#I love it but we both know they’d just drive in silence and mirage would play a romantic song but chicken out and change the station

[puppychase]

Everyone writing mirage as cool and seductive is so wrong. He calls his bf “bro” and “dude” and he’s always unserious. One earnest moment and he’s turning into a Porsche and driving away out of embarrassment

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Of Prices Paid

This is kind of long, so maybe check it out on ao3? 

There is a lot to get used to in this immortality business, Nile thinks, as Joe guns the engine and peals away from the lab. No matter how much her brain screams at her to move on, Nile cannot tear her eyes away from the twisted hunk of metal that had been Merrick’s car. Not until Joe turns a corner and it disappears from view. Inside their vehicle, the Guard settles into silence, and at first Nile is grateful for it. No one is trying to gauge how she feels when she is still in shock. No one is trying to debrief her when she can still hear the wind whistling in her ears, when she can still remember the way her skull crawled underneath her skin to piece itself back together.

Nile feels too good for someone that had just rearranged her skeleton, and it seems wrong, in a way, to be sitting here feeling no pain, no exhaustion, no fear. The quiet in the car has a complexity to it Nile can’t quite untangle. It’s woven like a tapestry made of guilt, which roils off Booker like thunder, spun with anger that Nile can feel in the way Nicky sits, his shoulders tense, his hands balled in fists. But it’s like a mirage in the desert, holding its form until it’s looked at up close. When Nile first met the Guard they had felt like a lie, like a fantasy or a dream. She hadn’t understood, hadn’t felt the years they had lived until now. Until she was sitting in this silence; this tired, expansive, comfortable silence. Nile is not used to this kind of prolonged stagnation, the lack of desire to fill empty time with entertainment. But these people beside her are ancient and do not notice they pass full hours just sitting in this car, aware of one another and completely content in that.

Nile distracts herself from the thoughts of blood, the sound of the gunshots, and the ghost of pain that crash around in her head by watching the others. She watches Nicky’s attention flicker between the light in Joe’s curls and the movement of his shoulder, takes note of the small smile that turns Nicky’s lip when he looks in the rearview mirror and finds Joe’s eyes meeting his. Nile watches Booker playing with his rings, his fingers fumbling and trembling. Notices he keeps his sunglasses on even as the sunlight starts to dip below the horizon. Nile inspects the way Andy’s jaw is set, watches her close her eyes, and hears how deliberately she breathes. Nile sees Andy flinch when Joe takes her hand, sees her shoulder slump a little when he turns his head for just a moment, and gives a gentle squeeze. Sees the smile spread briefly across Andy’s face as she nods softly and responds in kind. Nile watches Joe press a soft kiss to Andy’s knuckles, pat the top of her hand, and return his grip to the gear shift.

Nile stretches, uncomfortable and itchy with the blood still caked against her skin. They’d been driving for hours by this point in unfamiliar terrain. She feels a hand press quickly, tentatively against her elbow, and meets Nicky’s gaze. It’s piercing, studious, full of questions, and Nile blinks away the stinging in her eyes. It has been a long time since Nile cried, especially in front of others, and she was not about to start today, in a car full of people she barely knew. Nicolo softens, opens his arms a little in an offer Nile takes. She leans against his side, lets him hold her weight; Nicky wraps an arm around her and kisses the top of her head like her father used to. “We’re almost there,” he says, and Nile is equal parts surprised and not to find the man she read as the most quiet and contemplative of the group is the one to finally break the silence.

“Good,” Nile replies “Cause I’ve had to pee for about an hour now and I was starting to get worried,” The car is filled with laughter like fireworks, explosive but brief. Nile notices how Joe laughs with his whole body, how Andy chuckles under her breath, a timid thing. She sees that Nicky smiles and Booker doesn’t.  

“It’s not another mine is it?” Nile asks as she sits back up, Nicolo returning his arm to his side. “Because I don’t know about ya’ll but I need a stiff drink, a soft bed, and a shower,”

“I can solve the drink problem,” Booker pulls his flask out of his jacket pocket, wiggles it in Nile’s direction. Nile takes a swig, tries to stifle a cough as the whiskey hits her tongue.

“No,” Andy says, biting back a smile “It’s not a mine,”

Ten minutes later, Joe turns down a dirt road. The cottage that sits at the end of the driveway looks straight out of a storybook. It’s roof thatched and slanting, the garden overgrown, Nile half expects a witch to pop out of the front door and welcome them in. Booker is the first out of the car, rushing towards the building before Joe has even finished parking.

“Guess he had to pee too,” Joe remarks bitterly as he jods to the side of the car to open the door for Nile and Nicky, offering his hand to help them stand.

“Such a gentleman,” Nicky says as he untangles himself from the middle seat, takes Joe’s hand,  and pulls him in for a quick kiss. Their fingers are the last thing to part, Nile notices, as Joe heads towards the passenger seat to open Andy’s door. Nicky moves towards the trunk to grab their go-bags and carry them into the house.

“Joe,” Andy scoffs light-heartedly when Joe dips into a bow and extends his hand. Nile pretends not to notice how long it takes Andy to get out of the car, the way her face twists and her breath catches in her throat. Whatever weight had been lifted upon their arrival, upon the promise of sleep comes crashing back down.

“You okay, boss?” Joe asks, but the joy Nile usually recognizes in his voice is not there.

“Yes,” Andy pats his cheek twice with a smile that does not reach her eyes. “Just need to stretch my legs a bit. I thought when we invented cars they’d eliminate some of the more unpleasant aspects of riding horseback. But as it turns out, sitting in the same position for extended periods of time makes my joints stiff whether I’m in stirrups or in shotgun,” Nile knows just as well as Joe that Andy’s giving a bullshit excuse, but she understands Andy’s need for strength in this. “Why don’t you give Nile the tour? I’ll check the perimeter,”

Joe nods and Nile watches the frown fall across his lips as soon as Andy turns away.

“She’s good,” Nile cannot stop herself from saying. “She’ll be fine,”

Joe’s shoulders fold, his hands massage his neck, and when he turns to look at Nile, his eyes shining, she is struck for the first time by how easily, how readily these people choose kindness and honesty. She’s seen the way they tear through a siege, the ruthlessness and the precision of their actions. Yet when Joe looks at her, a man she’s only known for two days, a man she watched a few hours before pop Keane’s spine out of his neck, he seems so worn, so weary, so...vulnerable. So separate from his capabilities in battle.

“You did good today,” Joe kicks the dirt beneath his feet, sending a couple rocks scattering in different directions. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how we would have gotten ourselves out of that one if you hadn’t been there,”

Nile smiles “All I did was untie Andy and jump out a window,”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Joe holds the front door open, and Nile steps through into the bright, inviting warmth of the cottage. “You’ve done a lot for us, for Andy, already. I look forward to getting to know you better. You’re going to make one hell of an addition to the team,”

“Thank you, Joe,”

Joe grins “I’m always here if you want to talk. But for now, let me show you around,”

After a quick pit stop to the bathroom, Joe and Nile walk together through the cottage, and as she listens to Joe, Nile finds it a little easier to accept the new conditions of her life. She watches the way he gestures when he speaks, makes a mental note of all the little details he shares with her, the dates of when the cottage was built and what missions they’d stayed here for. The excitement Nile hears in his voice falters and then falls away all together when Nicky walks by, arms crossed and standing in front of the bathroom door, where the shower has been running for the past few minutes. Joe’s brow furrows and his eyes focus, trained on the back of Nicky’s head, hair matted with his own blood.

“Quel bastardo prenderà tutta l'acqua calda.” Nicky mutters.

Nile bites back a smile as she watches Joe unconsciously turn his body to face Nicky, struggling to find the words he needs to finish his conversation with her. Joe runs his thumb across the ridges of his ring and shakes out his hand.

“Go,” Nile says gently, nods her head towards Nicolo.

“Are you sure?”

“Joe,” Nile gives him a knowing look “Go get your man,”

Joe chuckles, squeezes Nile’s shoulder, and heads toward Nicky. Nile watches the two of them wrap their arms around each other and press their foreheads together, breathing each other in. The intimacy of the action makes Nile worry she’s impeding on their privacy so she pretends to focus on the painting in front of her. They speak to one another, chatting in languages that Nile doesn’t know until she hears Joe say bitterly:

“I’ll kill him,”

“Joe, please.” Nicky pulls away, cups Joe’s face in his hands “He doesn’t deserve to see your anger. He doesn’t deserve anything from you at all.”

“Nicky he-”

“I know what he did,” Nicky shuts the conversation down “He is our family and I love him, but for the time being he has no right to my life, or yours. Booker is young and foolish and desperate still, he does not understand the depth of what he’s done. We will figure out his penance and he will serve it, and then we can move on from this.”

“Nicolo-”

“Che cosa?”

Joe begins to say something, but shakes his head and instead says “Ti amo,”

“ uhibbuka aydan ”

Joe and Nicky separate at the sound of the front door opening. “Who let Booker shower first?” Andy asks, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh. She opens the door to the bathroom, and bends over to pick up Booker’s bloody clothing “Time’s up, Book,” she calls. Andy wordlessly hands Booker a towel, and Nile averts her eyes in embarrassment as Booker, water still running, steps out of the shower stark naked and wraps the towel around himself. Andy places the bundle of his clothes in his hand, “Burn whatever you can’t salvage,” Booker does not meet Andy’s eye, but he nods. “Joe, Nicky, anything you want Booker to get rid of?”

Joe and Nicky head towards the shower, tugging their shirts off over their heads and tossing them to Booker. Booker leaves Nile and Andy alone in the living room. An awkward silence begins to settle between them, but Nile has spent most of the day without words and she’s starting to get tired of it.

“So,” she begins, “How much you spend on clothes?”

Andy raises an eyebrow, “Depends. We buy shirts for our missions in bulk, because it’s cheaper. Dark clothes help with blood stains, because if we don’t get shot we can just...wash them. It’s not always like this,” Andy sighs, cracks her knuckles, and massages her shoulders.

“You know, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that this week,”  

Andy sighs “You arrived at a uniquely...complicated time and I apologize for that,”

“I don’t think you need to apologize for what happened today. I figured my life was gonna get complicated the minute I was pistol whipped in Afghanistan and woke up in the trunk of some white lady’s armored vehicle, driving through the desert.”

“Yeah, can’t say after all these years that I’m the subtle type,”

“No shit.” Nile smiles, picks dust from under her fingernails. “Were you friends with Heinsberg or something?”

Andy’s eyes are bright and her grin energetic and genuine in a way Nile hadn’t Andy was still capable of. “No, I just likes to sow chaos,”

They chat for a few minutes about nothing in particular. Nile asks about the sculptures on the table, Andy asks about her friends back in Afghanistan. Nile is struck by how natural it seems for her to exist in this space. Andy seems more relaxed than she has in days, Nile can see it in the way she stands, the ease at which conversation flows. The sound of the shower quiets, and the door to the bathroom opens.

“Nile, would you like to go next?” Nicky asks.

“Sure,”

“We left a towel in there for you,” Joe adds.

“Thanks,”

There is a sound of a door opening and closing, and all eyes in the room turn to look at Booker. “I brought you some clothes,” he hands the pile to Nile, and one to Andy, and for a moment Nile cannot help but think that he looks small.

“Joe and I are going to change, and I’ll have dinner started by the time you’re done,” Nicky says, his back to Booker.

Nile nods and closes the door, wipes the steam clinging to the bathroom mirror away, and strips herself down. She takes a moment to look at herself, touches the blood caked to the side of her head, runs a finger down her arm where her bone had been sticking out just a few days before. She looks at her foot, no evidence of an entry or exit wound from the bullet she’d shot into it a few hours ago. She presses a hand to her neck, traces a line down the carotid. The first wound that should have killed her and no scar to prove it. She forces herself to think about something else, singing songs in her head to drive off the existential crisis she can feel brewing. Just a few hours ago she had jumped from 15 stories, felt the blood rush to her head, felt the pain shudder through her body like lightning as a car bent itself beneath her. She had taken lives, and in doing so committed herself to an eternity of slaughter.

She turns the shower on, waits for it to run warm. Within a minute she can hear the muffled sounds of shouting, an argument she wouldn’t have been able to understand even if she had wanted to. She sticks her head beneath the stream, watches as the water turns pink beneath her feet. She massages shampoo into each cornrow, making a mental note to pick up some supplies the next time they were anywhere near civilization. This bathroom was not stocked with her hair texture or skin type in mind. She scrubs herself down with the washcloth they had left her by the sink. Wonders to herself as she hangs the cloth up to dry how many gallons of bleach the Guard must go through after missions. Free of blood, Nile conditions her hair, turns off the shower, and pats herself dry. She finds no moisturizers, no lotions, no oils or gels in the bathroom cabinets, slips into the clothing Booker has given her, and steps into the living room.

“You could have just volunteered yourself,” Joe is standing in the kitchen when Nile returns. “There was absolutely no need to sell us all out,”

“I wasn’t trying to sell you out,” Booker exclaims, and Nile realizes there are advantages to the lack of questioning she’s been subjected to. Mostly that she hasn’t had time to tell anyone she grew up speaking French. “If he could get your DNA then it’s possible he could have figured out a way to-”

“Sebastian,” Andy sighs “stop,”

It is a testament to her command, the respect and reverence these old friends have for one another that Andy need not raise her voice to be heard over shouting. Booker deflates, unscrews the top of his flask and takes a swig “Oh. No need to stop on my account.” Nile’s voice fills the sudden silence “I can hang out somewhere else. I was just looking for a plastic bag. I’ve got conditioner in that has to sit for twenty minutes and need to wrap my head,”

“I’m not. You’re a member of this team now, Nile,” Andy responds, “You should be a part of every conversation that we have. I’m just...tired, and hungry, and covered in blood, I want to shower, and honestly, I don’t care what Booker has to say about his choices right this very minute. I think we should just eat dinner and pick this particular conversation up in the morning,”

“Sure, boss,” Booker and Joe speak together, and Nile watches Nicky whisper low to Joe, slip something into his hand, and push him out of the kitchen. He wipes his fingers on the hand towel sitting on his shoulder, and stirs whatever canned good he’d put on the stove to warm.

“Here’s that bag,” Joe places it gently on her head, it feels familiar, familial in a way that almost knocks Nile off her feet with homesickness.

“Thanks,”

“Okay, I’m going to get cleaned up,” Andy inches towards the bathroom. “Nicky and Joe, finish cooking and set the table. Booker, get the rooms ready. Nile, put your feet up, watch some TV, decompress a little, you’ve earned it,”

Before she can fully process the request, Nile finds herself alone in the foyer. While she’s searching for the remote, Nile realizes that the shower has not started up. She knocks softly on the bathroom door and looks over her shoulder to make sure no one else is paying attention. Nicky and Joe are bickering with one another about the addition of salt to the dish they are preparing, and Booker is nowhere to be seen so she asks a question.

“Andy, you okay in there?”

It takes a moment for her to respond, “I’m fine,” a comment she punctuates with a sharp inhale of breath.

“You sure about that?” Nile pries “Do you wanna give me your dirty laundry?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Andy replies, which she follows rather quickly with a quiet “fuck,”

“Andy, do you need help?”

“I–” Andy stops herself “No,”

Nile doesn’t believe her. “Andy, I know everything hurts. I know you’re worried about what we’re all going to think, but let me make it clear. I don’t care, I don’t pity you, and I won’t judge. I’ve been immortal for like...four days. If you’re bleeding or bruised I’m not gonna freak or feel bad about it. I’d honestly be more creeped out if you were completely fine.” Nile puts a hand on the doorknob and lowers her voice. “It just, sounds like you need help, and there is no point in causing yourself potential harm for the sake of appearances,”

The door opens and Andy drags Nile into the bathroom, closing the door quickly behind them. “I just don’t want the guys to worry.” Andy says.

“I know,”

“I kind of wish Booker had just killed me with that gunshot.” Andy winces as she tries to remove her shirt. Nile helps Andy untangle her arms from the sleeves, tosses the shirt onto the floor. “This whole mortality thing is kind of a pain in the ass.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Nile teases.

Andy smirks “You’re so kind,”

“I’m sorry...did you want sympathy?” she asks, Andy kicks off her shoes and her pants, grabbing Nile’s arm to steady herself.

“No,” Andy laughs “No I did not,”

“I think we should get that looked at,” Nile moves on, pointing to the bandage on Andy’s abdomen, soaked with blood. “Looks like you re-opened the bullet wound.”

“I’m not going to the hospital,”

“Okay well, let’s just get the blood off of you first, and go from there. I feel like we should try not to get it wet though.”

“Fine, just...help me into the tub,” Nile holds Andy’s weight, pretends not to see the way Andy grits her teeth when she steps over the rim. She lowers herself down until she is sitting in the bottom of the tub, and reaches for a washcloth and some soap. Andy’s body is riddled with cuts and bruises, and Nile understands why Andy was hesitant to ask for help. It’s a pretty gruesome sight, even for someone who was expecting injury.

Andy sighs, a deep, exhausting thing, and leans against the back of the tub. She dips the washcloth in the water, lathers it up with soap and starts to scrub at the parts of her skin that are not tender. Nile closes the toilet seat and sits herself down.

“So…while you have me trapped here, in pain and unable to stand, do you have any other pressing questions about immortality, or...anything really?”

Nile chews her lip, feels her cheeks get warm “I’ll be this age forever, right?”

“Yup,”

“Does that mean....okay this is gonna sound stupid,” Nile closes her eyes so she won’t have to see Andy’s face when she asks “Will I still get my period?”

“Oh no,” Andy chuckles “God no. Your body heals itself, so there is no tissue to shed. If I still got my period I probably would have tried harder to end my immortality. Can you imagine thousands of years of that shit?”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to,”

Andy wrings out the blood and dirt from her washcloth, and tries to reach behind her to scrub at her back. She bites back a cry of pain, the water rushing through the tub spout drowns out whatever sound escapes her lips. Nile takes the cloth wordlessly, begins to wipe the grime away from Andy’s skin “How many times have you died?”

“Lost count,” Andy stares at her feet. “At least two thousand, probably more,”

“How many times have you blown yourself up?”

“Five,”

“Only five?”

“Blown myself up or been blown up?”

“Blown up,”

“Then probably...forty,”

“What is the weirdest way you’ve died?”

“I ate mercury,”

“What?”

“Joe dared me too,”

“Most embarrassing way you’ve ever died?”

“Are all your questions going to be about my deaths?”

“How old are you?”

“Around sixty-five hundred. My foot got tangled in the sling of a trebuchet as I was helping place the payload and I got hurtled into the sky,”

“Have you ever tried to figure out why this is happening?”

“How would I do that?”

“I don’t know, but...aren’t you curious?”

“No,” Andy’s voice isn’t dismissive when she replies.

“Why don’t you believe in God?”

“I told you before, there was a time that I was worshipped as a God, but I’m just a person who has a hard time making death stick to her. I can’t shape the world, I can’t heal the sick, I can only kill,”

“And save,”

Andy looks at Nile and there is something in her eyes Nile doesn’t know how to decipher. “Regardless, having been a God to some sorry fuckers thousands of years ago, I have a hard time thinking that any part of it is real. As old as I am and as travelled as I’ve been, I’ve seen many religions rise and fall around all different types of Gods. And while I understand the comfort of prayer, community, and worship, it just hard for me to think that God exists when I see something so many people have believed in and have devoted themselves to disappear within a few decades. But you can believe whatever you want, I’m sorry if I was harsh about your religion before,”

“I appreciate that,” Nile’s hand freezes as she goes to scrub the dirt from Andy’s shoulders and finds a stab wound sitting there instead, cut deep and oozing. “Where did you get this?”

“Goussainville,”

“Its bleeding,”

“Is it?”

“Okay Andy, first of all, you can’t keep shit like this from anyone anymore. Secondly– and I can’t believe I have to ask this question –do you have bandages here? A first aid kit?”

“Yes, in my bag. I bought some the other night,”

“I’ll go grab it,” Nile hands Andy the shampoo and conditioner and slips out of the bathroom to go in search of medical equipment. Joe and Nicky look up from their work and raise their eyebrows quizzically. Nile pretends she doesn’t see them.

Booker is precariously balancing a stack of bedsheets when Nile comes into the room. “Have you seen Andy’s bag?” she asks him. Booker’s eyes are red when he looks up at her.

“Um, yeah,” he throws the sheets down, roots through the pile of bags on the floor. “Here,”

“Thanks,” Nile’s replies, her voice hesitant. She looks Booker over as she sifts through the bag. “How are you?”

“I didn’t mean to…” Booker seems desperate “I didn’t know,”

“She knows,”

“I thought I- it doesn’t matter,” Booker shakes his head. “I should have realized they would lie,”

“I know you think you were doing something good,” Nile says carefully. “But that wasn’t a choice you made with everyone, it’s a choice you made for everyone. Booker, if you have to kidnap your friends to get them to do something, maybe it wasn’t a good idea in the first place,”

“You’re right…” Booker plays with the edge of the folded bed sheets, not meeting her eyes. “We’ve all done things to piss each other off before, but this is really bad. I don’t know what I’m gonna do...what they’re gonna do,”

“I don’t either,” Nile finds the first aid kit, and leaves Booker alone. Andy is washing the suds out of her hair when Nile returns. “Anyone have medical training?”

“Nicky,”

“Are you okay with having him look at you? You have to be more careful now,”

“I know,”

“You think you know, but you haven’t been mortal in...over six thousand years. You can push yourself an awful lot, but you can’t ignore your injuries. When was the last time you had an infection? Or had to take medication?”

“Fine,” Andy sighs “Let me put on some pants.” Nile helps Andy out of the tub, turns the water cold and rinses the conditioner out of her hair as Andy dries herself off, struggles into her underwear and sweatpants.

“Nicolo,” Andy pokes her head out of the door “Vieni qui per favore,”

Without hesitation, Nicky joins them in the bathroom, “Everything okay, Andy?”

“Nile is worried I may need medical attention. She hasn’t taken any bandages off but she said there was blood on them and is concerned that I may have ripped my stitches, or whatever the hell it was they did to me,”

“Also she has a stab wound she didn’t tell anyone about on her shoulder,”

Nicky turns to look at Nile, then back to Andy, he raises his eyebrow slightly, and shakes his head when Andy shrugs. “I’m assuming it is okay for me to examine you?”

“Yeah,”

Nile watches Nicky work, how delicately he removes her bandages, the intensity of his stare as he analyzes the damage. “The stitches have definitely slipped,” he presses his hand to Andy’s stomach, rolling his palm slightly around her abdomen and then close to where her bruises have started to bloom. “You don’t have a rigid abdomen, so there’s probably not internal bleeding. Let me see the others,” Andy complies, resting her chin upon her hands, rolling her neck until it cracks. “The back seems to have slipped as well, and the shoulder one is a little too old for stitches. I don’t have sutures here, but I could glue it if you want,”

“Do you still need me?” Nile asks, a little woozy.

“I’ve got her,” Nicky replies.

Nile leaves the room and nearly jumps out of her skin when Booker and Joe rush to her “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Nile pours herself a glass of wine. “It’s all good,”

Booker and Joe finish setting the table and they all prepare themselves for dinner. Nicky and Andy join them soon after they have sat down to eat. Over dinner, the attention turns to Nile, she is attacked from all sides with all the burning questions the immortals have about her life. Joe learns of Nile’s interest in art history and spends the rest of the meal excitedly telling her fun facts about every famous artist they’d ever met. Nile sits on the kitchen counter while the others wash the dishes. She listens to them hum snippets of long forgotten songs, and marvels at the way they move around one another without needing to speak. They are more than just a team, more than just a family, Nile realizes as Joe starts up a gramophone. When they are all together they are a single living organism.

Booker tries to offer her more wine and Joe tries to pull her, gently, off the countertop so he can teach her how to swing dance. Nile is not exactly shy, and under different circumstances she knows she would have participated more in the evening's festivities. But for tonight, Nile stays rooted in place, as a casual observer of their joy. Nile feels happier than she has in months, as she watches them drink, as Joe prays, and as the old friends dance together. A promise of what this life could be. The evening begins to calm and Andy, skin flushed and pupils dilated, and Booker head to bed.

“You coming?” Joe asks Nicky, who has been sitting at the dining room table, propping his head up with his hand, reading a book.

“Later,” Nicky looks up from the page “I’d like to read for a bit,”

“Okay,” Joe presses a kiss to Nicky’s temple “Goodnight,”

“Night, love,”

Nile moves to sit on the living room couch, rests her arms on her knees, hangs her head so she can focus on the floor. She finally lets herself breathe, lets herself think about everything that she just went through. The burning pinch of the bullets that riddled her, the way her bones felt moving underneath her skin, the smell of blood and dust. She thinks of the man that killed her, the way life had left his eyes, how Andy had a similar look in her eye when the two of them peered out the broken window in Merrick’s penthouse. She runs her hands across her head, rubs the tears from her eyes. She needs to think, to make a decision. The longer she stays here the harder it is for her to justify leaving. This is a family, not hers, not yet, but she knows how easily it could be. She pulls out her phone, spends too long staring, blurry eyed at photos of her family. She thinks about her brother, his passion, his joy, and his sadness. She thinks of her mother, how hard she had worked to provide them a life they could be proud of, how determined she was to be happy despite the wrongs the world had handed her. She thinks of the emptiness that consumed their family when her father died, how badly her mother’s hand had shaken when she’d closed the door behind the officers that had delivered the news. Could she put her family through that again? Could she put her mother through that?

“I made you some hot chocolate,” Nicky places a steaming mug down on the coffee table. Nile blinks up at Nicky, so wrapped up in her own head she hadn’t fully processed what he’d said to her.

“Oh.” Nile sits up a little straighter “Thank you,”

“Could I join you?”

“Sure,” Nile holds the mug between her hands and lets the heat spread across her fingers.

“I’m not sure that it tastes very good, but sometimes all you need is a little warmth,”

“Thank you, Nicky,”

“Of course,” he takes a sip of his own drink. “How are you feeling about all of this, Nile?”

Nile sighs “Honestly? I have no idea,”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m not sure what I want, I’m not sure what to do,”

“Do about what?”

“Any of it– All of it.” Nile watches the ceiling fan circle, searching for the right words “I’m not sure how to feel about this immortality business. I don’t think it’s fully sunk in yet, it still feels like a dream. I keep pinching myself just to see if I’ll wake up. I’ve died four times in the last week, I keep having nightmares, and I just,” Nile’s lip trembles “I just want my Mom, you know?”

“I do,” he admits “They don’t tell you when you train for battle how many people will die crying out for their mothers. In times of strife, in times of fear, we want that which will bring us comfort.  I’ve lived for nine-hundred years, and time has eaten away at a lot of my memories. I can’t remember what my mother looks like, but some days I am hit with an overpowering wave of melancholy knowing that I will never see her again. I can still remember how it felt, the first couple of times. How terrifying it was, how isolating, and every time I came back to life I thought of her, I wanted her to be there to tell me it was okay. But at the time I thought there was a devil in me, so I never let myself go back.” Nicky turns the full force of his attention towards Nile, and though every action he performs is gentle and controlled, Nile shrinks under the pressure of his gaze. “You’re an incredibly strong person, Nile,”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be,”

“You don’t always,”

Nile stifles a laugh, because Nicky means well, but he just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know what it is like to wear her skin, to grow up where she did. And while she has no doubt he’s faced trials and tribulations, and had his fair share of hate spewed at him, no amount of time on Earth will ever let him understand what she means. “I think I want to go home,”

“Why?”

“I want a better goodbye. I want to hear my mother’s voice again, I want to hug her one last time,”

“And what purpose does that serve?”

“I don’t know…” Nile shrugs, she looks to Nicky with lost eyes. “I don’t want them to suffer, I don’t want them to have to mourn me,”

“What happens if they start to realize you aren’t aging?”

“I leave,”

“And cause them pain,” under different circumstances, Nile would have thought this point was cruel, but to Nicky it’s a matter of fact. It is not a question, it is not a hypothetical, it’s merely...truth.

“I know what it was like, after my Dad died. I don’t know that I can put them through that,”

“You’ll have to do it eventually. You just have to decide whether you cause them misery now, or later,”

“I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye,” Nile’s voice cracks.

“Nile,” Nicky takes her hand, brushes a tear from her cheek, “No one ever is,”

“Ugh sorry,” Nile takes a raggedy breath, sniffles, and forces herself to smile, though it falters for a moment. “I don’t normally cry,”

“Why not?”

“It makes me feel weak, it makes me feel vulnerable,”

“But neither of those things are true,” Nicky takes a sip of his drink, “could I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,”

“Why did you come back?”

“What?”

Nicky’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to find the words. “When Andromache and Booker were brought into the lab, we asked after you, wanting to make sure you were okay, you were safe. I don’t think any of us would have forgiven ourselves if you had been captured too. Andy said that you had left, that you wanted to get as much time as you could with your family before the immortality caught up to you. We didn’t know if we’d ever see you again....until you came bursting through that door,” Nile feels her cheeks go warm “So...why? What caused you to come back?”

Nile examines the contents of the mug between her fingers, takes a sip to wash the tremble out of her voice. “Right before I left, Andy handed me her pistol and told me to get rid of the weapons before I got on a train. When I went to toss them, I noticed the clip was empty. Booker was the one that prepped that gun for her, so I knew something was up,”

“Ok,” Nicky surveys Nile’s face “But that doesn’t answer my question,”

“It doesn’t?”

“No,” Nicky’s lips turn up in the ghost of a smile “Just seeing that gun doesn’t mean you have to come back for us. We basically kidnapped you to get you to come here. You’ve only known us for a few days, you have no obligation to us. You could have looked at that gun, thought something was wrong, and then gone back to your family anyway. But instead...you chose to save us, even after our broken promises. Andy told you we’d keep you safe, and we left you alone, exposed, and in the open,”

“It’s not your fault,”

“I know,” Nicky runs a hand through his hair.

“How did you know about what Andy said to me anyway?”

“She was beating herself up about it in the lab,” Nicky states. “You don’t have to tell me if you do not wish too, Nile. I was just curious,”

“No,I–”  Nile stares straight ahead of her when she says it, focusing her attention on the front door. “It was Quynh,”

“Quynh?” Nicky asks, and Nile nods, forcing herself to face this kind man who asked hard questions.

“And you,”

“Me?”

“You were right. When I first saw the gun I thought about just leaving, figured that whatever was happening you’d have the time to get out of it on your own. But then I thought of Quynh, of feeling her drown over and over; the wildness of it, the insanity. And I thought of what you told me the other night, your fear of capture, of spending an eternity in a box. Feeling what Quynh felt– feels,” Nile corrects herself “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I knew I couldn’t leave you all to that potential future.”

Nicky sizes Nile up and though he smiles warmly at her, she feels like he is staring right into her soul. It’s not uncomfortable, just unexpected, Nile takes another sip of her hot chocolate to break the eye contact. When Nile looks at him again his body seems heavy, he’s staring at nothing in particular and rubbing his wrist absentmindedly.

“How ‘bout you? Are you okay?”

Nicky shakes his head and it takes him a minute to say anything at all “I don’t think so,”

“Were you scared?”

“Only for a moment, when they injected me and Joe with something and I thought they might separate us.”

“But they didn’t,”

“No. I did have to watch him tortured though,”

“I’m so sorry,”

“I’d throw myself in front of every danger to keep him from being hurt,” Nicky admits “And I couldn’t spare him from the pain,”

“Is that why you haven’t said a word to Booker since we left the lab?”

“We had some time to question him,” Nicky says after a moment of contemplation “when they got into the lab. Joe was pretty busy yelling at him, but Booker told us he hadn’t meant for it to go like this. He’d been promised answers to his existence, a potential cure to his immortality, a way to die before his time. He thought that we could all get some answers, that we would all want a way to end this cursed existence.” Nicky runs his hand over his face, looking to Nile with tired eyes. “I have never had a child, so I do not know what it is like to lose one. Much less three. I know Booker is hurt and lonely, and I cannot begin to understand the pain he must have felt having watched his children fade away, without being able to stop it. But he is wrong about us.  

Nicky turns to look behind him to the doorway where Joe is sleeping. “I’ve always had Joe, and Joe has always had me. For Booker, who has seen it all slip away from him, that seems like a blessing, and I don’t disagree. But,” Nicky scratches the back of his head “we have watched each other die over and over again for 900 years. And every time I see him die, I have to wait with grief spreading through my chest before I can reign it in, and hope that he moves again, that I can see him breathe. I throw myself in front of danger to protect Joe all the time, and I do it so that he does not have to suffer the wounds, but there is a part of me that does it because I am selfish. I hope that I will die before him so I do not have to bear losing him forever. I get a taste of what my life would be like without him by my side every time I watch him die, and I know I would be lost. Booker thinks the weight of immortality does not fall upon our shoulders, thinks that because Joe and I have always had each other that we walk on air, oblivious to the harsh realities, the objective truths of living as long as we have. He believes we do not know the loneliness, but Joe and I have lived every day with Death’s scythe above our heads. Booker and Andy do not have a monopoly on the tragedy, self-pity, or loathing that comes with what we do or...what we are. I am just as angry and tired as the rest of them, and there are times I wish I would just die, same as them. But, I make an active choice every single day to not succumb to the pressure. I choose to believe there is a reason for this, that this life has purpose, that we are doing good. I believe Joe makes this life worth it, but so does Andy, so does Booker, Quynh, and Lykon would have too had he lived long enough for us to know him. Booker thinks he is alone, because he does not see all of the wonderful people around him for the gift they are.

“What’s that advice people like to tell children? ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?’ I haven’t said anything to Booker since the lab because I’m angry. I am angry that we were captured, I’m angry at the fear I felt, however brief, over what could have happened had you not been the incredibly kind and compassionate young woman you are. I’m angry that Joe and I bore most of the consequences of Booker’s lapse in judgement. And it’s not anger he deserves, because I believe it was a mistake, I don’t think he would have done it had he known the extent of Merrick’s masochism. I don’t even think I would be mad if it had just been me. But it was Joe the guards beat in the van, it was Joe that Merrick stabbed. Booker never had to suffer the consequences of his own suicide attempt. Perhaps I am being too harsh, but for the moment I have other things to worry about.” Nicky clears his throat, holds his mug between his hands.

“Andy?”

Nicky’s sigh carries centuries on it “Andromache has lived a long life, longer than I can even fathom. She’s done a lot of good in this world, and she deserves the rest. I want to keep her around as long as possible, but I’m happy for her that sometime within the next sixty years or so she will finally know peace. It just….hurts,” Nicky stands, offers to take Nile’s cup “But these are the tired musings of an old man, I probably should not have offered you so much of my burden,”

“I asked,”

“You are a good person, Nile. I’m very glad to know you,”

“So are you,”

“Nile,” Nicky puts the mugs down to dry and says in a voice so low Nile isn’t quite certain she heard it correctly. “Could I give you a hug?”

“I guess?”

Nicky’s arms are strong, and certain when he pulls her in, and while he holds her the ground seems sturdy beneath her feet for the first time since she woke up in that hospital bed. “Thank you,” he whispers, squeezing her tighter “for saving my family,”

“Nicolo,” Joe is standing in the doorway, squinting against the light in the living room. His curls are messy, his beard is ruffled, and Nile has to keep herself from laughing at how adorable he looks.

“Trouble sleeping?” Nicky asks, he says it like it’s a joke, but Nile knows it isn’t.

“I was just thinking how cute I looked laying in that bed, and I would hate to deny you the opportunity to watch me sleep,” Joe winks, his face lighting up in a smile.

“I’ll be in in just a moment, Yusuf, va bene?”

“nem,” Joe disappears back into the bedroom.

Nicky turns back to Nile, and much like Joe’s earlier, when his eyes meet hers, they shine. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I think so, are you?”

“I am,” Nicky squeezes Nile’s arm, his right lip pulling upwards “Goodnight, Nile,”

“Night,” she replies as Nicky follows Joe into the other room. While Nile is tired her mind is still working too quickly to settle for the evening, so instead she spends some time pacing the living room. She thinks about the days, about the Guard. Though they live forever, Nile has seen the way they come alive around each other, has seen the love they share. This is a family, she has no doubt, and one she will be lucky to one day feel a part of. When she plugs her phone in to charge, she feels the need to study her mother’s face, to try to commit it to her memory. She leans against the doorframe to the bedroom the others are all sharing, a bed made beautifully at the end, just for her. If Nile hadn’t just spent the last few years sleeping next to a dozen fellow soldiers she’d think that it was weird they always seemed to share a room. She looks at Booker, snoring lightly in his bed, even asleep his face is full of sorrow. At Andy, who is curled up on her right side, eyes flickering rapidly beneath her eyelids, face peaceful. She cannot tell where Joe ends and Nicky begins, the two of them a pile of legs and arms, nestled together warm and close. Nile turns off the lights, fumbles her way in the darkness to the bed, it’s a little lumpy, but much more comfortable than the cot she’s been sleeping in recently. She stares up at the ceiling, listens to the others breathe until she slips into unconsciousness.

That night she does not dream of Quynh, nor the men that she has killed. Instead, she dreams of her father’s combat boots, of the folded flag that hangs above the front door. She dreams of her brother, of the music he’s been working on. She dreams of her father, and feels like she is flying when he lifts her and places her on his shoulders. She dreams of shag carpet against her skin as she sits between her mother’s legs, as her mother braids her hair and calls her beautiful, and reminds her that there is so much life to be lived outside Chicago. “Look,” her mother says, and holds up a mirror. Inside it Nile sees Afghanistan, sees Gousainville, and London. “You have so many more adventures ahead of you,” her mother says, leaning forward so Nile’s cheek is pressed against her own. “Go find them,”

Nile wakes up in the morning to the sound of muffled laughter and makes her choice.

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 2 - Let’s Go Back a Bit

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Prowl, Bumblebee, Tracks, Megatron Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 2667

I shouldn’t be writing this for so many reasons

( Previous )

Motherfucking Earth.

He hated it, but at least it had some good curse words. Fuck was a good one. Damn. Hell. Insinuating things about one’s mother or father or what you did with them.

Because for some reason the organics thought those things bad. Oh, no, he did know the reason. Genes. Organics could mess those up with some inbreeding.

So they had decent excuses for being against it.

But that was the thing, they were organic. There were organics everywhere, because it was an organic planet, full of dirt and disgusting plant matter and fleshlings that got all over the place. No crack or crevice was safe.

Excuse him, then, if he wasn’t too pleased to return from another patrol covered in dust that clung on his plating inside and out. Sideswipe was prattling on about whatever as they transformed in front of the Ark and headed into the downed and buried ship. Sunstreaker didn’t listen and Sideswipe didn’t care that he didn’t listen.

You know, the usual.

He set the course straight for the washracks and Sideswipe pranced along beside him, a-bubble with energy despite just coming off from a very long drive. At least he knew better than to argue about first cleaning themselves up, then worrying about everything else. Like fueling. Or recharging.

Not that either of them needed to fuel or recharge yet, but even if they did.

The washracks… Were not empty. Sunstreaker scowled at the whistling that could be heard before they even entered. Bumblebee.

And Tracks.

Ugh.

“Gentlemechs!” Sideswipe crowed as they entered, catching the attention of the two occupants. Tracks looked as unhappy to see them as Sunstreaker did; Bumblebee just hollered a greeting.

“What you’re going to do now,” Sunstreaker continued on the heels of Sideswipe’s little grab for attention, “is leave.”

Sideswipe’s smile never once left his face. Sunstreaker made sure the doorway was clear for Tracks and Bumblebee to file out, and crossed his arms expectantly.

Bumblebee didn’t put up a fight, just turned off his shower and went to dry himself up. Okay, cool.

Tracks, however?

“Slag off, Sunstreaker,” he growled. “These are public washracks, if you’d forgotten.”

“I definitely did not forget,” Sunstreaker countered coldly, narrowing his optics at the blue mech who thought he was pretty. Prettier than Sunstreaker, even.

Deluded little fool.

“Changes nothing. Out,” he snapped, jerking his helm in the direction of the door. Bumblebee had stalled, glancing uncertainly between them. The tension in the room rose, none of them was blind to that fact.

An easy smile continued to play on Sideswipe’s face.

Tracks revved his engine in defiance. Sunstreaker’s revved louder.  

“Last chance,” he growled.

Tracks didn’t heed the warning, a sneer forming on his face. He tossed the scrub in his servo at Sunstreaker, a clear instigation.

Sideswipe caught the offending object in mid flight before it had any chances of hitting Sunstreaker. Tracks only looked more peeved by that fact.

But Sunstreaker had had enough. To the credit of his stupidity, Tracks refused to be cowed when Sunstreaker began to stalk towards him, just straightening his back in what was a clear gesture of ‘make me’, unspoken as it was.

And oh, Sunstreaker would make him, and take pleasure in it too. 

Tracks was a formidable warrior on his own right, it was just that Sunstreaker was better in every way. When he moved to close those last few feet, it was before Tracks could react. Sunstreaker’s fist hit the underside of his jaw before the blue mech’s reflexes could save him, sending Tracks reeling, stumbling, clanging against the wall behind him. Sunstreaker moved in without giving him time to recover, grabbing the Corvette by the back of his neck and bodily dragging him to the door. Tracks was cursing and struggling, but the harder he fought, the tighter Sunstreaker’s grip got, until the prints of his digits were clearly indented on Tracks’ neck.

Bumblebee at least showed some smarts and hurried to the door and out through it before him. Sideswipe swept his arms and bowed in an exaggerated genteel gesture of 'this way, please', snickering away as Sunstreaker threw Tracks through the doorway after Bumblebee, and closed the door on his heels.

“You know Prowl’s gonna have a field day on your hide for that,” Sideswipe laughed as they headed to the showers in the now conquered washracks. Sunstreaker just grunted in response, stepping under the spray without fanfare and puffing his armor to let the solvent trail into his internals.

Dust, grime, and dirt. Primus, Earth sucked.

They washed each other and themselves, not in silence, because Sideswipe couldn’t keep his fat vocalizer shut for more than a minute or two. Sunstreaker would've sworn he was as bad as Bluestreak, sometimes. The both of them just hated quiet.

Which meant Sunstreaker very rarely got any quiet either, at most so when Sideswipe was recharging.

He didn’t acknowledge most of what Sideswipe said, but that didn’t discourage his twin at all. Never had, never would. It wasn’t even about being acknowledged, anyway, just about making noise for the sake of making noise. The patter of solvent against armor and soft drag of a scrub against plating just wasn’t enough, evidently.

Surprisingly, they managed to wash up before anyone came to yell at them—or him—over throwing out Tracks and Bumblebee. Well, Bumblebee was so peace loving that he probably wasn’t going to say anything about it anyway, but Tracks definitely would. No doubt he’d hear about the whole thing still, but they had the time to dry themselves and make it to the rec room without anyone interrupting them. 

They even managed to get their ratios and sit down in one of the corner tables Sunstreaker preferred. Sideswipe had stopped talking in favor of humming the tune of whatever his latest favorite song was as they sipped from their cubes, not in much of a rush. Sunstreaker was looking forward to a thorough polishing session, but Sideswipe wasn’t. He just wanted to get to what was his idea of fun.

Too bad, he’d just have to help Sunstreaker reach all of his frame first. What was the point of having two frames if he couldn’t make use of them, seriously?

As a bit of a compromise, they’d take their time with this, even if you would have thought that Sideswipe would be eager to just get over it. The faster it was done, the faster he could get to his own things, but Sideswipe was too focused on short term gratification to reason things like that.

Alas, their peace wasn’t meant to last. Sunstreaker’s optics focused on the doorway when a certain someone of black and white and doorwings entered.

Said wings had a decidedly annoyed tilt to them. He was very familiar with that position of theirs.

“Sunstreaker,” Prowl said as he approached. Sunstreaker grunted. There was no way Prowl would ever sound angry instead of just coolly professional, but he was irked. Sunstreaker tried to hide his smirk behind his cube, but according to the twitch of the tactician’s wings, he didn’t quite succeed.

Oh well.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to bully others?” Prowl continued even more coldly now that it was proven Sunstreaker found the whole situation amusing, as he often did. 

Amusing, but also annoying. “Go eat a dick,” Sunstreaker said with a roll of his optics before turning his attention away entirely and setting to ignoring the SIC. “Jazz’s maybe. I bet he’d like that.” Prowl’s doorwings twitched harder.

There was an amused huff off to the side, and when Sunstreaker glanced that way, he could see Mirage desperately trying to hold onto his noble veneer and not laugh at crude things that were supposed to be well below him. 

Alas, he’d spent a bit too much time with the twins. And Jazz. Jazz was no better.

Jazz would’ve found that funny, no doubt.

Prowl, not so much. “Don’t think I won’t assign you to the dustiest patrols and lock the washracks for you and Sideswipe.”

Well, that got Sunstreaker’s attention. Sideswipe laughed beside him as Sunstreaker’s optics snapped back to the tactician and narrowed.

Prowl’s optics narrowed right back at him. “You wouldn’t dare,” the golden twin hissed. Patrols on the dirtiest routes and no washracks afterwards?

Hell no.

“Oh, I would,” Prowl responded, and sadly, Sunstreaker knew he was right. Prowl damn well would dare. Mech had a spine of steel too, and Sunstreaker had spent long enough under his command to know there was absolutely nothing he could do to intimidate the mech out of his damned ideas.  

“This is your one and only warning. The washracks are public and will remain so whether you like or not. 

“And don’t take this out on Tracks either, or there will be consequences.”

Pits, it was like Prowl read his processors sometimes. Sunstreaker scowled and weighed the promise of his bad time against his fantasies of Tracks’ bad time. 

He’d have to revisit those thoughts when he saw that loser again.

“Do we have an understanding?” Prowl asked and Sunstreaker rolled his optics again before slouching further in his seat.

“Sure,” he muttered sullenly.

Before Prowl had the chance to say anything to that, his doorwings stiffened—a few seconds before the alarm sounded and Red Alert’s notice of Decepticon activity sprang on everyone’s HUDs. Ironhide’s orders on who was going to get dispatched followed shortly after.

The twins’ names were on that list.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a look that quickly turned into ferocious grins, before they bolted towards the exit.

Time to kick some ‘Con aft.

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

Skyfire was quick in taking them to the scene of the Decepticons once again stealing energy from some power plant Sunstreaker didn’t give one flying fuck about. Good news was that the place was already evacuated, so there was no need to follow high and mighty Optimus’ orders about not causing any squishies to die as collateral damage.

Seriously, there were millions of them on this planet. No one would miss a dozen or two.

The Decepticons were present in force, but now, so were the Autobots. Some of the Seekers took to the skies to harass the largely ground bound Autobots.

Twins? Oh, Sunstreaker should have been as incapable at getting off the ground as the majority of his comrades, but Sideswipe’s jetpack had been a game changer ever since he got it. On Prowl’s order to do something about the fliers before they could bomb the Autobot forces, Sideswipe got the both of them into the air, tossing Sunstreaker onto the back of Ramjet while Sideswipe went after Dirge. 

Jet judo. The Decepticon fliers on Earth were already far too familiar with it, but the twins were just too good for the ‘Cons to evade them no matter how much experience they were all gaining with this. The fliers could learn their tricks all they wanted, they’d always come up with new ones to get to inflict the damage they wanted. 

Sure, ground to air missiles existed too, and Sideswipe wasn’t the only one of the Autobots who had those, but where was the fun in that? A hands on approach was much more satisfying.

With all the familiarity that came from having ridden this same rodeo so many times before, Sunstreaker… Neutralized Ramjet in short order, sending the flier into a wicked nosedive.

Of course, the hard part was the fact he was perfectly incapable of any manner of flight himself, unlike his brother. That came with certain dangers when you came down from the sky at a high velocity.

But he was built durable, to put it mildly. Sunstreaker jumped off Ramjet’s back a few seconds before the screaming ‘Con made headfirst contact with the unforgiving ground. For his part, Sunstreaker landed in what couldn’t be called anything more than a crash either, but at least he still had all of his frame’s functions to himself and could do all the usual bending of the knees and rolling that reduced some of the force of a hard landing. 

He ended up in a crouch, a little worse for wear but fully functional despite the aches in his struts. The sounds of battle were… Some ways off, actually. Gunfire, the scream of missiles, all that, it wasn’t in his immediate vicinity.

That gave him the time to brush himself off a bit. Dirt and grass and more dirt… He seriously hated this planet.

And… See, Sunstreaker was used to looks and stares. Of course he was, he was one of the most beautiful—if not the most beautiful—mecha in existence. Mecha couldn’t get enough of him, which he was perfectly alright with as long as they did it from a distance and left it to just looks.  

He could feel optics on him now too, which was a little unusual when usually in battles most were focused on the fighting instead of admiring him—a crime, really—but… He could already guess whose optics they were on him.

Sunstreaker glanced up, and sure enough, Megatron was staring at him across the distance.

And why had he expected it? Because this had happened a few times before now, too. In a few battles by now, Megatron had just… Watched him. Not approaching, not trying to engage him, but it was Megatron. Just the mech’s optics had enough weight in them to make lesser sparks cower. There was unspeakable strength in him that shone in his deep red gaze—red, the color of the Decepticons.

The color of evil.

And the most corrupt of them all was looking straight at him.

But Sunstreaker was no lesser spark. He didn’t avert his gaze, he didn’t flinch, he didn’t give.  

Instead he raised his chin, and stared right back. Even from this distance Sunstreaker could see Megatron’s optical ridges rising. They hadn’t really had the time for staring contests before now, Sunstreaker had always been too busy not having his aft shot to do more than confirm that the burn on his plating was caused by Megatron.

He wasn’t too busy now, and Megatron looked… Impressed.  

But what had he expected? Anyone who knew anything about Sunstreaker knew that he didn’t bow to fear, if he even felt the emotion. He didn’t now. Maybe he should have. Megatron was beyond dangerous, one of the most powerful Cybertronians to have ever existed—and while Sunstreaker was formidable himself, Megatron was on a whole nother level. Common judgement had it that only the likes of Optimus Prime could take him on and hope to win. 

Anyone else could only hope to stall him.

Did Megatron know anything about him though? Did he have preexisting expectations of Sunstreaker?

Did he remember him?

::SUNSTREAKER!::

The volume with which he was called broke the spell and pulled him back to reality. Sunstreaker raised a servo to the side of his helmet—the universal signal he was in a comm. call, for Megatron’s benefit. Wouldn’t want him to think Sunstreaker had suddenly turned into a mouse and scurried off because of it, spooked by the tyrant’s unwavering focus.

Never would he do that.

::Yeah?:: Sunstreaker asked, annoyed over the interruption and letting it ring loud and clear in his voice.

Prowl sounded beyond exasperated by this point. He had probably tried to reach him for a while already. ::I don’t know what you’re doing, but I need you backing up Sideswipe.::

::Sideswipe’s fine,:: Sunstreaker argued after confirming so with his brother. Sideswipe was much amused over his distraction and a little annoyed that he’d just abandoned the battle and his twin with it, but he wasn’t doing anything he would’ve desperately needed Sunstreaker’s presence for.

Prowl? Prowl did not agree. ::That. Is. An. Order.::

Aha. And what happened if you ignored Prowl’s order orders?

You got stupid and boring punishments, that’s what. 

Sunstreaker rolled his optics, flipped the bird at Megatron, and ran back towards the main battle.

( Next )

[skvaderarts]

Apocrypha Chapter Twelve: Lofty

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Chapter Twelve: Lofty

Notes: Welcome to the community, Kokox10! I loved reading your comments. It's always to have a new face around here to interact with. I hope that every single one of you had a good week and that you're staying safe. And thank you for continuing to read the story!

(-~-)

The Sparda Express pulled into the station at half past eight am, the cool waters of the bay area glimmering like a mirage in an arid desert. The sands were practically untouched, evening wind shaping them into smooth, wavy rows that perfectly accented the dark surf at the water's edge. It seemed as though the residents of the sleepy beachside town had yet to venture out of their homes, and those that had were at work or school. As an added bonus, their hotel was just across from the boardwalk that bordered the white sands of the seafront, providing them easy access to the shops and their earthly possessions. This was advantageous to the members of the Devil May Cry agency, as it meant that they would attract even less attention than they normally did back home.

Accommodations had been arranged ahead of time by Morrison to help avoid any complications. Things were never simple when you were dealing with such a large group of people. Much to the shock and horror of basically everyone involved, there were enough beds to go around, but only three rooms, meaning that someone would be staying with the children. Nero volunteered almost instantly, all to aware of the fact that Kyire would do so if someone else didn't. That was just who she was as a person. But he hadn't talked her into coming just so she could spend all of her time worrying over the boys. And besides, he had been looking for another opportunity to spend some quality time with the children. It all worked out in the end for the five of them.

Who it didn't work out for was V.

In a decision that surprised literally no one, Dante and Vergil ended up sharing a room. But unlike Lady, Trish, and Nico, who were sharing the remaining room, and Patty, who had booked her own private room that she decided to share with Kyrie at the last minute just because she'd come to enjoy her company on the train ride over, V ended up with two less than ideal choices. He could either stay with Nero… or he could stay with his father and uncle, a choice that carried the added risk of being awoken in the middle of the night by a charged sword fight if they got into a disagreement.

Considering the fact that the accommodations had been taken care of by a third party, no one aside from Patty had considered who they might end up sharing a room with, least of all V. He'd simply agreed to some because he'd never been to the beach before, and he was curious to see what it was like. But, in the end, he decided to go against his sense of self preservation and stay in the room with Dante and Vergil, a choice that seemed to take both twins off guard. They were only sleeping in the same room. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

Yes.

Yes it could.

After taking their bags to their respective rooms and grabbing the necessities that they would need for the foreseeable future, they split into groups to check out different parts of the beach. Nero and Nico headed to the beach, noting that containing the excitement of the children was difficult. It was best to simply go ahead and let them start exploring the water's edge and enjoying the summer sun. Lady, Trish, and Patty absolutely insisted that Kyrie come with them to a local clothing boutique they'd seen on the way into town, noting that she needed something "cute to wear to the beach." The young woman reluctantly agreed, more than likely afraid of what the two devil hunters would try to get her to try on.

But Dante and Vergil were still at the hotel, roaming the lobby. Despite the fact that he had agreed to come to the beach, V had told everyone else to go ahead. Apparently he was still trying to talk himself into leaving the hotel room and actually going to the beach. They had no idea what the conflict could be, but Vergil had opted to stay behind and wait for him, unbeknownst to his oldest son. This was partially due to their agreement to talk on the train, and to help Vergil avoid the concept of actually going to the beach yet. Vergil had spent enough time near the water for his tastes. And as such, Dante had chosen to stay and wait with him. He has obvious motives for doing so, but that went without saying.

"So… what do you think is keeping him," Dante said as he flipped through the magazine that he'd found on the table in front of him. He was reclined in a comfortable lobby chair while Vergil chose to lean against the wall by the window. V was still upstairs in their hotel room, doing who knew what. Everyone else had left a few minutes ago.

Vergil folded his arms, looking out of the corner of his eye at the window. Blue as far as the eye could see. No sand from this angle. Just light water that slowly melded into deeper water and what seemed to be a large rock or small island in the distance; nothing but a speck on the horizon from this distance. He didn't find that as tranquil and enticing as he imagined that most people would.

"It was your decision to stay behind, Dante. No one is forcing you to be here," Vergil said flatly, hoping to halt any plans his younger twin might have of asking that question repeatedly in order to drive him slowly insane," He can't be expected to rush, especially when he has no idea that anyone is waiting for him. He has no compelling reason to hurry."

Dante leaned back slightly and craned his neck to the side, raising his eyebrows in curiosity. He wasn't accustomed to Vergil being this patent. While his twin was admittedly very good at planning and enacting long, drawn out plans, he wasn't normally so good at sitting (or standing) and waiting for long periods of time. Or any period of time, for that matter. Being left along to wander through his subconscious was a bad course of action, more often than not. And the longer the eldest Son of Sparda was forced to wait, the thinner his tolerance grew. Patience was not normally a quality his twin brother possessed as an extension of that fact. But here he was, resisting the urge to go knock on the door and tell V that they were waiting for him. He really was trying, wasn't he?

"Yea, but he might have decided to take a nap or something for all we know," Dante said, turning a page in the periodical he was browsing through. He hadn't found anything super interesting yet. No news of anything demonic in the area. Maybe the residents of the town didn't believe in that sort of thing? "Don't you think you should go check on him or something?"

Vergil shrugged slightly, seemingly indifferent to the suggestion. At the end of the day, he was in no hurry to go anywhere. They would be here for a few days. He felt no reason to rush. He really didn't have anything planned once they reached the waterfront. "When last I checked, your legs were perfectly functional. Why not go ask him yourself?"

Dante shook his head slightly and returned to his magazine. He didn't really have a comeback to that statement. Yea, he was physically capable of doing that. He just didn't feel like doing that at the moment. As far as he was concerned, Vergil had a point on this one. But he was willing to admit that it was still possible that he could be correct, too. He would wait for a few more minutes before heading upstairs to double check what was causing the delay.

A passive silence fell over them both. For once, the silence between them wasn't a result of hostility or bitter feelings, so there was one silver lining to this situation. But either way, Dante hoped that V would come down soon and spare them from the lack of conversation. It was too early in the trip of things to be so uncomfortable. They hadn't even gotten sand where it didn't belong yet!

Off in the distance, the faint sound of a door closing could be heard. Dante subconsciously hoped that his wish had come true while Vergil shot a slow but brief glance in the general direction of the stairs. Neither of them had any idea how many rooms were in this building, especially considering the fact that there were two wings with rooms in them, but that didn't change the fact that it could possibly be V. The youngest Son of Sparda's hopes were dashed a second later as a young woman walked past them, heading out of the building. She proceeded to the checkout counter, paid some sort of fee, and then vacated the building, towing her bags behind her.

The youngest of the two twins flipped through his magazine, checking to see if anything else caught his eye before admitting defeat and casually flinging it across the table. It landed in the center of the table with a soft smack and then folded open again, the wear and overuse it had suffered through clearly leaving a permanent crease in one portion of the thin booklet. Dante almost pitied it in a way. Sometimes he felt like that magazine.

A chance glance in Vergil's general direction revealed that he had slowly migrated closer to the bottom of the steps, rounding the corner that he had been around. Part of him wondered what had motivated him to do so, but he was actually more curious as to why a hotel with five stories didn't have an elevator in it. Yes, it was older and seemed to be retrofitted with newer amenities, but that didn't make it any less of a hassle. Their room was on the third floor. At least it had a bathroom.

Faint footsteps could be heard from throughout the entire building as different patrons went about their business, going to and from their rooms. The soft classical music that played throughout the building lended a relaxing air to the place that you'd expect considering the fact that it was on a waterfront. No one wanted to come here and not relax. That would be stupid. As this thought passed through Dante's mind, another visitor came down the steps, shooting a curious look over their shoulder as they reached the bottom of the steps. Upon seeing the twins, the young man furrowed his brow for a moment before heading towards the buffet area. A knowing look crossed Vergil's face.

"You may get your wish sooner rather than later, brother." Vergil said calmly as he watched the man leave, paying little attention to his twin's reaction. 

Dante nodded. "Yea, seems like he was suffering from a serious case of deja vu." He stretched out, making himself comfortable," Or maybe he saw our hair color and just thinks we're old or something. He wouldn't really be wrong."

The comment seemed to incense Vergil, causing him almost serene demeanor to shatter like porcelain in an earthquake. Dante could practically feel him get pissed off at the statement. "I'm not old, Dante. You'd do well to remember that."

Upon hearing his brother's statement, Dante laughed, garnering him an almost ticked off look from his older twin. "Vergil, were twins. If I'm old, you're old. And I'm pretty sure I'm old," He said, shaking his head at the inevitability of their mortality," You have two grown kids. One of them had three kids of their own. Only old people have adult kids, brothers. I'm sorry to break it to ya, but you're old!"

Vergil looked equal parts furious and horrified at his brother's statement. Dante knew that regardless of what his brother felt, that didn't change things. They both knew they were not as young as they had once been. That was just how life worked. But it occurred to him in that moment that maybe Vergil hadn't considered how much of his life he had lost to his time in the underworld until now. The gravity of having spent half his life down there had probably hit him like a brick shithouse. They'd come here to enjoy a relaxing seaside vacation, and he'd given his older twin an existential crisis instead. 

Eh, he wasn't upset about it, either.

"I'm... were not having this conversation today." Vergil said, clearly flustered. Dante was lucky that Yamato was nowhere to be seen. That being said, he was sure Vergil had stashed the blade somewhere around himself. It seemed to appear from nowhere half of the time anyway. Their father's old sword was just weird like that sometimes.

"Fine by me… but you're still-" Dante started, barely suppressing the shiteating grin that was threatening to spread across his face. It was good to see that he could still get under his older twin's skin this easy.

"Don't you dare!" Vergil said, his voice slightly elevated, but his tone darker than normal. It was extremely alarming and intimidating. Dante was half sure that his twin was about to whip out his trusty katana and cut him a new one. His older twin took a step towards him, more than likely about to say something when there was a loud thump and a yelp. Vergil pivoted and took a few quick steps to the left without looking, just barely stopping in front of the stairs in time.

Without warning, V came rocketing down the steps. The young summoner had more than likely missed a step, and his misplaced footing had sent him headfirst over the top of the stairs. Vergil caught him under the left arm and right side respectively, sliding back slightly as he braced himself carefully, seemingly noting that, due to his height, not holding him up was probably just as bad as simply letting him hit the floor. V gasped for breath slightly as he hit his father's chest first, knocking his head against his shoulder. If V had been heavier and Vergil less coordinated, the sheer force of impact would have probably sent them both tumbling to the floor. Dante had clambered to his feet during the excitement, heading over towards them. What the hell had just happened?

V took a second to steady himself, rubbing his head slightly as his legs buckled. After a moment, he stood up all the way. He seemed startled and slightly dazed, but otherwise unharmed. Dante walked over to the stairs and picked up the shoulder bad that V had dropped. He was willing to bet that it had thrown him off and caused him to go flying down the stairs. At least he was alright.

"You alright there, mister poetry?" Dante asked as he walked over to him, handing him the bag. He considered shaking him slightly to test this, but decided against it once his self preservation instincts kicked in. "What the hell happened?"

The younger white haired part devil shook his head slightly as if doing so would help him part the clouds in his mind. He accepted his bag from Dante with a grateful nod before turning back to Vergil. It was then that he noticed that he was braced against the older devil hunter, his balance not yet fully returned. It seemed that his equilibrium was still slightly off. V took a step back and swayed slightly, his head swimming and pounding like all the blood had just rushed to it. What was wrong with him?

"... Thank you for catching me. I'm fine now." V said softly, his head still swimming. It was like he was caught in an echo chamber. The sensation was nauseating. "And for my bag, Dante. I appreciate it."

Vergil craned his head to the side, giving him a thinly concealed look of what V identified as concern. Or, at least that's what he thought it was. He couldn't be sure, but that was the reaction that made the most sense to him.

"Your a poor liar," Vergil said with a huff, steadying him by grabbing his forearm. He was trying his level best to look calm and composed, but the eldest Son of Sparda was admittedly still playing over how things could have gone if he hadn't caught him." We decided to wait for you. Can you stand?"

The hint of concern in his father's voice and the way that Vergil had offhandedly asked him if he was alright resonated with him, catching him slightly by surprise. Getting used to Vergil treating him like this was going to take a lot of getting used to. He hoped he wouldn't need to. Constantly being in danger didn't agree with his physical composition. 

Where had his demonic blood failed him? 

Why did he suffer from such a distinct lack of… durability?

V took a moment to fix the loose white button down shirt that Kyrie had absolutely insisted he wear on this trip when she had surprised him and Nero with them. Apparently she'd wanted to take pictures of them in matching outfits. Despite the fact that he was still wearing loose pants and Nero was wearing knee length shorts, the prospect of a photo opp still gave him hypertension. But Kyrie had asked so…

"I'll be fine. We should go and meet Nero and the others. I'm sure the children have overthrown him by now." V said as he rubbed his shoulder in mild discomfort. He was relatively sure he'd pulled something when Vergil caught him under the arm. It was a fact of life that his bones despised him and possessed the combined durability of a broken light bulb and the rigidity of a dry spaghetti noodle. His physical composition seemed engineered to fail painfully at times, especially when his limbs simply stopped working like his leg had on the stairs. "And I suppose we should have that talk now, shouldn't we?

Vergil nodded slowly, giving him a careful look as Dante headed towards the front door. He could tell they needed a moment, so giving them some space had been a no brainier. 

"Yes, I believe that might be the right course of action. Come then." Vergil said as he stepped past him. He paused for a moment, turning back towards V," Ah yes… I almost forgot."

With that, he snagged V's bag and turned back towards the door, walking a few steps before stopping. He seemed to be waiting for him. V took the hint and followed after them both, flabbergasted. It seemed that there was some unwritten rule stating that he was not permitted to carry bags while in his father's company. He wasn't sure how he felt about that yet, to be honest.

(-~-)

Thanks for reading this chapter! I'm happy today I finished it on Monday at 6:20 am! I'm not glad that I'm up this late, per say. I'm just glad that I'll be finished with Friday's chapter come Thursday morning! Being on schedule for once is a nice feeling. Have a safe week and I'll see you again on Friday!

[amydancepants-peralta]

1, 9, 16 or 38 for the "50 cliché tropes and prompts" they're all so good and I just know you'd come up with something perfect for every one of these prompts but maybe one of these strike some inspiration for you to write. Have a great day! (:

Hi there, anon! 👋 Turns out I really wanted to do prompt number 1 as well as the other one I answered, so here we are! 🙈  Slightly deviated from the wording, but I think it still fits!  

Cliche prompt 1: There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close.

* * * NSFW * * * 

baby did a bad, bad thing

The sound of Amy’s footsteps echo across the pavement as she rushes along the sidewalk, pausing to take stock of her location before breaking out into a run.  On her shoulder, the police issue radio crackles with information, the familiar voice of her fellow officers tickling her ear as they called out key info.  Quickly, she activates the speaker on her end, confirming that she was on pursuit.  She feels a rush of adrenaline coarse through her as she rounds another corner, pulling away from the main street to focus on the lesser known back area, knowing that the other men have the latter covered.  

This was one of her more favourite parts of the job.  When all pretence falls away, and everyone simply bands together to catch the bad guy.  Yes, there was always somebody who got to claim the collar, and if there was a cool story about a heroic dive thrown into the mix, all the better, but at the end of the day it was the unified understanding that the good guys always win that made Amy love her job all the more.   

And then she sees something up ahead - a flash of plaid that makes her brows knit.  Jake?  

It couldn’t possibly be him.  Jake, her husband, was stuck in Detroit tying up a bunch of loose ends left over from a case that had been transferred from the Nine-Nine.  Originally in Chicago for a Detective Conference (or Detect-A-Con, as he liked to put it), he’d been pulled from his last day off and sent straight to Detroit.  Turning his four day trip into a three week nightmare, when the suspect they’d all assumed dead turned out to be very alive, and very much into continuing his streak of criminal activity in the ghost city.  His insider knowledge of the case had proved to be invaluable, and while Amy was incredibly proud of how hard her husband was working to solve the case, there was a larger - slightly more selfish - part of her that just wanted him to come home.  

She missed him, so much it hurt, and that has to be the reason why she thinks she sees him running in front of her.  He was coming home tonight - she’d already planned out her trip to the airport down to the minute.  There was no way that he was chasing after the same perp right now.  

And then his voice cuts through on the two-way, and Amy can feel her heart leap into her throat.  He’s here.  Maybe she got the schedule mixed up, or maybe there is no logical reason, because all she can think of now is he’s here and she can feel her pace increasing, desperate to reach him in case this was all a mirage.  

He turns down an alley, and she shakes her head as she runs, confused because all the intel over the radio was telling them that the perp was heading in a completely different direction - and she knows that she should trust his instinct but he’s going the wrong way, and the perp is definitely heading north and against all of her better judgement she finds herself turning west, following Jake down the passageway.  

There’s a dead-end, she can see it within seconds of turning in, and she slows her steps down to avoid hitting the brick, turning into a fast paced stride when she sees a familiar set of shoulders slump.  He’s facing the wall, hands on his hips as he catches his breath, but it’s him, it’s absolutely him, and as she calls out his name he turns, hearing her steps before her voice.  His smile is blinding, and it’s her favourite thing in the world to see, and then his arms are around her and everything else just fades away.     

“You’re here!” she whispers into his neck, punctuating it with a kiss.  

“I’m here, babe.  They let me get out early.”

She pulls back, running her eyes over his face until he pulls her in for a kiss, a real kiss, the kind she’s been needing for three damn weeks, and she can feel herself melting in his arms.  The radio on her shoulder crackles again, startling them apart, and they stand in silence as they listen to the chatter.  The perp had been caught, a good eight or nine blocks from where they were, and all units have been ordered to stand down.  Jake turns his attention back to her, hand running up and down her back the way he always does when they’re reunited, and it’s simple but it makes her so happy.  

“Sounds like they got him,” he mumbles against her lips before pressing against them, this kiss a little more chaste.

“Mmm.”  She was less interested in talking, but then an important detail springs to mind.  “Where were you going, anyway?  This was almost the exact opposite of where the perp was running.”

“Well I wouldn’t say exact - okay, fine.”  Jake concedes with a sigh at the look on Amy’s face.  “I got disoriented.  I’d only slept a little on the plane, and I’d started to drive to work to surprise you when I heard the chase over the radio, and I was nearby so of course I joined in.  I took this alley because I thought it would be a shortcut, only now I realise that it’s actually on the other side, and about three blocks that way.”

Amy smiles up at him, and he continues.  “Wait, why are you here?  Did you follow me into an alley?”

“I’d follow you anywhere, babe.”

He answers with another soft kiss, arms tightening slightly around her.  “Good answer, Ames.  Totally takes away the creepy following-you-into-an-abandoned-alley vibe we were building there.”

She laughs, tugging on his neck until his lips are against hers again, and this time there is no break for talking.  His arms tighten again as he moves her gently, not stopping until she feel the brick wall behind her, and his hands move to hair as he deepens the kiss.  She should stop him, tell him to slow it down - she was still on duty, after all - but the perp had been caught and it had been the only thing on an otherwise slow afternoon and maybe they deserved a little time to themselves.  

His kiss grows hotter, his hands roaming across her back now and the memory of their phone call just two nights ago rings in her ears.  The heaviness of his breath as he told her everything he wished he could do to her.  Describing, in minute detail, how he would move his tongue against her flesh.  Guiding her through her orgasm, desire obvious in his voice as she panted down the phone line, never so desperate to bridge the gap between them - knowing that they would be together in a few short days but still feeling like it was too long to wait.  

He was here now - here, in her arms, real and tangible and everything she’d been craving for the last three weeks.  They’d spent longer apart, sure, and any average couple could definitely survive such a short lapse of time.  But she and Jake weren’t your average couple, and both knew all too well how much distance can eat away at you.  

She can feel the wetness beginning to pool into her underwear, and she adjusts her position until she finds the friction she needs against the crotch of his jeans, the stiffness of the fabric (and what lay beneath) providing enough stimulation to keep her going.  His hands move to her front, brushing against her chest and stomach before heading south, and when he touches her through the material she almost comes on the spot.  She knew she had missed this - turns out she’d had no idea how much.

And Amy knows that this is a Very Bad Idea.  She knows that it is completely against the rules.  But this is her husband, damn it, and she’s missed him so very much, and she can feel him hard against her thigh, and this is definitely happening.

The reasoning that they are deep at the back of this alley, that there is an abandoned car obstructing the street from the view of them, the fact that dusk had begun to fall across the sky … all of these thoughts ran through Amy’s mind as she tightens her arms around Jake’s neck, sighing into his mouth as the sound of the zipper on her pants descending bounces off the surrounding brick.  Then she feels the cold air and the recognisable feeling of Jake’s bare legs against hers and he’s lifting - lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his waist and this is definitely happening.  

He slides into her with ease, releasing a sigh as they begin to move together, the feeling already so familiar but still so precious.  His smile is warm, softly moaned versions of her name falling from his lips as he cups her neck in his palm, bridging the gap with another heated kiss as they fall into a rhythm.     

Amy can feel the brick scraping through her uniformed blouse, the rough edges of the mortar catching against the fabric, and she knows there will be a few marks left on her back after this, but she doesn’t care.  It didn’t matter.  Nothing else mattered, right now, except for the feeling of Jake inside her, and oh how she’d missed this.  She releases a moan with every push of his hips against hers, and when she moves her hands into his hair to tug gently, his teeth sink softly into her lower lip.  She responds with a heavy sigh, tipping her head back to call out his name.

He holds her steady for a moment, thrusts ceasing as he pins her to the wall with his pelvis, left hand gripping her butt as his right reaches for his tie.  He rests his index finger against his mouth, miming the universal sign for shhhh before moving the same finger to trace along the edge of her face.  He offers her the end of the garment, pressing against her lips until she bites, knowing that she needs to be quiet and that without something in or against her mouth, quiet was definitely not going to be possible.  

(She was rarely quiet when they were together, and she knew how much he loved that.)

It was one that she had bought him, not long after they’d started dating, a knitted navy blue that matched perfectly with one of her favourite blouses.  It made her smile whenever he wore it, and she never would have predicted a day would come when she needed to grip it between her teeth to keep her moans from becoming too loud while they fucked in an alley downtown.  

(They had used his ties for *ahem* other activities, of course.  But in those instances they both preferred the smooth material of his silk options.  Much more gentle on the wrists.)

He smiles at her when she bares her teeth down on the fabric, eyes careful to check that she’s okay before leaving a sloppy kiss to the side of her mouth.  Moving his hand back to rest behind her head, sheltering her scalp from the brick, he reverts back to the smooth thrusts he had been giving her only moments ago.   

Her legs tighten around his waist.  They were going to have to be quick.  The risk of getting caught, while enticing, was very real and there would be no going back if it happened.  And so Jake’s pace accelerates, face tucking into the side of her neck as he fucks her with a renewed vigour, the sensation of his cock pounding into her causing Amy to thrust her tongue against the fabric of the tie, teeth protesting as they gnash against the thread.  She shifts her hips slightly, tipping herself up a fraction of an inch - all she can afford in this position, but all she needs because now Jake is rubbing against her clit with every single thrust, and her hand clenches into his hair as her body begins to react.  

His hot kisses run along her neck, reaching up to her jawline before surrounding her cheek as Jake’s thrusts turn erratic.  He reaches for the tie in her mouth, gripping the exterior with his teeth and pulling it away, replacing the block with his lips, tongue thrusting against hers in a mirror to his actions below.  She moans into his mouth, relieved to feel his kiss again, hand running down the side of his face to cup his cheek slightly as their tongues duel for dominance.  

She’s close, she can feel it, and she can tell by his thrusts that he’s not far away either.  They pull away from the kiss, both gasping for breath as the sensations begin to take over and her fingernails dig into his shoulder.  A low moan starts at the base of his chest, the fingers on his left hand squeezing her ass as his movements turn harder, hitting that certain spot every single time and her toes are curling and this is it.   

And he needs to muffle the sound for her but he doesn’t have any free hands so she cries out his name, the sound streaking out through the empty passage, falling into the hopefully empty street as his pushes one last forceful thrust into her and stills, heading falling against her shirt collar as he moans her name into her neck.  His breath is hot against her skin, the pooling sweat causing her uniform to stick to her skin and together they breathe, a messy jumble of shaking limbs pinned to this random brick wall.

All Amy can hear is her heart pounding in her ears, and when Jake lifts his head to kiss her she can barely keep up, her breath still coming in short bursts as her body struggles to catch up.  She smiles at him, blushing as the reality of what they had just done begins to hit her, and his sheepish grin turns her smile into a laughter, and she swears that she can hear another voice but maybe she’s still coming down from the high … but there it is again.

“Amy.”

Oh god.  She’s done for.

“Ames … Amy …. Babe, wake up.”

Her eyelids feel heavy as Amy blinks herself awake, an indignant moan escaping her throat as she tries to bury her head further into her pillow.  

From above her, she hears a familiar chuckle.  “C’mon, Ames.”

Jake.  She raises her head, suddenly wide awake, face splitting into a giant grin as she takes in the sight of her husband sitting on the edge of their bed, one hand resting comfortably against her leg.  “You’re home!”

He nods, leaning down to meet her outstretched arms, allowing himself to be pulled in for a gentle kiss.  “I am.  I took an earlier flight so I could surprise you.”

“It worked!”

He laughs again, eyes bright with humour and love and everything Jake, and oh how she’s missed seeing those eyes in real time, instead of staring at a dumb photo.  Which isn’t fair, really, because there are a lot of photos of them together throughout their apartment (and on their phones, if she’s being honest) and NONE of them are dumb, but there’s no way that they could be considered a decent substitute for the real thing.  

Another kiss, lingering this time as the reality sets in that her love was finally home.  He’s the first to pull away, tip of his nose sliding against the bridge of hers as he looks her over before speaking.  “Looked as though you were having a pretty intense dream when I walked in.”

Amy feels her face heat up as the memory of what was now obviously a dream washed over her.  Pulling her lower lip against her teeth, she looks up at her husband and shrugs.  “It was a pretty great dream.  But I have a feeling that the reality will be even better.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

She glances at the clock on her nightstand, noticing that there was still a good hour before she needed to get up for work.  “How about I just show you, instead?”

He responds with another kiss, hands wrapping around her waist as he shifts his body further onto the bed.  “10-4, Sergeant.”  

Oh yeah.  This reality was going to be way better than any dream.  

[aintgonnaleaveyoumikey]

Pairings: Trikey Rating: M Summary: They fell into a pattern, an infinite loop. To break it, Michael has to stay or Trevor has to let him go. Post main story pining and a suggestion for why Trev is so bitchy when he’s found throwing grenades in his driveway. [AO3]

.*Breaking Chains*.

Trevor pulled the pin and for a brief moment, it was like holding sundown in the palm of his hand: fleeting. And then he let it go.

The subsequent bang brought with it a flash of gold, a rumbling in his eardrums and bones...and the routine appearance of a black sedan pulling up garage-side in the dusty street. He watched it come to a stop—watched while the scent of cash blew into a slum and a lamb fell into a shark tank.

He wasn’t sure which he’d rather be.

Fuck.

There wasn’t enough liquor in the entire world now, not that there ever had been or would be when it came to Michael fucking Townley. It was the same feeling, whether he wore the clothes of a lover or a traitor, whether he had the swagger of youth in his step or a decade of mistakes written between the wrinkles now creasing his features. Mikey: always two steps out of reach with meaningless promises, a mirage of water in a parched wasteland of loneliness.

And yet, there he was. Again. And again and again and again and...

Despite the futility of it all, cracked lips met the whiskey bottle while Trevor’s eyes rolled back with his head. Bottoms up, he drank deep to will away the ghost now leisurely approaching, as if another unannounced visit to Sandy Shores was no more than a Sunday stroll around the block.

“T. Hey.”

His lashes parted again to a pair of black birds soaring over the colors of dusk and without facing the apparition, Trevor blindly set the whiskey down behind him. “I’d get out of the way if I were you.” He pulled another pin free and breathed a singsong, “Thank fuck I’m not you, though.”

Toss. Bang. Gold. Rumble.

Sundown after sundown.

“Guess this is what fun in the desert looks like. Heh, wish I’d known about it when we were playing house here.” It was a joke, both the sarcastic-laden suggestion and how it could still pierce Trevor’s heart despite knowing its jest.

“Mmhm, yep.” Still refusing to offer even the hint of a glance over his shoulder, he reached back for the booze. “Your life in Plastic Town isn’t playing house though, right? Sugar Tits, how do you live in such denial?”

With the kick of a polished shoe to the driveway, Michael squinted and sucked his teeth. His shoulders were loose, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets and he jingled his keys before giving off an airy sigh. “Some things never change, huh...”

The laugh that erupted from the depths of Trevor’s throat went short-lived and preceded another swig of liquor stinging its way down. “Now if those ain’t the truest words ever spoken.” At last, he turned and thrust the bottle toward his visitor. “You’ll always be an entitled prick, for instance.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, T, can we just—”

“Disappearing for ten years and then just showing up whenever it suits the frequent swingin’ of your moods. Must be nice, Mikey.”

“Look, man.” Shrugging, Michael pulled his hands free and slid the tinted shades from the bridge of his nose. They folded with a pointed snap. “If you wanna keep throwing grenades and pissing off your neighbors, that’s fine by me. I can go get lost for another ten if it’s what you want.”

Ouch.

Trevor peered at Michael for long enough to err on awkward silence, before his arm finally fell with the whiskey sloshing as consequence. “You are an asshole.” He relented, however, the anger that shaded his tone dissipating in the bat of an eyelash. “So what favor do you need from ol’ T this time, mm?”

Michael’s brow twitched but he wasn’t quick enough to inquire.

“What? What else would bring you to my ever humble abode again, if not to inconvenience me in some beyond annoying way?” Trevor’s fingertips caressed over grooves and smooth edges, turning the next grenade around in his hand. If his dear compadre over there wanted to do this ridiculous dance every week, they’d dance. Every week. Until it got boring, of course.

Would it ever get boring, though? The name inked on Trevor’s bicep suggested he already knew the answer, but his imagination could deflect and chase a proverbial butterfly all it liked.

“Nah, it’s not...it’s not like that, T. Come on. I was in the neighborhood and felt like dropping in.”

“In the neighborhood.”

Rocking to and fro on his soles, Michael remained aloof and let his gaze wander. “So, uh, drinkin' with me is an inconvenience?”

Trevor scoffed and cocked his head. “When you speak in bullshit innuendos, yeah, a bit.” The final pin hit the ground with a soft clang and the shell went rolling toward the street. Boom. “Buuuut I never did like doing shit the easy way, so let’s get a move on, porkchop.” He approached with a slap to Michael’s arm, his fingertips pressing inward then and trailing down to the small of his back. “Let’s get a drink.” The words spilled from Trevor’s lips in a dangerous half purr. “Make up for a whole seven days of lost time.”

Michael’s face turned in slow motion until the tips of their noses nearly touched, his eyes half-lidded and the curl of his dark lashes prominent. He spoke just as softly then, a whisper riding out on his breath over the scent of mint and cigarettes. “Whatever it takes, Trevor.”

And that was that.

The pair approached the trailer door without so much an acknowledgement of Ron sitting on the porch, tinkering with some dilapidated tinfoil hat device as per usual. He’d have enough sense to leave soon anyway. ...Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Whatever the case, Trevor had one fuck to give at present and if Ron wanted to linger about while the whole universe rattled and his voice sang to the gods, so be it.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

His gaze met Michael’s while Phil Collins’ “I Don’t Care Anymore” played on the kitchen radio.

...Nor would it apparently be the last.

~

“I love my life,” declared a vapid voice, while cigarette smoke drifted in lazy tendrils through a conspicuous melancholy looming over the bed.

Outside, the sun had long relinquished its reign to a sea of diamonds, the moon a giant glowing pearl cradled in the lap of glittering celestial fabric. It was strange to think that Sandy Shores and Los Santos existed under this same sky, and even stranger that for ten years, Trevor and Michael had too—as separate and distinct as their places of residence. It was strange that neither yet moved now to trade the view of a rusty metal ceiling for the stars outside, strange that each found some vestige of comfort lying beside the other in less than favorable conditions.

Such was life, though: the very one Michael spoke of.

“I love it,” he repeated in a whisper, his eyes unblinking for too long.

Though an empty can was present on the nightstand next to him, Trevor flicked accumulated ash over the side of the bed. His right arm was raised and resting against a wafer-thin pillow, the crook supporting his head. The cigarette met his lips and he drew on it once more, while music no one was listening to continued wafting from the opposite end of the space; it was just Pat Benatar, anyway...

Only when the glowing orange line threatened to burn into the filter was when he put the smoke out, stretched, and finally turned his face. “So. What’s next, cowboy? Mm?”

Michael kept his attention trained on the ceiling, several moments of mock consideration passing before he answered, “The Yellow Jack?”

“...The Yellow Jack,” Trevor repeated in disdain.

Squinting, Michael licked his lips. “All right. The bar next door.”

When that suggestion was met with a huff out the nostrils, he sat up in annoyance. “The meth lab then. A fucking...road trip to the mountains, tennis at the god damn beach. Let’s steal a fucking plane and fly it until it burns up in the fucking atmosphere, I don’t know, T. What the fuck do you want me to say?”

“It’s the same shit every week, Mikey. Think about that.” Trevor pushed himself to stand at the bedside, and bare-ass naked, peered down at his companion humorously opting to remain covered by a thin sheet. “You’re not stupid. You just love denial.” From there, he itched at his groin and strutted to the bathroom for a piss while calling out, “Always have, always will.”

“Fucking whatever, man.”

It wasn’t long before Trevor reappeared in the doorway. “So, the Yellow Jack. And after that, the lab, the mountains, the beach. Then we fly into the sun. And then?”

“And then what?”

“How long would you say is too long, Michael? To wait for someone.” Trevor wandered to the closet and swatted at a pair of moths. “Ten years?”

Silence.

“Or is it twenty?”

Silence.

“Mm, I see.” He slid into the greatest treasure ever found at Binco—his prized pink leopard print briefs—and continued dressing. “Looks like the Yellow Jack Inn it is, porkchop.”

“Trevor.”

“Hurry the fuck up or you’ll be walking. I’m ready to stomp out some redneck ass, relieve myself of some fucking pent up aggression.”

The front door swung open and closed, Trevor’s voice muffled and permeating from the porch.

“Ronald, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Everything, Trevor!”

“It’s one week,” Michael answered at last, to no one. “One week is a long fucking time.”

He dragged out the process of cleaning himself up and donning his clothes, simultaneously hoping and dreading that he’d taken too long. To no surprise, though, Trevor still sat waiting in the truck when he finally made it outside.

~

Climbing to the roof of an abandoned motel while intoxicated was both a stupid idea and cheap thrill. Driving hours to the desert to run from a reality he’d given everything up for was a fitting parallel, so naturally, Michael went along with it.

He stood at Trevor’s side under a million stars and stared into infinity itself.

“I want to love my life, T.”

“Yeah.”

“So I should stop. Man, I gotta stop, it’s...”

“Yeah.”

“And we should probably...”

“For sure, Michael.”

They were quiet for a long while in a universe only big enough for two, each wondering in a drunken haze if the other knew what the hell he was even talking about. And then they questioned if they even knew, themselves.

At some point, their pinkies entwined first to test the waters, and the other fingers followed, threading together tighter and tighter yet. Was this holding with possession before letting go forever, or the intention of never letting go at all? The answer remained irritatingly elusive.

In any case, when the first rays of sunlight embraced the horizon once more, Michael’s eyes opened to find himself back in a bed which both did and didn’t belong to him. He elongated himself in a stretch, pointed his toes downward, and then looked to Trevor—watched while he took steady breaths in his sleep, focused on his barely parted mouth, and felt the magnetism drawing him in.

He used to feel this pull on his heart, twenty years ago.

Michael leaned over slowly. Their noses touched, the space separating his lips from Trevor’s closed to mere millimeters and just before it became none, a familiar ghost posed a familiar inquiry.

What’s next, cowboy?

He stopped short of consummating the kiss.

Get a drink. The Yellow Jack. The bar next door... Michael’s gaze drifted to the side. Actually feel alive for a few hours and then return to the life he should love, must love—the life he gave up everything, gave up Trevor for.

...How long was too long to wait for someone?

And how long was too long to burn in the inferno of a self-made purgatory?

He withdrew; got up, got dressed, walked by Ron passed out on the porch couch with a beer in hand, and slid into the car. It was only 6AM and the heat was already suffocating, but that wasn’t a new feeling for Michael. He turned up the AC, pulled onto the dirt road, and drove.

It wasn’t until he reached the entrance ramp of the highway when he noticed how silent the world was outside of his mind, so he reached for the radio just in time to once again hear Phil Collins singing about how he didn’t care anymore. Must be nice.

~

He was becoming a true creature of habit. That was what Michael decided when he found himself strolling up a dusk-colored desert driveway exactly seven days after the last time he found himself doing the same thing...after a previous seven and another seven before then, and more yet. But he wasn’t the only one. In the same place, entertaining himself with the same activities, was the same person as always.

And that was when it occurred to him, the infinite loop: redundant and reiterating, comfortably uncomfortable, never a change or deviation. And in it, with no foreseeable end and no clear beginning, they were both stuck.

Michael slid the shades from his face and closed them with a snap. “...T. Hey.”

“I’d get out of the way...”

His freshly polished shoes remained in place and he said nothing more, simply opted to watch Trevor’s avoidance of him while he kept tossing grenades and drinking straight from the bottle. Someday, Michael thought, he might be strong enough to stay. Or perhaps Trevor might be strong enough to finally let him go. The latter was the path of least resistance, and what he strangely both dreaded and hoped for.

But when his eyes fell to his name inked on a bicep, he studied it for some time. And then finally... “T.”

“Time for the weekly drink, the weekly argument. The Yellow Jack, the bar next door...” Shrugging, Trevor set the whiskey down. “Let’s get a move on, porkchop. Make up for that lost time, mm?”

Michael huffed with a shake of his head. “A week? Or ten years of it?”

Raising his chin quickly, Trevor looked to him but Michael pivoted and let his footsteps carry him back to his car.

“I dunno, T. But I’m going back to the roof of the motel to try to figure it out.” The alarm disengaged with a chirp and as the door opened, he cocked his head. “You comin’?”

Trevor hesitated, scrutiny worn with conspicuous measure across his features. At last, his shoulders rose and his apathy was almost believable when he capitulated. “Ah, sure, why the hell not?” He tossed the bottle over the fence and strutted to the passenger door. “Would break up this fuckin’ monotony anyway.”

Michael breathed a laugh. “Yeah.” When he slipped into the seat, he changed the radio station to something new—some kind of electronic noise kids these days listened to. “I was thinking the same thing.”

As they drove down the street, Trevor put his feet on the dashboard and pressed his thumbs together. “So. This is really the end of us getting drinks, Mikey?”

“Shit, T. The end, the beginning.” Michael’s right hand slipped off the steering wheel and fell open-palmed between them. “Who fuckin’ knows anymore.”

It was a moment before Trevor’s fingers entwined with his own. “Good enough for me, Michael.” A beat. “For now.”

“For now,” Michael echoed. He drove past the motel and chased the sun until the last of its rays bled into the darkness—without ever letting go of Trevor’s hand, without Trevor ever letting go of his.

Hey. Maybe it was a start after all.

~

// Thank you for reading! This is my first story for this pairing and fandom. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

[some1foundme]

Repost: The Long Way Home

So I wrote this fic years ago (2015) and posted it to ff.net but I was scrolling around in my documents folder and remembered that it was there and had never been posted to AO3 or here.  Anyhow, here it is.  I’m going to post this rather quickly considering its complete so check back for the next installment soon.

Read on AO3

Chapter One

Cold, crisp October air tugged strands of blonde hair free from her ponytail, whipping it across her face.  The body of the man at her side did little to shield her as they stood at the bow of the ferry.  Not that she minded.  Felicity relished the bite of the ocean air.  It reminded her of the life she’d left behind.  It reminded her that this was real, that she was finally going home.

Ray’s arms tightened around her waist and she sighed, leaning into his embrace.

“You okay?”

She nodded, “I am.”

“You seem nervous.”

She snorted, “You think?  It’s been a long time, Ray.  Years.  And I just – I don’t know.  Maybe I’m a little freaked out about coming back here.”

He chuckled at her rushed response and settled his chin on the top of her head.

They’d met at work almost two years earlier. She had taken a job as the head of research and development at Palmer Technologies, the company that Ray now ran after his father’s retirement.  She hadn’t meant to end up in a relationship with the boss’ son, it had just happened.

“Wow, Felicity…”

The awe in Ray’s voice brought her eyes up from where they’d been focused on her shoes.  Star Island appeared like a mirage before them.  The early morning fog had lifted and from the direction of their approach, they had an unimpeded view of its southernmost point.  On the cliff overlooking the channel, her family home stood proud.  She pointed it out to Ray.

“There it is.  That’s Verdant.”

Ray let out a whistle of appreciation.

“The way you described it doesn’t do it justice. It’s beautiful, Felicity.”

She couldn’t find the words to respond.  It had been a long time since she’d stepped foot on Star Island.  Five years, to be exact.  And seeing it now before her, rising out of the Pacific with such grace, caused a swarm of butterflies to take flight in her belly.

Felicity hadn’t wanted to come.  She had – in fact – adamantly refused.  Until her mother’s guilt trip had become too much to bear. She hadn’t really given an explanation as to why it was suddenly so important for Felicity to return, but her mom’s persistence had finally worn her down.

When she’d brought it up to Ray that she was taking a week to return home, he’d invited himself along.

She couldn’t exactly tell him that she’d prefer it if he didn’t join her.  They’d been a couple for more than a year.  They lived together, worked together, spent almost all of their time together.  And while Ray was a great guy and they had so much in common, her heart and her brain couldn’t get on the same page where their relationship was concerned.  She had wanted to ask him to stay home in Coast City but she hadn’t been able to come up with a reasonable excuse.

When the ferry reached the dock, the fluttering in her stomach erupted like a volcano.  She thought she might hack.

They left the boat with their luggage in tow and Felicity clutched the strap of her bag with both hands to hide the fact that they were shaking.  She moved on autopilot with Ray right behind her and when her mother suddenly appeared on the crowded pier, tears sprang to her eyes.  She released the handle of her suitcase and rushed into her mom’s arms.

“Oh my baby girl, I’ve missed you.”

A tiny sob escaped her and Felicity buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.

“What is it?  What’s wrong, hun?”

She sniffled, drawing away, and wiped at the tears behind her glasses.

“Sorry, Mom.  Nothing’s wrong.  I – I just missed you,” she explained, hating how vulnerable she sounded.

A throat being cleared behind her reminded Felicity that she hadn’t come alone.

“Mom, this is Ray Palmer.  Ray, this is my mom, Donna.”

Ray stepped forward to shake her mother’s hand and Felicity didn’t miss the appreciative gleam in her mom’s blue eyes. She rolled her own.  Ray was an attractive man, she couldn’t deny that, but it was her mom’s obvious approval that she found amusing.

“Mrs. Smoak, um, Smoak-Lance?”

Donna smiled, “It’s just Lance.  Felicity is the only one who chose to hyphenate.  Not that her dad and I mind, of course.  It’s nice to get both family names out there. And please, Ray, call me Donna.”

Ray graced them with a brilliant smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Donna. Felicity has told me so much about you.”

It was the appropriate thing to say but Felicity knew it couldn’t be further from the truth.  She never talked about home.  Or her family, as much as she loved them.  When she’d run from Star Island, she’d left everything behind.

She reclaimed her bag and followed after her mom and Ray as they headed toward downtown.  Her mom had her arm looped with Ray’s, guiding him along as she spoke animatedly about the island and its residents.  Her voice acted as narrator to the scenes playing out before Felicity’s eyes.  She found herself examining everything, her gaze wandering from storefront to storefront, person to person.  Memories came flooding back quickly and a sense of longing shook her to her core.

“Our family has lived here going back three generations now,” her mom explained, “Of course, the island and the village were originally founded by the Queen family.  They’re still here, as are a handful of other families that live here year-round.  It’s mostly seasonal, I’m sure Felicity explained that, but there are a couple hundred of us who stay during the off-season.”

She had explained the gist of it on their drive from the city.  Star Island had been founded in the mid-1800’s by the Queen family as a home for their summer house.  Over the years, it had turned into a permanent residence for the family. Rumor had it that a scandal on the mainland had chased them to the island in the forties and they’d simply chosen to stay.  Whatever the reason, Star Island had become a flourishing spot for vacationing families of all shapes and sizes.

But for Felicity, it was home.  It was where she had met her first friend, where she had ridden her first bike, kissed her first boy, built her first computer.  It was the place all of her memories centered around.

“No way!  I must be dreaming!  You’re a hallucination, right?”

Her mind didn’t register the voice quickly enough and she was swept up in a crushing hug before she could prepare herself.

“Barry!  Put me down!”

She was laughing by the time he set her on her feet and she smacked at his arm.

“Wow, look at you, little ‘Lis is all grown up.”

She was sure she was blushing but she couldn’t wipe the stupid grin from her face.  Barry grinned back.

“I don’t look all that different, Barry. Where are you headed to this early?” she questioned, “Catching the ferry?”

He nodded, “Some of us do work for a living. I didn’t know you were coming home, though, or I would’ve taken some time off.  Wait ‘til Caitlin finds out!”

She hadn’t seen Barry and Caitlin since their wedding almost a decade earlier.

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.  Barry, this is my boyfriend, Ray.  Ray, my cousin Barry.”

Barry hesitated for just a moment before taking the hand Ray had extended to him.  She didn’t think that Ray had noticed, but she certainly had.

“Nice to meet you.  Felicity doesn’t normally bring her boyfriends home.  As a matter of fact, ‘Lis doesn’t normally bring herself home so…”

The awkward silence that would’ve inevitably followed that statement was avoided when the blast of the ferry horn cut through the air.

“Shit.  I’m going to miss it.  I’ve got to go!  I’ll see you later!”

And then Barry was off and running, heading in the direction from which they’d come.  The three of them watched him go for a moment before resuming the trek to the inn.

“Any other family members that we can expect to run into while we’re here?”

Her mother explained to Ray that Cisco, Barry’s younger brother, and their parents lived on the island as well.  Cisco, Felicity discovered, was on sabbatical from his job at Star Labs after an accident in the lab.  It was more than likely that they would see her cousins and her aunt and uncle before they returned to Coast City.

“And what about your oldest daughter?  Laurel, right?”

Ray’s question was so unexpected that Felicity stumbled.  He didn’t seem to notice.

“Laurel isn’t here,” her mother answered softly, “As far as I know, she’s fine.”

Felicity watched as her mom disengaged herself from Ray’s side and continued up the road without them.  He turned to her, clearly confused, and she sighed.

“Should I not have asked about Laurel?”

She rubbed at an ache that seemed to be forming in the middle of her forehead.

“I should’ve told you.  My sister is kind of a sore subject for my parents.  We don’t … it’s probably in everyone’s best interest if we don’t talk about her.”

Ray took her hand as they trailed after her mom.

“What’s the deal with that?” he asked, “You never really talk about her.  I guess it didn’t dawn on me that something was wrong there.”

She let out a huff of frustration.  This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted him to come with her.  His line of questioning, while not ridiculous, was unwelcome and while she hadn’t set the decorum of what she did and did not want to talk about, she had hoped the fact that she avoided talking about her family at all would’ve been a big enough hint for him.

“Laurel is just- we don’t… please, just don’t bring her up again, okay?”

Her tone was more harsh than she’d really intended but after only twenty minutes on the island, he’d upset her mom and caused her own hackles to rise.  She’d known that bringing an outsider to Star Island was a mistake.

“I understand, Felicity.  I’m sorry.”

Her ire faded in a rush and she squeezed his hand.

“It’s fine, really.  Come on.”

She tugged him forward and as they reached the crest of the hill, Felicity stopped to look out over the harbor.

“I can’t imagine what it was like growing up with this as your view day in and day out.”

She nodded, “It’s breathtaking.  You should see it in the summer.  Boats dotting along the horizon for as far as you can see. And during a thunderstorm, when the lightning flashes out over the water.  It’s incomparable.”

They turned together to face the house behind them.

Verdant.  Her parents’ livelihood, their inn.  Her home. It was just as she remembered it, its tall turret a sign of the Victorian architecture that was prominent on the island.  The soothing green wood shingles and white trim the reason for its name.  

Her mother waited on the front steps.

“The house looks beautiful, Mom.  Has Dad painted it recently?”

It looked to be in impeccable shape, better even than when it had first opened, and as she took in more of the details, Felicity noticed a number of small improvements.

“Dad’s been working so much down at the docks that he hasn’t had time to do anything around here at all, really,” her mom explained, “We’ve actually hired someone on to do the maintenance for us.”

Felicity frowned.  She wasn’t keen on the idea of anyone outside of their family working at the inn.  It meant too much to her parents.

“Anyone that I know?”

Her mother didn’t respond and Felicity felt the hair on her arms rise.  When her mom turned to face her, there was something in her expression that Felicity didn’t recognize.

“Mom?”

“Honey, I’ve been meaning to te-“

“Mrs. Lance, I took care of the ceiling fan on the back porch but I couldn’t –“

She felt herself moving, knew that she had turned to face the person whose voice she had recognized the moment that it’d reached her ears, but she hadn’t consciously decided to do so.  Her eyes met his, dark blue and haunted and staring back at her for the first time in longer than she could remember.

A ghost.  He has to be a ghost.

Her heart was thrumming loudly in her ears, so loudly that it drowned out the sounds of her mother and Ray beside her.

“Oliver?”

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Out of Office: Goto and Miho - Honeymoon

Took her a while, but here is the enamored pair at one point in their honeymoon. The sand was still warm from the day, and the glow from their sun-drenched bodies - Miho’s wrapped over Goto’s - kept them cozy even after the sun had disappeared behind the oceanic horizon. Their bodies relaxed after an active day, the world welcomed them into night to the rhythmic sound of nearby waves and the gentle appearance of bright sparks against the velvet sheet of the sky.

Exhaling a luxurious, contented sigh, Miho gazed upward at the twinkling expanse then stretched her hand out toward them.

“Can almost reach,” she murmured, fingers splayed.

“What do you need stars for?” Goto queried, kissing into her slightly salt-crunchy hair.

“True,” she grinned, turning her hand over.

Somehow, though the only real light came from the crescent moon slowly rising above, Miho’s engagement ring, her wedding ring nestled against it, still sparkled.

“I’m going to love you forever,” she told him, not for the first time.

“Forever is a pretty long time,” he pointed out. “You sure you’re not going to get sick of me?”

“I’m outraged you’d even ask,” Miho snorted, giving his chest a sharp slap.

Goto grimaced at the initial sting, but the heat that lingered in the shape of her palm was pleasant.

“I intend to be with you for this life, and the one after and the one after that, until the universe tears apart,” she added haughtily.

“I’ll look for you,” he smiled, stroking her hair. “Always.”

An easy silence settled over them, and Goto closed his eyes. He could have fallen asleep there until Miho began tracing around his bare nipple with her fingertip.

“Seiji, do you believe in fate?” she asked, her voice drifting upward, upward, into the dark unknown.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, looking up at her as she rolled and draped herself over him. “I think a lot of people use it as an excuse for a lot of things, so they don’t have to take responsibility for their actions, but…”

“Hmm,” Miho hummed, pushing herself up to straddle him, teasing sinuous traces from his collarbones toward his belly button. “But?”

“But,” he continued, his body shuddering involuntarily beneath her touch and his hands slid up her thighs, “the belief in fate; you don’t think if a person believes something is fated, that could drive them to do all in their power to reach that goal?”

“Like you?” she said, swirling patterns across his abdominal muscles, marking their definition with feathery lines.

“Like me,” he confirmed warmly, giving her legs a squeeze. “Though you certainly gave me a hard time.”

“You know though, don’t you?” she breathed, her brow suddenly creased. “That from day one I was in love? Desperately afraid but so painfully wanting you to touch me? Hearing your first words and knowing I wanted them to be the last I ever heard?”

Staring up at her, even in the dim, Goto could still see faint flecks of that fear. Before he could attempt to allay it, however, Miho beat him to it.

“I don’t know about fate,” she declared, her tone now sober, serious, “but looking at you, being with you, I feel like… like I spent an eternity trekking barefoot across a desert, seeing wavering mirages of happiness that disappeared as I drew near, and then… you’re this great body of shimmering, clear water I’ve finally stumbled upon. You’re my destination, and I’m plunging into your depths…”’

“Shouldn’t I be doing the plunging?” he interrupted.

Miho blinked, and for his cheek he was rewarded with another blazing red print of her hand on his chest.

“Shut up, I’m being poetic here,” she growled, leaning forward with her hands either side of his head, glaring down at him. “Fate or no fate, being with you, being this happy, feels like something I’ve been striving for far longer than the real time we’ve been together.”

“I know,” he whispered, smoothing his palms up her bare sides until large hands pushed the hair from her face. “Having you is like… I’ve kept some promise to myself.”

“Make me another promise?” she breathed against his lips, her words brushing with delicious anticipation of more.

“Anything,” he responded huskily as she lowered her hips and brushed her body against his lightly.

“Don’t let me sleep until dawn,” she grinned, then nipped playfully at his bottom lip.

Hungrily Goto pulled her closer and stole away her breath, tangling one hand in her hair and feeling down her spine with the other until they were both dizzy.

“Haa, but not on the beach again,” he told her a little darkly when their lips parted. “I’m still finding sand in uncomfortable places.”

Snickering at the recollection of what they’d done yesterday, Miho rocked back and scrambled to her feet.

“I suppose it is your turn to choose,” she mused flippantly, taking his hand once he’d folded their beach towel over his shoulder.

“I didn’t realise we were taking turns,” he chuckled, lacing their fingers and beginning to walk. “You’re just a target of opportunity,” he explained. “And sometimes, even when I know it’s not appropriate, I can’t help but touch you.”

“So adorable,” she smirked, her favourite way to make him blush.

… okay, her SECOND favourite way to make him blush.

 Arriving back at their waterfront bure, Goto stopped Miho from entering.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and Miho’s brows raised.

“Mhm,” she murmured, complying after a moment.

Her husband reached around her and opened the door, guiding her in by the shoulders until he could close them in seclusion.

“What are you up to, Lieutenant?” Miho wondered suspiciously, sensing his arms moving around her before she felt the touch of something soft against her face.

“How much do you trust me?” he asked, tying the blindfold around her head snuggly, then checking she couldn’t see.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Miho scoffed, a little stiffly stepping forward as Goto urged her to.

“A necessary one,” he replied, his tone suddenly very serious, almost the tone he used when he was in work mode. “Stand still, and answer the question.”

“You know the an… the answer,” she replied, faltering a little when he disengaged from her completely for a few seconds, before tugging at the strings keeping her bikini top fastened. “I trust you with everything. My life, my body, my soul, my future.”

“Likewise,” he hissed into her ear, but only his breath touched her now as he pulled her top away. “Take three careful steps forward, lay down on the bed, and put your hands above your head.”

Swallowing, Miho shuffled along, before positioning herself in the centre of the bed, reaching behind her to grip one of the vertical slats in the bedhead. She imagined handcuffs – wouldn’t be the first time – but again she felt the cool, smooth texture of soft cloth being wound around her wrists before the ends were secured to the bed.

Goto stood, breathing slowly as he looked down at his handiwork, realising this would perhaps be as much torture for him as it would be for her.

“Hey,” Miho prompted after an extended period of silence. “You didn’t sneak out did you?”

“No talking,” he told her, the heavy, ominous weight of his ‘interrogation’ tone forming goosebumps on Miho’s exposed skin. “I’d gag you, but it’s important you’re able to say the safe word if you become uncomfortable with anything I do.”

“Safe word?” Miho coughed. “Seiji, have you been reading a beginner’s guide to bondage?”

Silence.

“You totally have!” she exclaimed, beaming and wriggling about as she giggled. “God damnit I can’t see you blushing right now, and I know you’re blushing.”

“Maybe I will gag you,” he grumbled as he slid down his board shorts and kicked them aside. “Pick your safe word.”

“Hmm, Domo,” she declared, still chuckling.

“You have an unhealthy obsession with that thing,” Goto huffed.

“It’s okay, it’s balanced out with my healthy obsession with your thing,” she volleyed.

“No more,” he commanded, placing his hand over her mouth. “No more words unless it’s that word. No sound at all.”

He said it, but he knew it was going to be impossible for a vocaliser like Miho.

She nodded as he removed his hand and licked her lips. Exerting as little pressure as he could manage, Goto undid the knot of Miho’s sarong. Helpfully she lifted herself from the bed, allowing him to remove it, and then her bikini bottoms.

It wasn’t cold, the tropical night air dry and warm, yet the deep pink of Miho’s nipples called for Goto’s attention: tall and hard.

And he hadn’t even touched her yet.

“What are you breathing so hard for?” he asked, and Miho’s lips parted. “Ah! No sound,” he chided, moving silently around the room to collect the implement he required.

With a fake, sulky pout, Miho shifted impatiently, rubbing her legs together.

“Be still,” he told her, sitting slowly down beside her, causing the mattress to move beneath his mass.

The fluffy tip of the long white feather trembled above the right side of Miho’s collarbone, hovering in Goto’s light grip until he wriggled it ever so lightly from one side to the other.

As predicted, Miho broke the rules instantly, gasping at the ticklish decadence of such a soft sensation.

Goto was a courageous man, Miho knew this, but she found it hard to imagine what it must have taken for him to take the leap – albeit a small one – from relatively vanilla to dominance. She had to wonder if Subaru’s teasing had something to do with it.

Whatever the reason, the darkness beneath her blindfold, the barely-there touch of the feather as it fluttered lightly around her breast, exploded unprecedented anticipation. Her body flushed with heat as she imagined the intensity of Goto’s stare as he sketched lazy patterns down her torso.

“Spread your legs, wide,” he ordered curtly. “Bend them up.”

Inhaling shakily, Miho obeyed.

She felt suddenly very exposed, not unsafe, but quivering with uncertainty and excitement.

“I’m going to suck your clit into my mouth,” he told her, his voice suddenly deeper, a thrumming, reverberating echo of the waves outside.

The feather moved – behind her left knee, tantalisingly slow up the inside of her thigh toward the inner crease of her leg.

“I’m going to torture it with my tongue,” he continued, drawing an invisible line around the top of her leg, up to her belly button, and back to her left nipple. “Press, and rub and swirl and maybe even… bite.”

As he said bite, he turned the feather around, and quite sharply stabbed the shaft into her nipple.

The yelp Miho emitted, the way her body jumped, made Goto flinch and lift the offending weapon.

The book Kaga had given him as a ‘wedding present’ did indicate the submissive partner might very well respond alarmingly, but he hadn’t expected Miho’s reaction to be quite so energetic. Yet when her body relaxed again, she swallowed hard, and as she licked her lips once more they parted in a luscious grin.

Teeth bared because it hurt, but smiling because it hurt so good.

“That sounded awfully like noise, Miho,” Goto pointed out, placing the feather’s tip against the centre of her other nipple, this time pressing down slowly.

With great interest he watched her expression change the more pressure he placed on it. There was a strange conundrum in the clear pain it caused, yet her body tensed and writhed in such a way he knew was an expression of pleasure. So he persisted, pulling away only when her lips peeled back to reveal teeth clenched.

“I’m going to drag my fingernails down your body,” he told her, scratching the slightly sharp tip of the feather around her areola, hard enough to leave a red line in its wake. “I’m going to leave lasting marks,” he went on, scrawling thing etchings over her white breast, using her bikini tan-line to indicate where his efforts would be hidden by clothing.

The bedhead groaned as Miho pulled against her bindings, and Goto found himself frowning – not because he thought she was uncomfortable, but because he didn’t realise how much effort it would take to resist devouring her.

Leaving glowing scrollwork across her chest, he flipped the feather and dusted lightly over the fine abrasions. As he worked his way lower again, Miho’s breaths shortened even further, and Goto found his other hand sought out the hardening length of his cock without conscious thought.

“My fingers are going to work between your folds,” he explained, stroking himself slowly as he brushed the feather’s softness down her slit, and he heard Miho swallow back a moan just before it escaped her lips. “They’re going to slip through your desperate wetness, and lazily circle your burning entrance. And you want me to push inside you, your whole body is on fire, hopelessly begging for me to drive deeply and stretch you…”

A whimper punctuated the shuddering of Miho’s legs, a sound that required Goto to bite down on his own lustful sound. She was oozing in eagerness of his follow through, and even though Goto’s own flesh cried out for him to bury himself in her, he was determined to drag it out. He wanted to see if he could…

“All of my weight will crush the air from your lungs, leaving your dizzy,” he narrated, “but as you gasp for air my lips are going to steal away your breath, my tongue filling your mouth.”

“Sei…” she cried weakly.

“No,” he snapped like the crack of a whip, but he was so hard now, so hard it was becoming a painful.

When the point of the feather’s spine touched Miho’s hood, her body shuddered and her legs twitched toward closing.

“Don’t move,” he chastised, dragging a barely-there route around her clit, but not touching it, and the tension in Miho’s body visibly increased.

Despite his instructions she was emitting a continuous stream of agonizing breathy whines, and her chest heaved as he dragged the feather through the drench between her labia in slow motions.

“I’m going to poise at your entrance,” he growled, precum slicking his shaft as he worked it, the images in his mind surely as vivid as in hers. “And I’m going to stop there, just pressing with the head of my throbbing… rock-hard cock… before driving it into you, so deeply, fill you so completely, and thrust, again, and again, and again, until you can’t stand it anymore…”

As he finished his sentence he finally dragged the feather’s tip upward against her clit – and with an uncontrollable, chortling gasp, Miho’s legs reflexively closed, her knees knocking loudly together as she trapped Goto’s hand. Her entire torso lifted from the bed as she came, her mouth now open but her breath seemingly trapped as her body shook violently in rapture.

She had no control now. None.

He… he also found himself quivering at the sight of his beautiful wife cumming so intensely, and any thoughts of further torture fled. Releasing his grasp on the feather, Goto climbed onto the bed before Miho, and had to exert considerable strength in order to pry her ecstasy-locked legs apart.

“Enough talk,” he rasped, shuffling forward and lifting her as to rest against his thighs, before sliding his erection through the significant flood of her juices.

“No…” Miho attempted to articulate, barely a word at all. “No it’s…”

Faltering as he ground the pulsing tip of his desire against her enflamed bud, Miho let out another cry and seemed on the precipice of another orgasm.

“It’s too…” she sobbed.

“That’s not the word to stop this,” he pointed out, and then fulfilled his promise, leaning suddenly forward and thrusting into her with full force.

Her next exclamation was consumed by him, as he finally brought their lips together.

There was ravenous urgency to his movements, pounding so powerfully Miho’s legs clamped around him, clinging as she was tumbled over the edge for a second time. Goto had had to hold back and watch her, all the while imagining the raw pleasure being physically united with her brought – but now there was no restraint.

The spasmodic clench of her walls as he fucked her through the aftershocks of each climax, dragged him toward his own end. All that effort hardly touching her at all, wanting it so much, and seeing her react so incredibly, made each sensation now so acute, Goto wasn’t sure he could stop even if Miho did sing out the safe word.

The entire bed leapt with each furious penetration; Goto pounded Miho into the mattress with growing ferocity, gnawing along her shoulder until he bit down fiercely. Managing to snarl only half her name through his teeth, he rammed forth with what was left of his energy and filled her.

And again

And again.

And again.

Hot and deep.

Until he was completely drained.

“Miho,” he whispered breathlessly, remaining within her but rolling their bodies on their sides.

“Fuc…king hell,” she heaved, licking her lips that he then gently kissed.

Reaching up, he languidly unbound Miho’s wrists and pushed away her blindfold. Immediately she wrapped her arms over him and snuggled against his sweaty chest, her quick breaths cool against the salty moistness of his skin.

“That… you…” she murmured, still struggling to form coherent thought. “Who are you… and where were you before I… before I married that Goto guy?”

Filled with endorphins that left their bodies humming softly, Goto chuckled into Miho’s damp hair.

“I’ll take care of him,” Goto told her gruffly. “There’s no way I’m letting anyone take you from me.”

“How do you plan to top this?” she sighed out, all tension from her body gone.

“I have some ideas,” he responded with surprising flippancy, gently kissing her once more before leaning back and grabbing a hand towel from beside the bed. “I know you’re always going to be dirty,” he grinned, “but let’s get cleaned up for now.”

For a moment Miho grieved for the loss of Goto’s warm, but no sooner had she grabbed the towel and moved to gingerly wipe her still tingling nethers, Goto dragged her to the edge of the bed and scooped her up.

“How do you even have the energy to lift me right now?” she laughed, curling her arms around his neck. “And if you have that energy, why the hell aren’t you still banging me?”

“What makes you think I’m not just changing the scenery?” he smirked, worming his middle finger between her ass-cheeks.

“Seiji,” she grinned, biting down on his lower lip before continuing. “You did make me a promise.”

“That I did,” he agreed, carrying her into the bathroom.

 When the sun began to creep out of the water, Miho lay drowsily in Goto’s arms on the bure balcony swathed in a light blanket. Gently Goto massaged a soothing moisturiser into the patterns he’d marked over her chest – all the strength he had left for.

“Mmm,” she mumbled quietly. “We’re going to need another shower.”

“We’re definitely napping first,” he told her sternly. “And if I have to crawl back inside for those silk scarves to keep you down, I’ll do it.”

“No need,” she yawned, nuzzling her face into his neck. “I’m already irrevocably tied to you.”

[eurusholmmes]

The Best I’ve Ever Had|| Old Man Logan

Requested by Anon - I hope to finish Old Man Logan by tonight! Please be patient with the other requests, which let me remind you the only ones that are open are SUPERNATURAL and FTWD. I’m currently thinking about hurt/comfort but am open to fluff and implied smut too. 

Prompt:  Oh, Old Man Logan request where while having dinner with the Munsons, Mrs. Munson asks if you are Logan’s wife and you go with it, saying Laura is your daughter, you met at his dad’s (aka Charles) school and fell in love and after everyone is asleep, you’re sitting out on the front porch with Logan and you ask him if he could actually picture it, living a normal life with her and Laura and Charles and that’s when he admits his feelings for Y/N?

Tag List: @house-of-penguin @drewkelliii @weasleytheking @agirlinherhead @itsbrittbrattt @katiedreamy @buckybabble @avengers-bucky-fanfic @let-it-go-and-live-again @liveourlifelikenobodyelse @lokigoddess @xavier-chxrles @castawaybarnes @cleanslates @rivertales @tigers-have-teeth 

  “So y/n, why don’t you share with the rest of us how a woman like yourself came to be with two men and an eleven year old?” Mrs. Munson commented, drawing you out of your relaxed state from where you sat beside Laura. After assisting in corralling the horses they’d been transporting, The Munsons had been courteous enough to invite you and Logan to dinner with Charles and Laura accompanying you. “Are you and him-” 

Your gaze softened whenever she gestured to Logan, who was now in a deep conversation with Mr. Munson by the kitchen sink. You’d been harboring feelings for The Wolverine for quite some time now but had been too afraid to act on them, given his past relationships and his fear of losing the people that mattered most to him. 

Apparently you fell into that category. Or at least.. you hoped you did. 

  “Yeah.” You blurted out from over the rim of your wine glass. Your fingers threaded through Lauras hair as her head rested in your lap, her knees tucked up to her chest and her body tucked beneath a blanket. “We’ve been married for twelve years. Wasn’t long before we got pregnant with this one.” Your gaze softened as you ducked your head to brush your lips along the crown of Lauras head.  

  “She’s sweet. My boy really seems to get along with her.” Mrs. Munson said softly, setting her glass down on the side table as she moved to tend to the ambers that were left of the fire that had been built upon your arrival. You’d always valued a hearth and the homely feeling it gave you when you were near one. There was a quality within each hand built fireplace that reminded you of better days - when Logan had been open and willing to tell you what chaos was running through his head. “You look like a woman with a-lot of secrets behind those eyes of yours.” 

You winked at the older woman as Laura adjusted in your embrace, tucking her head under your chin as you loosely wrapped your arms around her. “They do say that eyes are the windows to the soul.” You mused. Her intent gaze on you sent a signal that she was yearning to know more about your backstory with Logan Howlett. “I get the impression you’re looking to know more, Mrs. Munson.” 

  “I’m that kind of woman who loves all the details. Tell me, where’d you meet? What did he say? Who said I love you first?” She drawled, leaning against her knees and settling her chin in her hands as you resisted the urge to convulse. Your heart sank into your stomach as you thought of answers to her questions - most of which you’d been asking yourself since coming across Logan’s path. 

  “Well, it all started in a school…” 

Time Skip

Your arms slowly loosened as you set Laura on the small twin bed in the back room on the first floor, crouching down just low enough to rake your fingers through her hair and press a warm kiss to the crown of her forehead. The child stirred slightly under your ministrations, subconsciously leaning into your touch as if asking for more of it. “Goodnight kiddo.” You whispered into the silence. “I love you.” 

Cradling your arms to your chest you made your way out onto the porch, standing on the top step and swiveling your head to gaze at the stars. Most of the sky surrounding the Munson Farm was open, leaving you breathless at the sight of so many stars dotting the midnight sky. Westchester had never gifted you with a view as beautiful as this one. 

  “I’m surprised you’re still up.” A choppy baritone voice broke into the silence as you turned around only to be greeted by Logan sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of the front porch. “I thought I was the one with the late night thoughts and years worth of idiotic decisions to ponder into the dead of night.” 

To say he was surprised when a breath of laughter broke past your lips was an understatement. Unknown to you, he had heard every word of your conversation with Mrs. Munson. Logan had had his fair share of broken hearts - but the one that stung the most was when it occurred to him that no one as perfect as you would love a reject like him. 

  “No, darlin’. I think we both fall into that category.” You whispered. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, one that you’d grown accustomed to, before you turned to regard the man behind you. Most of your late night drives had been spent getting to memorize the mosaic of art that was Logan Howlett - from the gunshot wounds that peeked from his wife beater, to the way he depended on alcohol as if it would save his life, the way his eyes would sweep over you after every incursion with the bounty hunters to make sure you were safe. Despite the aching heart that was encased beneath the man, you’d managed to memorize every detail of his entire being - and somehow, you’d fallen in love with him. “Can I ask you something?” 

Logan took a swig of his whiskey. “Anything. You know that.”  

You nervously pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. “Can you imagine it? Living a normal life in some normal town, with a dog and a fence and pie? Charles could grow old in the parlor and Laura could go to school-” Your heart slammed against your chest as Logan stood to his feet and wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

  “You know that isn’t the kind of life we’ve been gifted with.” He confessed, dropping the bottle onto the wooden floor. From the corner of your eye you watched the amber liquid pour between the wooden slats and douse the grass beneath it. “But y/n, you have no idea what I would give to be able to live a life like that with you.” 

Your jaw fell slack at his confession. It took you a moment to compose yourself but by the time you did, Logan had your face gently cupped in his hands. “Wait-Are you screwing with me?” You joked lightly, only to find him shaking his head in front of you. “Please don’t tell me you overheard what I told Mrs. Munson.” 

Logan smirked deviously as his thumb trailed over the frame of your lips. “Okay, I won’t.” 

  “Logan-” 

Everything slowed down as The Wolverine leaned in closer to you, his nose gently brushing against your own. Even through the thick facial hair and usual hard gaze, you could clearly tell that he was terrified of diving head first back into a world of relationships and commitment. The last time he had done that, he’d been forced to kill the woman he’d loved. “I’ve been meaning to tell you forever, but then my mind got the better of me. Just like it always does.” He whispered, allowing his lips to ghost over your jaw. You stifled a moan as his lips found your sweet spot on your neck, nearly hidden by a mirage of y/h/c hair and the collar of the flannel you wore. “I was so convinced that you were too good for a broken old man like me, and it wasn’t until I was listening to your story tonight that I found myself laughing.” 

  “Laughing at what?”

  “Laughing at how stupid I’ve been.” He replied. “Because when I listened to you weave this incredible reality I can’t give you, I felt awful. You wanna know why? Because you deserve the dog and the apple pie and the picket fence. I can’t promise you a perfect life, but I can promise you a better tomorrow. And if you’re willing.. I will do everything in my power to make you the happiest mutant on Earth as long as you’re willing to deal with a senile, grumpy-” 

You cut him off with a feverish kiss, capturing his lips in your own. For a moment you almost thought he wasn’t going to kiss you back, but then the kiss became deeper. You both battled for dominance as Logans hand threaded through your hair, using his opposite to wrap around your waist and pull your chest flush against his. A groan erupted from deep in his throat as your tongue swept across the seam of his lips, granting you entrance to taste every fiber of the man that Logan Howlett was. 

By the time air became incredibly required, you were grinning so widely that he had started to laugh at your expression. “I am more then willing to deal with every senile, grumpy, broken old man left on the planet if it means getting to spend another day at your side.” You whispered. “And that’s a promise.” 

[fanarchoslashivist]

The unhatched egg

“It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad (p. 198-199).” Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis * Aster did not like to fly. As he double checked the harness that strapped him into the cramped seat of the gumpack sized plane he was reminded exactly why. The plane bucked and shuddered against an unseen enemy and beyond the glass pane was only eternal darkness. A gripping plummeting feeling in his stomach that could have been fear or motion sickness had him swallowing thickly and fighting against the urge to shut his eyes. “Sorry there’s no leg room.” The voice of his pilot did not come from an intercom overhead but from directly beside him loud enough to be heard over the noise of the plane. “No worries mate,” Aster assured him around the choking lump in his throat, though his long legs were already protesting it was hardly his most prominent discomfort. “Yer saving me from having ta wait out the storm and hours of grief from me mates if I’m late.” “My pleasure. I was heading out and I had the seat, lucky I did too, the last trip before a storm tends to be a big load.” The rattle of cargo behind them backed up his statement well enough. If the Bearhawk hadn’t been a four seater it was likely Aster wouldn’t have had even this chance to reach North’s. “You ah, you fly often Mr. Frost?” “Just Jack is fine, and since I was old enough.” His pilot flashed him a grin as white as his hair at the obvious anxiety in Aster’s voice. He knew he didn’t look much older than a college student. “I know what I’m doing, worry not. I’ll get you there in one piece.” The nausea begged to differ, if the constant rocking didn’t let up soon he was going to scatter pieces of his digestive system all over the cockpit. It didn’t help that outside the winter sky was black as death. A half hour ago they had passed over water and he had caught sight of the midday sun barely peeking over the horizon before they had disappeared into the arctic winter’s night once more. In a few days even that much sun wouldn’t be able to creep over the land. The plane banked to the right and the thought of some invisible mountain lurking ahead sent his stomach lurching. "Oh stewth," The plane shuddered again and Aster swallowed both bile and pride and closed his eyes, imagining green and warmth and not the thought of falling who knew how far into the cold and dark. "Relax." His mentally unstable pilot knocked their knees together teasingly. "You're going to give yourself a panic attack worrying over nothing." "All I can see is nothing." Aster shot back. "Stop thinking about it." Jack’s voice was still steady and confident in spite of flying blind. "Talk to me, get your mind elsewhere. Tell me something about yourself, what do you do for a living?” “Paint, mostly.” Another shudder and he was digging his fingers into his knees but he took a deep breath and concentrated on the conversation. “I live off the land, grow things, farm and such, hunt.” “That's one way to not be a starving artist.” “Too many rabbits in OZ to starve.” If they had been driving a car Aster imagined they'd have screeched to a halt, as it was Jack pinned him with a look as wide and blue as the afternoon sky should have been in any sane part of the world but the arctic. “You hunt rabbits?!” his shout was high pitched and horrified. “I’m a greenie mate, but rabbits are invasive down under.” Aster defended. “Yeah but, can't you like catch them without killing them or something?” Jack argued. “There's no way there are THAT many rabbits in Australia, isn't it like a death trap?” “You live in Alaska.” Aster pointed out, “You gonna spit the dummy over hunting here? It's not like there's a Garden of Eden out in the never never. People have’ta eat.” Jack's face got that tight constipated look of a person who didn't want to admit the other person in an argument had a point. “Well I don't think I can kill a bunny, even hungry.” “You garden enough, you learn ta hate the little buggers, even if you don't eat them.” Jack's pout only got more severe. “You know what? I’m calling you Bunny now.” “Why the Hell would you?” “To guilt you obviously. To remind you of those poor defenseless bunnies you murder every time you hear it, and me,” Jack pointed to himself with one hand, “you'll remember my disappointed face.” “We're never gonna meet again once we land.” Aster reminded him, wondering how ‘defenseless’ Jack would find a bunny who's kicking and biting in his hands. “You'd be surprised how annoying I can be in a short amount of time Bunny." “Somehow I don't think I would.” against his will he found the corners of his mouth tugging up. “Is that an insult? Are you insulting me Bun? I am offended.” “Yer serious about this Bunny thing ain't ya?” “I'm always serious about being annoying.” Jack confided with a smirking nod to himself. “It's one of my finest skills.” “Aside from flying I hope?” “Flying’s not a skill,” Jack informed him fiendishly, “it's my god given talent.” “That's a statement ya might want t’make before you bring a bloke up a thousand feet.” Jack let out a long trickling stream of laughter too light and free to match his deep voice. It was a laugh that had likely never been stifled. “What made you want t’be a pilot?” “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about you, cottontail?” Jack teased. “I already know everything about m’self.” Aster answered with his own grin. Jack’s easy laugh was infectious, and he felt himself relaxing. “When I was a kid, about 14, I missed the tour bus back to my town before a big storm. I was pretty upset about having to spend the last few days of my vacation waiting out the storm instead of with my family. Then a bush pilot offered me a lift. He had a few drops to make, and I was happy to help if it meant I got back home in time.” Jack's smile as he looked out the windshield spoke of the fond memories he saw in the darkness ahead. “I loved it, though I was no doubt annoying as fuck with all my questions and badgering he never got angry with me or irritable. I had this image in my head of racing against the storm, flying over Alaska with mountains and snow and forests, you can imagine the impression it left on a teenager.” Aster could imagine it well. A sullen kid rescued from boredom and disappointment and taken on a daring adventure over beautiful wilderness, racing the clock. How it must have thrilled him. “I got my taste of flight that day, and I couldn't stand to be on the ground after that. I needed wings.” “Was it hard to do?” “In Alaska? Never.” “Dangerous though, ever crash?” “Ah ah, you have reached your skip limit.” Jack announced. “Now it's time to talk about, guess who? Yourself.” Aster scowled, but it was half hearted. "M'from Australia, came up to visit my mates." "You told me that much when we met." Jack's blue eyes were on him for an instant, amusement making them scrunch at the corners. "Do you like it there?" "Can't imagine living anyplace else." "Good. It's good to have a home you love." "What about yerself?" Something about that comment felt wrong. "I used to, but since I lost my family it's pretty much just been me and the plane.” Ah, so there it was. "No place to overwinter?" "I have a few places, but nothing that's really a 'home'." “Sounds lonely.” Aster regretted the words as soon as they were said, but he couldn’t bring himself to backtrack. Instead he simply said what he felt, “sound’s like me, when I was young.” “Were you lonely?” Jack’s question was lower, barely audible over the noise of the cockpit. “More than I can explain.” It still hurt to think of it, those years passing by in a haze of terrible isolation. “For so long I forgot what not being alone felt like.” “You forget you’re even alone.” Jack’s voice was a whisper, it shouldn’t have been heard over the noise of the plane at all, and yet it resonated in Aster’s ears with an unearthly clarity. “You start to think you like it better that way.” “Yeah, that's it.” Aster breathed, “That's exactly it.” They lapsed into silence, the noise of the plane becoming a physical blanket of comfort around them as the topic settled and an obvious wound was allowed to fade to a dull ache again. Then suddenly Jack grinned. “Check your pieces cottontail,” he said, nudging Aster with an elbow, “We’re about to land.” Through the darkness a light shimmered into view, wavering like a mirage. A few more minutes and Aster realized what he was seeing was the outline of towering hills of ice surrounding North’s home, and the glow was the light pollution just beyond the obstruction. The plane descended and he was surprised his stomach didn't pitch, somehow through the conversation his anxiety had faded and his motion sickness had calmed to a faint cramping in the gut. North's runway was hardly more than a few thousand foot road of ice but it was enough for a four seater bush plane to touch down. After so long of staring at nothing but black the lights from the town were brilliant and fantastical. A low whistle had him looking back to Jack. “Now this, this is pretty. You don’t expect to see this kind of thing this far out from the cities.” “It’s North’s pride and joy.” He wondered what it looked like, so someone so used to the Alaskan wilderness, to see the towering buildings and glittering lights. He wondered if Jack had ever been to a big city, or if his travels only brought him from the coast to the backwoods towns and back again. “Ye ah, ye wanna come in, have a drink?” He asked, his nerves tiptoeing in new directions now that he was back on thrice blessed Earth. “North would be happy to have ya.” “Wish I could.” Jack sighed, “But I still have two stops to make before the storm hits, and I want to be someplace safe myself.” “One of yer ‘not homes’?” “Yeah.” There was a wistfulness in his eyes as he looked at Aster, and he didn’t imagine the longing to accept the invitation in them. Jack would join him if he could, but circumstances what they were… “You failed.” Aster said suddenly, and Jack jerked back. “What?” “You weren’t nearly as annoying as ye could have been.” Jack’s sour candy pout returned and Aster found himself resisting the urge to lean over and take a bite. “Just you wait, Bunny, the next time you have your sights set on your fluffy kin you’ll think of me. I know it.” “We’ll see.” Aster smirked, and grabbing his duffel he exited the plane. He doubted very much he’s be forgetting Jack Frost anytime soon. As cold as it was inside the cockpit, Aster had forgotten to brace himself for the outside. “Fuck.” he swore as the temperature gripped him and stole his breath. It was the sudden silence, however, that struck him the most. After the constant noise of the bush plane, the snow covered world around him felt unwelcoming. He turned to wave back at Jack, but both he and the bearhawk were already gone. “BUNNY!” North’s shout cracked the silence like breaking ice and Aster spun on his heel to face his oldest friend. “Did ye see it?” he demanded. “No, you didn’t even set off wards.” North marched over to him like a looming disaster, face severe. “I waited for you, but until you appeared just now, there was no sign.” “And the time?” “Seventeen oh nine. Same as the reports.” The presumed time of death. “I was worried, Bunny. When the hour approached but you did not.” Bunnymund looked out onto the landing strip, searching for some sign, some hint of a plane arriving, but the snow along the road was undisturbed. Just like the snow in Dutch Harbor. Jack had appeared out of the night, and into the night he returned. They had crossed miles of land and ice in complete darkness within a single hour, within the same time it had taken for a hundred and twenty pounds of adolescent curiosity to board a three thousand pound plane, and sink with it below the ice. And yet the person he flew with had never even hinted at such a tragic end. There was no anger, no vengeance, and no ill will towards the person now sitting in his vacant seat. Just the ghost of a boy doing what he died dreaming he’d one day do. Rescuing people from boredom and racing the storm. “He’s not dangerous, North.” Bunny said softly, remembering the smiling face of the boy playing at being a pilot as he spoke of the man who killed him. “I don’t think he even knows he’d dead.”

[saikostories]

HAIKYUU - The Dark Spots on the Sun pt4

It was weird.... To say the least. Sitting alone at home, with a pizza in front of him, still hot from the oven. Just for him. His mom was working.... Natsu at Koureki’s place...

Only him. Utter silence.

It felt nice.

It felt right.

So why was he crying?

He didn’t know what happened... one minute he was sitting down ready to eat the best meal he’d have in days... the next, his mind was as blank as a page. He felt drained. More so than any practice. Physically he was okay... physically he could demolish a tank with how much energy and power he had left inside him, however, emotionally, he just felt... drained.

Shoyo was running on fumes. Shoyo brought his knees into his chest and sat there in the lounge, with the lights off. He let the darkness envelope him and he felt small. Lately, he felt like he was on a tightrope and at any point he could topple over and fall. He had a whole team of people looking out for him yet in that moment he felt like he was alone.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of the day where it all began.

Dad.

He remembered the phone call that he had made, and how his dad had picked up straight away.

He should have just left it. He should have just ignored me and spoken to me at home. He should have been concentrating.

Or maybe I just shouldn’t have been born.

Shoyo repeated this idea over and over again in his brain. His life was a tragic story: the main character turned side character, which eventually led to his demise. He looked at his arms and the fresh bruises that had appeared the last time Amaya beat him. Now they were fading and looking less noticeable. He’d still have to wear his usual long sleeved tracksuit when they practiced with Nekoma, Fukurodani, Sendai and the other volleyball teams that would join Karasuno at the week long training camp in Tokyo...

Shoyo lifted his head and looked up at the wall in front of him behind the TV set. There, hanging in a frame on the wall, was a picture of Natsu and Shoyo. It was in the summer, two years before Karasuno, when Natsu was four. Shoyo smiled as he thought back to the memory. Shoyo had gotten a new volleyball for his birthday, and as a reward for passing a test in middle school he had gotten himself a new pair of volleyball shoes. Natsu had unintentionally picked them out when they were shopping for birthday gifts for Izumi, Shoyo’s middle school best friend on the basketball team. So, Shoyo had set the camera up, and taken a photo with Natsu on his shoulders, as she held up the first gift she had ever picked out for her brother above her head, her smile reaching from ear to ear.

His goal was to be the next tiny giant... but that wasn’t just it.

If he became a professional volleyball player, he could look after Natsu on his own. They’d finally be away from Amaya. And perhaps at the same time, practice with Natsu if she ever did decide to go into volleyball. He’d fight to stay on the court, to be the next tiny giant, and most importantly...

To protect Natsu.

-

“I can’t believe it.”

“It’s just not possible”

“He must be cheating.”

“There’s just no way.”

As Takeda was loading the volleyball gear onto the bus, the team could only stare at what they thought was a mirage...

Hinata Shoyo

Had passed every subject

Where his lowest score

Was a 75/100.

There was just no way.

Kageyama growled at the ginger haired middle blocker as Nishinoya high fived him ecstatically. He too had passed; his lowest score being 63. Shoyo had beaten him.

“KAGEYAMA. STOP IT.” Daichi yelled as he climbed on to the bus. He however could stay mad for long... everyone had passed. The usual dumb delinquents had grown to be at the very least, normal intellectual human beings. Everyone was going to Tokyo. He released a sigh of relief as he sat down and the bus started moving.

“Isn’t our team exhausting?” Suga joked with a wink. Daichi laughed lightly.

“Can’t argue with that. Just looking at them makes me want to sleep.”

“Well if we’re going to be up against powerhouse schools like fukurodani... we need to take a leaf out of Hinata and Kageyama’s book.” Ennoshita added. Narita nodded.

“Hm-hm. When we play against them, we gotta be at our best. Both in skill and in energy.”

“Well... we definitely have the energy that’s for sure... and as for skill, I have no doubt that our first and second years can leave any competitor in the dust.” Daichi agreed as he watched his teammates get excited for the upcoming games. Even Tsukishima seemed slightly less monotonous than usual.

“We’ll be arriving at around 8am so make sure you catch up on any sleep back there!” Ukai called. “Once we get off the bus, it’s an hour to settle in and then we’re hitting the practice matches!” He got a loud YES SIR from the team. Eventually, the loud racket of a raging team dyed down, hinting that everyone was asleep. Even Kiyoko and Yachi were out like a light.

“We did it. We’re really going to Tokyo.” Takeda said excitedly as he drove down the dark country lanes, towards the highway.

“We’ve been before haven’‘t we?” Ukai noted jokingly. Takeda nodded with a cheshire-like grin on his face.

“Yeah but this feels different. I mean, before Karasuno would be lucky to even get a practice match from one school.... and probably one from a minor region who doesn’t make it past the second round at the pre-lims. Now... we’re training with National teams. I can’t help but get excited.” Ukai laughed at Takeda’s enthusiasm.

“No I get it. I expect big things from this team. We’re going to go to pre-lims, win pre-lims, go to nationals, win nationals, and be the best team there is. I know some may think that’s over confidence but, I have faith in this team.”

Shoyo slowly opened his eyes as the sun seeped through the bus windows and onto his face. Looking around, he could tell everyone was still asleep. At the front of the bus, Ukai was driving, whilst Takeda was getting in some much needed rest as well. It must be hard to drive all night, Shoyo thought as he watched the familiar houses that he would often see as they pulled into Sendai high school. They were finally here and going to start practicing. He looked at his phone, and saw that it was indeed coming close to 8am, which means that Natsu would probably have woken up by now. She never slept in anyway; always up early. Sometimes, if she had slept during the day before hand, she would wake up early enough to see Shoyo leave for practice in the morning. He wondered if perhaps he should give Setsuko a call... ask her how Natsu is and if she missed him at all... He shook his head and put his phone back in his pocket. He’d call later. Now was not the-

“I thought you would be awake.” He looked up to see a smiling Kiyoko. She was standing in the alleyway of the bus, clearly on the mission to wake everyone up and give them energy bars and juice packs to kickstart their morning. Shoyo smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, I seem to know precisely when it’s morning. It’s my hidden talent.” Shoyo jokily responded causing Kiyoko to giggle a bit.

“Well, we should be pulling up into the school soon. If you could possibly wake Kageyama...” She said whilst flicking her eyes to the raven haired setter, who was still sleeping like the grave. Shoyo nudged the setter and when he didn’t wake, Shoyo stood up. This meant that Kageyama, who had his head resting on his shoulder, fell into the now empty seat, waking up with a start.

“Wha-? what happened? are we there?” Kiyoko handed a juice pack to him as Shoyo sat back down, before moving on to the rest of the team. Shoyo pocketed the energy bar. Thanks to the quite and lonely night he had before they left, Shoyo had taken the opportunity to overeat. It felt nice to stuff his face with leftover pork buns and rice. He untwisted the cap from the juice pack and began to drink the contents, feeling energised and refreshed as he did so. He was also feeling a little warm thanks to the long-sleeved training gear he had on, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. The bruising and scars from Amaya’s beatings hadn’t gone down. If anything, they had started to fade into a dark shade of purple with yellow on the sides. This probably because he hadn’t taken it easy in practice... so the extra jumping around and moving was just aggravating it more. The good thing was that it was a little less difficult to breath now.

“Hey Hinata?” Kageyama’s usual deep voice snapped him out of his thoughts as he answered with a simple little hm? in response. “Are you going to be wearing that all day? aren’t you going to overheat?”

“I’ll be fine. I guess it means we’ll just have to win quickly to avoid the amount of forfeits we have to do.” Kageyama smiled at Shoyo’s eagerness.

“I wanted to talk to you about your sister by the way.” Shoyo’s ears popped up in attention. Anything concerning Natsu was important.

“What about her?”

“Well...” Kageyama remembered that he wasn’t supposed to confront Shoyo just yet. If Shoyo was going to come forward, he would. But Kageyama didn’t agree with that reasoning. To him, the middle blocker was stubborn and fiercely independent. He wasn’t sure if he would come forward at all. “Does she want to be a volleyball player? If she does, I can help teach her how to set...” Shoyo blinked once. Twice. Three times.

“Are you okay?” Shoyo asked with a look of confusion on his face.

“Yes I’m okay! Is it weird for me to want to help teach volleyball to a kid!?”

“Yes. Very.”

“What!? Well forget it then! I won’t!” Kageyama growled and folded his arms in a huff. Shoyo took a deep breath.

“I don’t know what she wants to do. But.... if she does, you’re the best setter I know.... So I think she’d love to learn from you.” Kageyama relaxed a bit in surprise. He was not expecting that.

“Hey Hina-”

“We’re here!” The sound of Nishinoya’s voice interrupted Kageyama’s train of thought and the freak-pair turned to open the curtains and look at the school that was slowly becoming clearer and clearer as they drew near it. Outside, standing by the gates... Was Nekoma.

They clearly had gotten here before them, so it was nice to see a rival team like them greet Karasuno when they arrived. Shoyo looked in the crowd for a certain blonde setter with dark roots and sure enough, standing next to the Nekoma team captain, was Kenma. Shoyo gulped. Last night, he had given a thought to this whole training camp. Unlike Nekoma, Karasuno were a bunch of idiots. They were easy to trick and it wasn’t hard to conceal how tired and haggard shoyo had gotten these past few days.

Kenma however was a genius. He was extremely observant. It would not be easy trying to pretend like everything was okay. Shoyo gulped and threw the now empty juice pack into the plastic bag that Kiyoko was treating as a bin, before slowly following the rest of the team out of the bus.

“HELLOOOOO CITY BOYYYYYSS!” Tanaka yelled at the top of his lungs.

“COUNTRY FELLAAAAASSSS!!!!” Yamamoto shouted back, high fiving him in the process. Daichi rolled his eyes, smacking tanaka around the back of the head. Kuroo, captain of the Nekoma team did the same thing, earning a small giggle from Noya.

“So... You crazy crows came after all.... We were wondering whether you got lost trying to find the sky tower again.” Kuroo teased.

“Yeah well... you know how we are... constantly flying wherever the wind takes us.” Daichi replied. The black hair captain sniggered a little.

“You know that almost sounded kind of cool.... if it wasn’t so cheesy”

“Why thankyou... we do try our best”.

The two teams walked up the steps to the school, both really excited to start training. Kenma, however stayed behind a little, waiting for Shoyo who was the last one off the bus. Kenma smiled a little, happy to see his small volleyball friend. Shoyo smiled back, before wiping his brow a little. It was hot in miyagi, but in Tokyo, it was even hotter. It didn’t help that he was practically wearing a baselayer to hide his injuries. Kenma wrinkled his eyebrows a little.

“Hey kenma.” Shoyo nodded a little and slung his bag further over his shoulder. “Whatcha’ playin’?” Shoyo asked as he leaned over to watch the small gameboy that Kenma had in his hands.

He shurgged. “My dad gave me this old gameboy to try. Apparently it was his when he was a kid. To be honest, the sound quality’s terrible and the games lag really badly but... It’s still pretty fun to play. You wanna have a go?” Shoyo shook his head.

“Nah it’s okay. I’ll just wanna watch. Hey Daichi-san? Who are we playing first?”

“uh.... Ubagawa high. They’re from Kanagawa Prefecture.” Ukai said as they walked into Shinzen high school. He pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “Okay listen up! There are four schools that we will be playing matches against. Fukurodani, Nekomata, Shinzen and Ubagawa. I’ve already told you a bit about each of them back at the gym.... but just to remind you, Each day you’ll be playing each team at least twice. Losses will be penalised by doing a forefeight or challenge. Today it will be flying laps.” Ukai pointed down the hallway to a red door with a piece of paper taped to it. “You can put your stuff down there. The managers are all grouped together in the room down the hall. I expect you all to be in the gym in fifteen minutes! got it?” A loud YES SIR erupted from the team as they headed for their changing room.

The room itself was small and bare, except for the thirty or so futons laying on the ground. There, both Karasuno and Nekoma would spend the next week relaxing after a hard days work. It was slightly cold, but if they plugged in the heater that occupied the furthest corner of the room, it would be okay.

“I bag the bed near the window!” Noya cried as he ran to the furthest futon in the room. Slowly, the boys from both teams started piling into the room to set down their stuff, eager to change and begin the long practice that awaited them. Shoyo walked to the futon opposite Kageyama in the middle of the room. Kageyama didn’t pay any attention to him at first, until he realised that Shoyo wasn’t changing.

“Are you seriously gonna keep that top on? it’s like 80 degrees in that gym, you’re gonna be baking.” Shoyo shrugged. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to train in a short-sleeved top.... Amaya had been piling into him hard lately, and because of that, the bruising he had gotten hadn’t gone down. It was taking longer than usual. Just moving hurt. He didn’t think anything was broken... it just hurt a lot.

“I forgot my short-sleeved tops at home so...” Kageyama sighed and reached into his bag. Shoyo felt the small smack of a t-shirt against his arm. He widened his eyes when he saw kageyama’s favourite white sport top land on his futon. He sighed and picked it up, then smiled. “Thanks Kageyama.... but I’m good.”

He passed the white shirt to the setter. “Don’t be an idiot Hinata. If you practice in that top, you’ll overheat.” He said, pushing Shoyo’s hand away. But before he could walk away, Shoyo threw the top towards him.

“I said I’m fine.”

“Hinata!”

Shoyo walked out of the room, avoiding the occasional stares that he got from some of the Nekoma players. As he did, he made sure to pocket his phone. Once he rounded the corner, just outside the gym, he flipped it open and went to his voicemail. It had probably gone off whilst he was sleeping in the bus. Without checking who had called, he pressed the phone to his ear.

You have two new messages.

First Message:

Hey Sho! It’s Natsu! Setsuko let me call you because I was so excited! We’re going to a theme park! I can’t wait to go on rides and eat cotton candy! Me and Koureki played dress up. She’s going as a princess and I’m going as you! I borrowed one of your gym tops so I hope you don’t mind! Oh! Setsuko says we’ve got to go so i’ll ask if I can call you again! Bye sho!!!

Shoyo smiled. He was glad that she was having such a good time. She needed it. It always hurt him more when she couldn’t go to parties, or play at the park with her friends, because he had practice and couldn’t go with her. He hated how every night, she had to hide in her room from her own mother. He hated how selfish he was being. Some days, he genuinely thought that he should quit and dedicate the rest of his time to looking after her. He shook his head. No, she wouldn’t forgive him. She may not understand yet but once she did, she would hate him for it. Later, to her, it would feel like pity. And he of all people knew what pity was like. It felt bitter and uncomfortable, just like a stomach bug that would never go away. He pressed the number 2 on his key pad. Message Saved. He always did this. He had a collection of saved messages from Natsu. Three others however were from his Dad. He was tempted to listen to a few now. Sure, he’d risk being late but what was a couple of minutes? He shook the thought out of his head and hurriedly awaited the next message.

Next Message

Shoyo felt his blood run cold.

Oi. I hope you had a good reason for ignoring my call you little shit. I don’t have time to leave messages if you don’t have the decency to fucking pick up. You better have the house spotless when I come home. If I even see one speck of dirt you’ll regret it. Anyway... I’m calling to say congrats on not failing your exams. Seriously, I didn’t think you could do it. But you seem to have picked yourself up a bit. I still think you should quit your stupid club. Go to college and get a real job. Scholarship of course. I aint’ payin for you to screw up. I’ll talk to you again later. You better pick up or else.

Shoyo felt his heart thump inside of his chest. Every time Amaya called his phone, he always thought he was in some sort of trouble. Whether that be because he screwed up at school or he forgot to do a chore. The fact that he had missed her call sent shivers down his spine. Thank god for my good grades. Amaya seemed to be in a good mood, which meant her meeting was going well. Hopefully, if her business trip was good, Amaya could stay in a good mood the whole week. Perhaps that would help ease the bruising a bit. He deleted the message and put his phone back into his pocket. He placed his hand over his heart to try and calm it down a little.

He breathed in

and out.

In

and out.

In

and out

In

and out.

He pushed himself off the wall, and forced himself to walk into the bright gym. He breathed in the soft smell of rubber and floor polish, smiling as he did so. For some reason, this familiar scent made him feel so much calmer. He smiled as he jogged towards his team who had just begun to start warming up in preparation for their match against Ubagawa. Shoyo smiled in excitement. Ubagawa was a strong team. They were one of the four team in the Fukurodani Academy group. As far as ranking was concerned, they were pretty good. Shoyo watched as their Captain Masaki Gora lept into the ar to spike. The ball smacked against his hand and slammed onto the ground, a large bang following as it did. Shoyo’s eyes widened excitedly. Masaki looked so angry and intimidating, but to Shoyo, all he could see was pure talent and brute strength. It was amazing.

“Oi. Kageyama... I can’t believe we get to play against a team as good as this”. He said whilst pulling the yellow bib over his head. Kageyama nodded in agreement.

“Yeah I know.”

“But with your sets, I’m sure we can beat him!” Shoyo said lightly smacking his arm.

“Yeah, I know”. Kageyama grinned, smacking his arm back harder. Shoyo winced slightly and kageyama wdened his eyes a little in shock. It was only for a split second that Shoyo had winced but Kageyama couldn’t exactly miss it. He thought back to the conversation that he’d overheard.

.

.

.

.

.

“Shoyo… you shouldn’t be just managing… it’s bad enough that she’s verbally agressive but physically? She shouldn’t be hitting her children.”

That night, Kageyama couldn’t sleep. He Just couldn’t. The conversation wasn’t loud. If anything, it was fairly quiet. But the wind picked up and made sound travel. It was to no surprise that Daichi, Suga and himself would hear it. He kicked his shoes off before entering the small home that him and his parents had occupied.

“I’m home!” He called. A tall woman with straight black hair came tumbling out of the kitchen in order to greet her son with a smile. She hugged him as her husband gave a small wave from the sofa.

“Tobio! How was practice?” She asked, taking his bag and placing it down by the door where it usually resided. Kageyama shrugged nonchantly and tilted his head a little to the side.

“It was good... I mean we had a few practice matches to prepare for Tokyo... Coach thinks we have a pretty good chance of winning the spring prelims.”

His father stood up and walked over to Kageyama, folding his newspaper as he did so. “That’s great news. You know your mother and I are so proud. But more importantly, how’s your studies coming along?” Kageyama visibly grimaced causing his father to laugh a little. “Hahaha.... don’t worry tobio.... I was never good at studying too. I always snuck off to go to the movies the first chance I got. Perhaps we can set you up with a tutor? Your mom is pretty good at math....” Kageyama nodded and sat down at the dinner table, where his mom had started serving. Something kept bugging him though. Something that stirred his mind somewhere else other than Volleyball. He was so focused that he realised he hadn’t exactly started eating yet.

“You okay son? What are you thinking about?”

“Sssshhh! Leave him be... He’s probably got his head up in the clouds about volleyball... You know how he is” His mother said lightly. Kageyama blinked a little and picked up his spoon to eat.

“Mom.... Dad.... I was wondering..... There’s this kid at my school..... Hinata. Shoyo Hinata.... He lives on the other side of the mountain but..... do you know his mom?”

The father stopped eating and put his spoon down. He hummed a little and closed his eyes, clearly trying to think of the name Hinata.

“It rings a bell.... yes.... I think I do..... Chikao Hinata.... Worked in the Marketing department at Benjiro Electronics a while back.... My company partnered up with Benjiro for a project of some sort. Quite a nice chap really. Became a friend quite quickly. It’s a shame what happened....

Kageyama frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well....” His mom began as she took a sip of water from her cup. “Several years back, there was an accident and.... Well he passed away. I think he only had a son at the time but his wife, Amaya.... was it? Well, she was expecting.” Kageyama froze.

That must have been Natsu.

“Never really liked that woman.” Kageyama’s father said as he began eating again. “She wasn’t evil but she wasn’t the warmest of people....”

“Hakaku Kageyama!” The mother said sternly. “You can’t say such things!”

Kageyama thought hard for a second. Hinata must have been all alone. If his mother really was hurting him... then that would mean there wouldn’t be anybody to step up to her.

“I didn’t speak to the mother really so I don’t know what she’s like.... But I think she works at Ginjiro inc. A company that specialises in jewellry... I’m not too sure. Maybe we should invite them over for dinner sometime?” The mother wondered aloud. Kageyama nodded and continued eating.

Hinata....