#instead of passing the task off to any of the waiters on the floor

[hya-ichor]

okay i love all of them but particularly mulan and tiana’s!! mulan’s made me ugly snort like gods and ancestors, you can save all of china and your mother will still bitch at you over chores

and. i’m literally going to start using this as a reaction in gcs

it’s so specifically emotive

Some Disney comics I made for a mini zine years back but didn’t post all of them online anywheres! Here you go.

[sukirichi]

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it.  But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 7/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

The city he had chosen to stay in was terrible.

It was noisy, it was crowdy, and the constant heat was making Levi go insane.

And while the city’s loudness and the amount of people in it made it easier for him to blend in, get lost in plain sight and all that bullshit, the heat— the fucking heat, gods, it was killing him.

Levi didn’t like cold weather, despised all the layer of clothes he had to put on just to get to the nearest supermarket and buy instant noodles, he hated the snow with passion he carried since his childhood, he thought that winter was the worst season of them all.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The heat was making his skin crawl. Even in just tank top and shorts, he felt too hot. Drinking cold water, taking cold showers, none of it helped. Levi turned the air conditioning in his room on maximum, but the motel he was staying at was shitty, his room was shitty, and, as a result, the air conditioning was shitty too.

Levi was sick of it. His skin was constantly clammy and sticky, he couldn’t sleep at night, there was never enough air around him, and walking around the city during the daytime made him seriously consider whether he was actually a vampire.

The sun… could it really burn so much? It didn’t used to be so unbearable before.

But apart from that… Levi was starting to accommodate to his new life.

Leaving his hometown behind, he decided to let go of his previous habits too. He got himself a job - not a respectable, but at least an honest one.

Being a janitor in a shitty bar after spending most of his life as a thief was almost… therapeutic.

The vomit on the walls and piss on the floors were enraging him to the point of seeing red and sometimes he wanted to break a leg of every asshole who didn’t know when they had enough and went to make a mess in the toilet, but… working there was therapeutic nevertheless. And a definite improvement too.

At least, his life wasn’t in danger anymore and he didn’t have to run away from police.

Although, he wouldn’t mind running away from a certain police officer. Perhaps, this time he would let her catch him. Perhaps, then his heart would stop clenching in pain every time he thought about Hange.

Perhaps, then he’d be able to let go.

He tried letting go, forgetting about Hange, just as he tried to put behind his life of crime. Unfortunately, putting Hange behind proved to be that much harder.

Some nights, when the heat was especially bad, he felt especially lonely and the shitty whiskey at the shitty bar he was working at didn’t do the trick, he’d snuck a look at how Hange was doing. He’d open his phone, scroll through a news feed. If he’d get lucky, there would a recording of some press conference with Hange at the center of it all.

Apparently, she was doing well. Her shoulder was almost healed, although sometimes she still winced, when gesticulating too frantically. But the paleness in her face that was present when he had visited her at the hospital was long gone, and at the few press conferences that allowed Levi to catch a glimpse of her, Hange’s cheeks were adorned by healthy, rosy blush. Her hair was just as wild, just as messy, and her voice carried the same inspiring conviction.

Whether Hange found out the truth about him or not, he didn’t know, but she had moved past Ackermans’ case and during the time Levi was getting used to his new life she alredy solved two robberies.

She was working on a new case now, something about a young girl who had mysteriously vanished. Levi didn’t bother to find out the details, the name Krista Lenz meant nothing to him, but nevertheless, he wished that Hange would succeed. She deserved that, her quick wit and determination were meant to be recognized and celebrated.

That bright, happy smile on her face, the one she was sporting during the conference that discussed one of the solved robberies, it suited Hange so much. Levi wished she’d wear it more often.

He wished he’d see it more often, but well… some things just weren’t meant to be.

Strangely so, Kenny didn’t contact him even once. No obnoxious phone call, no mysterious messages or weird gifts. There was no sign of him for almost two months, and Levi would have started worrying, would have tried to contact the man himself, if… if Kenny wasn’t Kenny.

His uncle was like a cockroach, Levi was one hundred percent sure that nothing and no one could cause him any harm. And if there was someone who actually could do this, Kenny would have harmed them back, ten times worse.

Still, the thoughts about Kenny lingered at the back of his mind, and memories about Hange did the same irritating thing. It made Levi feel awfully nostalgic sometimes, borderline melancholic. And fairly quickly he found out there was nothing he could do about it. No amount of whiskey or dirty toilets could chase that sadness away. That sadness was a new part of his new life.

Maybe, it was better than always living on the edge.

Luckily, he didn’t feel so lonely all the time, his colleagues at the bar made sure of that.

And while his boss, a bald, gross man called Shadis definitely wasn’t a joy to have around, two others – a barmaid named Sasha and waiter Connie were so much better.

They were annoying in their own right, of course. Sasha had a weird obsession with food, Connie’s sense of humor left much to be desired, and together both of them were so damn loud, but for brats who barely stepped into adulthood, they provided a fairly enjoyable company.

They let Levi take his mind off certain things, and they kept him from falling into the abyss of loneliness and depression.

They also opened up the side of him that Levi wasn’t even aware of.

Connie had once mentioned in a passing that his mother had died years ago, and whatever happened to Sasha’s family, she wasn’t living with them anymore, sharing a small flat with Connie and another guy, Jean.

In Levi’s humble, unbiased opinion, Jean was a self-centered, pompous jerk. He wasn’t working in the bar with his two friends, and instead had involved himself in some shady shit with a local gang, which apparently terrified the whole neighborhood. Levi wanted to tell the boy that he was a fucking idiot, if he thought that messing with criminals was a good idea, but he doubted that Jean would listen. Luckily, Jean wasn’t around too often and visited the bar only, when he was miserable about some girl he had a crush on, or whenever he wished to get drunk for free.

It was a good thing that Levi barely interacted with Jean. The boy was so annoying. And also – too damn tall.

He didn’t hear about any other friends of theirs, and as far as Levi was aware, there was no actual adult watching over Sasha and Connie, so… he kinda, unwillingly, of course, took that task upon himself.

Obviously, he made sure to remain discreet. He didn’t want the brats to know that he cared, because he didn’t, naturally.

He claimed that he simply cooked too much food and the leftovers would go to waste, if he didn’t give them away, when he brought them pasta or soup. He mentioned his insomnia and pretended that long walks helped him sleep better, when Sasha and Connie went home after midnight. He lied about having experience in bartending when Sasha got stomach flu. He said that he was just accidentally passing by their apartment, when later that day he visited to check on her.

The brats were too dense to notice his subtle attempts anyway, or so Levi hoped. They had never brought it up, and that had to mean something, right?

And that time when Connie tried to fix Levi’s air conditioning, or when Sasha brought a whole jar of his favorite tea, or all those evenings when he felt blue and homesick and they helped him clean the bar and took him out to dinner, surely it was nothing more than a coincidence.

The brats had their moments, Levi had to admit, and sometimes their presence was almost pleasant.

But sometimes they made him wish they shut their mouths and never opened them again.

Right now, that desire was more prevalent than ever.

“Say, Mister Levi,” Levi hated when they called him that, it made him sound even older than he actually was. He told them to stop it, many times. But the brats didn’t care. He slowly raised his eyes to show that he was listening. As soon as he did, Sasha put a fist underneath her chin, forgetting about the important task of cleaning the glasses to stare at him curiously. “Do you have someone?”

“Someone?” he had an inkling of what Sasha was asking him about, but he didn’t wish to discuss that with the damned brats. He didn’t wish to discuss that topic with no one, ever. Because… there was nothing to discuss.

“Yep, someone!” Connie chimed in. “Like, hm, a significant other?”

“A beloved!” Sasha agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

Levi felt the migraine coming. “I don’t have any kind of someone,” he gritted. “And I never did.”

“Really?” Sasha tilted her head to the side, looking so skeptical that Levi was ready to get offended. Was he not convincing enough? “I thought you do. It’s just that sometimes—”

“When you think no one is looking!” Connie swiftly added.

“Your face seems so much softer, and your scowl almost disappears, and you look—”

“Just like Jean when he thinks about Mikasa.”

Who the fuck was Mikasa? And what face was Jean making? Levi couldn’t be making the same one, could he?

“But if you say there is no one,” Sasha sighed, returning to her task of cleaning glasses. Wearing the same sad face as she did, Connie went back to gathering dishes from the tables. “Then I guess we’re wrong.”

Damn right, they were. There was no one, and whatever face they thought he was making, it couldn’t possibly be related to a certain police officer from the other side of the world.

“And if there is no one you have to think about,” Sasha winked, like she was seeing right through him. “Then let me make you a drink. It’s a new recipe I found, it involves tequila, vodka and—”

Levi raised a hand to cut her off. “Just surprise me.”

Sasha nodded and went to work. She frequently let Levi taste her new cocktails. He was the perfect man for it – he didn’t get drunk too fast, and he was the only Sasha’s friend who tasted something better than cheap whiskey or a beer from a local supermarket. He also never shied away from telling her when the drink was fucking awful.

Sasha hummed as she mixed the drink, some song Levi vaguely recognized from the radio. She was smiling too, she did that frequently, and something about her, be it the ponytail that jumped up and down when she was excited, or her easy-going, cheerful personality reminded him of Hange.

These days, lots of things reminded him about Hange. There were days when almost everything reminded him of Hange. It seemed like today was exactly a day like that.

“You’re making that same face again,” Sasha whispered, as she handed him the drink.

Levi scowled, glaring at the girl, as he put the glass up to his lips. He finished it in one go. “It tastes like shit,” he told her. “Put it on the menu.”

Sasha beamed, refilling his glass. “Knew you’d like it.”

“By the way, boss,” Levi wasn’t their boss, as far as he was aware, their actual boss was getting drunk in his office, all the while mumbling incomprehensible gibberish about some Carla. But Levi had to admit, being called boss was so much better than the godforsaken mister Levi. "Are you free tonight?"

Levi was free every day and every night, when he wasn’t working in the bar with Connie and Sasha. It wasn’t like he had any friends or even acquaintances beside two brats. However, saying it out loud would make him look even more pathetic that he actually was. So Levi shrugged, and said, as nonchalantly as possible, “Depends.”

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” Connie asked, looking at him with a smile so hopeful that Levi was ready to say yes right that instant. God, they already had him wrapped around their fingers. How embarrassing. At least, Kenny wasn’t here to witness it. He’d have a laugh of his life, if he found that Levi was adopted by two teenagers. “Jean is away on a trip, so we’d be glad to have some company.”

“He went to see his family?”

From the way Sasha bit her lip and Connie refused to meet his eye, Levi knew – their friend didn’t go on a simple trip. He sighed, taking a sip from his glass and letting the bitter liquid burn his throat. Admittedly, it was none of his business. He shouldn’t care about it, he wasn’t their father, for god’s sake. But… a friendly piece of advice wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Your friend plays with fire. And if he continues doing so—”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie crossed hands on his chest defensively. “He is smart.”

Levi couldn’t help but scoff. “Just being smart is not enough. There will always be someone smarter.”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie repeated stubbornly. “He’ll be fine.”

Maybe, he will, maybe, he won’t. At the end of the day, Levi had no say about it. He might call them brats, but they were already adults. They were allowed to do as they wished. They were bound to make some mistakes.

“Tell him to be more careful. Otherwise, you’ll suffer too.”

Levi left it at that, not wanting to antagonize Sasha and Connie any further. Besides, it was time to open the bar, or the drunkards all across the block would start banging on their doors. Worse than that, Shadis might come out of his office too. His sour face was the last thing Levi wished to see.

“Let’s get to work,” he nodded to the kids, and took his drink to the dark corner of the room, where he usually spend his shifts, waiting until the patrons start making a mess he’d have to clean.

Surprisingly, the evening came and went, but there was no mess for him to deal with. No one vomited, no one shitted all over the toilets. No one spilled their beer on the floor, or even a table. Were their patrons starting to learn how act like people, and not pigs? Or were they so well-behaved because it was just the beginning of a week? Or did the heat finally get to them and turn them just as slow and tired as Levi himself felt?

However, the weather was more merciful that day. The temperature was still high, too high for Levi’s taste, but just after the sunset the wind was starting to pick up, the storm slowly brewing. During the smoke break outside the bar, Levi could see the lightening, illuminating the far edge of the sky. The rain was in the air, and he allowed his lips to curl up in a pleased smile. Perhaps, he’d finally be able to sleep through the whole night and not toss and turn, feeling like the bed turned into a scorching pan.

When he went back inside, the bar was almost empty, just a few regulars left, nursing their half-finished drinks.

“Do you want to have pizza or sushi?” Sasha asked, as he started sweeping the floor. “We can order both if you wish.”

Levi rolled his eyes with a disgusted tsk. “Eating so much takeout is unhealthy. Let’s finish here and go to supermarket. I’ll cook you something decent.”

Connie yelled a loud yahoo, while Sasha squeezed him in a suffocating hug. The heartwarming moment was cut short, when the door to the bar was thrown open with a loud bang.

It let inside the gush of wind and drops of freezing rain. With a broom still in his hands, Levi turned sharply to the door, ready to rip the unlucky drunkard a new one, the bar had closed almost an hour ago, the sign was right there for everyone to see.

All harsh words died on the way between his throat and his tongue. Levi froze on the spot, and in the silence that followed the lightning strike was as sudden as a gunshot.

Sasha’s distressed cry and Connie’s shocked sob put him out of the stupor.

Throwing the broom away, Levi moved, catching the falling, bloodied boy into his arms.

“Jean!” Sasha was the first one of the two to snap out of it. She ran to Levi, with trembling hands lifting up her friend’s face.

“What the fuck had happened?” Connie kneeled next to them, his eyes wide and scared as he stared at Jean.

Jean looked awful, there was no way around it. His cheeks and jaw were bruised, his right eye was already swollen, and his light brown hair had too much red in it.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, too weak and injured to offer something more than a shaking whisper. “I’m sorry, I’ve fucked up, I didn’t know where to run and now they’re coming here, I didn’t mean to do this, I didn’t think, I—”

He could continue that nonessential ramble for the rest of the night. But if they, whoever those they were, were truly coming, Jean and his friends didn’t have that much time. Carefully, Levi lifted Jean’s arm, wincing when he saw that the boy’s shirt was bloodied too, and threw it over Connie’s shoulder. Then he took the key from the back pocket of his shorts and thrusted it into Sasha’s palm.

“Take him to my room in the motel.”

“And you?”

Levi pushed the hair away from his face, already hating himself for his next words. Kenny was right, he cared too much, and it was his biggest weakness, one that would probably get him killed one day. Perhaps, that day had already arrived.

“I’ll stay here and buy you some time.”

“No!” Jean protested, frantically grabbing Levi by the elbow. “It’s my fuck up, you shouldn’t get involved, you don’t know—”

“I do know. And unlike you, I can actually take care of myself.”

Perhaps, he was too harsh, but it was necessary. Jean had fucked up, and whatever he had done, he had to own that mistake and learn from it. That was the only way he would survive through another one of his mistakes.

“Hurry up,” he told Sasha and Connie. “I’ll meet you as soon as I’m finished.”

Thankfully, they didn’t try to argue. Connie wished him luck and Sasha made him promise to come back, and that was it.

As soon as they had left, Levi hopped behind the bar counter to pour himself a shot of whiskey. He lighted up a cigarette, waiting for the front door to swing open and Jean’s persecutors to arrive. Hopefully, they’d do it without guns blazing.

He was just finishing the first glass and was thinking of getting himself a second one, when the mighty kick almost as loud as the thunder outside pushed the door open. Three men tumbled inside a second later, their faces transformed by fury into caricature masks.

“Where is that son of a bitch?” roared one in the middle, their leader, Levi assumed.

Levi was in no hurry to answer. He took the last drag of the cigarette, meticulously put it down against the surface of an ashtray. Then looked at the men in front of him. “The bar is closed. There is no one here but me.”

“Stop fucking with us!” the asshole on the left shouted. “We saw him run inside!”

“If that fucker isn’t here, perhaps we should look around for his friends,” the third man offered. “I know they’re working here.”

So there was no way around it? Levi sighed, walking from beyond the counter. “Just so you know,” approaching the men, he cracked his knuckles. “I don’t condone violence.”

One of the thugs started laughing, the other two immediately followed. Levi didn’t expect any other reaction. The men were burly, large, they definitely weren’t smart.

“What are you going to do to us, midget? Do you seriously think you can beat us up?”

The insult was followed by a punch, a careless, blundering one. Levi effortlessly dodged it, delivering a vicious kick to the stomach of his attacker. The man - who upon the close inspection had yellow teeth and reeked of cheap alcohol – staggered. He caught himself at the last second, holding onto nearest table with white-knuckled desperation. Levi hit again, this time with his knee. With a gasp that turned into a groan, the man fell onto the ground.

Luckily, he stayed there, and Levi turned his attention to the other two.

The one who stood at the left attacked instantly, aiming his enormous fist at Levi’s jaw. There was an unfinished bottle of whiskey on the counter right behind him, and Levi grabbed it, smashing it against the man’s head. The resulting sound was loud, almost deafening. Levi tried to forget about the mess of spilled whiskey on the floor and let himself enjoy that pleasant sound for another moment.

That was a slight miscalculation on his part, because the last man apparently was armed with knife, and he swung it without hesitation. Levi jumped to the side, but wasn’t quick enough. The knife’s edge kissed his cheek, leaving a smear of blood behind it. A mere second later, the knife was in the air once again. Levi was ready for it this time, but as he prepared to take a swift step back, his ankle refused to budge. He looked down to see that one of the defeated men was back in the game, still laying on a floor, but holding Levi in one place. Levi quickly dealt with him, using another leg to kick the man’s head. It took him no more than a moment, but it was enough for him to lose sight of his last attacker. Whatever plan of retaliation Levi had, he lost it, when the knife embedded in his forearm, making him hiss and cuss. Irritated, he roughly grabbed the hand that held the knife, twisting the arm at the wrist.

There was a loud crack, then the even louder scream.

Not too elegant, but, at least, it did the job.

Yanking the knife out of his arm, Levi threw it away, allowing it to clutter on the ground.

“Get the fuck out of here!” he snarled at the men, who weren’t laughing anymore. On the contrary, their faces were panicked, frightened. They pathetically scrambled to their feet, pushing each other to get outside as fast as possible. “And don’t come back!” Levi shouted to their backs.

When the door fell closed, Levi slumped back against the counter. The spot on his cheek was tingling unpleasantly, his arm was hurting like a bitch, and the whole bar had turned into a mess – the shards of glass and spilled whiskey were all over the floor. The blood from his arm was creating a small puddle too.

Levi viciously cursed and grabbed a towel, making a make-shift bandage. It had to do for the time being.

One mess was dealt with, and now another was awaiting him. He’d be lucky if the dirty floor would be the biggest of his troubles tonight.

But somehow, Levi knew that it was just the beginning.

***

Levi never considered himself to be a philosophic kind of person, he never pondered on the meaning of things, never felt the desire to look at the problem at hand from all possible angles, never reflected on his feelings and emotions.

He did however notice that the small room he had rented in a shitty motel at the edge of the city never felt to him like home. It was a place to live, it had a bed to sleep, it held some of his belongings, but it wasn’t a home, it didn’t provoke in him the feeling of belonging that he found inside the walls of his and Kenny’s old apartment.

He spent a little more than two months, living in that shithole, and never once he thought – I’m home, never once he felt – I belong right here.

But something very similar was blooming in his chest, when he passed the threshold of his shitty motel room and fell right into the arms of Connie and Sasha.

Sasha started cleaning his wounds right away, while Connie rushed to get the new bandages for his bloodied arm.

“You should have been more careful,” Sasha chided, and, fuck, he really got adopted by a couple of kids just like that.

“We could have dealt with this ourselves,” Connie said, and then, after a little pause, added, “Probably.”

Levi hummed and resisted the urge to ruffle the hair on their heads. He didn’t have that much affection for the little shits. Probably.

Just as they finished, Jean appeared, unsteadily walking out of the bathroom. He stopped not long after, leaning against the doorframe. Patched up and cleaned, he still didn’t look like his usual, confident and complacent self. Now he reminded Levi of a puppy who was thoroughly and viciously kicked. His hair was now clean of blood, but the shirt was still covered in red patches. Levi would have offered him one of his own t-shirts, but… on Jean’s lanky body it’d look more like a crop top. Or a child’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Jean murmured, not meeting Levi’s eyes. “I didn’t know it’d lead to this.”

Yeah, they almost never know. Levi sighed, there was no point in scolding boy any further. He had realized his fuck up already, his buddies from the gang made sure of that.

“What the hell happened?” Levi asked, his back turned to Jean, as he went to prepare the tea for all of them. It would help to soothe some of Jean’s injuries, and it would also help to relieve Levi of the building tension in his shoulders.

“I… wasn’t quite ready for this life, I guess,” Jean sat down on a bed, covering his face with hands. “There is a guy I’ve been working with, he stole some drugs he was supposed to sell, and other gang members found out and decided to punish him, make an example out of him, but that guy… he was my friend, sort of? We hanged out a lot, and I just couldn’t see him get hurt like that…”

“Oh my god!” Sasha’s hands flew to her face and her mouth opened wide. “Did you get beat up because you tried to protect Marco?”

Connie snorted. “I see you’re getting over Mikasa pretty quickly.”

Behind his hands, Jean’s face started to gain color. “I just helped a guy out.”

“And didn’t even ask for a kiss after the heroic rescue?” Sasha teased.

“There wasn’t much time for kisses after the whole gang started running after us.”

“You poor thing,” Connie patted Jean’s head, sharing a mischievous look with Sasha. “Didn’t even get a kiss for all the trouble.”

The two boys started to bicker, and Levi watched the scene, feeling the pounding inside his head increase. It’d be a long, long night. The one he’d have to spend sleeping on a floor, because there were three brats in his room and only one queen-sized bed.

He raised a hand, putting a stop to the argument that was starting to raise in volume.

“Is the other guy alright?” he asked Jean, as he handed him a cup, filled with steaming tea.

Jean accepted the drink with a grateful nod, but didn’t answer the question right away, staring inside the cup thoughtfully. “He managed to get out of the city. The assholes that beat me up caught me just after he got on a bus.”

Well, that was certainly good news. The only one they received since the beginning of this evening.

“You have to run away too, preferably for quite some time. Those guys won’t forget about you so easily. Do you have a place where you can hide?”

“Well…” frowning, Jean rubbed his neck, “My parents have a summer house…”

“Excellent, does anyone know about it?”

“No, not even these idiots,” Jean answered, pointing at Sasha and Connie.

“Then take these idiots, because your gangster pals know, where all of you live and work,” Levi grumbled. “And get out of here first thing in the morning. Spend a few months in the countryside, wait until this shitty storm is over.”

“And what about you? Now they know about you too.”

What about him… good question. And a very easy one to answer. He’d have to change cities again, luckily, he already had some experience with that. Sure, it was an inconvenience, but… better than live his life and have to constantly look over his shoulder, or die in some dirty alleyway. Perhaps, he’d be able to return some day, when the tensions were long over.

“I’ll leave the city,” he told them. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You had to run away before?” Connie asked, awe written all over his face. “So cool!”

“And you beat up all these guys for us!” Sasha agreed, adoration shining in her gaze.

“You aren’t just a janitor, eh?” Jean stared at him with narrowed eyes.

Levi saved from answering by a loud shrill of the phone.

Everyone in the room tensed, Levi felt his heart pounding inside his chest, a relentless boom, boom, boom. He wet his lips, his throat suddenly too dry, and stood up.

“No!” Jean grabbed his arm, stopping Levi from picking up the phone. Levi understood his panic, it was the middle of the night, who in their right mind would call him at this time? Who would call him period, all the people Levi knew in this city were sitting next to him. Unless, it was Shadis who got out of his drunken stupor and decided to have a friendly chat with a janitor from his bar?

And if it wasn’t Shadis, then…

Acutely feeling his every heartbeat, Levi pulled his arm out of Jean’s grasp. Swallowing that persisting lump inside his throat down, he put his hand on a phone handle. Slowly, holding in his breath, he lifted the phone and put it to his ear.

“Is your name even Levi? Or was that another lie, you asshole?”

That voice. Her voice. Levi helplessly fell back in the armchair behind him.

“H-hange?” the crack in his voice was heard and analyzed by a bunch of kids, who now all stood beside him. Levi waved them away, drowning out the intrigued murmuring, and focused on a person on the other side of the line.

“You still remember my name, I’m flattered, Ackerman,” ah, so she found out. Not surprising in the slightest, but disappointing nevertheless. But how did she find out? And when? And why she was calling now? And how she managed to obtain the number of a motel he was staying at? So many questions, Levi wanted to ask them all at once. He didn’t even know where to start. “And just a piece of friendly advice, next time you go into hiding, don’t go around asking police officers on a date.”

Well, that was one question answered. Only one hundred remained.

“Are you going to arrest me now?”

“No, unfortunately,” Hange bitterly replied. “I need you, Ackerman. For work,” she added, before Levi could get any ideas and just before his heart started racing like crazy. “Take the first flight back to city, if you don’t want me to drag you out of there by force. I’ll be waiting for you in the airport.”

Hange was going to end the call, Levi could practically see her finger hover over the button. Before she did, he cried out, “Wait!” and then, much more calmly he added, “What do you need me for?”

“Your uncle went missing. I need you to help me find him.”

The line went dead immediately after that. It took Levi another moment to pull himself together.

Kenny was… missing? Kenny, his ruthless, unstoppable uncle? And Hange was looking for him? Too much was unknown, too much was unclear, too much was yet to be explained.

One thing for sure, he wouldn’t find the answers here. Well, one problem was solved then, he didn’t have to change cities anymore. He’d just have to return home.

“So.”

Just a short word, but so much meaning was put in it. With a feeling of dread, Levi turned to face Sasha. He shuddered at the sight of her wide, shit-eating smile.

“Hange, hm?” she asked, twirling a lock of hair.

“Hange is your someone, right?” Connie excitedly exclaimed. “Your Mikasa?”

“Hange is his Marco,” Sasha corrected, earning a vicious curse and a middle finger from Jean. “I guess it’s all over with Mikasa.”

It was all over with Hange too. There was nothing with Hange to begin with. And there would be nothing, because apparently she hated him now. For a good reason too.

Fuck. Kenny, Hange, the brats, they all caused Levi a massive headache. And there was no running away from it, they’d find him whenever he ran.

Perhaps, it meant that he had to stop running. And come back home.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he told the kids. “A long journey is ahead of you. And ahead of me too.”

“You’re leaving? To your Hange?”

“Hange is not my someone, I’m just leaving,” Levi grunted, turning off the light. “Go to sleep before I knock you all out.”

Thankfully, they listened and got on a bed without a word of complain.

“It’s good that your Hange found you,” Sasha mumbled, already sleepy. “Maybe, now you won’t be so sad anymore.”

Sasha seemed to fall asleep immediately after, not waiting for Levi’s answer. Or, perhaps, she wasn’t interested in it.

Soon Connie was out as well, and even Jean, after a few of tosses, turns and more than a dozen pained groans managed to settle in comfortably and fall into deep slumber.

Levi didn’t get so lucky, the thoughts about what tomorrow would bring swirling in his mind and keeping him awake.

But, well… at least his melancholy and homesickness wouldn’t be a problem anymore. After two months of being away, he was going home at last.

Strangely, the prospect didn’t seem that thrilling.

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 6 (Free Day)

Summary: Terra and Aqua are getting married—and Ven is the Bridezilla. || Word Count: 9,058

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek​ I could have never written this without my dear friend @localcryptideli​. We talked about this wedding years ago, and I promised to write it. It’s here, three years later, blending their headcanons with mine and I couldn’t be more proud of it. <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

the threads that tie hearts together

Terra never once considered in his entire life that his wedding preparations would include the perk of mice squeaking in his ear—but he here is, in the tailor’s studio, getting re-fitted for his tuxedo, with Princess Cinderella’s team of seamstress mice on his shoulders, measuring the length of his arms. His muscles were too big for the previous suit. 

Ven refuses to hire a proper tailor, and instead rents out the parlor so the mice could do their work in private.

Lea sits on a nearby bench by the shoe shelves, the top button of his shirt open, jabbing at his Gummiphone. He’s quite popular today, pinged every two minutes. Isa and Roxas share a mirror, trying to get the mechanics of their bow ties right. 

Terra is getting married. 

The thought. Married. Soon. Yes. Damn. He can’t cry right now.

Terra stands in front of a mirror and bends his elbows to see how the fabric moves. The mice are tiny, three of them in skirts. They’ve developed an efficient obstacle course of threads all down his entire body, a network so the mice on the floor can deliver them supplies—spools, sewing needles, thumbtacks, measuring tape—in a jiffy. 

Lea groans, squeezing his Gummiphone. “This twerp is going to turn me into a serial killer.” He yawns, possibly for the fortieth time.

“Not an ill-fitting job, all things considered,” Isa says from across the room.

“I do appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Who’s bothering you?” Terra asks, lifting his collar so the mouse on his left could thread through it with a sewing needle.

Lea snorts, slaps his knee and leans forward. “Did you not know your buddy is a monster?”

“Ven?”

“Oh, he’s a joy.” Lea holds his Gummiphone up as if he’s about to make a speech. “Come help me pick out Aqua’s flowers. Now. If you could.” He glances at Terra, then back at the phone. “He writes that in all-caps.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so pushy.”

“The other day, he called me to model the bride’s dress because Miss Aqua couldn’t be bothered to come to the fitting herself.”

“Master Aqua was away on a mission,” Isa explains.

“Isa took photos of me in it—” Lea scrolls through his phone, but stops. “Oh, I can’t show you before...” He clicks his tongue. “It’s very nice. Very bridal.”

Terra is sure that’s true, but the image of Ven hanging his head so much on someone else’s wedding is worrisome. Last night, he fell asleep at dinner. “I think Ven is taking on too much stress.”

“Lea,” Roxas says, snorting a chuckle and giving up on his bow tie, “you should show him the texts.” 

“Gladly.” Lea stands to shove the Gummiphone into Terra’s face. Out of the history, a couple of messages stand out.

Ventus

I got 500 cake flavors come taste them with me

Ventus

Which cologne do you think terra should wear

COME SMELL 

i need a second opinion

Ventus

Do you have aqua’s flowers yet?

remember 

we want orange roses and bluestars

Ventus

Aqua isnt here im freaking out

Youre closest to her body type

HELP

After all that, Terra feels as though he’s being watched by several microscopic eyes. One of the mice squeaks with urgency, and he straightens one of his arms. “I don’t know what to say... Why doesn’t he talk to me directly?”

Lea purses his lips as though this is a secret not worth sharing. Roxas is the one to step forward, a knowing grimace plastered on his face.

“He told me that he doesn’t want to bother you with anything.”

That doesn’t sound entirely false but not true either.

“That’s ridiculous.” Terra tests the bend of the elbow to fiddle with his bow tie. It’s already done but something about it doesn’t sit right. “He could come to me for anything,” he says with a low voice, wondering if there’s something he’s missing. Terra has also been a mess. He’s getting married. Holy stars. 

Isa huffs out of frustration, turning away from the mirror, his bow tie undone. He studies Terra’s suit. “I don’t like it.”

His straightforwardness is well appreciated. Aqua would probably smirk at the sight of it and stare at his neck the entire ceremony. “I don’t either,” Terra says.

“Smart man.” Isa smirks, and tugs Terra’s bow tie to undo it. “Let’s change it.”

Lea snorts. “You might want to ask permission from he-who-shall-be-slapped.”

“It’s my wedding,” Terra says.

“So you think.”

He-who-may-be-slapped enters the tailor’s parlor through the front entrance, announced by the bell of the ring. He’s perfectly dressed in his ringbearer’s/best man’s/maid of honor’s suit, vest fitted, bow tie sublime, sleeves coiffed. He sees what Isa is doing. He gapes.

“Hey guys,” Ven asks with a frustratingly shaky voice. “What are we doing?”

“They are unbecoming,” Isa answers, wrapping a traditional tie around Terra’s neck.

“Oh.” 

Sometimes, speaking to Isa is like getting clocked in the stomach. By the looks of Lea’s expression, chewing on the edge of his Gummiphone, it’s well deserved.

“Okay,” Ven says, with a tight smile. He takes the tie from Isa’s hands. “Do they match?”

“A hello would be less rude,” Terra says. “Hi, Ven. Can we talk?”

Ven glances up. “Later. There’s lots to do.”

Lea inhales sharply. “Hey, Ven. Here’s an idea. Did you know you could tame cicadas to sing in harmony on command?”

Ven whips his head around. “You can?”

Isa brings a hand up to hide a smirk and Lea passes him a subtle wink.

“Picture it.” Lea opens his arms. “From nine until eleven at night, they gather in the bushes. They mutter, a light dusting of atmosphere on a peaceful summer night.”

Ven’s eyes grow wide with obsession. 

Roxas comes near. “You can also make them glow.”

“Like stars in the bushes,” Ven whispers to himself.

“Come on, guys,” Terra says, unimpressed. “Leave him alone. We’ve got better things to do.”

Ven snaps himself out of it, but not before pulling out a notepad and writing notes. He eyes Terra over, nudging him to open his arms and pinching the sides of the suit. Ven draws them in by the measure of a finger and pulls pins out of his pocket, like he’s been expecting to use them, and marks their places. “Jaq Jaq,” he calls, “where’s Suzy? We need to make sure these ties look right. Oh, and we need two extras—we have to ship some to Riku and Sora.”

Some mouse squeaks in reply.

“I can help her carry things.” Ven gives a flash of a smile and then hurries off.

Out of earshot, Lea gives Terra a look. “Anyone able to talk to mice is a crazy person in my book.”

Terra glares back and quotes, “‘You could tame cicadas to sing on command?’”

“He needs something to obsess over. How else am I going to get peace?”

“This is going to bite you in the ass,” Roxas says, wrapping his new tie over the neck and having a much easier time.

“Ventus may very well task you with hunting and gathering the cicadas,” Isa says, a tie already in place, immaculate. 

Lea groans and Terra feels it’s well deserved. 

Well deserved… the suit may be. The future wife, maybe not. The suit is a glove for every finger with no excess. It makes him a good-looking groom, a nice addition to the closet for any special occasion. The bride is beautiful, no matter what she wears. She is loyal, patient, strong, intelligent, loving, funny when she’s stern, too good for him, a divine gift he didn’t earn and he still can’t understand how she said yes.

“I hope you’re laughing at the face of my misery,” Lea says.

Terra knows that’s sarcasm. Weddings are headaches, emotions are terrifying and Terra needs Aqua like a sip of medicinal tea to calm down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The others squeal when they walk into Le Grand Bistro. It’s sunset, the city lights already ignited and giving it the glow of evening fairies welcoming the moon. They’ve just discussed dresses—Xion requests a pantsuit instead, which looks stellar—and they can choose their own styles so long as they all wear the color of night. Simple, elegant. That’s the kind of effect Aqua prefers. Thank goodness they’re almost done. Aqua couldn’t handle more hands in her hair and she rejected the flower crown that would have come down on one side to compensate for the lack of length. 

She fiddles with the ring—a thin, intricate design weaved around a small, blue stone—as a waiter escorts them to the kitchen. On days when she doesn’t have missions, she wears it.

Aqua is getting married. Some part of her wonders about the surreality of it, like it’s a dream or a picture she created in her mind when she was a child, at the altar with a faceless person next to her. Sometimes, it feels like she is already married. Terra has always been with her. Every day in class. Every day strolling through the woods. Every day sparring, sharing meals, bickering and laughing. Her best friend, her confidant, her rock.

There is something about nearly dying that challenges perspective. When they both thought they’d never see each other again, it made them realize there’s more to it and there’s been more to it for years. The emotional intimacy that strengthened after the fact. The physicality of it, when he takes her to bed. They argue differently, they laugh the same. Terra has always been with her, so what is the difference between being with him and being married to him? A part of her is eager to find out. The other is already at peace, a kind of joy Aqua has always wanted.

Ven is in the kitchen, talking with Remy (responding to Remy, who is naturally unintelligible). Plates of cake pieces sprawl out on the table, eliciting oohs and aahs from the others, all patient like they’re waiting for Aqua’s permission to take a small bite.

Aqua reads through the description of flavors—strawberry, fudge, angel food cake with blueberries, red velvet, even coffee. “The one we requested isn’t here.”

“You mean…” Ven pulls out his notepad and looks through his notes. Remy climbs onto Ven’s head, squeaking and pointing to a bowl of flour and eggs, unmixed. “Dark chocolate and rum?”

“That would be correct.”

“A spicy cake? Are you insane?” At his shock and at Aqua’s denial, Kairi helps herself to a spoonful of vanilla. “This is a wedding, not a club!”

“My wedding, Ven.” Aqua isn’t annoyed, but amused. Ven has such strong opinions about for some reason. 

“Try this one.” He holds up a plate of a decorated piece that honestly looks delicious. “Triple chocolate, with the rarest berries found in the woods, matured at thirty-five degrees Celsius for a week.” 

“Burnt cake?” Kairi asks with a smirk.

“Not the cake, the berries.” 

“Oh,” Xion gasps, with need in her eyes. It takes a nod from Aqua to grab a fork and have at it. She approaches each piece with so much excitement— Aqua wonders if there are flavors here she’s never tried before in her short life. 

“What will the final cake look like?” Naminé asks, the only one not to dive forward. She’s so gentle, so serene. When they were trying out dresses, everyone was saying what a beautiful bride she’ll be one day if she chooses. 

“Perfect,” Ven says, like it’s the most obvious thing. “It has to be perfect so it will look beautiful. Painted like a night sky, with stars everywhere. You got that, Remy?”

Remy glares at Ven.

“I want,” Aqua starts, and when Ven frowns, she smirks. Sometimes, for the sake of maintaining control, she has to play dirty. “Rosewater and cardamom.” 

Ven sticks his tongue out in disgust.

“Terra needs something to enjoy,” Aqua insists. “These are all too sweet for him.”

“Terra is the bane of my existence.”

“By the way, I don’t know if I want King Mickey and Queen Minnie to officiate.”

“You are way more difficult to deal with.”

Aqua and Ven have a staring contest as the others talk about their favorite flavors. Ven, a glare, a challenge to outwit her. Aqua, a calm knowing that she’s going to win. Ven relents.

“Fine,” he stresses. “Remy, change of plans. We’ll need some damage control. Let’s add some”—he writes into his notepad—“fruit pastries, sweet cheese with chocolate—”

“Triple chocolate,” Kairi adds.

“Custard and kiwi,” Xion says.

“All good choices.” Ven writes them down.

“Sea salt ice cream?” Naminé says, lifting a shoulder. “Everyone else eats them, I hope to try some.”

“Ven.” Kairi slams a hand on the table. “You need to add marshmallows covered in hazelnut and chocolate.”

“We need all the chocolate,” Ven agrees. “Call it revenge on this nasty cake.”

Kairi cackles, but it’s nothing malicious. They’re young and excited about the wedding, their suggestions a way of helping. Aqua takes it all in stride. The small details don’t matter, only the intent, and letting friends have fun deciding makes the entire process easier. What’s bothering her is Ven. He’s exhausted from taking it all too seriously. Aqua assumes the best intentions, but she doesn’t get it.

“You know what would be really cute?” Xion says. “Little petit fours shaped in your symbols.”

Ven blinks. “What symbols?”

“Oh, the Keyblade Master symbols.” Naminé claps her hands. “That would be so lovely.”

“In different colors,” Xion says.

“Each a different flavor,” Naminé adds. “Maybe the same colors as your Wayfinders?”

“You two are geniuses.” Ven taps his notepad. “Remy, we gotta get to work.”

Remy stomps a paw and squeaks vigorously.

“No worries. You’ll get paid.” Though it seems that’s the last thing on Remy’s mind.

“Ven,” Aqua says softly, pulling him aside as the others brainstorm ideas. “I don’t think we can afford all this.”

“Sure you can,” he says too confidently, though she and Terra were the ones to save up their munny. “Don’t worry,” he stresses when she’s not convinced, giving her a squeeze on the arm. “You asked me to bookkeep your finances” 

“Reminder that I did not ask you to take full responsibility. Remy can’t do all of this alone, he’s going to need you.”

“I’ve got plenty of time, and we’ve got plenty of budget.”

Aqua does not know how that is possible. After the dresses, the refitting of Terra’s tux, the decorations… sure, since they’re using the ballroom in the Land of Departure, they saved on not having to rent out a venue, but the original plan was to have a small, intimate wedding in the woods, something private with just the three of them, minimal decorations necessary, all plucked from nature. 

All of this is out of their price range.

Ven goes back to the table, back to the stovetop and oven where he follows Remy’s instructions and mixes the flour in the bowl with some milk. He doesn’t assuage her at all, like he knows something she doesn’t.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Home should be a solace but not when it’s the wedding rehearsal. 

Ven has ushered in movers from different worlds to carry in artifacts, all decorations, all star-themed. Terra has yet to see the ballroom, but the amount of people rushing through the hallways makes him nervous. 

Ever since Terra called Riku in the dead of night (in a panic, needing someone to talk to, alone in the kitchen with a cracked mug of tea), blabbing about tripping on the way to the altar, or cutting the cake clean through the table, or stepping on linen and ripping the curtains, or dropping his plate of food, or looking like an idiot on the dance floor, or worse—forgetting his vows—he hasn’t lived a moment of peace. Sora won’t let him. 

Terra finds it hard to breathe. What if he chokes on his vows and accidentally offends everyone?

He stays far away from the workers—it’s for the best. No one needs a huge bull stampeding in a china shop, destroying everything.

Lea crosses the hallway on his sixth trip and enters one of two entrances to the ballroom, vases of flowers in his hands. Terra peeks. From the looks of it, Ven did a fantastic job. 

The ballroom, once gold, now looks like the set of night. The ceiling is covered in blue with twinkling lights. The table linens are also dark, with napkins and silverware sets a solid gold. Glass windows that take up one entire side to the ballroom are bare of curtains—the wedding is planned for after sunset so they’d be declaring their vows under the stars. Two navy blue carpets come in through both entrances of the ballroom, meeting in the middle and then straight to the altar at the far end. The point is for him and Aqua to enter together, like equals. With her in a bridal dress, she’ll look like a light in the darkness.

Through the doorway, Terra can see Riku and Sora, the latter making motions with his arms as if he’s flapping like a bird. Terra lets the door close so they don’t notice him. 

There are fears he’s never voiced.

What if she realizes she doesn’t want to get married to him after all? At the altar no less?

Oh stars, what if he makes a terrible husband? 

What if he neglects her?

What if, years down the road, she realizes after a slowly oncoming epiphany that she isn’t happy and regrets it?

Tonight is the party, tomorrow is the wedding, and Terra still has no vows. He pinches his nose hard enough to distract him from crying. He’s already cried five times in the arc of three hours.

Footsteps—light, brisque, confident, hers—approach him, and Terra embraces her in his arms, taking her in with a needy kiss. She smells like home, she lets him breathe again. 

“You look like you’re about to fall apart,” she says, stroking a thumb on his cheek.

“Not if you’re my glue.”

She snorts, smacking him on the bicep. “What did I say about the puns?”

“Shower you with them.”

He kisses her before she can roll her eyes—

—and gets interrupted the moment Ven peeks out of one door. 

“What’s with the hold-up?” he says.

Terra breaks from the kiss, casually noticing how Aqua is patting his shoulder, as if to warn him. “What’s with your attitude?”

Ven pouts like he’s about to choke and slaps the notepad to his forehead. “No one listens to me. I said baby blue and champagne on the napkins, all shaped to form the constellation of Juno… and they gave me yellow. I am gonna complain so much.”

“There are worse things?” Terra says and Aqua shakes his shoulder as another warning. 

Ven snaps his eyes open. “Get into position, we’re starting.”

Aqua stands behind one door and Terra goes to the other, waiting for the cue to enter. On the other side, Ven is speaking out loud, organizing people and where they should stand. Grooms and bridesmaids will enter the altar from behind and gather together, leaving the carpet only for the star couple (no pun intended). He interrupts himself, raising his voice about vases that match too much and Terra can imagine him pointing across the room.

“I have to tell you something,” Aqua loudly whispers from the other side of the hall. 

Terra runs to her and wraps an arm around her waist. Touching her is a panacea. Despite knowing there is still a possibility she’ll rethink this entire relationship, it seems unreal, like a nightmare.

“It’s about Ven,” she continues, keeping her voice low even though they’re the only ones in the hall.

“Lea threatened to slap him.”

She frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Don’t you think it’s too expensive?”

“I don’t know. Ven doesn’t tell me how much anything costs.”

“It’s way more than we have saved up.”

Terra gapes. “Then how—?”

Aqua stammers, fiddling with her fingers. “I looked into his books.”

Terra melts into a breath-heavy laugh, careful to keep his voice out of it. “Reading people’s diaries? Aqua, I thought I knew you better.”

She blushes. “I didn’t mean to, but I was worried.” Now Terra is worried. Her expression is too serious. “Ven has been doing side-missions and hustles for months just to earn enough to hire the best chefs and tailors, to buy linens and all these flowers and carpets—” 

“He wouldn’t.”

“He did.”

“Why?” 

“I think it’s because he wants us to be happy.”

“We are.” Terra doesn’t appreciate how he doesn’t sound confident, scared he’s assuming too much on her behalf. “How could he just…”

“We were stuck in darkness for so long and he couldn’t help us.”

“But that’s not his fault.”

“He feels he is the weakest and wants to compensate.” Aqua grimaces and she blinks back tears. 

“I feel so guilty.”

“I feel worse.”

“Why?”

Aqua bites her lip. “I’m still attached to the idea of a small, intimate ceremony in the woods. Just the three of us. Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No. Our wedding has become a spectacle. Maybe pointing that out makes me terrible, too.”

She groans. “I found a book. I left it in your room. It’s very last minute, but there are some ancient rituals in there that I found so beautiful… the exchanging of rings is beautiful, too, but modern and there are some lost traditions from our Keyblade history that I’d love to do instead... if you could take a look?” 

The way she smiles, stars. Ancient, modern, he’d do anything for her. “Sure. I’ll read it tonight.”

Aqua winces. “He’ll be so angry with us.”

Terra squeezes her hand. “He wants us to be happy. Think about that.”

One of the doors burst open, and Lea sticks his head out. “Kindly stop being an ass and don’t keep your guests waiting anymore?”

They start: Terra at one entrance, Aqua on the other, entering the ballroom at the same time, where guests will watch them approach one another, like the shadow of the moon to a star. They meet at the point where their lanes merge into one. 

Terra offers his arm—

“Nonono,” Ven warns, running up to them. “You can’t meet her like this. You must bow at a forty-degree angle.” Ven scans the room frantically. “Here, I have a ruler.”

After that hiccup, Aqua finally takes Terra’s arm, walking down the single aisle, where guests can ogle at them. Their groomsmen and bridesmaids take pictures with their Gummiphones for their arrival at a wall of flowers. 

Sora has his hands behind his head and snickers when they reach the end. “I made sure the carpet is ironed out so she doesn’t fall with you.”

“I’m going to kick you in the shins,” Terra says.

He snorts and wipes his nose. “I’ll kick you back.”

At the altar, Ven is too excited to stop rambling. “We have to make sure that you arrive here, at this spot, at exactly nine-thirty so we can finish the vows at ten because...” He frames the windows with his hands. “We’ve got a perfect spot for star sighting so we need to be on time.”

“Do you mean, right after the wedding ceremony?” Aqua asks. 

“Before the reception, yup. We’re walking out to the balcony, we’ll watch the meteor shower where a new world will be born, then we’ll come back in for supper and dancing.” When he notices their stupefied faces, he continues, “I spent three weeks finding the right angulations so you can witness a unique astronomical event, and we’ve got a miracle of a spot right here so we can’t be late.”

“It’s a wonderful thought, Ven,” Aqua says, her voice shaky.

“Okay, now you get into position and face each other.” He points and they follow. “Next, Mickey and Minnie will talk some stuff, you know, all official, and then you say your vows.”

Terra freezes up. “Our vows.”

“Yeah. That’s what I said. You ready?”

Terra hesitates and Aqua speaks for him. “We’re keeping those a secret until tomorrow.”

Ven pauses, then shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Aqua doesn’t let Terra have another thought, leaning forward to kiss him in front of everyone (aahs and awws elicited), and ending the rehearsal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“How do you get your skin so clear?” Kairi asks, though the warm glow of the fire makes for spectacular lighting. 

They’re camping in the woods near the waterfall, equipped with warm blankets and pillows, a bowl of cookies, and toasted marshmallows on sticks; Aqua’s vision of a bachelorette party. No gifts necessary.

“Mountain spring water does wonders for you,” Aqua says.

“I’ve read in a magazine,” Xion says, crawling out of her sleeping bag, “that some people like to put mud on their faces to get clean skin.”

“Why?” Naminé asks, chewing on a marshmallow.

“Something about the properties. Lots of good minerals.” She walks over to the creek, digging her hands into the dirt and smashing it into her face against the shocks and cries of the other girls. “If mountain water is good for you, then that must mean this mud is magical.” 

“Is that true?” Kairi says, though she’s asking no one. She hurries over and joins in on the mud-mashing, running fingers over Xion’s face in places she’s missed.

With globs of mud in their hands, they bring over the excess to the camp. 

Xion offers it to Aqua. “For beautiful skin on your special day?”

“It’s our job to pamper,” Kairi says with her hands out so that Naminé can scoop up the mud on her own. 

Aqua tries not to chuckle too loudly. It’s adorable. “Okay,” she says, and Xion gets to work, massaging it into her skin. It smells unpleasant, earthy and mukky. She closes her eyes and tries to relax regardless.

“I think we’re supposed to keep it on our faces for at least a half hour,” Xion says, rubbing more on Aqua’s nose. 

“This will make us prettier?” Naminé asks.

“Cleaner,” Kairi says. 

Naminé blinks, already covered in the mud and hesitating to put on more. “But we look dirty,” she says quietly.

“Can I request something, Miss Aqua?” Xion says, patting her fingers onto Aqua’s forehead.

“Certainly.”

“Can you tell us the story of how Terra proposed?”

Kairi jumps and squeals, and Naminé claps her hands, both of them chattering please, please, we’re dying to know.

“We’re around a fire,” Kairi says, as if that’s a convincing argument. “We’re supposed to tell stories.” 

“I feel bad for asking,” Naminé says. “You’re very private, and I don’t want to intrude…”

Aqua reads her face. “But you’re curious.”

Naminé pouts. Xion’s eyes go wide, and Kairi nods excitedly. Everyone is guilty as charged.

“It’s a simple story, I guess,” Aqua says, crossing her legs and watching the fire. It’s not often that she talks so openly about the details of her relationship. The two of them together is something people know, but never knowing where they come from and why, except for Ven—even then, there’s so much he never pries to. Watching their reactions is a little overwhelming. She rubs the stone on her ring. “Terra made the engagement ring with his own hands, but he took months to propose.”

“I remember that,” Xion says, sitting on her chair and smiling. “It annoyed Lea so much that he offered to set you both up just to get it over with.”

Aqua laughs. “I’m grateful we had it to ourselves.”

“Was it romantic?” Kairi asks.

“Not at all. I… knew he was up to something. I know him.” She lifts a shoulder. “He was burning breakfast too often, he couldn’t look me directly in the eye, and he left on his own to do more missions than usual. I took that as though he had done something wrong. The last time he was that clumsy and avoidant, it was because he accidentally cast Firaga in the library and was trying to hide it. Or when he broke the oven. Or when he offered to do my laundry but didn’t know how to treat my fabric and ruined my clothes.”

“He sounds like a clumsy oaf,” Kairi says.

That makes Aqua smile. She loves that oaf. “He is. The general rule of thumb is that a clumsy, avoidant Terra is usually hiding something.”

“So how did the proposal happen?” Naminé asks.

“I cornered him—”

Kairi snorts.

“—and he blurted it out.”

They giggle, Kairi acting out how that may have looked and Naminé holding her hands over her heart in a show of genuine affection. 

Aqua smiles to herself, a finger to her lips. It might be her favorite memory, her standing her ground and demanding to know what was going on. 

Terra, looking all around the terrace except for her face, guilty, guilty, guilty, pulling a box out of his pocket and stammering for a cohesive sentence. Well, I don’t know what to say, he had said, like a child getting grounded. I-I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I’m a big lump of a human being. He paused, his cheeks rounding up like he was about to vomit. Will…will you marry me, anyway?

It felt like racing in a train and pulling all the stops, crashing. He got red in the face, tears welling in his eyes and she realized he took her silence as rejection. Aqua had to hold his forearms, and all she could utter was a soft, I genuinely thought you burned down a building.

Terra’s eyes went wide. Do you mean you’re not mad?

Of course not. Why would I be?

So… He licked his lips, reaching for her but not touching her, forgetting that he had the box with the ring inside. What do you say? I mean, you don’t have to give me an answer straight away. I mean, I just thought you would… you know… because… He sighed. Yeah.

Aqua finally laughed, and kissed him on the cheek. Of course I will marry you, you beautiful dork.

The laughter quiets around the fire. They’re waiting for Aqua to continue her story.

“Then he drops the ring.”

They howl, melting into a blissful exchange of cheers and gossip, a vibrant hearth brighter than the one keeping them warm. 

“I had hoped to propose first, actually,” Aqua continues. She shrugs. “The end.”

“That was beautiful,” Naminé says, wiping her eyes.

“If Sora hears about this, he’ll never leave Terra alone,” Kairi says, grinning something mischievous. 

“I don’t know what love is supposed to look like,” Xion says thoughtfully, gazing at the sky. “But it sounds sweet.”

In Aqua’s opinion, the proposal was perfect, him scattered on the ground frantically searching for the ring, her on her knees helping him. How he slipped it on her finger, how they kissed for an hour in the dirt, unaware that they were dusty, unaware that anyone else existed in the world. 

Aqua nods, mostly to herself. It aches to be away from Terra tonight but it burns her insides to see him tomorrow and finally do this. Aqua wants to sleep and get this night over with but she doesn’t want to sleep so she could see the sunrise, knowing he’d be up early watching the same thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bachelor parties aren’t fun.

Sora is whooping about a cannonball, the water splashing when he makes contact. Ven and Roxas race to the lake, testing who will be the first to dive, the first to swim across and come back. Considering the expanse of the surface area, they’ll be gone for a while and the barbecue will get cold, but maybe it’s for the best. It’s not the right time to talk to Ven right now, not when all of them have a moment of fun (except for Terra, the only one here thinking about tomorrow). Lea and Isa prefer to relax, sipping drinks on their chairs by the lanterns erected onto the sand, speaking quietly about memories, about chores, about home and what ifs. 

Terra sits by himself, the thin booklet Aqua gave him on his lap, tucked under layers of parchment. It’s titled The Way, no author. She was right: old Keyblade rituals are interesting, almost possessive, their focus on the literal binding of hearts. They’re from the Age of Fairytales, and Terra realizes as he reads through it that ancient Keyblade wielders were for some reason obsessed with the loss of memory and the prevention of it. The rituals sound painful, too—maybe Aqua has developed a mild taste of macabre from her time in the Realm of Darkness. 

All Terra has left to do are his vows. His stupid, dorky-sounding vows. He should have accepted the simple, “I do.” He shouldn’t have waited until the last minute.

He’s tried dramatic.

You are my other half, my heart, my breath of life, my sky, my angel, can we keep our souls together? 

He’s tried poetic.

The mountain will thirst if not for the water— 

He’s tried being honest.

I don’t know why you love me, but I’ll do my best to make it up to you.

All dumb.

Terra groans into his hands, eyes wide in existential blunder. 

“Keep doing that,” Riku says, setting a chair next to him and sitting down, “and you won’t be able to blink again.”

“I’m not finished.”

“But if you don’t sleep, then you’re more likely to have accidents.”

Terra gapes and almost whacks Riku on the side of the head from the sight of his constricted smirk. “You’re so mean. I called you one time.”

“In a huge panic talking about causing mass destruction of a wedding the worlds have never seen.” Riku shrugs nonchalantly. That’s his state of being—too cool for anything, too sensitive for everything. It’s refreshing. “It was the funniest phone conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll never call you again.”

“Not in the middle of the night, please no.” Riku bites a forkful of steak. “Is it cliché to tell you to speak from the heart?”

“This entire conversation is cliché, but here I am, living it out.” Terra stares at his messy pages, where he pressed the pen so hard that it left ink blots.

“You could do the very committal thing and tell her you love her fifty times.”

“All the guests would leave by the time I reach twenty-five.”

“More like fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Disaster.”

Terra grimaces, not entirely comforted, but not entirely anxious anymore, either. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“It is a big deal, I’ll give you that,” Riku says, more serious. “I don’t have any advice.”

“None of it makes sense. Be honest, but not too honest. Be loving, but don’t make it cheesy. Express yourself, but hold back on certain things. Do make it personal. Don’t expose personal details. How am I supposed to know how to do it right?” 

It would be easier if there are no witnesses. If it’s just Ven, if Aqua is the only person he’s talking to, if he could simply say, You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I know I’ve fucked up. For as long as I live, I’ll never do that again. I will never take your forgiveness for granted.

And if she doesn’t want to be with him anymore, there’d be nothing he could say to make her stay.

“I think if Aqua was the kind of person who expected you to do it right,” Riku says, looking out to the lake where Ven and Roxas are swimming back to their shore, “you wouldn’t be marrying her.”

Terra bends the pages, exposing the cover of the thin, leather bound booklet. There are no vows he could use in there, except for the officiator declaring their hearts intertwined. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Sorry I can’t be of more help.” 

Riku pats him on the shoulder and leaves him alone to take a walk, Sora begging him to enter the water. Terra flips to a page where he’s repeated I love you, I love you all over, each in different calligraphy, like doodling, like losing his mind and procrastinating the night away, hoping that any moment, inspiration would drop bricks on him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s time.

The strangest part of the day is waiting it out in her bedroom until it’s her turn to show herself. Over the years, her bedroom has been a reflection of her personality. The cleanliness, the artifacts from her home world long ago, the size of the bed, the furniture—they all stayed the same. What’s come and gone were the paint colors, the bedsheets, the art on the wall, the smaller vanity mirror. Her bedroom is her old life, and she sits in front of the mirror in her bride’s dress, about to start a new one. For now, they both collide, as though her childhood doesn’t know her.

The cape dress is simple, plain white with the neck scooped across the collarbone. The sleeves slit at the shoulders, draping over to the floor with the rest of the train. Aqua couldn’t have asked for something better. She completes the look with the ring, a jeweled hair pin on one side, and an armored choker. Makeup is minimal. 

Aqua is surprisingly calm and the sun is going down. 

Her Gummiphone buzzes with a text message.

Terra

Let’s do it

Aqua sighs, not texting back immediately.

Aqua

I don’t want to break Ven’s heart

Terra

I’ll talk to him

We can both get what we want

I already stole some flowers from the wall

Don’t think he notices

She chuckles, moving a hair strand behind her ear. She hasn’t noticed that her stomach has been a knot, from excitement, from nerves, from anticipation. The sun takes so long to set. Terra is the warmth of a tight blanket.

Aqua

Will this label me as a runaway bride?

Terra takes a long time to answer, giving her the impression that he must have been distracted and forgot to reply. 

It buzzes.

Terra

The shame

Aqua

What will they think when they find out the groom seduced her to it

Terra

The scandal 

when they hear how she met him secretly at the creek 

an hour before the ceremony

It sounds like an action plan. Aqua picks up her bouquet of orange roses and bluestars from her vanity table, heading out the door.

Aqua

I want Ven there

Terra

Definitely

I love you

Aqua

I love you too

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Terra finds Ven in the dining room, taking inventory of an indulgement of sweets and a feast of meats, fritters, and rice. The wedding cake is as tall as his body, a dark blue with smacks of gold glitter in the shapes of galaxies, large stars framing each layer, and topped with two halos. Ven is mostly dressed in his vest and tie, the suit missing. By comparison, Terra is overdressed, a groom ready for his encore.

Ven sighs when he sneaks a cookie the shape of the Keyblade Master symbol into his mouth, as though Terra’s presence reminds him of disappointment. 

“I couldn’t tame the cicadas,” he says morosely, like he’s apologizing, and for a moment Terra second-guesses what he’s about to do. Ven eyes the white rope curled around Terra’s shoulder. “What’s that for?”

“This may either cheer you up or piss you off,” Terra says, dropping The Way on the counter.

“I don’t like how you said that.” As Ven flips through pages, he frowns, chewing on the side of his lip. “Are you... not happy with the wedding preparations?”

Terra inhales, caught off guard. “Of course I am. Happy, I mean. It’s… huge. It’s a giant ordeal.”

“And you don’t like that,” Ven says quietly, stroking one of the pages with his thumb.

“I think there are things we’ve always wanted to have privately.” Terra sits on a stool, but Ven won’t look him in the eye. “And we want you to be there. We can do it now. We’ll be back in time for our guests.”

The booklet shakes in his hands. “I messed up.”

“From my point of view, I’ll be eating very well tonight. There’s nothing to compensate for.”

Ven closes the book. “I just wanted to do a good job.”

“If you allow Lea to slap you, he’ll forgive you.” Terra smiles, but Ven doesn’t join him. “We’re still doing your grand ceremony—that, we could never pull off on our own. But we also want something tiny and ours, and we won’t do this without you.” Terra takes Ven’s hand and squeezes it, before glancing at the cake. “I hope it’s delicious.”

“It’s disgusting so you’ll definitely like it.”

“See, I can always count on you.” Terra stands up. “Now come on. You wouldn’t want us to be late for the bride.”

Terra takes him to the creek, not far from where Aqua hosted her bachelorette camp, where the sound of rushing water is gentle and the creek splits into two directions, one that would drip off the side of a cliff and one that would join a massive river downstream. The trees huddle close in the clearing, a soft shadow from the fierceness of the setting sun, like a pocket of protective magic in the middle of the forest. 

Ven gasps. “You stole my flowers.”

“Please, you didn’t even notice.” Terra had built an easy wooden arbor before the crack of dawn that morning, an arch weaved with orange and blue flowers, spotted every so often with green lilies. He showered right after so no one would suspect.

“Let’s take it over there.” Ven points to a short boulder against a tree nearby, a good photo op. They pluck the arbor up from both sides and plant it in front of the boulder. Ven takes stock of the sight. “Not bad.”

“Thanks!”

“I take credit for the choice of flowers.” Ven rolls the rope into a tight circle, layering it on the boulder with each loop in equal circumference. He splays the book open and studies. “It’s kinda creepy,” he says though he gets no response and he doesn’t ask for one.

Terra shoves his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo and waits. Aqua isn’t here yet. The vest constricts his breathing, the thicket suddenly feels humid, and Terra wipes his cheek, realizing that his heart is beating fast. Time sped up to this moment and dropped him here without warning. Now it’s slowing down out of pure, unjustifiable spite to torture him in the final hour. 

“You okay, dude?” Ven asks.

Terra lifts his face to the sky to keep the tears in his eyes. “If I cry now, I think I’ll cry for the rest of the night.”

Ven snorts. “No one would be surprised, trust me.”

But it’s not working. He’s two seconds from sobbing. “I don’t know. I…” He scoffs. “I can’t believe it’s happening. I’m expecting her to never show up or brush me off last minute when she realizes what we’re doing—”

“No.” Ven approaches Terra like he’s about to punch him in the stomach to make a point. “Don’t think like that, she’d never do that.” 

Ven has good faith and better timing. Aqua approaches the other side of the clearing, the fabric of her dress gracefully making waves with every step, the foliage fluttering light and shadow on her figure. She holds her bouquet in one hand and a framed photograph tucked under the other.

It shocks Terra.

He can’t stop the flow of tears. He covers his shivering lips and the drip of his nose, his face twisting from the sight of her—brilliant, like she’s made of stars, a gift walking the earth.

“Terra, are you okay?” Aqua asks, rushing to him now, the train of her dress bouncing behind her. 

In the flash of an instinct, Terra runs to meet her, tripping over a branch and landing right into her arms. 

“You’re—” Terra sucks air in, his heart shoving itself up his esophagus. “Y-you’re s-so beautiful.”

Aqua uses her pinky to wipe his tears. “So are you.”

“Let me help you.” He takes the frame—a portrait of the Master, bordered with a white ribbon—and walks her to the arbor. Ven takes the portrait and places it on the boulder, their little family tied together, fractured in glued pieces, now and always. Before they start, Terra asks Aqua to pose under the arbor so he can take a picture of the trees and the flowers surrounding her. Beautiful.

“How do we do this?” Terra asks when he finds his voice again, still trembling. Aqua stands to the side to take her place. She’s beautiful.

Ven takes the book in his hands. The description of this ritual covers at most two pages. “Well, it’s archaic. It’s from the Age of Fairytales but it sounds like we will intertwine your hearts—but in an intense way, like we’re sewing them together.”

Aqua holds her bouquet to her chest. “Shall we start?”

Terra chuckles too hard, gasping for breath. “Simple as that.”

They wait for Ven’s cue, who also has no idea how to do anything. Ven clears his throat, shrugs his shoulders, and reads:

“We witness today the soldering of two hearts. To intertwine like the roots of a tree, the severance painful, the nourishment plentiful. A physical bond, a magical one, the merging of two sprites under the guidance of one truth. Two hearts, but one.” Terra watches the way Aqua watches him. There’s no one else in the world, Ven’s voice disconnected, like it floats on air. “Now it says to summon your Keyblades. Dig the tips into the ground, and offer your hilts to each other.”

Ends of the Earth is massive, taller than Ven. Stormfall looks delicate but it’s menacing, sharp, direct. They offer their hilts, the shafts crossed over each other, Stormfall light and airy in his hand, Ends of the Earth weighty and thick in hers. 

Terra finds it interesting that they’re using the hilt to connect each other’s hearts—the Keyblade should never be used against a person’s heart in traditional Mastery, because it’s such a dangerous weapon and it’s so violating. The blunt hilt, on the other hand, the physical manifestation of their hearts, is like exposure, an offer of vulnerability. 

Aqua’s feels like it’s thrumming, singing. She’s happy.

Ven steps forward with the rope and ties it over the hilts in loops. “This is just an image, the ties that bind, two Keyblades, but one. To intertwine a heart is to forge a chain, a friend, a companion, a memory. If missing then a void, a dream, a wish until reunion.” He steps back into position. “Before we go on, I think this would be a nice place to say your vows. Terra, you first.”

Terra stammers, looking into her eyes. “I-I couldn’t write one. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Ven whispers, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I wrote some just in case.”

Terra doesn’t take it. He licks his lips. “It wouldn’t have been graceful. None of it—all of my thoughts—pale in comparison to you, Aqua.” He steadies himself with labored breathing, the squeeze on her Keyblade like a hold on her waist. “You’re so, so beautiful, and I’ve spent my days believing I don’t deserve you, because… because I couldn’t make things right like I should have.” 

Aqua quivers, gently touching his arm with her free hand and motioning for him to breathe. 

He continues, “I’m sorry. I wish the Master was here. I wish I was smart enough to prevent it from happening.” He inhales, choking up from the mention of Eraqus. “I never thought you would marry me of all people, so… I promise... I will be there every step of the way. I promise you, if you’re scared at night, I’ll be there to protect you. If you’re hurting in another world, I’ll come find you. If you’re confused, I’ll hold you close and help you make sense of it. I’ll brew you tea to help you sleep, I’ll step in the line of fire even if you wish to do the same for me, I’ll walk to the ends of the earth to make sure you are safe and healthy. I promise I’ll be with you.

“And I’ll mess up. I know me. I’ll fix it. If you want to clobber me, I’ll be patient. I’ll learn. I’ll do better. Every day you save me from myself. This is the least I can do. I’ve loved you since I was a kid. I’ll love you every day.”

Silence falls on all of them, Terra sniffing just to get some fresh air, Ven wiping his eyes, Aqua blinking too much. 

“Now you, Aqua,” Ven says. 

Despite being teared up, Aqua holds it together. She’s so good at that.

“Terra, I stand with you because I do want to be here. I do want to be by your side. I do want to laugh at your bad jokes.” She relieves a giggle. “I love you. I have for as long as I can remember, even if I didn’t know the words for it.” She studies his face. “I’m sure the Master is here with us, and he couldn’t be prouder of you. I’m proud of you.” Suddenly, she switches her tone, as if to lecture. “And if you even fathom taking a hit for me, remember that I’m faster than you. I’ll protect you first.” Then she softens. “I promise to be your shelter when the storm falls on us. I promise to sit on your bedside when you’re sick, to lift you up when you’re down about yourself, because you are sometimes. 

“You are my home, no matter how far your heart is from me. If you need a star to light your way back, I’ll give it to you.” She smiles widely, like she’s about to laugh. “If something between us breaks, I’ll mend it with you. I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

Their words are now spoken. Aqua suppresses a laugh and grins like a child. Terra holds his breath, just in case he screams from every emotion that he can’t name.  

“Well,” Ven says, rolling his sleeve up so he could wipe his nose on his forearm. “I guess it’s time. This bond is an oath you will remember each other until you close your eyes for the last time, for the tragedy to forget is to be alone forever. Do you accept this?”

“I do,” Terra says.

Aqua hums. “Yes, I do.”

Ven smiles. “You know what to do.”

With his free hand, Terra presses two fingers to his chest, over his heart, where he builds a golden glow. Twenty years living with her, ten years in darkness thinking about her, this vow is impossible to break—even if they can’t do this any longer, Terra could never forget her. Never. In his hand is now a piece of himself, a nugget of his heart, a memory of her in his bed that he never wants to lose.

He takes those fingers to her chest, two thick golden threads drawn out from his heart. She winces at the touch, quick to dissolve. Stormfall shifts in his hand, growing longer, its hilt thicker and darker, wrapping around like a weaved shield. A subtle change, a little piece of him.

Aqua does the same, fingers to her chest first to create the threads, bringing them to his chest. It does hurt, like a needle digging into his skin, sharp for the entire length until it’s suddenly gone. 

He feels full, as though his insides are creating space for something extra. Warm, frightening, whole, exciting. Her piece is a memory he can’t read but he doesn’t need to. Ends of the Earth opens way for an icy blade to cut through the middle as the hilt fans out like wings. A piece of her to take with him where he goes.

“Alright,” Ven chirps, snapping the booklet closed. “The book ends with the quote, Two hearts, only one, but I think this means I can call you husband and wife in secret. So kiss.”

Their Keyblades dissipate when they hold each other, tender but with appetite, unaware of their surroundings for several selfish moments. With sewn threads, it’s as though he breathes through her. Terra presses her onto him, feeling how her heart now beats in sync with his.

“I love you,” she whispers. They are married. 

He’ll never tire of hearing it. Stars, they are married. “I love you, too.”

Terra hears Ven sniff before a handkerchief is shoved into his face. “You need your face dry and clean before everyone sees you,” Ven says. 

The sunset now is deep, a fiery orange. Terra doesn’t want to let go.

“I’ll hold you again tonight,” Aqua says, patting his chest. “I want to see the meteor shower Ven promised.”

“It’ll be a good one,” Ven assures.

Terra kisses her. “Then we have to make a run for it.” He picks Ven up like a log, jogging through the thicket of the forest with Aqua close behind him, the Master in her arms. When they approach the castle, in the twilight, they hear chatter coming from the halls, as though ghosts are partying outside. 

Terra feels at peace despite that he now has to perform, balancing on a tightrope where he doesn’t care if he falls. He turns around and holds her neck to kiss her again, feeling her laughter in his mouth. “One more?” he asks when they break. 

Ven, still tucked in Terra’s arm, groans. “I never asked for a front seat to the kissing show. Is this my punishment?”

Aqua kisses him one more time, whispering to him I love you for what will be a string of I love you’s in the night to come. Friends will cheer, Terra will trip on the way to the altar, Sora will cry because Terra will cry, Xion will eat too much cake and get sick, Isa will laugh because he is drunk, Kairi will be the star of the dance, Aqua will be the star in his eyes. 

[wreckofawriter]

Strawberries

Restaurant AU!

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Lewd language, swearing, a small mention of sexual harassment. tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: You hate being a waitress for rich assholes, but maybe the new line cook will make it a little better

A/n: this is for week three of my Cliche Month. Sorry for being inactive. I suck at time management and have no motivation.

    You never aspired to be a waitress. You didn’t sit down in primary school on a ridiculously colorful rug and tell your underpaid depressed teacher that you wanted to wait on prestigious assholes and rich men who thought a 20 dollar tip bought them an ass grab. You never wanted to wait on entitled white women and spoiled brats. But shit happens.

   

“Yes ma’am I understand but that was last week’s special, we don’t serve it anymore.”

    The woman rolled her eyes, “I don’t think you do understand. I said I want the sea bass, just have them make the sea bass.”

    You bit back cusses, “I am very sorry ma’am but we don’t have the ingredients in the kitchen to make a sea bass. I can recommend our halibut it’s severed with a delicious mango chutney and-”

    “Shut up about the mango crap. She said she wants a seabass, give her a seabass.” The man who sat on the opposite side of the table spoke.

    Your smile almost faltered, “Sir, we don’t have sea bass.” 

    “Then get some.” The man huffed, “There are plenty of stores around.”

    You had already taken the fork beside him and jabbed him in the eye in your mind four times, “I am terribly sorry sir, we cannot do that.”

    The look on his face could only be described as disgust, “I would like to speak to your supervisor.”

    You took in a deep breath, “Sir, he will not say any different.”

    “Now girl.” He snapped, his wife’s smirk making you want to smash her champagne glass over her head.

    “I will be right back.” You forced a smile, notebook flipping shut as you turned, the click of your heels disappearing into the chatter of diners. You almost rubbed your tired eyes only to remember the makeup which coated them and dropped your hands back to your side. You walked towards the pass of the kitchen, the smell of fish and meats becoming stronger as waiters weaved around you. 

    “Denzel.” You called, the man in question turning towards you.

    He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

    “Can you pretend to be my supervisor?” You asked, “Some idiots still want to order the sea bass.” 

    “I’m assuming you told them that was last week's special.” He spoke as you began to lead him back to the couple.

    “Multiple times.” you sighed.

    He nodded smiles finding both of your faces as you stood in front of the table.

    “How can I help you both tonight?” He spoke, his voice dramatically shifting tones. 

    The woman went on to explain your complete incompetence just to hear your friend restate everything you had. She eventually ordered the halibut.

    Denzel left thanking them for their cooperation as you went on to take the man's order and pretending not to hear his wife calling you a bitch as you walked away. 

    You wanted to be a journalist, a warrior of justice. You wanted to expose the one percent, shattering their ivory towers with a mallet of words. 

Instead, you served them halibut and ribeyes with a smile as fake as their trophy wives tits. 

James had fallen in love with many things in his life but cooking had been the most prevalent. Most hobbies were tossed out windows, they became phases, leaving nothing but footprints in his life. But cooking had been different. Since he was five years old and would hop onto a stepping stool to peer into the cast-iron pan his mother would be sauteing in he had been hooked. By age 10 he was making things like meatballs and stroganoff. At fourteen he began to engage in more complicated dishes and by the time he hit culinary school he was easily the best in class. 

Now as he washed his hundredth dish of the night he wondered if all of that love had been for absolutely nothing. When applying for a line cook position at one of the most prestigious restaurants in London he definitely didn’t expect to be stuck as a dishwasher. 

James’ hands felt raw from scrubbing, his apron soaked with warm water and unscented soap. His feet were aching in his shoes, his jealousy for those putting together the night’s last desserts burning hot.

He ignored his anger and pushed on, washing plate after plate just to place them into an industrial-sized dishwasher which was supposed to thoroughly clean the dishes which he already spent hours scrubbing. Dessert plates and wine glasses seemed to replace every dinner plate he had washed, his work seeming endless as his coworkers said goodnight and walked out the back door. 

It took James another hour to finish. He felt like he could pass out on the kitchen floor. His glasses were a greasy steamed mess as he pushed them back up his nose for the nth time that evening. He sighed out in a mix of exhaustion and relief untying his apron and preparing to leave.

“So you’re the newbie?” 

James jumped letting out a small yelp as his heart leapt in his chest. 

You let out a snort hand coming to cover your mouth, a poor attempt of hiding your giggles.

“You scared the shit out of me.” James huffed his glare only holding for a moment as you came into focus. Your hair was up in a reckless bun, your waitress uniform slightly crumpled, heels held in your left hand. Yet your cheeks seemed to be painted, the smirk your visage held tantalizing. 

“I saw.” You snickered padding past him and dropping your shoes onto a counter with a small clink. You headed for the refrigerator, opening it and scorning over its contents. You finally settled on a container of cut strawberries, which were to be used as a garnish the next day, “You won’t tell will you?” You muttered peeling open the top and snatching a fork from the dishwasher.

James nodded, what for he wasn’t quite sure. 

You jumped onto the counter spinning to face him, “Sooo, what’s your name?”

“Uhh, James, James Potter.” He said leaning back onto the sink.

“It’s very nice to meet you, James.” You grinned, “I’m y/n y/l/n.” 

An awkward silence followed as you plopped a berry into your mouth, its flavor bursting as you side-eyed the man. 

“You’re a line cook right?” You asked, legs swinging in front of you. 

James pouted a bit, his cheeks puffing for a brief moment, “Well I’m supposed to be but so far all I’ve done is wash dishes and take out the trash.”

You hummed in understanding, swallowing fruit before speaking again, “They do that to every newbie. They want to make sure you can do the dirty work before they let you burn on the line.”

James started at you, “Really?” 

You shrugged, “That’s how it’s always worked.”

“That’s a relief I thought I was going to be stuck doing this shit.”  James relished in his found happiness feeling a bit more energized, “Hey what are you doing back here anyway, didn’t most of the waitresses leave like an hour ago?” 

“I just had to see if the new cook was as attractive as all the girls said he was.” You grinned.

James felt his cheeks flame, eyes going wide, “Are you serious?” 

“No,” You snickered, “I got hungry and didn’t feel like cooking.”

The heat of his cheeks only worsened, “That’s rude.”

You cooed, “Ooh poor baby I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, are you going to be okay?” 

“I don’t know.” James huffed, “I don’t think I can take this harassment.” 

The laughter that echoed around him caused a smile to break onto his face. 

You suddenly realized he was as attractive as the other waitresses were saying. Even if his hair was a mess and his glasses were smudged. 

You hadn’t been lying. By his third week, James was helping with both garnish and desserts. His thirst for cooking finally being fulfilled even by the small tasks he had been given. He was still forced to do dishes at the end of service but usually, someone would help him or even trade-off with him so he could take part in prep. 

Most nights when he was left alone in the kitchen you would appear, always claiming to be hungry and that cooking was for “the weak.” so you would raid the fridge instead. You stated many times that veggies and leftover slices of cake were a fine dinner much to James’ distaste. 

“That's it.” The newbie announced, hands in the air in mock surrender as you opened a container of cauliflower. “This has to stop.”

Your heart sped in your chest, was he going to turn you in? 

“You can’t keep eating shit, I’m going to cook something for you.” James huffed, moving you aside and beginning to pull stuff from the refrigerator. 

You lifted your brows, “Are you sure?” 

James nodded, “You need to taste actual food.”

You rolled your eyes, “Couldn’t you get in, like, a lot of trouble.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” He smirked pulling out salmon and bok choy. 

“Obviously not.” You huffed taking your usual seat in the counter as James began to work, “What are you making anyway?”

“Asian inspired salmon.” He mumbled, lighting the stove and grabbing a frying pan. 

You sat in comfortable silence, watching as he cut the vegetable in half placing it into a pan and the salmon into another. James’ hands moved quickly, not hesitating with the large knives he handled and weaving through the meal as he grabbed seasonings and sauces.

By the time he was pulling the fish from the heat, the kitchen had filled with the scent of soy sauce and warmth.    

Grabbing a plate James placed on the salmon followed by the bok choy and the lemon sesame sauce. He wiped the rim with a damp rag and presented it before you with enough dramatics to earn a giggle.

“You’re ridiculous.” You spoke through a smile taking the fork from his offering hand and digging in. 

You placed the tender meat into your mouth and was greeted by an explosion of flavors that danced on your tongue like pixie dust. You hummed, a facade of deliberation on your face, “It's overcooked.” You started plainly watching as James’ face dropped. “I’m just kidding it's delicious.” You laughed as James rolled his eyes. 

“You are such a dick,” he mumbled, beginning to clean the slight mess he had made. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. James gave you a strange look, “Get a fork dumbass, you can’t make rich people food like this and then not eat it.” 

The smile that crept onto his face caused wings to erupt in your stomach. 

You had always hated teenagers. They were spoiled and greedy and gross. So when an older woman walked in with four 17-year-old boys you had fled the scene. Unfortunately, the waitress head placed you at the table anyway. The second you reached the table all four adolescence had fallen silent and you were positive it wasn’t them being polite. One of them started at your boobs the entire they ordered and you could feel their eyes on your ass as you walked away. 

You were used to the gross stares, every waitress was. It didn’t matter how expensive the food was there always seemed to be creeps asking for it. What you had not been prepared for was the boy closest to you to reach out and grab you. 

You didn’t hesitate, hand snatching his wrist before he had a chance to fully pull away. The woman the boys were with gasped. You squeezed his arm tight hoping he could feel your nails biting his skin. 

“Touch me again and I will cut your hand off. Am I clear?” You hissed, a whimper left the teen’s mouth and you released him. You placed his plate in front of him with a clatter and didn’t waste time walking away. 

Your anger didn’t diminish the rest of the night and by the time your shift was over you considered going straight home, a shower and an extra hour of sleep would serve you well.

You glanced into the kitchen, there were three chefs left, James stood in front of the sink smiling at nothing as he always seemed to do. A sigh left your lips, who needs sleep anyway?

“I’ll close up.” You called to the head waitress who shot you a skeptical look.

“You used to hate closing.” She mused, “What’s with the sudden change of heart?”

You shrugged, “Nothing in particular.”

She smirked, “So it has absolutely nothing to do with the new dishwasher?”

Pink bloomed on your cheeks, “He’s a line cook and no it doesn’t.”

“Uh-huh, sure it doesn’t.” She mocked, “If you’re gonna fuck just don’t do it in the kitchen.” 

Your face twisted in disgust and you almost dropped the napkins you held, “That is so gross.” 

She laughed, dropping the keys on the bar, “If I find any bodily fluids in my office you’re fired.” 

“You are disgusting.” You hissed, face hot and she only laughed harder.

You finished cleaning off the remainder of the tables, peeking into the kitchen occasionally as the last two cooks left for the night. 

The weight of your exertion hit hard as you entered the kitchen, legs seeming to give out as you bent down to remove your heels. 

James noticed your discomfort and let out a chuckle, “Let me.” 

You stood up a bit too quickly, head spinning for a second as you were lifted onto the counter, James crouching to slip off your shoes. You sighed leaning back onto your palms. 

“Tough day?” he asked, turning back to open the fridge. 

You nodded, “Kids are assholes.” 

James laughed, “And why's that?”

You yawned eyes watering from its force as you answered, “Well one little highschool shit grabbed my ass.”

James froze, he hand hovering midair as he processed what you had just told him, “What?”

“Oh yeah, entitled rich kids always think they can touch whatever they want. It's why I hate serving teenagers.” You complained not noticing the distress you had put James under.

“This happens regularly?” He was appalled.

    “Well not really regularly more like once a month, it’s not always teenagers though,” You explained, “Oo what’s that?” 

    James set the container of chocolate-covered strawberries in front of you. His mouth still agape “Once a month isn’t regular?”

    You huffed, “Can we stop talking about it? It happens to every waitress.”

    “Yeah, sorry,” James mumbled watching as you bit into a strawberry, lipstick smearing.

    “You going to have one of these?” You asked, holding one between your thumb and pointer finger. 

    “Sure.” James went to grab the strawberry only for you to pull it away with a grin.

    “No, no, I get to feed it to you.” Your smile was sweetly arranged. 

    Heat tingled on his neck like tv static, “Don’t be ridiculous y/n.” 

    “Oh come on James, don’t be a pussy.” You taunted waving the fruit in front of him as color painted his cheeks. 

    He glared at you in mock annoyance as his heartbeat began to run, “Fine.”

    You giggled as he took the berry into his mouth, lips barely grazing your fingertips as he pulled away. 

    James had never been more embarrassed in his life, he chewed the sweet fruit refusing to meet your eyes as you continued to laugh.

    “You’re cute ya’ know.” You giggled.

    James scoffed, a mix of bittersweet coming from your words, “Whatever.” He walked away from you hiding his flushed face. 

    You whined, “I’m not joking. You are really cute.”

    “Seriously y/n stop,” James spoke, his voice laced with disappointment and melancholy. 

    You rolled your eyes, “You’re such an idiot James.” 

    He leaned against the refrigerator as you plopped another berry into your mouth. His arms crossed as a pout you had found yourself obsessed with took his lips. 

    “A few girls actually did want your number.” You hummed watching as he seemed to perk up, reminding you of a puppy given a toy. “I was supposed to get it for them, but I didn’t really want to.”

    James scrunched his brows, “Why not?”

    “Cause I wanted your number dumbass.” You scoffed, “I wasn’t about to give it to someone else.” `

    This only confused him more, “Why would you want my number?”

    A groan lifted from your lips, “Your skull is so thick James. I want your number because you’re cute and funny and all that shit.” your voice fell to a mumble and your eyes became glued to your swinging feet.

    “Why didn’t you ask for my number?” James challenged and you felt your already warm face grow hot. 

    “I was nervous.” You muttered bitterly not liking the vulnerable position you had been put into.

    James was suddenly stepping towards you “What was that?” he grinned hand to his ear mockingly.

    “You’re enjoying this too much.” You grumbled, “Look I like you, I think you’re cute and sweet and funny now are you going to continue being a dick or give me a proper response?” 

    James continued to beam, stepping closer to you as you glared up at him with pink cheeks. 

    “Well, you’re really cute too.” James said, “And I think you were being the dick for making me try to impress you for three weeks only to say you liked me the entire time.”

    You were tempted to bury your head in your hands but considering that would mean you breaking his gaze you stopped yourself, “Oh fuck off.” you muttered heart thudding so loud you wondered if James could hear it.

    “Is that really what you want?” He questioned already knowing the answer. He leaned over you cupping your cheek.

    “Just kiss me already asshole.” You murmured.

    James tilted your head up to meet his lips. They were soft and plush, a thousand times better than you imagined them to be nights before. Your thighs parted as his own pressed against the counter between them in desperation to be closer to you. Closed kisses turned to open-mouthed ones, leaving the pleasant taste of strawberries on your tongue. 

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @obsessedwithrandomthings @coldlilheart

Masterlist

[hela-avenger]

poison & wine- part 34

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 2243

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: Yup its a long one! But I needed to make up for all the emotional damage I caused in the previous parts. Took me some time to get it right but I hope you enjoy it! 

poison & wine masterlist

“I can’t begin to comprehend why such a thing needs to be rehearsed,” Loki mutters unhappily into his glass of whiskey. He glances around the decorated lawn of the compound that was littered with the rest of the Avengers and their close associates. “Is this going to be everyone?” 

“Why?” Thor asks as he pulls out his flask of Asgardian mead from his coat pocket. “Looking for someone specifically?” 

“No,” Loki is quick to answer. “No, I… I just thought that she would be here.” 

“She?” 

Loki sighs at the mistake made but refuses to elaborate. His brother had attempted to get him to speak of what occurred in Asgard. Thor had noticed his brother’s foul mood but could not piece together what might have happened much to Loki’s relief.  Thor was in the dark as much as Loki was as he had yet to make any sense of it himself.

You had left. You abandoned him with no reason and it hurt. It hurt to think that he had driven you away.   

“Well whoever she is, brother, I’m glad it was enough to get you out of your room,” Thor answers cheerfully. “I was growing worried.” 

Loki doesn’t offer him a response instead motioning Thor to place half of his flask into Loki’s now empty cup. If he were to get through this rehearsal dinner, Loki might need a few drinks in him.

A high squeal is heard from afar but Loki ignores it knowing it must have been the easily amused Witch. 

“Ah, the Lady Y/N has arrived,” Thor comments passively as he watches Wanda head to the valet entrance. “It’s good to see she’s alive. Everyone was quite worried about her.” 

At hearing your name, Loki turns away from his brother to find you stepping out of a car. Wanda doesn’t waste a moment as she immediately pulls you into a hug causing your laughter to fill the air. Her excitement of your return is excessive even more so as she notices the date you’ve brought. 

Bucky Barnes hands the keys over to the valet before settling by your side. Being a gentleman, he offers you his arm to take and you do which sends Wanda into another fit of excited laughter. 

Loki finds himself unable to breathe. You always had a way to take his breath away, but this was different. It broke him to see you and your past lover together. 

“Are you going to say hello to her?” 

Loki shakes his head and looks away, downing the mead that Thor had shared with him before searching for the nearest bar for a refill. 

You watch as Wanda disappears into the crowd as she goes off to search for Natasha. It wouldn’t be long now for everyone to find out that you were back. Wanda would make sure of spreading the news and you knew you had a long night ahead because of it. 

“I didn’t realize that Wanda was very…” Bucky trails off as he tries to avoid the word that came to mind. 

“...Nosy?” you finish for him. 

“You said it, not me,” Bucky laughs.

“She’s just protective of me,” you shrug. “I’ve been gone for months and I left without saying goodbye. I owe everyone an explanation.” 

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” Bucky tells you. “You left because you needed to take care of yourself. You don’t need to explain that to anybody.” 

You let out a sigh and are quick to grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. You knew Bucky was right but you had to offer them something. You disappeared, and though it was for your sanity in mind, your friends deserved better from you. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you whisper to him. 

“For what?” 

“For everything,” you answer. “For covering for me, hearing me out, and tonight especially for coming as my date.” 

“Well, it’s the least I could do for an old friend,” Bucky responds with a smile. “I’m just happy that you’re happy.” 

You look away as he says this not necessarily feeling that way. 

You’re anxious. 

Not because you were finally facing the music with all of your friends, but because this was the first time you would be in the same vicinity as Loki since that last night in Asgard. 

“You are happy, right?” 

“If I say no, will you judge me?” you ask him. 

Bucky takes in your fallen expression and is quick to pull you into a half-embrace. You rest your head on his shoulder and sigh. 

“I haven’t been able to get him out of my head. He’s under my skin. He’s in there pretty deeply and I… I wouldn’t want him anywhere else.” 

Bucky presses a soft kiss at the crown of your head before letting you go. 

“Maybe you should talk to him?” he offers. “Put those matters to rest so you can finally move on.” 

Before you can refuse, Bucky continues. 

“Look, you can’t keep running. You’ll never stop,” Bucky tells you. “You can’t drive yourself away from the people who care about you the most because you’re afraid of what you feel for him.” 

He had a point, but you refused to follow his advice. The pain was still so fresh and you still couldn’t manage it. 

“He’s here, you know?” Bucky adds. “He’s been watching you the moment we came in.” 

“Bucky…” 

He doesn’t allow you another word as he slowly turns you around. Through the crowded dance floor, you find the Asgardian brothers together. Thor was oblivious to your stare while Loki quickly caught it. 

Your breath catches in your throat but you can’t find it in yourself to look away. Even though dancing couples kept crossing your field of vision, he was the only person you could see. 

As much as you wanted to allow yourself to be overwhelmed by the warmth and serenity that came with seeing him, you couldn’t ignore how your heart broke all over again.

“Dance,” you state as you down your champagne and set it aside. You turn to Bucky immediately after. “Take me to dance.”

Bucky hesitates but the pleading look that you offer him is enough to take your offered hand and lead you to the dance floor. You moved in sync with him allowing him to take the lead as he swayed you from side to side. 

“He’s still watching,” Bucky whispers by your ear. 

“I can’t… please…” you whisper back. “Please stop.”

“It breaks my heart to see you like this, doll.” 

“Then maybe it was a bad idea coming back,” you state. “Maybe I should leave…” 

“Leave? You just got here!” 

You turn around to find Tony with an exasperated look on his face. He turns over to Bucky with a half-nod. 

“May I cut in for a quick second?” 

Bucky spins you into Tony’s arms not allowing you a choice. You’re trapped when Tony takes over and starts to lead you away from Bucky. 

“Heard you came back,” Tony starts off. “Glad to see it's true.” 

“I can explain…” 

“No, no explanation needed,” Tony interrupts. “I’m sure you needed some rehab after spending some time with the Prince of Hell. I would have given him shit about it but he seems to be beating himself up for whatever happened up there.” 

“Tony,” you sigh out. “He didn’t do anything.” 

“Then why did you leave?” 

“Because I… I just needed some time away,” you answer. “I can’t say much from that. I’m not ready to talk about it.” 

“Fine…” Tony draws out. “Are you… Are you ok though?” 

“No,” you answer honestly. “For the first time in my life, I’m kind of lost.” 

“Tell me how I can help.” 

“You’re already doing it,” you answer as you lean into his shoulder. “This, right here, being here for me. It’s all I needed right now.” 

“We’re family, kid,” Tony sighs out.

“Yeah,” you agree with him in relief. “Family.” 

The song comes to an end and you pull away from Tony. You press a kiss on his cheek and wipe off the residue of your lipstick. 

“Congrats by the way,” you smile at him. He starts to lead you out of the dance floor and you follow him. “Who would have thought this day would come?” 

“Ah yes, the genius billionaire playboy finally settles down.”

“Women and men everywhere are absolutely devastated,” you joke. 

“Stop feeding his ego,” Steve speaks up as he arrives with Bucky by his side. “There’s barely enough space for it as it is.” 

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky agrees. “Man calls himself a genius and yet he can’t make a flying car happen.” 

You can’t help but laugh as Tony rolls his eyes. 

“Just because my father proposed such an outrageous idea doesn’t mean I have to follow through with it.” 

The argument continues between them causing everyone to laugh. You feel yourself lighten a bit. It felt good to be surrounded by people you cared about. You can’t remember the last time that you felt this way.

“So Wanda was quick to tell me you came here with Bucky,” Natasha whispers as she manages to sneak by your side. “Didn’t realize you were into older men.” 

You can’t help but snort at hearing this from her. If only she knew how right she was. Though Bucky was technically younger than you, you were indeed in love with a thousand year old being. 

“Yeah, I uh… I didn’t realize it either.” 

Natasha passes you a flute of champagne. You knew she was settling in to start her questioning which you were sure you weren’t ready for. 

“So who would have thought,” Natasha whispers. “Loki of Asgard…” 

You shouldn’t have been surprised that she found you out without even asking you anything. She was the spy after all. 

“He’s been watching you all night and you’ve been ignoring him,” Natasha explains. “Besides, I watched the security feed of the day you came back. Nice dress by the way.” 

“Nat…” 

“You left and two minutes later, Loki arrives but you’re already gone. You both have been distant since then.” 

You don’t know how to respond so you simply take a drink and look away from her. Only to find Thor and Loki entering the group to be a part of the lively discussion. Loki’s sight remains on you and you can’t afford to be this close to him for too long.  

“I uh… I need a minute.” 

You leave Natasha without hearing a reply as you search for Bucky. You find him chatting with Steve and you are quick to pull him aside. 

“Doll, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m leaving,” you tell him. “I can’t be here anymore.” 

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow for the wedding.”

“No, you actually won’t,” you answer. “I’m going back home. I… Everyone apparently knows what went down between Loki and I and I can’t… I’m not in the mood to get into all of that and he’s right here. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. Tell everyone I’m sorry. Tell Tony… I’m sorry.” 

You don’t wait for Bucky’s response as you abandon your glass and slip into the nearby crowd hoping no one has noticed. 

Bucky is quick to cut across the group to reach him. Loki’s hold on his glass tightens at the sight of the soldier which doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Bucky wasn’t looking for a fight but he would be willing to get into one if it meant you stayed. 

“She’s leaving,” Bucky tells him. “Y/N is leaving and I don’t think she’s coming back this time. So if you care about her at all then do something about it because you’re not going to get a second chance.” 

Loki knows he’s telling the truth but he’s confused as to why the soldier is coming to him for help. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Loki asks. “You’re the one she loves.” 

“If you seriously believe that then you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were,” Bucky answers. “She only has eyes for you but you made a mistake and it broke her. So if you love her like I know you do, then go after her now. Give her a reason to stay.” 

Loki doesn’t hesitate now as he passes off his glass to the waiting soldier and chases after you. By fate’s way, the crowd seems to part for him allowing him a chance to reach you before you could make it to the valet.  

“Y/N, wait.” 

You stop, faltering to take a step away from him. Loki could tell you wish to but you remain rooted in place. 

“What do you want, Loki?” 

He barely manages to catch your voice. It’s soft and quiet, defeated. You can’t even turn to look at him causing your question to twist into his heart like a dagger. Whatever content you held for him was gone now. 

“For you to stay,” Loki answers simply. “I’ll leave if it makes you comfortable. These are your friends and family celebrating. I have no reason to stand in your way. I’ll leave so you won’t have to.” 

“That’s really all you came to say to me?” you scoff with a shake of your head. “Really?”

“I don’t know what-” 

You’re quick to silence him when you turn around and crash your lips against his seeking a kiss that should have been given so long ago. 

poison & wine tag: @damalseer @just-the-hiddles @jessiejunebug @nonsensicalobsessions @smollest-soybean @assassinoftheworld @readerbandit @doyoufeelikeayounggod @strangemcuvlogs @ha-tep @i-dont-know-eiither @gene-king @day-dreaming-fox @bn-studies @is-it-madness @devilbat @victor-criss-bish @skinny-macncheese @musicconversedance @baby-bunnyxn @fandoms-allovertheplace @marvelloonie @jinxjinxednova @queenmuahaha @accio-boys @eternalqueensworld @umlvk @roger-the-reindeer @punkrockhufflefluff @your-local-abyss @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals​ @rogerrhqpsody @imsad420 @pandacookieowo @justnerdystuffs @hanoi15​ @oneprolificqueen​ @nikki-who-likes-coffee​ @fandomrelative​ @nikki419ninja​ @onedollarduck​ @help-i-need-a-social-life​​ @ephemeraljade​ @catsladen @amwolowicz​ @captainmarvelnerd​ @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse​ @ddaeing​ @leftperfectionmoon​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-njorddottir @aoirohi​ @defunctcherrybomb​ @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals​

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie​ @moonlightprime​ @badhollandfluff​

[pocket-void]

Table for Two

A/N: Hi! This the first fanfic I’ve written for literally anything! (I’m an on and off writer in general tho) I’m hoping to write a collection of unconnected short stories currently called Smaller Sides to Life, that focuses on small/short moments in time during specific events. I’d be so grateful for any comment or feedback, but honestly I just hope you enjoy it first and foremost! >///<

Pairing: Logicality Words: 2468 Content: Human AU? A lot of descriptions of anxious waiting, so I guess it’s got a lil angst. Happy ending! (Please tell me if I need to mention anything I am very unfamiliar with how this works ;///;) Summary: Logan grows ever more anxious as he waits for his date, who, at this point, he isn’t even sure is coming.

If you wanna read my google doc for this instead you’re free to. (I like Cambria font u///u) I have an Ao3 but I am currently not using it.

Logan was alone, sitting comfortably at a table for two in the back of a halfway decent food establishment, silently watching as the ice cubes in his water shifted and tapped against the glass while they melted with each passing second. Well, “comfortably” was a lie, of course. There was absolutely nothing comforting about being in such a place on his own, with only the dim flickering candles on the table to keep him company. He didn’t really know what the worst part of the whole thing even was. Was it the ever encroaching chatter that surrounded him? The sickeningly sweet music that played in the background? The blank, unflinching cold stone wall in front of him? Or perhaps, it was the still empty seat that sat mockingly at the other side of the table.

Indeed, Logan was unhappy, uncomfortable, and alone.

The nervous tapping of his foot was practically synonymous with the pattering rain against the windows. The typically majestic city view now nothing more than an amorphous glob of glowing lights amidst the water droplets and fog. He couldn’t help but repeatedly switch between checking his watch and frantically clicking his pen, occasionally scribbling down a loose nonsensical thought or two onto his little notepad. The action barely made a difference in soothing his racing mind, but he had to do something to distract himself. He’d do practically anything to ease the agony that was continuously settling in his heart with each passing minute. The absolute dread hanging over him like an impending guillotine.

This was foolish. Logan sighed. Surely he was overreacting. There must’ve been a reason. He thought to himself, but it was no use. Not a single thing he told himself could possibly make the immensely slow sinking weight forming at the pit of his stomach go away. Not. A single. Thing. For someone who typically prided himself on being able to, and rather efficiently mind you, keep his calm in the most stressful of situations, this was quite distressing to say the least.

He’s simply running late. He reasons to himself. It happens. You know that. Well, of course he did. There were practically an infinite amount of possibilities that could’ve delayed the arrival of the person he was waiting for, and most of them were not inherently related to Logan’s personal character. That was the most logical conclusion, anyway. Did that thought comfort him any though? No.

It’s been an hour, Logan. You must be joking if you still think he’s coming. Another thought tore through his mind. Well, he may not have been joking, but he was well aware of how ridiculous it must’ve seemed. Just him, sitting alone at a table for two, growing ever more and more desperate by the second. To hold on to even a sliver of hope must’ve seemed utterly utterly foolish. Every pitying glance by the passing waiter refilling his cup only served to make him feel even more miserable. He wished desperately, in that moment, that he could just disappear; he hoped he could shrink down in size so small that he wouldn’t have to be seen anymore. He wanted to completely collapse in on himself and crumple up like the pathetic scraps of paper he’d been unconsciously tearing out of his notes. He wanted the world to just fade to black, and for him to simply drift away into an endless void, away from everything. Away from this. Maybe then he’d be free from the dreaded weight that sat heavily upon his shoulders. He didn’t think his heart could even beat this fast, but there it was, hammering in his chest like a hyperactive hummingbird. 

He hated it.

He’s not coming, Logan. That thought instantly sank itself into the depths of his soul. He felt a lump begin to form in the back of his throat; it was almost nauseating. He’s not coming because he doesn’t want to see you. Another thought that dug itself into his mind. He felt his teeth harshly grind against each other as his jaws clenched, begging himself to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He didn’t even give you a call. The world suddenly seemed to freeze. A quiet realization sent an absolutely disparaging chill down his spine. You didn’t even get the courtesy of knowing you’ve been rejected. He let out a weak shaky breath before finally lowering his face into his hands, completely defeated. This was beyond pathetic, honestly. How unbecoming of him to be this way. He wasn’t coming. He already fully knew how illogical it was to remain in his seat. Yet, a part of himself still refused to let him throw what remained of that practically shattered hope away. 

And so, the clock kept ticking still...

Logan wasn’t really sure how long it’s been at this point. Everything had begun to slowly meld together in his mind. Beyond the disappointment and despair was just the dull aching pain of rejection in his chest, not to mention the utterly dry and bitter taste in his mouth. He berated himself for being this pathetic about the whole thing, and a coward who couldn’t even muster up enough courage to stand up and go home. It was frustrating, because he knew better than this. It was both impractical and nonsensical to keep waiting. But he felt weak, and his two feet remained firmly stuck to the floor as if they were made of solid, immovable lead. The waiters have collectively decided to leave him alone at this point, which he had considered a small blessing. He didn’t want to bother pretending to smile or claim that everything was ok anymore; the energy was long depleted by now.

Logan let out yet another shaky breath, wrapping his arms around him and hugging himself tight, trying as he might to figuratively and literally “get a grip” on reality. What was he even waiting for? Why had he been so eagerly anticipating sitting at this table just a few hours before leaving work? What was the point? What was he doing? He still had tasks to do! There were still piles upon piles of work that had to be done at his desk but no, he was here. He was here, sitting alone, and doing nothing. Logan glanced down at his watch yet again, but its face was unreadable. His eyes blurry and unclear even as he rubbed the tears away, adjusted his glasses, and squinted. The only message it managed to send was just how much time he was wasting away by remaining where he currently was. Nobody was coming. His grip tightened, nails practically clawing at the sleeves of his suit. Never in his life had he felt so betrayed by something that originally had a perfect and fitting place within his schedule. What had he done wrong? Where did he make a mistake?

The gentle laughter and casual chattering of the surrounding atmosphere were  like needles in his back as he felt himself curl inwards. The sweet and decidedly romantic music that served as the loving backdrop for what was to be a pleasant evening for patrons was now mocking and decadent. It sounded almost like a distant echo, far far away. Something that he was always in the vicinity of, but will never truly be able to enjoy; a happiness he cannot obtain. He was trapped. He was trapped here, in a dim corner of a restaurant, with a lukewarm cup of water, weakly flickering candles, a cold unflinching wall, the pitter patter of rain, the incessant (and mildly imaginary) ticking of his watch, crumpled up scraps of note paper, sickening chatter, unappealing music, a dry bitter taste in his mouth, an unnerving feeling of cold sweat, a dizzying headache, a fast racing heart, a barely registering breath, a lump in his throat, and clearly watering eyes.

All at a half empty table for two.

He hated it.

He ended up sitting there for so long that he felt drained, empty. His eyes now only slightly stung when opened, but he kept them closed while he leaned against one arm against the table. By now he had, at the very least, managed to catch his breath. He felt so tired. Logan took a deep breath and glanced down at his watch yet again. It had only honestly been an hour and a half, not that much time at all in the grand scheme of things. And yet here he was, feeling like he had been stationary for several years. Perhaps it was finally time to go. He shifted his aching body to finally attempt to escape from this prison, but a hurried rush of footsteps instantly made him freeze up yet again.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

“Oh my goodness god, you’re still here!”

Logan jolted at the sound of the sweet, silvery voice that rang out, very obviously filled with concern. He turned towards the person who hastily ran up to him, the cold hands cupped around his face immediately snapping him awake from his previous haze.

“I can’t believe you waited for me for this long!! Have you been here the whole time?? I’m- Oh my god I’m so so sorry Logan I-”

He honestly couldn’t even process what he was seeing, much less feeling. A man stood in front of him now, frantically gesturing and apologizing, and absolutely soaked to the core. Logan could very much feel the gazes of dozens of patrons on them now, but it didn’t matter. All he could do was stare with wide eyes at his date, whose suit was completely muddied and shoes absolutely ruined by the rain. He blinked a few times as he tried to understand what the man was even saying as he kept pausing and stuttering while constantly sweeping his matted and wet light brown hair out of his eyes. Seeing him there, standing in front of him, was enough to make Logan feel his heart slowly begin to beat once again.

“God, Logan, I know you must be mad at me, I’m- How could I possibly ever make this up to you? Oh god, oh dear, I can’t believe I did this to you! I’m just so sor-”

“Patton…” Logan finally managed, taking one of Patton’s cold hands into his and finally stopping his rambling. He took a silent moment to just quietly immerse himself into the other’s sparkling and visibly apologetic blue eyes. A beautiful and comforting sight for his literally sore ones. He felt something start to bubble up inside of him, and it began to slowly rise in his chest. A warm, fluttering feeling that rose, higher and higher, until a soft laugh finally slips from his lips. Patton’s expression instantly lightens at the sound, and Logan could feel the once soul crushing weight that surrounded him finally melt away. He gives Patton’s hand a light squeeze, an absolutely relieved smile now upon his face. “Patton. It’s ok.”

There wasn’t a single moment’s hesitation when Patton sprang forwards to wrap Logan in the tightest hug he could possibly manage. Despite the water that slowly seeped into Logan’s own clothes, and the hug being admittedly cold on account of Patton being completely drenched, he had never felt his heart swell with so much warmth in his entire life. They stayed locked in each other's embrace until Patton remembered his current condition and quickly backed off with yet another series of apologetic bows.

“Dear lord, now look what I’ve done. I went ahead and ruined your clothes too!” He giggled, trying his best to wipe away the water with a napkin to barely any success.

Logan just couldn’t help but smile at the clumsy yet adorable gesture. “Don’t worry about it. It’s clearly not as bad as whatever happened to you.” He pointed out. “Say, whatever did happen to you anyways? You weren’t answering any of my calls and I...I thought you weren’t going to…” He paused for a moment before opting to take a long sip out of his cup instead before shrugging. “You know.” He murmured, his body unintentionally stiffening at the insinuation.

Patton looked crushed at the thought, which he was unfortunately terribly aware of. He embarrassingly rubbed at the back of his neck and lowered his head. “I-I know, and I really am so sorry Logan. I...I didn’t expect you to still be here either. And I couldn’t even tell you! Oh geez… After making you wait so long, you probably honestly should have just-”

“It’s ok, Patton.” Logan reassured with a nod, voice barely a whisper. He gently lifted one of Patton’s hands and brushed his lips against the man’s knuckles. “What’s important is that you’re here. That’s enough.” He felt a small bit of pride as he watched Patton’s face flush at the unexpected gesture.

The man quickly took the hand back with a laugh before settling down in the seat across from Logan. At last, filling the space that completed the whole picture. 

“Still, the fact that I made you wait that long is terribly unreasonable. So just please let me-”

Logan chuckled, gesturing towards a leaf that was still stuck in his date’s hair, to which the other quickly pulled out with a flustered huff. 

“Logan, I’m trying to apologize here!”

“You already have.” He stated, quickly dismissing the concern with a smile. The other clearly had no defense against him doing that, to which Logan was fully aware of. The smile then curled into a satisfied smirk upon his silence. “So, are you going to tell me?”

Patton blinked in response. “O-Oh! Right! You aren’t going to believe this, but-”

And as Patton energetically attempted to recall his unfortunate run-in with the storm while trying to rescue a cat from a tree, forgetting he’s allergic to them, slipping up and falling out of said tree, missing the bus, and losing his phone in the entire process, Logan simply sat comfortably across from him, fully content to listen to his story. It was ridiculous, it was nonsensical, and it was of course, entirely hilarious, but he enjoyed every word that came out of the mouth of the sweet and adorable man that now accompanied him. Patton’s rain stained glasses, half dried and now puffing up hair, and his freckled smile, completely lit up the once dim and lifeless corner of the restaurant they sat in. Nothing could have detracted from that moment in time. Not the rain, not the stares, and certainly not how the time just seemed to fly by, even during the comfortable silence that sat between them while they both enjoyed their meals. Logan wouldn’t have missed any of it for the world.

Here at this table for two.

[half-bakedboy]

Lydia & Maia AU meet cute? Gdi I adore the idea of these two together. Ps I love you ♥️

I don’t think I’ve ever written them 🥺 But it was too much fun. Here’s a little college AU for you, my wonderful parabatai!! 💜

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

“You know, one of these days I’m going to make you order something other than espresso and cups of bacon,” the smooth voice had Lydia glancing up from her books for the first time in what felt like hours. When she glanced at the wall, she had seen hours wasn’t too far off of a guess. 

“Excuse me?” Lydia asked once the words registered in her mind. She looked up at the person the voice belonged to and was momentarily stunned by the beautiful woman in front of her. “I-- I’m sorry, should I order something else? Am I taking up a table? I promise I’ll leave a good tip,” Lydia promised, already starting to pack up her books. It wouldn’t be the first dining establishment that kicked her out for spending too much time there without ordering any food. 

She couldn’t study in her apartment as her coed floor seemed to be the spot for partying on weekends, so when she had found Taki’s Diner a few blocks away, she had thought it was perfect. There was always soft acoustic music playing and the clatter of dishes from the back was just enough white noise to help her focus instead of distract her. She had really hoped it would be the place she could stay, but she was ready to find another location if the gorgeous woman told her so. 

“No, no,” the woman laughed and rested a friendly hand on Lydia’s shoulder. She usually would have shrugged off the touch but it was incredibly welcome coming from - Lydia glanced down at the nametag on her apron - Maia. “I just meant that we make really good food here that consists of vegetables and proteins that’ll probably make the increasing amount of studying you're doing a whole lot easier,” Maia suggested. 

“I, uh, I should be leaving anyway,” Lydia shook her head and cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair. She wasn’t sure when she had taken it out of its usual ponytail, but she was grateful she could hide behind it as Maia stared down at her. She went to pack up her things again when Maia grabbed a pot of coffee from another waiter who wandered by and settled across the booth. She refilled Lydia’s cup before lacing her fingers together and glancing at Lydia as if she was waiting for something. When neither of them spoke, Maia laughed again. 

“I wasn’t kicking you out, babe, promise,” Maia said. She gestured around the diner and said, “I mean, it’s not like we’re swarming with paying customers. And none of them look nearly as cute as you,” she tacked on and Lydia’s face turned bright red. She had never been good at flirting and with someone like Maia’s unrelenting gaze on her while she did the most unattractive task of studying made it even harder for her to form words back. 

“You’re just trying to get me to buy an actual meal,” Lydia countered, raising a challenging eyebrow at Maia. She wasn’t in law school for nothing. 

“How about one meal? With me?” Maia asked. Lydia gaped at her and let out a huff of disbelieving laughter.

“You want to have a meal with me?” Lydia clarified, narrowing her eyes at Maia because it was obviously a trick. She was in yoga pants, a t-shirt that almost passed as a blouse, and her hair was probably frizzy and knotted from the few hours she spent hunched over the table in front of her, anxiously running her fingers through it. There was no way Maia was being serious. 

“I want to have many meals with you, honestly, but I’ll start with one because…” Maia trailed off and stared at the clock. Once it clicked, signifying 6pm, Maia tore off her apron and tossed it at her coworker without a second look. “I am now free of work and have no plans unless they involve getting some real food - and maybe some water - into you.” 

“I--” Lydia shook her head. Her eyes darted from Maia - stunning, vibrant, mysterious Maia - to the textbooks that she had practically memorized. It was a no-brainer and she said as such as she tossed her books into the bag underneath the table. “What’s good?” Lydia asked. She realized she had never actually looked at a menu there and blushed, hoping Maia hadn’t noticed. 

“I already have Simon cooking you up our famous veggie omelet with a side of--” 

“Bacon?” Lydia interrupted, glancing hopefully at Maia who laughed again. Lydia thought she could get used to that laugh. When she ate the omelet and spent the next few hours forgetting about her impending finals in favor of getting to know Maia, she thought she could get used to that even more. 

Send me WLW prompts for Femslash February

[starlightbuck]

i wanna be known (by you)

part 2/2 || word count: 5.9k || read on AO3

When he leaves, Eddie checks his phone. Even after all that time he spent obsessing over what to wear, he still managed to arrive at the restaurant early. He left his name and Buck’s at the front so that whenever Buck arrives, he would be led right to their table. It was a conscious decision on Eddie’s part to sit so that he’s facing the front door, that way he can see the moment Buck steps foot inside.

In the meantime, Eddie focuses on keeping his heart from beating right out of his chest. This is the first date that he’s been on in years and it’s safe to say that his nerves are getting the best of him. It’s just that, he likes Buck. Really likes him, which feels almost stupid to say considering the fact that they’ve never officially met.

It is what it is though, a side-effect of living in a world where online dating has become a norm.

Eddie adjusts the sleeve of his light blue button-up for the third time in less than five minutes. Maybe he should’ve gone with the green long-sleeve instead. It was Abuela that convinced him that he looked more handsome in light blue. Then again, she might’ve just said that to get Eddie to stop fussing over his outfit and actually leave the house on time.

“Good evening, sir. Can I take your order?”

“I’m actually going to wait for my date to arrive before ordering anything.”

The older gentleman nods in understanding. “Of course.”

When he leaves, Eddie checks his phone. Even after all that time he spent obsessing over what to wear, he still managed to arrive at the restaurant early. He left his name and Buck’s at the front so that whenever Buck arrives, he would be led right to their table. It was a conscious decision on Eddie’s part to sit so that he’s facing the front door, that way he can see the moment Buck steps foot inside.

In the meantime, Eddie focuses on keeping his heart from beating right out of his chest. This is the first date that he’s been on in years and it’s safe to say that his nerves are getting the best of him. It’s just that, he likes Buck. Really likes him, which feels almost stupid to say considering the fact that they’ve never officially met.

It is what it is though, a side-effect of living in a world where online dating has become a norm.

When Eddie checks his phone again, he sees that it’s a couple of minutes past the time that him and Buck agreed to meet at the restaurant. Eddie goes into their text conversation to make sure he sent the right address. When he sees that he has, he locks his phone and waits. The restaurant is located in downtown LA and traffic is bound to be a nightmare, especially on a Friday night.

Twenty minutes later, the waiter comes back to the table to ask if Eddie wants to place his drink order. He asks for water.

Five minutes after that, the waiter is back at the table refilling the glass of water Eddie all but chugged in an attempt to distract himself from his date’s absence. He texted Buck to see where he was but has yet to receive a response.

Another twenty minutes pass before the waiter is back at Eddie’s table.

“I’m so sorry, sir. But if you’re not planning on ordering anything-”

“It’s fine.” Eddie is already out of his seat and tugging his jacket off of the back of his seat. He’s sure that his cheeks are stained red by the shame he feels about being stood up like this, but it’s nothing in comparison to the disappointment coursing through him. “I’m leaving. Thank you for your kindness.”

He leaves a $20 bill on the table and walks out of the restaurant without looking back.

Buck doesn’t get back to him that night or the night afterwards.

“It’s my own fault,” he tells Hen as they work together to clean the fire truck. It’s been four days since his failed date with Buck and just as long since he’s heard from him.  “I was stupid for thinking I could actually trust someone I met through an app.”

“You’re not stupid,” Hen counters. “He is for missing out on the chance of being with someone as amazing as you.”

He knows Hen’s trying to make him feel better, but the words fall flat. If he’s so amazing, how come Buck didn’t show up? Why did he ghost him? Is it something he said during one of their conversations? Did he scare Buck away without even realizing it?

The worst part is, Eddie misses him. Him, this person Eddie never even had a chance to meet. But it’s true. There’s a Buck-shaped void in Eddie’s life, one that he’s struggling to fill. He got used to their daily phone calls and texts and losing both so suddenly has left Eddie feeling like an addict being forced to quit his habit cold turkey.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches Chim making his way over to them. The last thing he wants is someone else weighing in on this whole situation. “Can we drop this?”

Hen looks less than pleased by the request but does as she’s asked. “Hey, Chim.”

“Did you guys hear about that big accident that happened Friday night?” Chim asks, in lieu of a greeting.

Eddie visibly winces at the mention of Friday and Hen places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, never once taking her eye off of Chim. “No, what happened?”

“Apparently there was some kind of explosion and a guy ended up trapped under his Jeep. It took-”

Eddie tunes out of the conversation and steps out from under Hen’s hand so he can move on to a different spot of the truck to clean.

After a week of radio silence from Buck, Eddie deletes every single one of the dating apps he has on his phone. He tried using a few and reached out to a couple of people, but none of them ever felt right. And, with the sting of Buck’s rejection still weighing heavily on his mind, Eddie didn’t feel like he could fully trust any of the people he was messaging anyways.

He contemplates deleting Buck’s number, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

Eddie compromises by putting Buck’s messages on Do Not Disturb.

That same weekend, May catches Eddie alone at a family barbecue being held at the Nash-Grant household.

“What ever happened with that cute guy you were talking to? Buck, right?”

Eddie stills and his breath gets lodged in his throat. He hates that he reacts so viscerally to the name. “It didn’t work out.”

Two weeks later, Chris is playing with his dad’s phone as the two of them make the drive to Abuela's house for Sunday dinner.

“Daddy, your phone says you have eight new messages.”

Eddie’s gaze briefly meets his son’s through the rearview mirror before focusing on the road again. He doesn’t remember seeing any new messages when he was on his phone a few minutes ago. “Just ignore them, Chris.”

Eddie has no way of knowing that his son doesn’t heed his advice, choosing instead to go to his dad’s messages app to see who’s sent him that many messages.

“Daddy, can I use your phone?”

Chris has made it a habit as of late to ask Eddie for his phone and his father doesn’t know what to make of that. The last thing he wants is for his son to become reliant on the device to keep him entertained. He knows how slippery that slope can be.

“How about we use those legos that Uncle Bobby bought you instead?”

Eddie expects Chris to be excited about the prospect of using his legos, but all Eddie gets is a pout. “Please? I’ll be quick, I promise.”

As his father, Eddie should be better at denying Chris’s requests even when a pout is involved. But there are days when Eddie will think back to how much of Chris’s life he missed out on while overseas and it makes it impossible for him to say no.

“Fine,” he relents. Chris cheers as Eddie passes his phone over to his son. “But you can only be on it for ten minutes.”

“Okay!”

Eddie makes it a point to check the time on his watch so he can cut Chris off exactly at ten minutes, before getting up to grab the lego set from Chris’s room. By the time he comes back, his son is smiling and laughing at his phone. Eddie assumes he’s either watching a video or playing one of the games he has downloaded on the phone. Since Eddie doesn't hear any voices or music, he assumes it’s the latter.

Two minutes before his time is up, Chris gets up off the couch and hands his father’s phone back to him. “I’m ready to play with my legos now.”

Eddie slides his phone into his back pocket and settles his son on the floor beside him so they can work on their building project together.

“Daddy, my friend is having a bad day.”

Eddie, who’s in the middle of doing the dishes, doesn’t look up. He’s too concentrated on getting the charred remains of his attempt at making pasta off of the pan before it’s too late. If Abuela finds out that he ruined yet another pan with his cooking attempts, he’s almost certain that she’ll disown him. “I’m sorry to hear that, bud.”

“You have to talk to him.”

“Why me?” Eddie turns on the hot water in the hopes that that’ll make this whole process easier.

Christopher huffs, a habit that he’s recently picked up. Eddie doesn’t know where his son learned it from, but he can’t say that he’s a fan of it. It acts as a reminder that his son is growing up and, as much as Eddie wishes he could stop time, it’s not possible. “Because he’s your friend too.”

And that is enough to turn Eddie away from the task at hand. “My friend?”

Christopher puts the phone back to his ear. “I think my daddy forgot about you. I’m going to put him on so he can help you feel better.”

Eddie watches in stunned silence as his son walks over to his side and holds the phone out to him. Chris has that determined look on his face that Eddie is sure he’s seen staring back at him in the mirror. The shock of seeing that expression on anyone other than himself is what prompts Eddie to answer the phone without glancing at the screen to see who it is he’s talking to. “Hello?”

“Eddie?”

Eddie’s still looking at his son, but he’s not really seeing him. His mind is too busy producing images of a man with golden hair, unfairly blue eyes, and a bruise-like birthmark. “Buck?”

It’s been almost a month since Eddie last heard from the other man. He had assumed that the time apart had been enough to erase his presence from Eddie’s mind and dull the effect he felt upon hearing Buck’s voice, but he was wrong. His heart is beating out a rapid cadence and the hand he’s using to hold his phone is shaking slightly. And how, how can he still be reacting like this to someone he’s never met?

“Eddie.”

“I don’t- I-” Words are failing him spectacularly and it annoys Eddie to no end. After the first few days of not hearing back from Buck, Eddie had worked up this whole monologue of things he would say to him. But weeks have passed and everything he thought he’d say when given the chance has all but flown out the window. Then he sees his son, the same person who definitely shouldn’t know who Buck is, sitting at the kitchen table and Eddie knows exactly what he wants to say. “Why the hell were you on the phone with my kid?”

“I can explain-”

“No,” Eddie interjects, feeling all of his anger towards Buck come bubbling back to the surface. He never found an outlet for his emotions after everything fell apart and now it’s coming back full force. Eddie is mindful of the fact that his son is only a few feet away. If not for that, this conversation would be a lot less child-friendly. “No. You stood me up and now, what? You’re using my kid to get back in my good graces?”

Buck has the good sense to not say anything, apparently already prepared for the verbal lashing he was set to receive from Eddie. His silence only works against him as something else occurs to Eddie. “How did you even get in contact with him? Through my phone?”

“I found his messages on your phone,” Chris answers, too young and innocent to identify his father’s tense and poised to lash out demeanor. “There was a little moon next to Buck’s name that was hiding his messages from you. But I saw them, so I responded.”

A lesson about privacy is not something Eddie thought he’d have to have with his son this early on in his life, but apparently it is. Eddie lowers the phone to address his son. “Remember when I told you in the past that you can’t take things that don’t belong to you? The same goes for whatever things you see on my phone, including messages I get from people.”

Chris’s lower lip juts outs and he lowers his head. “I’m sorry, daddy. But I liked talking to Buck. He’s nice.”

It’s the mention of what sounds like an ongoing conversation between Buck and Chris that leads Eddie to open his messages. Right there at the top of the screen with a half-moon next to it is Buck’s name.

Eddie likes to believe he’s an observant person, that the time he spent as a medic on the battlefield made it so that he was equipped to take notice of minor details that others might not. For him, having that ability could mean the difference between life and death for those he was treating. It’s an ability he thought he brought home with him, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe it’s something he’s only good at when out in the field and not while at home with his own son. It’s the only way he can think to explain how he missed the fact that Chris was texting someone he didn’t know with his dad’s phone.

Eddie scrolls through the texts between his son and Buck then. There aren’t too many messages, only a handful of them sent every couple of days, but enough to prove that the two of them have been talking for at least two weeks now. Buck regularly tells Chris that, although he’s happy to talk to him, he’s not sure how Eddie would feel about it. Every time, Chris says that his father won’t mind.

Then, before any outgoing messages from Chris show up, there are a string of messages from Buck that were obviously meant to be read by Eddie.

The first three came through the day after Eddie muted their text conversation.

Buck (12:24pm): I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now but I promise I can explain everything.

Buck (12:25pm): call me if you can?

Buck (8:59pm): okay so you haven’t responded which I understand. I didn’t show up for our date and it’s been over a week since you heard from me but please call me whenever you see this? You deserve better than me explaining myself over text

The next two messages come a day later.

Buck (4:05pm): i deserve the cold shoulder but I promise I can explain

Buck (8:42pm): please let me explain

There’s another message almost a week later.

Buck (6:45am): I really messed this up, didn’t I?

Another message comes a couple days after that.

Buck (3:26pm): I’m so sorry eddie

Then there is one final message from him right before Chris started responding on Eddie’s behalf.

Buck (1:42am): I’ll stop texting you now.

“Eddie?” His name is spoken timidly and it takes Eddie back to the nights he once spent on the phone with Buck. “Are you still there?”

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face, not sure what to make of all of the messages he’s read. Buck says he has a reason for not showing up, but he never actually said what it was. Eddie hates that, even though all of this time has passed, he still wants to know why he was stood up.

It shouldn’t matter, but it does.

“Yeah.”

“I’m really sorry,” he pauses and then adds, “for everything.”

The apology tugs at the part of Eddie’s heart that wasn’t ready, or willing, to accept that Buck stood him up and then ghosted him for no reason.

Eddie is tempted to say, ‘it’s fine’. It’s what he would usually do, brush aside his feelings and absolve someone else of their wrongdoing. It would be annoyingly easy to do, but he stops himself before he says anything because it’s not fine. Not really. “Okay.”

Neither of them says anything and it’s a strange feeling, being on the phone with Buck and not having a single thing to say. Eddie can’t remember that ever being the case in the past during their phone calls. There hadn’t been a month of silence between them back then though. The weight of that hangs heavily over the both of them.

“Well I should-” Eddie begins just as Buck says, “Is there anything I can do?”

“Anything you can do?”

“To make it up to you,” Buck explains, the words rushing out of him as if he’s scared that Eddie will hang up on him before hearing him out. “If not that, at least let me give you a proper explanation of why I disappeared like I did.”

Eddie doesn’t owe Buck anything, but he does owe it to himself to properly turn the page on this chapter of his life.

“Fine.” Eddie hears something that sounds vaguely like a person choking, but he chooses not to comment on it. “But I choose where we’re going, and I plan to bring someone with me.”

“Deal.”

“And, if you stand me up again, you have to leave me alone. For good this time.”

“Understood, but that won’t happen again. I swear. Thanks for giving me a second chance, Eddie.”

“Thanks for coming with us, May.”

May shrugs and takes a sip of the caramel frappuccino Eddie bought her. “It doesn’t take much to convince me to come to Starbucks.”

He appreciates her nonchalance about this whole situation. Initially, Eddie only planned to have Chris tag along with him. The more he thought about it though, the better he thought it’d be better to have an extra person tag along with the both of them. What if there was a conversation that needed to be had between Buck and Eddie alone? Eddie couldn’t, wouldn’t, just abandon his son to accomplish that.

His first thought was to invite Hen along with him, but then he remembered the conversation he had with May about Buck and knew that she was the perfect choice.

“Mmm!” To Eddie’s left, Chris is smiling happily after taking a sip of his strawberry smoothie. “This is really good.”

“I told you you’d like it.” May ruffles Chris’s hair, much to his son’s amusement.

Eddie wants to be strong enough to not glance at the coffee shop’s entrance every few seconds, but he’s not. This is only too reminiscent of the night Buck stood him up and he’s not ready for things to play out like that again.

“Eddie, you alright?”

It’s May that asks the question, but it’s both her and Chris who are carefully watching Eddie.

“I’m fine.” May pointedly stares at him, putting him on the defensive “What? I am.”

She doesn’t say anything, her gaze catching on something that leads her to push her chair back and walk towards the front of the coffee shop. He tracks her movements, unsure of what motivated the sudden need to get it up. It’s not until she pulls the door open and holds it that he understands. The person who’s walking inside is on crutches and had no way of opening the door himself.

It’s not just anyone that she’s holding the door open for though, it’s Buck.

Eddie learned early on in life that it’s rude to stare, but he can’t help himself. How is it possible that Buck looks even better in person? Aren’t pictures supposed to be more flattering than real-life?

May must also recognize him because she’s the one who leads Buck to the table where Eddie and Chris are sitting. She grabs a chair for him so he can join them before taking her seat beside Eddie again. Eddie is sure they’re quite the sight - him in the middle being flanked by a teenager and a child sitting across from a man who easily towers over all three of them and looks like he’s made up entirely of muscle.

“Hi,” Buck greets, resting his crutches against the table. They’re almost twice as tall as Chris’s crutches.

It’s jarring to hear his voice in person when Eddie’s only ever heard him speak over the phone. “Hi.”

“You didn’t tell me you have crutches too!” Chris exclaims a little too loudly. A couple of heads turn in their direction, but Chris pays them no mind.

Buck’s smile is soft as he looks over at Chris and oh, that’s really not fair. Eddie became familiar with Buck’s smile through the photos he used for his dating profile, but this is different. Not only is Eddie seeing it in person for the first time, it’s being directed at the most important person in Eddie’s life - his son. “And you must be Christopher, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“What happened to your leg?”

“Chris,” Eddie warns, even though it’s the same question on his mind. As far as he knew, there had never been anything wrong with Buck’s leg.

“I’m May,” May cuts in, saving them from what could’ve been an awkward conversation and holding out her hand for Buck to shake. He does, seemingly unphased by the people Eddie decided to bring along with him.

“Buck. Thanks for holding the door open for me back there.”

“Sure.” She stands up again and Eddie wonders if there’s someone else she’s about to hold the door open for. Instead, she grabs her drink and Chris’s. “Chris and I are gonna go sit at that empty table over there so you guys can talk.”

Chris goes willingly, allowing May to help him get his crutches on so they can walk over to the opposite end of the coffee shop. She lets Chris take the lead but turns back around momentarily to address Buck, “don’t you dare hurt him again.”

“Did she just threaten me?” Buck asks once May is out of earshot.

Eddie’s really glad he chose to bring her along. “I think so.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s only a teenager, but I’m still feeling intimidated.”

“You probably should. Her mom’s a cop.”

Eddie shouldn’t take joy in the way that Buck’s eyes widen at that piece of information, but he does. Good, let him squirm. It might put them back on equal footing because right now Eddie is disarmed by just how attractive Buck is, especially this close-up. How and why is someone allowed to have eyes that are that blue?

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

“Mhm.”

Buck rubs the back of his neck. Is that a nervous tick that he’s done before while on the phone with Eddie? “Can I get you anything? A drink? Scone? Cookie?”

“I’m fine.” Then, because they’re here for a reason, he says, “so, that explanation I was offered?”

“Right.” Buck tries to adjust his position, but in doing so, he accidentally knocks his cast against the pole below the table. He winces and Eddie almost does the same. “I was on my way to meet you at the restaurant when I got into an accident.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to make of that statement. He was ready for some sort of pathetic excuse - Buck’s phone died, he confused the day or time of their date, an unforeseen but conveniently timed emergency kept him from showing up - which is why this reason has left him reeling.

“What?”

“I know it sounds fake or like a lie or whatever, but I swear I’m telling the truth.”

Eddie really has no explanation for knowing that Buck is telling the truth. It’s not like he’s had the chance to learn the nuances of Buck’s expression to parse out the truth in a sea of potential lies, but Eddie still believes him. It doesn’t make sense but sometimes the most important things in life just don’t.

All the righteous anger Eddie was holding onto for weeks seeps out of him in seconds. It leaves behind a void that is slowly filling up with a messy combination of concern, regret and sympathy. “I had no idea.”

“How could you?” Buck asks, smiling ruefully. He shifts in his seat again, searching for a comfortable position that Eddie’s sure he won’t find. Not with a cast as bulky as the one wrapped around his leg. He should probably be keeping it elevated, but Eddie refrains from saying so. “The details are pretty fuzzy. All I remember is one second, I was driving to the restaurant to meet up with you and then, out of nowhere, there was a loud boom and I was pinned under my Jeep.”

Something about this story is familiar, which doesn’t make any sense. Where could Eddie have heard it from if not from Buck himself?

“Considering the explosion itself, everyone keeps telling me that I’m lucky to be alive,” he continues, and Eddie can hear the ‘but’ in his voice. It’s as familiar to Eddie as the haunted look in Buck’s eyes, one that Eddie used to see reflected back at him when he first came home from his last deployment. It’s a look he still sometimes sees after rushing to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face after a particularly bad nightmare. Before Eddie can say anything about it, Buck blinks and whatever other emotion was attempting to bubble to the surface is efficiently cut off. “My phone wasn’t as lucky though.”

“Buck,” Eddie murmurs, hand itching to reach out and cover Buck’s. He knows trauma and the last thing he wants is to put Buck in a position where he’s forced to relive his own.

“My sister was able to replace it for me and I had it backed up to my computer so restoring it was easy, but I wasn’t in a talking mood,” Buck presses on, acting as if he hadn’t heard Eddie say his name. “I did think about you though. It was one of my first thoughts when I woke up in the hospital, but I don’t know. How do you tell someone you’ve never met but have very real feelings for that you’re in for a long road to recovery? That’s a lot to put on anyone - I couldn’t do that to you.”

Buck’s last statement is punctuated by a laugh that sounds like it physically pains him. Eddie wants to say something, anything, but he’s never been any good with words. He can’t even figure out if there is a right thing to say. Him and Buck are stuck in an awkward middle ground that exists as a result of online dating.

It’s something Eddie had read about before what was supposed to be his and Buck’s first time meeting. There were countless testimonials about people who had been in virtual contact struggling to find that same spark when meeting in person. It was enough to scare Eddie at the time, but not enough to keep him from showing up at the restaurant that night.

In all the articles he read though, there was never any mention about what to do when the man you’re supposed to meet up with ends up in an accident, doesn’t speak to you for a month, and then suddenly makes a reappearance.

“Anyways,” Buck says, eyes darting down to the table. “I get it. To you, it seemed like I stood you up and then ghosted you and that’s pretty unforgivable. I just wanted to apologize for that and I’m really glad you gave me the chance to do so.”

Buck keeps his eyes downcast and that’s when Eddie realizes this is it, this is everything that Buck showed up today to tell him. There’s nothing else to be said and it leaves Eddie with a steadily growing pit in his stomach.

This isn’t the way things were supposed to work out. They shouldn’t be meeting up for the first time a month after what should’ve been their first date. Buck shouldn’t be sitting across from Eddie, unable to look at him. Eddie shouldn’t already be missing Buck even though he’s not gone.

In a perfect world, or at least a better one, Buck wouldn’t have ended up in that car accident that night. He would’ve made it to the restaurant like he intended to and whatever was growing between him and Eddie could’ve had a chance to continue blooming. But they don’t live in a perfect world and Buck did get into an accident on his way to see Eddie and how is it fair for Eddie to condemn Buck for something that was out of his control?

These thoughts all come at Eddie faster than he can fully reconcile them, all because it sounds like Buck is gearing up to say goodbye and Eddie’s not ready to hear it.

It makes zero sense that he feels this way. Then again, online dating didn’t make sense to him until he tried it out. Maybe this, holding onto Buck instead of letting him go again, is something else that won’t make sense until Eddie tries it.

And that’s the truth of the matter here, isn’t it? Eddie lost his chance with Buck once thanks to a freak accident and now that a second chance has appeared seemingly out of thin air, Eddie’s not ready to let go again.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he decides to repeat some of the words Buck had spoken earlier, the same ones that Eddie’s brain had latched onto the moment they were said. “Very real feelings, huh?”

Eddie sure as hell has never been one to vocalize the way he feels and it’s refreshing to come across someone that does. Then again, haven’t conversations with Buck always been this way? Him speaking exactly what’s on his mind while Edde sat back and wondered what it would take for him to do the same?

“That’s what you took away from everything I just told you?” Buck’s cheeks are a light shade of pink when he says this and Eddie decides he likes that much more than the sad eyes and the goodbye in Buck’s voice from earlier.

“Is there anything else about that statement that I should’ve focused on?”

There’s not a hint of hesitation in Buck's voice only seconds later when he responds. “No, I guess not.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

They stare at each other in companionable silence then and something warm settles in Eddie’s chest. He can’t give it a name, not yet. All he knows is that it’s been too long since he last felt it and what are the odds that it would come back to him in a coffee shop of all places? It’s annoyingly cliché and, if anyone were to question Eddie about it, he’d deny it until his dying breath.

“Does this mean you forgive me?”

Buck sounds hopeful and it tugs at a chord deep within Eddie’s heart, as if the younger man believes that forgiveness is something he must earn and that’s not readily deserved. It’s something Eddie knows all too well. It’s also something he's willing to give Buck. no additional questions asked.

“It means there’s nothing to forgive.”

This time Eddie does reach for Buck’s hand. Buck’s fingers slide within the gaps of Eddie’s with the kind of familiarity that should only exist between couples who have known each other much longer than Buck and Eddie have. Then again, the two have known each other, albeit virtually, for a fair amount of time. There’s more merit to that than Eddie realized.

It might be too soon to think this, but Eddie believes this - holding Buck’s hand -  is something he can get used to.

“Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

“Thank you for striking up a conversation with my son.”

The statement is ridiculous if Buck’s laughter is anything to go off of, but it’s also the truth. Without Christopher, none of this would be possible. Eddie wouldn’t be seated here, across from the man who’s stupid dating profile bio and indescribable good looks were, and still are, almost too good to be true.

“Do you think we should invite Chris and the cop’s daughter back to the table? They’re very openly staring at us.”

When Eddie follows Buck’s gaze, he sees that the younger man is correct. Both Chris and May are scrutinizing them. May much more so than Chris, but it’s obvious that they’re both staring. “I think you’re right.”

With a subtle nod on Eddie’s part, May jumps out of her seat and helps Chris do the same. Her patience with his son is something Eddie refuses to ever overlook. She makes sure to carry Chris’s unfinished drink for him as the two of them make their way back to the table. May helps Chris get comfortable in the seat beside his father before reclaiming her seat on the other side of Eddie.

“Looks like you two worked things out.” May says, her brown eyes focused on Eddie and Buck’s intertwined hands.

Buck tugs loosely on Eddie’s hand, maybe to let go of his hand to make things a little less obvious, but Eddie doesn’t let him. Now that he has committed to giving things another shot, he refuses to let anything deter him. That includes an over-invested teenager and her too-observant eyes. He can trust May to keep this from her mother and stepfather for now, even if it means bribing her with more trips to Starbucks in the future.

“It looks like we did.”

Then. because his son is too smart for his own good, Chris also notices that Eddie and Buck’s hands are clasped over the table between them. “Does this mean you like him too, daddy?”

Buck looks far more amused than he has any right to. It’s not fair but, at the same time, it’s such a welcome contrast from the way Buck had looked earlier that Eddie has no desire to voice his objections. “I do, buddy.”

“You see. I told you he was your friend.” Eddie would be exasperated by his son’s know-it-all tone if not for the fact that it’s entirely warranted. “Can we keep him?”

Eddie should probably correct Chris, explain that Buck is a person and not an object that can be kept. He doesn’t only because, as his mind has a tendency to do, Eddie immediately starts thinking about worst case scenarios. In this case, it’s one Eddie already experienced. It consisted of a long month full of casting frequent glances at a silent phone and nights where he wished a soothing voice might fill his ears and help lull him to sleep.

Buck squeezes Eddie’s hand, bringing him back to the present and to his son who’s still expectantly waiting for his father’s answer.

Before saying anything, Eddie takes a moment to take in his surroundings. His son’s curious stare, May’s knowing smile and, finally, Buck’s encouraging grin. It’s not logical for Eddie to already be imagining a ‘Forever’ in his future with this man who he still has so much to learn about, but that’s not stopping him from doing so anyways.

“I really hope so, Chris.”

[micahstravels]

“Claw Marks”

*I wrote a lot of this over the past few months, then pulled it all together and finished it while I was alone in isolation. Like so many other people, last year did not go as expected. The result (of many factors) is that I will be moving out of New Zealand, my home for the past four years. Even though I made this decision, it still feels very surreal.

Most of what is written here is from the last year: some is my own processing, some is recapturing moments, and some are just snapshots of things I write but devoid of the context in which I wrote them. 

Maybe this will not all make sense, but my hope is that maybe you’ll find some of your own thoughts and emotions articulated.

Again, thanks for reading.

—

The Slow Turn

A year changes you a lot.

What has unfolded over the past few months was everything I did not want to happen, a series of events that hit the ground like a pile of dominoes, one right after the other, and by the end of November I was on the floor.

I came across a quote from David Foster Wallace during that time. “Everything I’ve ever let go of,” he writes, “has claw marks on it.” Look, I am aware that I cannot hold on to things forever, at some point I must let go. But there was always a difference between freely relinquishing what’s in my grasp and having my fists pried open.

Of course, a habit of mine is that I shred things out of fear.

I board a flight leaving from New Zealand in early December. As the country shrinks, I feel hot tears soak into my face mask, and I know that the next time I fly away like this, it will be with everything that fits into two suitcases, maybe three. “The next time I fly away like this, I know, it will be for good,” I wrote on the flight.

But what no one knows is that I knew this in the middle of last year, when I awoke one morning with a gnawing kind of feeling that this country was giving me the last of what it has to offer—there wouldn’t be much left soon. For even in July I had a sense of what was coming in November. What has followed I can only describe as an inner shift, akin to someone placing their palms on my cheeks and slowly turning my head, forcing me to look away.

What is happening now is the slow turn, as my grey eyes hold the faces of all the people this country has brought me to love. The slow turn, a shelf full of books, a plant growing up the bare wall, early morning sun. An old green car in the driveway. The slow turn. Two friends on the other end of the phone, they are saying they are happy for me, this is the right thing, red eyes, tears streaming, I am crying too, I say sorry twice and they say don’t you ever apologize for this again. The slow turn, my name to take off the lease. The slow turn. A final drive out to the beach with the black sand, the one where I used to sprint into the Pacific. Out to lunch, my mom asks if I am sure, I’m sure, I say while I sit on my hands. The slow turn, “I’m sure, but I hate this,” I write on the flight back.

A slow turn, a pivot. Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, he said. I will attempt not to shred anything as I return only to pack up, which is the same as being told not to be afraid.

“The next time I fly away like this, I know, it will be for good,” I wrote on that first flight.

I book another flight. This is the beginning of the end here, my time to wrap up. What do they call it? A transition.

—

No Easy Way Out

Here, finally, I relinquish my right to a direct route.

A fictional right; a right I never had to begin with.

—

“Culpable”

tengo que tomar una decisión: volver (regresar) o irme de nuevo (correr)

dime, si te dejo una vez más ¿me perdonarás?

—

Load-shedding

There are two main ways to carry a load: on your back or in your arms. It appears that one cripples you, while the other builds endurance.

Look, I know about this burden—I just need to consciously decide how I want it to mark me.

—

My Bottom Lip is Bleeding

I thought I was going to pass out in spin class the other day. I remember it being a 30-minute class, turns out it was sixty. By the 30-minute mark I’d given everything I had and then some, but then the instructor starts calling out halfway there! and that’s when I knew that I was in trouble. I kid you not: the instructor looks dead at me from his bike and says, bite down, girl, it will help you keep going and forget the pain. I’m so embarrassed to be singled out, but whatever. Bite down, girl. I clench my teeth together tight and keep pedaling. The feeling I experience after it’s over is one of exhilaration, akin to pride.

Two days later, at 6:32 in the morning, a rejection email, after I’ve given everything I have—and then some. I sit up in bed, howling softly.

Bite down, girl. Just bite down.

Look, I don’t know what I am going to do or what is going to happen, but I know this:

I hope one day to look back on this tender season in my life, and I hope for two things—(1) that I kept going and (2) that the feeling I experience when looking back is one of pride.

—

The Return

I forgot the Spanish word for dreaming (soñar) and then later I forgot the word for glasses (lentes) and then in the middle of a conversation I forgot how to properly construct a sentence in the past tense. 

This terrifies me. I have to go back.

There are some things you can afford to forget; this is not one of them.

—

Implosion

We spent an entire lecture discussing the ethics of using aborted fetus stem cells as a treatment for Parkinson’s. One life sacrificed so another could be prolonged, I write.

The offhanded way the lecturer talked about it—as if this were a minor inconvenience to research, as though this shouldn’t even be a debate at all—left a gross taste in my mouth. A student raised his hand and asked if the stem cells strictly came from aborted fetuses or if spontaneous miscarried fetuses would also be used. The lecturer replied that miscarried fetuses should always be treated as human remains, therefore the wishes of the family must be respected, whereas aborted ones are considered medical waste and thus, “in his opinion” should be released and used for research purposes. If I had the guts that few people have I would’ve raised my hand and said exactly what I thought about that. “In my opinion.”

Instead I write: I do not know what to do with or where to put this knowledge; it weighs heavy on my chest.

The thought of entering such a sterile yet fascinating field terrifies me. Will I learn to live with this weight? Who will I become in the process? I get home and drive to the beach; it’s pouring.

Who am I with this?

The past two years have been marked by a lot of questions, specifically about where to locate my beliefs in this fast-paced yet very complex, very septic world I’ve ventured into. There have been so many things in this field that I love, but there are so many ethics that I do not have answers to. Euthanasia for terminal, painful diseases? Stem cell therapy? Funding for Western diseases or the same funding instead for clean water? 3D printing organs? Cell cloning? Aborting babies with cystic fibrosis, with down syndrome, with cleft palates?

Do I want to study in the West? Do I even like living in the West?

I am twenty-four and find myself caught in the undertow of a forceful wave that I thought I could swim through, but it’s just a lot stronger than I originally expected. So many people around me seem to be riding these waves effortlessly, taking in the information and spitting out model answers, picking it all up and rearranging it neatly to fit into a worldview that is both contemporary and politically correct. But what if all of this doesn’t fit in mine?

I think about this a lot, about the way I want to look at and approach this world. I also think a lot about who I would like to be. And, in my final year of this one degree, I’ve reached the conclusion that if any stray piece of information can be molded, compressed and folded so that it stacks tidily within a worldview, I don’t think that speaks to the flexibility of the worldview—I think it speaks to its demise.

I think it foretells of a worldview that will uphold anything and everything, collecting opinions and beliefs as they come, unwilling to shed the information that doesn’t fit, until it can’t anymore, until it collapses in on itself. A worldview that was always destined to implode.  

The task ahead of me is to figure out how to build one that will last.  

—

December

The end of this year.

I feel sun-bleached, really. Or something like it.

I look across the table at my friend, at the half-eaten sandwich on her plate. The weariness we feel from a difficult year is evident between us: she barely touches her food while I devour everything on the table that is edible. I want to ask if I can eat her sandwich; I almost ask the waiter to bring me another plate of food. And a refill.

I think to myself that we are both starving differently, each malnourished in a kind of overtired way.

We were all running so fast, I say, we weren’t prepared for the standstill.

She looks at me. But what were we even running for?

Ocean Vuong, in one of my favorite books, “I am not with you because I am at war with everything but you.”

A standstill, yes. But now, also, a turnaround, a furious sprint away from a war in which I don’t remember enlisting but fought in nonetheless. A long run in the other direction, a long run back home.

What were we even running for? I will not—in an attempt to build this life—venture so far off into the distance that when I turn around the people I want to show it to most are gone. I will not.

I have come back to you because I am done fighting everything that took me away from you.

—

“Open to hear a new voice message”

0:59. “Hey Micah, hope you’re good. I just wanted to check in on you. Look, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while and I think now’s a good time. And it’s that I don’t think you should let the fear of what has happened over the past few months and years make you into something you’re not. I just see lately that you’ve been grabbing all of these back-up plans out of fear that one or all of them are going to fail. But I’ve never known you to be someone to look for worst case scenarios. You have never been indecisive and you were never easily overwhelmed or even frantic. And I find that being with you now, there’s something off, there’s something within you that doesn’t belong. I think you’ve become scared and that’s ok, we all get scared, but I think it’s time to not be scared anymore. I see how the fear of what has happened has begun to shape you into something you’re not, and I think it’s time to let that girl go and bring the old one ba—”

0:33. “It cut out on me. Bring the old one back, that’s what I was saying. Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that. You know I love you and I’m always rooting for the real you, but I will also root for you even when you’re scared, just as long as you commit to letting that scared part go. And I think—no, actually, I know—that what’s ahead is daunting, but you don’t have to be afraid of it. Anyways, I have to run but iloveyousomuch and I’m here for you, always. Have a good day, see you soon.”

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, he said. Fear included.

—

June

When he walked away, I was overcome by a feeling that I was off-balance; the world felt like it was spinning. He left and I tried to steady myself, to sit upright again.

But those damn eyes left me reeling.

"Your eyes, an ocean, I drag a raft out to sea, no one has found me.”

—

Molting

To live in this peaceful country at this point in history is, as the news says, to be free. Everyone that can is migrating back here. But for me, that freedom was always relative, that is, it’s now contingent on the fact that you can no longer come and go as you please.

But I have to come and go: a whole piece of me lives somewhere else in the world.

Nonetheless, I find myself conflicted about leaving, conflicted about staying. I request a sign and get a picture of someone ripping off the outer layer of my skin, like someone helping a snake molt out of its old scales. In other words, this season has ended.

When I was a little girl growing up in Australia I used to find leftover cicada exoskeletons stuck to trees. At six, I used to wonder if it hurt the insect, and if it did hurt, did the cicada just shake off its outer layer anyway, out of necessity? In Mexico, at twenty-four, I sit on the beach and watch a hermit crab pull its spindly body out of a shell that has become too small.

I can’t stay in a country that won’t freely release me anymore, I can’t stay in a country that has nothing left for me, it is time to go. This knowledge hurts but I process it anyway, out of necessity.

I think about the snake, about the cicada, the hermit crab—the girl. All of us molting an exterior layer that has built up over time, shedding what we’ve outgrown, the difference between the creatures and I is that their instincts told them this would happen. The difference between us is that they’re not sobbing while they do it. I pick up four years of my life, like a shimmering, translucent wisp in my hands, it weighs nothing, it weighs everything, and I lay it on the ground and I make myself leave it behind.

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, that’s what he said; that’s what I’m doing now, only gently.

This dead skin glows like a green light behind me, green like the neon exit sign that I am now running towards in this new, baby-soft skin.

I just don’t know where I’m running to.

—

Mornings

I want to write about my family, without saying too much.

I want to write about what it’s like to drive down a windy road, my dad at the wheel saying that we need a plan, we need a timeline, and I agree, I want a plan and I want a timeline; my mom says nothing. The Mexican desert is a blur past my tinted window, burnt orange, flecks of gold, a cloudless blue sky—and all I can think about is how I need a plan, I need a timeline. I pull out my phone to take notes, as if all of these things that we have been hoping for, for three years now, could be scheduled. If they could be scheduled they would’ve happened by now.

I want to write about the two people I love most, without saying too much. We take a road trip to the centre of the country, where we ate at a different restaurant for breakfast, lunch and dinner for ten days. There were colourful buildings, a sunrise ride up in a hot air balloon, late nights watching Lost reruns. My dad buys fresh pastries in the morning, my mom and I walk through the market for hours, we order hot chocolate so thick and creamy and rich that we cannot finish it. 

When we returned everybody said that it looked so beautiful, you must’ve had such a good time, but what is sharpest in my mind is how they both looked, what it was like to wake up in the same space as them, the many conversations over breakfast, lunch and dinner, the two of them holding hands as we walked between the colourful buildings, how it felt to know that an undercurrent of many things that are still not ok ran beneath us, but here in these moments, we are ok.

For I cannot write about this without writing about the ache we have all had to adjust to. An ache with a pulse, I wrote in 2018. I will not say too much except that the past three years have been hard, some days so gutting it took my breath away—I was spiraling—a lot of calls across the world where I put the phone down and howled. In November a series of events hit the ground like a pile of dominoes, in November I was on the floor, in November the elapsed time was now marked in years—in November I almost gave up. In November I was ready to raise the white flag, in December I flew to Mexico with the intention of raising it, come for me disappointment, I surrender, just let me catch my breath and then take me. 

But how can I write this? That is not the whole story. The untold part of the story continues, such that throughout this elapsed time, these three years, I have looked at my dad on multiple occasions and he refused to raise that white piece of cloth, I look to my mom and she won’t either. They are better than I am, more resilient than I am, and even though this hurts like hell, if they will not raise a flag in surrender then I will not either. I will not give up, either.  

A month into my time at home, I wrote down Renaud’s words:

"I will love you until we run out of mornings. Then I will love you in the dark.”

There is much to say of a family in the dark; every family experiences it at some point. But for ours, I can only write about how it stripped us of a lot but gave us back so much more. For it is dark but I know their faces, even if I can’t always see them, I know what things feel like, where we all fit in this black space, the presence of an extra Person whom we all take turns sleeping next to. One morning, my mom holds me like I’m a child again and I weep just like one; I weep out three years worth of disappointment. “Then I will love you in the dark.”

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it, he said. But not this, this I will not be letting go of, ever. I would like to write a lot more, about two months at home in Mexico that returned something lost to me; the mornings when I woke up to the dog scratching at the door, my dad on the couch wrapped in a blanket, my mom in the kitchen stirring oatmeal—and everything is not ok but everything in that moment is good, we are good. But this is all I will write here, for the rest of the story is written down somewhere else; the rest of the story is for me, for us.

Besides, there are mornings are coming, the ones where the light trickles in gradually, slowly, and then all at once everything is bright again. These are the mornings that are coming; I mustn’t waste my energy.

[softjeon]

Piece me together | Final

• Pairing: Jimin x Namjoon • Genre: Angst  | Detective!AU / Stalker!AU • Words: 8,7k | written with @cassiavioletblue • Disclaimer: mentioning of drugs / guns / blood / abuse / violence

↳  Namjoon had a case to worry about and still he found himself coming back to this diner each time. Maybe it was because of the delicious milkshakes or maybe it was because of his favorite waiter that looked just as sweet.

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There was darkness all around him when he first came to. A painful ache inside of his head, the smell of chloroform too evident as he could still feel the strong hold around him, how someone had pressed it against his mouth and nose. He felt so powerless. His limbs felt heavy. Slowly, Jimin tried to blink his eyes open, groaning in pain. It felt like he was recklessly thrown in the corner of a room. There was no noise, only muffled sounds. And then Jimin fell back asleep again.

With his second attempt to wake up Jimin could adjust to the light a little more. He blinked. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. There were sounds coming closer, someone was talking, and he could hear them say his name.

Jimin wanted to get up but something pulled him back in an instant. “N-no-no,” Jimin’s eyes widened as he saw the restraints around his wrist that were tied to the wall giving him only about a few meters to walk. Jimin tried to remember, closing his eyes, trying to put the puzzle pieces together but nothing made sense. Everything was a blur. He was shaking. And when the door suddenly opened, Jimin jumped and hid in the corner. A pathetic whimper was the only thing slipping from his lips as he tried to shield himself from the sudden bright light.

“Yes, just throw the mattress in here. I can take care of the rest.” Taehyung’s voice cut through the silence and then the heavy thump of a mattress being thrown on the floor had Jimin flinching. “Ah, look at that. Sleeping beauty is awake.”

Taehyung smiled at him, completely ignoring his men who finished their task and then got out, closing the door behind them. Taehyung squatted down to be on Jimin’s level and cocked his head. “I’m sorry for the way I had to get you, but I somehow had a feeling you wouldn't come meet me if I asked. And I didn’t want to run into your… your…” He made a pause and when Jimin didn’t clarified he continued. “What exactly is he, hm? That cop of yours is he your boyfriend? Your protector? Your roommate?”

Jimin scoffed, turning his face away from Taehyung not wanting to give him any kind of details on Namjoon. “What is this Tae? Are you completely out of your mind now? Isn’t beating me up and threatening me enough? What’s next, huh?” Jimin hissed at him instead, pulling at his restraints, “Do you want to brainwash me into loving you again? You’re crazy, Taehyung!”

“I thought it would be, honestly. That you would come back to your senses if your adrenaline would spike up a little. It wasn’t even a proper beating, no broken bones, no stitches. You see I still take care of you. But then, you know, something funny happened and the police started sniffing around where they shouldn’t. And if you trailed it back it all seemed to come from your little police friend. So, I wondered if maybe, just maybe you really were so traitorous - or dumb - to talk to him. So, I thought I’d interrupt that. Or if you had been a good boy then there’s still hope for us. Either way you’re better off here with me than you are with him.” He ignored Jimin’s sharp words and reached out for him, stroking his hair back. “You’ll see this is just a makeshift solution. Soon you’ll be back to living properly with me.”

Jimin flinched away from his touch, nodding over to the mattress instead, “And you think making me want to live with you is giving me a shitty old mattress? Where even are we Tae?” It was a weak attempt to get some kind of information about his whereabouts. If he’d only know where he was then maybe he could run once more. “They were on you even before I knew them! You are the dumb one, making mistakes so they are close.” Jimin whined helplessly as he pulled at the restraints. His whole body was feeling numb and aching at the same time from lying on the floor for so long. “Please can you loosen them…it hurts.”

“If you would stop pulling on your restraints it wouldn’t hurt.” Taehyung got up, obviously annoyed with the talking back, “Tell me how to handle this, in your opinion. You want me to set you free? So, you can run back to Namjoon and play happily ever after with him while he locks me up? Is that it? I thought we had something special, you and me. I don’t like this situation either, but you give me no choice. I’m not going down because of you. You know they always told me that being in love with someone was a weakness, but I didn’t listen because... how could loving you be the cause of something bad? But I see it now. Unfortunately, I can’t turn back time and I can’t…unlove you so I just have to improvise. You could make this so much easier for everyone involved if you would just play along.” He tried a smile again, “Anyway, any wishes for dinner? I could get you some really tasty salmon if you want.”

His heart was beating so fast and the lack of water and Taehyung’s anger was making Jimin feel dizzy. He leaned his head against the cold wall, just nodding to whatever Taehyung said, ignoring the tears that were falling.

“Kidnapping is what you call improvise?” Jimin wiped over his cheeks turning away from Taehyung to waddle over to the mattress and sat down on it. He couldn’t turn his back on him, the restraints keeping him from doing so. “Water. I only want to drink something, please.” Jimin knew he had to somehow play along to this, just to keep himself alive and come up with a plan to get out of here.

He’d rather die than be with Taehyung.

“That’s a little… plain if you ask me, but okay. Are you on some water cleanse or shit? You always had a thing about caring so strictly about your health. Of course, I appreciated it and still do because you have the softest skin of anyone I’ve ever known. And I can’t wait to have you in my arms again.” With that he vanished to tell someone to get Jimin some water and some dinner in case the younger would get hungry later. He had business to do. And maybe tomorrow would be a new day with new beginnings - and sweet old habits.

…

Yoongi’s eyes flickered through the apartment nervously watching how his best friend was raging through his own home. He blinked in confusion, flinching when the other was screaming and it sounded so painful, so hurt, that it pierced right through Yoongi.

“We…we will find him.” He finally managed to say in midst of the chaos and ordered Jungkook to get the things they needed to secure the evidence. Yoongi took the moment to reach for Namjoon, placing a hand on his shoulder, making sure the other felt his strong presence and that it kept him from destroying anything else, “Namjoon!”

Namjoon shrugged Yoongi’s hand off him as if it hurt. “No! We won’t find him - or if we do it’ll be too late and he’s going to be dead or Tae tortured him and… and I told him to trust me and everything he’s going to think of while he’s hurting is that he should never let me close to him and everything... everything that’s going to happen to him is my fault so don’t you.. don’t you dare telling me that everything’s going to be alright or that Jimin will be perfectly alright because we both know how scared he was and now his fears have come true and he must be scared out of his mind and all we can do is stand here and wait and hope and try and what... what if it’s too late? What if he killed him already and we never...never find him.” Namjoon stopped throwing punches and abusing furniture and just stood there, swaying a little before he broke into tears, hiding his face miserably in his hands because he had lost. He had just…lost.

Yoongi was by his side, carefully and softly reaching out for Namjoon. He didn’t say anything, just holding his friend, who only hesitantly let him do so. When Jungkook came back, the younger was completely stunned by the scenery as he had never seen his boss like that, his eyes wide in fear. Yoongi wordlessly told him to take care of the evidence while he soothed over Namjoon’s hair, making the younger look at him.

“Hey, will you listen to me for a second?” Yoongi’s voice was soft, his thumb softly wiping away a tear on Namjoon’s cheeks, “You’re the best god damn detective here. And you have the two best teammates. We have to put those two cases together now and find out where that fucker is. He trusts in you to put the pieces together or else he wouldn’t have left them all over…” Yoongi hesitated, furrowing his brows, “Isn’t it weird that he knew where you were…after that incident that one night with Jimin, before he moved in here with you…maybe Jimin knew that they were listening, or tracking or…a snitch. That’s why he started it all. Maybe there’s more around here. Do you still have files at home, Joon?” Hope was sparking in Yoongi’s eyes as he looked at him, “Namjoon! Come on. You won’t ever forgive yourself if you don’t give this your all. We can solve this! Just like we always do!”

The fear of coming too late and Jimin hurting while they were miles away, unable to do anything for him was still eating away at him threatening to overwhelm him but he trusted in Yoongi to make the right decisions while he couldn’t so he just followed along until they reached his room where he had put the files he had taken home.

“Here. You’ve seen the clues before maybe you can find more - if there are any.” He couldn’t believe that it was Yoongi who connected the dots while Jimin must have done this here, at home, right under his nose.

…

Jimin turned in his sleep, curling in on himself as he felt cold. There had been no blanket, no cushion, just the mattress. He mumbled sleepily, moving around as much as his restraints let him, searching for the warmth that would embrace him in his dreams, because there he wasn’t being held in a dark, cold room. Instead he could imagine, how it was each time Namjoon put his arms around him. Safe and warm.

“Namjoon,” Jimin whispered with a smile. He could almost smell his cologne, feel his heartbeat. It was so real. Maybe this wasn’t a dream? Maybe he had dreamed everything else? A simple nightmare and Jimin was safe in his arms.

Nuzzling his face closer, Jimin hid in the crook of his neck.

Taehyung had visited Jimin in the morning and had seen with horror that he had forgotten about the bedding as he had promised. So, he quickly had arranged something and while he was about to place it over Jimin’s sleeping form he hesitated. The younger looked so peaceful in his sleep. So soft. It had been ages since he had woken up to that angelic face Jimin had loved morning cuddles and had always slept as close to him as possible. Honestly, he missed this. A lot. Carefully he lowered down besides Jimin, hoping that the other wouldn’t wake just to have a few moments of pretending to be back in the past when they had shared a bed. He was too far away though for it to feel real so he put an arm around Jimin’s waist as lightly and unobtrusively as he could. And then Jimin sighed and moved and Taehyung’s breath hitched as Jimin snuggled into him. It felt so perfect, so heavenly… until Jimin sighed Namjoon’s name and stabbed Taehyung right into his heart.

Jimin slowly came to, when he noticed that his hand was actually placed against someone’s chest. Taehyung’s chest to be precise. He gasped, jerking awake fully but there wasn’t much room to get away from him as his arm was wrapped around his waist keeping Jimin firm in place.

“Taehyung!” He was breathing heavily, trying to calm himself quickly as he gazed up at the one he despised the most in this world. Jimin tried it with a smile, one that was a bit too shaky to be meant lovingly, “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just visiting you. And you looked so cozy that I thought I might find some peace there too. I couldn’t really. Not with the way you moaned Namjoon’s name.” He was stretching the truth a little but Jimin didn’t need to know that. He leaned further into Jimin, placing a little kiss at the base of Jimin’s neck where he knew the younger was sensitive. Jimin had always loved it when he had kissed his neck. And Taehyung had loved marking him up - still did. Not right now though. He was hurt and angry and he would make Jimin feel that. Gently he stroked down Jimin’s back while whispering into the other’s ear sweetly. “You let him fuck you, didn’t you?” It was easy to wedge his knee between Jimin’s as the younger couldn’t quite get out of his grip and had nowhere else to turn to. “I’m really disappointed in you Jimin. I thought you would know better.”

Jimin pushed his hand against Taehyung’s chest, hoping it could keep a little distance between them but there wasn’t much space to keep anymore. Taehyung was as close as one could be, and it made a shiver ran down his spine. A scary feeling settling low in his stomach.

“It’s none of your business anymore who gets to touch me,” Jimin tried to sound as stable as he could but his voice was betraying him, “We broke up, remember? I am not your boyfriend anymore.” He hadn’t had any sex with Namjoon, yet. It had never been the time nor the place to do so. Even though Jimin loved him, more than anyone he’d ever loved. He had seen him naked, had seen how beautiful his body was sculpted and it took everything in him not to kiss down his chest and further down to please Namjoon like he wanted to. But for now, there had been nothing but sweet, loving kisses that he could never get enough from. He felt safe with Namjoon, felt secured in his hold.

Jimin whimpered quietly when Taehyung pulled him even closer and a little rougher this time, the leg between his making him feel awfully vulnerable. “D-don’t, Tae, please.” If Tae wanted him, there was no escape for Jimin. He was restrained and exhausted. Easy prey for anyone.

Taehyung hiked up his leg a little to make Jimin feel the pressure through his pants. Jimin had been nothing but defiant since he had gotten him here, so this felt satisfactory. “We broke up? We? That’s not how I remember it sweetheart. You just suddenly decided that if me earning money for us is not 100% mother Teresa approved then it’s not worth shit and that this would be a reason to leave me. I didn’t stop loving you. You ripped my heart out just because my life clashed with your ethics. So no, we never broke up. Because being in a relationship takes two - so why should ending it take only one person, hm? We are partners for as long as I want it. And with spreading your legs for that fucker you betrayed me. So now, I won’t touch you Minnie. I’m hurt. I’ll have to process what happened first. I could have taken you back into my life and bedroom the very first day if you just had showed some remorse, but it looks as if you are adamant on staying stubborn and unreasonable. So, you’ll stay here until you change your mind and come back to your sense.”

Jimin shook his head, “I didn’t...I…” In a way, Jimin knew that arguing would only make it worse and make Taehyung more aggressive. He'd seen it a million times. Felt it a couple of more times.

So, he stopped struggling and instead averted his gaze, biting down onto his bottom lip to keep from saying anything. Instead he reached out for Taehyung, staying close to him and only the small trembles in his body were betraying him. “W-will you eat dinner with me then? Tonight at least?“ Jimin asked carefully; one because he was hungry, and he'd figured the only way out was to gain Tae’s trust once more and hoping that Namjoon would look for him.

There was surprise on Tae’s face and then something akin to joy blooming in his eyes. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course, if you want that.” He detangled himself from Jimin, brushing through his hair once more. “I’ll make sure to have a nice dinner prepared for us. And I’m sorry about forgetting about the covers. You’ll have it warm and cozy from now on.” He hesitated before leaving and turned back once more, “I know this isn’t ideal and that you must be uncomfortable right now but believe me, as soon as you are back to the old you none of this will matter anymore. We can just forget about this... this phase of yours as if it never happened.” With a happy smile Taehyung left him alone.

It was horrible. Everything about this was. The cold, the loneliness, the ticking of the clock that seemed to mock him. Jimin held onto the blanket tightly, counting how many small dandelions were printed on the covers. He had to restart a couple of times  because he lost his focus and his mind switched to Namjoon. Jimin could count the flowers everyday but not the many times he thought about him.

Namjoon.

He wondered if he'd found out or if he thought that Jimin ran away. He was scared and the fear was laying heavy on his mind. And the only way out of there was through Taehyung. So, he smiled. Well, he tried, when his ex came in almost every day. Sometimes more than once on other days it seemed like he had forgotten about him and it made Jimin panic thinking about how no one would know he was down here and possibly dying.

…

It was harder to keep up with the search for Jimin the longer it went on because Namjoon didn’t want to sleep and if Jungkook hadn’t threatened to force fed him if he didn’t eat, then his superior would have skipped that too, just to have more time running around like a headless chicken, visiting everyone they had ever suspected to be involved in the drug business to ask them about Jimin, be it on the streets, in prison or in the interrogation room.

Yoongi and Jungkook helped him as much as they could - and they also came up with a little rule they kept to themselves, that one of them always had to accompany Namjoon while he was on his search for Jimin to keep him from doing shit or fucking up his career because he got so desperate. Though Yoongi pretty much knew how he felt like. When Jungkook had been in a hostage situation once, were a suspect flipped out during his interrogation, he would have done anything to make sure Jungkook would come out if it in one piece, no matter the consequences for him or his career.

Still he couldn’t see how his best friend was tearing himself up like this. They would find him. He was sure of it…he just needed to be sure of it.

Yoongi tore his gaze away from Namjoon who was desperately reading through his notes then looking at the pins on the board again trying to put the puzzle pieces together. The picture of Taehyung burning holes in their backs each time they turned around. They were close - they could feel it, but still not close enough. He turned to look who was bashing through their door, startling him when his eyes widened at who stood next to Jungkook.

“I think I found a way to get to Jimin. It’s risky, but we’ll take it...” Jungkook said, making Namjoon turn around to him, the darkness under his eyes only the evidence of his sleepless nights but for the first time hope was glistening in them.

A smirk placed itself on Jungkook’s lips.

…

Jimin jerked awake again when the door opened pulling involuntarily at his restraints making him whine in pain. His wrists were bruised, red and aching and although Taehyung was starting to let Jimin in more and more, he still didn’t trust him enough to let them go. Jimin stared at the stranger who walked inside of his room, followed by Taehyung who was humming to himself happily. The man put his usual tray at the side of his bed with some bread and tea and Jimin thanked him quietly, reaching out with shaking heads for the warm cup.

He hadn’t seen the man before and yet the other stared at him as if he knew him. When he reached out for his tea the man reached out for his hand, closing his fingers around Jimin and the younger flinched hard, withdrawing it to quickly he almost spilled the tea.

“Ah sorry, my fault!” The other apologized quickly when Taehyung furrowed his brows. “I hadn’t realized how hot the tea was.” He placed the mug and everything else on the floor and just took the tray with him while Tae leaned down to give Jimin a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be away for a little bit, business, you know how it is, but we can have dinner together again, like we had yesterday.” He smiled at him as if everything was perfectly normal. Over Tae’s shoulder Jimin could see the other man staring intently at him again, he didn’t even blink once just boring into him and Jimin shivered. He was glad that knowing that he was “Tae’s” would at least keep Tae’s men away from him. At least he hoped so.

“Y-yeah, okay. Let’s have dinner.” Jimin answered and smiled but before Taehyung could get up again he held him back. “D-do you think you can loosen them a little or…or at least can you bring me some crème on your way home, b-babe?” Jimin’s eyes flickered back and forth between Taehyung’s and the man who was still staring at him like a crazy person, “I am bruised all over my wrists and it hurts.” Leaning in Jimin placed a very light kiss on Taehyung’s cheek while he watched the strange man. “Come back safely.”

They left both after Taehyung had loosened the restraints a bit, not enough for Jimin to slip out of them but enough to get Jimin’s wrists a little more room which was actually worse because of course he tried and wriggle out bruising himself only further with each try. Frustrated and exhausted he finally fell back asleep, the tears drying on his cheeks. He awoke when a gentle touch on his face and a hushed whisper.

“Jimin?” It took a while for him to fully wake and realize that this wasn’t Tae’s voice - but it also wasn’t Namjoon’s. His eyes snapped open and at the same moment there was a hand clasping down over his mouth.

Jimin wanted to scream but the hand kept him from doing anything but muffled sounds, writhing underneath him, trying to push the hand off of him. The panic was washing over him like a wave. What if he wanted to abuse him? Take him, because he was defenseless, and Taehyung was gone? Jimin closed his eyes, struggling even more, trying to bite into the man’s hand as he kicked and pushed him as hard as he could. He couldn’t let this happen. He just couldn’t. Jimin was panting, his eyes trying to look for anything that he could use as a weapon, but there was nothing.

“Shsht, please, calm down, please, Jimin, I won’t hurt you!” The man was getting desperate but his grip on the younger remained tight. “I’ll let you go if you stop struggling, I promise, as long as you won’t scream I’ll back off! I’m working with Namjoon!”

Jimin stopped right away, his eyes snapped open and he turned around. When the stranger let go off him right away, Jimin eyed him warily. “H-how? Who are you? I’ve never seen you with him.” His voice was quiet, almost not audible as he was scared someone else could listen.

“That’s the whole point of my job. I’m an undercover agent. I’m never at the police station unless someone staged an ‘arrest’ for me to have a reason to be there, otherwise it could blow my whole cover. I’ve been undercover on the streets for a while for another case which came in handy now because Namjoon could just ‘lend’ me for his search without compromising my own case - or having to build up an identity from scratch. To Taehyung I’m some kind of wannabe drug dealer that he can smash in an instant if I fuck something up, so he wasn’t afraid to show me where you were. Now that I’ve found you the only thing you have to do is hold on. I won’t have a possibility to contact the police department until tomorrow but as soon as Namjoon gets word of where you are he will come and save you. And we will get Tae. Just... try to keep your head down and not behave any differently than before. And think about that in one or two days you’ll be out of here. It’s going to be fine.”

Jimin couldn’t believe what he heard. His heart was pumping the blood so fast through his veins that he felt dizzy. He reached for the stranger’s arm and nodded. “T-thank you,” They younger didn’t mind the tears that were burning in his eyes again. Honestly, he had been crying so much all these days that he had gotten used to it. When the stranger was gone again, Jimin laid back with a smile. He stayed like this until Taehyung was back, making him jerk out of his daydreams about being back in Namjoon’s arms.

“Hold on,” Jimin mumbled to himself reassuringly, hoping to be out of this hell hole as soon as possible.

…

Jungkook nodded once more, pulling at his bottom lip nervously, feeling the stares of his partners boring right through him. When he pushed the red button on his phone ending the call, he turned around. His brows were furrowed deeply as he hummed in thought. Reaching for one of the red pins, Jungkook pulled it out of the board and placed it somewhere else and onto a different location on their map.

Right in the heart of Seoul.

“Jimin is only a few blocks away.” Jungkook let his shoulders fall, turning around, “He’s held on the 10th floor, right over these offices.” Chuckling low as if he couldn't believe it.

“He was right in front of our eyes the whole time.” Yoongi added, feeling the tiredness of their night long searches for Jimin deep in his bones. “How we going to do it? We need more men than just us three.” He turned to his phone, “We can get the special forces team. They could wait until we give them the sign to tear it down as soon as we got Jimin. Do you think your man can get us in without being seen first?” Yoongi turned to Jungkook and then to Namjoon, “What do you think, boss?”

“There’s no way we can get inside all three without being seen at least not long enough without anyone being hurt. We are trained but Jimin is not. No, we should let the undercover guy take Jimin somewhere safe, a room where they can both lock themselves in and can barricade the door to be safe from bullets. Then he should give us a sign and we storm the building together with the special forces. No one who isn’t directly involved in this should have a clue about what we are going to do. No murmuring, no rumors, no hints. This needs to stay absolutely secret.”

They nodded in agreement.

So good in theory.

In reality there was no sign. Nothing.

Jungkook bit his lip in a nervous manner, tapping his foot on the ground as he leaned his head against the cold metal wall of the van they were sitting in. “Why isn’t he giving us a sign?” Jungkook whined and looked at Yoongi, “The plan was to get Jimin a few hours a-”

“Sht!” Yoongi signaled Jungkook to not talk any further. Namjoon was as tense as one could be already, ready to jump in, sign or not and he knew that it only needed a tiny little push and Namjoon would just go in without caring for the consequences.

“He had said he’d need fifteen minutes at max.” Namjoon growled, curt and sharp.

“Maybe someone saw him in the hallway. Or maybe he’s talking to someone right now and will do what he was supposed to in the very next minute! Calm down, Namjoon, please. It’ll be fine, we’ll get Jimin and he will be safe and happy. He’s not hurt, you hear me, he wasn’t hurt then, and he won’t be now. His bruises will heal, and you will be…”

“That’s enough!” Namjoon pushed himself off the wall. “You could be right - or they could be killing him in there in this exact moment. I’m not going to risk that! I’m not going to lose him.”

Yoongi and Jungkook were right on his heel. Yoongi talking to him, trying to soothe him calmly but there was no way Namjoon was stopping, so he did – shutting his mouth as soon as they got closer. They all had their hand on their gun, eyes focused as they made their way around the block as silently as they could, with nothing but bulletproof vests keeping them safe.

“We should give out a signal. We really shouldn’t be doing-,” Yoongi reached out for Namjoon just when someone opened the backdoor of the building, their eyes locking on theirs, guns getting drawn out, when there was a sound, not louder than a bb gun shooting and he dropped dead, before he could shoot first or alarm anyone.

“10 points for me!” Jungkook threw a fist in the air, blowing the invisible steam off his gun. Namjoon knew that this was Jungkook’s way of easing the tension out of his system and as long as he did it quietly enough to not get them in danger Namjoon would let him be and would do what he had to do for himself as well; focusing completely on the task: Find Jimin, get him out safely, then help the others find Tae. In this order and he wouldn’t let anyone come between him and a happy ending. Jimin would be still alive. He would get him out. This was it. They kept sneaking further into the building and even though they didn’t see anyone else right away they didn’t relax because there were a lot more people inside and they knew it. And there still wasn’t any signal…

They had studied the map of the building for hours, every corner, every window, every door they knew where it lead. It was maddening. The only sounds the shuffling of their shoes against concrete until they could hear mumbles. Namjoon raised a fist and all three of them held their breaths. “There’s too many.” Jungkook hissed, trying to access how many men there really were. There was no way around it.

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, trying to come up with any other solution. Everything seemed more logical – but there was no place to hide or sneak around. No other choice but to go directly through it. “Fuck it. Let’s do it quick. We don’t have any time after we’re done with them.” Namjoon rolled his shoulders back and walked ahead. They had the surprise effect on their side, but even with the suppressors there was a great deal of noise, as there was a near continuous spit of bullets flying. The hail of bullets continued around them, their minds jumping through possibilities to get out there quick in a split seconds. Namjoon kept moving his gun and found two more targets. One was still firing wildly and the other was reloading. He shot the second man first, then the other, before he took a blow to the face. He yanked his arm back and turning to fight off his attacker with his fists. He didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t. He needed to get Jimin out of here.

Yoongi fell forward with a grunt and landed hard, making him lightheaded for a second. His finger contracted against the trigger as he turned around, slowly pulling it back when a hand shot out in a blur, snatching and  trying to twist the gun from Yoongi’s hand. In a fluid motion Yoongi threw the gun back at the side of his face, before his fist came up and he hit him right in the jaw. “Fucking idiots, ah,” Yoongi hissed, stretching his hand as he watched the now unconscious body on the floor. Namjoon nodded at him, wiping the blood from his lips as he wrapped his finger around the trigger, “No time. We gotta go.”

The younger detective looked at Yoongi worried, brushing his hand through his hair once. “You okay?” Jungkook eyed the cut on his face warily that was starting to bleed.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay.” His breath came shorter than it should be and there was a singing pain in his side but Yoongi ignored it, pressing his hand on top of it - and almost collapsed when his hand came in contact with the wound. Jungkook could barely catch him when the older’s knees buckled and his fingers touched something wet.

“Yoongi! You’re bleeding! Namjoon, we need to go back, Yoongi is injured.” But Namjoon shook his head. “You can bring him back if you want but I can’t - not before I found Jimin. We don’t know if someone alarmed the others; if we go back now and try it again later then they might be somewhere else already. And Jimin could be dead or alive.”

…

Jimin had been in midst of reading a book, one that Taehyung had brought him to pass the time, trying to forget the restraints, the situation or anything else but trusting Namjoon to get him one day. Of course, Tae had said it was just not too miss him too much. It was hard to keep up the smile, when all he wanted was to throw up in disgust, but Jimin kept going, to stay alive for Namjoon. He sighed, turning another page when suddenly gunshots went off. It was loud. A sound that went right through him, shaking him to the core and making him scared and hopeful at the same time. Was it Namjoon? But what if Namjoon got shot? He squealed loudly, hands over his mouth and eyes wide in fear. Each gunshot made him twitch and Jimin pushed the palm of his hands over his ears. But the screaming was getting louder, and it was coming closer. There was someone coming closer.

Jimin rushed to the corner of the room, once more trying to pull at the restraints. “C’mon, please,” His eyes flickered back to the door and to the metal string that was attached to his wrists and wall. A scream escaped him involuntarily when the door busted open, but his eyes didn’t find the one he was hoping to see. It wasn’t Namjoon. But neither was Jimin scared.

“Sh-sh, please be quiet Jimin. I’ll get you out of here.” The guy said that Jimin learned to trust and known as the one that infiltrated Taehyung’s system a long time ago, helping Namjoon. The younger whimpered quietly, nodding and waiting with shaking hands as he got out a key that he must have stolen. “Pl-please be quick…I…I…don’t want him to-,” His sentence broke off when Jimin saw the change of expression on the agents face. All of his color was suddenly gone, eyes wide and mouth open as he gasped in shock. “Wha-at’s wron-,” Jimin’s voice was shaking and then a scream tore from him - there was blood on the man’s hand and then he heard Taehyung’s chuckle.

“N-no, Taehyung! What are you-, oh my god!” Jimin’s hands were freed off the wall, not from the cuffs though, so he kneeled, reaching out for him. “We need an ambulance! Taehyung! Please! He-, he thought that someone was…he wasn’t freeing me, please. He was about to get me to…y-you…Tae! Please.” Jimin’s voice broke as he was crying, lying right through his teeth because there was no way in hell that was the reason why, but he had other things to worry about as he was watching helplessly, pushing his hands onto the man’s wound to stop it from bleeding and getting blood all over himself. “P-please, Tae!”

“There’s no use in it now, Jiminnie. I’ve heard them, seen them. The cops are here, and they are trying to destroy everything I worked for. They have no right to ruin everything I’ve built. And like hell will I let them play heroes and rescue you like some damsel in distress.” He opened the cuffs but pressed the gun against Jimin’s neck right after, “Up! I won’t say it again. And if you move in the wrong direction then don’t think my love for you will keep me from killing you. You made it clear that you don’t want me.”

Jimin was trembling as he got up, stumbling ahead. “T-tae, please, don’t.” He whispered but the pressure of the gun at his neck made him shut up only seconds after. His legs felt wobbly, his body weak from days of being held hostage like that, so he tripped not just once as they walked up the stairs but twice. Tears ran in streams down his cheeks, every gunshot making him flinch violently. “Wh-ere are we going, Tae? Please, I don’t…don’t know where you want to go,” Jimin stood at the end of the staircase looking left and right, not sure which was the direction to go. He had never been in this part of the building, nor did he wanted to get killed for choosing the wrong path. He gripped Jimin tightly and turned right and left only to be forced into another corner of the building again and again. It wasn’t just Namjoon and his sorry excuses for partners that had entered the building, there were way more of them here and they were conquering his kingdom piece by piece. Taehyung was shaking with rage and anger. There was only one way he could go if he didn’t want to run straight into the police’s arms: up. So, he pushed Jimin roughly up the stairs. “Move! Don’t talk, just move.”

Jimin whimpered, wiping over his eyes as he gazed up. This way he knew. Taehyung was trying to get up at the roof – but why? For a second, Jimin considered talking and then he could hear footsteps coming closer, sounding like someone was running. There were more than one. And then someone called his name.

Jimin whipped around in an instant. He would recognize the voice everywhere, but the smile got wiped off his face instantly when Taehyung whipped his gun around hitting him square in the face. Jimin choked off a scream, stars shining in front of his eyes, a metal taste on his tongue but there was barely anytime to came to when Taehyung pulled him back by his hair, forcing him to get up. His arm wrapped itself around his neck, choking him in a tight hold while the gun pressed against the side of his face. Jimin was barely able to keep himself upright at this point, his own hands digging into Taehyung’s arms as he pushed his shoulder against the heavy door and the cold air made Jimin shiver.

They were out on the roof and the wind hit his back like a blow. Nevertheless, Taehyung didn’t take his eyes off Namjoon who was only a few meters away, eyes cold and shiny from hate. He just had to grin at that and be proud for a glorious little second. He had always this, the power he could hold over others just by finding out their weak spots and using the right words - or leverage - against them to have them dance for him like little puppets. This time it wasn’t any different. Just that his leverage was the man he loved and that he had nowhere left to go.

“Stay back! Or I’ll kill him! I swear to whatever you fuckers believe in that I will shoot him right in the head so you can scratch his pretty little face off the floor!”

Jimin was gasping for air, when his eyes fell onto Namjoon who had his gun pointed at Taehyung, while there was another one pointed at his own head. A sob broke through him. There was something like relief and then pain, one that made him realize that this was a one way street.

Jimin’s expression softened as he mouthed his first ‘I love you’ to Namjoon. His own bloody hands were trying to keep Taehyung from choking him even more. ‘It’s okay…I’m okay’ Jimin mouthed next, a sad smile forming at his lips. There were more and more people backing up Namjoon but still they couldn’t do anything with the gun next to his own head. And Jimin had to awfully realize that.

Jimin and Namjoon locked eyes and something in the policeman’s eyes changed, turned soft and vulnerable and… loving. It made Taehyung incredibly angry. Once Jimin had looked at him like that. As if he was the single most important person in the universe. As if he would forever love him back. And now he couldn’t wait to get away from him to sink back into his lover's arms who stood for everything Taehyung hated and who would crush his empire in a heartbeat if he let him. He knew that he would go to prison if he surrendered. No lawyer could get him out of this. And even if he would be weak, his name nothing to be scared off but to laugh about; Taehyung the one who got caught by the police because his ex-lover fucked one of them and instead of dirty talk had told him all of Tae’s secrets. Taehyung was proud. He was stubborn.

And he would rather die than having to face this kind of humiliation.

Namjoon was clenching his jaw, focusing back on Taehyung. Everybody was standing tight like brow strings, ready to attack the second Tae would do so as move a muscle. Taehyung had killed before and he’d do it again, there was no doubt about it, nothing to argue about. When he took a step back, Namjoon took a step forward.

Jimin could barely see in front of him anymore, the tears blurring his view and still he tried to keep his focus on Namjoon. He wanted to see him. He should have been the last one he would see. Nothing else mattered but him.  

Taehyung inched closer to the edge, piece by piece until he was close enough to just let himself fall. There was no railing to climb over or hurdle to separate him from the fall. It was just him and a promise of certain death. He could have let Jimin go, let him run back to his lover to get his happily ever after. But he was bitter and hurt and desperate, and he didn’t.. he couldn’t let Jimin go. Not even in death. He leaned in, kissing Jimin fleetingly below the ear before whispering into it. “Say goodbye, my love. If I can’t have you - then no one else will.”

Namjoon saw it, the exact moment in which Taehyung decided that he would die right here - and take Jimin with him. It was in his shoulders that suddenly relaxed, in his defiant stance, in his gaze as he looked over Jimin’s shoulder, speaking to Namjoon as if he had yelled right across the roof: ‘He is mine. You can’t have him. And you won’t win no matter what’.

The others were waiting for Taehyung to tell them his demands; probably money, a vehicle to flee, the usual. Not Namjoon though; he knew that Tae wasn’t stupid and that a life on the run wasn’t what would satisfy someone as crazy about control as Tae. He would end it here, right now. And he would take Jimin with him. And Namjoon would have to helplessly watch his love die, either through a gun or falling to his death if Tae pulled him along.

When Jimin had mouthed another ‘I love you’ his eyes had been full of tears and it was simultaneously the most beautiful and horrible thing he had ever seen. It would be forever etched into his mind. Everything of this. He shuddered violently and then Tae moved again, leaning that tiny bit close to the abyss that he needed to and Namjoon could see his eyes widen in fear and then they flickered downwards, looking down, down all those floors on where their bodies would hit and Namjoon didn’t think, he couldn’t he just reacted on instinct because he felt that if he would lose Jimin anyway then he wanted to at least try, he wanted Jimin to know that he would have done anything he could to save him. So, he shot.

A scream tore through the deafening silence that followed. He was shivering, his body collapsing under the pressure of the sudden weight that pulled him down. Jimin fell hard, the concrete scraping his skin painfully. The air got stuck in his lungs and Jimin gasped violently, turning on his back. There were noises all around him. People screaming, commanding, ordering for other people to do…something. Jimin wasn’t sure what exactly. He couldn’t hear it. It was all a blur as he looked up at the grey sky, blinking when the sun peeked through one of the clouds as if it was deciding to mock him in this very moment. Jimin wondered for how long he hadn’t seen the sun when something blocked it again.

It took him a moment to register the familiar shape, his eyes trying to get used to the sudden loss of light again. Jimin’s mind reacted before his body could follow, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Joonie,” He whispered, letting the other pull him into his arms as if he was a lifeless doll. The warmth that Namjoon was radiating seeping through his cold bones and making him feel alive again. “Y-you found me. I thought you’d…”

“Of course, baby. Of course, I found you.” Namjoon pulled Jimin so tightly against him that he could feel the younger’s heartbeat. He needed this. he needed this so badly, to reassure himself that he had done it, that his bullet had hit Taehyung and missed Jimin; that Taehyung had crumbled and not fallen down the building with Jimin still in his arms. But Jimin was here, in his arms. He was breathing. He was alive. He was alive! The adrenaline had him shaking but he refused to let Jimin go, even when one of the special ops told them they needed to clear the scene now and let the ambulance check Jimin. Never would he let him go again.

Jimin reached out for Namjoon’s cheeks, not caring that there was blood on them. He just wanted to feel him closer. “Thank you,” Jimin whispered against his lips, placing a soft kiss there that tasted too much like salt, but he didn’t mind. He wanted to feel the warmth. “Can we g-go home please?” He asked softly, before wrapping his arms around Namjoon’s neck and hiding his face in the crook of his neck, trusting him to bring him somewhere safe, while he just closed his eyes.

The nightmare was finally over. And he was back in his arms.

…

The sun was setting low, dipping the living room in a soft orange light. His eyes flickered up, holding onto the blanket he was wrapped in tightly as he gazed up, meeting Namjoon’s beautiful look. Days had passed and still his smiled wavered when there was a sudden knock on the door, staying seated as he cocked his head aside. It had taken him a while to stop flinching every time he heard someone at the door, but he started to heal, just like his wrists did. Next week he would even get rid of the bandages that were still securely wrapped around them. It had helped that he stayed by Namjoon’s side and in his apartment. After what had happened the chief had been more than willing to give Namjoon a few weeks off to make sure that his officer was 100% fine when he came back.

Their visitor was Yoongi - closely followed by Jungkook. The younger suffered from some kind of ‘protection syndrome’ since Yoongi had been injured and refused to let him go out alone. Yoongi was complaining a lot - but Namjoon was sure that he secretly enjoyed it being doted on like this by his boyfriend. Yoongi held a pizza box in hand and Jimin looked at it curiously. “What’s this?”

Yoongi smiled fondly at him. Since Jimin had been back they had become a fixed part of their little circle so quickly that Namjoon couldn’t remember how they had ever managed without him. “That’s celebratory pizza. Two good news: One, our undercover friend - whose name we’re still not allowed to know which makes sending a card really awkward - has woken up in hospital which means he has a good chance to fully recover. And second, I just got the official, formal guarantee that you won’t have to testify in court. The court agreed that with the ‘special circumstances’ of your relationship with Tae and Namjoon and the traumatic incident of your kidnapping it is important to keep you stable. So, they will blacken your name in all the files and you will never ever have to talk about Tae or anything he did ever again. There will be no reason for you to move or change your name  - you are safe now, Jimin. You’re finally safe.”

Namjoon could feel his view getting blurry at those news. There had always been the possibility that Jimin would take the opportunity to go into witness protection program, either because he wanted to or because he had to. But with Taehyung’s ‘kingdom’ in ruins and Taehyung dead there wasn’t any reason for Jimin do this anymore. Not after what Yoongi had just told them.

Jimin could feel his heart skip a couple of beats as he looked at all three of them. He gulped heavily against the lump in his throat. “But what if I want to move?” He turned to look at them, noticing their expression faltering from joyful to confused. Jimin had to bite down onto his lip to keep from smiling as they weren’t getting the hints - again.

So, he quickly grabbed the pizza instead and turned around, only stopping to look over his shoulder again. “And maybe one day I’ll change my name, too.” He paused dramatically and sighed, before smiling brightly and adding teasingly, “Don’t you think Kim Jimin sounds good?”

“Sounds absolutely perfect to me, baby.” Namjoon could feel his heart swell and while Jungkook made gagging noises in the background he skipped the pizza and went straight for Jimin’s lips. He didn’t even mind Jungkook stealing the pizza again. Honestly there would be lots of pizza dinners waiting for them in the future - and Jimin was his favorite taste anyway.

The End.

A/N: Another short story is done! I mean by now you all know Cat and I are weak for Minjoon and Yoonkook soo...you can await many more stories with those pairings. Anyways, we really hope you enjoyed this story! Don’t forget to leave a comment on how you liked it :) THANK YOU!!

Oh and...the pirate AU ‘Drown in me’ will come out on sunday! A short Hybrid AU (Namgi) will come soon too and don’t forget about our Camboys!AU and the Geisha!AU aahhgrhrgfhfgehgrhr ;) so muuuch content is coming! I’m so excited to shareeee it all with you ;;

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[yodawgiherd]

Night out

Rating: T

>>>Read on AO3<<<

I know this chapter is kind of short, but I promise that I will post the continuation of it soon, already got it all figured out. ;)

Enjoy!

Out of all sounds, he could come home to, woman’s scream would not exactly be Eren’s first pick. Confused about the source of the ruckus, he took off his coat and entered the living room, trying to locate and possibly defuse the situation before any furniture suffers the consequences of Mikasa’s wrath. She didn’t get heated often, but when she did, the strength with which she could throw, or smash things was terrifying. He saw her now, sitting on the couch in front of the tv, staring at the screen with murderous intent in her eyes. The cause of her anger could be seen now, as the large screen was carelessly brandishing the “you lose” words, proof of her defeat in the Tekken round she apparently just finished. Slowly, as if he was approaching a dangerous animal, Eren shuffled closer, sitting down next to her and clearing his throat.

“Lost a game huh?”, he asked, prompting her to laugh.

“A game? No. I’ve been losing for the last hour.”, she let out a defeated sigh, putting the controller on the floor and leaning back into the soft couch, “Dropped two ranks already.”

Yikes. From his own experience, Eren knew that losing sucks, especially a number of consecutive games where you get demolished and the opponent hits you with a big fat “EZ” after the match anyway. Dickheads. To comfort his crestfallen girlfriend, he put his arm around her shoulder letting her snuggle closer and leech off his body heat, as she always did. The shirt she was wearing was too big, as it was apparently formerly his, the neckline plunging low and exposing one of her shoulders, and that in combination with the fact that she for some reason wasn’t wearing pants couldn’t offer much warmth in the first place.

“You okay?”

Mikasa shook her head, still too devastated by her losses. And as the caring boyfriend he was, Eren could not let that stand.

“How can I cheer you up baby? Do you want something?”

That offer was finally met with some response, as she looked up, her pouty face looking right into his own, concerned one.

“I’m hungry.”, she stated, “Can we go eat somewhere?”

“Sure, do you know what you want?”

A bit of mischief sneaked into her features, and she shook her head.

“Not really, just someplace nice.”

Ah yes, the eternal question that occurs in every relationship. Where are we going to eat tonight? And it doesn’t matter that she says anything is fine because you know that everything you do, no matter what you pick, your choice will be thoroughly judged by a strict committee of one. And if found wanting, the consequences for the incompetence might be dire ones. Luckily for him, Eren had an ace up his sleeve, gained from an over-a-coffee conversation with Erwin, who pointed out an “amazing, modern and innovative” restaurant that opened recently, with the only drawback being that “it’s quite expensive there.” As money was not really a problem, Eren deemed it proper to use that ace now, while being confronted with the choice of today’s dining establishment, hoping that Mikasa will approve.

“A new place, huh?”, the offer itself at least intrigued er, as she was now chewing on her bottom lip with a thoughtful expression, manifested by her fine raven eyebrows being knitted together, “Did Erwin say what’s special about it?”

“Well, it’s a high-class society meeting place. If we’re lucky, we may run into a mayor there.”

The thought of that amused her.

“High-class? And since when are we high class?”

“We aren’t, but if we put on some fine-looking disguises, I bet that we can sneak in.”

As Mikasa was quite a sucker for adventure, that finally did it for her, and the place Eren picked was judged worthy enough of her presence for the evening. However, as he said, it was kind of a higher-class place, which meant that they actually had to get off the couch and go chance into something more representative. They would probably just stop her at the door if she tried going in her boyfriend’s stolen shirt and panties. Couldn’t forget that she wasn’t even wearing a bra, as she preferred to be free while staying home, both because it felt better and because it teased Eren. Win-win situation, really.

While being forced by society to wear a dress would annoy the teenage Mikasa, the current one didn’t mind it that much anymore. Especially lately with the modeling job, she found herself enjoying the feeling of wearing some elegant stuff, the very thing she used to despise. Maturity is a bitch. Lost in thoughts, she picked a dress and retreated to the bathroom to put some makeup on, again, an activity she was never big fan of, but spending so much time in the hands of professionals lately, she did pick up a thing or two and was secretly quite eager to put them to the test. First, she did her nails, black of course, as if that was ever a question, before moving on to the main part of the test, her own face. With a light hand, she added a few touches here and there, nothing too heavy, bringing out the best features of it. To add a bit of personal flair to it, and also because she knew that Eren liked it, she painted her lips with the usual black color, following it up with a bit heavier eyeshade. While the goth style of makeup was not as popular anymore, as she was told at the agency, Mikasa liked the aesthetic and didn’t see a reason to stop using it just because the majority did. Nothing wrong with being yourself. The dress she picked was dark, obviously and combined with black stiletto heels on her feet Mikasa was ready to go, being stylish while also staying true to herself, an ideal combination.

Leaving the bathroom, she could see that Eren was also dressed in a fitting suit, sitting on the bed and fumbling with his tie. He did look up when she entered, however, following her with his eyes as she crossed the distance to where she kept her modest collection of jewelry.

“You look amazing.”, he commented, making Mikasa smirk as she was putting her earring on.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” looking over her shoulder, she winked at him, “and it will be even better once u finish fixing your tie.”

With a chuckle, he returned to the task at hand, giving her time to pick a choker that went well with the dress, put on the metal cross from Levi and finally decorate her fingers with a few choice rings, fewer and not so massive that she used to wear during her hardcore goth period, but surely a bit more than other ladies would wear. Finished and ready to go, she was a bit surprised to see that Eren still hasn’t beaten his tie problem, frowning down at the unyielding cloth.

“Need a hand?”, she asked, doing her best not to sound too mocking. Just a little bit.

“My pride is telling me no.”, he sighed, “But fuck it. Yes, If you would be so kind, I would appreciate the help.”

Both to get closer and to fluster him a bit, she straddled Eren’s waist, leaning in close to inspect the mess he made. With deft fingers, Mikasa managed to undo the failure of a knot and retie it in the correct way, while he was left to just frown at her dexterity. And he was supposed to be the one with the magic touch. Right.

“So, ready to go?”

With her, he was ready for anything. Grinning, Eren nodded.

“Let’s go.”

The restaurant was truly a higher-class place, manifested by the fact that someone came to park their car, which reminded Mikasa of the time they spent at Tybur’s residence, the ball and everything that followed. That was fun. This time not forgetting to help her out of the car, Eren took gentle hold of her hand as they were ushered in by a well-dressed greeter, having apparently passed the clothing check. Maybe it was Erwin’s doing, or just that they were both quite known in the town, with Eren being the star surgeon and Mikasa’s rising fame in both the worlds of professional sport and modeling, but they were immediately led to a table and attended by a waiter, who wanted to know what the pair will want to drink. Mikasa, who spent half of her life drinking cheap beer or box wine didn’t even recognize any of the names on the wine list, so she hid her face behind it instead, letting Eren handle the mess to the best of his ability. However, he was no expert in the field either, but pointing at something that was named the least funny resulted in having a bottle brought to them, and after that the devilish waiter finally gave them a break, retreating and giving them time to pick their food.

“Ah yes, this is an excellent vintage,”, mimicking to the best of his ability the thing he saw on TV from time to time, Eren poured himself a little, circling it in the glass while nodding to himself, overall looking so snob that Mikasa had a hard time not laughing. Winking at her, he took a sip.

“Is it good?”, she asked when he fell silent.

“Well,”, he cleared his throat, “the flavor is quite fruity, and you can smell the earth from the…”

Mikasa kicked him under the table, giggling into her hand.

“Stop that! I don’t want to laugh this much!”

Returning her smirk, Eren shrugged, finally dropping the act.

“Look, Miki, it's surely wine, and it doesn’t taste bad. That’s about everything I can tell you.”

It really wasn’t half bad, and they made it about halfway into the bottle while looking at the menu, doing their best to pronounce some of the more exotic names and failing miserably, much to their amusement. The fits of laughter drew a few judging looks from the other patrons, but no one came to hush them. After placing their orders, kinda really having no idea what they just asked for, Mikasa took another sip of that arguably good wine, watching Eren over the rim of the glass.

“Babe, I have to ask you something.”

“What’s that?”

“I was doing a photoshoot recently, with the theme of like romantic and stuff, and I and a few other girls got to talking…”

“You are a gossip girl now?”, Eren’s eyebrows shot up, “Never took you for one.”

Just for a good measure, she kicked him under the table again and continued as if he didn’t say anything.

“We talked about our first kiss, and that reminded me, I never asked you who your first kiss was.”

“My first kiss?”, Eren repeated after her, “You want to know who it was?”

It was hard not to roll her eyes at him sometimes, but she made it.

“Obviously.”

“Well, if you want to hear that story, you have to share yours first. Who did you kiss first?”

Must have been the wine, but Mikasa felt her lips curl upwards into a flirtatious smile.

“It might surprise you, but It wasn’t with you.”

Leaning forward on the table, Eren’s green eyes met hers, and he smiled right back.

“Do go on.”

Judging that it was fair, him asking for her confession before giving his own, Mikasa drained her glass and set it back, throat wet enough to tell her story.”

“So…”

[sonderrow-moved]

Heavy in hand, his thumb against pinkened tip and the ooze of white droplets bud at the slit. Though it wasn't embarrassing it was a new experience to witness that hunger before him yet not on top or beneath him as he stroked his cock for his love. A moment of me time, a hunger for something other than just ramming his vampire up a wall and taking when he needed, Olu' instead remained sat in one of Archer's office chairs, his thighs spread in thick jeans and his dick in palm, erect and weeping -

with each stroke from base to tip. The arch of his dick was heavy; thick and thicker almost in girth but it had a slant to the left. If it wasn’t held, the organ would rest over hip moreso than remain upright, but it was a good bend. It got to Archer’s prostate more than enough times to not be a hinder to his ministrations when he thought about it. A tightening of fingers and a low grunt behind teeth - a lick of fang, as his wrist flicked, twisting in the slick grasp. A twitch in thighs, curl of toes in boots and his brow flinched with a steady breath. Faster, his hand moved, bicep straining with the tightness of his thumb around the front of his length, fingers beneath squeezed his favoured area of a bulging vein that never ceased to make his head lull back a touch with a breathless moan.

Though fighting it, to give Archer the eye contact he desired, to focus on his lovers expression, the scent of his deep belly heat and within moments of watching those lips and thighs, the lion, roared with his piqued orgasm. A steady and almost sudden eruption of white from the slit. A copious amount splattered up the dark skin over Olu’s exposed stomach, staining over muscles and wrist, fingers covered in droplets as his hand squeezed over base to stroke up in the newfound wetness, pulling, dragging and forcing out ever drop as his teeth bared in a feral growl upon finally reaching his limit.

Heaving a breath, his hand released his twitching cock to rest over stomach; as body relaxed from its once taut rapture and in turn, his low-lid gaze drifted from his mess to the vampire across from him. A smirk lazy upon lines and a lick to lips to smear sweat aside as he basked in the afterglow - even if it was a mess before his love. Allowing to watch the last pulsations of coming, over his hip. Tail lazy, curled under tail, as head rested back and gaze remained on his love. Watching every detail of that man who held himself back for the show. “Good?” Smirk.

.   .   .   .   .   .

There was no way the scent would go away quickly afterwards. That was Archer’s first thought as he never thought Oluwayemisi would visit his office; he’d always try to divert the attention elsewhere. This… wasn’t… professional… but when was he ever around this man? Surely this started when Olu noticed how much Archer would scrutinize at other people as part of his work. Dancers, waiters, bartenders, receptionists, strippers, prostitutes… the whole type of staff with a very distinct task in hand: sex appeal to patrons. Personally speaking, the raven didn’t… entirely hate it. Very rarely, but it happened, someone genuinely his taste would come up. Yet, it wasn’t as…

… this, right now, wasn’t the same thing at all.He tried. He tried to keep the same composure he normally had during his tasks, but he knew his expression was melting the more time passed, grateful his lion wasnt looking.

Did Olu know what he was doing right now? How many times Archer wondered before if this man ever had a penchant for those kind of things, fire building up inside of him whenever he’d see the man rip another person apart. He was feeling more and more lightheaded, like he was about to pass out but no, he couldn’t, he couldn’t miss this.

From under his dress pants, his garter belt and underwear, it took every bit of patience from the sire to hold back. Even his shadow kept wanting to trail up his own body, dying from participating. His thin lips slightly opened, unable to hold a deep, nearly moaning breath. But he kept the same position, torso bending forwards, elbows on knees, face resting on his hands, fingers hiding his watering mouth…

Everywhere he looked would spike his desires, all wrapped into his office furniture, contrasting so strongly with the man sitting at his own chair. The city nightlife lights through the glass walls up at the building highest floor kept licking over Oluwayemisi’s strong, dangerously erotic shape, and the raven’s sharp eyes lightened up in hunger despite having being actually fed plenty tonight.

Despite keeping his composure, from Olu’s perspective, who had known his Queen very well for a long time, there was with no doubt, behind this piercing gaze, a worshipping awe, a pride that had been rolled over by a sight too strong to not falter. As he felt his King’s climax from across the room, Archer couldn’t keep a low growl silent.

“Good?”

What could he even reply to that face and voice? The man had enough confidence to know what he was doing. Unable to resist anymore, Archer got up his seat, naked fingers gliding on his phone as he turned the office lights off, making the outside the only source of light. He bent forwards atop of Olu, a nice tug slacking his tie until it was off and undoing the button of his shirt.

“You were better than good…” His lips approached his lion’s, although not kissing them. Not right away… and then the sire laughed. A hearty, delighted laugh softly echoed in the room, with a tone so velvety and soft, so unusual to Archer, you’d think someone else was in the room. “… ha, that’s when I’d say something really cool to not lose face, but… who am I kidding…” His face lowered above his King’s shoulder. A cold, dexterous hand sliding on the dark, stained skin, lavishly caressing Olu’s cock, teasing for more movements, a slight rub where it felt right, before the raven took a handful, slowly turning his touch into a noisy, firm, serie of sensitive strokes. “You were so good, I could barely stand in place. I just wanted to ravage every inch I was watching.”

One hand undid his own dark dress pants, making his open shirt fall to his elbow, showing off Archer’s bare chest. His fangs held onto the lion’s jeans before ripping the crotch area open. The second hand quickly sliding off the underwear on his still seating lover’s ass, the cum drenched fingers sliding atop the entrance, already feeling the twitching.

Undoing one button of his tight briefs, the vampire quickly positioned himself, his large, cozy office chair rolling by the push of his body atop his feline, a loud, dry *TACK!* being heard as it collided with the large window, illuminating every glorious details on Olu’s dark skintone. The King’s legs were raised knees up in the air, one strong thigh covered in sumptuous scars held firm by Archer’s strength. One finger slid in, rolling torturously against the already throbbing anal walls. Looks like the bat wasn’t the only one quickly worked up.

As his meddlings kept brushing around the prostrate on tortuous purpose, the sire gave his lover one long kiss before he spoke up in a honeyed voice. “Let’s make something clear…” His major finger kept going back and forth, squelching sounds incresing while the index was already slowly pushing its way in.

“At home, you fucked me on every surface and corner possible… filled me up to the brim while I lost my mind and kept pounding my hips into yours.” 

The touch went further in, finding the prostrate, rubbing its edges, in circle, pressing directly on it as Archer read his King’s heavy breathing and tensing muscles like an open book, his own cock throbbing in excitement. Wrist bending to reach deeper, moving back and forth to keep every nerve on edge. The vampire’s own cold breath quickened, groans and moans escaping by the built up heat. From guilt beforehand, the more Archer saw Olu’s enjoyment, the melting expression his stern face gave and the incessant pulses of pleasure his body bent into, those moments turned so…… dangerous. It kept slowly, but surely wake up part of him that kept wanting to see more. The very beginning of his obsession of seeing such a man beg, moan and tremble and lose himself in pleasure because of him…

“But here… this is my territory.”

Archer pulled out, his wet hand taking hold of the lion’s second thigh, putting it firmly upwards just like the other.

“And I’m going to fuck you blind properly on every piece of this office.”

His cock then shoved right up to the hilt in one go, the dry length bringing in a delightful, high pain despite Olu’s prepped ass coating Archer’s own girth in fluids. The walls were bent to his shape, sucking the raven deep in while he was already moving, not taking his time with this like earlier; no, he was going at it, rocking the chair against the thick, bulletproof wall. Have the King’s darker flesh quiver, see his large chest bounce under those short breathed gasps and loved whispers to his Queen. Before the sire’s planned enjoyment would melt in passion, pleasure taking over as he’d pound the other with nothing in mind but reach in deeper, fucking him with strong and steadfast shake of hips. The belt of his pants still at Archer’s kept clinking, only sound slightly louder than the dripping mix of fluids building up between the two of them, the city lights gleaming on the strands of cum coating the heir’s cock whenever he pulled out, then slammed in hard.

“Fuck…” The raven swore between his gritted fangs, realizing again how much he wanted this man, desired him. How much no amount of cumming would seem to be enough to satiate his thirst. With the liquid pooling in a puddle on the chair now clearly ruined seat, with its rest also quickly ripped by Olu’s nails, and the bat’s clawing against the glass with such strength, it could have shattered any type of lesser quality.

Nonetheless, all tasks for the night were postponed to the next one.

[ghost-train-hunters]

Nerves

After a close call on her first run in Seattle, Scratch has second thoughts about her new crew. She decides to take it up with the fixer who made the introductions…

An Orichalcum and Silicon short story by BrossUno

——

Scratch still had a headache as she rode the elevator to the 30th floor of a bustling skyscraper. She had woken up before the sun had made it over the horizon. It was miserably early and it made her more irritated than usual. Thankfully she didn’t have any jobs lined up right that moment. She found it hard to work when she was a hair trigger from snapping at someone. 

Her early morning excursion only left her just enough time to wash the stink of the Seattle underground out of her hair from last night’s run. She hastily put on the only business suit she owned and covered her face with a medical mask and sunglasses. The corp look didn’t help her mood at all. The skirt made it especially awkward to pull anything out of the smuggling compartment nestled in her left cyberleg. Unfortunately the contact she wanted to meet didn’t hang out in places where street clothes could get you past the front door. 

Routinely they were areas where the cops showed up in a few minutes and security could be trusted to do their job. Much as Scratch didn’t like it, the chaos of last night’s festivities gave her the motivation to power through.

The details of what happened sloshed around in her skull to the point where she couldn’t make much sense of it if she tried. It had been a few weeks of running her automotive garage for less savory customers looking to ditch junkers or disappear hot cars. Establishing herself in Seattle had been more challenging than originally anticipated. Chip truth, she was looking forward to making real money. Her long term plans demanded it. Now she regretted being so hasty. A crew of five needed a driver. 

The job itself called for the acquisition of a package from an Evo facility. She sure as hell couldn’t remember how it started out, but the ending had been a wreck from the minute they got their hands on the objective. The getaway took them on a grand tour of a drug den, subway tunnels with a ghost train, and a rooftop shootout with the Knight Errant and a fraggin’ Gargoyle. The order events felt scrambled in her mind but she knew things went downhill after a crash. A crash with a stolen truck.

The mere thought made Scratch take a detour to the nearest bathroom. She stood in front of the sink and made fists as she fought back tremors in her hands. After some cold water and some concentration she felt the sensation pass. She didn’t have time to look like she was fighting off dumpshock. She had a meeting to attend with the fixer who had set her up with the Evo job. Building security made sure she didn’t have the luxury of bringing her drones or much weaponry. The only form of defense she had on her was an Ingram Smartgun X she learned to hide in her leg for emergencies. She hadn’t had to make use of it yet, but last night had been full of unwelcome surprises.

The meet up was a fancy restaurant known as The Perennial. Scratch had never heard of it before but she didn’t run in these circles. The place mostly serviced wageslaves and anyone chained to the corporate life. Her contact had always found the nicest places for a conversation even in the shadiest parts of town. When she made it to the entrance the balding head waiter that greeted her had his nose turned up to the ceiling. He seemed to make note of her cyberleg but didn’t give her any trouble when she mentioned the party she belonged to.

“Party of Rosselott,” Scratch said.

“Right this way, madam.”

Scratch was always thankful for a mask. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes and scoff as she followed the head waiter inside. He didn’t see any of that behind her sunglasses. The Perennial leaned on fake plants and flowers to imply a lush atmosphere. There were more people around than she expected for breakfast hours. A lot of drones in suits and oozing self-importance. One ork busied himself with AR screens. A table of four looked to be double tasking while eating and holding a business meeting at the same time. No one looked like trouble from first glance. She doubted any of them even noticed her enter the room. Sometimes she found it amazing how easy it was to disappear into a crowd of suits. That wasn’t an excuse to drop her guard though. She wasn’t expecting trouble but old memories from a life out east wouldn’t let her relax.

The head waiter brought her to a table in the corner up against a window overlooking downtown. It was a secluded space with fake hedges acting as a barrier between tables. They wouldn’t stop any bullets but it would be enough to keep prying eyes away for a little while. A single elf sat at the table. Scratch only knew her as Rosselott. 

The name didn’t really go with the face but that was the nature of the business. Rosselott had signs of old age and still looked impossibly good, which made Scratch feel she was probably ancient by elf standards. They never had a meeting where she wasn’t wearing a crisp business suit and nursing a cigarette or cigar. She had jet black hair and emerald eyes that felt armor piercing. The safe bet is she had been wrapped up in the corp life longer than Scratch had been alive. The way she supplemented her words with constant hand motions gave off the impression she had done boardroom meetings for a few decades at least.

Despite the clean exterior and expensive taste, word on the street had made it clear Rosselott was a fixer with connections. All the rumors pointed to the idea she liked to collect old things. And it went double for classic automobiles. Scratch felt it was a stroke of luck meeting someone like her over a single night of stealing cars for a bartender troll named Lefty. As a relative newcomer to Seattle she couldn’t afford to pass up the connections on offer. Or that’s how she felt at first. After last night she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Rosselott looked up and gave a thin smile through a trail of smoke escaping her cigarette. That was enough to satisfy the head waiter as he excused himself. Scratch took a seat at the table and made sure she could reach the thigh of her cyberleg where her Ingram was hidden. A matter of precaution.

“Ah, you made it. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble finding the place. They opened a few weeks ago. I hear they serve real eggs here.”

“I’d prefer if I didn’t have to dress up every time we have a conversation.” Scratch grumbled.

Rosselott gave a sardonic smile. “But I love when people are presentable. Besides, it’s not unusual for two strangers to talk business over breakfast in a place like this. Especially if you look the part.”

“You could have just called instead of having me come down here before the sun was up.”

The idea of talking over comms only got a finger wag from Rosselott. “You should know by now that I prefer a good face to face. And let us not forget, you were the one who wanted to meet right away.”

“I want another crew,” Scratch said without wasting time.

The request bounced off Rosselott without leaving a dent. She turned her attention to the menu. Scratch had been too focused to notice the tablet in front of her. Chip truth, she couldn’t afford most of the menu even if it sounded good. And she definitely didn’t want to be in Rosselott’s debt over some fancy dining. This meeting was strictly business.

“You don’t want to chat over a nice meal?” Rosselott asked.

Scratch leaned forward to emphasize the point. “I didn’t come here for a seven course meal. I need another crew.”

Rosselott put down the menu and folded her hands together. Her cigarette perched between her fingers.

“And what? You think I whisk them out of the air? Like magic? I already introduced you to a team. A rather sizable one. During your last job.”

“That job was a shitshow.”

“What a shame. At the very least I hear that things went well enough for you to get paid.”

“Not enough for the trouble.”

Rosselott shrugged.

“Perhaps you should brush up on your negotiating skills? I just make the introductions and arrange that things are… taken care of.”

“Then ‘introduce’ me to another crew.”

Scratch didn’t realize she had raised her voice until Rosselott lost her smile. Slowly she sat back in her chair and looked around. They were too secluded to attract attention even if someone had heard the commotion. Rosselott took a long drag on her cigarette and ejected the smoke out of her nose. The one other time Scratch had seen her do that, it didn’t mean good things. She tried not to look away with Rosselott’s eyes bearing down on her.

“If I recall correctly, and my memory is very good, the deal went like this: You were looking for a team who need a driver and a drone rigger. A way to establish yourself in Seattle, as you put it. I knew of a job someone needed taken care of that suit both our purposes. I came through for you, and you came through for me. A prime example of any good business relationship. You’re still alive, so I trust the team had some amount of skill?”

The crew wasn’t exactly what Scratch had in mind. Even from her time doing work for the mafia it was a motley crew to say the least. During the Evo run they had an ork the size of a fridge known as Merc who preferred to take his targets apart up close and personal. They had a cat burglar, Bast, who had embraced the namesake whole cloth with body mods and everything. Scratch had never seen someone move so fast. Even with a head start she passed her up on the stairs to the roof. They had two elves. Mantis, despite the glowing personality and the multicolored tattoo, had little trouble frying a Knights Errant with magic. The other elf went by Oz and preferred to do his work in the Matrix. Some ganger in the drug den had his magazine ejected from his gun in midfight. Deckers always made Scratch nervous.

The last runner caught her by surprise. The triggerman of their little group went by the name of Hollowpoint. She recognized him right away as the private detective named Seth Barber living in the cramped attic of her garage. The coat and the tired eyes were a dead giveaway. Naturally he wasn’t all that surprised to meet on a run. He had probably figured her out the second they met to talk terms for their current arrangement. But she didn’t figure he was such a dead eye when it came to shooting. 

Hollowpoint was an anomaly. Scratch figured if you were good enough to shoot the gun out of the hands of a surprised thug, you’d be good enough to shoot them in the head and be done with it. But she wasn’t going to scoff at someone who could clip a Gargoyle’s wing at night when it’s darting around in the air. Two crack shots meant it was more than dumb luck.

“Am I wrong?” Rosselott asked with a smarmy grin.

Scratch hesitated.

“I’m not working with them again.” She declared. “They’re… they’re bad luck.”

Rosselott laughed. Scratch had never seen her laugh before. It struck her motionless as she waited for her contact to regain her composure.

“Bad luck.” Rosselott repeated even more amused than before. “Oh whatever could have happened that night? What kind of problems did you run into, Miss Sheckler? Or maybe you were the problem? Maybe you hit a bump in the road somewhere? Left you shaken.”

Their corner of the restaurant felt hot. A sense of dread began to well up in Scratch’s stomach as her fledgling Seattle reputation felt at risk. She regretted coming. She regretted pushing her luck with Rosselott. The moment she came to town, she knew the only thing that would bring in work was an ironclad reputation. 

The last thing she needed was word getting out that she couldn’t drive for shit. It would be a nightmare if the only thing associated with her name was totalling a truck that should have danced on the tips of her fingers. But she couldn’t even remember what happened to defend herself. Was she jacked in? Did the dumpshock fry her memory on impact? It hadn’t been the first time she had been in a wreck that felt beyond her control. She made fists under the table as bad memories came to the surface.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you, but my interest is in people who can get things done. The other details are your concern. And if you can’t play nicely with others, then what good are you to anyone? Unless you fashion yourself as a one man army? Those are so rare these days.”

Scratch was thankful for the mask. She would have been glaring daggers at Rosselott and she knew that wasn’t the right move. Much as she didn’t like it in her current state of mind, she got the point. All she had to do is keep it professional. Get the job done. Somewhere in the wreck last night she had lost sight of it.

“Maybe I made a mistake recommending you. Maybe that stellar work that got my attention was beginner’s luck. What do you think?”

Scratch felt her confidence return. “It wasn’t luck. You know what I can do. The only one who brought you that car you love so much is sitting right across from you.”

Things got quiet at the table. Scratch tried to relax. Rosselott looked her over and finished off her cigarette.

“You know what I think?” Rosselott asked. “I think it’s just nerves. This was your first run after all. It’s a very different line of work compared to… what you’ve done in the past.”

“How do you know that?” Scratch crossed her arms.

“I don’t pick people off the street and hand them a gun. I like to do my homework.”

The smile on Rosselott’s face wasn’t very comforting but Scratch wasn’t surprised. Background checks sounded like the standard arsenal of someone who did time working for a corp. She just hoped it didn’t go too deep.

“I’m not some mobster on the corner, either. You have a lot of potential. But you also have to keep the long game in mind. Things work differently out here. I hope you understand that.”

Scratch took a deep breath. “Yeah. I understand.”

Rosselott clapped her hands. “Good. So if we’re finished here, I can’t introduce you to another team. Because I don’t have one for you. But the moment I hear something that needs your personal touch, we’ll talk.”

At the bare minimum Scratch was hoping for another job. The Evo run wasn’t the payday she was hoping for. Not to mention she didn’t have the luxury waiting around for something to happen. It might as well have been acid on her ears.

“How long will that be?” Scratch asked.

“Tisk tisk. So impatient.” The accompanying shrug made it clear Rosselott was indifferent to the issue. “You have all these new friends with problems of their own. I’m not the only one in town that needs a few things taken care of. Who knows? Maybe it will bring us new opportunities in the future? I’m sure you can occupy yourself until then.”

The end of their conversation came with a fake, business-like smile from Rosselott that must have disarmed thousands of arguments in the past. Scratch gave a nod and stood to leave. On the way out, she tried to ignore the smell of food coming from the kitchen. Real food. She had a long list of things to take care of before that ever made it onto her budget. At the very top she remembered the stolen van from last night. She had to get rid of it. Nothing could trace back to her. Things were safer that way. 

Upon reaching the street level she walked a few blocks to find her black Americar parked nearby. She didn’t want to pay for parking or mess with valets. When she got back to the garage it was still early in the morning. Among the tools and workbenches the stolen van awaited. A GMC Bulldog. Oz said he gave it a clean slate on the Matrix side, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Scratch traded out her business suit and medical mask for a jumpsuit and a welding mask. She started taking the van apart piece by piece. The others couldn’t drive for shit anyway so she didn’t leave it up for debate. Some of it would work well for spare parts. Especially since she had a Bulldog of her own. She had a feeling she’d be getting a lot of use out of it with their six person crew. The idea of playing taxi pissed her off so she hoped the others didn’t expect her to run them down to the store to pick up soymilk.

A couple of hours passed. The stolen bulldog had been reduced to a skeleton frame. That’s when Scratch finally heard knocking coming from the side entrance. Sometimes customers used that door when they didn’t want to be seen. She still had her Ingram hidden in her cyberleg so she cracked the door open. Seth Barber or Hollowpoint or whatever his name was stood outside. It was almost noon and he looked as tired as ever. They didn’t interact much as tenant and landlord. Seth Barber the private detective kept things guarded and didn’t bring people around. He had soyfood groceries delivered and sometimes smoked on the roof. 

Really Scratch couldn’t have asked for a more perfect arrangement. They stayed out of each other’s way and that worked just fine. But now things were different. Now she knew he was a crack shot and carried a small armory hidden under the unfashionable coat. She opened the door and they looked at each other for a brief moment.

“Hey.” Hollowpoint greeted.

Scratch said nothing. She waited for him to get on with it.

“Uh, there’s a special going on right now where if you refer someone to my food delivery app you get some credit on your account-”

This same man had sniped a Gargoyle out of the air at night with an assault rifle. It stuck in the back of her mind.

“-and I was thinking, maybe I could refer you and then we use the coupon to get something to eat, split the delivery charge?”

Scratch closed the door without a second thought. She had work to do.

[kyloren]

Mileven post-S2 fanfiction recommendation list: PART VI

To compensate for the long wait, part VI is extra long. For past rec lists please see instalments I, II, III, IV, and V. If your fanfic isn’t featured, apologies. Message me and we’ll amend that grievance in the next rec list instalment. 

* marks the ongoing stories. 

canon: 

chain reaction* by FourthHorse: “Old ghosts come back knocking, and growing up was never meant to be easy.” 

what makes you different by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): ““I wish you could see yourself like I see you,” he breathed out almost subconsciously. “Because then… you’d know.””

+ its sequel: we are not alone by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): “And just like that, the library at Hawkins High had become a war room, a strategy session where all the members of the party devised a plan to protect one of their own. Because that’s what friends do.” 

i wanna dance with somebody by @eleventhemage​ (richiewheeler (jormaperalta): “Eleven is popular. And mike feels insecure about it (she gonna chose being popular over him) but she chooses him.” 

a year in the life by @jeeno2: “Four times Mike and Eleven don’t kiss and one time they do.” 

eleven things* by Socalledfriend: “Eleven returns, but things don’t just go back to the way they were. It’s not clear how she managed to get home, and meanwhile Will’s sickness is only getting worse. Some things never change though, and while she’s back, Mike manages to teach her at least eleven things about the outside world.” 

the rules by Strange_Archivist: “Hopper lays down the rules for Mike.” 

what’s in a name? by @isaksredscarf (wordsarelifealways): “It’s been about a fortnight, and El wants to share her real name with Mike.” 

day 21 by kittenCorrosion: “It’s not the first day, day one, but it’s the first day she hears him. The first day she realises how much he misses her. The first day she remembers just how much she needs him.”

return to me* by AdelaideElaine: “Eleven reappears as suddenly as she left, and although she wants to stay with Joyce Byers, it’s decided that it would be best for all involved if she lives at the Wheeler house. Karen tries to teach her to cook, Mike tries to teach her to dance, and Nancy is charged with the task of trying to teach her how to be a Normal Girl — even if having Jonathan Byers back in her life means that she has less understanding of what that means than ever.” 

are you gonna be my girl by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): ““So,” he whispered in her ear, dropping a kiss on her cheek that she leaned into, “what do you say? Do you want to be my girlfriend?”” 

jane, pt. 1 by EvieSmallwood: “El tells Mike her real name.”

jane, pt. 2 by EvieSmallwood: “Love is a funny old thing.” 

time together by JoMo3: “Mike and Eleven have a sleepover.” 

+ its sequel: more than like by JoMo3: “Mike and El have the “l word” talk.” 

understand by DBSean: “Mike Wheeler and Chief Hopper have a long-overdue discussion about their favourite person.” 

christmas with the wheelers by luxuriousvoyage11: “On the first week in December, nerdy stuttering Mike Wheeler had done his routine visit and bashfully invited El and her adoptive father over for Christmas dinner.” 

contact by sporadicallyceaseless: “Before, El didn’t know any good people, or things she liked, or touches that didn’t hurt. Things are much different now. Much better.” 

safe by DBSean: ““El?” Mike asked, now fully awake, his concern and confusion quickly overriding any remnants of sleep or exhaustion he may have been experiencing. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Eleven nodded, and Mike saw for the first time that there were tears in her eyes. “Not safe.”” 

11 months by @eddiesghost (thewolfmoon): “Eleven’s gone for 353 days. Mike struggles through each and every one of them.” 

like a distant star by someone.else.before: “Now that Mike knows El is alive, he’s not going to let even the scariest police chief in the world get in the way of seeing her again.”  

first christmas by Browneyesparker: “Mike and El celebrate Christmas together.” 

crying in the rain by DreamersMyth27: ““I miss moments like this more than anything,” Mike sighed. El looked at him curiously and tilted her head to the side slightly.” 

the first summer* by Kiddo7: “It’s the gang’s first summer all together, and Mike can’t wait to show El all that it has to offer.” 

sugar cookies & snow days by Browneyesparker: “Mike and El have a snow day, and bake some sugar cookies together.” 

the first outing by pathvain_aelien: “Eleven goes bowling.” 

+ actually pathvain_aelien has a lot of interesting stories that you should check out. 

perfect summer day by AR357: “It was a sunny summer day in 1984. Mike had been looking forward to this day for a while. With each breath of crisp summer air, he felt more and more invigorated. With each hill he crested, he felt his heart thumping away. But then again, maybe he was just thinking about what the day’s events would hold.”

things you said* by Brown Eyes Parker: “a collection of one-shots revolving around Mike & Eleven and things they say to each other.” 

things you said, alternate stories* by Brown Eyes Parker: “Original and alternate or continuations of stories in my “things you said” series.” 

cold, helpless, fragile as glass when i shatter, i will find you* by janeelevenives83: “Mike and El Wheeler had never expected their life to be normal. One little stick at 4am on the bathroom floor changes that. But when old ‘friends’ come back to play, they leave with not only their ultimate goal, but a piece of Eleven that leaves a gnawing hole in her. And Mike won’t stand for it…” 

raspberry breeze by urdearestmom: “Sometimes she stays up with him, and she calls him ridiculous. How don't you fall over when you get up in the morning? She asks. Pfft, I don’t need sleep! Who do you think I am? He says, but then he smiles and her heart melts, she’s never been able to be angry at this boy for more than a few minutes.” 

alternative universe: 

lost in translation* by cosmilk: “For a whole year, the Wheelers are going to live with a foreign exchange student. Little does Mike know he’s going to get pretty attached to this girl.” foreign-exchange-student!El AU. 

(all i wanna be is) somebody to you* by sinclairsmax: “Elle Hopper never thought that she’d win American Idol. Then again, she also never thought Mike Wheeler would fall in love with her. Behind the cameras, everything is turned upside down.” YouTubers AU. [I AM FREAKING OUT. I AM FREAKING OUT.] 

inked mesmerisms* by apathetical: “Twelve year old Mike Wheeler isn’t sure what to make of things when the numbers ‘011’ suddenly appear upon his wrist one day.” Soulmate AU. 

infinite, undying* by @eleventhemage richiewheeler (jormaperalta): “When Hawkins Lab and Department of Energy officially decided to merge, it was discovered both factions had been experimenting on children in order to create super spies. 011, a tekekinetic, was from the Hawkins Lab side. “Mike,” a fire manipulator, was from the DoE side.” Mike is also an experiment AU. 

mixtape* by @elevenseggoobsession (frankiethebard): “Mike & Jane hook up at a party, then discover their parents are engaged to be married. Can they put their attraction aside, or will it be too strong to ignore?” High School AU. 

greyscale by @trash-the-tozier​ (littleboxesofstars): “Soulmates are what make the world vibrant, colors getting brighter and brighter the closer a pair of souls get to one another. In usual cases, the world starts off black and white and changes as a person travels, but for Mike, colors have always been there. Faint, but there, and that doesn’t change until the night his friend Will goes missing.” Soulmate AU. 

you ain’t nobody until you got somebody* by lovelysarcastic: “What if soulmates aren’t good for us? What if that so-called soulmate, the one that supposedly is so good for you, instead of loving you right, destroys you?” Soulmate AU. 

no remedy for memory by runawayrunt: “At 23, Mike Wheeler is going for broke. Having quit college on his sophomore year, he traded the diploma for the dream. At 18, Jane “Eleven” Hopper is ready to leave her entire life behind. She took a bus ride from Sacramento to Los Angeles on a hot day. The chorus of the cicadas sounded off like a farewell hymn.” 

all sorts of far away* by BinarySunrise: “Eleanor Hopper is a quiet, pretty cheerleader with more than a few mysteries in her past. Mike is a nerd with a secret crush on her. She has more walls in place than the popular crowd cares to tear down, and he’s more than a little paranoid about reaching out to girls like her, but fate still finds its ways of pushing them together.”

reality in motion* by AkaiaOwl: “It hurt her to listen to the ruthless voice in her head, but, as much as she hated to admit it, El knew it was probably right. It had happened countless times before. Well, actually two. Two times in which El found herself feeling funny and giddy and hopeful about someone, only to be disappointed. It always ended that way. She was destined to be alone and it was probably for the best.” College AU. 

things change* by untiltheyfindtheperfectgirl: “Two years have passed since Eleven went missing. A distraught Mike has pulled away from the party and made friends with his middle school bullies. What happens when one day in sophomore year a mysterious character from his past resurfaces?” 

karma by reddieforlove: “Mike didn’t fully understand the meaning of instant karma until a small hand came out of nowhere and whacked him in the face with enough force to blind him for several moments.” College AU. 

all for one* by PaladinofFarore: “1985 was going to be a wild school year.” Time Travel AU. 

blind date by reddieforlove: “Mike is a waiter. Eleven is on a terrible date.” 

crossover: 

a happy thought by midas_touch_of_angst: “The Party tries to summon their Patronuses. El seems to be having the hardest time.” Hogwarts AU. 

+ bonus: wherein The Party is featured prominently once again: 

a different kind of monster by @bananannabeth: “Billy Hargrove seems to have a habit of getting Karen to answer the door in nothing but a robe. Unfortunately for him, she’s noticed that he also seems to have a habit of beating his step-sister.” 

love (and other weird things) by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): “The Wheelers travel to New York to spend Thanksgiving 1987 with Nancy, and Mike is having trouble going two days without speaking to his girlfriend.” 

a gift for mike by PureShores: “Lucas, Dustin and Will come up with the perfect Christmas gift idea for Mike. But giving it to him might be a little more complicated.”

raising peter rabbit by @paradiamond: “After the Gate closes, Jim and El kick off their better start.” 

the wild youth (reckless) by dumbledore_93: ““He looks really bad,” Dustin croaks. “There’s a lot of blood.” Mike steps over cautiously. There is a lot of blood.”

kids these days by apollos: “Between fighting monsters and catching her little brother doing that with his girlfriend, Nancy would rather have the monsters.” 

and then there was one by @timetravl (dustingspace): “In which Dustin is the last remaining party member to believe in Santa Claus; and the rest of the party has to debate over whether or not to tell him the truth.”

you’re not alone* by Playfulelectrode: “This is right after El closes the Gate. We start with Mike, and what it’s like while he waits for Hopper to come back with El. There will be an exploration into the world as El tries to not only figure out where she belongs, but also who she is.” 

after the gate closed* by insomniacwriter17: “Jonathan doesn’t know how to deal with all the people staying in his house after the events of the night. Luckily, he’s not the only one.”

finally (i don’t care about tradition) @eleventhemage richiewheeler (jormaperalta): “I don’t care about tradition, you try and get me to kiss you under the mistletoe and I will punch you.” 

you are in love* by @upsidedownpromises (rainingcatsandkisses): “Little moments that make Eleven realise that she’s in love.” 

sometimes a family is* by merrymegtargaryen: “Just some domestic fluff with only the vaguest inclination of a plot.” 

someone to turn to by Val-Creative: “El finds meaning in her new identity and home and a relatively peaceful existence. When things don’t go the way they should, she’s grateful for Mike sticking with her. Max attempts to befriend her one last time, for the sake of their friends and themselves.”

a girl is the strongest thing you can be by @timetravl (dustingspace): “She thinks about the Demogorgon and the MindFlayer and part of her wonders if she’s the same girl now that she was when she defeated them. People don’t treat her like she is.”

the importance of thinking happy thoughts by selkieskin: “Eleven didn’t want to be angry any more. So when she was alone in the cabin during the day and she tried to use her powers using an emotion other than anger, she just kept on thinking of how much attention Mike was paying to Will, not her, and anger kept welling up anyway.” 

i’m gross? by untiltheyfindtheperfectgirl: “An unexpectedly eventful snow day...”

so i could kill them for you by valancysnaith: “Max deserves so much better. The party is there for her.” [this one is…odd, to say the least.] 

time’s just holding me down (i’ll tear up this town) by jormaperalta: “The Snow Ball is this weekend, and the Demogorgon is back. Thankfully, so is Eleven.” 

an even stranger connection by untiltheyfindtheperfectgirl: “Mike looked down at Eleven, his eyes wide. Was he really hearing Eleven in his head?” 

.

.

P.S. I’m trying out a thing where I tag the author’s tumblrs if I find them. With that in mind, if anyone knows the authors I featured in previous instalments, would you please tag them. Thanks. 🌸 

[imjustthemechanic]

The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest Part 11/? - The Marvelous History of Sir Stephen Part 12/? - Uninvited Guests Part 13/? - So That’s What It Does Part 14/? - The What and the Where Part 15/? - Gearing Up Part 16/? - Just Passing Through Part 17/? - Dinner with Druids Part 18/? - Kracness Henge Part 19/? - A Task Interrupted Part 20/? - The Red Death Part 21/? - Aphelion Part 22/? - The Stone Giants Part 23/? - Nat the Giant Killer Part 24/? - An Interrogation Part 25/? - Guilt Part 26/? - Rushman’s Brilliant Idea Part 27/? - Hunter in Hiding Part 28/? - Ridiculous Part 29/? - The Guy from Barton Part 30/? - Sherwood Forest Part 31/? - Buckeye’s Fall Part 32/? - Robin Hood Part 33/? - Fantasies and Consequences Part 34/? - Swords of Damocles Part 35/? - The Road to London Part 36/? - View from the Top Part 37/? - Storming the Castle Part 38/? - Beneath the Chapel Floor Part 39/? - Jurisdiction Part 40/? - Royal Assent Part 41/? - The Calm Before

I never have any idea how these stories get so long.

           The Queen got a phone call halfway through breakfast and wandered off to deal with whatever it was, leaving her guests to finish their breakfasts by themselves.  Servants cleared away plates and brought Sir Stephen seconds, thirds, and fourths, and offered everybody else tea to finish off with.  Sir Stephen looked like he was afraid he’d break the gilt-edged teacup if he so much as touched it, and held up a hand to refuse.

           “I would prefer ale, if you have it,” he said.

           Robin Hood took a cup and ignored the handle, instead drinking as if from a bowl.  He didn’t seem to like what he tasted.

           “This stuff’s weak,” he told the waiter.  “You got any of the other kind?  Coffee.  That’s the good stuff.”

           “Right away, Mr. Hood,” the waiter relied.  He was a very tall thin man with a bit of silver hair around the edges of a shiny bald head, and the expression on his face suggested that he had resigned himself to a very long day entertaining these strangers.  It made Nat wonder how often, exactly, the Queen brought random strange people home with her.  This couldn’t possibly be the first time.

           “I wouldn’t mind coffee, either,” Allen spoke up.

           “Two coffees,” the waiter nodded and looked at Nat.

           “I’m fine with tea,” she assured him.  Sharon and Sam, who already had their drinks, nodded.

           The waiter went to get the coffee made, and silence fell in the room.  Nat shut her eyes and savoured it for a moment.  A couple of the windows were open, and she could hear swans honking to each other in the palace gardens and traffic on the roads a long way off, but other than that the only sound was the clink of a spoon on china as Sam added sugar to his tea.  There hadn’t been a lot of silence in the past few days, and it seemed like something she should enjoy while it lasted.

           “I never thought I’d be having tea in Buckingham Palace,” Allen observed.

           “Me either,” Natasha said, then opened her eyes and looked at him warily.  Was this it? Were they going to have to keep pretending that they were a normal family and everything was okay?

           “Natasha?” he asked.  “It’s Natasha, right?”

           “It’s actually Natalia,” said Nat.  “I go by Natasha or Natalie, because those are more common in the west.  Honestly, you can call me whatever you want.”  She sipped her tea, and hoped he wouldn’t take that as an invitation to continue calling her Ginger Snap.

           Allen nodded and took a dee breath.  “When I said goodbye to you last night…” he began.

           “Do we have to talk about it?” asked Nat.

           “Yes,” he said.  “At least, I think we’d better.”

           For a moment she was torn.  Allen Rushman seemed like a decent person and it wasn’t his fault he was in this situation.  She didn’t want to break his heart, and yet if she were going to learn anything from this mess it had to be that truth was always better.  “I said what I said because I thought you needed to hear it,” she told him.  “It wasn’t… it wasn’t real.”

           “I know,” he replied.  “I just thought you were putting me up there as an excuse to leave me behind, and I figured if I were never going to see you again I just… I wanted to go out on something nice.  If I’d known you really were coming back for me, I wouldn’t have done that.”

           “Oh,” said Nat, surprised.  “Really?  You really thought we’d just leave you behind?”

           “I haven’t been the most useful guy on this trip,” said Allen, “and you didn’t want me here to begin with.”

           “If we were going to leave you behind because of that, we would have done it after Flotta,” said Nat.  

           “Why didn’t you?” he asked.

           That was a good question – and the honest answer to it wasn’t the one he wanted.  Truth was best, Nat reminded herself – even the truth that hurt people. Nobody learned anything from a lie. She did, however, tried to phrase that ugly truth as gently as possible.  “Because that would have been mean,” she said.  “You’d be all alone in a foreign country, and you weren’t in any shape to find your own way home.  We couldn’t just leave you there.”  Even when she’d been angry with him, Nat hadn’t intended to do that.

           “So you were stuck with me, huh?” he asked plaintively.

           Nat groaned.  She couldn’t tell if he were being passive-aggressive or just whiny – either way, she really didn’t want to be having this conversation, but escaping from it would be cruel as well as rude.  “What do you want me to say?” she asked.

           “Nothing.”  Allen lowered his head.  “I’m sorry, I just want something to not be a lie.”

           “This is not a lie, Allen,” said Sir Stephen, and rapped on the table with his knuckles.  “We are eating at the Queen’s table – that is true.  You are flesh and blood, you are surrounded by friends, and we are on a quest to save the land.  You are a good man, though not a warrior, and you love your daughter.  All of these things are true.  If we cannot trust to our histories or even to our memories, we can trust in the moment we are experiencing, and this is real.”

           The waiter returned with coffee in silver-plated cups that Natasha suspected had last been used by Queen Victoria.  He handed the first one to Allen, who thanked him and then held the coffee under his nose to smell it.

           “Yeah,” he said quietly.  “That’s real.”

           The Queen returned about twenty minutes later, by which time Allen had gotten up to admire the art, and Robin Hood had lain down on one of the fancy chaise lounges under the window and was fast asleep and snoring.  The Queen shuffled up to him and poked him in the ribs.

           “Wakey-wakey,” she said.

           Robin woke with a start and quickly got to his feet. “Sorry, your Majesty.”

           “Princess Alexandra embroidered those cushions herself,” said the Queen.  “Every stitch.  Good to see somebody finally using them.”  She turned to the others, who were gathering to see what she had to say. “General Fury wants you back at the Tower to inspect his preparations,” she said.  “Since you’re the ones who know what this Red Death character is capable of.”

           Nat didn’t know about anybody else, but she was pleased to have an opportunity to get back in the action – even if it meant leaving the silence behind.  “Of course, your Majesty,” she said.

           “I do not think the fortification has been built that could stop the Red Death completely,” said Sir Stephen, “but we can perhaps hope to slow him down a little.”  He finished the mug of beer the waiter and brought him, and set it carefully down on the table.  “If everyone else is ready?”

           The others didn’t look particularly ready, Natasha thought.  They looked like they’d much rather join Robin Hood in sleeping on the priceless antique sofas.  But one by one they stood up, straightened their clothes, and nodded.  Even Allen Rushman – he didn’t want to be here, but if the others were calling on him, he was ready to go.  It made Nat feel bad about thinking of him as a coward.  He was braver than even he thought.

           If the Tower had been a hive of activity by the time they’d left at sunrise, that was nothing compared to how they found it when they returned, having had a chance to wash up and change their clothes before leaving, around noon.  The whole place had been thoroughly fortified, and there were almost as many soldiers in it as there were tourists on a normal day.  People were shouting orders.  Flowerbeds were being dug up.  The animal sculptures had been piled under a tent near the Royal Mint, and the bronze cannon moved to make way for what looked like an anti-tank gun.  A checkpoint had been set up at the main gate where the ticket takers usually were, and a man came up and saluted when the Queen’s limousine pulled up.

           “Can I see some identification, please?” he asked, as the group piled out of the car.

           “Oh, go find something useful to do,” the Queen told him.  Sir Stephen reached to help her get up from the car seat, but she swatted him away.  “I’m not dead yet,” she told him.

           The man who’d asked for ID bowed to her.  “I just need to make sure everybody’s cleared, your Majesty,” he said.

           “They’re with me – of course they’re bloody cleared,” the Queen said.

           They headed inside, and Nat realized there might be a problem with having all these people in here.  “I don’t know about the crowds,” she said.  “If the Grail can bring lies to life, do we really want so many potential liars in here?”  Any one of these men or women might be telling a lie right now… about their family, about what they did last night, about anything, really.  Most of them would be fairly harmless, but what about the ones that weren’t?

           “I know not,” Sir Stephen admitted.  “I do not like so many knowing its location, myself, but this is all too much for we alone to handle.”

           “If that thing just granted wishes willy-nilly we’d have heard about it by now,” the Queen said.  “There’s stories about all sorts of things going on here, but so far as I know none of it involves miracles.”

           Nat thought about that.  “I had the fragment in my hand when I was talking to Sue about my father,” she remembered, “and also when I told you guys I’d figured out where the Grail was.  Maybe it won’t work unless you’re touching it.”  She remembered the fluid snatching up the Queen’s pink clutch.  “Have you told people not to touch?”

           “Somebody better have,” said the Queen.  “Though I’d hope people would have the sense to figure that out for themselves.”

           When they rounded the White Tower to the chapel side, Natasha was startled to see a yellow mechanical shovel parked next to the ruins of the Wardrobe Tower, and people standing around in fluorescent vests and hard hats.  The archaeologist in her wanted to run up and demand to know what they were doing – the spy in her, knowing what was in the chapel, wanted the same.

           The man who came up to salute the Queen was the man with the glass eye, whom Natasha had earlier warned about horseshoes and ivy.  General Fury. “Your Majesty,” he said.

           “At ease, Nicky,” said the Queen.

           “What are you digging up?” Natasha demanded.

           General Fury looked a little offended for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure why he should answer to this stranger – then he caught the Queen’s eye, and saw her nod.

           “Her Majesty requested that we get the, uh, Grail, out of the White Tower basement so it can be properly disposed of,” he explained.  “The problem is, according to our architects, that the Grail was put there first and then the Tower was built over it. It’s twice the size of the basement door.  We obviously can’t tear the keep down, so we’re going to try digging a tunnel in from the side.”

           “What’s under the lawn there?” asked Natasha.  It was probably something historically important – this was the Tower of London, after all.  Even as she’d been digging up the basement floor, she hadn’t intended to damage any more of it than absolutely necessary.

           “Professor Gates is trying to figure that out right now,” said Fury, nodding to one of the people in the hard hats.  This was a man with a ginger beard and round, John Lennon-type sunglasses, peering at a computer printout.  “Professor!” the General barked.

           Professor Gates looked up, and did a double-take when he realized the Queen had arrived.  “Your Majesty!” he said, hurrying over with his printout in hand. “We tried to do a geomagnetic survey, but it turns out the power cables for the Royal Armories run right through here. We’ll need to bring in ground-penetrating radar.”

           “Whatever, get on with it,” said the Queen.  She turned to look back at the group.  “You lot are supposed to know your onions on this,” she said.  “Have you got any better ideas?  Is the Grail that whole mess, or just the black bogeys in the middle?”

           Nat shrugged.  She looked at Sir Stephen, but he didn’t know, either.  The only person who knew the answer might well be the Red Death himself, if even he did.  “Going in from the side sounds like about the only choice,” she said.  “We don’t know which part is the Grail, so we have to assume it’s the whole thing.”

           “You don’t know a damned thing about it, but neither does anyone else.”  The Queen snorted.  “Typical!”