#or about any other mentioned cat! or just! any cat!!

[supershithits]

i never was the good samaritan

clark kent (superman 2025) x f!reader

anon’s ask: “imagine him [clark] with literally polar opposite black cat. but they match so well.”

summary: a stupid bet between two coworkers with allegedly opposite morals. if all’s fair in love, war, and corporate life, then who’s willing to be kinder for a month?

word count: 13k

warnings/tags: +18 mdni, fluff, comfort and angst at times, banter, feels, grumpy!reader x sunshine!clark, enemies/coworkers to lovers, kind of jealous!clark if you squint, sort of slow-burn office romance, dramatic love confessions bc i love them, miscommunication, tiny mention of reader’s hair, making out, dry humping, happy ending.

a/n: first of all, I wanted to thank you for all the support on my recent post !!! i feel like this is kind of a disaster because i finished it using the last two brain cells i had left, so if you come across shitty writing, please just nod along. anyway, i really hope you enjoy it. i’d love to know your thoughts on it. likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. and to the anon who shared this idea with me: THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! <333

The worst kind of days are usually preceded by rain.

That’s something a scientist might say, though you’re no scientist yourself. You’re a journalist; therefore, your profession has absolutely nothing to do with science. Either way, you’re pretty certain there must be at least one expert out there who would agree with you.

You had checked the weather app on your phone the night before, hoping that somehow, by the time morning came and you had to get ready for work, the weather would clear up and a warm beam of sunshine would follow you on your way to the office.

When your alarm goes off at 7:30 a.m., with sleep still blurring the edges of your sight, you notice the soft patter of droplets on your bedroom window, and you can already tell those gray clouds portend a series of unfortunate events that will unfold during this rainy Wednesday.

Rain is no good. For different reasons, listed down below:

a) You don’t own a car, nor do you know how to drive one.

b) The boots you were gifted on your last birthday, the ones you use for the days when the city feels underwater, are supposed to be water-resistant, though they’ve betrayed you on several occasions.

c) It’s only a matter of time before your hair swells up because of all the humidity.

The worst thing is that some people, other human beings who breathe the same air as you, seem to enjoy these days. For motives you’ll never be able to comprehend, they look forward to them, gushing about the apparent charm and appeal of drizzle. Perhaps the government could use that eagerness to spot potential future criminals.

Lazily, you pull on several layers of clothing: a plain t-shirt, a sweater, and your trench coat. You choose a darker pair of jeans so that any rain-soaked patches won’t make you look like you’ve peed yourself, which has happened before. The temperature has dropped drastically while you were sleeping, and now every room in your apartment feels cold and uninviting as you gather your things.

You know for a fact that the second you step out of this building, you’ll feel like absolute crap. But you can’t stay home and avoid your responsibilities, because it turns out you certainly enjoy having Wi-Fi and food on your stomach at the end of a long day.

And those are things you wouldn’t be able to afford if you didn’t work, because they cost money. Lots of it. So, in the end, you have no option left but to be a functional adult and go to work, contributing to the lovely city of Metropolis by writing articles for a living.

This doesn’t mean that you hate your job. In fact, you love it. You love writing, for it’s the only thing that’s stayed constant in your whole life ever since you were a kid.

The culprit for your attitude is the rain. It makes you insufferable to be around. You're no stranger to your own moods. You do realize rainy days turn you into someone more volatile.

Yet clear skies are no different. You’ve been in a mood for… forever, actually. For the past year, at least. That’s what Jimmy and Lois say. 

By the time you make it to the subway, the train you should’ve taken to be on time is already gone, your scarf smells funny, and Matthew’s standing there, just an inch away from your face.

Oh, good ol’ Matthew. A guy, maybe a couple of years older than you, who’s been trying to get your name, number, or even email address for the past few months. You see him every morning as you leave for work, and despite not succeeding in his task, he doesn’t seem to plan on giving up.

“Hi, beautiful.”

You glance to your left, not even bothering to turn your head to face him. “Matthew. If it isn’t another day of smelling your breath way too early in the morning.”

He ignores the part about his breath. Instead, he replies, “I remember telling you that you can just call me Matt.”

“That’s strange, because I remember telling you I’d never do that.”

It surprises you that he still thinks you’re playing hard to get, given it’s been four months and you’ve made it more than clear that you have no interest in him.

He grins, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t believe I’ll ever get your sense of humor.”

“Of course you won’t. It’s reserved for highly clever individuals.”

“Gosh, you’re so mean.” This time, he stares ahead, sighing. “Have I ever told you I’m a sucker for these kinds of days?”

One of your eyelids begins twitching. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“You don’t like the rain?” His eyes sparkle with what could be described as amusement. “You know, opposites attract. It’s just inevitable.”

This is the kind of interaction you’re forced to endure before you’ve even had breakfast. You wish for the next train to derail and hit you with all its might.

As you set foot in the Daily Planet’s lobby, the rain has evolved from harmless drizzle to complete downpour, the wind unhinged, having spent the last ten blocks trying to steal your umbrella from your own hands. It is now useless, along with your drenched coat and suspiciously squishy socks.

You’re the last one to manage to squeeze into the elevator, which is beyond packed. As you maneuver inside, you accidentally jab a woman’s leg with your umbrella handle, and she mutters something under her breath. Something that sounds a lot like a swear.

“Sorry,” you murmur, avoiding all possibilities of making eye contact with her, although you feel her unfaltering gaze the full thirty seconds it takes to reach your floor.

Holding your bag and umbrella to your chest, you make your way through the maze of desks, nodding your head at those who greet you. You peel off your coat, hanging it from the back of your chair, observing the tiny droplets that start to drip onto the carpet below. You search for your notebook, digging it out and letting out a breath of relief when you notice none of the pages have been damaged by water.

It’s only when you finally sit down that you let yourself close your eyes for a moment, folding your arms over your desk and resting your forehead against them. You can’t deny you feel miserable. You should’ve called in sick.

You feel the warmth of someone standing close to you, and you don’t need to look to know who it is. You’d recognize the scent of his cologne or the sound of his footsteps anywhere, though you really hope that doesn’t sound as weird out loud as it does in your head.

“Turn around, Kent. We’re closed today,” you mumble with your face still pressed to the desk, voice muffled into the crook of your arm.

“You look like you’ve just got out of the shower,” Clark shoots back, the faint hint of a smile in his tone.

That’s when you decide to stop hiding, straightening your back to squint up at him. You should’ve kept your head down: he looks perfect. His hair is neat, his suit unbothered by the rain. You huff when you notice your reflection on his glasses. “How are you… dry?”

“I used my umbrella. They do serve a purpose.”

“Well, mine—” you snap between gritted teeth, ducking under your desk to retrieve the ruined thing and holding it up to shove it into his face, “—has decided to stop functioning properly today.”

He lowers your hand, his forehead crinkling. “Have you been nice to him?”

“Him? Are you personifying my umbrella?”

“I have a spare at home. If you want it, I could bring it tomorrow,” he suggests, changing the subject, and he can’t quite look you in the eye without averting his gaze.

This is where you draw the line. Forcing yourself to act politely, you say, “Thank you, but I don’t need it. I’ll fix mine. I’m sure it’ll probably stop raining in a couple of hours.”

A crack of thunder rattles the windows. Behind you, Jimmy nearly jumps to his feet, startled, drawing in a long breath.

“You okay, buddy?” Clark asks.

“Sure,” Jimmy answers, tugging at his shirt collar. “I’ve never been better.”

Clark raises his eyebrows at him, not convinced, but chooses not to press him. He shifts his weight from one foot to another and clasps his hands behind his back, returning his focus to you. Sometimes, he stares at you in such a way that makes you feel you’re being examined under the lens of a microscope. “Have you already had breakfast?”

“No.”

“Want me to—”

You cut him off before he goes any further. “Clark, I’m fine. Save your kindness for someone who truly wants it.”

His lips form a straight line, and without saying anything else, he jams his hands into his front pockets, walking away to his own desk. Maybe the tone you used wasn’t the appropriate one, but shortly after, you shake that feeling of guilt off.

On nights when you can’t sleep, or on certain days when your eyes keep finding their way back to him when they shouldn’t, you often wonder how he can always seem willing to help. Is it performative? Would he like to be voted as the best employee of the century?

But deep down, you know the reason behind his infinite generosity. It has a name, which starts with an S and rhymes with man.

Let’s put a pin on that. You’ll get back to that later.

“You’re gonna turn that poor man into a villain,” Jimmy says, his voice barely above a whisper. You have to crane your neck to get a look at his face, and even so, you stifle a laugh at his expression. He seems genuinely worried. “I mean it. He’ll have an identity crisis, and it’ll be awful.”

“I think you forget he’s a grown man.” You flick your fingers across the keyboard, checking your inbox. “Don’t worry, Jimmy. He’ll survive.”

“You’re vile.”

You spin around in your chair, scoffing. “Come on! Me? Vile? For not worshipping the ground he walks on like everybody else?”

Jimmy throws his arms out, seemingly defeated. “That’s because he’s the nicest guy to ever exist!”

“I just don’t want him to be nice to me. That’s all.” You scrunch up your face, your jaw tightening. “I don’t hate him, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

It’s hard to explain your relationship with Clark, especially to Jimmy, who’s been his best friend for a while and would go to the moon and back for him. He raises his palms, bowing his head. “I feel like a child of divorce.”

“What a weird use of that concept. We were never together.”

“Well, almost.”

“No.”

“Technically, you went on one date.”

Returning your attention to your computer, you rejoice without emotion, “Unlike him, I did show up to the restaurant.”

That appears to be enough to shut him up, and he goes back to work.

The rest of the day unfolds quite easily. Nothing remarkable happens, at least not until you’re on your lunch break, sipping from your water bottle as Lois helps you polish the wording on an article you’ve been working on for a week now. Without knowing when, you two had fallen into a routine where you became each other's proofreaders.

You’d started the draft on paper for some reason you can’t remember. She scribbles in the margins next to your older notes from days ago, biting the end of her pen as she frowns at one word you’ve underlined.

You’re about to finish your salad when something exciting finally occurs on this rainy Wednesday’s workday.

One of the interns is carrying what looks like an entire week’s worth of paper and folders to Perry’s office, and he’s aiming to do it in a single trip. You watch as the tower teeters dangerously, and then, since it was bound to happen, it collapses.

You can’t say you didn’t see that coming. Why didn’t he think twice before trying to carry a stack almost as tall as Clark?

It’s like conjuring him with a thought. One second, the mess exists, and the next, Clark’s kneeling beside the flustered intern, helping him collect the disaster, a gentle smile on his face. Chaos, you've noticed, seems to have a way of summoning him.

“I’m such an idiot,” the boy breathes, rising to his feet.

“Hey, no big deal,” Clark retorts, patting him on the back. “I’ve been on a good streak lately, but this happens to me weekly. Perry won’t mind as long as you get them to him in one piece.”

Clearly enamored with Clark, the intern nods fervently and hugs the papers to his chest before hurrying off and disappearing.

You finish chewing a particularly salty piece of lettuce, and afterwards, because you don’t always let your better judgment catch up to your mouth, you hear yourself saying, “Doesn’t he get tired of playing the part of the upstanding citizen?”

The room goes dead silent. You’ve seen this happen in movies, the uncanny stillness where you could hear a pin drop. At first, he doesn’t move. His mouth hangs slightly open, his cheeks adopting a sudden flush. But the moment he seems to come back to real life, he can’t do anything but blink at you, appearing embarrassed. “Excuse me?”

If Lois’ panicked expression is anything to go by, things aren’t going that well. “Hey, guys, why don’t we—”

“I was just thinking out loud, Kent,” you interrupt her, dumping your empty salad container and closing the distance between you. “I can’t wrap my head around someone acting like they’re on stage all the damn time.”

“You really think I wake up every day and put on an act?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You take another step, practically looming over him. “I wonder if your modest decency will ever run out.”

His nostrils flare with each of your words. In that split second, you realize you haven’t been this close in a while. “Maybe if you tried being decent for more than five minutes, you’d see it’s not an act. It’s only called being nice.”

If Jimmy hadn’t materialized out of thin air to separate you, you believe your noses would’ve touched. “Are you seriously fighting?”

“We’re not fighting,” Clark shoots back.

“It certainly looks like it,” Jimmy says.

“Hold on, don’t interrupt the office sweetheart.” You poke Clark’s chest with your finger, feeling nothing but hardness. “I’d love to know more of your thoughts on my attitude. Would you do me a favor and lecture me after work?”

“Well, starting with that sarcasm of yours—”

“I have an idea!” Lois chimes in, and the three of you turn around to see her. She’s smiling. “Jimmy, I need your approval first.”

“Yes, m’lady. I live to serve.” He bows theatrically and makes his way to her. She puts her hands around her mouth and whispers something in his ear, and an almost cartoonish grin stretches across his face.

He covers Lois’ forehead with his palm. “We must protect your brain. It’s one of the last treasures we have as a country.” Then he flicks his eyes again to Clark and you, enjoying himself, and the sight alone makes you feel uneasy.

You’re starting to believe that in the same way bad days follow rain, terrible plans are always preceded by Jimmy’s smirk.

“Will you let me do the honors?” he asks Lois, and the instant she gives him a thumbs-up, he steps forward. “It’s become clear that you have strong opinions about kindness, or the lack of it. Which is why we’re proposing a bet, starting now. It’s called the Good Samaritan Challenge.”

Clark narrows his eyes. “The what?”

“The Good Samaritan Challenge, pal. Are you even listening?” Jimmy repeats, jutting out his hip. He quickly tells Lois to bring a whiteboard, and she’s off like a shot. “Whoever is objectively kinder during the next thirty calendar days wins.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

Lois elbows you playfully as she comes back with the whiteboard. “Is it?” She raises her brows, handing the board to Jimmy.

He grabs a marker, draws two columns, and writes your name on one and Clark’s on the other. “Here’s the thing. You’ll both try to be the better person for a whole month. Lois and I, as the judges, will track your good deeds. But no cynical motives, alright? It all has to come from the heart.”

Clark seems to be weighing his options when you speak again. “What are the stakes?”

His shoulders look visibly tense. “Wait, you’re agreeing to this?”

“Depends on what each of you wants as the prize,” Lois answers in response to your question, resting her elbows on her desk and propping her chin upon her palms.

You glance at Clark. “If I win, I get an exclusive interview with Superman. You’d have to get it for me, of course, since you’re the only one who’s ever spoken a word to him.”

It's no coincidence you're asking to meet with Metropolis's biggest hero. You watch him flinch, tongue-tied, as he clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck.

Again, you know exactly what you’re asking for, and the reason why.

“And what about you, Clark?” Lois asks.

His lashes flutter together as he considers any possible answer. “You’d have to proofread all my articles for three months,” he explains, fully facing you. “I’m guessing you won’t mind the extra work.”

“Don’t get too excited, because it won’t happen.”

“It will.”

“It won’t.”

“Trust me, it will.”

“Shut up.”

“Guys?” Jimmy intervenes, waving the marker.

“What?” You and Clark answer in unison, and you roll your eyes at him.

Trying to hide his smile, Jimmy concludes, “Shake on it to seal the deal.”

You extend your hand immediately, scrutinizing him with undivided attention. He spares Lois and Jimmy one last look before taking it, his grip firm.

“Your hands are so sweaty.”

“What? No!” you reply, your nose wrinkling. “Yours are.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Leaning in, you murmur your next words low enough so only he can hear them: “You better get ready for that interview.”

He chokes on his own words. “You’re—”

“I have so much to ask him.” You’re genuinely grinning now. “So much to ask you.”

May the games begin, and let the kindest person win.

The café door chimes as Lois steps inside, scanning the crowded morning scene for you among the swarm of people.

It’s the day after the bet began, and you still have fifteen minutes before the clock strikes nine. She spots you and heads your way, placing her bag on the chair beside you and reaching into her coat pocket, but then she notices the coffee already waiting on the table.

“I took care of it,” you say, pushing the cup toward her.

Looking visibly pleased, she wraps her hands around it, sitting down by your side. “Wow. Is this your first act of kindness for the day?”

“I thought an old man was lost on the subway, so I tried talking to him. He must’ve thought I was trying to steal his wallet.”

Lois exhales a small laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “This could be fun, you know?”

You slouch deeper into your seat. “Right now, I care about winning. I can have fun in other ways.”

“You could even see where it goes,” she says casually, not missing a beat.

“Where does what go?”

She shrugs, as if the answer’s obvious. “The thing with you and Clark. It’s—”

“Okay. Stop right there,” you warn, holding up a hand. “You go any further and I’m taking your coffee back.”

Taking a long sip, she shuts her eyes close, then opens them again, her brows snapping together. “I’m just saying that the two of you might finally learn to get along. Think of poor Jimmy and me.”

Your gaze lands on her cup, half-wishing you’d saved a few sips of your own drink instead of downing it in the blink of an eye before she arrived. Your hand instinctively searches your bag for some chewing gum.

She studies you in silence, leaning back. “Is this about that failed date you had? You hate him for standing you up?”

You tilt your head, clicking your tongue once your fingers brush the last piece of gum you had left. You unwrap it, popping it into your mouth. “First of all, I wouldn’t consider that a date,” you say, lips pressed into a slight frown. “And why do you guys keep saying I hate him? That’s a strong feeling.”

There’s palpable hesitation in her speech. “This is starting to sound a lot like gaslighting.”

“Last time I checked, I wasn’t a man.”

She crosses her legs, setting her cup on the table. “Ha ha. You’re so funny.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. Leave that to me, will you?”

“You do realize you have a talent for dodging questions.”

“It’s part of the full package,” you say, standing up and grabbing your belongings. Lois shakes her head in your direction, blowing out her cheeks, and you decide to give in. “Look, I’m not a resentful person. This isn’t about that night. We don’t get along because we’re too… different.” You offer her your hand and smile when she takes it, helping her up. “He finds beauty in everything, doesn’t think twice before trusting someone. I’d never be able to do that.”

Lois drops the subject. On your way out, after dropping a generous tip into the glass jar by the register, you hold the door open for her.

“I could get used to this,” she says, and your mouth twitches, giving her a half-smile.

At the Daily Planet, you both head toward the elevators, and as Lois steps inside, Clark appears behind you, looking agitated.

“Hey,” he greets you, straightening his glasses with one hand and gesturing toward the elevator. “After you.”

The fucker.

You mimic his gesture. “No, please. After you.”

“I said it first.”

“Too bad.”

“Guys…” Lois tries without much luck.

Clark’s voice is still thick with sleep when he speaks. “Would you please be a darling and go first?”

“Tell you what,” you say, inching closer and toying with the end of his tie, inspecting the fabric. “Nothing would make me happier than walking in after you.”

You don’t know if you’ve exhausted him or if he just doesn’t want to be late, but he eventually sighs and steps inside. You position yourself beside Lois, and she ends up squeezed between the two of you.

“Morning, Lois,” Clark says.

“Morning, Clark,” she manages, stealing a glance at you. “You know, someone surprised me with coffee today.”

His mouth snaps shut, and he tugs at the sleeves of his suit. “That’s my thing.” He turns on his side, staring at you. “What’ll be your next move? Will you start wearing glasses as well? Just to make sure we match.”

“Oh, please. I’m not copying you.” The doors open and you’re first to exit, tipping your chin up. “It’s called being nice.”

“I am nice,” Clark blurts, trailing after you. “In fact, I’m nicer than you.”

“I wasn’t aware of this competitive side of yours.”

“Let’s just say I had time to think about it last night.”

“You thought about me before falling asleep?” You let out a feigned gasp. “That’s so cute!”

Jimmy appears in the frame to throw an arm around each of your shoulders. “I could hear your voices from the bathroom.”

You detach yourself from the two men, pointing your index finger at the shorter one. “I bought Lois coffee and let Clark go first in the elevator. Write that down on the board.”

“You basically forced me.”

“Drop it, Clark.”

Well, how about this way? I love that you get cold when it's seventy-one degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

You muffle a squeak against the cushion you’ve smashed to your face. You could watch When Harry Met Sally a hundred times, and a hundred times this scene would get you. You could quote it word for word, the moment he finally confesses his love for her.

And then they share a loving kiss. They live happily together after, as in all the rom-coms you like to revisit once in a while. You’re certain there must be tears shimmering in your eyes, for they sting just enough. The more you think about it, the more convinced you are that no one will ever love you like that.

It’s undeniable that this belief has turned you into a bitter individual. You used to have hope. You weren’t like this before, when you were younger. At least not a few years ago, when the idea of loving someone and being loved in return still seemed like a thing you could attain if you worked hard enough for it.

Adulthood, in your experience, has been plagued by hostility and disillusionment. Were it possible, you’d have a word with the you from ten years ago, the one who believed that by now she’d be in love and planning a future with a man worth her time.

But you’d only laugh at her in the same way that an adult laughs when an infant talks about unicorns and talking animals. Because she, or you, for that matter, probably doesn’t know you spend most of your nights alone. And since the news would make her cry, you’d also have to hug her.

The last time you attempted to open your heart to somebody else was a little over a year ago, and it didn’t turn out well.

The day you started working at the Daily Planet, since both of your eyes functioned perfectly, you developed an instant crush on Clark Kent. The real question, you thought, was who wouldn't? He was the most handsome man you'd ever seen, and still is to this day. Maybe that's the saddest part of the whole thing.

Your crush wasn’t just about his looks. You were drawn to his clumsiness, the cadence of his voice, and the way he’d ask if he could be of help. He’d buy you coffee first thing every morning without fail, back when you still accepted it. It would be steaming, and he'd always say, "Be careful. It's really hot." You thought you’d never grow tired of hearing those four simple words.

He made terrible jokes during lunch, and you were the only one who’d laugh, solely because he was the one telling them. If you struggled to navigate the newspaper’s website, he’d come up behind you, lean close, and explain each step patiently. His hand would find its place on your desk for balance, his warm breath would graze your skin, and you wouldn’t listen to a word he said.

There were even days when you pretended not to know how the printer worked. It was a treasure to have him that close, and Clark never questioned it. He was always there, and he’d never make you feel stupid for needing his help.

Around three months in, Lois started asking more questions about your personal life. “So… do you have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, no,” you said, downing what remained of your water bottle. “I’m single.”

“Great, because you know who else is single?” She made a short pause. “Clark.”

Her words of encouragement were the final push. You asked him out, and it was the most ungraceful ramble of your entire life. The memory still plays out in your head, a vivid reel of your voice shaking and your eyes fixed on the floor as you stumbled over each word.

It happened during one particular Thursday afternoon, while the two of you were standing by the printer. “I was thinking that tomorrow we could go out, just the two of us. If you want. I mean—if you’re not busy or—”

He gapes at you, his answer nearly written all over his face. At last, he smiles, and then says, “I’d really like that.”

You knew you'd spend the next twenty-four hours in a state of total anxiety. The world as you once knew it had changed for good. You used some of the money you were saving up to buy a dress you felt pretty in. In a moment of madness, you'd even used some of your savings to buy a dress you felt pretty in.

Ten minutes early for your reservation that Friday, you sat alone at the restaurant. You couldn't bring yourself to order, instead staring at your phone, terrified of the blank screen.

With every swing of the door, your heart tightened in your chest. Each new face that entered, you desperately hoped it would be Clark and not a stranger.

Fifteen minutes passed, which later bled into twenty, and then thirty agonizing minutes had gone by. There was a waitress, a girl perhaps younger than you, who kept circling by your table.

“Still waiting for someone?” she asked.

Suddenly, you felt embarrassed. “He should be here any minute now.”

At some point, your stomach had begun to rumble, and that was the exact moment you read his name on your phone, answering so fast you nearly dropped it. “Clark?”

The line crackled with static, and you could barely hear him over a tumultuous roar. “I’m so sorry,” he said, nearly shouting and sounding breathless on the other end of the line. “There’s this thing I have to take care of—I can’t—”

“Are you okay?” you asked, starting to worry. “Where are you?”

“I wish I could explain, but—” A sudden rush of air swallowed his words. “I won’t make it tonight.”

Your eyes scanned the restaurant, taking in the sea of couples laughing over dinner. “Okay. That’s fine. Thank you for letting me know.”

“I’m—” he began, but to your surprise, the sentence was cut short by the call ending.

Utterly defeated, you clutched your phone, observing as his name faded from your lock screen with every passing second. You remained seated for another five minutes, trying to conjure a believable excuse for the waitress before you left.

She ended up returning to your table. “Will you be ordering anything tonight?”

It seemed she didn't need much to grasp what had happened. When you got home, you peeled off the dress, folded it carefully, and put it back in the store bag. To keep from seeing it, you hid it under the couch, then collapsed onto the cushions, letting out a contained breath.

I should’ve stayed home, you told yourself. Your bed wouldn't have stood you up, neither would your couch or your phone. You opened social media, searching for a distraction, something simple, like videos of dogs trying to talk with their overreacting families.

What you found was starkly different from your initial vision. It was a video of Superman, flying high in the sky while holding a phone to his ear. Seconds later, the phone tragically slipped from his hand, plunging into a river below. The video had millions of views and had been posted less than an hour ago. The comment section was full of users drawing their own conclusions.

d1stalker: GET OFF THAT DAMN PHONE 😭how is he literally flying and talking at the same time? multitasking king

elysianymph: i’d love to know who he was talking to… a girl can only dream

dayapad: guys don’t worry IT WAS ME ON THE OTHER END 🥀 he’s safe now. just tucked him in and we’re about to watch a movie (i scream as they drag me back to my room in the asylum)

redgie-69: now he needs to do an ad por iphone or sth. superman get that bag !!!

Unable to stop yourself, you clicked the video again, pausing and rewinding it. The wind was a deafening roar in the background, and you couldn't make out half of what the bystanders were saying. With the line cutting and his phone falling into the river, the video's timestamp was a perfect match for the time he had called you.

Realization hit you like a freight train. Fuck. That was Clark. Clark was… Superman.

A whirlwind of feelings coexisted within you, but none was strong enough to snap you out of the trance you were in. You kept watching those fifteen seconds over and over again, replaying the memory of the call and his exact words.

There had always been something about him that was slightly off, and not precisely in a bad way. You'd always chalked it up to him being dorky and a little shy, traits you didn't mind in the slightest. But now, after that footage, you couldn't bring yourself to simply unsee it.

You recalled a specific incident that had taken place a few weeks ago. Jimmy, insisting Clark would be the perfect actor for a Superman biopic, had reached to pull off his glasses. With grace, Clark had swatted his hand away, claiming they were too fragile to be passed around like a toy.

You knew better, knew exactly why he reacted the way he did. And, God help you, did that make you like him even more?

That night, you sent him two text messages, having momentarily forgotten he wouldn’t be able to read them.

I think I understand why you didn’t show up tonight.

And shortly after:

I saw the video. You look good in blue.

By the time Monday came around, you’d already picked ‌all your nails. You arrived at the office earlier than usual, and his desk was still empty, but you kept checking the elevator every time it stopped at your floor.

He was nodding good morning at someone when you saw him, and you didn’t hesitate. You strode straight up to him, took his hand between yours, and whispered: “We need to talk.”

“Uh—hi?”

“Now.”

You led him down the hall and into the break room, closing the door behind you once the two of you were inside and turning the lock.

“Is everything—”

“You’re Superman,” you said, not even bothering to mince your words.

Clark looked like he’d seen a ghost, pure anxiety brewing in his eyes. You could imagine the gears turning in his head as he remained silent, lost in thought.

“Cat got your tongue?”

His gaze darted to every object in the room but you. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. I saw the video, Clark. You called me while flying, and you dropped your phone midair.”

He was breathing differently now, as if he was attempting to calm himself.

“Does Jimmy know? Lois?”

That question made him look up. “No,” he said. “No one knows, except… well, you. I didn’t want you to find out this way.” His eyes bore into yours, his mouth set in a hard line. “I’m sorry I stood you up, but I heard this explosion on the east side, and I couldn’t ignore it.” Clark’s face reddened the more he said. “And then I dropped my phone. I went back for it later, but I couldn’t find it.”

Recognition settled over you at his words. “I’m not mad at you,” you assured him, giving a nod. The way his brows knitted burned a hole through your heart. “Would you maybe want to reschedule our date?”

The silence between you deepened, making your smile fade off of your face as the tension in the room thickened.

“I—I mean, if that’s something you still want,” he managed, the tone of his voice betraying him. “I don’t know if—I mean, I do want to, but—I wouldn’t want things to be complicated for you and me.”

Were you being friend-zoned? “Right.”

He runs a hand through his hair, getting more notoriously verbose by the minute. “It’s just that, now that you know, I don’t want to put you in danger. And I’m not sure it’d be fair to ask—”

“Okay,” you cut him short. “So what you're saying is that we should just leave it, then.”

“Wait—”

“We can just stay colleagues, if that’s easier.”

He seemed taken aback by your resoluteness. “Is that what you want?”

It wasn’t, but either way, you smiled. “Yes. That’d be better. We shouldn’t ruin what we have.”

You could’ve sworn he was just about to contradict you, but nothing came out of his mouth. Reaching for the door, you unlocked it, and he didn’t seem to be planning on following you. You cast him a glance over your shoulder before saying, “I promise I won’t say anything.”

Having fled the break room, you thought you might feel better, more professional even, but as you sat back down at your desk, your insides were turning into knots.

When Lois and Jimmy showed up beside you, eager for updates, you gave them a breathy laugh, which was meant to sound casual. “Guys, there wasn’t a date to begin with.”

“What?” Lois whispered harshly. “Why not?”

“He had to go to Kansas,” you explained, the lie feeling foreign on your tongue. “His parents needed him there, so he left Friday evening.”

“Is everything okay now?” Jimmy asked.

“Oh, yeah. It wasn’t a big deal. But we talked, and we agreed to stay friends. It’ll be for the best.”

Lois studied you a second longer than necessary, her gaze narrowing as if she could hear what you weren’t saying. You assured them both you were fine, that there was no drama between the two of you, and that this was the smartest, most mature decision you and Clark could’ve made. You just hoped they would believe you.

What shocked you the most was that he’d looked so nervous, maybe even more than usual. If he hadn’t wanted to go out with you, he could’ve just said so when you asked him out. But Clark, always the sweetheart, probably hadn’t wanted to hurt your feelings. It was funny, considering he’d managed that anyway.

Was it stupid to think he might’ve liked you back? Maybe you’d been seeing things that weren’t actually there. Maybe you’d overanalyzed every smile, every gentle gesture, every moment your world seemed to spin faster just because he was in the same room as you.

It made sense: someone who wants to be loved will look for it everywhere, even in places it doesn’t exist.

From that moment on, you stopped looking for his eyes when he walked past your desk. You declined his offers to grab you coffee because his gentleness felt like charity, and you wanted no part of it.

Back to the present. Enough of your sad memories. The credits of the movie are still rolling, but you shut the laptop, getting up and stretching. In the bathroom, you brush your teeth while staring at your reflection, and once you’re in bed, you pull the covers all the way up to your chest.

You’re choosing the fantasy you’ll think about tonight to fall asleep when you hear the rhythmic sound of your neighbor’s headboard rocking against the wall.

You’d run into her in the elevator earlier today, and she’d mentioned her long-distance boyfriend was coming over for the week. You hear her laugh, then his, alongside other noises you won’t try to dissect.

The walls in this building are paper-thin, and on any other occasion, you would’ve grabbed the first thing within reach to knock on the wall. But you won’t do that tonight, not because you can’t, but because you don’t want to. You stare at the ceiling, thinking they deserve these kinds of moments after being apart for so long.

Plus, it’s only a week. Just because you’re not getting laid doesn’t mean the rest of the world should stop having sex out of pity, so you turn onto your side, pull the covers up over your ear, and decide to sleep. It turns out that kindness can also sound like silence.

It’s been two weeks since the bet started, and you’ve come to discover that complimenting people is a good way to earn points, especially if you deliver them in public for everyone to hear.

“Lois, I love your blazer,” you say as she walks past your desk one morning.

She stops mid-stride, smiling at you. “Thank you. It’s thrifted.”

You’ve also made a habit of stapling Jimmy’s copies before he gets to them. “I think somebody wants to win,” he notes, watching you finish his stack.

“You would too if interviewing Superman was on the line.”

“Well, you better keep it up, because you’re still behind.”

Safe to say you take that personally. Later that day, Lois gives you a point when she catches you holding the door open for nearly ten people in a row. Clark earns another when he finds someone’s missing phone after searching for fifteen straight minutes.

Just to be clear, you were also looking for it. He just happened to be the one who found it first. But yes, you’ve been trying lately, and Clark notices.

Though today you’re moving more slowly because of a headache that has settled behind your eyes. You spend most of the morning at your desk, head bent while typing out emails, but you’re forced to look up when a cup of coffee lands beside your keyboard.

Your first instinct is to say no. Politely, of course, because of the bet. You haven’t accepted anything from him in a long time.

He places something else down: an aspirin. “It’s 2025. We have advanced medicine to ease your suffering.”

“Are you that desperate to win?” you ask, resting your chin on your palm.

Clark snorts. “What would you like my answer to be?”

You drop the subject, accepting both things and picking up the coffee. “If I kindly take this coffee, would that earn me a point?”

“That wouldn’t make any sense.”

“Then I don’t want it.”

“Half a point?”

“We’ve got a deal.” You take a trial sip, tasting its flavor and muffling a satisfied sound. “God, it’s really good. Thanks. How much was it?”

He shakes his head. “Forget about it.”

“Hey, no. I want to pay you for it.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can hear you,” he says, walking backwards and away from you.

“Asshole.”

“What did you just say?”

“That you look nice today,” you admit instead, folding your hands on your lap. “I like your shirt.”

It’s a plain one, honestly. Nothing special, but it still looks good on him. He glances down at his clothes, the corners of his mouth lifting. “How nice of you to say that. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

So apparently, you and Clark are starting to get along.

It’s easier if you hide behind the bet, because you can be decent to each other while racking up points. What’s so bad about it? Yet you can’t ignore the fact that you kind of enjoy being like this with him, despite the whole challenge finishing in less than two weeks.

Clark: Don’t forget Jimmy’s birthday tomorrow.

You groan around a mouthful of apple, cursing your poor memory

You: Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Clark: I knew it. See, I’m that nice. I could’ve chosen not to tell you.

You: That would’ve made you a prick

Clark: You’re right, but now owe me one.

You: I could bake him a cake… or cupcakes??? Idk

Clark: I’d go with the cake. Just imagine Lois and Jimmy giving you ten points for it.

Pressing your thumb against your mouth, you gnaw at it, holding your breath as you type a message.

You: We can make it five and five if you help me

You put your phone down, covering it with a cushion, but the moment it buzzes again, you snatch it back.

Clark: Sounds fair, though I’ve never baked anything from scratch before.

You: I’ve got the perfect recipe

Clark: Are we having dinner as well? I could bring some takeout.

You can’t help but re-read that text too many times.

You: Sure, whatever you want

Clark: Chinese?

You: Yuppp but please hurry up because I’m starving

He asks for your address, and twenty minutes later, he’s knocking at your door, a plastic takeout bag swinging from one hand. He loosens his tie the moment he’s inside, shrugging off his coat and rolling up his sleeves

“So…,” he trails off, pacing around the living room, “you’re in charge tonight.”

You suggest eating first, otherwise, the food will go cold. While you set the table, Clark turns on the TV and lets it run in the background. As expected, you mostly talk about work. Does this count as a date? You’re not sure.

The first thing you ask him to do is to preheat the oven, and he obeys without a word. Your kitchen isn’t big enough for two people, and if anything, Clark’s towering height only makes it more difficult. His elbows constantly bump yours, and he apologizes every single time.

While you handle the measuring of ingredients, he takes the whisk. It seems the Man of Steel has no coordination when it comes to baking. He’s hyper-focused on not pouring the whole bottle of vanilla extract, tongue peeking out slightly as he pours. You can’t resist the temptation, so you give in to it and blow a puff of flour into his face.

His right profile is now covered in white, and he blinks rapidly, nudging his face against his shoulder. “It got in my eye.”

“It didn’t. I’m right here, remember?”

Wide-eyed and frozen in place, Clark stares at your head. “What’s that on your hair?”

“There’s nothing on my—”

He dips his fingers into the flour bag while you aren’t looking and flicks a pinch at you. A malicious laugh bubbles in his throat as he takes in the sight of you, frowning and crossing your arms.

“Now we’re even,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Afterward, you pour the liquid batter into a prepared pan, smoothing the top. You put it into the oven, finding Clark scraping the bowl with a spoon, licking it with pure contentment and savoring the remnants. There’s a small dot of batter near the edge of his mouth, which he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Clark, there’s—” You point to your own mouth, hoping he’ll mimic you.

But he doesn’t get the hint, putting down the bowl instead. “What?”

You sigh, taking a step toward him and wiping your thumb across the corner of his plump lips. He stops breathing in that moment, and so do you. You clean your finger on the edge of a dirty kitchen towel, then ask, “Can you wipe the counter while I make the frosting?”

He looks astonished. “I can—Sure. I’ll do it.”

Neither of you utters another word for a couple of minutes, focusing on your respective tasks. After testing that the cake was done, you take it out of the oven, unmolding it onto a rack to cool.

Clark plops down on the couch, covering his eyes with his forearm. “We can’t decorate it yet, right?”

“No. We have to wait, or the frosting will melt.”

“I’m so tired,” Clark says, yawning, and then his contagious yawn makes you do the same.

“I didn’t realize it was this late.” You sit on the opposite side of the couch, unlocking your phone. “I’ll put an alarm. We can take a twenty-minute nap, and then we finish it.”

His eyelids are already drooping, and he murmurs, “Just twenty minutes.”

You struggle to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in. Normally, you’d stretch out fully, but now you can’t, and you blame the giant sitting next to you. By the time you drift off, you swear you can hear him snoring just a little.

The alarm went off twenty minutes later, but neither of you stirred. You only woke up to switch sides, blocking the intrusive light from the curtains. Your eyes opened just long enough to see Clark, still in the same position as before, his mouth slightly parted and his hair a beautiful mess.

The cake.

“Clark!” You bolt upright, almost jumping to your feet. You touched his shoulder, shaking him. “Wake up. We overslept.”

He rubs his eyes, huffing. “What time is it?”

“We have… twenty minutes before we need to leave.”

Both of you get to work. Clark retrieves the frosting from the fridge and tries to help you spread it on the cake, but it ends up looking less like a smooth layer and more like a lumpy hill.

“Oh, God. I hope the cake isn’t dry.”

“It looks good,” he says, admiring it from a distance. “At least from here.”

You melt some dark chocolate in the microwave. It’s surprisingly thick, and you grab a fork, trying to write Happy Birthday Jimmy across the top. The letters are wobbly and melted into one another, but it’s the thought that counts. You grab the single birthday candle you always saved for such occasions, placing it in the center.

Clark hovers just behind your shoulder. “It’s… definitely abstract.”

You glance down at your clothes from the night before, realizing you didn’t even get a chance to shower. “Shit. Do I smell?”

His expression softens, his gaze landing on your head. “You don’t, but you still have flour on your hair.” He brushes his fingers through your hair with the delicacy you’d expect from a man like him.

The pad of his thumb grazes your hairline, and your breath catches in your chest. He pulls back abruptly, grasping what he’s doing a second too late. “There you go.”

Scrambling to get ready, you transfer the cake to a cardboard pastry box, securing it. “Okay, subway. Now.”

As Clark and you rush through the station, you clasp the cake box in your hands. The platform’s already crowded with people. You steal a quick glance at Clark, catching the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I asked you if you had a boyfriend like, ten times, and you always said no.”

It’s a pity you recognize that voice. Matthew appears at your side, glaring at Clark, his eyes darting from him to you. The look on his face is one of total disappointment.

“He’s not—”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Clark asks, subtly stepping forward to angle his body between the two of you.

“Matt.” He extends his hand in offering, but Clark silently refuses to take it, staring at him. “I just—sorry, dude. I had no idea she was taken.”

You wave your hand at them. “Hello. I’m right here.”

“Honey, you’ve never mentioned him before,” Clark says, draping his arm around your shoulders.

How smooth. “Well, honey, I must’ve forgotten,” you rejoice, leaning into his solid frame, playing the part of the loving girlfriend.

The screeching noise of the train marks the end of that conversation as the doors slide open. Just before the rush of people floods the car, Clark grabs your hand, tugging you inside, and Matthew’s left standing behind on the platform.

Even after finding two empty seats, he doesn’t let go of your hand, and neither do you.

“May I ask who that guy was?” His eyes gloss over the cake box above your legs.

“A not-so-secret admirer. He’s asked me out a few times, but hasn’t had much luck.”

“He seems persistent.”

“Trust me. He is.”

“I hope you don’t mind what I did back there,” he says, lowering his voice. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“It helped.” You squeeze his hand before gently dropping it. “Thank you.”

You make it to the office just before nine, taking the stairs because the elevator’s far too packed. Now it’s Clark’s turn to carry the cake, and he trails after you with precise steps.

To say Jimmy’s thrilled at the surprise would be an understatement. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he opens the box. “Holy crap! You baked this?”

“Yes,” you both say at once.

“I love it so much!” He takes the cake out of the box, looking at it from a different angle. “Can someone please take a picture of me with it? I feel like I’ve just met my firstborn.”

Lois materializes out of nowhere, trying to analyze the situation. “Why are you two wearing the same clothes from yesterday?” She lets a beat slide, then adds: “And why did you arrive together?”

“Well—the thing is—”

“It’s a long story,” Clark jumps in.

“But we have all the time in the world,” Lois shoots back.

And that’s how you know you’re trapped.

Only a week before the bet ends. There’s a guy with too much gel in his hair lingering a few feet from your desk. You’ve seen him around. He’s one of the new hires who writes for the newspaper’s column on culture and arts.

You’ve been expecting him to approach you for ten minutes now. When he finally does it, you see a confident smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I’m Ethan,” he introduces himself, cocking his head.

“Nice to meet you, Ethan. I’m—”

“I know,” he interrupts you, squinting a little as if he’s embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. “Okay, that sounded weird, but what I meant is that I know your name.” he wraps his arms around himself, taking a deep breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to grab a drink sometime.”

That’s not what you expected. He’s a handsome guy, charming even, but—

This is the kindness challenge, and you're supposed to be all friendly and polite, at least for another full week.

You plaster a practiced smile on your face. “Sure. Why not?”

He asks for your number, and you rattle it off in a monotonous tone. As he heads off, you catch Clark in the distance across the bullpen, sitting at his desk. He must have used his super hearing because he doesn't tear his gaze away from yours, and you feel as if all the oxygen in the world has been sucked out of the building.

Hours later, you’re in the break room, pouring coffee into your favorite mug, the one with a tiny kitten curled on the front. Clark walks in, closing the door behind him after he sees there’s no one else there.

“You want some coffee?” You ask him while stirring your coffee.

He stays quiet for ages. “What’s the deal with that new guy?”

“You mean Ethan?”

“We’re using names now.”

“He asked me out,” you continue to explain, lifting the mug to your lips. “And I said yes.”

“Why?”

“It's just a drink, Clark. I’m being nice. That’s the whole point, remember?”

“I had no idea being kind involved bar hopping with strangers.”

Why is he acting like this? “Jealousy doesn’t look great on you.”

“I’m not jealous. I just—” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “You don’t know him. Nobody does.”

“He seems nice.”

“Everybody seems nice if you only exchange two words with them!”

You grind your jaw. “Why are you assuming the worst? Why does the idea of me going out with someone bother you so much?”

Clark doesn't answer immediately. “You can do whatever you want,” he says, his tone shifting to a pained one. “I'm just asking you to be careful.”

“You don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

Pride claims a full point from both of you.

You’re nodding along to another of Ethan’s stories from his college days, your eyes fixed on the rim of your glass.

It’s not that he’s boring, but for some reason, you’re unable to pay attention to anything he says. He’s talking about some phenomenal frat party he attended during senior year, which you can’t even relate to, because you’d never liked them.

He gulps down his drink, grinning. “I’m not letting you speak, am I?”

“Well—”

“Tell me something about yourself.”

You take a look around the bar, which is dim and cozy. The bartender hasn’t stopped mixing cocktails behind the counter. You shift your attention back to Ethan, lifting your eyebrows. “I’m currently stuck in a kindness challenge at work.”

You can’t blame him for seeming confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lois and Jimmy had this brilliant idea that Clark and I should compete to see who’s nicer. He’s the guy with—”

“The glasses, I know. You’ve already mentioned him.” Ethan rolls his eyes, sighing at the same time a forced smile flashes across his face.

You can tell he’s bothered. Have you really been talking about Clark this much on a date with someone else? “Sorry.”

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand, waving it off. “And how’s the bet going?”

What an awfully complex question. You toy with the straw you were given with your drink, pressing your lips together. “Pretty much okay. We baked a cake last week.”

He chuckles. “You know what’s funny? I thought you two were dating at first.”

You tear your eyes away from the straw. “What?”

“I’d see you together all the time,” he says with a shrug, resting an arm on the back of the booth. “Then someone told me you hated him or something, and I had to shoot my shot.”

You hear him laugh, and he must expect you to do the same, but you don’t. “Hate him?” you echo his words. “I don’t hate him. Who said that?”

“I… don’t remember now. Does it matter?”

“Well, of course it does. Your source is wrong.”

“Yeah. I figured that around the fifth time you found a way to bring him up tonight.”

In a rare moment of clarity, a stark contrast to the bar's dark interior, you look down at your hands. Shutting your eyes, and behind closed lids, you can only picture the face of a man who isn’t here, who isn’t the one sitting across from you.

This isn’t where you’re supposed to be.

Pushing back your chair, you reach for your purse. “This won’t work,” you murmur, putting on your jacket. “You’re a nice guy, really. You’re not the problem. I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

Even though he calls your name as you make your way to the door, you don’t go back. Outside, driven by instinct, you fumble for your phone in your pocket. Since you’ve never felt this determined before in your life, you decide to call Clark.

It rings twice before he picks up, and when he does, his voice sounds groggy. “Hello?”

“Were you sleeping?”

“Sort of.”

You throw your head back, giving yourself a face palm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Clark assures you, the rustle of sheets reverberating through the line. He must be tossing around in bed, given the hour. “Is everything alright?”

For a moment, pressure wells in your chest. You glance both ways down the street, half-expecting to stumble into him. “I just wanted to say something.” You exhale, pressing the phone further into your ear, as if you could merge it with your skin. “I don’t hate you.”

He offers no immediate response. After a while, he says, “What?”

“I don’t hate you. Not in the slightest.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I needed you to know it.” Each of your words feels thick in your mouth, heavy like sand. “I wouldn’t be able to hate you.”

Judging by the background noise on his end, you guess he must be out of bed and pacing now. “I don’t hate you either.”

“It’s not the same. I already knew it.”

“Right,” he laughs, and the sound fills the line. You can almost imagine the dimples in his cheeks. “Wasn’t your date today? How did it go?”

 “Let’s just say there’s a section of the bullpen I’m not allowed into anymore.”

“Oh. That bad?”

“He said I talked a lot about you, so you tell me.”

The last time you two spoke in person, you had stormed out of the break room. He’d sounded jealous, a fact he fiercely denied, and his attitude had finally gotten to you. Maybe it was that time of year when you got a bit paranoid, but the thought hit you: you could die at any minute. Living in a city full of unknown threats and creatures, were you seriously going to spend the rest of your life keeping everything bottled up?

Yet, as if reading your very thoughts, he asks: “Would you like to come over?”

“Like… now?”

“Right now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You hail the first cab you find on the streets of this Saturday night, counting down the minutes until you arrive at his apartment.

Fifth floor. Apartment C. Clark opens the door to you, and the mere sight of him steals your breath. He isn’t wearing his glasses. A pair of gray sweatpants sits low on his hips, along with a navy blue shirt stretched across his chest.

The only thing you can bring yourself to say is: “Hi.”

He invites you in. You hear the door clicking shut behind you as you put down your purse, turning around to face him. You clear your throat, staring deep into his eyes, and you notice he still hasn’t said a word.

“I spent almost ten minutes thinking about what to say to you. I even came up with what I thought was a great speech. It made sense in my head, but I can’t… remember it now,” you explain, swallowing the lump in your throat. You’re nervous, so freaking nervous you feel dizzy. Has he always been this tall?

“You don’t need a big speech,” Clark says, inching forward.

“I wanted to give you one, like they do in movies.”

“Then, just—come up with one right now.”

As if it were that easy. You press your hands to your face for a moment, imploring some god above for the courage you so desperately needed.

It doesn’t have to be well-structured. Doesn’t have to have perfect grammar. It just has to come from the heart and be true, and you couldn’t be more certain of what you feel for him.

“I would’ve dated you, you know? Even after finding out about the whole Superman thing, I would’ve risked everything, because it didn’t change the way I felt about you. It hasn’t changed it. I feel the same I did yesterday, and the day before that, and a year ago,” you blurt, edging closer to him. “I can’t imagine existing in a world where I’m not madly in love with you.”

You can't read the look on his face. His shoulders are rigid, his gaze giving nothing away as he studies you, and you find yourself wondering what exactly he’s thinking.

“I’ve tried putting it all behind me. I’ve tried starting over. For God’s sake, I went on a date with a man I didn’t even like! Just because you looked so… frustrated about it, and I thought maybe it was worth it.”

The past month’s blur of events rewinds in your mind. Your feelings, which you had tried to quiet and smother for so long, have come roaring back to life stronger than ever. You believe this must be love: that force you can try to extinguish and contain, but one that always burns through, because it is as real as the blood in your veins and the bones in your body.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m not dying to kiss you every time I see you at work. I feel like I’m in hell whenever you’re near me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I can’t let you go, Clark. I don’t want to, but I swear I’d make the effort if you asked me to. I’d try, just for you.”

All the cards, including the ones you were keeping to yourself, have been laid out. You yearn for Clark Kent. You need him in your life, in any way he’s willing to offer himself, with those eyes of his that now look at you like you’ve gone nuts.

You’ve learned that there will always be something wrong. That’s how things work, at least for the alive-and-kicking ones. And you know for a fact that love won’t save you. Clark’s love, in this case, won’t assure you anything. But you’d much rather navigate those complexities with him by your side.

A flush creeps up his face, and he inclines his face. “I’d never ask you to walk away from me. Understanding you has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure, which sounds absurd considering we speak the same language,” he says, and you can’t help but let out a laugh at that. “I mean it, and not just as Clark, but also as Superman.”

“You’re saying I’m hard to understand?”

“I’m saying that there’s so much you don’t say. I have to translate every look and sigh. I believe I’ve developed a whole new dialect just to make sense of you—”

“I feel like you’re using this as an opportunity to roast me.”

“—but loving you is the easy part, and you don’t even realize it.”

Your heart hammers unpleasantly inside your chest. “Clark, I thought you wanted us to stay friends.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“But you said it. Kind of,” you argue, your forehead creasing.

He holds out his arms, stifling his laughter. “You didn’t let me explain! I panicked. I didn’t know what to say. You know how I get when I’m nervous.”

You’re left standing there, beyond stunned. “So this whole time… we could’ve been together?” You make a brief pause, falling silent. “I was so mad at you. So fucking—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Clark takes hold of your chin, angling your head backwards so your eyes peer directly into his. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Complaining about the past. We’re here now. We can make it up to each other.”

You sigh, and he hunches over to rest his forehead against yours. His stare carries so much, but you can’t look away. “I think I remembered my speech.”

“We’ve already moved past that.”

“I could still deliver it—”

You’re cut off by Clark’s mouth on yours. He kisses you with the intensity of a starved man, and you freeze, caught off guard and barely moving your lips, until he guides your arms around his neck, and that’s when your body catches up. His own hands find their sacred place on your waist, clutching the fabric of your sweater.

This is the aftermath of months of pent up-frustration. His tongue presses insistently against yours to seek entry. Ever so gently, he corners you against the nearest wall, and your head nudges a frame that ends up clattering to the floor. It’s not enough to get Clark off of you. He shoves it aside with his shoe, further pressing you into the wall.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” he gasps between kisses, holding your cheeks as his nose bumps into yours.

“We won’t,” you say, dizzy from all the kissing. “I promise.”

It turns out that his lips can’t seem to leave yours for long. “And please don’t go on any more dates with new hires.”

You roll your eyes, running your fingers through the short hair at his nape. “I told you it went horribly.”

“Still.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Your mouth crushes onto his once again, your pulse quickening with every second his hands are on you. You then whisper against his lips, “It’s always been you. You can stop worrying about other men.”

He blows out his cheeks, shaking his head. “Golly, this isn’t fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“I just—love you so much,” he mumbles, pecking your lips, “and you’re so beautiful, and there’s so much I want to do with you. I want to do everything—”

“We’ll take our time.”

“I know, I know.” He grazes the skin of your neck as he pulls you in for another kiss. “But touching you, kissing you… it feels too good to be true.”

A small chuckle escapes you, and you caress his cheek. “Alright, Romeo. You’ve done enough talking.”

When you come back to your senses, he’s got you all sprawled across the couch, his touch insistent yet careful. You’re struggling to remain still the more acquainted he becomes with your body. He digs his fingers into your waist, your hips, the sides of your thighs, leaving a trail of all the places where he’s been.

He’s kissing down your jawline the moment your mind conjures up an important question. “Clark?”

“Tell me.”

“Let’s say that, hypothetically, I spend the night here.”

“…Hypothetically.”

“Exactly. Would you have a spare toothbrush in that case?”

He lifts his head from your neck, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “You’re marking territory.”

“Hey. I said hypothetically. And I care about dental hygiene.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, your head squeezed between his forearms. He ducks down to kiss you. “I do have a spare toothbrush. Don’t worry about that.”

You resume the make-out session after that. You sink deeper into the cushions as he shoves your sweater further up your chest, just enough to ghost his fingertips along your bra, eliciting a choked whimper out of you. The sound seems to spur him on because he pulls off his own shirt, allowing you to get a better look at his stomach.

The words die on your lips, and you draw a pattern over his pecks, then up to his biceps, ending in the happy trail that leads to what remains hidden beneath the tent on his sweatpants.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” he breathes, pining your hand above your head. “I thought you were the one who said to take our time.”

“I’m gonna combust and you haven’t even touched me properly yet,” you admit, gaping at his lips as he hovers over you, teasing you. “Imagine the state I’m in.”

That makes him smirk, and he slides a thick thigh between your parted legs, pressing it to your center. You throw your head back, cursing. “You like that?”

You nod, watching him through hooded eyes. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Fuck, Clark. Do something. I need—”

Upon the coffee table next to the couch, your phone starts ringing, and Uptown Girl by Billy Joel fills the living room.

The spell breaks, and you hide your face into the crook of his neck. “I hate my life.”

“Ignore it.”

“I can’t. I know who it is,” you say, reaching your arm without looking. Eventually, you drag the phone out of the purse, and show the screen to him. “It’s Lois. She must be calling to ask how the date went.”

“Text her instead.”

“Clark, I can’t—just don’t make a sound, okay? I have to take this, or else she’ll keep calling.”

You accept the call without noticing your voice has gone up an octave. “Hi!”

“Hey! You didn’t text me about the date, so I figured I’d just call you.”

“Sorry, I must’ve forgotten.” You gulp down as he rolls your sweater over your head in one swift motion, and you slap his shoulder when he almost makes you drop your phone. “It was… average.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“We didn’t have much in common,” you continue, drifting your attention to the ceiling to try and stay composed. “He was—oh.”

Clark’s kisses have now migrated to your chest, his fingers sneaking beneath your back to unclasp your bra. He doesn’t break eye contact as he takes hold of your breasts in his hands, and you squirm under him.

Lois’ voice breaks through, sounding distant. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. I’m here, sorry. We didn’t even talk that much. I left quite early.” You mouth a ‘stop’ to him, holding the phone away from your ear, but he just smiles at you.

“Dammit, that sucks. Are you home now?”

“I was—Clark!” You yelp as he closes his mouth around your right nipple, scraping his teeth against the hardened peak. He looks at you with a horrified expression, and your whole frame stiffens.

“…Clark?” Lois repeats, and she gasps. “Are you—is Clark there? CLARK KENT?”

“IhavetogoI’msosorrybyeloveyouuuuu,” you push out the words quickly in one breath before hanging up, dropping the phone to the floor. “You’re a prick. What the hell was that?”

“I’d put it into silence mode if I were you.”

“That wasn’t fair.”

“What’s not fair is that you’re still wearing clothes.” He sits on his knees to unbutton your pants and yank them to your ankles, his eyes dark with want. Then he does the same to his own, until all that’s left are your underwear and the hardness confined inside his briefs, which presses against you the moment he leans down.

You begin kissing him as he lays on top of you, holding himself up on his forearms so as not to crush you with his weight.

“When did you become a horny teenager?” you ask, biting back a moan as he aligns himself with you, both of you still clothed. You know there must be a damp spot on your panties at this point from how wet you are.

“Always been one around you,” he replies huskily, slipping his hands under your thighs to tug you even closer. As he grinds his hips into yours, his jaw clenches, his breath damp against your skin. “Can I—is this alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You shift to give him more space between your legs. “It’s nice.”

The temperature in the room is borderline unbearable. Clark rocks into you in earnest, muttering sounds next to your ear. Some you catch, but some are so low that they are swallowed by the way he murmurs your name.

“I feel stupid doing this,” he grits out, pressing his lips to yours, his brows knitting. “I wish I could do more for you, but—I can’t. I need this. You feel—”

Shushing him, you roll your hips up to meet his mid thrust just right, whimpering when his tip catches against your entrance through the sticky fabric. He shivers, making a strangled noise.

“Oh, God—”

“Clark—”

“I swear—”

You cut him off with a kiss, sucking on his tongue. “Do you want to be inside me?”

He’s panting against your mouth, pupils blown. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He flattens his palms on the back of your thighs, his fingernails scraping gently. “I mean, of course I—yes, I’d love that,” he says, laying heavy stress on the ‘love’ part. “But I’d like to make you come like this first.”

A grin curls your lips. “Great. We’ve got four days until the bet’s done. Each orgasm equals ten points.”

That night, you have sex with Clark Kent for the first time, and it’s the best sex of your life.

He earns forty points in the span of an hour and a half.

The day the challenge started, the sky was falling apart, rain had laughed in your face, soaking you from head to toes, and Clark had offered you a spare umbrella, which you declined.

But today, four weeks later, the sun couldn’t be shining brighter, you get to work right on time, and Clark brings you coffee and a pastry for breakfast at the office.

You’re in the break room. He drags a chair across the floorboards so that he can sit next to you. Neither of you are working, though after a month of constant fighting, a short period of ten minutes of peace feels like the real prize after all.

The memories from that first day feel almost laughable now in your mind.

I was just thinking out loud, Kent. I can’t wrap my head around someone acting like they’re on stage all the damn time.

You really think I wake up every day and put on an act?

I don’t know, you tell me. I wonder if your modest decency will ever run out.

Maybe if you tried being decent for more than five minutes, you’d see it’s not an act. It’s only called being nice.

Glancing to your side, you find him scrolling through something on his phone. There’s a slight crease between his brows as he reads, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You smile before you can stop yourself.

He must feel your attention on him because he catches you staring. A smile spreads across his face too. “What’s got you like this?”

You shake your head, feeling the rising to your cheeks. “Nothing,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. “I was just… thinking.”

Across the room, Jimmy and Lois hover protectively over the whiteboard where they’ve kept track of every good deed you’ve performed. She attempts to speak, but he shushes her, looking at the two of you over his shoulder.

“Did you two do this on purpose?” he asks, capping his marker, and neither of you know what he’s talking about. It’s only then that Lois and him step aside to reveal the final score.

You lean forward, scrutinizing the numbers on the board. “We’re… even?”

Pursing his lips, Jimmy runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe this. There was supposed to be one winner, as in any other game.”

You raise your hands. “Clark should win. He's been preparing for this his whole life.”

“I’m sorry, but no,” he objects, crossing his arms over his chest. “You did some really nice things for the sake of the challenge. You deserve it more than me.”

“But you—”

“She wins!” Clark concludes, standing up to clap for you, encouraging Lois and Jimmy to do the same.

After the round of applause is over, you take a bow, wiping imaginary tears from under your eyes. “I never thought this could actually happen,” you say, glaring at Clark. “My partner in crime, you made this possible.”

“We’ve created a monster,” Jimmy whispers, loud enough for you to hear it, and tugs on Lois’ sleeve. “Alright. Now I feel uncomfortable.”

“You two… are disgustingly… cute!” she chirps, being dragged outside the room.

Arms clasped behind his back, Clark puffs out his chest, looming closer. Behind his glasses, his eyes flicker with mischief. “Congratulations. You can have that exclusive interview with Superman anytime you want.”

“So I finally get to meet him? What an honor.”

“Does tonight work for you? At my place. He told me he’s dying to have a word with you.”

“I see.” You twist his tie around your fingers. “Will you be there?”

“Of course. I’m the mediator.”

Before he can say anything else, you pull him forward by the tie, kissing him. He cradles your face in his big hands, his nose brushing yours lovingly as he trips over his own feet to close the door. You warn him about someone eventually walking in, but he just answers, “We can make it quick.”

To be fair, you like this new version of yourself, the one who’s been making an effort to be nicer.

The one who’s irremediably in love with Clark.

dividers by: @bbyg4rlhelps <3

[bluebird47ep]

Elevator Buttons & Morning Air

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Clark Kent x Reader

⁂ summary: Things take a turn for the worse when your new assignment asks you to dog on Superman. Even after he saved your life.

⁂ tags: slow burn, multiple parts, fluff, no mentions of y/n or reader’s appearance

⁂ tw: mentions of minor injury!

⁂ author’s note: Thank you all for all the likes on Part 1! I feel like a real tumblr writer haha. 100 likes feels insane to me- I made my account this week? I’m just really grateful. Again, if anyone has any ideas for fics they want to see fleshed out, reach out to me or comment! Enjoy! And I’m working on Part 3!

⁂ credit to @uzmacchiato for the borders!

⁂ word count: 4.7k

⁂ link to part 1!

Part 2:

You hadn’t meant for anything to start.

After your first day in the ‘bullpen’, which your coworkers so affectionately called the news room, and your subsequent walk home, which did involve stepping into a 24-hour 7/11 because you were almost positive you were being followed, you were half in love with Clark Kent.

How could nobody else see it?

He seemed… a little too gentle. He was incomparably large, so much so that you were positive he would be some distasteful gym bro. You had asked Cat Grant, your coworker, if he was obsessive about the gym. She had said Totally not, he looks like, a like, gym junkie, but that’s just because he worked on a farm, I think. In like Idaho. That’s the Midwest.

Of course Idaho was not the Midwest, and after you asked her that she proceeded to ask you how many Instagram followers you had and if you had downloaded Tinder yet, but she seemed like a reliable source, right?

He was big, in a delicate way. Sure, he knocked over two stacks of files and someone’s coffee, which sat on their desk far from the edge, in just the single day you’d been there… but he had also caught the apple Jimmy Olsen had thrown him during lunch without an ounce of effort. And when, in the middle of eating his packed lunch in the break room, that he must have packed himself, he received a phone call and said it was just his Ma. His Ma. Is that not the cutest thing you’ve ever heard? Most people would say it’s their ‘mother’ or just ‘mom’, but he said Ma in such a genuine way, it almost reminded you of a little kid. A 6’5’’ little kid.

So that morning, your official second day of work, you were wholly concentrated on looking your best and being the wittiest and funniest and nicest girl you could be. That shouldn’t be hard. Hopefully.

So you threw on an outfit that said I’m a professional and also, I am a confident, sensual woman, and also, I am a cutie pie. That’s what you thought it gave, anyways.

However, life seemed to have other plans, because when you go to work, Clark Kent was not there.

You felt… wilted.

Why is it that everytime you try, the universe has a different plan? And to make it worse, Perry sent you to get quotes and photos and you had to go to the Metropolis library for information on money-laundering, because according to your coworker Lois Lane, there was a librarian there who was a total expert. That did not make sense, and you were so irked already you had thought of sending an anonymous tip to the police about her. But instead you gathered your things and made the trek to the library, because what else was there to do? Pout?

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

You were trudging down the library steps with a frown.

You’ll never get used to research. And the librarian? She asked if this was for a school project. Like, yes! A school project on money-laundering! You weren’t in the mood for her comment, and you also weren’t in the mood to step outside and see a 30 foot alien wrecking the park across from the library.

Great. Lovely.

And because you felt so sour, you reached for your phone in your bag, turning to take a picture of you with a pout and the alien holding a tree like a broccolini behind you. It was supposed to be funny.

What wasn’t funny was how the tree was subsequently hurled in your direction, and suddenly, without warning, without a do I have your consent for this?, you were flying.

Or, not really. Someone was certainly flying. You were in their arms being held bridal style, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were being flown at what felt like lighting speed, a stranger might mistake you for a couple crossing the threshold. With the groom in underpants.

You were placed, a little too gently, a couple blocks away in front of a comic book store. By none other than Superman.

He towered over you, he towered over everyone, and he was currently giving you a very disapproving look.

“What?” You said, which sounded a little more crabby, and a tad brattier than you had intended for it to come out.

“Taking photos with an extraterrestrial who is incredibly dangerous is not funny.” He said steely, his cape billowing almost performatively behind him.

And this irked you even more than the librarian.

“Ok.” You said curtly, turning to head into the comic shop. Why? Where else were you supposed to go and still maintain a shred of dignity?

You can admit you probably looked stupid taking that picture, but also! You’re a journalist. You could tell him that. You could sit Superman down and say, I am not a reckless civilian! I unplug my television everyday before leaving my house because I don’t want my cat to accidentally stick his paw in the outlet and explode like a microwaved corn dog! You could say that.

But you don’t even have to, because he lays a large, warm hand on your shoulder and you’re turning before you know it.

“Please be safe.” He says with such sincerity, and almost intensity, that you just nod.

Then he’s flown away in a flash of blue and red, probably to go get rid of the giant monster alien thing wrecking the city.

By the time you get to the office, you have two new comic books and have wasted half a work day on absolutely nothing.

The bullpen hardly notices you’ve come in, because everyone is gathered around the newsroom television, watching footage of the alien attack. Jimmy and Robert keep making comments on who would win in a fight, Green Lantern or Batman, and Lois is giving her opinion on Superman’s apparently careless manner of saving people.

“He’s destroying crucial infrastructure!” She practically shouts, pointing towards the tv as if we weren’t already looking at it.

Lois had given you her whole spiel on Superman yesterday. Everyone in Metropolis seemed to have strong opinions on him, love and hate, and you just couldn’t seem to make up your mind. You liked Superman. You liked his billowy cape and shiny boots-… if you were a superhero you’d wear the same thing! Sure, he seemed to be a little accidentally destructive. And there was that whole rumor on the harem, and though it was cleared up, you did see his parent’s message on the news back home, and were a little distrustful. But other than that, and his more than reproachful look at you, he was practically a mother tutting at you, you liked Superman! So you had no idea why you said to Lois, “..and he totally destroyed the library.”

Everyone seemed to turn to you.

“He did-… what?!”

“I was right outside. Instead of stopping a tree being thrown at it, he pulled me out of the way. Not a very good problem solver, that one.”

The words just slipped off your tongue, and before you knew it, everyone was crowded around your phone to see the picture you took. As if a perfectly curated joke, Superman could be seen right behind you in the selfie too. Jimmy even made you to send it to him.

So when Lois suggested you write a piece on this attack, which Perry agreed to as long as it was on his desk by tomorrow, you were more than excited. This was your opportunity to whip up a good piece and have your name on the byline. It probably wouldn’t be Pulitzer-winning, but that didn’t matter. Lois and Perry both believed in you and your ability to write a story. This was your job after all. To give the people of Metropolis an inside scoop, to offer them a nuanced argument-… they were busy people, and it was your job as a journalist to spell things out and uncover the truth. So why did you feel guilty writing a Superman hit-piece?

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Your intention was hardly for the tweet to go viral.

After spending the rest of the day writing a copy for your article on the alien attack and Superman’s inattenion, you had tweeted.

It was a burner account with like twelve followers! You had just gotten so riled up by the piece, so invigorated with reporting the truth, so enamoured with the idea of the community rallying being you, that you had tweeted:

who tf wrecks a public library and the local park and is seen posing with children #supershit #supersellout #youremadweird

It wasn’t even funny! You just tweeted it because you could, and now you have 30 thousand likes and are one of 1.1 million posts under #supershit.

You felt guilty, at least at first.

But then it was time to go home, and you had almost forgotten about Clark Kent and the whole ‘trying to impress him’ thing. Almost.

He walked in a quarter to seven, his dark curls slightly windswept and his glasses askew.

You felt that familiar heat of embarrassment creep up just looking at him.

When he sat at the desk across from yours, you didn’t even have to act cool, because he was immediately looking at you.

“Jimmy said you were amidst the alien attack. Are you alright?”

He sounded so sweet, so genuine, slightly familiar, but that didn’t matter because he cared.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Perry assigned me to write a piece on it since I saw the damages first-hand.”

“Damages? There were hardly any damages, everyone was safe. No lives lost, no one injured.” He said softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the red pen in your hand.

“Well the park is totally ruined. And so is the library. Are Green Lantern and Superman going to clean that up?”

“They saved people’s lives. I hardly think a building that can be repaired is as important as people. Humans.”

“Humans use those buildings. Need them, actually. And the city definitely doesn’t have money to repair the damages as quickly as they need to be repaired. Someone told me Superman is attracting all those aliens here in the first place.”

He swallowed at that. “Did they now?”

“I didn’t know you were a Superman fan.”

“I’m not a fan, I just think he does a lot of good things for the city.”

“A lot of bad things too.”

And when you say that, he wilts. And you feel terrible.

“I know he’s your friend. But isn’t it the press’s job to be critical?”

He looks up and nods. “Though he’s not my friend.”

“You’ve had five interviews with him.”

He just sighs and accidentally knocks over the cup of pens on your desk.

Then you stop talking, and he begins working, and by the time he pulls out a ziploc baggie with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and he offers you half, you shake your head no.

You feel like a dimwitted hating robot, and have been making your penance ever since you left the office. Clark was at his desk with jelly on the corner of his mouth when you said goodbye. He offered to walk you home, but you said it was fine.

“But you’re limping.”

You had to stop and think, were you really limping? You told him it was because of your shoes, that they pinched your heel. He told you to get home safe and that was that.

On your walk home you thought someone could snatch your purse from your arm and you still wouldn’t feel as bad as you do now. Stupid article.

You’re in your apartment, after just having eaten a half-frozen microwave meal, ready for bed and on the couch watching an episode of a show from your childhood you had almost forgotten about, when you hear a rap at the window.

You get up cautiously, holding the remote as a makeshift weapon and you pad over to pull back the blinds.

And what you see makes you drop the remote and stubble slightly back.

Outside your window, in all his blue and red underpantsed glory, is Superman.

He sees your reaction, and his eyes go slightly wide, and then he motions to the window latch.

You were not letting that man in!

First of all, how did you know he was the real Superman? This could be a man on stilts! Or wires. You shouldn’t be so trusting.

But when he motions again towards the latch, an honest smile now creeping on his face, you reach to unlatch the window, against your better judgement. Before you know it, you’re taking a step back, and he is standing in your apartment.

You look up at him. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

You seem to take a minute to assess. Not really, Mr.Superman.

“I’m… fine.” But your voice croaks awkwardly on fine.

“You’re limping.” He said, staring down at your right leg.

You squint. Were you old man hobbling and didn’t realize it? You must be pretty bad if both Clark and Superman are commenting on it.

“I guess… I guess it hurts a little.”

“Where? Your leg? Your ankle? Your calf?”

“Ankle. I twisted it on my walk back to work. There was a huge brick on the sidewalk and I didn’t notice and I tripped and landed badly on it.”

Superman frowned. A full frown.

“Can I see?”

“Are you a doctor too?” You say with a huff that sounded more like a laugh.

He shakes his head. “But I can help. If it’s really hurt.”

You stare at him.

He takes you by the wrist and makes you sit on your couch, moving a pillow behind your back at a speed that should scare you, and all before you can manage to protest.

He’s big, in a gentle way. Tall, but right now he’s leaned over you, his hand holding your right ankle tenderly. You hadn’t expected this.

“You said you twisted it?”

You nod and soon he’s in your kitchen, digging through your freezer and then your junk drawer, and later in your bathroom. You heard a clink on the porcelain sink bowl, and try not to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of what he’s doing.

Then he’s back to hovering over you, holding a bag of frozen blueberries against your ankle, fastening it in place with a bandage.

“Does it hurt a lot? Your heart is beating really fast.” He says, all sincere, his hand still warm against your ankle.

“I’m just… a little startled. I didn’t know Superman paid home visits.”

He cracks a smile, and glances around the room, as if taking it in. Usually you would shrink in self-consciousness at the idea that anyone would scrutinize your apartment in this manner, your messy, messy apartment where your dish from dinner was still out. But he wasn’t anyone, he was Superman, and you assumed he was like a firefighter- if you needed him, what you wearing or what your home looked like hardly mattered.

He glanced at your coffee table, at your empty dish and mug, and soon his eyes traveled to the two comic books splayed on one another by your bag. Here was your opportunity to shrink.

“Superman comics?”

You swallowed thickly. “You left me in front of a comic store. I had to go in for… for safety.”

“I thought that didn’t concern you.” He said, and you felt reprimanded once again.

“The store owner really wanted me to buy them.”

“The store owner wanted you to buy ‘Superman: The Wedding?’” He asked, and you swore he was trying to play innocent.

He held the comic up in his hand, looking at its cover intently. On it was Superman in his suit, holding a bride in his arms as he flew above a city skyline. His eyes traced the drawing, slightly misty now, you’re certain of it, before he cleared his throat and put it back down on the coffee table.

Then he straightens up, pats your cat on the head, who through this entire process has not so much as cracked an eye open, and was now turning over to get a belly rub from Superman.

“You should feel better with that. Rest. That’s the best remedy for injury. And sunshine, get lots of that.” He said, a little too gallantly, and then he flew out the window just as fast as he came.

You were slightly stunned, and mostly grateful. You reach for your laptop, which sits just underneath your left leg. Propping it open, you begin to edit your story.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Ok, so you didn’t exactly complete your assignment. Perry had asked you to cover the damages to the city after the alien attack, and instead you had written a fluff piece on Superman’s crucial role within the city. You compared him to the transit system, that’s how fluffy it was.

When you sent him the finished copy, you were positive it was not going to be published, and that Perry would fire you for being such a weak writer.

Surprisingly, all you got was an email with a thumbs-up emoji.

You were sitting at your desk, working on your copy for the money-laundering bakery story, finally, when a stack of papers scatter at your feet, and you hear a familiar oh, I’m so sorry, let me get that for you. Clark.

You look up to find him as you always seemed to: glasses askew, tie slightly loosened, gathering papers off the floor as quickly as he could. You bend out of your seat too, your knees hitting the rough carpeted floors, as you help him pick up the last of his papers.

He looked up at you, a dopey grin already forming. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” You say without looking up, and when you both get up, his papers now happily back in their folder, he’s staring at you with his mouth slightly open.

“I-… Perry-… Perry asked me to edit your recent story.”

“Oh. Oh, alright.” You say, taking a seat back in your chair. You don’t exactly want him to read your writing. Especially not after what you said yesterday about Superman wrecking the city. You didn’t want to be proven wrong. Nevertheless, you pulled up your copy, and while you intended to simply pass your laptop to him, he chose instead to hover over you and read over your shoulder.

He placed a palm flat on your desk to steady himself, his head angled right above yours. You tried your hardest not to crumple… you could feel his warm breath against your ear. He was so close you could hear the second his lips unturned in a grin.

“This is really good.” He said, and the sound slightly startled you. His voice was warmer than his breath, and you felt yourself glow under his compliment. He thinks your writing is really good. Part of you wondered if it was because of the Superman flattery. He had certainly pleaded his case to you yesterday- no doubt he was a fan. But you also knew your piece spoke less on Superman’s character, and more on the city’s need for his action.

When Clark finally pulled away, now leaning slightly against your desk, he spoke again.

“I thought you were against Superman. Something about… damages?”

“Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind. The damage to the library and park really wasn’t all that bad. My first argument wasn’t a very good one.”

He just nods thoughtful, and then looks at you, a little piercingly.

“Is your ankle better?”

“It is.” You paused, had you told him about your ankle? You honestly couldn’t remember. You probably had. Probably.

“I have to go down to city hall for some records for a story I’m working on. Interested in coming?”

You pause to think on his offer.

As if sensing your trepidation, he adds, “You know, sunshine is the greatest cure for an injury. That and something warm to drink. That’s what my Ma always said.”

You smile. You had heard that recently, but where? You more than likely read it somewhere. You stand and grab your bag and soon you’re heading inside the elevator.

“Let me do it.” You say, reaching to press the button to the lobby, but his hand is already there. Your hands touch for a second before he quickly pulls his back. You didn’t mind that he had pulled his hand back so quickly, but you also didn’t mind the warmth of it either.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Your day so far has been wonderful. You and Clark had gone to City Hall, and afterwords he insisted on sitting outside on a park bench, hyper-fixated on that you both get plenty of sun, and if it came from anyone else you’d argue, but you did what he said. You talked about life before Metropolis, and he told you about Smallville, the almost laughable name of the town he grew up in. Then you got coffee, which he graciously payed for, and maybe it was how sun drunken you were, or the cool breeze that passed every now and then to whip through his curls and caress your face, or the rush of caffeine, but you had asked Clark Kent to dinner.

You meant for it to be casual. A hey, what are you doing tonight? Want to do it with me?

Wait, no. That sounds wrong. You had just asked if he had plans. And when he said no, you said you were looking to try some places around the city, and if he knew of any. He started talking about a diner he loved, especially after a late night at the office, and before you could stop yourself you were asking him go with you. Just in case you can’t find it.

He smiled when you said that, and said well if I must.

It was funny. In the office he made a mess of everything. He tumbled over his own feet, spilled everyone’s coffee, and Jimmy told me he breaks a camera every quarter if he’s around them. But now, in the sunshiney park, with the backdrop of the sharp blades of grass that held droplets of morning dew even now into the afternoon, Clark seemed like a new person.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

He had walked you home, and was now sitting on your couch. Clark, was.

After work, which felt painstakingly long with the idea of your upcoming date, not a date, just dinner, but that fact doesn’t make your heart beat any less fast, you and Clark walked to your apartment together. It would have made more sense to get dinner right after work, but your heels had your feet aching, and you feared your limp would turn into a complete hobble by the end of the night if you didn’t immediately change shoes.

So he was sinked into your couch, with your cat making himself comfortable in his lap.

“It’s like he met you before.” You remarked humorously, but it must not have been funny, because Clark just smiled and turned pink.

You managed to change into something more comfortable and sightly, because if you were going to dinner with Clark, you’d have to look as best as you could.

You walked into your living room to find Clark rubbing the cat’s belly as he made biscuits in the air. This is exactly how you imagined it. It was sweet domesticity repackaged as friendly professionalism. You swallowed that blooming heat in your chest, because you didn’t know if he felt the same, and it would be stupid to even assume, because you know what they say about people who assume…

“Ready to go?” He said softly, looking up at you.

The diner he had mentioned was only a couple blocks away from your apartment, and as you walked in unison, one of his hands sitting idly in his pocket while the other dangled precariously close to yours, he asked you why you had really changed your mind.

“It wasn’t anything really. I always liked Superman, if I’m honest.”

He turned to glance at you, his eyes meeting yours and then dropping before returning again. “Really?”

You nod. “He’s… cool. He saved me the day of the alien attack. Compared to all the other superheros I know, he’s the only one who would do that.”

At that comment, he smiled at the pavement and nodded.

“Maybe that’s true.”

“It is.” You said, looking at him.

He chuckled and looked up at the sky for a second, and then looked again towards the sidewalk.

The diner was unlike any you had seen around the city. Clark held the door open for you, and upon hearing the jingle of bells hanging over the entrance, you were transported into another world.

The diner was covered in checkered everything. The walls, the booths, the floors. The bare part of the walls were a pale baby blue-… it was straight out of a Grease film.

Clark led you to a booth by a window. The food was all-american, and the menu seemed like it was from the seventies, all frayed edges under lamination.

“How did you even find this place?” You say with a smile, still looking at the retro decor.

“Late night, and I was a little sick and just trying to find some place still open. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s cool.” You say, glancing at the menu.

Clark had ordered a reuben sandwich and a matzo ball soup.

It was weird, seeing him eat. Sure, you had seen him eat his packed lunch. But this was different. Those lunches were domestic, in plastic containers and a little too delicate to have been made by him. He ate it hunched over in the break room, as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible. He did everything that way, hoping for everyone to sidestep him, ignore his practically palpable presence.

But sitting here, across from you in the booth, he was straightened up to his full size. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his incomparably large forearms. How was he not some kind of body builder?

He grasped the sandwich with both hands, which made it seem comically small. He smiled at you over his sandwich, and your heart melted.

You two sat in the diner for longer than you should have. It was easy talking to him. He was expressive with his hands when he talked, and he laughed at every joke you made, even the dumb ones. He wasn’t offended when you had called him corny either, though you had really just said it to get a reaction out of him.

When you finally did leave the diner, it was dusk, and soft rain was hitting the pavement with a pitter-patter.

Clark had the brilliant idea of just running back to your apartment, the whole three blocks. He had taken off his coat, a wooly grey material, and held it over your head as you speed-walked to your apartment, because you do not run.

You unlocked your door as you both stood in the hallway panting, slightly soaked from the rain, and grinning ear to ear.

You had laughed the whole while you entered your apartment, while you both shed your wet coats, to the turning up of the heater, to the making of tea in the kitchen, to the moment beside the sink, when your hands trembled, but there was no going back now, and you placed a hand on his forearm, and reached up to kiss his mouth.

Then the laughing ceased.

Because he was meeting you halfway, bending lower to catch your lips where they were, and you could feel the heat rising to his face as your lips connected in a sweet, unhurried, kiss.

And as you pulled away, his glasses, they were askew as they always were, managed to slip off his face and into his hands.

He looked up, his eyes slightly wide, and what you saw made your heart stop.

Looking back at you, dark hair and electric blue eyes, was the same man who put frozen blueberries on your ankle.

The same man who asked you about the comics. Who prescribed you sunshine. Who knew your cat.

You were never good at puzzles, or riddles, or even crosswords, and that made sense, because how had you not seen this?

“I-… you’re-… you’re Superman.”

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·. .·:*¨ ¨*:·.

[artstennisracket]

& Bourbon part 1 here [ao3 link coming soon]

summary: it seems like art and patrick might be in this for the long haul, the only problem being no one wants to be the first to say it. friends, coaches, tennis, and a whole lot of bars. oh and there’s a cat.

pairings: prostitute!patrick zweig x rising tennis star!art donaldson, art donaldson x tashi duncan (brief mention)

cw: dry humping, sweat/body scent kink (there is armpit huffing im sorry), feminization (minimal), safe sex, unsafe sex, early 2000s mindset around sexuality, sexual trauma discussions, praise kink kinda

a/n: thank you to the lovely dani ( @ghostgirl-22) I couldn’t do any of this without her! also thank you to everyone who showed love on the first part bc I didn’t plan on writing another part but you guys motivated me sm with the comments (this is 13k jesus) if you can recognize the two points where good will hunting were heavy on my mind lmk, one is more obvious than the other

Art was nervous. More nervous than when he played the Baton Rouge semifinal yesterday (and won). More nervous than when he first moved across the country away from home to attend Stanford. More nervous than when he first went pro. The only thing that could make him more nervous was Patrick. 

There wasn’t really a label on whatever it is that they were doing. They just kept hanging out. To the point where Patrick even hung out with Art’s friends too. Of course Art didn’t tell his friends what him and Patrick actually get up to, but when Patrick’s arm lingers on Art’s waist or when Art runs his hand through Patrick’s hair one too many times throughout the night, no one questions it. Chucking it up to the inebriation of it all. 

“Where did you meet this guy again?” A dusty blonde named Zac asks. He was Art’s doubles partner at Stanford so they’ve been friends for a few years now. 

Art coughs, clearing his throat. He’s conscious of Patrick’s hand in Art’s back left jeans pocket. A habit that Patrick had developed sometime last week. But Art can see Zac’s eyesight following the line of Patrick’s arm that disappears behind Art’s back, “He uh, he helped me with the dare.” 

“Ohhhhh,” Luke, who was a tall brunette with hazel eyes, chimes in. He nudges Patrick’s shoulder, “So you know where to find a good piece of ass?” 

He’s joking. Patrick knows he’s joking, but from what he knows about Luke, he’s sure there’s an underlying belief of women being sex objects. It’s disgusting the way Luke talks about it but Patrick would be extra sympathetic considering those “pieces of ass” are actually his friends. 

“Yeah,” is all he says with a tight lipped smile. Patrick doesn’t care about lying to Art’s friends about him being a prostitute. It does bother him just a teeny tiny bit that he can’t fully express himself as someone who is currently having a sexual relationship with Art, even though he doesn’t think Art would be opposed to being out. They just haven’t established any labels for what they’re doing, which is what bothers Patrick. 

Art notices the change in Patrick’s demeanor after Luke’s comment which causes Art to shove Luke back under the guise of being ‘playful’, “Fuck off. He only helped because I asked.” 

“Still can’t believe you actually did it, goody two shoes,” Stephen added on. He was a red head with bright green eyes and a plethora of freckles that could rival Patrick’s. If Patrick didn’t know any better he’d think Stephen was jealous of him. 

Art told Patrick about the shenanigans he and Stephen would get up to when they were younger. Stephen was Art’s oldest friend. They went to elementary and middle school together before Art moved to go to tennis boarding school for highschool. Reuniting at Stanford to be best friends again. 

Art had been spending most of his time with Stephen, exploring the new city of Baton Rouge that neither of them had ever  been to. Until Patrick swooped in and started filling up Art’s schedule. 

There was a time Stephen tried to show up  unannounced at Art’s hotel room. They were all staying in the same hotel so Patrick’s surprised Stephen hadn’t tried to stop by earlier. 

Art is drooling, face down into the fluffy white hotel pillows while Patrick takes his time diving his tongue in and out of the tight ring of muscle. He’s been switching between his fingers and his tongue for the better part of an hour with Art leaking on the sheets below him. 

Three quick knocks on their room door pulled them right out of it. Followed by the muffled words of, “Open your door fucker. You don’t know how to text someone back?” 

Patrick pulling away to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, while Art is scrambling to look somewhat presentable. Patrick helps as best he can, moving the comforter to cover the wet spot Art left behind on the sheets. Art scans the room one more time to make sure any sexual contraband is hidden. Tucking his boner into his waistband before he opens the door, “Sorry man, my phone was on vibrate.” 

Art’s face is flushed and Stephen isn’t buying it, “If you have a girl in here it’s fine man—“ words dying on his lips as he spots Patrick sitting on the bed scrolling through the hotel channels, “Patrick.” 

“Nice to see you too man.” Patrick tries his best to make his sarcasm the undertone and not the overtone. 

Stephan knows this room smells like sex but he can’t place why. It’s just Patrick and Art in here unless they…no there’s no way. Art would tell Stephen something like that, right? 

Stephen shifts his focus back to the blonde, “We’re going to lunch now. Just the guys.” He makes sure to place emphasis on the latter as his eyes flit over to Patrick. 

“Right, shit. I forgot, I can bring Pat right?”  He questions as he starts to pull off his pajama shirt to change into something more lunch appropriate. Patrick wants to say something to stop him but the look on Stephen’s face makes it worth it. 

The red scratches lined all up and down Art’s back, contrasted against the pale tone of his skin. Not to mention the hickies littered all along his collarbone. Patrick is nothing if not possessive. Being unable to mark his territory verbally, physically will have to do.  And Art was getting really good at sex, Patrick couldn't help himself.

“Fuck dude, who did you fuck?” The harsh lines of Stephen’s face prominent in the shock. 

Art pulls on a clean polo, blush spreading across his cheeks. He completely forgot about the events of last night when him and Patrick got back from the bar the perfect amount of tipsy to have drunk sex. “I—I don’t-“ 

“Don’t tell me the prostitute did this? Shit man, you gotta tell me where you found her.” Stephen wouldn’t be wrong in his line of thinking but he would be surprised to find out the prostitute in question was right in front of him. 

“We’ll meet you guys there,” Patrick shoots back from his place sitting on the bed. He doesn’t miss the look of annoyance on Stephen’s face. 

So yeah, Patrick thinks Stephen is jealous of how much time his best friend is spending with Patrick. 

Point being that Patrick and Art have become inseparable. Patrick comes to practice with Art sometimes just to be his hitting partner. Patrick is suprisingly…amazing. Like really good. Gives Art a run for his money good. Art’s coach is always trying to convince Patrick to come back to the pro circuit. Art can’t say he hasn’t thought about it, about what would happen to them after Art finishes his time in Baton Rouge. 

If Patrick starts touring again maybe they could tour together. And then Patrick would never have to sleep with anyone that isn’t Art ever again hahaha. Haha. Art isn’t jealous at all. Patrick hasn’t slept with anyone else since they started whatever this is, but if it ever ended Art’s sure he’d get right back to work. 

Back to tonight, Art was nervous because he was going to be losing his virginity to Patrick. Now was Art a virgin? No, not at all. But Patrick made it a point to say “It’s still technically a virginity just not the virginity.” And Art can’t argue with him there because Art has never had anyone inside him. 

They had slowly been checking off Art’s firsts one by one. And Art never felt pressured with Patrick. Art always just wanted to explore with him. The blowjob thing is fun. Art actually prefers when Patrick fucks his mouth in a twisted way. He gets off on it, being used. The first time Patrick ever did it he tried to be gentle with it and not go too fast. But Art kept saying to Go faster, Go harder, Don’t hold back. And by the end of it, Art came in his underwear. 

Handjobs were an easy one. They’ve done that a million times over. In the shower, in the hotel room, in the bathroom at a bar, in the locker room after practice, in the bathroom at another bar, and one time in the hotel elevator at 2am that was not their best moment. 

The first time Art fucked Patrick he was so excited. He has done anal twice in his life with the same girl from college but she was just catholic and saving herself for marriage but only doing anal…sure. Whatever helps her sleep at night. But doing it with Patrick was very different. 

Of course it was different, Patrick was a man. He was hairier, more muscular, and overall just more intimate in a way. And Art just felt really—attracted to him. Like he wants to fuck him all the time. Patrick insisted on opening himself up but Art wanted to learn. If they were gonna keep doing this, he might as well. 

Fingering Patrick was really rewarding. Getting to watch his face contort in pleasure. Wiping that smug look off his face when he tried to say, “You’ll learn with time it’s just like—oh fuck.” That’s when Art found his prostate. 

Finally going inside felt like heaven. Art didn’t know how else to describe it. He’s never felt anything like this before. He thought it would be similar to catholic girl in college but it was different. It was so tight. And maybe that’s on Art for assuming it wouldn’t be. 

He knows Patrick has slept with a plethora of guys so he made a lot of assumptions. 1. Being that Art might not live up to Patrick’s expectations and 2. well Patrick may not be as tight compared to someone like Art who’s never been penetrated. Is that fucked up? Probably. Maybe Art needs to check his bias, maybe learn more about anatomy.

Either way, Patrick was right. Art had to actively try not to cum on the spot. He stayed still for a minute until Patrick said he could move. He lasted all of 5 minutes. Which wasn’t his fault. Patrick with his stupid words of encouragement knowing that Art has a praise kink. 

When they’re cleaning up after Art makes it a point to say, “You set me up. You knew I wasn’t gonna last long especially with what you said.” 

Only for Patrick to shoot back with half assed sincerity, “I thought you liked being my good boy?” 

“Oh fuck off,” Art playfully shoving him away, blush fully spreading across his face. It was the first time Patrick added the my before good boy and if that didn’t make Art hard again…

Fast forwarding to today, Art had to prepare himself to bottom for the first time ever. Patrick has fingered him before so he knew what that felt like, and he liked it a lot. Even waking up in the morning with Patrick’s hard on pressed against his ass, it was intriguing to say the least. So this was the natural next step. 

He took the longest shower of his life while waiting for Patrick to get back from dinner with Tiny. He invited Art but Art had been paranoid. He’s barely eaten all day and he preferred to keep it that way for the momentous occasion. Art could be a little neurotic with things like that, Patrick’s noticed. 

He finished showering, towel drying his hair and pulling on some briefs. He grabbed a white shirt to throw on, not sure if it was his or Patrick’s. Patrick had started keeping some of his stuff at the hotel because it just made sense. It made it easier for him to access his things since they were pretty much always together. 

Art stared at the lube and box of condoms on their nightstand. Continuing using the same ones they always use, but they were gonna need to buy more lube soon. They already had two different boxes of condoms based on their personal preferences. Even though they both had gotten tested recently (Art would’ve felt bad if he made Patrick go on his own so he got tested too) they still wanted to practice safe sex…for now. And of course Patrick hasn’t worked since they met.

Art liked being able to feel as much as he could so his preference was always Skyn. But Patrick bought his own condoms the other day in preparation for today, just classic trojan magnum. 

Art thought he was being smug, deadpanning as soon as he saw Patrick with the box, “Really? You know I can fit my whole arm in a regular condom.” 

Patrick shrugs, laughing, “Well maybe that says more about your arm.” 

It was a brand new box, to be saved for today. Art sat on the bed waiting patiently, renting Pitch Perfect to watch again.

When Patrick comes through the door about 15 minutes later, he has a paper bag with takeout that he goes to put in the mini fridge, “I got you something to eat—for after,” he smiles. 

The fondness was bubbling up in Art’s stomach because why was Patrick so thoughtful? “Thank you,” he smiled back. He’s not sure why he’s still so nervous. 

“Pitch perfect again? Are you sure you didn’t know you weren’t straight?” Patrick jokes only for Art to roll his eyes in response.

Patrick strips off his outside clothes until he’s only down to his socks and boxers, laying down next to Art in bed, “Are you nervous? We don’t have to do this, you know that right?” 

Patrick shifts so he can pull Art to straddle him, this way he can get a good look at him, “I would be more than okay with bottoming for…however long,” Patrick wants to say the rest of his life but it reminds him how uncertain and unsolidified their relationship is, “Maybe not tonight specifically because I ate a gross amount of food today but just in general.” 

Art sighs, running his hand through Patrick’s hair, “It’s not that—I just, I want it to be good.” And that’s true, but Patrick knows Art. He knows what Art really means is I want to be good. 

Patrick pulls Art closer to place a peck on his lips, keeping his hand on Art’s cheek, “It’s going to be amazing. You are going to do so well for me, you always do,” he whispers, making sure to maintain eye contact. 

Art nods, he’s already growing hard from that alone. Patrick is so thoughtful and nice to him and reassuring and he just knows how to get Art going so Art dives right in. Pulling Patrick in for a kiss, a real one this time. 

Patrick doesn’t waste any time flipping them over so he starts working Art open. This was Patrick’s second favorite part. Second only to eating Art’s ass. Watching Art fall apart on his fingers as he slowly adds more. Doing his best to take his time despite his excitement. Art’s ass was fucking phenomenal. Patrick had been daydreaming about this day for longer than he’d like to admit. 

Once he felt like Art was ready, he grabbed a condom to roll on before lining himself up, “Still good?” 

Art nods, bottom lip bitten in anticipation, “Yeah. ‘m good, ’m ready.” 

Patrick presses in slowly, while Art sucks in a breath to brace himself, “Okay okay wait,” he tenses. Patrick can feel Art tensing and it feels amazing. 

“What’s wrong baby? Need a minute?” Patrick says stilling himself.

“Yeah yeah just—it’s a lot.”

“I’ve barely—,” he doesn’t want to make Art feel like he’s judging in any way but it does add to his ego that Art feels like this, “It’s only the tip baby.” 

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he whines, just feeling the way his body is stretching to accommodate Patrick. It’s a painfully delicious stretch, but he’s not sure how much more he can take. 

“Hey, it’s okay. We can stop if you can’t do it. But I promise it’ll feel so good if you just let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good,” he whispers into Art’s ear as he starts kissing up the side of Art’s neck. 

He can feel Art nod so he starts to push in more. Art’s nails digging into Patrick’s back to displace his feelings somewhere. 

Once Patrick bottoms out he lets out a long low groan. Art feels fucking—indescribable. Patrick knows he’s never fucked a virgin but jesus fucking christ. This is really testing the stamina he’s worked so hard to build. 

He stays all the way in, holding himself up with a hand planted on either side of Art’s head, “How’s that?” he chokes out. Everything in his body is telling him to start thrusting but he’s holding off for Art. 

“So full,” is what Art moans out. Moaning is good, that means he’s enjoying it. Patrick lowers a hand down to grip Art’s waist while he adjusts his angle, not pulling out, staying right where he is. 

“Fuck,” Art gasps, tightening his grip on Patrick’s back. Bingo. 

Patrick pulls out a little before slamming back in—hard. He’s keeping his focus on Art’s face, watching the pleasure take over him. He’s so pretty like this. Too pretty, “You’re so fucking pretty,” Patrick grunts as he keeps his rhythm. Slow, hard strokes. 

“Fuck, fuck Patrick. Faster please,” Art begs, bringing his legs to wrap around Patrick’s waist, pushing Patrick in further. 

“Yeah keep saying my name baby,” he leans back to gain some more leverage. Gripping Art’s waist with both hands as he picks up the pace, assaulting Art’s bundle of nerves. 

“Patrick Patrick Patrick,” Art whines, so high pitched that if Patrick didn’t know any better he’d think Art was a girl. Some of Art’s moans were akin to those of a girl. And for some reason in his fucked up head, that turns him on even more. 

He throws both Art’s legs over his shoulder as he leans forward to press in even deeper, giving Art a deep stretch on his hamstrings. He cries out in pleasure at the new angle and the way his body gives into Patrick. 

Art loves being manhandled. He never realized it until recently. Patrick would always just put Art into positions, he never really asked. Art thought it was really hot. Usually always having to be the one to ask a girl if she wants to do it this way or that way, it’s much better with Patrick just doing. 

Right now he felt like he was being folded in half—not much of an exaggeration. But he also felt like he wasn’t going to latch much longer. Between how good Patrick feels inside of him and how good Patrick looks above him. Sweat dripping off his face from the effort he’s exerting from fucking Art. Art wants to lick it off of him. He’s been thinking about it for a few days now. Always seeing Patrick sweaty after practice drives Art insane. But he can’t crane his neck up far enough in this position so he does the next best thing, opening his mouth when he sees the next sweat droplet start to fall. 

Patrick watches his sweat collect on Art’s tongue, “You dirty fucking—,” Patrick’s hips stutter, resting his forehead against Art’s, really testing the limits of Art’s flexibility. “Dirty girl.” 

They both finish milliseconds after Patrick’s words. Art’s cum painting both his and Patrick’s abs, while Patrick fills up the condom. Feeling the way his cock releases his spend in waves. It’s a weird feeling, Art thinks. 

He pulls out slowly before getting rid of the condom, grabbing a rag from the bathroom to help clean Art up. Patrick also takes the time to reheat the takeout in the microwave so Art would be able to throughly enjoy his dinner, grilled cheese and tomato soup. 

“You’re such an old man,” Patrick laughs watching Art dip his grilled cheese into the soup. He took the time to change the TV over to America’s Next Top Model. 

“And you’re gay,” Art jokes back, fully enjoying his meal. 

Patrick looks up from where his head is resting on Art’s lap, “Excuse me? Wanna try that again?” 

“Nope,” Art exaggerates the enunciation on the ‘p’. 

Patrick takes a bites out of his grilled cheese as a punishment, “That’s what you get.” 

“Hey! I’m fucking starving. Don’t eat my food,” He glares, shifting so his food is no longer in Patrick’s reach, which is hard because Patrick’s wingspan was ridiculous. 

“I wonder why…” Patrick trails off insinuating that Art is also quite gay himself for the exact reason that he starved himself to begin with. 

Once the hangry wears off and they’re back to cuddling and talking about nonsense. Patrick brings up Stephen, “You know he hates me right?” 

“Stephen doesn’t hate anyone. Not even our microecon professor who didn’t like us and purposefully graded us harsher than everyone else. That was the first C he ever got in his entire life. Still didn’t hate him.” 

“Of course he hates me. What about the time he almost walked in on us and said you forgot about lunch with the guys? He clearly didn’t want me to come.” 

“Why would he hate you?” Art asks, sitting up a little so his chin was pressed against Patrick’s chest.

“Because I’m taking up all your time. He doesn’t like sharing.” And Patrick doesn’t like sharing either, but he’s got the winning end of the stick, for now. 

“Well of course I spend all my time with you because I—“ He cuts himself off from saying because I don’t know how much longer we’ll have together because he doesn’t feel like crying tonight. He wants to ask Patrick…what does he want to ask Patrick? To leave his whole life behind that he’s built here? To rejoin the tennis circuit and go touring with Art? To be his boyfriend? These are fantasies that live and die in Art’s head. 

“Because what? I know that look, you’re not getting out of this easy Donaldson,” He has a tired smile on his face, Art has taken all his energy as per usual. And Patrick always prided himself on his high sex drive but Art was wearing him out. 

Art shrugs, curling in on himself more, “Nothing, I meant nothing. It’s late, we should sleep.” 

“I will use these if I have to,” Patrick ghosts his fingertips under the junction that is Art’s armpits. Finding out Art was ticklish was very useful. 

“Nonononono, Patrick please no.” He shrieks in anticipation. He wasn’t expecting it. 

“Just tell me what you were gonna say and nobody gets hurt,” He smirks, lazily. 

“I just, you know, Stephen’s always gonna be there.” The other half left unsaid. But Patrick can get the gist. He still wants Art to say the quiet part out loud. 

“And?” His tired but teasing mindset has shifted into something sadder. 

“And I don’t know how much longer I’ll have with you.”

Right. Patrick is pulling away before Art even finishes his sentence. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed. It’s not like Art ever promised him anything, so he was silly to expect anything else. 

“Patrick,” Art frowns, moving to sit behind him, chest pressed against Patrick’s back while wrapping his arms round Patrick’s waist, “I-I just don’t know what you want. I don’t know if we want is the same thing and…and I don’t want to force a lifestyle onto you. So I've just been trying not to think about it. We have fun and I don’t necessarily want that to end.” 

“What do you want, Art?” Patrick challenges, his tone still neutral. Art hasn’t heard him talk this way since the first fight they and Art had to apologize in the front seat of his jeep. 

“You know what I want. I want you,” he sighs leaning his chin on Patrick’s shoulder. 

“How? How do you want me? Do you want this to just end once the tournament's over? Is that what you want?” 

“What? No. You know that’s not what I want. I just didn’t want to like turn your whole life upside down or make any assumptions. It’s not like you’ve exactly spelled out what you want from me either,” Art shoots back, he feels like this shouldn’t all be on him. It’s a two way street. 

“Art you know what I want. I want you to be mine. No one else’s,” And I want to be yours, but that part goes unsaid. 

Art’s hand comes up to caress Patrick’s cheek before making Patrick face him, “I’m already yours,” he whispers. 

Patrick lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, smile slowly creeping back up onto his face. Art keeps his hand where it is, thumb swiping over Patrick’s cheek. Reassurance is something they both needed but were too scared to ask for out right, until now. 

“So how are we gonna make this work?” Art speaks up, he keeps his gaze locked on Patrick’s face, scanning over all his favorite facial features. 

Patrick shrugs, “I could,” he pauses. Obviously he’d have to be the one to uproot his life because Art’s is going pretty well right now, “—I could try to get into tennis.” It’s scary and daunting and he never thought he’d go back, but there are a lot of things he thought he’d never find or do in this lifetime. 

It’s Art’s turn to smile now, “You’re gonna fucking crush it. My coach is gonna be so excited you have no idea,” insinuating that they’d now have the same coach, “And after the tournament you could come back to California with me. If you want to. You don’t have to,” not wanting to impose, but he remembers the conversation they literally just had, “But obviously I want you to. To come live with me.”

It’s a long drive from Louisiana but Patrick’s done longer, “Yes blondie I will come back to Cali with you,” moving his hand to run through Art’s curls, “Now what are you gonna tell your friends? And what’re you gonna do about Stephen literally hating my guts.” Patrick jokes as he tackles Art back on their bed. 

Art falls back onto the bed with an oof. He hasn’t thought about his friends or Stephen learning about him and Patrick. He was sure Stephen had an inkling but he knows that Stephen prides himself on knowing everything about Art. Without Art ever coming out to Stephen, he doesn’t think Stephen could fully connect the dots. So he’ll have to tell Stephen first. 

The rest of his friends would find out eventually, but it would be something he’d want to keep in his close circle. As Art rises in the media he doesn’t really want his personal life on blast. There are very few out athletes let alone tennis players. 

“Do you want them to know like…everything?” Art questions. 

“Yeah I don’t really care if they know about like…how we actually met and everything.” 

“I’ll take care of it,” Art yawns. He holds Patrick close from where he’s laid on Art’s chest, mindlessly drawing patterns on Patrick’s back. 

“Good. Now that all that’s out the way, let’s talk about how much of a freak you are,” Patrick sighs contently, nuzzling his face into Art’s abdomen. 

“No, let's talk about how much of a freak you are. I can’t believe you said that.” 

“I can’t believe you liked it. And don’t think I forgot about the sweat thing. Freak.” 

“Your freak. See you already forgot,” Art hums half asleep. 

If Patrick’s heart skips a beat, he wouldn’t admit it.

When Art woke up the next morning he knew he was going to have to sort out his friends and let his coach know that Patrick wants to try his hand at going pro. 

Stephen should be easy. Or Art’s hoping it’ll be easier. He showers while Patrick sleeps, shooting Stephen a text to grab hotel breakfast in 15. 

After he gets dressed, he grabs a room key. Leaving Patrick with a forehead kiss and a quick “Be back soon.” 

He knows Patrick won’t remember so he makes sure to send a quick text to him too.

When he gets downstairs he spots Stephen immediately. Messy red hair splayed everywhere like he just rolled out of bed. Plaid pajama pants that Art is certain are from middle school. 

After getting an omelette made, Art joins him. First thing Stephen says with a mouth full of egg whites, “Did your boyfriend ditch you? I was shocked you texted me this morning.” 

Art rolls his eyes, carefully cutting off a piece of his omelette, “You're such a drama queen. God forbid I make a new friend.” 

“Am I? I don’t think so. You can’t be like “Oh actually I found a new best friend I wanna spend all my time with. See ya!” and just think I’m gonna be cool with it,” Stephen shoots back, leaning back in his chair as he sips his water. 

“Maybe you are just jealous,” Art teases, raising an eyebrow. 

“I don’t mind sharing if I know I’m number one,” Stephen jokes back, smirking. 

Art deadpans dripping his utensils on his plate, “You're always gonna be my best friend, you know that.” 

“So what the fuck is up man? You like disappear for weeks, I only see you at practice and games and anytime I do see you, Patrick is there.” 

“Weeks is an exaggeration. We’ve only been here for like 3 weeks-ish.” 

He huffs, “Art.” That was his be fucking for real voice. He could tell Art was hiding something, “Cut the bullshit. Just be honest man. Is he like holding you hostage or something? Blackmailing you? You know I can help if you need anything.” 

Art knows Stephen is only half joking but his stomach is twisting with nerves. He hasn’t really said the quiet part out loud of Hey so I think I’m bi or something. But practicing on Stephen would be as good as it gets. “Well it’s like…”

“And don’t do that thing where you repeat the beginning of the sentence a million times in a million different ways,” Stephen adds, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

Art scoffs, he doesn’t do that…does he? “Well you know how Luke dared me to pick up a prostitute when we first got here?” 

Stephen gestures for Art to keep going. 

“I was looking around to you know do the dare and I saw Patrick. So I was like okay I’ll ask him for help, but um he is was a prostitute.” He’s studying the look on Stephen’s face to see if there are any drastic changes. 

“So you…” Art watches as his face shifts into thinking mode. Stephen starts again slowly thinking about each word he says, “You slept with him?”

“Well—yes I did, but not that same night. It’s a long story.” 

“So you’re…gay? There’s no shot you’re gay. You dated Kacey for like 2 years,” Stephen is taken aback. It feels like he’s in some kind of alternate reality. 

“Not like gay gay. But not like straight either. I told you it was a long story.” 

“You got,” Stephen takes a peak at his phone, “2 hours until practice so you better hurry up and start this long convoluted ass story of yours.” 

So Art tells him everything. He tells him about how he felt spending that first night together watching Pitch Perfect. He tells him about the bar they went out to where he got a little too drunk and said more than he should’ve. He talks about the fight they got into and how he apologized. 

He even tells him about the progression of their sex life, what happened that one time Stephen kind of interrupted, and the events of last night where Art lost his virginity. He ends with the conversation him and Patrick had where they decided to be exclusive. 

“So he’s your boyfriend?” Stephen asks, leaning against the table holding himself up with his elbows. He started leaning in about halfway through, very invested in this story. 

“Basically,” Art hasn’t said the B word out loud but yeah that pretty much sums it up. 

“Well we should, I don’t know, celebrate or something. This calls for going out tonight,” Stephen decides, empty breakfast plate long forgotten.

Art laughs, “What? You just want an excuse to drink.” 

“It’ll be great we can invite the guys and you can reintroduce us to your new boyfriend,” Stephen teases. 

At least it went well. 

The day passes by quickly. After breakfast, Patrick came to practice per usual. This time with the exciting news that he’d be rejoining the circuit. Art’s coach was ecstatic. He even offered to coach Patrick for free for a month while Patrick gets reacquainted. Art’s coach saw it as an investment, he knew he’d be getting great returns in due time. 

It was also easy for him to have two players who’d be playing at all the same tournaments going forward, “You guys should think about doubles. I think you guys would demolish the competition.”  

With Art’s more reactive playing style that was smooth and methodical, like ice. And Patrick’s proactive playing style, attacking the ball, blazing his way through sets, like fire. A match made in tennis heaven. 

“We’ll think about it,” Is all Art says as they make their way back to the locker room after practice. Patrick kicking his ass again as his hitting partner. 

Taking their time in the empty locker room shower. Patrick on his knees with hollowed cheeks, bobbing his head up and down on Art’s length. Not long until Art is pushing Patrick up against the cold wall of tile, “Is this okay? I don’t have any condoms on me.” 

Patrick nods, bracing himself against the wall, “Yeah fuck babe it’s fine, just hurry up.” 

Water droplets running down both of them while Art pushes his spit covered cock inside Patrick’s tightness.

They try their best to keep quiet, not noticing the one person who scurries out the locker room shortly after. 

When Art let Patrick know how it went with Stephen, it was better than he anticipated. Now they were getting ready to hang out with the rest of Art’s friends, only this time they’d be going as boyfriends. Thank fuck for that because now it means Art can actually get drunk without fear of slipping up by accident. He had a few more days until the final match in this tournament so a little fun today wouldn’t hurt. 

They get there late thanks to Patrick who instigated a heated makeout session right before they were about to leave. 

His friends are all seated in a booth, Luke and Zac on one side and Stephen on the other. From what Art can tell, they’ve already had a few drinks. There’s a little a commotion when him and Patrick approach, Stephen getting up to hug them both. Letting them have his side of the booth while he grabs a chair to sit on the end of the table.

“Look who decided to join us,” Zac smiles, taking another sip of his beer. 

Luke gestures to himself and Zac, “Stephen said you had some riveting news to share with us.”

“Spell riveting,” Art teases, his thigh pressed against Patrick’s from how close they’re sitting in the booth. 

“Fuck you,” Luke spits back, “Are you gonna spill or what?” 

“Yeah Donaldson, you gonna spill or what,” Patrick chimes in, leaning back in the booth. Eyes roaming the side of Art’s face diligently. 

“Jesus, can I at least get a drink first?” He scoffs, not expecting to be ganged up on. Like magic the waiter appears and takes Art and Patrick’s first round of orders while taking everyone else’s second round. 

Once Art is finally settled with his tequila soda, he clears his throat to interrupt their conversation about Luke’s awful backhand, “Okay so basically—“

“You’re gay and you’re fucking Patrick,” Zac blurts out with a slight slur to words, Art’s not sure what number drink he’s on. 

“What the fuck?,” He cuts his eyes towards Stephen, “I told you not to tell them yet.” 

Stephen raises his hands in faux surrender, “Wasn’t me.” 

Zac laughs, downing the rest of his drink, “No one told me. I heard you two earlier, in the locker room,” he smirks. 

Patrick places a comforting hand on Art’s thigh to soothe as best he could, coming out doesn’t always have to be a big moment especially if your friends are all fuckheads (affectionate). He can’t hide the smirk on his face though, he’s not apologetic for anything he did in that shower. 

“Well fuck,” Art blushes, taking another sip of his drink. Public sex is only hot when your friends aren’t the spectators, “We’re actually dating but yeah that sums it up.”

“Sounds like it was good Zweig. Any critiques for Art?” Luke laughs, sipping his beer. 

Patrick will entertain it, maybe it’s the rum and coke working its magic, “You know now that I think about it…” He trails off. Playful smile on his lips as he throws his arm around Art’s shoulder. 

“Think very carefully about those next words,” Art half jokes back. He’s not new to fucking but he’s new to fucking men and he was trying his best okay?

“No, everything is perfect. You’re doing amazing,” Patrick plants a big wet kiss on Art’s cheek. 

A chorus of groans and a few ewwws erupt from Art’s friends, “Save the gay shit for your room please. Spare me,” Stephen rolls his eyes playfully. 

“We’re both bi actually, get it right,” Art shoots back. 

“Wait wait wait…so how did you guys meet?” Luke asks the question on both his and Zac’s mind. 

So Art delves into the story of how they met, for the second time today. Even telling everyone about Patrick rejoining the pro circuit.  Everyone seems super chill about everything and Patrick is grateful for that because he wouldn’t want to cause any sort of rift between Art and his friends. Art asks him for another drink so he happily obliges making his way to the bar. Stephen not too far behind. 

“I hope you understand what you’re getting yourself into,” Stephen says, pulling Patrick out of his thoughts. 

He leans against the bar, turning to look at Stephen, “What do you mean?” 

“Art is a lot of things. He’s overly trusting, too nice, smart as hell, fucking neurotic as hell too and a pain in my ass. But he’s also the best person I’ve ever met,” Stephen takes a pause before he continues, “Can’t watch his own back for shit. And you guys are moving so fucking fast it’s giving me whiplash. Art couldn’t even see his ex for more than 48 hours at a time before going crazy, so I know he must really like you.” 

He puts a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, “And I don’t care that you used to be a sex worker, I could give less of a shit actually. But what I do care about is him,” He gestures with his eyes, looking in Art’s direction. “So you better not fuck this up. Because if you hurt him, I will make sure you end up right back in this shithole and never hold a tennis racket again.” 

Then Stephen’s whole demeanor changes right back to how he was before, smile on his face as he pats Patrick’s shoulder twice, “Good chat.” And then he’s gone, walking back over to rejoin the guys. 

Hm. Overprotective best friend. So maybe Patrick was wrong about the jealousy. Somehow he doesn’t know if this is better but he can see where Stephen’s coming from. Art is exactly like he described down to a tee, which makes sense since they’ve known each other forever. But Patrick has no intention of hurting Art. 

Sometimes he thinks back to their first ‘fight’ and wonders if he overreacted. Clearly Art had no ill intentions. Patrick was just projecting past trauma onto something completely different which wasn’t fair to Art at all. 

Were they really moving that fast? It’s hard when you’re on the inside and all you’re experiencing is the honeymoon phase of it all. Patrick makes a mental note to meet up with Tiny to figure out if this is a good idea or not. Moving away to California and moving in with someone he’s only known for a month. 

By the time Patrick gets back to their table with his and Art’s drink, it’s evident that everyone’s more inebriated. Art included. 

“What took you so long? I already got another one,” Art slurs, making overly obnoxious gestures with his hands. 

Patrick sets the drink down, sliding into the booth next to Art, “Sorry there was a long line at the bar,” he says off handedly, trying not to look in Stephen’s direction. 

Art rests his head on Patrick’s shoulder, followed by a much quieter, “Missed you.” Patrick is sure if he were to look at Art right now he’d have those big puppy eyes. 

So he rests a hand in Art’s hair to quip back, “I missed you too.” A small smile on his face. 

The night goes on. Conversation flowing easily between them all. Shifting from whether or not Luke should text his ex back, how Zac is probably banned from half the bars in their college town (Palo Alto), and that Stephen might just be single for the rest of his life. Art chimes in on that, elaborating on how Stephen just doesn’t know how to show emotion and that’s why he’ll be single for the rest of his life. 

As the drinks keep flowing, Luke asks a question Art wasn’t expecting, “But like what does it feel like? Like having sex with a guy?” 

Okay well this is right up Patrick’s alley, “Well are we talking about topping or bottoming? Both are unique experiences in their own right.” 

“Huh?” Luke and Stephen question in sync. In their defense it is 2012 and gay lingo wasn’t on either of their radars. 

“Topping is like giving and bottoming is receiving,” Art helps. 

“Well not topping cuz that’s just like anal and I’ve done that before,” Luke says proudly, “with a girl obviously.” He emphasizes before he continues, “But what does bottoming feel like?” 

Patrick looks at Art giving a Do you want to answer or you want me to answer? But Art just shrugs, Patrick is almost certain the alcohol has fully taken over, “Well you know your g-spot is in your ass right?” 

“What the fuck?” The table bursts out laughing. “My g-spot?” Zac questions pointing to himself comedically. 

“The male g-spot dipshit. As in all men,” Art supplies. 

“Are you being, deadass?” Stephen questions. 

“Duh. That’s why it feels good,” Patrick shrugs, “Use enough lube and it doesn’t hurt as much, just feels good.” 

“But doesn’t that just feel so submissive though? Taking it up the ass?” Luke asks. 

Patrick smirks in Art’s direction because that was absolutely not true. Patrick was a little bit a lot a bit of a power bottom which Art has experienced first hand. And Art wouldn’t want  it any other way. 

“I’ll just say this,” Patrick starts, “Topping isn’t inherently dominant and bottoming isn’t inherently submissive.” 

Zac is fully enthralled by this conversation, “So what do you do Art? Top or bottom?” 

Art had been quiet but Patrick thinks it’s because he’s quite close to falling asleep from the alcohol but being roped into this conversation woke him right up, “I’ve done both. Topping mostly but I bottomed for the first time the other day. I liked it, I liked it alot actually fuck. It was good, I was nervous at first though because Patrick’s dick is fucking h—“

“And I think that’s enough. Maybe we should call it a night,” Patrick suggests cutting Art off. Drunk Art and Talkative Art are synonymous it seems. 

“Oh is that why you were walking funny today?” Luke cuts in laughing. 

“Hey, that’s not nice.” Art fights back in response to Patrick with a stupidly cute pout on his face, “They asked me I’m just answering. And I was walking fine today Luke. Patrick being cryptic as fuck for no reason, I’m just a submissive person. Like even with topping and stuff I let Patrick tell me what to do. It’s more fun that way,” He rambles on, slurring becoming more evident, “But I kinda like bottoming because then he can just do what he wants to me and I don’t have to think. Especially when he eats my a—“

“Nope we’re done.” As much as Patrick has no shame, these are Art’s friends not Patrick’s friends. He would love to dive into the intricacies of eating ass but he doesn’t want to talk about eating Art’s ass when he knows that Sober Art will already be embarrassed tomorrow. “C’mon, time to go.” 

Art is already whining while Patrick tries to steady Art’s weight standing up, holding him up by the waist to start walking out the door, “Nice catching up with you guys. See ya later!” 

On the drive back Art is insatiable which is crazy considering he’s cum 3 times today already. Touching all on Patrick while Patrick is trying his best to focus on the road, “Want you,” is all Art keeps mumbling but with his words still slurred it sounds more like “Wah you”

“C’mon baby, I gotta focus,” he replies, moving Art’s hands back to Art’s own lap. 

They make it back to the room, Art almost pulling his pants down in the elevator because his erection was “suffocating”. Patrick isn’t really interested in doing anything tonight seeing how drunk Art is, and he’s sure Art will just pass out once his head hits the pillow. 

He helps Art take off his shirt and jeans while taking off his own. Laying them both down in the bed and turning off the lights. He thinks he’s in the clear until Art presses up against Patrick’s side, crotch lined up with Patrick’s hip.

What he does next catches Patrick by surprise. Art nuzzles his face into the crook of Patrick’s armpit and takes a deep breath while he starts to rock his hips against Patrick. 

This little freak. 

“Patrick,” Art whines as his thrusts speed up. He’s gonna cum in briefs if he keeps this up. The musky scent of Patrick with the faint smell of his woodsy deodorant mixed in smells like heaven. Patrick’s scent is intoxicating. 

Art would already smell him sometimes in passing, especially after practice when Patrick is all sweaty. Art would lick it all up. He’d drink Patrick’s sweat if he could (well he tasted it the other day). Salty with a very small citrus note. He would also keep his nose buried in Patrick’s armpit forever and be happy. He wouldn’t say any of this out loud but being drunk, no inhibitions, yadayadayada. 

“Yeah? Take what you need baby,” Patrick hums contently, feeling himself start to grow hard in his boxers. 

“Ah ah, mmmmnngg. Feels so good,” Art moans, tightening his grip on Patrick’s waist to keep himself steady, “Say it again.” 

Patrick can barely make out the words Art is saying, muffled by his armpit being in Art’s face. It’s a little ticklish but he’s holding out, “Say what? Use me how you need babe,” is what he settles on saying. 

Art shakes his head no causing Patrick to stifle a laugh from how ticklish it feels, “Nooo,” Art whines, hips picking up in pace, “Last time, when you fucked me.” 

The slurring with the muffling of Art words and Patrick’s nerve endings crossing wires flipping between feeling ticklish and turned on is making this an overwhelming but hot experience. Patrick almost gives up, about to ask Art what he means again until it hits him. Even in the dark, a smirk curls onto Patrick’s face, “When I called you a dirty girl? You liked that baby?” He questions. 

Art is nodding furiously now, hips picking up pace, fingers gripping harder. This positon is a little awkward for Patrick since he has to keep his arm up which means he can’t really touch Art. So he does the best he can, free hand gripping Art’s arm that’s wrapped around his waist, “First my sweat, and now this. You really are a fucking freak. Are you always like this or only with me huh?” 

“Only you,” Art lets out a breathy moan and Patrick knows he’s close. He wishes they could’ve talked more about this before fully diving into it but it’s too late now. The first time Patrick said it was actually an accident, he was thinking about how Art’s moans sound like a girl and then slipped up. But Art came so hard after that he just assumed Art liked it. And Patrick would be lying if he said he didn’t like it too. 

“My dirty girl. Gonna make a mess in your panties for me?” 

And Art does indeed finish inside his briefs mid sentence. He rides his high, slowing down his thrusts until coming to a stop. Patrick goes to get up, maybe get Art a change of underwear but Art is fast asleep, face still nuzzled against Patrick’s armpit. 

Anytime Patrick wakes up earlier than Art, it’s a guarantee that Art is hungover. So Patrick lets him sleep. He grabs a few carbs from downstairs, a bagel with cream cheese and a blueberry muffin, to leave on the nightstand with a glass of water and some ibuprofen for Art. Taking a quick shower before heading out to go meet with Tiny. 

“What do you mean you're leaving?” She furrows her eyebrows, stopping in her tracks. They’re taking a walk around a park, trees a plenty, to disguise the joint they’re currently sharing. 

“I mean I’m leaving. Packing up my car and following Art all the way to California,” He says, looking back at where she’s standing. 

“Like for forever?” 

“I mean that’s…that’s the plan.” 

“Does he know that?” She questions, starting up their walking pace again. 

“It’s not like I asked him to marry me,” Patrick scoffs, taking the joint from her offering hand. 

“But you would. Marry him?” She asks thoughtfully. 

“Shit, I dunno Tiny. Gay marriage isn’t even fucking legal. Why are you asking me this?” 

“Because you can’t move across the country on a whim, idiot. You have to be certain that this is your person. I don’t have to spell it out for you Patrick but your life is shit right now. You sleep in your car and you finance your life by using your body. That isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Gee thanks. Love you too,” He makes a face before taking another drag of the joint. 

“I’m being serious Patrick. I say that to say, are you sure you’re not just packing up and going along with the next good thing to fall into your lap? You need to be sure this is what you really want. I need you to think with your head. The one attached to your neck, not the one between your legs.” 

And she’s right because she’s always right and it’s annoying. He should think about it instead of just jumping in. But he’s never felt this way about anyone before, “I know you’re just looking out for me and I really appreciate it, I do. But I,” Patrick passes the joint back to her. 

He takes a deep breath, really thinking what he wants to say next. His mind briefly drifts back to the sleepy blonde back in their room. He already misses him and it sounds pathetic but…Patrick could see a life with  Art. Living together, playing tennis, maybe Patrick picks up a coaching job, they settle down and just live. Live experiencing one another. 

Patrick never thought he’d get married. He thought he’d die alone actually. He didn’t think he was loveable, or even worthy of love. Who needs enemies when growing up with parents like his right? Even though he never really saw an issue with his parents until he grew up. 

His dad ran a tight ship and his mom was a follower. Only there to enforce her husband's rule. But Patrick was never one to follow the rules. Shipped off to tennis boarding school early so his dad didn’t have to deal with him. Scolded hard when he decided not to go to college. And no longer considered heir to the conglomerate that is Zweig Industries. He made sure of that when he came out. 

His dad never hit him growing up. Maybe that’s why Thanksgiving dinner was such a shock. Of course he didn’t want a gay son but to put his hands on him? In front of the entire family. Not a single person sitting at that table had anything to say about it. So he left. Never looked back. 

Patrick never fit into a box. So he thought, maybe love just wasn’t for him. Maybe he was too much. Art was the only one to ever make him feel different. Even his first boyfriend was just young puppy love. Nothing sustainable, especially considering how they broke up shortly after the Thanksgiving fiasco. 

With Art everything just felt…different. He wanted to be around him all the time. He hated being apart from Art. Even right now, Art was on his mind. He’s never felt judged by Art even with the knowledge of Patrick’s past. Well, partial knowledge. 

Art knew about Patrick’s job and the highlights, but he’s never told Art about the bad parts. Like all the nights he’s gotten fucked by customers in doggy under the guise of Yeah I like it rough, when in reality he just wasn’t into it and it’s a lot easier to hide the fact that he was soft that way. Or the nights when he wanted to stop. Silent pleas of running through his mind of Stop just stop please, This fucking hurts, You fucking suck at this dude no wonder you had to pay to sleep with someone, Definitely never fucking this guy again. But he couldn’t say anything no matter how loud his thoughts got because then they’d say I paid for my time and I’m gonna make the most of it. 

If that wasn’t bad enough there was one particular time where Patrick did say stop. But they didn’t stop. 

Yeah, he didn’t work for the rest of the month. He ended up borrowing money from Tiny who gave it to him with no questions asked. He could never thank her enough for not asking questions. 

That was Patrick’s biggest concern with ever being in a relationship again. He felt like damaged goods. So he was going to have to lay out all there in front of the person’s opinion he cared about more than anyone else. He would do it. And he would do it before California, that way Art could make the decision on his own because maybe Patrick is damaged goods. 

“Sorry I forgot what I was gonna say. But,” He shakes his head, running both hands through his hair letting a breath out of his mouth, “I want him Tiny. I want him more than I’ve wanted anyone else in my life. I want him more than tennis and money and whatever the fuck else I couldn’t give a shit about in comparison to how much I give a shit about him.” 

“Look at me,” she says. He turns to face her so she can really look in his eyes. She’s searching for something and he doesn’t know what it is but he knows that she finds it, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” He whispers. He feels like he wants go for a run or cry or something. He didn’t expect to feel so many things during one conversation. 

“Yeah okay. You're a grown ass man, you’re telling me this is what you want and I can tell this is what you want. So he better treat you right and you better answer my fucking calls,” she jokes, already tearing up. It was bittersweet but she was happy to see him happy. 

“Always.” 

One hard conversation done, one more to go. 

When Patrick gets back to their room, the curtains are still drawn and the room is still dark. Blonde curls peeking out from under the comforter. Bagel and ibuprofen gone, only things left being a half drunk glass of water and blueberry muffin. 

“Wake up sleepy head, it’s almost 1pm,” Patrick kicks off his shoes making his way to sit on the next to Art on the bed. 

Art groans from where he’s lying down. Turning around to bury his face in Patrick’s lap, “I feel awful.” 

“That’s called a hangover babe,” He teases, rubbing his hand through Art’s curls. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“Went to go see Tiny,” He starts, still running his hand through the curls. It’s oddly soothing and Art would agree.

Art’s met Tiny a few times now. They all went out dinner a few times, usually frequenting Patrick’s favorite 24/7 diner since apparently that’s his and Tiny’s go to spot. Her and Art got along better than Patrick anticipated. They could banter back and forth in the same teasing way her and Patrick do. Art was good at holding his own, that was another thing Patrick liked about him. Of course she was there the first night Art and Patrick met but she could barely see Art from that car window. Seeing him in person she could definitely see the appeal. “Usually I don’t like pretty boys, but you get a pass I suppose,” she’d tell him. Art was taller than she expected, and she was smaller than Art expected, she stood at a whopping 5 feet. But Art shouldn’t have expected much considering her name. It was a bit comical, seeing these two 6 feet something guys standing next to her. 

Art peeks his eyes open to look up at Patrick from where he laid in his lap, the room is dark enough so it won’t worsen his headache, “How was it?” 

Soft smile pulling at his lips, “Sorta good. Told her I was leaving soon.” 

Art has a small frown on his face, “How’d she take it?” 

“Like a fucking boss. Expected nothing less from her,” Patrick takes a sharp inhale, “We talked about you.” 

Art’s eyebrows scrunched from the worried look on Patrick’s face despite his positive words, “What’s wrong?” 

Patrick’s mind just goes back to the earlier conversation and how his thoughts took over. He still feels like he doesn’t even deserve all the good things that have happened to him lately. But he felt like withholding his past sexual traumas would be like ‘false advertisement’. It should be Art’s decisions whether or not Art wants to stay with someone as ruined as Patrick. 

“There’s something I should probably tell you. You know before we get too deep into this and you realize you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into with me. I don’t want you to feel mislead or betrayed so I just want to lay everything on the table.” 

“Patrick,” Art frowns, “Hey, what’s wrong?” Art’s fully sitting up now. Patrick didn’t notice it but his eyes were already watering and his voice wavered a little when speaking. “You know if this—if this isn’t what you want you don’t have to come. I never wanted to force you into anything I—“

“No it’s not about that,” Patrick sniffles. Fuck he was trying so hard to hold it together. 

“Then what’s wrong baby, talk to me,” Art continues, desperation dripping from his voice. He holds Patrick’s face in both hands, using his thumbs to wipe away at the fallen tears. 

“I’m fucking damaged Art. I’m a prostitute with a high body count and enough sexual experiences to last a lifetime and I’m—“

“You know I don’t care about that babe, I still want you. Those other people didn’t matter, they were just practice,” He rebuttals hoping to pull Patrick out of this headspace.

Patrick pulls his face away from Art, creating some distance between them, “No you don’t fucking get it. I’ve fucked more people than I can even remember. People have forced themselves on me more than I can remember. If I had control in any of those situations my body count would be half of what it is right now. That shit I told you about topping being my preference was a lie. Bottoming is easier Art. It’s easier because then I don’t have to be into it. It fucking hurts, but at least I don’t have to stay hard. Customers can just fuck me and get it over. They don’t care, and why should they? They’re just paying for a warm body. So you can act like you don’t care about what I did and who I was before you, but you didn’t even know the half of it.” 

Art is stunned. He’s trying really hard to process all the information that Patrick gave him about his past experiences. Art wants to cry. He wants to cry for Patrick. He’s angry at the world, for all the experiences Patrick’s had to brave just to survive. But right now he needs to focus on being there for Patrick. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, trying not to break the delicate blanket of quiet that’s fallen over them. He feels like if he does, it would break the seal holding back his own tears, “Patrick you didn’t deserve any of that.” 

“Yes I did,” Patrick has tears running down his face now but Art can tell he’s still trying to hold back, “I did because I’m a fucking loser. That’s why my parents hate me. I’m an idiot for thinking I could skip college. So fucking stupid to think you’d want to be with someone like me,” He’s sobbing now. He doesn’t know when Art engulfed him into a bear hug, his face smushed into Art’s chest. Art effectively acting as a weighted blanket. 

“Of course I want to be with you. You’re not a loser. You’re funny and selfless and way cooler than I will ever be. It's not your fault Patrick. You didn’t deserve it. No one deserves that,” Art nuzzles his face in Patrick’s curls, his own headache long forgotten. No physical pain could compare to the emotional pain he’s feeling for Patrick right now. It’s not his fault. None of this is. 

He keeps whispering reassurances in Patrick’s ear while rubbing his back in comfort. It’s reminiscent of their first night together. Art had put two and two together making the assumption that Patrick’s dad hit him that night at Thanksgiving. They’ve talked about it passing but Patrick always tried to downplay it. Art could see where Patrick’s inability to see himself as someone worthy of love would stem from. 

“How could you ever love someone like me?” 

“How could I not?” Art scoffs playfully. Now that Patrick’s sitting up he can look him in his eyes. Red rimmed and cheeks tear stained but Art still thinks he looks beautiful, handsome doesn’t really encapsulate it. He wants to count every freckle on his face, which he’s started. One of the days Patrick slept in (so most days) Art had started his count, he got up to 70 before Patrick woke up, “Do you know you have more than 70 freckles on your face?” 

“What?” Patrick’s face twists up in confusion, not expecting that at all. 

“Like have you counted how many freckles you have on your face?” Art continues, tilting his head to side as he holds eye contact. Holding the side of Patrick’s face, using his thumb to swipe at some of the tear stains. 

“Art why would I ever do that. There’s like a million.” 

Art shakes his head no, pursing his lips for comedic effect, “Not a million, my guess is closer to 150. You wanna take the under or the over?” 

“Definitely the over, what are we betting? 

Hook line and sinker. Art’s reeled him in. Effectively calmed Patrick down, now he just needs to solidify that he wants Patrick in his life. 

“I think we should bet who has to clean Ollie’s litter box for a week,” That’s a good one. He fucking hates cleaning the litter box. Ollie (short for Oliver) was Art’s cat back home. He was actually missing him very much. Ollie was a long hair calico cat with piercing eyes. Honestly Art thinks Ollie kinda hates him but he can be sweet when he wants to. Ollie was currently safe and sound at Art’s aunt’s house, he couldn’t wait for Ollie to meet Patrick. 

Patrick’s face melts, worry dissipating. He wants to cry all over again for a completely different reason. Art still wants him. He might end up having to clean a litter box for a week but Patrick would clean a litter box forever if it meant they could be together forever. Small smile on his lips, “You’re on blondie.” 

Art tackles him into the bed so Patrick’s laying flat on his back, Art straddling him. He pins Patrick down while he peppers his face with kisses. Easily transitioning into counting the freckles on Patrick’s face. 

“You better not be cheating,” Patrick says, hands naturally gravitating to rest on Art’s waist. 

“Me? Never,” Art drags on sarcastically. 

There’s 173 freckles, but Art tells him there’s only 148.

The rest of the tournament flies by. Art makes his way to the final and blows it out of the water just like Patrick knew he would. Proud is all he can feel in this moment, watching from the stands. It’s particularly funny watching the tennis groupies, which Patrick was quite familiar with from his own tennis days, fumble over themselves to get a signature or any type of face time with Art. Their makeup, pushups bras, and syrupy sweet perfumes bombarding Art’s personal space as he walks off the court. He takes his time being nice, too nice even.

Taking selfies, signing posters, until one girl offers up her chest to be signed, just above where her cleavage starts. His eyes flit over to where Patrick’s waiting for him at the entrance to the lockeroom. Patrick does a quick but subtle It’s fine gesture because he knows Art’s asking permission. Patrick could care less about Taylor from Lousina or Georgia or wherever this bottle blonde came from. He knows Art is his. And vice versa. 

It’s a celebration, Art just won another tournament meaning he’s in good shape for the open this fall. They’re nothing if not creatures of habit so he tells Patrick he wants to go out to celebrate, “Okay let’s not party too hard, we have to checkout tomorrow,” Patrick reasons. 

“I already extended it just one more day. That way we can rest up before the big drive,” He answers back, messing with his hair in the mirror. It was going to be a long drive, definitely more than 24 hours total. They had already talked through the logistics, they’d both be driving in Art’s car. Stopping at night time to rest up at motels. Art wanted to insist that Patrick could sell his car and they could drive together in his jeep, but he didn’t want to impose. However, Patrick had already been one step ahead. He sold his car a few days ago, that way he could use the money to stay afloat for a while before he starts playing tennis again. He didn’t want to leech off Art, he wanted to be able to contribute. Patrick was really all in. All his eggs in Art’s basket. And he was happy with that. 

Going out to the bars in Baton Rouge for one more night. Patrick was going to miss this place. They went out to his all time favorite bar, & Bourbon. & Bourbon was an amalgamation of quintessential Louisiana classics. Southern music mixed with some 2000s R&B classics. It’s nicer than the bars they usually frequent with Art’s friends. It was a cocktail bar as opposed to their beloved dive bars. The inside was rustic modern with sultry mood lighting. They’ve been once before, on an unofficial date kinda sorta.

They take a seat at the bar, high barstools with soft cushions. Art has gone for a strawberry sidecar while Patrick orders a peach old fashioned. Patrick continues droning on and on about how amazing Art’s game was in the finals. How everything was textbook definition perfect, and the way he plays is so calculated. Patrick starts to joke about Art signing that girl’s tits from earlier, “That was hilarious. Not surprised though, I mean look at you.” Moving his hand to hold Art’s jaw. 

“I’ve never done that before, I was shocked,” Art laughs, shaking his face out of Patrick’s grasp.

Patrick places a quick peck on Art’s lips before heading to the bathroom. Art fiddles with his shirt collar, summoning the bartender to order another drink. That’s when he spots a slender figure in his peripheral who sits next to him on his right. She’s wearing a dress, short and black. But still classy, she fits right into the aesthetic of this place. Long wavy bob that reaches her shoulders. 

He swivels slowly, turning from left (where Patrick was sitting) to right, “Tashi.” 

She uses her perfectly manicured hand to fix a few of the misplaced curls on top of his head, “You always did like picking up stray animals.” 

His eyes squint in confusion. Tashi loved Oliver, he couldn’t understand why her tone seemed negative, “Huh?” 

“I never expected you to pick up a dog though. Thought you were more of a cat person,” she continues easily, not missing a beat, “Look, here he comes now.” She tilts her head to the side watching as Patrick almost sprints back from the bathroom to sit on Art’s left. 

And of course Patrick knows who that is. It’s Tashi fucking Duncan. Number 1 in women’s pro tennis right now, and she played for the same school Art did—Stanford. She’s also the hottest woman he’s ever seen. If Art was Patrick’s type to a T for guys, then Tashi was his type to a T for girls. But Art’s body language seems to be a little cagey, like he’s not thrilled to see her, “You okay?” 

“Guard dog. Who would’ve guessed?” She sits back upright. 

“Patrick, this is Tashi but I’m sure you knew that,” Art sighs, sitting up straight so they could greet each other. 

“Yeah, Patrick,” Patrick does a curt nod introducing himself. They both ignored Tashi’s prior comment.

“I know who you are. Patrick Zweig, crashed and burned hard after 2008. Shame your ego is too big, you had real skill,” She shoots back. 

Okay what the fuck? Patrick laughs because well he has to laugh, “Oh yeah? While you were off beating on girls who were the best in their highschools instead of playing real tennis players?”

“I didn’t want my only skill in life to be hitting a ball with a racket because news flash they offer classes in college. But maybe you wouldn’t know that seeing as you never went,” her tone remains neutral, like she’s not bothered at all. 

“Okay well sorry I was trying to be true to myself in the pro circuit instead of hiding behind a college tour,” he shrugs. 

Art is getting whiplash shooting his gaze back and forth between them. 

“True to yourself. Sure. That’s why you still have that terrible serve.” 

“It works doesn’t it?” 

She cracks a smile, that has to be a joke, “Well then you wouldn’t be here playing cheerleader now would you? Might as well throw on a pleated skirt and wear a shirt that says Donaldson on the back. I’m sure he’d be into that” she finishes, eyes locked back onto Art. 

“God, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were jealous,” Patrick moves his hand to rest on Art’s thigh while resting his other elbow on the bar. 

“Been there done that,” She watches in delight as a flash of confusion crosses Patrick’s face. She grabs her drink, making her way to slip off the bar stool, “I mean you could always put Art in the cheerleading outfit instead,” she says, eyes landing on Art once again, “I’m sure he’d like it.” 

She leaves them with one more thing, “Congrats on your win Art. You played well. See you at the Open.” They both watch as she walks away with her back to them, heels clicking against the bar floor. 

“Been there done that?” Patrick says pulling Art back to reality. 

“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Art sighs turning his body to fully face Patrick now that his mind isn’t trying to focus on two people at once. 

“You could’ve told me your ex-girlfriend is the hottest woman in tennis,” Patrick laughs. He seems hyped, like he just went on a run or something. Fuck that’s so hot. Art and Tashi are hot separately but together? His mind was going to explode. 

“So you’re not mad I didn’t tell you?” Art asks, they were just in a pretty heated argument. Art thought Patrick would be pissed. 

“Mad about what?” Patrick’s eyes follow Tashi’s path, staring at slight sway of her hips. The way that dress is draped on her body like it was made for her. Watching as she joins a table of girls with similar aesthetics to her own. A few of them are also notable tennis players. 

Art turns around to follow where Patrick’s looking, “Fuck I forgot the women’s tournament started last week, that’s why she’s here.” 

Patrick focuses his attention back to Art, swiveling Art’s stool so that Art is back to facing him. He’s trying really hard to ignore the throbbing in his pants right now, “Did she mean that thing about the skirt? You’ve worn one for her?” Yeah he’s not helping his situation at all. 

Art groans covering his face with his hands, “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Patrick licks his lips, pupils blown wide, “Now you have to tell me. And don’t leave out a single detail.” 

Not even an hour later they’re back in their room. On their bed, Art laid out underneath Patrick as he pressed himself inside with minimal resistance due to how long he spent taking Art apart on his fingers moments ago. His cock fully enveloped by Art’s smooth walls as he fully sinks in. 

It’s slow and intimate. They maintain eye contact for the majority of the time until Patrick ducks down to graze over one of Art’s nipples with his teeth.

Slow strokes with bruising force. Neither of them are going to last long, Patrick in particular due to his lack of condom. He’s been able to cum in Art once before and he treasures it everytime. Thoughts in his mind of Art dressed as a cheerleader are the final push he needs. He spills inside Art with a final grunt of, “Always take me so well baby. Like a good girl. You feel so fucking good jesus. ‘m gonna cum.”

Art isn’t too far behind. Feeling Patrick paint his insides, a feeling he’s grown to love. He finishes, abs contracting as he begs nonsensically, “Please please please cum inside me.” His own cum streaking across his torso. Patrick fucks him through their highs, before pulling out and cleaning up. 

“Sometimes I think I just want to plug you up, keep everything inside of you,” Patrick yawns on the verge of sleep. They’re laying down face to face, it’s almost 1am. 

“You’re so gross,” Art scoffs, he can already feel the ache developing down below. He was definitely going to feel this tomorrow. 

“Says the one who humped me while huffing my armpits,” Patrick smiles lazily before he continues, “Maybe I just wanna knock you up. Plug you up to make sure it takes. Make sure you can never leave me,” Pulling Art closer so their noses are almost touching. 

Art knows Patrick is just teasing but when he thinks about his next thing he wants to say just falls out, “Well I think you’d make a great dad,” he sighs letting his eyes slip close. 

That warms Patrick heart in a new way. He didn’t know why Art would ever think so highly of him but in a strange way it gives him more confidence in himself. He was excited to move, excited to start over, excited to play again, excited to be doing it all with someone he loves. That’s the first time he’s admitted to himself that he loves Art. He’s felt it for a while now but he thought it was crazy. It’s too soon. But it’s how he feels. One day he hopes Art will feel the same. 

Little does he know, Art’s loved him since the day they met. Platonic love quickly turned into something more, and it would take Art longer to recognize it but it’s still love all the same. 

It’s safe to say they have a good night that night. 

Three months later they have fully settled into their routine. They go to practice together, they cook together, they go to the gym together, they go out together, they play video games together. There is almost nothing they do apart. 

Patrick fit into Art’s life so nicely while still being able to develop a life of his own. Making his own friends and discovering the new city that is his home. They were winning. In tennis (singles and doubles) and in life. But Patrick was still cleaning the litter box because you can’t win em all. 

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[johnwickb1tsch]

girl, resurrected - 7

a jack traven x reader Bittersweet alternate ending AU. Loosely based on this post but I'm changing some things. Magically setting this in the 1990s because I can. There will be plot holes. I do not care. 😂😘❤ Warnings: adult themes, past mention of captivity & punishment. This is OOC yandere unhinged John Wick we're dealing with here... chapter map

7. i know who i want to take me home

On Friday you get home late from work, and you practically sprint to the answering machine when you see that little red light blinking. 

“Heyyyyyy y/n…” You instantly recognize Jack’s voice. And, adorably, he sounds a little drunk. “They’re giving me a medal for shooting Harry!” 

“You sonofabitch,” Harry interjects through Jack’s boyish laughter. 

“Anyway. I hope you’re doing ok. We’re celebrating down at Rick’s Place, we’ll be here a while. It would be cool if you wanted to come down. But if not I understand, sorry it’s late. I was just thinking about you…” 

“Jesus Christ kid, you gonna propose or what?” Harry snarks. 

“Shut up, old man,” Jack laughingly tells his superior officer.

“A guy can’t get any respect–BEEP!” 

That’s where your machine cuts off, and you can’t stop giggling, grinning from ear to ear. You’d been following the story on the news, of course, and even though every iota of your being longed to see Jack again, you didn’t want to bother him while he was busy with the shitstorm. Seems like the boys were finally getting to cut loose a little. They fucking earned it. 

You veritably skip to your bedroom to change, and your hands shake as you rifle through your closet, yet for the first time in a long time you’re actually not afraid. 

🌆🌆🌆     

Rick’s Place is close to LAPD headquarters, so you guess it makes sense that it’s filled with cops. 

As you walk through the door you see none other than Tom Ludlow sitting on a stool with a compatriot, shooting the presumable shit. You’re relieved to see he has a beer in front of him, not that lethal clear liquid in a glass, and that his eyes are relatively sharp when they land on you. 

“Damn, y/n. What are you doing here?” 

He tries to be subtle about it, bless, but you totally see him look you up and down. It still takes you by surprise when you get these little reminders that he sees you as a woman, and not some scruffy stray cat he found on the side of the road.

If you weren't here to meet Jack…you might have given some thought to that.

“Meeting a friend. How are you?” You kiss him on the cheek like you would a favorite uncle, going in for the side-hug. His long arm lingers around your waist, patting your hip. Ok, maybe he is a little buzzed.  

“I been alright.” There’s an uproar across the bar, drawing both of your attention. “The SWAT boys think they’re hot shit tonight,” Ludlow grumbles. “Saved an elevator full of people some terrorist tried to blow.” 

“I know, I was in it.” 

“WHAT?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Jeezus, y/n. I ever mention you’re a magnet for trouble?” 

“I know, aren’t you impressed?” How far you’ve come, that you can joke about this with a smile, bumping him with your hip. 

“A little, yeah.” He holds you a little harder then, like he’s thinking about what could have happened if SWAT wasn’t as lucky as they were that day. Like…they would have had to clean up what was left of you with a sponge. And of course, that’s when Jack Traven looks across the bar at you, seeing you with Tom. 

He totally narrows his eyes before schooling his expression to something more neutral, and starts making his way through the crowd towards you.  

Sigh. 

“There’s my friend. Catch up with you later?” you ask. 

“Sure. Good seeing you, honey.” 

But Jack be quick, and he is across the bar before you can extricate yourself. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” you say, looking up at him with what you know is the dopiest smile in the history of all damsels. 

“You’re here for this meathead?” Ludlow interrupts your moment, and for a second you consider banging your head on the bar in frustration. 

“How do you know Tom Ludlow?” Jack asks with equal disdain. 

“He helped me out of a jam when I first moved here,” you’re quick to answer, before Tom can make more trouble for you. 

“Nice of him.” 

However, Jack is looking at his brother in blue with a hefty amount of suspicion. 

“That’s me,” snarks Ludlow, taking a swig of beer without breaking Jack’s gaze. There’s a tension between them you don’t entirely understand; it can’t only be over you. 

“So…I liked my message,” you try to change the subject, taking Jack’s arm. “Is Harry still here?” 

“Yeah, everyone’s here. Come on.” You let him lead you away, finger-waving at Tom, who salutes you with his bottle. You have to resist the urge to turn back and make him promise he’ll stick to beer tonight. You’re not his wife or his daughter or his keeper, but there is a part of you that wishes you could make him make good decisions for himself. 

Once you’re on your own together you feel the tension leak from Jack’s sturdy frame; you can’t say he softens though. The bicep under your fingers is heartbreakingly solid, and he pauses to pull you into a hug. “Hi,” he starts your evening over again, and god, it feels good to be wrapped up in his arms.

“Hi,” you answer with a smile, leaning against him way more than you have to but fuck it. You’re not going to pretend anymore, or play it cool. It’s the least this man deserves, after everything. 

“Want a drink?” 

“Gin and tonic?” 

So much for staying away from the lethal clear stuff…ah well. 

He gets the bartender’s attention way more efficiently than you could with his superior height. You guess it probably doesn’t hurt that he and his team are the men (and women!) of the hour. 

“So…how are you? Are you ok?” 

“Yeah. Actually…I’m fine, thanks to you.” Maybe you’ve just been through too much lately, but the elevator incident didn’t exactly rattle you like it should have. You’ve been floating on cloud nine after reuniting with Jack, and you’ve felt like you’re fucking bulletproof all week. You guess the fat commission from that sale to Donaka Mark didn’t hurt the wind in your sails either. Lucky you, he didn’t cancel the check after you were smart with him on the stairway.

Maybe he understood that people say stupid things after stressful situations. Or maybe he’ll never do business with Larry again. Either way…you’re good. So good. And it’s all thanks to this man who has you tucked up against his big body like he’s never going to let you go. 

“What about you? What do you mean ‘you shot Harry?!”

Jack throws back his head with laughter and you realize what must be trademark cop gallows humor, and tells you all about it.

🍺🍺🍺     

The evening goes on, and you find you are ridiculously content to lean against Jack’s side and listen to cop stories and banter. 

You’re a little drunk. Jack’s a little drunker. Harry passed into skunk territory long ago. 

They are talking about the terrorist bomber, and how he decided to take his own life, but miraculously not Harry's and Jack's with him. The thought only makes you hold on to him harder, and he pats your hand with a little smile, eating it up.

"We were good," he tells his superior officers. "We won."

"No, Jack," Mack and Harry interject at the same time, Harry slurring yet speaking from the heart in total inebriated honesty. "We were lucky."

You didn't say it out loud, but you were thinking the exact same thing.

Jack seems to ruminate on this, and then he holds you a little tighter too as some of that youthful confidence dampers, and it sinks in that it doesn't always matter how good you are or that right is on your side.

Sometimes, the bad guys just win.

The evening is drawing to a close, and when Jack excuses himself to use the bathroom Harry turns to you.

"Hey y/n. I know it’s none of my goddamn business. But can I ask you a favor anyway?” 

“Of course,” you say, thinking he’s going to ask you to babysit or something. 

“Can you promise me…you’ll be good to him?” he says, looking in the direction Jack disappeared. “He’s such a good kid.”

Even though Harry is utterly sloshed, you know there’s some serious weight behind this request. You feel like you’re signing your name in blood when you nod. You mean it when you say, “I promise, Harry. I’ll be good to him.” There’s a part of you that knows if you leave with Jack tonight, there will be no going back.    

Maybe you've finally lost your mind, but…you're ok with that.

Jack returns soon after, looking between you two with a lifted eyebrow like he knows you've been conspiring. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," covers Harry with a badly disguised wink at you, pushing shakily to his feet. "I'm ready to go home and have sex with my wife."

Jack laughs, clapping Harry on the back. "Harry…you're going to go home and puke."

"Well…that'll be fun too."

The two of you escort Harry outside, making sure you see him safely into a cab. He gives the two of you the thumbs up as he's driven away, and you chuckle together, imagining the ass-chewing he's going to get from Carol when she has to drag him out of the cab into the house.

"So…" Jack sidles closer, shuffling to stand toe to toe with you on the sidewalk. He's so tall, and so close, and it's ridiculous how safe you feel in the shelter of his body. You're able to hold his warm gaze for about three seconds before you look down, shy as a school girl.

It's the first time you've really looked at his feet tonight. He is wearing such a nice suit—and the most beat up construction boots in the city of L.A. It's so him, true to himself in this city full of artificial appearances, that you can't help but smile up at him.

"Nice boots."

"Yeah?" he counters, clearly amused. Most women hate them.

"Yeah."

Maybe you decide that you tortured him enough that you owe him the first move. Or maybe, standing this close…you're just the first one to break, smoothing your hands over those heartbreakingly solid pectorals to steady yourself while you offer up your lips.

He pulls you closer with hands that utterly engulf your waist, kissing you softly like you are something precious in his grasp, and if he's not careful you just might break. It's so sweet you could cry, but you're tired of crying, and your tired of waiting, and you're tired of being afraid.

You surge against him, throwing your arms around his neck as you deepen the kiss, sweeping the inside of his mouth with your tongue. It surprises him, but he rises to the occasion, wrapping you up in his arms, a low bass moan vibrating from deep in his chest that curls your toes. You lose yourself, kissing this dreamboat of a man in public on the street, until a sound that is ingrained in your primal memory as surely as the growl of a prehistoric beast enters your sphere of attention.

A vintage Mustang roars past, going way too fast for this city street, and for a moment you freeze in absolute terror, gripping Jack like he is the last safe thing left in this world. For a moment you are certain this is it. The hammer is coming down, and John Wick is going to kill you both.

But the Mustang keeps going, its crimson taillights demonic unblinking eyes glaring back at you. Jack watches the sportscar disappear down the street, and when he turns that sharp gaze back to you, you decide that he's not nearly as drunk as you thought. He sees you with cop eyes—and you almost wish he didn't. You know its only a matter of time before he puts all this together.

"Jack?" you sigh, resting your head in the bend of his neck. He is warm, and smells wonderful, and you think you could just hide against him forever.

He speaks against your temple, his lips petal soft. "Yeah, baby?"

You're so tired of being afraid, and every time you think you're recovered enough to just live your life something like this happens. You want something, someone, you've chosen for all your own.

"Do you…want to come home with me?"

There's a long pause in which he seems to fight a battle with himself, the good fight against animal lust and too many feelings for how short a time he's known you, when he knows he should just do his duty and protect you. Finally he answers, "I'll make sure you get home safe."

Your heart falls; it's literally what you asked, but not what you meant. He thinks you're too fragile, or too damaged.

You guess you can't hardly blame him.

But then that defiant little voice inside you lifts its head. The one that always carries you through when your doubt and your demons howl the loudest. You kiss him again, sweet but hungry with sliding tongue and nibbling teeth and there is no question left as to what you mean. "No," you protest. "Come home with me."

Eyes dark with desire, he holds you just this side of too hard with those strong hands you want all over your body, not just respectfully at your waist. He really is too good for this world.

When finally he nods you narrowly resist the urge to weep. Instead you kiss his cheek, and you know you are doomed.

TBC...

chapter map

Our playlist so far:

hand in my pocket - alanis morissette

6 underground - sneaker pimps

come as you are - nirvana

miss world - hole

even flow - pearl jam

wonderwall - oasis

closing time - semisonic

[windtoweem]

Headcannons of being Tanjiro and Nezuko Kamado’s younger sibling

Fandom: Demon slayer/KNY

Gender and age of reader not stated but implied to be a young child

Platonic

Tw! Mention of death, trauma, cussing

Tanjiro and Nezuko dynamics:

You’re their baby. No objections

You’re small, young, and just a bit traumatized (This is demon slayer, who isn’t?)

They’re fiercely protective of you due to the trauma of seeing Muzan kill your entire family and turn your older sister into a demon

Both of them keep a close eye on you and any potential danger around you

Nezuko likes to turn into her toddler form so that she could play with you without fearing that she’d accidentally hurt you

Nezuko randomly nuzzles into your head like a cat

Nezuko likes to keep some sort of physical contact on you such as a hand on your shoulder, holding your hand, headpats, seating you on her lap, Ect.

Tanjiro likes to keep you at the butterfly estate out of danger

He always makes it a point to reassure you that he’ll always come back. No matter what.

Tanjiro always tells you and Nezuko stories that your mother told you both like the story of why Tanjiro has red eyes

Relations with other demons and demon slayers:

Tamayo loves you. Always so gentle and kind to you. You remind her of her youngest child

Mitsuri adores you, always wants to squeeze your cheeks and shove your face with all sorts of food. If you end up having pink and green hair, don’t be surprised

Muzan is just irritated by you. Cause HOW IN THE FUCK DID A SMALL CHILD SURVIVE A DEMON ATTACK ESPECIALLY FROM THE KING OF DEMONS WITHOUT TURNING INTO A DEMON

Giyuu is your silent protector. It’s not obvious but the subtle things. A hand gently directing you away, an eye always on you

Sanemi reluctantly likes you. You reminded him of his younger siblings

Shinobu has an older sister/mentor relationship with you. She treats you the same way as she treats the butterfly trio girls

Muichiro drags you everywhere with him, sitting you on his hip as he tortures everyone during training

Inosuke either tries to fight you or makes you his minion. But he does care about you, in his own weird way (He beats up Zenitsu to show up his “strength” to you)

Zenitsu thinks you’re adorable and that you could do no wrong. He also begs you to tell him everything that Nezuko likes

“PLEASE, TELL ME!” Zenitsu was grabbing your shoulders, shaking you rapidly until he was picked up by Inosuke.

“LITTLE MINON, I WILL SHOW OFF MY STRENGTH BY YEETING MONITSU! YEET OR BE YEETED!”

“NO!-“

Then Zenitsu was thrown into a tree, next to Muichiro who was standing with his crow.

“Ah! Jackass! Jackass!”

Everyone turned to look at the crow, who was cussing a storm at Zenitsu. Muichiro had that blank expression on his face as the rest of the demon slayers turned to look at him too since it was his crow.

“What? It’s not like Ginko’s wrong.”

[moondrunkmarrow]

Unmedicated Sunshine Masterpost

Pairing: The Sentry/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Void x Gender Neutral!Reader

Story Summary:

Reader has been a vigilante for the last year–exposing corrupt elite, fighting off street thugs, speaking out against the government tightening its iron grip on superheroes. All of it while also working a full time job at a cat cafe. When arrested by the New Avengers and given the choice between prison time or joining the team, they join the team. They think it’ll be full of the self-righteous assholery of everyone else in power, but as they get closer to the team, they realize that everyone is just as trapped as them.

When a new villain makes an appearance to try and kidnap Reader for reasons they won’t detail, the team has to worry about the safety of their two most unstable members and prevent them from falling into manipulative hands (besides Valentina, of course).

What happens when Reader is kidnapped by this villain? What lengths are the team, and especially Bob, willing to go to to get them back?

--- Tldr: Reader is the living embodiment of sunlight while Bob deals with Void & Sentry while simultaneously keeping each other alive by trauma bonding like neglected shelter dogs

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced drug use, implied/referenced torture, canon-typical violence, human experimentation, manipulation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Author’s Note: I'm going to do my best to make this feel as if Reader is really part of the team with dynamics with the whole team and not just Bob. This will really revolve around the importance of having people in your corner. Some notes about Reader just to clarify: Reader is afab, but there won't be any gendered pronouns when referring to them. There's only a few memories that are pre-established purely for the sake of having content for the shame rooms at some point. When Reader mentions the lack of memories, it's to leave their story open for your interpretation. I won't mention it much. Reader has sunlight based powers that come with its own set of rules and limitations that'll be shown through the story. Reader has chronic pain because they're an ex experiment. Whether from HYDRA or from another sick freak will be left up to you. The experiments are directly related to their powers. Reader has autistic tendencies. Bob has both DID and Bipolar Disorder because that's how I've interpreted it. Don't like, please don't read.

Chapters

Mission Granted: Don't Fuck It Up

[restlessmaknae]

a case of rising heart rate (beside you) // koga yudai (k)

The San Fransokyo Institute of Technology teams up with the Institute of Medicine for a project which involves you helping Yudai work on a healthcare assistant robot called Baymax. Little do you know, this is going to be about so much more than just the project...

➳ Characters: tech uni student!K x med uni student!female reader/you

➳ Genre: baymax au, canonical urban sci-fi, fluuuuuuuff, comedy

➳ Note on the AU: K is supposed to be Tadashi in this story and Taki is his little brother (Hamada), but I'm saying that it's a Baymax AU rather than a Big Hero 6 one is because K is alive and well in this, and there is no connection to the BH6 movie except that Taki gets into the Institute of Technology. But we do have Mochi (the cat) and aunt Cass from the original storyline!

➳ Words: 7.3k

➳ Warning: mentions of being on period and cramps, food, drinks, reader's ex is a douchebag, reader has peanut allergy and non-allergic rhinitis

➳ A/N: Happiest birthday my dearest @dat-town❤️ You guessed Baymax right, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. ;)

The grand towers of the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology grazed the bright blue sky on this fine spring day. A sight you thought you would never see again welcomed you, and the flashback of your last visit here squeezed your heart.

Surely, he would not be here today. The university was big enough to not bump into him. Besides, what were you afraid of? He was the one who called it quits, and the one who put an end to your relationship on such a sour note. You weren’t supposed to feel scared, let alone guilty.

The gawking feeling didn’t leave you though, and while you were asking for a visitor card at the reception, crossing the corridor and getting into the lift to get to the fifth floor, you kept looking around yourself. Surprisingly, there were quite a lot of girls, something that you didn’t expect, especially after how your ex claimed that most girls weren’t smart enough to get into SFIT.

While most students walked around in lab coats at the San Fransokyo Institute of Medicine, here, most of the students wore casual clothes, but held different objects in their hands, under their armpits or over their heads. There was even one guy who had an object dancing above his fingers (in protective gloves) seemingly in the air. Another one managed to set something on fire on one of the benches but immediately managed to put it out with a hairdryer-like thing.

You shook your head and averted your eyes from the fire guy’s innovation, walking towards the lecture hall that you were supposed to go to. It was named after a professor who taught here according to the badge by the door, but you couldn’t tell who he was, even with the introductory lines. You really didn’t want anything to do with this school after your break-up, alas, here you were again.

You let out an aghast sigh before walking into the lecture hall. There was a group of students sitting close to each other and conversing between themselves in the third row, so you had a feeling that they were all from SFIT. You chose an empty seat for yourself in the fifth row, suddenly all too aware that you were an outsider here. Never mind, this initiative between the two schools seemed like a great opportunity to put yourself out there, to boost your CV and to make you stand out, and maybe even to prove to your ex that your medical knowledge could come in handy even in his field.

This initiative brought together students from the Institute of Technology and the Institute of Medicine who volunteered to be a part of a project - an innovation on the technology students’ side and the relevant medical knowledge to make the innovation work on the med students’ side. This was the third year the two institutions worked together in order to accelerate the healthcare system of San Fransokyo, to merge robotics, AI and big data with the relevant medical fields. Anyone from any year could apply, and based on the applicants’ expertise and ideas, the professors paired students with those who seemed most relevant to their innovations. Maybe that’s why you had to come to the Institute of Technology instead of the other way round.

Thankfully, you only had to suffer a few minutes wondering why you even applied in the first place before a line of professors showed up, and started introducing themselves. Afterwards, they started introducing the technology students’ ideas, and then called forward the pairs.

You were starting to get worried that maybe there was a slip-up, and your application didn’t go through because you weren’t called for a long time, but in the end, you were called last alongside a certain Koga Yudai.

You walked towards the podium, and shook hands with one of the professors who gave you a certificate for participating. Then, you stood to the side and turned around just in time to see your project partner do the same.

Immediately, you were bewitched by the sight of him. Models would be jealous of his height and proportions, not to mention his features. He was wearing dark high-waisted loose pants, a mixture of casual and formal, his slim waist highlighted by a belt. He wore a baby blue shirt that was tucked into his pants, its flowy design accentuating his broad shoulders. He looked more like a business student going for his internship at a multinational company than a tech one, but still, he looked the most stylish out of everyone here.

When he caught you watching him take his certificate, his lips curled into a gentle, friendly smile. Even his button-like eyes seemed to be smiling, and his whole face changed from solemn to soft within a matter of seconds. His whole demeanour radiated elegance and a kind of composed aura that you didn’t think anyone could possess, but he still seemed approachable and kind as he halted beside you and mouthed a simple ‘hi’, his hand raised for a little wave.

“Hi,” you whispered back to him, aware of the hustle-bustle around you two including the professors instructing everyone to stand closer to each other for a group photo.

“Can we have some students crouch down in front, so everyone could get into the frame?” One of the professors inquired, and a few students who were in the front started doing so. You were about to do the same in your knee-length dress when Yudai stopped you.

“No, no, no! I’ll do it. You don’t have to crouch down!” He objected fervently as if his life depended on it and helped steady you as you straightened your back. His touch and his words lingered longer on your skin even after he let go of you and crouched down in front of you. You could see that a few more of the other SFIT guys followed suit, and soon enough, you could all fit into the frame.

After the photos, the ceremony ended, so you had no obligation to stay longer. However, when Yudai turned to you to officially introduce himself and ask if you wanted to see his invention, you didn’t have the heart to say no. Especially after seeing how enthusiastic he was.

“It’s a robot, but not your everyday robot. I specifically want it to be a healthcare assistant robot, but obviously, I don’t have the knowledge for the healthcare part, so that’s where this project comes into play,” he admitted with a giggle as you followed him corridor after corridor. “His name is Baymax, and he’s an inflatable computerized robot made from vinyl which makes him this cute, soft and huggable companion. Baymax’s AI is based on a transcription chip that I’m currently working on, this guarantees that he’s used for the purpose I want him to be and not for something else. He can be programmed for multiple things at a time because you can insert up to four cartridge chips to contain his initial programming and any additional ones.”

He was honestly so pumped up about Baymax, it was endearing to see. You just listened to him talk and talk about what Baymax could do so far, what Yudai was currently stuck on, and what he thought the robot might be able to do with your help. At this point, he asked about your studies and what you liked researching about, and why you applied for this project.

So you told him that you were in your second year of your science training programme for immunology, and your interests lied in allergies and autoimmune diseases. He was equally as enthusiastic about your studies as he was about Baymax, and kept asking questions about how long this specialty training would last, and how you got to this point. His curiosity was understandable since the Institute of Medicine did offer a lot of different programs with varying lengths, and immunology was one of the longest ones but still shorter than most at other universities since in San Fransokyo, you already started clinical rotations from second year of your undergraduate studies.

You actually left the building you were previously in to get to the Ito Ishioka Robotics Lab where Baymax would be. On your way there, you kept bumping into other students, even the fire guy with his hairdryer-like extinguisher.

“That’s Nicholas,” Yudai explained after he fistbumped the guy. “He’s working on a foldable, easily accessible fire extinguisher that anyone can use anywhere and it can fit into anyone’s bag,” he added with a smile before turning a corner.

You were definitely impressed by what was going on around here, but nothing could compare to the moment you met Baymax for the first time in Yudai’s lab room. As he pushed a button, the charging case of the robot started expanding until you were face-to-face with a huge white - indeed cute and indeed huggable - creature that was at least two heads taller than you. Yudai pushed another button, and its eyes started blinking.

“Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion,” it introduced itself with a little wave of his hand, and your hand flew to your mouth in amazement. “What may I help you with today?” Baymax asked as you stepped closer to it, your fingers itching to reach out to it.

“Go on. Try out a scenario with him,” Yudai prompted you as he leaned against the nearby table, his arms folded over his chest. He wore a laid-back, yet intrigued smile, something that made you feel a bit bashful.

“Uhmm… I have a headache.”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your pain?” Baymax responded immediately as part of its chest turned into a touch screen with different emojis signalling the different levels of pain. You looked over to Yudai, and he nodded gently.

“Maybe a 7?” You half-said, half-asked as you turned back to the robot.

“I will now scan you for any injuries that might have caused your headache,” it instructed before a beeping sound was heard. “No injuries detected,” it announced as soon as the beeping sound was over. “Downloading database on headaches… Download progressing… Download complete. Things you can do to ease your headache include drinking plenty of water, getting plenty of rest, trying to relax, taking a painkiller and avoiding contact with others if you also have a high temperature or feel sick. Do you want me to locate the nearest pharmacy?”

Your jaw dropped when he started listing out tips to combat a headache. Sure, it did download a database on the said condition, but still. It even offered to help you find the closest pharmacy. It was even approachable and friendly, something that kids and the elderly would also appreciate.

“This is amazing!” You turned to Yudai who was fighting a proud smile seeing your perplexed state.

“I’m still working on a few things, but with your help, I believe we can make it even better,” he announced excitedly, pushing himself off the table and walking towards you. He stopped in front of you, and all you could do was to smile up at him, totally speechless.

“Do you want me to locate the nearest pharmacy?” Baymax repeated, waking you from your stupor. You shook your head and turned back to the robot.

“Oh no, thank you.”

“You need to say that you are satisfied with your service for Baymax to shut down,” Yudai helped you out, and you did as he asked. Then, Baymax walked back to its charging case and deflated itself until it fit into the structure.

“Wow, this is absolutely amazing!” You noted once again, and this time, the technology student didn’t refute.

“Well… thank you,” he replied, a shy smile tinting his lips.

Afterwards, you exchanged contacts, so you could decide on your next meeting and how you would approach this project. Needless to say, you went back home from the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology with completely different feelings than when you had arrived.

The next time you met, Yudai came to the reception to pick you up and guide you to the lab, and you were thankful for his assistance because the whole place was like a maze for you, and you didn’t memorise your route from last time.

While you were heading towards his own lab room, you bumped into a lot of students who seemed to be on good terms with Yudai because he kept introducing you to them. There was Megan who was showing you a pair of glasses that could improve dyslexia through a circular structure around the head that helped to change the brain functions while reading - a condition that she also had herself -, Euijoo who was working on therapy animal robots for the elderly that didn’t need care unlike a real pet but could be used to boost well-being and combat feelings of loneliness; Jake who was working on an additional part for wheelchairs that would help the patients get into the structure with the efficiency of real human hands, so they wouldn’t have to do anything themselves and wouldn’t need to be afraid of falling down.

It was amazing to see how many different things they could come up with that actually aligned with real-life problems, but of course, you were most excited to work on Baymax.

That day, you ran through a few more scenarios with Baymax, adding pointers as to what could be improved - such as blood pressure and pulse monitors and healthcare products like antiseptic and plasters already installed inside the robot -, and brainstormed about your direction of further research. You suggested that Baymax could be used for different areas such as immunology by  detecting allergies, intolerances without a patient having to go through immense, faulty testing, and not being able to pinpoint what triggered their rise in histamine when so many things could point to them, plus inserting an Epipen inside the robot could potentially save lives combined with Baymax’s improved sensors; diabetics by tracking blood sugar levels, storing insulin and helping to use insulin especially on kids who couldn’t do it themselves or who had to do it at school, and even in dementia patients.

You ended up choosing immunology as this was your area of expertise either way, and you also had allergic and non-allergic rhinitis too, so you could use your own experience and symptoms to track the progress of Baymax’s work.

You were just about to suggest that you should have a break when an unexpectedly painful cramp rippled through your abdomen, and you had to gasp loudly. Baymax was immediately alerted, and started checking you for injuries before you admitted:

“I’m fine. I’m just on my period.”

You were used to awkward looks when you announced something like that, but Baymax could obviously not show any sign of awkwardness, and Yudai also didn’t seem fazed. He stepped up to his computer, and manually started downloading a database on periods, so Baymax could list out a few things that might help. Obviously, lying down, resting or having a hot water bottle weren’t your options given your circumstances, but when Baymax mentioned peppermint tea, Yudai immediately got to his feet.

“I’ll get some tea from the café. Stay here! I’ll be right back.”

“I’m really fine, you don’t-”

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t be fine if I could do something to help you feel better at least a little bit, and I didn’t end up doing it,” he shared gently, his lips curling into a kind smile. You were so touched by his gesture that you could only nod in agreement, no words coming out of your mouth.

Baymax didn’t leave it at that either, and asked all about your pain levels and even if you had enough pads/tampons on you or he could search for the nearest store where you could buy one. You had rarely felt so cared for during your period, and when Yudai came back with a cup of peppermint tea, you also voiced it out to him.

“It’s only natural, at least for me. Me and my brother, we live with our aunt who’s everything but quiet, so we kind of got used to the period talk at home,” he admitted with a little bit of a giggle, and as if on cue, he was reminded that he didn’t even tell you about his genius little brother, Taki.

So he started sharing stories and pictures of Taki, and how proud he was that he was also studying at SFIT despite his young age. His eyes were twinkling with glee, and despite the fact that he seemed upset that his little brother even got into illegal underground robot fighting - something you should never tell anyone, much less their aunt, of course -, you could tell that it came from worry rather than hurt. It was very heart-warming to see, especially because you had no siblings.

After the little chat about your families, you went back to work, and started writing down bullet points for the written report that you were supposed to hand in at the end of the project. It was the most boring part of the whole thing, but it had to be done, and Yudai didn’t complain either. He added notes for the technical part, and you added your part regarding the healthcare aspect.

When you called it a day, Baymax asked again if you needed him to check nearby shops for period products, and you thanked him for his services with a smile. Yudai told you to take it easy for the rest of the day, and you obliged. Your mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of him and your session either way.

The more time you spent with Yudai, the more you enjoyed the project.

You fell into a routine of meeting on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, often staying at the lab late into the night, late enough to have dinner delivered to you and for Yudai to walk you back to the metro station. You tested and retested scenarios, real and fake, to see how Baymax would react. Yudai implemented new sensors to check for vital signals, neurological aspects (such as reflexes, mental status and sensory perception), body temperature and histamine production. The latter came into handy when you were testing what triggered your rhinitis at a given moment, so more often than not, you were testing environmental factors such as strong odors, changes in temperature and humidity, eating certain foods (both hot and cold, spicy and bland), and even hormonal changes.

The condition you had was pretty rare; you were allergic to peanuts, but you could contain it quite well, so it didn’t usually pose a risk. However, you also had non-allergic rhinitis with eosinophilia syndrome (also called NARES) which was the trickier one.

“Eosinophils are a type of blood cell which are produced to combat infections, but research says that those who have this condition, have an elevated level in their nasal tissues, supposedly because the body mistakenly produces too much. Kind of how allergies work by the body releasing more histamine. However, with NARES, allergy tests always come back negative. There is limited research on the condition, but it’s said to be chronic and might have an autoimmune component to it,” you explained to Yudai when he asked you why it was so difficult to say what you were triggered by.

That is why you were testing out so many different things. Since research was limited, you could only rely on the list of triggers that were mentioned in those papers, but even those were quite difficult to reproduce and track, that’s why Yudai implemented more precise and more sensitive sensors on Baymax, making sure that both your body’s functions and your environment could be monitored.

He always told you to tell him if you were growing tired of the examinations or you felt uncomfortable, but to be honest, you were glad to contribute to something that will help those with this condition, not only you. You knew that it didn’t mean that Baymax would be mass-produced to help detect and monitor NARES, but if you could finish up on this project successfully, so many other conditions could be assisted and improved.

Apart from the project itself, you also became acquainted with those who studied here. Euijoo, Nicholas, Jake and Megan were only just a handful of the students who dropped by to have a chat with Yudai. His little brother, Taki, also visited a few times, and you found it adorable how the younger one always tried to dodge the older one’s headpats and cheek kisses.

“I’m not a kid!” Taki would object at times like this, and Yudai would always say the same thing.

“To me, you’re still my baby brother, and you will always be!”

“Eww, gross,” Taki would then leave with a frown and you would just shake your head seeing their interaction.

You knew that Taki graduated high school early and got into the institute through their technology showcase fair and square, but you were glad that the new environment didn’t make him grow up too fast. It probably helped that his brother was always around, something that you wished you could have had when you had started med school. You even shared the same with your project partner, reminiscing about the time you had been too afraid to raise your hand in class and to go out and make friends. He listened to you attentively, never making you feel bad for sharing such things about your life.

Maybe that’s why you also dared to admit that your ex studied at SFIT, but when he heard Akira’s name, it didn’t ring a bell for him. At least, they didn’t know each other, that was good. In the sense that you were getting closer to Yudai, and the last thing you wanted was to bump into Akira with him by your side. Not that you thought that Yudai wouldn’t be the best boy that he already was if he ever met your ex, but because things were finally going well, and you really didn’t want this to ruin whatever that was going on between you two.

You were starting to get hopeful that maybe it wasn’t just you who felt this way. At first, you believed that Yudai was like this around everyone, and whilst he was kind with others too, he didn’t act the same way around others - especially girls - as he did with you.

Walking you to the metro station at night even when you insisted that it was a safe area? Always getting you something to drink from the café even before you arrived at the lab? Looking up things you mentioned the previous time, so he could understand the medical terms and conditions better? Making sure that anything he explained wasn’t too technical, even going as far as drawing on his trusty little clipboard and using Pokémon characters to explain concepts? Giving you stickers when you passed a round of testing, so that you could feel better even if the outcome wasn’t as good as you wanted? Tucking your hair behind your ear when it fell into your face while typing on your laptop? Holding your hand when you were checking your mailbox to see if you got into the clinic that you wanted for your next rotation?

He also probably didn’t share glances with others across the Periodic CaFé while he was waiting for his order, didn’t share his umbrella with others when walking home, didn’t help tie their hair up when it got stuck to their temple as the weather got warmer, didn’t celebrate their birthdays with an impromptu karaoke night and their favourite matcha pancakes when he got to know that their birthday was on the day they met up for their project.

So many big and little things alike, and yet, you tried your best to focus on your project instead of overanalysing every single thing because that’s what you were here for, right? On the other hand, sometimes you couldn’t hide the blush creeping to your cheeks or your legs turning to jelly when Yudai was close to you, and unfortunately, someone like Baymax whose job was to track your vital signals took note of it.

You were merely working on your written report that day, and forgot to turn the robot off, so when Yudai leaned closer to your typing self to check what you wanted to show him on your laptop screen, you felt your heartbeat pick up its pace.

Baymax did too.

“Y/N, there has been a sudden spike in your heart rate. It might be due to-”

The announced it in its usual neutral voice, but you immediately felt like the ground should swallow you up whole because that would be less painful than being told that your heart rate suddenly increased when the boy got close to you.

“That’s enough, Baymax,” Yudai cut the robot off with a knowing smile before he straightened his back.

“But this could signal some underlying problem such as…”

“I am satisfied with my service for today, Baymax. Thank you,” you tried to save yourself, but there was no use. Even after Baymax deflated back into its charging case, you felt your face flush and you needed to excuse yourself to use the bathroom before you could go back and concentrate on your report.

It was fine until you called it a day, and as always, Yudai left the laboratory with you. You had flashbacks to your close proximity and the way Baymax literally called you out on your project partner making your heart race, and you felt a wave of heat hit you yet again.

“Can I walk you back home today?” Yudai broke the silence, his voice quiet and gentle in the sunset-filled scenery. Even though the usual buzz of the early summer night could be heard, everything seemed to quiet down in that moment.

“W-why would you do that?” You stuttered, unable to meet his eyes to see his reaction. You were afraid that he would be able to see yours, too.

“I would like to spend more time with you. If you don’t mind, of course. If you feel uncomfortable, that’s fine, you can tell me,” he confessed, making sure that you could say no which you appreciated as always.

“No, no, that’s fine, really. I feel the most comfortable around you,” you objected, and you looked up at him, only to catch a beautiful, kind of coy smile reaching a full bloom on his lips. He seemed to be dazzling in the burgundy-orange shades of the setting sun, his eyes twinkling like little fireflies. You allowed yourself a smile in return before you had to look away because your heart just couldn’t take the sight anymore.

Thankfully, you managed to pacify your heartbeat for the rest of your trip back home, chatting about everything that came to your mind both on the metro and while walking towards your house. Yudai was an excellent company; he was chatty, but also listened attentively when you spoke up, and he was super curious and enthusiastic about everything he wasn’t familiar with. Which you appreciated because you used to feel so bad for not knowing what Akira had been talking about and he had never gone out of his way to explain them to you either, so you had just stayed quiet after a few attempts at asking questions that only ended in one thing: “that you wouldn’t understand either way.” So his willingness to learn instead of being ashamed of his lack of knowledge made you feel better about yourself when you didn’t know something either.

You halted in front of your house, shyly tugging on your light cardigan as you looked up at him. He looked down at you as if you were something precious, something that he wanted to protect, and you wouldn’t dare to question him if he said the same thing.

“You know…” He started, an amused smile playing along the curves of his lips. You had a hard time concentrating on his eyes instead of his lips when the words rolled off his tongue like that, but you had to look up to save the last of your dignity.

“Hmm?”

“I purposefully didn’t want to say anything when Baymax noticed the spike in your heart rate because we were working on the project, and I didn’t want to disturb the atmosphere,” he remarked, that smile not leaving his lips. You immediately gulped at the mention of the incident, your face suddenly feeling hot. “But I have to tell you that you weren’t the only one whose heart raced,” he admitted, reaching back to scratch the back of his neck as a light-hearted giggle escaped his mouth.

Oh.

Oh.

You froze in your stance even though your heart was hammering away rapidly as if you had been running around the house for a while now. You blinked up at him, unable to utter anything because you were trying to wrap your head around the fact that it meant that Yudai was feeling the same way.

That. He. Was. Feeling. The. Same. Way.

If it was even possible, your heart beat against your ribcage even more fervently as he leaned forward, leaning closer to your face. You could see the miniature version of yourself in his deep, dark, but warm eyes, see the creases on his forehead and the slight blemishes on his skin. You could see the lines his smiles left behind and the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly when he noticed that you didn’t back away or push him away.

Then, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against your forehead. Quiet, gentle, yet ever so consuming, you felt warm from the place of his forehead kiss to the tip of your toes. Not just warm, electrified would be a better word. As if you were charged, feelings exploding.

“Good night, Y/N!” Yudai whispered into the warmth of the summer night, a different kind of smile propped up in the corner of his lips. This time, it was a somewhat bewitched one.

“Good night, Yudai!” You wished as you smiled at him with the same kind of expression that stayed on your face long after he left.

Next week, he didn’t just walk you back home, you were holding hands while doing so. The week after, you finished earlier than usual to celebrate the end of the semester, and went out for dinner together instead of getting takeaway. It was a date. Slow but sure steps towards something that made you feel all giddy inside like a teenager in love.

With Akira, it felt like you had loved the idea of being noticed because you had been a quiet, studious girl whom boys had not really approached. You had tried so hard to stay the same, to not argue with him, to not stand out. With Yudai, it was more about loving spending time with him, and loving the way you could be yourself beside him without wanting to hide any part of yourself. You didn’t need to try to be someone else, and this kind of freedom was something that you would never take for granted again.

With the semester ending, you started your summer rotation, so you could naturally spend less time together - both by working on the project and spending time outside of it. However, you only worked in the morning on Fridays, so you had the afternoons to the project.

Yudai went from waiting for you in the lab to waiting for you in front of the clinic, so you could get lunch together before heading to the Ito Ishioka Robotics Lab together. The last thing you expected to happen during one of these cosy Friday afternoons was to bump into your ex in the corridor when you were leaving Baymax behind for the day, holding hands with Yudai.

However, there he was, Akira in all his glory, his eyes narrowing at the sight of you. Judged by the way he halted at the same time as you, you knew that he also recognised you. 

“Y/N… What are you doing here?”

“I’m working on a project with Yudai,” you explained, keeping your voice neutral. Yudai squeezed your hands a little tighter, signalling that he was there for you. He didn’t need to be told who was in front of you; you had already talked about your ex and how he had made you feel.

“But you don’t go to this university… right?” Akira furrowed his eyebrows, insufferable until the end. You wished you could have rubbed it in his face that you did go here after how he had claimed that you weren’t smart enough to date him. Alas, this was not the kind of news you could bring him.

“No. My med school has an initiative with your school where we look at the healthcare aspect of technological advancements,” you concluded indignantly. Even though you were nowhere near offensive, your tone was more chipped than usual, and the guy who was used to your shy self who wouldn’t go against anything he said appeared appalled.

“Woah, I was just curious. No need to be so rude to me.”

Maybe that’s why it hurt you so much that he called you rude when you just stated facts. He had said way worse things in way worse tones, he had no right to get offended. Or maybe it was because you had gotten used to the opposite beside Yudai; of being heard, seen and cared for, of being able to be loud and disagree and still not feel bad about it.

“That’s rich coming from someone who dumped me right in front of this institute because I’m not smart enough to be with him,” you dropped the bomb on him, but before your ex could speak up, you turned to your boyfriend, and told him that you should go. Yudai looked at you like he would get the stars just for you, and the thought broke your heart a little but mended it right after.

Akira must have been too shocked by the way you talked back to him because he just stood there, frozen, watching you two leave, but before you could get out of his sight, Yudai halted, and turned towards your ex. You had never seen him so stern, he was usually bubbly and kind to everyone, but now, his jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed on Akira.

“She’s the smartest girl I’ve worked with, and just because she excels in a different field than you doesn’t mean that she isn’t smart,” he defended you, but didn’t leave time for Akira to come back at him, he already turned around.

You followed him out of the building, occasionally glancing at him, but he stayed quiet until you got outside, and he made sure that you were far away from your ex. He started going on about how Akira was out of line, so you shouldn’t listen to him, and how glad he was that you stood up for yourself because he deserved to be called out like that.

You just listened to him, your heart full with gratitude towards this boy who showed you how you deserved more and better. He didn’t even fight or shout when defending you, he let his words register in Akira, cool and composed. You truly admired him.

“I wish Baymax could be here to give you a hug,” he ended his monologue, his lips curling into a slight pout. You tugged on your intertwined hands, shaking your head.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he insisted, and took a step closer to be the one to hug you instead of Baymax. You melted into his embrace, inhaling in his woody scent, your heartbeat slowing down with each second passing by. You lost count of how many times Yudai just knew what to say, what to do to comfort you, to make you feel better, and at times like this, it was easy to forget that you were ever made to feel otherwise.

“Thank you,” you murmured into the crook of his neck, quiet but sincere. There was so much loaded into those two words, and he knew it for he hugged you tighter, closer to his chest, closer to his heart.

Your relationship with Yudai bloomed into a beautiful, trusting, attentive one. A space where you could be yourself, and you could be loved for that. You were eternally grateful each and every day that you were assigned to such a smart, talented student for the project, because though you were taking steps together to deepen your relationship, the project was still something that you both took seriously.

During the summer, you could naturally spend less time on the project due to your clinical rotation, but Yudai used your Friday sessions to take note of any possible improvement points, and worked on them during the week. With the summer ending, your summer rotation ended as well, and you were back on track with the project. You had some more intensive weeks before you could hand in your final written report, and you could present your project in front of the panel of professors.

“No matter what they say, we’ve done our best, and that’s what matters. There’s no one else I would have rather worked on Baymax with than you,” Yudai reassured you before the presentation, and you hugged him as an answer.

In the end, the feedback was very positive. The professors were very impressed with the way you tested Baymax real-time in front of them, and the implications of further research in both your area of studies - immunology - and other areas. They were also super impressed with the technological aspects, and even pointed out some human-like approachable features that you purposefully implemented like Baymax giving out a lollipop after an examination or telling you that you did a good job before retreating back to its case for the day.

To celebrate the success, Yudai invited you to his aunt’s café called the ‘Lucky Cat Café’. On your way there, he was chatting about the origin of the café - it was named after their cat, Mochi -, and his aunt, and that you should be prepared for many questions from her because she was dying to meet you. Though you were official by this point, with the project and your rotations and his aunt working seven days a week, it was difficult to arrange a meet-up, but now was the perfect time to meet her.

You were immediately welcomed by a colourful and cosy interior, a lazy cat lounging on a beanbag, and Taki working on his laptop when you stepped inside the café. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t even notice your arrival. There was a middle-aged man making an order at the counter, so you halted behind him, your hands in Yudai’s.

As you stepped up to the counter, his aunt was about to say her usual cheery “Welcome”, but it turned into something like:

“Welco- Oh my gosh, you’re here! You’re so pretty! Oh wow, we finally meet, I’m so happy!” She greeted you beamingly and ran around the counter to be able to hug you before going back again, taking your order.

“I’ve always thought Yudai would die as a bachelor because he’s always been working on some kind of project ever since he was young. Back in the days, he just glued together seemingly irrelevant pieces, and then, he spent all day every day on his computer, and now he’s working on robots. He grew up so fast,” she chirped, a reminiscing smile playing on her lips, while you were looking at the options on the chalkboard behind her.

“Oh come on, aunt Cass!” Yudai rolled his eyes in an affectionate way.

“Don’t give me that look! You say the same about Taki!”

“But he’s really grown up so fast.”

“You guys are so dramatic!” Taki grumbled with a slightly judgemental stare before he put on his noise-cancelling headphones and averted his eyes back to his laptop’s screen.

You watched the scene unfold with an amused smile, and after a bit more family teasing, aunt Cass took your order and handed you your matcha latte and cinnamon bun, prompting you to check out their flat upstairs instead of just sitting here with the other guests. Yudai also said that he wanted to show you around, so he took the tray of your orders and brought you upstairs.

This was the first time you were actually inside the other’s house because though the boy always walked you back home, he never wanted to come inside because it was already late by the time you reached your house. So you took the time to look around, smiling at the childhood photos of the boys and the mess of Taki’s room that you saw en route to Yudai’s room.

Your boyfriend’s place was very much like him: a bit nerdy with sketches of early Baymax designs glued to a clipboard, soft with soft coloured walls, scented candles and a used journal sitting on his bed, and social with pictures of friends and family scattered around every surface from his desk to his monitor and windowsill. And then, your eyes caught sight of a bunch of photos with you.

“You printed them out?” You inquired, remembering each and every photo like it was yesterday that you went on your first date or you sang at the karaoke bar on your birthday or you went to the theme park.

“Yes. I prefer to print them out instead of only having them on my phone,” he answered, a tad bit shy, before he came up to you to hug you from behind. He then rested his chin on your shoulder, while you were looking through the printed pictures. You occasionally giggled at the ones he chose because they were so silly or you made funny faces, but all of them showed that he cared, and you were very touched by this little carousel of shared memories.

When you finished looking through the pictures, you turned around to face him. He adjusted his arms to hold you yet again, and looked down at you, his eyes twinkling with affection. You swore you could get lost in those eyes, in his care, in his love. No matter how much time passed by since the first time he let you know about his feelings, you still felt electrified from head to toe when you looked at him.

“I love you,” you confessed gently, your heart so full of your feelings towards him, you felt like you could combust any minute now.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back, his lips pulling into a smile before he reached out to cup your cheeks. Then, he leaned forward for a long, soft, gentle kiss, something that melted you on the spot.

You had nowhere to rush, nowhere to go, you were home. Safe and sound in his arms, and you could not ask for anything else.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine! Let me know what you think!

The condition reader has (NARES) is not very well researched and understood for now, but I've tried to explain it as much as I could. This year, I was diagnosed with this condition myself, so I've incorporated my own experience as well.

Header taken from the 'Aoarashi' MV

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for &TEAM or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

[inkperch]

Hi! I was curious of if you had any Sunlight Sisters headcanons. I also find your headcanon of one member of the Hunter’s having a parent/guardian be member before them interesting. Have a nice day/evening.

Okay, I went into my Celine hcs (I'm guessing that's what you're referring to?) briefly but to go a bit more into it:

Celine was raised with the Hunters duty by her mother and a sorta. I want to be clear that her mother was Not doing this on purpose and was actively fighting/feeling like a pos about it, but on some level her mother considered it her fault her father died. That she could've saved him if she weren't recovering from childbirth at the time. So, yknow, not the best parental habits-

She mostly fought down that misplaced blame by just. Throwing herself into training and taking Celine along. So like.

Not the best parental habits.

(Celine blames everything wrong in her life on demons, of course. The only other person she could blame is her mother, or deciding that life simply isn't fair at the ripe age of Child)

Meanwhile Miyeong was from just. A normal family. She just had normal parents and a happy home life.

So Miyeong's parents took one look at the sopping wet cats their daughter dragged home oh would you look at that, one kid just became three.

(I don't have as many fleshed out hcs about the third members backstory, but uhhh, I parallel her to Rumi so do with that what you will lmao-)

(related note: I parallel Mira and Zoey to Celine and Miyeong. Because I'm always a slut for a cyclical narrative-)

Just generally the Sunlight Sisters were all low-key night owls, and would sit around late into the morning shooting the shit and talking about Trauma together, and frankly its the closest Celine's ever gotten to going to therapy (she's firmly of the opinion that all her issues are tied to either demons or demon hunting, and thus something she can't talk about to anyone outside of that world. Which. Like. Probably true but still-) (one of her aunties has seriously considered getting a goddamn psychology degree just to make a loophole Celine would accept-)

The Sunlight Sisters were the first time Celine felt like she could ever escape the shadows demons cast over her entire life.

So, when Rumi was born with patterns and Miyeong desperately trying to come up with an excuse, Celine did not take it particularly well.

The ensuing screaming match got the attention of the third Sunlight Sister, which is the point it escalated to a physical fight- one Celine can only remember the ending to: her sword bloodied, both the people she loved cold at her feet, and a baby she swore to protect.

....anyway!

Some lighter headcanons:

-Rumi was Ryu Miyeong's stage name. Miyeong was not good at coming up with names, much to the other twos mockery.

-during the pregnancy both of her bandmates were borderline begging her not to actually name her kid after her stage name Miyeong we made that bet five years ago while absolutely hammered you don't need to stick to it-

-Celine's also a stage name, but, due in big parts to the angst above, she's been going by Celine casually and professionally for so long she doesn't even react to her actual name anymore lmao (helped by her real name being something embarrassing- I don't know enough about Korean name culture to be specific, but I'm thinking like. The equivalent of something like Gertrude, yknow? Something really old fashioned and kinda embarrassing-)

-mentioned this one before but: Miyeong was low key unhinged. Like. 'Beats demons to death with a folding chair while Celine chases her around with both their swords making sure she doesn't get killed' kinda unhinged lol.

--Before she met the other two she was pretty isolated socially: she had a habit of taking similar violent tendencies out on any acceptable target, mostly bullies, and like. That didn't exactly make her many friends.

---after meeting the Sunlight Sisters, she does cool off a lot through a mix of a reliable stream of Acceptable Targets and also friends willing to do Stupid Shit with her to fuel the adrenaline addiction behind this behaviour-

-Celine has a knife collection.

-Celine's the usual centre but she's actually the least standout member of the group, but Miyeong and The Third One I Really Should Pick A Name For both specialise hard, meanwhile Celine's a polished, reliable jack of all trades.

-Thirds their choreographer/dancer, Miyeong's their best singer/lyricist. Celine's the only one allowed to talk to reporters without a script.

-Celine was in love with both of them and willing to admit it about neither-

-Rumi's dad was their manager. Celine and Third hated his ass even before the demon twist because what do you mean your dating one of the talents you manage, fucker?? Miyeong blink twice if you want us to stab him-

-Rumi Sr had a plan similar to Rumi's plan with Jinu, to use the powerful demon with wavering loyalties to turn on Gwi-ma and defeat him for good. Unlike Rumi, Miyeong planned to outright kill him, and see what demons chose to do with their newfound freedom before going forward with any plans of the Golden Honmoon, in no small part because of her hubbie

--it's impossible to know if this would've worked or not. He was scared, and backed out- maybe he would've found his courage at the final moments and salvaged it, if she'd had a chance to go through with it with or without his help. But the next time he saw her, it was a confrontation with Celine over her grave.

-(I said lighter but some of these are NOT lighter lol)

-Celine's mother did a complete 180 into doting grandma for Rumi, as parents do. Celine was absolutely hellbent on keeping Rumi's patterns a secret from her, as a result. She got several very angry phone calls from her mother not long after What It Sounds Like. Rumi never hears a word of it, and as far as she's ever aware, she never had any problem with Rumi's patterns.

-(the absolute side eye Miyeong's parents give Celine's mother at birthday parties needs to be seen to be believed. It somehow gets even more intense after that)

[starlightshadowsworld]

I don't mean to break us further after this chapter but am I he only one who immediately went "why the fuck is this Oda and Dazai WHY IS AKINARI BEING HELD BY ATSUSHI THE SAME WAY ODA WAS HELD BY DAZAI"

Like literally my first thought.

Also I can't be the only one seeing the brief parallel, with Oda's death pushing Dazai to make the right choice and Atsushi being told to kill Akinari and then doing the right thing and instead freeing them (he I guess considering we finally saw it was a yukata they were wearing)

Like...even though there isn't a bond I'm just drawing parallels like the weirdo I am

Oda saying Dazai was a burnt cat and Atsushi seeing his little self being punished for the tiger next to Akinari

Oda and Akinari both being ready to die for something they/someone else brought upon themselves

Atsushi and Dazai having to hear the final words of people in a situation they haven't seemed to fully process yet

Atsushi and Dazai being thrust into said situation without any warning at all in general and watching someone die in their arms

Also there begs to question why Akinari was killed so quickly

I've always wondered about Atsushi's connection to the Book. Do you think Amenogozen and Tsukinogozen were connected to the Book and therefore Akinari as well?

also there begs to question what they meant by leaving the rest to SSKK

And it might just be me but I swear on my life in Chapter 26 Kouyou says something similar, something like she's leaving Kyouka to Atsushi. "I'll leave the rest to you" and "I'll leave Kyouka to you" WHY DOES ATSUSHI ALWAYS GET RESPONSIBILITIES HE ISN'T READY FOR YET???

And the thing is their bangs are on opposite sides and literally the first page I ever saw of Akinari I immediately clocked that they were good due to that little character detail, unlike Kouyou with her bangs on the right side due to Japan believing that right = evil and left = pure

WHICH ALSO IS A REASON ATSUSHI'S BANGS ARE ON THE LEFT INSTEAD OF THE RIGHT EVEN WITH THE BLACK STREAK BECAUSE IT PROCES THAT TIME AND TIME AGAIN NO MATTER HOW MUCH THEY DESERVE IT ATSUSHI WILL ALWAYS BE SWAYED TO CHOOSE THE MORALLY RIGHT THING TO DO EVEN THOUGH HE KNOWS HE CAN DO IT THE WRING WAY HE STILL ACTIVELY FIGHTS AGAINST THAT PART OF HIM BC HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE LIKE THE HEADMASTER

ANYWAY I'm so sorry if you doing want stuff about 124.5 yet in your asks 😞😞😞

First of all, you’re fine it’s fine don’t worry about it. My only thing about people sending me stuff about new chapters is just to wait till I’ve read the chapter.

After that you know go nuts I love talking about it with people.

As for your ask, ow owwwwie! I didn’t even think about the Odasaku and Dazai parallels to Akinari and Atsushi. And now that you’ve mentioned it yeah I can see it.

While of course not having the same bond as they did, both Odasaku and Akinari have been used to push Dazai and Atsushi to end the cycle of torment. You could argue Odasuku saw himself in Dazai and wanted to save him the way he couldn’t save the kids and himself.

And Atsushi saw in Akinari himself and wanted to save him in the way he couldn’t save his friends and himself.

Good eye for that.

Atsushi is definitely the one who keeps getting hit with the “I’m leaving the rest to you” sentiment. In fact going back Fukuzawa said the same thing to Atsushi (chapter 120.5) when he was “killed.”

Unfortunately Atsushi is the one everyone knows is the one who can defeat the threat…and frankly one of the only people left too do so.

Alas no rest for him.

So the way I see it is that the swords are able to respectively manipulate the fabric of reality and those that dwell within it. The Book as we know it (Bsd Beast) has created other worlds that exist outside this original universe.

And so because of the swords, namely Amenogozen being able to manipulate the worlds the Book has created that is what ties them together.

I don’t think that they were intended to be created this way, it’s just a consequence of the power that they wield. Like Akinari was sealed within another realm of existence using the sword that they created. But they didn’t create the 4th dimensional plane as it already existed because of the Book.

All Akinari’s captors did was use the sword to open a door they knew already was there.

That’s my understanding of course I could be completely wrong but that’s where I stand with it for now.

So to me they are all connected but it’s just by virtue of how they work individually. Kinda like how Mori runs the Port Mafia but it existed as an organisation before he was around. It’s a power he used for his own benefit even if he didn’t create it.

I hope that makes sense 😅

The bangs are fun detail I hadn’t noticed that but yeah no it also serves as another similarity between the two of them.

[paper-starz]

I like how your Yarnaby is a bit human yet still keeping his animal side, the one thing I have issues with in the fandom is that they humanise the non human esque characters like Huggy Wuggy, Mommy Long Legs, Catnap and Doey

But with Yarnaby they portray him as some idiotic dog, keep in mind Yarnaby was also an orphan, he wasn't grown in a lab, this is a human child we're talking about here

I know that Yarnaby did have his humanity taken away from him to become Sawyer's "pet" explaining his animalistic instincts, but we also have characters like Boxy Boo and Pianosaurus similar to him and they're shown to have bits of humanity left inside (mostly Pianosaurus)

Sorry for the rant, just wanted to get this off my chest

NO YEAH I TOTALLY GET IT!! One thing that really bothered me with the Poppy Playtime fandom is the portrayal of Yarnaby. I get why we did so in the beginning of ch 4’s release, that chapter was such an angst fest that we needed something goofy and wholesome. So fans turned Yarnaby into basically Harley’s overgrown cat.

Long rant below 👇

Especially with Yarnaby’s general appearance, with his eyes looking at two different directions gives him that silly “no thoughts, head empty” look.

But now it’s been months after the chapters initial release, and seeing Yarnaby being portrayed that way… it really irks me. Yarnaby used to be a child, a human child mind you, and his body was deformed and his mind was conditioned by Harley Sawyer. This is some really heavy stuff, yet, I don’t see any fanworks depicting this as I do with some other mascots, specifically Doey.

Like, when you compare how fans treat Doey and how fans treat Yarnaby, it’s really clear. Fans know that Doey used to be 3 kids and they do respect that, yet I barely see anyone mention that Yarnaby used to be a kid too.

He’s not just “Harley’s dog”. He was a kid.

This kinda reminded me of how the Mouthwashing fandom treated Curly in his burned state. I saw so many fanworks depicting burned Curly that either infantilized him or treated him as a silly “pet” (I think I saw one TikTok where Curly communicated through those talking button things.)

And I get why, Mouthwashing (like poppy playtime) is a heavy game. Fans wants to make something silly and wholesome to cope with the tragedy of the game, it’s human to do so.

But then after a while, you start to question the fandom a bit. The farther away a character is from being human (appearance and communication wise) then the less the character is treated as such (even if they are human).

And I think that’s a very dangerous behavior to have, since there are people in the world that can’t even have the decency of being treated as human because of their appearance and/or their ability to communicate.

This is what I want to explore with my Yarnaby’s character. Hes a toy with thoughts and feelings, different opinions on things, likes and dislikes, yet he can’t express those thoughts since he has no voice and he can’t communicate through sign language (like Kissy) cause of his paws.

He’s treated more like a pet by everyone around him rather than a person.

[smallgear]

svsss fic idea: on behalf of the system

It took a while to remember, but Shen Yuan was sure now. He had died. And transmigrated. Into a cat. Shen Quingqiu’s cat.

His memory had returned when a strange voice accompanied by a dialogue box appeared as he had watched Shen Qingqiu pour a hot cup of tea over his new disciple’s head from the rooftop of the bamboo house.

[Congratulations!＾∇＾]

[Connection To The Power Source Established]

[System Activation Complete]

[Loading System Quests]

[Error]

[Attempting To Load System Quests]

[Error]

[Attempting To Load System Quests]

[Error]

[Loading Emergency Protocol]

[Congratulations!]

[Due To Technical Issues The User PeerlessCucumber Has Been Granted Early Access To The OOC Feature As Compensation!]

[Objective: Influence The Characters On Behalf Of The System To Fill The Plot Holes And Improve The Writing Of PIDW!]

[Rewards And Penalties For Completed Or Failed Quests Will Be Calculated After The Technical Issues Are Resolved]

„Wait what? Quests? Rewards? What penalties??“

[Successfully Completed Quests Will We Rewarded With Points]

[Failed Quests Will Be Penalized With The Deduction Of Points ^^]

„It’s just points? Nothing else? What happens if my Points fall to zero?“

[If The Points Fall To Zero The User Will Be-] the voice vanished with a glitch of the box.

„Ah well. It’s just points. What’s the worst that can happen?“

So why not have fun and change the plot to his liking?

It took a few days for Shen Yuan to come up with a way to actually do anything. He was a cat now, after all. But he had remembered a particular species of demon that had appeared in a small sub-plot of PIDW. Shen Yuan had cursed them for obviously being a cheap trick to get out of the corner Airplane had written himself into. One of Luo Binghe‘s countless wifes had been captured and, after all the kidnapper’s subordinates had been killed in a dramatic flaunt of power befitting of a stallion novel in the previous chapter, there was no way for Luo Binghe to actually figure out where she was being held captive or where she might be moved to. So to solve that issue, Airplane invented a new type of rare demon, the past-and-future-seeing-critter. The name, as always, was as bad and literal as it gets. But at least Airplane had the brains to limit their abilities enough so that Luo Binghe wouldn’t functionally become omniscient by simply having one of them in his possession. As such, they were described to only be able to see short amounts of time into the past and future, which solely served their survival in the demon realm, because in every other aspect they were no different than the small animals they resembled, lacking any physical enhancements usually found in the demon races.

So, since, in his new form, Shen Yuan lacked the ability to speak, or gesture, or communicate in any other meaningful way, he settled on this:

From now on he’d be the oracle demon cat Shen Yuan who had decided to change Luo Binghe’s (and Shen Qingqiu‘s) fate(s) for the sole reason of protecting his comfortable life on the peak by writing barely legible, cryptic messages for the two of them (writing with the brush in your cat-mouth was hard, ok??).

Using knowledge that only a past-and-future-seeing-critter (or a reader of PIDW) could have as proof, Shen Yuan advised Shen Qingqiu to stop bullying his disciple, else they’d become each other’s downfall. Admittedly, Shen Yuan only did this because he simply couldn’t handle watching that White Lotus be mistreated like that all over again. But making a basic, two-dimensional villain squirm as his sense of self preservation and his desperate need to put down others fought a fierce battle within himself should certainly count as „improving the writing“, right? Not to mention Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge having caught onto Shen Qingqiu‘s strange behavior, making the situation even more complex.

Over time, Shen Yuan began to forget about the quest the system had issued him. But it never stopped watching as Shen Yuan revealed far more than a past-and-future-seeing-critter could possibly know (under the impression that no one would know or find out how that rare species of demon actually worked) and completely derailed the plot of Proud Immortal Demon Way…

[tamaytsuki]

Thank you @still--kicking for tagging me!!!

What’s the origin of your blog title?

i'm not really sure, i have used this name since i was in middle school, and most of my social media profiles have the same name (i'm not very creative). I'm pretty sure i just keyboard smashed, rearanged, added and deleted the letters until i had something i liked.

OTP(s) + shipname(s):

Joongdok and Klance are currently the only two things i think about. Of course i am in many other fandoms and there are many other ships i enjoy quite a lot but those two are the ones consuming my brain as of now.

Favorite color:

Red.

Song stuck in your head:

Undressed by sombr because it reminds me of Joongdok...

Weirdest habit/trait:

I can crack a concerning amount of joints in my body.

Hobbies:

i have many hobbies actually. Of course i draw, i love reading, sewing and doing embroidery, i can play the piano and i've taken classes since i was 7 and I used to write when i was younger but i'm afraid i've lost that habit.

If you work, what’s your profession?

I'm unemployed, unfortunately... full time student tho.

If you could have any job, what would it be?

Well i am an architecture major so that probably answers it. But when i was younger i had the dream of being a book illustrator, sometimes i still think about the possibility but that's just a very, very far away dream though... we'll see where life takes me.

Something you’re good at:

I'm good at creative problem solving. My friends often tell me i'm also a quick improviser.

Something you hate:

Being misunderstood.

Something you collect:

sketchbooks, often unfinished but i have a whole shelf full of them.

Other than that, nothing. I had to move quite frequently ever since i was a child so it became quite hard to bring my stuff every time my family had to move, so i just didn't collect anything.

Something you forget:

Faces, names and dates.

What's your love language:

Acts of service and quality time

Favourite movie/show:

How to Train Your Dragon, probably. And my favorite show would be between Gravity Falls and The Owl House.

Favourite food:

all the shapes and forms a potato can take.

Favourite animal:

Cats, and if i had to pick any other animal then i would chose owls.

What were you like as a child:

Bossy, cheeky yet very quiet. I was very athletic and didn't know how to make friends since i didn't stay at a place long enough to form bonds.

Favourite subject at school:

Math and Portuguese grammar. That doesn't mean i was amazing at any of them though, just average.

Least favourite subject:

Ironicaly, arts. The teacher didn't allow much creativity in her classes so i automatically hated her and her subject...

What's your best character trait?

I'm not sure... i can be very patient.

Whats your worst character trait?

I have no idea how to comfort people. I can try to find a solution to your problem, sure! But i will pat you on the back while you cry and say "that's rough, buddy" because i simply wont know what to say or do to make you feel better.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

Many little things, but none worth mentioning. I'm happy for now.

This was very fun! Time for tagging: @gabicogatito @queengeni @themystiquedreamer and anyone else who wants to join! Dont feel pressured to join if you were tagged tho

Get to know your mutuals!

Got tagged by @wishfulsketching! Let's do this~

What's the origin of your blog title?

I honestly can't remember but it's been the one that has stuck with me the longest.

OTP(s)+ shipnames(s):

Zaundads and Jayvik (Arcane), Hartwin (Kingsman), BayoJean (Bayonetta), Hankcon (Detroit: Become Human), Cherik (any rendition of Xmen foreverrrrr)

I was trying to remember which were my oldest and it's a toss up between Zelgadis/Amelia (The Slayers) and Xena/Gabrielle (Xena: Warrior Princess)

Favourite color:

I'm an all shades of purple kinda gal but I do love me a teal from time to time.

Song stuck in your head:

This one specific rendition of Malagueña Salerosa

Weirdest habit/trait:

i fucking love eating freezer ice

Hobbies:

the usual reading, gaming, cross stitching, writing, drawing i used to do archery and i miss it so much...

If you work, what's your profession?

my family and I run a bakery/cake shop (I did the math the other day and I make 24 cheesecakes a week)

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?

I'd like to think there's an AU version of me out there that's a published author. That or a funeral director cuz funerals here in Spain fucking suck.

Something you're good at:

My mother often said I'm a good problem solver so I'll go with that.

Something you hate:

'proship DNI' culture

people who yuck people for their yum in general

The commodification and girlbossing of Persephone's myth.

No wind in the air. No even a breeze.

Something you collect:

I'm quite fond of the collection of NMBC Sally merch I've acquired throughout the years.

Something you forget:

to call my dad

What's your love language:

i'll throw hands in a parking lot

Favourite movie/show:

Movies: Rocky Horror Picture Show, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Kingsman, Into the Spiderverse, Death Becomes Her, Blazing Saddles, Millennium Actress

TV: The Venture Bros, (Go Team Venture ✌️😭) Interview with the Vampire, Haunting of Hill House, Arcane, Twin Peaks, Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Favourite food:

I could eat ramen forever.

Favourite animal:

octopi and bears reign supreme!!!

What were you like as a child:

"She's so good! She barely makes a sound!" was something I heard a lot growing up. I was fiercely shy but liked that people found me funny so I leaned heavily on wanting to make people laugh. I enjoyed my own company and my imaginary friend was Basil of Baker Street.

Favourite subject at school:

English lit. I remember when it finally clicked and how much I enjoyed picking apart the themes and symbolism.

Least favourite subject:

German. My teacher said that since I was already bilingual i was just too lazy to learn another language.

What's your best character trait?

I do like making people laugh

What's your worst character trait?

how i express my anger

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

I really wish my grandfather was still around.

ALRIGHT! time to tag!

@glitteryrainbows @ballowvalence @poltergeist-punk @artknifeandglue @silcobrainrot

[twistedminutia]

A Million and One Minutia: Dream of Yesterday

The NRC students learn about the magicless prefect's past.

Read the rest of the chapters here and crossposted to AO3 here.

This chapter contains spoilers for Book 7 that are not yet our on the EN server. If you do not want to be spoiled, please do not read.

This chapter contains content warnings for:

Discussions of death and dying

Mentions of suicide and suicidality

Leona observes his surroundings. He’s in the middle of a forest. It’s temperate. The trees are large, their trunks too thick for Leona to even wrap his arms halfway around. The leaves nearly blot out the sun, though patches of light make it possible to see. A light breeze rustles things, making things nearly chilly in the shade.

First, he notices that Gray isn’t here. A flicker of annoyance kicks at his stomach. Was that cat thing lying? Isn’t she supposed to be there?

The second thing he notices is that Ruggie isn’t there, either. Jack is. He can smell Jack close by. But Ruggie’s gone.

In fact, the distinct scents Leona can pick up on are far fewer than there should be. He looks around. Jack is only a foot or so to his left. Scattered around him in a loose circle are Kalim, Trey, Rook, Floyd, and Lilia. And no one else.

Leona swivels his ears, but he can’t hear anything else. Jack sniffs a few times, turning in a slow circle. “Smell anyone else?” Leona asks in an undertone.

Jack shakes his head. “No. There’s something else here, but…” He wrinkles his nose as he sniffs a few more times, then shakes his head. “I can’t place it.”

Leona can smell something too, something… horsey? It smells a little like going by the stables. Not quite the same, maybe cleaner. It’s strange, because he doesn’t smell any other animals at all.

“Where are we?” Floyd asks. “Why’d we end up in the woods somewhere?”

“And where are the other?” Kalim asks, a bit of panic in his voice. “Jamil’s gone!”

Leona barely restrains a comment about how Kalim can’t be without his retainer for more than a few seconds. “Whatever that cat thing did, it separated us,” he said. “Maybe they’re somewhere else in the woods.”

“Non,” Rook says. “These are not woods.”

Trey turns his head to stare at one of the trees next to him. “Uh. It looks like the woods to me.”

“Ah, Chevalier de Roses! You see the trees and think woods. But I do not mean that it doesn’t look like the woods.” He lifts his arms toward the sky. “I mean that this is constructed.”

“How so?” Jack grunts.

“It appears to be woods,” Rook says. “But it is a rather poor recreation.”

“He’s right,” Silver says. “If we were really in the woods, there would be a lot of noise. Birds singing. Animals moving in the undergrowth. But listen.”

Everyone pauses. Sure enough, aside from the breeze rustling through the leaves, there’s no sound.

It sets Leona’s teeth on edge. He’s napped in the woods a lot. It’s given him an understanding of the subtle sounds. Without those soft sounds, there’s a creeping sensation that something is terribly wrong.

“It could also mean that something has scared them into silence,” Lilia says. He’s tense, prepared to drop into a crouch and positioned slightly in front of Silver. Silver himself has his hand resting on his baton. Leona may not like them personally, but he has to admit that they’re capable people to be lost in the woods with. Lilia especially is a capable fighter. “We should-”

Lilia cuts himself off as Rook’s expression tightens and Jack braces himself. Leona freezes as well. There’s a sound, a heavy pounding in the undergrowth, moving closer by the second.

Leona has just enough time to register it has hoofbeats before the source leaps out of the undergrowth, sails over them, and lands on the fair side of their group.

It’s a horse, Leona thinks. But it’s not like any horse he’s ever seen.

First, the fine coat covering its body is deep blue, like the sky right on the edge between day and night. The long, thick spill of mane from its neck is silvery-white, like moonlight. Its tail it strange- instead of the usual hair of a horse’s tail, it resembles more of a lion’s, long and thin with a long, flowing tuft of silver-white at the end. Its hooves were a similar color, but they gleamed like moonstone or opals in the light, the reflected colors shifting toward rainbow.

And on its forehead, the same color as its hooves, sat a long, spiral horn that came to a wickedly sharp point at the end.

It turned its head so it could regard them with one of its eyes and waited.

“It’s a horse?” Trey asked.

“It’s a unicorn,” Lilia said. He sounded disbelieving. “But they’re extinct- or never existed, depending on who you ask.”

“It doesn’t look quite like the sketches of unicorns I have seen before,” Rook said. “They were smaller, more like deer.”

“You’re in the equestrian club, aren’t you, Silver?” Kalim asked. “Maybe you can try to calm it down or talk to it?”

Silver nods. “I can try.” He shifts so he’s approaching the horse from the side. She turns her head to keep one of her eyes on him. “Hello,” Silver says. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

The horse’s chest expands and the breath comes out in a laugh. As her mouth opens, Leona catches another difference in her from horses. There are at least two teeth that are distinctly pointed. “I should think that none of you here could harm me!” Her voice is loud, and sounds like a woman, approximately middle-aged. One of her forehooves strikes against the ground and the forest trembles with the impact.

“Well met, young ones,” she says. Every word seems to have weight behind them, like she’s shouting, even though her voice is only slightly louder than a normal speaking volume. “The lot of you are mine to lead, then. Come! There is no time to waste.”

“Hang on,” Leona snaps.” The unicorn, having taken several steps forward while speaking, pauses and turns her gaze to him. “I’m not goin’ with someone whose name I don’t even know.”

The unicorn snorts. Leona can’t tell if the sound is derisive, thoughtful, or impressed. “You are the lion prince, then? Hmph. A saliant point.” She planted her hooves and swung her head around to look at the assembled people. “My name is Amalthea, former High Queen of the Stredt, wielder of the Six Blades, and the First Charge of the Allmother. And now, guide to my eight charges.” She turns away from him. “Come. The longer we tarry, the closer death draws.”

With no further words, she trots onward. Bereft of any other directions, the group hesitates for only a moment before following.

Azul opens his eyes in a library.

Well, it’s either a library or a truly impressive bookstore. His first impression is that it is the Night Raven College library- but no. The dim, purple ceiling, floating, flickering lights, and rich mahogany wood all suggest as much. But the bookshelves themselves don’t resemble the ones at NRC.

First off, they’re far taller than the ones at NRC, extending toward the ceiling. He can still see the highest row of books up there, but he has to crane his neck significantly to do so. Additionally, the shelves aren’t simple rectangles. They wind in strange curves that almost remind Azul of certain kinds of coral. Or a brain.

He looks around. Jade is nearby, observing the polished surface of a table. Floyd is nowhere to be seen, and the place is deadly silent. Azul meets Jade’s eye and they both silently agree- Floyd is not here.

There are quite a few people who aren’t here. Idia is, but he’s looking around frantically for Ortho, who isn’t. Ruggie examines one of the golden light fixtures attached to a shelf like he’s thinking how much he could get for it. Cater stands with his hands in his pockets- he seems twitchy, possibly because none of them have their phones on them. Jamil is nearby, looking around like Kalim might spring out from behind a bookshelf at any moment. And Sebek-

“WHERE IS MY LEIGE?????”

-Is looking for Malleus at a much greater volume.

“Wait,” Azul says as Sebek makes to go charging off down a corridor of bookshelves. “It isn’t prudent to split up. We don’t know where we are, or why we’re here. For all we know, they split us up to pick us off easier, and if we split up further, we’re playing into their hands.”

Jade looks mildly disappointed (he probably would have enjoyed seeing Sebek running fruitlessly through a maze) but morays are cautious creatures, so he nods his assent. “Staying in a group benefits us all. At least for now.”

Technically, convincing Sebek to stay with the rest of the group is a calculated risk. Sebek is likely to get them all into trouble by charging into things they shouldn’t be- but he’s also likely to throw himself into trouble and give all of them a chance to escape, should it come to that.

“I agree with sticking together,” Jamil says. “But do we have any idea what we’re supposed to be doing?”

Cater nods. “Yeah, Are we supposed to just start walking? ‘Cause that seems like a pretty good way to get majorly lost.”

“If we could climb the shelves, maybe we could get a better view of things,” Ruggie says. But he’s eyeing the shelves with apprehension.

“Be my guest,” Jade says, gesturing toward the closest one.

Ruggie gives a nervous, “Shyee hee hee. Uh, hyenas aren’t great climbers…”

The shelves don’t look easy to climb, and they’re tall enough that you could get pretty hurt if you fell. Azul sizes up their options. Jamil and Sebek are the most athletic here, if Ruggie’s out. Of the two of those, Sebek could be most easily convinced to start climbing.

Azul’s just opened his mouth when Idida says, “D-do we have to move? Maybe we should just stay here.”

“You’re suggesting we merely sit and wait for rescue?” Sebek snaps. “Preposterous! We cannot simply give up and lay idle!”

Idia frowns. “L-look, if Ortho’s out there, he’ll be able to find us easier if we stay in the same spot! Plus, we don’t know what could be out there! Do you really want to wander around like some noob on their first map, waiting to get destroyed by a more experienced player?”

Azul’s spent enough time with Idia to understand most of those words. “We have no proof Ortho is anywhere around here, nor do we know if he’s able to track us down in a dream. It would be foolish to expect rescue to come for us.”

Idia winces, but Ruggie ignores him to keep speaking. “How are we even supposed to pick which direction to go in?”

“If Floyd were around here, we could follow the sound of wanton destruction,” Azul mutters. Jade grins.

There’s a sound, then, a noise that starts low and rapidly escalates into a low rattle. It reminds Azul of a wheeled cart where the wheels are a bit loose rapidly rolling toward them. They all look to try and catch the sound and Azul’s eyes land on the source just as it hits the end of the shelf with a clack.

It’s a rolling ladder, the sort attached to the shelves so patrons can climb it and move around to grab books as needed. There’s a woman riding it.

“Hello boys!” She hops off the ladder, landing with ease even though she was a good couple of feet above the ground. “Pleasure to meet you!”

She’s got mid-brown skin, with long, dark hair tied into an elaborate plait. Her clothes look a bit worn and like they’ve been mended a few times with colorful bits of thread and embroidery. They also look like she might be from a warmer climate- she’s wearing a shirt with no sleeves and short shorts, mostly covered by a bundle of fabric like a sash at her waist. She’s also tall, tall enough to be on eye-level with Sebek.

She is also, very obviously, not human.

She looks mostly human- her face, torso and arms are recognizably so, at least. But her ears are only and pointed, and not just pointed like a fae’s- the tips extend beyond the back of her head, and the gold earrings studded along them only emphasize their length. Her height is not just because she’s tall, but also because her human-like legs have been shifted to have a digitigrade stance. Her human-like feet have been extended and shifted so she’s balancing exclusively on the balls of her feet. For balance, she has a tail- it’s not like the tail of a beastman, or at least, it’s not any animal Azul has ever seen. It’s the same shade of skin as the rest of her, thicker toward the base. It waves idly as she observes them.

“Got a good group here,” she declares. She’s quite muscular and her face has an easygoing grin that never seems to fade. It’s quite a contrast from the cautious expressions everyone else seems to fade. She’s wearing something across her back, Azul notices. It’s a staff, the top wrapped in thick cloth. A weapon? Azul gazes at her hesitantly.

“Pardon me,” Jade says in his politest voice. “Might I inquire as to your name?”

He’s being excessively polite, which means excessively cautious. Azul assesses the rest of the group. Cater’s looking appreciatively at her, maybe wondering how many likes a picture of her would gather on Magicam. Ruggie’s assessing her more like he’s thinking about how many thaumarks he’s like to get out of her pockets. Jamil’s expression gives nothing away. Idia seems moments from diving under a table and staying there. Sebek’s glaring at her with undisguised suspicion.

“Tauvrain,” the woman says, which is not a name Azul has ever heard before. “But you boys can just call me Tav.” She swings her gaze to take in the full group. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we? Only way to get out is to start moving.”

She swings her staff off her back to gesture broadly down the corridor she emerged from. No one moves.

“Tough crowd.” Her ever-present smile doesn’t fade. Her eyeteeth are sharp. “Would you like me to lead the way, then?”

“I’d like you to tell us where we’re going,” Jamil says. He’s not bothering to be polite.

She blinks at him. “Not easy to do in a dream, you know?” She gestures at the shelves. “We’ll walk. Important things will come up when they come up. As long as I’m guiding you, you’ll find the way.”

Azul eyes her, then meets eyes with Jade. They don’t have many other options, at this point. Refusing this means they’ll be trapped until Gray makes a decision. And, technically, Azul has made a deal. He’s going to see this out.

“Very well,” he says. “Onward.”

Ace wakes staring up at the sky. It’s blue, the sort of intense blue you get during summer, where you can see the lighter blue toward the bottom and the bright blue toward the top. The ground looks a little like photos he’s seen of the Sunset Savanna- long strands of tannish grass and a few sparse, squat trees and bushes.

He looks around. Deuce is standing a couple of feet away. Grim, struggling to see over some of the taller strands, is close by as well. Ace heads in their direction.

Riddle hesitantly approaches them, so he’s here as well. Looking across the field, Ace can also see Vil, heading over to where Epel stands. Ortho joins their group after a few moments of looking around, maybe for his brother. Malleus is the last person there, standing slightly apart from the other two groups. He glances between them. Ace can’t really read his expression. Maybe unperturbed. Maybe like he’s trying to stare them to death.

“Does anyone know where we are?” Ace asks, loud enough to carry across the short distance between the groups.

“In the dream, still,” Malleus says. “I can sense the magic.”

“Yes,” Ortho agrees. “This place is still the dream.” He looks around. “Perhaps this is a place Gray remembers?”

“Gray never mentioned a place like this before,” Deuce says, plucking idly at a piece of grass.

“And where is Gray?” Grim snaps. “Aren’t we supposed to be telling her off?”

“A better question would be where everyone else is,” Riddle says. He keeps scanning the surrounding area like Trey and Cater are going to pop out of the grass. “She didn’t tell us we were going to be separated, did she?”

“She did not.” Vil looks distinctly sour. Epel starts edging toward Ace and Deuce, like he wants some distance in case Vil starts lashing out with verbal tirades. “How are we meant to do this? We’ve been given no instructions, she’s separated us from two-thirds of our other classmates, and Gray’s not even here.”

“I don’t sense anyone else around,” Ortho says. “Wait- there’s another life signature.” He turns, staring intently toward a patch of tall grass.

Everyone tenses. They can’t see whatever it is, and the grass only comes up to his hips, Ace reasons. Whatever it is, it can’t be much larger than Grim.

“What is it?” Riddle asks.

“Uncertain. The shape is odd.” Ortho’s eyes narrow. “Charging technomantic beam to stun-”

“You’re gonna shoot it?” Epel exclaims.

“Perhaps that’s not a good idea,” Malleus says. “Shooting a part of Gray’s mind may-”

Apparently charging beams to stun takes very little time at all, because a humming beam of blue light darts from Ortho’s chest to a spot a little to the left of the one he indicated. Right before it makes contact, something launches itself out of the grass and into the sky.

“Ah,” Malleus says. “It was a bluff.”

Vil smiles. “Hm. Ortho’s refined his acting skills well.”

Ace, meanwhile, is more interested in tracking the flying creature circling above their heads. His first thought is that it’s a bird, but if so, then it’s a very big, very strangely-shaped bird. It does seem to have feathered wings, but the rest of it is too long and it has too many limbs.

Just as he’s thinking that, the creature turns and starts heading toward them.

Oh, duh. It doesn’t matter if Ortho’s intent was to drive it out of hiding instead of hit it. The creature would have just seen an attack.

And now it’s coming to attack them back.

“Hey!” it all Ace manages to get out before something sails over them. He can feel the downdraft of its wings as it moves. Malleus lifts his hand like he’s about to cast a spell, and Ortho braces, but at the last possible moment, the creature tilts itself until its wings are perpendicular to the ground and weaves in between the members of the group. It breezes by them, then shoots upward.

Ace catches a better glimpse of it when it moves up and gets backlit by the sun. It’s… some kind of cat?

“Should we attack?” Epel asks, looking around.

“We did attack first,” Riddle says with a sharp look at Ortho, who looks suitably embarrassed. “Perhaps we should try diplomacy?”

“Hey!” Deuce bellows with no further discussion. “We just want to talk! We didn’t mean to attack you!”

The creature wheels around and aims for Deuce. Ace has a brief, horrified moment where he’s worried he’s about to see Deuce go down with a frenzied creature chomping off his face, but it just swings around and, to everyone’s surprise, lands so that its back paws are on Deuce’s shoulder and its forepaw is on Deuce’s head.

“It’s not like you could have hit me even if you were trying to attack,” it says. “But, uh, word to the wise? Maybe not a great idea to have your game plan be ‘shoot first, ask the charred corpse what it wants second.’ You know?”

Its voice is feminine. Adult, but on the younger side. It’s also very weird to hear it coming out of the mouth of what is definitely a cat. A cat that also has a set of enormous, feathery wings. That’s kind of the first thing you notice about it.

The second thing you notice is that the cat is horribly injured.

Or, well, that she was horribly injured a long time ago. Her right foreleg is gone, with a small patch of scar tissue covering the stump and snaking up her neck toward her face. A larger patch marks the empty socket where here right eye one sat.

She looks a little like Sassy, Ace realizes. Except the wings and the injuries. And Sassy was completely white with black eyes, and this cat is mostly white, with a long stripe of gray tabby fur along her back, wings, and face. But there’s something about her body shape and fur length that makes her look like Sassy anyway.

He’s not the only one who’s thinking it, because Epel says, “Are you Sassy?”

The cat tilts her head. “Uhhh. That’s kind of a weird thing to ask someone? Not really, I think, but Amalthea said-” Her eye widened. “Ohhhh, wait, you meant a name? No, I’m not. That wasn’t me. I’ve been dead.”

There’s a bewildered silence. “Dead,” Vil repeats.

“Uh huh.”

“You’re not now,” Malleus points out.

“No, I’m still dead,” the cat says.

There’s another bewildered silence. Deuce shifts as her back paws dig into his shoulders.

“You don’t seem dead,” Ortho offers.

“Yeah!” The cat shakes out her wings. “Kinda cool, isn’t it?”

“You can’t be both dead and not dead at the same time,” Riddle insists. “It’s a violation of the laws of nature!”

“Your laws of nature,” the cat says. “Not mine.”

Riddle’s face is starting to go red. “They are EVERYONE’S laws of nature-”

“Hang on,” Ace says, because if Riddle loses it, they’re going to have a bigger problem on their hands. “Who even are you? I thought we were supposed to be seeing Gray.”

“You will,” the cat said. “But first…” She launches herself off Deuce’s shoulders and hovers over their group. “I’m Sarscilla!” She puffs out her chest and lifts her chin. “And you’re talking to me because I’m Gray’s best friend!”

Rook eyes the unicorn. Amalthea is leading them through the trees- there’s no path, so she’s creating one for them. With her bulk, she’s more or less just trampling the undergrowth into a path that they can follow along, single file, behind her.

Naturally, Rook isn’t doing this.

The trees aren’t hard to scale and Rook can easily locate and pick a path along the large, low branches. If Amalthea has an issue with this, she hasn’t said anything. Leona is also ignoring the path, kicking and clawing his way through the undergrowth so he can keep pace with her, instead of following behind.

Floyd has vanished. Rook is fairly certain Amalthea has noticed- she keeps turning her head back to examine the group. But she doesn’t seem concerned. She just examines them, then keeps moving forward.

Rook’s good at reading the expressions of a lot of creatures. Unicorns are, obviously, not one he’s met before, but the body language seems to map onto horses fairly well. Her ears are set back at an angle and her tail lashes. She’s irritated. About having to lead them? About the particular people in the group? About something else? Rook’s not sure.

Amalthea pauses and lifts her head. Her horn ignites. It’s fascinating to watch, a ripple of silver light flowing up from the base along the spiral until the entire horn is glowing. A blob of the light separates from the rest of the horn and shoots off between the trees.

When it returns, it’s encompassing a wriggling shape. Floyd is dropped onto the ground next to Amalthea.

“Please remain with the group,” she says dispassionately. “The dream grows less cohesive the further out you go.”

Floyd dusts himself off and glares at Amalthea. With a gesture that means something unimaginably rude in merfolk, he turns and stalks off between the trees.

Amalthea waits for exactly forty-eight seconds (Rook has a precise internal clock) then her light shoots out again and drags Floyd back. This time, he’s dangling upside down.

Amalthea deposits him. Floyd rolls to his feet instantly and breaks off at a sprint. This time, it’s only twenty-three seconds before her light shoots and out and retrieves him. Is it because Floyd was rapidly reaching the end of her range? Or because she is growing impatient?

She drops him flat on his back this time. Floyd jumps back to his feet and stares at her, then moves again.

This time, it’s a forward lunge. Based on the direction of his hands, he’s going for her horn.

Amalthea, with surprising speed for a large creature, spins on her front hooves and kicks him.

Rook isn’t sure if she was just very careful about the amount of force she used, or if the dream is somehow distorting things, because a horse kicking someone in the chest like that, at full power, would have at least done crippling damage, if not outright killed them. Floyd skids backward several feet and slams into a tree trunk.

Everyone tenses. Silver’s hand goes to his baton. Jack and Leona sniff the air, searching for the scent of blood. Trey covers his mouth in horror. Lilia stares intently at Floyd, assessing for injury.

But no- there’s no smell of blood, and Rook can’t see a single bone out of place. Floyd stands, moving like he’s sore and a bit bruised, but not like he’s sustained any injuries.

“Woah!” he says enthusiastically. “Do that again!”

Amalthea stares at him. “We do not have time to-”

“Don’t have time to what?” Leona cuts in Rook reads the tension that settles through Leona’s back and shoulders, the irritated lash of his tail. “Seems to me lik all we’re doing is wandering through the woods. We don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Yeah,” Jack snaps. “I’m not going to blindly follow someone around.”

“Hey, it’s not like she’s done anything to us,” Kalim protests. “Shouldn’t we at least try to trust her?”

“It would be better if we had more information about where we’re going,” Trey says diplomatically. “You said this would help Gray?”

Amalthea glances between them, scuffing a forehoof against the ground. “It will,” she says. The words are reluctant.

“How is following you around supposed to help anyone?” Leona asks.

“In order to understand how to help Gray now,” Amalthea says, “you must first understand how she arrived at this place.”

Rook leans forward in the tree. Amalthea takes deep breath. She’s posturing strangely. It’s not body language Rook thinks he’s ever seen on a horse- perhaps it’s unique to unicorns.

“I am the one who sent Gray to Twisted Wonderland,” Amalthea says.

A hush falls over the group. Jack startles. Silver’s eyes grow wide. “You are- but how?”

Amalthea’s head lowers until her horn nearly touches the ground. “You must understand,” she says, her voice strained. “I was intending to save her life.”

“Her life?” Lilia repeats. He’s staring at Amalthea intently. One of his hands rests likely on Silver’s wrist. “From what?”

Amalethea closes her eyes and Rook realizes why he was having such a hard time parsing her body language before. He’s never seen a horse look guilty.

“It is a long story. To explain it all, I suppose I must start by explaining a little about what we are and who we serve.”

Sebek alternates his gaze between the winding shelves of books they’re walking between, Tav, and the rest of his schoolmates.

He’s agitated. Malleus is gone. Sebek’s not sure where he is. He’s not sure where Lilia is, either. Or Silver, for that matter, though obviously he ISN’T CONCERNED ABOUT SILVER. He’s concerned about Malleus! And despite Tav attempting to reassure them that there was nothing to worry about (“Your friends are fine! Nothing will harm them here, I assure you.”), Sebek is extremely worried.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much he can do other than walk along with the rest of the group. The bookshelves are labyrinthine, and while Tav walks with a confidence that suggests she knows exactly where she is going, no one else would be able to navigate it.

His suspicion and discomfort seems reflected in the rest of the group. Jamil’s teeth are clearly on edge, Azul and Jade exchange frequent whispers, Ruggie’s fingers twitch, Idia’s hoodie is completely over his head, and Cater stares around the bookshelves with his expression drawn tight.

Actually… Hm. Could Cater be an asset? The Heartslabyul dorms are notoriously maze-like themselves. Perhaps Cater’s got a knack for following winding trails.

Sebek walks over to Cater and makes an effort to keep his voice low as he asks, “Are you able to navigate here?”

“Wh- huh?” Cater asks. “Are you asking me if I can find the exit?”

Sebek nods. “Heartslabyul is known for its winding interior. If you are able to-”

“No way!” Cater insists. “Do you know how much I get lost in Heartslabyul anyway? And I’ve never been here before.”

Hmph. So the human was useless. No matter! A good guard always had multiple plans. Time to enact the second one.

Sebek planted himself in the center of the corridor and said, “I refuse to take another step until you thoroughly explain yourself!”

Tav turned around. Her staff was balanced across her shoulders, arms hooked over it in a casual manner. “Hm?”

“As much as I hate to say it,” Jamil said, earning himself a glare, “Sebek’s right. We don’t know who you are or where you’re taking us. You haven’t given us any information about how this is supposed to help Gray.”

“Indeed,” Azul said. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I don’t like my business deals to be unnecessarily drawn out.”

Tav fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Unless you’re the one- ah, never mind. We can pause here, I suppose. I was looking for a good visual aid, but I think one of these will suffice…”

She summons a ladder with a wave of her hand and scales several feet to pluck one of the books, then forgoes the ladder entirely to hop back down. The book is thick and purple, but has no title or words on it. Tav flips to a spot about halfway through, then opens it and turns it toward them.

The book unfolds. Sebek’s read a few books with similar designs before- they were some of his favorite, actually. Old war-books his grandfather had allowed him to take. With great reverence, Sebek had unfolded the maps in the middle and traced lines of marching soldiers across them.

This book unfolds far more than any of the ones Sebek has, creating a massive, papery wall. Tav steps out from behind it, leaving the book apparently floating on its own.

“This is really more about context,” she says. “To understand how to save Gray, you’ll need to understand why she’s here in the first place. And to understand that, you need to understand the fundamental ways of things.”

She taps the book with her staff. Lines start to form across the pages until they resolve into a complicated-looking tangle. “All right. Starting with the basics. How many of you are familiar with the concept of other worlds?”

Idia, who’s been shuffling along at the back of the group, looks up. “Wh- Gray asked me to look into those,” he says.

“I am also familiar with the concept!” Sebek barks.

“Gray said she was from another world,” Cater agrees. “I’m not really sure what that means, tho.”

“Given the context,” Jade says, “it is a world or planet or dimension similar to our own, but with some key differences. Gray’s world, for example, lacks magic.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Tav says. “Imagine it this way.” She taps the book again and the page warps until it looks like they’re staring down into a soapy sink from above. There are several clumps of bubbles.

All of these,” she says, using her staff to indicate each different bubble clump, “are worlds of their own.”

Idia emerges from his hoodie fully, frowning at the bubbles. “Like when fiction talks about alternate universes? Th-there was an anime about characters traveling between d-different universes.”

“Sure,” Tav says. “That would be like…” She taps one of the larger clumps of bubbles. “See all these? Think of them like… mini-universes isn’t right, they’re not smaller. They’re more like closely-tethered universes. They press together, so they’re really easy to travel between.”

She moves the point of her staff so she’s indicating two different bubble clusters. One of them has a lot of bubbles attached. The other is solitary. “The distance between Gray’s universe and this one is more like this.”

Azul considers this. “Each bubble is its own universe,” he clarifies. “And the ones that are attached to each other are easy to get between.” Tav nods. “What about the ones that aren’t connected?”

“Technically,” Tav says, “you aren’t supposed to travel between them.”

Sebek puffs himself up, irritated. “But you just said Gray has traveled between them!”

“That’s correct,” Tav says. “She wasn’t supposed to- not in the way she did, anyway. Think of it this way. Most people exist in here.” She taps the bubbles. “On the inside of their own little worlds, safe and sound. But there are things that exist all swimming around out here.” She waves her staff toward the space between the bubbles. “And sometimes, people in the bubbles learn the secrets to getting out of the bubble and start swimming around on their own.” She smiles faintly. “That’d be the case for yours truly. Kind of frees you from all the little rules of the universe.”

Sebek blinks. Within the space of it, Tav vanishes. There’s an abrupt, warm weight against his back. He whirls around, dislodging Tav, who was leaning across his back.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Tav says. She steps again and reappears back in front of the book. It’s not like magic- Sebek senses nothing, and it’s more like she’s stepping between two disconnected spots like they’re connected. Sure, it’s a dream, but all things they can do in dreams are based on things they can do in reality. She steps between spaces like it’s no effort.

Ruggie is staring at her like she started fanning herself with hundred-thaumark bills. Azul’s eyes narrow with business acumen. “How do you learn that?”

Tav looks like she was expecting the question. “Sorry, kid.” She doesn’t sound sorry. “I can’t teach it to you- it’s not the kind of thing you can learn in a standard way, and I wouldn’t teach you, even if I could. Trust me, it’s not a good thing to know.”

Jamil frowns. “Are you saying Gray knows how to walk between worlds? Why can’t she just go home, then?”

“No. I know how to do it. She doesn’t. She never has,” Tav says. She taps the book with her staff and it folds back up and returns to the shelf on its own. “That was context. The reason Gray came to this world in the first place is because of…” She trails off, then gestures for them to follow her.  This time, they reach the end of his shelf and, instead of leading them further into the maze, Tav stops in front of a wall.

The wall is decorated by a mural. On it is a stylized depiction of… something. An animal, Sebek thinks. It sort of reminds him of a dragon- it has a long, curving neck and tail. But it’s also wingless, white, and with massive, dark eyes that seem to take up a large portion of its ovular head. Its limbs are also long, almost giraffe-like.

“The Allmother,” Tav says. Her tone falls somewhere between reverent and sad. “She is the reason Gray is in your world.”

Riddle watches as the cat- Sarscilla- hovers over their heads. Her tail undulates behind her- toward the end, it dissolves into faintly bluish-white mist. He’s fairly certain it wasn’t doing that before.

“Gray never mentioned you,” Grim says. His paws are folded over his chest and his ears are tucked back, clearly fuming.

“Gray stated animals don’t speak in her world,” Riddle concurs. A talking cat wouldn’t be unheard of in Twisted Wonderland- any number of spells or curses can create an animal that speaks like a person, and even without that, there’s animal linguistics. But Gray indicated that both those things are completely unknown on Earth.

“They don’t! I’m not from Gray’s world either!” Sarscilla says. “I’m a Traveler!”

“Which is?” Malleus says. He’s fairly poised, but Riddle picks up on a faint sense of impatience. It makes him want to edge away.

“People who go to and from other worlds, because we learned how to manipulate the fundamental Rules that exist in universes and between universes.”

Riddle twitches. Just a little. “The Rules of the universe?”

“Yeah. Well, I say Rules… they’re like the laws of physics, you know? They’re more like the way things generally work. And if you really understand them down on the deepest levels, they’re really kind of more suggestions than rules. And once you understand all that, you can just pop between worlds or universes or whatever all you like!”

“You’re saying you found cheat codes,” Ortho says. Riddle’s not quite sure what those are, but he doesn’t like the sound of them.

“Kinda!” Sarscilla says. “More like… secret knowledge! Like, um. If you used a shortcut the developers put in to bypass the level!”

All of the freshmen and Vil nod in understanding. Riddle shares a brief look with Malleus, who looks just as bewildered. Then Vil pauses and frowns.

“How does a cat know about video games?” It’s a good question- Riddle can’t imagine her using a controller with her paws.

“Because Gray showed them to me,” Sarscilla says. “She showed me a lot of things. Because we’re best friends.” Her eyes tilt back and her muzzle scrunches with uncertainty. “We were best friends? I’m not sure how that works now, since I’m still kind of dead…”

“None of the things you’re saying make any sense!” Ace bursts out in a fit of complaints. “You’re saying you’re her best friend, but Gray’s never mentioned you or even anything like you. You’re saying you’re dead, but you’re clearly not, because you’re here talking to us. We’re supposed to be saving Gray, and none of this feels like it’s getting any of us closer to doing that.”

Normally, Riddle would be irritated by Ace being so rude, but Ace is saying what he’s thinking, so he’s inclined to let it go. Sarscilla focuses her attention on him.

“First question first: she can’t remember me. Or, she couldn’t. She probably can right now. Second question: that’s more complicated. I did die. But, um… Okay, you know those cheat code things we were talking about earlier? One part of that is something called a ‘decentralized existence.’” She looks around and is greeted by seven identical blank stares. “Uh, honestly, I don’t get it either, so it’s hard to explain. Basically, simple explanation is that a little tiny fragment of my consciousness got stuck to Gray when she came here because I was dying at the time, and it was dormant until the Allmother powered back up to save her life. When the Allmother stops, my power runs out and I die again. Got it?”

There’s a long silence. Riddle very much does not feel like he has ‘got it.’ But he does have another question. “Who or what is the Allmother?”

“Biiiiiiiiiiig lady in charge,” Sarscilla says. “Well, not a lady, technically, but she doesn’t mind. If you’re normal players, and I’m implementing cheat codes and exploits, she’s the game dev. Kind of. She didn’t develop anything, but she’s got the most control over the code, or whatever. The system admin, maybe?” She pauses. “Gray’s, like, been given mod privileges or whatever in this metaphor, by the way. She can do stuff, but only when the admin is giving her permission.”

“I am not following this metaphor,” Malleus says. He’s beginning to look genuinely frustrated. Riddle edges away.

Sarscilla thinks for a moment. “Just think of it like, we have power to manipulate the world in special ways, the Allmother can do that more than we can, and Gray can do it if the Allmother is giving her permission to do it.” Malleus nods, still looking a little miffed, but less murderously so.

“How did you manage to get that power?” Ortho asks.

“I’m not really allowed to tell,” Sarscilla says. “And even if I was allowed to tell, which I’m not, I couldn’t actually tell you here. It’s kind of complicated, but it’s not the kind of thing you can just ask someone to sit down and tell you how to do. Oh, but Gray got hers a different way. Like I said, I have the cheat codes, but Gray gets her power right from the Allmother.”

“Are you also not allowed to tell us how that happened?” Deuce asks.

“No, that’s probably important for you to know, I’m just gonna have to condense a bit.” Sarscilla’s face scrunches with thought. “So, long backstory kind of short, the Allmother likes having a mortal champion, she sends out a part of herself to act as a scout to find one, it finds Gray, the Allmother wants to send her back, because she’s thirteen and the stuff the Allmother wants her to do aren’t exactly safe, but Gray begged, and the Allmother finally said yes, and just decided to put her in training until she was old enough to actually go on missions, which never ended up happening. And then she asked me to watch over Gray, and that’s how we became best friends!”

“Wait!” Grim says. “You’re sayin’ my hench-human was someone else’s hench-human first?”

“Uh, I think the Allmother liked the term ‘paladin’ or ‘herald’ or something, but yeah, sure,” Sarscilla said. “Is that the main thing you got from that?”

“Hang on,” Epel says. “Y’said the Allmother was going to send her away, but Gray begged for it? Even though it was supposed to be dangerous?”

“It does seem somewhat out of character,” Ortho agrees.

Riddle has to concur. Gray’s personality is one he would generally describe as ‘cautious.’ She gets into danger on a regular basis, yes, but that seems to be more due to her company than her actual desire to do so. Even the overblots- for most of them, she was there by chance, or due to the Headmage’s intervention. The only exception is the one in STYX, and even then, she had volunteered mostly out of a desire to rescue Grim. Gray begging to be given a dangerous task seemed rather unlike her. Then again, Sarscilla had said she was thirteen at the time, so there was opportunity for a personality change.

Sarscilla’s ears flatten and she drifts lower in the air. She’s hovering, but she doesn’t appear to be using her wings for it. They flap too infrequently to be the things keeping her up. She only seems half-substantial, the edges of her extremities flickering with blue-white mist. Riddle wonders if that’s part of the ‘cheat codes’ she mentioned earlier.

“I think… she never told me that much about it,” Sarscilla says. “But I got the idea she never had many friends. She had her family- normal, human family, her siblings, parents, all that- but she never really talked to anyone else. I don’t think people were mean to her. I think she just got ignored. And she read a lot of stories, because she didn’t have any people to spend time with. So when she got summoned somewhere and got told ‘you’ve been chosen for a big adventure to do cool things, but oops, you’re too young, we don’t want you, go back to your crummy life,’ she got upset.”

Riddle’s still not sure he’s following, but Ortho nods. “That happens in a lot of anime my brother watches,” he says. Malleus looks thoughtful as well, though he says nothing.

“But basically, the Allmother said, ‘okay, fine, you can stay,’ and started training Gray. Amalthea and Tave- you’ll mee them later- helped, too, but she assigned me to guard Gray, since she thought we’d get along best. And we did! We were best friends.” Sarscilla’s gaze becomes soft and reminiscent.

“This all sounds great,” Ace snaps. “None of that explains how Gray ended up in Twisted Wonderland.”

Sarscilla’s head lowers. “Then the Allmother died. And so did the rest of us. And we made sure Gray lived.”

Silver listens to Amalthea’s long explanation carefully. He doesn’t understand every last bit of it, but he gets the gist. The story is even interesting enough to keep Floyd’s attention, somehow.

“You’re saying this ‘Allmother’ recruited a kid for some kind of dangerous mission?” Leona snorts. He doesn’t seem concerned, but he doesn’t seem impressed, either.

“For the record, I was against it,” Amalthea says. “And she was not intended to be in any danger prior to her coming of age.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with preparing someone ahead of time,” Father says. “Why, Silver was training from the time he was a young boy.”

Amalthea gives Father an odd look, but shakes her mane in dismissal. “I remain unconvinced it was ever a good idea,” she says. “And subsequent events did not prove me incorrect.”

“I don’t get it,” Floyd says. “If Shrimpy was trained so much, how come she’s so weak? I could squeeze her like nothin’.”

Amalthea glares at Floyd. “Her memories were removed. Or, more correctly, suppressed. The Allmother believed it would be… easiest for her to move on that way, without being burdened by the trials of the past.”

Silver watches Amalthea. He’s worked with horses long enough to get a read on her body language, even if it’s slightly different. She’s scuffing her hooves, moving in ways that are overly tense and controlled. Her tail lashes. She’s angry, agitated. If he were in Equestrian Club, Silver would keep his gaze low, make soothing noises, keep in her line of vision so he doesn’t spook her. But she has the mind of a person, and that makes him less certain how to handle things.

“She should still have muscle, shouldn’t she?” Jack says.

“The power she was given was granted by the Allmother,” Amalthea says. “It was rescinded when the Allmother fell.”

“You said it was your fault she came here in the first place,” Trey said, adjusting his glasses. “What did you mean?”

Amalthea shifts her weight on her hooves. “We were attacked,” she said. “There was always a contingency plan. I was unwilling to allow Gray to stay without one.”

“What sort of contingency plan?” Silver asks.

“The one that activated. The rest of us would fight, if possible. I was designated as the one who would send Gray home. Which I attempted to do.”

“But Gray didn’t end up home,” Rook observes neutrally. “She ended up here.”

Amalthea bristles. “It was an assault. I was not at my best,” she admits. “And Gray was fighting me. Rather strenuously. Even holding onto her was a struggle.” She sighs. “I suspect what happened was the portal either opened incorrectly, or it was not properly warded and she was somehow pulled into your world instead of returning to her own. Relatively speaking, the worlds are not so different- close together, cosmically speaking.”

“The Trickster often remarks on how different these worlds are,” Rook hums.

“They may seem that way to her,” Amalthea replies. “I was rather thinking in terms of things like breathable atmosphere. And humanoid creatures.”

Trey stiffens. “Gray- on her shoulder, she has a scar she can’t remember how she got. Was it from this?”

Silver blinks. Leona eyes Trey like he thinks Trey might be making it up. “Shrimpy’s got a scar?” Floyd asks. “I’ve never seen it.”

“She’s never mentioned it,” Kalim agrees.

“It’s around her shoulder,” Trey says. He runs his finger along the ball of his shoulder, indicating something stretching down under his armpit. “I only saw it the one time.” Then, like he’s rushing to explain, “Riddle wanted to give it an examination and I was just there-”

“The Trickster has always had a modicum of stiffness around her left shoulder,” Rook adds thoughtfully. “A scar like that would explain it.”

Trey frowns, then shakes his head. “But she didn’t mention any kind of wound that would have caused it.”

Amalthea closes her eyes. “She stated that the skin simply peeled away, as it would for a bad burn, yes?”

Trey, mutely, nods.

“Then we have another item to add to my list of failures,” Amalthea says, her voice heavy with self-recrimination. “When I was attempting to pull her toward the portal, I utilized my magic to grab her left shoulder.”

“Your magic could have scarred her?” Jack asks.

“If your magic did that do Gray’s shoulder, how come he’s fine?” Leona asks, jerking a thumb toward Floyd. “You were yanking him around earlier.”

Floyd frowns at her. “You were using magic that’s gonna make my skin fall off? That’s not nice, Narwhal.”

“Narw-” Amalthea visibly steers herself away from that topic. “No. This is a dream, so there would be no damage to your physical bodies, and regardless, my magic doesn’t typically do that.” She swings her head around and her gaze lands on Silver. In a gentler tone, she says. “Might I borrow your hand for a moment?”

Silver hesitates. Father, similarly, frowns. “I could offer my own,” he says. Amalthea nods once and Father lifts his left hand to her. Silver shifts restlessly, even after Father waves him off. Admittedly, there is curiosity sparking in Father’s eyes as he lifts his left hand toward Amalthea.

“Gather in,” she instructs the rest of the boys, and they fall in with her, most of them with obvious curiosity on their faces. Jack and Leona both give Amalthea a wider berth, though Jack is more willing to come close than Leona. Kalim seems unusually hesitant, though he still looks interested.

“Watch,” she says. Silver light flows up her horn and extends to surround Father’s outstretched hand. Slowly, Father’s fingers start to move and flex.

“You’re moving my fingers,” Father says, probably for the benefit of the rest of the group.

“Yes,” Amalthea says. “To be more accurate, I am applying pressure to your fingers to force them to move. You could resist, if my grip were not very strong. It is no different from someone grabbing your hand and forcing your fingers to move. But that is only magic I am applying to the surface. It is easy for magic to permeate further, deeper than just the skin.”

She turns and silver light flows up into a tree and surrounds a branch. “As this is a dream, I am going to make this process much faster than it would typically be, in order to illustrate. My magic currently only rests on the outside of the branch. If I radiate it inward…”

There’s silence for a moment. Then Silver sees the leaves.

They’re shaped like pointed ovals, not quite any tree he recognizes. And, as he watches, the leaves start to brown at the edges. The browning spreads inward, like ink flowing on paper until the leaves are warped and crumbling. The bark starts to shift and slough until it’s crumbling away from the tree. Slowly, the entire branch collapses and desiccates, like watching something rapidly die.

Amalthea releases the branch and turns back to them. Jack’s ears pin back against his head. Leona’s jaw tenses. Floyd eyes her warily while Rook’s expression goes stiff and stern. Father massages the hand Amalthea manipulated and gives her a look that most would interpret as neutral, but Silver knows is laced with distrust. Trey looks horrified.

“That’s what happened to her arm?” he asks. Silver wonders how bad it must have looked, to make Trey so upset. But, Trey has always been a bit of a soft touch for his juniors. Calculating, in some ways, Silver is sure. But if a student were to be injured, Trey is one of the more reliable seniors to go to.

“If she retained the arm, then it was not that severe,” Amalthea says. “But there must have been damage to the skin and some muscle.”

Silver thinks back to when he was with Gray in the dreams. Her range of motion wasn’t so limited that he thinks major muscles were destroyed. But it was stiff- there’s significant tissue damage, at least, enough to lock movement. Did Gray ever get any kind of treatment for it? He doesn’t know. They aren’t close- the dream realm jumping was the closest they’d gotten, and even then, they were more focused on the task at hand than companionship.

“Are you and Riddle the only ones who know about it?” Jack asks Trey. He sounds skeptical- that makes sense. As far as Silver is aware, Trey and Gray aren’t all that close either. He’s not sure about her and Riddle- Gray mentioned Riddle helping her study, once, but that’s not a friendship, necessarily.

“No, Ace, Deuce, and Cater know about it as well,” Trey says. “And she probably told Grim, at some point.”

“The Roi du Poison and myself were aware of an injury,” Rook says. “But not of its nature.”

“But an injury like that is really bad, isn’t it?” Kalim asks. “Shouldn’t she have seen a doctor about it? I’ve gotten burns and things before, and Jamil always makes sure someone looks at it.”

Father frowns. “Is it treatable?” he asks Amalthea.

She thinks. “There are exercises one could do to restore some of the function. If she can still move the shoulder, it’s not too far gone for that. But as for removing the scarring or restoring the shoulder to what it was before, no. The damage is too severe.” Amalthea considers. “In some ways, the injury could have been worse. She did not seem to be pained by it?” Trey shakes his head. “Perhaps the damage killed some of the nerves there. In some ways, that might be a blessing.”

Her head hangs, horn low to the ground again. She gives the impression of great weariness- despite the obvious physical differences, it reminds Silver of something he’s seen before. A similar posture, held by his father. The weight of years and battles and death.

“So the herbivore has a bum arm,” Leona says. “Fine. But you said before you were savin’ her from something. Something that killed you. Seems like that’s what’s most important to know right now.”

Amalthea lifts her head to stare at him. “Correct.” Her sides heave with a sigh. “You should know of him, then. The one who slew the Allmother.”

Jamil watches as Tav indicates a large section of wall. It’s next to the stylized depiction of the Allmother. This depiction, however, shows flames.

They’re done in similar colors to Scarabia, all red and gold, with a little bit of orange where they meet. The carving seems to undulate, like the flames are shifting upward, but Jamil keeps blinking when he looks at it and that seems to reset it. It’s not bright, but it hurts his eyes a little to look for too long.

Actually, the longer he looks at it, the more he can pick out little details. There’s… something in the flames. Or something made out of the flames? It’s hard to tell. It’s even harder to pick out details in a slightly-shifting carving. Jamil catches sight of something that might be a beak and something else that might be a talon and something else that could be a long, sinuous body, almost serpentine. He gets the impression of wings, stretching upward… or maybe that’s just the fire surrounding it. In the center of everything, there seems to be a single, yellow, staring, hating eye.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder. He blinks As Tav turns him to face her. “Shoulda warned ya. Try not to look at that one too long, ‘kay?” She squeezes his shoulder in a comforting way, then turns him to look at the other image, the one she said was of the Allmother.

Tension eases from Jamil’s shoulders. Looking at her, he gets the vague impression of being curled up somewhere safe, with no obligations and someone watching over him. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt like that. Maybe not since he was a baby. Maybe not ever.

“Keep your eyes off it, if you can,” Tav says. Jamil watches, out of the corner of his eyes, as she steers a few more gazes away from it. Azul and Idia in particular, seem to be staring particularly hard. Jamil can see a muscle working in Idia’s jaw. Tav gives his hand a squeeze as she turns him away and Idia flinches back from the contact.

“Uh,” Idia mumbles, looking like he wants to duck out of existence at the nearest opportunity. “A-any reason why you sh-showed us a haunted painting?”

“It’s not haunted,” Tav says. “Not in the traditional sense. This place is the seat of Gray’s mind. Everything here is tinged by her own impressions. Her memories color these. The books have memories, too. Everything she’s ever thought pops up in those. But the carvings are stronger. Less filtered.”

Jamil watches Azul and Jade exchange some glances at the books. He ignores them. Not his problem. He’s not going to get involved.

Ruggie eyes the image of the Allmother. It, too, is moving as they watch it. Not a lot. Just a slow rise and fall of the sides and a slight tilt of the head. “You said this one died?” he asks.

Idia sucks in a breath. “You can’t just ask someone-”

“Yes,” Tav says. The images shift, rolling slowly. The image of the Allmother shifts. It’s only a slight change, but Jamil can read the lines of tension. Kalim’s nature means that Jamil has had to spend an unfortunate amount of time around animals. He can read the way she reels back, eyes wider. The fire encroaches on her side. Jamil gets the sense of something reaching, with talons like knives.

Tav watches the image. “There are other creatures like the Allmother,” she says. “She knew of him- she’s defeated him on multiple occasions, the most recent of which liberated Sarscilla.”

She taps her staff against a small figure toward the top of the image. Jamil has to squint to make it out the shape. It’s… a cat? With wings?

“She expected him to be vanquished.” Tav turns back toward them with a raise of her eyebrows that somehow looks sarcastic. “He was not. Not for as long as we’d thought, anyway. There was an ambush.”

The two sides of the carving shift together. The Allmother image twists, her head tilting back. The fire swirls around her. It’s unclear, in the shifting of the image, but Jamil gets the impression of something sharp, beaklike, closing down on her throat.

The image makes his stomach twist. There’s a vague pressure behind his eyes, a sense of turmoil like right before his overblot, when the world was falling apart and he couldn’t do anything else to stop it.

“Oh,” Tav says. She’s looking up at a particular part of the painting. “I was rather hoping Gray didn’t remember that part.”

Jamil forces his eyes up. Toward the top of the painting is the winged cat. Its teeth are bared in a snarl as it flies into the fire, even though its body is already half-covered by flames.

Tav closes her eyes for a second. Then she lifts her staff and slams the base of it into the wall.

A white curtain unrolls over the second half of the image. Instantly, it reverts back to its original state. The flames are covered and the Allmother sits still and placid once more.

Jamil lets out a long breath. Idia is slumped over, face in his hands. Azul and Jade are turned away from each other- Jamil can’t see Jade, but Azul’s face is ashen. Ruggie’s chewing on a nail hard enough to draw blood. Sebek stares ahead like he’s not seeing anything, eyes glassy.

“The Allmother fell,” Tav says. “We all died. Gray, stripped of any powers and memory she had from the Allmother, was sent home- or, Amalthea attempted to send her home, and sent her here, instead.” She sweeps her gaze over them. “And you know the story from there.”

Sebek draws in a breath like he’s just realized something. “You sent her away from her liege!”

“The Allmother wasn’t quite a liege,” Tav replies, tone a bit bemused. “She was more of a teacher, really.”

“Regardless! Gray was in service! And she was sent away!” Sebek lifts a hand to his head. “No wonder she despaired!”

Not for the first time, Jamil reflects that their relationships with their masters are very different. One from choice, one from obligation. One of steadfast loyalty, one threaded with betrayal. Sebek wouldn’t leave Malleus if it killed him. Jamil… he’s been trained his entire life to die for Kalim. He’s still not sure what he would do, if given the choice beyond what his training has prepared him for.

“It does raise an interesting point,” Jade puts in. “Gray was saved. The rest of you were not. None of you attempted to save yourselves?”

“It gave her a better chance of escaping if we distracted him,” Tav says. “He could have locked the whole place down once the Allmother was gone. It might have even been his interference that prevented Amalthea from sending Gray home properly. I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Sarscilla would have stayed to protect Gray regardless. Amalthea would lay down her life for any child, moreso one she trained. And me?” Another shrug. Jamil’s good with body language. He can read this discomfort, the self-recrimination in it. “Even if I ran, there was every likelihood he could track someone like me. Gray’s still just a human. The Allmother poured power into her, but with that power gone, he would have no interest. We saved her because she was the only one who could be saved. Because she was the youngest. She never should have been there, not really. Perhaps we were just trying to correct it.”

Jamil can’t really remember much of his overblot. From the snippets of conversations he’s shared with the others, that’s the norm. But he has scattered flashes. One of them involves Gray, dodging an inky blast of magic while directing Grim.

She shouldn’t have been there either. At any of the overblots. He can see Azul, out of the corner of his eye, coming to a similar conclusion. They have similar debts left unpaid. Fine. This will clear the balance, then.

“What do we need to do to get her out of here?” Jamil is a bit surprised to hear Cater speak, more surprised by the tense expression on his face. Tav nods at him.

“That,” she says, “is really the easiest and most difficult part.”

Vil watches Sarscilla as she glides over them. They’ve been walking for a while now. It’s a dream, so the sun here can’t actually damage his skin, but it still makes him uncomfortable to be out in it without shade for so long.

“What all this means,” Ace says, in his usual blunt way, “is that Gray can’t go home.”

“Not really,” Sarscilla says. “I mean, maybe? I’m not gonna say anything’s impossible. But…” Her ears angle back. “Probably not. It’s just not how any of this works. Without the Allmother, there’s probably not anything that can get her back home. Not safely or reliably, anyway.”

“But the Allmother is creating this dream, is she not?” Malleus asks. “She is reviving Gray. Could she not simply send her home?”

“Not really. It’s hard to create a stable tunnel between universes. Way easier to do stuff in the universe you’re already in. The Allmother’s running on fumes. She can revive Gray and do a few other things here, but she can’t do anything else.”

“And she didn’t do anything sooner because…?” Vil asks. He’s got a generally dim view of this ‘Allmother.’ He’s had directors who were unfairly demanding and unsupportive of their actors. She’s sounding a bit too similar to that, in his opinion.

“Uh, okay, so when the Allmother died, she didn’t die exactly. Neither did we! If you’re noncorporeal and you die, your consciousness kinda goes…” Sarscilla makes a gesture with her wings. “It gets… split up? Little fragments that cling to people. After this, we’ll probably all fade away.”

“You’ll die?” Deuce asks, eyes wide with horror.

Sarscilla wings around so she’s above him and tilting her head to stare down at him upside-down. “I’m already dead. Thought we went over that. There’s a little bitty piece of me that’s clinging on, but that’s it. Mostly, I’m dead. This is the first time I’ve even been conscious in a while. I’ll just go back to that. No biggie.”

“You’re rather calm about it,” Ortho observes.

“I dunno.” Sarscilla moves over to him, hovering in front of his face. “I already thought I was going to die when I did. I didn’t know if Gray was even going to get it out alive. This is kind of like a bonus.”

“Ya still haven’t told us how we’re gonna wake her up,” Grim grouses. Vil can’t tell if that’s the main source of his unhappiness, or if it’s moreso jealousy that Gray had a previous catlike companion that she was closer to. Grim’s a bit possessive over his ‘hench-human.’

Sarscilla slows, then angles into a dive to land next to Grim. He startles backward.

“That’s gonna be up to you, kinda,” she says. “You have to convince her she should come back. That’s what the Allmother tried to do for a while, before she decided it wasn’t working.”

“You’ve already said the Allmother’s quite powerful, and she has more history with Gray than we do,” Riddle says. “Why does she think we’ll succeed when she failed?”

Riddle’s tense. He clearly doesn’t want to fail- is it because he loathes failing as a concept or because he knows what the consequences are if they fail? Vil doesn’t know. He’s not sure he knows which of those is causing the uneasy twist in his gut, either.

“Because she’s dead and you’re not,” Sarscilla says, as though the answer is obvious.

“We know that already,” Ace says. “Just be straightforward!”

Sarscilla’s fur lifts along her spine and her wings bristle. “Because… The Allmother took Gray, even thought it was a bad idea. Everyone knew it was dumb, since Gray was just a kid. But Gray begged and the Allmother didn’t want to turn her away.” She fluffs her wings, discomfort radiating off every feather. “Gray… didn’t have a lot of friends back home. Um. Kind of, not any, really. She didn’t say anything, but I think the Allmother was worried what would happen to her if she kicked Gray away. She’s… kind of a soft touch.”

“The Allmother thought Gray might try something like this even back home,” Vil says. The words come out oddly heavy.

“I don’t know. Gray never said anything like that. But I don’t think the Allmother would have taken her on if she wasn’t a little worried about it,” Sarscilla admits.

“But if Gray was already on the edge at home, how’re we supposed to bring her back?” Ace asks. “You keep saying to convince her, but none of us are mental health professionals! If she was already depressed at home, what are we going to do to change her mind here?”

It’s a fair point. Vil feels that, if he was in Gray’s position, he’d likely handle it better, but… losing his father, his career, everything he’s worked toward… A few paltry words wouldn’t be enough to cheer him up. What are they expected to do, exactly?        Tell her ‘everything will be all right?’ and expect her to get better immediately? Ridiculous. That’s the sort of nonsense he’d expect one of Neige’s characters to spout. Or, maybe, Neige himself. Vil is far more realistic.

“It’s not really about what you say,” Sarscilla says. “The Allmother assigned me to go with Gray, even though I’m not the most experienced, because she thought our personalities would go well together. And she was right! I was Gray’s best friend and she was mine and she was happy! You don’t have to say anything. But Gray thinks, a lot of the time, that she’s not very important and she can just kind of vanish and no one’s going to notice or care. What she really needs is people who are going to show her that she’s not right.”

“As if the Great’s Grim’s henchman could just vanish!” Grim yowls. His fur stands straight along his spine as fire puffs from his mouth. “I gotta get my minion back! Even if she’s gonna be an idiot about some things.”

“Yes! Like that!” Sarscilla enthuses. “Except maybe not as much calling her an idiot!”

“She is kind of bein’ an idjit,” Epel mutters. Vil glares at him. Being in a dream is no reason to let his language slip.

“I don’t think she’s being stupid.” Sarscilla wings around and, abruptly, crashes into Epel’s shoulder. He wobbles, but Sarscilla steadies herself so she’s standing on his shoulders, back paws on one, front paw on the other, wings half-raised to avoid hitting his head. “And even if she was, you probably shouldn’t tell her that.”

“You should be allowed to tell your friends when they’re being stupid,” Ace disagrees.

“I mean yeah, but think of it this way: If someone already thinks they’re an idiot, and they think they’re so much an idiot that maybe they should just die about it, telling them they are actually an idiot is not going to help with that train of thought. Just sayin’.”

Riddle looks a bit deflated. “She called herself stupid sometimes when we were studying together. I thought she was frustrated with the material. I didn’t think she meant it.”

Deuce sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes going wide and round. “She mentioned once- She was talking with me and Jack and she made a joke about throwing herself off a tower…”

“But everyone makes those jokes!”  Ace points out defensively. “Epel made a joke about hanging himself because Vil almost caught him with potato chips the other day!”

Vil’s gaze switches to Epel and intensifies to a burning degree. Epel, in turn, glares at Ace, who raises his hands.

“The other day,” Ortho says. “She was asking about if people could be revived from the dead. I thought she was curious about magic, but she was asking if…”

Ortho trails off, looking distressed. She was asking to make sure she couldn’t be revived, Vil concludes. Magic in that sphere is essentially impossible, and forbidden besides. Then again, Gray clearly couldn’t have predicted this very strange turn of events that is going to revive her…

(And it will revive her. Vil doesn’t accept failure. She is returning to life if he has to drag her back by her hair.)

“She was behaving strangely,” Malleus said. “The last time I saw her before…” He makes a vague, expansive hand gesture. “But I didn’t anticipate…” He trails off, looking equal parts frustrated and uncomfortable.

“Look,” Sarscilla says. She wings down in front of them. “Gray’s cautious and she’s good at hiding. If she didn’t want you to find out this stuff before, she would have made sure you didn’t. She looks like she’s not thinking about how she comes across most of the time, but she is. Always. She barely ever lets things slip by accident. She would have figured out how much she could say without you getting suspicious, and she would have said just that and nothing more. She’s good at that.”

Performance is something Vil is intimately familiar with. Most of his life is a performance. One he’s molded into a second skin, and one that he’s so used to it doesn’t feel like a performance most of the time. But it is one. No one can be perfect all the time.

He didn’t peg Gray as a performer, is all. He thought of her as genuine- she seems genuine. He never thought anyone would have picked ‘slightly fumbling’ as their persona.

But it granted her a certain amount of oversight. She got ignored a lot. Being at NRC certainly helped, it wasn’t like people there went out of their way to help people, usually. He was tepidly aware that she had been, at one point, harassed before Grim, Ace, and Deuce had intervened enough to shoo away anyone who thought she’d be completely easy picking, and then she’d been further protected by the rumors surrounding the overblots. But for the most part… she was ignored.

He’d thought it was natural. The revelation that it might have been protective, a performance designed to shoo them away until her plan was complete… It’s unsettling. He’s always thought he was good at reading people. Maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought.

“But she shoulda told me!” Grim insists. “She’s my hench-human!”

Sarscilla gives him a look that Vil would almost describe as fond. “She probably didn’t want to worry you.”

“If she didn’t want to worry anyone, she shouldn’t have done this,” Ace says, gesturing around them.

Sarscilla tilts her wings in what Vil assumes is a shrug. “Gray’s not always great at estimating her relationship with others. She, uh. Probably figured you wouldn’t care that much or would be better without her or… I dunno, she wasn’t thinking super clearly. She’s smart. She’s just dumb about some things.”

She crouched and pushed off, taking to the air with an elegant flick of her wings. “I can talk about it, but if you want to know why, you should probably just ask her yourself. Come on. We’re almost there.”

Jack can see and smell the end of the forest approaching. Amalthea’s hoof steps falter and slow. “We’re almost at the end,” she says.

“What happens then?” Leona asks, arms folded.

Amalthea turns to look at him. “You will reunite with your companions. And then you will all speak with Gray.”

Silver nods, resolute. “We will bring her back home.”

Amalthea looks… pleased? It’s hard to tell with a horse’s face. “Your courage and fortitude is much appreciated.”

Leona twitches his tail. “Y’still haven’t explained why it’s important that we all need to be here. Not like the herbivore and I are close.”

“Personal closeness isn’t strictly necessary. Gray assisted in your overblot, yes? Her life impacted yours in a significant manner. That is the importance.” Amalthea pauses, looking at him once more. “And with the topic at hand, if you wish to be happy, you may wish stop self-sabotaging.”

Leona’s posture stiffens. Jack shifts, awkwardly. Should he try to intervene? It’s not as if Leona can’t take care of himself, but he could use backup if he decides to attack…

“What are you talking about?” Leona asks, his voice a low growl.

Amalthea flicks her tail in a gesture of impatience. “I ruled my own kingdom for millennia. I had six foals. None of them ever ascended to the throne, nor did they ever believe they would. None of them indulged in indolence and wasted their own skills because of that.”

Lilia makes a quiet, almost choked noise behind them. Trey’s eyes go wide. Leona’s teeth grit. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice is quiet. Dread coils in the pit of Jack’s stomach. What’s he supposed to do?

“I do not know the particulars,” Amalthea agrees. “And yet, I have seen this before. If they will not respect you for not being king? If they will bear you no respect regardless of your work? Then leave, and allow them to regret when you succeed elsewhere. But make a decision, lest you harm yourself.”

Leona stares at her for a moment. Then he snorts and the tension melts out of his body. Jack feels himself untense as well. “Should be giving that speech to the lizard,” he sneers, but it’s a less vicious sneer.

Amalthea strikes a hoof against the ground. “Indeed. He himself will be getting a discussion.” She glances at Kalim. “And as for you.” He jolts and stiffens. “Those who are truly great ensure the safety and comfort of those underneath them. You are generous- this is a fine trait on its own. But until you are willing to shuck your own comfort and learn about the world beyond your privilege, you will not truly be useful to those underneath you.”

“I- I’m going to!” Kalim insists. “I know I need to be better to Jamil.”

“Your good nature is your redeeming feature. Ensure it is properly directed.” Amalthea softens. “Start by asking and listening to answers. Especially the ones you do not want to hear.”

Kalim looks watery-eyed, but nods. Amalthea turns and begins trotting through the woods once more.

They continue on. The forest thins. As they approach the end, Amalthea takes a moment to shift back until she’s walking evenly with Lilia. Jack’s ears can just barely pick up on their conversation.

“I will make no attempt to ask for you to give much of your time or affection,” Amalthea says in an undertone. “You have your own charges and have no illusions that this is not an imposition. But I would request… as one parent to another… Please. Keep an eye on her.”

Jack’s always thought of Lilia as someone who doesn’t take things seriously, who brushes things off and lives carefree and easy. But the expression on his face is completely serious. “I can’t promise much. I leave at the end of the year.”

“I won’t ask you to stay with her. But I would ask if you could merely let her know you’re there. Check in with her on occasion. Just to make sure she stays well.” Amalthea sighs. “I would not ask this in other circumstances. I understand you have your own responsibilities. But I am loathe to ask a child to do this, and cannot leave without assurance someone will at least assist her in my absence.”

Lilia hesitates, then his gaze seems to soften. “I can try.”

Amalthea lets out a soft sigh. “It is most appreciated.”

She trots away, leading them right to the edge of the forest. Floyd rushes ahead of them, followed by a more sedate Lilia and Silver. Leona casts one last look at Amalthea before he goes. Trey sidles by her, adjusting his glasses. Jack hesitates before he leaves.

“You have a question?” Amalthea asks. Her voice is softer, prodding.

Jack twitches an ear. “No. But…” He hesitates. “I’m not good with words.”

“You worry you will not be able to convince her,” Amalthea surmises. Jack nods. “I have known Gray for some years. She will be pleased by your very presence.”

Jack’s tail tucks. “Hmph. Didn’t stop her from doing anything.”

“Gray believes her own presence will fade, unnoticed. You have shown that such is not the case. Do not fret. Your actions provide more assistance than words, here.” Amalthea takes a few hoof steps forward. “Come along. Your presence will assist.”

Jack’s tail gives a tiny, tentative wag. Then he follows Amalthea out of the forest.

Cater folds his arms over his chest as Tav leads them away from the carvings and through the library. There’s a strange, floral scent in the air. The longer they walk, the less cohesive the library seems to become. Flowers pop up on bookshelves. Grass pokes through the floor. The lighting shifts, growing brighter from the dim glow of candles.

“We’re approaching the end,” Tav sighs. She swings her staff over her shoulder, balancing it as the supporting arm flexes. It’s pretty attractive, Cater has to admit. She’d do numbers on Magicam, if he had his phone…

“And then we’ll have to convince Gray to come back with us,” Jamil says.

“The Allmother did say we could leave with the reward regardless of our success,” Azul murmurs, almost to himself.

“You are not thinking about deliberately sabotaging our quest!” Sebek barks.

Azul lifts his hands a little. “Ha, of course not! What sort of heartless person do you think I am? No, I’m of course going to give my upmost to try and assist. I’d certainly never abandon a poor soul in need.”

Jamil makes a quiet, derisive noise. “And that’s in no way because Gray would be in your debt for any of this.”

Azul’s eyes narrow. “Of course not. Now, if she happened to feel indebted to me after this, then I certainly wouldn’t refuse any kind of assistance she might try to provide-”

“Uh huh,” Tav says. She loops an arm around Azul’s shoulders, an arm that comes dangerously close to his neck and tugs him in close. “Sure.” Her second arm goes around Jade’s shoulders and pulls him close in much the same way. “You wanna put that book back, kid?”

Jade smiles in a way that shows off all the sharp points of his teeth. “Hm? Ah, this?”

He holds up a book. It’s a dark shade of blue, with a little bit of gold gilding around the edges, and, like all the other books in the strange library, there’s no title on the cover. Tav takes it from him and makes no move to release either of them.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to snoop in other people’s minds?” she asks, and the tone is one Cater recognizes. It’s a tone Riddle sometimes gets, when he wants to know exactly what prompted you to break the rules before he takes your head.

“My apologies,” Jade says, looking unphased. “I was merely curious. I’ve never been in this sort of place before.”

“Uh huh,” Tav says drily. She squeezes them just a bit harder. Azul makes a sputtering noise. “Try using any of this to mess with Gray, and I don’t care how dead I am. I will make you regret it.”

Jade smiles amiably, but Azul looks a little anxious. Tave gives them one final squeeze, then releases them with a shove. Sebek seems to nod approvingly as Idia stares at her in wild-eyed terror. Ruggie shifts a bit, glancing at the walls.

“It doesn’t matter if you take anything,” Tav says, addressing Ruggie all of a sudden. “It’s a dream, you won’t have it when you wake up. Pretty impressive how you got one of my bracelets, though. Almost didn’t feel it.”

Ruggie gives a nervous “Shyee hee hee.’ “Force of habit, you know?”

“Hey, I’ve been there,” Tav says with a shrug. “Keep it, it’s not like I need the stuff anyway. Just watch out for yourself, you hear? Not everyone’s gonna be as nice about this as me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Y’sound like Grammy,” Ruggie says, half to himself. Sebek snorts.

“Stealing from our hosts is hardly noble behavior,” he says. “There is no need to allow him to-”

“Anything that keeps you alive is noble behavior, in my opinion,” Tav says with a shrug. “Though your defense is appreciated, save your energy for those who really need it. Somehow, I think Gray’ll need someone with your spirit to help her out.”

“Obviously!” Sebek snaps. “As my duty to Malleus allows, of course.”

“Of course,” Tav says. “Just make sure you’ve got your own life too, you know? Royalty can handle themselves, most of the time.”

“Not even sure why I’m here,” Idia mumbles. “Not like I’m gonna be much help with anything…”

“Not with that attitude,” Tav says. “You could probably stand to be a little more positive about things.”

“Not like there’s a point to it,” Idia mumbles, trying to retreat under his hood. “Nothing’s going to change.”

Tav sighs. “Look. If you’ve got something you don’t like about your life, do your best to change it, or accept it and figure out how to live with it. Those are your options. But if you just mope around all the time? Nothing’s going to get better for you.” She glances over at Jamil as she speaks. “There’s usually a way out. Sometimes that way is deciding not to care what other people think. Sometimes it’s to take out what’s keeping you down. Sometimes it’s just trying to use whatever you’ve got at your disposal. But there’s always a way out.”

She rests her staff over her shoulders as she speaks. Cater’s eyes are drawn to the gleaming metal blade at the tip. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The library grows lighter, the shelves sparser, and the vegetation more frequent. Cater looks up just in time to see the roof fade into a blue sky.

“Hey.” He looks over to see Tav walking in step next to him. She smiles faintly. “You know what it’s like, don’t you? Being isolated?”

Cater stares at her. “What?”

“Gray had a sense of that,” Tav explains. “So. If you were looking to someone to talk about that with… think about it. Might have someone who feels the same way.” She shrugs, then moves on, back to the front of the group.

Cater stares after her. Gray’s not like him. She has friends. She spends time with Grim, Ace, and Deuce. But then again, she’s from another world. Coming here would have been like moving, but worse. He hadn’t really thought about that. He feels… bad for her, he supposes.

If they get through this, maybe talking to her wouldn’t be so bad. Couldn’t hurt, at least.

Deuce watches Sarscilla lead them by twisting and winding through the air. Grim is right behind her, sprinting with a determined look on his face. Deuce has never seen him so focused about anything other than food before.

“We’re almost there,” Sarscilla calls back. Nerves tighten in Deuce’s stomach. He wants to see Gray, he does. But then they’re also going to have to talk about what she did, and… how are you supposed to talk about it.

He looks over at Epel and Ace. Epel’s expression is hard to read as he stares ahead toward the backs of their seniors in front of them. Ace’s brows are knit, though Deuce can’t tell if it’s concentration or annoyance.

“Should we plan what we’re going to say?” he asks, not addressing anyone in particular.

“What d’ya mean?” Epel asks.

“What we’re going to tell her to ask her to come back with us,” Deuce says. “Should we start trying to plan out talking points or something?” You rehearse important things before you do them- he trains before his track meets. This is important.

Ortho gives an electronic sigh. “I’ve been trying to run potential phrases, but I don’t have enough data to determine the correct thing to say.”

“Shouldn’t we listen to her, first?” Ace asks. “We’d need to know exactly why she did it before we can convince her about anything.” His expression darkens. “And I want to her what she has to say herself.”

Deuce nods. Ace seems pissed about the whole thing, but Deuce can’t bring himself to feel that way. He’s worried, mostly. Hopefully they can convince her. Sarscilla seems confident, at least, and she’s known Gray longer than they have, if everything she’s saying is true.

“It’s probably a sound decision to ask her first,” Riddle says. “The most logical way to persuade someone is to understand their position.”

“I don’t know about understanding her position,” Vils says in a rather haughty way. “It’s an inherently illogical act, isn’t it?”

“Even illogical acts have logic behind them,” Malleus intones. “As the three of us should well know.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence from the overblotters. Deuce wonders, not for the first time, if this is what Gray did instead of overblotting. No big fight to save her, no pent-up frustrations rolling out in an inky tide. Just a sort of quiet collapse that no one noticed until it had already happened.

The air shifts in a downdraft and Deuce looks up to see Sarscilla hovering over them again. “It’s logical and it’s illogical,” she agreed. “Makes sense that if you’re in pain, you want to stop the pain, right? It’s just not the best way to go about it.” She tilts her wings and lands on Deuce’s shoulders again. This time, Deuce manages not to stumble as she balances herself and rubs her muzzle against his cheek. It tickles, but it’s surprisingly nice.

“You guys are probably going to have the easiest time convincing her, anyway,” Sarscilla says.

“We are?” Ace asks.

“Yeah! Long as you’re kinda nice about it.” She glares at Riddle, Malleus, and Vil. They stare back. “Trust me, I know what Gray’s feeling. And you’re all people she likes! She’s gonna act mad, but she’ll be happy you guys came at all! Trust me.”

“Gray will be mad,” Riddle says. His tone sounds like he’s expression skepticism with the entire idea.

“Gray likes all of us?” Malleus asks. He seems relieved by that, which is a weird expression to have on the face of Briar Valley’s intimidating crown prince. Deuce has only seen it once before, when he fixed that little Roaring Drago figure for Malleus.

“Sure she does! That’s why I wanted to see all of you. I have to make sure she’s held in the best wings when I’m not around.” Sarscilla takes off, hovering low over the group.

“I assume you’re suitably impressed,” Vil says.

“Sure. And Gray’s fond of you, so that’s good. Just make sure you’re good to her, too.” Sarscilla’s expression takes on a sharper look. Deuce sees her remaining front paw flex. The claws look larger than he was expecting. “She deserves people who are good to her.”

“We’ll be there for her,” Ortho says. “We’re going to be good friends.” Deuce nods along, followed by some uncertain, but agreeing whispers from the people around him. Sarscilla nods, looking pleased.

Grim comes trotting back up to them, paws folded. “We’re wastin’ time! Aren’t we supposed to be heading toward Gray?”

“Right! We’re almost there! Few more minutes! Let’s go!” Sarscilla takes off at an even faster pace, forcing everyone else to follow at a faster pace. Deuce likes it. Running across the ground soothes the worried thoughts in his brain until he’s only focused on the target in front of him.

Grim runs through the grass somewhat blindly- he can see the sky if he looks up, but running on all fours means the grass is too tall to see anything in front of him. Still, running on all fours makes him faster, and he wants to get to Gray as quickly as possible.

He needs to get to his hench-human. She’s clearly a dumb human, but she’s his dumb human. And she’s not allowed to quit until he says so!

And the sooner she wakes up, the sooner they can go home, and everything can go back to normal.

Sarscilla, above him, goes, “Hey!” and cuts her wings into a sharp dive. Grim rears back to see over the grass and sees more people than before.

The other two groups are being led by a weird, blue horse with a horn and some kind of strange lady. She’s… maybe not human? Fae? Grim doesn’t really care about the distinction.

There’s some relief as the three groups meet up. Rook rushes to join Vil and Epel. Leona nods to Ruggie, who slinks away from his group to Leona’s side. Jack joins up with the rest of the freshmen, while Sebek all but throws himself at Malleus in relief. Idia nearly sobs in relief as Ortho floats over to him. Kalim and Jamil move toward each other, though there’s an awkwardness in their interactions. Trey and Cater both hurry over to Riddle

They group reunion doesn’t last long. The horned horse catches sight of Malleus and barks, “You! Boy! With me!” She stomps off without waiting for an answer, leaving a bewildered-looking Malleus to trail after her. Sebek follows from a short difference. The weird woman mingles with the group. Rook and Silver are fascinated with her staff and she shows off a few moves to them. Leona watches the entire time, though he seems more interested in watching the shift of the muscles in her arms. Ruggie looks at Leona’s face and starts snickering. Weird! Sarscilla loops in the air over Lilia’s head, who’s chatting delightedly with her. She keeps swooping around in large loops and (accidentally?) hitting Azul in the head with her wing. Floyd and Jade look delighted every time it happens.

Grim huffs at the scene in frustration. Aren’t they supposed to be finding Gray? Why are they standing around and chatting? He tilts his ear in the direction of Malleus, who seems to be getting lectured by the horse- she’s saying something about royal responsibilities and learning to interact with subjects properly. Boring! He turns and starts to trot in a random direction. If they’re not going to take him to Gray, he’ll find her himself.

He barely gets anywhere before something swoops down and lands in front of him. “Hey!” Sarscilla says. She emerges from the grass and sits in front of him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go find Gray,” Grim insists.

“You’re not going to find her like that,” Sarscilla says. “Wait a minute before you go rushing off, all right?”

Grim huffs, but he waits. Sarscilla stretches her wings. “I have something important to tell you, anyway,” she says. Grim’s ears prick forward.

Sarscilla gets close to him. She’s shorter than he is, when he’s on two legs. It’s pretty nice, being able to look down on someone when they talk.

“Watch out for Gray, okay?” she says.

Grim fluffs his fur. “I always look out for my hench-human!” Of course he does! He’s good at keeping her safe! He just- he just didn’t expect her to-

“I know you do,” Sarscilla says. “Gray loves you a lot, you know?”

Grim’s tail tucks in close to his side. “Yeah, of course she does.” He hesitates, then adds, in a smaller voice. “Then why’d she try to leave?”

Sarscilla’s voice grows softer, more sympathetic. “She wasn’t really trying to leave. I mean, she was, kind of, but… She probably thought it would be better for you if she wasn’t here. She was trying to help.”

“It didn’t help at all!” Grim says, throwing his paws up. “How’m I supposed to open tuna cans without my hench-human? Who’s gonna tell me all the important stuff from class so I can get my naps in? I- I need my hench-human!”

“I know, it’s obvious, but Gray can get kind of silly about those things sometimes.” Sarscilla’s expression becomes serious. “That’s why she needs someone to help her. She needs someone who can make sure she’s doing okay, because she won’t talk about it on her own.” She leans in toward Grim, her single blue eye boring into him. “You have to protect her. Can you do that?”

Grim stares back. “Of- of course! There’s nothin’ the Great Grim can’t do!”

Sarscilla purrs. “Good. She’s lucky to have you.”

She pulls away, tilting her head so she’s staring up at the sky. Grim does the same. It’s a gentle blue color, with a few passing clouds. If Gray were there, she would point out any clouds that looked like animals.

“I was her protector,” Sarscilla says. Her voice is soft, dreamy and reminiscent. Her eye closes as a breeze ruffles her fur. “That was my job. The Allmother asked me to protect her when she first came. She was very sweet, back then. It was so fun to be around her. She showed me all kinds of things. I… I really love her.”

She sighs. “I did try to protect her. I don’t know how much it all mattered in the end. But I did try my best.”

Her eye opens and she stares right at Grim. “She needs a protector,” Sarscilla says. “That used to be my job. It’s yours now, too. Can you do that?”

Grim’s a great mage. And Gray’s his hench-human. Nothing is going to be allowed to harm her. He gives a single nod.

Sarscilla rears up onto her hind legs a little and presses her nose to his forehead. There’s a feeling a little like a static spark. Then she leans away and stretches open her wings. “Let’s go back to the others,” she says. “We’re right about to move on.”

Grim follows her as she flies back. The NRC students have mostly clumped together again, with the weird person and horse standing in front of them. Sarscilla lands on the woman’s shoulders as Grim trots back over to Ace and Deuce.

“Now that you’ve got context,” the woman says, “you’re ready to see Gray again.”

“Speak to her. Convince her to return with you,” the horse says.

“You’ve got this!” Sarscilla enthuses.

“You’re not coming with us?” Riddle asks.

“No,” the horse says. “We will speak with Gray on our own, at the end. But our presence won’t help you convince her.”

“We’re just here to bridge,” the woman says. “But we can’t do what you can.”

“We were there for her before,” Sarscilla adds. “Your job is to be here for her now.”

“All ready?” the woman says. “Let’s begin.”

She lifts her staff and slams the base of it into the ground. The world flickers for a moment, like Grim blinked strangely, then sharpens back into normal focus.

They’re still in the field. The grass is a bit shorter and a bit greener, with tiny patches of flowers dotting the landscape. The sky is still bright blue, with a few patches of clouds rolling by in great, fluffy mounds. As far as Grim can tell, everyone is still present.

But the three figures who were in front of them are gone. Instead, there are two figures some distance ahead. One of them is large, but Grim barely focuses on them.

Because, even from a distance, he can tell the other figure is Gray.

[iristheplanet16]

Most realistic fake PR stunt ever pt. 3

Summary: Yelena invites you to a charity gala playing up how good publicity it will be for this PR stunt, though she mainly wants you to go so she can get good entertainment for the night called you and Bob be so awkward in love without even knowing. And you decide to go because... it may be fun to dance and talk with Bob all night, and an excuse to dress up is always a win

Contains: dress shoping, pining, Bob and reader are IN LOVE but to stupid to know it yet, but Yelena knows, alpine the cat mention~

Warning: swearing

Note: sorry uhh thought I posted this alreayd but turns out I didn’t so if you have been waiting for this I’m so sorry lmao it’s been out on my Ao3 for weeks, I hope you enjoy and plesse feel free to give me feedback!! -Iris/Mars ♥️

Dress shopping and Pining (also being Frightened by a Cat?)

A pounding sound came from the door outside your store. You sigh already knowing exactly who it is, you get out of bed grumbling at the time. You make your way downstairs to where the shop is located and let Yelena in.

“Lena…it’s 6 in the morning…on a saturday what the fuck do you want?” You grumble heading over to make yourself a drink –perks of owning a coffee shop–

“So! Valentina is making us attend some fancy charity gala thing tonight and it’s mandatory for us… all of us soooo~ I was thinking~ you can come and be Bob’s date tonight!~” She exclaimed, slipping into the seat in front of where you stood, enjoying you getting all flushed, a blush creeping up your face.

“I- I can’t just go to a gala! Let alone as someone’s FAKE date! I don’t even have a dress! I don’t even know what I would wear, what I would do, god fake date Bob in public! God I would so easily give it away!” You spiral into overthinking. *Sure you and Bob have posted photos of the two of you over the past week playing into the bit, but you haven't ever done anything out in public yet.*

“Babes, it’s gonna be fine! You can go, I’ll talk to Mel and she will sort out getting you in. And we can go dress shopping today with me! Hence why I’m here” Yelena explained trying to calm you down. “Besides you just need to act like yourselves, God knows you two already act like a couple.” She teases with a mischievous grin.

You punched her arm knowing it would do nothing to her –stupid ex widow– but you hope the meaning was still there. Yelena kept trying to convince you that you guys acted like a couple and that he liked you back. Though you never believed her claiming “He was just being nice” and “you are just trying to make me feel better”. Why would he like you…you were just the girl that sold him coffee.

“...it will be so much fun! Even if it's not then at least you got to dress up.” Yelena continued. “Please?”

You sigh “I don’t have the money to buy a fancy dress.”

“Aha! The best part is we can use Valentina’s card and then it just feels free~” She smiled, wanting any excuse to waste Valentina’s money.

~~~

You and Yelena walk into one of the best dress boutiques in the city to try and find one for the upcoming evening. “So what exactly are you looking for?” You ask browsing through the selections grabbing a few you liked in your size.

“Mmm I don’t know, something elegant, expensive but able to hide a gun holster the usual” Yelena said, holding up a dress to her body laughing as the passer by stumbled on hearing what she had just said. “I see, yes very much every girl's main criteria” you tease.

Once you two picked out enough dresses you went to go try them out in the changing rooms. You try on a yellow dress with gold sequins and step out as Yelena steps out in a bright green skin tight dress. You both look at each other instantly, shaking your heads at the other's outfit. “Too green.” “Too itchy.” You both step back in to try again.

This goes on for about 4 rotations of dresses. Either the color was unflattering, too big, weird fabric and one was something said in Russian which she didn't translate, swearing it’s a compliment, but the dress just wasn’t right for you.

You had saved the best option for last hoping it was the one. You walk out in a dress so blue from far away it looks black. There was a slit that went all the way up your thigh and was low enough to give you confidence that you knew you looked good but not low enough you worried about flashing people. Yelena wolf whistled when you walked out deciding this was clearly the winner. “DAMN!! Absolutely stunning! Perfection!” She said, clapping her hands as you spin showing off the scooped back.

“I’m glad it fits! I really wanted this one to be the dress actually.” You laugh looking in the mirror. “I don’t know, this dress just…spoke to me, I was instantly drawn to the color.” You explain giving the dress a little swish in the mirror watching it move. Yelena met you gaze in the mirror and smirked. “Yeah of course it did dipshit, it's the same color of a certain man’s eyes who’s hopelessly in love with you.” You blush at the mention of Bob.*Yes you did notice it was the same color of his eyes but that wasn’t the only reason you loved the dress –though it was a bonus that you would be matching–* “He’s not in love with me…” You mumble still meeting her gaze looking a little hopeless yourself.

“Honey, trust me… he is. I know what he’s like when he is just being kind or platonic and this ain’t it. Don’t believe me just pay a little more attention tonight you’ll see.” She said, dropping her teasing tone, giving you a sincere look. You just nod still not fully believing her but decide to keep it in mind.

~~~

You spend that evening doing your hair and make up trying to perfect it. You decide it’s the best you are going to get and slip into your dress. Once ready you make your way down to your store and out into the street, texting Yelena and Ava you are on your way over.

Once in the building –thanks to a special badge Mel gave you for this whole stunt– you made your way up to the top floors on the Watchtower following the instructions the girls had given you. You walk down countless pristine white random hallways praying you are in the right spot and head to an elevator and press the floor number.

As the elevator doors open you aren't sure what to expect, but you are shocked to see this giant open room consisting of the biggest kitchen you have ever seen and a cozy living room with blankets, pillows and books scattered around. It's messy but not in a dirty way but in a more…lived in way which made you smile.

One the couch you see or well hear who you assume is Alexei snoring with a blanket completely covering him. You hesitantly walk farther in the space, though Ava told you that you can just walk in it still felt weird to be here. You walk around and into a hallway with lots of doors attached in a single file with three doors on one side and three opposite. You continue to wonder down when you feel this fluffy thing rubbing itself against your leg.

“What the hell?!” You yelp, jumping away before spotting this white cat just sitting on the floor peering up at you. You continue to stare at the cat while your heart rate goes back down as the closest door opens and out steps Bucky in a tailored suit. He picked up the cat standing up straight. “Sorry about that, Alpine is very stealthy when they want to be.” He says scratching the cat’s chin as she climbs up onto his shoulder no doubt getting fur all on his suit. “The girls are in Yelena’s room. Last one on the left.” He says pointing at the door. He’s about to turn and leave when he stops and smiles softly feeling your uneasiness “You look lovely tonight” he then walks back in shutting the door.

You continue on, walking to the door where there’s early 2000s pop music playing from inside. You walk inside greeted by Ava and Yelena still getting ready and singing along to the music both probably a few drinks in ready.

“Hi!!” Yelena shouts once she realizes you are there in the room. She walks over giving you a hug though leaning away so as to not mess up either of your guys hair or dresses. “Hey, I see you two are pre-gaming?” You laugh taking in the various glasses that were at some point filled with alcohol.

“Hey…it was her idea! So be mad at her.” Yelena points accusatorily at Ava who’s sat on the floor in front of a full length mirror curling her doing her hair as best she could while fading in and out briefly. “It’s the only way I’m able to survive these fucking events.” She rolls her eyes as Yelena just nods along agreeing.

~~~

As the three of you sit in Yelena’s room Bob and John in the room across the hall getting ready as well. “I’m telling you Bob, the girl also has a thing for you!” John said exasperated at having to repeat this conversation AGAIN.

“But what if she’s just being nice, or she’s only here because she has too, and she never actually talks to me this whole evening, only taking a few photos with me for the stupid plan Mel needs, what if she regrets agreeing.” Bob mumbles more to himself than to John as he worries all about the what ifs and every possible thing he could think of. He runs his fingers through his hair as he passes to the frustration of Walker who had just finished perfecting his hair.

“Get it together!” John smacks his head, bringing him out of his overthinking. “I promise the feelings are mutual, she isn’t doing this to be nice, it's because she likes you. Not sure why but she does…” Walker taunted but with no real malice, though that didn’t stop Bob from glaring at him. He held up his hands in surrender but a smirk on his face.

“But why would she want me… Out of all of New York how could it be me she want” He whispered staring down at his hands looking at his anxiously bitten off nails and picked at skin.

“I don’t know, that’s only something she can answer” John said “And I would suggest talking to her tonight, try to make a change, get out of the self inflicted friend zone. Compliment her, make her laugh and enjoy your presence. Also… just so you know from an outsider's perspective, the crush looks pretty recruited. Not some unbelievable fantasy. Hell the two of you together, it makes perfect sense.” He said more seriously and walked out of Bob’s room leaving the door open so Bob could get a look into Yelena’s room.

There Bob could see you sitting on the bed next to your friends singing along to the music and laughing. He loved your laugh. It was the prettiest sound he had ever heard, especially when it was him that made you. He stood smiling just watching you admiring how you looked in the dress. *god that dress~ that fucking dress, and the makeup~* he thought, running his eyes up and down, his gaze accidentally spending too much time on the low cut of your dress and the equally mesmerizing view of the slit going up up your leg. You were the prettiest person he had ever seen and it was shown all across his face.

You glance up from where you were watching Yelena tell some random story not expecting to see Bob staring at you from the room across the hall, looking utterly entranced. You blush and wave at him smiling and you can’t help checking him out with his messy hair, suit and untied bow tie. You wet your lips taking in the view, unable to stop yourself. From his room he turns bright bright red noticing how you were staring but he softly waves back before quickly shutting the door leaning against it

*I am so so fucked* You both think from the separate rooms faces equally as red trying to mentally prepare yourself for the upcoming night

[idekkkjja]

Yandere Haerin please🙏🙏

Yandere!Haerin drabble

Heads-up: murder mentioned, a lil blood mentioned, and quite suggestive but nothing sexual at all. She’s just a bit obsessed that’s all 🥰.

Quiet and reserved in the corner of the classroom, she was dismissed to the sidelines and would observe others subtly. Not having many friends either despite her mysterious beauty—she would rather stay in her zone and be at peace

But her peace was disturbed the moment she saw you. You were the chaos of her life, even not directly involved. Loud, rowdy, and had no concern for others’ personal space. The opposite of her, and opposites do attract after all not only in physics that she creepily obsesses over.

Despite being the type not to take interest in anyone except her studies or her own… hobbies, you managed to make her heart beat irregularly and too fast to count as normal. It took her too long to realise that she had feelings for you.

More than she should.

Slowly, each day would draw out more information she learnt about you. Including weirdly specific things, such as that in literature you would write messily and in cursive, and in maths you would write carefully and the letters would be separated.

You were a little dumb too, although that was obvious from the start. A popular bimbo, who would expect any better? It made it easier to analyse you.

You had too much jewelry too, breaking most school rules in the uniform, and somehow got away with it using a lousy excuse.

In the changing rooms, her eyes would discreetly scan over your body hungrily, and back home would research the brand you wear underneath the overly tight uniform you wore in every weather.

Also, you were popular with the boys. Haerin expected it, and she disliked it.

Too much, it was unbearable.

And that’s when the disappearances started.

Boys you talked to, she made sure their sudden departure from school or the area wasn’t suspicious and linked to you directly.

She would swiftly murder boys that you can’t remember from months ago or a few years ago, where evidence of your infatuation with them is limited and not easy to find.

And she would delete the evidence, too. How considerate of her!!

People did talk, they always talk about anything. So, when the news broke out about males, usually teenage boys leaving the area or never coming back home—people panicked.

You were bamboozled but brushed it aside since it didn’t affect you. Not caring too much about it until your pretty boy toy was part of the victims ever so recently.

So, it foolishly led you to investigate it yourself. Alone, surprisingly. You being upset wasn’t the only reason why you were taking a closer look at the case; it was because of curiosity.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say.

Following the trails of footsteps from the last seen fling, you looked around and heard a sudden rustle.

Next thing you knew, you got bashed with a baseball bat on your scalp and fell unconscious.

Tied up gently against the chair, unfortunately still firm enough to restrict movement, your eyes fluttered and the pain shot sharply throughout your head.

Greeted by a clean basement, you frowned and frantically looked around.

“What the fuck?” Automatically you cursed, and then saw the meek girl standing in front of you with an eerie blank expression.

Blood tainted her fingertips, dripping down unapologetically on her white shirt, staining it and that was the answer you needed to know what was happening.

“Am I gonna be your first female victim?” You asked, bored. Leaning back in the chair, amusement flickered in your eyes and hers narrowed back at you in thought.

“Do you aim for pretty people or something? I don’t see a pattern for the other boys though…” trailing off, you lifted your head further to stare at her. Those eyes, usually dull and devoid of emotion, something sparked within the darkness.

Testing out the ropes slowly, you accepted your defeat simply because you were not built for situations like these. You weren’t some president or a spy: just an ordinary school girl who had too many friends.

“No,” Haerin answered moments later, the sharpened knife twirling lazily in her fingers as she eyed you up.

Vulnerable, bounded. Unable to do anything.

Under her control.

Exactly how she liked it.

“Are you that much of a slut?” She approached you, her steps light and steady as if a predator ready to strike.

You weren’t fazed by the insult, you couldn’t help being so pretty that a lot of people wanted you.

You don’t blame them.

“Is this what it’s about?” Instead of answering, you tilted your head and directed her another question with a smile that could be perceived as mocking.

“I don’t like it.” The cool metal embraces your flushed skin, tracing it along your jawline with its sharp edge that could make blood rise in no time if enough pressure is used.

Caught off guard, you bit back a laugh to not startle her into doing something sudden.

“You like me, don’t you?” You observed, the statement felt like an accusation. It was wrong to do so.

“No.” She denies, pausing in her movement, the knife trailing down to your collarbone.

“More than that.” Unsure from her words, nonetheless, she continued and refused to look at you.

Almost snarling, it became a crooked smirk embracing your lipstick-tinted lips.

“Love? This isn’t love, baby.”

She stiffened, her jaw clenching.

“My love is this.”

You retorted sharply, “Kidnapping me and murdering people out of petty jealousy doesn’t woo or convince me.”

Petty? You thought she was petty? Haerin’s hands trembled in restraint, and she tried controlling her impulsiveness that now resorted into violence and more.

“I’m not trying to convince you. My words are enough.” Stoic, she straightened up and pulled the knife away from your skin that could’ve been smeared in the deep red hue by now if you kept provoking her further.

“I prefer actions.” You simply said; the smile was still present on your face.

“Let me convince you of that way, then. Physically.” Haerin took it as an opportunity to let her cool palm press against your throat, her fingers clawing to keep you in her hold.

“Who knew quiet little Kang Haerin was such a perv?” You mused, leaning in and ignoring the ropes creaking in protest.

“You weren’t that subtle in the changing room, you know?”

Flustered, she went rigid like a stone statue. “Shut up,” she grumbled, creeping down to your collar bones and caressing the smooth skin.

“I’ll let you convince me, I guess.”

She almost cracked a smile, “you wouldn’t be left guessing when I’m done with you.”

[spinnysocks]

I come bearing more questions for the torties of your clan!! >:3c

😺🌱 (the first one) 🌟🌷🌳 for azurite and 🐾🕸️🌳🪲🌱 (the second one) 🙀 for tumbleblaze! also may I perhaps ask for more pics of azurite bcoz they look so pretty!! /nf

YIPPPEEEE!!!!! /vvpos

first, Azurite's questions ! :D

😸 3 random facts!

listen, i'm gonna give you 5 facts actually bc i love her.: Azurite used to be a kittypet but is now the second highest ranking senior warrior. she has had four apprentices. she used to have a son but he died and now she has an adoptive son. she got her tail scar from a fox. she is aroallo

🌱 what are some of their favorite hobbies?

she enjoys exploring the territory and loves the company of other cats on patrol! she likes to chat with Moleprickle, her former apprentice, who was actually the first kitten of the clan. the clan is now 94 moons old. let that sink in lmao

🌟 do they have any special powers or abilities?

like i said in the last ask response, i've only Just considered my cats having powers, but... if Azurite was part of a prophecy and subsequently given powers, i think they'd have to relate to her name. she would be the one guided by crystals and gemstones, maybe to a secret in a cave, or maybe she just likes shiny rocks. support my girl and her crystal collection (she just like me fr) /silly

🌷 what are some of their quirks and other mannerisms?

i never really think about this much since i have such a large clan but this is getting me thinking.. /vpos. she is the type of girl to get crushes/squishes that she can't really define and doesn't know what to do about them. she's had four so far— one is in the cat equivalent of heaven, one is in the cat equivalent of hell, one was exiled for turning traitor, and the last is her closest friend & the deputy of the clan. this is either really funny or really tragic, you decide ig hfhdjd. i wouldn't say her crushes are romantic, but she definitely feels a tug towards certain cats who are compassionate and playful like her. not sure she's the commitment type, she doesn't want to have a mate or only one best friend you know? she's happy as she is, but that won't stop her platonically flirting a little :3 and i think she definitely knows how unique she looks and will show off a bit haha

🌳 what do their life goals look like? deputy, leader, healer, etc?

interestingly enough, i considered Azurite for the deputy position before in the singular time that i had to pick a deputy, but a different cat worked better with the leader. i still have her marked down as a potential good deputy - and i would love for her to be! - but i'm not sure if it's in the cards for her at her age. she's not quite a senior adult yet, but still, she's like 7 years old and has been in this clan since she was just over 1. i think the girl deserves the chance to be an elder since she's seen each and every clan disaster

in Azurite's mind... she probably would never guess that she would ever be picked for deputy, unless the leader was her friend or something like that. she's a troublesome girl, but not ambitious or rambunctious, and she is happy with her life as a warrior :] she will probably try to avoid retirement as much as possible lmao

🌾🌾🌾

now for Tumbleblaze's questions ! she uses they/she just for disclosure :D

🐾 do they prefer a wide circle of friends, or a few close ones? who’s their best friend?

similarly to their son, Tumbleblaze has not been in the clan long enough to make many friends just yet. similar to her son once again, all of her highest relationships at the moment are her family, and she has mostly spent her time with them including stargazing with their son, Firepaw :]! other than that, she has been interacting positively with their new clanmates including having a mock battle with Milkpaw and sharing tongues (the cat version of bonding over gossip) with Bluebellcatcher, both young cats. they're getting along well with similarly aged and older ones too, including Azurite :D

i couldn't tell you how many friends she would like to have, but considering they've only been in the clan for 4 moons and have already been so kind to so many, i bet she'd like many friends :] i'll see if she gains a close friend in the future!

🕸 what does their family tree look like?

good question! i suppose i didn't disclose that in Heatherpaw's ask response haha; she has three sons called Heatherpaw, Firepaw & Sagepaw and a daughter called Flickerpaw! as far as i know, that's their only family. also, fun fact! Flickerpaw is the first and (at present) only paralyzed cat in SpringClan ^w^

🌳 what do their life goals look like? deputy, leader, healer, etc?

they joined the clan to become a healer (as well as to provide a safe place for her kits to grow up, as they were only 4 moons old at the time). i've never before had a loner with kits join and automatically become a healer, but i read her generated description about being a travelling healer and decided yeah, they can stay a healer, especially since the clan needs the extra help. she enjoys her role and i don't think she would ever change it :]

🪲 what do they value the most?

caring for others, i'd say. she's very strict with her beliefs; if there was ever a disaster, she would be the one helping other cats and commanding everyone else to do so too. they would never leave someone behind, y'know?

🌱 what is their favorite location on the territory?

ooooo... i haven't really got an exact idea of the territory that SpringClan has (even though i've been playing it for 94 moons. winces. /silly (though if someone were to ask i'd love to find some reference images of what it looks like in my head! wink)), however i would say Tumbleblaze is fascinated by the river that brings so much life to the area they live in. in all their travels, they have never seen such an abundant mountainous area, so she loves to collect herbs right by the spring :]!

🙀 what do they fear the most?

hmmm.... she doesn't seem the sort of cat to get scared, or even lose her cool, very often. i will probably have a better answer in the future when there's another clan disaster heh, but for now i would say her biggest fears are losing her kits (obviously) and them growing up into heartless cats; the worst thing in the world would be to lose them, but it would break her entire soul if her children didn't care about/were indifferent to others’ suffering, because that goes against all she stands for and has taught them. in all fairness to her, she has valid reason to think this as a possibility, since it has happened many times before in SpringClan (coughs at Houndroar's family and the clan leader's descendants). but it seems her kits are on good paths so far. just hoping Heatherpaw learns to overcome his biases, even though i love the juicy drama haha

🌾🌾🌾

and lastly, Azurite pics as requested! :3

in order: her adolescent, kitten and newborn sprites :3 she never had these sprites in the clan since she joined as an adult, but i love looking at em nonetheless! if she gets to elder age, i'll reblog with her elder sprite :]