#*spills glass of water on a table on purpose. slams her hand onto it and it freezes immediately* ‘DO YOU KNOW HOW TO FIX THIS'

[wazzappp]

One fun little idea I love to pull off the shelf every once and a while: mutant Lisa with ice powers

[wintervvidow]

apricity pt. five

apricity- the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: angst, violence

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 3,556

A/N: yes, I did purposely reuse the flashback sequence lol enjoy! feedback is welcome! 💕

MASTERLIST

The air held a palpable tension, red lights reflecting off of the walls and casting red-hued shadows. Florence’s footfalls were quiet, stepping with precision and purpose. Steve and Sam stalked behind her, their eyes ghosting over the path of bodies the Winter Soldier left in their path. 

Florence was trained for this: the moments of chaos. She knew how to disappear, how to take out any threat without a trace. She knew the art of managing her emotions, how to go cold like a switch. Yet all of the training that was beaten into her flew out of the window the second the lights went out. Bucky was her number one priority. She was scared, terrified of what awaited her, her heart hammering in her chest as she ran down the dimly lit halls. 

The self-proclaimed therapist laid on the floor in front of Florence, anger swimming in her eyes at the sight of him. She grabbed him by his collar, hauling him against the wall with force, face inches away from his, a snarl on her lips, “What do you want?” 

“To see an empire fall.” 

Florence shoved the man against the wall harder, hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt, opening her mouth to speak again. Movement behind her made her turn, seeing Bucky throw Sam down the hall. Steve threw a punch to his ribcage, the soldier barely feeling it and throwing his own. As Bucky stalked him like a wolf hunting its prey, Steve jerked backward, a dangerous look in his eyes. Florence looked down the hall at Bucky and Steve, watching as Bucky threw Steve down an open elevator shaft. She bolted to Sam, her fingers meeting his neck, making sure he was alive before she took off running up the stairs after Bucky. 

She found him in the open seating area of the building, fighting off Sharon’s flurry of attacks.  He took the blonde down easily, tossing her head over heels into a table, splintering off. Florence threw a punch to his abdomen, Bucky doubling over before moving to tackle her. She used their height difference as an advantage, moving behind his outstretched arm and flipping over him onto his shoulders, thighs around his neck. Her elbow struck his head repeatedly as he tried to throw her off to no avail. Bucky stumbled forward, his hands grasping her waist and throwing her onto a nearby table. 

Bucky's metal hand found Florence's throat in an instant. The Winter Soldier showed no mercy, squeezing his hand tighter and tighter. Florence felt her face heat up, her blood vessels threatening to burst if the soldier continued to apply pressure. She writhed in his grasp looking up at him with pleading eyes, black dots dancing across her field of vision. Tears stung her eyes, her throat burning from the crushing weight of his hand, feeling her windpipe constrict as she rasped out the only words she could muster up, "You could at least recognize me." 

Florence wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to look at her as Bucky, but also as the Winter Soldier. The soldier was looking at her, her legs wrapping around his neck, not giving him any way to not look at her, but he wasn't seeing her. Not in the way Florence needed, otherwise he was going to kill her. 

In the clutches of HYDRA, Florence was the only one that could calm the soldier down when he would have a panic attack or had an episode of anger brought on by the confusion, brainwashing, and torture of their captures. Even in the moments when Bucky was the farthest thing from himself and became the dark machine HYDRA created, he immediately softened at Florence. He would stop whatever he was doing, whether it be loosening his grasp around an agent's throat or dropping his aimed weapon, his eyes would soften and he would become putty, only made to be molded by Florence. Even in the moments where Bucky’s attack was set on her, metal and flesh hands clutched around her throat, a flash of recognition would always wash over his face and immediately let go, falling to his knees at her feet in forgiveness. 

HYDRA caught on very quickly about the Soldier's fondness of the redhead and used that to their advantage; always looking for a way to control. If only they had learned of the relationship the two assassins had before the war and before Florence slipped away into the winter night.

Bucky wasn't seeing what he was really doing to her. He was causing her the most imaginable pain, and in turn, hurting himself. She needed him to see her, really truly see her. She needed him to see her as Bucky, the love of her life and not the machine he was made out to be, otherwise, this was all for nothing. 

The Soldier's hand left Florence’s throat, being thrown off her by the Black Panther. Florence gulped in air, her throat burning in pain, her windpipe bruised from the weight of Bucky’s grasp. She laid on the table she had been thrown on by Bucky, taking a minute to collect herself and her breath, gasping for air as tears unwillingly fell down her face and into her hairline. Years of emotions threatened to spill, the dam threatening to burst completely. She couldn't do this. 

Florence could barely handle the constant up and down of adrenaline anymore, every day was a gamble whether something was going to go wrong or not. Lately, every day had been hell, each passing minute worse than the last. She needed a minute to breathe. 

By the time Florence had made it to her feet without falling over, both the soldier and the king had disappeared up the staircase. Florence bounded up the stairs two at a time, a loud commotion outside accelerating her heart rate. Her hand threw the door open, bouncing back against its hinges. She rushes out of the building, eyes locking on Steve who had an iron grip on the helicopter Bucky was attempting to take flight in from the helipad.

Before she could move, Bucky slams the chopper into the helipad, Steve flipping and dodging the attack narrowly.  Florence ran towards the scene, hand reaching for Steve’s bicep to help him up as Bucky’s metal hand flew through the windshield and grabbed Steve’s throat. The girl pries at Bucky’s hand around Steve’s throat to no avail, the helicopter tipping further and further over the edge towards the water below. Feet skid against the concrete as Florence and Steve were continuing to be pulled. Bucky’s grip remained on Steve, Florence trying her best to do anything to get him to let go, her hand going from the metal to reaching into the glass towards the brunette, flesh hand finding her outstretched one easily. 

Florence squeezed the flesh tightly in her hand as they continued their slow descent towards the edge, her voice betraying her by cracking, “Bucky, please. Let go, we’re trying to help.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears as she was yanked forward by Bucky, her body colliding with Steve as the helicopter finally tipped over. The trio dived into the icy water at the same time, Florence’s vision blurring and fading at the impact.

The redhead was vaguely aware of the arm around her waist and the warm body next to her. Steve secured both Florence and Bucky in his grasp, pulling them out of the frigid water. Her legs kicked helplessly in the water, failing to ease Steve’s rescue swim. Once they made it to dry land, Florence coughed up the water in her lungs, eyes trained on Bucky’s unconscious body on the ground. Neither of the two friends spoke, too preoccupied with moving Bucky to a secure location. 

Along with Sam, Steve and Florence secured Bucky in an abandoned warehouse, metal arm braced between heavy machinery. The redhead’s eyes never strayed away from Bucky’s unconscious form for long, wanting to make sure he was okay. Bucky groaned as he came too, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the old building. Sam called for Steve behind Florence, wanting to have a second super soldier in case Bucky remained the Winter Soldier.

Bucky peered at his arm between the vice and then settled his gaze on Florence who stood mere feet away in front of him, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Steve jogged to where the others were, eyes darting to the man in the chair, eyebrows furrowed. 

Bucky groaned as he sat up further, “Steve.”

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” 

Florence whipped her head to the blonde standing next to her, hand coming up and swatting him on the shoulder, “Steve!”

Bucky made no reaction, instead, he gazed vacantly ahead before he spoke again, “Your mom’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” Bucky chuckled fondly at the newfound memory. 

Steve smiled softly, his lips barely turning up, “You can’t read that in a museum.”

Bucky looked from the ground to Florence, eyes softening as he took her concerned features in, “Your mom was Anya, dad was Viktor. We used to have dinner every Sunday. And you were my best girl.” 

Her face broke out in a pained smile. If Steve hadn't been standing next to her, Florence would have been on the ground. Waves of memories washed over her and threatened to pull her in, each one more grueling than the last; happiness, dances in the moonlight at 2 a.m.-, their bare feet barely gliding across the kitchen floor. All throughout time, he called her his best girl. Then there were the darker ones, them huddled together on the chilled floor of a HYDRA cell, using each other for warmth as they whispered memories of their past to one another. Always his best girl. 

The memories were fleeting, Sam scoffing behind her, “Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Florence turned her head curtly, glaring at Sam. He didn’t know. 

The smile fell, Bucky grimacing, “What did I do?”

“Enough.” Florence’s voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke, she was still drowning in the past, fighting for air before the current took her under, dragging her by her ankle.  

“Oh, God,” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, greasy hair hanging around his face and shielding his eyes, “I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

Steve spoke, “Who was he?”

Bucky shook his head, “I don’t know.” 

Steve continued to pile on the hurt, “People are dead. The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.” It was Steve’s turn to be glared at by Florence, her ferocity to protect Bucky knew no bounds, even if Bucky deserved whatever it was Florence was trying to shield him from. 

Bucky took a moment to think, his words tumbling out before he spoke clearly, “He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I- we were kept.” Florence’s heart dropped at Bucky’s correction from singular to plural. Siberia. No fond memories were made in that place, Florence shuttered at the thought of remembering being kept there with Bucky. She listened closely as Bucky further explained, “He wanted to know exactly where.”

Steve wasted no time to ask questions, his invisible clock was ticking, “Why would he need to know that?”

Bucky met Steve’s gaze, “Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

The December air was cold as it blew through Florence’s hair, her arms circling Bucky’s waist as they rode down the dark road on Bucky’s motorcycle. The soldier steered with one arm, free hand coming down to rub circles on the redhead’s calf as they pulled behind a cluster of trees, hiding them from onlookers as they waited. The pair of assassins were unthawed and reset only hours ago, immediately given their latest mission.

Florence remembered the screaming. Without fail, HYDRA always made her watch Bucky be reprogrammed, his screams echoed in her brain even days after it would happen. That night was no different, even the cold air from the motorcycle speeding down the road did nothing to numb the pain she felt.

A car came into view, red tail lights illuminating the air around them. Bucky flipped the bike’s headlight on and pulled onto the road again. The soldier revved the bike, catching up to the side of the vehicle as Florence sunk her butterfly knife into the tire, causing the car to swerve off the road and crash into a building.

Florence’s choice of close contact weapon had always been a butterfly knife; Bucky had taught her for hours on end in the Red Room how to use it. There had been a few training mishaps, an accidental slice to Bucky’s rib cage that sent Florence into a fit of fear, her past nursing skills coming to light, her fingers working quickly to bandage the wound all while Bucky merely peered down at her nervous hands with a smile. That had been the first moment the Winter Soldier and the Winter Widow were not the machines they were training to be in the Red Room, they were Bucky and Florence. They just didn’t know it at the time. 

Bucky parked the bike ahead of the crash, Florence stepping off the bike, Bucky behind her, and approaching the car. She flipped open the trunk to reveal a large silver briefcase, opening it to see five bags of blue liquid; exactly what they were looking for.

Bucky briefly explained the use of the liquid, HYDRA used the serum to experiment and create more super-soldiers; better ones. Bucky’s handler and head of the Winter Soldier Program, Karpov, made sure of it. 

Steve stood with his arms crossed over his chest, “Who were they?”

“Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”

Sam leaned against a beam, looking to Bucky, “They all turn out like you?” 

Bucky lifted his head, eyes hollow, “Worse.”

Steve spoke, “The doctor, could he control them?”

“Enough.” Bucky’s head fell.

Florence took a small step forward, lessening the gap slightly between herself and Bucky, “He said he wanted to see an empire fall.”’

Bucky lifted his head again, “With these guys, he could do it. They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, you’d never see them coming.”

Sam steps up to Steve, nodding at Florence to join before he began speaking, “This would have been a lot easier a week ago.”

“If we call Tony-”

Florence cut Steve off, “No.”

Sam shook his head, “He won’t believe us.” 

Steve shrugged, looking to Sam, “Even if he did-”

Sam interrupted, “Who knows if the Accords would let him help.”

“We’re on our own.”

Sam thought in silence before looking between Florence and Steve, “Maybe not. I know a guy.” 

A few phone calls and a handful of hours later, the quartet was packed into a small car, parked under an overpass. Steve stepped out of the car to greet Sharon, another favor that was called in, retrieving their gear. Sam sat in the passenger seat in silence, while Florence was huddled into the driver’s backseat, knee unwillingly brushing Bucky’s much larger frame. 

Bucky had a scowl on his face, whether it was from the seating arrangement or the situation they had found themselves in, Florence didn’t know. Bucky stared ahead at the back of Sam’s head, “Can you move your seat up?”

Sam snapped back monotonously, “No.”

Bucky shifted slightly towards the middle of the seat, further invading Florence’s space. Although she wasn’t complaining, she hadn’t been this close to him in decades.

The trio looks on in a mixture of shock and proudness as they watch Steve and Sharon share a kiss, Steve sauntering back to the car with a smug smile with gear in hand. 

A cramped car ride later, they arrived at the airport, Steve’s choice of car rattled and squeaked through the parking garage. They parked next to a van that contained Sam’s favor that was called in. Clint and Wanda stepped out of the van as Florence squeezed out of the car behind Steve. 

Sam stepped up next to Steve, conversing with Clint and Wanda, Florence staying by the car with Bucky. They watched as Clint slid the van door open, a highly caffeinated Scott Lang appeared.

Steve stood with his arms crossed, “They tell you what we’re up against?”

Scott shrugged, “Something about psycho-assassins?”

“We’re outside the law on this one. So if you come with us, you’re a wanted man.” Steve was giving Scott his last way out, not wanting him to be involved with something he didn’t want to be.

Scott merely raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, well, what else is new?”

Beside Florence, Bucky spoke as he leaned against the car, “We should get moving.”

Clint spoke, “We got a chopper lined up.” 

Speakers began to blare overhead in German, Florence translating in her head as Bucky translated for the others, “They’re evacuating the airport.”

Sam looked to Steve, “Stark.”

“Stark!” Scott looked at Steve with his eyebrows raised.

A frown etched itself on Steve’s face, “Suit up.”

Later, the team took their places around the airport with their gear on. Florence was with Sam and Bucky, watching through the terminal windows as Steve and Tony talked amongst themselves along with Natasha with Rhodey.

Florence shifted uncomfortably, standing between Sam and Bucky. She was nervous for what was about to happen, antsy to get Bucky out of here. She knew he was a wanted man, both by the government, T’Challa, and now by Tony. She didn’t want to have to fight her friends, but for Bucky, she would do anything. 

Sam was busy using Redwing to find their Quinjet, Bucky standing in silence. Neither Florence nor Bucky have had an opportunity to have a proper conversation, too busy not getting captured or killed.  

Chaos ensued below, various Avengers fighting amongst themselves. Florence took off with Bucky and Sam running through the hanger. Spider-Man appeared on the window, Bucky turning in confusion as he ran, “What the hell is that?” 

Sam groaned, strides falling behind slightly, “Everyone's got a gimmick now.”

The spider swung through the window, breaking it as he kicked Sam. Bucky and Florence halted, turning to the attacker. Bucky threw a punch, the spider’s red-gloved hand catching it with ease. Both Bucky and Florence stared in horror at how was able to easily stop Bucky’s punch.

“You have a metal arm? That is awesome dude.” The spider was taken down by Sam, grabbing him and flying up with him. Bucky and Florence resumed running, watching as Sam dropped the kid as he webbed himself up. Bucky threw a beam at the spider, trying to knock him down. He and Florence took cover, weighing their options of escape. Spider-Man throws the object back at Bucky, Florence yanking the man away from the crash. 

They take off running again, Sam temporarily distracting the attacker. The distraction is short-lived, Sam being webbed down to the balcony railing. Bucky and Florence run across towards Sam, the spider crashing into both of them and sent them crashing through the glass railing to the floor level below. Florence, Sam, and Bucky land with a thud, the spider quick to web their hands to the floor with no chance of escaping the unusual restraints. 

The spider sat on top of a kiosk, looking down on them, “Guys, look, I’d love to keep this up, but I’ve only got one job here today, and I gotta  impress Mr. Stark, so, I’m really sorry.” Sam managed to tap a button on his suit, Redwing appearing and dragging the spider through the air and through the window.

Bucky groaned, “You couldn’t have done that earlier?”

Sam snarked back, “I hate you.” 

Between the two men, Florence could only laugh. The situation wasn’t funny, but if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry and her training made crying a weakness. Neither Sam nor Bucky commented on the redheads' theatrics, only looking at her oddly. Bucky couldn’t help the minuscule smile he had as he watched her laugh.

They eventually freed themselves from the webs, jumping to their feet and outside to join Steve, along with Wanda, Scott, and Clint. The group ran toward the jet as fast as they could, impending doom settled itself in Florence’s chest as she ran between Bucky and Sam. 

Vision hovered overhead, casting a line of heat in front of the running group, causing them to come to a halt.

Vision remains in the air, speaking, “Captain Rogers. I know you believe what you’re doing is right.” Tony and Natasha joined below him, “But for the collective good, you must surrender now.” Black Panther, Rhodey, and Spider-Man join, all standing together across from them, divided.

Both groups faced off against one another, Sam breaking the tension, “What do we do, Cap?”

Steve took a breath, “We fight.”  

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please reblog!

Tag list: @tanyaherondale​ @lilyviolets​ @jckie94​ @badgernix​ @geek-and-proud @ginger-swag-rapunzel

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Mystery Twins: Not Freaking Out

A new AU inspired by Mystery Skulls…

AO3 link

Ch.1

~~~~~~~~~~

April 6th, 1972

“What?! Stanford, tell him he’s crazy!”

But Ford glanced down at his navy-blue pamphlet, wincing, and closed the curtains, purposely keeping his eyes off his brother.

“Stanford? Don’t leave me hanging?” Stanley croaked. “High six?”

And the door was slammed in his face by his father’s hand, deaf to the wails of his nephew and the choked sobs from his mother.

Stanley growled in his throat. “Fine! I can make it on my own! I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone! I’ll make millions and you’re RUE the day you turned your back on me!”

~~~~~~~~~~

May 14th, 1976

Fiddleford had insisted that he and Stanford go out to celebrate their upcoming graduation. In a few days they would no longer be students, ready to use what they learned out in the real world. Stanford was reluctant, but agreed. What were the odds anything outside of a few drinks and some good food would occur? Stanford had a lot to drink for and it did seem like he never left campus for some typical college fun, so he took a shot and then stuck to some cozy beer and some onion rings.

After fleeing Columbia prison with a gang, and then weaseling his way out of that mess in New Mexico, Stanley had been apprehensive about trying to make it big in southern California, not knowing much about Stanford’s new life, but he did know that’s where he was going to college; Moses bless Ma and her phone calls. But what were the odds Stanley would ever run into his brother? He needed the money so he took the shot. 

At first, Stanford thought it was his imagination and he nearly choked on his beer while Fiddleford was busy talking to a guy who was also from Tennessee. A second, longer look confirmed his fears and Stanford saw his long-lost family member exit the bar, leaving behind a small table with a few empty beers on it to smoke.

With Stanley’s back to him, Stanford studied him through the glass. His hair was a bit longer than how he kept it in high-school and it wasn’t slick back tonight; probably from holding his head so much. From what Stanford had seen before Stanley had leaned against the window, his face wasn’t as round and youthful as it was four years ago; he had grown a square jaw like Pa’s. Like Stanford’s. His skin was rough and scraggly, unlike Stanford who was clean-shaved, and he wore work boots, dirty jeans, and a worn white t-shirt. Stanley Pines looked rough around the edges, but when he re-entered the bar Stanford saw that spark in his brown eyes that guaranteed a heart made of plastic gold and a promise to protect the things he cares about.

Stanford wanted to be angry. He wanted to shake his rage, punch the jerk in the face, and leave for campus. But he couldn’t. He was too relieved to see his brother alive and a very very small part of him had missed him like crazy these last four years. He wasn’t quite ready to forgive Stanley for what he did, but maybe if he was ready to apologize, Stanford could be ready.

Stanley’s eyes landed on Stanford on his way to his table and he froze like a statue and paled three sheets. Stanford wondered if Stanley would pass out and he could feel himself turn red with embarrassment. He bit his lip and tried to move his own eyes to the six-fingered hand around his drink, but his mind stayed on Stanley and the corner of his eye kept him in view.

Stanley looked ready to walk out the door, but with a sigh he returned to his table. Stanford could feel Stanley staring at his back; he let him; it was only fair that Stanley got to absorb Stanford’s appearance since he had his fill of how much Stanley had changed. He was bigger than he was in high-school, taller and slightly thicker maybe, but not nearly as muscular as his twin. Stanford’s hair was still an uncontrollable fluffy mess and he still wore glasses, and today he wore clean jeans with black sneakers to go with his black t-shirt that was covered by a brown jacket with tons of pockets.

Stanford couldn’t stand his brother looking at him and not looking back for too long. When he looked at Stanley, a waitress was picking up the empty glasses. Stanford watched Stanley hold up two fingers, the waitress nodded and said something he could hear across the bar, and she left. Stanley looked at Stanford, their eyes meeting, and he gestured casually for Stanford to join him at his two-person table and looked away, waiting for Stanford to either accept or reject the invitation. After taking a deep breath, Stanford swallowed one last mouthful of his drink, wiped his lips dry, and made himself walk to his brother’s table.

If either of them thought things were awkward before the moment Stanford sat in the empty chair, the atmosphere became even thicker and the room suddenly felt even warmer. None of them said a word and remained silent until the waitress came by with two more beers. While Stanford quietly thanked her, Stanley gulped his down. Stanford snorted with a small smile as he brought his glass up to his lips. The drink half-empty, Stanley slammed his down, gave a small grunt, and spat out, “So, what’s the word, Sixer?”

Stanford smiled as he slowly began to spill about college and his new friends. Well, more like best friend and acquaintances, but his status was much better than it was in high-school and he was much happier. Stanley nearly choked on his beer when Stanford mentioned his twelve PhDs and he immediately congratulated him and told him how proud he was; he even ordered two shots to celebrate with. Stories of college were swapped for stories of Stanley’s travels and before either brothers knew it, it was almost like nothing had ever happened. (This was probably thanks to the alcohol in their systems, but let’s not ruin a good thing.)

As less and less people crowded the bar and the drinks started to slow down, more and more was said between the pair of twins and it was almost too easy with how things flowed. Eventually they were the only ones at the bar and they could tell the staff was waiting for them to leave so they could close, so they decided to go for a walk to keep the good conversation going. It seemed like nothing could end such a surprisingly successful night until the hairs on the back of Stanley’s neck stood up and he looked over his shoulder.

Four dreary shadows followed them in the dead of night, but Stanley recognized them instantly. He tried to get Stanford to leave, but the eldest twin refused, no matter how hard the younger one pushed. Stanley stopped trying when Stanford gritted through his teeth, “I won’t abandon you again, Lee.”

The twins may have been out-numbered, but the gang was out-matched. After a few scrapes and close calls, the Pines twins left the goons on the sidewalk and ran before the cops could be called. One look at Stanley while under a lamppost and Stanford saw how badly his brother was beaten, so he forced him onto a trolley for Backupsmore and took him up to his dorm, where a first-aid kit sat under his bed.

Stanford ignored the fact that Fiddleford wasn’t back while he fixed Stanley up. He also ignored his twin’s groveling, claiming he could take care of himself, but Stanley had a broken nose and needed the extra pair of hands to snap his bones back into place. When all was said and done and Stanley’s schnoz had quit bleeding, Stanford filled an ice pack and made his twin lay down on his bed so he could rest. That was when Stanley spat out what had been on his mind all night.

“Why do you even care?” His eyes were covered by his beefy arm, making his expression hard to read. “Aren’t you mad at me?”

Stanford stared. Had he really made it seem he was so angry at Stanley he wouldn’t help him? “I… Yes. Yes, I’m still mad at you, but… but I…” He stumbled over his words and swallowed, the ice pack making his fingers numb.

Stanley peeked at his brother and sighed. “I’m mad, too… but I missed you so much that I ain’t got the time to be mad. You get what I’m sayin’?”

Stanford smiled and could feel a hundred pounds being lifted from his shoulders. “I think so. I might be angry at you for what you did, but I’m at a point in which I don’t care. At least, not as much as I care about getting my brother back.” He added nervously.

Stanley finally returned the smile. “Yeah. Me too.” And he accepted the ice pack and placed it on his head to help with the ache.

The next morning, Fiddleford tiptoed into his dorm and was surprised to find Stanford asleep on the floor, sitting with his arms-crossed on the bed, and a stranger on Stanford’s bed, one of his hands in Stanford’s hair. But a closer look told Fiddleford that the stranger was family and so he left them alone without a single sound.

~~~~~~~~~~

“No way?!” Stanley reread the check his brother handed to him. His eyes were particularly drawn to all those zeros, but he also checked the address and such and such. He grinned proudly and handed the slip of paper back with a playfully shove of his twin’s shoulder. “Congrats, Sixer!”

“Thank you, Stanley.” Stanford replied with rosy cheeks, pocketing the check in his brown jacket. “Now I just have to decide on what to study and how I’ll study it.”

“You’ll figure something out.” Stanley said as he munched on his bacon, happy to sit at a breakfast joint with his brother and just casually talk about life and junk. He didn’t need anything else. “Stanford Pines always thinks of a way.”

Stanford chuckled nervously, then changed the subject. “So, how do you like San Francisco?”

“It’s nice.” Stanley muttered with a shrug. “Not gonna lie, much of what I’ve already seen. Big city on water. It’s a lot nicer than Columbia, for sure, but it’s okay.” Stanford didn’t miss how uncomfortable he was about the subject, which made him only more sure what he was about to say was the right thing.

“I… I think I’ve decided what I want to study.”

Stanley grinned, his spirit much higher. “That’s what I’m talking about! Let’s hear it!”

“Well, when I was thinking about it, I couldn’t help but remember how I had always been teased for my six fingers.” Stanford started, raising a hand and wiggling his fingers. “But that got me thinking about anomalies.” And he pulled out his book on the subject and set it on the table for Stan to pick up and flick through the pages. “You know, things that are odd, unusual, statistically improbable, but not impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible, yeah I know.” Stanley agreed. “Well this all looks great! So you’re gonna go find monsters and stuff? Sounds right up your alley!”

“Thank you.” Stanford said with a smile. “I’ve already calculated where to start, and there appears to be a large cluster of anomalies in Oregon. The grant will cover the cost of a house and lab and everything I could need to properly investigate. But… it’s a bit overwhelming.” Stanford admitted. “It’s a lot to explore for one man.”

“Hey hey,” Stanley said firmly to squash any doubt. “You’ll be amazing at it.”

“I was thinking of hiring an assistant.” Stanford went on, hoping to get his point across successfully. “The grant is enough to cover some help.”

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea! What about that Fiddlesticks guy?”

“I was actually thinking of keeping this in the family.”

Stanley’s smile dropped. After staring at him for a second or two, he lowered his head and sipped his orange juice. “Oh.”

“I’ll pay you for your work.” Stanford explained. “I haven’t even started on the blueprints for the house yet, but you were always creative and ingenuitive; we can think of a design we both like and would give us our own rooms and space. You wouldn’t have to pay for rent or the bills, you working would do that, but your pay would be lower, but it would be enough for whatever you need. Sure, if I really had to I could probably figure it out, but I would really rather not, and…”

“I’m in.”

It was Stanford’s turn to stare. He was really expecting his brother to refuse, to be stubborn about this. Stanford wasn’t an idiot; he knew Stanley was living in his car and had not been doing well the last four years, and he harbored a lot of guilt for that, but now he had a chance to make things right. Things were still uncertain, and there were still some things about what happened they would have to talk about, some day, but family helps family. Right? “Really?”

Stanley laughed and smiled at him. “Yeah, bro! You need help and I can help you, so I’m in. Last thing I need is for you to go skipping into Roadkill County by yourself and getting eaten by a two-headed mountain lion or something. ‘Sides, we always wanted to go on monster hunts as kids, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that life is way too short to not do whatcha wanna do.”

Stanford grinned. “You won’t regret this, Lee! I swear!”

“Don’t sweat it,” Stanley chuckled. It was scary how similar they were; it appeared that Stanford was just as scared of losing Stanley as Stanley was of losing Stanford. “Wherever we go, we go together, right?” And he raised a hand to him.

Stanford grinned. “Right.” And they sealed the deal with a high-six.

~~~~~~~~~~

August 30th, 2000

“Move! MOVE! Outta my way!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Please excuse us, sorry!”

Ford was attempting to be the responsible and respectful one, since Stan was clearly going to be rambunctious and obnoxious enough for them both, but truth be told, if Stan was the one who was calm, Ford would be going ballistic.

They both ran into the hospital lobby, glanced at the directions board for the correct floor, and glanced at the elevator, stuffed with people like sardines in a tin can. Stan groaned and darted for the door to the stairs, making Ford grin and follow. They both used their adrenaline to run as fast as they could up the stairs and they nearly broke the door off the hinges at the sixth floor.

Of course, no one familiar was there to greet them, but the twins took that as a good sign; they hadn’t missed it. They walked to room 18 and saw that it was labeled “Pines.” The door suddenly opened and they were met faced-to-face with their nephew, Alex. 

The young man grinned at the sight of his uncles. “Hey! You made it!”

“We wouldn’t miss it, my boy.” Ford assured, patting his back.

“Is the squirt here yet?” Stan asked. 

Alex shook his head. “No, not yet. But Dana’s at eight centimeters, so it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Well, we’re here for you if you need us.”

“Thanks. I better go get her ice chips…”

“Oh, I gotcha, sport.” Stan said and headed down the hall casually, his hands in the pockets of his khakis.

“Seriously,” Alex muttered to Ford, a bit more mournful now. “I really appreciate… I’m glad you’re both here.”

Ford smiled kindly and squeezed his shoulder. “Your father would be very proud.”

Alex managed to smile back. An alarm rang over the door for room 18, and Alex ran back inside, leaving Ford to stand there in horror as Dana lay in bed, sweating. Two doctors hurried inside the hospital room and the door was closed, leaving Ford in the dark. He sighed, hoping no more death would strike this family, and he took a seat in the hall to wait.

Stan was shaken, but hid it well, when he came back and Ford had to tell him that something wasn’t right. They were both very surprised when the door was thrown open and Dana was wheeled out in her bed. Alex was squeezing her hand as two doctors called out orders and took the new mother away. Ford and Stan hurried close behind, but were stopped at a different door.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but only the father is allowed with the mother for the C-Section.”

The twins paled. “C-Section?!”

Two hours later, Alex emerged, shaking, but grinning. “They’re… they’re okay. They’re okay.”

“Holy Moses, Lil’Lex, what happened?” Stan said sympathetically.

“It’s… well, why don’t you come in first, then I’ll tell you.” Alex suggested. The pair of men nodded, and were led into a bigger room.

Dana was asleep, apparently on some kind of medicine to help her sleep. There was a special hospital crib next to the big bed. Stan and Ford cautiously approached with Alex, but Ford had to cover his mouth with his six-fingered hand and Stan accidentally let out a long line of swears, making Ford smack him upside the head.

There were two babies. One wore a pink hat, one wore a blue hat, both wrapped in warm blankets, and lying close together. There was a second crib off to the side, but there was no wonder why it wasn’t in use. Twins stick together.

“Mighty Axolotl, thank you.” Ford muttered under his breath. “Alex, they’re beautiful.”

Stan rounded on his nephew and ruffled his fluffy brown hair. “You trying to be a conman like your uncle?”

“Heh, we did decide to take a leaf outta your book, Uncle Stan.” Alex admitted. “We wanted to surprise you both. That’s why things were a bit complicated, but everything worked out. The girl, Mabel, came out first. She kicked the doctor in the jaw.”

“Hah! That’s my girl!” Stan said proudly.

“The boy, Mason, had his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Came out blue.” Alex admitted. “He’s okay now, just gave us a scare, but the doctors say he’ll be alright.”

“Thank goodness.” Ford looked down at the baby boy and smiled, truly grateful he was okay, and he thought he could see something poking out of his hat, but it was probably just fuzz.

Alex watched amusingly as the older twins just looked down at the sleeping younger twins. They were smiling so peacefully while their brown eyes were glued hungrily at the newborns. Alex waited for them to ask, but apparently they weren’t going to, so he chuckled warmly, “You know you can hold them too, if you want.”

Ford swallowed. “V-Very well…”

Meanwhile Stan pulled up a chair, sat, and excitedly waited like a child.

Alex scooped up the baby boy and gave him to Stan, who held him like a champ. Then Alex carefully picked up his little daughter and let Ford hold her, who was as stiff as wood and extremely cautious, but after a minute of feeling how peaceful she breathed against him and slept, it was easy to relax.

“Hello,” Ford muttered down at the baby girl, who slept happily.

Stan smiled down at the baby boy, getting strong deja vu from when he held his nephew all those years ago. He noticed something on the baby’s forehead and carefully freed a hand to smooth over his skin, but it wasn’t something that could be wiped away. He gently pushed the tiny blue hat up the small forehead and beamed with pride at the unique birthmark. “Well, look at you, buddy boy. Whatcha hiding that for, ey? That’s pretty special.”

Ford looked down and smiled. “How interesting.”

“Kinda looks like the Big Dipper.” Stan said.

Ford chuckled. “It does.” Something caught his eye, drawing his attention back to the baby girl. She was stirring in Ford’s arms, and soon opened one eye, getting used to the bright world. The scientist held his breath as she looked up at him, and slowly opened her other eye, staring up at him with brown eyes that matched his own. “Stanley,” He hissed. “Stanley, he’s looking at me.”

Stan looked and smiled. “She must see something she likes.” He sneered playfully.

Ford smiled warmly down at her. “Hello there, sweetheart. I’m your Great-Uncle Ford, hi.”

Stan snorted and looked down at his new nephew. “That’s too much of a mouthful. You two gremlins just call me your Grunkle Stan, k’?”

~~~~~~~~~~

January 18th, 2001

The phone was ringing. No, maybe Stan had dreamed the phone rang, because when he lifted his head to listen, he couldn’t hear it, so he let his head fall back on his pillow and he began snoring again.

Ford soon opened the door. He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathed deeply to control himself, and then he entered Stan’s bedroom. He stood beside his sleeping brother and squeezed his shoulder. “Stanley. Stanley, wake up please.”

Stan blinked awake, groaned, and turned. “Whatcha want, Sixer?”

“Stanley, please sit up. I need to tell you something.”

That got his attention; how grave Ford’s voice sounded, how serious, how scary and non-urgent it was. This wasn’t an emergency, but it wasn’t good if Ford was waking him up in the middle of the night. Stan sat up and slipped on his glasses. “What’s wrong?”

Ford sat on the bed, facing his twin. He was quiet for a moment, but then began to talk in a melancholy tone. “W-We… um… The…” Ford cleared his throat in a sad attempt to start again. “I need you to, please, be ready to leave for California as soon as you can. W-We should pack for a few days, maybe a week just in case.”

A shiver went down Stan’s spine. “Why?”

Ford took in a deep breath and took off his glasses. That was never a good sign. “Alex and D-Dana went out. Left Mason and Mabel with a neighbor for a date night. I-It was raining…” And Ford was at a loss for words.

Stan sighed tiredly. “They got into a car crash, didn’t they?”

Ford nodded.

Stan clapped his hands on his knees. “Well, we can help ‘em out. Those little guys love us, and we can stay longer than a week to help the love birds recover.”

“Stanley… they can’t recover.”

That nearly made Stan’s heart stop. He watched as Ford’s head was hung low, but he could still see how wet his eyes were. 

Ford swallowed and croaked out, “They’re gone.”

Stan bit his lip.

Ford turned his head away. “Let’s try to leave within the hour…” He made to move, to attempt to be a man and hide his tears, but Stan wouldn’t let him.

He brought his brother in for a tight, warm hug, and closed his eyes. Ford’s eyes brimmed with tears, and fell when he shut his eyes and buried his face in his twin’s shoulder, but he couldn’t do more than shudder and control his breathing. Stan was still as stone, but a single tear leaked out of one eye, and he let it fall without shame.

~~~~~~~~~~

The nice old lady who had babysat the twins when their parents died kept an eye on them until the uncles arrived, coming just as quickly as they did the day they heard the niblings were being born.

When Ford and Stan arrived at their dead nephew’s house and made a short journey to the one next door, crying disturbed their ears. The frail old lady sighed sadly and explained to the men, “I’ve tried everything for her. Bless her heart, she’s fine, but she misses her parents.”

When the old lady shuffled away to find her spare key for Alex and Dana’s house, Stan and Ford went to see their niece and nephew, the pair in a bassinet in the living room. Soft music played on a record-player, but they were deaf to it. Poor Mabel was crying her little heart out, wailing as hot tears streamed her red cheeks. Mason was by her side, holding her hand as his bottom lip trembled, trying to help his sister but having no idea how.

Stan noticed this and smiled down at the six-month-olds. He ruffled the brown fuzz on top of Mason’s head and cooed, “Hey there, gremlins. Remember us? C’mere, pumpkin, let’s see if we can’t make you feel better, ey?” Stan carefully picked Mabel up and Mason let go of her hand, his bottom lip still shaking with emotion.

Poor Mabel still cried just the same, but Stan was patient and even smiled at her stubbornness. Ford watched, intrigued, as Stan cradled the baby girl in his muscular arm, ran a finger down her button nose a few times, slowly, and breathed deeply. By the time he ran his finger down her nose the third time, Mabel had stopped crying, curious, and then yawned, turning towards his chest and clinging onto his red Hawaiian shirt.

“There we go, better?” Stan asked. Whimpering from the bassinet made Stan chuckle and he reached a strong arm down for his nephew. “Don’t think I forgot about you, Lil’Dipper. I gotcha.”

“How did you do that?” Ford whispered as Mabel snuggled against his chest and Mason calmed down the second he was in Stan’s embrace.

The businessman shrugged. “I dunno, it worked for Alex when he got fussy and it worked on one of Soos’ cousins at Thanksgiving last year.”

Ford smiled and patted his shoulder. “Well you’ve always had a way with children, Stanley.”

“You’ll get the hang of it, Sixer, don’t worry.” Stan assured, but he was suspicious when he saw a new expression on Ford’s face. “Well we are taking them home with us.” You would think they had this conversation on the long car-ride, but the drive had been dead silent as the cold reality had set in.

“Stanley, no.” Ford said firmly, looking away. “We can’t.”

“Have you lost your mind, cuz I’ll help you find it!” Stan scolded. “Why in the world wouldn’t we take them home?!”

“W-... I… I w-... It’s not a good idea.” Ford stuttered, finally looking at his brother again. “It’s not that I don’t want to! I want to! And you would be brilliant at it, Stanley! But… But they would be b-... I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be any good at it.”

“You were fine at the hospital!”

“That was different! Gravity Falls is too dangerous. I hate to say it, but they…”

“Then don’t say it.” Stan growled warningly. He calmed down a little, and then said with the kind of authority that made his word final, “Listen, we’re family; wherever we go, we go together. If they didn’t come home with us, where would they go? Everyone’s gone, so they’d go in the system, and you and I have both heard the horror stories. Best case scenario they would be separated, and that’s the best case scenario. They aren’t going in the system. They’re coming home.

“And what’s all this talk about you not being good enough for them?! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve heard you say some stupid sh-stuff! They need you, and you need them. And honestly, if these kids are anything like us, I’m more worried about the town surviving than I am of them being okay.”

Ford snorted and bit his lip, smiling down at the pair of babies.

“It’ll work out, Sixer, just you wait and see.” Stan reassured and handed Mabel to him, despite the frantic look on Ford’s face and the fact that he was shaking his head “no”. 

Mabel hadn’t really fallen asleep; she was merely resting against Stan’s body. Now she grabbed Ford’s black sweater tightly and nuzzled her chubby cheeks into the yarn. She smiled at the soft touch. Ford held his breath, waiting for Mabel to start crying again, but she didn’t. He took in a few breaths and adjusted his hold so she was cradled more comfortably. The scientist smiled down at her and found all of his troubles were a bit less troubling.

“And no offense, Brainiac, but I don’t give a… gnome’s butt what you say.” Stan injected; he was really going to have to work on his swears. “I’m going to the courthouse before we leave town and I’m adopting these gremlins.”

“What?!” Ford looked back up at him in shock. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Stan had a very serious look on his face that Ford had only seen on rare occasions. “I ain’t risking some distant cousin or whatnot deciding I ain’t good enough, or the system deciding to take ‘em. They’re my kids…”

“I want to adopt them with you.” Ford interrupted, his voice lighter than it had been all conversation.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to do that…”

“I want to.” Ford said earnestly, looking back down at Mabel. The second Stan mentioned the possibility of them going away again, Ford’s heart broke. He couldn’t do it. Not if his life depended on it. He couldn’t let his children go. “Y-you’re right. I can’t… I can’t lose…” And he bit his lip and cleared his throat. “You were right, Stanley.”

“Heh. A broken clock is right twice a day.” Stan quoted and let Mason hold his finger as he held him in his arms. “Trust me. We’ll be okay.”

And Ford nodded, putting all of his trust in his family.

~~~~~~~~~~

“SIXER! C’MERE!”

Ford jumped up from his desk, knocking his chair to the floor, and sprinted down the hall for the living room, where he was certain his brother was yelling from. He stood at the doorway to find Mabel standing thanks to the help of the couch, a chubby hand on the cushion, and Dipper on his hands and knees beside her. Stan was sitting on the floor just two feet away from the toddlers and grinned at his brother. “Mabel almost took her first steps!”

“Really?!” Ford gasped happily and stepped into the room to watch.

“C’mere, pumpkin!” Stan cooed and waved his hands to himself. “Come to Grunkle Stan, c’mere!”

Mabel giggled and bounced on her knees, but still didn’t step to him. Stan even clapped one or twice to grab her attention, but all that made her do was let go of the couch to clap, but she was more than capable of standing on her own.

“Go on, sweetie, you can do it.” Ford encouraged.

At last Mabel seemed to notice that her other great-uncle was present. She turned and smiled a big smile at him, showcasing her new baby teeth, and surprised everyone when she turned and ran to Ford. Mabel might have tripped and fallen on her baby butt, but that didn’t stop her from giggling and reaching out for Ford, who instantly scooped her up while Stan stood, laughing.

“Mabel, you can walk! Clever girl, clever girl!” Ford praised.

“That’s our girl!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford was on the floor of the living room a few days later, playing with Dipper and Mabel, building block towers. The door opened and closed and a booming voice called, “Where’s my troublemakers, ey?!”

The babies squealed and giggled and had a little race, crawling as fast as they could to the hall where Stan stood with groceries in his arms, but he sat the food on the floor to have free hands for his kids, and he scooped them up and scratched their chubby cheeks with his stubble.

“Hey there, kiddos? Been good for Grunkle Ford? No? Good!”

Ford rolled his eyes as he picked up the groceries. “They were as good as gold.”

“Eh, I guess that’s okay.” Stan smiled at Dipper, who was reaching for his glasses, and said, “Hi.”

Dipper smiled. “Hi!”

Ford did a double take as Stan laughed proudly and squeezed his nephew.

~~~~~~~~~~

From first steps to first words to first birthdays, the pair of old explorers were there for everything and couldn’t believe their luck. Pretty soon they were taking the children on safe adventures with them, fishing and hiking, and teaching them everything from Cowls to how to hot-wire cop cars. For eight years their lives were complete and things were too good to be true.

But then Stan went missing. At first Ford wasn’t too worried, only mildly annoyed, but to be fair they had a disagreement recently and Stan was a grown man, so maybe he needed to blow off steam. But then days went by. This was extremely unlike Stan, and there were some people that would want him gone, so without scaring the children too much, he began searching for his twin, definitely not freaking out.

[kthstrawberryshortcake]

BTS Reactions: One of the other members dislikes their s/o because of misunderstanding her personality

THE PREMISE: You’re shy, and while you are a lot of fun once you get to know people, you come across as extremely quiet around people you don’t know well. One of the other members misunderstands your personality.

A/N: This is unedited because I’m a trash gremlin lol it will be edited later

EDIT: okay I finally came back and edited it, although I did find some mixed tenses in some of them, and while I’m working on being better about avoiding that, I’m not going to fix it here. 

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Namjoon: Because you were so quiet, Jin found himself overcome with curiosity about what your relationship with Namjoon was truly like. He justified it to himself as concern that his best friend was with someone deserving of him, but it was a bit of nosiness as well. He was walking down the hallway in the dorms one day when he heard voices coming from Namjoon’s room. The door was just slightly ajar, enough to let sound carry into the hallway. Jin paused in the hall to listen, unable to help himself. All he heard was muffled voices before he heard you laugh loudly and say “Ew! You nasty! Come on, we both know I’d never ever be sexually attracted to you in the first place,” with a giggle. Jin saw red. Furious, he stormed into his own room and slammed the door, thinking about what he’d heard. Finally as you and all the boys were eating dinner he lost his cool. He stood abruptly, hissing at you that you were such a fake and that you weren’t worthy of Namjoon’s affection. “I don’t even know why you would be with her!” He exclaimed, causing the other boys to nervously exchange glances. Jin noticed and scoffed. “Please, she’s not an angel. Do you know what I overheard her say today when I walked down the hallway?” He repeated what he’d heard and the boys’ eyes grew wide, staring at you with shocked, horrified faces. All the color had drained from your face. Namjoon just looked completely caught off-guard, like he hadn’t fully processed Jin’s words yet. You took a deep breath, looking down at your hands. “Joonie, would you like to share what you said right before that?” You asked, looking up at him pointedly. Joon was blushing as he told them. “I’d just said ‘are your legs nutella because I’d like to spread them’.” He confessed in clear embarrassment. You finally made eye contact with Jin. “You don’t have to like me, but you should know that I was joking.” You told him, and Jin looked a little unsure. “I thought you didn’t have a sense of humor though…” He muttered, causing Namjoon to shake his head and reply, “She’s really shy around new people. She doesn’t know you guys well.” Jin kind of felt bad by then, but was still not convinced he was totally wrong. “How do we know you were actually joking?” He demanded, and you bit your lip nervously, exhaled, and squeezed your eyes tightly shut as you pulled the neckline of your sweater to the side. It revealed your collarbone which was decorated with several dark purple marks. Namjoon smirked. “It was a funny joke because she and I both know that’s the farthest thing from the truth, because she certainly wasn’t saying she wasn’t attracted to me last night.” Jin looked mortified, looking down at his food and eating in silence for the rest of the meal, clearly embarrassed. Meanwhile the other boys became slightly more comfortable joking around with you now that they knew what you were like when you weren’t so shy.

Jin:  Up until this point, you hadn’t had the chance to spend much time with the other members, so you were still very much in your shell around them. But tonight your lovely boyfriend was cooking dinner for everyone and you were going to be there as well, and while you were nervous, you were looking forward to getting to know the boys better. When you arrived at the dorm you greeted Jin with a kiss on the cheek and he smiled at you, asking if you were hungry since dinner was nearly ready. You replied that you definitely were, helping to move everything to the table once it was done. Whatever Jin had made smelled amazing. But when the food was put onto everyone’s plates you froze, realizing that he’d made jajangmyeon. Apparently he had forgotten that you couldn’t eat gluten, or at least forgotten that there was gluten in noodles. You knew Jin would feel awful about it when you reminded him, so you decided to wait until it wasn’t in front of the other members to bring it up. In the meantime you periodically picked up and put down bites of food to make it look like you were eating. You could feel Jin’s eyes on you, and you felt extremely guilty, even though you knew it wasn’t your fault. Meanwhile Hoseok was watching the whole thing, seeing the look of disappointment on Jin’s face as you didn’t eat. He felt furious, thinking that someone so impolite and inconsiderate didn’t deserve to be with Jin. Later after dinner you pulled Jin aside to speak privately about the food issue. As you’d anticipated he felt really terrible about forgetting your gluten allergy. You assured him that it was okay but told him you just didn’t want him to think you didn’t appreciate his cooking. With the misunderstanding cleared up, everything was good between the two of you and everyone sat around talking. Still shy with the members, you didn’t do a whole lot of participating. Your silence only made Hobi angrier until finally he lost his temper in the middle of a conversation. “What is your problem?!” He demanded, giving you a hard stare. Your eyebrows shot up and you blinked repeatedly in surprise. “Do you even care about Jin? Did you see his face when you just decided you weren’t going to eat the food he cooked? Why do you hardly ever speak in group conversation? What are you really doing here, because you’re not sincere about having feelings for Jin.” Hoseok accused, and it was everything you could do to keep your jaw from dropping open incredulously. Oh, but now he had seriously pissed Jin off. No one was allowed to speak to you that way. He admonished Hoseok for presuming to know anything about your relationship or your feelings before explaining that you didn’t choose not to eat dinner, you physically couldn’t eat it. You were being kind in not wanting to expose that he’d forgotten your gluten allergy in front of the whole group. “She’s been quiet because she’s really shy around new people, and I wonder why she’s uncomfortable speaking up, in that case, with the very warm welcome you’re giving her by judging and attacking her.” Jin snapped, and Hoseok looked ridiculously guilty and embarrassed. He later apologized to you and Jin both in private.

Yoongi:  Before you’d come over to the dorms for a game night, Yoongi had asked that you keep the PDA to an absolute bare minimum. He just knew that the maknae would take any opportunity to tease him, and he knew that as shy as you were you would absolutely hate that. You understood, agreeing. Still not having spent a great deal of time with the other members, you were nervous to be around them, but you were also excited to get to know the people who were most important to the man you loved. Throughout the night you were quiet as usual, and you tried to adhere to the minimum-physical-contact rule you and Yoongi had set in place as well as you could. Still, occasionally, before you could catch yourself, you’d find yourself reaching for his hand, or sitting close to him, or resting a hand on his shoulder. In all cases he shook you off as subtly as he could, first and foremost wanting to protect you from Jungkook’s teasing. You didn’t take this personally, understanding its purpose. However, Hoseok was watching the whole night, not missing the way Yoongi quickly pulled away from your every touch. At one point you got up and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Hobi decided to follow you and have a little chat. He thought he was helping. You smiled at him when he entered the room, drinking your water in silence. “Listen, Y/N, you seem like a really sweet girl and that’s why I’m going to tell you this. Yoongi doesn’t actually like you. Don’t waste your time or risk getting hurt because you’re not picking up on the signals he’s putting out. He’s not the best at communicating his feelings so he probably doesn’t know how to let you down easy.” He said, completely shocking you. Before you could even speak, Yoongi appeared in the doorway behind Hoseok. “What the hell?! What do you think you’re doing telling MY girlfriend how I do or don’t feel about her?!” He demanded, positively furious. Now it was Hobi’s turn to be shocked. “I just — I thought — she’s so sweet and quiet, I didn’t want her to accidentally be led on… You practically jump away every time she touches you, you can’t tell me you’re serious about having feelings for her.” He let the words spill out, watching Yoongi grow angrier by the moment. “I’m dead fucking serious Hoseok, I love her. I was avoiding any sort of physical affection because she’s so shy and Jungkook teasing us for being lovey-dovey would be really uncomfortable for her.” He explained, fuming. He walked over and stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and hugging you tightly as he kissed the top of your head. “If you were concerned you should have talked to me. I can’t believe you’d just assume you knew what was going on and try to scare her off.” Yoongi scoffed, taking your hand and leading you back into the living room to rejoin the others.

Hobi:  You knew that especially around new people, you seemed very very different from your boyfriend Hoseok. He was bright, bubbly, friendly, and outgoing, while you were quiet and much more subdued. You were a lot more fun to be around when you felt comfortable with the people around you, opening up and becoming a sillier, more relaxed version of yourself Thus far, however, there hadn’t been opportunities for the other members to see that version. As a byproduct of his concern for your comfort while surrounded by people you didn’t know well, Hoseok became much quieter than his usual self, focused on you and making sure you felt okay. Instead of bouncing around he stuck right to your side, holding your hand and watching your expression for signs of unease. Yoongi saw how much being with you changed his best friend and he was not happy about it. He hated the idea that, regardless of how nice a person you were or weren’t, Hobi would try to change who he was for you. One night at dinner Yoongi seemed extra annoyed and standoffish.  He watched closely as Hoseok spoke only a fraction as much as he normally would, too focused on you. Finally Yoongi had had enough. You had gone to the bathroom when he finally spoke up. “You’re so different around her. I don’t like it. It’s like you’re not you. I can’t see why you even like her.” Yoongi said, catching Hoseok totally off-guard. He was immediately annoyed. “Good thing she’s my girlfriend and not yours. You don’t need to see why I like her.” He snapped, causing Yoongi to roll his eyes. “You don’t have to be so defensive,  I just hate to see you with someone who dims your light.” You reentered the room just in time to hear this exchange. “You’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? For somebody who can be so reserved you’re being pretty judgmental of her for the same reason. And she doesn’t dim my light, if anything being around people she doesn’t know dims HER light, and I’m just making sure she’s okay. She’s a lot of fun if you give her a chance, she just has to get comfortable with you.” It warmed your heart to hear him defend you like that, though you felt extremely uncomfortable because of what Yoongi had said. When you settled back down into your seat beside Hobi you couldn’t hide the tears welling up in your eyes as you stared at the ground, not making eye contact. “I’m sorry for not being fun… I don’t want to bring anybody down.” You said quietly, trying not to break down. Hobi was staring at you with intense worry in his eyes. He rested his hand on your cheek and you finally looked at him. He kissed your forehead and then pulled you into a hug, holding you close to comfort you. He glared pointedly at Yoongi, who just looked away, feeling embarrassed for having been so quick to judge.

Jimin:  You were over at the dorms to get to know the other members better one day, knocking on the door and waiting for an answer. Taehyung answered the door, giving you a friendly smile and inviting you in. Your boyfriend Jimin came bounding down the hallway with an excited exclamation of “baby!” before he pulled you into a hug. You wince at the pain. He feels you tense and remembers, jumping back as if he’s been burned. Jungkook, who had been coming down the hall after Jimin, sees this and thinks you’re uncomfortable with physical affection. This worries him a lot, actually. He knows Jimin, what a cuddly person he is, how he needs that in his life. What would he be doing with someone who doesn’t want to be touched? Jimin mumbles a ’sorry’ with an apologetic smile, and you just smile back at him. “Want to play video games? The guys were just about to start, we could play too if you want.” He suggests, and you nod enthusiastically. Minutes later you’re watching intently as Jimin tries to beat Taehyung at whatever game they’re playing. Jungkook eyes you, taking note that you have still kept a safe distance from Jimin this whole time. He decides he has reason to be concerned. Later when it’s you against Jungkook, he elbows you in the side to try to cheat, and you drop the controller as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly at the pain you feel. Jimin jumps up, yelling Jungkook’s name in alarm due to worrying about you. Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Look, I don’t know why your girlfriend is so weird about people touching her, but come on, man, why would you want to be with somebody like that? You’re the touchiest person I know, are you gonna sit here and tell me you’re fine with being a minimum of a foot apart at all times?” he demands, sounding more irritated than angry. Jimin literally facepalms. “Jungkookie, you idiot. She has a broken rib! I forgot and when I hugged her it hurt so I jumped back. Just now when you elbowed her it probably REALLY fucking hurt. Are you okay, by the way?” He stops and looks at you in concern. You give a thumbs up though your face shows it still hurts a lot. Jungkook, not liking being wrong, huffs and demands, “fine, well what about how she never speaks? She’s not right for you.” He insists, making Jimin go from irritated to actually angry. “She doesn’t talk much around you because she’s shy around people she doesn’t know well. And no wonder, too, with how you’re treating her at the moment.” He snaps, surprising Jungkook with the venom in his voice. “And as for physical affection, she’s literally so much of a cuddle bug she could rival ME in that sense, she just has to be really careful because she’s hurt.” He hisses, giving Jungkook a glare before taking your hand and helping you up. “Let’s go lay down for a while, I’m sure it’s super painful.” Jimin says to you in a soft voice. You nod, blinking back tears from how much it hurts. With an apologetic glance at Taehyung and one last threatening stare at Jungkook, Jimin leads you down the hall to his room.

Taehyung:  You really, really wanted the other members to like you. Still, your shyness around new people made it difficult to befriend them quickly, so you had to have some patience there. Luckily Taehyung understood that perfectly, knowing how different you were once you felt comfortable with someone. Your desire for them to like you, however, actually made the shyness even worse. It made you extra self-conscious about being lovey-dovey with Tae in front of them, feeling super easily embarrassed. You found yourself dodging kisses, ducking out of hugs, and wiggling out from under his arm when he put it around your shoulders. You felt like everyone was watching you and it made you really, really uncomfortable. Taehyung understood, but frequently forgot, reverting to his natural touchy instincts without thought. He would jokingly pout at you when you avoiding attempts to show physical affection, but he wasn’t upset about it by any means. Jimin was super suspicious of his best friend’s new girlfriend, so he watched you closely whenever you were around. He noticed right away how you didn’t seem to want Taehyung to touch you and he didn’t like it one bit. What kind of girlfriend didn’t ever want her boyfriend to touch her, even in little ways? Not the kind that would make Tae happy, Jimin thought. Luckily for Jimin, when he decided to bring the topic up to Taehyung, you weren’t around. Tae would’ve been ready to kill him for upsetting you needlessly. Jimin expressed his concerns about you not being the right person for Tae, explaining that especially how you avoided his touch was worrisome to him. This made Taehyung really, really mad, and he told Jimin as much. He explained how your shyness made you extra embarrassed about PDA, particularly because of your desire for the boys to like you. Before Jimin could even look regretful, Taehyung left the room in a huff, not believing how judgmental Jimin had been for basically no reason. Late that night you and Tae had been watching Netflix when you fell asleep cuddling. You were laying on top of him, your legs on either side of him and your arms around his neck as your head rested against his shoulder. It was almost koala-like, the position you found yourself in, fast asleep. Tae was thinking about his conversation with Jimin until he had an idea. He took a selfie of the two of you cuddling like you were so it was clear how you both were situated. He send it to Jimin with the caption “You’re totally right, my girlfriend hates to be touched.“.

Jungkook: Jungkook knew how nervous you were to hang out with the other members, and he could understand why. You were super shy around people you didn’t know and you’d only met them a handful of times before. So when he invited you over to have dinner with everyone he was prepared to make absolutely certain you felt comfortable and welcome. Throughout the evening Jungkook was a lot more subdued than he normally would be and watched you carefully to be sure you were doing okay. Namjoon saw the change in Jungkook’s personality. It really worried him. He already didn’t like that you were a couple of years older than Jungkook. The thought that you could end up being manipulative toward him seemed like a very real danger, in Namjoon’s opinion. When he saw how closely Jungkook was watching your facial expressions and reactions, he felt like his fears were confirmed. Joon decided that you were a super controlling girlfriend that treated Jungkook like a baby because he was younger, and Jungkook was watching you to make sure he hadn’t angered you. After dinner, Joon asked to speak to Jungkook privately. When Jungkook looked at you nervously, agreeing to go only when you offered a small smile, Namjoon felt even more certain of his conclusion. He told Jungkook about what he had observed, watching as Jungkook because visibly upset. “If anyone is treating me like a baby here, it’s you, hyung. You think you can just make conclusions about my relationship based on an hour of observation? Why wouldn’t you just ask me about it first, anyway? Am I such a helpless child to you that I can’t make my own choices?” He demanded, clearly angry. “She’s not controlling. Far from it. She’s extremely shy and was nervous about coming here tonight, so I’ve been keeping an eye on her to make sure she’s okay. I guess she had reason to be worried, since you’ve taken upon yourself to decide she’s manipulating me. You’re right, I’m not a baby anymore, but if anyone needs to get that through their head, it’s you.” He snapped, hurt that his absolute hero would treat him this way. He stormed out, returning to your side and wrapping a protective arm around you. Namjoon felt so, so guilty. He’d been afraid that Jungkook was being treated like a child when he ended up being guilty of that himself. The very signs he’d taken to mean you were manipulating him were actually Jungkook being mature and considerate. He’d been unfair to you and Jungkook both, and he needed to make it up to you.

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[fangirlxwritesx67]

Samhain

Christmas Tea (3000 words) NYE Bubbly (1500 words) Valentine’s Day Chocolate (2100 words) Happy Birthday Sam (2000 words)  Samhain (3600 words) 

Sam X Rowena A/N: did anyone ask for 3600 words of Samwitch Witch!Sam? No? Well, I still wrote it. Also managed to delete the first posting, so trying again. 

Tags: sex, so much consensual sex, oral sex, finger banging, discussion of edging, some language, mild dirty talk, fisting, magic sex and/or sex pollen, alcohol, Rowena being irresistible, size kink, hand kink 

It had been almost a year since the first time that an invitation to Rowena’s apartment turned into a sizzling night of sex for her and Sam. Since then, they had celebrated several holidays and spent many more visits just enjoying one another. 

While their relationship grew, Sam’s understanding and practice of magic had grown, too. Before, he had assisted Rowena with a few spells when needed, but had never studied spellwork for any purpose other than undoing the results. Now, he was gradually learning the rhythms of magic, the phases of the moon, and the cycle of a witch’s calendar. 

He might light an occasional candle, or burn some herbs - really, nothing he hadn’t been doing as a hunter for years. Although Dean teased him about being Rowena’s protege, he certainly wouldn’t consider himself a witch. 

He did notice, from time to time, that he felt increasingly aware of Rowena’s power. At first, he brushed it off as just the intense physical attraction between them, or his interested attention to her every word and move. But there were moments, he could swear, where he actually saw her manipulate the forces of magic, like light around her body. 

He understood more than ever how important Samhain was to Rowena. He knew that it was the most powerful Sabbat for a witch, the starting point for the Wheel of the Year. Still he was surprised when she told him she wanted - no, needed - to join her that night.  He couldn’t imagine what she had in mind. But she had called, so he went to her. 

He didn’t know what she was planning, but he also didn’t want to come unprepared. He found a bottle of wine called Witches’ Brew, so he bought it. Rowena had very specific tastes, so she might hate it, but at least he wouldn’t arrive empty handed. 

On October 31, Sam knocked at Rowena’s door. She greeted him wearing black from head to toe, sheer black, some kind of shimmery thin robe that clung to her curves and swirled around her every motion.   

She took the wine and led him to the kitchen. He watched her hips sway as she walked, taking in the fact that her underwear was little more than bits of lace and lacing across the cleft of her ass. The room was aglow with banks of white candles casting a warm light over everything. 

She uncorked the bottle and then turned to face him. “This wine is better heated.” He watched as swirls of light coiled upwards from her hand around the bottle, and was not surprised when the glass she poured him was hot. He took a sip. It reminded him of her kisses, that spicy sweetness that he could never get enough of.

She seemed to know it, too, as she met his gaze with a smirk. She raised her glass and he followed suit. For a long moment, the two of them sat and sipped in comfortable silence. Finally, she spoke again.

“There is a spell a witch can only perform when she has another witch for a lover, one who is true of heart and same of soul.” 

She reached for a wide shallow bowl at the other end of the table, one Sam had not noticed before. 

“What-” She silenced him with the press of her fingers on his lips. Without thinking, he kissed them. She smiled to herself and dipped those fingertips into the water that filled the bowl. 

“Look,” she commanded. 

He watched as the water rippled and clouded, and then faded into a scene of the woods. Between the trees he could just barely make out - Rowena, walking on and on. At first it was almost too dark to see, but the moon rose, growing and grew full and heavy as she continued her journey onward.

The moon in the scrying bowl was pearly bright when the image of Rowena reached a broad slab of stone, an altar, he supposed. She was not alone, there was a taller figure there, and as he peered more closely, he saw that it was him. He watched in the water as they joined hands before it rippled again, a glow covering the water, and the scene disappeared.

“I need you, Samuel. For days now, since the new moon, I have been - denying myself the pleasure of sexual release. Saving, so to speak, for tonight, for you. “My power will increase immeasurably if you will complete this cycle with me.”

“So you want me to -?”

“Perform this spell with me. Pleasure me, satisfy me, make love to me all night long.” 

Her green eyes were wide and bright, the words spilling like stars from her glossy lips. 

He didn’t have to think twice before nodding. “For you, yes, whatever you ask.” 

The smile that crossed her face was smug, as if she had no doubt that he would agree. She stood and gathered a few things before taking a seat again.  

“Oh, and one more thing. Once the spell is cast, it must be satisfied. I am trusting you with this.” 

He nodded again, unsure how to answer. 

Rowena sprinkled herbs over the surface of the water before reaching out. Sam took her hand in his and allowed her to weave a broad ribbon between their joined fingers and then around their wrists. He helped her tie it in a knot, binding his intention with hers. She murmured words in a voice too low for him to hear and the ribbon dissolved into a ring of light, tiny sparks sizzling downward.

She stood up, and he stood with her. Their lips met as she sank into his arms with a sigh, and he savored the flavor of dark wine and spices in her mouth. More than ever, her kisses felt magical, lips pressing, sucking, tasting, exploring, all hot and slippery and close.

Sam was so lost in her, in the warmth of her body in his hands, that it took him a little while to realize that she was whimpering, grinding against him shamelessly like a cat in heat. She was always open with her desire, but this was something new. 

“What do you want?” he murmured as his lips pressed down the column of her neck. “Tell me, my queen, tell me exactly what you want.”

“Take me to bed, my love.” she begged. 

He raised one eyebrow and looked around. The couch, the table - plenty of times in the past, they hadn’t made it to the bedroom. 

She followed his gaze and shook her head, her eyes wide and imploring, “Bed, now.” As if to make her point, she pulled away, tugging on his hand, nearly dragging him down the hall. 

The bedroom, like the kitchen, was arrayed with candles on every side. Sam drew in a deep breath of the air, heavy with incense. In the flickering flames, he saw goddesses, crystals, and cards, the shadowy light making everything seem more arcane and fantastic. 

Rowena lay back against the bank of pillows on the bed, her hair like coiled vines against the silky dark sheets. She reached for him, hands curling with need. He stripped off his clothes before kneeling on the bed at her feet. 

Instead of leaning into her grasp, he sat back, sliding his hands along her pale legs, pushing the sheer cloth of her gown up in voluminous folds. His hands settled around her waist, thumbs stroking the dip of her hip bones. He pulled down, fingers spreading to cup the swell of her ass as he slipped off the bits of lace and ribbon that made up her panties.

She was bare before him but still he took his time, pressing kisses to her creamy thighs as she whimpered and sighed. 

“Don’t tease,” she murmured.

There was nothing he loved more than to tease her, to hear her beg. But he had promised to do whatever she asked. He lowered his face into the copper curls over her sex. The taste of her was better than the best wine, warm and wet. 

He had barely begun with his lips and tongue before she bucked up against his face, the softest sighs falling from her lip as her legs shook around him. He paused, took a breath, and then pressed in again. He slipped one finger, then another into her. Her entire body drew up, quaking under his attention, before she let go with a cry. 

“Samuel,” she panted. “I’ve waited long enough. I need you, inside me, now.” 

It was the easiest command he had ever obeyed. He slid up, over her, meeting her mouth with the taste of her still on his lips. She was whimpering again, begging, her hips rising up to grind against him. 

He looked at her and saw her eyes were glazed with desire. “Are you sure-?” 

“Please,” she cried, her fingers scrambling for purchase on his shoulders. 

Sliding into her was like coming home, the tight wet heat of her so close and perfect. Sam heard himself moaning, unexpected and needy.

“Yes,” Rowena panted. “Please, I need you to, goddess, fuck, Sam, I- you-” 

It was nonsense, the broken curses falling from her lips, but watching her mouth was enough, the contrast between her beauty and the profanities. Sam trailed his lips and tongue down around her breasts as she tilted her head back, gasping and panting. 

He felt her clench around him and he groaned her name. For one long moment, he was lost- in the woods, under the light of the moon - and then he slammed back into his body. He came hot and helpless inside of Rowena as she cried and tightened and let loose underneath him. 

For one long breathless moment they clung to one another, sweaty and shattered. Sam could just see stray sparks of magic trailing off Rowena’s skin, into the dim light around them. Finally he rolled onto his side. Rowena made a soft sound of loss before he turned her into his embrace. He trailed his fingers softly over her hair, feeling her racing heart next to his. Finally her breath slowed and settled. 

“Shower?” Sam asked gently. She nodded in response. Sam stood up and held out both hands, pulling her to her feet. He helped her out of her gown and guided her to the bathroom, where he turned on the water steaming hot, the way he knew she liked it, as she twisted up her hair. They stepped into the shower together, bodies pressed together, slippery wet in the close space. 

Sam took Rowena’s body wash and lathered it over her shoulders, caressing her skin with open palms. He rubbed her back in broad circles before she spun to face him. He took his time, fingers following the trail of the water over her body, across her collarbones and down her ribs before he pressed up, farther, cupping her small high breasts in both hands. He circled her nipples, watching them rise and harden under the creamy bubbles of body wash. 

Her mouth dropped open, lips curving as her hands groped for his waist, tugging him against her. She shifted, pressing her thighs together. “You can’t just- I need- more, please.”

“Ok, hang on.” He murmured, “Let me, we’ve gotta take care of the soap.” He spun until she was under the shower, spray bouncing off her shoulders as the water sluiced down her skin. Once the last bubble swirled down the drain, he turned again so her back was pressed against the end of the shower. 

He knelt in front of her and looked up to meet her gaze. Her face was expectant, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He lifted one of her legs, hooking her knee over his shoulder. He steadied her with his hands around her waist as he dipped between her thighs. Her soft whines and panting moans echoed off the walls of the shower as he pleasured her until she came again, going limp in his grasp, trusting his grip to hold her up and not let her fall. 

Once she could stand on her own two feet again, Sam turned off the water. He grabbed one of the luxurious fluffy towels and patted her dry from head to toe. Her pale skin was already pink from water and pleasure. The shower had washed off her makeup, leaving her face bare. She looked younger like this, softer. He covered the freckles on her cheeks with whisper-light kisses, and her eyes widened, pools of green framed by her wet red lashes. 

“Come back to bed with me,” she murmured, holding out one hand. He reached for her, let her lead him, following her every wish. Back in the bedroom, in the wash of candlelight, her skin seemed luminous, lit with a glow from within.

They lay on the bed together, facing one another, lips meeting and parting and meeting again. Sam’s hands roamed her bare body, over every curve and angle. He knew her, this was familiar, but he never tired of touching her, holding her. As his hand strayed lower, pressing into the dip of her hips, she whimpered. 

Her fingers closed around his, drawing his hand up to cup her face, nuzzling her cheek into his palm.

“Your hands, goddess,” she murmured. “I think about them all the time, think about all the things you can do. I want you so much, want your hand inside me.”

“I know you love my fingers, love how you come on them for me,” he whispered with a kiss. 

“No.” She pulled back and looked at him, green eyes wide and hot with lust. “Your hand, your whole hand.”

He sat up, running one hand through his tangled chestnut hair. She followed his movement with a glance, unable to stop the whimper that fell from her lips, watching the way his fingers slipped through the silky strands. 

“Are you sure?” His brow furrowed with doubt. 

“Have I ever lied to you or been anything other than completely honest with my desires?” Her voice was low, breathy and utterly convincing. 

She was, as always, right. He slicked his hand with lube before slipping two fingers into her, working her over with his thumb as he pumped his fingers in and out. This was familiar for them, from their very first time. 

“More,” she gasped, and he obeyed, adding a third finger, curling up against her as she clenched down around him. He kept up his pace, whispering endearments and encouragement until she came with a high whine. 

“You still want this?” he stopped to check. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I know you won’t. Please, do as I ask.” 

He nodded and tucked his thumb against his palm, pressing into her slow and steady, giving her time to stretch around him. When his knuckles slipped into her, she hissed sharply. He paused, waiting, until she drew a deep breath and nodded. 

He rocked his hand, taking his cues from her increasingly frantic groans of pleasure. Her head tipped back, slim fingers fisting handfuls of the sheets. 

When he heard her first low curse, he knew she was close to letting go. He smiled as he lowered his mouth to her, lips ghosting over her clit with the lightest of kisses as he turned his knuckles again inside her. 

Her back bowed up, arching off the bed, hips tipping toward him, her entire body taut and quivering. Her breath tore into ragged moans and her thighs shook around his ears. This time he was waiting, watching, and saw light envelop her entire body in a wash of iridescent color. She cried his name in ecstasy as she came. 

He eased his hand out slowly, stroking her through the aftershocks that left her trembling and flushed, little bursts of magic still sparkling off her skin. When her body was fully relaxed, he stretched out next to her and pressed his lips to hers. Her cheeks were blushed pink, little curls sticking damply to her temples. 

The sheer amount of pleasure they had enjoyed together was incredible, to say nothing of the magical power she had revealed. He could’ve kept going, was aroused and wanted so much more. But he could see that, for now, she was done. He would wait. 

He went to the bathroom to wash up and returned with a damp cloth and a towel. Her eyes were closed, heavy lashes fluttering open under his touch. She watched lazily as he wiped her skin with strong sure strokes. 

Then he slid into bed behind her, pulling the covers up over her and tugging her back against his chest. She nuzzled against him, her movements slow and sated. He slipped one arm around her, holding her, keeping her close. He didn’t quite catch her words as she drifted off to sleep, but it sounded like she called him, “...my witch, Sam.” 

The full moon shined through the bedroom window, casting a pale beam over Rowena’s alabaster skin. He watched her for a long moment, wondering not for the first time at her reckless vulnerable beauty. 

He didn’t feel worthy of being her lover, much less her partner in magic. He didn’t deserve to work a spell with her, not even one as wonderful as this one. But she had chosen him. And with that thought in his mind, he fell asleep too. 

That night, Sam dreamed of the scene Rowena had shown him in the scrying bowl, picking up where the vision had left off. He saw himself with her on the broad stone altar, naked in the glow of the moon. He caught glimpses of some of the things they had done together. As the moon grew low just before dawn, Rowena lay back in his arms. Her magic was visible in bands of light circling her body, weaving between them, sigils sparking off into the trees. 

“Samuel,” he heard her whisper his name softly, and his eyes slowly opened. He saw Rowena in his arms, just as he had dreamed, but without the forest or the magic. Just holding her, loving her, was magic enough for him. As their lips met, he let his hands slowly roam her body, her beautiful generous body that had given him so much pleasure. 

He could tell the spell had been satisfied by her response, by the way she hummed lazily, without the desperate desire that had driven their sex the night before. Still he had to ask-

“Did it work? Are you so much more powerful now?”

She threw back her head and laughed, full throated and free, before fixing him with an intense stare. “You saw it, didn’t you, in your dreams?” 

He knew better than to ask how she had seen it too, and instead just nodded. 

“You did so well, took such good care of me.” Her hand cupped his face, thumb easing across his bottom lip. “Thank you, my love.”

“Not like it was difficult, not with you.” Their lips met again and again, slow and seeking and deep. Rowena pressed closer to him, movements languid, pulling his body towards hers. He followed her lead, caressing her with strong sure hands, even as the touch of her fingertips left shivers on his skin. 

She pushed his shoulder back, not that she could move him, but showing him wordlessly what she wanted. He rolled back, tugging her with him. She sat up, shaking her hair back from her face as she straddled him. She planted both hands on his chest and ground down, drawing a sigh from his lips. 

His hands circled her waist as she took him in one hand and guided him into her. He saw her bite her lip as she sank down around him slowly. He let her set the pace, content to watch the way she moved, her endless sensual grace. 

Finally he tugged her shoulders down, so she lay atop him. One of his arms slipped around her back, embracing her, while the other settled over the small of her back, fingers splaying over the curve of her ass. She moved in a slow sinuous wave, rolling against him until a groan punched from his lips. 

“Come for me, one more time.” His voice was low and ragged, his hands sliding down over her thighs to pull her knees up around his waist. She rocked from side to side as he went deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside of her. 

Her mouth dropped open in a long moan, her hands curling into fists against his chest, and he felt her clamp tight around him. He gripped her waist, swiveling her down, grinding their bodies together as he thrust up over and over until finally she cried out, high and breathless. Only then did he let himself go, too. His vision went dark as his release hit him, and he glimpsed stars out of the corners of his eyes. 

For a long moment the two of them just lay like that, as close as two people could get to becoming one. The moment stretched, curved around them, the only sound the beating of their hearts. 

Sam didn’t want to break the silence, but when he glanced down, Rowena was looking up at him, her gaze bright and hopeful. 

“I’ll always do whatever you ask,” he promised softly. She nodded just once before their lips met again, sealing his words with a kiss. 

Thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ for the preread. @songofthecagedmoose​ made the graphic of Rowena in the sheer gown. 

SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho​ @dawnie1988​ @deanwanddamons​ @defenderrosetyler​ @divadinag​ @emoryhemsworth​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​ @idreamofplaid​ @kalesrebellion​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @maddiepants​ @magssteenkamp​ @onethirstyunicorn​   @there-must-be-a-lock​ @tloveswriting​

Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff​ @lilsylvia​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​

Rowena My Queen: @delightfullykrispypeach​ @lilsylvia​ @marril96​ @pansexualdarling @songofthecagedmoose​

Dean Curious:@adoptdontshoppets​ @awesomesusiebstuff​ @deangirl7695​ @deans-baby-momma​  @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @stoneyggirl​ @wayward-gypsy​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​

[bearseokie]

Fortune for the Well-Being (M) | BTS

image isn’t mine, credit to the owner.

↠ genre: ot7, mafia! au, angst, smut

↠ warnings: mature content, graphic details, violence, language, detailed torment, blood, murder, use of weapons, sexual acts, gore, etc.

↠ words: 2.2k

↠ summary: Seven men are chosen to perform in a plan to erase one of the largest mafias in the states.

↠ A/N: idk when I'll get the full fic written, I just wanted to toss it out there for future purposes.

Prologue

Park Jimin.

The speakers boomed, lights flashing different colors as eyes shifted around. Drinks were splashed on to other people, the smell of liquor so thick in the air that your eyes would burn and water. Gold stanchions line the aisle of magenta carpet, felt rope creating a barrier between who was important and who wasn't. The back of the building sat colder, lights dimmer, and fewer people crowded around. Large bodyguards stood at doorways, nodding as those who seemed fit to be in the special area passed by.

Behind thin walls and curtains, sins were being passed around. Men flirted with women, seducing them into plans they'd both regret in the morning. People wore little to no clothing, being tossed around like ragdolls at anyone that seemed horny. A darker room sat in the very back left, concealed by a thin, black wall. Windows covered by red curtains, moans came from the circle-lighted room. The large couch against the wall curved to fit the entire room for any activity preferred by the owner.

And there the owner sat on a rainy, Thursday night. Gripping a girl's hair as she bobbed on his length. Jimin's head was back against the leather couch, lips parted with light sounds applauding the girl's motions. Another girl was to his left sucking on his neck, careful to not break the skin, as that was a rule he enforced on everyone in the club. His right hand was palming her large breast as she moaned, pushing into his touch.

The movement of the girl's mouth wrapped around him didn't stop as the papers were handed to him, halting him palming at the second girl to his side to take them from the tall bodyguard, a curious look on his face. Scanning over the top page of the stack, a burst of delirious laughter came from him, his now free hand motioning the other girl to stop and for both to leave him. He pulled himself back into his pants, leaving them undone as he crossed his left ankle over his right knee, opening the pages to skim over the words.

"What a fucking joke," he claimed.

Kim Namjoon.

The small office buzzed with workers, the staff stumbling over one another trying to finish work for the day. A light knock on the office door made everyone freeze, time almost stopping in place. People held their coffee in their mouths, afraid to swallow, staplers were held down to keep from popping back up, copy and fax machines were immediately turned off in fear of a loud sound that would anger their boss while he spoke.

"You're all welcome to leave early," Namjoon called, the door slowly shutting closed and lock clicking.

Sighs of relief filled the office, people scrambling to collect their belongings as everyone moved toward the stairs and elevators with glee. The office became dead quiet, the only sound being made inside the locked room. Muffled screams came from the man sitting before his desk, a bandanna wrapped around his head while another was stuffed in his mouth as he cried in pain. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair as a pen was severed into his right hand, a pair of scissors breaking the skin of his left hand as it threatened to enter just as the other did. The interrogation scene was working as the man aggressively nodded, breaking as the bandannas were removed. Telling Namjoon all that he knew about a businessman that was planning to invade one of Namjoon's businesses, he would soon prevail and the threat would be eliminated.

The man was walked to the elevator and taken care of by the man guarding the building. Returning to his office, a stack of paper was noticeably sat on his desk, small drops of blood now soaking through the top few pages. Bending over the desk, he read the top page, opening the stack and reading over each sheet before he threw himself back into his office chair.

"This will be interesting." he shook his head, turning to his left to look out the wall to floor windows at the dusk-fulled sky.

Jung Hoseok.

"P-Please!" the man shouted, getting kicked into oblivion by Hoseok standing over him.

The concrete was no pillow to him, skin already matted by the cracked cement under him. Hoseok's hands gripped his white shirt, lifting him against the wall as his head rammed into the brick. The street was empty, sunset colors eliminating over the two of them as they both wrestled against each other. A stack of paper had been sprawled on the concrete below the two men, now covered in marks and dirt from their shoes. The man had walked up behind him, handing Hoseok the papers that were neatly together with a binder clip. The man didn't realize who he handed them to until he was flipped to the ground, his face immediately meeting the pavement.

"I'm just the delivery guy, man!" he pleaded.

His reply was neglected as a strong punch launched at his jaw, blood spilling from his mouth and onto the Hoseok's fists.

A few more hits were swung before Hoseok believed he learned his lesson, nodding in approval as he watched the man slide down the wall and back on to the concrete pavement. Looking around him, he noticed all the papers scrambled on the ground as he bent down to retrieve them, reading them slowly with furrowed brows.

"What the fuck is this mess?" he questioned, balling the papers up as he glanced around the scene before him, dumbfounded as he shrugged and walked off carrying the pages.

Min Yoongi.

"Don't think about using that anywhere near me." Yoongi's teeth clenched as he spoke, the man in the suit shooting him a weary look while he glanced over the armory, an AK held tight in his hands.

The white walls behind the weapons shined under the bright lights hanging from the ceiling, the large door ajar while they held the transaction. Heading back for the open door, the large man stopped suddenly as Yoongi stomped up to him, his jaw clenched tight with a firm look on his face. The room was silent as his finger lifted to the taller man's chest.

"If I even hear a whisper about where you got these guns from, I'll kill you on sight the next time you see me." he threatened.

The man violently nodded, swaying around him as he made a quick rush from the armory and out of the building, seagulls calling out as he opened the door of the large garage and slammed it shut. Yoongi sighed, shutting down the armory as he locked the door back, making his way toward the old, wooden piano sat against the wall of the garage. Taking a seat on the bench, his eyes caught sight of the thick stack sitting beside his note booklet. Running his eyes over the cover page, he scoffed and placed his booklet in front of the stack, fingers grazing over the keys as a melody echoed through the almost empty space.

Kim Seokjin.

Cameras flashed, screams and whines calling his name as he waltzed past the crowd and into the building. His assistant scampered behind him, attempting to keep up with a coffee in one hand, a stack of papers in the other. A man held the doors open for Jin, the scent of makeup and fresh clothing seeping into his nostrils as he let out a deep breath, peering around the room as people rushed around to set up the photo shoot scheduled for today.

"I said I'm not interested." Jin's eyes rolled as he noticed the stack of paper still in his assistant's arms. "It's not for me."

His assistant whined once more but kept quiet as he left to change into the preferred outfit for the photo shoot. Everyone cheered at him as he gathered attention to his poses, gleaming like it was his place to be in front of a camera. The stack was tossed into the garbage while he worked, fake smiles shaped on his face to fool the staff around him that his morning hadn't been tough. That he hadn't been in a high-speed chase with some maniac with an assault rifle.

The shoot ended, an airy dressing room ready for him to rest in once the cameras were shut off. The light blue walls were soothing as he stepped into the medium-sized room, settling into the area. He headed for the couch, finding a bottle of wine and glass set on the coffee table beside the same stack of papers from earlier.

"I told you, no!" he yelled, cheeks red as his assistant stumbled into the room with a worried look. "I thought you threw this away!"

"I did!" they claimed, shaking their head as they exited the dressing room, escaping the words tossed at them by Jin as he flipped the pages over and over until he got to the last one, going silent.

"Hmm," he said to himself. "Maybe this could work out."

Jeon Jungkook.

Loud groans came from two men as their wrists held them up off the ground, chains clinking in the hold of the ceiling as they swung back and forth. Jungkook was pacing before them, moving around with a cheeky grin on his face. His eyebrow was cut open, blood seeping down his face and dripping on to his chest as he walked. A large table sat in the corner of the meat locker, an array of knives and tools set out, usually for use of the meat kept stored, but in this case, revenge. He walked towards the table, index finger running over each of the sharp objects as he lifted a large machete up and faced the two men.

"This one?" he asked innocently.

The men swung faster, faces red in anger as they spouted ways they'd hurt the younger man. He nodded, setting the machete back on the table and picking up a simple screwdriver before turning back to the two, swaying men.

"This one!" he called with another grin as he walked before one of the men, who kicked out his leg at him. Instantly the screwdriver was sent into his leg above his kneecap with a yelp.

Jungkook gripped the man's leg with his left arm, wrapping his right hand around the screwdriver inserted into him, twisting it as the man jolted under his hold, the man beside them silent in shock. Jungkook's expression shifted, eyes becoming darker than before as his lips flattened together, continuing to twist the screwdriver until the man was shrieking in pain.

"Care to keep causing issues?" he questioned as the man shook his head quickly, tears sliding down his face. Jungkook looked to his left as the other man watched the scene carefully, trying to reason with him before he began his own torment.

"Thanks," Jungkook said to the window of the large SUV outside of the meat shop, the window opened slightly as dark figures moved behind the tinted panels of glass.

"This came for you." spoke a dark voice from inside the vehicle, a stack of papers departing through the open window, he noticed his payment was put under the binder clip as he took it.

The car pulled off, leaving him to stare at the pages of words, his mouth forming a pout as he nodded his head, looking up as the car drove off.

Kim Taehyung.

Foot bouncing under the table, Taehyung sat nervously in the metal chair while staring down at the handcuffs chained to the table. Images flashed in his head from the night before, his pocket knife being pulled from his jeans, flipping it open as it was stabbed into another man. The blood seeping all over his hands as he moved the liquid around with his index and middle fingers, the metallic scent filling his nose. The man's shock and pleas for him to pull the knife out and escape. The police escorting him to the car.

A knock came from the door as a detective stepped in, an unreadable expression on his face as he pulled out the metal chair on the other side of the table and took a seat, hands clamped around a stack of papers that he moved to the side.

"Do you find pleasure in it?" he questioned, making contact with Taehyung's handcuffed wrist to catch his attention. "Answer me."

"Sometimes, if they really deserved it" he whispered, looking down at the handcuffs again to avoid eye contact.

"People like you make me sick." spat the detective. "The things you've done. The people you've killed. Doesn't that get under your skin, huh?"

"It just doesn't," claimed Taehyung, eyes blank as he looked back up at the detective.

"Good." nodded the detective, a confused look on the younger man's face as he tilted his head. "Then this will appease you."

Sliding the stack of papers around and toward Taehyung, both of their eyes scanned over the cover page.

"Fortune for the Well-Being?" Taehyung's voice couldn't hide the curiosity.

"You and six other men in the country have been chosen for this program. The charm, the brains, the aggression, the passion, the looks, the strength, and the disturbed. It's the perfect combination for complete and utter chaos."

[lemonietrinket]

Broken Crown ||| Prince!San x Reader

Summary: San receives a present from the leader of his kingdom’s governing body that turns his life upside down, and not for the better. His only comfort in life has been you, and now that comfort is being taken away from him. Genre: angst, bits of fluff with a happy ending  Warning(s): big sad, description of an item of clothing thrown out of frustration (not at or in front of anyone, there is no one nearby at the time); foul language (2x f**k) Word Count: 3037 Song(s): Ambience AN: well im here hurting myself with this... hope its not too angsty anon (i cant find your ask tho idk where its gone) happy (slightly late) birthday to my boi san! :))

fem!reader royalty au

~~~

Rocks sank to the bottom of his stomach as San’s entire body flushed ice cold, and then fire hot. Eyes unblinking he peered round at the sea of smiles, their sincerity leaving him reeling. It was as if his head had been submerged in a pool of twilight sea water, the sun’s warmth leaving it lukewarm and dark, forcing his eyes to sting and glaze without even his full knowledge.

It wasn’t until he spotted the widened eyes of his cousin, far down at the other end of the table, that he realised something was wrong. 

“Oh I can’t wait to see the two of them down the aisle!” 

“She’s a real catch, Sannie! You’re so lucky!”

“Aww, look, he’s so overcome with emotion he’s—!”

“Oh my baby is growing up so fast!”

The world span and words merged into one inconceivable mass as San turned. A thick silence permeated his mind, flooding it with nothing but heaviness; the sound of his fleeing footsteps, the echo of confusion behind him, even his own heartbeat—all swallowed up.  The only thing that pierced it was a high tone clatter, accented by a delicate crack and the shattering of glass. 

Tripping up the stairs, his ankle twinging as he went, he broke through the doors to his room, where he came to an abrupt stop. The doors slammed behind him out of the sheer power he’d shoved them open, and as the adrenaline began to phase his brain back into control, he stood heaving.  While fury flourished through his chest, gentle caresses graced his cheeks, painting them flushed when the two met at his throat. The unstoppable heat met numbing cold, and it was as if his throat became carved of hot stone. He was teetering on the edge of screaming, but having silenced himself, all he felt was the urgent threat of bursting. 

Seeing no way out through his lips, his hands began wrenching off his numerous layers of clothing. The heat was too much to handle, yes, but feeling the silk burn through his fingers, and then watching the embroidered jewels scarper across the room as he flung them was a release in itself. Enough of one to allow the ice to cascade through him. 

A shallow, creaking breath poured from him as he frantically followed where his coat had gone. Chewing on his lips, his hands felt around the fabric, still intact minus a few embellishments that had been torn off in his outburst. 

No no... no no no...!

His gaze darted across the varnished crystalline floor, desperate to catch a glint, a twine of thread. With the quartz patterning blurring and yet somehow shining as if possessed, he had no clue if the words were coming from him out loud or were just in his head. There was no way for him to be sure, as days prior everything that had coalesced in a matter of seconds had been nothing more than a nightmare.

Tears trapped themselves between his eyelashes, leaving the world around him in the state of a dream, until he finally gave in. Wiping his eyes  with the side of his fist, clenched and weakening, he sucked in air carefully. It felt too humid in his lungs and did little to quell the urge to succumb completely, but it was enough to hold it down for just a few more moments. And peaking up between his fallen fringe, that was all he needed.

He threw himself at the doors to the balcony, hands tugging at the handles until they finally broke open, and the outside greeted him.

It was an abrupt change, freezing wind slapping him in the face and grasping at every inch of bare and clothed skin it could get its hands on, but he could breathe.  The shock stunted the tears long enough for him to clear his eyes properly, his murky salmon dress shirt—too loose to actually be comfortable and yet still restrictive at the shoulders firmly placing it as his least favourite piece of clothing he was routinely told to wear—finally serving a purpose he agreed with.

The heels of his palms collided with the stone balcony and sent a small hum of pain through his throat, though he paid no mind to it. His attentions were much more focused elsewhere—that being scouring the gardens below, the canopies of the trees beyond, and finally the lights of the city in the further distance. To his annoyance the damp air, enrolled to be the welcome mat for an oncoming storm, decided to shirk its duties and mess with his hair enough so he couldn’t see. Though what shook him up even more and truly beckoned the suffocating feeling to return was the absence of your silhouette. 

It took all the willpower in him left to resist calling your name into the dark. As time went on however, the more he began to worry that he wouldn’t even be able to anymore, if he could. Becoming frantic, he slapped his hand against the stone and cursed. Once then twice, and then again and again until he slumped over the edge. The stone dug into his rib cage, leaving him even shorter of breath than he already was.  He let his eyes fall closed, a whimper leaving his lips, leading him to press them straight and firm. San needed to stay together in one piece, and with the cold bringing an onslaught of reality checks in his head, the more he realised he needed to not behave any worse. But his tether was running short.

Luckily, the respite arrived in a matter of moments, and though they may have felt like hours, the ache of waiting soon washed away as warmth reached his side upon the balcony, and the scent of the wild world below was brought to him. 

Despite your hands being carved from days of work you always held him so tenderly, as if never wanted to let him go—and for once, not in a precious gem kind of way, but more in the sense of a memory. A story from years before that never failed to bring a smile to your face. One that meant nowhere else felt like home but with him. 

He didn’t really know how you got up onto his balcony, without alerting the guards or making the slightest of noises. Nor did he know truly where you were from. It wasn’t like you hadn’t told him—oh, he’d asked you about your life thousands of times and you’d complied in answering every single time with a content smile on your lips—it was just that he had no context to it. You told him of the streets and the lamp-lights, the cheers of the evening and cries of the night, the merchants and the bakeries and the patrols barely on watch, the docks and the promises it held of the future, a new world. But San had never been, so how could he ever fully understand and know of your past, when he knew very little outside his own upbringing? These were the things he lamented when the moon began to sink and you ushered him to finally rest, pointing out that he was moping again.

Your voice was as gentle then as it was now minus the mischievous tones, pressing hushes into his messy hair at your jaw while you cradled him to your chest. 

“Shh, my love, it’s ok. Everything’s ok.”

Hands clutching at your leather jacket, ribbed with gashes that even you couldn’t place, he let himself relax. In your arms, his sobs spilled out so much quieter than they had done before, and his shaking slowly came to an end when they could have easily continued long into the night.  Sat upon the stone floor with you, his problems seemed to drift away. He almost wished you weren’t as sensible sometimes, and that you’d let them pass. That way he could stay there in silence wit you for longer, just listening to the beat of your heart and how it aligned with his. 

It couldn’t happen however, he had to face the consequences at some point, and when you slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, he knew there was little he could do about it. 

Your motions were met with a disgruntled pout as the boy you fell in love with—now old enough to rule a kingdom without an Aide—wiped his eyes and blinked at you, happy to wordlessly pretend that none of that had happened. 

“Happy birthday, Your Highness,” you teasingly greeted, cupping his hallow cheeks so you could trace shapes into his temple. Your face instantly fell when his did, however, and you realised that you’d struck a nerve. “Sannie, what’s happened? I haven’t seen you this upset in months.”

His gaze dropped as his head did. Your hand didn’t chase him, instead you settled it upon his own, balled between you against the floor. “San?”

“She promised me, Y/N,” he finally began, swallowing thickly, “she promised me and she broke it in a day. It meant nothing to her.”

“Her?” you enquired. “Your mother?”

He shook his head languidly and you could feel his fingers tense between yours. “The Chair. The Chair—she promised my status would be nowhere in any agreement in the trade talks and the—she fucking lied! Next week—with all fucking expenses paid for by the government no less—I... she—a-and she did it on my birthday! Told it to me now, gave it to me as a gift, so now there is absolutely no way I can refuse her! She did this on purpose, Y/N, she knows what she’s doing, she wants me over there for something and I... I don’t want to play her... her games—!”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” you breathed, stroking his white knuckles, “take it easy. What did she do, San? What’s happening next week, where are you going?”

“I’m getting married.”

His abrupt words stunned you into a paralysis. No breath left your lungs, there was no flicker of your fingers. It was like you became a statue. 

“She’s married me off, Y/N. To this princess from Lontaiko no less. I won’t be here after it, I’ll move away, and then I’ll be completely at her mercy.” San glanced up at you, meeting your glazed stare with a sigh ridden with guilt—as if he had any choice in the circumstances. The sight of you without your smile was enough to make his heart sink, and so witnessing the colour drain from your cheeks and your touch go limp forced him to blink back tears once again. 

He pulled your rigid hand to his lips and planted a kiss to your fingers. It brought you back to reality, throat dry and eyes wet, but his touches left your heart aching, his wound now a part of you too. And it tore your heart gradually apart, one thread at a time. 

“Why?” you finally managed, gripping onto his hands almost as desperately as he’d done before. 

He spat a laugh of disbelief. “’Peace’, she said. ‘Peace’.”

You scoffed a weak laugh, hiding your face within the shadows cast from soft candlelight behind. San didn’t let you go, his lips soft at your skin, trying to stay strong and encourage you that it would all be fine but you could feel in the caution of his movements that he didn’t believe it either. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I’m sorry I didn’t put up more of a fight, I don’t want this, I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to be king—”

“I love you,” you finally whispered, words fragile and very nearly swept by the wind. 

His lips fell still. It was far from the first time you had told him, as every time the moonlight shone upon the two of you, the words kissed the night. Now, however, was different. Seeing you so curled in on yourself reminded him of the first time you had confessed to him. 

A few nights had passed without a single flicker of your silhouette, no curl of the blossoms and brine that melded with you. He’d let it slip first, all doe-eyed and lips pursed amongst multitudes of pillows, waiting for his first kiss that you would bestow upon him. You had rushed an apology, brushing your lips against his forehead in a promise before fleeing.  Every time the moon then rose he waited while dread trickled through his veins, until you finally returned. Your voice seemingly stolen and hands wrung together, gemstone eyes avoiding his at every cost while you waited on the wrong side of the balcony. You’d given him such a fright when he finally spotted you through the bronze embroidered windows—the first time because he couldn’t tell it was you, the second because you could have slipped and fell at any moment, perched where you were.

As soon as he joined you outside, he’d rambled about how worried he had been, not even trying to temper his volume. 

You’d interjected him suddenly, “Can I kiss you properly?” 

He’d been silenced immediately. And then between a small scowl, a pout and the puffing of his cheeks, he’d huffed, “Yes.”

You hadn’t relaxed until he’d held you, lips meeting in the golden haze of the torches that danced with the silver of a crescent moon. 

It pained him to see you in such a way now, for all the wrong reasons. Reasons that couldn’t be helped, he reminded himself, his thoughts possessing a snarl and leaving the pit of his stomach broiling, nothing can ever be done... right...?

Shifting his weight, he raised himself so he was even with you, before at last holding you close. Your hands sprung into action to clutch at his back as he did so, your head nestling into his shoulder while your breaths became shallow. Nose pressed into your hair, he kissed your head as you begged him, “Please don’t leave me, San. Please, please don’t leave me.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared at his bedroom. The grandiose sweeping canopies of his bed curtains, light peach and without a speck of dirt. The hard floor that was always cold to his bare feet without fail, and too hard to welcome him home after a long day of duties. The emptiness of the room’s vast expanse, adorned with nothing but elegant plants twisted around veiled sticks to force them to grow how the keepers’ wished.  His eyes changed focus then, coming to glare at the dull reflection in the glass. The faded lines of his hands stroking your back, his intense expression, all stared right back at him, as if in challenge.

And something inside him snapped.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Upon the day of the wedding, after a week of flurried throngs of people and preparations being made, just after the clock chimes sang for seven o’clock, a single member of staff sped through the long corridors to the palacekeep at the very end. Minutes later, he marched with her in tow through to the King’s bedroom, where they found the monarch working at his desk, a bright grin upon his face.

At exactly 7:08, as the sun beamed down upon the kingdom of Silarrean—nestled between the rises of two valleys, neighbour to the realm of Lontaiko— the King fainted. 

When the shadows of the sundials met the halfway mark for that same hour, those same persons that dotted the palace halls like bees within a hive, made up the crowds of search parties pushed to scour every inch of the city at the castle’s feet. 

Within days, the Silarrean Prince San, who the Chair had announced to all the people was destined to marry the delightful youngest daughter of the Lontaikan royal family, was officially declared missing. The wedding was called off, though the King ordered no cease in the search. 

It would prove null, however. The young prince was long gone.

Not that San knew of any of what was occurring back in the place where he had once lived. He could imagine it happening though, the images in his mind that hazy vivid that always accompanied him when he let his mind wander upon things he’d never known.

Leaning out to stare into the distance across the ocean waves, the boat proved to have a balcony of its own. This time though he was on the other side of it, and the correct one too: the one that actually involved living how he wished.  He ran his fingers across the crown between his hands, the edges of silver carved into entwined laurels still sharp, and he knew he couldn’t wait for them to become rounded with age. He found he kept returning to the centrepiece, with its intricate feathers tinged with blue and the cracked azure gemstone in its centre. The split was shaped like a lightning bolt, and it brought a smile to his face, thinking of just how much of an impact he made upon the world around him. It symbolised how he would never return, and that they could neither replace him. He had taken very little with him, but the crown was his birthright, and so he would take it with him, but also leave its life behind. 

Stood by the helm, you watched over him carefully. You would have joined him, but someone needed to steer. The small boat was only a relic, you’d been surprised that it even moved at all. The adrenaline, that had left your heart in your mouth when the rudimentary engine had coughed and spluttered on the night of your grand plan, had long since died down. It remained on the edge of your conscience, ready to cascade through your veins when you needed it. And you were well aware that on the route you were taking through life you were definitely going to need it. Until then though, you relished in the salt of the sea and the calm waters that the rising summer brought for you.

It didn’t matter after all, what would come. You’d find a way, as you were together, and you were both free. 

~~~

an: i feel like this would work better as a longer piece, where the process of the week is followed, with more depth of lore and stuff but ill be honest with you, it took a lot of effort for me to write this in the first place. not because the idea wasnt my thing (far from it—this stuff is my shit) but because my creativity just doesnt like cooperating sometimes.  maybe one day.

also what do you think of my new paragraph break thing? i think its cute. much easier to implement than the photo ones for sure.

all names of places are fictional  

Masterlist

[winters-tales]

Rabbits and Ravens

A combination two prompts for this one! One from @deepwaterwritingprompts (#1950), and one from a friend. The two prompts are: 

Deep Water Prompt #1950

A black rabbit stood every night in the field outside my window. It watched me, still, and purposeful.

-

Ignorance was bliss, knowledge is terrifying, and now she knew never to turn her back on the raven when it stared in through the window.

TRIGGER WARNING for mention of animal harm and death towards the end of the short story below, although not at the hands of humans. 

*

Ravens used to comfort me. They’re big birds, but when you look at them you can see the intelligence in their eyes. If you’re ever lucky enough to see a family, you can see that they care deeply for one another. They play, they love, they talk, they teach. They used to be such a comfort to me, bringing me such joy.

Hares, on the other hand, have always been unnerving; I think it’s the eyes. They stare, and they never seem to blink, and I can’t tell if it’s fear or barely-checked rage that makes them shake so much. The sound of hares boxing is always so loud and violent, and knowing that it’s usually the females boxing the males who get too familiar doesn't help like I thought it would. They remain… uncanny. Rabbits, but not.

So what do you do when a Raven shows up? You feed it, you talk to it, you thank it for its company, and you wish it goodnight when it flies off in the evening to roost.

You sleep better, imagining those heavy wings encircling your bed protectively. A monstrous guardian, shielding you from nightmares.

What then do you do, when a hare shows up?

When the raven takes wing and you see the unusual black fur of a larger than average hare emerge from the field across from your house; when the eyes stare in the window, unblinking, and watch you as you prepare yourself for sleep. As the sun dips below the horizon, what do you do when the black fur makes the hare vanish in the night?

You sleep. You sleep, and you cling onto the image of the great raven chasing away the nightmares, as the wide lidless eyes of the black hare tries to peer into your soul.

Appearances can be deceiving.

It was midnight, and I was shaken from a nightmare that left my mouth dry from trying to scream. The paralysing ones, where you can’t quite wake up and the shadows in your bedroom become demons if you stare at them. I finally surfaced from it, and went to get some water.

The light from my kitchen window spilled onto a horrifying sight.

Hare and Raven were doing battle in my garden, seemingly grown larger in the darkness around my cottage. They pranced and flapped and bounced and dived, each trying to better the other.

At first, I willed the Raven to win. Those awful staring eyes from the hare had featured heavily in my nightmares, and in a moment of viciousness I wished the raven would pluck them out. I felt ashamed for the thought almost immediately – the hare couldn’t be at fault, it was just an animal – but I was tired, and the nightmares were refusing to loosen their grip on me.

I left the light on, but turned my back to head back to sleep, leaving these foes to their battle, when the kitchen window blew inwards behind me.

Claws raked my shoulders as the raven – grown truly monstrous in that moment – dragged me, screaming, outside. Instinctively, in a panic, I threw my arms up to cover my eyes.

It was my own fault. I’d wished for it to take the hares eyes. Maybe it had heard me wrong.

But it dragged and it yanked and the broken glass sliced into my back as I was pulled out, and blind panic was all I had left.

Panic, and a desperate plea for help, flung into the pitch black night.

No-one could help. I’d chosen the cottage because it was truly isolated; the nearest town being an hour’s drive away. But when you’re terrified, you don’t think about that.

And yet, my cry for help was answered.

A hare, patchy black fur and a bleeding, empty eye socket, erupted from the bushes next to me and leapt towards my hunter. In the jump it seemed to grow, elongating, stretching out to reach me before the thing could take flight. Powerful hind legs slammed into the raven, and I felt it’s talons release me, although reluctantly.

As the pressure eased and I scrambled to my feet, I thought I heard a voice yell at me:

“Go!”

Real or not, I didn’t need telling twice. I sprinted inside, bolted the door shut, and upended the table against the broken window. Grabbing a knife from the block, I retreated to my room and sat in the corner furthest from the window and door, sobbing.

Eventually, I slept, but this time I didn’t dream of wings protecting me. This time I dreamt of a mocking croaking cry, and the fuzzy pain from the welts on my shoulder permeated my unconscious mind.

The morning brought pain that assured me the events of the night were real. My shoulders were puffy and swollen, no doubt from a mild infection from the raven’s talons, and my back ached from where I’d been dragged over broken glass. But I was alive, and the window and door to my room were both still whole.

Cautiously, I headed back to the kitchen, to see what damage had been done.

The table was still in place against the window, and the floor was dotted with my dried blood. Knife still in hand, I cracked the door open.

The raven sat in its usual place outside the door, and something about its posture suggested a cruel grin. There, on the doorstep, was a tattered and bloodied black hare pelt.

The raven flapped its wings, and it’s croaking call sounded like “Mine.”

I shut the door.

I barred the windows.

I never left the house again.

[stoopsbookstore]

Stress Relief -M-

Synopsis - Doyoung is rethinking his decision to give Jaehyun's cousin an internship. He's constantly messing up the shipping orders, he spills coffee everywhere, he takes too many breaks, but Jaemin is his best friend's cousin, so Doyoung deals with it. One day, Doyoung has been stressed out so much because of Jaemin's bullshit, he freaks out. His maid offers a source of relief.

Warnings - Office sex, Window sex, Phone masturbation (it's on speaker while they're doing it), mentions of a pregnancy/breeding kink, Power dynamic (CEO/Maid), Soft Dom!Doyoung (probably could've written him more dommy, but I was feeling a bit soft)

"I know he's your cousin, but holy hell, Jay, Jaemin can't do shit right," Doyoung held his head in his hand as he talked to Jaehyun about his cousin's daily antics, "he fucking ordered 500 tons of printer paper, we only needed 50."

"It's a simple mistake, I promise. He's just a ki-"

"He's 19 and he's a dumbass. This isn't the fuckup he's done," Y/N came over to Doyoung, handing him a peppermint tea and a croissant to Jaehyun, "Thank you, Y/N. I know you're related and I'm doing this as favor, but shit, dude, you couldn't given him an internship? If his parents wanted Jaemin to get experience, why not just do it with family?"

Jaehyun wiped his mouth as he took a bite of his pastry, "Blatant favoritism. Since we are related, the company would see it as a conflict of interests. It was either ask you or have him clean vomit up at the carnival with Yuta's younger brother, Yuto."

"Baking soda or corn starch," Y/N started wiping down the trophy case, full of Doyoung's medals and awards from years past and present, "Dries it out, that way you can easily vaccum or sweep it up. No smell as well."

Doyoung nodded towards Jaehyun, a smug smirk on his face, "See? No smell."

"Ok, asshole," Jaehyun threw a napkin at the older male, "I'll talk to him, tell him to shape up or clean up. Y/N, always a pleasure. I wish you could come clean for me, but what from I've heard, sounds like Doyoung gives you a hell of a paycheck."

"3 year contact, full benefits, an pet-friendly apartment with half-priced rent as well as Holidays off? I sure hope that's a hell of a paycheck," Doyoung stood up, shaking Jaehyun's hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Jaeh-" Doyoung was standing in his office, pants soaked in various caffeinated beverages, his phone on speaker.

"I know! I know! He accidentally spilt coffee on your pants in front of Mr. Park and his son, Jinyoung! Just send him ho-"

"We were so close to a possible merger! A small startup was in my grasp! He even flirted with Y/N as she was cleaning up his mess!"

"Listen, I'll knock some sense into him, just one last chance, please?"

Doyoung ran his fingers through his hair, Y/N taking Doyoung's jacket as she attempted to clean, "Fine. One last chance, but if he fucks up again, he's out."

Before Jaehyun could say his thanks, Doyoung hung out, slamming the speaker, a piece flying onto the floor. His head pressed against the desk in annoyed anger as Y/N stopped cleaning his jacket to grab the disjointed speaker piece. Doyoung noticed as Y/N bent down, her skirt rode up, a sliver of her black cheeky panties showing. He quickly diverted his attention when she straightened up, placing the small object on his desk. Doyoung fiddled with his tie as he continued to watch Y/N cleaning his office, poorly hiding the thoughts in his mind.

"Y/N, you're always so hard working. Don't you have a social life? Any friends or boyfriends or girlfriends," Doyoung tried to talk in his smoothest voice, concealing his speech of any suspicious tones.

"Nope, I'm single and I don't really go out. Honestly, Mr. Dongyoung," a strain in his pants emerged as Y/N's voice became more sensual to Doyoung, maybe a sip of water would help, "I just kinda stay home, watch some Netflix or Hulu and play with my cat."

Doyoung choked on the water a bit, his mind dirtying up Y/N's sentence, "your cat?"

Y/N grabbed the feather dust out of the office closet, her movements much more fluid than Doyoung has ever realized, "Yeah. She's a little puffball, only about 2 years, her name is Mimi."

"Oh," Doyoung let out a relieved sigh, a hand reaching under his desk while his free hand continued scrolling mindlessly through a document, hovering the mouse over his two screens, "I bet she's really cute."

Y/N chuckled, "She's an asshole, but a great cuddler. So basically it's like having a boyfriend, except the cat knows how to take care of itself."

Doyoung palmed himself through his pants, continuing to watch Y/N as he pretended to be interested in the annoying numbers that appeared on his screens. Y/N smirked, feigning innocence as if she hadn't noticed Doyoung craning his neck when she bent over again to fluff the couch cushions.

"Is there anything else you need help with, Mr. Dongyoung? I know you're stressed, so I can stay if you'd like," Y/N subtly bit her lip at the growing tension, walking over to fill his mug up with more tea, "maybe help with some stress? I know peppermint tea can help."

Doyoung chuckled at the question, "we have very different ideas of stress relief, Y/N."

"What's your idea of relief?"

"Call me forward, but bending you ov-"

The phone rang, Jaehyun's number appearing on the caller ID. Doyoung breaking out of his melodic way of speaking and answering it with anger and annoyance, Y/N hiding her surprise at Doyoung's bluntness.

"What, Jaehyun?" Doyoung almost growled, a shot of hotness going to Y/N's core, "I'm sort of busy."

"So I talked to Jaemin," a groan out of Doyoung's mouth as Y/N placed his tea on the desk, rubbing his shoulders, "Don't groan. He says he's sorry for messing up the order, he said Ten's handwriting was atrocious and he misread it. He also said he wasn't flirting with Y/N, he was just trying to be nice."

"I think he was being more than just nice. Talking to Taeyong about how he would love to make out with her in the 15th story hallway closet?" Doyoung heard a little giggle from Y/N, a sense of annoyance coming over him. Doyoung pointed to the couch, Y/N thinking he meant to clean it, but as she went to grab the lint roller, he signaled her to just sit on it. He scooted his seat from out under the desk, turning it to face Y/N, the bulge in his pants noticeable, "that's not being nice, Jung."

"He said that? The little shit told me Taeyong said that!," the air started to grow hotter between the two, Doyoung pointing to the door and making a locking motion with his hands, Y/N making her way, locking it as Jaehyun continued to defend his cousin, "anyway, he just became an adult this year, we did stupider shit when we were his age."

"Name one time I fucked up by ordering 10 times the amount of product needed or I tried hitting on my boss's employee," Doyoung motioned Y/N to take off her panties, Y/N sliding them down her legs as she walked back to the couch, throwing them at Doyoung, the fabric landing on his black suit pants, "Seriously dude, one time."

Jaehyun stammered as he failed to register one time that Doyoung had fucked up as badly as Jaemin, "there was that one time at Cube Cafe where you spilt coffee o-"

"On Y/N. Who, if I remember correctly, said it was her fault, we exchanged numbers and three years later, in a cruel twist of fate, became my employee," Doyoung unzipped his pants, his free hand going in his pants, the sight entrancing Y/N to start teasing herself, "The defense being one situtation was two college students being dumbasses on campus while the other is a college intern being a dumbass towards a CEO."

"Fuck, I hate when you're right. But you know you did that on purpose so you could 'talk to the pretty girl with the caramel frappuccino', don't even lie" Jaehyun sighed over the phone, Y/N unzipping the back of her uniform, exposing a matching black bra, Doyoung finally pulling out his cock as he started pumping, "I'll talk to Yuta, see if he can give a job to Jaemin that doesn't involve vomit. I'll call you in a bit, bye dude."

"Alright bye," the line went dead as Doyoung let out a growlish moan, his eyes watching Y/N push in one finger, "God, I needed this release."

"So you were saying?" Y/N pulled out one of her breasts from her bra, rolling the nipple with her free hand as she added another finger, "how do you relieve your stress?"

"Where was I before I was interrupted?" Doyoung kicked off his pants, pulling his boxers up as he walked over to Y/N, pulling her fingers out of herself as he helped her up to her feet, "I think I was talking about bending you over my desk, in your maid outfit or even naked. But I like the outfit better, it just reeks of desperation, so hot and passionate, I couldn't wait to strip your clothes, so I just said fuck it and started fucking you."

The two walked over to Doyoung's desk, him grabbing at the papers and files, moving them out of the way, Y/N playfully swaying her hips. Doyoung pulled down his boxers again, this time taking them off as he leaned Y/N over his desk. He flipped her skirt up and pulled her bra all the way down as he reached in his desk junk drawer to pull out a condom. Rolling it on, he rubbed his cock over Y/N's core, gathering some of the wetness that had occured.

"Of course, a condom for safety. As much as I'd love seeing you with a swollen belly and covered in my cum, we can't do that right now. You'd look so beautiful carrying my kids, then I'd get to spoil them as they grow up," Doyoung pushed into Y/N, a moan escaping her lips as her breasts pressed against the glass table, the coldness bringing a new sensation against her warmimed body, "we can talk about that later, if you'd like. To be honest, I've thought about you and I doing this ever since I spilt that drink on you."

"Was it in purpose like Jaehyun said?" Y/n questioned as Doyoung kept thrusting, the glass desk moving in rhythm with the pair, "needed a reason to talk to me? It seems like you got a bunch of more confidence."

"Could you tell? Becoming a partial CEO with your brother of a multi-million clothing company can do wonders," Doyoung admittedly regretfully pulled out, bringing Y/N to his chest as he became nibbling on her neck.

"Why did you pull out?" Y/N arched her back and started rubbing her thighs together, "do you have a meeting?"

"No, hell no, not until later. I would cancel it if I did," Doyoung walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk, opening the curtains as he looked over the 6th story pane of glass, "come here."

Y/N walked over to Doyoung, his hands finding their way to her hips as he turned her around, unzipping her top the rest of the way and throwing it aside, leaving Y/N in just her bra, skirt and stockings, Doyoung slipping off her kitten heels as he kissed up her legs.

"So gorgeous, so beautiful," Doyoung kissed Y/N's back, shivers spreading throughout her body as Doyoung reached her neck, light bites accessorizing her skin, his long fingers tangling in her hair, pushing into Y/N, "I don't think you've seen my house in the few years we've known each other, we should change that, show you some of my toys I have, maybe get you some."

The sharp, calculated thrusts and smug taunts from Doyoung made Y/N hum in ecstasy, Doyoung's free hand reaching down Y/N's skirt to play with her clit. Y/N grabbed at Doyoung's forearm as he started at a fast pace, his fingers rolling the small bundle as he kept up fucking Y/N into the window. Doyoung pulled out for a second time, spinning Y/N so the duo is now face to face, Y/N biting Doyoung's lips. Slipping in one more time, Doyoung lifted Y/N's leg to rest on his hip.

"I want to take you on a date, I want to make you mine, years of seeing you in those skirts and shirts that my brother has designed," Doyoung leaned down to kiss Y/N's breasts, his thrusts starting to be more sloppy, "your tits peeking out of them, your skirt raising up everytime you reach up to clean the higher shelves."

Y/N leaned down to bite down on Doyoung's neck, her moans muffled and vibrating against his sweaty skin. Doyoung felt his high coming on, his thrusts slowing down, milking every drop into the condom. He pulles out, tying the condon and throwing it away. Noticing Y/N didn't get off, he dropped to his knees, spreading her legs apart, kissing her thighs.

"Doyoung, you don't have to do that, I'll be fine, I should get back to work, the 4th floor needs to be done and I have a vibr-"

"It's the gentlemen thing to do," Doyoung kiss her clit as Y/N leaned her head back on, the pleasure spreading through her body, "I'll have Hongjoong do it, don't worry."

Doyoung sucked and lightly nibbled on Y/N's clit, pushing 3 fingers into Y/N as he thrusted them in and out, working to Y/N's high, he would feel bad if he got off and she didn't, even though he's her boss and this started because he need some sort of release. Y/N's thighs started to shake as Doyoung continued licking at anything he could find, his fingers going at a merciless pace once he found the spot that made Y/N go high-pitch in her moans. Y/N didn't even notice her high had came until Doyoung stood up and brought her in for an intense kiss, her essence on his lips as she could taste herself on him. Doyoung helped Y/N over to the couch, taking off his jacket and giving it to Y/N as he gathered her clothes.

"I can't believe I just screwed my bo-"

"The next word out of your mouth better be boyfriend," Doyoung kissed her forehead as he walked over to his desk, looking for a specific piece of paper and calling the front desk, "Hey Ms. Sana, can you cancel the rest of my appointments for the rest of the day, Ms. Y/n isn't feeling well, so I think I'm going to give her a ride home and make sure that she's okay. Also, ask Hongjoong to clean the fourth floor, I'll give an extra 1,000 dollar bonus this month."

"Ok, Mr. Kim, I'll do that right away."

The phone hung up with a click as Doyoung texted the valet to bring the car around to the back, Y/N putting on her shirt and Doyoung's jacket. Doyoung helped Y/N up as he slid her shoes on.

"Where's my underwear, those are kinda my favorite pair."

Doyoung took them out of his pocket with a smirk, "they're mine too and I think I'm going to keep them with me. I'll get you more pairs, one in every single shade, hue and color."

The pair walked out of the office, Sana looking concerned and shouting an admittedly adorable "Y/N fighting!" as Doyoung and Y/N made their way down the hall to the back elevator. They waited for the elevator to come to the 6th floor, Doyoung's hand gazing over Y/N's.

"So, I assume we're going to your house."

"Like I told you, I've known you for a few years and I want to show you my house."

Y/N sleepily groaned, "I kinda want a shower and a nap first."

"Fine, a shower and a nap first," Doyoung put his arm around Y/N's waist as they stepped in the back elevator, her head resting on his chest as she curled up into him. Then with one last devious smirk on his face.

"But then, I'll give you a tour. Maybe show you some of my playthings."

[avintagekiss24]

Unwanted

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: smut, foul language

Summary: Bucky and Steve try to reconcile after a fight.

Word Count: 3165

Link: AO3

Square(s) Filled: Y4 - Steve Rogers/Captain America for @buckybarnesbingo

G2 - “I don’t know what I’d do without you” for @stuckybingo2019

A/N: This is my first fill for my Stucky Bingo card! Major shout out to my beta for helping me with this, I’m still a little nervous about writing Stucky. Your suggestions were so helpful!

Bucky’s heart leaps in his chest as he hears muffled voices through the walls of their bathroom. He stares in the mirror at himself, biting the inside of his cheek as he leans against the sink. He drops his head, his hair dangling on either side of his face as their words flood back over him.

“I don’t even know why I bother with you half the time.”

“I don’t know why either. You’re incapable of thinking about anybody but your goddamn self anyway.” Bucky fires back.

Steve scoffs, throwing his shield over his shoulders to connect it to the back of his uniform, “Fuck off.”

“Fuck you!”

Bucky takes a deep, slow breath, before letting it out of his mouth. He continues to chew on the inside of his cheek as his eyes focus in on a random tile that makes up the bathroom floor. Bucky’s still hurt, he’s not even sure if he wants to see him, if he’s ready to. He must have packed his bag a hundred times since the team left on their mission. He could have made a clean break, but yet, he’s still here, his head and heart swimming with emotion.

“You gonna eat, Rogers?” Bucky makes out through the wall. Steve and Natasha’s voices growing louder as they approach.

“Yeah, in a minute. I’m gonna shower first.”

Bucky hears the door click as it opens, and stands up straight, squaring his jaw. He grabs the shirt that’s thrown over the towel rack and pulls it over his head as he moves into the bedroom. Steve glances up as he removes his gloves, blue eyes following Bucky as he moves. Bucky sits heavily on the bed, facing away from Steve as he plucks out a pair of socks from a nightstand drawer.

He can feel Steve’s eyes on his back like brands, but he doesn’t turn and meet that gaze Instead, he  pulls on the red-white-and-blue socks before standing up again. He grabs his phone from where it’s plugged into the wall to charge, quickly stepping past Steve, who’s jaw is so tight he looks like he’s about to crack a tooth. Bucky goes so far as to shoulder-check him as he walks out of their bedroom.

Bucky slams the door shut, walking through the hallway of the compound like nothing’s wrong, plastering on a smile he definitely doesn’t feel as he rounds the corner to the kitchen. Almost  everyone is there, laughing and snacking on whatever is available.

“The Manchurian candidate has blessed us with his divine presence,” Tony crows, a shit-eating grin on his face, “How are you, old man?”

Bucky leans into Natasha as she pulls him into a hug and Sam slaps him on the back, “I’m good, Tony. Glad you guys are back safe.”

“Of course we are, but there’s a new war brewing. Indian or Chinese?” Tony asks, peering at the group over his glasses.

Requests for Chinese fill the kitchen before people begin to talk in groups of two or three. Natasha side-eyes Bucky as he leans against the counter, chatting with Sam. She pokes his side, “You know what Rogers wants for dinner?”

Bucky shrugs, purposely nonchalant,, “Nope, and I don’t really care.” Natasha tilts her head slightly, her eyes searching his, “What? He’s a grown man.”

“Whew,” Sam sighs, “That’s cold.”

“And so is he.” Bucky snaps back, grabbing a pretzel and shoving it in his mouth to try and dissuade further discussion.

“Buck,” Natasha’s voice is soft, almost too soft for the amount of noise in the kitchen, “You know he didn’t mean it.”

Bucky brings his hands to chest-height, palms out, “I really don’t want to talk about it, Nat. Okay?”

Bucky pushes away from the counter and makes a calculated retreat leaving her to sigh, her eyebrows pinched together tightly.

Dinner is awkward.

Steve and Bucky usually sit next to each other, their fingers twined together underneath the table. Steve’s thumb would be rubbing slow circles into Bucky’s palm, Bucky’s fingers tightening slightly now and again while they eat and talk with their friends.

Tonight is completely different. They’re on opposing sides of the table, with Steve sitting a few chairs away so they’re not parallel. Bucky opted to plant himself between Sam and Nat, while Steve is between Bruce and Tony, picking at his food rather than eating with his usual gusto after a mission.

Everyone keeps glancing between them, trying to avoid sparking a confrontation between the two, making valiant attempts to keep the mood light. Bucky chews on his chow mein slowly & methodically; thinking a mile a minute as he can feel himself becoming more and more tense, his anger at Steve - his hurt, too, if he’s being honest - quickly regaining its fever pitch. He’s not remorseful about it: It’s been at least an hour, maybe two, since the team got back and Steve hasn’t even made the slightest effort to talk to him, never mind apologizing. Bucky slams his back into his chair, tossing his chopsticks onto his plate as the conversation around him fades into the background.

“Fuck me?” Steve laughs, “Ok then. Fuck me.”

“You are such an asshole,” Bucky spits, “I’m laying out my fucking heart to you and all you can do is fucking laugh at me?” His eyes water, quickly threatening to spill onto his cheeks, feeling like there’s a ten-tonne weight on his chest, “Why won’t you let me in?” He whispers.

Steve stops, his hand curled on the doorknob as he cuts his eyes back toward Bucky, “Maybe because I don’t want to.”

Bucky stares back at him, his mouth  open, stunned speechless at Steve’s harshness, “And why is that?” He asks, his tears finally escaping.

“Because I don’t want you.”

Bucky pushes away from the table sharply, his chair scraping against the floor. Everyone startles, watching as he throws his plate into the sink before heading toward their shared bedroom.

“You okay man?” Sam calls as Bucky leaves, barely catching his nod before he rounds the corner.

Bucky slams the door behind him as he moves toward the closet, sliding open the door to grab his duffle bag. Tossing it on the bed, he haphazardly grabs his belongings, tossing them in the bag. He’s in the bathroom, collecting his toiletries when he hears the sweep of the door across the carpet as it opens, then the click as it closes. He walks back into the bedroom, ignoring Steve, whose eyes are glued to him.

“Bucky - ”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.” He barks, throwing his remaining possessions into the black duffel before he zips it closed.

Steve snaps his mouth shut, and watches quietly as Bucky strides  around the room, feet heavy, grabbing another bag, throwing it onto the bed and grabbing handfuls  of clothes. “Where are you gonna go?”

Bucky laughs humorlessly, shaking his head as he unplugs his phone charger, “Like you give a shit.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t!” Bucky shouts, finally turning to face him, taking Steve by surprise, “Don’t act like you give a fuck about me.”

Tears burn at the back of Bucky’s eyes as Steve drops his eyes to the floor. A heavy sigh racks Steve’s body as he lifts his head to face an irate Bucky Barnes.

“I wanted to call you.”

Bucky scoffs, “I don’t care what you wanted to do.”

“Will you just listen to me?” Steve’s voice is deep, his eyes dark. Bucky sighs, closing his eyes to try and quash the anger swelling in his chest, “I wanted to apologize all week long. I mean it, I had my finger over the call button a thousand times.”

“And?” Bucky asks quietly, dragging his tired eyes back open, meeting Steve’s.

“I couldn’t do it over the phone.”

Steve pushes off the door moving toward Bucky slowly, keeping his eyes locked with Bucky’s. Steve steps up to him, raising a hand to rest softly on Bucky’s neck, his thumb on Bucky’s jaw. Bucky turns his head away from him, his lips pursed tightly as he stares past Steve. Steve drops his hands to his sides and takes a step back, giving Bucky the space that he’s silently asking for.

Steve sighs deeply, “I fucked up,” Steve says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky snaps his eyes back to Steve, his mouth dropping open again in disbelief, “That’s it? You fucked up and you’re sorry? That’s the best you can come up with?”

Steve hasn’t felt this kind of anger from Bucky before, and certainly not pointed toward him, “Buck, please.”

Bucky shakes his head, “If you don’t want me, then let me go. I’ll go find somebody who does.” His voice is low, seeped in venom.

Steve drops his head, “Don’t say that.” His voice low. “I don’t want you to go.” Steve’s breathing is quick and shallow, his heart beating against his chest, “Please don’t go.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, frozen, as his breathing quickens. He slams his eyes closed, trying to force the tears back, trying not to cry. He breathes in sharply, but his tears spill over onto his cheeks anyway. Steve reaches toward him slowly, asking for permission to touch him.

When Bucky doesn’t move, Steve brushes his tears away with his thumbs. He pulls Bucky closer and kisses him tentatively on the corner of his mouth. When Bucky doesn’t protest, Steve leans in again, brushing his lips over his forehead as he sweeps hair out of his face. Water continues to leak from Bucky’s eyes as Steve peppers kisses along his face. He kisses both eyelids, down Bucky’s nose, and at each corner of his mouth again.

Bucky slowly starts to lower his armor, leaning against Steve’s chest as the tears fall harder and faster, “You don’t love me.” He murmurs, mournfully, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck.

“I do love you, baby,” Steve whispers forcefully, “You know I love you Bucky.”

Bucky wants to believe him. Steve is the realest thing that Bucky has ever touched, he doesn’t want to lose him - even if his love is unrequited. He lets his eyes close again as Steve’s head dips to the juncture of his neck and shoulder neck, his tongue darting out to lick the skin there. Steve bites down on Bucky’s shoulder, making him jump at the unexpected pain. Bucky pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, mind racing as Steve’s fingers push up into his plain t-shirt, skimming along his warm skin, sending jolts of electric heat through Bucky.

Steve lets his hands drift down to rest on Bucky’s hips, pulling their hips together. He rests his forehead to Bucky’s again,  gently rocking them back and forth.

“I got scared baby, I got stupid.” his voice shaky, “I watched you die, I couldn’t save you. You needed me and-” Steve sucks in a shuddering gasp,  as he tries to find the right words, “You needed me to hold you and I couldn’t.”

Bucky lets out a quiet sob; seventy years of pain and anguish haunts them both. Bucky tightens his grip around Steve’s neck, pressing his lips together as he nuzzles into Steve’s neck.

“I want to keep you safe, but I know that I can’t.”

“Steve.” Steve pulls back just enough to meet Bucky’s gaze, blue eyes searching his face.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Steve tells him, his voice a soft undertone.

Steve crashes his lips to Bucky’s in a desperate kiss. Bucky fervently kisses him back , sucking Steve’s upper lip into his mouth, metal hand pushing into the back of Steve’s blonde hair. Their hands are everywhere, pulling articles of clothes from one another, fingertips pushing into each others flesh. Steve walks them backward backing Bucky right up against the edge of their bed. He lowers them down gently, guiding Bucky onto the pillows with a hand on the back of his head. He starts trailing his lips down Bucky’s chest and stomach, his tongue darting out every now and again.

He reaches the dark hair at the base of the Bucky’s stomach, peeking out from the elastic band of his boxers. Steve pushes his fingers beneath the band and pulls, desperate to free Bucky of the constricting material. Steve takes him in his hand, pumping him to further Bucky’s erection. Bucky rolls his hips, lifting his back from the mattress as he lets out a soft moan. He gasps suddenly as Steve’s wet mouth envelopes him, biting his bottom lip as a heavy breath pushes through his throat.

Steve bobs his head up and down with precision, following his hand down and then back up Bucky’s cock. He closes his eyes as he swirls his tongue, swallowing the hot seed that he catches on his tongue. He’s desperate to show Bucky how much he loves him now that he doesn’t feel it anymore. He has to fix it, he can’t lose him again.

Bucky’s hands reach for Steve, grabbing fist fulls of his dirty blonde hair as he squeezes his eyes shut. His lifts his hips from the bed, pushing himself deeper into his Steve’s mouth before pushing back down into the mattress. He licks his lips before he bites his lip again, hissing through his teeth as his hips flex again.

Steve keeps a hold of Bucky’s hips with his hands, his fingertips pressing indentions into his skin. He releases Bucky’s cock with a pop, dragging in a breath or two before sliding down on him again, swallowing him to his hilt. Steve hums slightly, out of his own arousal, as Bucky works his hips up and down. Steve slinks his long arm up the length of Bucky’s body, gripping and groping his flesh with his fingers as they move. He flattens his palm in the middle of Bucky’s chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart as it pounds.

Bucky’s hips jerk. He drops his head back to the pillows with a thud as heat courses through his veins. His stomach tightens when he tenses unexpectedly from the sensation of Steve’s velvety tongue. Steve releases him with another pop, dropping his hands from Bucky’s hips and body to shed his the rest of his clothing. He climbs on the bed, pulling Bucky up from the mattress, and flips him over onto his knees.

Bucky closes his eyes, letting his mouth go slack as his head swims with arousal. His body pushes forward with Steve’s slow intrusion, a low groan escaping him as he takes every glorious inch of his super soldier. Steve withdraws slowly, his eyes dipping down to watch himself reemerge, before he pushes into Bucky once more.

Steve’s pace quickens, his body eager to let out the week’s worth of anxiety and tension that had built up. Bucky grips the white sheets in his metal digits as Steve now pounds into him, his cock dripping as it bounces. Steve drops a hand from Bucky’s hips, snaking it around his waist until his fingers push into Bucky’s happy trail. He spreads his fingers along Bucky’s skin, feeling his muscles tighten and flex as he rocks into him.

His hand slips down further, palming Bucky’s balls, squeezing gently before he takes a hold of his length. Bucky’s heart lurches into his throat as Steve begins stroking him, the warmth of his palm sending shivers along Bucky’s spine.

“God, Steve.” He murmurs, his metal fingers flexing and then balling up again as his orgasm begins to loom on the horizon, “Fuck.”

Bucky can usually take a lot, his Hydra training proving useful in the bedroom as well as the battlefield, but tonight it’s all a little too much. The emotional turmoil from the past week, coupled with the intense desire that swells in his chest, ends him quickly.

His orgasm rushes from the pit of stomach, rippling through him in waves as Steve’s palm begins to milk him. He spurts on the sheets as Steve hips continue to rock into him. Steve soon follows, one last push of his hips and he’s coating Bucky’s insides. Bucky falls to the soft mattress, dragging in ragged breaths as the final flutter of his orgasm floods through him.

Steve falls beside him, his chest rising and falling as he pulls in fresh air. He reaches for Bucky as he flips over onto his back, flattening his hand on Bucky’s broad chest. Minutes pass as they climb back down from the high of their tryst, reality settling back in all too quickly.

Bucky opens his eyes slowly, staring up at the spinning ceiling fan. His mind is fuzzy and full of confusion as he tries to reconcile it all. The words, the sex, the want to leave but also the to want to stay.

Because I don’t want you.

Because I don’t want you.

Because I don’t want you.

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice is so light that Bucky doesn’t even hear him at first,“Look at me please.”

Bucky shifts his eyes from the fan to Steve’s as the words pull him from his thoughts. Steve stares back at him, worry and regret etched on his face. Bucky’s eyes bounce back and forth between Steve’s, his eyes watering again as the words play over and over and over again.

Because I don’t want you.

Because I don’t want you.

Because I don’t want you.

He reaches up with his flesh hand instinctively, sliding his palm along Steve’s cheek until his fingers brush against his blonde hair. Even when Steve is the cause of Bucky’s discomfort, the feeling of his skin always calms him. Steve inhales sharply, expelling hot air through his lips as he nuzzles his face into Bucky’s palm. A tear slips down his cheek as he lays a soft kiss into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky brushes the tear away, “I love you.” He lets out earnestly, his voice as steady and heavy as the three words he just spoke.

His metal digits push the long hairs out of Steve’s eyes before he cups the other side of his face. Steve turns his attention to the warm metal, kissing it gently, “I love you. I always have.”

It grows silent between the two of them again, Steve watching as the wheels in Bucky’s head turn, “Please tell me you know that.” His voice shakes, “Please.”

Bucky Barnes knows many things. He knows good and goddamn well that he’s said things that he didn’t mean. He knows he’s done things that don’t mirror who he is, or how he feels on the inside. He knows that he’s pushed people away because he doesn’t want to hurt them. He knows that he loves Steven Grant Rogers with every fiber that makes him whole. Bucky Barnes knows many things, but does he know that Steven Grant Rogers loves him?

“I know.” he lies, his eyes bouncing between Steve’s, trying his best to not let the uncertainty he feels show through, “I know you do.”

[isitkpop]

Classic Drunk Confession!

Member: Vixx Hongbin

This is kind of a crack fic with some cute seriousness stuff thrown in.

Prompt Used and Credit: “I just want them to talk about me. The way they talk about everyone else.”

“You don’t think they talk about you?”

Credit: @dialouge-prompts

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

           Everything was irritating. He was pretty sure the people surrounding him could feel his anger and jealousy radiating off him like the Korean god Mireuk. He tipped back the shot glass and slammed the glass down for the bartender to fill his glass again. The laughter was like poison to his ears and he squeezed the glass in his hand. “I’m going to kill him.” His friends were embarrassing him and chatting to his crush about events that should NEVER be spoken of in public.

           They laughed together again and Hongbin quickly stood from his stool and was about to march over until Y/n stepped in front of him with a smile. “Binnie. You’re a little drunk.” They grabbed his face to snap him back to reality and bless him to dismiss the wrath of Mireuk. (Not really but a drunk thought is fun to imagine right?) He took in a deep breath and took the look of defeat. “Let’s get you home.”

           The next day was a splitting headache and hardly any memories of last night. But he knew his friend was cooking because the smell was amazing! “Hey Hongbin. How did you sleep?”

           “Terribly.”

           “Figures. Hey, sorry about last night. Y/n told me that you looked like you could beat me to death. I was also a bit drunk and was spilling anything and everything.” The roommate plated the food and sat across from Hongbin. “If it makes you feel any better, they were too. So, they probably won’t remember anything about the conversations.”

           Hongbin felt relieved but tensed up when he noticed that he was wearing different clothes. “Wait. I wasn’t wearing this last night.”

           “Oh yeah. I saw Y/n take you home, so they probably changed your top for comfortability purposes. You were in a suit after all.”

           Hongbin cringed at the thought of sleeping in something like that again. “I’ll have to thank them…again.”

           His roommate eyed him from the rim of the glass he drank from and calmly placed the glass down. “You know, Y/n has been hanging around you a lot more now.”

           “I never noticed. I mean, I did…but I thought nothing of it. Why bring it up?”

           His roommate glared at him. He’s stupid isn’t he. “I do remember one thing from the conversation last night with that one girl you like.”

           Hongbin felt a small warmth take over his cheeks. “Yeah?”

           “She mentioned about liking someone.”

           His stomach twisted with butterflies. Maybe…

           “It’s a girl. She’s a lesbian.”

           Hongbin deflated but was happy that she could be happy with someone she likes. He only liked her for a short while. Not enough to fall hard. “That’s why she’s always criticizing other women and their looks and whether or not she would date them. I thought she was bi.”

           “You seem to be taking this rather well.”

           “It’s very rare to meet people part of the LGBTQ community here.” His roommate agreed and finished up their meal together before heading off for the day.

           Hongbin massaged his neck as he exited the office to head home. “I should probably call Y/n.” He waited as the ringer started…and started…and started…

           ‘Hello! You have reached Y/n! Please leave a message with your name and number and I’ll try my best to get back to you as quickly as possible.’

           Hongbin hung up after leaving a short message about wanting to meet up again soon and went about his business.

           He finally arrived home for the day and was met by his roommate panicking at a drunk Y/n on their couch. This was the first time Y/n ever got drunk…

           “Help me man. They just showed up at the door like this and started yelling about how stupid they are and grabbed another can from our fridge. They’re such a mess right now. Fix this or I’ll up your half of the rent.”

           Hongbin shuddered at that and cautiously walked up to Y/n. “H-hey Y/n. You should probably put the drink down and take a shower.”

           “Huh? Binnie? What are you doing at my house?”

           “This is my house.”

           “No wander everything looks different. You have crappy decorating skills.” They flopped onto their back on the couch and took another sloppy swig of the drink. They placed the can on the coffee table and covered their eyes.

           “You okay?”

           They sighed and rolled over onto their sides to stare at the television show. “Say. How is it going with that crush of yours?”

           “Oh. She’s a lesbian. I don’t have a chance.”

           “Hm. Disappointing. Unless you go for a sex change.”

           “Y/n!”

           They giggled and Hongbin nearly doubled over at the tickling feeling in his gut. “I’m joking. You’re fine just the way you are. I feel sleepy.”

           “You can sleep here if you want.”

           He watched as they slid their eyes closed and he laid the throw onto of them to keep them away from the night chill.

           “About time.”

           Hongbin sighed and went to recycle the can. “Yeah. This is the first time I’ve ever seen them this drunk. I wander what happened for them to resort to that much drinking.”

           The roommate chuckled and grabbed them a water. “Not for me. They’ve been here a couple of times while you’ve been away on business trips or just out.”

           “Say…why is it that when they laugh, my stomach twists and I feel like I could pass out?”

           The roommate just stared at him. “Is this the first time you felt this way?”

           “No. I feel this way every time they laugh. It’s been going on for quite a while.” Hongbin laughed. “It’s not like I fell for them, right?”

           “Hongbin. Do you like Y/n?”

           Hongbin knew he was blushing like crazy. “Is it that obvious?”

           “No. If I didn’t know, that means no one knew. You’ve always been good about hiding your feelings from everyone.”

           “What? I thought you knew?”

           “I thought you liked that girl!”

           “Well, I kind of did…but I was just trying to get Y/n out of my mind.”

           “Why? Why the hell would you do that?”

           “Well, I just thought- “

           “You’re so oblivious.”

           “I just want them to talk about me.”

           “They do talk about you.” His roommate was about to go insane.

           “No. I want them to talk about me like they do everyone else. With a spark in their eye.”

           “You don’t think they talk about you? Okay. I guess I’ll tell you. All those times they came here drunk off their ass, you were the one they were always talking about. In fact, they were so jealous of you liking that one chick that Y/n kept you from talking to them last night.”

           “Ummm What?”

           “They like you, you idiot!” The roommate quickly covered their mouth when Y/n groaned and sat up.

           “Why are you so loud?” Y/n stretched their arms and reached for their temples to rub them. “I should probably go before Hongbin sees me like this. It would be embarrassing to would definitely tarnish my reputation with the man I love.”

           They froze up when they saw Hongbin sitting across from his roommate with a shocked expression. “L-Love?”

           “Um. Uh. N-No? You were here?”

           “I thought you just liked him. But you LOVE HIM???”

           Y/n glared daggers and the roommate quickly shut their mouth up. “Right. I’ll be in my room. Goodnight!”

           “Ugh. Listen Binnie.”

           “I do too.” Y/n knew they were blushing a tomato red now as Hongbin continued. “I have been for a while now. Since Graduating high school actually.”

           “THAT LONG?!” They quickly ducked and grabbed their aching temples.

           “Yeah. I was just waiting for the right moment.”

           “It’s been far too long for that right moment Binnie. You had PLENTY of moments actually.”

           Okay…they’re mad at me for taking so long. “S-sorry? Listen, I just didn’t think you liked me that way. You always treated me like a best friend.”

           “You idiot. You were the only one I was treating that way to. I’m just not that good with romance stuff. So, it’s very hard for me to convey feelings through actions and words.”

           Hongbin smiled and approached them and grabbed their shoulder. “That’s what I love about you Y/n. You’re you with flaws that make you the perfect you.” He leaned down and kissed their forehead. “Now, how about we actually get you into a nice warm bed for you to sleep comfortably on with some painkillers and water for you to wake up to? I’ll sleep on the couch for tonight because you’re still a little drunk.”

           They laughed nervously. “This is embarrassing. I never thought you would see me drunk.”

           “Yeah? My roommate told me all about the times you came here when I wasn’t. Drunk on your ass and ranting about your feelings for me.”

           “THEY TOLD YOU ABOUT THAT?” They watched Hongbin nod. “I’ll kill him! Ugh. Never mind. I’ll do that tomorrow after I get rid of this damn headache”

           Hongbin chuckled and picked them up to take them to his bedroom. “Goodnight Y/n.”

[ferallymine]

Worldbreaker Pt. 1

The rubble. The screams. The frantic hands digging through the mess above her buried broken lifeless body. The last stone moving away- seeing the white light shine onto her. A hand reaching out-

Mardea shot up, sweat covering her body. Reaching out to see the alarm clock, she had to bite down a yelp of pain.

“Not…again…” Her voice was tired and straining. Black Energy had marked her arms in the night, leaving burns on her skin and the sheets.

She stumbled into her bathroom, slamming the cold water handle on to fill the tub. Her feet sizzled on the chilled ivory tile, heat coming off her body in waves. She shouldn’t be this hot with just panties and a loose cotton tank top on, but this is one of many burdens of being Mardea Lin.

The water stung her tender burnt skin. Steam hissed from her body, distracting her from wanting to scream. Mardea hadn’t been severely burned by fire, but she imagined they were just as bad as her energy burns. Izzy’s the only one she ever felt the need to explain the difference to. His curiosity was always humorous to her.

The fact that the water was ice cold made the next part easier. Keeping thoughts in her mind to ground her to reality, Mardea submerged herself completely in the tub.

Green wisps flowed out from her palms. Interacting with the water, they went to work cooling her down and resolving her burns. A waterlogged scream escaped her throat, the sensory overload and pain being overwhelming. The burnt skin ripped itself off, attaching to the energy  swirling around it. New unblemished skin replaced it quickly- unnatural if one didn’t have a medic-related quirk.

It felt like hours, but Mardea was done in minutes. The water was grey and heavily clouded when she sat back up, now shivering from the cold. Her stomach churned, and without a moment to react, she vomited into the already dirty water.

“…fuck…” her voice was a quaky whisper. She couldn’t keep going on like this.

The push and pull of energy forces from within herself danced with the outside ones. It was as if something out there wanted her to lose control, wanted Code Black to become the new normal.

The water-vomit mixture spiraled down the drain. Mardea waited until the tub was empty before fighting for strength to rinse herself off with the shower.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

-----

“But consider the reverse!” Kaminari shoved a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, “If you had a human head and a bird body, all the villains would be too scared to fight and you could round ‘em up easy!”

“Easily,” Tokoyami corrected, pulling his hoodie as he stood up to leave, “And that is utterly ridiculous.”

Sero set his coffee down, “Does that mean if Hawks was reversed he’d have a bird body and human arms on his back?!”

“Holy. Shit. Dude.” Kaminari looked like he had an epiphany, “That would be…terrifying. I love it.”

Ashido slammed her hands flat on the table, “KIRI WOULD BE A ROCK THAT TURNS INTO A BALL OF FLESH!”

“Noooooo,” Kirishima groaned, leaning back with his hands on his face, “I was already a ball of flesh in the hero test! Unpleasant, 0 out of 10 do not recommend.”

Sero giggled, “Guys, guys listen… Bakugo… Is an explosion that throws out humans.”

An eruption of laughter consumed the living room of the dorms. The noise echoed into the hallway leading to the stairs.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kirishima wiped a tear from his eye, “Does, ehehehe, does that mean that mean that he’s a continuous explosion or like, hah, one out of every 5 explosions is Bakugo randomly spurting out humans to attack villains.”

The laughter quieted, giving the group time to think, then Ashido spoke, “Can you imagine if the latter was true? Like, if you’re a villain using C4 to break into a bank then suddenly ‘I AM A VERY ANGRY EXPLOSION HAVE SOME HUMANS TO THE FACE!’ Bruh, I’d shit my pants.”

“What about the former?” A sudden appearance of Lin behind Kaminari made him jump and spill his cereal. “If he’s a continuous explosion he’d have to be put in a container to function as a ‘human’ in society. Imagine shoving Boom-boy into a reinforced Smucker’s jam jar.”

The laughter resumed. Kirishima looked up to ask Lin a question, “Hey, what if- wait. Lin you’re glowing.”

A brief panic, “Wh- no I’m not.” She looked herself over, “I’m not outputting any en-“

“No! Your skin is radiant,” A cheeky smile, “Did you do a new skincare routine from YouTube?”

A pause, “…Yes…that’s what I did.”

Ashido’s eyes sparkled, “DEAAAAAA you gotta show me!”

“Maybe later, after you bring your grade to a B.” She winked, “Anyway, I’m hungry, see ya later.” Lin meandered over to the kitchen, where Uraraka was making what smelled like waffles.

“… aaaand voila!” Uraraka flailed her arms in a dramatic manner, “A Together Breakfast!” The platter was filled with waffles topped with syrup, whipped cream, popcorn, and strawberries.

“Wow!” Midoriya’s stomach rumbled, “This looks great! Thank you!”

She giggled, “I made enough for everyone so dig in!” She gestured to those surrounding the counter. “Let our Saturday breakfast tradition begin!”

Lin leaned on Todoroki’s shoulder, the sudden contact startling him, “It’s just me, don’t worry.”

“Hello, love,” He tilted his head to lean on hers, “Sleepy?”

“Sore…”

“Training yesterday was that rough?”

“…Yes.” She straightened. Her silent body language purposely telling him that she didn’t wanna talk about it in front of the others. “My whole body feels vulnerable and tender. Like one touch will bruise for days.”

“Take it easy today, then,” He smiled, “Eat something to regain your strength.” A soft kiss to her head, reminding her that they can talk privately later.

“Hey Frick and Frack, save the PDA for when we’re not eating,” Bakugo sat on the counter, munching on toast with tomato and cheese slices on top. “You’re gonna make me puke.”

“Your taste in breakfast food will make me puke,” Midoriya stuck out his tongue.

“Says fucking you. Who eats shitty popcorn for breakfast?”

“It’s not popcorn, it’s pepcorn!” Uraraka tossed a kernel at the blonde, “Popcorn with a pep!”

Bakugo scowled, staring the group down. He swiped the kernel away from him, “You’re not original, this is all from YouTube.”

“Stop being such a fucking killjoy,” Jirou slammed her glass of juice down on the counter. “We get it, your aesthetic is to hate everything and think you’re the best. Don’t you get tired of having your head so far up your own ass? Huh?”

“I’m done,” Lin backed away and turned towards the hallway. “It’s too early for arguing.”

Yaoyorozu stood up, “Mardea, don’t go! We were gonna go out today! The Saturday Flea Market is up in the plaza across town!”

Fuck I forgot “Yeah, right…. Lemme put on proper ‘going out’ clothes.” A snap and she was gone in a green flash.

------

“Isn’t this fun! Nice to stretch our legs on a sunny day off.” Momo did a little spin, flowing out the bottom of her sunflower sundress.

Tsuyu joined the twirling, though her green romper left little to flow out. “Ribbit, it’s the perfect temperature today. I bet the pools will be packed.”

“Whaddaya think, ‘Dea?” Mina, clad in her pastel blue crop top and matching shorts, “Should we try swimming today or just mingle in the market?”

Mardea thought a moment, “Market wandering sounds good for now. Plus I didn’t bring a swimsuit- I doubt jean overalls would fair well in a pool.”

“Hmm, fair point.” Mina skipped ahead, stopping at a sunglasses stall. The sun reflected off them, making the products glitter and look more enticing.

Mardea glanced around the crowd. Mina was at that stall, whereas Tsuyu and Momo had been lost to the growing population of the market. The tips of her hair shifted to magenta. Her eyes scanned the scenery. Where were their energy signatures?

“Nice trick,” Mardea froze at the unfamiliar voice behind her, magenta instantly switching to lilac, “Color shifting is good for quick blending into crowds, though I feel that this little cosmetic show is a front for your quirk.”

It was a feminine sounding voice- maybe an older woman who smoked on occasion?

“I can feel your thoughts from back here, pumpkin.” A warm hand gripped her right shoulder, “You don’t have to turn around, I know who you are, Mardea. Don’t you think it’s strange that I snuck up on you with your magenta setting on?”

The lilac grew.

“You don’t need to be afraid. I want to help you. There’s a lot of energy in this world, you know. How would it be to not feel like it’ll crush you at any moment? What if you could control it? Not your definition of control- you still let that Code Black sit alone, festering. What if you could harness it?”

“Hey ‘Dea?” Mina’s voice called out, “We got lunch! Where ya at?”

“I will find you again,” The hand left, “Be wary, Mardea. You’re not the only one who knows energy.”

Momo came through the people, “Guys! She’s over here!” She turned, smiling, “Where have you- oh my god are you okay? You’re purple-y.”

Mardea looked up, eyes matching her hair, “We need to leave. Now.”

“Okay yeah. Yeah.” Momo took her twin’s hand, “You’re okay now. We’re here.” Mina and Tsuyu emerged, confused at the color shift. Momo pointed at them, “We’re leaving. Now. Back to UA.”

-----

“You’re sure it was a woman?” Aizawa sat across from Lin in his office.

Lin shrugged, “That what she sounded like. She snuck up on me, didn’t let me turn around.” She pulled her shirt collar over to expose her shoulder, “She bruised me when she grabbed me.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, “How did she do that?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Lin’s stress boiled over, red and lilac strands forming in her hair, “I don’t know who she is all I know is I didn’t sense her and she said I wasn’t the only one who knew energy and that she’s gonna find me again and I don’t know how to not let that happen because if I cant find her then no one can find her probably like how-” A gasp of air, hair returning to normal, as Aizawa grabbed her shoulders, kneeling in front of her.

“You need to calm down.” His voice was calm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not going to tell you to not worry, because I know you will anyway. All the teachers will be on the lookout for suspicious women around campus. I’ll let the Pro-Heroes know that this happened and see if they can snoop out anything. Okay?”

“Okay…” She leaned forward, hugging him with tears in her eyes, “Thank you…”

A smile, “It’s okay.”

[johnnysnostril]

Without You

chapter six

mark’s pov

i slipped my hands into my pockets angrily as i watch johnny.

i shouldn't have been this angry at him over a girl i just met. but i couldn’t help it.

the vodka i drank earlier was starting to kick in. i felt my legs tingle and cracked my neck before walking up to ivy and taking her hand.

drinking gave me a little confidence.

“she’ll just have to reschedule. i’m stealing her tonight.” 

i made the choice for her.

johnny and i made eye contact, and his smile immediately faded.

i playfully laced mine and ivy’s fingers together, making her blush slightly.

“see ya.” i chuckled.

ivy simply shrugged and waved goodbye to johnny.

ivy’s pov

mark smiled over at me as he slammed the door shut. 

i jumped a little, causing him to wrap an arm around me.

i swallowed hard at his touch.

“don’t be scared.” he mumbled against my cheek.

my breathing hitched in my throat.

what was this feeling?

unconsciously, i bit my bottom lip- almost wanting him to kiss me.

mark smirked and ran his palm to the small of my back.

“would it be wrong if i just-”

“what in the world is going on here?” alonna said clapping her hands to the symbols of her words.

i quickly untangled myself from mark and pulled johnny’s sleeves over my hands.

johnny..

i forgot i had his sweater on. 

“looks like someone’s had a little too much to drink.” jae said pointing towards mark. 

his cheeks were red. why was i just now noticing this?

“i’m fine.” mark mumbled and ran his fingers through his hair.

“can i speak to you for a second.” alonna said snatching my arm and pulling me down the hallway.

“ouuuuu!” i said whining. “you’re hurting me.”

alonna whipped around the corner, right by the elevator and stood in front of me.

“you’re loving the crew, ivy.” she slapped my shoulder.

“no i’m not!” i said pushing her hand away. “we were just about to go watch a movie, that’s it!” 

i folded my arms against my chest.

“why does it matter to you anyway?” i shot at her.

alonna was quiet for a moment.

“because i don’t want you to end up like me!” she shouted.

i furrowed my brows and lowered my head.

i hated when she yelled.

i blinked away a few tears, sighing a little.

alonna stomped her foot.

“i’m sorry.. i didn’t mean to yell.” she quickly pulled me into a tight hug and slightly rocked back and forth.

“let me protect you.” she groaned.

“from what? nothing’s happening..” i lied.

suddenly, jae peered around the corner- clearing his throat.

“i don’t mean to interrupt but- alonna.” he said with a smile. jae tossed his hoodie over his head before making his way over to us and taking alonna’s hand.

i watched closely, with big eyes.

“she’s a big girl. leave her be.” his voice was calm- changing the expression on her face.

then it hit me.

she was in love with jaehyun.

my lips parted as she glanced up at him and nodded.

“ivy..” mark said coming from around the corner.

i smiled warmly, folding my arms against my chest. “coming.”

as i walked with mark down the hallway, i looked over my shoulder at alonna, who was hugging jaehyun.

mark’s pov

opening the door to my room, i held the door for ivy as she walked past me.

she smelled just like johnny- it almost made me sick.

i had to think of something to get her out of his clothes. in a clean, wholesome way.

“would you like something to drink?” i asked, locking the door behind me. switching on the lights, i set the room key on the small table by the door.

she nodded her head and smiled over at me- taking a seat on the bed.

“water is fine. thank you.”

i quickly went to pour her a cup of water, wincing at the idea in my head.

as i brought it over to her, i sat myself next to her - turning in her direction at the same time. purposing losing my balance, i spilled the water on her shoulder.

she inhale at a sharp pitch from the ice.

“oh my god- i’m so sorry.” i said laughing.

she laughed along with me as i shot back up to my feet, running to get a towel.

“i forgot to mention how clumsy i am.”

i pretended to be embarrassed as i handed the towel to her. i rubbed the back of my neck, biting my lower lip.

as she cleaned herself off, she smiled up at me.

“it’s okay. it’s just water.” ivy shrugged then folded up the towel, setting it on her lap.

“you can make it up to me by getting me some dry clothes.” ivy tilted her head, folding her arms.

and just like that, my plan was a success. 

“oh, and some room service.” she giggled.

alonna’s pov

walking back into the room with jae, we dispersed in different directions. i watched from the corner of my eye as he walked upstairs.

all i wanted to do was be with him.

“hey.” johnny said throwing his phone on the couch. he stood to his feet and folded his arms.

“what’s the matter with you?” i chuckled.

he was clearly irritated.

“well- i have just been cock blocked, my friend.”

johnny waltzed into the kitchen, pouring himself a double shot of vodka.

“slow down there, cowboy.” i watched him gulp down the shot in a split second.

he didn't even wince from the taste.

“are you upset about ivy and mark?” i smiled as he slammed the shot glass on the counter.

“no.” he instantly replied.

“liar.” i shot back.

johnny rolled his eyes as taeil smacked his lips.

the rest of the boys were all cuddled on the floor- some on the couch. it was 3:45am and everyone was just now trying to fall asleep.

“let’s get out of here guys. it’s too loud.” haechan said yawing.

“i’m sleeping with you tonight, hyung.” haechan clutched onto taeil as everyone made their way towards the door.

johnny shut his eyes and sighed.

“you must really like her.” i chuckled.

“i’ve seen her before.” he said suddenly.

“how?” i laughed, leaning against the couch. “she’s lived here her entire life.”

johnny shook his head.

“no- i’ve seen her before, alonna. i fucking know i have.”

i rolled my eyes and threw my hands in the air.

“where then, huh? where have you seen ivy? she’s never been to Korea, she’s never be to a fan meeting- she’s-”

“the picture...” he mumbled.

i furrowed my brows.

“what picture?” i asked.

ivy’s pov

“that look’s pretty good on you.” mark said eyeing me. “perfect fit.”

i folded up johnny’s clothes, feeling a little disappointed in myself. i mean, it’s not like i was looking to date anyone at the moment- but, maybe i hurt his feelings. he was clearly flirting with me. or was i just reading into things?

“you alright?” mark said tilting his head. he was resting on his elbows on the bed with his eyes glued to me.

“you spaced out there.”

i nodded my head and sat johnny’s clothes on the ground.

“sorry- i was just..”

*ding dong*

“ah. your foods here.” mark jumped up from the bed, gently touching my waist as he pasted me.

i shivered, quickly sitting myself down.

i heard mark thank the room service guy, then closed the door.

“tacos for the lady.”

as he rolled the cart over to the bed, i smiled. 

i could get used to this.

once we finally picked a movie, the lights were turned off and we quickly swallowed our food down.

my eyes were starting to get heavy. i softly yawned then rubbed my eyes.

“mm, someone’s sleepy.” mark chuckled. “here.”

he slowly laid back, stretching his arm out for me- then patted his chest.

i was too tired to protest against it.

i followed his direction, laying my head on his chest and cuddling up to him.

as i felt his hand rest on the top of my head, he ran his slender fingers through my hair.

“you’re safe. i promise.” he mumbled.

as my eyes were starting to shut, i felt his lips press a soft kiss on my temple.

jaehyun’s pov

"drunk johnny is my favorite.” alonna said hugging her knees.

we were both sitting on the stairs, listening to johnny snore. he was spread out on the couch, drunk off his ass.

i shook my head and chuckled.

“i’ve never seen him like this before.” i whispered. “he must really like her.”

alonna nodded, not saying another word.

she exhaled heavily then suddenly stood to her feet.

“guess i better get going.” she said bending down to pick up her dress and purse.

i furrowed my brows, chuckling to myself.

“i know you guys don’t have anything planned for tomorrow- so, just call me if you have some free time?” she asked, faking a smile.

i shook my head.

“no.”

alonna lifted her eyebrows then looked over towards the door.

“oh.. okay. well-”

i tossed my hoodie off my head, standing up and taking her belongings. 

“why would i call you when you’re going to be here, with me?” i asked in a low tone.

licking my lips, i tossed her stuff on the floor and backed her into the wall.

“you’re not leaving.” i whispered, reaching out towards the front door and locking it.

i ran my hand down her thigh, lifting her leg and wrapping it around my waist.

“stay. please-” i mumbled against her lips.

i slightly smirked at how hard she was breathing.

alonna wrapped her arms around my neck and looked up at me.

without a second thought, i smashed my lips into hers- kissing her hard. 

[songbird-musing]

Virtuoso: Chapter Three - Verses

Enjolras is Saint-Michel Academy’s brightest young composer. He runs the orchestra, the Musician’s Rights board, chairs the scholarship program, teaches free classical music to children, and is in the middle of his dissertation. He has never been anything less than a prodigy, until his teacher forces him to write a pop song.

Enter the effortlessly cool Grantaire, with his smudged eyeliner and lovely guitar-playing fingers. He really digs Enjolras’ “vibe,” whatever that means.

There's wooing, and revelry, and all sorts of things that don't quite suit Enjolras' sensibilities.

Chapter One

Chapter Two 

Verses

“So, are you conducting at any upcoming concerts?” Grantaire asked, lit only by a flickering outdoor lamp.

“Not anything official... I’m performing a cello solo and some ensemble stuff at the showcase next week, though,” their faces were blistered by the heat from the tea.

“Wait... What is your main instrument?” Grantaire filled his lungs with smoke, “Can you play the whole orchestra?” he joked.

“Pretty much,” Enjolras scuffed his toes against the floor, “Pushy parents...” he paused, “I’m grateful, though. I don’t know where I’d be without music.”

“Do you not think you’d have found it anyway?” Grantaire asked, eyes closed, lips parted.

“What? Music?” Enjolras tucked his hands under his jacket to warm them. “Who knows? I’d probably have ended up as a lawyer, or a banker or something.”

“What... like ninety percent of the Saint-Michel graduates?” he slumped his head to the side and traced a bird through the sky with a half-amused tilt to his mouth. “Anyway, I don’t believe that for a second. You’d have found it... it’s who you are.”

Enjolras watched him closely, mouth suddenly dry.

“Do you want...?” Grantaire asked, tilting the cigarette towards him.

“Oh no... I don’t smoke.”

“Tobacco?”

“Anything,” Enjolras answered, lungs recoiling at the scent.

“Man of strong morals,” he said, yawning slightly. “I’m afraid I have none.” He kicked the end of his cigarette into an overflowing pile. “Let’s finish this masterpiece.”

A laugh bubbled in Enjolras’ chest and burst through, clattering loudly in the patch of cobblestones.

“Grantaire,” he asked, and the boy turned around with a look in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected Enjolras to even know his name. “Why are you even at Saint-Michel’s?” He stood, hands still warming beneath his arms. “Surely there’s a contemporary school of music you could study at?”

“Um,” said Grantaire, turning slightly red. Enjolras couldn’t tell whether he was blushing, or if it were just the sunset bouncing off his cheeks. “I’m performing at the showcase next week, so maybe, if you stick around, you’ll see why.”

They stepped back inside, the air gracefully far warmer.

“What does that mean?” Enjolras asked, itching for Grantaire’s answer. “Do you play like the oboe or something?”

“You’ll see...” Grantaire lifted a corner of his mouth and Enjolras inexplicably had to drop his gaze, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. “Can’t give away all my mystery at once,” he leaned in, “My mystery is all I have going for me.”

“Very mysterious,” said Enjolras in a small voice, laugh curling the edge of his breath. His senses snapped from the moment as a shrill ringing screeched from Grantaire’s phone.

“Oh,” the sound poured from his lips like carelessly spilled water, his eyes glazed. “I didn’t realise it was so late.” He threw his phone roughly onto the bed and stretched his limbs out.

“Plans for the evening?” Enjolras asked, hovering by the keyboard, fingers longing for the keys.

“I forgot all about it...” Grantaire cursed, grabbing a fresh shirt from his wardrobe, patterned with an unexpectedly intricate Victorian design in forest green. “I could call it off...” but the words eked from him, as if cancelling his plans was not on his mind at all.

“No, of course not... Um... I’ll just...” Enjolras cleared his throat, making for his scarf. “Nice shirt.”

“It’s my wooing shirt,” Grantaire laughed, mirth smeared in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re going on a date?” Enjolras said with a smile, shouldering his coat.

Grantaire laughed again, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “A date...” he made quick work of the buttons on the shirt he was wearing. “Sure... let’s call it that.”

With a swift movement, he slithered from the material of his top and threw it onto a lump of clothing.  Enjolras caught a glimpse of his russet shoulders, marked with delicate black ink and masses of freckles before he turned to the door, cheeks heating.

“I’ll head off then,” he said, blinking a little too rapidly.

“One sec,” Grantaire said, “Catch!”

Enjolras was forced to confront the image of a half-shirted Grantaire and apologised fervently, missing the memory stick soaring towards him and hearing it clatter by his feet.

“Sorry for what? I have no shame regarding the human form...” he quirked an eyebrow.

“You sound like Jehan.”

“Jehan sounds like me...They used to do life modelling for me.”

“Huh?” Enjolras gaped.

“Yeah, I have the pictures somewhere. They’re very artful... Do you want to see?”

“I feel like I would have to ask Jehan first...”

“You’re such a sweet boy,” Grantaire said in a deeply southern accent. “Didn’t you see Jehan in that exhibition where they stood naked in a forest or something?”

“Oh...” Enjolras recalled it well, “The Adam and Eve thing. It was certainly an interesting take on religious gender non-conformity...” He tilted his head, “I think they still get death threats sometimes.”

Grantaire threw his head back in a laugh, and Enjolras wished he could throw such a glorious laugh around with Grantaire’s ease.

“Hang on, I’ll show you out.” He bumped open the door with his hip, towering a myriad of plates and empty cups in his hands.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” Enjolras said, voice shatteringly polite, “Seriously, Grantaire, I’m so grateful.”

Grantaire grazed his shoulder up into a shrug and brushed Enjolras’ comment away with finesse. “Ép,” he said, slamming the dirty dishes onto the table before her. She peered up from a clunky Mac, headphones nestled in her hair. She gazed at him briefly before her eyebrows slanted downwards.

“What’s with the wooing shirt?” she asked, dragging the headphones from her ears.

“Are you going to be here all night?” he asked, grabbing an apple and sinking his teeth into it.

“Yeah...?” she said after a pause, “Ugh, don’t make me leave,” she complained, “I’m literally in the middle of producing right now.”

“No, its fine,” Grantaire’s eyes were burning hazel under the setting sun, “I’ll be back in a few hours. Just tell Claque if I find any more of his masks, or creepy merchandise in my room again, he’s banned from ever coming here again. I’ve had enough. He’s doing it on purpose now, I swear...” Grantaire looked to Enjolras with a dark shade in his gaze, “I found an ornamental dagger in my pillowcase last night,” he said in way of explanation. “It’s getting beyond weird now.”

“He does it to show affection,” Éponine said, “Like a cat.”

“That’s even worse!” Grantaire said, “Like at least ten billion times worse! Tell him there is more to life than aesthetic.”

“Try to tell that to anyone in the band, my dear,” Éponine laughed. “Well, have fun guys!”

Enjolras blinked.

“Éponine!” Grantaire hissed, shaking his head frenetically. “The shirt’s not for him.”

The moment stretched out and Éponine let out a giggle, collapsing her head onto her forearms. “Oops!” she snorted, “I totally thought you were gonna...”

“Why would I make us go all the way back to his house?” Grantaire said, smirk playing on his face, “I’m a good host, Ép. You would be kicked out.”

“This is weird...” Enjolras interjected, feeling a little flushed.

“You’re right. This is weird, and it’s all your fault,” Grantaire said, pulling a face at Éponine. “Right, I better get ready.”

With a spin, Grantaire reached their front door and presented it to Enjolras with a bow. “It has been a pleasure to work with you, Enjolras. When’s the lesson we have to perform in?”

“Monday at nine,” Enjolras said, “With Valjean.”

Grantaire groaned. “Very devious of you to tell me that at the very end... Monday at nine! Okay, okay, fine. I’ll see you then. Maybe I’ll catch you before to practise.” Grantaire’s eyes were drifting away, “Seriously, though, we should hang sometime. Courf seems really cool.”

“Oh, yeah,” Enjolras said, “He really is.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Grantaire joked. Enjolras eyed the pattern of his shirt.

“No, he is! Anyway, I don’t want to keep you... Enjoy your... thing.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, giving another laugh, but peering through narrowed eyes. “Are you alright?”  

“Hm?” Enjolras started, “Oh sorry... just have Beethoven on my mind.”

“What?” Grantaire asked, “Well... Good luck with that?” he leant forwards and briefly embraced Enjolras, kissing the air beside his cheeks casually. “See you later. Safe travels!”

Enjolras travelled back on the metro with a strange, roiling sensation shifting in his stomach. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let the haunting melodies of Shostakovich ensnare his senses for the ride.

~*~

“House meeting!” shouted Combeferre, who perhaps called house meetings far more than necessary.

“What’s wrong now?” asked Courf with a playful groan, “Did I eat your last avocado again?”

“The issue to discuss is a certain Courfeyrac’s attendance in this household,” said Combeferre, opening his journal and scratching down a title. He flicked to another page and nodded, “You’ve been absent five out of the past seven nights...”

Courfeyrac lounged back on the sofa, letting his mass of dark curls flop over his eyes, “Sorry, dad.”

“I feel like you shouldn’t be paying full rent,” Combeferre said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “But... there is a way to rectify your missteps.”

“You can tell he’s going to be the most intense teacher in five years time,” Courfeyrac said with an eye roll to Enjolras.

“No backchat,” Enjolras quipped, quietly letting his fingers drift over the strings of his harp.

The three of them laughed in tangent.

“Seriously though, you have to give an opinion on my dissertation,” Combeferre said, throwing a chunky booklet into his friend’s hands.

“No!” Courfeyrac elongated, letting the vowel ring out through the flat. “Why am I subjected to such cruel punishment for taking advantage of my youth?”

“Love you so much!” Combeferre said, giving Enjolras a roguish wink. “We’ve sorted him out,” he said in a mock whisper, ignoring Courfeyrac’s dramatic complaints. “What’s wrong, Enj?”

“Hm?” Enjolras leant his forehead against the gilded edge of his harp.

“You’re playing Tchaikovsky again.”

“What does that mean?” Enjolras sighed, stilling his fingers.

“Darling,” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, “The last time you looked this mopey was when I said I didn’t like Bach that much.”

Enjolras instantly frowned. “You should be expelled from Saint-Michel’s, you heathen.”

“Stop deflecting,” Combeferre interjected, “Do I have to call the second house meeting of the night?”

“Do you guys think I’m not living in the student life as much as I could be?”

“Absolutely,” Courf said.

“One thousand percent,” Combeferre added, “But since when have you wanted to act like a student?”

“Has that nasty boy Grantaire been corrupting you?” Courfeyrac asked, “I’ll be having words with him.”

“I think you might have a chance with him,” Enjolras tilted his head, watching the flare of interest in Courfeyrac’s eyes.

“Nah,” he said after a moment, “It would break Jehan and I’s agreement. No sharing.”

Enjolras licked his cracked lips and his eyebrows folded. “Jehan and Grantaire...? They were a thing?”

Courfeyrac laughed lazily. “You know Jehan... Free love... There’s literally no-one in that circle that Jehan hasn’t slept with... Well, apart from Gueulemer... he’s painfully straight. We’re both trying to see who can crack him.”

“You’re awful, Courf,” Combeferre said, “Leave the poor heterosexual alone.”

“Are you going out tomorrow night, Courf?” Enjolras asked, the words tasting brassy on his tongue.

“Dunno,” he turned his wide-eyed gaze to Combeferre, “Can I go out tomorrow, dad, please?”

Combeferre grimaced. “Stop calling me dad.”

“Daddy says yes,” Courf said with an exaggerated wink.

“House meeting!” Combeferre shouted, mirth in his eyes, “The issue on the table: never do that again.” He shut his notebook and stalked away.

“Well, I’ll come with you.”

“Ooh, Enjolras!” Courfeyrac said, scandalised, “On a school night as well! You little rebel!”

~*~

After university the next day, Enjolras contemplated himself in the mirror, red shirt as stark as blood against his skin. He buttoned it to the top, but unfastened the button closest to his neck. He imagined calling it his ‘wooing shirt’ to literally anybody and almost turned as scarlet as the material. With a glimpse at his alarm, he noticed the lateness of the hour and snapped at Courfeyrac to hurry up.

“Me?” Courfeyrac gaped, “I’ve been ready for the past four hours,” he exaggerated, still shirtless and barefoot. “I’m not the one raunchily exposing a slither of neck and blushing at myself.”

“That’s not-” Enjolras blushed, “That wasn’t what I was doing!”

“Gosh! I’ve heard that Enjolras is a floozy, you know?” Courf called to no one in particular, “I once caught a glimpse of his ankles!”

“His ankles?!” Combeferre called from a distant room, sounding aghast.

“You both are the worst,” Enjolras said, still flushed. Courfeyrac grinned and ruffled a hand through Enjolras’ mass of blonde curls.

“Come on, you harlot,” he tiptoed to smack an affectionate kiss to Enjolras’ cheek, “We have some revelry to revel in.”

By Courfeyrac’s standards, revelry was measured in how blisteringly high one could become.

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” he drawled, after they had arrived at the party, passing a joint to Jehan, arm crossing over Enjolras’ chest as he did so. “I just think that if the moon was real then it wouldn’t be such a symbol of mystery... I’m just saying... who looks at the moon and isn’t a little bit creeped out?”

“You get creeped out by the moon?” Joly asked, head resting on Musichetta’s lap.

“Like...” said Courf, eyes drifting shut, “Like just a tiny bit...” a small cough rattled in his throat, “I just don’t trust it.”

“I think the moon is lovely,” Jehan said. Joly peered up and shared an eye-roll with Enjolras. Joly was the first violinist in the Saint-Michel orchestra, and had dealt with the whole bunch of orchestral stoners more than Enjolras had had the will to.

“You think everything is lovely, Jehan,” Enjolras said. Jehan looked at him with starry, brown eyes and slumped against the column of his neck.

Then, amidst the smoke haze of the room, time seemed to unfold far quicker than it usually did, and Jehan had led Enjolras to their room, to show him the life paintings Grantaire had mentioned.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, head a little fuzzy, “Very artful... he said they were.” The pictures captured Jehan as they looked in the current moment, lazy-eyed and oozing contentedness. “They’re incredible, Jehan.”

“Tell Grantaire... he was the one who did the hard work.”

Enjolras was not sure what came over him, but he ducked his head and felt the edge of Jehan’s lip between his own. He felt a hand leap to the back of his head, and the warm curl of fingers lace themselves through his hair. Jehan’s lips feel like a revolution – Enjolras had never kissed someone so well versed in the art of kissing. The lips on his neck made him gasp for air. He contemplated how long it had been since the skin of his neck had been worshipped so... too long. A year ago with the pretentious cellist that was too attractive for words, (Enjolras had called it off when the sex had been the only part that didn’t bore him half to death.)

“Jehan,” he mouthed, feeling mind-spinningly blissful. His hand dropped to Jehan’s waist, feeling for a seam of material. His fingers searched blindly, tracing the edge of Jehan’s hips, increasingly frantic. Enjolras broke away with a tut and stared at Jehan’s attire.

“It’s a romper,” Jehan said in explanation. Then, as Enjolras moved his hands to the zip on Jehan’s back, they said, “What are you doing, Enjolras?” Enjolras pressed his lips to Jehan’s collarbone, who laughed breathily and batted his head away. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m looking for my wilder side,” Enjolras said, eyes dark.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” Jehan said lightly, “I thought this was just a friendly make-out session.”

“You sleep with everyone,” Enjolras said, drawing back and resenting the whine that had infiltrated into his tone. In lieu of offense, Jehan merely snorted with a grin.

“Look, I’m down for casual flings aplenty, but you, my friend, are not.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”                                    

“No,” Jehan shrugged, “You wouldn’t be here if you were.”

“That makes no sense,” Enjolras frowned, “Your pseudo-deep doesn’t work on me.”

“Come on, Enj,” Jehan said, patting Enjolras good-naturedly on the chest, “If you actually wanted a hook-up, you wouldn’t have come to the one person you thought would never turn you down... I’m sorry, but I am just not dealing with the emotional nonsense you are sure to bring.”

“What?” he gaped, mouth dropping open.

“You’re a drama queen, Enjolras – you can’t even deny it...” they smiled, “Let’s not do this.” Jehan tucked the sketches back into place and stretched out their arms. “Wow,” they said with a hazy blink, “I am too high right now.”

“You always are,” muttered Enjolras.

“Don’t get grumpy with me, darling,” Jehan said, “I still love you.”

Enjolras flushed a little, still not as open with his words as Jehan could be. “Yeah, and I love you as well. Besides, I’m not grumpy with you, I’m grumpy with myself.”

“Enjolras,” Jehan tutted, “Don’t mope... I can shower you with positive affirmations, if you’d like... You’re the loveliest boy I’ve ever met, anyone would be blessed to have you, and you’re as beautiful as the sun itself... I am at once blinded by you yet cannot take my eyes from you... happy now?”

Enjolras couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his mouth. Jehan laughed and pressed a friendly kiss to his lips.

“Ugh, I’m so embarrassed,” Enjolras said, covering his face.

“About what?” Jehan said, smile lazy, “I’m so high, I’ve forgotten already.”

[the-ravens-requiem]

The Wolf

In the dark, the trees looked like fingers reaching upwards into an abyss glittering with countless unblinking eyes. The footsteps of a lone, weary traveler were swallowed by the snow -- all but silenced in the freezing air of deep winter.

Somewhere in the haze of consciousness between wolf and man, the traveler knew the sun would rise in a few hours time. The pain of his wounds propelled him ever forwards, limping through the chilly night. The trees loomed over him, shielding his furry body from the unforgiving wind. His large paws were matted with ice, and still he trudged ever onwards. Winding his form through the thicket of tall trees, feeling the eyes of the stars on him in the dark. The trees thin as time passes, and the moon remains high.

Soon, the wolf found himself upon a clearing -- a welcome sight after hours upon hours of seeing only the forest. He beholds a lake before him, stilled by winter's breath.

The wind howled over the glassy water, a silvery mirror which held the face of the full moon in all of her beautiful glory. He could see a light far off in the distance, through the trees.

The wolf picked his head up and sniffed the air, smelling the ash of a fireplace and burning oil on the wind. It's the warm, familiar scent of civilization to the man -- but the wolf paced anxiously by the waterside nevertheless.

It reminded him of the torch that he beheld this very night, and the slash of the dagger at his hide. The pain bubbles up again, spilling red onto the white powder beneath his form. The wolf’s black shadow stretched across the blank expanse of snow in front of him. It reaches for the new tree-line of the forest, but he does not move to meet it -- hesitating on the frozen water's edge.

The moon illuminated the night as the lone weary traveler fixed his wild gaze upon that warm glow in the distance. Something beckoned him towards it, despite his superstitions -- his pain-shaken legs urging him along. One great paw in front of the other, until he could make out the source of the light more clearly. The darkness of the quiet night seemed to lean over him, drawing closer. As if to clasp its claws around him and snuff the life out like the flame of a candle.

The wolf saw before him a strange little cottage made of stone and wood nestled between the trees. The terrifying fingers that reached and scratched towards the heavens are more akin to a loving cradle, here. A hand; A palm cupping the timber-framed home with such gentle care -- as if tamed and pacified by some unseen force of nature.

The traveler knew he should not get closer, but he found himself nearly half-way up the path before he was able to shake himself free of his reverie.

Could it be he had gone too far and arrived in the Feywilds of the far west already? Even so, he could not bring himself to care in the moment, his body feeling so heavy with sleepiness and pain. The throbbing in his side forced his normally graceful gait to turn into a shamble as the wolf made his way towards the front door of the cottage.

The traveler did not know what to think of his current situation -- only that the pain made it hard to stay conscious, and that he desperately needed to rest. The fire of his blood had been reduced to embers, and he had grown weary from his wounds. The biting chill of the air made his every movement feel like his very limbs were made of stone. He prayed to his god that whomever lived so deep in these cursed woods would not chase him off -- That perhaps they would simply leave him alone to rest and lick his wounds in the cold shadow of their home, and nothing more.

The traveler collapsed upon the covered stone steps, his lithe body slamming into the heavy wooden door. Whimpering, he curled up against himself and settled on the unforgiving stone. He resigned himself to a few hours of painful sleep shielded from the wind, and tried his best to relax.

Much to his surprise and dismay, there was a sudden clatter -- and the door opened! A blast of warm air with the ash and burning oil he had smelled on the wind assaulting his senses. The wolf yelped and scrambled away from the door in panic and fear as a dark entity loomed in the threshold, holding up an iron lantern from one of its gangling limbs.

It was a tall figure with a strange countenance -- its face like a bird but its body like that of a medium sized creature, shaped much like a human, orc, or elf -- perhaps even a tiefling, if one could see its legs beneath the heavy cloak it seemed to be wearing.

Looking at it through the wolf’s eyes, the traveler swore that the edges of its form were blurry. Perhaps it was only the delirium of pain — but still. The wolf stood in its shadow, which reached long past the stone stairs which lead into the cottage. Its presence felt off, somehow; As if looking into a dark void. Despite the contrary, the wolf felt the fear begin to melt away.

Its eyes glinted red in the low flame of its lantern, shining oddly as its head turned in what the man interpreted as curiosity.

"Are you hurt, friend?" It muttered, though the beak did not move. "Come inside. I can help you." It moved backwards into the doorway, the sound of the lantern's hinges creaking as the figure opened it to let more light shine out.

The lantern revealed the horrible bird-face of the creature to be, in fact, a mask of some kind -- though what purpose it served eluded the man. The wolf hesitantly entered the cottage at the behest of the beckoning hand of the masked figure. He shivered with pain and cold as he watched the figure light more candles around the home, revealing the place to be some sort of storage-house or shop. There were wooden crates and shelves filled with plant cuttings, as well as glass bottles and jars of various sizes and colors.

"If you will excuse me a moment, I must get my bag." The masked figure mumbled. "Wait there." It gestured to the western part of the house — which featured a blazing fireplace, as well as shelves and tables full of leather bound books. The wolf came upon a soft rug that spread from the middle of the room and stretched himself out on it, gently avoiding pressure on his left side.

The entity arrived soon after, bag in hand. It clucked its tongue in dismay as it looked upon his ragged form, no doubt able to see the terrible gash which caused the wolf such pain. "I see you're quite injured. Not to worry -- I will patch you up, good as new." The figure leans down, their impossibly tall frame looming over the form of the wolf. They seem to get down to their knees then, settling their large black bag beside them.

"You will have to forgive me, friend. I was not ready to receive company when I first heard you upon my steps. I apologize for leaving you in the cold as I...Gathered myself to be more...Presentable for company." The wolf feels a leather-clad hand caress down his side, narrowly avoiding the stain of red against his tawny fur. He flinches, but does not move to stand again. "What's more, I am sorry that this procedure to heal your wound will be slightly painful."

The wolf whimpers, but the man understands. If the cut is deep, it will need to be closed either through flame or thread. The bleeding has made him feel weak and emptier, as well as lighter in his head. The warmth of the room and the promise of safety in the kind entities' voice makes his body feel heavy, makes him feel like it's difficult to stay awake.

The traveler lifts his head to watch the figure with the mask dig around in their black bag, who then produces two small jars, a glass bottle, and a needle and thread. To show his compliance and resignation, the wolf lowers his head again, resting it upon the ever-so soft rug. A faint puff of air escapes between the sharp teeth.

The traveler fixes his eyes on the fireplace, lulled into calm by the flickering flames that lick up towards the stones above. He thinks of the reaching trees, and the silver mirror of the lake nearby. The quiet blanket of the snow as he trudged through the underbrush this very night.

The bird-masked caretaker begins their task, brushing away the wet and matted fur from the wound before pouring the contents of the glass bottle over it. The wolf yelps, but the caretaker runs a soothing hand over his haunch, waiting for him to relax before starting again.

The gloved hands are always kind, always soft -- always soothing. Gentle, slow. Practiced. There is never any hesitation or shaking of the fingers.

The traveler wasn't sure if it was some sort of magic or alchemy which numbed the pain, but the suturing process seemed over in no-time. He flopped over in relief as soon as the caretaker told him their work was finished.

"There we are, my friend. I hope that is better. You may rest here as long as you like. I will keep the fire going through the night." The caretaker gathers up their things and places them on a nearby table atop a stack of books. "Perhaps you are you hungry? I'm sure I have something suitable for you to eat somewhere around here..." The figure stands,, but stops in their tracks as soon as they see the wolf beginning to struggle to stand. "Oh --"

The beast struggles as he gathers himself up, stubbornly getting upright even as the caretaker holds their hands in a placating gesture and pleading quietly for them to stop. There is a brief moment of silence before a deafening crack fills the room. The wolf leans down on its front paws, bowing its head as his spine shutters -- the bones of his legs caving under the pressure.

The caretaker stills, hands falling to their sides. They watch wordlessly as the wolf shifts into a different form, struggling still even as their bones snap into different positions and their flesh stretches unnaturally.

A few moments later, a shivering man is where the wolf once lay -- groaning in effort and pain. The young man struggles to sit upright with the weight of the heavy fur cloak on his shoulders before he gently slides it off, letting it fall to the ground.

"...I-I'm sorry, witch. I have nothing to repay you for your kindness on this night." He wheezes, his young voice thick with an accent from the Eastern coast. He bats away a long strand of hair from his paint-stained face before briefly inspecting his side, running calloused fingers over the delicate stitching which closed his wound. There is a tear in the dark fabric of his tunic there, which makes the man sigh with a measure of disappointment.

The masked figure does not move, looking very much like a statue which has had the misfortune of being placed in the middle of a room. "Ahh, I see. You are a shifter. I thought I sensed Wild Magic, but I was not certain of its origin."

"I am." The man answers, struggling to his feet. "I could not risk changing with the wound open -- for fear of making it worse, you see. I also apologize for any trickery you may feel I have employed. I know I am not just a simple wolf that you have invited into your home. I will take my leave at once, should you so desire." His words are stilted, as if remembering the correct pronunciations and the order in which to form them. It is a recognizable mark of one unused to speaking Common.

"No, it's fine." The figure mumbles, "And I am no witch, traveler. I am an alchemist. You have no need to repay me for my services." They lean in, as if telling a secret. "I think it is a grievance to charge for one's natural talents, and especially as my treatment tonight was not entered into as a transaction."

"Forgive me, alchemist. I simply must do something to repay you -- You have been the first to treat me with such kindness in these strange lands. What can I offer you?"

The alchemists' head tilts to the side. "A gift? I would be careful of whom you offer gifts to, traveler. There are those who would consider it a debt, or worse -- a contract.” They pause for a moment. “I am familiar with such well-meant pleas however, but I would never offer a suggestion outright. That implies a transaction, as well. You are free to do as you like.. I have been given many things...Of all sorts -- from simple gold, objects with sentimental value -- to stories retold in excited whispers; All have been satisfactory."

"I -- " The man begins, his hands reaching for a pouch on his belt. "I don't have much, and I'm not sure if a mere story suits your kindness --"

"Why don't you tell me the reason you are so far from home, traveler? That is bound to be an interesting tale. I will bring tea and some food for you, and you may entertain me for a while before you rest for the night. I don't get many visitors here, you see.” The alchemist waits for a reply for a beat before adding: “I'll just be gone for a moment...?"

The man nods, pulling his hair away from his eyes once more, this time tying it into a thick braid. "Okay. ...A meal would most certainly be welcomed."

“Very good. I’ll be right back.” The masked figure exits the room quietly, leaving their visitor alone. The flame of the fireplace casts long, dark shadows on the walls -- strange shapes created from the stacks of books that fill the room.

The traveler wanders across the rug -- runs a curious finger over the spine of a few of the books set in a sturdy old-looking shelf nearby, peering closely at the ones which have titles etched into the leather. The books appear to be an eclectic mix of older tomes and newly-bound texts; Ranging in subject from scientific to magical -- spanning different languages, cultures, and studies from across The Known World.

"--Do you like to read, my friend?"

The traveler jumped in surprise at the sound of the muffled voice behind him, nearly knocking a large stack of books off of the table nearest to him. When he turned to meet the gaze of his host, he saw that they held a tray in their hands. Their odd silhouette looking a bit comical in such a natural, domestic posture.

Upon the tray was a glass cup made in a fancy style the traveler had never seen before, which held a steaming-hot serving of fragrant tea. Beside it, there was a simple wooden bowl full of some sort of stew. To accompany the simple meal was a piece of bread, torn straight from a loaf.

"That was very quick!" The traveler laughed in embarrassment, turning fully to greet his host. "...Sorry, I suppose I'm still on edge from my wounds. I was just admiring your collection of texts."

"Was it very quick?" The alchemist questioned, their head quirking to the side ever so slightly. There is a long pause before they mutter: "I confess, I… I had this still half-warm in a pot from my own dinner. Yes. The tea I've brewed doesn't take long to steep, either. I do apologize for frightening you -- I forget how soft my steps are, living alone as I do."

The traveler's mouth watered at the smell of the food, the anticipation of filling the yawning emptiness of his stomach was nearly too much to bear. "It's quite alright. I thank you for your kindness, stranger. And -- I confess that I don't read very much. Not for lack of skill, mind you -- But for lack of desire. Much of what I learn for my craft is either instinctual, or sacred; Stories and lessons which must only be passed from the mouth." He reached for the tray of food, which the alchemist gave to him freely.

"Is that so? Here, come sit with me, friend." The alchemist crosses the room and sits upon one of their reading chairs, and the traveler moves to sit beside him in the other.

Eagerly, the traveler dug into the stew, using the bread as a means to scoop it into his mouth. The taste was robust and savory, though he could not place the identity of any meat he consumed. There were a myriad of garden vegetables and mushrooms which comprised the bulk of the meal, and the thick gravy-like-broth was dark with flavor. The tea was equally palatable, a sort of sweet-spice blend that made his tongue tingle with warmth.

The traveler talked while he ate. "Yes, ser. I am an apprentice to the shaman of my village. It is also the reason why I've traveled out of my homeland." He pauses briefly to sip on the tea, then continues: "I'm looking for something, which has become increasingly difficult to obtain due to the war."

"The war...With the Southern Kingdom?" The masked figure asked, settling their hands upon their lap politely. "I confess I do not stay up to date with the politics of The Known World as much as I should. I do know their king is fond of making up stories so that they may greedily expand into your territory. His talk of your people as 'savage folk' certainly sits unwell with me, I can tell you that much."

"Yes, the very same. When they come to battle, they raze whole towns -- including our lands around them. They seek to destroy us completely, not just conquer us. As a result, there is a sacred plant that I'm searching for, but have been unable to find. The only lead I have is to find a botanist in the northwestern islands who may have the means to secure a few, so that I may bring them back to my people for safe keeping. It’s only a rumor, however. But I must return successful for the sake of my people."

"Oh, my friend." The alchemist lifts their hands briefly as if to touch the young man’s shoulder, but thinks better of the motion and placed them back in their own lap. "...I don't think you will be permitted to visit the island -- not even mainland elves are welcome there. Their cousins are a secretive folk, and for good reason." The red lenses of the mask glint in the firelight as their head shakes in a sorrowful gesture.

The traveler visibly deflates, his face the picture of defeat. "...Is that so?"

"At the turn of the age, there was much fear for magic and magic users. So much so that it was all but stamped out in most territories, save for a few customs and traditions -- and of course practitioners like me, who fear no law -- unspoken or otherwise. I hear the elves there still practice some form of it, though I can't be certain."

The traveler is quiet for a few moments, the only sound in the room is the flickering of the fireplace and his thoughtful chewing. "Well...The Folks of the East still practice magic, as it is part of many of our religions. We are not bound to your laws and rulers, being an independent collection of territories ourselves -- as I'm sure you know. Perhaps the elves of the north are the same?"

"Perhaps. But there are treaties, of course. Ratified under a sort of political union which keeps most of the people in power in check. I do respect the Eastern Folks for abstaining for all this time, though I confess I worry if it is foolish to remain independent of the union during this time in which the king of the South has decided he can push into your lands because you are not beholden to any treaty."

The traveler leans back in the chair. "The issue is that the Eastern Folk are a sum of a whole, alchemist. We respect each other's territory and cultures just fine, councils or no. But make no mistake -- no two Clans are the same, and that is fine by us. We would not agree to something that all of the people do not. There are those who resist joining the rest of The Known World in their politics for fear of what that may mean for our own individual peace."

"As I said, I greatly respect the abstinence." The bird-masked caretaker nodded. "For precisely those reasons."

The traveler sets his tray on a table between the chairs, stacking it gently on top of a pile of books. "I do thank you for the meal, alchemist. It was very delicious."

"I'm happy that you found it satisfactory.” A quick pause, barely enough space for a breath before they continue: “I'm terribly sorry for pressing, but what will you do if you cannot gain passage to the island in the north? I’d hate to think you would go all that way and return defeated."

"Oh, I simply must! Even if it takes a morally unsound decision or two. I cannot go home empty-handed."

The dark figure beside the traveler is quiet for a few moments upon hearing this. Though they sense no animosity, the traveler squirms a bit with nervousness.

"The folly of youth -- nay, of naivety or pride -- is to not make another plan when faced with even the notion of failure." The alchemist responded. "Traveler, tell me what it is exactly that you seek. Perhaps I know of a better way."

"Well..." The traveler reaches into his pouch and pulls out a piece of parchment paper. Upon it is scrawled a crude drawing of a flower made in charcoal, which has smudged some. "This is what it looks like. It is adorned with blue petals, and whose roots have properties that we use in our rituals. I can't really discuss those further, as they are sacred and secret -- but I will tell you their specific use if it helps."

"Please do."

The traveler nods. "The whole plant is extremely poisonous, but the roots can be prepared into something useful if measured properly and carefully. It is used by our shamans, witches, and other religious leaders to see holy visions and commune with our God.”

The traveler continues after a brief pause: “Furthermore, it slows the effects of what you called Wild Magic earlier -- blocking the negative effects permanently. It is used in the initiation process for our religious leaders, so they may control their magic more effectively in the service of our God. I need to complete this process, myself; As a shifter, it is very difficult to move back and forth between my chosen spirit and myself. Those with weak constitutions have suffered madness as a result of it, and the wildness of the blood -- but I fear no such thing. My chosen spirit and I are very close."

"Your chosen spirit?"

The young man moves to retrieve his fur cloak on the floor. "It is believed by my people that I don't have the power to turn into just any wolf, but I turn into this wolf, specifically." He runs a reverent hand over the cloak. "The shift is asking for permission to settle into its old body, and their spirit possesses mine, until we move as one. I am him, and he is me -- but we are also separate. As with all magic, one does not create from nothing -- but rather from something which has existed before. A flame which you have seen burning, a healing which your flesh remembers, a sound which you have already heard. Things that are unseen or different from here come instead from dreams, which we believe to be a separate realm of existence."

"I see. That is a wonderful way of looking at the nature of magic, my friend." The alchemist stands. "...Furthermore, I think I know what flower you speak of. If you'll excuse me, I must check my notes and stores. I'll just be a moment." The figure leaves once more, though is quick to return.

The traveler stands in the middle of the book-filled room, looking the very definition of excitement and nervous anticipation. He clutches his cloak to himself, awaiting the alchemist's word.

Soon, the silhouette of the alchemist looms in the archway, filling the space with their dark form. “Is this the plant you seek?” They hold out a clay pot with a large blue flower planted in the soil. “I had a specimen in my greenhouse. I use the properties you spoke of for medicine — specifically to stop immense pain or to put someone to sleep for a long while for surgeries. It is very difficult to purchase reliably, so I began growing it myself a long time ago.”

The traveler’s face lit up with happiness and recognition. “Yes! That’s it!”

“Wonderful. Then I am able to supply you with a few seeds to take back to your people, as well. There is no need for such an arduous journey to the northern islands, and you may return to your home victorious."

The young man's voice cracks with joy. "Truly, ser? Thank you!" He runs over to the alchemist and throws his arms around them. "I could never hope to repay you -- You have my eternal gratitude! What's more -- you have my people's eternal thanks as well." The alchemist is stone-still, their arms never leaving their sides. They politely accept the embrace in silence. The traveler steps back, a bit red-faced and embarrassed with his own display of emotion. "Ah, apologies, ser."

"Thank you. There is no need for such apologies or pledges of gratitude, however. I simply do what I can, if I have the means. How very fortunate that you stumbled upon my shop tonight, hmm?" The muffle of the mask does not hide the obvious happiness in the alchemist's voice.

"Yes, very fortunate! I'm indeed blessed, so much that...I can hardly believe it..."

"Fortune shines upon us when we least expect it, I think. Urging the weary ever forward. In any case: We'll get it all settled in the morning, traveler. For now -- you need to rest. The night grows old, I fear. I will fetch a comfortable quilt so you may sleep near the fireplace and warm your bones, and when you awaken I will have everything prepared for you. I'll even throw in some breakfast for the road."

"I truly cannot repay your kindness, alchemist. I'm at a loss for words."

"If there are no words," The figure mumbles, clasping a friendly hand upon the shoulder of their guest, "Then one must act. And for you, there is only your journey ahead. I only ask that you try to show others this same kindness wherever you go, whenever you have the means to do so. The world will become a much nicer place because of it."

"I will, ser. I promise."

“Then I bind you to your promise, traveler.”

In the morning, the Doctor packed some rations along with the pouch of seeds and a small covered clay pot with the blue flower planted inside. It was secured tightly with rope, and came with a small piece of paper which had instructions for the care of the plant written upon it.

The traveler bade them farewell with much happiness and excitement, and the Doctor watched them trek off into the snow until they were past the tree-line of the forests of Darkwood.

--------------- masterlist | ko-fi If you liked this, please consider reblogging it. It helps spread it around so that others may read it and enjoy, too!

[sariasprincy-writes]

The Man in Black - ItaSaku

For @vesperlionheart Happy birthday!

Also thought I’d try my hand at fantasy/myth…stuff…and then weather came into the anchorage and yes, I know I’m late (what else is new???)

The Man in Black ItaSaku

Sakura saw him the first day at her new job. The hospital was always full of people of different looks and sizes. She never took a second glance at the young man in a black shirt and black jeans. Especially not when there was a code blue on her floor.

The next she had seen him had been a few days later. He had been dressed in a black suit. His sleek, dark hair tied back and falling down his shoulder. He said nothing. Only sat with one leg over the other and his hands clasped neatly in his lap. Like some businessman waiting for a meeting. Sakura paused when she recognized him but she had been unable to stop and speak with him as another code was called.

Months passed. And every so often Sakura would see that same man. He dressed differently each time, but always looking his best. A suit, a nice pair of pressed jeans, a silk dress shirt.

Sakura began looking for him everywhere. In the cafeteria, the doctors lounge, the parking lot. Only her mysterious visitor was never there. He always remained outside the patient rooms. Sitting quietly. As if he had nowhere else to be.

“We’ve checked our sutures, the patient’s stats are stable and there’s no sign of any distress,” Sakura told the class of to-be-surgeons. “We are free to close the patient up. Any questions?”

She looked up then, eyeing first the few young doctors in the operating room before gazing up at the audience in the observation deck. Most were interns, dressed in scrubs with notebooks and pens in hand. There were a few fellow surgeons as well, but it was none of them that gave Sakura notice.

For in the back was a man with dark hair and darker eyes dressed in all black.

Through the glass, their eyes met. And in that moment, the blood in Sakura’s veins froze. Her mouth moved before her mind did.

“Stop!” she told the surgical nurses, halting them in their tracks. “We missed something.”

They stared her with obvious surprise in their eyes but said nothing as they handed her tools back to her. No one spoke as Sakura returned to the patient, her hands exploring their open chest. There was nothing, nothing wrong. No bad sutures or missed clots. Everything was fine…

The same instant Sakura found the bleed, the screen monitoring the patient’s vitals sounded.

It took nearly an hour and a hell of a fight. The small bleed ruptured and the young woman on the table crashed twice. Each time, Sakura brought her back, calling for tools and more blood, fighting until her patient was finally stable once more.

When Sakura finally walked out of the OR, she was exhausted, weary but relieved. Nearly high off the adrenaline of such an intense surgery.

A long sigh passed her lips as she slipped onto the bench just outside the surgery floor’s changing rooms. She smiled her thanks as a few fellow surgeons congratulated her on her success, but she didn’t chat long. All she wanted was a warm shower and a bed. It had been a long day.

And that had been Sakura’s plan. Until she looked up just in time to see the last of the interns file out of the observation deck, leaving the room empty. All except one.

Exactly where she had seen him earlier was the same man. With little regard for anything else, Sakura did her best not to outright sprint across the floor, her eyes never leaving him lest he disappear like he always did.

He didn’t move. Only turned his head to watch as she nearly slammed the door shut behind her, locking them in together.

It was the first time they had been this close. The first time they had been alone. There was something a little off about him…something she couldn’t quite name. She studied him quietly, carefully. Like the scientist she was, taking everything in before acting, deciding.

He was a very handsome man. With high cheekbones and a straight nose. His eyelashes were long, nearly sweeping his cheeks with every blink. They framed those eyes the color of coal. The ones that had long ago been burned into her memory.

It unnerved her a little she couldn’t quite guess his age. He appeared young, the pressed shirt and dark jeans making him appear boyish. But his eyes, his soul felt old. Like he had witnessed the beginning of time, like he had been there before it.

“What are you?” Sakura asked, the question tumbling out of her mouth.

She half-expected him not to answer. Half-expected him to laugh, as if he was anything but human. Instead he inclined his head fractionally, as if he was seriously considering her question.

“That would depend upon your beliefs and perceptions,” he said, his voice rich and yet spilling out of his mouth smoothly like gentle water over stone. It filled Sakura’s chest, soothing the misgivings and unease building behind her breast bone.

“I believe in science,” she told him.

“Then I do not exist in your world.”

“But you do,” she said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

The stranger canted his head minutely, studying her as something shifted behind his gaze. Vague interest, perhaps. Sakura wasn’t sure if the look brought her comfort or took it from her.

“Who are you?” she asked, breaking the silence before it could settle too deeply in her bones.

He shrugged one shoulder gracefully, as if he had been asked that vary question many times over. “I have been given many names. Some are kinder than others, though I do prefer Itachi.”

“And what is your purpose here, Itachi?”

This time, a small smile settled over his features as he regarded her. “You ask many questions. May I first ask one of my own? You have not yet given your name, Doctor.”

She hesitated, not quite sure if she should tell him or not. But she supposed it wouldn’t be terribly hard for him to learn it if he truly wanted to know for malicious purposes. The internet was an incredibly resourceful tool.

“Sakura, Doctor Haruno Sakura.”

“Sakura,” he repeated slowly, as if memorizing the word. Then he blinked and that calm, easy expression was back upon his face. “As a scientist, you must have come to some of your own hypotheses of who or what I am.”

And she had. Initially, she had thought him a family member. Or perhaps that he worked in the hospital. Only the more she saw him, the more she came to realize he was only ever present right before a death. He never spoke. He hardly ever moved. Just sat outside the patient rooms. The ones coding or about to code, and disappeared as soon as time of death was called.

Sakura laughed quietly, as if trying to emphasize her own ridiculousness at the next words out of her mouth. “I would say you’re Death, but no such thing exists like that in the world.”

Itachi didn’t share her amusement. Only stared back. His fathomless, black eyes boring into hers.

Sakura’s smile fell slowly, a heavy feeling of unease settling down and down into her chest. Dug a hole so deep she thought she might not draw another breath. “You’re Death,” she stated.

He didn’t respond, but his gaze fell downcast. She didn’t understand the look until she recalled his words. Sudden guilt struck her, melting her fear like ice dunked in boiling water.

“Itachi,” she corrected softly.

He looked up again. This time, she couldn’t quite read his expression. It seemed to shimmer across his face like a photo that changed shape at different angles. It was oddly comforting. But also left her uneasy.

Why was he here?

Automatically her eyes dropped down to the operating room where a worker was quietly wiping up the blood from the floor. When she turned back to Itachi, he was still watching her. Waiting for her to speak.

“That woman was supposed to die, wasn’t she?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And I stopped her,” she said quietly, trying to keep the rising dismay out of her voice. “So, what happens next? Are you going to take a life for a life?”

A small smile appeared in the corner of Itachi’s mouth. Not sinister or menacing. More an amused, little quirk of his lips. “Death is not so malicious. I am not here for revenge,” he told her. “Rather, death fluctuates. A man crossing the street increases his chance of dying but it does not mean death will take him for certain. There is no invisible clock above your head. I am simply here to escort those that may cross over.”

Sakura felt her breath draw a little easier at that but the heavy stone that had settled in her chest still hadn’t quite faded. Staring back down into the operating room, it didn’t take her long to recognize the feeling she had tried since med school to push aside. Sorrow.

“Then that means my patients…”

“Age, race, wealthy or poor. Death does not discriminate. As a surgeon, even you must accept that you cannot save everyone.”

It was a fact every doctor knew, but it didn’t make the pill any less bitter to swallow. When she glanced back at Itachi, he was still watching her, an understanding smile upon his face. It eased her own self-directed frustration and grief.

Then she blinked and the look was gone. Itachi straightened. “I must go. I am needed elsewhere.”

Sakura didn’t know what she was expecting. Perhaps for him to stand and walk out of the room or to at least melt into the shadows. He did neither. He was simply there and then he was not.

Blinking, Sakura took a step back before she peered about the room. There was no evidence he had ever been there. No sign or breeze or whisper. She half-wondered if she made the whole conversation up. Her own exhausted mind playing tricks on her.

xx

As it turned out, her mind was not playing tricks on her. Sakura continued to see Itachi. She didn’t entirely understand why. It began to unnerve her a little. So much so that she took to internet searches and even a couple of glimpses in the local library to find any information. To her disappointment, there was nothing. No forums or websites full of stories of people seeing Death.  

Itachi had seemed pleasant enough, but even as the weeks turned to months, Sakura couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive every time she saw him. For he was still the man that escorted the dying to the dead.

On this particular day, it had been a busy shift for Sakura. So much so that for the first time in months she had forgotten about the man in black that always sat just outside the rooms of her dying patients. Her first two surgeries that morning had been a success. The next one had caused her a little trouble and by the time she had gotten out of it, her pager hadn’t stopped going off.

Sakura hadn’t even eaten lunch by the time dinner rolled around, but she didn’t notice her hunger. Not over her adrenaline as she pumped on a woman’s chest, doing everything in her power to keep the new mother’s blood circulating. In the background, her newborn cried, the sound almost drowned out by all the commotion in the room.

“What’re her stats at?” Sakura asked, stepping back to let another doctor continue compressions.

“Not good,” was the answer.

A deep frown settled on her mouth as she wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her wrist. She peered up at the monitor. Her pressure still wasn’t registering and they had yet to get a solid rhythm.

“Let’s push one more of Eppy,” Sakura ordered only too aware they were quickly running out of options. The dose of artificial adrenaline was their only chance left.

The room bustled with activity as the nurses and doctors jumped into motion. So much chaos in such a small space that she nearly missed the man dressed in black in the corner. Nearly.

No one else in the room seemed to notice him. All the attention on the unstable mother and the wellbeing of her newborn. A flash of cold went through Sakura the moment their eyes met. But it wasn’t fear for herself. Rather, for her patient.

In an instant, Sakura was moving again. She pushed the younger doctor’s hands out of the way to take over chest compressions once more. Whatever exhaustion she felt vanished as she worked with renewed vigor.

“Come on,” she chanted to herself and to the young mother below her. “Come on, come on. You can’t give up now.”

Sakura wasn’t sure how long she fought for. It felt like seconds had stretched into an eternity. And just when she thought there was nothing more she could do, she heard it. That familiar beep of a regular heart rhythm.

Sakura’s hands stopped, her eyes glued to the monitor, half-wondering she had imagined it, half-expecting it to stop when she saw she hadn’t. When it didn’t, she glanced at Itachi only to find he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes turned down as he tucked something into the pocket of his black suit.

Her confusion grew. She didn’t know what had happened. If he had intervened or if it had just not been the new mother’s time to go. However, Sakura wasn’t given the chance to wonder for too long. There was still a patient to attend to.

When Sakura finally left the room, it was late. The evening hours slunk into the halls as the night stole the lingering light on the horizon. For some reason she wasn’t entirely surprised to find Itachi standing at the window, watching the dark encompass the day. The dying sunlight threw his profile into harsh contrast and cast a long, creeping shadow behind him so dark she nearly couldn’t tell where it ended and he started.

Itachi didn’t greet her upon her approach and neither did she to him. Side-by-side, one living, one dead, they gazed through the window pane.

A long silence passed before Sakura spoke, “That woman was going to die. And then she didn’t.”

When Itachi didn’t answer, she glanced at him. There was no recognizable expression on his face but she got the impression that if he let her see, there would have been a frown upon his lips. When he did finally turn towards her, the feeling was gone.

“No, she did not,” he told her.

This time, it was Sakura’s turn to frown. And she let it show, not appreciating the vagueness of his reply. “She was down for a while. Medically speaking, she shouldn’t be alive. Nonetheless awake and talking. You did something. I know you did.”

“There is no reason to be so accusatory,” Itachi said. His expression remained unchanged as his gaze returned out the window once more. “Medical miracles have been known to take place before this instance.”

“I’m not so certain I believe in those anymore,” she told him, unable to keep the lingering suspicion out of her voice.

Beside her, Itachi shrugged, his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. “Beliefs can change. After all, you did not believe in my existence until recently.”

“I’m still not sure that I do,” she told him, her tone giving away her skepticism. “It’s far more likely that I’m just going crazy.”

Itachi peered at her again, a faint smirk upon his lips. “You would know better than I. You are the doctor, after all.”

Sakura wasn’t quite sure she appreciated his teasing. Lest not when she was as exhausted as she was on this particular day but she let it go. “Why are you still here?”

Again, he shrugged. “I am always here. Even when you do not see me.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because I go where I am most needed. And I am needed here,” he told her, his attention falling back to the outside world.

Sakura followed his gaze, watching the last traces of light vanish under the all-encompassing black hands of the night. A dozen stars were already sprinkling above, quiet little sparkles of hope in an otherwise empty sky.

They stayed that way for some minutes. Neither speaking. Just silent company as they both harbored their own thoughts. And just when Sakura considered walking away. To find food or a bed or both, Itachi spoke. His voice calm and collected as it always was. But also haunting.

“I’m sorry, Sakura,” he murmured sincerely.

She looked back at him, not understanding. “For what?”

“For everything that happens next.”

There was a strange look on his face. One she couldn’t place, but that stone tumbled down her chest and settled deep, deep in her stomach. She turned towards him as cold washed over her. “What did you do?” she demanded.

He said nothing. Only stared right back.

The stone sunk deeper. And in the next moment, she turned on her heels the same instant Itachi was gone. Already sprinting back towards the young mother’s room as a code blue was called.

xx

Sakura wasn’t sure how much time passed after that incident. She did everything in her power to ignore the man that haunted her. Her reality. Her dreams. But the more she blocked him out, the more she seemed to think about him. He was always there.

Their last conversation rolled over and over in her mind. Like a horrible song that wouldn’t get out of her head. She was angry. Indescribably so. She lost count of her sleepless nights and the number of meals that tasted of ash on her tongue as that frustration continued to burn inside her. So much so that some of her closest friends began to ask if she was alright. Still, she made a point to ignore the man in black. Refused to acknowledge his presence with even so much as a glance in his direction.

She didn’t understand why Itachi had done what he did. Why he would bother saving the woman just to let her die less than an hour later. He was a monster. He was Death. And she should have known better than to think of him as anything other than such.

But Sakura was a curious person by nature. And as the weeks turned to months, she had more questions than hate, and the burning rage slipped away to something quiet, softer. Death was death. And in the end, there was no saving anyone from it.

Tonight was a quiet night. Uncommon but welcomed in Sakura’s line of work. She took the brief moment of downtime to sit in one of the plastic chairs provided by the hospital. A moment to relieve the ache on the bottoms of her feet.

She was not surprised in the slightest when she felt another join her some minutes later. Itachi didn’t immediately speak. Just let the normal hum of the hospital fill the silent between them.

“Are you going in there?” he asked eventually.

Sakura stared ahead to the patient room across the way. Inside was an elderly woman. The monitor showed her stats as stable but Sakura was becoming very familiar with what Itachi’s presence meant. It was the very reason she had sat outside this particular room.

“No,” she said quietly. It was early morning. Only one or two nurses on the floor, but she didn’t dare break the easy silence that had settled over the halls. “Her family has requested no extraordinary measures be taken. They’re ready to let her go.”

Sakura felt Itachi’s gaze linger on her, but he didn’t speak. They simply sat side-by-side as they tracked the heart monitor. Waited for that moment when the woman would no longer be in Sakura’s care as she turned to Itachi’s.

After a few moments, Sakura glanced at the man beside her. He was dressed nicely but comfortably in a dark grey sweater, his hair tied neatly with his bangs framing those dark, dark eyes. However, it wasn’t his style of dress that interested her. She stared at him, really studying him as she took in his youthful features. He appeared her age, but his poise and manner of speech gave her the impression he was old. Much, much older than her.

“That woman was going to die. And then she didn’t,” Sakura said quietly, repeating the very same words she had said to him those weeks ago. Because even though she was still mad about the incident, she wanted answers. “You stopped her from dying.”

Itachi didn’t look at her but she could just as easily see the frown upon his face. “I cannot stop death. I can only slow its demise,” he corrected, his voice just as soft as hers.

“She died less than an hour after her heart restarted,” Sakura stated. Trying to get the facts out in the air. Trying to understand what they all meant. “Why would you do that if only for such a short time?”

He didn’t answer but his expression was full of purpose. As if he was waiting for her to draw her own conclusion.

She still didn’t understand. She had run it over and over again. What reasons he could possibly have. Of all the times Sakura had seen Itachi, he had never once interfered as he had for that woman. So, what had made him do it for the new mother?

Oh.

“You wanted to give her time with her baby,” Sakura concluded.

Again, Itachi remained silent but he looked away. Either unable or unwilling to show his thoughts to her. She didn’t have to ask to know she was right. Tears nearly sprung to Sakura’s eyes as unexpected emotion welled in her chest.

Spending so much time around death and sorrow, she had thought Itachi to be cruel and unjust. Now, sitting beside him with his soothing company and gentle eyes, she realized she’d had the wrong idea all this time. Death was not a monster but rather a blessing. A kind spirit who helped those who had died find their way to their final resting place.

Guilt washed over her but she didn’t voice her apology. Itachi was already looking at her with forgiveness in his eyes. As if he had already forgiven her long ago.

They sat in comfortable silence after that. Waiting, watching as the time passed by.

Eventually Sakura spoke again, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Just one?”

She couldn’t help but smile sheepishly. “Perhaps more than one.”

Itachi side-glanced at her but there was a small quirk in the corner of his mouth. He nodded his permission.

“You’re not the only one of your kind, are you?” Sakura asked. “I mean, I don’t fully understand the afterlife, or whatever, or your purpose, but it isn’t possible for you to lead everyone who has died to the other side all on your own. Right?”

When Itachi didn’t immediately answer, Sakura peered at him only to find he was watching her with a small smile. Like he was enjoying watching her work through her theory aloud. The expression nearly made her look away in embarrassment.

“No,” he said before she could. “There are many of us. Reaper is the name most of us have taken but we are referred to differently elsewhere in the world. I am not sure where the title originated. That is just what we were called long before I became one.”

“Became one?” Sakura repeated, her brow furrowing. “You weren’t…I don’t know, born one?”

Itachi laughed but shook his head. “None of us are born one. You become one. You are chosen after you die.”

“Then you were a person once,” she said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

“I was.”

Sakura peered into the patient room again. Stared at each track of the woman’s heart rhythm as she considered her next words. “Can I ask…?” she hesitated after a moment.

“How I died?” When she nodded, he leaned back in his chair, unbothered by the hard plastic beneath him. “It was many years ago. So long I cannot even remember how much time has passed since. I died protecting my brother. He was young and reckless. Acting without considering the consequences for his actions.

“Where I grew up, we had a lake just outside of town. The children used to play near it, swimming in the summer and sledding in the winter. It was a beautiful place and I have many fond memories there,” Itachi told her, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“So, what happened?” she pressed softly.

Like a cloud over the sun, his expression shifted, taking the light out of his eyes and darkening his features. “Winter came late that year. And the ice had not fully set in,” he told her quietly. “Sasuke went sledding that morning at the top of the hill. He landed on the lake and cracked the ice. I was able to push him out of the way before it broke completely.”

Sakura just stared at Itachi, observing all the faint emotions passing behind his eyes. She didn’t know if he had drowned or frozen to death, and she didn’t ask. Because even if his death had occurred life times ago, there was no mistaking the wistfulness in his gaze. She wondered who else he may have left behind. His mother and father. Best friends. Perhaps even a lover.

“I’m sorry,” Sakura murmured. Truly and honestly.

Itachi blinked the memories away before he turned to gaze at her. He smiled faintly, if only to lessen her sympathy. “It is nothing to be sorry for. I am relieved I was able to save him and he lived many years before passing on. I am happy now to help those who cross over.”

Still, Sakura couldn’t shake the hollowness that had settled deep in her gut. She didn’t speak for some minutes, even when a nurse walked by. The young woman nodded in greeting, her eyes never drifting to the man in the next chair over.

Sakura waited until the other woman was out of ear range before asking the one question she did and didn’t want to know: “Why is it that I can see you?”

Beside her, Itachi exhaled slowly. “That I cannot say. There is a fine line between life and death. One many walk every day.”

A frown settled upon her features at his answer. Sakura wanted to ask him more but she wasn’t given the opportunity as an alarm abruptly sounded in the patient room across the way. Both she and Itachi looked up at the same time.

Sakura knew that was her cue to go, but she didn’t immediately move to stand as she chanced a look over at Itachi. Only he was no longer there. The plastic, blue chair empty.

Without even having to check, Sakura knew the elderly woman was already gone. And for the first time, it wasn’t sadness that lingered deep in her chest. But rather warmth. Knowing that Itachi was there to help the woman cross over to whatever adventure awaited them next.

xx

The days began to blend together. The summer heat fading into the cooler autumn before the frost of winter began settling in during the early morning hours. Life continued as it normally did. Sakura went to work, performed whatever operations she was needed in before saying hello to Itachi as she checked on her ongoing cases.

Their conversations never lasted long, but she was becoming familiar with his manner of speech and his quiet, subtle humor. She found he was actually quite funny, his humor dry but sharp and quick-witted. It made her long shifts bearable and even rather enjoyable. Something she thought she would never think, knowing somewhere in the hospital someone was drawing their last breath.

But in her line of work, it was the little things that helped her push through during the worst of her worst days. Days like today.

Sakura exhaled through her mouth slowly, trying to keep her emotions on the inside of her body. She glanced down at the labs in her hands again, confirming for a fourth time what the results were telling her.

“Are you okay?”

Sakura recognized Tsunade, her former mentor and colleague’s voice. “I’m fine. My patient is not,” she told her, passing the chart over.

Without a word, Tsunade accepted it. Only the sound of paper flipping back and forth to fill the silence. Eventually the older woman passed the labs back. “This is your heart kid?”

“Yeah,” Sakura murmured.

Four years old and born with a heart that didn’t want to work properly. Sakura had been on the boy’s case the minute he was born. She had performed every operation, supervised every procedure and ordered every test she could think of to keep this boy alive. She had pushed his body to the limit. And now it was no longer responding to any treatment or drugs she ordered.

Swallowing back the knot at the base of her throat, Sakura looked over the nurses’ station towards the patient in question. The little boy – far too little to ever be in a bed in this building – was fading in and out of consciousness. One of the Cardiac nurses was in the corner of the room, helping keep him and his exhausted father comfortable.

“He won’t survive the morning,” Tsunade said gently. Understanding and sympathy warming her usually cool, professional tone.

Sakura nodded, unable to look at her. Knowing if she did, those emotions she was trampling down so hard would claw their way to the surface. “I know.”

Tsunade said nothing else. Just rested a comforting hand on her shoulder before she left.

Sakura sat for a minute longer before she made her way towards the hospital room. The hall was quiet, empty. But when she reached the sliding glass door, her gaze caught a lone figure sitting in a chair behind her. She hesitated, her eyes briefly meeting Itachi’s in the glass’s reflection. The lump behind her breast bone grew bigger, heavier.

He said nothing. And neither did she. Merely slid the door open and entered.

About thirty minutes before sunrise, Sakura called time of death, leaving the father in the nurse’s care when she could no longer be of any further comfort to him. In the early hours before the hospital halls came to life, Sakura went in search on an on-call room. A place to catch up on the sleep she had lost that night.

What she found instead was an empty staircase. She lowered herself onto a middle stair and exhaled a breath from her soul. Emotion welled in her chest. It crept up slowly, like a weed rising from the ground. Growing, spreading, blooming until even her heart struggled to beat correctly. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands. A soft sob spilling from her lips as grief made itself at home in her chest.

“Sakura.”

She had felt Itachi kneel in front of her before he spoke, his comforting presence becoming familiar. But she didn’t acknowledge him. She didn’t know if looking him in the eye would make her feel better or worse. And she certainly couldn’t handle worse at that moment.

He called her name again, his voice settling over her and mixing in with the hurt. Two conflicting emotions tangling together and warring within her chest. She didn’t know how to speak, how to voice everything she wanted to say and couldn’t. In the end, she simply shook her head. Wishing he would just leave.

Hoping he would stay.

And he did. He didn’t speak. Simply straightened a hair that had fallen out of place before his fingers wrapped around her wrists. With a gentle tug, he pulled her hands away from her face, leaving her utterly and completely exposed to his viewing. She didn’t know what she was expecting. Certainly not the warm smile on his lips or the softness in his gaze.

“You are a kind soul,” Itachi told her. “You fought so hard. You did everything right.”

His words brought more tears to her eyes. She tried to look away but Itachi wouldn’t let her. She shook her head, letting slip a few more. “But it still wasn’t enough.”

“Do not take the blame for this,” Itachi murmured, his voice gentle with understanding. “It was his choice. He was ready.”

“He was four,” Sakura countered sharply.

Itachi didn’t take any offense to her harsh tone. He merely exhaled through his nose before he smiled again, one hand reaching up to wipe the dampness off her face. “He was an amazing boy. And full of so much more life and energy than his body could handle. But he was tired and he was ready to let go. He will miss his father, but I promise you this will not be the last they see of one other.”

Sakura wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. Itachi had always been vague with what laid beyond but she trusted him enough with this. The hurt in her chest throbbed again. No longer an ache that stole her breath away, but to something duller. Something manageable.

Sakura didn’t speak but she let her head rest in his palm. He eased her pain so flawlessly it nearly escaped her that it was the first time they had touched. For some reason, she had believed that he wasn’t allowed to. Or perhaps he simply couldn’t. Two souls side by side, yet an entire world apart. It surprised her to find that his hands were just like any other man’s. Soft and warm, yet strong and capable.

Sakura wasn’t sure how long she sat there, with her face in his hands, taking comfort in his touch. She didn’t remember moving from that spot. Didn’t recall climbing those last few stairs to reach the on-call room where she woke some hours later. She nearly wondering if she had dreamt of Itachi in that stairwell.

But she could just as well feel his soothing aura, curled and wrapped around her like a blanket as if he were there with her. That same emotion swelled in her chest again. Unhindered and free to take hold without her grief overshadowing it. She recognized the feeling but didn’t dare linger on the implications.

Because Sakura was a doctor. And Itachi was Death. And they could not both survive in the same world.

xx

That realization didn’t stop Sakura from continuing to think about him. Her dreams remained filled with thoughts of Itachi. But where unease and distrust lingered, warmth and happiness filled the void. She took to spending nights at the hospital.

Sitting in the quiet places where she could speak with Itachi privately without the eyes of the other staff. He always came. Sometimes their visits were cut short, but he always found her wherever she may be in.

Sakura sat alone at a table in the cafeteria. This late at night the kitchen was closed, the oven cold and the food stored away. Only the coffee machine in the corner still worked, but it was cheap and made the drinks a little too watery. She was certain no one would wander this way.

Outside, snow drifted down. Little flecks of white filling in the darkness, casting the world into a hush as if all were in awe of its beautiful. Sakura made herself comfortable, sipping from one of the two steaming mugs of hot chocolate as she watched it fall.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Sakura murmured.

She sipped from her mug before she turned her head towards Itachi. He looked so terribly handsome in his black sweater with the snow falling behind him, his dark hair tied neatly with his bangs framing his eyes just so. Her body warmed with heat that had nothing to do with her drink.

“It is,” he said, his eyes meeting hers unwaveringly. Then they fell to the mug laid out for him. “What is this?”

“It’s hot chocolate,” she said before she frowned as a sudden thought occurred to her. “Although, I wasn’t sure how exactly that worked with your…status and all.”

“My status?” Itachi repeated, his tone pitching slightly with amusement. “I can confidently say I have never heard it referred to as such.”

She flushed but smiled again when Itachi raised the deep blue mug to his lips and drank, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I feel no hunger nor thirst,” he told her quietly as he studied to contents of the cup. “But I recall I did used to have a sweet tooth. It drove my mother mad when I filled up on sticky bread before dinner. This is delicious. Thank you.”

Sakura drank from her own mug again, if only to distract from the way his words warmed her down to her very core. When she peeked back up, she found Itachi was still watching her, that easy smile on his mouth.

“And what about you?” he asked. “You have never told me.”

“If I have a sweet tooth? I’m pretty sure my body is fifty percent sugar at this point. The rest is caffeine,” she teased.

However, Itachi shook his head. “No, about your mother. You have never spoken of her.”

The smile faded from her lips as her gaze fell to her mug. “I don’t remember much of her. She left home when I was six. My father raised me, but our relationship was never that strong. I see him during the holidays but we don’t keep that close in contact.”

She looked up when Itachi reached across the table to lay his hand over hers. His touch still made her skin tingle, sending little sparks of pleasure shooting up her arm. “I am sorry about your mother,” he said.

Sakura shrugged it off. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“Even time cannot heal all wounds.”

She wondered if he was thinking about his own mother. Or perhaps even his father or brother, but she didn’t ask. Instead, she turned her hand over, tangling her fingers together with his. Sakura wasn’t entirely sure who moved first. All she knew was in one moment Itachi was sitting beside her and in the next he was kissing her. His hands cupping the curve of her jaw as his mouth moved softly against hers.

It was short but sweet, leaving Sakura a little dazed when he pulled back. She blinked against her swimming head, their eyes meeting as their breath mingled.

“This is never going to work,” she whispered.

Itachi’s eyes never wavered from hers. “I know.”

She didn’t know what any of this meant. She opened her mouth, already her overactive mind beginning to move, but Itachi didn’t let her get too far. He kissed her again, pulling her closer than before. His kiss reaching down into her soul and trying to pull it into his own body.

He filled her with a warmth she had never known before. It left her breathless, frazzled. She wanted him more than anyone she could ever remember and she took everything she could, her fingers digging into his sweatshirt. Feeling his solid warmth beneath her palms. Wondering how she could have ever thought him to be Death. Cold and indifferent.

They passed the next hour wrapped around each other, whispering words for their ears only, between stolen kisses and lingering touched. Even after their hot chocolate had gone cold and the ground had turned completely white. Ignoring the complications and impossibilities of what they were doing.

It was Sakura’s pager that broke the serenity that had settled over the cafeteria. She pulled out of Itachi’s grasp just far enough to grab the device before she read the message with a quiet sigh. “I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.”

Sakura pressed a brief kiss to Itachi’s mouth again before she stood and was gone.

And in such a hurry she was, she missed the deep sorrow that settled across his face. “Yes, you will.”

xx

Sakura woke early that morning, long before her alarm roused her, excitement filling her with more energy than even the strongest coffee. The sun was still below the horizon by the time she arrived at the hospital. But she wasn’t the only one there and ready.

Interns and residents swarmed her before she reached the Attendings’ Lounge. She smiled at their enthusiasm and answered questions as she weaved around the young doctors in-training. It was after all an exciting day.

“Are you ready?” Itachi asked, appearing the moment her scrub shirt was over her head.

She smiled, expecting his arrival. He greeted her every morning since that night in the cafeteria less than a week ago, and always with that smile. The one that made her stomach flop and her heart beat just a little harder. Only this morning, she was already bouncing with energy.

“I’m always ready,” she told him.

“Then how are you feeling?”

Sakura pulled a hair tie out of her bag before she piled her hair into a secure bun. “Nervous, but excited,” she told him honestly. Because even if there was a reason to lie to him, she was comfortable enough to tell him the truth. “But I’ve been doing my research and double checking all the labs. I can pull off this heart transplant surgery.”

The small smile in the corner of Itachi’s mouth stretched wider. He said nothing as he stepped towards her, looking so terribly handsome in his jeans and black button up shirt. He stopped in front of her, his eyes dropping down to smooth out the collar of her shirt before his hands ran up her arms and her shoulders.

“I believe you will,” he told her, his voice reflecting back her own confidence.

Goosebumps rose across her flesh where he touched her. But it was those words that made her body hum. Because Itachi was Death and he had an understanding about the world she did not.

Sakura’s smile stretched wider. “I have to get ready for the surgery, but I’ll see you afterwards, yeah?”

Itachi nodded his answer. There was an unusual look in his eyes that she didn’t recognize, but she didn’t have time to ask. There were people she needed to talk to and labs she had to check once more. She would have to ask him about it at a later date.

The rest of the day was madness for Sakura. Enough so that she had already forgotten about Itachi and his weird vibe by noon. Both the observation deck and the OR was full. Both trainees looking for experience and doctors with curious minds filled the room, taking note of Sakura’s technique and knowledge. The surgery itself took a little over four hours, her steady hands ensuring every suture and every stitch was perfect.

With bated breath, she stood still over her open patient. Watching, waiting for that still heart to begin beating on its own. The rest of the OR waited with her. Not a breath taken. Not a movement made.

Then it happened. A pulse. And then another and another.

“We have a steady rhythm,” the surgical nurse at the monitor said.

Applause erupted throughout the room and the observation deck. Sakura exhaled the breath she had been holding with a quiet laugh. Behind her mask, her mouth stretched into a wide smile as she accepted her thanks from the other surgeons around her. Some with a few decades more experience than herself.

It was the lightest she had felt in days, the stress from the surgery weighing her down. A constant pull on her mind. It made her want to celebrate. To go find her friends and share every detail she had just experienced.

It made her want to talk to Itachi.

Automatically, Sakura lifted her eyes to the viewing gallery. The entire room was filled with excited faces. Every last person dressed in white, doctors’ coats. All except two. Both in black. The one on the left she didn’t recognize. From his long, dark hair and broad shoulders.

The other was Itachi, dressed in his finest suit. But it wasn’t his dress or even his presence that caught her notice. It was his face. The sadness expression she had ever seen tearing her soul wide open. He met her gaze for a brief moment before he bowed his head.

And that was the last thing Sakura saw before excruciating pain erupted deep in her head and the world went dark.

When she opened her eyes again, she wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It was bright, too bright. Blinking hard, she waited for her eyes to adjust before she gazed around. To her surprise, she found she was in the same place. In the middle of the OR. Only she was alone. All the doctors and interns were gone. Even her patient had vanished. And in his place, Sakura had taken up occupancy on the surgical bed.

Confused, she looked down at herself only to find the blood stains on her scrubs from surgery were gone, leaving them clean and utterly spotless. With a quick examine, she found no wounds or stitches on her own body. She seemed perfectly fine.

“Sakura.”

Snapping her head towards Itachi’s voice, she found him standing on the other side of her bed. He looked no different than he normally did, his suit pressed and fitting his form so perfectly. But he felt different. A little more real, a little more like their souls were no longer worlds apart.

Sakura didn’t reach for him, her confusion twisting into something more akin to fear. She moved slowly, her eyes never leaving him, as she slid to her feet. The bed the only barrier between them.

A million questions rolled around in her head but her tongue remained still. Because she could still read that expression on his face. Feel his sorrow and grief from here.

“I’m so sorry,” Itachi murmured. Regretfully. Truthfully.

Something began to build in her chest. It took her a moment to realize it was panic. She took a step away from him. “What happened?”

“You had an aneurysm rupture in your brain,” he told her.

“An aneurysm,” she repeated. Both not understanding and understanding.

Because the dots were not hard to connect. His sorrow, her pain. This place and his presence.

A shaky breath escaped her as she took another step back. Itachi looked as if he wanted to reach for her, but he refrained much to her relief. Her chest tightened again as reality began to settle in.

“No,” she shook her head, trying to deny what he was telling her. “I didn’t die.”

“You were rushed into surgery after you collapsed but the doctors were unable to repair the damage to your vessels. You died from massive intercranial hemorrhaging,” he told her. His voice gentle but steady and his gaze unwavering.

She shook her head again. “My patient…”

“He survived.”

“But I didn’t.”

When Itachi shook his head, that mournful look in his eye, Sakura took another step back, tears springing to her eyes. She tried to release a shaky breath. What came out instead was a choked sob. Because she knew he wasn’t trying to be insensitive. He was simply acquainted with her well enough to know that she would want all the facts. Even if it ripped her heart out.

“You said death fluctuates,” she murmured through her tears as realization began to dawn on her. “I could see you because I had aneurysm. I was always on the verge of death. One strain, one stress away from it bursting.”

Itachi nodded woefully. “Yes.”

“You knew this was going to happen.”

Regret passed behind his eyes but he nodded again. “Yes.”

Sakura wanted to feel betrayed. Wanted to hurl angry insults and biting words so that perhaps he would feel just as hollow and empty as she currently did. But there was no use. There was no changing what had happened. There was nothing anyone could say or do. A situation she had seen many lovers and parents and family go through in her job.

She had never felt so helpless.

Feeling her knees begin to shake, Sakura lowered herself into one of the clean, metal chairs kept in the OR. They were hard and cold, only this time it wasn’t. It supported her weight comfortably. She dropped her head into her hands, trying to hide how much she was truly shaking.

Some minutes passed with just the faint echo of her own breathing as she tried to accept what had just come to pass. How she was supposed to possibly move on.

“I am so truly sorry, Sakura,” Itachi murmured.

She looked up when she felt him straighten a strand of her hair. He had knelt before her, looking so incredibly guilty and so incredibly remorseful. Against her desire, her heart went out to him.

“Things were not supposed to happen this way,” he continued softly. He was unable to meet her gaze but he couldn’t seem to pull away from her either. “We were not supposed to know each other as we do and I…and I was never supposed to fall in love with you.”

In all her life, Sakura swore she had ever been this full of emotion. Her heart was breaking and sealing back together all at once. She was torn. She wanted to push Itachi away. She wanted to pull him close, remembering all those nights they had shared. Talking into the dark, sharing hot chocolate and their deepest thoughts.

It would be a lie for her not to say she hadn’t considered this outcome. She knew things could not remain the way they had been. He was Death. And she had life. One had to give. And death only took.

Reaching out, Sakura ran her fingers through Itachi’s hair so featherlight, she barely felt its softness on her fingertips. He looked up as she pushed his bangs away from his face before she traced the ridge of his cheekbone.

“So, what happens now?” she asked.

“That remains to be seen,” another said.

Sakura followed the voice to find a man standing off to the side of the room. It was the same man she had seen in the observation deck. This close, she could make out more of his features, finding that his hair wasn’t black as she had first thought, but rather a dark brown. Just like Itachi, he gave off a certain wisdom. Only older, much older than the man kneeling before her.

Itachi didn’t move from his spot as the other man approached, his face still resting in her hand.

“You’re a Reaper,” Sakura said, not entirely sure if she was asking or stating.

He nodded. “I am Hashirama, the Elder Reaper. And I am here now to tell you that you have completed your job. You are released. You may continue to onto the afterlife.”

Her brow furrowed, not entirely sure what he was saying. Only to realize it was not her he was speaking to. But rather Itachi.

She looked down at him where he still had his face pressed into her hand. If he had heard Hashirama speak, he showed no indication. Sakura opened her mouth and tried to pull her hand away, but his own hand tightened around hers and kept it from moving away.

“If Sakura so chooses, I wish to spend it with her.”

Sakura’s confusion grew. She glanced at Hashirama before turning back to Itachi, both looking so out of place in this too-clean OR with Hashirama’s crisp sweater and Itachi’s fitted suit. She had so many questions and so few answers. Perhaps this was her afterlife. She had never given much thought to what her own would be like. Having spent so many hours in the hospital, she hadn’t had much time to give it much imagination. Maybe that was why she found herself here.

But if she could change it, there was no telling where she would like to end up. It’s not like there were any friends or family waiting for her. She was the first to go.

Emotion built in her chest again but before it could erupt, she realized Itachi was waiting for an answer. His black eyes peering up at her, so full of hope. Again, she thought of those late nights, just him in the dark as they talked about everything and nothing.

Or maybe there was a telling of where she would.

Smiling through her drying tears, Sakura pressed her palm against Itachi’s cheek again. “If I have a choice, I choose more late nights and dark on-call rooms. With hot chocolate on snowy nights.”

“I can give you that,” he murmured before his mouth met hers. Kissing her so sweetly it was as if it was their first again.

This time when she opened her eyes, they were no longer in the OR. But rather standing side by side on a hill overlooking a small village with a lake below. A boy some years younger than them was running towards them, his hair and eyes the same colors as Itachi.

He smiled wide, waving one hand over his head. “Itachi! Itachi! You’re finally home.”

There was a faint look of astonishment on Itachi’s face when Sakura glanced at him. Then he smiled. Warmth and happiness filling his expression and making him no longer appear years beyond his age.

“Sasuke,” Itachi breathed.

Then he looked at her, all the love and devotion clear in his eyes as he grabbed her hand and led her down the hill. “Come, my brother is waiting for us.”

the end