, if this is how some of his packmates had felt when he’d roughhoused with them, before they’d told him their secret, if there had been something different about the way that Winn smelled that had told them that he belonged with them.

And, dammit, down boy. Distract. He started talking, low, into Noah’s neck: “Okay, so, clearly I was lying about the drinking thing. I… don’t have a good explanation here for ya, man. Just gonna have to ask you to, uh, trust me that this isn’t as bad as it seems? And, like, I know it seems pretty bad, but I swear to you that I didn’t mean to hurt you or end up here.” He gulped, pushing onward. “But... I need you to do me a massive favor and push me off of you, ‘cause I don’t think I can get off of you right now? You’re gonna have to make the first move here, so. Please help me out here, Noah.”

He whispered one last, “Please.”

I’m sorry, dude. Guess my tolerance is a little lower than I remembered. Noah may have been a barely-there, C-passing jock at times, but good lord he was he not that dumb. There was definitely more to this. So, so, sooooo much more to this, especially as the other man turned an even deeper shade of crimson, grip starting to become tighter in Noah’s hair. (They’d have to talk about that little action in the future.)

Trying just to breathe, Noah laid there for a moment, irrational thoughts streaming through his consciousness as every second passed. The wolf in him wanted to growl at Winn, gnash his teeth, and bite whatever flesh he could find, a stiff payment for knocking him over and holding him veritably hostage.

But there was also a side of him that felt the rush of blood pooling in places it should not be, Winn’s hot breath on his neck bringing back those sexual feelings he sadly hadn’t given into in a long time. Feelings he shouldn’t even be having in the first place seeing as how it was a very male appendage that was making its appearance against him.

As always, Winn brought him back, the pleading in his voice distracting Noah from each and every shiver that was tingling down his spine. (God, he was going to need to work on being well, less, excitable in his neck area.)

The fucking asshole couldn’t move? What the fucking kind of fucking excuse was that? A lame one, his inner wolf growled. And Noah couldn’t help but agree, his anger fueling his next actions.

Because yes, in retrospect, he probably could have done everything a lot gentler, but Noah Fucking Kalani was no fucking pushover, that was for sure. Making the swift choice, Noah braced, the one season of wrestling he did in freshman year really kicking in as he swung his legs up. Bracketing them around the other man, Noah rolled them both swiftly and efficiently landing to where he was on top, his own hips pinning the other to the floor, Winn’s body hitting the tile with a soft but satisfying thud.

Sitting there (and ignoring the large dick in the room), Noah just let his breath come in a soft pant as he studied the other man, searching for words. But there was only one thing he had to say right now. He leaned down. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?” he whispered. His big brown eyes narrowing, almost daring Winn to tell the truth.

Winn winced as Noah flipped him, grunting softly at the roughness of the maneuver and the ways in which Noah was now pressing down on him. The wolf was shocked into silence, into submission, and, frankly, so was Winn.

He looked up at Noah, the other man panting, looking at Winn with a curious gaze, like he was waiting for Winn to say something, do something. But what? Winn whined slightly, before he got annoyed at himself for whining. C’mon, Winner. Do better.

His big “problem” throbbed unhelpfully in his jeans, but he could almost ignore that, especially when Noah said the w-word. And leaned in. And whispered. Alright, so, a healthy mix of everything, then. Great. So, two, maybe three, options here, right?

Option the first: Noah was a Hunter, which seemed… unlikely, though his dick had led him astray before in that regard. Hunter wouldn’t’ve let him get that close. Wouldn’t have even hesitated to put a bullet in his chest, a hand around his throat, whatever. Hell, coulda used the shot glass for it. He blamed Jules for at least one of those options ‘causing him to groan low, in the back of his throat.

Alright, option the second: Noah was a wolf. Vaguely unlikely. He knew what non-pack wolves smelled like, in the broadest sense. And even if he didn’t, the smell underlying Noah’s normal scent wasn’t fully wolflike. He knew that now, having been, well, immersed in it was probably the most accurate?

Third… Weird human?

He pushed his hips up experimentally, testing how tightly Noah had him down, and found it was firm — but not absolute. Winn briefly considered bucking Noah off of him, but didn’t want that to be taken as somethin’ it wasn’t, considering that would mean grinding up and into Noah’s ass.

Instead, he looked into Noah’s brown eyes, searching for an answer, before he slowly, calmly, nodded. There was somethin’ about the show of force, the calm sureness of Noah’s whispered “werewolf,” that made Winn want to bare his neck, offer himself up to Noah — stupid, he knew, that was barely a thing that his packmates had even jokingly done.

Even knowing that, he turned his head to the side slightly, neck on full display, an acceptance that he’d been beat. An acquiescence to answering Noah’s questions, if he had any. But Winn let out one growl, though, to let Noah know that Winn could still fight back, if he needed to.

Staring at Winn, Noah’s eyes were trained on the other, looking for even the slightest of movements, wolfy instincts he barely knew he had ablaze inside him. He wanted proof, proof he wasn't crazy. Hell, even proof Winn was a weird motherfucker who was just trying to seduce him so he could later stuff him in a hole and wear his skin like a robe (and on that thought, Noah probably needed to stop watching psychological horror movies before bed).

Feeling Winn test his grip, though, only made Noah tighten it, mouth set in a line. Winn wasn't getting out of this without answering the question. No matter how aroused Winn was, or how much Noah was thinking that if this was happening in different circumstances…  but they weren’t. They were happening here and now, with Noah pinning down a guy he'd practically just met on the tiled floor of a bar and accusing him of being a werewolf.

To which apparently the answer was yes. Winn was a werewolf. Noah sucked in a sharp breath. Fuck. Winn was an actual werewolf. The moon was only a few days away and here he was, a puny slightly-powered human pinning down a full-grown fucking wolf. Fuck having the upperhand right now, because he was going to die tonight, wasn’t he? But then Winn turned his head, the soft part of his neck and consequently his jugular on display. There was something in the action that sent a tingle through Noah’s spine, the younger boy losing his grip a bit subconsciously.

Well, that was until he heard it, the low rumble that sent him spiraling back into the darkness. No, that deep animalistic voice spoke to him. No. This would not do. Tightening back to his original strength, Noah gave in and did something he'd never done before. He growled back.

Did… Did Noah just growl at Winn?

What… the fuck. What the actual, like, flying fuck? That was a wolf growl and, Winn sniffed the air as subtly as possible (hah, fat chance, Winner). Noah smelled… more like a wolf now? (And, alright, Winn would self-examine the way in which the growl nearly made him whine, again.)

“What… are you?” Winn ventured, eyes locked on Noah.

Which, of course, was when Big D, who had managed to stay out of the fucking room while this series of increasingly nonsensical events had occured, made his presence known with a loud cough. Winn, slightly too roughly—sorry Noah—shoved the younger man off of him and stood, grateful that the bar came up to hide his waist, and what was below it, and laughed uncomfortably.

“Big D, have I ever told you how grateful I am that you’re my bartender? That you let me stay here even when I’m not drinking? How I’d do anything for you?” The bartender quirked an eyebrow, gestured to the man still on the floor, gestured to Winn, gestured to the trays stack of damp glasses he’d brought in from the back. And, yeah, okay, Winn could get the message.

“I… think you should go, Noah,” he said, staring into Noah’s eyes with a calm surety, trying to transmit ‘Look, things are complicated, but we can talk about this later.’ with just his mind, knowing that there could be so many things going through Noah’s head right now, and that, in a way, it was Winn and his dumbass wolf’s responsibility to answer any questions, but… Later. He’d figure it out. Later.

And with a whoosh, Noah was gone.

[irondadgroupie]

Bohemian Rhapsody: Chapter

A/N: Let me tell you guys, the most difficult part of this story so far, along with a chapter we are currently struggling with, was finding info about extubation. Every teaching video featured asleep patients and it was so difficult to find info about how to do the procedure while the patient is awake. 

@iamwhump and I eventually managed and we’re pleased with the results. 

“And we’re done,” Tony proclaimed with a smile and started unfastening the belt. “You did amazing, as always.”

Peter attempted to smile but only managed to curve one side of his mouth.  

Tony gathered the breathing aid into his arms and pinched the boy’s nose with a smirk: “Teacher’s pet.”

Peter shoved out his tongue: a trick he had learned from the extubation test the doctor had performed earlier that morning. In order to take the breathing tube off, Peter had had to reach numerous values and the boy had done so with flying colors. His 02- stats were up, he could lift his head off the pillow and show his tongue on command.

Tony tried to appear strict: “Hey,” he bumped the boy’s forehead. “None of that attitude or I will leave you in that machine.”

Peter fisted his hands and glared.

“You’re so cute, when you’re angry,” Tony cooed and pinched Peter’s cheeks.  

The boy would have snorted if not for the tube in his throat.

Tony took a moment to water the flowers on Peter’s bedside, Pepper had brought the boy yellow tulips, their color was like the bright autumn leaves Tony saw from the windows. He could not remember when he had last gone out.  

“When you are off the ventilator, we are going on a picnic in Central Park. Sound good?”

Peter nodded eagerly.

“Of course, we need to give it some time since you need to adjust back to eating solids. Maybe just a walk?”

The boy looked a bit crest-fallen but blinked ‘yes’.

Tony took a cup of ice-chips (they really were not too bad when you got used to them) and sat down by the bed again. He took one, fingers already melting the thing and began to slide it over Peter’s lips. At first, Tony had been worried Peter would be embarrassed with such an intimate gesture but it seemed the boy was only grateful that people were looking into his basic needs.

“You know what I just realized?” The man tried to slide some water into Peter’s mouth. “You get to do-over your first word!”

Peter weakly lifted an eyebrow.

“What was your first word?” Tony wondered aloud. “Was it Mama? Mine was Mama.”

Peter tried to shrug.  

“I have to ask May about it. But anyway, you have been here for a month, everybody is eagerly waiting for you to speak again.”

Peter shook his head and touched his throat.

“Yeah, your voice might be gone for a while but is important to try. We don’t care if you sound like an old man with stage 4 lung cancer- we love you either way.”  

Again, Peter made a weak attempt to smile, and Tony almost melted at the sight. He could barely stand the wait to seeing the typical, broad Peter Parker smile back on the kid’s lips. “Talking about that… you’ve gotten another gift.”  

‘Another’ as in ‘one other’ was more than an understatement, but he knew that Peter’s attention span wasn’t exactly long enough to focus on things for too long, and he didn’t want to make the boy feel bad for falling asleep in the middle of a gift opening.

“That one’s from Larry. That small, blond, lab guy, you remember?”  

Peter seemed to consider the answer for a second, then nodded.  

“Although… technically, it’s from me. And if you narrow it down it’s actually from Pep, so…” The glance in Tony’s eyes brightened when the kid rolled his eyes. No one could ever even possibly understand how much that simple movement meant to Tony, after almost a month of Peter laying limp and motionless on the bed. That’s probably why he’d let it come to that in the first place.  

“We never really got to celebrate our huge progress on your formula. And – you know I wasn’t a big fan of the idea – “  Who would’ve? “But you’ve been rambling so much about it that we just couldn’t resist, so…” Tony made the reveal dramatic, currently still hiding the present from Peter’s rather limited line of vision. “This is a lucky charm, alright? Not a mascot or anything.”  

Who was he kidding? Sure the stuffed yellow platypus with his white coat and the protective goggles was a goddamn mascot. It was just less embarrassing to sell it as a lucky charm since he was giving it before the extubation. As soon as the color and form were within Peter’s sensual reach, the surveillance monitor began beeping in a quicker pace, causing Tony to immediately freeze mid- motion. “You alright, kid? Does anything hurt?” The man frowned when Peter blinked a ‘no’. “I’d make a guess that this is the excitement talking.” May remarked casually, making her way back to her nephew’s bedside. “Who wouldn’t be, at the sight of a stuffed platypus five times the natural size?”  

She threw Tony a glance, and he caught her words without verbally hearing them. “So much about not spoiling him, huh?”  

With that said, Tony wished she’d needed a few minutes longer refreshing, so that he could’ve secretly revealed that he’d ordered a smaller one, too – and more practical at that – for Peter to actually have beside him.  

May just huffed, doing her best to hold back the laughter. One media cliché was obviously true: If anything, Tony Stark was a man of big gestures. Instead of mocking him, however, she decided to help Peter explore the texture, gently supporting him by wrapping his fingers around it. “Oh my goodness.” She exclaimed. “How’s this thing so fluffy?” “Hey, if I’m already ordering individualized stuffed animals, I’m ordering the good ones.” “I see.”  

There was a short pause during which both adults just enjoyed the sparkle of happiness in Peter’s eyes.   “So, a lucky charm, I heard? Good that you have it, but you wouldn’t need it, sweetheart. Yours is gonna be the smoothest extubation the medics here are ever going to see.”

Water heater clicked. Tony lifted it from the platform and filled the instant noodles cup to the line and added in the sauce powder.  

“You know those have little to no nutrition,” May pointed at the man with a plastic fork as she held a container of Caesar salad on her lap.

“But it’s quick to eat,” Tony shrugged and sat on the seat on Peter’s other side. The boy was resting up after getting excited about his gifts. The doctor platypus was lying on the bed beside him, the boy’s arm slightly cuddling it.  

It was a such an adorable sight; Tony would have saved as his phone’s background if not for the ventilator.

Once he deemed the noodles cooked enough to eat, he began his lunch hour, eyes on the clock.

“Slow down or you’ll burn your mouth,” May chewed on a piece of chicken.

“We running late on schedule.”

“Stark, your money runs this hospital. They will wait.”

“I just want to see Peter get out of that fucking monster.”

Peter moaned something in his sleep and turned around towards his aunt. Tony froze in place, heart in his throat and May’s soft glare fixed on him.  

“Shhh,” May calmed the boy down and stroked his hair. “You’re okay, sweetie.”

Peter’s fingers twitched. Tony sat down his meager lunch and lifted the stuffed animal. Maybe a bit juvenile gift for a teenage boy, but hey, the boy loved animals and anything cute. He was not going to judge.

Peter was going to need all the comfort to manage the dreaded but highly anticipated extubation.

“Here’s your little buddy,” Tony whispered gently, tickled Peter’s cheek with the platypus and tucked the toy tightly under the boy’s arm. “All good now?”

He would have sworn the boy purred.

Tony chuckled and sat down again.  

“We need to figure out what to do from now,” May approached a new topic.

Tony nodded, eyes on the food, he didn’t want to spill. “Agreed. I have already called a speech therapist. I can imagine Peter is going to have a hard time controlling his voice. Plus the pain.”

“Also, then we need to think of easing him into eating again.”

“Nutritionist?”

“Yes. Also, I highly recommend a psychologist.”

“You think he might have PTSD?”

“Maybe not necessarily PTSD since Peter doesn’t remember what happened,” May frowned. “I was thinking more about the adjustment period. He missed a month of his life. That has got to be a huge issue.”

“But he is very resilient,” Tony tried to think of the positive. “But yeah, I’m more worried about the physical incapabilities. He is used to running around. I have read that prolonged hospital stays plus immobility can cause depression.”

“There is a risk of that. Also, I would like Peter sees a neuropsychologist.”

“Alright, I can make a call,” Tony nodded. “You’re the expert here, I trust your word.”

May gave a small smile. “Recovery from coma can be very strenuous on all of us. Peter- well, it can take a while until he is himself. We need to patient but strict. If we don’t give up on him, he will feel secure and commit to the process.”

Throwing the empty cup to the trash can (which was again overflowing), Tony considered the words. So far, things had worked out great but Peter only managed to stay awake for so long and even then, he was not fully there. The boy’s attention span was short and he zoned out frequently. The doctor had assured them it was not all because of the brain injury, the drugs played a big part in it.

Little steps, Tony reminded himself. They‘d see how things worked out along the way. The only thing they could do was prepare for everything.

The noodles Tony had had for lunch threatened to make a comeback as Peter was preparing to get the breathing tube out. The boy passed the final exam with flying colors and got to choose a sticker as a reward.

Peter chose one of a puppy with a soft coat.  

Tony smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair.

“That was great, kiddo, and all you had to do was show your tongue and lift your head.”

“Maybe the most important test of your life,” May smiled and stroked the boy’s knuckles with her thumb.

Tony shook his head. “You know he has SATs coming up?”

“Oh please, you can get him to any school already.”

The man grinned. “True.”

Peter tried to smile but it was lopsided, the breathing tube was in the way.  

The boy was laid on his left side with nurses and two doctor’s hovering around him. Everyone was gentle and made cheery small-talk as they took note of his vitals and went through the process so Peter would know what to expect.

“We will keep you in the loop,” one of the doctor’s patted Peter’s shoulder. “You just relax and focus on breathing, let us do the hard work, alright?”

Peter tried to give a thumbs up but the attempt was miserable. Tony chuckled as he took his place behind Peter’s back. May sat in front of the boy so Peter could look at her, Tony would provide more physical love and support.  

“Alright, we’ll begin now.”

Peter clutched the platypus plushie to his chest, a whimper escaping his throat.

“You’re alright,” Tony grasped the boy’s shoulder and stroked his hair. “You are so strong, so brave-”

“Just breathe, Peter,” The doctor said as he and a nurse worked on releasing the tube. It was a slow process with many steps.  

“This might feel a little uncomfortable.”

Tony did not watch the process, his focus was only on Peter. He offered silent support, rubbed the boy’s arm and then placed his hand over Peter’s. He pressed the stuffed toy tighter to boy’s chest.

“Breathe, kiddo, breathe,” Tony tried to ignore the sounds coming near Peter’s mouth. What on earth were they doing, shredding the boy’s throat?

“Alright, Peter,” The doctor finally said as the only thing left was the final process. “I need you to take a deep breath and then we’ll pull the tube out. You need to exhale or cough as we take it off. You might feel nauseous but that will abate soon, I promise.”

Peter nodded and grasped May’s hand tighter.

Tony stroked the boy’s knuckles: Peter’s hand was chilled from anxiety.

“What if there are complications?” He asked and rubbed a place just beside Peter’s ear.

“Peter is what we would describe as a low risk patient,” The doctor explained. “We will put him on 100% oxygen the minute the tube is out to secure the airway and monitor him carefully for six hours.”

“He has never been taken off ventilator when awake,” Tony countered. “The only time he has been put under was when his wrist was operated.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” The doctor’s eyes twinkled. “You insisted on being in the room when they removed the breathing tube.”

Tony flushed but tried to regain his composure, even under May’s triumphant smile: “Well, it was the first time we ever put him under, I had to make sure there would be no complications.”

“You took very precise notes of his vitals-”

“Are we doing this during this century?” Tony snapped and rubbed Peter’s hand: the boy moved it so Tony’s hand laid between his own and the toy.

A nurse stepped closer.

“Here it goes, Peter,” The doctor took a hold of the tube. “Deep breath in.”

“Start thinking of your first words,” Tony whispered to the boy’s ear. Peter’s lungs expanded, he was eager to get the ordeal over with.

“And breathe out.”

Tony could not describe the sound Peter made, it was something between a long gag and a moan. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and clutched May’s hand tighter.

“A little more, sweetie.”

“Very good,” the Doctor pulled the tube out and Tony who had been waiting for words, something akin to “Thank God!” or “Hallelujah!”, cried in alarm as Peter spit out saliva and mucus.

“It’s okay,” The doctor pressed a mask on Peter’s face and Tony heard the air current that was forced through Peter’s mouth and nose. “Now just focus on breathing.”

“You’re alright, sweetie,” May rubbed Peter’s arm as a nurse moved a stethoscope over his chest. Tony could not help thinking how those muscles had deteriorated during bed rest.

“Good breath sounds on both sides.”

Tony grinned and leaned over to gaze at Peter’s hazy eyes: “You just keep being an overachiever. I’m really, really proud of you, kid. My heart’s bursting.” “Oh Peter.” May whispered, her hands moving through Peter’s curls. “You make Tony all cheesy. You make the man of steel cheesy. And me the happiest aunt on earth, believe me.”

Tony was about to return the quip, knowing that it usually cheered the kid up, but Peter’s eyes were glassy with confusion, pain and exhaustion. The man could barely imagine – and he certainly didn’t want to – how raw his throat was, or how much his lungs probably burned with the artificial support of his breathing finally gone. 

A few weeks ago, when his life had still been within the ranges of ordinary, he’d never have considered allowing his feelings show, especially not with so many people in the room, waiting the ordered three minutes to check whether or not Peter’s vitals would remain stable, so they could immediately re-intubate should the need arise. Tony hoped it wouldn’t get that far, but right now, his main priority was his kid’s mental well-being. 

“It’s fine. We’re all here.” He said, catching the boy’s glance, understanding the request without either of them verbalizing anything. Without any more reconsideration, Tony softly hummed the beautiful, nerdy lullaby into Peter’s ear, fingers gently caressing his cheeks. 

He didn’t even need to do it for long – although he would’ve sung for a year straight if needed – Peter was in Slumberland fast as light. A part of him wondered where that deep, unquestioning admiration for the kid came from. Had it been born after the car crash, when Tony had done nothing but prayed and begged for him to wake up, not wanting to waste the second chance he’d gotten with the boy? Maybe.  

But something inside him was very aware that he’d wrapped the kid in his heart way, way before that. “Sleep well, kiddo.”

The following five hours were both the best and the hardest in Tony‘s life so far. He was on edge the entire time, already fearing the worst because why would recovery be easy. But Peter, the champion he was, pulled through those hours without any respiratory issues, and not even a single serious drop in his oxygen stats. “Told you.” May remarked. “Parker’s are fighters. They’ve always been.”  

There was a sad undertone in her voice, and Tony knew better than to say anything, granting the woman a rare minute of grief. Time was cut short, however, when Peter’s lids moved slightly. Tony recognized the gesture as a sign of discomfort, and quietly ordered Friday to dim the lights to a lower level, to have Peter gradually adjust to coming to. Tony felt his heart swell as soon as he realized that the sound of his voice made the kid frown, his head lolling slightly into his direction. 

“Sorry, kiddo.”, he whispered, fingers gently massaging the boy’s knuckles before he lifted the small hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss on the back. “Take your time. We’re here.” 

It seemed to take longer than the last couple of times, but after around four minutes, Peter finally found it in himself to prevent his eyes from squeezing shut as soon as he tried to open them. He still felt strange, with his body being mostly numb but not heavy, and the soft beeping in the background somewhere between comforting and worrying. In comparison to the haze of memories he could remember from the past couple of days though, this was great.  

His eyes met his mentor’s and he forced himself to smile. There was an ‘Hey, Mr. Stark’ somewhere within him, but it didn’t dare to pass his hurting throat just yet. Mimics and gestures had to do for now. 

For Tony and May, those small things were more than enough. They cherished the simple voluntary blinking, admired the finally not lopsided smile, stored the image of seeing eyes looking at them in their memory forever. None of them would ever make the mistake to take something like that for granted. God no.

From now on, every day they got to spent with Peter would be even more of a blessing than it already was. Tony might even overwrite Friday’s programming on deleting lab sessions not marked important after a year. All of those held moments too valuable to be allowed to sink into the oblivion of a limited human mind.

Peter slowly turned for May, recognizing her soft hand resting in his hair, caressing his forehead, before he stopped in mid-movement, eyes fixed on the door half a second before it opened, a slender figure walking in. It took longer than he would have liked, but Peter managed to identify him as Rhodey, and his smile got even brighter.  

“Hey, Peter. Great to see you.”  

The boy did his best to convey the ‘Great to see you too, Sir.’ with his eyes.  

“How’s being tube free been so far?” 

“Astonishing, isn’t it?” May translated, giving Peter a question he could nonverbally answer. The blinked to signal a yes before feeling something foreign on his face that turned out to be one of his aunt’s tears. His heart quickened in pace before he could prevent it, and he weakly moved his hand up to her face to wipe the streams of water away. He hated to see May cry more than literally anything in the world. 

“Hush, sweetheart, it’s…” she suppressed a sob. “These are happy tears, Peter. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” 

“Oh yes.” Rhodey backed her up, resting a hand on Peter’s left leg. “All our tears have only been happy tears. You can’t even imagine how glad we all are to see you awake again. Now you’ll hopefully be better in no time.” “Sure he will.” Tony promised, having taken time during Rhodey’s short speech to blink away the wave of tears coming over him. He didn’t want Peter to see him cry. The boy needed to be the one receiving, not giving it to others. “We’ll make sure of that.” 

“Of course you will. We all will. Which reminds me… you have quite some visitors out there and they can’t wait to see you.”

[crystallized-shadow]

Rating: Teen Pairing: Kakashi/Madara Word Count: 1590 Warnings: Light angst, mentions of human experimentation, Obito and Madara swap generations Summary: Kakashi's heart died when he lost Madara. Then he finds Madara again and Kakashi's not sure if his heart can take losing the Uchiha again.

For @naruto-rarepair-bingo Board A: generation swap

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

When Kakashi’s stubborn stupidity had caused Madara’s death his heart had died too. He swore he’d never let anyone get close enough to hurt him again, he couldn’t handle losing anyone else. Rin and Minato-sensei had accepted the familiar cold attitude with pitying looks and a promise to listen whenever he was ready to talk. Kakashi found that odd, he’d never talked to them about anything before, so why would he start now?

It had taken Rin nearly getting kidnapped by Mist shinobi for Kakashi to realize he’d let her get close to him. That her death would be nearly as bad as losing Madara again. Minato-sensei has commented on how brutal his kills were, but the tone had told Kakashi the older man would have done the same thing if Kakashi hadn’t beaten him to it. Apparently Minato-sensei couldn’t stand the thought of losing another team member anymore than he could.

Kakashi’s promotion to ANBU had been met with resistance, but he’d managed to convince his sensei he could handle it. He excelled in the ANBU, rumor had it he might make captain soon. Normally Kakashi wouldn’t believe such rumors, but his next wave of missions had been his hardest yet. He’d done them without compliant, despite how utterly insane some of them were, and even enjoyed the solo aspect of them. That being said, Kakashi was secretly glad to be added to a team for the next mission, taking the position of second in command. He vowed this mission would be his smoothest one yet.

Staring at body floating in the large tube-like chamber, Kakashi finds himself at a loss. This was supposed to be an easy mission; all his team had to do was infiltrate one of Orochimaru’s supposed labs and find any useful information they could. That was it, simple easy mission; aside from the high chance of deadly traps and running into the sannin himself. Taking on Orochimaru single-handedly would be preferable to this; at least it would be a quick end. Not this slow agony that made his heart skip several painful beats.

Madara

Madara Uchiha

The selfless idiot that had pushed him out of harms away…

…that had given him his Sharingan…

…that should be DEAD…

…not floating in a glass tube filled with some strange liquid.

Kakashi wants to write it off as just his heart getting the better of his brain and making him see someone else as Madara, even if no one else had such a wild mane of hair. He wants to lock this moment away and never think of it again, and he’s going to, but then-

Then the pale figure opens his eyes and an achingly familiar Sharingan locks onto his own gifted one.

The world disappears around Kakashi as an inferno of chakra overwhelms him.

Instinctive awareness comes back to Kakashi first and he realizes he’s in a hospital before he’s fully conscious. Once he’s capable of higher thinking, the Hatake is torn between praying everything he remembered from the mission was just a nightmare and hoping it really happened.

“Welcome back.” That calm, compassionate voice could only be Minato-sensei.

“Did it really happen?” Kakashi questions softly, opening his eye to look at the blonde, aware his expression is a thousand times more open than he wants it to be.

“I…” Minato starts before he cuts himself with a sigh and breaks eye contact. It takes him a moment, but when Minato looks back at Kakashi, he’s no longer a sensei, but the Hokage. “What do you remember?”

“Madara, alive.”

“Yes, that really happened.” Minato pauses, knowing his former student needs a few moments to process that statement.

“How?” Kakashi finally asks, because that’s what he desperately needs to know; he doesn’t care about anything else, just how his best friend came back from the dead.

“That is unclear,” Minato says, unable to suppress his laugh at the unimpressed glare Kakashi shoots at him. “From our primary look at Orochimaru’s notes it would seem that he found Madara on the brink of death and decided to experiment on him. The full extent of what happened to him is unknown, those notes weren’t recovered, but it appears Orochimaru was still looking into Hashirama’s DNA.”

“Hashirama’s DNA…?” Kakashi mutters in confusion before his eye widens, “the Mokuton.”

“Precisely,” Minato sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes and Kakashi notices for the first time just how tired his sensei looks. “Madara displayed the ability when he broke out of his container to get to you.”

“To get to me?”

“The other ANBU reported that he broke out, injured you in the process, and then refused to let anyone near you. He had to be sedated so you could both be brought back here.”

“He’s here?”

“Of course,” Minato grins brightly, “we would never abandon a fellow Leaf shinobi! He’s still sedated though, until we can make sure he’s stable and still on our side.”

“Madara would never betray us!” Kakashi snaps before he can stop himself, much to his embarrassment.

“Kakashi…” Minato catches the younger shinobi’s eyes, a pained look in his deep blue eyes. “The Madara you lost might not be the Madara you found.”

“Impossible.”

“Just keep it in mind,” Minato advises as he stands up, “once you are discharged come see me with your mission report and we can discuss this more then.”

In the end Kakashi is given a week’s leave from the ANBU to recover, which is hardly necessary for the minor concussion he’d had, even Rin had agreed with him, but Minato-sensei had held firm. He had claimed it was for the emotional trauma of finding Madara like that, but Kakashi called bullshit; his sensei just wanted him to take it easy for longer.

Life passes by in a blur of missions, and the occasional, reluctant social outing Rin had dragged him along for, until 3 months later Kakashi finds himself being assigned a long-term mission: helping Madara get reacquainted with the village. At first Kakashi is overjoyed, not that he shows it, until he realizes that means Madara is temporarily staying with him and that makes his heart beat painfully. He wants to protest, but he knows Madara doesn’t have anyone to stay with and he couldn’t turn his friend away. Kakashi was sure he could handle it.

Not even a week later, Kakashi knows he was wrong, very, very wrong. If his heart kept skipping beats every time he saw Madara stumbling sleepily into the kitchen or when the Uchiha smiled at him he was going to have a damn heart attack. Then there was also his ever increasing nighttime problems; why did Madara have to invade his dreams and why did he have to be naked in those dreams!? Kakashi was going to have to try harder to ignore the Uchiha, maybe then the stupid dreams would stop.

“I’m moving back in with my clan,” Madara declares one night, nearly 2 weeks after he’s moved into the lonely Hatake household.

“What?” Kakashi mutters, barely hearing his own words over the sound of something in his heart shattering.

“I said I’m going back to my clan.”

“Why?”

“You clearly hate my presence,” Madara grumbles with huff, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting in a manner that shouldn’t be so cute. “You’ve barely spoken to me at all this week and you yell at me almost every morning.”

“I…” Kakashi trails off, not sure how to make Madara stay. “I don’t...that’s not…”

“Spit it out!” Madara snaps, glaring at Kakashi with his one visible black eye. Whatever Orochimaru had done to Madara had grown his eye back and turned the remaining one purple; Kakashi thought the purple suited Madara just fine, but the Uchiha always covered the eye with his hair.

“I don’t hate you,” Kakashi finally manages to spit out, feeling a blush spread across his cheeks, “you can stay.”

“Even if you don’t hate me,” Madara pauses briefly, doubt coloring his words, “you clearly aren’t happy that I’m here.”

“You have no idea how happy I am that you’re not dead,” Kakashi says honestly, knowing he needs to choose his next words carefully so he doesn’t lose the Uchiha, “I’m just not used to…”

“Used to what?”

“Havingacrush!” Kakashi blurts the words in a rush before he can stop himself, startling his older teammate. It takes Madara a minute to decode what he’d just said, but when he does, he can’t help but chuckle.

“Kakashi,” Madara coos, moving to sit next to his teammate and throwing an arm over the other’s shoulders, “that is both the saddest and most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Fuck you.”

“If you think you can.” Both shinobi flush darkly at Madara’s unexpected reply as the Uchiha quickly scrambles away. It takes Kakashi several minutes to get over the shock, but when he does he finds Madara across the room, doing his best impression of a startled cat.

“W-what?”

“I said uhh…” Madara mutters, ducking under his hair to avoid making eye contact, “how about dinner?”

“Are you asking me out?” Kakashi asks, unsure if he’s reading the situation right, Rin had told him he wasn’t the best when it came to understanding romantic situations.

“Would you be upset if I was?”

“No.” Kakashi says without any hesitation, knowing he said the right thing when Madara meets his eyes with a brilliant grin.

“Then yes, I am.”

“Dinner sounds nice,” Kakashi agrees with a smaller, more sedate but no less happy grin.

[grimelords]

My May playlist is finished and it’s got everything from Rachmaninoff to Peaches across 3 and a half hours, I hope you enjoy it.

If The Car Beside You Moves Ahead - James Blake: James Blake has got such a big brain and this song is unbelievable. He has such a way of taking things that could be gimmicky like this vocal stuttering, or looping vocals and making them totally heartrending.

The Boxer - The Chemical Brothers: The central melody of this song is constantly stuck in my head and complete proof that you can make an incredibly catchy hook with just three notes if you need to.

known(1) - Autechre: I think this is maybe Autechre's most straightforward song but it still sounds like a harpsichord concerto getting sucked into a black hole. The way the violin-ish part swoops around throughout the whole thing, disintegrating and reforming before your eyes is hypnotising.

Sundown - Boards Of Canada: Guess who started crying this month listening to an ambient Boards Of Canada song thinking about how the end of soil is within my lifetime and we have destroyed our only home the earth!!

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys: With their new album coming out I went back and listened to AM for the first time in a while and it's still really astonishing what they pulled off. This and R U Mine? completely blew me away when they came out. Having the audacity to completely change your sound and style and have it work perfectly is amazing, and then disappearing for five years and trying to do it again? Bold.

FML - Kanye West: I was listening to this a lot when Kanye was off his lexapro and fucking his whole life up. And now there's a sequel to this on the new album where Kim's begging him not to fuck the money up, which I think is a very good kind of storytelling.

United P92 - Venetian Snares & Daniel Lanois: I love the idea of ambient Venetian Snares and this is the song on the album where their two ideas meet in the middle the best I think. Also the way this builds and builds into total chaos I always forget that it's coming and get surprised when it says 'the machine can cum', what a funny song.

Turnstile Blues - Autolux: I saw Autolux's drummer in Jack White's band when he played on SNL a couple of weeks ago and suddenly remembered how perfect this song is. A true testament to the power of a simple groove that sounds like it was recorded in a concrete garage.

Young For Eternity - The Subways: Yet another great song about being a vampire and all the benefits that vampirism can bring to your life! Thank god for Dracula! He sucked the shit out of me, now I can leave my work for nights and leave my days for sleeping! Young for eternity!

Oh Yeah - The Subways: I bought a 7" of this song a couple of weeks ago in honour of the time it inexplicably caused me a mental breakdown and made me sprint out of my house to drive around town crying and listening to it on repeat for some hours about 5 years ago. Not sure what that was about!

The Blues - Defeater: As far as songs that go for less than a minute go, I really can't fault this one. Pure power, it does absolutely everything it sets out to do and still manages to get two choruses in under the wire.

Bombay - El Guincho: I saw Holy Mountain this month in a double feature with El Topo, and although El Topo kind of sucked I loved The Holy Mountain a lot. There's a part where there's been a battle and a whole lot of protesters are dying on the ground bleeding, except you can see that the blood and guts are obviously special effects, you can see the hose that she's using to pretend to cry and the guts are green balloons and things like that. Hold on I found it on youtube anyway I know I've seen it before and I thought it was in the video to this song or another one of CANADA's videos but I watched them all and can't find it! If anyone can tell me the music video I'm thinking of, thankyou. This song is also, of course, good.

Swim Good - Frank Ocean: Honestly has there ever been a better song about wearing a cool suit and driving your car into the ocean?? Never. This is perhaps the best sing along song ever because you've got to do your smoothest voice ever until he does his little emo yells of 'I'm goin out!' near the end.

Batphone - Arctic Monkeys: I think this is my favourite song off the new Arctive Monkeys, it's the most '3am slamming away at a club piano' type vibe of them all, but most of all I love the little spiralling into space guitar noise that keeps happening whenever he finishes a line.

An Open Letter To NYC - Beastie Boys: I'm almost always thinking about the time Beastie Boys made a very serious song about how good New York is after 9/11 and they said 'dear New York I know a lot has changed, we're two towers down but we're still in the game'.

Black Car - Beach House: I can't get enough of the new Beach House album, and this song in particular. It's some of my favourite lyrics of theirs ever, a good song for when you're trapped in a dark labyrinth of your own creation.

Midnight Radio 1 - Bohren & Der Club Of Gore: Got quite heavily into Bohren & Der Club Of Gore again this month. This is from the album before they got rid of their guitarist and replaced him with a saxophonist, which pretty dramatically changed their sound from 'extremely brooding night music' to 'film noir soundtrack', which is still very good but really not the same. Anyway this song goes for 20 minutes and it feels illegal to listen to it any time before 2am.

House In LA - Jungle: I am so excited that Jungle are finally back and with such an amazing song too. I love how spacious this is, it feels very different to their first - a lot more grown up and I really can't wait for the album.

Lemonworld - The National: Someone had a tweet a while ago that was like 'the guy from the national sounds like he's been going through a divorce for ten years now' which is very true, but this song feels like it's from happier times when he went to see his sister in law and had an morosely horny time. This song feels like the entire experience of reading a literary novel condensed into 4 minutes: a depressed older man in New York having a sort of backwards, confusing sexual thought. This is a song I regularly listen to on repeat and sing along to, it's a very specific feeling and I think "it'll take a better war to kill a college man like me" is one of the best lines he's ever written.

Rigamortis - Zomby: I put off listening to the new Zomby album for so long because his last one was just so boring but he's completely redeemed himself on this, it's really something. It feels like one long piece, which is amazing when any sort of thematic coherence is a rarity for Zomby albums. There's a lot of recurring sounds and motifs, and almost zero drums in the traditional sense. It feels like a really mature reflection on grime that he's been building up to for years.

Indoors - Burial: Whereas this song sounds like you're waiting outside a club in hell.

Segeln Ohne Wind - Bohren & Der Club Of Gore: Another Bohren song but from much, much later. I love the way the brass sounds in this when it finally comes in, it's so rich and overpowering.

Isle Of The Dead - Segei Rachmaninoff: Wikipedia says "The piece was inspired by a black and white reproduction of Arnold Böcklin's painting, Isle of the Dead, which Rachmaninoff saw in Paris in 1907. Rachmaninoff was disappointed by the original painting when he later saw it, saying, "If I had seen first the original, I, probably, would have not written my Isle of the Dead. I like it in black and white." and it also says "Prints were very popular in central Europe in the early 20th century—Vladimir Nabokov observed in his novel Despair that they could be "found in every Berlin home". Folks what is going on with this spooky painting.

Been Caught Stealing - Jane's Addiction: For a long time this was the emergency dead air song on Triple J, which is an inspired choice in my opinion because there'd be ten seconds of eerie silence because something's gone wrong at the station and then suddenly two huge loud chords! and dogs barking! A BEEN CAUGHT STEEL IN! ONCE!

Sledgehammer - Peter Gabriel: I was sitting on the toilet when I saw a news article that said Peter Gabriel has finally made his music available on Spotify and I said 'yessssssss' loudly myself and then played Sledgehammer. Honorable mention to the best ever sample of this song in Contemporary Man by Action Bronson, which is unfortunately still unavailable on Spotify.

Reaching The Gulf - Dylan Carlson: I saw a review of this album saying Dylan Carlson is the only choice for soundtrack if they ver make a movie of Blood Meridian and they're completely right. I'm also so glad that he collaborated with Emma Ruth Rundle on this, it feels like the closest I'll get to bonus tracks to her Electric Guitar One album.

T-1000 - Swarms: I have no idea where or why I first heard this album but it's been in my rotation for a long time. It's in the general canon of post-Burial dubstep before dubstep got americanized and it's just very nice. When the vocals finally come in on this it's a very emotional moment for me.

Casino Trem - Tyondai Braxton: It's really surprising listening to Tyondai Braxton's work after Battles because he has such a distinct melodic style it's shocking to realise how much he brought to that first album. After listening to a lot of his solo stuff it becomes so recognisable it almost feels like you can go back through Mirroroed and pick out every single guitar line of his making. Anyway this song is great. Starts out sounding like what it feels like to be trapped in a pokie and ends up like you're trapped in a databent Banjo Kazooie cartridge.

Kick It - Peaches & Iggy Pop: The first time I ever heard this song, and the first time I ever heard of Peaches or Iggy Pop was on the soundtrack to Midnight Club 3 so I didn't really know what the fuck was going on. I still don't really. I love that this is supposed to be like a dangerous sexy song but the whole time Iggy Pop is just rebuffing her advances and bullying her. Then she's like 'go to berlin' and then the song ends. Still not sure what this one's about still!

If You Know You Know - Pusha T: GOD this song is good, I've been listening to it on repeat. What I love about Pusha T is where a lot of other rappers talk sort of frivolously about drug dealing and everything, he often feels like he's putting his hand on your shoulder and looking you straight in the eyes saying 'I am not fucking around. If you need drugs of any calibre or kind I can get them for you in massive quantities.' The impish way he's saying 'if you know you know', absolutely kills me, like he's a cartoon man winking at me while hiding drugs inside a tennis ball.

Hacker - Death Grips: I think I put this on my playlist last month but I'm still on it so. My new favourite part of this song is when he says "The table's flipped now we got all the coconuts bitch / Burmese babies under each arm / Screaming beautiful songs".

Cavity - Hundred Waters: Hundred Waters feel like a really underrated band to me, I've been listening to their last two album a lot this month and they're just stunning. The long build up towards the end before the two note melody comes back and kills me? What a moment.

Music For The Long Emergency - Polica: I didn't love this album when it came out but I've been listening to it more and more and it's really growing on me. I think I put this song on a playlist a month or two ago so I won't write more but let me say this: Polica rules.

On The Grid - Lime: tfw you turn the knob and you do a good job and you wind up on the grid :/

Elephants - Them Crooked Vultures: I feel like Them Crooked Vultures gets forgotten when people talk about Queens Of The Stone Age albums. People bring up Desert Sessions and Kyuss but somehow forget that this giant album happened. Anyway this is far and away the best song on it because it just keeps on giving and giving. It's just a huge jam about riding an elephant and having cool hair(?).

Particle - Hundred Waters: This song feels like it could be the EDM hit of the summer if it was structured slightly differently, but instead it's the biggest brain pop song I've heard in a long time. I love how much power the bass has in this, it really feels impactful when it comes and goes. The vocal performance is obviously incredible as always but I really love the distorted vocal line that sort of tears itself apart now and then, against how clean everything else in this song sounds it really makes it.

Me Or Us - Young Thug: Thinking hard about when Young Thug sampled First Day Of My Life by Bright Eyes and made it into a really really good song.

Because I Love You - Montaigne: God this song is good. All the time the lyric 'I ate a salad today, I ate one yesterday too' pops into my head and makes me laugh. She tweeted about this song a couple of days ago and it really made me laugh: "My ex-boyfriend & I once watched BBC Sherlock & during the ep he paused & basically soliloquised about how he’s a tortured genius just like Sherlock & I’m his Watson in as condescending a way as you’re probably imagining then poured a shot of whiskey & now you know the story"​

listen here

[raisaumexique]

18/06/2022

merida

part 3/4

upon arrival we stumbled upon a live concert. the singer was wailing in about her heartbreaks with a strong vivacious voice. we stayed for a bit but i started getting tired while anthony started getting drunk. at that point i was over his presence, not in a bad way more in « you are a man who is not nearly as half interesting as me and my friend and i no longer have anything to say to you ». after the concert a dj set took place. IT WAS AFRO BEAAAATS AND CHICAGO HOUUUUSE. i was so fucking happy !!! nobody was dancing at first which pissed me off but i said fuck it and went to dance alone. at one point another girl came to dance and BOOM instant crush. she was fucking gorgeous. she looked like she had stepped out of girlhood fantasies. she had a vribant energy around her and i was immediately attracted. she felt very familiar. she was tan with a long straight nose and soft lips. she wore an oversized polo and some shorts and her hazel eyes were slighlty glazed over. she always worr a faint smile, a knowing one, that never disappeared. i was already imagining us running through fields of daisies and sunflowers wearing white cotton clothes and no shoes. insane. i was, as always, to shy to approach her but my soul and body were craving for just an small amount of interaction with her. at one point she asked me where i was putting my cigarette buds. i swear to god i nearly threw up my heart. she had the smoothest lowest voice i had ever heard. i was dying inside and being rebirthed through her eyes. mind you i was barely buzzed. i showed her and continued dancing but with even more difficulty now that i knew it was possible to speak to her. i took my courage by the balls and turned to her to ask her name. eden. fucks sake. fucking eden fucking garden of eden yes i am i heaven when you breathe next to me, next question. she was from switzerland, she started traveling with her ex girlfriend but then they parted ways and now she’s traveling alone. my brain : SHE’S SAPPHIC !!!! SHE’S SAPPHIC !!!!! we started speaking and i swear to god i have never felt this way before. i was drinking in her every word, completely enthralled by her way of seeing the world. i saw everything through her, it was magical. we talked about attachment, spirituality and life as a lightbeamer. all i wanted to do is literally squash our souls together so they could be one again. it was dizzying. at one point annabelle came to find me, she had gotten up from her power nap on the table and was on the dancefloor, to tell me she had made some friends who offered to take us on a ride to another bar. after a few days with no social life other than annabelle’s growing pains and boring backpackers who were burn out i was IN.