#they got RATTLED in those shoulder pads and getting knocked out of them

[syrup-scribbles]

Teensy bit of first draft snippet from the Floyd recovery fic I've been writing for way too long that has slowly turned into the everybody recovery fic. And making Bruce cry fic.

[slippinninque]

💪🏾Grapple🤸🏾‍♀️

Terry Richmond x blackfemreader

In which Terry lends a hand

warnings: none really, fluff, long-fic, self-indulgent fic, some cursing, sparring

Terry stood before you, waiting until your hair was safely tied and feet planted firmly on the padded mat the two of you drug out.

“Ready?”

“Ready!”

The two of you began to circle and while Terry could see the pink of your mouthguard, he knew that grin was by pure habit. Those eyes were sharp as they poked and prodded along his stance for any openings. Terry closed space in two large strides when he heard a car rattling by from outside, opening the gates. 

The two of you grappled, broke apart, and then got tangled again. It reminded you of how the two of you met at the local gym. You loved the sport, you loved what it took but when you came back from service, you didn’t have much to give… anything. Sleeping was hard, then became even harder. Going to the gym one late night, early morning, was your last resort.

Just your luck there was a flyer for a jiu jitsu class right near the water bottle station, the class’ location and time convenient to your schedule. It’s where you met Terry. Serious-faced and firm-handed, he taught you and a handful of others the basics with a simplicity that you appreciated. You kept going and going, even after others lost their taste for the sport, or for  stone-faced Tin-Man. You, on the other hand, finally felt as if you were moving. 

You felt like you won the lottery when you managed to get him onto his back. It was the first time you saw him smile with teeth. From there, it was history. 

Terry had an obvious advantage with his height and weight. He could easily overwhelm you if close enough and his takedowns were nasty.  It was like WWE with a damned cephalopod. Luckily, you were his perfect foil.

Terry could get close if he wanted to, but it would only leave himself open to being climbed and toppled. Your weight and mastery of balance is what gave you an upper hand, Terry could grab you–but then it would be like dealing with a live bear-trap.

You stepped deep into his space, taking advantage of the surprise that showed in the movement. You tossed enough weight to knock him loose, then hooked an ankle around his.

“Oh, no you don’t!”

“Oh, yes I will!”

Terry managed to get on top of you and the position sent your world into darkness as his shirt blocked the fluorescent lighting of your garage. It was fine. You breathed to keep yourself steady, not minding the growing squeeze as you felt your way through. It was hard to explain grappling, but to you, it felt like trying to tie yourself into a knot only you knew how to get out of. Terry had trouble getting you to stretch out, to get into you enough to engage a lock. 

As quick as you were, you broke out and went on the defence. Scooting back on the mat as Terry got onto his feet and followed after you. He grabbed you by the legs and you snapped them around his waist. With your thighs around Terry’s midsection, cross-grabbing his sleeve as you hooked under your wrist behind his ankle and bridged off your shoulders to drop him. Terry’s pretty eyes rattled in his head for a moment before focusing on you, settled now on his chest with your thighs bracketing his head.

Wasn’t a bad sight at all, if you had to say. When Terry didn’t say anything, you hummed and squeezed threateningly.

“I…concede.” 

“Ooo, ‘concede’ Never got that one before.” 

Terry easily tipped you and you rolled onto your stomach with a giggle. Terry’s tongue poked around his cheek as he watched you. When he sat up criss-cross, you froze as you suddenly felt spotted. The feeling didn’t last as Terry launched himself at you, making you yelp as the two of you went heels over head to get into it all over again. 

This match wasn’t serious and neither were the ones that followed. An hour went by, then another. You clinked water bottles and spoke around mouthfuls of granola. At some point, Terry slotted between your legs and never moved away. The two of you were exhausted by now, but you still put him into a headlock though it was more of a headwrap.

Finally you felt good. One day, you came home and you just couldn’t sleep. One of the many advantages of being a bit off, it seems. It’s gotten worse now that you haven’t been able to get outside as often as you did before the snow came. You did the only thing you could have done–you called Terry to extend an invitation to burn of some energy in the good old fashion way. 

Now, blissfully, you felt tired. Exhaustion came cautiously for the nerves that have been going for days, you couldn’t wait to meet up with your pillow. 

“Thanks for doin’ this for me, Tin Man.” You said as you stared up at the fluorescent lights of your garage. 

“Anytime, Snaptrap.” 

He patted your thigh and the two of you parted. He stood with a small hop, looking down at you for a moment. You yawned and offered your hands, Terry taking them without pause to help you up onto your feet. He pulled you again and when you stumbled into him, Terry gave you a cheeky little wink. 

Your answer was to hop up and wrap your legs around him again. Terry caught hold of you just as you knew he would, hands big and hot as they cradled your cheeks. Terry wandered around with you in his arms, squatting down so you could pick up the discarded water bottles and going over to the trash for you to toss them.

As Terry played your legs all the way up to your bedroom. Terry stood in the middle of the room, rocking you in his arms and cuddling you as if you were his personal teddy bear. The mood cooled from it’s frenzied start, leaving the two of you floating in the 

“Terry?”

“Yes?”

He stilled but he did not let you down. You tapped his chin and tried to look as adorable as possible while covered in sweat and a bit bruised. Terry leaned forward and rubbed his nose against yours. 

“Stay for a nap?”

“Of course.” 

He pressed a kiss to your lips before whispering if you’d like for him to run you a shower first.

You wriggled insistently in his arms until you were back onto your feet. You went to pull at Terry’s shirt, going as high as you could until he took over. You were next as he, much more gently, pulled your shirt off. A trail of clothes followed the two of you and when Terry made the shower as hot as he could stand it, you got right in after him. 

The two of you soaped up one good time before the game was over. Terry innocently asked you to wash his back and gave a not-so-subtle flex. Nearly purring, you ran the soft cloth over the fine muscles and wordlessly greeted the two freckles you’ve missed. He bent this way and that so you could get all the spots, much like an appreciative big cat. 

When it was Terry’s turn, you had to bite the inside of your cheek at the feel of hands on you. They massaged and rubbed, scrubbed lightly and peppered kisses regardless of the suds on your skin. You drifted along with the steam until he pulled you out.

Toweled off and warm, the two of you hurried to dive beneath your covers. 

The pillow welcomed you and you sighed, eyes already heavy as Terry shifted and got comfortable next to you. The final drop in the bucket came in the form of Terry’s hand finding your lower belly, your sense finally clocking out as your mind began dimming.

The last thing you heard was Terry’s breath evening out before sleep came to claim you both. 

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✨ending notes✨: thank you so much for reading!!! I saw a jiu jitsu video and i couldn't resist 🤭 Tell me what you think! Please like, comments and reblog! thank you so much!!

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[prurientpuddlejumper]

Cabin in the Woods [18+]

Jackson Neill x Female Reader

For @storiesofsvu​’s Fall Bingo! Requested by @resparza​​! 

Summary: You and Jackson take a trip to New England that goes slightly awry.

Warnings: NSFW, nipple play, fingering, praise, slow gentle sex until the end when it gets a lil rough. Fluffy fluff & the tiniest bit of angst (so Jackson can reassure you). Trans male version here

3,350 words

Jackson made a tiny mistake with the timing. He booked your leaf-peeping getaway for mid-October, when the leaves in the city were just beginning to turn.

When you arrived at your cozy Airbnb in the mountains of Vermont, you were greeted by the awe-inspiring sight of… sticks.

“Goddammit. I forgot how geography works,” Jackson griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d been in a sour mood for most of the drive up I-91 when the scenery started to look distinctly more ashen than orange halfway through Massachusetts.

“It’s like we time-traveled two weeks into the future,” you marveled at the bare tree branches rattling in a chilly breeze. Your rustic cedar-shingle cabin was surrounded by forest and at the end of a long dirt driveway. Even without the screen of leaves, you couldn’t see any neighbors.

“So much for leaf-peeping. There are no leaves.”

You picked up a bright red maple leaf from the driveway. “Found one!”

He chuckled at your enthusiasm and shook his head. “If I made our reservation a week earlier, the foliage would be, you know, in trees.”

“Found another!” you pointed at the colorful ground, grinning. “There’s another!” You picked each one up and tossed them at him like confetti.

“Alright!” he groaned, curling his elbow about your neck like a shepherd’s crook to wrangle you in. “I see you refuse to have a miserable time. Won’t even wallow with me for two seconds?”

“I think it’s pretty.” You turned in his arm and kissed him.

The tip of your nose was cold, but your lips were warm as he kissed you back and tried to look on the bright side. Just because things weren’t going to plan didn’t mean he had to relapse into his ingrained Catholic guilt.

***

Since the publication of his book, Meyerism: A New American Religion, Jackson Neill had been receiving threats from the eponymous cult that had him on edge. Not only was he afraid for himself—he wasn’t so macho to pretend otherwise—but he worried about you or his kids getting caught in the crossfire. The deeper he dug into the Meyerist Movement, the more he was convinced they were capable of anything.

This vacation was supposed to be a way to leave all that behind for a weekend, but stress clung to him like spiderwebs.

At least the weather was cooperative. Friday afternoon was clear and sunny—just the right temperature to sit out on the porch with a hot cup of cider. After unpacking, you settled down with Jackson on Adirondack chairs and listened to the sounds of nature as the fading sun slanted orange and red through the forest.

Pops of bright color still stood out amid the dull grey-brown landscape like flames—late trees that had waited for your arrival to change.

“You’re right: it is pretty,” Jackson conceded, your hand nested in his. Your fingertips were getting cold, so he held them to his lips and blew on them.

Tomorrow, you’d go on a nice hike with a beautiful view of the snow-capped Green Mountains. The trip wasn’t a total waste, Jackson thought. He tried to relax.

***

The next morning, you awoke to the pounding of rain on the roof and Jackson pacing downstairs in the living room. The entire cabin creaked and groaned with the force of the wind, and you quickly pulled on a sweater and wool socks before padding down the stairs.

Jackson was tapping at his phone, muttering under his breath, before finally tossing the useless device on the couch with a dry laugh. His apparent crankiness couldn’t have been that bad, though—he’d gotten up early to light about a hundred votive candles, filling the dim living room with flickering golden light. He must have been planning something romantic.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“No signal out here in God’s country,” Jackson rolled his eyes at a wooden cross decorating a door frame, which had not been visible in the listing photographs.

“Isn’t there Wi-Fi?”

Jackson stared at you with lips so thin they vanished into a fine line, and eyes that looked ready to shatter like exploding light bulbs at any moment. “Storm knocked out the power.”

Oh. That was why he lit candles.

“And our hike is canceled, unless you want to go out in that.” A freezing mix of rain and sleet rattled the window panes.

It was easy to let another person’s bad mood get you down, but you tried to stay positive. He’d been so tense lately, he needed support. You both needed this vacation to go well. “That’s OK. We can stay in and get cozy with the fireplace.”

“You would think so,” he gave a humorless chuckle, shaking your arm off to sulk into the open-plan kitchen. “The listing said breakfast was included, but the refrigerator is empty. We’ve got… toast.”

“Maybe we can drive into town? Find one of those quaint little bakeries.”

“Out into the cold,” he sighed. “And we don’t have internet to look a place up. No wonder the host thinks they can get away with starving us—I can’t even call to complain!”

The wall of positivity you’d constructed groaned and cracked, and the anxiety it held back began to stream through. You sank down onto the couch.

Oblivious, Jackson hunted through the charmingly rustic (and empty) cabinets with an increasingly frustrated frown. “This trip is a disaster.” The words stung as surely as if he called you a disaster.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” He turned. Your voice was so quiet he barely heard you say anything.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated so he would hear, lower lip trembling with the effort.

It took him three strides to cross the entire cabin, and he was on top of you, kneeling in front of the couch, stroking your face. “Hey, no, no… What are you talking about?” His green eyes were soft as the hay fields you’d passed yesterday as they searched yours.

“It was my idea to come here,” you sniffed.

“I know.” His head tilted, and frown lines creased his forehead. “I wanted this weekend to be perfect for you, and I can’t get anything right. I don’t know why you’re sorry. This is my fault.”

“But it’s my fault you’re miserable. I thought getting away from the city would be relaxing. I wanted some alone time with you. But you’re not having any fun. I just don’t want you to be upset…”

Something changed in his eyes.

“I… I’m not upset.” His thumb gently stroked your cheek. “I’m not upset at all—not at you. Maybe at myself. Fine, entirely at myself. This was your trip, and I fucked it up. I hate disappointing you.”

A hint of a smile crept back into your face. You covered his hand with your own and turned into it to kiss his palm. “Jax, you could never disappoint me. All I wanted out of this trip was to spend time with you. So long as we’re together, I’m happy.”

“You don’t look happy.” A flicker of a self-deprecating smirk. “Guess I ruined things by being a grouch, huh?”

Your face once again threatened a smile. “No…”

“Yes. I’m a big mean grouch. Come on, you can tell me off,” he grinned, leaning close to your neck and purring his words against your earlobe. “Punish me. Throw a handful of sleet down my shirt. Push me into a pile of wet leaves.”

“Nooo!” you squirmed beneath him, fighting a laugh as he invented tortures for himself and kissed them into your skin.

“Come on, I deserve it.” He pulled back, and a smile broke across his face like dawn to see how your eyes had brightened.

“Alright, alright. Maybe just a little sleet.”

“From now on”—he pressed his lips against your neck again and sucked lightly at the beat of your pulse point—“I promise”—he nibbled his way over your jaw—“to appreciate every moment of our vacation”—his lips ghosted against yours—“and make sure you feel good.”

You pulled him down onto the couch with you, falling back onto the cushions as his lips melted with yours and his tongue hunted for a moan inside your mouth. He found one, long, slow, and tortured as you tasted the raw heat of his apology.

“Mmm,” you hummed as if a chocolate truffle were melting on your tongue. “You want to make me feel good?”

“Yes,” he sighed back, lips moving against your cheek and his hips lazily grinding against your thigh.

“I have a few ideas about how you could do that…”

“So do I.”

His long fingers slid down your stomach and slipped beneath the waistband of your flannel pajama pants. You drew a sharp breath as his pads grazed the top of your slit, and he paused, looking to you with lust-blown eyes for permission to continue. Sucking your lower lip between your teeth, you angled your pelvis to move his fingers onto the aching bud of flesh that sent hot shivers out beneath your skin at the contact.

“Seems we’re on the same page, Dr. Neill,” you whispered, and captured his lips again.

Moaning into the kiss with a dark, gravelly rumble, Jackson let his fingers venture deeper into your folds. You weren’t drenched for him yet. Moments ago, you had been on the verge of crying, and he still had to reassure your body that it was wonderful and loved—but he was a patient man and enjoyed taking his time. Each breath and sigh was a signal he attended like a rapt student in the front row of the classroom, his own pleasure coursing through his veins as he played with your pussylips and brought out your trust and desire.

“Shirt off.”

Nodding, you peeled the hem up over your stomach, and he sat up to help you wriggle it off over your shoulders. While he was at it, he pulled off your pajama bottoms and stripped to his boxers.

“Hey, I’m cold,” you whined, pouting as goosebumps began to prickle over your naked arms.

He pulled the fleece blanket off the back of the couch and covered you both with it. “I’ll keep you warm, querida,” he purred as he lowered himself over you.

A hot flush spread over your skin. You loved when he spoke Spanish—sweetly, with the vocabulary of a 1950s telenovela, and full of diminutives the way his mother used to speak it to him as a child. A well-placed querida or cielito could send shivers up your spine. It was nothing compared to the back-arching jolt a moment later when his tongue teased your nipple.

You cried out, fingers curling sharply into his hair as if his tongue carried an electric charge, unsure if you were trying to push him off or pull him closer and make sure he never stopped. As he gently sucked and your sensitive flesh pebbled into a stiff peak beneath his circling tongue, you were leaning toward the latter. Head thrown back, you gasped out his name, begging for more.

He worshiped your chest, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a playful, attentive expression, but he didn’t give you more, no matter how you clawed at the back of his scalp. His tongue worked in gentle, leisurely circles, tracing one fully before moving on to give attention to the other.

Fingers delving back between your thighs, he found your clit swollen and throbbing. You let out a startled, sobbing moan as he stroked it, your back arching, clinging to his head almost painfully tight to brace against the overwhelming sensation. If he kept touching your two most sensitive areas at the same time, you were going to come fast.

“Easy…” he soothed, sensing your agitated level of arousal. “I want to make this last. Can you be good for me and wait?”

Whimpering, you nodded and loosened your tight grip.

“Yes, Dr. Neill.”

“Good girl.”

As he languidly serviced your nipples, he dragged his fingers lower, through your folds. It still made your skin prickle with wanting, but without direct contact with your clit, you wouldn’t come as fast.

When he found your entrance with the pad of a finger, it was slick enough to press inside without resistance. You let out a delicious, tortured moan as the long digit penetrated your tight walls, opening them a little at a time.

“Fuck, you’re so warm. So wet. That’s my good girl.” He lifted his face from your chest to kiss you in praise.

Your hips writhed to push the finger deeper as you kissed him back. He was hungry to reconnect with you—to go slowly and spend as much time as he could sharing pleasure with your naked body—but you were starving. You might explode if he didn’t fuck you.

He moaned softly as your wetness swallowed more of his finger. “Feels like you’re sucking it. Trying to pull me in. You must want more.”

“Yes… please,” you whined, your hands gripping at his broad shoulders.

A second finger stretched your entrance, and he began slowly fucking you with both.

“Oh, fuck. More! Harder,” you moaned.

“You sound so desperate,” he observed casually. “Like one of my students trying to cram for a test.” Heavy-lidded bedroom eyes betrayed his desire, but he wore a cheeky grin and did not increase his pace.

Wet sounds of flesh filled the cabin, so slow it was torture. “Please, Jackson… please let me come. Please…” you begged, but he just kept watching you studiously, worshipfully, as he fingered you slowly. Enough to keep you begging, but not enough to let you finish.

He was straddling one of your legs, and his cock pressed rock-hard into your thigh. Every so often, you would feel it twitch, usually when his fingers massaged a sensitive spot inside that made you give a satisfying noise, and he could feel your pussy gripping around him. Then he would murmur, “You’re so beautiful. Fuck, you feel so good.”

Only when you were a drooling, trembling mess that could barely string two intelligible words together did he start to actively roll his hips, rubbing his erection against your leg.

“Do you want more?”

“Y-yes,” you sobbed.

He sat back on his haunches, and you wailed as his fingers slipped from your yearning wetness, leaving you so empty. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked softly, so tenderly that “fuck” sounded like the most romantic, poetic word in the English language.

“I love you,” you replied, which wasn’t technically a yes, but made Jackson’s breath catch suddenly in his throat.

“I love you, too, mi corazón.” He tugged the elastic waistband of his boxers down over his straining cock, and, taking it in his hand, notched its thick head against your entrance. His forehead rested against yours as he demanded huskily, “Now tell me you want me inside you.”

You gasped. He was so big and blunt against your tight pussy, you almost didn’t think he could fit. But you knew he could—and you knew that was why he always warmed you up so gradually, so agonizingly, so he would never hurt you. With the crown of his cock stretching your opening, the temptation of being filled by him was so close that an unbearable ache drowned out every other thought.

“I want you, Jackson. I need you.”

A thrill rushed through you as his walls came crashing down. His hips canted forward, and a pleasurable burn filled your depths as his cock stretched you open farther than seemed possible—and you watched his mind empty in that moment. All the stress and worry were gone. Nothing was on his mind but you and how good you felt wrapped around him. Nothing existed for you but him between your legs and the ragged sound of his breathing.

As if to seamlessly replace his fingers with his cock, he set the same languid pace. At first, the difference in girth was enough to make it infinitely more intense. Relief cascaded through you as your pleasure finally began to build toward a finale, heat pooling in your lower body with every thrust. Dipping his head, Jackson found a hardened nipple and sucked it until you were babbling incoherently, hips jerking to add to the depth and friction he was giving you.

“H-harder,” you whispered, and this time, he didn’t tease you.

Your pussy coated his cock with so much cream, he knew you could take all of him. Knew you were ready to snap, and so was he—so his hips pounded faster, thighs slapping your skin, heavy balls swinging against your ass.

“Yes… yes… yes…” he breathed rhythmically, chasing his climax as your arousal coated his cock and slicked your thighs.

“More,” you rasped, though your fingernails were already digging red crescents into his back, the stretch almost too much. He needed a stress release, and you wanted to be his outlet. “Let yourself go.”

A final barrier broke inside him, and he took you so quickly, it was more like jerking himself off with your body than making love. Nothing went through his mind but seeking his own release. For a moment, Even you vanished, and there was nothing but his cock surrounded and gripped by unbelievable warmth. You cried out in pleasure at the new depths he struck with reckless abandon.

His hips stuttered. “Fuck!” he gasped, fingers gripping the couch cushion as his hot seed painted your inner walls.

He panted, going still. After a few moments of catching his breath, cock twitching the remainder of its contents into you, he wiped the sheen of sweat off his brow and opened his eyes.

“You didn’t come, did you?” He gave a sheepish sigh.

“It’s OK. Sometimes it takes me too long… It was fun anyway.”

“Stop that. Whoever gave you those excuses is a fucking idiot.”

Keeping himself sheathed inside you, he reached between your bodies to stroke your clit. You gasped out, finding your body responded quickly with waves of molten heat exploding between your thighs. You were still close to finishing.

Jackson circled his hips, using his spent, tender cock while it was still hard. Though each movement was overstimulating and made his body cry out to stop, he savored the way you responded to the pressure: your eyes squeezing closed, your breath growing shallow. He lowered his mouth to your chest again, stroking your clit faster as he flicked his tongue and rocked his hips in shallow thrusts. Your moans built, louder and more strained, back arching beneath him until finally, you came, walls crashing around him, convulsing and releasing, then clenching down again as your whole body shuddered with wave after wave of ecstasy.

Jackson’s mouth popped off the bud of your nipple as a pained moan tore from his throat. His exhausted cock suffered as your pussy involuntarily tried to milk another orgasm from it, but there was a smile on his lips. A breathy laugh.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “You’re perfect.”

You lay together for a while under the blanket. Even after you’d recovered, your shared body heat was incentive enough not to want to get up yet. The storm outside didn’t relent, and despite the warm light of a hundred flickering candles, the air inside the cabin was chilly. Soon, you would start up the fire in the rustic stone hearth, and you could stay cozy inside all day roasting marshmallows and reading books or playing board games. After a brief trip into town for supplies, that is. Besides, you would have to brave the storm to make good on your promise to slip some ice down his shirt.

For now, Jackson’s face was buried contentedly in the curve of your neck, hot puffs of breath tickling your skin. You held him in your arms, combing your fingers through his hair.

“So,” you murmured. “Enjoying our vacation yet?”

You felt him smile. “It’s everything I needed.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

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[svtkillua]

little lion man > 1

rating: [pg-13 / angst] pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader x todoroki shouto warnings: cursing, lots of yummy angst >:)) word count: 6.8k

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ch.1 + ch.2 + ch.3 + ch.4 (final) + alt. ending

The rain fell just loud enough for you to hear, the skies a beautiful but somber grey and the world feeling otherwise silent. The birds weren’t chirping. The neighborhood seemed empty. It was just you. You and your empty apartment and your thoughts. The all consuming thoughts that made the silence seem so loud. His voice just kept replaying in your head, like the soundtrack to the otherwise quiet moment.

“I think she’s the one.”

Time alone with him was like a cruel trick. For those hours you could slip out of your mind and focus only on him and you and on how incredible it felt to pretend that Bakugou Katsuki loved you. It felt like a dream to be in his presence, it always had. He wasn’t just a hero to you but so much more. From the moment you’d met you could feel it, that pull to him every time he’d smile or laugh far too loud. He knew just how to get you to give into his crazy ideas and antics and as much as you pretended you hated it, you loved it. You craved it. You craved him.

Loving him was the biggest mistake you had made. Falling for someone who had no such feelings for you was bad enough, but it being your best friend was about a hundred times worse. The sting when he’d talk about others left a constant acrid taste in your mouth and there was no escaping it. You loved him too much to let him go, even if it meant feeling dejected and harboring the emotions in silence. You couldn’t just give him up, in love with him or not, you were his best friend and he was yours.

When he had met her, everything felt like it took a great shift, not with him, but with you. The bitterness had grown more constant in your chest. You had manifested a disdain for yourself the more you heard about her. If you were pretty than she was beautiful. If you were a quiet song than she was a boastful ballad. If you were a starry night than she was a brilliant sunrise. You weren’t undesirable, but she was more. You were the sarcastic comments and loud laughter that earned his friendship, while she was the beautiful smile and soft voice that earned his heart.

They’d been dating about a year and despite his constant touring and packed schedule, you could see him falling in love with her more each passing day. His every waking thought and moment was spent wanting her, thinking of her, missing her. You could see it in his eyes because you saw it in your own, that all consuming love that left you feeling breathless. The only difference was that she loved him as well and supplied him with the oxygen, while you were left feeling like your lungs were being ripped out.

You’d somehow managed to always have an excuse so you wouldn’t have to meet her. She had met the rest of the boys several times and lately Bakugou had been more persistent about you getting to.  It wasn’t that you thought you’d dislike her, it was that you knew you probably wouldn’t, and somehow that made it all so much worse. If she was worthy of Bakugou’s attention than she was surely just as incredible as he was, with a shine so bright it was nearly blinding when you stared too long.

You’d spent your time practicing playing your piano, which was far too large and taking up too much room in your small apartment. It was your passion and your outlet the nights the hollow feeling in your chest was just a bit too much. Composing was your dream and while he was supportive he didn’t have any idea that he was such an inspiration to the love songs.

It wasn’t like you were depressed or wanted to disappear, if anything you just wanted your emotions to go away for a while. You needed a reset so you could go back to being oblivious to the feelings you felt. You wanted to be blissfully ignorant to how his touches and words could make you feel, but you weren’t exactly sure how to get there. You couldn’t deny you loved him romantically at this point, it was useless. You loved him down to your very bones.

One late night phone call when he’d been practically begging you to meet her after his full-day shift finished, you’d been rattling off every possible lame excuse you could come up with. It wasn’t until he quietly uttered those five short words that your excuses stopped flowing.

“I think she’s the one.”

It had been the only reason you’d given in, and the exact reason they were coming over for dinner tonight. It’d be the first time you’d seen him since his last small break from work abroad two months ago, and while you were excited to see him, the idea of finally meeting her in person made you a bit queasy. You could only hope it would do some good. Maybe seeing him so in love with someone else in person would be the wake-up call you so desperately needed to jump start moving on.

The quiet ding of the oven ripped your attention away from the rain dripping down the window, your head whipping around and your lips parting to let out a sigh. You couldn’t let your emotions getting the best of you tonight, the last thing you needed was to come across as a completely jealous bitch. Your body moved easily throughout your apartment to the kitchen, turning off the beeping oven and pulling out the cookies you’d made for later, Bakugou’s favorite.

Your apartment wasn’t huge, but far big enough for yourself, just big enough to be roomy but small enough to be cozy. The far wall of the small dining area was lined with photos. As you set the table, your eyes wandered them, a smile spreading on your lips. Some were small and some were large. Some were sentimental and some were goofy but they all made your heart swell. Your personal favorite was a photo of Bakugou and Tokoyami wearing these ridiculous face masks you’d forced them to try a couple months back. Thinking of it always made you smile.

The place had so many memories of late nights with all the guys piled in watching movies. You’d had your fair share of sleepovers and little parties. You’d written a few songs on the piano here with Kaminari which never saw the light of day. You even had a small dent in the back wall of the kitchen from where Bakugou stumbled into it one night he had too much to drink. He proceeded to sit on the floor and chant apologies for a solid hour afterwards. The walls were practically oozing with memories that made your heart do a little hum.

Your phone buzzing in your pocket made you jump a bit, silently cursing yourself for being so lost in thought. With a quick tug, it was pulled from your pocket, the screen lighting up with a text.

Kaminari [19:57] :

We’re pulling up now, see you in a few!

You quickly moved away from the set table, moving to your bedroom and dropping your phone onto the mattress with a dull thud. The reflection of yourself from the mirror in your closet caught your attention, feet moving towards it without much thought. A simple black sweater and dark skinny jeans seemed to fit the dull weather well, hair flowing down over your shoulders and feet clad in a stupid pair of socks Kaminari had sent you a few months back. You were silently thankful it wouldn’t just be you and the happy couple tonight, Kaminari and Todoroki were coming as well.

With soft click of your bedroom door you exited the room, feet quietly padding across the hardwood floors to the front door just as the doorbell rang. You paused for a moment just outside it, hearing the muffled voices on the other side laughing. Just hearing his faint giggling made your stomach do a small involuntary twist. You took one long, deep breathe, before twisting the knob and opening the heavy wooden door. It was now or never.

“Finally!” Kaminari huffed, rushing inside and nearly knocking you over in a tight hug, a laugh leaving your lips as you wrapped your arms around the towering boy. “I thought you were going to leave us out there forever.”

“Kaminari. I answered the door after like, two seconds.” You snorted, patting his cheeks as he smiled cheekily down at you. Once his arms moved off you, Todoroki swooped in for his hug, his arms feeling much stronger around your middle than Kaminari’s had.

“It’s good to see you.” He whispered and smiled softly as he leaned back some, grip still around you as his eyes peered over your figure, as if checking to make sure I hadn’t changed too much. His body was warm against yours and the gentle smile on your face made your nerves simmer down a bit. “You look beautiful, besides those socks.” He chuckled, making Kaminari whine loudly.

“I got her those! They’re cute, thank you very much.” He scoffed, flicking Todoroki’s cheek, earning him a hard pinch in the side.

Kaminari made a yelp and slid an arm around your shoulders, trying to playfully tug you away from Todoroki and instead into his chest, Todoroki just narrowing his eyes at the towering boy.

“Will you two stop hogging her?”

Bakugou’s voice made all focus on the other boys banter slip away, your breathing momentarily stopping as your eyes finally landed on the blonde haired boy. The grin that spread on his lips as he rushed to you made your heart’s tempo double, his arms surrounding you in an instant. Your eyes felt heavy, fluttering shut as you squeezed him tightly, his nose burying against your shoulder as he rocked your bodies side to side.

“I missed you so much.” He whispered into your shirt, making a smile tug up on your face and your hands hold him just a bit stronger. His own hands spread against your back, moving gently up and down in soothing motions. Being in his arms again felt so relaxing, and to you it felt so, so right.

For a moment it felt like just the two of you. Just you and your Bakugou, with his arms holding you and his smell making you feel intoxicated. Your body was molded against his, a soft exhale falling past your lips. Your back arched some so you pressed into him, his own body leaning forward some over you as he nuzzled against your shoulder. He took a deep breathe into your skin, fingertips pressing into your back, as if trying to pull you in closer to him.

“I missed you too, Katsu.” You murmured, eyes opening and focusing on the gorgeous girl standing behind him by the door. Reality felt like a slap to the face, a hard one that would leave an angry red mark across your features. You felt a bit sick to your stomach, grip loosening around him in an instant as you began pulling away, despite the slight grip he seemed to try and hold on you. You tried hard not to let your smile falter when you involuntarily let him go before speaking, “Are you going to introduce me?”

The moment the words left your lips he seemed to fly off you, hastily moving to stand beside her. She was gorgeous, a smile on her face and her eyelashes fluttering as she looked over at his profile. They looked incredible together, his arm easily slinking around her midsection and her face heating up when he pressed a small kiss to her cheek before speaking.

“This is my stunning, brilliant, oh-so-amazing girlfriend, Camie.”

The way his voice lifted and his eyes shined was so very Bakugou. He looked so proud to be hers, his eyes glued onto her face as she waved at you shyly. You vaguely waved back but all you could feel was the sinking in your chest as she moved closer and gave you a small, friendly, hug. Part of you had been hoping she’d be an awful person so you’d have every right to dislike her, but it was clear she wasn’t.

“It’s so great to finally meet you. Katsu talks about you all the time.” Camie giggled, letting you go and moving to stand back beside a blushing Bakugou.

“Babe! Don’t call me that in front of them.” He clicked his tongue at hearing the pet name, fingers moving up to tickle her sides, making her gorgeous laughter float through the air. It seemed fitting her laugh would sound so melodic, he loved making people laugh, it was only fair his girlfriend would have the most beautiful sounding one.

“Let’s sit, everything’s ready.” You said, forcing the most believable smile you had as you moved away from the door towards the dining table. They removed their shoes and coats in a blur of motion, everyone piling around the small table. You found yourself sandwiched between Kaminari and Todoroki, both boys piling food onto their plates while Bakugou pulled out Camie’s chair for her. He sent you a sly wink once he was seated and your smile relaxed into a somewhat more natural one.

“This looks great, have you suddenly become a good cook while I was gone?” He quipped, you sending a playful glare in his direction.

“Excuse you, I’ve always been an amazing cook, you just don’t appreciate my talents. Besides, you have no room to talk, Mr. I can’t cook an egg.”

Kaminari snorted and smacked the table at your comeback, always one for dramatic reactions. Camie giggled at his enthusiasm, patting Bakugou’s hand that rested on the table as she spoke.

“She has a good point.”

He muttered something under his breath about her not coming to his defense, which only seemed to make Kaminari laugh louder, his whole body quaking as he draped an arm around the back of your chair, using his other hand to push a bite into his mouth. Bakugou’s attention moved back over to Camie, his snarl only getting more prominent when she giggled loudly.

As everyone started settling into their meals your eyes flickered back over at the couple, seeing how Camie leaned in quickly and pressed a small kiss to his slightly pout lips when she thought no one was looking. The smile that took over his face was the most beautiful and heart breaking thing you’d ever seen, all at the same time. He looked so indescribably happy just being near her and you felt horrible for hating it. He was your best friend, you should want him to be happy even if it wasn’t with you.

You had been the one that made the mistake of falling in love with him, it wasn’t his fault for falling in love with someone other than you. You had given him your everything without making sure he wanted it and that was something you could only blame yourself for. Even without ever really having him be yours, you were his. You didn’t plan  to be, but you were his, and you weren’t sure you’d ever not be.

He wasn’t just some guy you barely knew, he was Bakugou. Bakugou that would sit and watch you play piano for hours with a wistful smile on his face. Bakugou that would call you late at night and hum quiet songs to you til you fell asleep. Bakugou that punched your ex in the face for making you cry. Bakugou that had cried and cried when you both got in a huge fight over something stupid and begged your forgiveness a mere hour later. The same Bakugou you couldn’t help but sometimes resent for loving someone else, you loved with all your heart and soul. Not just romantically, but in every possible manner you could love someone.

Dinner passed with lots of chatter, you found yourself barely paying attention to conversation as the boys reminisced about touring and asked the occasional question, to which you’d give small but good enough responses. Bakugou’s chair had moved closer and closer to Camie’s the entire time, his hand eventually wrapping in hers on the table top, which you had noted, made her blush the prettiest damn shade of pink.

You all moved into the living room after debating over who would do the dishes, Todoroki eventually grabbing them all and marching off to do them, ignoring your complaints. The living room was on the smaller size, filled with a plush chair and two seat sofa, a coffee table, a tv and your huge piano, which took up most of the space in the room. Windows lined the back wall by the piano, overlooking the streets below.

You made it into the room last, Kaminari taking up the chair, Bakugou and Camie sharing the small sofa. Bakugou’s eyes focused on you and he smiled, trying to scoot over some but nearly squashing tiny Camie in the process. She didn’t make a peep, but you could see her squirming a bit uncomfortably.

“Sit by me!” He pouted, patting the tiny spot of sofa on his right side but you only shook your head, walking past him to sit down on your piano bench.

“Katsu, you’re gonna hurt her. It’s a small couch.” You chuckled half heartedly, sitting on the wooden surface with your back to the keys, arms folding lazily over your chest. His eyes shifted from yours, to Camie, then back to yours again when he scooted so she’d have enough room. His arm rose and wrapped around her shoulders as he blushed a tad but his eyes stayed focused on you.

“Mean.” He huffed. You easily rolled your eyes and looked away, Kaminari snickering a bit at you both. Camie’s head fell onto Bakugou’s shoulder as he rubbed his palm back and forth over her shoulder blade, your eyes staring at the interaction.

It was an odd feeling really, seeing in person the girl who had everything you seemingly didn’t. She was smart and seemed to keep up with Bakugou’s constant outbursts. Bakugou had been boasting all dinner about how sweet she was, something that made her turn the color of a tomato. Somewhere thought out dinner she had mentioned that she was studying to be a doctor, but also loved to dance in her free time. That’s how they had met, outside of her dance studio while he was patrolling the city. You could remember the day, Bakugou had been texting you all night about the cute girl he’d met.

She was undeniably beautiful, with long light colored hair swept half up and half down, side-swept bangs making it breathe a look of innocence. Her light colored dress and white sweater was a stark contrast to your all black ensemble. She was small and relatively thin, her fingernails painted a delicate pink, the same color her cheeks had turned when she blushed earlier. She seemed genuinely kind, not at all like the books and movies where the other woman was heartless and undeserving for the man’s love. She seemed perfect for Bakugou, and that thought made your heart twist uncomfortably in your chest.

“Dishes are all done.” Todoroki announced quietly as he came in after a few minutes, sitting beside you on the miniscule bench. He patted your knee, making you chuckle a bit and nod your head. You could vaguely see Bakugou’s eyes on the pair of you but paid it no attention, pressing a small kiss to Todoroki’s plush cheek.

“Thanks Sho. Though, I wish you would have just let me do them myself. You’re the guest.” You smiled, lifting a hand up to run your fingers through your hair, pushing some behind your ear so it’d stop falling in your face.

“Yes, but you cooked.” He argued, folding his muscular arms over his chest and trying to wink at you, failing and pretty much just blinking, which made you laugh and shake your head. His smile spread across his lips as he shook his head back at you, Bakugou clearing his throat a bit.

“Let’s watch a movie.”  

A few clicks of the remote later and some cheesy romantic flick was playing on screen, the sound paired with the slow rain still drizzling down outside. Camie was totally engrossed in the film, as Kaminari and Todoroki seemed to be, though Todoroki kept letting out unimpressed yawns. The lighting had grown dim from the setting sun but no one moved to turn the lights on, instead opting to just focus on the glowing screen.

Romantic movies never did much for you, however, so your focus was elsewhere, namely, on Bakugou, who kept catching your eye and making stupid faces in your direction. It made your heart flutter in the way only Bakugou could with such a stupid action. A soft laugh fell past your lips when he stuck his tongue out at you, a grin spreading on his face when your quiet laughter met his ears.

You took the opportunity to make a stupid face back, crossing your eyes and puffing out your cheeks like a fish. His laugh was so loud and sudden it made Kaminari jump, nearly falling off his chair, which resorted in your own laughter. Bakugou smiled sheepishly and reached over to pat his knee, mumbling a sorry for scaring him.

You could feel eyes on you and glanced over, Camie’s eyes catching yours, though she quickly looked away back to the screen. For a moment, you had almost forgotten she was here, you’d only been focusing on Bakugou. She had a small pink tone on her cheeks, perhaps from you catching her stare, but she didn’t give much of a reaction otherwise. Her hand clasped around Bakugou’s free one, before she lifted it up and kissed the back of it, a small but affectionate action.

You looked away, eyes locking onto the screen and focusing on the emotions there rather than the ones spreading in your chest. It was stupid to be jealous over such a simple action as holding hands, but you were. You were envious and you knew it, because you wanted to have those simple affections and touches with Bakugou, and you didn’t. She did, and she clearly treasured them, judging by how she kept doing it subtly all night when she thought no one was looking. She seemed a bit shy, yes, but clearly she wasn’t as shy with her sentiments for him.

You quietly got up when some love profession was happening on screen, feeling Bakugou’s eyes on you as you mumbled something about getting a drink and slipped from the room. In the safety of the kitchen, you let out a quiet puff of air you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You felt dejected, like finally meeting her just put the last check mark of the boxes it took to break your ever shrinking confidence.

The tea kettle made a tiny clink when you set it on the stove top, flicking on the burner and staring at the small flames as they danced upwards. Your body turned to look out the window, hands reaching behind you to rest on the off white countertop. The rain had slowed, but the windows had fogged up some with condensation, little beads of the sweat rolling down the panes at half speed. The rain definitely wasn’t helping your dreary mood, your knuckles turning a bit white from how tightly you gripped the counter.

“You okay?”

Bakugou’s voice startled you, your body lurching upwards some, making him smile as he slipped inside the previously quiet kitchen. The movie could be faintly heard in the other room, along with the boys quiet commentary and Camie’s laughter. His eyes focused on your face as he came closer, leaning against the counter opposite you, his arms draping across his chest in a lazy motion.

“Yeah. I just hate those movies, you know that.” You chuckled half heartedly, averting your eyes from his face to the tea kettle. “Thought I’d make myself a drink and escape having to watch any more of it.”

He hummed, bobbing his head up and down in a small nod while standing his body up straight, his hands shoving into the pockets of his tight black jeans. You caught the smile spreading on his lips when he noticed the plate of his favorite cookies on the counter.

“Right, I almost forgot you’re a love hater.” The teasing was obvious in his tone, but the irony of his words made your laugh taste sour on your tongue.

“I’m not a love hater, Bakugou. I’m a cheesy movie hater, as everyone should be.” You quipped, sticking your tongue out at him before turning around to turn off the kettle which had started to let out a quiet whistle.

“Well, I somewhat enjoy them.”

“Of course you do.” You chuckled, hearing his far too dramatic gasp from behind you.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I have great taste!” He argued, the internal pout evident in his tone.

“You do not. The last movie night we had, you chose that awful action movie, remember? I still can’t believe you liked it.” You laughed, easily falling into your usual rhythm with him. Bakugou made it so simple to feel so comfortable. One minute you were contemplative and gloomy and the next he could have you laughing and smiling so hard your cheeks would grow sore.

“It wasn’t that bad!” He argued, but you could hear the laughter in his tone nonetheless, making it obvious he knew he was wrong. “Can I have a cup too?”

You nodded, grabbing his usual mug from your cupboard and pouring you both some of the hot drink. You turned back towards him, holding the mug out, which he took with an appreciative nod of his head, followed by a beat of silence as you both took a few sips.

His eyes wandered around the room while yours flickered over his face, taking in every curve and dip of his features. His jaw tensed a bit when he took too big of a gulp from his cup, his knuckles tightening their grip on the pastel yellow mug when he swallowed. His upper half was covered in a simple long sleeve white shirt, but he somehow made it look expensive. His hair was a lighter shade of blonde than when you’d last seen him, you noted, eyes wavering back down to his face. You were a bit surprised when you noticed he was now staring back at you.

“You got a haircut.” He said with a funny look on his face you couldn’t pinpoint, hand lifting up to tug lightly on the ends of your hair. You nodded without responding, his hand lifting up more to push the hair back behind your ear, fingers brushing along your cheek in the process. “It looks great, very mature. You’re growing up too fast on me.”

You laughed softly and swatted his hand away, a small smile on your face as you patted his chest. You silently noted how firm it felt under your palm. It was kinda unfair honestly, his physique was about as perfect as his personality, which was saying something.

“You’re being a tad dramatic, it’s a haircut. Besides, you cut yours almost every month.” You chuckled, lifting your cup towards your lips to take a small sip of the tea still left in the mug.

A moment passed where he nibbled on his bottom lip, your eyes shifting and watching the movement over the cusp of your mug. He seemed a bit nervous as he opened his mouth once to speak, closed it, then opened it again.

“So, do you like her?”

It wasn’t a hard question but you could tell from his tone it was loaded. He wanted you to like her, that much was obvious. She was his girlfriend and you were his best friend, it made sense your opinion meant something to him. His eyes darted from yours the doorway and back before he spoke again.

“Be honest with me, please.”

“She seems great Katsu. She seems to make you really happy, so I’m happy for you.”

It wasn’t a lie, mostly, she did seem genuinely kind and lovely. She’d been nothing but nice to you all night, despite her bouts of shyness. It was so clear why Bakugou was so smitten with her, she was like a softer, more reserved, version of him. You were happy for him, yes, mostly anyway. Seeing Bakugou happy made you happy, but knowing it wasn’t because of you did feel like a bit of a blow to your chest.

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes casting down to his hands, which had found their way to his front, thumbs twiddling together. It was a habit he only seemed to do when he was contemplating something. You were about to ask what exactly he was thinking, when he blurted it out himself.

“I think I’m gonna ask her to marry me.”

The words felt like the final shove to push you over the edge, your entire body going numb as the syllables registered in your brain. Thinking about him with her had hurt, but realizing it was going to be forever was indescribably painful. You’d never have him, he would never be yours and any sliver of a chance you ever had was gone.

Forever.

“It’s why I’ve been wanting you to meet her so bad. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I knew I couldn’t without you meeting her first…” His explanation barely met your ears, your head moving robotically in a nod as you stared behind him at the window. The condensation was still rolling down it, the sky dark behind the glass. “I know it’s fast but I’m so crazy about her, she’s so amazing, way too good for me and I just can’t imagine being with anyone else and being so happy.”

You knew you should be smiling or at least speaking, but the muscles in your face refused to move. Your mind was going a mile a minute but also not seeming to form any coherent thoughts. You could vaguely feel his body come closer, his presence feeling suddenly suffocating in the small space. His rambling had trailed off as his fingers wrapped around your limp hand. Your eyes finally met his, which were filled with what looked like a bit of panic.

“Please say something.” He said softly, giving your hand a firm squeeze, eyes boring into yours.

You swallowed down the hard rock forming in your throat and got a small smile to spread on your lips, your hand loosely giving his a squeeze back. You had to seem fine. You couldn’t let on that his words had shattered you. He couldn’t know that you loved him the way he loved her, he never could.

“Congratulations Katsu, I’m happy for you.” You said mutely, eyes burning and mouth growing dry. Never before had you wanted him to leave so badly. All you wanted was to curl up on your sofa and be left alone to wallow in self pity and hatred. The kitchen felt too compact with him so close to you and observing your every movement. You couldn’t show how heart broken you felt. You could deal with the crushing emotions swallowing you whole later, for now you had to be the supportive best friend.

“You don’t look happy.” He said, it just barely audible as he stared down at you, the look of panic replaced with concern, and it was growing by the second.

You quickly shook your head, willing your smile to double in size as you pulled his body into yours, hugging him tightly. You buried your face into his shoulder, vision growing a bit blurry when his arms encased you and held you close as he could.

“I am happy.” You lied easily without having to see his face, your grip on him growing stronger as you clamped your eyes shut to stop the stinging. “You’re going to make each other so happy, why wouldn’t I be ecstatic for you? I was just a bit surprised that’s all, like you said, it’s sorta fast.”  

The lies came out one after the other, you just hoped they were more convincing out loud than they were in your head. A quiet laugh left your lips and you shook your head some, despite it being tucked against his neck. Your mouth kept moving even though your thoughts were jumbled and messy.

“You’re gonna be such a good husband, you’ll take such good care of eachother. You can’t cook so she’ll have to do that. I’ll even teach her to make those cookies you love. I’d teach you but you’d probably just burn yourself, though she’s going to be a doctor so she could probably handle that huh?”

You knew you were rambling too much to sound normal, and judging by how his hands rubbed over the expanse of your back, you knew he could tell something was up. Your brain was screaming for you to just shut up. Maybe you could play it of as over excitement, or just some form of extreme surprise. His head shook when you started to pull away some, his hold not letting up as he kept you pinned there, between his body and the counter.

“She doesn’t need to know how to make them, you can make me them.” He said, eyes glued to your face as he tried to gauge whatever was going through your head. It was like he was looking for something but had no idea where it was. He knew you well enough to know when something was wrong but this time he couldn’t figure out what. “Why do you seem so…not you?”

You tried once again to pull from his grasp but he was too strong, and seemed completely unphased by your squirming. He needed answers and you needed to get away from him. It felt like no oxygen was getting to your brain and the longer he stared at you the more your panic started to expand. You couldn’t think of any good excuses for your reaction and the longer you stood there in his line of sight, the harder it was becoming to keep the emotions from overflowing.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Kaminari's voice made Bakugou jump, his surprise giving you a chance to push him away enough for you to move aside. Kaminari’s eyes moved between the two of you, before settling on Bakugou. You could see the confusion on his features from your previous proximity, but he didn’t push it.

“Camie keeps dozing off and we have work in the morning, so we should probably get going.” He said with a small smile in your direction and you silently thanked the universe for cutting you a break. “Sorry, I wish we could stay later.”

“Just give us a moment first.” Bakugou said, a slight edge to his voice you could exactly pinpoint. He was frustrated. Whether it was because you wouldn’t tell him what was up or that he couldn’t figure it out on his own, you weren’t sure.

“Baby?” Camie’s voice caught his attention, however,  as she shuffled up behind Kaminari, her hand raising to cover her mouth as she let out a quiet yawn. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, we were just talking.” Bakugou said, a small smile on his lips though you could tell it was a bit forced. He didn’t want to worry her, clearly. You would have found it sweet if you didn’t feel like you wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.

You hadn’t seen this coming and maybe that was why it was so hard for you to play it off like you’d become so good at doing. You were good at covering up your feelings, you’d been doing it for so long but this? This had completely thrown you off, to the point where even you knew you were acting odd, not that you could really help it.

“You guys should get going. I have rehearsal for the gala in the morning.” You blurted, smiling and keeping your eyes on Kaminari and Camie, rather than on Bakugou, whose eyes were burning holes into the side of your head. Clearly, he didn’t want your little conversation to be over just yet, but you needed it to be.

You quickly moved over and hooked arms with Kaminari, letting him drag you from the room towards the front door, thankful for him unknowingly saving you from blurting everything out to Bakugou. You could make some excuse up for your reaction later and figure out how to put on the face of the happy for him best friend again. For now, you needed to be alone, from everyone. After Kaminari and Todoroki showered you with compliments over the meal, they gave you an ample amount of hugs, taking turns. Camie than gave you a polite squeeze as well, her now trademark blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you for having us over. I hope we can hang out again sometime?”  Her voice came out as a question rather than a statement and the shy smile on her features made you want to scream. She had no idea you were in love with her, possibly, soon to be fiance, and you could only hope she never found out.

“Definitely.” You said with a small nod, ignoring Bakugou’s stare as he moved forward and hugged you again. It felt different than the other’s hugs, almost desperate, his body heat spreading through your entire system and lighting your nerves on fire. The stinging in your eyes started rising tenfold.

“I’m gonna call you when I get home, okay?” His voice was quiet in your ear, but serious. One thing Bakugou was good at was not letting things go, and for once you were a bit unhappy about it. The last thing you needed was him asking you over and over again what was wrong. You made a mental note to shut your phone off as soon as they were gone. You could deal with him once your head was clear.

With a nod and a forceful pull of your body from his, Camie’s hand was in his, tugging him out the door. The boys shouted goodbyes with big waves as they marched out behind them, laughing amongst themselves. He glanced over his shoulder at you just as you moved to close the door, making your heart leap to your throat as he held the gaze for a second.

You immediately ripped your gaze away, pushing the door closed with a thud. The second the lock turned with a soft click, you felt your pain boiling over, your back hitting the wooden surface as your eyes filled with pointless tears. It felt like you’d been dropped in a pool of ice cold water and your body was seizing up. Every nerve in your body was working on overtime but somehow dull all at once.

It wasn’t like you thought you’d had much of a chance before, but now even the smallest hope of it happening had been snuffed out. The pictures of him on the walls were making you feel like you were being mocked and you wished you could throw them all out. The pleasant thoughts of your apartment you were having earlier were gone, filled with disdain for the memories now burning in your mind.

How could you have been so stupid? How could you have let yourself fall in love this deep for someone who would never feel that way for you?

A sharp laugh escaped you as your eyes fell shut and your head tilted back, slightly knocking off the door. The tears dripped off of your cheek and down onto your shirt, leaving tiny dark circles in the fabric, your bottom lip trembling as you tried to reign it in. This all was like the plot of one of those stupid romantic movies you hated so much and the irony wasn’t lost on you.

But if this was one of those movies than Bakugou would have come running back and confessed that he had always loved you. He’d have thrown his arms around you and kissed you til he couldn’t breathe and have whispered how he could never want anyone else.

But this wasn’t one of those movies, this was reality.

Bakugou wasn’t in love with you, he was in love with Camie. He was going to ask her to marry him and they were going to live happily ever after.

And you were always going to be the best friend.

Nothing more.

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet ugly prompts, 02 indruck?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one and interpreted the prompt kind of broadly. It's set in the same world as this Sternclay prompt

Fun fact: there is a fire lookout in the Monogahela, but the structure I describe is based on more elaborate ones elsewhere

02. I bought a house three months ago but I’m finally moving in and discover you’ve been squatting because you’re homeless

Only in Duck’s life would “dream job” and “months alone in the woods” be equivalent.

The Bickle Nob Fire Lookout is a coveted position, and Duck is pretty fucking flattered they chose him as the ranger for July and August. He took the high clearance off-roader to get here, he’s got his bags full of everything he needs not to die of boredom (or anything else) and his schedule of supply drops. He’s as ready as can be and so fucking excited when he opens the door of the wide-windowed cabin.

Then he jumps back, startled to find a skinny, silver-haired man asleep on the floor.

“Uh, sir? This site is off-limits to visitors.”

The man wakes up in a series of catastrophic movements; he bangs into the wall, tangles in his blanket, and nearly stumbles out the window when he manages to stand.

“I, I’m sorry, I didn’t foresee anyone coming here.”

“Department spent all of June arguin’ about whether it was worth allocatin funds for this, so that’s why the place was empty. Fire up North two weeks ago scared ‘em enough to send me up here.” Duck explains with a casual smile; after all, even if he’s way off the trail, there’s no reason to assume this guy is out to cause trouble, “if you got lost hikin, I’m happy to radio down and ask for someone to come get you and take you back to your camp.”

“Nono, I, ah, I’m not lost. One needs to have a destination to be lost.”

“O-kay. Uh, well, whatever you’re lookin for, I’m afraid this ain’t it. This buildin is for the fire lookout only.”

“I promise I’ll be very unobtrusive. I even have my own supplies, you won’t have to worry about me in the slightest.” The man smiles,opening one of his two bags to show it crammed with shiny packets of food.

Duck shakes his head, “Can’t do it, sorry. I’m serious though, if you need a ride into town I can get a hold of someone who can help. Maybe, uh, you could find whatever you’re lookin for there?”

“No” the man sags, but begins zipping up his bags, “I do not think I will find it there. I am sorry for intruding.” He steps out the door, turning towards the deeper woods on the western slope.

“You need a map?” Duck calls. The man doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder.

Duck unpacks as much as he can, checks the weather station and notes the readings suggest those thunderheads on the far horizon are coming his way. By dinnertime, they’re right on top of him, rain pattering on the roof and thunder rattling the windows. He’s scanning the trees when he spots a metallic flash, not of lightning but of silver hair. His mystery visitor is huddled under a tree, wind forcing the hood of his raincoat back over and over again.

The rules and regulations in the forest are there to keep the environment and visitors safe. If something doesn’t violate those basic requirements, Duck sees no reason not to bend them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“I really cannot stress how grateful I am that you allowed me back in.” The visitor, who introduced himself as Indrid, finishes packing their scant trash into the can, “I promise that as soon as the storm passes I’ll leave you be.”

“Yeah, about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “you really don’t got anywhere to call home, do you?”

Indrid opens his mouth. Duck stares, pointedly, at the holes in his white shirt and the worn shoes sticking out from frayed jeans.

“....No, I do not.”

“In that case, you stay here the next two months, on two conditions: one, you don’t get in the way of me doin what I’m here to do. Two, you don’t tell anyone I let you do this. Deal?”

“Yes, yes absolutely” Indrid shakes his hand, bouncing up and down a bit, “thank you so much. You will barely know I’m here.”

This turns out to be completely true and utterly false.

Indrid does keep to himself most of the day; he draws, reads, lays in the sun outside the cabin and generally stays out of Ducks way while he’s working. But he’s also the person who sits and jokes with him during meals, who eagerly follows Duck’s hand when he points out interesting birds or plants, and watches intently when Duck reads his instruments.

He never thought he could live in a fifteen by fifteen foot space with another person and not have a full head of grey by the end of it. Indrid Cold is the exception that proves the rule, Duck certain he’ll never be able to be cooped up with anyone but Indrid ever again.

It helps that he still gets his quiet time; Indrid will got out for walks, even watches for smoke so Duck can do the same. They use the wild foraging guide and Duck’s knowledge of local plants to bring back extra food. Indrid was particularly pleased when he located some wild blackberries. When Duck reminded him to watch out for bears near the berry patch, Indrid simply smirked and said there was only one bear on the mountain who could get him.

Duck’s daydreaming of what Indrid might do if caught on his way back from a dusk walk. And, more urgently, how he can convince Indrid that he wants to sleep outside tomorrow night. So it takes two tries of the front door before he notices it’s locked.

“Indrid?” he knocks, “you in there?” Stepping back, he finds the windows hastily covered by his bedsheets and blankets. He knocks harder, “that’s real fuckin dangerous, if there’s a fire we won’t see it. ‘Drid! Open the damn door!”

He continues banging, unanswered, as the moon--two days from full--rises above.

--------------------------------------

Indrid covers his ears to block out Duck’s increasingly worried shouts from outside. This is the right choice, the best of a bad bunch; it will keep Duck and anyone else nearby safe. The ranger will probably turn him away come morning, rightly furious at his irrationality. Indrid resolves not to argue with him; he’ll slink back into the trees, just like he did the last time someone threw him out for his transgressions.

It starts in his chest, his heartbeat climbing to marathon speeds in spite of him holding still. Then his skin prickles, silver hair sprouting from every follicle, followed by his back bowing in pain and his jaw elongating with a crack. From there the adrenaline kicks in, flooding his body so the transformation doesn’t render him unconscious (and therefore helpless) with pain. When next he raises his head, a werewolf with glowing, red eyes looks back at him from the darkened windows.

Beyond the covered windows, someone howls. Then he scents it, another of his kind coming dangerously close. He has to go out, he can’t leave Duck out there with something that will rip him apart, surely he likes the human enough for his mind to see him as a friend, not prey-

CRACK

The door splinters off its hinges; he growls, ready to defend his home. A deeper growl answers him as a larger wolf, black-furred and yellow eyed, stalks across the threshold.

“What. the. Fuck?” the newcomer snaps, “I told you, you can only stay if you don’t fuck up my work and locking me out comes real fuckin close to that!”

He cocks his head “Duck?”

“No, I’m the fuckin president of the united states.”

“I, I’m so sorry.” Indrid drops to all fours, then flattens to his belly just to be safe, “I didn’t know, I just wanted to be sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Duck points to the broken door, “you coulda just done that from the opposite side and I woulda been dinner.”

“No I, I know that if I confine myself I tend to be...calmer. I don’t get overstimulated and then agitated.”

“You coulda just told me. Lockin me out is real rude.”

Indrid whines, crawls close enough to nose at him.

“You don’t gotta do that; I ain't assertin dominance or some shit, I’m just a little annoyed.”

He whines again, “please don’t make me leave.”

“I won’t.” Duck’s voice turns softer.

“And you will not get angry at me for not being appropriately grateful for your leniency?”

Duck frowns, “Aw jesus, did you come from one of those old-school packs?

“Yes” Indrid grumbles, hating himself for how easily he fell into manners he loathes, how deep the teachings of his home run.

Duck eases him up so they’re both sitting, then noses the side of his face, “We don't do that around here. Least, I don't. I don’t spend a ton of time with most of the other Weres when they’re wolfed-out, but they ain’t big on tradition and hierarchy the rest of the time.”

“Ah. That’s, that’s good.”

The other Were stretches, stands and pads about the room, removing the make-shift curtains, “You gotta teach me how you’re so fuckin accurate on when the moon is full enough to make us shift whether or not we want to; I thought I had a day left. I, uh, I was gonna ask you to sleep in here while I ‘slept under the stars’ so you wouldn’t know.”

“You’re not afraid of hurting someone?”

“Nah, especially not this far out. Sometimes I hunt deer, but whatever strain of this I got doesn’t go feral unless some shit goes majorly wrong.” He drops the blankets on the floor, “don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like huntin tonight. Or stargazin. I’m beat from work.”

“Agreed. Transforming against my will always makes me tired.”

Duck lays down on the floor,yawns, “In that case: sleep tight ‘Drid.”

Indrid tries to do just that. But every time he catches Duck’s scent he wishes he could move closer to him, then remembers that would be rude, and continues in that back and forth until he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that his Were form runs cold; he’s shivering in spite of it still being close to eighty degrees.

His ears flick at Duck’s footfalls. Then a warm, bulky frame curls around his freezing, lanky one.

“This okay?” Duck carefully drapes an arm over him.

Indrid sighs, feeling safer than he has in a year, “better than.”

---------------------------------------------------------

“I’m a seer.”

Duck looks up from his breakfast, mouth full but question clear.

“Last night, you asked me how I knew we’d transform. Seeing the future makes it rather easy.”

“Damn, that does sound handy.”

“In many ways it is. Though it carries some, ah, some downsides.” Indrid steers his thoughts towards safer paths, “If you’d like, I could use it to help you with the fire lookout.”

The ranger grins, the expression twice as warm as his fur the night before, “That’d be fuckin great.”

Indrid smiles back, keeps his eyes on the windows so as not to look longingly back at the rumpled sheets. They awoke this morning in a heap, Duck’s modesty preserved only by a blanket and Indrid’s hair stuck in all directions. He’d been ready to apologize for not moving away before dawn, but Duck simply reached out, stroked his hair down, and asked if he wanted coffee.

-------------------------------------------------

“You’re right, you can see more animals this way.” They’re perched, fully transformed, on the rocks outside the cabin. Indrid knows how to use his night vision for hunting, but Duck is teaching him how to use it for more peaceful matters.

“Yeah, long as you stay put most animals get up the nerve to nose around some.”

They’d transformed side by side, Duck banging his head in the process. Indrid licked near the bruise and made soothing, sympathetic sounds when Duck whined and cursed his luck. Back home, being demonstrative was frowned upon; here, Duck seems to always be casually bumping their bodies together.

When they go to bed several hours after moonrise, they curl up side by side without hesitation. It’s so very easy to tune out his visions when Duck is near and Indrid falls asleep while the ranger is still whispering about the birds they can hear.

He wakes up an hour later in a panic, disasters of visions past tearing through his mind.

“‘Drid? What’s wrong?” Duck noses the base of his neck.

“Nothing. Just a bad dream.” He closes his eyes, tries to focus on Duck’s scent, his breath, the wind in the trees, but still the ghosts of his memories lurk in the corners of his vision.

“Can I try somethin?” Duck murmurs. Indrid thought he’d gone back to sleep.

“Of course.”

Teeth tenderly and ever so carefully clamp the fur and skin of his neck. He goes limp in one breath. He was high status enough that no one ever did this to him, but goodness does he wish they had

The ranger let’s go, “Do I need to do it again?”

“Please.”

Duck obliges and Indrid whimpers, melting shamelessly in his arms.

“Thank you. I think I can sleep now.”

“Any time, ‘Drid. Uh, before you, uh, go to sleep there’s somethin I wanna ask you. Since you need a place to stay, do you, uh, wanna stay with me? In Kepler.”

“You’d really like that? You, if this is out of pity-”

“It ain’t.”

There were no futures where it was. Indrid wanted to hear the words all the same.

“Besides” Duck nuzzles him, “we already know we make damn good roommates.”

Indrid can’t help it; he howls, brief and joyful, safe in the knowledge that Duck will be ready with a laugh and a kiss in reply.

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 35

chapter list / previous / next

The town was worse than Talltail could have ever imagined. 

He was bombarded on all sides by horrible loud screeches and rumbles and a cacophony of twoleg voices that seemed to bother Jake far less then they did him. It took all the willpower he had to not to flinch and cower at the roars of monsters that passed down nearby crisscrossing Thunderpaths. And I thought the one Thunderpath near the moor was bad!

  He could make out countless different smells, but he didn’t recognize any. It was all too tangled up. Occasionally he caught a whiff of rat, but it was always covered with the sour stench of twoleg rubbish and wet gravel.

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Talltail hissed to Jake as they padded quickly down the hard flat twoleg paths, uncomfortably boxed in on either side by high house-like structures.

“I do, I’ve been this way before. It smells weird because humans throw trash down these alleyways, but they don’t walk down them very often. We’re going to ask some um...friends of mine the safest way to the park. I know the general area it’s in, but I've never tried to actually go there before, and I’d prefer to avoid crossing roads if we can.”

They turned down another alleyway and Talltail froze when he heard a sharp rattle as one of the twolegs bins was knocked across their path, clanging hard against the ground. An angry looking dark ginger molly leapt up on the bin, a growl rising in her throat. Talltail bristled as from behind her, three more cats stalked towards them with flattened ears. They were covered in deep scars from past scraps. Talltail was taller than all of them, but that didn’t make the odds much better.

“Hey, you! We told you not to show your stinking muzzle around here!” the ginger molly hissed. 

Jake flicked his tail in casual greeting and Talltail stared at him in shock. These cats looked like they were about to pounce!

“Hey guys! Been a while, huh? It’s really good to see old pals again.”

The smallest of the cats, scraggly brown tom, growled and stepped closer.

“Don’t call us pals dog-breath, we ‘aint your pals, and we warned you what would happen if you showed up again!”

Jake cocked his head “I thought it was something like you’d tell me to get lost? And I’d love to get lost, but I just need to ask a quick--”

“The warning was implied!” the tom spat.

Jake sniffed. “Well, it wasn’t implied very clearly,”

“Jake, for StarClan’s sake!” Talltail hissed.

“Aw, come on. I thought we got along well last time!” Jake went on, ignoring Talltail’s warning. 

The alley cats just snarled and their claws unsheathed, scraping threateningly on the stone. Talltail instinctively put a paw in front of Jake, a low warning growl rising in his throat in response.

“Who’s this string bean supposed to be?” the red molly scoffed. The fact that she had to look up at him didn’t seem to bother her much.

“He’s a real clan cat, you know. So um. I wouldn’t attack him. We’re both trained to fight,” Jake stuttered. “But really, I don’t think this needs to come to violence--”

“I knew it! I knew it was one of those forest freaks!” a muscular gray tom spat, “So you’re a traitor as well as a pest now, are you Jake?”

“Traitor? That seems a bit excessive.”

“We’re sick of you so called clan bastards, why don’t you tell your other rat faced friends to go back to the woods before we rip your fur off?” the gray tom yowled.

“Friends?” Talltail narrowed his eyes. “Clan cats don’t come through here.”

‘Don’t play dumb!” the tiny tom hissed. “We know you been pestering Bess and them. You’re not getting them in the park either so don’t even bother! The duck pond is off limits and we’re guarding it now, so--”

“Shut up Roach!” snarled the molly, swatting the little brown tom on the head. “Just spill out everything, why don’t you!?”

“I have no idea what other clan cats you're talking about,” Talltail said. “I haven’t had any quarrel with Bess before. You must be mistaken.”

“The only thing we’re mistaken about,” the red molly sneered, “is having not ripped you apart yet. You’re outnumbered. One less clan rat sounds good as far as I’m concerned, and one less freeloading pest who fancies himself an adventurer at that!” she added to Jake.

“Try it,” Talltail arched his back and unsheathed his claws. “You outnumber me, but at least the first one to pounce will regret they were ever kitted.” 

The four rogues didn’t back down, but they didn’t advance either. Some looked between each other and shifted around. Talltail was counting on them not having coordinated team tactics like he’d been taught in WindClan, and none of them seemed sure how to go about deciding who would be the first to attack. But he wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to back up his threat when one of them eventually did. He tensed when he saw the molly and the big gray tom crouch.

“You don’t want to do this, Bel!” Jake said poking out from behind Talltail “I mean it, don’t you want to know the real reason I came here? You’ll regret it if anything happens to me!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The molly apparently called Bel hissed.

“You know I get around,” Jake suddenly sounded very serious, catching Talltail a bit off guard. “I know a lot of different cats around here, a lot of cats who would be very displeased if I suddenly turned up missing, and I know you don’t want trouble with them. I came to deliver a message that could be life or death for you.”

 Bel’s stance changed slightly as she shifted uncomfortably. “What message? What’s this about? You’re not working for the group on the other side of town or anything are you?”

Talltail was as caught off guard as Bel. Jake didn’t look at him, but he curled his tail briefly around Talltail’s back foot, and flicked it to the side. He was certainly trying to tell him something.

“You want to hear it?” Jake lowered his voice as the rogues were looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“I-I guess?” Roach whimpered.

The gray tom shoved his companion. “Don’t act like such a kit!”

As soon as the others briefly turned their attention to the small squabble, Jake rammed himself into the silver metal bin beside him, the cat on top of it yowled in shock as she was taken down with it. It bashed the gray tom on the head and clanged to the ground as the other cat toppled on top of Bel.

Jake turned on his heels and shoved Talltail along. “Time to go!” he yelped, and Talltail followed without a second thought, sprinting back down the alley.

The clutter behind them as the rogues tried to detangle themselves certainly offered a good head start, which they probably needed as Talltail quickly realized Jake wasn’t the fastest cat on his paws. The trained runner had to temper his pace a lot to not leave Jake in the dust, nevermind that he didn’t actually have any idea where he was going. Jake directed him down one pathway, then another, scattering some bewildered pigeons, and at last they broke out of the narrow passages and were running on hard flat stone. Talltail saw twolegs turn their heads and make noises at them, but they shot past too fast for them to do anything. Thank StarClan twolegs are slow! 

He thought surely the cats chasing them would stop when they left their alley, but to his dread, they were still coming.

“Where you goin’ clan cat!?” he heard the red molly yowl. “Not as tough out here, are you?”

Talltail gritted his teeth. Jake wasn’t going fast enough. “We’re not outrunning them,” he hissed between breaths. “We’ll have to try something else.” Jake didn’t have time to respond before they found themselves pinned in a dead end alley.

“Oops,” Jake gasped.

 Talltail didn’t bother stopping, instead shouting, “when they start this way, run back towards them!”

“What?”

“Just trust me!”

Talltail reached the back of the dead end-alley, hearing their pursuers triumphant yowl at seeing them cornered. Talltail didn’t pause, he wheeled around, leaped up the wall, and used it to springboard backward straight at the nearest rogue. Bel yowled in surprise at his speed and sudden turn as she was slammed to the ground, knocking her head hard on the pavement. Talltail leaped at the gray tom behind her without missing a beat and barreled him into a twoleg bin, knocking into the other molly as they stumbled into a stinking bag of rubbish, which promptly toppled onto them. Jake ran past, but there was another rogue left in his way. Talltail went to leap after Jake before they could touch him, but the molly he’d knocked down recovered and was lunging for his throat. He barely pulled his head away and heard her teeth snap shut hard a hairsbreadth where his neck had just been, and swiped a blow at her muzzle in return. The tom left in the rubbish pile leapt onto his back and struggled for his neck. These cats were shockingly eager about this fight.

 Luckily the gray tom’s grip was poor, the momentum from the jump making him lose his hold and slip off the other side with a frustrated snarl, leaving red lines in Talltail’s back as he did. What I wouldn’t give to have thicker fur! he thought with a muted hiss of pain as he kicked the tom in the face and took off.

Jake had run right into the last little rogue. For a moment, Talltail was panicked as the attacker reared up with claws flashing. But apparently they were caught off guard when their opponent didn’t rear up as well. Instead, Jake ran head first full speed into their belly, bowling right over them and kicking them in the muzzle with his hind paws as he scrambled to keep going, looking back to see Talltail catch up to him with ease.

“I know where to go!” Jake gasped. 

Talltail was unsure, but he was in no position to disagree. Jake turned sharply to the right down one last alleyway and Talltail reacted swiftly, following him through a small hole in a fence that blocked the way. Talltail had some trouble getting his shoulders through the hole, wincing as the fence scraped at his scratches. He felt teeth snap at the hairs on his tail as he pulled himself free. Jake leapt up and knocked over stack of boxes and crates that had been left in the alley outside a door. They clattered over the hole, and Talltail heard a hiss of pain as something heavy fell onto the head of a cat that had tried to crawl after them.

“Come on, that won’t hold long,” Jake said.

 Talltail couldn’t help but be impressed with his friend's confidence. He’d never imagined how Jake would react to danger, but he was certainly one brave kittypet. The side of the stone twoleg den that cornered them had a hard broken tube that led up to its roof hanging down. Jake clambered up it and Talltail followed, anxious that it wouldn’t hold their weight as it creaked. Midway up, Jake leapt over the next hard metal fence that was blocking the other end of the alley, landing heavily on the other side while Talltail landed softly beside him. They headed back down into a different, much more quiet alleyway, and Jake disappeared through a small opening into what smelled like an abandoned dusty twoleg den. At last they stopped.

“Alright, I think we lost them,” Jake panted. “I never smell any cats in this building, I don’t think they’ve found the opening.”

“I guess you really do know your way around here,” Talltail replied, giving his sore shoulders a brisk lick,  “I never would have found it either. Are you ok?”

“Are you?” Jake fretted padding around him, sniffing his scratches. “That was incredible how you took on two at once! I didn’t get any claws in me, luckily Roach is such a slow slug.” Jake hung his head, looking guilty. “I’m sorry, those guys are usually all bluff and no teeth. I didn’t think they’d react so badly! They normally don’t really like fighting at all unless they have to, it's why they always stay together and act all tough to scare cats away instead. But they've never actually attacked me before. I’m so sorry I put us in danger...” 

“I’ve had way worse,” Talltail assured him, and began licking the scratches. They weren’t bleeding much anymore, and stung less than his old wounds. “Those rogues weren’t right...They weren’t just territorial, they chased us so far and were going for our throats! Are all town cats so aggressive?”

Jake curled his tail around himself. “Maybe some cats, but not all of them. I don’t know... Something seems to have riled them up. They have even more battle scars than I remember.” To Talltail's surprise, he sounded sympathetic. “It’s hard for them where they live, even the housefolk tend to treat them poorly. I think they’re always scared they can’t trust anyone.”

“Or maybe they just really really don’t like clan cats.” Talltail flicked his tail. “That has me worried… I haven’t heard of clan cats coming up here. I have no idea why they would. We’re not supposed to mess with outsiders at all. And what's more, they know where the loners I'm looking for are. And...apparently want to protect them from clan cats?” That is going to be very inconvenient, Talltail thought, though he tried to keep his irritation subtle.

“Would other cats from your clan have a reason to search for them like you do?” Jake asked. 

Talltail shook his head. “I would have noticed if someone else left, and no other clans even knew about the visitors. Except ShadowClan I suppose but...I don’t know why they would feel the need to come after them once they had left. What would be the point?”

“I suppose we’ll figure it out when we find them!” Jake shrugged. “It’s a mystery. I’m a little intrigued now. It’s still a serious matter of course,” he added quickly. “But talking to Bel’s friends wasn’t a total waste. Those cats are apparently staying at the duck pond...I know that’s somewhere in or around the park, so we at least have a specific place to aim for. It might be harder to get in if they are being protected though. Hopefully Roach was just exaggerating.”

“We’ll have to cross that log when we come to it.” Talltail said.

“Thank you though,” Jake mewed sheepishly, “For trying to protect me with those guys. If they were really that mad, they probably would have attacked sooner no matter what I said if you weren’t there making them nervous.”

 “Well yeah, it’s--” part of him said protecting others is what the warrior code teaches us, but he trailed off. “It was the only natural thing to do. By the way...What was it you were threatening to say to them, about...what was it, knowing other cats in town? You were really bold considering how outnumbered we were.”

Jake chuckled. “Oh all that? I have no idea, I was bluffing!”

Talltail stared. “You looked so convincing, even I believed you! You were bluffing?”

“Completely, I was scared out of my mind. I have no idea what I was saying. I don’t know any cats on the other side of town, I just assumed they must have rivals based on how they act, and I know they don’t want to get into any big group fights. So...I just tried making up something that sounded threatening. I think it’s more about the confidence than how plausible the story is. I mean really, can you imagine me joining a rival alley gang?” He was purring in amusement, and a little bit in pride.

“Well.” Talltail found himself purring too. “Good improvising on your part, I suppose. You certainly caught them off guard.”

They settled down in the old building, and Jake passively groomed the cuts on Talltail’s back.

“You know,” Talltail said “I should really apologize to you.” “What for?” Jake stopped mid lick.

“I keep assuming you’re going to be...I don’t know, helpless or something because you're a kittypet. My clan says so many things about you, but you aren’t really like that. You’re capable, and so much more...I don’t know, just more.”

“Well, I have been told before that I can be ‘a lot.’ But I was barely more than a flea-brained kitten when you knew me before, getting stuck in bushes and whatnot. I don’t blame you for worrying about me. But...still, that means a lot coming from you. I don’t know if anyone’s ever thought of me as capable. More as a nuisance that gets into trouble.”

“You might get yourself into trouble, but you have always apparently gotten yourself out of it. That’s something.” Talltail pointed out.

 Jake seemed very pleased with himself and Talltail felt his chest rumble in a faint purr. He was surprised that crouching here in this dusty dark twoleg den, he felt more at ease then he had in awhile. 

***

The ease lasted until it started to get dark, which didn’t take long, and Talltail became more aware of unfamiliar sounds. Whenever he dared let his eyes droop, he kept hearing scratches and creaks and wondered if they were enemy cats, or worse. Who knows what creatures lurked in the strange towering noisy labyrinth of twoleg territory?

“I think it should be safe to go out now. They’ve surely given up,” Jake said. 

Talltail looked at him with a start. “Go out?”

“Well yeah,” Jake blinked at him. “You’re in a hurry right? It might be better to travel the town at night, there'll be less housefolk to run into at least, since I know how much you don’t like them.”

Talltail didn’t like the idea of going back out, but was he seriously about to let cowardice stop him now? Jake wasn’t scared at all!

 “R-right. No, you're right. Let’s go.” he stood up too quickly and Jake looked up at him curiously.

“You alright?”

“Yep! Why wouldn’t I be? Let's go wander about the town and find a...what did you call it?”

“Duck pond.”

“Duck pond. Yes.”

 Did Talltail know what a duck was? It’s...a bird? RiverClan has them. But I don’t think I've seen one in WindClan territory. I’m going to look so stupid if I don’t know what a duck is, i’m supposed to be a wild expert and--StarClan, I don’t want to go back out there! But I can’t just sit here forever and let him know what a coward I am either!

“Talltail?” Jake’s voice came from the small hole entrance they’d ducked through. “You coming?’

“Ok, yes. I’m coming. We are...going out now. Off we go.” Talltail walked stiffly over, shoved himself through the hole, and promptly jumped half a tail length in the air at the screech of a distant monster, its roar echoing off the cold stone walls closing in on him. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong?” Jake nudged him

“I really don’t want to bother you, Jake,” Talltail muttered, forcing his fur flat.

Jake chuckled. “But I want you to bother me! I get told at least once a day that I bother someone, so if anything, I deserve to be bothered right now. And you seem different.”

“What do you mean I seem different?”

“Well...I am used to you looking a bit anxious, especially when you talked about stuff troubling you in your clan, or about your dad. But you seem...I don’t know, more tense now. More serious. It feels odd for you. I know we’ve both changed, so it’s to be expected I don’t know you perfectly or anything but...I don’t know, I just want you to know you can talk to me! I may not be able to help with your whole quest or even understand what it is, but what's the harm in letting it out? I’ve got no cat to tell, and you’ll be rid of me again soon anyway, if you want to be,” he said quickly. 

Talltail gazed at him and found a small purr hung in his throat for a minute. Jake really was always watching him closer than he knew. He almost reminds me of Briarpaw with that...I bet they would get along. He pushed the thought down before homesickness could grip him again.

Talltail sighed. “I’m just tense because, well….it just feels so closed in here, it’s near impossible to run from anything without tripping over rubbish. I feel trapped, I can’t see far into the distance for everything blocking my way, and I don’t recognize a single scent! I suppose I'm not good with adjusting.” He hung his head. “All my training couldn’t have prepared me for this place. I feel like a stupid kit.”

Jake headbutted him gently. “You’re not a stupid kit, you’re just in a new place! I know how that feels, and that’s why I'm here. Just follow me, I’ve got an idea of where to go.”

Talltail was reminded of why he had visited the former barn cat so often in his youth. There was an ease he felt with Jake that he didn’t often get elsewhere. They walked down the passageway, and Jake seemed confident enough to put some of Talltail’s anxieties at ease. At dusk there were less twolegs around for them to dodge, but Talltail still flinched when monsters roared past on the nearby Thunderpath. Their terrible eyes were all the more blinding in the dim light.

“Since you’ve told me that much,” Jake began, “maybe you could tell me what exactly your mission is? I still don’t know why you left your clan. I know you're looking for those ‘visitors’ or whatever they called themselves but, for what exactly?”

Talltail still wasn’t sure he wanted to go into it, but Jake was doing so much for him. Surely he owed some explanation. “Things were hard at home. My um…” he took a breath “My father died almost the same time you left.”

Jake gasped. “Oh no! I’m so sorry! What a rotten time for me to leave, that’s awful... What happened?”

“Don’t feel bad, you didn’t even choose to leave. It was...a tunnel collapse.”

“But I thought he was a tunnel expert?”

“He is,” Talltail said quickly. “Or he was. It wasn’t his fault.” He felt a growl rising in his chest. “It was one of those rogues. He was snooping in the tunnels doing something he wasn’t supposed to, I know he was, but I still don’t know what. My father went in after him, and Sparrow came out, but my father didn’t.”

“That sounds...suspicious?” Jake guessed.

“Yes! Yes it does!” Talltail cried. “But they all insisted it was an accident, and my clan just let them go right after!”

“So it’s Sparrow you want to find, then.” 

“Yes, I need to…” Talltail growled in frustration. “I can’t stand that he just walked away without even admitting it. I want to know why it happened, someone needs to make him pay for it.”

Jake was eyeing him as they walked. “Are you going to hurt him?”

“I...don’t know,” Talltail said curtly. “But you’ll have gone home before that anyway.”

“Right…” Jake trailed off. 

Talltail felt himself bristling defensively, “You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone that meant so much to you. My father always told me to take action when things went wrong, and I can’t let him down again. At home...at home I wasn’t doing it. I just couldn’t be the warrior my clan deserved. So I left, and I have to do this now.”

“What do you mean you let your father down?”

“My...relationship with my father was complicated.”

“Did he want you to leave?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s impossible to know, that’s just the problem.” Talltail felt antsy frustration itching at his paws. “He wasn’t always a great cat, and he was hard to get along with. But he…cared. He was good at heart, if not on the outside. One of the best warriors in the clan. I know it’s difficult to understand--” he was cut off as a particularly loud and massive monster roared past, kicking up filthy water that splashed on his whiskers. Although they were several fox-lengths away on the hard side path, Talltail jumped, and immediately got even angrier that he had been so easily startled at all.

“These stupid StarClan forsaken monsters!” he yowled.

“Hey, Tall?” Jake pressed his nose briefly to Talltail’s shoulder “I have another idea, a path away from the sidewalk. Come on.” 

Talltail followed Jake with his head down, trying to calm his emotions. Why did he feel so angry and guilty trying to explain his mission to Jake? I shouldn’t feel guilty about this. Sparrow deserves to be punished. Jake wouldn’t understand that, and I don’t expect him to.

Talltail kept the fluffy ginger tail in sight while he was led up another broken metal tube that went up much higher than the last one they’d climbed to get over the fence, scaling up the side of the building.

“This is a bit tricky, just don’t look down,” Jake said. Talltail was content to oblige as he was already terribly worried the creaking pipe wouldn’t hold his weight. Luckily it did, and after carefully heaving himself over the ledge, he found himself on the top of the building. The noise of the town seemed much farther away out here. He felt a fresh breeze for the first time in what felt like ages.

“It’s so much more quiet up here,” Jake said, and looked sheepishly at Talltail. “To tell you the truth, I think I strained my paw while we were running earlier. It might be best to rest for a while, if that’s ok with you.”

“Yeah,” Talltail breathed, letting his fur lie flat now that they were out in more open air. “I suppose that will be alright.”

Jake padded to the top of the slanted roof and curled up beside a stone structure sticking out of the top. Talltail settled beside him. He eyed the kittypet, with his bright orange fur turned a cool reddish tint in the fading light. Jake hadn’t been limping before, so far as he could tell.

“You don’t have to lie to protect my feelings,” Talltail sighed. “I’m sorry I got so worked up. It’s just...everything is so overwhelming here. It’s so loud and my nose and throat feel clogged.” He looked down miserably. “I’m used to knowing every paw-step I walk like it’s a part of my own body. Now I don’t even know what’s around the next corner.”

“A cat can get used to anything, and I'm sure that’s true for you too.” Jake said. “I figured you would like it up here. It’s not the tallest house, but you can see so much more of the town.”

It was true, the town was lit up with balls of pale gold light down every road and inside windows as well. 

“It’s so pretty at night,” Jake breathed. “Like stars on the ground. It’s one of the things I like about housefolk. Their lights make everything feel warmer to me.”

The lights went on a long way, and further still until they faded and Talltail could see the calm dark silhouettes of the forest he left behind. Just a little behind the trees would be the moor too, he was sure of it. Everyone he knew was beyond that treeline, too far away to see him. A pang of sadness struck him then. 

“Are you thinking of home?” Jake asked

“Are you inside my head?” Talltail asked with an amused twitch of his whiskers.

“No, but I know homesick when I see it. It sounds like you miss it.”

“There’s no need for me to be homesick. It’s not my home anymore.”

Jake hummed in thought as he looked up, and Talltail followed his gaze. ”So… Not that I want to push if you don’t want to talk about it, I mean, you can push me off the roof if I end up sticking my paw in my mouth…”

“I’m not upset at you. It’s just...been a lot.” Talltail sighed.

“Well, you must have loved your dad a lot to go through all of this for him.”

“Not as much as I should have.” Talltail wound his tail around his legs and stared at his paws. “It’s part of why I have to do this now. If I had a chance to do what he wanted back then, I’d do it. No matter what. Maybe I wouldn’t be such a mess now if I had.”

Jake rested his chin across Talltail’s back. His tail shifted restlessly as if he couldn’t quite figure out what to say to that. “Well...I never met him, but I’m sure he’d be proud of you just for caring so much. It takes a lot of courage to travel so far alone.”

Talltail almost laughed at that.

“What’s funny?” Jake asked.

“I wouldn’t call myself courageous. I never told anyone this...I was too ashamed. But I’m sure my father died hating me.”

Jake lifted his head up. “Why would he hate you? Why would any cat hate you?”

“Because I failed him. I was always…” Talltail shook his head. The words were caught in his throat the more he tried to remember. “I just wasn’t what I should have been. Maybe I could have tried to fix it if it weren’t for Sparrow. But now there’s no way I can. That’s why I had to leave and focus on this instead. It’s not much but it’s...something.”

“Well...maybe you can go back afterwards? I mean, what else would you do when your mission is done?”

Talltail didn’t reply for a long time. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “But whatever it is, it’s not going back to the moor. I made my choices.”

 It was hard to envision anything after. It was too hard to think of. He had only one goal ahead, and it demanded all his attention. Jake eventually accepted that he was not likely to get more about this out of Talltail tonight. 

“Don’t you believe that there are cats in the sky?” Jake asked instead, after another moment of silence.

“Not exactly. Just their spirits. It’s what happens when you die, or when clan cats die at least. The clans all share the stars, and up there every clan cat looks the same. All warriors who served their clan and earned a place in peace watching over their old home. It’s kind of nice how...the stars look the same here. Even though everything else is different.”

I don’t know if StarClan watches me here...but I'm glad they’re still there in some way.

“I think of that every time I look at them ever since you first told me about it,” Jake mused. “The idea that there’s another world up there, looking down while you look up.” 

“They’ve been there forever, never changing, and they’ll be there countless moons from now.” Talltail said quietly.

“Well whatever they are, they sure are pretty.”

With a big yawn, Jake lay his head down and Talltail lay his down beside him, quickly finding himself matching Jake’s quiet purr. He was more grateful than ever to have some cat beside him again, while the cold chilled his fur and his warm nest on the moor was so far away. But Jake was here and, apparently, happy to be bothered by him.

But I can’t stay with Jake, came a voice in the back of Talltail’s head. His purr petered out. That’s not why I’m here. This can only last so long.

chapter list / previous / next

[generalfoolish]

Oscar Isaac Week, Day 1: Favorite Character

Title: I’ll Always Wait For You

Fandom: Triple Frontier (2019)

Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia

Rating: General

Word Count: 1450

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend just showed up out of the blue with a bombshell. You’ve loved him, and waited for him to come home to you, but now you’re not sure how to be there for him.

A/N: ***Repost because my first attempt at formatting was nonexistent. Anyway: my addition to Oscar Isaac Week, Day One. I think Santi is one of my favorites because I need him to be okay. I can easily see him sinking into a depressive episode because of what happened, and while I really hope he went to see his lady in the islands, here is a little Drabble of him coming back to a past love. We love a trope here! 

The first knock wakes you. It’s heavy, just short of pounding. In your dream, the knocks rattled your teeth. You woke just before the rattles knocked the teeth out, you’re worst recurring dream. The second knock jolts you to your senses. You were groggy, still mostly asleep, waiting for your eyes to adjust, and the second knock pumps you with purpose. Adrenaline, actually, but it got your feet moving anyway. Without thinking, without wondering why a burglar would knock, without stopping, you grab the old pistol from your bedside table.

An old gift, something you didn’t want to keep, but didn’t have the heart to throw out. You shook your head; it wasn’t even loaded. In any case, you keep moving. Some resilient and urgent move in your head, screaming at you to move your ass faster. Get down the stairs, it demands. Your eyes are barely adjusted to the dark, but you know your house pretty well. You take the stairs faster than you should, but your feet hit plush carpet each step. You look across your open floor plan, the blinds leaking little light in from the street, just enough to see that nothing is amiss. You sigh, droop your arms a little. Your adrenaline is ebbing, and you’re getting a headache. You almost laugh at your ridiculous response, when the third knock comes. It sounds like a heaving slap against the door panel, and you almost drop your gun in shock.

Scrambling, you cross the space between the stair landing and the door. On tiptoe, you peer through the peephole, not sure what to expect. Never did you expect him. Santiago Garcia. It was dark in your doorway, and it had been years. But you were sure. As sure of anything.

You threw the door open, and then your energy fizzled. You couldn’t form any words, especially not the right ones. Not the ones that had died on your lips the last time he had left. Not the ones he should have known. Not the right ones that could have kept him from going. Instead, you search him. His face, his frame, his features, and you drink it all in. He looks tired. Not just tired from a flight, or because of the late hour, but bone tired. Everything you want to say to him, scream at him, stays in your chest. All you can do is let him in.

“Sorry for the time, I—uuh—just landed.” He tells you, stepping inside. He only has a duffel bag, and you wonder why he’s bothered coming to see you at all. You snag your lip harshly between your teeth to keep the biting words at bay. You wince when the familiar metallic taste floods your mouth and loosen your hold. A self-inflicted split lip is worse than him leaving, again, you tell yourself. Instead, you decide to ask a reasonable question.

“Santiago, what are you doing here?” You ask, shutting the front door, and facing him.

“Well, I just landed. I’m just back from South America.” He reasons, a hand resting on the back of his neck, a small smile playing on his lips. You stare him down, urging him on. He doesn’t continue.

“Santi, 2 in the morning isn’t a great time to play games. I meant here, literally here. My house.” He exhales deeply, and a nervous grin spreads on his face.

“You said the door was always open, and you, uhm, kept that old service pistol I gave you.” He motioned to the gun hanging loosely in your hand, and you closed your eyes.

“I haven’t seen you in years.” You remind him, and you realize you still can hardly make him out. Neither of you had flipped a switch. You put the gun down on the entryway table and grabbed his upper arm. “But, if you’re here, you may as well be comfortable. Shoes off in here, who knows what you’re tracking in those old boots. Give me the bag and meet me down the hall in the kitchen. I’ll get you some tea, and if you’re hungry I have some leftovers from dinner.” You ticked off and grabbed his bag. You climbed back up the stairs and headed to the guest room. You paused as you set the bag down. You didn’t know why he was here, but you were already hoping he’d stay for a little while. Maybe long enough to move to your bed, you thought, feeling the blush creep up your neck. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t done with him before, but him coming in at such a late hour felt too intimate, too personal, after so long.

You shook your head to clear your worsening thoughts. You padded back down the steps, following your own familiar path to the kitchen, where he was already sitting at one of the counter stools. In the harsh lighting of the kitchen, you could see his graying hair and his shoulder’s slumped inwardly.

“Chamomile?” You ask, walking past him, and perking him up. He was still sporting a nervous smile, one that didn’t quite meet his weary eyes. He shook his head.

“I can’t believe you still drink that stuff.” He said, laughing gently. The sound filled the space, and you grinned back.

“Right! I forgot how much you hated it. Uhm, hang on. Let me think…I have a beer? Whiskey? Water?” You ticked off, trying not to think too hard about what he liked.

“Water is perfect, pollito.” You grab a cup from the shelf, and angle it under the water dispenser.

“Don’t call me that.” You warn as you sit the cup in front of him. He grins slyly, and drinks deeply. When you were dating, he had no limit of annoying pet names for you, and pollito had been his favorite.

“Okay, I’ve been hospitable enough, Santi. You have to explain. Give me something.”

“Well, I’m done.” You quirked an eyebrow but didn’t speak. He had been done with the Army, and then joined spec ops. He had been done with that, and then left for South America. You had been done with that particular game for too long to fall for it again. Santiago was a lot of things, and restless was one. Done, for him, simply meant moving to the next job. So, you waited, as you had for all those long years before, you waited for him to explain.

“The last job was bad.” You were going to say something snarky, something about how they were all bad, but then you saw his face drain of color. You saw his waterline start to flood, and you reached across the counter and took his hands. You offered him a small smile, but he was lost in his thoughts, too far to reach. You rubbed circles on his hands as you waited for him. You might kick yourself later, but you knew in your heart that you had always been waiting for him.

“It was Tom, he couldn’t…he wouldn’t let it go. He…he’s dead, now. And it’s my fault, mi vida. If I had just left it alone. I couldn’t let it go.” You felt him tense under your hands, and you swallowed a soft gasp. Tom had been one of Santiago’s closest friends. Their team was more like a family to them, and to lose one must have shattered them all. Your mind flickered to the other boys, and you hoped they were well. You had lost them when you had lost Santi. Another regret for the lost love.

“Shhh, Santi, it wasn’t your fault. Tom agreed to the job, whatever it was, sometimes these things don’t go to plan. He knew the risks.” You stopped short of outright blaming Tom, you didn’t really know the story, but your hackles rose to protect Santi from his own thoughts. He would spiral if he held onto his self-blame. He turned his dark eyes on you, and you withstood the storm forming in them. You weren’t sure who he was anymore. You wanted him to be the same, your Santi. He had been peppering pet names in, and you hadn’t missed the subtle glances. But, this man before you, he had seen and been through hell, you were sure of it. You just didn’t know how much of him made it out.

“You don’t hate me?” His usually commanding voice came out in a harsh whisper, one filled with so much yearning that it almost made you gasp again.

“Of course not, Santiago. I could never hate you.” He smiled and curled his hand up into yours. Whatever happened next, at least you had each other.

[toloveawarlord]

Event: Edgar Birthday Countdown

Pairing: Iris x Edgar

A/N: plumpblueberry requested this from the Touches Event that is still open! I thought it worked well for a sweet fic for Edgar! Yes, I know his birthday has long passed but I’m finishing these fics dammit.

“Everyone, please keep moving inward! Down to the designated disaster rooms!”

Central Quarter had spiraled into chaos as the worst storm Cradle had witnessed in years barreled into the plaza. Both armies were surprised by the severity. The storm whisked in from the sea, giving little time for preparation to safely get citizens inside. Violent winds howled through the streets, its battle cry a prelude to its tantrum, thrashing all that was in its path.

Iris used her entire body to hold one door open against the brutal wind. “Edgar, that’s enough. Get inside, both of you!” Her call fell on deaf ears. The Jack struggled with the elderly vendor to secure his stall closed in hopes of protecting the precious contents. Blue irises surveyed the near empty plaza. Only a few soldiers remained, shuffling the last of the citizens indoors.

“Ma’am! There are some unsatisfied with our orders to remain inside instead of patrolling for stragglers.” One of her own approached, a little meek but his gaze shifted to the huddle of Black Army soldiers eyeing her with irritation. The same group she’d reprimanded not so long ago for questioning her orders.

“No. I’ve already dismissed that misguided action. What good will you be to Cradle if you end up injured along with them? Shelter in place until the storm has lessened, that way we can be of use to those who are injured or trapped.” Her words echoed across the lobby with force. The unforgiving storm would make a wannabe hero into a victim. “Instead of standing around like a bunch of gossiping socialites, get those people into the designated shelter rooms.”

With a disgusted expression, the young soldier said, “All due respect, Ten of Hearts,” her title dripping with derision from his tongue, “The personal with the spare keys for the second sub-floor rooms never arrived. They’re locked.” As if that fact made him the superior in the situation.

“Break the damn thing open? Or do you need me to teach you how to do that as well?” 

The soldier beside her snickered at the Black Army’s soldiers' crumpled expressions. “I’ll see it done, ma’am.” He saluted, lips still pulling into an amused grin. He’d been assigned to her unit not long ago but had found it to be to his liking.

Her attention returned to her superior. The wind whipped through his brown locks. Edgar tugged the rope hard, fighting the flapping doors closed and securing them with expertise. Only a few drops hit the pavement before sheets of rain poured from the dark clouds. It’s roar joining that of the wind. But she caught a broken cry.

Iris thought she may have imagined it, but she couldn’t go in without a quick survey of the area.

Vision was incredibly low as she ignored her own orders in search of what she thought to be a lost child. They must be close if she could hear it over the storm. Her surroundings lit up with a streak of crystal lightning, and the thunder that followed shook the ground beneath her feet. The storm showed its strength, challenging the earth to stand against it.

Iris rounded the corner of the civic center, uniform utterly soaked. Blue irises squinted, lashes dripping with the water, hazing her vision. “Is anyone-”

Another rattling boom brought a shriek with it. The woman crouched down, peering into a patch of bushes by the side of the building. Deep within, she found a boy no older than five cowering within, clutching a plush toy as his lifeline. “You can come out now. I’ll get you inside.” She offered her hand, chilled rain pelting against her skin.

Pop. Pop.

“Mama says I’m not supposed to go with strangers.”

“That’s very good advice, but I’m sure your mama also told you that you can trust army soldiers, isn’t that right?” She tugged at her soaked white uniform. “I’m Iris, the Ten of Hearts. So come on out-”

His little head shook, nose crinkling. “The Red Army doesn’t allow women to join them. You’re a liar.”

Iris began to remember why she had a dislike for children. They were mouthy, and fickle. They didn’t listen, even when in imminent danger. Her knees sank into the muddy grass as she leaned forward to attempt to grab him. “That’s an old rule. King Lancelot made some recent changes. We have to get inside, come out from there!”

Her fingers grazed his tiny arm, almost reaching him.

“Iris!”

CRACK.

A body tackled against hers with enough force to knock the wind out of her. It was a blur. The world disappeared for a moment, leaving her disoriented. Blinking slowly, she found herself pressed against the ground, leaves of the now uprooted tree tickling against her cheek. The large branch that the smaller one nearly broke off rested against the back of her superior, who’d shielded her from being hit.

“Edgar?” She struggled to move any part of her body, pinned beneath his body. Even though the brunt had been borne by the Jack of Hearts, she could feel herself aching already.

Edgar groaned, shifting his weight to allow her space to slip out. “Thank goodness I made it.” He coughed, blood droplets splattering onto the muddy ground. He peeled himself up, staggering but able to stand. He tested his limbs, nothing seemed to be broken. They were lucky to have only been impacted by that one branch.

She resisted every urge within to check his wounds. Turning back to the bushes, also missed by the uprooted tree, Iris sighed with relief. “Will you come inside with us now?”

The boy had no issue trusting her after the fright he’d been given. The two returned the boy to his grateful mother before going to the infirmary on the main floor at Iris’s request. A locked door gave them absolute privacy. Nothing quite so nefarious or naughty as Edgar might have usually teased. Their uniforms unwearable, lest they wish to catch a cold.

“Sit down, and stop staring at me,” Iris chastised, clad in only her wet undergarments. She scanned the shelves for what she'd need to treat him. Perhaps it would be advantageous to learn a little more first aid.

"I'm positive I can wait until the storm passes." Edgar leaned against the arm of the couch.

Iris signed, hearing what he was insinuating. Of her many areas of expertise, first aid was not one of them. "Do you not trust me?" The question not a serious one. She conceded and abandoned the shelf to return to the warm fire.

Edgar winced, but reached out to grab her, tugging her into his arms. "It's cute when you pout.” His signature grin only graced his lips for a fleeting moment, crumbling into a frown. His cold fingers brushed her warm cheek, careful not to touch the wound lest he hurt her. "You've been hurt."

"It's a scratch. You're the one who got crushed by a tree branch. Probably a broken rib or two." The bruises already forming on his muscular abdomen. She should wrap them but lacked the knowledge to do so. “You’re an idiot.”

“I love you too, Iris.” His features still expressed concern. If he’d been a little faster, if he’d done more to protect her, then she wouldn’t be injured at all. Jade irises focused on the cut, as if he could will the wound to close.

Despite his grunt of pain, he was delighted the moment her lips met his. He pulled her in closer with a gentle jerk, catching her off guard. The two fell back onto the soft cushions of the couch. It was so adorable how hard she tried to hide her feelings.

“Are you trying to hurt yourself further?” Iris couldn’t break free of his hold. Her body weight had to be hurting him. It was irritating that he tended to do as he pleased at all times, but it always made her heart flip in her chest. Besides, who could resist that sweet smile?

“No, I do believe I’m distracting myself from the pain. The only real medicine is touching you.”

Silver tongue.

As if to prove his point, Edgar gingerly traced his fingers up and down her spine, humming to himself. He never tired of feeling her soft skin beneath the pads of his fingertips. She had incredible fighting skill, amazing strength, and yet, she remained oh so soft.

“You’re so unreasonable. We’re on duty.”

“Ah, but I’m not the one thinking naughty thoughts.”

Iris shook her head, smacking her hand against his shoulder as punishment, receiving a grunt from him. “I’ll go check on the soldiers upstairs then-” He was always thinking indecent things.

But Edgar tutted at her, managing to catch her again before she’d completely escaped. It didn’t feel so great moving so quickly, but it was nothing compared to what he’d feel if she left him right now. “Who said you could leave me? I’m injured, remember?”

He sounded much like a wounded puppy begging for its owner to pay attention to it.

“I guess I can stay a little longer.” Iris caved, her back flush against his chest. The fire did warm her cold body, and she did have a weak spot for this puppy side of him, especially with the way he snuggled against her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Edgar gave her a little squeeze, absently tracing patterns over her stomach. He’d love nothing more than to wind her up, excite her, but the pain did inhibit his ability to do so. Instead, the Jack of Hearts was content simply holding her in his arms while they waited out the storm.

[stxrrywildflower]

holiday

pairing - bau team x teen!reader

summary - j.j. invites you to spend christmas with her and the boys

warnings - none

word count - ?

christmas was something you never really knew or experienced.

due to your parents constant working and boarderline neglect, holidays weren’t something you participated in. there were many thanksgivings and christmas’ where you were home alone as a result.

when j.j., who became almost a mother figure to you after over a year of babysitting henry, heard that you didn’t have anywhere to spend the holiday, she instantly invited you over.

“j.j. thank you, but no. you should be with will and henry. i’ll be fine on my own,” you protested, already packing up your bag from your latest babysitting job.

“y/n, no one should be alone on christmas. even spencer goes out to chicago with derek for the holiday,” j.j. fired back. you set your bag down, knowing that this would turn into a full conversation.

“it’s fine, i spent last christmas the same way,” you shrugged. “sweetie you’re seventeen, not happening. you can come over on the twenty-fourth sometime in the afternoon and just stay overnight for the few days. it’s not like you haven’t already.”

you nodded as j.j. wouldn’t take no for an answer. “i’ll see you then,” you said simply, grabbing your bag and with one final smile, you were out the door.

just a few days later, you were back outside of the lamontagne/jareau home. snowflakes were just begining to fall from the overcast clouds above, landing on your jacket and hat. you shivered slightly as you leaned forward to knock on the door.

j.j. answered rather quickly, ushering you inside with a “oh my god you must be freezing, come in!” you smiled softly at the profiler before picking up your bags and heading into the main foyer.

“y/n!” henry’s loud voice echoed down the hallway. you spun around just in time to see the young boy padding towards you. the smile you shot j.j. turned into a large grin has henry jumped into your arms.

“hi henry,” you cooed, tickling the boys stomach fo make him giggle.

will was next in the room, moving over to stand with j.j. “i can take your bags upstairs,” will offered. you nodded, feeling slightly guilty since they were already doing so much for you. as will picked up your things, henry tapped you on the shoulder. “are you spending christmas with us?”

your eyes darted over to j.j. for a quick second at henry’s question. “yeah i am. is that okay with you?”

henry nodded rapidly, “yeah!” you let out a sigh of relief. who knew how he would react to having someone else around at the holidays that wasn’t technically family. henry soon decided he was bored around the adults, well his parents and you, and ran off to go play.

you shed your coat and hat, hanging them over a chair once you reached the kitchen. “i’m assuming you want coffee? i picked up some of the holiday roast earlier,” j.j. offered. “yes please,” you answered.

“who knew it would be a white christmas,” j.j. spoke as she gazed outside while waiting for the coffee to brew. the snow had picked up, already coating the ground in a thin layer. “hopefully everyone on your team got to where they needed to be.”

“oh they did. we all make sure to text each other when we travel. rossi’s already in california, hotch is still in the city with jack, derek and spencer are in chicago, emily’s with her parents though i think it’s against her will, and then garcia is with sam,” j.j. rattled off.

the scent of coffee soon filled the kitchen, alerting you both that your drinks were ready. will appeared just in time to accept a mug from his wife.

“so i just have to give you a rundown on how we do christmas,” j.j. started, “today is pretty much just a relaxing day, maybe some games here and there. tomorrow, i’m sure henry will be up incredibly early, we do presents in the morning and then breakfast. that’s pretty much it.”

you nodded along, absorbing the words as j.j. informed you. the last thing you wanted was to be even more of an outsider on the family’s time together.

“momma, is it time?” henry whispered.

you, henry, and j.j. were all sitting in the living room. the main couch was occupied by the profiler, henry on the floor, and you on the matching loveseat. a roaring fire was in the fireplace, creating a warmth in the home. it was a stark contrast to the snow that had picked up in just a short period of time.

the previous cup of coffee you were drinking a few hours prior was replaced with hot chocolate as you didn’t want any more caffeine in your system. especially since it was later at night.

j.j. looked down at her son. “daddy is upstairs getting everything,” she explained.

you were slightly confused at the conversation, choosing to look down at your still steaming mug of hot chocolate instead of questioning it.

will was back down a moment later, two parcels in hand. after handing one to henry, he made his way over to you.

your fingers trembled as the gift was placed on your lap. the wrapping paper crinkled was your legs shifted back and forth out of pure nervousness. henry was already tearing into his, though the noise was seemingly muffled for you.

it had been years since you spent christmas with your family all together, nonetheless receive an actual gift. and now, having a present swaddled in the usual green and red wrapping paper, you didn’t exactly know how react. to add on to your emotions, at the top of the paper was your name in cursive gold font, obviously written by either j.j. or will.

“y/n?” you looked up just in time to see j.j. sit down on the loveseat beside you. will had taken henry upstairs to get changed into his new pajamas.

“no ones done something like this for me in awhile,” you revealed, feeling incredibly dumb that you were getting choked up on something as simple as a gift.

“done what?” j.j. questioned.

you sighed, placing the present off to the side. “put this much love and care into a holiday. i usually spend it watching reruns and ordering some takeout,” you ended with a slight laugh as an attempt to make a joke.

j.j.’s eyes softened before she shifted to face you. “and i just really wanted to thank you for having me. it really means a lot,” you spoke. j.j. pulled you into a tight hug, cradling your head for extra effect. the present was forgotten, only remembered when there was a slight ripping sound.

“now come on, open it,” j.j. urged gently. unlike henry, you took your time unwrapping the gift. inside was a simple white t-shirt with a christmas tree on the pocket and matching flannel pants. you grinned, running your hand over the extremely soft material. “thank you so much,” you thanked her again.

this time, you hugged j.j., resting your head on her shoulder. after rubbing her hand up and down your back, an incredibly comforting gesture you may add, you pulled away. “i’m probably going to head up to bed,” you announced. “sounds good, i’ll lock up down here. you better be wearing those pajamas tomorrow,” she teased. “oh i will.”

the following morning, you were woken up by the door to your room being pushed open and footsteps running in. “y/n!” henry whispered once he managed to climb up on your bed. you rubbed your eyes, stifling a yawn as you did so. “y/n!” henry whispered again, this time harsher.

“it’s christmas! we have to go wake up mom and dad!” henry exclaimed. you opened your eyes, a smile forming on your face at the excitement radiating off of henry. “alright henry. why don’t we head into the bathroom and brush our teeth? then we can wake your parents up,” you compromised.

henry jumped off of the bed once more, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of your room. the entire duration in the bathroom took only five minutes. henry was old enough to be able to brush his teeth on his own.

“i’m going to head downstairs and start some coffee. go wake up your parents and i’ll see you downstairs,” you spoke. henry nodded at your orders, already taking off running down the hallway.

you smiled softly to yourself, heading down the stairs and into the kitchen. you could hear the faint giggles of henry upstairs as you put the pot of coffee on.

henry ran into the kitchen, holding the hand of a still very tired will. you chuckled, placing a mug down on the counter for will who thanked you quickly. j.j. was next in, looking much more awake and peppy then her husband.

“merry christmas y/n,” j.j. greeted.

“merry christmas j.j.,” you replied, matching her words.

as the four of you settled back into the living room, henry opening the presents under the tree, you doing the same, and j.j. and will watching with proud smiles on their faces, it really was the best holiday you had ever had.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Unremembered

Switch AU

Finally, another entry in this series. I’ll admit this one was a bit difficult, but I’m happy with how it turned out. This is from Marvin’s perspective, as we learn more about what’s going on in his life. Particularly when it comes to a certain gray bastard. I don’t know what else to put in this description so I’m just gonna leave it there. Hope you guys like this one :)

More of this AU found here

Nothing could be better on a rainy day than lying in bed with a book and a cup of tea. Marvin adjusted the pillows behind him as he propped up the book. But before he could take in a sentence, he heard a faint mrrp? Glancing at the door to his room, he saw Mr. Fluffington squeeze his way through the gap in the doorway. “Hey, Mister,” he said, smiling. “You here to keep me company? I woul’ appreciate it.”

Fluffington wandered over to the bed. Marvin lowered his hand, dangling it over the side. After sniffing it for a bit, Fluffington butted his head against it and hopped up onto the mattress. Correction: nothing could be better on a rainy day than lying in bed with a book, a cup of tea, and a cat. “Normally I’d warn ye against sittin’ on me and trappin’ me on my bed,” Marvin said, idly stroking Fluffington’s back. “But I’m not goin’ anywhere today, so feel free.”

Though Marvin did have to be honest with himself: he couldn’t shake the lingering feeling that he should be doing something. After all, the kids were still missing. Schneep was out almost every night looking for them, JJ was studying any spells that could help—at this very moment, in fact—and Jackie and Anti were...well, they were doing their best. The stress of having their respective kids missing for two weeks now was wearing on them both. Everyone was involved except for Marvin, and he couldn’t help but feel that he should be helping right now.

“Ridiculous feeling,” Marvin muttered to himself. “‘M doin’ all I can.” Fluffington made another mrrp sound, stretching out across Marvin’s legs. “Ah, you’re lucky, Mister. You don’ have t’do anyt’ing at all. We even take care of food for you. Maybe I shoul’ve been born a cat, t’at sounds amazing.”

He leaned back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling. So tired today. Some days he woke up and could feel the fatigue dragging down at him like an anchor pulling him into the ocean. Inevitably, the guilt would come with it, telling him that he shouldn’t just be lying in bed. He should be productive! Nevermind if he physically couldn’t walk that far! Marvin did his best to ignore that part of him, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

And as he tried and failed to focus on the story in the book before him, he found that this was one of those times. That niggling feeling was growing quickly in intensity. Sighing, he picked up the bookmark from the nightstand, slid it between the pages, and slowly sat up straight, trying not to disturb Fluffington. He managed to gently nudge the cat away, pulling off the miracle of moving without making him run away. With not a small amount of effort, he walked down the hall, and with some more effort and a few breaks, he climbed the stairs to the second story.

Ever since Marvin had turned the office on the first floor into his bedroom, JJ had started using the second upstairs bedroom to practice spells. He’d moved all his spellbooks and any other materials there, and recently he’d been considering somehow padding or reinforcing the walls in case any spells backfired in an explosive way. 

Marvin stopped outside the room’s door, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall. His legs were trembling, but he only took a moment before standing up straight and knocking on the door. Only a few seconds later, JJ opened it, looking surprised.

“Hey Jems,” Marvin said, smiling. “I came to check on you.”

JJ nodded slowly, still looking surprised, and walked further back into the room. Marvin poked his head through the doorway, scanning the shelves full of books, the desk with yet more books, and the simple wooden table in the center of the room, free of books. “I see your collection is growin’ fast,” he whistled, impressed.

“Oh, are you Marvin?” There was a woman in the room, red-haired and wearing a pale yellow hoodie. She waved, friendly. “Hello. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Aoife.”

“Ah, you’re t’at other magician,” Marvin recalled. “The one who came to rescue Jems when he left the city an’ ran into—I shoul’ say thank you for t’at. Thank you. It’s a pleasure t’meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Aoife said. “JJ’s told me a lot about you. Though I seem to have underestimated your Irish accent.”

Marvin laughed. “Well, I can pick up a trace o’the same in you. Especially your name, t’at’s a strong Irish name if I’ve ever heard one.”

JJ tapped the table, drawing Marvin’s attention back to him. He held up a notepad, which had apparently been left nearby, on which he’d written, I thought you were going to rest today.

“It’s fine,” Marvin dismissed. “I jus’ wanted t’pop right in, see what you two were doin’, magic-wise.”

“Well, Jameson was just telling me about his attempts at animal transformation,” Aoife explained. “I’m impressed, in all honesty. It’s a very difficult spell.”

I still haven’t done it, JJ wrote, pouting a bit.

“But you’ve gotten close! Marvin, have you seen him?”

“Yes, apparently he’s s’posed to have someone t’ere when tryin’,” Marvin nodded. “T’ere was a lot of smoke. And feathers.” He paused, swaying on his feet for a moment. “Are you doin’ anyt’ing else? Is t’ere...t’ere anyt’ing I can do to help you?”

Yes, you can go back to bed, JJ said sternly.

“Aw, c’mon, Jems, don’ be like that.”

I’m serious. You’ve gotten much paler in the last few minutes.

“But—” Marvin wanted to protest, but saw JJ immediately writing again and stopped.

I know you want to help. But you’re always telling me to take care of myself, shouldn’t you do the same for yourself? JJ smiled. Hey, if you want something to do, are you up for practising some more sign? We still need to get the hang of it.

“I s’pose I could,” Marvin mumbled. He took a step backwards, wobbling for a moment. “Hey, when you two are done with your magic, come tell me about it, alrigh’? It's int’restin’.”

Of course!

Marvin waved goodbye awkwardly and headed back downstairs, thankfully finding it easier than heading up. He only had to stop twice: once on the stairs and once in the hallway. Entering his room again, he sighed and collapsed on the bed. Well. Looks like today was just going to be another one of those days.

A small cat face poked into his field of view and he chuckled. At least Mr. Fluffington was still here. Marvin patted him on the head, then reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a book. Not the one he had before. Instead, this one was titled: “Basics of BSL: Learn to Sign in Ten Chapters.” He opened to the spot he had marked and started to read intently.

———————

The room was freezing, bone-deep cold leeching the warmth from any exposed skin. He could see parts of the sky through the gaps in the boards across the window. It looked just as gray and cold as it was inside.

His breath rattled in his throat, and he coughed into the tattered pillowcase. Even though the door was ajar, he didn’t think he’d be able to make it off the bed and across the room. He was so...so tired. This was the sort of fatigue that left weakness in every limb, a fatigue that he was, unfortunately, all too familiar with. Sometimes when he felt like this, he couldn’t help but remember the first time: barely eight years old, lying in bed too tired to even move, terrified that it would stay that way for the rest of his life.

But at least back then, he had some family still there to stay with him. Now? He didn’t even know where he was or how he got here, and he’d much rather be alone than with this thing.

Speaking of which...he glanced over at the door again, just in time to see it start to creak open. A hand crept into the room, blackened and dead-looking. He immediately turned his head away, burying it in the pillow. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, it would go away. Doubtful, but it’s worth trying.

He didn’t hear the footsteps, but he felt the sudden weight settle down on the edge of the bed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to keep his breathing slow and even, difficult as it was. The silence in the room weighed down on him. And then he felt the weight shift, getting closer to him. “Still sick, then?” said that voice, that eerie voice with absolutely nothing memorable about it. “Aww.”

The blanket was pulled back. It was thin, but it was a layer of warmth, and without it, he started shivering. “Hey.” A hand grabbed his shoulder and started shaking. “I know you’re not asleep. Look at me. Look at me.”

He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he didn’t, so he lifted up his head and glanced over his shoulder. There it was. Black eyes dripping. Face always smiling. “Leave me alone,” he whispered, voice rasping from disuse.

“But I’m here to help you.” It sounded upset, but of course, he didn’t believe it for a second. “See?” In its hand, it held a small purplish bottle with a white cap. It held it up and waved it. “I got you medicine.” 

“N-no...” He pushed himself upward, but wasn’t able to completely get into a sitting position, so he ended up awkwardly scooting back against the bed’s headboard. “No, I-I don’ want...”

“Don’t want what?” It crawled closer, and he flinched, unable to get farther away. “You should accept help from your friends, you know.”

“You’re not my friend,” he mumbled, turning his head away. And besides, he didn’t want anything that it would give him. Past experiences have proved that it wouldn’t be anything good.

“Now that’s just mean.” He glanced toward it just in time to see it unscrewing the lid of the bottle. “I just want the best for you.” Quickly, its hand shot out and grabbed him by the chin, turning his face toward it. He tried to push it away, but in this condition it just turned into weak flailing. “Now help me help you, or I’ll have to do something drastic.”

———————

Marvin woke up with a start, still shivering from the cold. It took a solid minute for him to look around and ground himself in his surroundings. It was just his room. Everything was fine. Everything was okay. Slowly, half-expecting something to grab him from the shadows, he reached out and turned on the lamp on his nightstand.

The light was comforting. Nothing could hide in the light. But even with that, his eyes kept scanning the area for anything. After a few searches of the room, he sighed, leaning back against the pillows.

Why could he only remember things in dreams? Marvin didn’t know much about memory, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t how it worked. It wasn’t how it worked for Jackie. He remembered every moment of the nine months he spent with Distorter. Meanwhile, Marvin didn’t even know how long he was with that...creature. But given how many dreams he’d had, it must have been quite a while.

He lay back down, but his eyes felt glued open. It was some time before sleep came again.

———————

Good Owl Books was a quiet shop. True, it received a steady stream of customers, but there was always a hush in the air, like stepping into a library. Except you could actually keep the books you got here. The shop owners were a pair of elderly women who were understanding of their employees’ needs, and always forgiving of absences. Not to mention the shop’s collection was extensive, mostly fiction but with an impressive set of nonfiction as well. They even had a small area of the shop that was taken up by a coffee stand. And it was for all these reasons that Marvin had taken a job here.

He was working the register today. A simple enough task, so he was happy to take it whenever it was available. It was much easier than moving boxes of books from storage to the shelves. The manager allowed him to read when he wasn’t busy helping anyone, provided he keep an eye on his own book so it didn’t get mixed up with the wares. Also, they had chairs for the workers behind the registers. Now that was a definite improvement since Marvin’s own time.

The sound of soft footsteps on the shop carpet was familiar enough that Marvin instantly bookmarked his place and got ready to help the approaching customer. He slid the book under the counter and looked up. “Hello, how was your shoppi—wait.” Marvin blinked. “Miss Stacy?”

“Oh, so this is where you work.” Stacy looked mildly surprised at this. It was understandable, though. After all, she’d just run into an acquaintance in a place she wasn’t expecting at all. “Well, it, um...” She glanced around, clearly feeling awkward for once in her life. “It suits you.”

“T’ank you.” Marvin cleared his throat. “I haven’ seen you in here before. Just droppin’ by?”

“Yes, I figured if I’m going to be staying in town indefinitely, then I might as well get familiar with the area.” Stacy set a small stack of books on the counter. “And pick up some reading material while I’m here.”

“Great idea.” Marvin picked up the fancy scanner and started looking for the barcodes. “Ye much of a reader, Miss Stacy?”

“Just Stacy is fine,” she said. “And no, not really. My sister was always more into books than me.”

“Sister?” Marvin raised an eyebrow, curious, but then made his face blank as he decided not to push it. He wasn’t sure if the two of them were close enough to talk about that.

But nonetheless, Stacy wanted to talk about it. “Yes, she lived here,” she explained. “Moved here for college, then decided to settle down with her boyfriend and get married. We visited each other as often as we could, but flights are expensive, unfortunately.” 

Marvin nodded, trying to look understanding. He’d scanned about three of the books, and there were about five left.

“So...you like books, right?” Stacy asked.

“Woul’ I be workin’ here if I didn’?”

She chuckled a bit. “Well, I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe it was close enough by that your partner could drive you—”

“My what?” Marvin blinked, taken aback by the phrase.

“Your...partner,” Stacy said slowly. “You know, Jameson.”

It took a moment for ‘partner’ to register as something other than ‘for business,’ and the moment it did, he dropped the scanner in shock. “No! No, Jems and I aren’—not that way.”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry.” Stacy’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth in shock. “I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Well, a lot of people t’ink t’at, but no, we’re not—not together.” Marvin felt his face grow flushed.

“I shouldn’t have thought—just because you live together—”

“It’s alrigh’, don’ worry.” Marvin picked up the scanner again. “We’re close friends, t’at’s all. I’m not Jems’s type, anyway, and he’s not mine.” He coughed awkwardly, and scanned another book. “What were ye goin’ t’say? About books?”

“I was...just going to ask if you had any suggestions,” Stacy muttered. “Based on these ones here.”

“Ah.” Marvin set down the book and looked over Stacy’s choices. Two biographies, one advice book, four realistic fiction novels, and one...well, that was odd. “Sorry to ask, but...did you mean t’get t’is picture book?”

“Oh. Um...yeah.” Stacy shifted awkwardly. “It’s stupid, it just reminded me of my niece.”

“T’at’s not stupid at all.” Marvin scanned the cover of the book. A simple drawing of three rabbits took up the cover, the art style soft and watery in pastel colors. “I t’ink it’s sweet t’at you’re t’inkin’ of her. She’d like it.”

“Oh...yeah, she did. It was her favorite.”

Marvin glanced up. He wasn’t all that great at judging tone of voice, but even he could hear the deep sadness in Stacy’s last sentence. Immediately, he felt bad for unknowingly bringing up something to cause that, so he cleared his throat again and moved on, scanning the picture book. “Well, I can’ really give you suggestions, t’be honest. I’m more of a fantasy type of reader. Maybe jus’ stick wit’ the section you found these in.”

“Right.” Stacy nodded. 

Marvin finished scanning the rest of the books in silence. He hit a couple buttons on the cash register. “T’at’d be 147.25,” he said.

“Yes, yes.” Stacy took a wallet out of her purse and pulled out a debit card. As Marvin scanned it, she shifted awkwardly on her feet. As he handed her the receipt and a pen for her signature, she suddenly said, “Can I tell you something?”

Marvin looked up, surprised. “Ah...I s’pose so?”

“The reason I came to this country...wasn’t originally for a vacation,” she said slowly. “I come here every year, around the same date. Normally I don’t stay this long, but I was...I wanted to make sure everything worked out with you, after I found Jackie.”

“...Oh?” This felt deeply personal, and Marvin wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear it, but she seemed like she needed to say this.

“I come here to pay respects,” Stacy said, almost too quiet to even hear. “To...my sister. And her kids.”

“Oh.” Marvin’s stomach slowly sank. “My...my condolences, Miss Stacy.”

“It happened years ago, at this point, but I still remember them.” Stacy kept her eyes down at the counter. “They were my only family.”

“I...I’m so sorry.” Marvin shook his head slowly.

“Thank you.” Stacy took a deep breath, then picked up the pen and signed the receipt. She handed it back to Marvin, who put it into the appropriate slot in the cash register. “I’m sorry for suddenly bringing this up. I just...I’ve been thinking about them lately.”

“You had t’get it off your mind, it’s alrigh’,” Marvin nodded. “I just hope t’at you don’ do t’at wit’ every cashier.”

Stacy laughed suddenly. “No, don’t worry. I suppose that...because I recognized you, it just all came spilling out. I’m still so sorry. I promise I’m not usually like that.”

“It’s really alrigh’. Now, d’you need a bag?”

“Oh. Oh right. Yes, please.” Again, Stacy fell silent, watching as Marvin slid the books into a bag. “Thank you.” She took it from him, then cleared her throat. “Well...perhaps I’ll see you soon.”

“Perhaps. G’bye, Miss Stacy. Feel free to return anytime.”

Marvin turned to the cash register and pretended to mess with it while Stacy left. He didn’t move until he heard the bell at the store’s entrance chime merrily. Then he slumped. “Well.” It was all he could say. “Well.” That was...a very odd encounter. He wasn’t too familiar with Stacy, but he knew enough to know that was sort of out of character. It must have really been weighing on her. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had anyone she could talk to about this.

He shook his head. This wasn’t the time to think about this. He was at work, and in fact he could see another customer heading towards the till. Marvin straightened, put his best customer service smile on, and got back to work.

———————

The darkness was almost complete. Almost being the key word. There was a sliver of gray light coming from underneath the closet door. He pressed his face to the floor to peer out from under it. Why was everything in this place, even the light, tinted with gray? But gray was better than pure blackness, so he stayed close to the small bit of light.

It felt like the room was getting smaller. He knew it wasn’t, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling. And he could barely move as it was, his legs pressed against the wall. Maybe it was smaller than last time. Maybe that was why he thought it was shrinking.

Everything was cramped. His throat was dry, and his stomach clenched painfully. How long had it been? Must’ve been almost a day. A day since he...he couldn’t remember what he did, but he remembered that it got angry with him. “If you’re going to be like that, then I’ll just leave you alone!” It had shouted.

He didn’t want to be left alone anymore. Slowly, he reached up and knocked on the closet door. “Are you th...?” he asked, quieter than he wanted. He cleared his throat and hit the door again. “Are you here? Can you hear me? I...I’m sorry.” His voice broke on the last word. “Please, I’m sorry.”

There was no answer. He pushed himself into a sitting position, pausing for a moment as his head spun, and banged against the door as hard as he could. “Can you hear me?!” he yelled. “Please! I’m sorry, jus’...jus’ let me out!”

Long after his fists started to hurt, the voice came from the other side. “Did I hear you asking for me?”

He rested his forehead against the wood of the door. “Please...I-I’m sorry. Jus’ please, please let me out.”

“Oh? But didn’t you want to be alone?” Its voice was mocking him. “Didn’t you want me to go?”

“No...” he whispered, slumping downward. “No, I don’ want t’at.”

“Well, what do you want, then?”

A sob escaped his throat. He wanted to know where he was and why he was here. He wanted to get out of this twisted house. He wanted his cards back. He wanted his life back. He wanted to see his friends and family again. He wanted to go home.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that.”

But of course, it didn’t want to hear any of that. It only wanted to hear one thing. “I want...to be with you. Because...we’re friends.”

Silence. And then the door slowly opened. With his weight resting against it, he fell forward. Right into a pair of arms. He shuddered, but didn’t pull away. “I’m glad you remembered that,” the voice said cheerfully. “We really shouldn’t fight like this, you know. But you’re sorry, so it’s okay.”

He nodded, and closed his eyes.

———————

Marvin woke up, breathing hard. His throat hurt, like he’d been crying out without even knowing about it. Just like every other time he woke up, he turned on the light and scanned the bedroom.

“Hello again.”

He tried to cry out, but it turned into a wheezy rasp. It was him. Distorter. Standing in the corner of his bedroom and grinning. Immediately, Marvin made to get away, scrambling out of bed and falling onto the floor. He grabbed the nightstand and pulled himself up, then ran for the door.

“Ah ah ah.” Just as Marvin reached for the doorknob, a blackened hand grabbed his wrist, and then the other, pulling his arms back. “I need a favor, Marvy.”

“Don’t call me—!”

He wasn’t able to finish the sentence. Distorter yanked him backwards and threw him to the ground, slamming him hard against the floor. While Marvin was still dazed, he wrapped his hand around his neck and pressed down. Marvin choked and instinctively grabbed Distorter’s hand to try and stop him. “Now that I have your attention,” Distorter said calmly. “I want you to deliver a message. Because he probably won’t listen to me, so I’ll ask you.”

Eyes wide, Marvin shook his head. “I’d never—”

“It’s just a small favor. Calm down.” Distorter pressed his other hand against Marvin’s mouth. “You look so upset. You should smile more.” He leaned closer, the blood from his eyes dripping onto Marvin’s face. “Listen to me. Only listen to me. No room for anything else.”

Thoughts were becoming difficult. Marvin struggled to move, but he kept...kept forgetting. Forgetting...something. Did it really...did it really matter? What was happening...?

“Listen to me.”

———————

There was a door. He knew it, recognized it, but the details couldn’t pierce the thick gray fog in his brain. His hand reached out, and he watched it, as if it wasn’t his at all, but someone else’s. And the hand knocked.

When nobody answered, he knocked again.

And again. Much harder.

That one finally got a response: “Alright, I’m fucking coming, don’t break the door down!”

Footsteps from the inside, and then the door opened. A man was standing there, brown hair and green-and-blue eyes, wearing a black long-sleeved shirt with some sort of band logo on it. The man was familiar, very familiar, and he struggled to remember. But the gears of his mind were clogged up with gray cotton, and he fell back down into the fog. “Marvin?” The man asked, surprised. “What are you—your eyes!”

He took a step forward, staggered, and fell against the man, who stumbled in turn but caught him. “...hhhnntsseeeyuhh.” A garble of sounds fell out of his mouth.

“M-Marv? What...?” The man stepped backwards and awkwardly reached around to close the door. “It’s him, isn’t it? What did he do?”

He blinked, and the motion caused two streams of warm red liquid to slip from his eyes. Those eyes locked onto the man’s face. That’s him, whispered a voice. Tell him what I told you. A voice that didn’t stand out at all, yet he couldn’t stop listening to it. Give him the message. The only thing in the gray fog that gave him a purpose, so he listened. He stared at the man, looking at him so worried, and said, “He wants to see you.”

The man was silent. “He does, huh? Well, he could’ve told me himself instead of...this.”

A light appeared in the corner of his vision. A green light. He glanced in that direction. A small green sphere was floating in the air, flicking a tail. An eyeball. It came closer, and the light was...piercing. Shining through the fog. He stared at it, transfixed.

“You don’t look so good. Here, sit down.” The man pulled him toward a sofa and set him down, crouching down across from him so their eyes were level. “Did this fucker have anything else to say to me?”

The address. The return of the voice made him look away from the green light from the eyeball. Strange, it sounded quieter when he was staring at the light. “68 Aspen Street,” he said, monotone. “Three days from now, at noon.”

“68 on Aspen?” The man repeated, confused. Then his eyes widened. “That’s the—Are you sure?”

“68 Aspen Street. Three days from now, at noon.”

“Goddammit, Marvin, snap out of this!” The man grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “He’s treating you like a fucking puppet, it’s sick! You’re so much more than that. Wake up!”

He blinked again. Those words...they were echoing through the fog, but muffled. Still, he felt like he should focus on them. On this man.

“C’mon, c’mon.” The man shook him again. “How’d you get here? Jackson couldn’t have driven you. Did you walk?”

Jackson? Jackson, Jackson...J...JJ? Did he walk here without him? He’d be upset about that...about him pushing himself.

That eyeball appeared in front of him again, shining even brighter. He heard the man—he knew him he knew him—gasp, but he was too focused on the light. It hurt his eyes, hurt his head—no, it hurt the fog inside his head. It was...burning it away.

Wait, where was he? He’d been here before. It was a friend’s home, wasn’t it? A friend...who was staring at him.

Something suddenly snapped. Marvin gasped. “Anti!”

“Oh thank god,” Anti sighed, relieved. The small eyeball—Sam, it was Sam—flew forward and bopped against Marvin’s forehead. “What happened?”

“I...don’t quite remember.” Marvin shook his head. “‘T’s all...foggy.”

“Well. That’s okay.” Anti leaned back. “Do you want me to call someone?”

“I...Jems. Can you call him?” Marvin’s voice sounded very small. “I want to go home.”

“Right. I’ll text him.” Anti took his phone out of his pocket and started typing.

“Right.” Marvin felt himself slowly listing to the side, and he let it happen, lying on the sofa. Sam flew down and settled on his head, their glow slowly pulsing. He didn’t really notice.

“So...you’re alright?” Anti asked.

Marvin didn’t answer for a while. Anti waited, but eventually got up and started to walk away. It was then that Marvin spoke up. “Why...do I never do enough?”

Anti turned back to him. “You do what you can. I mean, who would be Jackson’s best friend if you weren’t here? Who’d I go to the pub with? Who’d look after Mr. Flufflington?” He paused. “If you ask me, all that sounds like enough.”

Marvin stared at him. He nodded. “Alrigh’.”

“Alright.” Anti turned away again. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“T’anks.” Marvin let his eyes fall shut.

Maybe he should just rest. He was so tired. He should let himself rest.

[marvelousstevetony]

Can you do 35. Why did you hide this from me? Maybe sick Tony? Loving all the content 😊

Thank you for this prompt, anon! This got a little more angsty and sappy than I originally planned, but sometimes Tony just needs to be assured that he’s cared for, especially when he’s sick. Luckily, Steve doesn’t mind reminding him :)

Hope you’ll like this small snippet of sick, insecure Tony and Steve who loves his boyfriend very much <3

Tony can hear Steve coming down the stairs, can hear him knocking on the glass door to the workshop, even over the music Tony has playing as background noise while he works. It’s at a much lower volume, Tony has to admit, because although he loves Back in Black, it doesn’t cure he throbbing in his head, and when he asked JARVIS to turn down the amplification, he had silently apologized to AC/DC.

Tony decides to act as if he simply hadn’t heard Steve, ignoring the way he kept knocking and calling his name. He really had to finish the new upgrade to the armour, and even before they started dating, Tony had discovered that he was involuntarily incapable of gravitating towards Steve if he was within arms reach. He is simply distracted whenever Steve is near, and right now he doesn’t have time to be distracted.

Add to it that he feels like shit, head pounding, nose running, eyes threatening to fall shut every few minutes. He and Steve haven’t been together for very long, and Tony definitely doesn’t want Steve fussing over him or looking at him like he’s this small, fragile thing that needs saving.

So Tony pretends to be unbothered and continues fidgeting with a small piece of metal, but it’s difficult, nearly impossible, to work when he’s hands are shaking like leaves and his vision is beginning to blur.

Steve stops knocking on the door, and Tony thinks it’s because he decided to give up and go back to bed. Tony doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows it’s late, and probably even quite a bit later than Steve’s usual bedtime. When he hears the sound of the door to the workshop sliding open though and a hushed thank you, Jarvis, Tony really should’ve figured. Steve never gives up, and he must’ve used the override code he was given in case of emergencies.

Tony frowns to himself. Nothing really seems emergency-esque.

“That’s for emergencies, you know,” Tony says, not looking at Steve, eyes focusing on the armour. “There an Earth-threatening alien invasion or something?”

“No aliens,” Steve clarifies. He’s closer now, Tony can tell. His voice is nearer, and sometimes, somehow, Tony thinks he’s developed a way to feel when Steve’s close to him. As a large, comforting hand rests on his shoulder, Tony resists every urge to lean into the contact, the warmth and electricity he feels run through his body when they touch. “But my boyfriend hasn’t been answering his phone all day, hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and when I come to check on him, he ignores me,” Steve explains, and though his voice is soft, he sounds a little upset as well. “And that made me worried. So, to me, this is an emergency,” he finishes.

“I’ve been busy,” Tony says dismissively. “Suit upgrades.” He gestures vaguely at the metal scraps and various tools that are sprawled all across the worktable.

“It’s late, Tony. Come to bed,” Steve murmurs and hugs Tony from behind, laying his cheek on Tony’s shoulder. “Upgrades can wait.”

Tony huffs a laugh. “If it’s so late then why aren’t you in bed, huh?” Tony teases and smiles to himself. He’s already diverted from his work, confirming the theory that he can’t be close to Steve without losing every inch of concentration from his body.

“Can’t sleep without you,” Steve whispers and presses a kiss to Tony’s neck. He makes a surprised noise when his lips graze Tony’s skin and draws back, bringing a hand to Tony’s cheek.

“You’re burning up,” Steve announces worriedly. “Hey, look at me.”

And Tony can’t hold off the inevitable any longer. He spins his chair around, facing Steve with as much energy as he can muster. Which… isn’t a lot. His eyes are droopy and watery, and his nose looks as if it had been assaulted with scratchy tissues all day. It probably had.

Steve’s face drops immediately when he surveys Tony. His eyebrows draw together, mouth twisting in a way it only does when he’s worried.

“You’re sick,” he states blankly.

Tony shakes his head, but a cough decides to rattle through his chest at that very moment. “I’m okay,” he rasps, knowing he can’t fool Steve and instead tries to brush if off.

“Tony…” he breathes, and Tony hates how defeated, how concerned he sounds. “Why did you hide this from me?” He asks quietly, and Tony can almost hear how Steve’s brain is overthinking, contemplating every scenario that could have caused Tony to keep this secret from him; didn’t Tony trust him? Had he done anything wrong? Had he not paid enough attention to notice how sick his boyfriend is?

Tony needs to set things straight, to assure Steve that whatever senseless and foolish thoughts running through that mind of his are definitely not true. “I didn’t… I’m not,” Tony sighs, unable to complete an adequate sentence. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I didn’t want you to worry,” Tony confesses. “I’m a grown man, I can’t take care of myself.”

“Tony,” he says again. God, Tony wishes Steve would stop saying his name so gently, with so much love in his voice that it makes Tony’s eyes misty. The fever is undoubtedly making him more emotional. That’s what he tells himself, anyways.

“I don’t need you to babysit me, Steve.” It comes out harsher than Tony had intended it to, and he immediately wants to retract it when he sees the wounded look on Steve’s face. He sighs again. “I’m sorry, I just— I don’t want you to look at me like I’m this helpless, broken thing that needs fixing. I’m the one who’s supposed to fix things.”

The words tumble out of Tony’s mouth before he has a chance to filter them. But they’re true, Tony realizes. They’re true, and Tony’s so honest right in that moment. He wonders if it’s because Steve’s there, and Steve has this weird effect on him that makes him incapable of hiding how he feels. It’s the same thing that made Tony confess his feelings for him — he simply couldn’t keep them in any longer, and suddenly they just bursted out of him with no warning.

And now, without thinking about it, Tony admits this to himself as much as he does to Steve: he doesn’t want to be fixed, to be cared for in this way. He doesn’t deserve to be cared for. He’s the mechanic, he fixes things, he mends them, he makes good. Ever since he shut down the weapons manufacture that has been his goal. To help. And now, in this state of exhaustion and vulnerability, he can’ do that.

Tony suddenly feels like he can’t breathe.

“Hey…” Steve cups Tony’s face and strokes a thumb over his cheekbone. “I know you think you’re… unworthy of being cared for in this way, which kills me, because you deserve every ounce of love I possess, and it will forever be my goal to make this known to you… but you are the most generous person I’ve ever met. You help everyone you can and destroy yourself over those you can’t. I just wish you’d let me help you sometimes…”

The tears are now trailing down Tony’s cheek, running over Steve’s hand. It’s definitely because he’s tired and sick and not because Steve has just dejected every insecurity Tony hadn’t said out loud but had unconsciously carried on his shoulders.

At some point between Steve entering the workshop and now, the music had been turned off and for a moment, there’s silence. Tony isn’t looking at Steve, but he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, can picture how earnest and sincere and blue they are.

“Come to bed,” Steve says and Tony just nods and lets himself be enveloped in Steve’s arms.

Steve carries Tony to their bedroom, the genius clinging to the soldier like his life depended on it. Laying him down on the bed with care, Steve draws back and smooths a hand over Tony’s head.

The brunette looks up at him with a bleary expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. His voice is even raspier now that he actually lets himself resign to being sick, succumbing to the symptoms.

“Shh. Don’t be,” he murmurs and smiles softly. “Get comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Tony nods and shreds his clothes, stripping down to his boxers and a white t-shirt, then shuffles under the blankets and closes his eyes. He probably would’ve fallen asleep right then, had a tickle in his nose not started growing stronger and stronger. He pushes his nose up against his wrist, but it doesn’t stop the tickle from wanting out. After a few useless nose rubs, his nose gives a tell-tale twitch, and he presses his face into his shoulder.

“h’ngxxtt! HNgx!” Stifling the sneezes makes his sinuses twinge and sends a throb through his skull, so when the tickle returns, he lets himself give into a stronger, fuller uhhETCH’oo! that gives him more relief. For the moment, at least.

“Bless you!” Steve calls, and a few seconds later he pads into the bedroom with a tray stacked with what Tony can identify as Kleenex, tea, fever-reducers, decongestants, and a glass of water. “Here,” he says as he places the tray on the nightstand, pulling out few tissues from the box and hands them to Tony.

Tony nods and folds them over his nose, leaning into another two forceful sneezes.

“uhhCHUSh’oo! snffSNFF! huh— uh! uh’CHUSH!”

“God bless you, sweetheart,” Steve winces. “How did you get so sick, hm?”

Tony is still snuffling into the tissues and doesn’t give any reply other than ducking his head shyly and looking over the edge of the tissue with fond eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve decides and smiles sweetly. “I’ll get you feeling better.”

[stargazedmoony]

Excerpt from a story I’ll never write: A day at the Muggle-zoo.

“We’re going to have him for a whole day!”

Sirius was bouncing up and down next to Remus, who was styling his hair in the mirror. Remus snickered. “Would you knock it off already— you might poke my eye out.” Sirius laughed widely at him, exposing his freshly-brushed set of perfect teeth. “I can’t help it!” he said. “I’m just so excited. I can’t believe it!” He threw his hands up in the air so that Remus really had to duck this time to avoid having his eye poked out. “A whole day spend with the love of my life!”

“Oh, well, that’s sweet of you,” Remus said, grabbing his toothbrush. “But don’t you think Harry—”

“Oh no, I meant Harry!”

Remus opened his mouth, surprised. “Well, shit,” he said, grinning. “I’ve got competition.”

Sirius threw his arms around his husband, kissing him in the neck. “Oh, don’t you worry, tiger. My love’s up in the universe for you. Harry’s just a tiny star.” Remus smiled. “Makes me feel a little bit better,” he said, shrugging Sirius off of him so he could move his arm to brush his teeth.

“Alright, lover! Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done,” Sirius said, happily. Remus hadn’t seen him glow like that in a while. “I’ve got breakfast ready.”

Breakfast was done in a nick of time for Sirius was too excited to eat his burned toast in peace. He gulped it down and then just sat at the dining table, looking so restlessly at Remus that Remus put his half-eaten piece of bread in a sandwich bag to take with him on the road. He rolled his eyes as Sirius cleaned up the table in a rush so Remus could put on his shoes. He didn’t know what Sirius was more excited about: the fact that they were going to spend a whole day with Harry or that they were going to a real Muggle-zoo.

Sirius had been so impressed when Remus had suggested the idea to him and James and Lily, only knowing of it for having studied Muggle Studies at school. Lily had immediately backed him up of course, remembering her own good times visiting the zoo with her parents and sister. Remus wasn’t really that much of a fan, to be very honest. He didn’t like the idea of animals being kept in cages, because of the fact that the Ministry of Magic did the exact same thing with werewolves at the night of the full moon. Registered werewolves, at least.

But for a toddler, he’d thought that it’d be fun. And by toddler, he meant Sirius as much as Harry.

“Ready?” Sirius said, handing him the sack of Floo Powder.

“Come on, get moving,” Remus said, smiling and pushing him in the back. Sirius grabbed him by the hand and together they stepped into the fireplace that had been magically enchanted to fit the both of them. “Count to three,” Sirius said. “One, two, three— The Potters!” The words hadn’t even completely left their tongues yet, but their home vanished away and instead of their living room, they saw multiple other blurry wizarding homes. The simmering sparks of fire didn’t hurt one bit and in less than ten seconds Remus and Sirius stepped out of the fireplace onto a nice and clean red carpet.

“Oi, Moony! Padfoot!” James came walking into the living room of his home as Sirius and Remus brushed the rest of some ashes off of their shoulders. “What’s poppin’, Prongs?” Sirius said, nodding his head. James looked at him in horror. “What’s what now?” he asked, looking at Remus as if he would have some kind of cure to fix whatever just came out of Sirius’s mouth. Remus shrugged his shoulders in a way that said: “I’m as lost as you are”, but he opened his mouth to say: “Something he picked up in the record store in town. Apparently, it’s the slang kids use these days.”

Sirius shot him a look. “Apparently,” he said, mocking Remus. “It makes me sound dope, so shut your face.”

James’s eyes were now really wide with disturbance. “Pads, if you talk like that in front of my child, I swear to god—”

“No, no! I’m sorry, I’ll act normal,” Sirius said, quickly. “Well—” He very attractively flipped his hair over his shoulder. “—As normal as I can be, of course.” He winked at Remus, who felt his stomach flutter at this. Handsome devil, he thought.

“Where’s Harry, anyway?” Sirius went on, looking around the room as if Harry was hiding behind some cushions. “Is he—” But suddenly the door flew open and Lily came in, carrying Harry, an adorable miracle of a small child, on her arm.

“I thought I heard some annoyingly familiar voices,” she said, nodding to Sirius. The long-haired boy scoffed, but his eyes were far too distracted to pay any attention to her. They were on Harry, who had his tiny arms stretched out to his godfather ever since he’d first laid eyes on him. “Hello, my darling!” Sirius said, enthusiastically. “If your dear mother would let me— that’s a good girl. Hi, Harry!” Sirius had gracefully taken over Harry from Lily’s arms and held him high up in the air. “How are you doing today?”

“Paddie!” Harry cooed. “Mummy said zoo?”

“Oh, you just keep on getting better at talking! Remus, do you hear that?” Sirius was delighted, looking so full of pride, Remus couldn’t help but wonder why his chest was not bursting yet. But Remus was very proud as well— Harry spoke much more articulately since the last time they'd seen him.

“Mummy was right,” Sirius said. “Do you even know what a zoo is? James, how can you teach him words and not—”

“Remus?” As Sirius kept on talking to James and Harry, Lily turned to Remus. “You’ll take good care of them, right?” she asked him. He nodded. “Of course, Lils, there’s no need to worry.”

She smiled gracefully, her freckles sparkling on her nose and a laugh filling her eyes. “I’ve packed him some lunch and he’s got his own cup to drink from, but you can buy him something at the zoo as well, if you want. He does like chocolate ice cream a lot. I think he’s got that from you—” Remus smiled apologetically at this. “—I’ve packed him some cookies, you know, those cute star-like ones? I chipped in a few for Sirius as well, just so you know.” Remus smiled at her and then leaned into her and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. She blushed.

“We’ll be fine,” Remus assured her. “I’ll have us all safely back at the end of the day.” He then turned to the boys. “Pads, you ready? Our bus leaves in ten minutes.” Sirius nodded. “Moowy!” the boy in his arms said, happily. “Oh, I’m being noticed,” Remus chuckled, walking over to the both of them and taking Harry over from Sirius. “Hi, lad,” he said, softly. Sirius watched him in loving awe. “C’mon, give your mummy a kiss goodbye.”

They bid everyone goodbye and then, finally, they were on their way to the zoo. It wasn’t really a long ride, but it was a tad awkward for the two boys for they had never in their lives used a buggy before. Harry was still too small to walk around on his feet for a whole day.

Once they arrived at the zoo, Sirius was glad Remus knew how to work with Muggle-money, because the little coins and shiny money notes made him dizzy and there were simply too many other distractions around him that he had to contain already. They followed the signs that were on either sides of the paths and those lead them to a small area with cages full of owls and very extraordinary looking birds.

“Bird!” Harry exclaimed, happily pointing at a great white owl who looked proudly around its cage. Its feathers were unnaturally clean, but gorgeous. “No, Harry. Owl. A snow-owl, actually,” Sirius read off of one of the signs. “Makes sense,” he nodded agreeably, looking back at the owl.

“Swow owl,” Harry said, and Remus chuckled. “Good job, lad,” he praised the little boy. For some reason, Harry couldn’t quite pronounce the letter ‘n’ yet. It suited his adorable, young face and in a silent moment, Remus wished Harry wouldn’t have to grow up and that he’d stay young forever. But, on the other hand, it filled Remus with intense happiness to know that he’d grow up to be there with him, and Sirius, too, and that one day, they’d be called uncle Padfoot and uncle Moony.

With that thought forming a smile on his lips, Remus let his hand slip into Sirius’s. Sirius seemed quite surprised by this for a second, but kept holding onto it. They never really showed off their relationship in public places, because they never really felt like they had to— it was enough that they knew one another’s love. The rest of the world had no business in it.

But, today it felt right. It’s like having a family of my own, Remus thought, delighted.

They had ice cream for lunch, chocolate flavour for Harry, and Sirius was overjoyed with the cookies that Lily had packed for him. “I must buy her a souvenir!” he said. “Maybe that stuffed animal-penguin we saw earlier? Oh, she’d love that!” Remus snickered at his enthusiasm and wiped Harry’s lips clean.

Suddenly, a shadow covered the sunlight from their view: “Excuse me.”

An older-looking man stood in front of them. “What a lovely son you have there. Here, I noticed he let his rattle fall onto the floor.” The man held out his hand and Remus took over the toy. “Th— Thanks,” he said surprised. “But it’s not our son, really. We’re just babysitting.”

“Oh, so you’re not—” The man seemed to be looking for words, but he didn’t need to. Proudly, as he always was, Sirius wrapped an arm around Remus’s shoulders. Remus started blushing immensely as Sirius held him close and said: “Oh, we are, yes.”

The man chuckled. “How endearing,” he said. “Oh, to be young and in love. Well, I wish you all a happy day.” He gave them a small wave and stroked Harry’s little bush of black curls. Sirius let his head rest on Remus’s shoulder. “I love those kind of people,” he sighed. “Can you believe he thought that we were… you know. Parents?” He chuckled at this.

“Well, what if we were?” Remus suddenly asked, carefully. Sirius looked up to look him in the eye. “Are you s—?”

“Padfoot, I will not make the joke.”

Sirius smirked. “Oh, you’re no fun,” he said, eyes twinkling. His face got a bit more serious again, before asking: “Do you mean it, though?”

Remus shrugged. “Would it freak you out that much?”

Sirius started shaking his head wildly. “No! No, not at all!” he said, squeezing Remus’s hands. “Moony, that’d be so lovely! Me, a dad! Harry, do you hear that?” But as they turned their heads, they saw that Harry’s chin was softly balancing on his chest, his eyes closed and snoring a bit. “Oh, what a weakling,” Sirius said, pursing his lips together.

“Sirius! He’s a kid!”

Sirius shrugged. “You’re calling me a kid all the time, but you don’t see me beauty sleeping here.” Remus disapprovingly shook his head at him. “Okay, sorry!” Sirius laughed. “Harry, I love you.”

“He can’t hear you.”

“Okay, then Remus, I love you.”

Remus started laughing. “You big goof,” he said, shaking his head. “Shall we talk about it later? Bit of big subject to talk about in a zoo, no?”

“What do you mean? They keep like 50 animals here, I think it can handle one big conversation.” Sirius laughed at Remus, looking happier than ever as he leaned in and stole a quick kiss from Remus’s lips.

“Can we go see the lions now?” he pouted.

Remus pulled him closer, not giving a damn in the world about people seeing them, and he kissed him gently back. “We can go see the lions now.”

— by: @stargazedmoony

in loving memory of Sirius Black.

[undertalethingems]

(I didn’t get a chapter pic done, i’ll try to get it up soon =u=;;; )

Bark at the Moon Chapter 15: Wake-up Call

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Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: This chapter may need some--poor Sans is having a pretty rough time of it. His behavior is intended to reflect how some animals often react to stress or illness, buuuut it's also pretty common among people with depression, which, Sans is :"D So, if I need to make any specific mentions, let me know!

Chapter Summary: It's all been too much. There are no problems he can't do anything about when he sleeps.

Movement woke him. He blinked a weary eye open--oh, his brother had gotten up. He settled back in to sleep more. That was all he wanted to do.

Sleep, so no one could hurt him.

Sleep, so he couldn't hurt anyone.

Sleep, where there were no problems he couldn't do anything about.

He'd tried to forget. Pushed his thoughts away so they couldn't hurt. But it didn't matter. Even if he didn't think, the hurt still had its claws in his soul.

Things should have gone back.

Why hadn't they gone back?

Was it fun?

... It didn't matter.

Oh, a touch. His brother was nuzzling his face, trying to push him up. Didn't he know it didn't matter?

A harder touch--he was being pulled up now. Okay. He'd go wherever he was put. It didn't matter to him. He was dragged and set down somewhere hard... and now he was getting wet. He didn't want that, the water was cold--no, it was getting warmer... very warm. It felt good on his bones. He could sleep in this.

When he woke up, he was dry and nestled in many soft things. It felt... nice... so he went back to sleep.

A sharp smell sent little alarms through faint dreams. He cracked an eye open, saw smoke billowing--but someone was laughing, and he could hear his brother's pretend-whine. This was familiar.... The smoke was bad, but there was no danger. He huffed, buried his face into the blankets, and went back to sleep.

The next thing to wake him up was a thud that shook everything. Alarmed, he opened an eye and glanced over--his brother and the fish lady were wrestling again. Both were growling playfully at one another--oh good, it was play. His brother broke free and darted across the room, dodging neatly when the lady charged at him before pouncing on her. He watched them tumble across the floor, and felt... amused.

He hadn't felt that in a long time.

It was... a relief, really. He'd almost forgotten he could feel things besides sadness, or anger, or nothing--and nothing else. Seeing his brother so carefree, having fun despite everything... it was nice. Maybe he didn't have to worry. If his brother was okay... so was he.

Everything smelled like home. Safety. Family.

And the fish lady, but she was ok. She was allowed here. She was nice to his brother.

There was nothing more he needed to do. He could sleep.

He was being pushed again. He growled, eyes not even opening to see who it was--his brother gave a short growl back, irritated. He was pushed harder--no, he wasn't getting up. He growled again, and the pushing stopped. His brother huffed at him, then squawked, but he responded by burying his head into the soft bedding around him. He didn't want to be bothered.

His brother barked at him. He ignored it.

His brother hooted, softly.

He ignored it. His brother whined, and he could hear him shift nervously before padding away. Finally. He could go back to sleep.

 He was woken up by rattling. Everything was dark--it was very late. It was hard to stay awake, but something about the rattling had stirred the alarms in his mind. Something was wrong. Slowly, he lifted his head and tilted it side to side, trying to locate the rattle's source. It was close... below him? He slid his head over to peer at the foot of the couch.

His brother was curled up, shivering. Something like fear shot through him--why was he down there, why was he shaking? Even his eyes were dark--he never let them go out, not like he did. This was bad... His brother... felt bad...

He couldn't understand. He didn't seem hurt. His friend was still here--she was okay too. So why was his brother so sad? Had something happened? Had he done something wrong...? That couldn't be right.

He... hadn't...

He hadn't done anything. For a long time now. Despite his brother trying his hardest.

He'd done nothing.

... Was that it?

His brother was sad... because he didn't want to do anything? But it was better this way... Any time he'd tried to do something, it had failed, gone wrong, hurt someone.

But... maybe only doing nothing was bad too. His brother thought so. His brother... was really good...

It was an intriguing thought, but he was too tired to pursue it. He pulled his head back up and tucked it against his side, then drifted off, regardless of his brother's shudders. Staying awake was too hard.

 He was shaken awake this time--but his awareness came slowly, like he was rising through water. Opening his eyes was a struggle, but when they finally did and the room beyond focused, he found the fish lady had her hand on his shoulder, and looked really relieved to seem him wake up. He could see his brother too, just behind her--his eyes were out again. Oh, right--he needed to think about why his brother was sad, but the lady was talking, making it hard to focus. His thoughts were so hazy... Really, if he could just go back to sleep...

As he shut his eyes, a sharp howl broke from his brother, and he snapped them open in alarm. Was his brother hurt? Who was hurting him?! And then he saw them both staring at him, expressions full of fear and worry. For him.

He was hurting them. Why else would they look at him like that, with so much pain in their eyes? His brother really was sad because of him. It was the only thing that made sense.

He didn't want that. Never. He didn't want to be the reason his brother's eyes were dark, why he keened, why he shivered. But what could he do? He couldn't fix anything, couldn't stop all the bad things that might hurt them... He was too weak, too useless. He was better off asleep.

What could he do...?

He wanted to fix everything, but...

But...

... Maybe it didn't have to be a big thing like that. No one could fix those things. But something small... just enough to make his brother smile...

He couldn't make him smile if he was asleep.

The sudden thought electrified him. He'd been trying to avoid problems by sleeping them away, but by doing that, by doing nothing, he'd forgotten to do something important. Maybe even a lot of things, all because he'd forgotten why he did them. He tried to remember what he needed to do, something small that could help just a little, right now. What did he need to do, what did he need...

He needed...

Not sleep, not shelter...

Oh. He hadn't eaten anything in a while, had he?

He hadn't felt hungry for a long time. Food was a nice thing, but he couldn't think about nice things. He'd been too scared to even consider it. But... he needed that to live. If he didn't eat, he'd...

No wonder they looked so scared.

The lady patted him, and got up to do something--he couldn't see what. It didn't matter. He'd put it together, realized what he could do so his brother wouldn't be sad anymore. If he was the cause, then he needed to do better. But he felt too weak to move, and the lady was gone--how was he going to get food...?

He inhaled to sigh, but a smell caught his attention, sending more--but different--alarms sparking through his mind. Where was it--there! They'd left a--oh, his favorite, that's right--near him, on the arm of the couch. He stretched his neck out until it was in range and took a tentative nibble--and growled to himself when the taste brought back memories of the flower taunting him.

How... dare he. He couldn't ruin this too, not when he was finally trying. This was his--he'd enjoy this in spite of him. He gulped his small bite down, then picked up the rest and knocked it back before snuggling back into the blankets. They were better fresh, but he was already feeling better. He was strong, and smart. He wouldn't let the flower win. He wouldn't let him take this away, take his chance to see his brother smile again.

The fish lady said something, and he was tackled. His brother alternated between nuzzling him affectionately and fussing over him, chattering all the while--happy. He uttered a low whine--he was still too tired to play, go play with the lady, but his brother's excitement told him he'd done the right thing. Something was shoved into his nose, and the smell connected with his instincts--he'd snapped and swallowed before he even knew what he was eating. Not that it mattered--he was suddenly ravenous after not feeling hungry at all for so long, so it could have been anything and he'd have been happy. But he focused long enough to recognize he'd been given a ham sandwich before he bit again. It was gone in moments, but they had another one ready for him. He wasn't about to turn it down.

A final bit of tension that had gripped him lifted. Not everything was better, he knew that. But he buried his snout in the blankets and breathed in. Family. Home. Safety. Food. For now, he had everything he needed--and that was why he could do things, why it was worth doing them. He needed to remember that.

The others let him rest for a while, then roused him for more food later; they seemed really happy to see him eating, moving again. He liked that they were happy, his brother most of all. Making others smile... that was one of his favorite things to do. He'd almost forgotten, after all the bad that had happened and seemed to never stop. Maybe it was finally stopping, and he could just... be.

The lady stayed with them, making sure they were fed and had what they needed. His brother practically tumbled down the stairs one day and danced around the room, overjoyed to be wearing a colorful piece of fabric around his neck. She'd complimented him, and the joy on his brother's face almost made him want to prance around too. He'd never been one to prance though--lumber, maybe--so he settled on giving an approving hoot when his brother gamboled over. His brother trilled joyfully, then raced back up the stairs--to his room? Why? The sound of rummaging echoed, and he and the fish lady exchanged looks.

His brother emerged with a triumphant cry, more fabric in his jaws. He leapt from the second floor and trotted over to drop the fabric thing on his head. He grumbled and pushed it off to give his brother a perplexed look, and he seemed to bounce before reaching over to pull it back over him.

He sighed. Ok. He'd just stay like this.

Oh, nope, his brother was nudging him insistently. He wanted him to get up. He huffed another sigh, then slowly pushed himself up to sit, the fabric still draped over his head and blocking his view. He could hear laughter, so at least it was funny. The fabric was pulled from his head, and he could see his brother trying to drape the thing over his shoulders. The tall spines that rose from his back meant he didn't have much luck. Huffing with frustration, he left to pace, and the fish lady approached.

"Mind if I try?"

He tilted his head at her--he'd actually understood that well enough. Focusing on words had been so hard... He responded with what felt right--a shrug. She shrugged herself, then tried arranging the fabric into some semblance of what it was supposed to be. A blanket he could wear...? But she gave up too--those spines were just too tall. They'd tear the fabric. The lady drew back, studying him before turning to his brother with sudden inspiration.

"Hey, I wonder if a sweater would work--one of those button-down ones, y'know? If we turned it backwards, his spines could go between the buttons."

His brother seemed to think about this--then chirped happily before bounding back upstairs. He went into his own room this time, and came back with yet another piece of fabric. Was all this really necessary...?

"Okay Sans--"

He tilted his head again. Oh yeah. That was his name, wasn't it? He'd let it slip away...

"--I know you always liked wearing hoodies more, but this is the best we've got. Wanna give it a shot?"

Oh. A hoodie. That had been the other fabric thing. He recognized it now, turning to nudge it around until he could see the sleeves. Hadn't he had a blue one? He really liked that one.

"Sorry, but we just can't get it to fit," the lady apologized. "Papyrus had this though, it might work a little better."

Papyrus--he'd forgotten his brother's name too? Geez. He studied the fabric offered by the lady--she had a name too, but it wasn't coming to him. Uhhhh.... Unn.... Undone? Undo? Undies? He'd probably find out soon. The faded blue thing in her hands looked nice though. He'd let her try to put it on. His claws caught in the sleeves more than once, which turned out to be too long for him--but otherwise, it was a success, and he did like having something wrapped around him. The pressure was nice. He carefully shook himself out, then settled back into the blankets to take in Papyrus and the lady's pleased faces.

This was... this was kind of normal, right? This was what his life should be like all the time. Comfy, with his friends and family--not full of fear and doubt. This was all he wanted. He uttered a contented sigh, and snuggled down to sleep.

It was easier to wake up the next time, and he couldn't help but feel this was a good thing. Papyrus chattered excitedly, dancing circles around the fish lady while she toted out a set of steaming bowls from the kitchen. It smelled... really good, actually, and Sans perked his head up.

"Hey, I think this is our best attempt yet! Who knew they put the directions on the box?"

Papyrus twittered a reply, then looked over to him excitedly as he dropped from the couch to shuffle over, his curiosity--and appetite--piqued. The lady spread out a towel in front of the TV, then set a pair of bowls down before taking a seat herself.

"Well, eat up! I didn't make all this mac 'n cheese so you guys could stare at it."

Papyrus huffed at her, eyes lidded, and it took her a moment to understand his mood--but she got it and laughed.

"Okay, we didn't make it so it could be stared at," she corrected, waving her spoon for emphasis.

Sans didn't need any further permission, and the three settled in to share dinner while Mettaton rambled through the day's news on the TV. The food was actually pretty good--only a couple of tough noodles stuck to his teeth, and he didn't care enough for that to put him off. Papyrus seemed quite pleased with how the meal had turned out as well--and the fish lady wore a mischievous smirk. Sans felt he recognized that look. That was the face of someone... who was trying to think of something funny.

"Y'know... It's too bad you guys can't talk, otherwise I'm sure you'd have made all kinds of cheesy jokes."

Papyrus snapped his jaws shut and glared at her. It took a moment, but Sans found himself chuffing with laughter--oh, this was funny. Not just the words--his brother's reaction too. The fish lady beamed, looking very proud of herself.

"Yeah, you like that huh? Someone's gotta tell the jokes around here, and I guess I'M filling in for you punks. I'm gonna tell more than you thought pasta-ble! Fuhuhuhuhuhu!"

Papyrus made an annoyed rasp. He rushed to finish his bowl, then picked it up and stomped off to the kitchen. Sans could only chuff more while he ate--it felt good to laugh. It seemed like he hadn't in a very long time.

"What are you laughin' at?" the lady teased, squinting at him playfully. "You're the sauce of half these jokes, you know?"

Papyrus returned from the kitchen and leapt at her, batting at her face in a clear attempt to cover her mouth and keep her from telling more terrible puns. She grabbed his arms to shove him over, and he scrambled up with an indignant whine.

"Hah! You think you can stop me? You better use your noodle!"

That one went a little over Sans' head, though he knew he should have understood it. It made no difference to Papyrus though, who could tell by tone alone that it was another joke and was chattering all manner of annoyed noises. Sans tilted his head at one--it had taken a shape in his mind. It was almost a word. It had been so long since he'd heard his brother say any proper words, he'd almost forgotten that happened.

He wanted to hear more.

"I think I'm out of pasta puns though," the lady said, brows furrowed. "I might have to... cavatappi out."

"Ggggrraaahhh!" Papyrus uttered, which was somehow more word than growl--it even startled him, and he blinked in surprise.

The lady grinned wider. "Well... maybe I've got a couple more I can rotelle."

"Hrrrooooooh! Aaaahhhddnnnnnhh!"

More almost-words, but they were getting clearer, and Papyrus seemed to be getting more confident and excited. He zipped around the room as if he couldn't contain himself in between trying to tackle the fish lady again and put an end to the awful jokes.

If Sans could have smiled wider, he would have. He opened his mouth to tell a joke of his own--but all that came out was a low, soft hoot. Oh. He... wasn't there quite yet. He flopped down, and Papyrus stopped long enough to stride over to pat his shoulder in recognition of his disappointment.

"Hey, you'll get it soon," the fish lady said, wearing a big grin. "You just gotta keep working at it!"

He thought--there was a joke here, he knew it, could feel it--he had to work at it, he had to--put his backbone into it! There it was--eyes bright, he got up from the floor, and looked his brother in the eyes as he made a point of rattling his back spines.

Papyrus stared at him. Did he get it...?

"SSSAAAANSSS!!!" he screeched, leaping to push him over. Sans rolled out from under him, raspy laughter echoing as he dodged his brother. The lady was laughing too, and snagged Papyrus as he darted by to noogie him.

"Hah! I should've known he'd be the one to get you talking," she said, even as he struggled and protested.

"Yyyyou! Planned it?" Papyrus retorted, his voice muffled largely due to being in a headlock. "I sssshould have known!"

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" she replied. "I know that's been keepin' ya down these last few days."

Papyrus huffed, and finally gave up his struggle. "Unbelievable. To think... bad jokes... are what freed my voice.... Augh!"

The lady laughed again, releasing him at last. "I guess plain old howling wasn't good enough to express your outrage. And hey, even Sans got in on it--he's gotta be feeling better too. Right?"

Sans nodded, then shuffled over to nudge his brother in the chest. It was good to hear him talking again, and Papyrus' gaze turned soft as he returned the nuzzle. Then, he rolled over and nuzzled the lady too.

"Thank you, Undyne. I knew you wouldn't let me slip away for too long."

Undyne! That was the lady's name. She scratched the back of her neck awkwardly.

"Yeah, well, you know me. I never give up--especially not on my friends. We'll get Sans back on his feet too, don't worry."

Sans glanced down--he was on his feet. He looked back up at her, and laid down, folding his legs under himself.

"Sans! Ohhh my god," Papyrus howled again--his voice was mostly back but still tended to swing into tremolos or howls. "Well he's definitely feeling better if he's being like this."

Undyne laughed again. "Hey, well, at this rate maybe you guys can see everyone again soon. It's all I can do to keep them from busting your door down some days."

"... I hope you're joking," Papyrus said, looking concerned. "About the door-busting part, I mean."

She scoffed, shaking her head as she roughly patted his skull. "Okay, maybe no one's trying to see you that badly. Still, every time I go over to Grillby's it's all anyone asks me about."

Sans tilted his head. Grillby's... that was a good place. That was where his favorite food came from. There was also always lots of people there... Even if he wanted to go, he didn't know if he was ready to face them. He still felt pretty weak, but... Soon. For now, he was sleepy and full of pasta. Undyne and Papyrus had moved on to talking about whatever Mettaton was doing; their voices steadily lulled him into an easy sleep.

A few more days passed. Papyrus made steady progress--his voice was getting stronger, and he was having better luck with using objects as he helped to clean and cook. There were moments he'd struggle and get frustrated, but those were coming less often, and Undyne helped with the things that were still beyond his grasp. Sans was content to support him in whatever he wanted to achieve, but felt little need to push himself. Now that things were looking up, he didn't see much reason to.

Loud noise, something touched him--he whirled on it and snapped--but there was nothing, and as he blinked awake he noticed Undyne standing warily, her expression guarded. Papyrus was looking at him sadly, and he uttered a mournful whine as he flopped back down on the couch. He'd done it again... tried to hurt someone who didn't deserve it...

"Hey, it's okay," Undyne was saying, soft but firm at the same time. "I know you didn't mean it. Don't worry, you didn't get me, and there's nothing here that'll hurt you. You're alright."

He sighed. He was glad he hadn't hurt her, but... he could have. He had that power. He had to use it responsibly, but... it was hard when he'd act before he even knew what was happening. He remembered the feeling of bone crunching in his jaws and shuddered. He'd never forget his brother's cry that day--it was his fault Papyrus' arm was still a little crooked. He... he had to do better. Keep trying. Maybe... tempting as it was to stay the same... he shouldn't rely on instinct so much either. But it was so hard...

"Maybe it's still too soon," Papyrus mused, interrupting his thoughts. "He's been doing better, but..."

Undyne pursed her lips. "Yeah... It's fine, we can give it more time. You and I could go, if you wanted."

Sans squinted, then pushed himself up. Maybe he needed the change of scenery, to get used to being around people again--shake off all this baggage. What he'd been doing... hadn't exactly worked out for him, after all.

"Sans, you don't have to go if you don't want to," Papyrus said nervously--it was odd to hear it coming from him. "If you just want to rest, that's okay! We were just going to go out and say hi to whoever happens to be out and about, if you're not ready for that you can stay home, there's leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry but we can pick up Grillby's for you too if that would make you feel better--"

Sans blinked. Grillby's. He had friends there, who he hadn't seen in ages--it was a good place, a fun place. He wanted to see it again. Numbers flashed in his mind, and knowing what they meant without even thinking, he moved with them.

He appeared at the door. Smells--grease, fire, alcohol, food--inundated him, but it all went ignored. Everyone--every last monster in the establishment--had gone silent and was staring at him in utter shock. A few had gotten up from their seat and were backing away warily, the fear clear on their faces...

"Hold on--that's Sans!"

The bar erupted with a level of sound Sans wasn't quite prepared for--it was almost too much, ringing through his skull. But it was happy sound. Everyone was cheering, hollering, asking how he was or if he wanted anything to eat, if he needed help or wanted to sit with them, all at once. They crowded around, reaching out, and he instinctively shrank back towards the door, trying not to growl.

"Hey, back up a bit guys," Dogaressa called, pushing her way to the front and waving her axe. "You're making him nervous, c'mon."

"Sans, nervous? Since when's he been nervous about anything?" someone called jovially, but Dogaressa was unmoved.

"Did you forget everything that's happened in the last three months?!" she barked, brandishing her axe overhead. "If the last thing that happened to me was my friends attacking me, I'd probably be a little guarded too. Give him some room."

The crowd backed down, and Sans looked up at Dogaressa gratefully. She smiled at him, the wag back in her tail.

"Hello again, Sans--it's really good to see you. How've you been?" she said, continuing the conversation.

Oh, this was going to be tricky. He thought for a bit, then shrugged.

"What's the matter Sansy, cat got your tongue?!" one of the others called mockingly.

"He's a skeleton, he don't have one!" another retorted, and the bar burst with laughter--Sans chuffed to himself as Dogamy piped up.

"Oh, that's right--Undyne, when she brought 'em back, she explained it can be hard for them to talk when they look like this. Kinda like Greater Dog here, right Sans?"

Sans nodded, and murmurs passed through the bar. He was glad the Dogi were here--they'd been a big help already.

"Well hey, if you can't talk... we'll just have to fill you in on everything you missed!" another patron called, and the rest hollered in agreement.

"Go on, sit down! This one's on me!"

"Yeah! Hey, you want the booth? It might be a nicer seat for ya."

"Grillby, get 'im some fries! I can see his ribs!"

"He's a skeleton, you can always see his ribs!"

Sans clambered up onto the stool he remembered was his favorite spot, surrounded by laughter and jokes--just how he remembered. No one was afraid of him--not anymore. By the time Undyne and Papyrus burst in, having searched for him desperately everywhere but the most obvious place of all, he'd been plied with more food and attention than he could possibly need and was dozing on the counter. The bar erupted again at their arrival, and Papyrus was treated to the same lavish welcome--though he had to politely refuse Grillby's regular fare, opting for a glass of milk instead.

Sans kept a weary eye on his surroundings; he'd overeaten and was too sleepy to focus on what everyone was saying, but he didn't want to miss how happy his brother was. He was chatting busily, catching up on how things had gone while he'd been away, managing to be his blustery self even about his struggles. Even better, the patrons were listening intently, giving him all the attention he'd always wanted. Undyne had stepped back, and seemed to just be watching happily.

Warm, full, and surrounded by friends, Sans had almost drifted off when the conversation took a turn that broke through the daze and made him perk up.

"So hey, I just wanted to say sorry for, er... attacking you guys," one monster was admitting bashfully. "No hard feelings?"

Papyrus gave an offended gasp. "Of course not! It was all just a misunderstanding. I myself was worried that my current state would be too intimidating and then no one would want to come near me! Thankfully I know better now, and am very glad. I just wish it hadn't taken so long!"

A few chuckles followed.

"So what are you guys gonna do now? Is it business as usual, or are you still going to try going back to your regular bodies?"

"The only thing I know for sure is, no more hiding," Papyrus replied firmly. "It's just led to trouble, and I've had about enough of that. I think Sans has too... but, until he stops being lazy about talking, I can only guess. He did get up and come here all on his own though, so I guess that's something!"

"We knew he couldn't stay away forever!" one of the others joked, and the rest laughed in agreement.

It was evening by the time they left; Papyrus toted a hefty bag of leftovers while Undyne carried him, half asleep, back home. He was set on the couch once more, and Papyrus fussed about grease while Undyne sorted the leftovers into the fridge. Sans watched this flurry of activity contentedly; he'd missed the crowd at Grillby's, missed being a part of things like he once had. He felt more like himself than he had in ages, and hooted a happy warble to his brother as he adjusted the blanket around him.

Papyrus looked at him warmly. "I'm happy to hear that, Sans. I've... until very recently, I was very worried about you. But I knew you would get better! I'm sure seeing everyone at Grillby's cheered you up a lot too."

Sans uttered another hoot. He was getting really sleepy...

"Honestly, I... I had fun there too. I'm glad no one's afraid of us like we were so worried about. They're all just happy we're okay..."

Sans rumbled affirmation. All that worry and stress... well, it had all been for nothing, sure... but that meant he didn't have to worry going forward, either. They could focus on just... doing whatever. He just wanted to see his brother happy again, and that was going pretty well now.

His soul still ached with a pain he knew would never go away--but it didn't dig so deeply now, and had been there even before they'd gotten stuck in these forms anyway. Things weren't all the way better, and maybe they'd never be, but he could at least enjoy what he had. No matter what, he could do that much.

He finally drifted off, soul and hopes no longer so empty.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Sitting Room #1 (12/31/2020)

Click here if you’re like “what the heck is this about?”

Alastor decides that today is a good day to lay on top of a piano and sing. Valera @autokrates decides to accompany by playing the piano. Angel @sluttyspiderpolkacock plummets out of the sky and kills Alastor in one shot.

Alastor

What do we have here!

Alastor's been wandering the estate scouting out sources of entertainment—when he crosses paths with a sitting room stocked with a gorgeous grand piano. Entertainment located.

He trots over, plays a few keys to make sure it's in tune, considers his options, and then hops up to sit on top of the piano. Nice! Sturdy. He lays down on the piano.

What kind of song is appropriate to play while laying on a piano?

He thinks for a moment; then summons up his microphone, kills the lights, sends his shadow to play a dramatic arpeggio, rolls dramatically onto his back, and sings into the mic, "At first I was afraid~ I was petrified~"

Valera

Valera was happily sitting in the gardens, enjoying the ocean breeze of their home planet, the rustling of the leaves and the perfume of the flowers. It was only them and their thoughts out here.

How serene, how calm. You'd never guess their house was full of overpowered sinners hiding from a mass execution. All their fears were assuaged, not a single of the myriad of terrible incidents they'd expected had come to pass...

Wait. Was that... The opening bars for I Will Survive? Was that *Alastor* they saw through the gauzy curtains?

Fuck being alone with their thoughts, they *had* to get in on that good time. Hope Alastor doesn't mind if they hop right through an open window to offer some backing brass for his piano!

Alastor

Alastor sits up when the room is suddenly invaded—oh, how wonderful! There aren’t all that many places where you can start a musical number and fitting musical accompaniment just barges in! He’d thought he’d have to summon up his own private brass band.

Hand on his chest and hamming up as much as he can, he goes on, “Kept thinking *I* could never *live* without you *by my side*~”

Valera

Look at the man go, Gloria Gaynor would be proud. They plop themselves down next to his shadow on the bench, humming along under their breath while they ready themselves for their cue. In fact, while they're here...

A twitch of a fin, and a hazy amber spotlight flickers into existence to shine down on Alastor. There, mood lighting for the star of the show. Nothing but the best for a guest!

Alastor

Oh! Look at that! Proper lighting! They could be in Hell’s finest jazz club. Alastor’s really warming to his new role as a diva. “But then I spent so many nights, thinking how you did me wrong, and I grew strong~ I learned how to get along~”

He winks at Valera—time to really let loose—and belts out, “And now you’re *back*, from *outer space*—!”

Angel

Shielding his face from the glass, Angel continues to fall as he wildly fishes through his fluff for the charm Valera gave him for emergencies. It was so nice ( for his once human aesthetic appreciation ) that he told himself he'd never have to use it.

Then again, putting himself in this predicament wasn't exactly a conscious decision of his either. Making a clean enough break to salvage as he fell to his certain death was an unorthodox placement of priorities, but time was wasting. SOMETHING flashed before his eyes.

_ " ... And now you're **back!** From **outer space - !** " _

_Alastor...? I thought this was gonna be takin' me to Valer -_

And DOWN he sailed like a crimson comet into a cacophonous landing of glass, rattling keys, strings, once immaculately polished wood, and ( 1 ) local Radio Demon. A singular beat of moaning and groaning before he locked eyes with the island's Hostess with the Galactic Mostest and sprung to his feet, hip popped and arms dramatically jazzed.

" CIAO, MI LUCE DEI MIEI OTTO OCCHI ~ !! How's my BABY ~ ? "

Valera

An inhale as Valera prepares to start laying into the trumpet, smiling around the mouthpiece as Alastor belts out the lyrics. An inhale, and-- uh oh.

A tingle runs up their spine, eyes widening as they drop the instrument and jolt to their feet. Too late for any warning, here comes Angel, streaking from the ceiling in a blaze of glory and glass and splinters flying up from the shattered remains of their poor undeserving piano. They'd be more upset if they weren't immediately distracted by Angel Dust's darling voice.

Beaming fin to fin, Valera lunges forward to wrap their arms around their friend, tail all awiggle behind them as they bury their face in tit fluff. "Il mio amore! Mio caro! I'm so glad you could make it! Seapup is doing great, he'll be over the moon to see you here." A happy sigh, and they look up at Angel through his fluff and purr... Wait. Shit. Pull back, they have to peer around him to the wreck of the piano where their diva had once been.

"Alastor, do you need a medic?"

Alastor

Of all the ways to go, Alastor wasn’t expecting a meteor made out of red velvet.

And then the meteor climbs off of him and starts speaking Italian.

Alastor blinks up at the ceiling, half-dazed. “Probably, but that’s never stopped me before.” He sits up gingerly, leveraging himself out of the pile of devastated piano. “You know—I actually came to this universe to *avoid* getting murdered by an angel.”

Angel

It was very possible to not have enough arms with which to hug a dear friend, even when you had six. Angel gave her a big squeeze, tight enough to momentarily lift clawed feet from the floor as he nuzzled his face between her horns.

" GREAT! Place blew like ya wouldn't BELIEVE, Babe. Emergency getaway fa SURE ~ " he sang with a flash of an open palm of charm debris, which would promptly disappear into his fluff before he swept his cloak behind him.

" ALASTOR! THERE ya went! " Angel extended his hands to offer some help. " Ya ok? Sorry about that, uh, sudden change a plans. "

Valera

Oh to be a fish wrapped in the arms of a spider. What warmth, what comfort. A few seconds of bliss leave Valera's hearts feeling ready to melt, what could be better! A mental note to see about getting Angel Dust another charm, and she moves around to look Alastor over from a barely respectful distance. Poor thing got GOT.

Alastor

He sure did get got. He actually takes Angel’s hand to help haul himself up. “It’s not the change of plans I mind so much as your choice of landing pad!” Audience laughter. He cracks his back a few odd angles, then straightens out and starts brushing himself off. “You were at some big overlord shindig, weren’t you? Did the exterminators get in?” Oh, wouldn’t that be a delightful way to ring in the new year, getting rid of that rotten lot. The only overlords he cared about were either not the type to go to such a party or else excluded from the exterminations anyway. “Glad *you* made it out.”

Angel

" Uh... " It was settling in little by little, now. The foreboden consequences of his actions. " Yeah! They did! Uh, I wouldn't check into the place right now! Y'know, signals goin' haywire, S. O. S. 's off the shitshow... Thinkin' of it's givin' ME a headache, so I can't IMAGINE what it'd be doin' t' YOU, Smiles... Lucky ME though, ah? " _He used to be a much better liar._ Angel's ceaselessly sheepish smile left little to be assumed. Knowing this, he whipped back towards Valera, arms wildly animated as ever. " SO! How's e'ryone holdin' up over here? " He started a strut about the room, testing the soreness of his leading leg. " Ya DO have room fa one more in this fancy schmancy pad, yeah? "

Valera

She steps back, satisfied that Alastor wasn't about to keel over dead, and reaches out to take two of Angel's hands in hers to squeeze. Friend is here, nothing else matters yet! Even if the way he's acting is super sus, he's probably in shock from his DYNAMIC ENTRY to an ALIEN PLANET. That's the story she's sticking with until proven otherwise. Nobody needs that stress.

"Everyone's doing great, Angel! We've got four different Alastors, two Pentiouses, and we haven't even had any..." A glance towards her ex-piano. Another glance towards the radio demon brushing himself off. "... *Major* damage! I'll show you your room, if you want!"

Alastor

“No major damage *yet,* anyway! There’s still time to knock down a lighthouse or two!” He sounds absolutely gleeful.

At the moment, he doesn’t trust Angel at all. The dramatic entrance is perfectly fine, of course—he’d do no less himself—it’s this *insistence* that Alastor not check in on their universe. He absolutely needs to check in on it, as soon as possible.

But he’d rather hear about it from Angel first.

Not in front of their host, though. For the moment, he continues quietly straightening out his clothes and bones.

Angel

" PROPERTY DAMAGE ~ " he sang with a playful swing of their clasped hands, " Ain't a party wit'out a HEFFER of a BILL... " Angel then shadowed Valera's glances. Might be true of _some_ places, but certainly not HERE, his best friend's grand estate they've opened to such a handful of sinners out of the goodness of their heart.

" Sorry... about ya piano, though. I'll get ya a new one! " _No, you won't._ " I've got connections! " _Not anymore._ " Might not 'ave any special Veci designin' on it, but I'll do ya good! " _You just made THE worst mistake of your life. You're fresh OUT of GOOD._

**_YOU'RE never gonna know peace AGAIN._**

" I'm ON YA TAIL. Lead the way ~ " Angel belted playfully with a brush of those flickering fins and a glance back at Alastor. " Ya all good, there? If y'all wanna finish ya song later, I've got m'strings on me ~ "

Valera

"What, you want to replace my piano?" She scoffs, arms reaching up to give Angel's shoulders a gentle squeeze before dropping down to twine a hand with his. "Darling. Mio caro, I don't care about that old thing. You're alive! You made it here! You're in one piece! That's all that matters to me."

Trilling cheerfully, she rocks in place. Hand in hand with her best friend, safe in her home, decidedly not murdered by Heaven's dogs. The ominous stress could come later, for now she had to be a host. "We'll get you set up with a room, get you a warm meal, and then we can all play some music together, since you've so *generously* offered. Sound good to you two?"

Alastor

"Considering what happened the last time I tried to sing it, I think continuing 'I Will Survive' would be tempting fate." He plays the whistling sound of a falling missile and a distant explosion. "You don't both need me there to assign a room, do you? Perhaps I should head down to the kitchen and get that warm meal going!" Angel certainly hadn't gotten anything to eat at that big overlord function, Alastor would bet anything on that.

Angel

Angel clung to Valera's words and the way she fussed over him with such tender loving care like a lifeline. _This_ was what he deserved, ( wasn't it? ) He planted a kiss off her temple and smiled meekly. " Sounds good t' me! But uh, " he started with a sweep of a free arm in Alastor's direction, " Ya just gonna up an' be a host e'rywhere ya go? Valera ain't got this place staffed better than ours so you can chill? I'm already here, an' no one CRASHES as hard as ME ~ "

Valera

"Oh, I don't know, Alastor. Maybe tempting fate is where the REAL entertainment is."

Valera snorts, idly plucking a few stray splinters off of Angel's fluff. "I'm pretty sure I'd have to hold him at gunpoint to keep Alastor out of the kitchen. And unlike you, I simply don't have enough arms to keep all four in check. You might as well accept your fate of trying alien cuisine prepared by the radio host himself."

Alastor

“TEMPTING fate, sure! But it loses some of its charm when fate succumbs to temptation and pile drives me!” He pauses thoughtfully. “Although ‘falling man lands on innocent grand piano’ is a delightfully ironic twist, isn’t it?”

He flings an arm around Angel’s shoulders. “You’d rather have me cooking, anyway! Valera’s helpfully provided a list of Veci recipes that are *edible* to humans—but I’ve been tweaking them to make them *palatable* to humans.” Palatable by Alastor’s standards, anyway, which are either “freakishly high” or “raw bloody meat” with basically nothing in between.

Angel

Angel combed some more splinters from his chest with his hand before abruptly bending his knees to level with Alastor's pull. " Guinea piggin' it is, then! I don't think ya ever made anythin' I passed on. " Raw bloody meat included. _Everything_ was appetizing after a hard day's work. " DO ya worst ~ " With a pat of his back, he again took Valera's hand. " I'll sample the edible stuff anyways, t' compare an' not let all ya hard work go wastin' ~ "

Valera

Gods, Angel was comically tall compared to the other two, it was easy to forget that the spindly spider was slouching all the time. She purrs and gives Angel's hand a squeeze, bumping her nose to his cheek in the approximation of a kiss. "You're a peach."

A moment, and she turns to lead Angel away. So much to do! Did she have brushes..? Yes, she could brush him off, make sure he was splinter free without needing a whole shower... Don't mind her, she's already ten steps ahead trying to figure out how many extra pillows she should put on his bed.

Alastor

“Sample shmample! You’re getting a full plate. I’ll bet the closest thing you got to a proper meal at that party of yours was an olive in your martini.” He half-bows in farewell, and leaves them to head for the kitchen.

Angel

_Well he wasn't WRONG._ If memory served him, that last shot wasn't meant for his taking, either. Lightly chewing the inside of his cheek, he gave Alastor a shallow curtsy and fell into Valera's stride.

" So ~ ! " Angel whistled as he panned his sights over the architecture and decor of the hallway, affectionately hooking his arms about Valera's elbow and shoulders. " How big IS this place? I been t' Hell's palace fa a job before, but if I learned ANYTHIN' about VECI... " He snorted to himself before he could even finish his joke. " Y'all's style is... _outta this world ~_ "

Valera

Valera saunters along, an arm looping around Angel in return to give him the gentlest squeeze. "That joke was *terrible*, darling. As far as the estate goes? Fifty bedrooms, twenty of which are meant for guests, twenty nine for staff, and then the master bedroom. Though I'd call it more of a master apartment, the previous owner sure liked having plenty of space to themselves."

The size of the place was really one of the reasons Val barely ever visited this place, too much room. But that made it perfect for this visit. Space, isolation, plenty of areas for sinners to hide away if they needed privacy... And bedrooms big enough for the stupidly tall sinners to feel comfortable in. Here's Angel's! A twelve by ten four poster bed, white marble and gold from floor to ceiling, a balcony suitable for any necessary brooding or swooning over a sea view... Just what a spider needed. Plus a tiny orange ball comfortably sleeping in the middle of that luxurious bed, but don't mind him.

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 7

When Nelly opened her eyes, she couldn’t remember what day it was, what time it was, or most of all where she was. The bed sheets smelled like a man. Buster. She sat straight up, hardly noticing the clanging in her head.

She scrambled to the edge of the bed and tried to tear off the sheets that were twisted around her middle. She saw as she swung her legs over the side of the bed that her dress and girdle had ridden up around her waist, but she was still wearing her cami knickers. Whatever had occurred last night had not apparently involved their disposal. 

A wave of nausea and dizziness seized her before she was able to stand up. Her head ached so badly that she ran her hands over it, suspecting that she’d fallen and hit it. The exterior was intact, but the interior … It was in agony. Her very brains felt hot and swollen. 

“Hello?” she said. The suite seemed empty, but she couldn’t be sure. “Hello?”

When no answer came, she reached for the half-full glass of water on the nightstand and drained it. She had a raging thirst and scanned for the bathroom so she could fill the glass again and relieve herself. She had to pee like a racehorse. She got up and was forced to hobble on her way to the en-suite. Her misadventures had led to one thing at least: a twisted ankle. She remembered a phonograph and a rolicking jazz tune that made her feel the lightest and gayest and youngest she’d ever felt in her life. She remembered Tommy now, how good-looking he’d been. She remembered dancing for what seemed like hours. She was in such a good mood that she’d even danced with the men who weren’t handsome. She groaned at the memory of the other men as she relieved herself.

There was water in the round basin at the bottom of the skeletal shower and the bathroom felt slightly humid. A towel hanging on the bar confirmed that Buster had come and gone.

At least she thought it was Buster. That part she remembered too. Vomiting her guts out and Buster Keaton squatting opposite her in his white undergarments … doing what? It was fuzzy. She vaguely recalled a desire for a pillow, but he must not have given one to her because she woke up in the bed. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten from the blind tiger to the hotel room. She tried and failed. It was a big black spot, a blight on a reel of film. Buster had not been at the blind tiger as far as she remembered. 

At the sink, she drank four glasses of water total, then rinsed her sour mouth. Her face was pale and haggard in the mirror. She looked about twenty years older. Suddenly, her heart hammered at an alarming thought. It wasn’t Sunday, it was Saturday. What had made her think it was Sunday? They were filming today! She was hours late. 

Her eyes scanned around the bedroom for a clock. She spotted one on the mantel and rushed to it. A quarter to noon. 

“Damn!” 

She ran into the adjoining salon, hoping to at least find her handbag. She did, half-spilled on one of the seemingly dozens of ornate chairs that dotted the room. The handbag held no powder or rouge, but at least it had lipstick and her tin of mascara. She dashed back to the bathroom to apply it. Her hair was another story. There was no hairbrush in the handbag, just a small backcomb that was impotent against the rat’s nest of tangles confronting her. She was out of bobby pins. Her dress was wrinkled and covered in lint, not to mention that she stank of sweat and stale booze. She would have to go back to 22nd Street unless she wanted to get fired on the spot for improper dress. Also, her stockings were nowhere to be found. She looked on the chairs in the salon, underneath the bed, on the mantel, and in the sheets and bedspread. Nothing. She even peeked, blushing, in Buster’s closet and his bureau drawers. She did find a sterling silver men’s hairbrush on the bureau. She also discovered a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet and washed down four capsules without a second thought. 

As she considered the sterling silver hairbrush, she felt guilty. It was expensive and she didn’t want to get it clotted up with her long hair. Promising herself she’d use her own comb to clean it afterwards, she sat on the bed trying to get the tangles out. The hairbrush smelled like Brilliantine. It seemed important not to be seen wandering the halls of the prestigious Hotel Senator with the unbrushed hair of one of Macbeth’s witches. Maybe she could call and have some bobby pins brought up—but that would alert hotel staff to the fact that there was a Girl in Buster’s Room. From her first encounter with him in his dressing room, it was clear that he had dalliances, but she wasn’t sure how discreet they were. For all she knew, an enterprising maid might sell a story to the papers for some extra money at the first opportunity. She brushed her hair and tried not to think of how terrible her head felt. 

Her situation went from bad to worse when a doorknob rattled in the salon. Of course. The staff tidied the suite every day. She considered hiding under the bed, but it was too late. From her position, she watched an arm come through the door, shortly followed by a leg, shortly followed by Buster himself. 

Of all the things she might have expected to come out of his mouth when he saw her, it wasn’t, “You’re awake.”

Before she had a chance to do much other than stammer a response, he was in the bedroom. He took off his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe, saying, “How do you feel? Feel like eating?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling rather weak and desperate. 

“I’ll order sandwiches and coffee. You look like you could use some coffee.”

As soon as he’d exited the room, she frantically pulled the strands of her hair out of his brush and padded to the bureau to return it. Job accomplished, she sat on the sofa rather than the bed, noticing for the first time that there was a rumpled sheet draped over the back and a pillow lying on one end. From them, she deduced that she had run Buster out of his own bed. 

“Relax,” said Buster, appearing in the doorway and startling her. 

“Am I fired?” she said, looking over at him. 

He looked surprised. “Fired?” A half-smile played on his lips as he realized what she was driving at. “Oh, for being young and silly and frivolous? No.”

“I am terribly sorry for last night,” she said soberly. “I kicked you out of your bed and you—when I threw up, you—”

He waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.” As if he’d peered into her mind that very second, he added, “Nothing happened between us, don’t worry about that either. Why’s your hair look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Brushed on only the one side.”

“I don’t have a hairbrush in my bag.”

He squinted, clearly confused. “How’d you get half of it brushed then?”

She flushed what she could only assume was a violent red. “I borrowed your hairbrush.”

“But you only brushed half?”

She was going to die of mortification right here in Buster Keaton’s hotel room. That’s how she was going to go, rest in peace Nelly Foster. “I didn’t want you to know I’d used it, when you came in just now. I hadn’t asked permission.”

He cocked an eyebrow. He strode over to the bureau, then to her, and dropped the hairbrush in her lap. “All yours,” he said. 

“Thank you. Do you think,” she said, not meeting his eyes, “you could have some bobby pins brought up?”

“Sure. Need anything else?”

She shook her head. “I’m just going to go back to my room to change before I head over to the set.”

He sat on the foot of the bed. “You’re not going to the set today, you’re going to rest. How far away is your room?”

She thought. “A mile, a mile-and-a-half? 1911 22nd Street. I didn’t mention it last night?” 

Buster grinned. Nelly had seen him smile, but never up close and never with full teeth. His teeth were very straight on top and he had a dimple in his right cheek. She was keenly aware in that moment of how extraordinary it was that she had ended up in the bedroom of Buster Keaton’s hotel suite, never mind that her methods were nothing short of disgraceful.

“You mentioned a lot last night, but I couldn’t get that address out of you to save my life.”

“Oh no,” she said, her stomach sinking. She shielded her face with her hand.

“You’re a lot of fun.” He stood up and squeezed her shoulder on his way out of the room. “I’m going to call for those bobby pins.”

As he used the telephone, she hastily brushed out the rest of the tangles, swiped her hair from the bristles, and set the brush on the nightstand next to the bottle of aspirin. Pretty soon there was a knock at the hotel door and she ducked into the bathroom, partly to relieve herself again, mostly to hide from whoever was delivering lunch. She looked in the mirror, tried for a moment to make her hair and her face more presentable, but gave up. The lipstick and mascara would have to do. She also gave her teeth a hasty brush with a finger and Buster’s toothpaste.

Feeling shy, she stepped into the salon where a silver tray sat on a cart. “Sit down,” said Buster. He handed her a small plate that held a chicken sandwich. “There’s soup here too. Something asparagus, I think.”

Nelly took a bite of the sandwich and found that she was ravenous. The sandwich gave her an excuse not to talk. As she ate, she considered how she would politely remove herself from Buster’s company and sneak away before he changed his mind about not canning her. Her bare legs made her self-conscious and she tucked them under her on the chair as she ate. The silence didn’t seem to bother Buster. He dipped his sandwich in his soup and ate, glancing at her once and awhile.

“I can’t find my stockings,” she said, after she’d finished her sandwich. “Do you know where I put them?”

“You threw them out the window.”

“I what?” she said, not sure she’d heard right. 

“Of my car.” Buster blinked without expression, the famous frozen face she knew so well from pictures.

She was bewildered. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were hot,” he said, with a small shrug. “By the way, I noticed the ankle.” He gestured. “You should ice it when you get back to your room.”

“I don’t remember turning it,” she confessed. 

“What do you remember?” he said, his eyes probing hers.

She told him about drinking and dancing in the blind tiger. She also told him about the gap in her memory between dancing and winding up on his bathroom floor. “I am really, terribly sorry about that,” she said again. More of the incident had come back to her and she remembered how he’d dragged her into the bathroom and held her hair back as she vomited. 

He waved her off. “I’ve seen worse. I want to talk to you about something serious for a moment, though.”

A hot-cold rush of dread ran through her insides at his words, but she kept her hands steady on her cup of coffee and tried to make her face cool and calm. 

Buster finished the rest of a second sandwich, dabbed at his lips with a napkin, and put the plate on the bottom of the cart. “You know that tall man, the one with the blonde hair?” He paused, looking at her.

“Tommy,” she said. Why she should feel so guilty about Tommy, she didn’t know, but under Buster’s gaze she somehow learned that consorting with him was a horrible mistake.

“Is that his name? Well anyway, I’ve fired him. If he ever comes around again to bother you, come straight to me.”

She must have looked as puzzled as she felt, because he went on. 

“When I walked into that speak-easy last night, they were trying to get you into a room with them. A whole gang of them, and he was the ringleader.”

She was horrified beyond words. Tears filmed her eyes, but she blinked them back. On top of the spectacle she’d made of herself the previous night, she was not going to cry in front of him.  “I don’t remember that at all,” she said, her voice feeling weak.

“I know you don’t.” He reached over and laid a hand on her knee for a moment. “They got you as drunk as possible for that very reason. Just be careful from now on, okay? Take a few girlfriends when you go out.” He withdrew his hand. “Here.” He took a red box out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was decorated in violets and labeled INVISIBLE HAIR PINS. “Do your hair up and I’ll drop you by your room before I go back to the set.”

Back in the bathroom with Buster’s brush, she saw she no longer needed rouge. Her cheeks were in a high flush now, partly from the effects of last night’s imbibing, partly from their conversation. There was no crimping iron to be found, so she made do with a hasty chignon, patting down the flyaways with Buster’s Brilliantine afterwards.

“Ready?” he said, when she returned to the salon.

She felt hot and ashamed walking through the halls of the Senator and down the stairs next to him, but he didn’t seem to care if they were spotted together. She kept her eyes on her feet as much as possible. Even though they hadn’t slept together, no one in the hotel knew that. No one in the hotel knew either that she’d almost been raped by a gang of men last night, but all the same it felt like she was wearing a scarlet letter. 

They waited in silence outside the grand hotel doors for the valet to bring Buster’s car around. He didn’t seem to have anything to say and she was too mortified to make small talk. When the green Duesenberge rolled up and the valet exited, Buster held open the passenger door for her. She assumed it must have been the car she’d ridden in last night, but her only memory of it was from the parking lot in River Junction. She sat beside Buster in silence as he took a right on J Street. When they had come to Joe and Maggie’s house, he went around to the door and helped her down from the car.

“Don't look so glum,” he said, before he let go of her hand. “Everything’s okay. And ice that ankle as soon as you get in, hear?”

[crybabyjam]

born to die for you

ship: bakudeku

rating: t

fantasy au.

summary:  Katsuki is still coming to terms with Izuku's sacrifice for him.

content warning for described (past) eye trauma/injury

companion art available here

available on ao3 here

---

With nightfall comes a chill that nips at Katsuki's bones, painful where they've been broken and reformed time and again. Katsuki picks at the bracer outlining his wrist, unsure if he wants to tighten it or loosen, but is soon distracted by the sound of footfalls from behind him.

He turns, not sharply because he recognizes the cadence of the leather boots, and acknowledges Izuku's arrival with a soft grunt.

Izuku carries with him a bundle of firewood, much more than they needed for a night's rest, but he always did that.

"What if we want to sleep in tomorrow, Kacchan?" Izuku had mused, in the past. "Then you can just reignite the wood from our bedroll."

"And incinerate the entire fuckin' forest while I'm at it." Katsuki had grumbled, not pointing out the fact that it was Izuku who chose to leave their bedroll each morning, bright and early.

Now, Izuku has busied himself with kindling in the shape of thin sticks and twigs and dry dead grass. Katsuki turns away before he's caught staring.

(read more)

Small swarms of fireflies dip in and out of the treeline, flickering their delicate glow behind moonbeams that pierce through the thick throngs of branches and leaves. Katsuki waves a couple away from his face, blinking up at the sky.

It was a pleasantly clear night, though the stars were soon dulled as thick smoke entered the atmosphere. Izuku stands up tall, stretching a crick out of his neck, and Katsuki's eyes turn towards the modest campfire that soon soothes the ache from his bones with its mellow warmth.

Katsuki falls heavy on a log he'd dragged out into the open earlier, which has rotted a bit by the way it has turned green around the edges, but was stable enough to hold his weight. Acrid smoke curls around him, scaring away the pesky lightning bugs that have taken interest in his eyelashes, and Katsuki finds comfort in the way it pleasantly coats his lungs.

With a deep breath, he lets his spine curl over as he leans against his knees, still picking at his bracer. He hadn't realized how high his shoulders had been to his ears until then.

Izuku comes to join him on the log, fingers skipping across the exposed skin of Katsuki's shoulders that lay bare without his cloak. They're cold at the tips, but tepid at the palms when he curls the calloused pad of his hand around Katsuki's upper arm.

"Long day, hm?" Izuku muses, quiet. As if someone could overhear them, purposefully lost in the woods as they were. They'd travelled ages and hours to get here, to the middle of nowhere, and they had the scars to prove it.

Katsuki's eyes dart over to Izuku's. One, vibrant green and bright and a bit tired around the edges where the few sleepless nights he'd gone through have built up over the weeks and left dark smudges and swollen skin beneath his waterline.

The other eye still has the bags and the dark marks, but is nothing more than a blank, white marble that mocks Katsuki at the best and worst of times.

He turns away with a jerk, knocking Izuku's hand off of his skin. Izuku takes no offense to the motion, only offering a temperate hum as he stands again to pick through their wares for dinner.

Generally, Katsuki was the one who cooked.

He hadn't offered tonight, because there was something, some stupid feeling simmering beneath his skin and his muscles and gluing between his bones, that left him hot and cold and overtly empty in the stomach.

Katsuki could barely focus past it, which only got him more pissed. An irritating feedback loop, and Katsuki scarcely had the energy to take those feelings out on an enemy or an unfortunate tree stump, let alone talk it through rationally with his partner.

His partner, who has busied himself with their cooking pot and setting up a spit to cook the small rabbit they had prepared earlier. Izuku sets it out, the rabbit carcass, as close to the fire as it can get without preemptively cooking, so that the bugs stay off of it.

Then, he tugs out a sack filled with potatoes that have lasted them most of the month, a shallot or two squished at the bottom. The rest of their mushrooms are spread throughout, like edible ornaments, and he upends the whole of the bag atop a slab of clean wood, nestled in a cleared area on the forest floor. They spread messily across his chopping block, the heavy one that hangs off of a loop on Izuku's pack when they hike through woods and mountains.

"Peel these?" Izuku asks, holding up two of the five small potatoes they have left. Altogether it would be a hearty meal that would send them right to sleep, and probably have leftovers for breakfast if they remembered to keep it covered and simmering through the night.

Katsuki doesn't make a show of his compliance, unhooking the paring knife from their food pack and gathering up the potatoes without a sound. Izuku's head tilts, as if trying to figure out a puzzle or hear a silent song on the wind. He mumbles something, purposefully low so that Katsuki doesn't hear, but he disappears with the cooking pot before Katsuki can make a fuss about it. Off to get clean water from the stream they'd set up partially near.

With his absence, that feeling that coiled around in Katsuki's gut— like a stubborn snake that has carelessly poisoned itself— starts to rear up even heavier.

He recognizes that it is, atleast partially, fear. Fear of what will happen with Izuku out of his sight. How fucking stupid is it that he only starts getting afraid for idiot Deku after he's been injured, healed over, and shown to be alright.

And though Katsuki cares for the half-elf, he… isn't the best at categorizing his own feelings. Especially for others. Even before the incident, Katsuki's relationship with Izuku was a fragile thing: thin and easily pierced like an eggshell. Anything could come and break it, and Katsuki hadn't been ready yet to acknowledge how much it would wound him if it did happen. Still isn't.

Though, it's not as if he… didn't care before. Far from it. But the injury had only cemented some sort of mortality in the thick of Katsuki's mind, for the both of them. Each battle could bring the demise of either one of them; could end the fanciful dream they have conceived where they would wind up, at the end of their days, together and happy and peaceful.

Instead, it was more like Izuku was the one who didn't care.

He had laughed, joyous and bubbling, with his eye plucked straight from his head like grapes unready to be pulled from a vine. Covered in his own blood, dying, and he was just happy that he'd saved Katsuki.

Katsuki had been cursed, some while ago, by some asshole who hated his guts for some reason Katsuki couldn't even remember anymore. They, the one who cursed him, had thought it would be funny to torment Katsuki. To dangle his dreams in front of him and tell him, clearly, that he would never achieve them. That the only thing he had to look forward to was the dark veil of death.

The curse decreed that his vision belonged to that sorcerer. Someway or another, completely outside of Katsuki's control, he would lose them (his dreams, his vision, his future) and die. For a person without a future is nothing more than a corpse, they'd said.

Izuku hadn't liked learning that. Almost more than Katsuki hated being toyed with by a shitty spellcaster.

There isn't much Katsuki remembers specifically about the event, truly. He knows that Izuku had figured out how to fiddle with the curse, how to turn it onto himself instead of Katsuki. How to make it so that something physical is given up, instead of a full life.

Izuku had willingly given up his eye, so that Katsuki could live. He gave up part of his own vision, his iris greying like a silver coin, and had been so happy when he'd turned to Katsuki, expression bright and open, when it worked.

It took them both by surprise when the curse-giver had returned with a vengeance, even before Katsuki could get mad at Izuku for butting in where he shouldn't have. Katsuki had barely opened his lips, ready to yell probably, when sharp fingers had plunged into Izuku's face. Those fingers had sliced through Izuku's battle-hardened skin and bones like it was soft river water parted by a departing boat.

Something Katsuki does starkly remember is the intense despair that had gripped his ribs and rattled them like rusting cage bars, seeing that. Izuku's lifeblood spilled across his pores, painting across his freckles with deep, heavy crimson. Katsuki remembers how it had dried brown just around the edges, but still sluggishly bled when Izuku passed out in his arms.

He couldn't breathe with every step he took to a medic, or a necromancer, or even a fucking seamstress if only they could fix Deku.

"I'm glad, Kacchan," Izuku had mumbled, voice dying in his throat as the pain gripped him from inside and outside his skull. He was still smiling, teeth staining red as his wound spilled over across his lips. "You're free."

As an elf, Izuku had a long life in front of him. Even before Katsuki was born some thirty years ago, Izuku had lived through half the lifetime of a plain human. And even now, they've only known one another for five years, no longer than that. So why had it been so easy for him to give up the rest of his life, just for Katsuki?

It haunted him, still, that he didn't know the answer to that question.

Katsuki had to trade his sword, pommel embedded with rare stones charmed with strength magic, to pay for the medicines, the surgery, and for his new eye. It wasn't his best sword, yet was an heirloom from his parents. Despite that, he'd used the thing maybe a dozen times for the better part of the year, so it had been easy to part with. Much easier than giving up Izuku.

It was scary, realizing the extent that his care for such a stupid elven idiot went.

Before the incident, Katsuki could have even comfortably said that he hated the guy, that he was stupidly selfless and had a god-complex from always looking down on everyone. That he was annoying. It would have been a lie, the 'hate' part atleast, but Katsuki could have said it and been at ease with himself.

Even when Izuku would greet him with a bright smile, a 'Great work, Kacchan!' after battle, or a gentle touch when they had to suture one another's wounds, Katsuki had been… hesitant with his— heart or whatever. He barely wanted to let the elf in, because that was just another weakness his enemies could use to get to him. And, because…

Izuku returns with a full pot and two full waterskins.

Katsuki had been distracted and slow-going with the potatoes, so he still has two left to peel by the time Izuku sits cross-legged in front of the fire, stirring the water with spices, cuts of butter, the mushrooms.

"What's bothering you, Kacchan?" Izuku asks, knife coming down hard on the chopping block as he prepares the few peeled potatoes and the rest of the vegetables for the stew. The rabbit is quickly dismembered and stuffed tight into the tiny cast iron vessel, before the stew is placed back over the fire.

It doesn't even bubble and boil before the aroma is drifting through their humble campsite.

When Katsuki doesn't answer the question, Izuku slips his legs beneath himself and crawls over, knees staining with dark soil. His hands are dirty with rabbit blood and salt.

"I can help, if you tell me."

His hair is soft as he rests his head in Katsuki's lap, uncaring of stray potato peels. His fingers curl over as he holds them limply in the air, careful not to stain either of their clothes.

His eyes drift shut. The scarred side doesn't close all the way, a thing it sometimes does when Izuku lays his neck at odd angles. He never notices it, but Katsuki does. The scar is thick, though it wasn't keloid or bumpy, and sometimes made his left eyelid curve up away from the lower lid.

Katsuki didn't want to let Izuku into his heart because Katsuki wasn't strong enough yet, for love.

It's something he realized in the middle of a night when he'd startled awake, breathing in the scent at the nape of Izuku's neck. It was a soft fragrance, and though Izuku was a light sleeper he hadn't woken up when Katsuki jerked from his nightmare by gripping him tight around the middle.

No, he stayed peacefully dozing, as the morning sun began to melt the dew and warm the ground. And so, Katsuki was able to look at him clearly, openly, and thank the heavens that Izuku was still with him. It made him pathetically soft in the heart, pressing himself skin to skin to Izuku.

Caring takes a lot out of a person, requires a lot more. It hurt to admit, even in the hidden space of his mind, but Katsuki didn't think he'd ever be strong enough, for love.

Something else Katsuki remembers from the episode that cost Izuku half his sight is how much Katsuki had cried. His entire frame had wracked and shuddered with sobs, hands dirty with elf blood and salty tears that surely did not help the wound.

Like with everything else, he doesn't know how he was able to kill the sorcerer who cursed them both, but he does remember the vibrating, thrumming heat all through his veins. It was as if he was a beast that had been dulled with drugged food and collars and chains for all of his life, and was suddenly let loose.

He let his anger consume him in a literal blaze, igniting the earth and the air without prejudice. He seared sinewy muscle from bone, his own as they crackled to absorb his influx of power, and that of the sorcerer who dared to find humor in Izuku's sacrifice.

Izuku tells him this, laughing the same way as he did that horrible day, and also says that Katsuki had been a stunning sight, finally reaching the apex of his power: his maturation. He had glowed with his anger and his heat and his fear.

Dragonkin did not mature traditionally. Their powers were muted, though still strong, and were kept locked inside of their bodies until they reached a boiling point in their life. A period of time of extreme stress, pressuring them to mold into something new— like diamonds sitting at the Earth's core tense under magmatic rock. Katsuki matured much earlier than most.

Of course it would be Deku that brought him to that breaking point.

It was ironic, in a way that Katsuki didn't care to think further about. Especially not at that point in time, when Izuku was choking on his own tongue and turning pale as he bled out. He'd smeared some of it, the blood, across Katsuki's face, messily staining locks of hair that had grown longer with the breadth of their shared adventure.

"Kacchan," Izuku says.

Katsuki blinks, and Izuku is now sitting on his right, also atop the log. He'd missed the moment when Izuku decided to rest his head against Katsuki's shoulder, only catching the motion as he pulls away to clean his hands with a wetted cloth.

"What?"

"I asked if you weren't feeling hungry after all. It was a long day." Izuku has to wet the cloth twice more with water from his waterskin in order to get the stubborn, thin blood from between his fingers. "You can sleep, if you want."

Katsuki rolls excuses around his tongue, jaw clenching and unclenching. "It's almost done. 's fine."

The pot begins to bubble in that moment, summoned to life. It overflows a bit, and Izuku hurries back over to stir. Katsuki watches as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear with his cleaned fingers, unnoticing of the stray strands that tickle his blind side.

He ladles some of the soup with a small spoon, though the rabbit is nowhere near done, and sniffs at it closely. His nostril flares, wrinkling at the edges of his smile line, which means that he thinks it smells good.

Still, he adds a few more dashes of spice and hurries to finish chopping the rest of the potatoes. Conversation forgotten (but not really), he hums a soft tune to himself. Bathed in firelight like this, half-angled away, it looks as though he's been untouched by the war and the battles they'd been through.

Katsuki makes the mistake of shifting, sitting up straighter, and Izuku glances up at him. His fake eye reflects brighter than his real one, and it's like a stab.

When Katsuki does nothing more than resettle, Izuku turns back to their meal and cleans up the utensils and the cutting board. He rinses them only, preferring to sanitize in the morning when they take river baths. He lays them out on a terrycloth to dry, and settles back on the log with Katsuki, crossing his legs at the ankle.

He lets Katsuki brood silently, then, busying himself with picking the dirt from his knees and pulling over his sword to see if it needs sharpening. It doesn't, but he pulls out his whetstone and tools to polish it at least. Izuku doesn't see how Katsuki clenches his fist and squeezes tight on nothing.

"Deku," Katsuki starts, before stopping just as suddenly. "Why…"

Izuku turns to him again, has to shift onto one of his hips to see Katsuki properly. Another stabbing reminder. He seems to find something worrisome in Katsuki's gaze, or maybe his tone, because he sets down his sword again and scoots closer.

He holds his hand out, palm up, and Katsuki hovers over it hesitantly.

"Talk to me, Katsuki."

There's too much to say, really.

Katsuki lets his hand rest in Izuku's and sighs. His palm had warmed from earlier, probably from gripping the chopping knife, and the physical reminder that he's here and alive settles the fear in Katsuki's stomach, just a touch.

He doesn't get a chance to fully develop his thoughts, whatever they were, because the pot starts to boil over again. Rabbit marrow and blood thickened by the heated water splatters into the campfire, further daubing the campsite with its hearty flavor. Izuku looks stricken when Katsuki pulls away, but only nods to himself and goes to tend to it.

He's still looking back at Katsuki when he reaches for the ladle, which is why he misses. His hand goes dangerously close to the flames, nearly curling around a charred log. When the heat registers, he jerks back with a hiss, but the pot is in the way.

His fingers touch the searing hot iron full on, stay in contact long enough that there is a faint sizzle, but he is able to  yank it away with a ragged gasp. Katsuki jumps to his feet, heart pounding.

He snatches Izuku back by the collar of his shirt and drags him away a few paces, eyes wide.

"Idiot!"

Izuku grunts as he's choked, and then when the pain flares a bit as he holds his fingers up to the light. Katsuki circles to his front, darkening Izuku with shadows, and grabs his hand to look at the injury himself.

It isn't a bad burn by far, somewhere between a first and a second degree. He'd probably get worse standing too close to Katsuki in battle. But it was a preventable one. Preventable by a margin of months, in a timeline where Izuku hadn't been so fucking… him that he took a blow meant to rid Katsuki from the world.

Liquid fire laps at Katsuki's throat, or maybe it's bile from the sudden deluge of anxiety, and it scorches him so much differently than his fire ever does.

"You never fucking learn," Katsuki growls, throat igniting. He has to breathe all of the fire from his lungs before he makes the injury worse, turning away until the flames putter out to embers that tingle across his tongue.

"Sorry, Kacchan." Izuku is placid when he tugs his fingers out of Katsuki's grip, rubbing his thumb across the already presenting blisters. "Guess I'm still getting used to… you know."

He says it as if it's a joke, as if it was the same as tripping over untied shoelaces, and Katsuki gets pissed.

He goes red in the face, and not in the same way he does when Deku holds him close and kisses him on the cheeks or around the neck. It's mottled and splotchy, and the same face he makes when he's moments away from crying— whether furious tears or not.

"Maybe if you hadn't taken a blow not meant for you, you'd still have your two shitty eyes." Katsuki grabs his hand again, too rough, and pulls Izuku over to their bags. Izuku yanks his appendages back when Katsuki lets go to shuffle through their things for salve and bandages.

He licks at them with his tongue, blowing cool breath to ease the biting pain. Idiot would get himself fucking infected.

"Just like the last time you said that, I won't apologize for what I did." Izuku says it firmly, as if it were an obvious conclusion he'd come to and not one born of— of fucking stupidity and martyrdom.

"I would do it again if I had to."

"You didn't have to the first time!" Katsuki explodes. It's literal when shards of their salve pot splinter between his drawn knuckles, though the ceramic is shattered to dust enough that the skin doesn't cut. He jerks his fist back, hiding it even though Izuku doesn't reach for him, and smears the smooth paste against his trousers as he continues, "I didn't ask you to sacrifice yourself, you ass."

Izuku stands up straight, looking him right in the eye even when Katsuki can't bear to stare at him back. Daring him to do something. He shoves Izuku in the shoulder, making him stumble back, and forces him to sit back on the log that has been plopped upon so heavily in the last hour that it has made its own indent in the soft soil.

What salve he has managed to save, piled and stuck to the backs of his nails, he plasters across Izuku's newest injury. It instantly soothes the pain, and the pinched expression sitting on Izuku's brow eases to something calmer. He's still upset though, lips pulled down in a frown as he tries to look Katsuki in the eye again.

Katsuki stays looking down, at the swollen blisters that would surely rupture in the next skirmish they had, and reaches for the gauze and cloth to wrap them in.

"I'm not fucking weak." Katsuki sighs, finally. Softly. He deflates with the motion, shoulders dropping until he looks small and tired, and they are so far from the campfire that he is outlined in white and blue moonlight like a dying siren in the ocean.

"You're the strongest person I know," Izuku agrees.

The fight fizzles out, just like that. No kindling to keep it alight.

The two longest fingers of Izuku's hands get wrapped thickly, so that if he knocks them into things they won't hurt too bad. Another is just lightly reddened, the most minor of burns, and only gets a thin layer of the rest of the ointment before Katsuki lets him go.

Izuku pats the spot next to him on the log, on his blindside.

Katsuki goes, not begrudgingly but tired all the same. He sits on Deku's left side and turns to look at him fully, watching the way the scar curls and curves as high as his hairline and as low as the jut of his jaw.

The overboiled pot is taken away from the fire, settled on a thicker piece of wood that can stand the heat of the iron. Izuku leaves it to simmer there, but both of them know it will be a long few hours before either is ready to eat it.

Unobstructed, the campfire flames flicker higher into the night sky.

It isn't so tall as to rival a bonfire, not even close, but it curlicues into the sky as if playing with starlight. They are granted more light, in return, and Katsuki can see clearly how Izuku is struggling to come up with the right words to stay, to figure out what was wrong with Katsuki that night.

It doesn't irritate him as much as it would have in the past.

"Deku," Katsuki tries again.

Just as before, Izuku turns to him. Before he has a chance to second-guess himself, Katsuki reaches out to touch. Izuku relaxes as soon as Katsuki's hand has curled around his jaw, fingers grazing the straight edge of his pointed ears.

Katsuki's fingers bleed warmth where they press into Izuku's skin, heating it up until he goes pleasantly pink around the fringes. His thumb brushes the edge of the inlaid scar that just barely missed bisecting one of his more prominent freckles in two. It is completely healed over, has been numb to everything for months, but Katsuki is tentative around it as if it were still fresh and raw.

He remembers tending to it, after Izuku's life was no longer in danger. It looked different then, scabs peeling away to reveal more scabs, and he hadn't been able to stick in a prosthetic piece until the cavern where his old eye rested had been aired out and cleared of both blood and debris.

Katsuki had to flush it every so often, with sterile water and stinging medicine, and Izuku had thrown up the first time he'd had to experience it. The pain had gone straight through what few nerves he had left and grabbed at his brain with sharp talons, and it had taken a considerable amount of both of their strength to get him to lay still again.

Kacchan had touched him in this familiar way, back when the eye was taken. Katsuki's face had been splattered with tears and Izuku's blood, because Izuku had accidentally brushed some of it onto his skin when reaching for him, to comfort.

But Katsuki was so beautiful and bright like the sun, but closer and more tangible and much more torrid. Izuku had felt so blessed to be able to witness his rebirth, to be the first to see his true power burst from his fingertips and his mouth, that Izuku hadn't thought to be upset that he would die soon afterwards.

"Don't cry, Kacchan," Izuku remembers saying, hopefully smiling in a way that wasn't too crazed. It hurt to move but he pressed his hand to the back of Katsuki's palm anyway and hugged it tighter against his unmarred cheek. "That's my job, remember?"

"It'll be okay." He'd said, also. "Everything will be fine." Because even if he died, Kacchan was free now, to live and to see.

For Izuku, his scar is a sign of what he is willing to do for his Kacchan, the risks that come with loving someone heart and soul. He wears it with pride, content in knowing that Katsuki survived— no, that he won that day. Even from the beginning, Izuku would have given up the world for Katsuki.

He's lived long enough to learn to cherish what he falls in love with— especially when he may live so long as to lose it in the blink of an eye. Literally.

But to Katsuki, it is only a painful reminder of his weaknesses. His inability to protect himself, let alone protect his own. It's cruel, the way that Deku chooses to stand on Katsuki's right side, so that if Katsuki even so much as tilts his head, he sees the glint of the fake, unseeing crystal glinting in sunlight.

Izuku looks at him, the injured eyelid drifting shut as Katsuki focuses on it for a long, aching moment.

Silence, only the soft lulling lullaby of forest symphony.

Then, "Izuku," Katsuki breathes. It's a whisper, softly anguished, and it breaks Izuku's heart.

"Why did you…" Katsuki trails off, leaning forward to drop his face against Izuku's shoulder. His nose presses against the jugular and he can feel the full thrum of Izuku's heartbeat pumping blood inside his veins. "Why did you do it?"

In every moment with Izuku, Katsuki is reminded of his shortcomings. It's amazing that he hasn't realized, not just yet, that it is pure trust in his abilities that makes Izuku choose to stand on Katsuki's right side. Where he is blind, he knows Katsuki is there to defend and to protect, to fight back against those who will try to take advantage of his weakness.

Though his wound could be debilitating in battle, never once after the incident had he been hit on his left. Not with Katsuki there.

"Because I care about you," Izuku explains carefully. He cradles his other hand, the uninjured one, around Katsuki's back and holds him steady. "Because I knew what I was willing to do for you, even if you hated me for it."

Izuku has never been uncertain of where Katsuki stands in his heart. He loved him with everything he had, and he would show it time and again, for as long as he was able because forever is such a fickle thing. And though they hadn't yet promised to be the other's forever, Izuku knew it was what he wanted.

"Because I love you," Izuku adds, as if it weren't clear. As if he didn't say it every day in words and in actions. He was willing to wait and to fight for it, even if Katsuki chose to never reciprocate those feelings. Izuku would always love Katsuki fiercely and purely.

The two stay like that, half curled in on one another. Izuku isn't sure if his words absorb the way he means them to, or if he should say more to prove his feelings. But Katsuki doesn't move, so Izuku doesn't pull away.

Whatever it is that Katsuki takes from Izuku's words, though, he seems satisfied as he sits up straight. He's calmer, and that self-assured look is back where it should be.

Katsuki gathers him, first by wrapping his arms tight around Izuku's torso to pull him hip to hip, and then with his palms pressing against his cheeks. He does that often, these days.

Katsuki looks Izuku in the eyes, gaze flickering from side to side as he looks first into the blank eye and then into the green one that greets him eagerly.

"Okay."

The rabbit stew sits, forgotten and simmering next to the blooming fire as Katsuki pulls Izuku from the log towards their bedrolls. He kicks away the bags from their pillows and tugs off his bracers, dropping them somewhere where their feet will rest when they sleep.

In the morning, they will scramble for their things as they begin their day: Katsuki's bracers and Izuku's sword, the rabbit stew gone cold when the fire died down in the middle of the night, and the ointment that dried sticky on Katsuki's trousers.

But, just for tonight, the only thing that matters to both of them is each other. Katsuki lays with Izuku down atop the earth, breathing with him, looking him in the eyes.

Izuku's head rests in the crook of his arm, and he hooks a blanket over their hips. He lets his hand come to lay on Katsuki's arm, rubbing semi-circles into his flesh until Katsuki relaxes further into their shared bedroll.

Katsuki sits up, only to pull Izuku closer and settle his own arm beneath Izuku's head, trapping him there until Katsuki has taken his fill for the evening.

He makes a silent promise.

Izuku was already in his heart, rooted firmly there, so Katsuki would do everything he could to protect him from now on. There was no obstacle he wouldn't face, no weakness he couldn't overcome—

Katsuki would get stronger alongside Izuku so they could live together, forever.

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