#or at least a few more steps and inclined rails

[thesquidkid]

What if the Olympic Games were in Lego? episode 2, skateboarding

1h filming, 1h editing, 101 frames

[solrika]

Submarines and specters, aka I'm still thinking about the sad U-boat. This is me taking wild stabs in the dark at characterization and hoping I hit. Characters belong to @littlewestern and @greatwesternway.

~

Something about winter drew out the ghosts. Maybe the biting cold reminded them of the sea. Maybe something about the snow tricked the eye.

"You're moping again," Guadalcanal said, form shifting with every swirling flake.

U-505 had heard that one before, but still he filed it away--moping--with the way Guadalcanal's blurry lips had shaped the word. "Too much time to think, these days," he muttered in reply.

Guadalcanal leant on the railing and peered curiously around the yard. "What are you thinking about?"

The yard was empty, all the other engines gathered inside with the few guests who'd braved the snow. By habit, U-505 paused to look for any listeners anyway before he answered, "You would be better suited to this life."

"Oh?"

"Talking to people." U-505 nodded back towards the building. "Entertaining the crowds."

Guadalcanal shrugged. "You're not too bad at it."

"You are--how do they say? Damning with faint praise."

"Hey." Knocking one chilly shoulder against his, Guadalcanal said, "At least you're here to do it, right?"

"Now you sound like Pioneer," U-505 informed him grumpily. "At least I'm here." He knocked shoulders back, even though it felt like toeing the border of the crush zone. "At least. At least. It should be you, here, hearing these words, not--"

The crunch of snow underfoot. U-505 pivoted to face the newcomer. He was not given to the theatrics of the little planes, his form inclined towards stillness instead. Still he had to force down a snarl at the interloper.

Just a step outside the door, Spitfire raised his hands, palms politely turned in even though he was currently clawless. "Submarine?"

U-505 raised an annoyed eyebrow, snapped, "What do you want?"

"Pioneer was wondering where you went." Spitfire took a few more cautious steps forwards, peering around the yard.

"I am enjoying the weather," U-505 replied flatly.

"Hm." Spitfire gave the yard another pass. "You should come inside." His eyes were sharp, watchful. Oddly serious. Perhaps this is what he had looked like, during the war.

"I am fine in the cold," U-505 said dismissively.

"But everyone is inside," and there went the seriousness, replaced instead with childish pleading. Spitfire added, "It was my mission to find you for Pioneer! How would it look if I came back empty-handed?"

U-505 resisted the urge to heave a sigh. If he caused Spitfire to fail a "mission", the little plane would mope, causing Stuka to become even more insufferable. There would be no peace until Spitfire forgot. "Very well," he said.

"Oh, excellent!" Spitfire beamed. "Besides, it's not good to stay with ghosts."

Raising an eyebrow, "What do you know of ghosts, little plane?"

"Enough to know they make miserable company." Spitfire nodded to himself, eyes flickering serious again for all of a second before he skipped back towards the museum. "Well, come on, then!"

U-505 followed, leaving Guadalcanal to the cold.

[ofwaneoft]

"My sense of ‘particular’ is difficult to explain—but give it time. I imagine we’ll become well enough acquainted for it to make sense."

He steps through the doors, and Andi exhales—a soft, barely-there breath that catches on the edges of her smile. She smooths a hand down the front of her blouse, even though it’s perfectly pressed. Something about him makes her nerves shuffle, like loose ribbon in a breeze she didn’t prepare for.

“Oh!” An art gallery—this, at least, she can talk about. She’s not helpless when it comes to beautiful things. The card he hands her is sleek, dark, almost sensual in its design—something about the weight of the paper, the lettering like pressed bone or lacquered blood. It reminds her of a gallery she visited in Berlin, one that specialized in high-end fetish sculpture and abstract pieces you couldn’t quite look at without blushing or bleeding.

“The rooms out here might not fit the aesthetics,” she says, voice light, “but we have a few others tucked further in. One has mirrors from floor to ceiling. Another, all velvet and candlelight—too much for me, but perhaps just enough for you.”

When he mentions the club, she hesitates—just barely. She tilts her head, tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. A club of sorts. That sort of phrasing always makes her imagination race a little too far ahead. When men say it like that, it’s never just a club.

“Thank you for the invitation,” she says, voice softer now. “I—well—I’ll see if I can bring someone. I get shy at those kinds of things, especially alone. But it sounds… interesting.” Her hand flutters near her throat before she catches herself. “Really interesting.”

She steps aside to let him take in the grand-foyer and reception hall, first top on their tour. Her tone shifts, a little more composed. “This hall was designed for spectacle—acoustics calibrated for chamber quartets, not quiet conversation. And those doors?” She inclines her head toward a pair of arched double doors. “Hand-carved oak. Imported. The original owners had them shipped from a monastery in southern France. Every event echoes through them like a sermon.” She gestures lightly to the sweeping staircase, the velvet runner, the gilded railing that curves like calligraphy.

“Of course, I’ll need to see a full list of activities." Not for insurance, but for her own assurance. "But between us, I’ve been looking for an excuse to be a little... braver. And I’ve been looking for an excuse to reintroduce myself to this town. You might’ve just handed both to me.”

A pause. Then, quieter—genuine: “I’m curious about your own art. What do you like to capture, Mr…” she holds up his card, realizing he still hasn’t given her his name. “Mr. Exquis?”

He shakes the hand offered to him, "It's a pleasure, Miss Waneoft." And listens to what must be her usual spiel. It's a beautiful estate and perfect for what he'd like to do. Hopefully, it wouldn't be.. too uncouth for his plans. "Your notion of 'particular' is exactly what interests me." And the door is opened for him, he watches her for a moment -- the touch of his hand, the waiting for him to cross the threshold..

This woman is paranoid and very aware of what city she lives in. Her extra, modernized protection must include some sort of protection against the undead, it seems. He wonders, briefly, if she knows of the others, too. Spells that could rend her asunder without a second though. Beasts that roam the forests during the full moon.

He steps through and offers her a soft smile.

"Lead the way." Cameron gestures, eager to see more. "I'm an artist. I own a gallery in the middle of the city. Exquis." He reaches for an inside pocket, and offers her a card with the information. It brings him to his next topic. "I'd love to host a showing here, but I have to be sure you know: My clientele are quite odd."

He pauses to take a chance to look around. "Beneath the gallery, I own and host a club of sorts. Exclusive and only open to patrons who have been invited in by regulars or myself. You are more than welcome to come by and see what I have on offer. But I'd love to use the estate as an extension of the venue, one night only. Showing inside, club activities elsewhere on the grounds."

[harmonie-writes]

The Buccaneer Queen pt. 14

Pirate! ATEEZ x pirate!fem Reader

Genre: fantasy pirate AU, future romance

Warnings: angst, language, violence, gore, mentions of guns, cannons, death. The characters in this story are purely fictitious and do not portray actual people.

AN: italics are thoughts

Word count: ~3.1k

Summary: Women are considered bad luck upon the vessels that sail the Seven Seas. Before you became the captain of The Astraea, a witch of sorts cursed you and the crew leaving a physical mark upon your chest just above where your heart would lie. Anyone that sees the Black Standard flying on the black and gold ship knows that they have stumbled upon the Armada of the Damned which is piloted by the Buccaneer Queen.

Masterlist

Previous | Next

»»————-　➴　————-««

Previously on The Buccaneer Queen:

He felt guilty. It felt wrong to go against someone who was willing to work with them. At the same time, though, anger swirled in the pit of his stomach. Oh, how Seonghwa wanted the answers to fall in his lap, and he knew that those would be hard to get. For all he knows, pirates lie. Or at least manipulate the truth to something that benefits them.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he settles into his spot. He knew one thing for certain. He would play whatever little game you were conducting, and he was going to see to it that you weren't successful.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Hongjoong could feel the ache in his joints as he stood behind the helm. It had taken a toll on him, using so much of the blessing in him to make sure the ship made it safely out of the hurricane, and back on track to Port Royal.

"Fine steering, Captain," Seonghwa called, walking up the few remaining steps to the shorter man.

Hongjoong removes one hand from the wheel to rub the tight muscles in the back of his neck. "It's been sometime since I've had to use that much of the divine blessing," he admits.

Seonghwa nods in understanding as they both stare at the twilight that's beginning to cover the sky.

"Joong?"

Hongjoong just hums slightly in response, as he slowly directs the ship a little bit more to the south as he waits for Seonghwa to continue.

The dark-haired man licks his lips before he continues, "How much do you actually trust this captain?"

Hongjoong glances up at his quartermaster before redirecting his gaze to the sea. "Have you ever questioned my judgement before?"

Seonghwa's face drops into a dead pan slightly as he responds, "Yes, plenty of times actually."

"And yet, you still followed my directions?"

His brows furrow at this, "well of course, it's mutiny if I didn't."

Hongjoong's fist curls a little bit tighter on the wheel before responding, "Even though I'm known as the Pirate King, did I ever give you any notion that I wasn't merciful or understanding?"

At this, Seonghwa pauses, truly trying to think of a time where Hongjoong didn't have the best interest of the crew in mind. "No, I guess you're right…"

"And what has this captain done to make you mistrust her?" Hongjoong gives Seonghwa's profile a hard stare as the latter remains silent.

Taking the silence as his answer, Hongjoong presses forward, "There are some things that people prefer to keep quiet on, and even though we've just recently become a part of the crew, it doesn’t mean that we are entitled to know every single secret that she possesses. Trust goes both ways."

Seonghwa can't help how his lower lip is tucked between his teeth as he contemplates Hongjoong's words. Brows pulling together as he remembers his incident back in Tortuga with the witch. Why was he so hellbent on believing a witch of all people? Truth be told he didn't know, but her reaction was so violent that he was inclined to believe her.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Jongho's props an arm on the railing of the crows nest, head being held up by his hand as he lazily scans the darkening horizon. So many secrets and the slow brew of distrust has been festering in the crew. Sides are being taken, and all he's been able to do is watch. He'd much rather observe his crew mates before making a final decision on what's happening between the she-captain and his quartermaster.

With a shake of his head, he tries to dispel the thought and focus on his job. It shouldn't be too much longer before they reach Port Royal. Soon, he should be seeing the first glimpses of lantern light as the sail closer to their destination.

The creak of the rigging catches his attention and he leans over ever so slightly to watch as San joins Wooyoung on the mast.

"The captain has been holed up in their quarters ever since Joong offered to take over," San mumbles, just loud enough for the wind to carry it to Jongho's ears.

He hears the sound of Wooyoung humming before answering, "been pretty reclusive since leaving Tortuga."

At this, Jongho can't help the way he leans a little further over the railing to eye the two below him.

He watches the way the sage-haired gunner shrugs his shoulders. "Don't know if it has anything to do with the Diamond captain or not, but if I was in that position I'd probably be in a sour mood too."

Heaving out a sigh Jongho finally reveals his position causing both men to jump, "Do you guys forget that I'm up here?"

"Shit! Jongho! How long have you been up there?" Wooyoung gasps, twisting his head to look at the crow's nest.

"Y'know… since this morning," Jongho gives them a blank stare as he gazes at them.

"Well," San coughs to cover up his embarrassment, "what do you think?"

"What do I think about what? The captain?"

"Yes, the captain!" Wooyoung’s voice raises ever so slightly, only to be shushed by the other two.

"To be honest, it seems rough having to deal with a curse, especially one that she has," Jongho pauses briefly to look over at the horizon before fixing his gaze on his crew mates, "but, having to deal with an ex-crew member, one whom there might've been a past with would be pretty bothersome."

San can't help the way his brows quirk up hearing the youngest's answer. "That's pretty profound of you, Jongho."

The youngest just rolls his eyes before looking back to the horizon, eyes finally spots the first signs of Port Royal. Rising to his feet he rings the bell.

"Land ho!" He shouts, cupping his mouth. At his call, the two on the mast began sliding down the rigging to the main deck.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Yeosang watches with wide eyes as you begin ripping maps out of the end chest by your desk and shoving them into his arms.

"Uh, YN, what are you doing?" He flounders watching as you grab a duffel and set it on your desk.

"Make yourself useful Yeosang, and start stuffing the bag with the maps and documents," you tell him, before you start rifling through your desk drawers.

"Right, yes, of course," he responds, hastily shoving everything haphazardly into the bag. His heart aching at the mistreatment of the parchment, but not wanting to argue with you when you seem this out of sorts.

It's as you finally pull out a small hourglass that the door to your quarters bursts open, and to your surprise it's Seonghwa who is standing breathless in the doorway.

"The Diamond, it's sailing out this way."

Shoving the small artifact into the bag, you swear as you hand the bag over to Yeosang before grabbing your hat and belt with your gear.

Turning, you lock your gaze with Yeosang, "Get a life boat ready, we are going to send you to shore early with Mingi and Jamie. Begin looking for the Treasure and get it out into open water, do you understand?"

Placing your hat atop your head you mutter, "So it begins."

The quartermaster and the navigator share a brief look with each other before hurrying to the duties. Regardless of what they'd like to do right now, defying you wasn't at the top of their lists when you carried an aura that dark.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Your steps are quick to carry you to the helm where you see Hongjoong already beginning to turn the ship so the cannons are facing the fast approaching ship.

"They're going to have tipped off the guards," Hongjoong tells you, as you slide into place next to him.

"I should've known this is how Seungcheol would've retaliated," you answer, eyes fixed on the white and blue sails.

Hongjoong eyes you out of the corner of his eye, before spinning the wheel of the helm to the port side. The ship lurches as it stops its forward momentum.

"Man the cannons!" Your voice calls over the noise of the crew, your call being echoed by them. Your eyes watch as the men scrabble from below deck with supplies as they begin setting up their stations.

You direct your focus to Hongjoong before sucking in a breath. "I've sent Yeosang with Mingi and Jamie to head to shore on the lifeboat. He has all of the documents from my quarters."

His focus immediately shifts to you, mouth partially open as he registers your words before leaving the helm to look over the back of the boat. Sure enough, he can see three men rowing to shore hopefully being hidden by the quick approaching night fall.

Making his way back to you he asks, "You're abandoning your ship?"

You suck your lower lip between your teeth before answering, "No, I'm preparing for the worst."

Hongjoong’s gaze focuses on his men as they bustle about the deck before slowly looking back at you, "We're buying time, aren't we?"

You nod once, not meeting his gaze but you hear him swear under his breath.

By now you can finally see individual figures moving about the other ship, and you can see a hat fashioned similar to your own standing behind the helm.

Your jaw ticks as you raise your hand in the air getting ready to yell the command that would bring rounds of cannon fire between the two ships.

An eerie calm settles over the deck for a brief moment, and you steel your nerves. Ship battles weren't pretty. Many of your men had been lost that way, and you carried the weight of their souls with you. Finally, as if a stone had settled in your stomach, you yelled, "Fire!"

»»————-　➴　————-««

Bringing the linstock to the fuse, San watched as the wick shrunk in size as he covered his ears. A resounding thunk could be heard as the shell exited the smoking barrel. Splinters from the ships had started flying through the air as cannon balls crashed through them, causing each vessel to rock.

"Jongho! Bring another one over! We're aiming for the mast!" San called, dumping gunpowder into the cannon once more.

"On it!" Jongho called over his shoulder, grabbing a couple of chain shots from a crate on deck.

Turning on his heels, Jongho quickly makes his way back stumbling slightly as a cannonball hits the side of the Astraea.

"Shit!" Jongho curses, scrambling to pick up the chain shot he dropped as he scrambles to reach San, who is refilling the cannon with more gunpowder.

Finally making it over to San, he stuffs the chain shot down the barrel.

"We need to turn the cannon! The Diamond is moving out of position!" San tells Jongho, both moving to the left side of the cannon and forcing it to the right.

Wiping his brow, San tells him, "Alright, that should do it. Just hand me the linstock so we can light this thing."

Nodding, Jongho hands him the small linstock and covers his ears.

They watch as the fuse shrinks before the cannon lurches backwards from the force of the explosion. Eyes turning to watch as the chain shot connects with the main mast of the ship.

The eerie crack of wooden splintering manages to be heard over the deafening noise of cannon blasts and gunshots, before the large pillar is crashing into the top of the deck.

"Time for the mizzenmast," Jongho says, sliding the next shot into the barrel.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Yeosang can't help but watch over his shoulder as the sea battle continues. Small flares of light as the cannons are fired can still be seen as they draw closer to Port.

"Breathe, Yeo. We need to stay focused," Mingi tells him, dipping his oar into the inky black water.

"Right, you're right," he breathes, finally looking away from the battle behind him to focus on their mission.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to find the Treasure, right?" Jamie asks, as he rows in tandem with Mingi.

"No, it should be one of the ships in the harbor. A ship, with black sails, similar to the Astraea," Yeosang tells the blonde boy in front of him.

Silence envelopes the three pirates as they close the distance to the docks, the only sound coming from the oars as slap against the water's surface.

It doesn't take much longer before the small dingy is pulling up to the wood dock, and the leather sack is being tossed onto the planks.

"Quickly," Migni whispers, feet treading lightly against the damp wood as he makes his way to where the dock keeper would be.

Yeosang is quick to grab the leather bag as he follows the two, making sure that nothing has been dropped before catching up.

Mingi can see the lantern light sits atop of a wood desk at the very end of the dock with a body hunched over, most likely the guard fast asleep. Peering over the guards shoulder he spots the ledger of ships that are in the port. With practiced ease, he slips the paper out from under the head of the guard and hands them to Yeosang who begins flipping through the pages. With a silent nod, Yeosang begins to walk down the cobblestone path that leads to another connecting dock. Before following the navigator, Mingi is quick to swipe the lantern off the desk, leaving the guard in the dark.

"The Treasure should be up ahead," Yeosang mutters, squinting down at the papers in his hand as Mingi holds the lantern up for him to see.

"It was being auctioned right? Does it say where those ships might be held?" Jamie asks, glancing back the way they came. After their last visit to Port Royal, he feels uneasy about being back so soon.

"Should be in the West Pier," Yeosang murmurs, shoving the papers into the duffel bag.

"Let's hurry. I don't know how much longer they'll be able to handle themselves out there," Mingi mutters, leading the way to the auction.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Men dressed in royal blue garb pace the docks of the auction pier, lanterns casting long shadows along the docks and shipping crates.

"This is pointless," one of the guards huffs, rifle hanging lazily off his shoulder.

"What's pointless is you complaining," the other sasses back.

"We are seriously taking a tip from a pirate? Doesn't that sound ridiculous to you?" The first asks, gesturing around the entire pier.

"Would you shut it? If we do our job, we might get a hefty bonus from the General, regardless if the Queen shows up!" The other one says, turning to slap the other's shoulder before continuing to walk down the pier. At the mention of the bonus, the other one seems to stop and think about it for a minute before shrugging and following after his senior.

Hiding behind a stack of crates, the trio listens closely to the two guards slowly start approaching. Opening the small door to the lantern, Mingi blows out the flame leaving them to hide in the shadows as the guards grow closer to their spot. Setting down the now unlit lamp, Mingi draws a dagger from his belt before silently urging Jamie to do the same. Prepping for what's about to come.

Unsheathing his blade, Jamie waits for his cue from the blue haired man as they wait in shadows for the guards to pass by.

"It's a shame really," one of the men in blue rambles to the other.

"What is?"

"We never got to hang the Ateez crew. It would've been a town spectacle to witness the Pirate King finally hang for his crimes."

Yeosang raises his hand out while staring daggers at the two men to stop the two with him from silencing the guards.

"At least, we have their prized ship. You know how much the general has been wanting to get his hands on it. The secrets it holds within," the first one continues.

The second one nods slowly, "Is that the reason he moved so it was closer to the mainland?"

"That's precisely the reason."

Dropping his hand now that he has the information he wanted, Yeosang let's Mingi and Jamie jump on the two unsuspecting Royal guards.

Both of the guards startle as they feel firm grasps on their shoulders and the cold sting of metal against their neck.

"Thanks for the information lads. Let's cut this evening short," Mingi growls, pressing the blade against the soft skin of the Royal guards neck.

The gasping exhale leaves both men's bodies as they fall limp in their grasps before they're both dumped over the edge of the pier.

"We must hurry!" Yeosang calls, jogging down the pier to the end furthest inland. The other two hot on his heels as they begin looking for their ticket out of here.

Eyes scan the many ships, seeing many with the painted white and blue sides, making them easy to identify as the naval ships of Port Royal. Amongst all of them, there stood one with a burnt hull and black sails.

Panting, Jamie pointed at the dark ship, "Is that it?"

"Aye, there she is," Mingi confirms, untying the ship from its mooring.

"Time to set sail," Yeosang calls over his shoulder as he boards the Treasure. He can't help the nostalgia that washes over him as he takes in the ship, but he pushes it down as he runs to the captain's quarters to drop off the bag.

When he makes it back to the deck he sees that Mingi and Jamie have raised the anchor and are working on unfurling the sails. Determined, he makes his way to the helm.

"Don't worry, we're on our way," the blonde murmurs to himself as he navigates the ship out of the pier.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Masterlist

Previous | Next

Tag list: @ms-starlight @feelingw00zi @madnpan @ph0ebevix @myjiminmychimchim @sugarrmint @peachjoong @coffee-in-seol @mythicalamphitrite @starillusion13

[fandomsnstuff]

Day 1: Refuge

It’s @blupjeansweek 2023! How does 3.6k sound to kick it off? 

Read it on AO3

Summary: Barry gets caught in the rain and takes refuge in the first house he comes across. 

The midnight sky is pitch black in the countryside. Even the moon and stars are missing, covered by dark storm clouds. Barry trudges along on the muddy road created by the downpour. He has his arms wrapped around himself in an attempt to keep warm, but it’s futile. He was soaked to the bone within minutes of the heavens opening up. Even now, in the early days of summer, the rain chills him to the core. His feet and knees and back ache. He longs for nothing more than to stop for the night, but he wildly underestimated the amount of civilization out here. When he set out from the last town this morning, he thought he’d at least come across a barn he could crash in, but it’s been nothing but empty fields for hours. 

Except. 

In the distance, he can see a glimmer of hope. He can’t make out much through the dark and the rain, but he can see windows with lights on. He keeps his eyes fixed on that warm glow and imagines a fire and a soft bed and maybe even a good meal. 

After an immeasurable amount of time, Barry stands at the end of the path that branches off the main road. He can see the home a little better now. It’s a stunning mansion, clearly old and just the right amount of gothic. If he’s honest, it’s a little creepy how it seems to loom over him from the slight incline between him and the front door. The lights are still on, and he can see silhouettes in the windows. It occurs to him that it’s strange that these people are living out in the middle of nowhere, with the next closest person being hours away. 

Barry’s anxieties start to take over, and he’s trying to rationalise how sleeping in a storm wouldn’t actually be that bad, when a flash of lighting illuminates the black sky in a vicious mockery of daylight. Thunder cracks so loudly it may as well be right on top of him. It propels him to walk up the muddied drive. Under the protection of the front porch, rain clatters loudly above him, and he can truly feel how soaked through and cold he is. His clothes stick to him uncomfortably, water drips off his hair into eyes, and his glasses are dotted with water, blurring his vision. Thunder cracks above him again, and he knocks quickly before he can lose his nerve. After a few agonising moments of silence, the door swings open to reveal the most beautiful woman Barry’s ever seen in his life. She has piercing eyes that stare him down, tan skin and blonde hair, she’s tall and lithe and wears a blood red dress with a slit so high some might call it dangerous. 

He clears his throat. “Hi, uh, sorry, I- I’m sorry. I don’t want to intrude, but- it’s raining pretty bad out here, I was just wondering if-” 

“Of course,” she says smoothly. “You poor thing, come inside. We’ll get you warmed up.” She steps out onto the porch and takes his elbow, guiding him inside. He sighs as the warmth of the house hits him. The entryway is just as opulent as the mansion’s exterior. “Taako,” the woman says, “we have a guest.”

Leaning against the railing at the base of the grand staircase is a man, clearly very closely related to his hostess with the same tan skin and blonde hair. He’s wearing layers of robes that seem to shift in colour every time he moves. He glares at Barry as he’s guided past him and up the stairs. “I want him gone by morning,” he says. The woman waves him off and they continue on down the hallway.

“Don’t mind my brother,” she says, “he’s not a fan of strangers.” 

“And… you are?”

“Sure, especially when they’re handsome.” She winks at him and Barry almost chokes. Him? Handsome? The sad, wet, sorry excuse for a man that knocked on her door in the middle of the night? The one that’s got mud on his jeans nearly up to his knees and hasn’t taken a proper shower in a few too many days? 

"Guess I'm getting murdered tonight," he thinks. There can't be any other explanation for the immediate welcome and flattery.

Realising he’s been quiet for a little too long, he spits out, “Barry.” She looks at him curiously. “I’m- my name, it’s Barry.” 

She smiles, “Lup.” 

“Lup,” he repeats. It’s a strange one, but yet it fits her perfectly. 

She takes him into a massive room. It’s got a king size bed on one wall, and a few plush chairs with a small table in front of a fireplace on another. There’s a large window with heavy velvet curtains pulled shut, and an attached bathroom. “Take a hot shower,” Lup says, “I’ll start a fire for you and see if I can find you some dry clothes.” 

“Thank you, this is… this is incredible.”

She squeezes his arm again and lets go to lightly shove him towards the bathroom. It’s fancier than any bathroom he’s seen before. It has two sinks, a claw foot bathtub and a separate shower. He puts the shower temperature as high as it’ll go and peels off his waterlogged clothing, draping it over the edge of the tub to dry out. He revels in the hot water, letting it thaw him from his stint in the rain. When he comes out, steam billows into the room. A fire crackles pleasantly in the hearth, and there’s a folded set of clothes on the bed. He’s expecting something out of a movie, like silk pyjamas with a crest embroidered on it, but instead he finds typical plaid pyjama pants and a plain grey t-shirt. He’s a little worried, at first, about if they’ll even fit, considering the siblings hosting him are both taller and thinner than he is, but he finds that they’re actually just a little big on him. They smell like fresh cut wood. 

Barry lowers himself into one of the chairs by the fire with a groan, thankful to take the pressure off his poor aching feet. There’s still a slight chill deep in his core, but he’s just glad to be able to sit down. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, just listening to the fire. If he's going to get serial killed here, at least he'll die in luxury. 

He’s unsure how much time has passed when there’s a knock on the door. It opens and Lup comes in with a tray. She sets it down on the small table between the two chairs and sits across from him. “Dinner,” she says. 

He doesn’t expect her to stay, but she sits and watches him eat.  

The tray has a plate with meat and vegetables and potatoes and sauce and it smells divine. “I think it’s a little late for dinner,” he jokes, picking up the utensils and digging in.

Lup laughs, “a midnight snack, then.”

“So what brought you all the way out here?” She asks, linking her fingers together and resting her chin on them.

Barry stills. Oh, you know, just running as far away as I can get because I have nothing left. “Just trying to… see the world, I guess.”

He can feel her looking at him. She hums. “That might be good for you, you don’t seem very travelled.” 

“That obvious?” 

“Did you even have an umbrella? Or any way to make a camp?” 

His face flushes with embarrassment. “No. It was… I was a little spontaneous when I was leaving. I didn’t think it through much, so I didn’t leave with a lot of stuff. I’m usually more for planning.” 

Lup cocks her head, evaluating him. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” His blush deepens and she smiles, silently laughing at him. She stands and says, “finish your food and go to bed. I’ll get you set up with some proper travelling gear before you leave in the morning.”

“Okay, yeah, thanks. Thank you.” 

Then he’s on his own again. He eats, douses the fire, and climbs into the bed, letting the covers engulf him. It’s much more comfortable than cheap inns or bales of hay. Even with his brain's valiant attempts to come up with every worst case scenario that could happen in this house, he falls asleep to the ambient sound of rain and thunder. 

When he wakes the next morning, he feels like he got run over. His body aches all over, and he feels like he’s on fire. Then he sits up and almost coughs a lung out. He must’ve caught something after his hours-long trek in the storm. Or the dinner he was served was poisoned, he could go either way. But he can’t overstay his welcome, so he reluctantly drags himself out of bed. He’s about to trudge his way to the bathroom when he notices that the tray from last night is gone, and in its place is another folded set of clothes. He checks, and they’re his clothes from last night, perfectly dry. He blushes, embarrassed to think that Lup snuck in here to dry these for him. He changes as quickly as his aching body will allow, pauses to cough up another lung, makes the bed, and leaves the borrowed pyjamas folded on top. 

He heads back to the main entryway. It’s dimly lit, the front windows that had acted as Barry’s beacon last night are now covered with heavy curtains identical to the ones in the guest room. He makes for the front door to slip out and make his escape, when his name gets called and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns, and Lup’s walking up to him. She’s dressed more casually this morning in a simple soft shirt and pants. “I made breakfast,” she says, “come and eat.” 

“Thank you, but I should really get going.” 

She tuts. “You haven’t overstayed anything, you need to eat if you’re going to have enough strength to make it to the next town over.” 

“Really, I’m fine, I-” he’s cut off as he starts to cough up a secret third lung he had hidden in his back pocket. 

Before Barry can process what’s happening, Lup’s hand is pressed against his forehead. It’s pleasantly cool, and the relief it provides makes him sigh quietly. 

“You’re burning up,” she says, frowning. 

“Probably just a cold, I was out in the rain for hours last night. I’ll be okay.” 

“Nope. I’m not sending you out there like this.” She grabs his elbow, more forceful than she was last night, and starts dragging him further into the house, “you’re eating breakfast then going back to rest.” 

“Wh- what about your brother? He said I needed to be gone by morning.” 

“He’ll get over it.”

She takes him to a dining room with a large table in the centre. There has to be at least 12 chairs around it, but there's only one setting at one of the corners. Lup shoves him down into the chair and points at the array of toast, fruit, and waffles, and says, "eat." 

Not wanting to incur a wrath that Barry can only imagine burns with a fury, he eats. Lup sits in the chair at the head of the table, adjacent to him, but he keeps his eyes down on the plate. 

"You don't have to look so nervous," she says. He finally looks up at her and she grins, "I don't bite." 

Barry swallows. "I'm- I'm sure you don't. It's just a little odd, finding people who live so far away from anything else." 

She shrugs. "It's nice out here. We like the quiet and don't get bothered by anyone." 

"Except old guys like me who get caught in the rain." 

She laughs, but before she can respond, the kitchen door swings open and her brother walks in. "Hey Lulu, have you seen my-" he cuts himself off when he sees Barry, and his face sinks into a frown. "Lup." 

"Excuse me," she says sweetly, pushing herself up from the table and following her brother out of the room. 

Now, Barry doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but the twins don't seem to be aware of how well sound carries in this old house. 

"What the fuck is he still doing here?!"

"Oh, my bad, god forbid we let a guy eat breakfast." 

"Fine. So he's leaving as soon as he's done." 

"..." 

"Lup!"

"He's sick, Taako! I can't let him go back on the road like that!" 

"He didn't look sick to me." 

"Well he is, and he needs to rest and heal before he can go back out." 

"He can't be here." 

"So you get to keep one and I don't?" 

"That was a completely different situation and you know it." 

"I'll keep him out of your way and as soon as he's well enough to go, I'll let him go." 

There's a few agonising beats of silence. Barry tries not to hold his breath. 

"...fine." 

Barry exhales deeply. Now that he's really thinking about it, he doesn't think he'd last on the road in this condition. He longs to go back to bed. He's only picked at the breakfast laid out for him, but he's not sure his stomach can handle much more. 

Lup comes back out alone, and notices he hasn't eaten much. "Do you not like it? I can make you something else-" 

"No," he says, "it's delicious, but… you were right, I'm not in great shape." 

She smiles softly and links their arms together. "Let's get you back in bed." 

He sleeps late into the day. When he wakes, Lup brings him soup. Then she shows him to their massive library and lets him wander and choose any books that grab him. He pretends not to notice her subtly guiding him away from a section in the back corner. She even takes him on a walk around the grounds. The sun's gone down already, but the storm has passed, so the gardens are illuminated by the silvery light of the full moon. 

"It's amazing how much food you guys grow here," he says. 

"We have to be pretty self-sufficient out here." A wolf howls far off in the distance. Lup smiles. "The woods are good for hunting, too. And foraging, if we're feeling up to it." 

"You hunt?" 

She leans in close and says, "you have no idea what I'm capable of." 

It's like she has him in a trance, and he can't find any words to say. Lup holds him there for a few long moments then steps back and says, "let's go back, you'll get a chill." 

The days go on like this. He sleeps in their house and eats their food and reads their books. He goes on walks around the halls and the grounds with Lup. She's wonderful company, they talk about novels and science and the world for hours on end. If they run out of things to say, they sit in amiable silence. Her laugh is like music to his ears, and he wants to hear it as often as he can. Her hands are a comfort whenever he starts hacking up one of his spare lungs. He loves the way his name sounds in her voice. 

Problem is, as the days go on, he only seems to get weaker. Their walks get shorter, he sleeps longer, the coughing fits become longer and more frequent, and he's having a harder time catching his breath, he has to sleep sitting up. His fever hasn't broken either, and Lup's cool hands barely offer any solace whenever she checks his temperature. 

But she still keeps him company. She sits on the bed with him and talks or reads to him. So when the door opens one night and Taako walks in holding a tray, his face falls a little. 

"Well don't look so disappointed," Taako says, kicking the door shut behind him. 

"Where's Lup?" 

"Out. She'll be back by tomorrow. She asked me to make sure you don't die before then." 

"Thank you for letting me stay."

"I'm not letting you do anything. Lup decided you were staying, so you were going to stay, and there was nothing me or you could've done about it." Taako sets the tray down on the table by the fireplace and turns to face him. "Are you able to get over here? Because I'm not doing that lovey-dovey feeding you shit that Lup does." 

Barry coughs and pretends his face is flushed from the fever. "Uh, yeah, for sure." 

It takes some effort, but he manages to move from the bed to the chair. Taako sits in the other one and watches as he slowly eats the fresh soup. Once he's finished, Taako takes the tray and stands, "I'll come back later to make sure you're still breathing," and he sweeps out of the room. 

As promised, Lup's back the next day, and the routine continues. But Barry continues to deteriorate. 

He loses track of time eventually. He doesn't know if it's been hours or days. He can't catch what Lup's saying, but the cadence of her voice is a comfort. Even taking a breath is a struggle. 

One day- or maybe it was night, he can never tell with those curtains drawn- her normally soothing tone changes. She sounds scared, and she's shouting. She sounds a little far away. Is she in trouble? He wants to get up to help her, but he can't really move. It's also really hard to breathe, he should open a window. 

He feels the bed dip and her voice is closer again. 

"-e's turning blue!" 

"I think he's dying, Lulu." 

Who's dying? 

"I know, so help me! Do something!"

Oh. Him. He's dying. He wants to look at Lup and tell her that it'll be okay, but he can't seem to move his eyes. Are they closed? He's not sure. His ears are ringing but the twins voices come through clear as a bell. 

"Like what?! Health shit is Merle's thing." 

"Well Merle's not here right now, dickhead. It's just us, and I can't let him die." 

He doesn't know who that is. He honestly didn't think the twins knew anyone else. 

"Humans only live so long, you weren't going to be able to keep him here forever." 

Barry doesn't have the faculties left to question Taako referring to humans as if he isn't one.

"...I could." 

"Lup-" 

"But I could, Taako. I can stop this and he can stay here." 

"You've only known him a few weeks." 

"Please." 

Silence stretches, and Barry thinks maybe he's died already. 

Taako sighs, "I'm not going to stop you." 

Barry feels Lup's hands on his face and his head is turned. Evidently his eyes are open, because her face comes into view. There are tear tracks down her cheeks, and he just wants to reach up and wipe them away. "I can stop this, Bear," she says, "I can help you and you can stay here with me- with us, forever." 

He doesn't know what she's talking about, and he tries to answer her, but all that comes out is the strained breath of a dying man. 

"If you're going to do it, I suggest you do it now," Taako says. 

Lup leans down towards him, and he almost thinks she's going to kiss him until she seems to veer off to the side. His entire body alights with pain, like every nerve ending is on fire. He can hear someone screaming, and he realises it's him a second before the world goes dark. 

When he wakes up, it's cold and dark, and there's something on top of him that falls into his mouth. He starts clawing through it, trying to get to fresh air. It feels like it goes on forever, but he breaks the surface into the cool night air. He's welcomed by the sweet stench of blood, and his vision zeroes in on a raccoon laying several feet ahead of him. Unthinking, he crawls over and tears into it. 

He comes back to himself once the raccoon's blood runs dry. His eyes widen, realising what he's done, and he drops what's left of it and shuffles back away from it, breathing heavily. 

"Barry." 

His head snaps over to the voice, and he sees Lup standing some distance away. "Lup?" 

"Hey, Bear." 

"Wh- what-" 

"You were dying," she approaches him slowly and kneels in the grass, still a few feet away, "I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't just let you go." 

He runs his tongue along his teeth and feels two that are sharper than he remembers. 

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to, but there's more than just me and Taako. We have more family that lives here, they get back in a week. We can help you adjust, and then you can head off to wherever you were going." 

Slowly, Barry gets to his feet. He brushes the dirt and grass off his jeans, and steps to stand over Lup. He holds out a hand to help her up and she takes it. Once she's standing, he wraps her up in a hug and holds tight. 

"Thanks for not letting me die," he murmurs. 

Lup laughs, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling in further, "technically you still died. But this way you aren't gone." They stand in the embrace for a while, then Lup asks, softly, "will you stay?" 

Barry feels her breathing against him, feels how perfectly she slots into his arms, and he says, "yeah, I think I will." 

[dauntless-gothamite]

Prove Them Wrong [1/?]

Fandom: Divergent Pairing: Eric Coulter x Fem! Reader Summary: Y/N is a Dauntless transfer from Erudite, and she has a drive, an ambition that sets her apart--it always has, even back in Erudite. She brings her perseverance (and need to prove others wrong) to Dauntless when she transfers, and she uses her mind to make her way through the initiation process. Along the way, she makes friends and enemies, and she finds herself comfortable around the man most people in Dauntless avoid at all costs: Eric Coulter.  A/N: hey, everyone! so some elements of this are based on myself and how I interact with people, mainly because I tend to bond with people who are not well-liked (i.e. I got along well with teachers everyone hated, consistently). I plan to keep most descriptions of the reader vague so you can insert yourself, though! this first chapter is a little bit slow, but I am already well into writing chapter 2, and I am really excited about where this fic is going! Enjoy!!

“Dauntless!” Marcus Eaton called out--Abnegation was hosting the Choosing Ceremony this year--and as your blood hit the burning coals, a series of cheers and claps erupted from the fearless faction. You took your place next to the other Dauntless transfers and snuck a glance at your family. Your parents looked sad--disappointed, almost--but it was nothing compared to the way some parents reacted to their children choosing another faction. Your father caught your eye as he pulled a handkerchief from his crisp blue suit and handed it to your mother, who was just barely containing her tears. Quickly, you looked away. A moment later, a girl with dirty blonde hair sat down beside you. Her loose grey clothing indicated she was in Abnegation, or at least she had been. She was Dauntless now, and so were you. 

A series of names you only half heard filled the room, and before you knew it, the ceremony was over. Then, as if they’d been waiting for the chance to get up from their seats, all the Dauntless rushed out of the building, racing for the train tracks. You and the other initiates stared at them as they began to climb, shocked. Sure, you knew you’d be taking the train, but you’d never thought about how you’d actually get there. Shoving the thought out of your mind, you began to climb, the Abnegation girl from before and a girl from Candor scaling the poles on either side of you. Once you made it to the top, you saw everyone standing in a line, facing away from the train. That’s when it hit you: they were going to run and jump onto the train. This was unlike anything you’d ever done, but it was exciting, and you knew that with the right speed and angle, you’d be fine. When the rails started to vibrate and the train came into view, you took off. 

You weren’t the fastest, but you weren’t the slowest either, and that was worth something. At the very least, you would make the train. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw an opening, and without hesitation, you jumped. It was so different from life in Erudite. There, nothing was done without consideration. You had to look at a problem from all angles and weigh the possibilities, consider the outcomes of every scenario, even for the simplest of tasks. Here, you could just do. It was liberating, and you knew you’d made the right choice. Although, it would be damn near impossible to drop all of the habits you’d picked up in Erudite. Some aspects of the scholarly faction were simply a part of you; it would be impossible to erase that. But, for the sake of your survival, you’d have to do your best. 

“Hey,” said a voice from behind you. You turned around and saw a boy with brown hair and dark eyes, which stood out against his pale skin. “I’m Albert,” he said. “But everyone calls me Al.” He stuck his hand out and you shook it.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, glad to have already made one friend. You smiled before turning away to look out at the city; the train provided a great view when it wasn’t in the center of the city surrounded by buildings. While you were looking at the skyline, you saw movement and heard screams of both terror and excitement to your left. You turned to see what was causing the commotion, and you saw people jumping from the train onto a gravelly roof. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Al said as he joined you at the edge of the train. 

“This is crazy,” you agreed. But whereas Al looked terrified, you were grinning, adrenaline from boarding the train still pumping through your veins, making you aware of each and every nerve in your body. Then, with the roof coming up, you took a few steps back, ran forward and jumped. 

Your body hit the gravelly roof hard, ripping a hole in your blazer. Thankfully, it seemed like that was the only thing that broke; your body felt perfectly fine, if a little sore from the impact. You looked around to see Al a few feet away from you, and you smiled, glad he’d made it. The two of you got up and headed to the other end of the roof, where the initiates who had already jumped off the train stood facing a tall man with cropped hair and neck tattoos. “Alright, listen up,” the man said when the last car of the train passed the edge of the roof. If someone wasn’t off of it yet, there was only one stop for them now: factionless. “I’m Eric, one of your leaders here at Dauntless. I will also be overseeing your training, which began the second your blood hit the coals. So, rather than waste any more time, let's get on with it. You want to get into Dauntless, this is the way in. Who is going to jump first?”

At this point, everyone was peering over the ledge Eric stood on, more focused on what was behind him. A dark hole in the concrete far below where we stood. You looked around you, nodding at Will, who you knew from Erudite, happy to see a familiar face amongst all this chaos. As you moved towards him, the girl from Abnegation who had sat next to you earlier stepped forward. “Me,” she said, volunteering to jump first. Everyone looked around with wide eyes while Eric scoffed. 

“The Stiff? Alright.”

Unbothered, the girl stepped onto the ledge, and a few seconds later, she disappeared into the shadowy depths of whatever lay below.

Watching the girl in grey jump first had sent a shock of surprise through you, but it was followed by something new, the desire to try this new and dangerous thing before you, and as the third jumper stepped off the ledge, you found yourself stepping forward, volunteering to go next. As you stepped onto the ledge, Eric raised a pierced brow at you, waited a few seconds for the previous jumper to get off of the net, and jerked his head towards the net, motioning for you to jump. And then, in a silent response, you jumped, a smile unexpectedly gracing your lips as you made contact with the net below, landing with a bounce. You turned to the man standing next to the net who helped you out of the net, and he introduced himself as Four before directing you to stand in line with the other initiates who had already jumped. Minutes crawled by as you waited for the rest of the initiates to jump, and after what felt like forever, Eric landed in the net and directed his cold stare at the initiates lined up as he slid off the net without Four’s assistance--though it didn’t seem like Four was inclined to help him, either. Interesting. 

--

The transfer dorm was small, crowded, and damp--somehow it was exactly what you expected and entirely different at the same time. As everyone claimed a bed, Four and Eric stood near the door, ready to make an announcement. You smiled at the Candor girl with short, black hair who was setting up the bed next to yours, about to introduce yourself when one of the trainers by the door--most likely Eric--cleared his throat, silencing the room. “Welcome to Dauntless, Eric said. “As Four just explained, this is where you will be staying for the next few weeks while you complete your training. You will receive more information about the training process tomorrow morning at the first session, but for now all you need to know about it is that the training room is three floors up, down the hallway, and to the left. Meet in the Pit, which is upstairs, in fifteen minutes for some announcements from Max and dinner.” Then, he left.

“That guy is all business, huh?” the girl you were about to introduce yourself to said lightly. 

“Yeah,” you smiled back. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Christina,” she replied with an outstretched hand. As you shook her hand she looked you over and said, “So, Erudite. What made you want to transfer?”

“Well, it is best for one to go to a place for which they are well-suited…” you trailed off. “What about you, Candor?”

“Candor is a place of words and action, with slightly more words. I wanted more action,” she shrugged. A thud on the bed on your other side distracted you before you could respond, and you turned around to see familiar light green eyes.

“Will!” you said, wrapping your fellow Erudite transfer in a brief hug. You’d vaguely registered his name at the choosing ceremony followed by the word “Dauntless”, but it hadn’t really dawned on you until now that there were fellow Erudite transfers here. “Have you seen Edward?” you asked.

“Yeah, he’s right over there,” Will replied, pointing to the corner of the room. You waved at Edward, and he smiled back as he continued setting up his bed. 

“Amazing,” you said softly, more to yourself than to Will. “By the way, this is Christina, she’s from Candor,” you said, remembering your new friend. Will shot her a smile, and Christina reached out to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she said enthusiastically. 

“Likewise,” Will replied. Seeing all of your fellow transfers getting to know each other was exciting, and even though you wanted to stay in this room with all of them and get to know everyone else, you knew it was a better idea to start making your way to the Pit; there was rarely a time when showing up early was a bad thing, and leaving early would make sure you got there in time even if you got lost along the way. As you started to head out down the hallway, the former Abnegation joined you, seeming to have the same idea. “Hi,” you said, introducing yourself. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Tris,” she replied quietly. “You were in Erudite, right?” she asked.

“I was. And you were in Abnegation?”

“Yeah.” There was something sad about the way she said it, but you decided to let it go; you didn’t really know her yet. As you were thinking of what to say next, Tris interrupted your thoughts saying, “My brother just transferred there. To Erudite, I mean.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll love it,” you said, smiling fondly as memories of the Erudite libraries surfaced in your mind. “You get to spend so much time learning and teaching others, and they actually respect personal space--at least a little bit. I’ll even let you in on a secret: the suits are much more comfortable than they look, I promise.” She laughed a little bit at the last statement, and you relaxed, starting to enjoy her company. 

--

As it turned out, you and Tris had no trouble finding the Pit, and it wasn’t surprising that you were the first ones there. Both of you sat down, and you did your best to ignore the occasional looks from Four and Eric as they stood on a balcony overlooking the Pit with Max, the head of Dauntless leadership and the faction’s representative when the five factions held council, and talked amongst themselves. Soon, thankfully, a few more of the transfers sat down with you and Tris, and they were soon followed by a steady trickle of transfers, the room getting louder with each person who entered. Max walked to the edge of the balcony and called for everyone’s attention, and the room got quiet, a nervous excitement filling your body. 

“Welcome, initiates,” the leader’s low voice filled the room. “We are glad to have you here at Dauntless. Here, you will be trained to be protectors of our city. You will be tested physically, emotionally, and mentally, and it will be hard, but you will come out stronger and braver, which is what you need to be to survive in this faction. Your training starts tomorrow; you will be working with Four and Eric, the initiates who aren’t transfers will be working with Lauren. For now, dig in, you’re going to need your strength for tomorrow.” Cheers erupted across the room, and people got up to grab food before racing back to their new friends. This was the beginning of something new for everyone, and excitement raced through your veins. You were ready to start your new life.

[seasaltandsmoke]

When the stranger declined his offer by indicating the booze his own gaze briefly flickered down to the bottle, recognizing the label. He hummed, then shrugged. "Good choice." He commented around the cigarette in his mouth as he pocketed the pack and the lighter.

Not necessarily the beverage he would have picked, as he was more of a red wine kind of man himself, but he could see the appeal. He considered it for a moment. Given the chance he would pair it with some spicy octopus slices, maybe some fried rice, too, and for dessert—

Sanji stopped himself before his mind could go on a tangent on which dishes he'd pair with any given ingredient or drink he came across like it tended to do and instead turned around to lean against the railing. Usually not inclined to spare a man another look he still allowed his attention to firmly settle on this one.

With the man having turned his head towards him Sanji was now able to properly study his appearance, took in the lines of his face, the small curl of his lips as he regarded him, the prominent scars across his eyes and yet the surprisingly kind gaze that met him despite them.

Something close to recognition tugged at the back of his mind; as if he'd seen him before, somewhere, sometime. Judging by appearance alone he was part of the pirate crew that came bursting in earlier, maybe he had seen him then after all, and yet there was something about him, something suggesting there was far more to him than met the eye.

Sanji took a slow drag from his cigarette as he contemplated this, holding the smoke in, feeling the burn of it before gently letting it out on his next breath, angling his head away as to not give the stranger a face full of smoke. He may have disturbed the man's solitude without asking, but he wasn't that rude.

Then, he smiled at the question, lowering his hand to tap off some ash. "I wonder—" he said in a low drawl, then chuckled quietly. "—If not as one of the employees, do I strike you more as a Marine or as new money?"

These days there were just these two categories after all, not counting the very rare occasion of actual pirates docking at the Baratie as they were few and far between, ever since some higher ranked marines became part of the regulars at least. Sanji was neither of the former of course, and he sure as hell wasn't a pirate either, although the assumption would have been a fair one given the number of outlaws and misfits on the staff, the latter were more fitting descriptions for him in a way, but he was genuinely curious about how people perceived him.

Sanji tilted his chin towards the sky, took in the stars, absentmindedly mapped out the few constellations he knew. The few he remembered from when his mother explained them to him all those years ago— He shut that thought down quick.

The cigarette lit up brighter when he put it back to his lips. He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply, allowing his shoulders to unwind. Another day spent here. Another day of him doing the same things over and over with no change on the horizon. With no step taken towards his dream...

Another tap against the cigarette. Some more ash fell to the wooden deck. "I'm a cook. The Sous Chef of this place to be exact." He answered the question at last, looking at him again. In part to gauge his reaction, and also because he was still struggling to get a proper read on the guy.

@seaoftales started following

It's been a while since the Baratie last welcomed customers so clearly set on having a good time.

Most days and nights were quiet. Wealthy marines, old couples and men who tried to impress a lady with good drink and better food and yet ever ordering the same three goddamn dishes were the only people finding their way here of late. It had been going on for so long at this point that one could say Sanji got used to these highbrow people over the more rowdy customers. But admittedly, he was getting bored and him being bored always resulted in arguments, with the other cooks, and, of course, with Zeff and it usually ended with Sanji stirring up trouble with the customers by flirting with the ladies and pissing off the men in their company — all of which quickly got old if it was the only way of entertainment.

So, it was a welcome surprise when the next ship they came across had a Jolly Roger on proud display and the crew was loud and boisterous. Sanji was grinning to himself at the flabbergasted expressions painted across the faces of the other customers the moment the pirates came barging in demanding food and yelling on the top of their lungs for ale and wine.

Of course the kitchen was the usual hustle and bustle each day no matter which kind of customers came in through the door, but when the tables quickly filled with these new patrons all the cooks turned it up to eleven and Sanji's mood only brightened further when orders for several outlandish dishes came rushing in. This was what he was good at, this was what he loved.

—

It was well into the evening when he managed to steal away for a smoke after all the people were fed. Satisfied and convinced of a job well done Sanji left the closing of the kitchen to Patty and Carne. He threw his apron on one of the hooks by the door and pulled on his jacket on top his shirt, already rummaging around in his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes as he made his way out on deck...

... Only to find that his usual hiding spot was already occupied by someone else. Sanji raised one of his curled brows as he stared at the redheaded man. He didn't recognize him, but then again the man wasn't facing his way, but rather looking out at the waves moving lazily below and mot importantly, Sanji hadn't exactly spent much time outside the kitchen up to this point.

Still, he hesitated for a moment as he took in the man's form, trying to get a read on him and failing. He absentmindedly fidgeted with the cigarette in his hand, considering whether or not he should find another place to unwind. But eventually he decided it didn't matter, and who knew? Maybe the guy made for good company.

Only one way to find out.

So, with a reasonable distance between them, he stepped up beside the man and gave him a nod in greeting. A quiet click sounded from his lighter as he lit his smoke. The warm light of the small flame contrasting briefly with the cold of the moonlight overlooking them before it flickered out again as he snapped it shut.

Sanji breathed out low, a puff of smoke emitting from his mouth and dispersing into the night air. He could already feel his shoulders unwind. "Want a smoke?" He asked, offering out the pack of cigarettes.

[reidsnose]

hair tie

overview: spencer and the reader start carpooling to work together

genre: fluff!!

a/n: i really dont know if this one is any good i just thought the idea was cute but let me know what yall think :)

masterlist

-

-

spencer was startled by the sudden knock, guests were rare in his little apartment, let alone this early in the morning. a bit paranoid he put his hand over the gun attached to his hip, just in case.

what surprised him even more than the unexpected knock was seeing you through the peep hole when he got to the door.

"y/n? are you ok?" he worried, scanning you up and down quickly to make sure you weren't hurt.

"no um i'm ok," you nervously chewed on your lip, "i was going to call you but i don't have your cell yet. oh my gosh this is going to sound so weird."

you were relatively new to the BAU and they were all very welcoming. the only person who seemed a little bit more closed off was Spencer.

it was true, he was avoiding you a little bit, but only because you were the most beautiful human being he had ever seen; which only made you that much more intimidating. he was afraid. what if he said something stupid? what if the second he opened his mouth you started thinking he was just his IQ. but you were fully a part of the team now. he would have to at least be aquatinted with you.

"its ok, you can say it." he encouraged kindly, causing you to visibly relax.

"ok. oh before i ask i want to preface this by saying you could totally say no i completely understand its a super weird thing especially because we barely know each other." you took a breath as he nodded, a slightly amused smile toyed with his lips.

"i understand the implications. proceed." he mentally slapped himself for wording his thoughts like that.

"do you maybe.. wanna drive to work together? i heard you talking about how you take the train and i also heard that you have an aversion to germs and i drive by your apartment to get to work anyway so i-" you cut yourself off, looking up and seeing him staring at you wide eyed. "i'm sorry this is too weird i over stepped my boundaries and now you dislike me even more. i'm sorry for interrupting your morning. um, you're going to be late for work if i don't leave you alone so ill just- sorry. i'm sorry."

truthfully, this was one of the kindest things anyone has ever offered to do for him. and you offered it with genuine kindness, no ulterior motives to try and get something from him. he stood stunned. how were you so beautiful AND kind. and still somehow a little intimidating.

"we're gonna be late" he called out.

"what?" you turned, having already walked a couple steps from his apartment, your heart beating a bit faster at the sound of his voice.

"you said i'm going to be late. but were carpooling. so we'll both be late," he said matter-a-factly, grabbing his coat and satchel.

"YES!" you laughed, a cracking a wide smile and punching the air triumphantly.

you leaned against the railing of the stairs as you watched him lock up. he was tall and slender and very handsome. so handsome. not handsome like morgan, handsome in a way you were sure you'd never seen before. an incredibly unique and scarce handsomeness that only Spencer Reid had. you tried to forget those thoughts as he began walking towards you.

"i don't dislike you, by the way." he blurted as the two of you walked down the stairs. he felt bad that he made you think he isn't fond of you; the problem was he was too fond of you.

"oh! thats good i've been trying to think of every interaction we've ever had because i was afraid i might have said or done something."

"truth be told," he huffed out a breath, "i was kind of intimidated by you."

you laughed a real, genuine laugh from deep in your belly as you reached your car. the sheer coincidence of the situation as well as your entirely non intimidating nature was seriously laughable.

"you cant be serious! did Garcia tell you?" you asked, completely dumbfounded.

"tell me what?" he asked back, confusion lacing his voice.

"that i was intimidated by you!" you confessed.

"what? this guy in Texas called me a pipe cleaner with eyes! how could i have possibly intimidated you?"

he looked around your car trying to subtly profile you. thats when he noticed you had put hand sanitizer in the passenger side door. and you had pushed the seat back to accommodate for his long legs. it was just two little things, two ways you put a little extra effort in to make him feel welcome, but he was 100% positive if he thought about it too much he would cry. he felt the need to do something like this for you. not to get even or anything, but simply because he wanted to make you feel the way he felt right now.

"i don't know! you're so tall and smart and you seemed quiet but i guess thats only because you were avoiding me. are you sure garcia didnt tell you?" you laughed, watching the road.

now it was his turn to laugh, "no i swear, Garcia didn't say anything about that to me!"

The two of you continued driving, either talking or sitting in a comfortable silence. and this little carpool became a tradition. the two of you arriving and leaving work together every single day, causing the two of you to become closer.

you had to admit, every morning and evening you spent with Spencer made him just seem more and more perfect. unbeknownst to you, the exact same thing was happening with him.

he noticed, one day, as you were pulling your hair up to tie in a ponytail, your hands alternated searching your wrists for a hair tie but there wasn't one there. once he noticed it once, he started noticing it constantly. on a case, in the office, in the car, at a bar. you always seemed to forget your hair ties.

so he went to the store after you drive him home one day, and got a few packs of hair ties. after paying for them, he put one on each wrist and the rest in his satchel, so next time, when you needed one, he'd have it.

he felt like such a creep, constantly watching you to see when you would try to put your hair up. of course the rest of the team took notice, though they had noticed your obvious incline towards each other, Spencer was clearly acting a little weird.

and then it happened.

the two of you were partnered to go to the crime scene on a case, and you went to tie up your hair before you entered the scene. he could hardly contain his excitement, his mind moving a mile a minute trying to decide how he wanted to give you the hair tie. he watched one of your hands search your wrist, but this time it pulled off a little black band and started looping it around your hair.

he couldn't believe it. he finally had a chance to make you feel a portion of the way he felt when he saw your effort in making his car Spencer-friendly, and new he had to think of a new way to do it.

snap.

he looked over and saw you holding what used to be your hair tie, now no longer a band, but a completely useless elastic line.

"you've gotta be-" you muttered to yourself, but your sentence was interrupted as Spencer nonchalantly jutted his wrist towards you. "what are you doing?"

"take my hair tie." he stated simply, trying so hard not to blush. this became even harder as your fingers graced the skin of his wrist while you pulled the hair tie off.

"oh! thank you! you're a life saver!" you breathed, cracking a wide smile as you used it to tie your hair up.

you couldn't help the butterflies going absolutely insane in your stomach. why did he have a hair tie? does he tie his hair up sometimes? why have you never seen it up? you tried to suppress a smile, that would be completely inappropriate for a crime scene.

but you couldn't suppress the warm feeling in your chest. because that was always there when Spencer was around.

-

ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife

[mamamittens]

For the Fans

Uta (Gen, no pairing)

Warnings: Difficulty traversing snow, getting partially buried, and light slapstick comedy with mild suggestiveness.

@welovemonstergirls

Couldn't really do a lot of the suggested stuff, but I hope it still fits what you were hoping for! I don't usually write for slapstick/physical comedy so it was interesting to try it out.

Word count: 1,254

The problem with surprise concerts is that they can’t every really be a surprise.

Not if you want a bombastic, show-stopping event.

You have to book the venue, clear the space, set up the stage, lights, and safety features to prevent accidents. Uta, very much a full-fledged idol now, was well aware of this. On top of everything else, she was a very distinct kind of person with her wardrobe and dual colored hair. She couldn’t really slap on a hat and call it good. She’d be spotted in moments and swarmed by well-meaning and adoring fans.

So… her very quiet and secret plan needed a much more… different route. No big venue, stage, lights, cameras, or bodyguards. Just a quiet, small concert for young children in need. This meant she’d have to sneak out of her hotel. In the middle of winter. It sure sounded like a good plan when she thought of it. She even added some more winter-appropriate gear to her normal outfit.

White and blue striped stockings, a fluffy bi-colored scarf, and thick mittens. Her jacket zipped up to help keep warm as she made her way down the lesser used stairway. It led right outside thankfully, so she wouldn’t have to go past the front desk. Slowly, and with some difficulty, she pushed open the exit door, a mound of snow piling up against the steps. It had been snowing lightly for hours now, adding to the already picturesque winter landscape.

But she wasn’t here to admire the view. She could do that just as well—and warmer—from her hotel room. Carefully, minding the icy steps, Uta walked out into the shin-deep snow.

Just as she passed the edge of the cover the awning provided, the door slammed shut. Snow instantly falling directly onto her in a heavy cascade that took her breath away. One moment she was standing, gripping the icy railing as she walked down the steps, and the next she was laying in the snow. Partially buried and breathless.

Even with the additions to her wardrobe, Uta felt the freezing weight of snow on top of her back. Thankfully, she wasn’t completely buried, her legs scrambling to provide leverage for her arms. Shoes scrapping against the steps as she pushed her hands through the compact snow and lifting herself up. Gasping for air, Uta shivered. Embarrassed but determined, she stood back up and restarted her trek, brushing snow off of herself as she did so.

The back of the hotel faced the forest. And the hospital was only a few blocks away. The easier way there would be to circle the building and take the paved sidewalk but—as Uta already knew—she’d be spotted in moments. And then her plan for a private concert would be ruined. So, the only other option was to walk along the forest edge until she reached the back of the hospital and hope there was an entrance she could sneak in through. Thankfully, it wouldn’t take too long.

Unfortunately, it meant wading through snow up to her knees. But that’s what her stockings were for!

The moonlight dispersed through the thick cloud cover, making Uta’s walk a little difficult as she crested the many small hills carefully. Nearly slipping down several as she picked her way through. At one point, she had to stray closer to the forest to avoid a sharp incline. The point was to reach the hospital to sing—not to treat a broken leg or rib. Snow crunched under her shoes as she stumbled on the occasional hidden twig or stone.

Next time, Uta swore, she’d wear boots for this. Something with more grip at the very least.

The forest, beautiful and serene as it was, creaked and groaned periodically. Ice and snow strained the branches as more piled on. Deeper inside, Uta noticed the occasional drop of snow piles from higher up. Cascading down the branches until it slammed into the ground with a dull thud. Wary from her pervious experience already, Uta eyed the trees near her and kept moving. The hospital already in view down a steep incline that would be prefect for sledding if she thought to bring anything.

A few more feet and Uta felt comfortable trying her luck when she spotted several abandoned sleds, partially buried in snow and leaning against a thick tree. Right down the incline was a courtyard with playground equipment and benches, all steadily being buried in snow as the night went on. Huffing, Uta smiled and grabbed one. It was a bit small, requiring Uta to bring her legs to her chest, but it would work just fine.

After brushing off the leftover snow, cold enough as it was from her secret walk, Uta set it down and prepared herself.

She just dug her heels into the snow to drag herself closer to the edge when she heard it.

Ominous creaking just above her. The wide branches of the tree behind her straining with heavy snow.

Uta yelped, panicked and startled as she pushed herself down the incline before thinking better of it, narrowly missing being buried in several feet of snow as she shot down the hill. Screaming in fear and delight, Uta’s board spun her around several times as she zipped across the courtyard. Missing playground equipment that she could barely see at her speed.

Only to slam into a massive snowman among many smaller ones.

Uta’s face was too cold to feel the impact properly, but the packed snow gave way easily enough to her force. Knees and shoulders jammed into the bottom of the snowman as she spat out snow in the indent her hoodie made.

Snow creaked and shuddered around her ears as something slammed into her ass. Uta yelped, feet kicking out as she pushed her hands clear through the snow man. Still dizzy, Uta struggled for several moments. Snow piled over her back and legs as the snowman crumbled around her. Finally, Uta freed her head, gasping for air with a hard shudder. After catching her breath, frigid as it was, Uta shoved herself up. Completely demolishing the snowman.

Thoroughly cold and done with this run of bad luck, Uta resolutely trudged up to the back exit quickly. Yanking open the door and giving one final yelp when several handfuls of snow dropped onto her head.

The nurses down the hall gasped, surprised at her appearance and laughing as they rushed over.

“U-Uta?! W-What are you doing here? Oh, honey, why are you covered in snow?” One of the nurses asked with a chuckle, brushing off Uta’s jacket as she shivered.

“I-I wanted to surprise the kids…” Uta whined softly as she shuddered. The nurses laughed, pulling her into the warm building.

“Well, they’re certainly going to be surprised! Come on, dear. Let’s get you cleaned up and something warm to drink before you see the kids. They can wait a few minutes as you put yourself back together.” She offered.

The idea of drinking anything warm made Uta smile.

“Please.”

Dried off and with a piping hot cup of hot chocolate, Uta greeted the children’s ward with a round of excited gasps.

“UTA!?” They cheered, small faces bright with smiles despite their sickly nature.

Much warmer and incredibly pleased, Uta smiled back.

“That’s right! It’s me!” Uta laughed. “I’m here to see my biggest fans!”

While difficult and more than a little embarrassing, Uta knew it was worth it to see the kids’ surprised faces.

[scorchieart]

Honor Roll - Chapter 3

Honor Roll - Chapter 3 | AO3

Characters: Jin Grandet, Clavis Lelouch

(ft. Chev's right hand)

Chapter List: 1 2 3(here!) 4 5

Rating: G (no warnings)

Word Count: 2,859

A/N: So, uh... when I said this was gonna be 4 chapters I misjudged how long this scene was going to be. Decided it'd be better to split it up into 2 chapters, so now we going up to 5 total...

************************************************************************

Whatever burst of energy that possessed Jin to hasten that morning dissipated the moment he exited the library. The spring in his step that carried him through the same halls only an hour prior swapped with a growing reluctance so insistent that halfway up the stairs Jin seriously considered turning tail and heeding Belle’s initial suggestion of pleading Yves’s forgiveness. Surely whatever punishment he and Sariel had in store could be no more harrowing than waking the Brutal Beast before noon?

He opened the lid to the basket and peered inside. Three shiny rolls stared back at him, their savory sheen glinting ever so tantalizingly in the morning sun. Jin picked one up and spun it around in his hand, taking in its spherical perfection and even distribution of mouth-watering spices, as he contemplated his next steps. 

Yes, of course Belle was right. Honesty is the best policy, and it wouldn’t do the kingdom any good if their First Prince was found fibbing his way out of a predicament as nonsensical as petty pantry pilfering. Besides, he had a duty as the eldest to set an example for the rest of his brothers.

Just as Jin began to pivot his heels back to the kitchen, his vision became obscured by a swarm of what appeared to be tiny pastel-colored flies all darting towards him at once.

“Happy Spring, Jin!” called an animated voice. 

Wildly waving an arm to stop the wave of what he determined were petals from flying up his nose, Jin blinked his eyes to focus on the unmistakable figure of Clavis a few steps below. Sunlight shining in from the windows revealed Clavis’s face and attire to be caked with a thick layer of dirt that would be obscene for a member of the royal family, yet the generous smile he wore hinted not only that he harbored no concern for this fact, but rather was proud of his efforts. A somewhat-filled burlap sack sat slung over his shoulder, and from his vantage point Jin could make out the faint letters for “FLOUR” printed on its side.

Without thinking, Jin shoved the cinnamon roll into his mouth and swallowed, then leaned against the railing in an attempt to look as nonchalant and indubious as possible. “At least someone’s excited,” he half-garbled, hoping Clavis didn’t notice. “Up to no good right from the start then?” 

“A moment uninspired is a moment wasted,” Clavis replied unfazed. He adjusted his grip on the sack and Jin noticed fuzzy bits of bright yellow trickle from its opening. “And I see you are making use of your time as well. Off on a peaceful morning stroll, or perhaps, a morning rendezvous?”

“You could say that,” trailed Jin. Again, he felt his efforts would go much smoother the fewer people were privy to his situation, and though he considered Clavis a more loyal confidant than Nokto, the mischievous allure of his predicament had to potential to tip off the troublemaker and land him in an even deeper mess than he already was in. 

“Oh?” Clavis craned an eyebrow and inclined his head towards Jin’s basket curiously. “And what, pray tell, is the nature of your rendezvous? Something naughty, I’ll bet.”

“Who’s to say?” Jin said, turning back around and continuing up the steps. Best not tip him off to the kitchen, Jin rationed, and as he suspected, Clavis trailed closely behind.

“Well, I say it’s quite suspicious for you to be lurking around this neck of the palace so early. It’s almost as though you’re on your way to meet with our dear brother before he deigns to grace us with his presence.”

“You’re free to make any assumptions you want.”

“Then you’ll have no objections to me following you to your rendezvous, I assume?” Clavis said with a sickly-sweet smile.

Typically teeming with life, the swarming forest falls deadly silent as the devious leopard passes. Persistent as he is charismatic, he prowls the lonely routes in search of a playmate, one to keep him distracted lest he fall victim to his insatiable marauding desires. The adventurer steels himself for what he knows will be an onerous trial.

Jin made no response as the two rounded a corner and kept quiet as they continued down the hall. It seemed Clavis took this silence as an invitation and he began regaling Jin with the different varieties of flowers he’d hoped to see throughout the season. Jin only half-listened to Clavis’s ramblings as he focused his attention on remembering the jumbled path of incorrect turns he took, hoping they would run into something or someone more interesting to occupy the Third Prince’s voracious appetite for excitement. 

And just when I decided to do the right thing for once, Jin thought as they ascended the same staircase again.

Twenty minutes passed of the pair walking aimlessly in circles, and Jin worried he’d played it too risky looping around the same corridor three times, though Clavis appeared too engrossed in detailing the life cycle of dandelions at top speed to notice. 

“You see, first they bloom yellow and cheery, and they’re just begging for you to pluck them. But you have to wait, half the fun’s in the waiting game. Soon the petals fall off and get replaced with a bunch of these little hairy tips and they look like fuzzy lollipops growing out of the ground! But you're not supposed to eat them! No, that’s when you pick them and blow on them like candles, and then it’s like dozens of little fairies taking flight! They only grow in Jade, we’re stuck with boring old ugly daisies. But you know, next time I visit I’ll scoop a bunch and plant them here. Don’t you think that’s a swell idea?”

Jin hummed in offered agreement and stole a glance out the window; the sun was nearing its peak. If he dawdled any longer, the picnic would start and he would have to face the full brunt of Yves’s rage head on. If only he could delay it for just a little longer…

Remembering his resolve, Jin mustered up the most considerate smile he could and turned to Clavis.

“Seems a shame you should spend such a beautiful morning cooped up with me in the castle. I know at least a few of our brothers are making use of this good weather.”

“Is my company alone not enough to satisfy you?” The leopard sounds affronted, but the grumble reverberating behind his bared teeth is hungry. “So many before you have refused my generous offer of companionship, but they soon find out I am much more agreeable as a patron than a predator.”

“Oh yes, it’s so nice to see the little ones so lively early in the morning!” Clavis bounced back. “Why, I bumped into Leon on my way up here, and you’d think he was being chased by some demon with how fast he was running! Poor thing must have been starving, he almost knocked me out plowing down to the kitchens.”

Jin repressed a grimace; so Leon managed to run across town and back while he was still struggling to get a single book. Ideally, he and Belle could at least whip something up so they’d have a peace-offering when they apologized.

Suddenly, just like back in the library, a wicked idea popped into Jin's mind. He couldn’t help himself; honesty was certainly a good policy, but sometimes the allure of deception was much more enticing.

“Haha, leave it to Leon to work in some exercise even on an empty stomach! We’ve been trying to get him to take it easy, so the boys at the office planned a surprise picnic for him,” said Jin, hoping Clavis would take the bait. 

“I was invited to join, naturally, but alas, I am already predisposed for a number of bookings,” Jin continued, and sure enough Clavis whirled his head towards him expectantly.

Gotcha, Jin thought triumphantly, but he forced his face to fall to match his story. “Ahh, such is the life of the eldest, but I did feel bad for turning down Yves like that, he was so excited for the occasion. He spent so many nights coming up with a new recipe.”

Jin swore he saw a mischievous glint flash in Clavis’s eyes, but he pretended to hide his face in his hands in grief. Just one more push should do it.

“And to think, I’m always around to taste test his creations. Such a failure of an older brother I turned out to be!” he wailed, and when Clavis made no response he worried he overdramatized the last point a bit too much. But when he opened his eyes, Clavis stood in front of him beaming a compassionate smile. 

“There, there,” Clavis began, patting Jin’s shoulder. “Your efforts shall not go unnoticed. Why, you should have come to me from the very beginning!”

Jin said nothing, but held his breath as he watched Clavis readjust the hold on his sack and stare out the window.

“They’d be in the usual place, right? I’m sure I can make it if I run. And don’t you worry, I’ll be sure to tell Yves of your noble sacrifice,” he continued, walking past Jin in the direction they came, a steady stream of decapitated petals and the same yellow dust falling behind him.

Hearing Clavis distractedly mutter to himself about the different kinds of traps he could lay, Jin finally felt he could relax. This might actually work out after all. He made a mental note to suggest to Belle that they move the picnic somewhere else just in case, but for now it was just a matter of retracing his steps, getting back on track to the bedroom, procuring the book and he’d be home free. He heaved his shoulders to finally release the breath he was holding, but it came out as a mighty sneeze instead.

“Goodness, all this talk about rendezvouses and I’ve nearly forgotten my own!” 

No sooner did Jin wipe his nose did he find Clavis marching back, an even more insidious grin plastered across his face. 

“Not to worry, Jin. I’ll just pop in to give our brother a wake-up call and then be on my way. I spent all night decapitating daisies just for him!” said Clavis, and he skipped past Jin deeper into the hall. Jin tried calling out to him, but a second sneeze muzzled his words and sent his vision blurry.

No, he was so close! He couldn’t let it end here, not when he’d made it through this much.

Blinking rapidly through the haze, he could just make out Clavis’s receding figure turning a corner. Jin smacked his cheeks and bolted after him, taking Clavis’s raucous laughter and the trail of yellow dust as his guides. He pushed past several more turns, up another flight of stairs, and down a lustrously carpeted hallway, all the while shooting off sneeze after sneeze, before skidding to a halt in front of an imposing entryway, its door slightly ajar. He carefully stuck his head in to see Clavis tiptoeing his way towards the domineering four-poster bed cocooned by closed curtains, the flour sack hoisted threateningly above his head.

“If my company isn’t enough to satisfy you, let’s add a new player to the game…”

Pinching his nose with one hand, Jin launched himself and grasped the tail-end of Clavis’s coat with the other and yanked with all his might. Clavis let out a terse shriek as he toppled backwards, loosened his grip, and sent the sack flying into the air. It twirled a few times, depositing heaps of yellow dust, and Jin’s grip slackened as he watched in awe as it fell over them like a sprinkling of fresh snow, before he and Clavis were both overcome with renewed bouts of heavy sneezing.

“Hahaha – achoo! – well, that didn’t go according to plan – achoo!” laughed Clavis. 

Jin picked himself up to a sitting position in between sneezes as he examined the yellow specs more closely. Sunlight shining in through the high windows made the plush carpet sparkle with what looked like thousands of tiny stones of citrine and topaz, the stragglers still raining down from above, and Jin forced his stinging eyes to stay open as he sneezed some more to study the sight just a little longer.

Pollen. It was pollen. Clavis was lugging around a flour sack filled with flower pollen. Had Jin not been on the receiving end of the prank, he would be clapping his brother on the back for his witticism. The thought of him toiling through the fields, repeatedly shaking and collecting the precious flecks, possibly for hours in the dark of night filled Jin with a confusing sense of pride and unease he couldn’t quite explain. Although, as he watched Clavis convulse through round after round of giggling and sneezing planted against the yellowing carpet, Jin was sure no amount of outside praise would give the man greater delight at his accomplishment, even though his scheme was ultimately a failure.

It was breathtaking (pun intended), but Jin snapped back to reality when he remembered he had a scheme of his own; he’d come this far after all. He squinted through the shower of pollen and his own watery eyes until he made out a thick stack of books piled on the nightstand beside the bed. 

Setting his basket by the door and covering his nose and mouth with his palm, Jin pushed himself to stand and slowly inched his way towards the bed. There was no guarantee that his presence wasn’t already revealed, but Jin figured he’d play it safe going into the home stretch. From this viewpoint, he could see that the closed curtains surrounding the bed protected it from the onslaught of pollen, though as Jin pondered it over, it was more accurate to say the bed was trapped in a toxic den. Much of the storm was concentrated at the foot of the bed near the door, but Jin could see the particles slowly start to dissipate over to the farther corners of the room, like tiny dancers spreading out across a ballroom. There seemed to be no movement from behind the curtains, though with Clavis whooping his head off, there was no chance anyone in the castle could still be asleep.

Jin rapidly blinked to clear his eyes, not wanting to risk rubbing more pollen into them with his hands, until he was finally close enough to make out the titles of the books on the nightstand. Once more, Eagle Eyes, don’t fail me now, he thought to himself as he scanned the pile top-down.

The palm at his mouth grew sweatier as he read each spine. Some titles were extraordinarily long, some faded away to almost nothing, and some written in characters Jin could not read. Just as he felt his hand about to slip off his chin there it was. A thin green hardcover nestled towards the bottom of the heap, the words One Step Back, Two Springs Forwards shining up at him in bright gold. Jin had to repress the urge to pump his fists and shout in victory, so he steadied his breath instead. There would be time for celebrating after the picnic.

He scooted forward until he was as close to the bed as he could get without touching it, crouched slightly, and extended his free arm towards the book. Once his thumb and forefinger clutched the spine, he began the arduous process of slowly jiggling it left and right. It would definitely be quicker to pull it out using both hands, but bits of pollen started seeping into his vision and Jin didn’t trust himself to be able to suppress another sneeze without his hand-shield. He’d save that for the final tug, like a magician pulling out a tablecloth from underneath a dining set, then vanish in one move.

It felt like hours of wiggling and shimmying until the book was at last mostly freed. The mass above it swayed dangerously to one end, and Jin knew what would happen if he didn’t swipe quickly. For the second time, he took a deep breath and held it in his cheeks before removing his hand from his face and grasping the other end of the spine. Then he straightened his arms, tensed his legs, and squeezed his eyes shut, but just before he could make the big pull, a sudden tightness clamped down hard onto his wrist.

Shock drove the breath straight out of his lungs. Jin’s eyes shot open at the hand protruding from the curtains, grasping his left arm in a deadlock. It felt as though he just got captured by the undead in some horror story, save for Clavis’s continued mad laughter in the background. 

The hand constricted and Jin’s arm twitched as his grip on the book withered away, his nerves screaming out in pain, but he didn’t bother shaking it free. Doing so would be futile.

“Good morning, Chevalier,” Jin said in the steadiest voice he could muster.

************************************************************************

Tagging: @atelier-maroron

Hope you enjoyed my attempt at a cliffhanger.

Run Jin! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Yo, not really sure how to officially set it up, but if any of y'all wanna get tagged in future updates just send me a message, I don't bite (*ﾉ∀`*)

[mae-gi-writes]

Yūgen | Sunwoo (The Boyz)

Yugen (n.) a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep, emotional response. 

Requested by anon! In which Sunwoo, the ace of the volleyball team, is curious about what you’re drawing all the time. Until one day, he stumbles upon a drawing of himself made from yours truly. 

Genre: fluff, volleyball player! Sunwoo and art student reader, shy love, softness, and inspired by haikyuu because I have been obssessed with the anime lately TT__TT  A/N: It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve posted here! Slowly but surely, I’m going through my inbox and replying to your requests. Thank you for your patience, stay safe loves, ily all xx 

-----

Sunwoo wasn't artistically inclined.

But that never stopped him from admiring those that were. He was always so curious as to how just a flick of fingers managed to create a shadow, or how just one glance at a subject made it through onto paper without so much as an effort to remember the details. It was like it was automatically recorded into one's brain, hands already registered to mimic the curves and the folds and the shadows that turned into nothing short of a miraculous piece. So when he caught sight of someone drawing, it always piqued his interest. He stumbled upon you one late afternoon after his volleyball practice, with sweat dotting his forehead and his training bag slung casually over his shoulder. He was about to direct his way to the parking lot upon exiting the gymnasium, only to spot a lone figure huddled upon the bleachers and curled into a ball that caused Sunwoo to frown. Slowly sidling up to the stranger in question and peeking over the railing to catch a glimpse of your face, his eyes are instantly driven to the sketchpad in your hands.

You didn't notice him though, so absorbed in your own world with earphones blocking out reality that a tsunami could've gone unnoticed. So Sunwoo took advantage to climb over onto the opposite bleacher and, after ensuring that your back wouldn't turn to greet him, leaned over the separation to catch sight of a lone figure cartwheeling freely over the page. Woah. You were talented alright. There was nothing else to describe the fluidity of movement you caught with your pencil. It made Sunwoo's breath catch in his throat. He had the sudden urge to know exactly what kind of face hid behind the visual mastery manifesting before his very eyes. After all, there must be other things for them to see rather than the boring literal reality that most people settled for. What kind of imageries were they creating in their heads? What beautiful stories were they crafting? Worlds they got lost in? You moved then, causing Sunwoo to jolt back and scurry away with his heart beating out of his chest, deciding that it was enough spying for the day. After that day, he made sure to seek you out every time after practice although he noticed you never strayed too long in the same place, always moving about like a shadow lingering in the corner, invisible yet omniscient. Sometimes you would find a quiet spot in a patch of sunlight by the tennis courts. Sometimes you'd be found on the bleachers, alert eyes observing every pass, every move, every twist of a body like  camera taking everything in. Sunwoo never approached you. Not that he didn't want to, but he found it awkward to just come up to you and present himself as the guy who'd been stalking your drawings. So he admired you from afar instead, relished in the passion of your dark coffee coloured eyes and in the attentive focus dipping your eyebrows in a soft frown, lips paeted slightly in concentration. "Do you know her?" He'd asked one of his friends from the volleyball team once, during their lunch break as he saw you line up at the cafeteria. Changmin took a peek at your face before he shook his head, "she might be in one of my electives." "Which one?" "I think it's art." Sunwoo forced his face to remain in a mask of calmness as he grabbed a steak sandwich, no fries, "do you know her name?" "Nah. I don't think she's ever spoken in class," Changmin's eyebrows quirk up then, "why'd you ask?" "No reason." Changmin's pointed look defined anything but that.  Although he did have the decency to drop the subject as soon as the rest of the volleyball team joined the table. Sunwoo got his answer a few days later when he practically toppled over you and your drawing crayons. It was his mistake. He'd been leaning too far out from the top of the basketball bleachers, struggling to get even the smidgest glimpse of what amazing piece of art hiding under your jacket sleeve, only for his foot to slip. Down he went with a curse, crashing straight into your body and quickly scrabbling to wrap his arms around your head, a pathetic attempt to cushion your fall as you fell into a heap in front of the bleachers. "You--you okay?" He huffed out, breathless and heart beating like a time bomb. Pulling his arms away slowly, gently, he finally met your gaze straight on and --oh my, your eyes were not coffee coloured at all.  But more of a honey-brown, wide open and framed by soft lashes. Currently dilated in panic. "I'm fine! What--What about you? Oh gosh, I'm so sorry--" "No it was my fault," he made a grab for your sketchbook and scattered pens only for his orbs to register the face messily etched onto the paper. His breath caught. For a minute, he could do nothing but stare at the replica of his face made in charcoal. Those were his eyes, his slightly crooked nose. The scowl he wore during his soccer matches. That was him. The resemblance was akin to that of perfection. That was before your hands snatched away the sketchbook before you quickly slammed it closed, cheeks blazing red, "that's-- I swear I"m not a creep, I-- I just do that for practice--" "It's amazing." Your head-- which had been bowed this entire time for fear that anger would be his response -- shot up in surprise, "what?" "It's amazing," Sunwoo repeated. He wouldn't mind repeating it forever, he realized, if that meant he got to see that aforable blush of yours. He reached out with his hand, "can I look at it again?" So you allowed him after some slight hesitation, and if he noticed, he didn't comment. Fingers brushing against yours slightly, he handled the sketchbook with utmost care as he flipped through the pages with child-like awe. He'd seen your drawings, sure, but mere glimpses here and there, a sneak peek, always accompanied with the fear of being found. But now, he could take his time and actually relish in the soft tracings of your crayon, admire the gentle shadings that made up the tip of his nose. You had managed to capture that frown -- the one he used whenever he concentrated -- to perfection and for a minute he swore he'd fallen in love with himself. "You're really good," he murmured, though that definitely banalized the array of praises popping through his head, "you should keep doing them. I mean it." "So, you're not--" you paused, "mad?" "Well I think you'd have more reason to be mad if you knew I was stalking you from before." "What?" Oh Sunwoo, you idiot. Your eyes had tripled their size and you were looking at him like he'd just grown a second head. He lifted his hands as defence, "that sounded so much better in my head. I swear I'm not that creepy, or a stalker, I just--well you're always drawing and I got curious but I can't really come over and tell you to show me so I had to hide and peek and--" You burst out laughing in his face and despite the fact that he was the cause, he couldn't help joining in with a small chuckle, a grin spreading across his features at how alive you looked at this very moment. "You can ask me next time," your grin settled into a soft smile, "I don't bite." "Your words, not mine," he said, tone lighter and teasing. He helped you gather your belongings and as the pair of you started towards the school gates, he asked for your name. "Y/N," you answered, "and you?" "Sunwoo," he noticed the sky was darkening into purple, a sign that twilight was approaching. Usually, he'd be in a hurry to catch the last bus of the evening to avoid the pain of traffic after six. But it was like his body was slowing down on its own to join your pace, as if he was automatically tuning in to the rhythm of your steps. He found he didn't mind. "So why athletes? Any special reason why you like drawing them?" He asked as you reached the gates. "I just like watching the way they move. It's ...graceful," a hand went to rub the back of your neck, "and they come in handy for figure practice." "I mean, we're not that graceful when you're on the pitch ready to get blown away," he chuckled, "but thanks. At least we know we don't play like animals." "Oh god no. The volleyball team's pretty good. The rugby team on the other hand..." you sigh before you shake your head, "that team is nearly impossible to draw." His shoulders shook as he laughed, "well I don't think they aim for graceful. They look like a pack of wild dogs. Even I don't understand how they play." You had reached the said bus stop by then before you spotted your mother's car along the sidewalk, "oh, my mom's here," you turn to him, "where do you live? Maybe we can drop you--" Meeting your mom? On the first day of meeting you? Sunwoo's hands flew up, shaking them wildly in response, "oh no no, that's not necessary. I'll see you tomorrow!" Thank god for the bus that pulled up at the right time so that he didn't have to linger longer than he needed to. But he didn't miss the small wave of your hand as you watched him go, the smile on your face warming his heart even when it was one of the coldest winter days of the year. From that day onwards, Sunwoo made it a must to make his presence known whenever you were deep in your sketches, always observing, sometimes silently keeping you company and sometimes getting so wrapped up in conversation that your pens would lay forgotten by your bag as you bantered back and forth about subjects that would've made people throw you looks of concern. It became routine to have Sunwoo's head pop up from behind the bleachers or to see him walk up the path to your special hiding spot, right where your gaze would meet the tennis court. You sketched him more and more, folding your drawings into your bag so that he wouldn't see although the urge to catch his face on paper was a growing addiction you couldn't ignore. Even your friends had noticed his lingering presence, proceeding to prod you with questions reflecting their curiosity. "He's from the vòlleyball team isn't he?" Yeji asked one time during lunch, upon noticing the way the said young man's stare lingered over the back of your head before turning away just as quickly, "do you know him?" "We've spoken once or twice." "How do you know him?" Your other friend, Saeron, nudged you with a wriggle of her brows. You brushed her teasing away, "we bumped into each other and then he saw my drawings." "Oh right, you do sketch athletes," Yeji leaned forward, mouth full of bread, "did you sketch him?" "I did, actually." "Oh awkward," Saeron giggled, "he's handsome though, can't deny that. You gotta introduce us sometime." You mumbled out an agreement even though you sat with them just for the sake of having people around. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate them. You did. But they seemed to speak a language you couldn't quite grasp. You would rather sit in your own silence, enjoy your own company if that made sense. Maybe that was why it was so surprising, that you allowed Sunwoo to linger as long as he wanted to. There was something authentic about the way he reacted to your words, an unguarded expression that made you comfortable enough to speak up without fear of judgment. Spending time with Sunwoo was listening to water trickle down the river. Smooth and free. Peaceful. But Sunwoo seldom knew of your high regards, was not aware of the tiny sketch of his figure in mid-spike that was hidden in the pocket of your school skirt so that you could take a peek whenever you felt out of place or nervous. It calmed you down to admire his composure, even if his expression was a mere mimic that could not replace reality. "Do you have any material in particular that you like to use?" Sunwoo asked one cloudy afternoon, breaking the silence while huddling a little closer to peek at your newest sketch of Lee Juyeon; a basketball star player known for his quick reflexes and adept playing style. Not only was his skill on par with that of a Nationals team, but his looks had garnered him quite a fanbase from the get-go. Sunwoo would've liked to say that he wasn't jealous of the way your thumb gently applied shade to Juyeon's lower lip. But the spike in the middle of his chest proved him otherwise. "I like charcoal the most, it's the easiest to work with," pausing to admire your work, your eyes glanced over at him, "do you draw?" He scoffed, "like a five year old." "Wanna try?" "No way. I'll ruin it. I'm okay with admiring it from afar." You hummed an unknown tune as you pulled back your sketchbook, "how is practice?" "Alright. Could be better. We won a practice match last week so we're kind of taking it easy." "That's good though isn't it?" Your gaze met his. His eyes were various gradients of warm maroon and you wished-- at this very moment -- to paint his features into memory. That was when you realized how close you were. You shuffled slightly back and didn't notice the frown Sunwoo threw you in response, "it is. And I'm happy we get to rest. The team deserves it." "You're pursuing it in College?" Your eyes tried not to linger too much over his lips, "volleyball, I mean." "Depends," he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, "if we make it to the Nationals." "You will." "Someone's confident," he chuckled. "Well I'm no pro but even I can tell you're talented, Sunwoo," you peeked at him from behind your fringe, glad that you could blame the cold for your red cheeks when just the intensity and closeness of his entity made you want to squirm, "so if there's anyone who can do it, it's you." It was impossible to keep eye contact after such a confession. You lowered your gaze, glad for your sketchbook that acted as a distraction. It was at that very moment that the paper tucked so neatly in your pocket slipped out, causing Sunwoo to quickly make a grab for it. You made a noise of protest before trying to snatch it back, but the boy only chuckled before unfolding the creased page so that there he was, depicted in all his glory. "Is that--" his voice was hoarse and you took this as your chance to steal it from his grasp, reddened cheeks burning and fingers shaking as you folded it back to its tiny square shape, "is that me?" "Y--yes." "You--you keep that with you?" "I--I do," you lifted your chin up defiantly, though you felt your limbs trembling. His eyes, they pierced your own, piecing together a coherence that caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. When he spoke next, his words were a mere murmur. "Why?" "I--I don't know," eyes darting towards the ground, you mumbled, "I just like watching you...play." A pause. Then, Sunwoo shifted a little bit closer. "You like watching me play? Or do you like," he cocked his head, "watching me?" If you were red before then you were probably the colour of a fire engine truck by now. Averting your eyes and turning your head away were instinctive responses due to the blood rushing through your face. "Stop flirting with me," came your mumble. Laughing softly in response, he scooted himself a little closer, so close that his shoulder brushed your back. He leaned over, head tilted to catch your expression. "Cute," his lips broke out in a crooked grin and you swore you felt your heart explode. Flustered, you shoved him away out of instinct but he wasn't having any of that. His hand grabbed your wrists and with a yelp, you were dragged even closer to his chest. "You like looking at me that much huh?" His tone was teasing while his eyes glimmered with playful mischief, "why is that,Y/N?" "You ask as if you don't know," you mumbled out through jumbled words and you were glad he actually understood you. But instead of laughing some more, his features softened into a smile instead as he proceeded to gaze down at you with an expression you couldn't quite place. It was in your normal behaviour to admire people. Not the other way around. And at this very moment, you felt way out of your comfort zone. "I don't know." Your orbs flew up to his in surprise and what you found in those coffee-coloured pupils made your breath stutter, heat coiling through your abdomen. "It...it calms me down," your whisper was barely louder than a breath but by the way Sunwoo's smile widens to reach his eyes, you could tell he heard you just fine. "I like watching you too," he replied. A strand of your hair caught in the wind and he raised his hand to curl it around the back of your ear, his touch ghosting with sparks wherever flesh bumped into flesh. You felt warm. He didn't pull away. Didn't bother hiding the slight dust of pink in his cheeks either, as he slowly allowed his palm to cradle the side of your face. Gently. As if he feared you might run away, recoil back. But you didn't. Even with your breaths going staccato, even if your heart felt like a wild animal. You calmed yourself down with the knowledge that he seemed just as nervous as you were and suddenly, out of a stroke of boldness, your hand went up to hold on to his, pressing it close to your cheek. His breath hitched. You shivered. The wind blew against your figures, a gentle reminder that the day was coming to an end. You weren't exactly sure what changed that day. There were no verbal agreements, nothing that suggested your relationship had changed. Yet, the subtle touches of his hand against your back, your shoulders, moving your hair from one shoulder to another, complemented by his gentle doe-eyed stare that made your toes curl, these changes were small, but significant. And you couldn't find it in your heart to say that you disliked it. What are we? The words lingered at the tip of your tongue, as bitter as the aftertaste of coffee as you stole small glances in his direction. You were sitting comfortably under a tree that overlooked the tennis court where Sunwoo had decided to join you. He'd fallen asleep halfway through your beginning sketch and was now leaning against the tree trunk, face relaxed and body leaned towards yours, close enough that you could admire his face. Countless hours you had spent tracing Sunwoo's features on paper. Countless times you had imagined tracing his lips with your thumb, wondered whether they were as soft as they looked. Maybe it was just curiosity or maybe you had let him walk into your heart so easily that you hadn't realized it yourself. But if there was one thing you could swear your heart upon it would be that you could no longer imagine every day without Sunwoo's presence at your side. As if on instinct, your fingers took a life of their own as they reached up to push a few strands away from his face. They gently carved a path down his cheek, landing at the corner of his jaw. Dangerously close to his open mouth. There was no denying it. Sunwoo was beautiful. Handsome. Had those features on par to that of a model's. You were so focused on edging your way to touch his lower lip that you didn't realize you had been staring, until you glanced up to see his brown orbs fixated on yours. You froze. Shit. "Like what you see?" He murmured. Then, before you could scramble back and probably run with your tail between your legs, his own hand grasped your own and he pushed himself off the trunk before his head angled towards yours, finding your lips. Soft. Sunwoo's lips were soft. You panicked. Not used to the closeness. The fire that sparked between your lids. But his other hand went to clasp your jaw, holding you close as he kissed your next protest away and unconsciously brushing his thumb against your cheek. Shivering in his touch, there was no running away from the way his mouth molded against yours so snugly, and you didn’t want to. You found yourself addicted to the sweet pressure of his upper lip meeting your lower ones and soon enough -- without realizing -- you melted into his touch. 

Sunwoo made a noise that sounded like a soft grunt, his other hand lacing around your waist to pull you closer so that you tumbled halfway into his lap. With embarrassment suddenly flooding through you, you let out a squeak that he answered with a chuckle of his own before distracting you once more with a series of kisses that left you gasping.

Your hands, initially balled into fists in your lap, went to rest against his chest and you didn’t realize that you were gripping onto his school shirt until you parted for air. Only were you aware of your compromising position, of the hard ridges of the young man’s thighs, of the firmness of his chest against your palms, of the way he seemed to be so much bigger than you even though he was a lean athlete, meant to be light and as speedy as the wind. 

Breaths coming out ragged, you tried to slow the beating of your heart. Though it seemed to be quite the challenge, given how lovingly, how intense, Sunwoo seemed to be in making love to your neck, nibbling on your pulse point and causing a soft whimper to fall from your lips. 

A whistle blew in the distance.

The soccer team. They’d be crawling up the hill any minute now.

“Sunwoo,” you breathed out, eyes hazy with mixed feelings of desire and embarrassment. You feebly tried pushing against his chest, to no avail. He merely groaned, head tilting upwards to catch your mouth into another kiss. 

“Sunwoo,” you groaned against his lips. But he held on for dear life, one hand clasping the back of your neck, tangled into your locks. The other around your waist, pressing you as close as he could possibly get you to be. 

“Just one more,” he mumbled in-between kisses, hooded eyes fluttering closed and head slanting to kiss you a little deeper, a little harder.

Your body was on fire. You weren’t used to this intimacy, nor all of the affection he was raining down upon you. 

But it felt good. It felt amazing. Eye-opening.

He finally relented after what seemed like an eternity and you quickly made a move to scramble out of his lap. Though he wasn’t having any of that, grip made of iron as he held on. You looked up to snap at him to let go before everyone saw but was faced with his pout instead, which was enough to bring down your defences. 

“Please,” his pout deepened and your heart practically vaulted through your chest. Cute. Cute. Cute. Stop. Burying his face into your neck, he whispered, “I just wanna hold you.” 

So he did. And thank god the team had decided to take a different route so that you would avoid their imploring, questioning gazes. Though Sunwoo admitted that he’d already known they would go up from the other side of the gymnasium, considering they did that every other week to train their stamina in the process. 

That earned him a light smack on the side of his head, making him whine, “What did I do to deserve this Y/N?” 

“You knew!” You wanted to throw him a glare, but it was impossible when you were busy fighting the grin spreading across your face. 

He grinned back at you, that crooked smile that always resulted in a burst of butterflies roaring through your abdomen. Just like now. 

“So, since you have a drawing of me that you keep staring at every day--” his words died into laughter when you tried smacking his arm, proceeding to cage your wrist with his hand before kissing your knuckles. You squirmed as he continued, “does that mean I can get a picture of you?”

You let out a noise of protest, “that depends,” you mumbled, unconsciously finding refuge in his neck.

Chuckling, Sunwoo grasped your chin lightly to pull you back so that his brown orbs gazed right into yours with a gentleness that had you weak at the knees, “on what?” 

“On what I get in return.” 

“What if I say I’ll take you on a date?” he said wickedly. 

You couldn’t help your smile. 

“I guess that could work.” 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

He Was a Sk8r Boi

Happiest of Birthdays and best wishes to one of my most beloved and darling friends on this earth, the fantastical @hailhailsatan ! May your sass never cease.

modern au - college student Jaskier - the Kaer Morons are all skater punks

tw: mild injury (scraped arm)

---

Jaskier took a seat on what remained of a crumbling stone bench and pulled his black-and-white composition notebook onto his lap, opening it to the closest blank page. He tugged his favorite pen out from its place of honor behind his ear and waited for inspiration to strike.

And waited.

And waited.

After half an hour of staring into space and getting absolutely nothing written, the frustrated college student stood from his seat and jammed his headphones into his ears. If nature wasn’t going to help finish this stupid poetry assignment then maybe he could find a person or two to observe for inspiration instead. Glancing around the otherwise empty benches and pathways of the public park, Jaskier sighed and shook his head. “Fuck this, I’ll try the other side.”

He pulled his MP3 player out from the pocket of his light autumn jacket and painstakingly scrolled through every song available until finally giving up and pressing the “Shuffle” button. As a heavy, angry guitar riff began to filter through his headphones and lighten the load of the world from his shoulders, Jaskier found himself approaching a half-hearted attempt at a skatepark.

There was one cement half-pipe to his left and a few rails and quarter-pipes scattered around the vicinity, bolted into the ground in a seemingly random pattern. Several oddly shaped cement bowls were sunk into the earth, obviously made to work like ramps but with a larger and less predictable surface area.

There were only three skaters enjoying the park on this particularly grey afternoon, zipping back and forth from one piece of equipment to the next like emo hummingbirds. Jaskier took out his headphones again as he made his way to a nearby bench - wood this time - and casually sat himself down. The skater dudes were yelling back and forth to each other as they swanned over and around the equipment on their boards, mostly insults from what the student could hear.

The loudest of the three had springy orange hair that he wore pulled back into a small, messy half-bun at the top of his head. The rest fell down against the back of his neck in an equally messy sheet, reaching nearly all the way to his shoulders but not quite touching them. He was wearing a bright red t-shirt with a catchphrase that Jaskier couldn’t read and plain denim jeans.

“What the fuck are you doing, Eskel?” he laughed, pointing to the tallest of the group and pulling a face.

“Shut up, Bert,” the brunette shouted back at the redhead, doing a quick kick-flip over the far end of a metal railing. “You can’t skate for shit.”

“I’m better than you!”

The third member of their little gang was the quietest so far and, in Jaskier’s personal opinion, also the prettiest. He had a mass of long white hair that fell all the way to the bottom of his shoulder blades, pointed and stiff in a way that meant it had been straightened and sprayed into submission. The silvery strands were being held out of the stranger’s eyes by a baggy black beanie and Jaskier desperately wanted to know whether or not that hair color was natural (though he heavily suspected that it was not).

The white-haired guy was also the most talented of the three gathered skaters, flying from one end of the half-pipe to the other and landing a few flips in between as if risking his life was as simple as breathing. He wore no knee pads over his ripped black skinny jeans and no elbow pads either; Jaskier noted with a little zing through his nervous system that the skater’s arms were muscled like a Greek statue’s and equally pale.

He was fucking hot.

“Geralt, do a three-sixty!” the redhead jeered, chucking something at the pretty one.

“I can’t land one yet and you know it,” the white-haired guy, Geralt apparently, replied. His voice was low and sonorous and Jaskier nearly fell off his bench in surprise. The student hadn’t realized how far forward he had been leaning in order to listen to their conversation and he scooted back again with a self-conscious little blush. In the distance, Geralt continued. “Why don’t you get up here and try it yourself, asshole?”

“I just fucking might, White Wolf,” Lambert huffed, turning his board back toward the half-pipe and picking up speed. The dark-haired one, Eskel, caught Jaskier’s eye from across the park; the student blushed an even darker shade of red and looked down at his lap to avoid any sort of confrontation. If any of these guys wanted to start a fight with him, Jaskier would surely lose.

By the time the anxious student worked up the nerve to look at them again, Lambert had already climbed to the top of the half-pipe and taken a defensive stance. His eyebrows were furrowed and his arms were crossed over his chest in a projection of almost childish anger. As Geralt came up the cement incline, Lambert lashed out with his foot and kicked the other man’s board out from beneath his feet.

Eskel gave a wordless cry of alarm.

Geralt wavered in the air for a moment - cartoonishly, Jaskier thought, almost like Wile E. Coyote - before plunging to the pavement and rolling limply down the inside of the half-pipe. Eskel chucked a rock at the redhead and started screaming, “Fuck off, dude! You could have cracked his fucking skull! You could have killed Geralt, you absolute cock-toboggan!”

“Fuck! Shit, I didn't-,” Lambert fell on his butt and slid down the ramp to Geralt’s side, kneeling over him with concern written all over his face. “Are you alright, man!?”

Jaskier couldn’t hear if Geralt replied or not, but he suddenly remembered the first-aid kit sitting right there in his bag. Jaskier was a total klutz and tried to keep a handful of bandages and a tube of disinfectant on him at all times just in case he ever needed them. Thank goodness they would be able to come in handy, and for a far nobler purpose than patching up yet another one of his table-smacked knees.

Without thinking any further ahead, Jaskier grabbed the strap of his bag and took off running towards the site of the accident.

“Hey!” he shouted, coming to a stop a few feet away. “I have - uh, I have a first-aid kit if you want to use it.”

“Cool, thanks,” Eskel said, glancing over his shoulder with a curt nod. “Come on over, we don’t bite. Well, I don’t.”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” Lambert apologized to Geralt once again. When Jaskier glanced over at him, the redhead looked legitimately upset and guilty. Geralt looked up at the newcomer from the pavement, his silver hair spread out around him in mimicry of a halo - the black beanie was lying a few feet away, forgotten or ignored.

Up close like this, the stranger stole the breath out of Jaskier’s very lungs. The man's eyes… His fucking eyes were a gorgeous molten gold in the late afternoon sun, sparking and shining like gemstones. Holding Geralt’s gaze made Jaskier feel as if his very soul was catching fire.

“Do you need a band-aid?” Jaskier asked rather stupidly, holding out the little cardboard box. Geralt nodded stoically.

“I think I scraped my arm.”

“Let me help,” Jaskier said. The student knelt beside Geralt and set the box of band-aids down. He flung open the kit and retrieved some ‘pain-free’ disinfectant, then returned to the box of bandages in search of one without a Disney princess on it. “Do you guys always do this without wearing any protective gear?”

“I’ve got a helmet,” Geralt said. He pointed towards three mismatched backpacks piled near the edge of the pavement; a bright red helmet with several semi-familiar logos stuck to it sat atop one of them.

“It’s very useful over there, keeping your backpack from cracking its skull open,” Jaskier chastised lightly, trying to keep his nerves in check. He was feeling oddly protective of a guy he’d never even met before and it was very fucking weird.

“Sorry,” Geralt shrugged. He was still laying on his back, his topaz eyes flickering between Jaskier’s hands and face. The student applied a thin layer of medical cream to the shallow scrape with shaking fingers and then wiped the remaining goo on his shirt, uncaring of the damage it may have done. He bandaged the minor wound quickly and leaned back, glancing between Lambert and Eskel as if just noticing their presence on either side of Geralt's head.

“Thanks,” Eskel grinned, holding out his hand. “I’m Eskel.”

“Jaskier,” Jaskier replied shyly. “And the loud one is Lambert, right?”

Geralt chuckled from his place on the ground and Jaskier’s heart seized painfully in his chest. What a laugh, ye gods. “Yeah, that’s Lambert. I’m Geralt.”

“Nice to meet you, Geralt,” Jaskier could practically taste the name as it melted across his tongue. “Well, not the nicest way to meet you, but I’m glad I met you all the same. Anyway.”

He stood up with a little grimace and took a step back.

“Where are you going?” Eskel asked. “You came to Geralt’s rescue so I think that means he owes you like, at least an ice cream, or something.”

“Yeah,” Lambert piped up. He smirked at the man on the ground and then turned back to Jaskier, mischief clear in his expression, “Let him take you to get an ice cream.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Jaskier squeaked. Then he realized he’d sounded rude and held up his hands as if offering surrender (surrender for what, he wasn't exactly sure), “Not that I wouldn’t like to hang out with you more but I’ve got an assignment due and I’m sure you’re very busy doing skater things and I-”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Geralt asked, finally sitting up. He straightened his arms out behind him and rested there, reclined comfortable, a god in his temple.

Jaskier shot the older man a half-annoyed look, beating back his anxiety with a stick. “I listen to Avril Lavigne. I know not to underestimate pretty skater punks.”

“Pretty?” Geralt raised his eyebrows. Jaskier hid his face behind his hands and turned on his heel.

“Anyway, nice meeting you!” Jaskier shouted, hoping they could hear even if he was facing the opposite direction. He took off toward the edge of the park at a brisk walk, verging on a jog. He needed to go hide behind a tree and cry. What the fuck!? He was terrible at flirting and now he’d gone and ruined his chances with the guy he’d… literally just met. Chill out, he told himself - just before a strong hand clamped down over his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks.

“So not ice cream,” Geralt said. Jaskier slowly turned back to face the mostly-stranger. His lip was caught fast between his teeth and Geralt lifted one large hand to gently thumb it free again. “Maybe a boarding lesson, instead? It would give me an excuse to put my hands around your waist and you could put yours on my shoulders.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Jaskier asked. He fluttered his eyelashes and took half a step into Geralt's space.

The broad-shouldered punk smiled down at the Little Mermaid band-aid on his arm and then turned that smile to Jaskier. “Yeah.”

[loserchildhotpants]

Another destiel prompt from Twitter; say they’re dancing together, still trying to hide their feelings for each other, and because of that, avoiding eye-contract, the best the can, to ensure that the other character doesn’t notice how attracted they are to them (from this prompt list)

“Did you just turn her down?” Dean asks incredulously; Sam is busy sipping champagne next to him, but his eyebrows convey that he would also like clarification on whatever social interaction it is that Cas just had.

They’re all dressed to the nines, stuck at a posh wedding service until they solve this rogue Cupid case; it’s a low-risk case, but a case is a case, and they’ve got it well in hand.

Dean’s not been this dressed up since Bela stuffed him in a monkey suit, and he’d wager the same applies to Sam, but this is certainly the first either of them have ever seen Cas in anything other than his cubicle-life uniform.

Cas’ suit is sharp, pressed, striking, and he’s wearing a cerulean blue tie that has everyone meeting eyes with him coming up short. Predictably, he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, so he mostly apologizes awkwardly for those he seems to startle and thanks the handsy old ladies that liken him to long dead husbands.

With two flutes of bubbly meant for Dean and himself, Cas crossed the great hall, seemed to be stopped by a gorgeous young woman with dark hair, in a low-cut dress and a very promising smirk, but whatever exchange happened left her dejected.

“She asked me to dance,” Castiel tells Dean, passing him his flute, “I regretfully informed her that I don’t know how.”

“You can’t manage a simple little box-step for that hot piece? She was practically drooling, lookin’ at you!”

“We’re on a case,” he says, as though it’s a valid excuse.

“Nuh-unh,” Dean answers, shaking his head and putting his drink down on a nearby table, “That’s - that was a travesty, what I just witnessed. Babes are fuckin’ wasted on you, Cas.”

“She’s a fully grown woman, Dean,” Castiel corrects him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he brings his glass to his lips, “Besides, I’d only be wasting her time. I cannot dance, and I’d not be amenable to having relations with her, so it’s better I -”

“Not amenable?” Dean chokes out disbelievingly, “Who the fuck are you holdin’ out for?! Angelina Jolie?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“It’s a shame you don’t know how to dance, though,” Sam interjects, seeing by the vein throbbing in his forehead that Dean is about to start shouting about beautiful women and Cas’ ineptitudes, “I could teach you, if you want.”

Castiel slants his mouth at Sam, and Sam smiles gently back at him, “I know it doesn’t sound like fun, but, honestly? It’s a good skill to have, and worst case scenario is that you brighten someone’s evening.”

Appealing to his kind nature is the right call; Cas can’t argue that point, so he puts his champagne down and walks up to Sam.

“Very well. Where do we begin?”

“Oh - we’ll probably wanna go somewhere more private, so we can move a little more freely.”

At Sam’s behest, Dean and Cas follow him across the great hall, out onto a spacious balcony, out of the way of most everyone. Double glass doors lead out to it, and flowers line stone railing; no moon is visible from where they are in the mansion, but the sky is bright with stars, and that’s light enough.

While Sam does a fine job of teaching Castiel, and Castiel is a very quick study, they struggle with their height difference while Dean tells them about their height difference, unhelpfully and repeatedly.

Eventually, Sam turns to Dean, and says, “you should step in, man.”

“What? I’m not short,” Dean pouts grumpily.

“No, but you’re at least shorter than me - it’ll make leading a little easier for him.”

Rolling his eyes as though he’s actually put out, Dean peels himself from the French window he’d been leaning on, and takes Sam’s place.

Even and paced, Castiel and Dean take a few turns around the balcony, and Sam is impressed, informing Castiel that it took him a full week of practice to stop tripping over his own feet.

“To be fair, you were still growing into them at the time” Dean jokes.

In a rare moment of familial levity between them, Sam laughs, and Dean smiles at him - all of that makes Cas smile too, and then Sam’s phone rings.

“Oh - it’s Natalie,” Sam lets them know, “She wants eyes on the dance floor for a minute - I’ll take care of it - Cas, you’re doing great, don’t stop practicing!”

To both Dean and Cas’ surprise and humor, Sam appears genuinely bereft to leave the lesson. They both seem inclined to respect Sam’s wishes, though, so they take another turn.

“You gotta stop glancing down,” Dean commands.

Flashing his eyes back up at Dean, Cas mutters, “it’s reflexive. I apologize.”

“Nah, it’s fine, man. You’ve got it,” Dean assures him, “Now that you know how to, you gonna ask that girl to dance?”

“Perhaps,” Cas tries to shrug, determinedly keeping his eyes up, “I feel certain she has moved on in her pursuits, but if I pass her again, I will offer a dance.”

“You know how?”

“Now, yes.”

“No, I mean do you know how to ask a girl to dance?”

“Is there a particular ritual involved?”

Exhaling a laugh, Dean brings them to a stop, and explains, “okay - I’m gonna show you how it’s done, alright? Then I’ll lead.”

“Understood,” Cas tells him with serious conviction, studious and militant.

Dean steps back and away, and they wait for the band’s dreamy rendition of The Way You Look Tonight to end before proceeding.

As The Book of Love begins, the live orchestra swells from inside the hall, Dean bows just a little at the waist, with his right arm crossing his chest, but his head up, and he inquires politely, “Castiel, may I have this dance?”

Tilting his head curiously, Castiel needlessly replies, “yes, Dean, of course.”

Smiling his most winning smile, Dean straightens up, offers his hand, and nods approvingly when Castiel all but glides into step with him.

He keeps the tempo slow, but incorporates making circles, turning them ‘round and ‘round the stone and marble balcony, up and down it’s length; Cas follows him easily, trusting Dean’s direction, and always operating on a similar wavelength - Dean thinks that maybe they dance together well because they fight together well.

“This is nice, Dean,” Castiel remarks softly.

A dusting of rosiness rises up in Dean’s face; he pulls Cas a little closer to better obscure his face from scrutiny, clears his throat and makes some noncommittal noise that could be agreement or indifference.

“You’re the one who taught Sam to waltz,” Castiel surmises conversationally.

“Yeah,” Dean answers.

“How is it that you came to learn it?”

“Eh, you’d be surprised what you learn on the job,” Dean replies easily, pulling away enough to spin Cas, and then move close in again.

“... you just spun me.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Dean jokes, smirking proudly down at Cas; “Don’t worry, when you get to be a seasoned pro like me, you can snazzy up your waltz too. Maybe next you can learn to salsa or tango.”

In a moment of silence between them, Dean follows Cas’ eyes to their clasped hands; Dean’s not sure what Cas is seeing, but whatever it is, it’s making Dean nervous.

“See now what that lovely lady wanted? Feel bad yet?” Dean prompts.

Castiel’s electric eyes refocus on him, startling him with their intensity just as they had the wedding guests that were strangers to Cas, “I do understand now. However, perhaps it’s the soldier in me, but I find I much prefer following than leading.”

“Ah, that’s just ‘cause I’m a great lead,” Dean teases playfully.

“Yes, you are,” Castiel reinforces, eyes flickering between Dean’s, “You do know I would follow your lead anywhere, don’t you?”

“Christ, Cas,” Dean swears, trying to politely move his too-warm face out of view.

“Really, Dean,” Castiel adds, squeezing Dean’s hand where they’re clasped; when that doesn’t work immediately, he takes advantage of a circling turn to near their faces - their noses almost bump, and Dean has no choice but to look into Castiel’s eyes, “I want you to know. You do know, don’t you?”

Swallowing roughly, feeling possibly feverish, Dean down, then away, “... you gotta stop saying shit like that, Cas.”

“Why?” he wonders, “It’s only the truth.”

Clearing his throat again - a nervous tic he didn’t realize he had until right then - he mumbles back, “yeah, well… I talk big, but I’m flyin’ blind, so maybe don’t follow me everywhere.”

“I’m a soldier, Dean. A Commander, actually. When I delivered you to the convent where Sam and Ruby were against the wishes of Heaven, I chose you. I pledged my allegiance to an Earthly King over an absent God, and I knew what I was doing when I did,” their steps slow down as Dean takes that in, “All I knew was that… I had faith in you.”

At that, Dean stops moving altogether, his hand slides down from Cas’ shoulder blade to the cinch of his waist, and he allows their joined hands to wilt a bit lower, but he doesn’t let go.

It seems then that Cas is the one having trouble keeping Dean’s gaze.

He looks to some faraway place over Dean’s shoulder, and rasps, “I still do. So, yes, Dean. I will follow you everywhere you lead, for however long you allow me to. I don’t mind flying blind if I’m flying with you.”

“Cas…”

With difficulty, Castiel looks back into Dean’s eyes, and Dean feels his heart thud in his ears. He wonders to himself if Cas can hear it, or feel it, but all Cas does is stare intently back at him, maybe waiting for Dean to confirm or deny something.

“Guys!”

Dean practically jumps away from Cas, frightened as if he’s been caught doing something untoward, but Cas is unbothered.

“I think I found our guy,” Sam announces, none the wiser, “And I think he brought a friend.”

“Yeah,” Dean affirms gruffly, “Got it.”

Sam turns back around first, through the glass doors, back into the busy hall, and Dean starts after him, a hand already twitching toward his holster, sparing Cas a look from over his shoulder.

The Angel is standing there alone, unmistakably ethereal with a backdrop of twinkling stars and lazy fireflies illuminating him; he’s examining his hand as though Dean may have left a mark or a message on him somehow.

“You comin’, Swayze?”

Cas’ eyes snap to attention again, and his forehead wrinkles, “... I don’t understand that reference,” but he follows after Dean anyway.

He doesn’t seem to notice how Dean clenches and unclenches his corresponding hand, but Dean wouldn’t be able to explain it if he did.

[cherry-lipbalm]

survival of the fittest. spencer reid.

5.3k words.

masterlist

“ If they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them. ”

three hours earlier

Y/N was ready to go home - more than ready. They'd gotten back from a hard hitting case in Boston, touching down by early afternoon meant they were expected back at the HQ, which henceforth meant piles of paperwork were in their future. Y/N knew her complaining would only go reprimanded by Hotch, so she kept to herself in her cubicle, shoved into the corner of the bullpen, and desperate to get the documents out of the way.

Over the scribbling of her pen, she heard the mutterings of Morgan and Reid's conversation beside the latter's desk not too far away from her own. She sighed in defeat, because she knew she wouldn't be able to resist joining them, especially when the opportunity arose to take the mickey at Spencer.

When it did inevitably arise, she pushed herself away from her desk and allowed the wheels on her chair to escort her over to the men. At the sound of jagged rolling, Morgan stepped aside to make space for her to insert herself, a snide smug painted on his face.

"Did I just hear the word 'Spencer' and 'girl' in the same sentence?" She asked, leaning on the armrest to shove her shit-eating grin into Spencer's face; he only rolled his eyes and gave an insincere 'ha ha'.

"Your ears did not deceive you, baby girl," Morgan said, receiving a smack on the arm from Spencer. The warning stare he gave him almost made Y/N stop pestering him. Only almost.

"Oh my! Spill the beans, who is she?" Y/N gushed, steering her chair even closer to the Doctor while Morgan watched on amusedly.

"There isn't a she," he grumbled, head bowed to his paperwork in the hopes that if he ignored the Agents they'd just go away.

"...a he?"

"No!" Spencer exclaimed, snapping his head upwards.

"Hey! It's no skin off my nose, Spence."

He groaned, then turned back to his work and allowed for Morgan and Y/N to exchange a glance as they both tried to hold back snickers at their friend's flustered existence.

She stayed huddled around with them for a few more minutes, but as soon as she saw the clock hit 5, she jumped from her chair and kicked it back to her desk. Announcing that she was off, she began to gather and pack her things. While she did so, she heard Spencer make the same announcement.

"You're off earlier than usual," she called back, "let me guess... Doctor Who marathon?"

Spencer's smile gave him away; Y/N chuckled and draped her coat over her shoulders, standing by his desk while he adjusted his satchel.

"Busy man," she commented, then proceeded to listen to whatever sci-fi related ramble Spencer was emitting, interjecting with exclamations of intrigue or surprise whenever she deemed suitable (they were all timed guesses, but she didn't waver once).

"...Christopher Eccleston is actually the second favourite, despite the fact that a lot of people skip his season, but he has a 52% popularity–"

"Wait, why do people skip his season?"

"Oh, because he preceded David Tennant. He's the favourite, with a 69% popularity."

"Ha, 69," Y/N muttered under her breath with a crude smirk. Spencer only gave a restrained smile and raised his eyebrows. The two fell into a silence, except from a 'thank you' Y/N said softly when Spencer opened the door for her.

The elevator button illuminated under her touch, and they stood in front of the steel doors, awaiting their opening. Y/N tapped her foot senselessly, and Spencer rolled on the balls of his heels.

In amidst the silence, Y/N looked up to Spencer and they exchanged a warm smile. The beep of the elevator distracted them, and after stepping aside to let people out, they ambled in and finally relaxed when the doors closed on them again.

"Today was relentless," Y/N sighed, checking her watch.

"Have any plans?" Spencer asked, out of courtesy.

"Well, I have to head to the repair store to pick up my phone, but after that there's leftover Chinese food in the fridge with my name written all over it," she chuckled.

"What happened? To your phone?"

"Morgan happened," was all she said. Spencer joined in on her judgement even though he didn't know the story, he did know that 'Derek Morgan' was simply a reason in itself that didn't warrant an explanation. Then, they lulled in the return of silence.

It wasn't until the elevator jerked and came to a sudden stop that the two spoke again.

"That's not right," Spencer muttered, and he immediately began to jab at the ground floor button before Y/N smacked his hands away, because she was already deep in a panic, so it was even worse when the next astounding jerk hit. She screamed when they were thrown off balance, and hoped she hadn't got a concussion from where she collided with the back wall upon the motion.

"What the hell?" She panted. They came to a still, but it made her even more nervous because she knew they hadn't been in there long enough to reach their floor. That, and the fact that they had just ripped through the air at about a hundred miles per hour.

Spencer's eyes furrowed, and he licked his lips in the way he did when he was focused on something. Judging by the way he assessed the doors, Y/N thought he was about to pull some thwarted stunt, or more likely reel off some facts about steel.

"I think something's wrong," he mumbled.

"No shit, Sherlock,"

"Ah, elementary my dear Watson," Spencer replied so quickly that Y/N was almost inclined to believe it made any sense.

"Did you know that Sherlock Holmes never actually said that? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle never wrote those words, they were only adapted into the movies years later-"

"Oh my god, Spencer, are we stuck in this elevator?" Y/N shrieked, her knuckles whitening under her tight clutch of the hand rails on the wall: half from fear and the other from frustration.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I think so."

Upon Spencer's bluntness, she stepped forward, desperate for any attempt of an escape plan, she began pressing the ground floor button repeatedly; when that didn't work, she resorted to aimlessly smashing all the buttons on offer. 

"That's– that's really not gonna do anything," Spencer said in the background.

"Do you have a better idea?" She snapped, turning to him with a glare before resuming her actions.

"Try the - try that one!" He pointed to the red button with an alarm bell engraved on it, and Y/N felt stupid under his stare for not noticing it before. She pressed it, and the ringing noise that emitted from it seemed to do nothing but that: ring. She was certain someone was supposed to come to their aid through a speaker, so she pushed it continuously, but derived nothing further. At least she gained some comfort in the panic of Spencer's voice that told her he was shitting himself as much as she was.

"It's not doing anything!" She cried, and when he leaned over her and pressed it too, she bit her tongue and raised her eyebrows to tell him 'see?', infuriated at the fact that he thought she could be somehow pushing a button wrong. But, then again, she'd have been even more angry if he'd done it and it had worked.

When it didn't, she alternated to the next best thing.

"Help!" She yelled, slamming her palms against the doors. She didn't know what floor they'd been wedged at (or even if they were just floating in some space between levels), but someone had to hear them; they were bound to...right?

Spencer seemed to think so at least, because he was joining her in pounding his fists on the steel. Sooner rather than later, the harsh echo made Y/N's ears ring, so she stopped and took a step back.

"Well, this is great," she sighed, slumping in a lean on the wall as she rubbed her temples.

"I'm gonna miss Doctor Who," Spencer whined, pouting.

Y/N just rolled her eyes at him and told him to call somebody. She was sure she'd seen JJ just before they left, still huddled in her office; hopefully she'd be able to call maintenance and they could be released from this death trap of a machine.

"I can't, my phone died. Use yours."

"What?"

"My phone's flat, can you use yours?"

Y/N just stared at him. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt because the adrenaline rush of panic can make memories a bit hazy, but her skin was flustering under the rage she was feeling, her forehead was already beginning to perspire and the walls were so small and entrapping and - is it hot in here or just her?

"My phones at the store," she reminded him through gritted teeth, and watched his composure fall in both comprehension and defeat.

"Great," he remarked.

"Oh, like it's my fault?"

"Well, it's not mine."

"And it's not mine either so don't talk to me like that!"

It was only a short exchange, but it made Y/N's blood boil; if they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them.

Spencer gulped, and Y/N was sure that had he the opportunity to he would be storming away right about now, but unfortunately for the both of them that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. The wonderful reality of this hitting Y/N, she kicked off her shoes and planted her bum down on the floor.

Spencer looked at her curiously while she did this, then quirked his lip and proceeded to do the same. He used his satchel as a pillow to support his head, and sighed loudly (it seemed deliberate just how exaggerative it was).

"No one is ever gonna find us here," Y/N said.

"We're not dying–"

"You don't know that. We could be suffocating as we speak-"

"Suffocation is impossible in elevators: the cars are designed not to be airtight and there's vents that allow air to move in and out," he pointed up at the grated opening above Y/N's head. At being proved wrong by Spencer and his big, unfathomable brain, she crossed her arms much like a stroppy toddler and even pouted her lip.

"We could still die," she mumbled.

"The statistics of that are still very unlikely; in fact, the people that die the most in elevators are elevator technicians themselves. An average of 26 people die in elevators every year in America–"

"And you're ready to be one of those 26?"

"We're not going to be. We won't suffocate, and it hasn't fallen."

"Yet," she said. "Plus, theres other ways to die. Like, I don't know, murder perhaps?" She said with a potent glare in his direction. He gave her a blank stare partnered with a sarcastic smile, one that only made Y/N more devoted to her other-ways-to-die initiative.

"We just have to wait a while... Did you know the longest duration of time someone was stuck in an elevator was 41 hours? Nicholas White. And all he had to eat was a packet of Rolaids."

More than accustomed to tuning out Spencer's rambles, Y/N barely heard what he was talking about, in a dazed trance where she was focused intently on where the paint didn't match the wall, she was so invested she almost missed what he said.

"Wait... oh my god. Do you have food?" She asked, sitting up from her subsided posture.

Spencer's face softened in dread, which didn't bring any aid nor optimism to their situation.

She watched him sit forward, shoving hands into the pockets of his blazer, coat, trousers and pulling out nothing but a few crumpled pieces of paper. Y/N matched him with an empty gum wrapper and a Walmart receipt displaying a concerning amount of pregnancy tests she had purchased last month.

"Do I even wanna know?" Spencer asked, chucking it back to the ground with a grimace as if it was riddled with germs (it probably was but, still).

"All you need to know is that I'm not pregnant," Y/N scoffed, almost amicably, but her eyebrows creased and she was back to a fuck everything this sucks expression in less than a second.

"Well we can't survive on this."

"You really haven't brought any food?" Spencer pestered.

"No, I had Chinese leftovers on the cards for tonight. And I don't see you offering anything up; what's your excuse?"

Spencer only groaned, again. He kicked his feet out and let his head fall onto the wall back in the same place. He ran a hand through his hair, and the scarce gel he had used to keep it in place disassembled around his face in random strays of curls. The sight of him relaxing like he was settling in for the night didn't appease Y/N one bit.

While Spencer closed his eyes, Y/N got to her feet and decided slamming on the door again was a better pastime. Spencer, however, did not agree.

At the banging, Spencer's eyes shot open and his body shook in alarm. His eyes darted around the space frantically until they landed on Y/N's figure aligned with the doors on which she was unleashing hell. If yelling could open an elevator, they'd have been out in a jiffy.

"I think we've established that doesn't help," Spencer said.

"Then you help!" She shouted, continuing the thrashing of metal.

"How?"

"I don't know!" Her shriek echoed, and she yet again gave up on the violence. "Use that big brain of yours and find us a way out of here."

"The 7 steps to surviving being stuck on an elevator are fundamental; we've already done them. They include pressing the open button, the alarm and call button. We still have our light source, otherwise finding one would have been number two. We've tried yelled for help. The only one we haven't done is stayed calm," he said with a heavy emphasis in her direction. Currently, she was the epitome of panic.

Y/N furrowed a brow at him, "That's six. What's number seven?"

She watched Spencer inhale deeply before he told her, "wait it out."

Y/N felt her heart sink. The possibility of her going insane while being confined within this space was only increasing as the minutes passed by. And with that, she felt like oxygen was depleting alongside it. She took a big breath to remind her that there was still air to breathe, and Spencer caught sight of it.

"Are... are you claustrophobic?"

"No!"

His eyes widened at her outburst, and he even raised his hands in defence should the situation present itself, which was looking pretty inevitable.

"I'm not, I just... get a little... panicked, that's all."

"You don't say," he murmured, and —with a grunt— got to his feet again. He treaded towards the damned doors. Y/N thought he was going to bang on them again, and she took front-row seat on the floor to watch the imprudent, futile attempt. Instead, Spencer's long arachnid-like fingers dug into the crevice of the doors and he tried to pry them open. This was an even vainer approach; his strained groans showed such.

"It's no use. We're gonna be here for a while. I can offer you a juice carton," Y/N spoke, making Spencer turn attentively at the word 'juice'. He looked down to where she was rummaging through her bag and depositing a few random objects while she did so. In a very Mary Poppins like fashion, the entities incessantly kept coming and coming, gathering in remarkable piles on the floor. There seemed to be more things than space available, but then they were trapped in an elevator and space was one of the many luxuries the agents realised they had taken for granted. Despite his astonishment at the growing belongings, there seemed to be a concerning lack of food present.

She was, however, holding out an apple juice carton, and Spencer figured that you get what you're given. So while her attention focused to the remnants of whatever was in her bag, Spencer punctured the carton with the straw, and began sucking. He made a squeal of surprise and relief when he saw her pull out a feebly wrapped, half eaten bag of crackers.

"Oh, I forgot about these," she announced, with the first smile Spencer had seen from her since the elevator had broken down.

He leaned down to grab the bag, dusting off the sprayed crumbs and then took a seat to Y/N's left. He left space between them for chivalrous purposes and also to allow space for the bag of crackers to sit.

They made attempts to ration the snack, but it soon developed into an every man for himself situation when Y/N noticed Spencer had started to take two at once.

She wasn't even hungry anymore, but the hunger for beating Spencer at something prevailed and disregarded any logical thought that they ought to save food, so she dove in again for another cracker. Unluckily, she did so at the same time as Spencer, so it made for an awkward encounter when their hands collided but neither was willing to give up their slot in the bag.

Eventually (because they didn't want the other to notice their blush), they gave up when time ran too long and reached a compromise with halving the cracker. Y/N gave Spencer the bigger half of her failed equal snap, but neither of them addressed it.

Neither of them addressed anything actually, for the next... god knows how long they were cooped up in there. They sat in a pleasant silence, free from any awkward glances or trepidations: it was both from the fact that they were in their own heads, and a serendipitous comfort in one another.

"I'm sorry you're going to miss your Doctor Who... thing," was what broke the silence.

"Oh, it's okay. I can just watch it on repeat tomorrow."

"Okay," Y/N laughed softly, and they floated into another quiet.

"I'm sorry you're stuck in an elevator."

"Ha! Me too."

"When we get out of here maybe we can go for Chinese food," Spencer suggested, craning his neck to look at her with a discreet smile.

"Sure," she agreed. "By the time we get out my food at home might have rotten anyway."

And then time after that just... passed. In Spencer's satchel he had an uncanny assortment of reading material to thrive on, and amid her odd collection of pretty much everything she had ever owned, Y/N found an old MP3 player and some earphones (only the left ear worked, but it was as good entertainment as she was going to get).

There comes a point, though, when one person can only listen to so much music from their teen years; Y/N's taste back then was... questionable, to say the least. And her earphone seemed to agree with her, because it gave out just when the unmistakable sound of an NSYNC song began.

"Ugh, just when it was getting good!" She complained, tugging the bud from her ear and throwing it onto the miscellaneous pile.

Spencer's head quirked to Y/N, but his eyes only followed after he had finished a sentence on his page. When he did, he saw her curiously leaning over his shoulder and squinting at the words.

"You can borrow it if you want," he said. "This is my third time reading it and I have others."

He gestured to his pile, which had evolved into a makeshift bookcase in the corner of the elevator. A few pages were torn, and the spines were so worn down that she could barely make out what the titles were. Not from a lack of TLC, but rather copious amounts of it; having been read over and over again. 

"No, it's okay. You continue, I'll just... meditate, or something."

"It's a good book," Spencer said, and he sounded like he was trying to persuade her, so she gave in and nodded. Readjusting her posture, she focused again on where the paint didn't meet the wall as she listened to the one thing she thought she wouldn't ever be able to stand: Spencer Reid's voice.

———

Which, to her and Reid's surprise, she found quite calming. Her hidden envy and not so hidden annoyance with his ability to reel off facts and wisdom like he was only recalling what he had for dinner hindered any fondness Y/N could associate with his voice. Until now, that is.

He was reading Strangers on a Train, supposedly his third favourite book, and they were reaching "the best bit" according to Spencer, but then every bit within the past forty five minutes since he'd started reading had been "the best bit", so Y/N wasn't sure.

But she's pretty calm, as calm as she can be stuck in an elevator, so she's actually thankful she has Spencer of all people beside her. She knew that if Morgan was in his place they'd have attempted murder at least a couple times by now; not to say that Y/N hadn't considered stabbing Spencer at all, but there's only so much damage a blunt pencil at the bottom of her bag could do.

So, she's calm. She's barely following the story because she only joined in halfway through, but she's grasped the basis of it because Spencer reads so eloquently and so well that he's practically painted the vividness of the narrative for her, even though he vouches it's down to Patricia Highsmith's words, which is true, but Spencer has a role in it too.

One thing Spencer recites makes Y/N wonder why she's never had him read to her before.

"People, feelings, everything! Double! Two people in each person. There's also a person exactly the opposite of you, like the unseen part of you, somewhere in the world, and he waits in ambush."

The story portrays an uncanny resemblance to the plots of the abundant crime scenes they analyse daily (Y/N wonders how Spencer comes home from work only to read about the same gory instances): the same mannerisms, behaviours and intricate understanding of criminal attitudes. It's accuracy is so astounding that Y/N asks if the author was ever a profiler of sorts.

Although it's selfish, because Y/N is not the real victim, she wished there was some way Highsmith's words could spring into real life and provide tainted rose coloured spectacles to which she could observe reality through. In some sick way, Y/N needed to see beauty in things like murder. She sometimes forgot that what they were doing had a purpose, and they tended to be the good guys. But there was no writing beautiful enough for Spencer to read and glorify the crimes with.

But even Y/N thinks Spencer's reading could help her see life through more of the silver lining rather than shrouded by the dark cloud that accompanied it.

The moment of rare serenity within Spencer's words is suspended, however, when he suddenly stops with no obvious justification. Y/N wonders if she's missed something profound within the story again so she goes to read over them on the page this time (because she's been rather entranced in Spencer's voice rather than the actual words), except when she looks up she sees a look of horror depicted on Spencer's face: one that doesn't register with her primarily because what's happening in the story is rather quite mundane compared to the dismay on his face. It's so poignant that she thinks something must be fatally wrong.

"What is it?" She asks, sitting up (and away because she thinks he may be about to vomit. But no, the real reason is even more horrific).

"I need to pee."

Y/N gasps; she hadn't even conjectured this predicament. It was a basic human necessity, how had she not anticipated this would happen? At first she thought, hey it's not that bad, better him than me— he can stand. Until she realises that there isn't really anywhere to stand.

"Oh no," she whispers, and he looks at her dauntingly. "You shouldn't have drank that apple juice."

"What was I supposed to do, bathe in it?" He scorns, and the two connect in an unwavering exchange eye contact with one another. Y/N dreads looking away in fear of what he'll do when she has her back turned.

So, like I said, Y/N was pretty calm, and I'd say Spencer was too; reading was a delight, and he found Y/N almost as endearing (almost). Life was bearable until Spencer needed to pee.

And it is here that they throw all peace out the window (if there was one) and give up on step number seven, and instead say hello to their old friend step number five: frantic yelling.

The energy pent up from lazing around reading and being read to is released fairly effectively. Y/N thinks she's never screamed so loud in her life, and Spencer knows he hasn't: entrapment and a full bladder can take one hell of a toll on a man.

And when the profusion of footsteps and the clanging of doors sounds, it is glorious. It is what they imagine heaven to sound like and more. Y/N collapses to the ground in relief, and Spencer throws his hands up in a prayer of thanks (even though he doesn't necessarily believe, but he is just so high on adrenaline and the discomfort of needing a wee that he'd just about believe anything now if it meant he could get to a bathroom).

"You guys okay in there?" A voice calls in from above them (Spencer genuinely thinks it's God) and Y/N has never been more happy to hear Derek Morgan.

"We're good! We're good! Oh my god, get us out of here please!"

"Right on it, baby. Bet y'all thought you were gonna die in there, huh?"

"Worse," Y/N called, "I thought I was gonna have to see Spencer's dick!"

Morgan laughed (music to their ears: any voice that wasn't each other's fit that criteria in that moment), and then told her he didn't want to know. Spencer and Y/N heard him holler behind him, and even more footsteps approached. Y/N couldn't see much from the slither between the doors that had just been pried open, since they had fallen a considerable distance from their floor. What she could see was only half of Morgan's face while he knelt on the ground.

"What happened?" Spencer asked, trying to gain some understanding for the reason behind missing his Doctor Who marathon.

"Power cut. The whole city's in blackout."

"You're kidding," Y/N replied, then turned. "A whole lotta people just risked that 1 in 26."

"Us included," Spencer said.

They recognised the voices of the maintenance team, and even a few uniforms of firefighters that worked on opening the doors with as much force as they could muster. Y/N looked again to the wall and paint mismatch, finding it too unsettling to look at their rescue attempt (that had way too much potential to go wrong) and even more unsettling to look at Spencer who was practically cradling his crotch.

"Ladies first!" A fireman called, and his hand reached into the space they had managed to (barely) increase, hoping that it wouldn't prove to be too difficult. From what Morgan told them, Spencer wouldn't have any trouble getting through it if they had halved the space ("the kid's a sherbet stick, I'm telling you").

"No, we've got a man here who's about to explode," Y/N joked, forgetting that the word 'explode' is a term one should use lightly within the headquarters of the FBI. She was blissfully reminded of this when the few surrounding agents brandished their guns. They almost didn't let them out until Spencer yelled that if he didn't get to a bathroom that instant he would give them a real reason to get their guns out.

So he was lifted out first, falling into Morgan's arms the chance he got to. He, somehow, managed to wait until he saw Y/N definitely leave the elevator before racing off down the hallway. Maintenance didn't even bother telling him that the doors have been locked because officially work finished three hours ago; they figured he had enough vigour in him to knock a wall down, never mind a door.

"Are you alright?" Morgan asked Y/N, lifting her up onto her own to feet. She's given a shock blanket, which is a pretty cool souvenir.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Miraculously. I don't know how you survived in there with him; I'd go insane."

"Eh," she chuckled, "he's not too bad."

———

After gathering their belongings, Y/N and Spencer make their way to leave work, again.

Morgan's nonchalant explanation of the blackout is in no way accurate to the genuine portrayal of, what Y/N can only describe as, a thriller movie come to life. She's looking out the wide scale windows in the bullpen room and can only see her reflection. It's creepy. Skittishly, she jumps when Spencer's image shows up behind her own. 

"Jesus, haven't I had enough near death experiences tonight?" She asks, holding a hand over her heart that she's sure just kickstarted (for various reasons).

"Sorry," he laughs. Placing his hands in his pockets, Y/N can sense he's more relaxed now that he's peed and no longer trapped within the restrictions of one metre.

They smile, then look out again to the darkened abyss before them. Y/N has never seen the city so quiet, yet she knows it's anything but. Once she steps outside it's bound to be hectic central.

"You normally get the subway, what are you gonna do?"

"Oh, I guess I'll just walk," Spencer shrugs.

"Absolutely not. I'll drive you home."

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that—"

"Spence, I just spent the last three hours in a confined space with you, I'm sure I can do twenty minutes more," she said. "Get your stuff ready, we can head off now."

She swung her bag over her shoulder and turned to walk out the bullpen, her heels reverberating throughout the room. Spencer watched her stride out by her reflection in the window, as to not be caught staring.

"If my car breaks down I'm gonna commit murder!"

Spencer laughed loudly, which made Y/N smile as she passed the kitchenette. When he continued to chuckle to himself he realised he wouldn't mind another three more hours stuck with her— at least he'd have an excuse if the car broke down. Maybe if he set off now he could get there in time to beat Y/N to her car and slash the tyres. He kindly reminded himself that that's illegal while he retrieved his satchel off the back of his chair and strutted out the office.

He wasn't too far behind Y/N when he suggested getting a Chinese on the way back.

"Is that a date?"

"If eating a Chinese takeaway in your car is your idea of a date," he sang.

"It very much is," Y/N grinned irrefutably.

He held the door open for her, she said thank you, and their giddy (dare I say lovesick) smiles dropped when they faced the elevator.

They've taken the stairs every day since.

fin.

[winter-fox-queen]

The Gentry’s Gifts: Max Phillips

Hello!  This is sort of a sequel to the Pero story, in that we saw Max and now we know what he was doing there and what choice he needed to make.

Warnings:  Cursing. Angst. I had the trick of having to put both blank canvas characters into one story, lol.  But I think I finessed it.  The “you” character is a blank slate, mostly gender neutral (mentions of wanting to have children could sway your perception one way or the other.). Not betad.  

This is my late #writerwednesday entry, thank you to @autumnleaves1991-blog​ and @clydesducktape​

Prologue:

Max Phillips slammed the hospital doors open, eager to get outside.  The sound beeping machines seemed to echo in his ears, making them hurt.  The smell of the place stuck to the back of his throat.

He tilted his head back in the afternoon sun, and breathed in, breathed out.  Tried to make himself calm down.  The Autumn are cleared his head as he jogged across the road.  

“Bad day?”  A voice asked.

Between two benches, almost hidden in the orange leaves, was a woman, instead of the ‘Nam veteran he usually passed a few moments talking to.  Her wiry steel colored hair was in a messy bun, covered by a turban.  She wore layers and layers even though it was a warm fall day.  “Where’s Raffi?”  Max asked.

“His daughter found him.  He decided to try living with her again.”

Max nodded.  “I hope it works out.  She wasn’t…apparently he isn’t easy to live with.  Bad dreams.”

“It’ll be better now.”  She said with such serene certainty that Max believed her.  He gave a little wave and walked away.  

He was back, twenty minutes later.  He put a chocolate shake in front of her, and a boxed fried chicken meal.  If he had known his folklore…which, sadly, he would become intimately familiar with, he would have understood her amusement.  Milk, bread…these were the Old offerings.  

Instead he shrugged, uncomfortable.  “What?  I figure everyone likes chocolate.  And I needed to eat, too.”  He sat next to her.

“How old are you?” She asked, though she knew.

He shrugged.  “Seventeen.”  He buttered a biscuit and took a huge bite.  He ate like he was starving.  “Why?”

“You seem to be awfully young to be hanging out with homeless people.  Where are your parents?”  

He shrugged again.  “My mom’s gone.  My father…”. He pointed towards the hospital doors with his chin.  “He’s dying.”  He hunched over the greasy box of chicken, potato strips and biscuits, eating like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

She sighed.

He looked at her, and she shook her head, and ate the food he brought her.  You are going to go off the rails Max Phillips.  You are going to go off the rails so badly and there’s nothing I can do about it.

The Present:

He entered the library through the basement, crept up the stairway.  The first floor was nearly empty…the university library kept late hours so that students could cram late into the night, but it was Thirsty Thursday and most of the students were elsewhere.  

He waited until you were focused on the book cart again, back towards the main floor, and got himself around the corner.  Then he pulled out his cell and dialed the front desk.

You now turned to go to the phone, at least he hoped so, as he disconnected the call and opened the side door to the area behind the circulation desk…

You were there, leaning against the cart, arms folded.  “Nice try, but I know your tricks, Mister Phillips.”

He grinned and advanced on her, step by step.

“No no…”. You point a finger at him.  “Stay back, this is a work place…”. You shoot a look towards the front desk as he backs you into your office.   “You are going to lose me my job.”  You hiss at him, and he bends a little, and kisses you breathless.

“Quit.  I’ll take care of you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders.  He’s cool to the touch.  It’s not disconcerting, not like it used to be.  “I wish I could.”

“Stop wishing...”

“If you say ‘and make your dreams a reality’, I’ll bite you.”  

Max looks offended.  “It’s a great slogan!  Do you know how many units of Losapill those golden words have sold?”

“I don’t understand how I can love someone so much and want to punch them so badly.”

He grins down at you.  “I can name several reasons why you love me.”

You smirk up at him.  “I’m sure you can…let me go, honey.  I’ve got to tell everyone we’re closing in half an hour.”  He listened to your voice on the loudspeaker, buttery and gentle and reassuring, and smiled a little. He could listen to that voice forever.  He could sell holy water to a priest, but so far all his skills had failed to net him the one thing he wanted.

He walks with you, as you check the restrooms (He even does the men’s for you on each floor, turning off the lights and blocking the doors open) and stands behind you, hands in his pockets, looking gloomy as you gently tell students to take their books to the front desk if they needed to check them out, that the library was closing shortly.

He waits, patiently, while you close up and lock the doors and usher the last people out.  

“I really wish you’d let me turn you,” he says when you are both in your car and on the way home.  Max often took the rooftops from his office to the university.  He was fast, and strong, and being fairly indestructible made him long for the thrill of possibly getting hurt, so he parkoured his way through the city once it got dark.  It was disgusting, how he looked so good after running and leaping five miles.

He shifts in his seat as you let the silence grow.  “Are you ignoring me?”

“Yes.”  You stop at a red light.  

“Why?  You said you’d think about it.  You’ve been thinking about it for a month.  Any idea where you are on it?  Like, from the scale of one to ten…”

You’ve been wanting to avoid this.  You’ve really been wanting to avoid this.  “Zero.”

She waits.  She waits for the torrent of salesmanship.  The spiel.  Why becoming a vampire and living forever is what she wants, she just doesn’t know it’s yet.  

For once, words fail him.  No quick comeback, no charming lines. “I can’t believe you don’t want to be with me.”  He says it so softly that you almost aren’t sure you heard it.  

You pull into the apartment parking lot, picks a spot quickly you can park and take his hands in yours.  “Max.  I do.  I really do.  But just…I don’t want to be a vampire.  I don’t want to give up the things I would have to give up?”

“Like what?  Death?  Getting old?  Getting sick?  Being weak?”  He pulls his hands away.  “I am offering you unlimited time.  Think of the things we can do together!  And you don’t have to kill…I haven't killed anyone in ages!”

“Sunlight.”  You say.  “Food.”  He makes a disgusted sound and looks out the window.  “A family.”  You take a deep breath.  “Children.”

He finally looks at you again.  “Then I won’t waste any more of your time.”  He raises his hand, and time goes wonky for a moment, and when things snap back into place, he’s gone.

You stay in your car a long time, hoping he’ll come back. Every step up to your apartment, you look around, hoping.  

It’s dawn, before you give up, dried out from crying, your mouth feels full of ashes and your heart full of regret.

The next day:

Max was not in a good mood the next day.  Usually he has a nice word for, if no one else, his PA, a miracle worker of a woman he’d always been fond of, but he just glared at her and slams his door shut.

Emails.  Reports.  He plowed into work.  

The door opened, and he ignored it, steadfast in the hope that whoever it was would go the fuck away.   I could always eat them.  I don’t have to be good anymore.

A cup thumped down on his desk.  He looked up.  He didn’t recognize the woman — her steel grey hair was neat, her suit elegant.  Her heart beat strangely, and he could tell she was not — quite—human.  Great.  Someone new from corporate?

“I thought you said that everyone loves chocolate?”  She said, pointing at the milkshake.  “You’ve come far, since we last spoke outside the hospital…”

He shook his head.  “I remember you, but…”. How did she come to be here? Why? His brain was still trying to match up the homeless lady with the epitome of corporate flash in front of him.  

“Now, I didn’t say you moved in a good direction.  How did the sweet boy who spent his last twenty on dinner for himself and a homeless woman end up being a bloodsucking asshole selling fake products?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s schedule an appointment, maybe for the next century?”

“Nope.”  She reached across the desk.  “You gonna drink this?”

He shook his head and she took the milkshake, leaned back in her chair, moving the straw back and forth in the lid, making an annoying shriek sound that hurt his ears.  

“Do you think I wanted this?”  He snapped at her.  Vampires didn’t really need much in the way of sleep, but he was tired.  Tired and hurt.  “And who gives you the right to fucking judge me?”

“I’m one of the gentry,” she said.  “That doesn’t give me the right, but it gives me the power.”

“You’re fae.  That explains it.  You don’t seem human.”  

“I thought they taught you the rules.  You never call us out so clearly.  Always call us by some euphemism and hope we don’t take a notion to turn our attention towards you.”

He threw up his hands.  “Why?  Why does it matter?”

“Because if I wanted to, Max Phillips, I could turn you back into the weak, dying, foolish mortal you once were.”

This stopped him.  “You could?”  He said carefully.  

“I could.”

“What’s the catch?”

She smiled.  “Good boy.  Maybe they did teach you something, after all.”  She put the milkshake on the desk.  ”You were…what?  Twenty, twenty one when you got turned?  I could, if I wanted to, make it as if you never got turned.  I could choose for you to age to the age you should be, had you not cheated death…or I could make you start from where you are right now.  If I was feeling so inclined.”

“Why would I want that?”  He scoffed.  “Do you think I want to get old and sick?  Do you think I want to spend the last year of my life in a hospital bed, unable to even piss for myself?  You think this is a fucking gift?  Enticing?  No.”

“So you don’t want a life with the librarian? Probably for the best. She is made out of sunlight and deserves so much better.”

He stopped.  He could feel the slipping…where the darker side of him started clambering up, eager to take control and rend and kill.  

“Hush.”  She said, and the blood stopped rushing in his ears, the fangs stopped aching.  “I shouldn’t needle.  It’s just so frustrating.  You were a sweet boy and you just allowed the bad in your life to make you…well, frankly, a bit of a jackass.”  She shoot him an apologetic look.  “OK, that was a cruddy apology.  But.  Back to the subject at hand.  Once, you were kind to me.  And if you do me a favor — one more favor — I will give you a choice.  A chance to choose a life for yourself instead of being a victim of bad choices and worse luck.  No strings.  No further price.”

He side eyed her a long moment.  He was intrigued, despite himself.  “What’s the favor?”

She took a small painting out of her pocket and slid it over to him.  “Another debt to pay…that woman has a soul mate out there.  I know where he is.  If you get her to my house tomorrow night, I can unite them, give them a chance at well deserved happiness.”

“Yeuch.”  He said, then picked up the painting.  “Wait.  That’s my PA.”

“Is it?  How delightful.  Isn’t just splendid how fate intervenes.”  She put a card on the desk.  “This is the address.  Hope to see you.”  She held up her finger.  “There is one thing.  She can’t know.  You have to get her there without her knowing why.  Alright?”

“Don’t hold your breath.”  He muttered.

“Good.  I am glad you understand.  Ciao!”

He picked up the card.  And cursed a bit.

NIght, in the time middle of nowhere:

“So, Mister Phillips…are you taking me out into the middle of the woods to murder me?”  His PA asked, laughing.  She didn’t know he was a vampire.  Telling people what he was hadn’t worked out very well at his last job, so he’d been much more circumspect this time.

“I promise, you are safe.  From me.  I don’t know what Corporate will do, though,” he said, turning down another road.  

“So, did they tell you what the meeting is about?”

“It’s meant to be a retreat.  All the heads of the various branches and their PA’s.  They want to re-envision the future of the company”. He took one hand off the wheel to put air quotes in the right place.  “Apparently they messed up your email address so we didn’t get the invite in time.  Someone caught it and called me directly.”

“I hope the place they picked is nice…”. She was looking out the window, trying to make out the road ahead.  “Carol in accounting is super jealous.  I think she has a bit of a crush on you…”

“Well, I am irresistible.”

“Mostly.”  She grinned at him.  A square of light grabbed her attention.  “I think we’re here.”

He pulled up to the house.  It looked sketchy at best, and the looks his PA were casting made him wonder if her trust was stretching a little too thin.

He got out and walked up to the porch.  The Fae came out this time wearing a chic, flowery dress.  She ignored Max and called to his PA.  “Don’t be afraid.  You are here so I can talk to you about your dreams…and by that, I mean the Spaniard, with the scar over his eye.”

The PA froze.  “You…you know about him?”  

“Go inside, dear, and I will tell you all about him.  But I need to talk to Max, here, first”

His PA stopped next to him, put her hand on his arm.  “Will you be OK?”

“Absolutely.  You know me.”

She went into the house.  

“Come here, Max.”  The Fae held out her hand, gesturing him to come up to the porch.  He did.  A card table was set up, with one chair.  Two cards lay face down.  “Here is your choice.  Are you ready?”

He stood there, looking at the table, and nodded.  Fear coursed through him, as strong as the day cold hands grabbed him from behind, teeth sinking into his throat…

She reached down and flipped over a card.  The Queen of Spades.  “Darkness ever lasting.  A vampire queen even now is looking for her equal.  She will choose you, and the two of you will know power beyond your wildest dreams…until enough people get angry about it and decide to deal with you both.  You will not love her, but who needs love when you have sex and death and all the power you ever hoped for?”

She reaches again, flips over another card.  The Queen of Hearts.  “And this.  This is life.  Your soul will wake up, and you will be twenty one and full of possibilities again.  Your heart will beat every beat that was stolen from you.  The slate will not be wiped entirely clean, but you will have a chance — a chance with your lovely librarian.  Children.  Be kind when you were once cruel, and live a decent, good life.”  

His lips were numb.  “How…how long?”

“Long enough.  You will not feel cheated.  It will be a plain sort of life, but it will be yours, and you will have the woman you love…some would say that is worth dying for.”

“What do you know about death?  Your kind just fade when they are tired of living.  You will never know the absolute fucking horror of your body betraying you.  The fucking humiliation that waits.  The pain.”

“No.”  She said softly.  “I do not.”  She kissed his temple.  “I am sorry.  If I had met you sooner, perhaps…but, in any case, I consider all debts paid.  When you are ready, pick up the card representing your choice, and rip it in half.  Choose well, Maxwell Phillips.  May we never meet again.”

He didn’t notice her leave.  He sat down, weak, at the table.

Life.  Death.  Life.  Death.  

He’d seen both his parents die terribly.  After he was turned, he’d mourned, then he realized the gift he’d been given.  No hospitals.  No lingering disease.  No pain.

His hand hovered next to the Queen of Spades.  No love, but power and sex.  He’d tried to recover, tried to be good, for you.  And he’d started feeling the guilt.  And with guilt, came all the excuses.  That he was living according to the nature that had been forced upon him.  That he was giving people a gift…they died, or they become something that could never die.

You don’t punish the wolf for being a wolf.

But that was why it had been easy to walk away.  Because you deserved better.  Not a vampire.  Not a wolf.  A man…

He did not hear the car, but he heard the thump of the other man’s steps as he mounted the porch.  

“She’s in there…”  he said, barely paying attention.  

When the other man left, he repeated what he said to him, in his head.  Choosing between life and death.

He picked up the Queen of Hearts.  His hands were shaking.  He ripped the card in half.  Darkness roared around him, pulled him under.

When he woke up, he was on the floor of his apartment.  

No.  His fucking.  College.  Dorm room.

“Dude, you started early.”  Evan’s stupid face appeared as he bent over him.  

Max wondered if he could punch him in the face.  It would feel really, really good to punch the other man in the face,

“OK, well, I’m going to an away game…see you sometime tomorrow.”

He put the palms of his hands in his eyes.  “Yeah…have fun.”

Evan stepped over him.  “See ya…wouldn’t want to be ya!”  The door slammed shut and Max raised both hands in a one finger salute towards it.

He made himself get up and go to the bathroom.  He looked younger but not better, per se.  What is wrong with me?  What’s this feeling?

It wasn’t just that he could feel his body working.  Feel breath (was breathing always so fucking noisy?) and heat beats and aches in his neck and back from laying weird on the floor.

He’d lived for years.  But right now, he was still the same angry, miserable hit mess of a man he’d been at this point of his life.  

A phone was ringing, he went and grabbed it.

“Hey Maxie.  Is Evan gone?”  Evan’s girlfriend.  Great.

Oh.  

“Yeah.  Yeah.  Look…”

“Awesome.  I bought the cutest bra and panties…”

And this is where, he thought, this is where he took the step to becoming the man you deserved him to be.  “That’s great.  But you know…I only want to fuck you because your boyfriend is an annoying twit.”

Shocked silence.  OK still an asshole.  Check.  So much for being a sweet boy when I was younger.  “Look. I meant what I said.  You are beautiful. You are probably far, far too good for Evan. Or maybe not, if you are willing to screw around with an asshole like me. In any case, you deserve better. But you have to decide what better is.”

This treated him to a string of profanity before the woman hung up.

Then, he walked to the infirmary, and asked for aspirin. And if there were any free spots for the therapist.

Sunday, the conversation between roommates went like this:

“So you were going to screw my girlfriend?”

A shrug — Max concentrated on the video game.  “Changed my mind.”

“Why?”

He paused the game.  “Because you deserve better.”

He felt Evan throw himself on the couch next to him.  “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I don’t hate you. You’re just so fucking happy and peppy and optimistic and everything is going to be awesome but I think the world is shit and misery and maybe if you dialed it back a little I we could have conversations that didn’t end with me wanting to punch your face.”

“Dude.”  It sounded defeated and apologetic at the same time.

Max held a controller out to him. “Sorry. I’ll try to be less of an asshole.”

He took it.  “I’ll try to be less…happy?”

Max sighed.  “Just don’t get me kicked out, ok? I can’t afford anywhere else and I really don’t want to end up in Transylvania.”

Two years later, he decided he could go and find you.

Most people went to nice places on their spring break.

Max got on a bus and headed to a University in the next state.  They’d had their Spring break a week sooner.

There you were. Sitting cross legged on a bench with a man with a streak of blonde in his hair, and a suit coat with elbow patches.  Elbow patches.  Pretentious asshole.

You were tucking hair behind your ear. You liked him. Max wondered if he should leave, come back…in a year?  Three?  When did he have a right to become part of your life?  Did he even?

You look at him and smile and it is sunshine and he can’t leave.

The man on the bench says something about class.  “See you at work,” she tells him, and he lopes off in an easy walk to one of the brick covered class buildings.

Max approaches carefully.  “Hey.  Um.  I’m thinking about transferring here, wondered what it’s like?”

She shifted her bag over, even though there was plenty of room to sit, and he took it as an invite.  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

He gave her his best smile. “Everything. I want to know everything.”

[makoodlesarchive]

in bloom 🌼 || bnharem server collab

hellooo everyone!! this is my piece for the bnharem sfw collab. The theme this time was ‘flowers’! i had the absolute pleasure of writing for my baby kiri! this collab was actually super fun to write for, i had a blast 🌸🌸🌸

please go and check out all of the fantastic works on the masterlist here!

kirishima x reader

word count: 4.9k

｡ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆ ｡ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

Your apartment in Musutafu is small and cramped, with thin walls and very little natural light. The rent is extortionate for what it is, even considering the location in the city centre, and at least once a month there’s a complex wide electrical blackout. You can overlook all of the faults of the apartment though, because it’s in a safe neighbourhood close to a hero agency and, most importantly, it’s got a balcony.

Like the rest of the apartment, the balcony is small, but you’ve got enough room to cram a little outdoor bench into the corner. The rest of the space is filled with planters full of flowers and leafy pants, transforming the cramped little space into your own tiny garden. As the weeks begin to melt into summer, your little garden transforms into a wildy colourful and delightfully fragranced haven for butterflies and honeybees. You love to curl up on your little bench with a book, relishing the warmth of the sun on your face and the musical buzzing of the bees flitting about your Lantana flowers. Your apartment’s location on the ground floor means that you don’t get a whole load of privacy, but it doesn’t stop you from spending as much time as possible on the balcony beneath your hanging ivy planters.

Another bonus to the ground floor balcony is the cute redhead that wanders past every day at 2pm and then again at around 9pm. You’re not entirely sure when exactly you first noticed the man, but since you’ve moved in he’s become a permanent fixture in your daily routine. In the afternoons when you take a break from working from home and sprawl out amongst the leafy greenery of the balcony, you always catch a glimpse of him. You guess he must work in one of the offices nearby, and judging by the hastily buttoned jacket and wrinkled sweatpants he changes before going on his lunch break.

Every day he walks by, and every day you see him craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your balcony. It’s not uncommon for people to stare, considering your balcony is basically a green splash amongst the dull grey drabness of your apartment building, but unlike all the other curious passers-by, whenever this guy makes eye contact with you when you’re sitting out he’ll make sure to grin widely and wave at you. It’s sweet. You know next to nothing about the guy, other than that he always seems to be in a hurry and he has a smile so bright and toothy it could probably be seen from space, but those little interactions always put you in a good mood for hours afterwards.

After countless days of waves and smiles from a distance, you look up one day to find him grinning and waving yet again, but this time with a new addition. In his hand is a little potted cactus, which he holds up in the air so you can see. 

“It’s for my office!” he yells to you. There’s a shrubbery area right outside your balcony that acts as both decoration and security to prevent anyone from just strolling up and hopping over the railing, but the guy is still standing as close as he can get on the sidewalk.

Your grin spreads slowly as you get up off your little bench and lean over the balcony railing to get a closer look at his little potted plant. “It’s cute!” you call back to him.

He beams, impossibly pleased with himself. “It’s not as impressive as yours!” he gestures at the foliage flowing over the railings and the hanging baskets.

“Everyone has to start somewhere!”

He laughs at that, his nose scrunching up just a little, and then waves at you again before setting off down the street. You watch him go until he disappears from sight, then return to your bench to continue reading. You’re so distracted by that whole little episode that it takes a few minutes for you to realise that your book is upside down.

It was such a short exchange, but after nothing but smiles and waves from afar for so long it leaves you a little dazed. You could kick yourself for not asking what his name was, but you just hadn’t had the time. Besides, you had been a little dazzled by his smile.

The man’s name is Kirishima Eijirou. Since the first day he spoke to you, you’ve bumped into him at the local supermarket several times. He’s friendly, sometimes overwhelmingly so, and really kind. He’s the perfect package wrapped up in the body of a professional cage fighter, so it’s probably inevitable that you develop a big fat crush on him. The two of you have only really exchanged basic pleasantries and small talk, but it’s enough to have your pulse skipping everytime he smiles at you.

The local flower shop is beautifully vibrant compared to the gunmetal grey skies outside, and the quiet warmth of the place makes it one of your favourite places to spend your days off. Hanging baskets full of seasonal flowers and trailing ivy are suspended from the ceiling and from high shelves, and leafy green plants create a jungle-like atmosphere within the shop. The effect is delightfully mismatched, with enormous bouquets of flowers brightening up the spaces along the walls. The high shelves and boundless foliage makes the whole place feel like a maze; you could happily lose yourself for hours upon hours within the humid little aisles.

You trace your fingers along the large waxy leaves of a monstera plant, enjoying the smooth texture. A bell tinkles overhead as the door to the shop opens and shuts, momentarily breaking the soothing blanket of quiet. You contemplate the price tag on the monstera plant; you already have one, and if you buy another you’ll be pretty hard pressed to find space for it. It is really cute though, and you’re pretty sure that if you move your ficus a little more into the left corner of your balcony you can make enough space for it.

Your thought process is broken by a noise from the top of the aisle, and you glance up to meet the gaze of a surprised yet familiar man.. “Oh! Kirishima-san.” you say at the same time as he blurts “Hi!”

Before you can say anything else, his face splits into a smile. “Aw man, I can’t believe you’re here! This is perfect!”

You laugh a little nervously. “Huh?”

“I was hoping to get a new plant for my office! Could you help me pick one out?”

“Oh.” you blink, a little overwhelmed by his exuberance and the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles, “I don’t work here.”

He laughs like you’ve just told a really funny joke, and moves to meet you in the middle of the aisle. “Yeah, I know. I’m just guessing that you know your stuff about plants -- your balcony is so awesome.”

“Oh.” you say again, straightening a little despite yourself. You feel ridiculously pleased, probably more than such a simple comment warrants. “Thank you. I worked hard on it.”

“It really shows!” he enthuses. “It actually inspired me to spruce up my office a bit, actually!”

“Really?” you ask, leaning back against one of the shelves. A frond-like leaf tickles the back of your neck, but you don’t bother swatting it away. You think that the two of you might be the only two customers in the shop at this time, and your conversation seems so loud in the relative silence. Somewhere near the back an electric fan buzzes, the noise breaking up the monotonous quiet so it doesn’t seem quite so oppressive. 

“Yeah! So, will you give me a hand?” he tilts his head as he asks, and you realise that his shoulders have dropped down, as if he’s trying to make himself appear smaller. “My friend thinks it’s stupid, but I’m determined to have the nicest desk in the whole building!”

You smile despite yourself, his good humour infectious. “Yeah, okay. Are you looking for something in particular?”

Kirishima steps back and regards the surrounding display cases thoughtfully. “Um. Honestly, I don’t know much about plants. I have my little cactus, but it’d be nice to get it a friend, right? I’m happy to go with whatever you think is best!”

You hum, considering your options. If it’s a small office desk he’s hoping to decorate, you suppose a couple of small succulents could do a nice job of adding a bit of life and colour. “I’m sure we can find something.”

“I’ll leave myself in your capable hands, then.” Kirishima says with a grin, inclining his head a little.

You step further into the shop, ducking under a trailing strand of ivy leaves. The dark hardwood floor creaks as you move, with Kirishima following close behind you. When you pause to gaze at a couple of potted plants on one the shelves you keep your gaze cast down, but glance up through your eyelashes to look at Kirishima. You’re surprised to find him already watching you, like he’s drinking in every move you make. The attention is a little overwhelming, but it’s also exciting. His gaze on you is like a physical weight, and you can’t quite help the coy smile that curves over your face. You know you’re not imagining the soft, heated interest behind his eyes; he’s not exactly being subtle.

You duck into a parallel aisle, just fast enough that Kirishima stumbles for half a step at the sudden change in direction. You hum quietly to yourself, and toss a playful smile over your shoulder as he follows behind you. He meets your smile with another grin, bright and handsome. He doesn’t look away from you for a second.

You come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the aisle and turn to face him. The sudden movement takes him by surprise, but he manages to catch himself before he barrels into you. It’s probably not entirely intentional, but he ends up standing so close that you can almost count the delicate little freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose from the summer sun. His head dips down towards you, leaning into your space in a way that is decidedly more than just casually friendly. His lips part, but before he can speak you ask, “What about this one?”

His gaze drops down to the space between you, where you’re holding up a small plant with waxy little leaves. He blinks at it, and then recovers gracefully. “Hey, that one is pretty cute.”

“‘Pretty cute’s not quite good enough, though, is it?” You pretend to ponder, tapping your chin. “If you want the nicest desk in the whole building, you need better than ‘pretty cute’, right?”

If anything, Kirishima’s smile grows even wider. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You up for the challenge of finding me the best plant in the store?” He steps closer as he speaks, until there’s nothing but a scant few inches and the potted plant between you.

You make a show of considering the challenge, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Hold this for me?” you ask suddenly, practically shoving the plant into his hands.

Kirishima takes it, startled, and in the moment of distraction you turn on your heel and dart down the aisle, disappearing down another row of shelves. You’ve barely turned the corner when you hear a deep, rumbling chuckle followed by quick footsteps against the hardwood floor as he follows after you.

It’s like a game. You wind your way through the aisles, skipping over vines and stray pots, and Kirishima tries to catch up. You know this shop like the back of your hand (you’re in here nearly every single weekend), but Kirishima is fast and agile despite his large stature. There are a few close calls, where you just manage to round the corner of a new aisle before Kirishima can reach you, and each one makes your breath catch in your chest when Kirishima’s delighted laughter rings out through the shop.

You can’t help the grin that stretches across your face as you turn into another half-hidden aisle, ducking under a large fan-like leaf that stretched out and drooped low. Only a moment later you hear a soft slap and an “Oof!” as Kirishima presumably runs straight into it, and you laugh quietly to yourself as you slip in between a row of glass display cases.

A clatter and a soft curse sounds from one aisle over, and you guess that Kirishima just accidentally knocked a pot over. You pad softly to the end of the aisle, taking a moment to try and catch your breath and stifle your wild grin. It’s so childish, playing a game of chase in a garden shop with a man you barely know, but you’re having so much fun.

You poke your head cautiously around the edge of one of the display shelves, biting your lip and listening carefully for any sign of Kirishima. The only noise you can hear is the strained mechanical whirring of the fan from somewhere near the back of the shop, so you edge forward. You’ve only managed to take two steps before you feel a presence behind you.

“Gotcha.” Kirishima rumbles, right by your ear.

The noise that’s punched out of your chest is embarrassing, a weird cross between a yelp and a laugh. You whirl on the ball of your feet to face him, only for him to keep stepping closer. You have no choice but to retreat, until you’re backed up into a little alcove between two large glass display cases overflowing with luscious green ferns. Kirishima advances until he’s as close as he can be without actually touching you, and maybe you should feel a little intimidated by this man that’s built like a brick wall of pure muscle but his smile is so delighted and soft that you don’t think you could be afraid of him if you tried.

“You got me.” You agree, a little breathlessly. You don’t know if it’s from the exertion of running through the shop like a child or from the thrill of Kirishima’s closeness to you, but your heart is thrumming like a wild thing in your chest.

From this close, you can see the way Kirishima’s hair is sweat-damp on his brow and curling just slightly; it must be from the humidity inside the shop, because he doesn’t seem even the slightest bit affected by the physical activity of chasing after you. “You’re fast.” he says, his voice quiet as if afraid to break the atmospheric stillness within the shop.

“Yeah?” you mimic his volume subconsciously, “You sure you don’t just like chasing me? I think you could have caught me earlier, if you wanted.”

Kirishima laughs, and the skin around his eyes crinkle up in the most adorable way you’ve ever seen. “Maybe.” he says, and it sounds like a secret. His teeth are white and sharp and his cheeks dimple when he smiles. You’re distracted by the dimples, so when he raises his hand you barely notice until suddenly there’s a flower right under your nose and your eyes nearly cross in your attempt to look at it. 

“It’s pretty.” You say with a smile. It’s a simple white cosmo flower, though Kirishima is beaming as though he’d managed to find a particularly rare gem, and you don’t get a chance to take it from him before he tucks it neatly behind your ear.

“It’s like you.” He says. The words are flirtatious, but he delivers them so earnestly that you don’t quite know how to react.

“How about a potted ivy?” you blurt, at a loss for anything else to say. “It would be easy to take care of, and it looks good.”

Kirishima blinks, but takes the change of subject in stride. “Is that your professional recommendation?”

“Mhmm.” It’s hard to focus when he’s so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your skin every time he speaks. You’re sure he must be picking up on how flustered he’s making you -- you’re not convinced by the innocent expression on his face. “Maybe a few succulents, too.”

Kirishima nods thoughtfully, consideringly. “Hmmm. That sounds good to me. Will you go out to dinner with me?”

It’s such a non-sequitur that it takes your brain a long moment to register his words. “I- huh?” 

His dimpled smile turns bashful and a little self-conscious. “Ah. Sorry, that might have been a little forward.” He scratches the back of his head, and your gaze is drawn to the way his bicep bulges at the movement. “I was wondering if you’d like to get some dinner with me? I know a place that does some really great burrito bowls.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Kirishima-san?” Your words come out soft and quiet and effortlessly flirtatious -- you hadn’t intended on sounding so seductive, but you can’t help but enjoy the way Kirishima leans in closer to you.

“Yeah. No pressure if you don’t wanna, of course!” He’s quick to reassure you, “It’s totally fine if you’re not interested. I just wanted to let you know that I am very interested.”

As refreshing as his straight-forwardness is, you can’t help but feel surprised. This man is very much out of your league, you’re not blind, and yet he had been the one to approach you, and had indulged in your silly game of chase around the shop, and had playfully cornered you in an alcove and asked you out. You’ve met him enough by now to know he’s kind, friendly, and eager to help with just about anything you ask. Plus, he’s practically built like a Greek god, with a handsome face and the most stacked muscles you’ve ever seen in person.

“I’m interested.” you breathe, heart hammering in your chest. God, you really hoped this wasn’t some kind of elaborate joke. 

Kirishima seems to actually inflate at that, a bright smile blooming across his face as his shoulders straighten. “Really? Great! Awesome! Tonight?”

“Sure.” you agree, returning his smile. Your heart rate still hasn’t returned to normal from your chase around the shop; if anything, it feels like it’s pounding harder than ever. “I’m free tonight.”

“Great!” Kirishima says again. He seems more excited than you would have expected, which is honestly pretty flattering since you’re pretty sure you’re the one that should be feeling the most excited in this situation. “I have to go back to work since I’m technically on my lunch break right now, but I could pick you up at your apartment at around eight tonight?”

“Eight is perfect.” you straighten the flower behind your ear and smile up at him, letting your own excitement shine through on your face.

Kirishima steps back, finally giving you some space. You forcefully resist the urge to follow after him, watching instead as he backs away, still beaming. “Okay. Okay, cool. So, I’ll see you tonight?”

You let him go a few more steps before tilting your head and asking, “So, you changed your mind about the plants?”

He pauses, one foot raised mid-step like a cartoon character. “Plan-?” he starts, before his eyes go comically wide, “Oh! The plants! Right!”

You laugh, finding him stupidly endearing, before stepping out of the little alcove and setting off down one of the aisles to the left. There’s a whole section of the shop dedicated solely to the house plants, and it’s not difficult to find a suitable ivy plant with light green leaves and tumbling vines. Kirishima takes the potted plant when you hand it to him, and trails after you again as you go in search of the succulents. When you’ve found some suitable little plants, you help him carry them up to the counter with the cash register. There’s no one manning the register (and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief at that, because it means that no one saw the two of you running through the shop like idiots), and you ring the little bell to notify the employees that you’re at the counter. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” you say, stepping away from the counter as an employee finally emerges from the back of the shop. “See you tonight?”

Kirishima fumbles with the plants in his hands as he tries to wave. “Tonight! Yeah!”

The bell tinkles as you duck out the shop door, biting your lip to try and stifle your excited grin.

//

You look in the mirror yet again, tugging nervously at your clothes. You look pretty good, you think, but the closer it gets to eight the more nervous you get. You realised too late that you never exchanged phone numbers, and Kirishima doesn’t know which number apartment to buzz from the front door. You focus on staying calm and not overthinking things; it’s just a date, with the most handsome man you’ve ever actually spoken to. No big deal. It’s fine.

You tug on your shirt again, even though it’s sitting pretty much perfectly. You just lean forward to check your teeth when a crash sounds from your balcony. You jerk towards the crash automatically, and race out to open the doors to the balcony. You’re greeted with the sight of Kirishima with one leg over the balcony railing, staring dismally down at the shattered pot that he apparently just knocked over.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurts as soon as he sees you, “It was an accident! I didn’t know your apartment number to buzz the door and so I thought I’d just knock on the door to your balcony but I didn’t see the pot and- wow, you look really good!”

You wave away his frantic apologies with a laugh as you step over the spilled dirt. “Don’t worry about it. You look pretty good, too.” Your eyes drop to where he’s hiding his hands behind his back. “What have you got there?”

Kirishima hikes his other leg over the railing and drops to his feet, before pulling his arms out from behind him and revealing a large bouquet of beautiful white and pink lilies. “I got these for you.” he says, a pink blush dusted over his cheekbones. “I know you, uh, like flowers and plants and things. I don’t know much about them, but I thought they were pretty!”

Your whole face softens, and you reach out to take the bouquet. They are pretty, with delicate pink-streaked white petals and long, dainty stems. Pollen drops from them at every movement, sprinkling into the air in delicate yellow puffs. “They’re beautiful! Thank you.”

When you glance up at him you find that his attention is caught by the side of your head, his own smile softening. “You kept it?”

You touch the cosmo flower still tucked behind your ear, a little embarrassed. It had seemed like a cute idea to keep it and wear it for the date, but now you wonder if it’s a little weird. “Yeah. Like you said, it’s pretty, right?”

“Yeah.” he agrees. His gentle pink blush has intensified into a deep red. “Very pretty.”

You look back down at your lilies, still smiling. You feel so pleased, like all your nerves are being melted away only to be replaced by excited anticipation. “Your office must be really close by if you had the time to grab these before getting here.”

“It’s right around the corner,” he points towards the end of the street, “But, uh. My boss actually let me go early today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I, uh-” His blush, impossibly, seems to intensify further. “I’ve been talking about you for a while, I guess. Telling people about your awesome balcony and stuff, and how nice you are whenever I meet you. I didn’t actually realise how much I mentioned you, but, uh, when I told Fat that I had asked you out, he pretty much told me to get outta there and come straight to get you.” 

You laugh, pleasantly embarrassed yourself. “Wow. That’s… that’s really sweet.” A thought intrudes on the back of your mind, suddenly, and you frown a little. He said his boss's name was Fat? Office around the corner? “Wait. You work at Fat Gum’s Hero Agency?”

“Yep!” He flexes one of his biceps playfully; you’re pretty sure it’s bigger than your head. “I’m a sidekick there! ”

“Wow.” you say, gaze stuck on his muscled arm. “That- well. That explains- I mean, you have a very nice body.” Oh god, you think, cursing yourself. Why had you said that?

Kirishima flushes from the roots of his hair to his chest. You can’t help but grin, his bashfulness impossibly charming. “Oh! Thanks! I work out a lot.” he chuckles, shrugging as if it’s nothing.

You’re still grinning as you look at his rosy face, your eyes dropping to his red-flushed chest. His very red-flushed chest. “Uh.” you glance to his neck, where the skin is an angry crimson colour. “Kirishima-san?”

“Yeah?” The sun is dropping low in the sky, and the golden sunset throws buttery yellow-toned light all over your balcony. It lights up Kirishima’s profile in warm relief, and makes you wonder if you’re maybe imagining the colour you’re seeing.

“Are you okay? You have- I think you have a rash?”

“Huh?” He drops his chin to his sternum, trying to get a look at what you’re seeing. When he tugs his shirt down, it reveals angry red lines streaking down his chest. “Oh. Yikes.”

Your mouth drops open. “That.. looks painful.”

“It’s more itchy, really.” He admits, poking at the patch of ruddy skin. His head snaps up, eyes wide, and he quickly adds, “This doesn’t usually happen! I don’t usually have, uh, whatever this is!”

That definitely isn’t as comforting as he’s clearly hoping it will be. “Um. Kirishima, do you feel weird right now?”

“A little? I think I’m just nervous for our date, though.” He shifts on his feet and reaches up to scratch at his throat. “Just a little itchy. My throat feels a bit weird. I think it’s nerves.”

The angry red rash climbing up his chest and throat suggests that it’s not just nerves. “Does your throat feel… swollen?”

“Kinda?” 

Your gaze drops to the flowers in your arms. The breeze shakes loose another little cloud of pollen from them, which floats into the air in a little puff of yellow dust. “Did this start after you got the flowers?”

“I guess!” Kirishima says, clearly not following.

“Oh.” You stare at each other. Kirishima still hasn’t quite caught on to the logical conclusion of these questions. Now that you’re looking at him closely, you’re pretty sure his face looks a little puffier than usual. “I think you’re having an allergic reaction.”

Kirishima blinks, then looks to the flowers in your arms. His hand scratches idly at the base of his throat, which is now a raw and angry red. “Oh. Oh, I see. Huh.” You might be imagining it, but his voice sounds a little thicker now.

“I think we should go to the hospital.” You set down the lilies on your garden bench and usher him into your apartment. You haven’t had time to tidy up, but you’re past the point of caring about cleanliness. Kirishima doesn’t seem to notice anyway, as his face has fallen.

“What about dinner?” He asks, obviously disappointed, and yep, his voice has definitely gotten thicker. It sounds like his throat is swelling.

You try not to panic. “We can get food after the hospital!”

Kirishima actually has the nerve to pause and think about it. “Are you sure? I don’t feel that bad, and I really want to take you somewhere nice.”

It’s hard not to feel flattered at that. “I really appreciate that, Kirishima. I would feel a lot better if we got you checked out before dinner, though. I think the date would go better if you weren’t on the brink of anaphylactic shock.”

Kirishima concedes at that, and lets you call a taxi. As you stand on the sidewalk waiting for the taxi to arrive, he sighs and tilts his head. “This is embarrassing. I can’t believe I finally ask you out only for it to be ruined by some stupid flowers.”

“Hey,” you bump him with your hip, but it’s like hip-checking a boulder. You wince and rub at your hip bone as you say, “The flowers were beautiful, and a really lovely thought. Plus, I’ve kind of had a crush on you for a while now. One little bump in the road isn’t gonna chase me away, okay?”

“Really?”

You tug him over so you can press a chaste, tentative kiss to his cheek. “Really.”

“I’m gonna make sure when this is over that I bring you on the most unforgettable date ever!” In the light of the setting sun, Kirishima is lit up golden. He grins, gilded and bright, and even with his puffy face and swollen throat, you think he might just be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

“I think that you’ve already accomplished that.” you say delicately as you spot your taxi rounding the corner of the street, “Maybe our next date should be a little more uneventful.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima laughs, sounding like his throat is full of cotton balls, “Maybe uneventful is best. But you basically just agreed to go on another date with me, right?”

You suppose you have to be impressed by his determination, if nothing else. You’re not used to being the focus of someone’s attention like this, especially not someone on the brink of a medical emergency. It’s… flattering. “Yeah, I guess I did. Maybe next time we should leave the flowers, though.”

“No flowers.” Kirishima agrees, then chuckles. 

You think his swollen, puffy smile might just be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.