#I think I was sappier about it before I had to try to remember and retype it but anyway. I’m actually just. feeling okay about my body rn. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreamkidddream · 3 years

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MC Doing the Peeling Glue Skin Prank on the Bros (Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan)

Hoorayyy my first post! I don’t know if any of you have seen the tiktok where they rub glue to look like their skin is peeling off but it’s both funny and horrifying. Also, this got a lot longer and fluffier/sappier than what I thought, but I’m not complaining. This will be done in headcannon format, and I think I’m going to split it up into 2 parts (Lucifer, Mammon, and Levi in the first part and the rest in the second) and I hope you enjoy! Also slight spoiler for lesson 16 (but it’s a blink and you miss it kind of thing in Mammon’s). Reader is gender neutral.

The Build Up:

Ever since you came back to the Devildom after the exchange program, things have been great! It was obvious that you were missing the demon lords, and even more obvious that they were missing you too. Things weren’t different, not at all. But the one day that you were bored out of your mind and they all had different things to handle, you turned to the one thing that could cure your boredom: the Devildom’s version of TikTok. Oh how the boys will forever regret showing you that app, as it had let to their current downfall...

Lucifer

So unfortunately this man is ALWAYS busy

It doesn’t matter what time of day or night it is, he’s always filling out paperwork. Whether it’s for Diavolo, credit card bills that Mammon racked up, Asmo’s impromptu fashion trips, Beel’s black hole of a stomach, etc.

And he doesn’t like to be disturbed at all unless it’s an emergency

So when you burst into his office out of nowhere, he was slightly irritated (but not that angry, since it was you and your presence was hardly a nuisance)

But that quickly changed whenever he heard you moaning his name in pain and looked up to see what looked like your flesh flaking off by the second

His eyes widen and he is instantly panicking. He’s trying to keep it on the inside but you start to “panic” which makes him shoot out of his seat

Instantly is by your side, trying to delicately hold you and also trying to figure out what the hell is going on

“MC! Are you in pain? What happened? Did someone put a curse on you?!”

Now, you weren’t putting on a Oscar worthy performance but you think you were selling it pretty good. And everything was working out until he grabbed your arm and inspected it closer that he realized he got played

First, he realized that your flesh wasn’t falling in chunks on the ground. Then, he realized that these flakes were awfully thin, and that parts of your arm felt sticky

He fully realized that he got pranked when he peeled off your “skin” off your neck and you giggled, then covered your mouth to realized that your cover was blown

Needless to say, he was not a happy demon

And you basically just signed your death warrant

Before you could even think about running, he grabbed you again and “asked” that you have a seat

Cue another long Lucifer lecture, with him explaining how this wasn’t a funny prank (even for human standards) and that you need to understand how serious this is

Which is his way of saying that he cares about you and was actually panicked and scared. You knew his pride made it hard for him to openly express himself. And while he is getting better slowly but surely, it’s still hard for him to do so. Which made you feel guilty, so you did genuinely apologized

“You’re right, Lucifer, I’m sorry. This wasn’t my greatest idea, as you can see. I didn’t realize how severely this affected you, and it wasn’t right for me to take advantage of that. I know how hard it is to express how you feel because of your pride, but I know how much you care for me even without saying it. It shows in how hard you work, and how you still manage to be there for everyone despite how stress you are. I shouldn’t be adding on to that stress, and I really am sorry for that. You really are a good person, Lucifer, and even though you can be very strict- wait! Let me finish,- you mean well because you care for us. And you don’t get enough credit for that. So, thank you for all that you do. I love you, truly and deeply.”

Despite being a little skeptical in the beginning (he thought you were trying to get out of a punishment, ha! Good luck with that) and ending with a flustered look that he tried to cover with his hand (which was obviously too late to do, you already saw), he did appreciate and accepted the apology.

“I love you too, MC. Truly and deeply.”

So that was your cue to get your hug (and maybe a little kiss) and he pushed you away! You were offended for a second, but you saw the disgusted look on your face and forgot that you were covered in dried glue. Oh yeahhhh...ew

So while you were back in his good graces, you still got punished. A 15 page essay on why doing horrific pranks like that on your loved ones is harmful and no HellTok for your remaining stay?! You know you deserve some type of consequence but geez, overkill much?!

But, he did hint to you that you could make him feel better by spending the night with him in bed

After you take a much needed shower of course

Mammon

As much as this tsundere tried to say he was “too busy” for you, we all know that’s a lie

Granted when you went to go bother him, he was busy

Busy with planning out new scams counting out whatever Grimm he had left, what items to sell and for what price: “maybe I could sell Levi’s golden Ruri-Chan vendor ring thing for some Grimm? He’ll flip but if I just “borrow” it for a little bit, he won’t know what hit ‘im!”

Seeing how focused he was, it was your time to shine

“M-Mamooon! Help me! Something’s w-wrong!”

That immediately got his attention

His head shot up and he rushed to you, panic clearing showing on his face and in his movements

“MC! What’s going on?! WHAT IS THIS!”

When you could physically see him shaking, sweating and on the brink of tears, you knew that it was time to stop while you were ahead

“Mammon wait-“

“We need to go to Lucifer NOW.”

And when he went to pick you up gently, and saw with his own two eyes the flakes slowly fall to the ground, was when hell broke loose

You have never heard him scream so loud before, and you were pretty sure everyone both in and out the house heard him

He lifted you up and you were pretty sure he was in his demon form when you both ran and/or flew (you couldn’t tell, that’s how fast you were moving) to Lucifer’s

Sometimes it was so easy to forget that you lived with actual demons, 7 of the strongest to be exact

When you both reached your destination (ie. barged into Lucifer’s room unprovoked) he was not pleased, but Mammon did not care.

You were one of (if not) the most important person in his life and he would be damned if anything happened to you again. He was your first man, your protector! And he was not going to fail. Not again. He would and will protect you with his life. At any costs

When you saw how serious he was , you tried to wiggle out of his arms, but all he did was just tighten up and say, “MC, quit squirmin’! I don’t want you to make this worse.”

“No, Mammon wait-“

“We’re going to fix this. I’m going to fix this and I’m not lettin’ anything happen to you again. Now stop moving! Lucifer, somethin’s wrong with MC! Look at how their skin is-“

“ITS A PRANK!”

It’s just a prank bro

“Wh-what?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m sorry!”

While you were explaining the whole process (with Lucifer staring on in building irritation), you were still in his arms

You already felt like a terrible being, but the guilt was steady skyrocketing when you were looking at his face

He looked like a kicked puppy left in the rain with a broken paw

You just kept apologizing over and over, until you heard a certain someone clear their throat.

“If you two are done interrupting me, I would like to get back to work. MC, stay behind, it seems like we need to have a little chat about your so called prank.”

Mammon put you down and walked out the room, head hanging and eyes covered.

You knew you screwed up big time. Forget about the incoming lecture, you felt absolutely terrible about pranking Mammon. Especially after hearing the “again” comment.

Once you finally got released (ie. punished), you all had dinner, which Mammon skipped out on

Geez, this was not suppose to happen and you needed to make it up to him ASAP

So here you were, standing outside his door (after you cleaned up) with two Hell Fire noodle cups, knocking timidly

“Hey, Mammon? Is it okay if I come in?”

Silence

“You weren’t down for dinner and I know that you’re hungry, so I brought us-you some noodles.”

Again, silence

You sighed, you knew you messed up big time and you were going to fix it, no matter what.

“I’m sorry, Mammon. I’m so sorry. What started out as a joke turned into something serious, and it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have did that. Hurting you was never my intention, I care about you too much to do that. When I heard you say that you weren’t going to let anything happen to me again, I knew that I messed up. I know that you will always protect me, and I don’t have any doubt that you won’t. You’re my first man, remember? I know that you’ll always have my back, and I hope you know that I’ll always have yours too. You’re not just the Avatar of Greed to me Mammon, you’re my first guy that I’ll love forever. I won’t ever mess with you like this again, and if you don’t want to talk now that’s fine too, just know that I’ll always love and care for you, okay?”

Ughh and now you were crying!

You sighed. You understood if he didn’t want to talk to you. I mean, he thought you were dying again. It’s easy to forget the events that happened with Belphie, since everyone is communicating and acting like a real family, but you can see now that it left a deep emotional wound in Mammon. He believed that it was his fault that you weren’t saved, and he still carried the burden all this time.

You put the cup down outside the door and started to head back to your room. You would give him as much time as he needed. You just hate that you made him feel this way, that you rose those feelings out of him. And you hated yourself for it.

You barely stepped a foot away from the door when he saw it swing out and a big blob tackle-hugged you

Here was Mammon, sniffling and tearing up, hugging you

“*sniff* You stupid human.”

When he pulled away, you saw the tears in his eyes, which he tried to rub away before you could notice (sidenote: you already noticed)

“Ya-Ya really love me?”

“Of course, Mammon! How could I not? You stayed by my side through thick and thin, through everything. You protected me, and I will forever be grateful for that. I wouldn’t be here without you. You’re not a selfish scum bag like everyone tries to make you out to be, Mammon, and I won’t let you believe that you are. You are my first man, the man that has constantly looked out for me, that has supported and cared for me, and most of all that has never failed to show how much love you have to give. I love you Mammon, always.”

Cue the blushing and cheeky grin

“Now come on the Great Mammon, our noodles are getting cold.”

It felt great to see that smile back on his face

And it felt even better to hear him say, “I love ya too, MC”

Leviathan

Levi was in his room, nothing new

He told you he had some sort of campaign that he absolutely could not afford to miss. Which he said about the other campaigns too but whatever

So when you knocked into his room, and he didn’t ask for the secret phrase, you knew he was in too deep to even pay attention to his surroundings

And the door was UNLOCKED

So you went in, ready to give him the scare of the decade, and-

He turned around in his gaming chair, raging and in his demon form

“UGH! How was that normie of a demon able to kill me with that move?! He has to be cheating! How is it that I’m one of the best players in the entire Devildom and I’m one of the first dead?! It’s not fair! It’s not fair, it’s not fair IT’S NOT FAI- huh? MC, why are you covered in *squints* dried up glue?”

You were honestly shook

Because 1: the third strongest brother was obviously furious and in his demon form which is not a good combination (your mind flashing back to the TSL quiz and whew was that not the best memory) and 2: how the hell was he able to know that this was glue?!

Okay, you weren’t scared of Levi, not at all! But you, just like everyone else, knew how serious he took his gaming

And you all knew how he could be when he was raging about it too

Not saying that he would ever harm or attack you, oh no. What happened at the beginning was just a...fluke! Yeah, just a little hiccup in your now longstanding relationship

But you were still just a tad bit hesitant to be caught in the crossfire of his rage

Really everyone was (except maybe Beel, but even he had his moments)

“LOL you look like one of the rotten magical zombie students from the anime “OMG I’m Just A Magical Girl in Training and Somehow I Turned the Whole School Into Zombies and Have to Fall in Love with a Demon to Reverse It!””

Okay, this was not the reaction you were looking for

“What the- but how-?

Then you remembered

Levi is a renowned cosplayer, the best in the game. It was obvious he knew what the dried up glue looked like considering how much he’s worked with it

You were of course disappointed, but oh well, you could always scheme to get him another way

And then it happened. Another devious idea popped into your head

“So you said I looked like a rotten zombie student huh?”

“Rotten magical zombie student . LOL don’t tell me that you don’t think you do- W-what are you doing MC?”

“Ughhh I’m a rotten magical school girl, and I’m not just hungry for brains, I’m hungry for love.”

“L-love?”

“Gughhh that’s right and only kisses can satiate my hunger. Demon kisses.”

Oh boy

The way that you turned red so quick was always a surprising sight for you to see

“M-MC WAIT-”

“I want my kisses, Levi!”, you said it in your best zombie/monster voice

Cue his famous “WOOAHHHH”

“MC WAIT- YOU’RE COVERED IN GROSS DRIED GLUE OMG”

The campaign was quickly forgotten when you tackled him to the ground, glue and all

Then you remembered how sensitive he was with physical contact, and tried to get up

“Oh Levi, I’m sorry! I forgot you don’t li-”

Something was still holding you against him

Specifically, that something was his tail

His tail was currently wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly against the red-faced otaku

“Levi, you okay?”

“Y-y-yeah, I’m okay.” he said it in the tiniest voice you have ever heard.

“Do you want me to get-”

“NO! I-I mean yes! I mean no! N-no I don’t want you to get up. I’m okay.”

Today was just surprising you left and right huh?

But you weren’t complaining now

“But now we’re covered in nasty, peely glue. And what about your campaign?”

He looked at the screen, and then back at you

“It’s okay. It’s not worth it like I thought it was. It’s just a bunch of normies who either button mash or spam the same attack over and over. And I already got majority of the rewards anyway. Besides, now that another normie has me covered in icky cheap glue, I need to get it off.”

Whoops

“Sorry about that, Levi. I was just trying to prank you but looks like that failed. I could do your laundry for you since it was my bad. Is that okay?”

“O-or you could m-make it up to me by having by binge watching some anime? If you want, even though I’m a nasty, icky, worthless ot-”

“Levi. Look at me.”

You gently grabbed and held his face in your hands

“You’re not worthless or nasty okay? And I love to spend time with you. We can definitely have an anime marathon. I’ll always be by your side, I wouldn’t be your Henry if I wasn’t.”

“R-really?”, the way his eyes light up every time you praise or show him love will never get old

“Of course. But I do have to say that you are icky.”

“WHAT”

“But we both are. I mean I did kinda cover you in the flaky glue, and it’s starting to feel a little gross to be honest.”

“O-oh yeah. I-it’s your fault normie!”

“Yeah, yeah I know.”, you laughed.

Atleast you somewhat pranked him

“So let’s get cleaned up, and I can bring some more snacks when I’m done. You wanna do the pillow fort like usual?”

“O-of course, normie!”

“Alright. I’ll see you in a few then!”, and you began walking out the room

He watched your trailing form, and honestly he didn’t want you to leave yet. That was apparent when his tail wrapped itself around you. I mean, how embarrassing was that?! But he couldn’t help it.

Levi cares about you immensely. You’re his best friend, his Henry! He didn’t know what you saw in someone like him, I mean damn, he was the Avatar of Envy! What’s attractive about someone being jealous 24/7?

He wasn’t outgoing like Asmo or Mammon, didn’t have the confidence like Lucifer or Satan, and he wasn’t good at building bonds like the twins (or at least like Beel)

What a human like you saw in him was still mind boggling, and he thought you were just tolerating him, just being nice. But, he saw how genuine you were as time went on. He saw you as someone special to him, you were his favorite real living person, his best friend, and honestly he wanted you to become more-

“Oh, Levi, one more thing.”

You quickly ran up to him and kissed him on the cheek

“I finally got my demon kiss, ughhh. My hunger has been satisfied!”

And ran right back out

He blushed 100x more now, and he realized that maybe he wasn’t ready to take it to the next step just yet, but he was willing to be patient and work towards it

He was willing to make the effort because you’re worth it

#obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #mc x lucifer #mc x mammon #mc x levi #obey me reader insert #reader insert #fanfiction #first headcanon

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peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology · 3 years

Note

ahh im obsessed with the summer prompts. Can I request Lifeguard Tom with prompt 36 please? preferably fluffy ending but its all up to you thanks!

This became very long sorry bestie. I hope you still enjoy it tho! Love you so much, thank you for the request love!

Reminder to everyone else that the Summer of Love is still going on and I'll be accepting requests for it until September 22nd! You can find the prompt list here!

Let’s Give It a Shot

36 - It’s the last day of summer, and your last day together

Pairing: Lifeguard! Tom x Reader

Summary: Tom shows you exactly why you love him so much

Warnings: angst, crying, fighting

Masterlist

Summer of Love

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Tom peaked at the bed as he pulled his shirt over his head, a smile came over his face at the sight.

“Good morning angel,” he cooed, “Like what you see?”

“I liked it better when you had your shirt off,” she teased, her voice still raspy and tired, “Remind me why we agreed to work today?”

“It’s only till noon,” he reminded as he bent to kiss her. He laughed as she attempted to pull him into bed, “I’ve got to get going, swim class starts at 7.”

She rolled onto her back and groaned, “Who the fuck takes their kids to swim class at 7?”

“Their toddlers angel, most of them have been up since 5,” he pecked her lips one final time before standing up, “I’ll see you at 8?”

She hummed, nodding once before she closed her eyes again, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” he watched her settle back into bed before leaving, closing the bedroom door as quietly as he could behind him.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Bye bye,” Tom waved to the kids as they padded through the lobby.

“We’ll see you all Thursday,” Harrison added.

“Well I really appreciate it,” Tom smiled in response, falling into the spinning chair that she usually sat in, “Seriously, I owe you.”

The kids filed out, being ushered away by their parents while the boys hung around the front desk.

“I can’t believe I agreed to take you shift,” Harrison yawned, stretching his arms above his head, “You’re such a dick.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the best,” he glanced towards the door, just in time to spot (y/n), “Oh shit, fun’s over Tom, time to get back to work.”

“Ha ha,” she rolled her eyes, “What are you two doing at my desk huh?”

“You’re desk?” Tom smirked, “This is my desk today angel.”

“Oh and I suppose you want me to save the drowning children?”

“No,” he stood and grabbed her by the waist, “Haz is going to watch the pool today and I’m going to help you up front.”

She raised a brow and turned to Harrison, “Really?”

He nodded, “Course sweetheart, happy to give you a little extra time together.”

“Aw, thank you Haz,” she cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You’re welcome,” he gave her a squeeze before dropping her, “Alright, I’ve got to go clean up, you two just make sure everything is done. I don’t want to get in trouble because you two were making out instead of working.”

“We will, don’t worry,” she laughed, “Thank you guys, I couldn’t have dreamed up a better last day.”

“You’re welcome,” Tom hummed, pressing his lips to hers as she tried to reach for the computer behind him, “We could do this everyday if you stayed, I could switch to the front.”

“Tom you know I can’t,” she sighed, “I don’t think we should be having this discussion at work either, it’s just gonna make us both emotional.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow morning so I’m gonna be emotional no matter what,” he sighed, “You never want to talk about this.”

“Because I don’t like thinking about leaving. I don’t like the idea of being far away anymore than you do.”

“Then don’t leave,” he grabbed her hands, preventing her from getting to her job, “Just stay here. You can move in with us, Haz adores you, he won’t mind.”

“Tom I can’t. I have to go back to school, and right now I have to open, so can we please save this for later?”

He sighed and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, we can talk about it later.”

“Thank you,” she kissed his cheek before pushing across the floor.

He laughed as the chair spun away from her, “I don’t know how you expect me to help from all the way over here.”

“I expect you to go make sure the bathrooms are stocked,” she flashed him a cheeky smile while she popped open the register, “And I’m gonna count the cash.”

He sighed and dragged his feet towards the closet, “Fine, fine, I wouldn’t do it for anyone else though.”

The day continued as normal, despite Tom’s best attempts to distract (y/n) from work. Tom had surprised her by doing most of the work throughout the day, insisting she simply sit and handle the register. It was a nice change, normally when Tom hung out in the front it was just to steal drinks and tease. Tom busted through all of her tasks, seeming impossibly determined to get them home as soon as possible. He’d managed to do it too, Harry arrived at exactly noon and he’d rushed (y/n) right out the door.

“Hurry,” Tom shook her shoulders while she gathered her things.

“I am, I am, sheesh,” she shoved her phone into her purse and stood, “What’s the big rush?”

“I’ve just got a lot planned for today,” he beamed at her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, “Now come on, our first stop is this way.”

“Our first stop?” she knit her brow as he led her towards the pool, “Wait why are we going to the pool?”

“Because it’s our first stop,” he repeated, stopping just outside the doors, “See that?” he pointed to one of the lifeguard’s chairs.

She nodded, trying to imagine where he might be taking the conversation, “I do see the chair Tom.”

“It’s the most important chair in the world,” he kissed the top of her head with a smile, “Because I was sitting in that chair the first time I saw you.”

She flushed, biting her cheek to try and fight off her smile, “Stop.”

“I remember it exactly. You walked out of there and I just couldn’t take my eyes off you, you wouldn’t believe how disappointed I was when they said you were gonna be up front.”

“I thought you were pretty cute too.”

He laughed, “Thank God you did.”

“Did you bring me out here just for that?” she raised a brow, “You’re not trying to throw me into the pool?”

He shook his head, “No, just wanted to be a little sappy. Now I’m gonna take you on that date and be even sappier.”

“Lucky me,” she chuckled, “So, where are you taking me now?”

“Minx,” he smirked, “Alright darling, just get ready for the best date of your life.”

“Back home, I can’t parade around the town dressed like this,” he motioned to his swim trunks with a smile, “As much as you might like that.”

“I’d rather save that for tonight,” she teased back, “When I’ve got you all to myself.”

Tom took her home, refusing to reveal even the tiniest detail about their date as they both got ready. He claimed it would be long, that’d they’d be out until that night, but refused to give her any more details. He even went as far as to try and blindfold her when they got in the car, but he quickly dropped it when she refused. She expected he’d be taking her somewhere new or out of town because of this, she was completely in shock when he just drove her to a sandwich shop just up the street from the pool.

“Seriously? We eat here like everyday,” she rolled her eyes, “This cannot be it Tom.”

“It’s not,” he laughed, “Obviously I’ve got something more than this planned. I just thought we could stop here.”

“Why?”

“Because, if you remember,” he began to explain, a smile overtaking his features, “You stayed late to help me clean the pool and I took you to lunch as thanks. It was like our first half date.”

“Half date?” she laughed, “That is not a thing Tom.”

“Yes it is, it was the first time we hung out outside of work together, and it’s when I asked you out, it’s a half date.”

“Those are very specific circumstances that define a half date,” she pursed her lips, fighting her urge to smile.

“Whatever, the point is, this place is special because it reminds me of you,” he leaned over the middle console to press a kiss to her cheek, “And I just wanted to tell you that before we got to the real date.”

“Aw,” she cooed at him, “Don’t tell me it’s going to get even sappier than this.”

“Oh angel, just you wait, it’s only getting worse and worse from here.”

She watched out the windows as Tom drove her across town to another restaurant, though this time she knew exactly why he’d brought her there.

“Tom,” she bit her lip as she spoke, “This is incredibly cute.”

“Ah not here angel,” he grabbed her hands as she tried to open the door, “Just being sappy again. Remember what happened here?”

“Our first date, how could I ever forget that?” she smiled as she reminisced on the happy memories, “We got all dressed up and you brought me flowers. Then we talked until they closed, and we still couldn’t get enough of each other so you drove me up to that cliff side and talked all night.”

“No, no, it was nothing like that,” he rolled his eyes, “I picked you up and you looked so fucking gouregous I could barely speak. Then I took you to this restaurant and I tried so desperately and to seem interesting enough to keep your attention. For some reason you put up with me, and we talked and talked and talked. I thought you’d want to go home at the end of the night but you still weren’t sick of me so we drove up to that little lookout point and I fell madly and deeply in love with you while we talked the night away.”

“You did not fall in love with you on our first date,” she rolled her eyes, “You’re just trying to make me emotional.”

“I fell in love with you the first time I laid my eyes on you, it just took me a little while to realize it.”

She sighed, letting her head fall onto his shoulder, “I fell in love with you the first time we kissed. I’ve never felt like that with anyone else.”

“Mine was cuter,” Tom hummed as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Oh whatever,” she rolled her eyes, “Alright, are we going to the real date now?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see,” he shushed her, driving just a few parking lots over to the local bowling alley, “Remember here?”

“Another one?” she sighed, “Alright, you took me here to introduce me to your brothers. I found out that I majorly suck at bowling that night.”

“Yeah you do,” he laughed, “But my brothers adore you, they treat you like a sister and it totally melts my heart.”

“Yeah, I think they’re cool too,” she chuckled, “So, is there an actual date or are you just taking me on a victory lap of the city?”

“There is a date, at the end of the victory lap,” he admitted, “There’s just a couple more things I want you to see first.”

“You’ll see, just give it a second,” he hummed.

Tom drove her all over the city, stopping anywhere with even the tiniest amount of significance. He took her to the club where they’d spent Harrison’s birthday, the fairgrounds where they spent way too much money on rigged games, even the local park, where her and Harry had gotten way too competitive with a game of frisbee golf. He took her to more sentimental spots too, like where they’d had their first kiss, the hill where they’d fallen asleep watching a meteor shower, the place where they’d first said I love you, where they’d had their first time. It was like a montage of their greatest hits, that had her falling in love with Tom, and the city, all over again. She was almost in tears when Tom finally declared that the tour was over, and it was really time for their date.

“Okay, where are we really going then?” she pressed, her eyes glued to the window for any clues, “I mean we’ve pretty much been everywhere already…”

“Looks like we’re heading to your place, or work,” she knit her brow.

“Does it?”

“Does it?” she mocked, “We have to get out of this car soon or I’m gonna pee myself.”

“Well,” he flicked his blinker on and turned into the pool parking lot, “Good thing we’re here.”

“Tom I swear to god I-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughed, “But you can run inside real quick and use the restroom before we go.”

“They’re closed.”

“I have my keys,” he flicked off the car, grinning as he waved for her to follow, “Hurry up angel.”

She followed him inside, suspicious that he had some kind of ulterior motive, “We are not fooling around in there Tom.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he hummed as he opened the front door, “Go on, take care of your business.”

“Thanks,” she scampered off to the bathroom, only to find Tom was missing when she returned, “Tom?” she peaked around the lobby but found nothing. She got no response when she knocked on the men's locker room door, and the employee lobby was empty. “Tom?” she called again, peeking at her phone for any hints, “Come on,” she sighed and headed for the pool.

“Surprise!”

Out jumped everyone she’d spent the summer with, Tom, Harrison, his brothers, everyone they’d worked with at the pool, all the friends she’s made across town. The pool was all lit up, lined with tables full of food and drinks. (y/n) was in shock, her jaw hung open as she took it all in.

“So,” Tom’s arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, “What do you think?”

“This is amazing,” she squeezed his hands, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” he kissed her cheek again before stepping away, “We all wanted to make your last night really special.”

“It’s perfect,” she confirmed, “Seriously, I couldn’t imagine anything better than this.”

“Glad to hear it love,” Harrison wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug, “Come on though, you’ve got lots of people to say goodbye too.”

She was led around to say hi to everyone, progressively becoming more and more emotional as the night went on. Tom stuck right to her side, doing his best to comfort her as the night went on. It was nice, she appreciated the gesture and everyone being there, but the realization that this was her goodbye just kept creeping back up. Tom could tell she was drained by the end of the night, obviously ready to just curl up in bed.

“Angel, are you ready to go home?” he hummed.

“No, no, I’m okay,” she insisted, “We should stay and help clean up.”

“You can’t clean up your own party,” Harry rolled his eyes, “We’ll stay back and clean it up. If you’re ready to go you and Tom can head out.”

“Are you guys sure?” she wrung her hands nervously, “We can stay and help.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, it’s not very much anyway, we’ve got this.”

“Thanks guys,” Tom squeezed her side, “Let’s get you home then yeah?”

She nodded, “Thanks guys.”

She moved to give each of them a hug, mumbling a quick goodbye, hoping to escape to the car as quickly as possible. Harry seemed to have other ideas in mind though.

“I love you,” he squeezed her tight.

“Aw, I love you too,” she chuckled.

“I’m gonna miss you so much sis,” he patted her back as she pulled away.

She forced a smile as she stepped away, waving to them while her and Tom slipped away.

“Are you alright?” Tom squeezed her waist.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she insisted as she climbed into the passenger seat, “I just wanna go home.”

“Alright, we’ll go.”

“He called me sis.”

“What?”

“Harry called me sis.”

Tom chuckled, “Well yeah, I told you earlier, they think of you like a sister.”

“But it’s different when he says it,” she sniffled, her facade finally crumbling, “I don’t wanna go Tom.”

He moved to her side as quick as he could and pulled her into him, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to angel. If you want to stay you can, Haz and I would be more than happy to have you.”

“But I can’t! I can’t just ditch everything for a summer fling! I have to go back to school and my family and I have to go home! But I don’t want to go back there! I want this to be home, I don’t want to leave!”

Tom took a deep breath and kissed the top of her head before scooting back to his seat, “I know we went a lot of places today angel, but I’ve got one more thing to show you alright?”

“No I don’t wanna go fucking see anything else Tom! I just want to go home…”

“We will, I just want to show you one thing angel, it’ll make you feel better,” he promised, slipping a hand over hers, “It’ll be quick.”

“Okay…”

She was quiet the rest of the short drive, he’d taken her to a small cafe, they’d only been there once before.

“Come on angel,” he waved for her to follow him.

“Why would you bring me here?” she scoffed.

“Just come on,” he insisted, smiling as she slammed the door behind her, “Come sit with me,” he patted his lap.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms before falling into his lap, “Why are we here?”

“Do you remember what happened here?” he hummed.

She nodded, “Yeah, we had our first fight here, and it seems like you’re trying to have our second too.”

“No, I’m making a point,” he corrected with a smile, “We had our first fight here, and then we never came back here again. But that is not why I brought you here, I brought you here because that fight made me think about us, and the fact that you had to leave at the end of summer. I kept trying to think of ways around it or ways for us to minimize our time apart, but you know what thought never crossed my mind?”

“What?” she sank into her chair.

“That when summer came to an end we would break up, because we aren’t a summer fling. We never were, not even for a second, and the sacrifices we make are not for a summer fling, they’re for a real relationship that both of us treasure. If you really, really don’t want to go then you can stay, and I mean we’ve got a Uni nearby and you’ve always got somewhere to stay here. But if I’m the only reason you don’t want to go then you need to go, and we’ll suffer through the long distance until my lease with Haz is up and then I’ll move to you.”

She shook her head, “It’s not just you, I love this town, and the friends I’ve made here, it’s everything about this place. I just feel like I belong here, and I’ve never felt like that back home.”

“Obviously I’m biased here,” he chuckled, “But you could always just give it a semester out here, transfer back if you hate it, or vice versa. Just remember this long distance thing is going to be temporary no matter what, and even then we’re only a couple hours apart.”

She was silent as she tried to sort out her thoughts, “Yeah, school’s a little cheaper out here too, that’d be nice. A-And I haven't paid for anything yet this year so I’m not really obligated to go…”

“You don’t have to justify anything to me angel, obviously I want you to stay” he kissed her shoulder with a frown, “If you wanna give it a shot then I think you should, but if you don’t, we’re still gonna make this work, because I love you.”

“I love you too,” she sniffled while he wiped her eyes, “Thanks Tommy.”

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Taglist:

@niallberry @namoreno @spideyssunshine @thevery-firstpage @outshineallthestars @roseke @zspideyy @tomsirishgirlx @emistrash @andreagf956 @peachyafshawn @spideyspeaches

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amyscascadingtabs · 3 years

Text

every right thing will find its right place

jake and mac (and amy), post-balancing. ((a.k.a just me being emotional about dad jake for 1.5k words tbh))

read on ao3

He's never hung up on Charles so quickly before.

Mac wrinkles his little eyebrows when Jake lifts him out of his playpen, but he finds himself in it soon enough, the softest baby giggles sounding through the room when Jake holds him high, high only to bring him back down and smother his round cheeks in kisses. That laugh – he could listen to that laugh forever and it wouldn't be enough.

“You crazy genius kid,” he says in between more kisses to Mac’s forehead, then to where the green shirt has slid up and his little tummy is showing. “You did it, kiddo.”

Mac only gurgles in response, dropping the pacifier to the floor so he can jam his fist into his mouth instead.

“You did it,” Jake whispers again, holding him close as Mac drools all over his shoulder. “You absolute genius. Oh, man, I’m so proud of you.”

There might be a tear or two in his eyes as he stands there hugging his son, but he's way past the point of feeling ashamed over those. Fatherhood has definitely made him sappier.

It turns out Mac isn't all that interested in mashed-up avocado, and Jake can't blame him. This kid has been fed so many different mashed vegetables in his short life already, and as hard as Jake tries to trick him by first taking the spoon to his own lips and pretending like it's the best thing he's ever tried, Mac only wants a few spoonfuls before he makes it clear by trying to swipe the bowl from the table that he's done (they're still working on table manners). He gets a bottle after his bath instead, which truthfully, Jake doesn't mind, because it's way less messy and also the coziest thing in the world to sit with Mac in his arms as the ten-month-old insists on holding the bottle himself even as he begins to drift off. The pink pajamas with elephants on it is still a little too big for him, the sleeves sliding down over his hands, and Jake wonders how his son can seem both so big and so small at the same time.

He may not have gotten his arch-nemesis today, but he gets to watch as his son's eyelids get heavier and his grip on the bottle gets looser, and soon his head is resting on Jake's shoulder and Jake presses another kiss to the wispy curls on his forehead when Mac begins to slump against him. The Jake of ten years ago wouldn't have believed it if someone had told him he’d missed out on Franzia and barely even regretted it, but the Jake of today knows better. The Jake of today has fought for this, first for the chance to get to share a life with Amy, then to bring another person into it, and he’d do it again. Now that Mac is here and such an integral part of their lives, it's hard to think about there ever being a time when Jake watched his wife cry over another negative pregnancy test and wondered if they'd ever get to experience this, but he remembers, and he knows that it was never a guarantee. He could have been stuck in witness protection in Florida, could have spent years in prison in South Carolina, could have lost the chance of ever having this more times than he can count, and he still ended up on this couch surrounded by colorful baby toys, snuggling an almost-sleeping baby with Amy’s eyes and tan skin and curls that look so much like his own. Even having just missed out on a ten-year-long dream, it's hard to be anything but grateful. Thirty-year-old Jake just didn't know how different forty-year-old Jake's dreams would be.

He's still bummed out he missed Franzia, but he’s so proud of Amy, too, and he knows he made the right decision when the empty bottle finally falls out of Mac’s grip and his head lulls to the side, leaning all on Jake like a warm bundle of love. He reaches for his phone to snap a quick picture to show Amy later, and then he lifts his son so he can carry him to bed.

Even ten months into fatherhood, Jake still hasn’t gotten used to the early mornings. They’re still a pain in the butt – quite literally, because when the baby monitor begins to make noises a little past five in the morning, that’s where Amy pokes him, sharp, with her nails, to tell him it’s his turn to get up with their son.

“I’m on it, I’m on it,” he grumbles, stalking off toward Mac’s nursery.

He’s barely awake enough to remember the events of last night, so when he opens the door to Mac in his sleepsack, using the side of the crib to pull himself up on his knees, it’s almost as magical as seeing it for the first time. Mac’s sleep-rosy face lights up in the widest smile when he sees him, grinning so hard the pacifier falls out another time, and then Jake can’t find it in himself to be upset about the stupid early wake-up call anymore.

“Good morning, Macaroon,” he tells his son, and Mac reaches for him with open arms as soon as he takes one step closer. That reach has always melted his heart, because it’s such a testament to all the trust Mac puts in him. Mac hasn’t even said his first word yet – thankfully, the window for that is still a little ways away – but the way he reaches for him with absolute joy in his eyes when he comes to pick him up is Jake’s favorite declaration of love in the entire world. The smell that follows isn’t as great, and Jake thinks he knows now why Mac woke up early, but he supposes it’s true what Amy said; you really can’t have it all.

Once Mac has a new diaper, Jake takes him back to their bedroom, because at least their bed is a little more comfortable than the living room carpet if you have to be used as a jungle gym before sunrise. Amy’s already fallen back asleep, her still frizzy hair splayed out over the pillow like a star around her head, and Jake takes a moment to stop and admire how pretty she looks when she can’t tell he’s watching her. He’d shown her yesterday just how proud he was, and she’d promised him she’d do a special run of the presentation for just him and Mac, but he thinks he’s almost prouder of them both for making it through this week. Head lice and toilet contacts and creepy babysitters and more; he still wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.

The sound of Mac laughing when he sees her makes Amy stir, and Jake crawls back down under the comforter as he lets Mac attack her with his trademark slobbery baby kisses.

“I thought you were gonna let me sleep,” Amy mumbles.

“You said you missed him yesterday,” Jake mumbles in return. “He’s all yours now.”

“Mm.” Amy yawns. “Screw you.”

“You already did, babe, that’s how he got here in the first place.”

Amy snorts, and Jake has a feeling he’d probably get a curse or two right about now if there wasn’t a baby in the room, but before she can say anything, he hears Mac laugh and Amy gasp.

“Jake! Look! He’s doing it!”

Jake opens his eyes again just in time to see Mac pulling himself up using their bed frame. His legs are far wobblier on the mattress than on the floor of the playpen, and he looks a little bit in shock that it’s still working, but Jake can see Amy tearing up as she watches their son perform his latest trick for the both of them. Mac had ended up refusing yesterday, seemingly preferring the element of surprise, but now he’s standing proud with support in front of them both. It looks like he wonders what all the fuss is about when Amy’s the one to pull him into her arms this time, showering him with praise and kisses and some comment about Simone Biles that Jake doesn’t quite hear, but he adjusts soon enough, absolutely glowing from Amy’s attention as she kisses that delicious little dimple in his neck.

Jake looks at the two people he loves most in the whole world, the only two people he’d ever want to hang out with at five a.m. on a Saturday morning, and thinks of his missed arrest yesterday and the way Jake of ten years ago would probably have spent the entire day in bed sulking if he’d missed a chance like this. Then he leans over to join in on the kissing party.

Yeah. Thirty-year-old Jake just didn't know how different forty-year-old Jake's dreams would be.

#my writing #b99 #peraltiago #b99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fanfiction #here it issssss #edited bc i put garzia not franzia???#thank you niamh for catching it lolol

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robinrequiems · 3 years

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hey any1 want some superman jon and batman Damian hcs? too bad cause you’re getting them

• damian realized why no one wanted to be batman when he turned 18 and Bruce decided to give him batman when he was 22.

• jon realized why jon didn’t want to be superman when he also turned 18

• oh and right, by gave, I mean bruce sorta can’t be batman anymore. medical reasons…

• damian sorta uh. persuaded clark into giving jon superman.

Damian: look. I don’t wanna be worlds finest with you, old man.

Clark: im- im not old—

Damian: listen here, jon and i? we are gonna surpass you and my dad. so give it to jon and let me prove it.

Clark: this doesn’t seem like a good idea— you aren’t ready— neither is jon

Damian: wait- wait, you don’t believe in your son and i??? wow. WOOOW. okay. i see.

Clark: that’s not it!-

Damian: sure. sure. don’t worry. I see now.

Clark: wait I do!

Damian: no, no you don’t.. it’s— it’s okay, I get it, it’s me, huh?

Clark: no!

Damian: I get it

Clark: please i do! I’ll - oh my rao, you’re playing me

Damian: i am. i cant do this without jon though. please, Clark.

Clark: *sigh, how did he get manipulated by a kid he used to babysit* okay.

• okay so now jon may be a little overwhelmed because one day he’s flamebird, the next, he’s becoming superman? huH. it’s extremely uh. worrying. and really just? wow.

• does Damian feel bad? oh yeah. he does. so bad. but he really can’t do it alone. they always dreamed of being their parents. or being better than them. but they grew up and realized that they really didn’t want to be their parents.

• but here they were, getting fitted for their suits and adding their own details to it.

jon: hey, you look hot

damian: please. shut up.

• they could do this. they could do this. shoot they can’t do this.

• damians own anxiety was going 50 mph. look, okay? remember before heretic when Bruce thought that Damian would become a satanic batman and basically rain hell all over gotham? yeah. that’s what is going on in damians mind.

• he doesn’t want to be that. ( “you won’t be like that, cmon, d, we’re gonna be better.” ) and how Damian wants to believe jon so bad..

• he doesn’t want to become obsessed with Batman like his father did, he still wants to have a life. he doesn’t want to isolate himself away and adopt kids as a coping mechanism. that’s why he needs jon to be superman. jon helps him, he helps him not go off into his own little world and stay there. he believes that with Jon, he’ll be okay. he has to be. maybe he uses jon as his own coping mechanism, but that isn’t the point.

• together, they will outshine their parents. the supersons can do this. they are the next generation, and it’s not like they are alone. they have so many other people to help them. they’ll be okay.

• they have been preparing for this their whole life, but they both feel like they got it too soon. they thought they had more time. Damian does feel guilty when he hears jon talking about how stressed he is about superman and not living up to whatever the hell he has to live up to, but Damian does fear what would. or could. have happened if he didn’t have jon with him. becoming batman took a lot out of him, more than he would like to admit. he just got constant flashbacks to heretic and that whole fiasco he thought he put behind him a loong time ago.

Jon: are you sure you’re okay?

Damian: yes idiot, quit worrying.

Jon: I’ll always worry about, d.

• jon somehow becomes MORE sappier when he becomes superman.

• okay, also, funny story. ( Clark and Bruce don’t find it funny AT ALL ) superman and batman? yeah they sorta kissed after an almost alien invasion. in their suits. uh. in front of an alien who they were arresting for the green lanterns. most people believe that when people say it, it’s a lie, kidding. no they don’t. there were pictures.

bruce: you want to explain this?

damian: not really, no.

• the public knows there’s a new Batman and Superman since yk. Jon’s face is public and was seen as superboy flamebird and now superman, and batman was slightly smaller and had some different moves

• but here’s their main line up: batman ( dami wamie, obvi ), superman ( jonnyboy kent ), nobody ( maya:)) ), green lantern ( tai pham, my baby boy ), lace ( wallace west 2, he goes by lace instead of flash because i said so. ), and shazam ( billy b ).

• fun fact, they have a den mother even though they are all in their 20s. poor dinah.. yeah black canary is their den mother. ( stole it from from yj )

• dinah makes sure they get their injuries checked out, train regularly, and you know. don’t blow up a building.

• again.

• ( when damian and jon were younger, in their teen years, they stupidly accidentally blowed up a building. in their defense, the building was owned by the penguin. and there were no civilians in the area. but they also got a lot of men sent after them.. oops. )

• they are very chaotic. they are the definition of dumbass energy sometimes.

• damian tries to keep the pda down whenever he’s batman, BUT JON DOESNT KNOW HOW TO DO THAT

• hence the amount of photos of jon hugging Damian or kissing him

• damian has never once initiated one in suits

• ( that one time jon almost died does not count )

Damian: thought you were gonna be batman.

Tim: nah, i don’t wanna be bruce. i saw what it did to dick. I would’ve became just like him.

Damian: am i like him??

Tim: god no, bruce would never kiss superman or date him or spray paint the new justice league logo— nice logo, by the way— onto villains bases

Damian: is that a good or bad thing?

Tim; good, that means you probably won’t be a total emotional stunted person using crime fighting as an outlet for unresolved childhood trauma.

Damian: you do realize why i became Robin right

Tim: .. not the point im trying to make. I mean now, brat.

• sometimes you can see some of the heroes dropping by to surprise kids, they heard that their old mentors used to go to children’s hospitals to visit sick kids, so they did that too. on a rare day where there isn’t any crime, which is really rare, they go to a school and talk if it’s a weekday, or they drop by an orphanage to hang out with kids.

• they have gotten into a lot of trouble though. they’re still learning how to work as a team. jon and damian are used to being solo and working with each other, Tai had tagged along a few times when they were younger and knows how they work, along with maya, but billy and Wallace do not.

• they often all get into arguments.

• damian lacks a filter and will criticize everyone if they mess up. and he often goes off alone or is too blunt.

• it takes a long time before they all realize that Damian is just: Damian, he doesnt mean to be mean. ( surprisingly )

• billy is used to being the big kid stuck at the kids table, it’s funny that he’s actually the second oldest when he used to be the youngest. ( lace is like.. 27? shazam is 25.. nobody 24. & the supersons 22. pulled all those ages outta my ass. you’re welcome. )

• dinah is also their therapist. poor dinah.

• like really giving pity to dinah. but dinah loves those kids, she has known some since they were kids. she used to take damian out for ice cream and train with him, and also babysit him. ( AUNT DINAH IS MY FAVORITE GOODBYE ). and she did the same with Jon.

• dinah actually does help a lot of them get over their trauma, not completely, but most have finally spoken about it. they began talking after they all got hit with fear gas.

• that was a bad night.

• they had almost disbanded before when they thought lace had died by the hands of captain cold. they had been arguing all day, and if they didn’t, they might’ve saved him:

• but turns out he wasn’t dead.

• but the argument was still there, and it was strong. it took a while for them to actually work together without dinah forcing them.

• then soon came another new member after maya left to go do some undercover mission for the justice league regarding some alien tech being distributed some place. it was a sad goodbye, but she would be back and she would have a place here.

• welcoming: yara flor. yara was a bit headstrong and wild. damian has screamed at her a lot and almost got into a fist fight with her before being dragged off by his boyfriend 💋

• but she settled in fine. minus the fact damian really wanted to shove a batarang up— anyways. she just had to learn teamwork and shit, she was used to being a solo and she was somewhat new. so they helped her out and she became a solid member of the team.

• sometimes damian and jon just go and sit on a rooftop like they did as kids togeyher. just alone with each other. thinking about how their life changed so quickly.

Damian: i thought we’d ruin our fathers’ legacies and plummet to the ground.

Jon: *he coughed* ..what?

Damian: yeah. i didn’t think we’d get this far, but here we are.

Jon: of course we got this far, and we’re gonna get further.

Damian: i know.

• oh yeah. so. superman. fucking proposed after they defeated darkseid. ( the battle was long, so many people were left injured and on the brick of death, Damian and jon had been separated when it all started. Damian had stayed on earth at first before going to apokolips. Damn he hadn’t seen it since he got resurrected.

Darkseid: oh. I remember you.

Damian: mhm?

Darkseid: ah yes, the little boy who was resurrected here.. the chaos share, your father used it on you.

Damian: i know. i remember what happened. I was there afterall.

Darkseid: I wonder if you are as smart as the original batman.

Damian: i am.

• damian was buying time. he was waiting for reinforcements, namely the people who had powers and could take him down. damian wasn’t stupid. he realized darkseid liked to talk. his friends were fighting off the female furys or whatever they were called. he just had to wait and entertain.

Darkseid: quite the ego there.

Damian: i saved the justice league when i was 13, i deserve to have an ego.

Darkseid: oh, you are by far more talkative than the original.

Damian: thanks.

Darkseid: not a compliment, you fool.

• yeah so. darkseid tried to kill damian, with a beam thing. Damian was about to flip away like the baddie he is, but. jon. went out and yk. took the hit. dumbass.

Damian: you have such a big hero complex.

Jon: wow I just saved you and that’s what you say?????

Damian: yes.

• anyways, after they defeat darkseid, jon pops out a ring from his pocket and asks damian to marry him on apokolips.

Damian: you seriously couldn’t wait til we got on earth?

Jon: dames you almost died. what if- what if something happens, I’ve been putting this off for so long. cmon please?

Damian: you’re seriously asking me to marry you here where, I’m pretty sure, a lot of shit happened to our parents here.

Jon: no time like the present.

Damian: fair. okay.

Jon: just okay???

Damian: im sorry, do you want me to cry or something?

Jon: ughh, you can be so extra and petty sometimes.

Damian: i am not being petty.

Jon: just because I ask you to marry me here you wanna be like “okay” and that’s it

Damian: you’re so dramatic. I’ll marry you. I wanna marry you. Better?

Jon: yeah:)

#batman Damian wayne #superman jon kent #rambles #hc #worlds finest but it’s better

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arhvste · 4 years

Text

OIKAWA TOORU - WALLET PHOTOS

- summary - you knew your husband was a romantic but you didn’t know he was this much of one - fluff (x f reader)

a vent one, i didn’t like my previous statement but long story short, today i found out i’m unable to have kids which has caused my parents some upset so i’ll be a little less present this week as i try and help them let it sink in, thank you <3

being the wife to a pro volleyball player had it’s ups and downs. yes, you were incredibly proud of every single one of his achievements and you were ridiculously happy that he was living his dream but, the time you spent together was limited. with him travelling and training so much and you being restricted to stay at home a little longer due to the fact you and oikawa shared a 3 year old son together, you didn't get to see as much of him as you did when you first started dating in your third year of high school.

oikawa had suggested the name ‘kosuke’ which meant ‘rising sun’ as he was adamant about giving his first son a name which somehow related to his best friend and practically brother, haijime who’s name meant ‘beginning’. of course you agreed as haijime had been with you both through many experiences while you were together, and it was him you owed for keeping your husband in check all those years.

haijime cried the first time he met your child and his name was explained to him.

“shut up shittykawa.” the man sniffled as you handed your husband’s best friend and your child’s new uncle, your son to hold for the very first time.

since your child’s birth, haijime had made sure to spend time with your family and drop by even when oikawa was out of town so he could bond with his technical nephew.

today was one of those days. oikawa was training as the hours of the day dragged on and yourself and haijime were sat on the sofa basking in the warm sun that drifted into your living room through the clear windows. your son was left to his own devices babbling and grabbing at his own feet only to tumble over and attempt to keep grabbing them.

you sighed as haijime turned to you with a small smile.

“stressed?”

you hummed and turned to the man.

“not particularly, just miss him.”

haijime let out a quick ‘ah’ and nodded as he turned to look at your son.

“i know he misses you too so don’t tell him i told you this but, he carries a few pictures of you and kosuke around and shows them off wherever he goes.”

you snorted as threw your head back slightly.

“really?”

“mhm, keeps a few candid photos in his wallet and shows them off at any chance he gets. he thrives in attention and probably feeds off of the compliments your sons pictures receive.”

you smiled. that sounded like something he would do.

you and haijime spent a few more hours catching up to which your son spent majority of the time pulled up on his uncles lap as he grabbed and giggled whenever haijime spoke and smiled down at him.

eventually the sun began to set and haijime bid a farewell to you and your son and told him to say hi to his best friend for him and let him know that he’d drop by whenever he’d next be around. you nodded and waved at the man until he was out of your sight down the pretty and peaceful street.

turning to kosuke you offered the boy a warm smile to which he happily returned.

“oh you are so a mommy’s boy!” you laughed as you carried your son to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

kosuke was sat in his highchair as he mindlessly watched whatever was catching his attention on the tv that played in the background of you cooking. his laugh and incoherent noises faded into the background as you cut vegetables and admired the view from outside your back garden.

you were so focused elsewhere, you failed to hear the sounds of the door opening and footsteps approaching. kosuke’s babbling and excitement got even louder as the sounds of your husband grew closer but you ignored them and stayed in your own little world to which oikawa immediately pulled you out of when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“t-tooru! you idiot i have a knife!” you whined as your husband laughed and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“sorry sorry i couldn't help myself, but you’re so talented i knew you wouldn't harm yourself anyway.”

you frowned as you continued to cut vegetables as oikawa stayed wrapped around you.

“you’re so beautiful y/n, how’d i end up with you?”

“relentless flirting and clinging until i said yes.”

“mean y/n!”

you snickered as you put the knife down so you could turn to face your husband properly.

he smiled as he studied your pretty features as the golden sunlight enhanced your features only making you look even more unreal to oikawa who only sighed in happiness.

pressing a soft kiss that held nothing but warmth and pure love, oikawa cupped one side of your cheek and let his other hand lean against the kitchen counter ultimately trapping you against him.

“aren’t you going to say hi to your own son?” you mused as oikawa pulled away.

“of course i am! just gotta save the best till last right?” he teased as you playfully slapped his chest.

approaching his son, oikawa had a giddy smile to which your son returned back. his strong arms pulled kosuke from out of the high chair as he gently threw him into his arms and pulled him close to his chest.

“how’s my handsome little boy been today? been good for mommy and uncle haijime today have you?”

you smiled as you watched your two favourite boys interact.

“very good. he missed his daddy though.” you commented as you poured the vegetables into the ramen stock.

“daddy missed you too my little prince! and - ” oikawa carried his son over to where you were standing.

“daddy missed his princess too.” he smiled as he placed a kiss to your forehead.

“save it for the bedroom.” you groaned as oikawa laughed.

he pulled away as he looked at yourself and then his son.

“hey y/n, thank you.”

you quizzically raised an eyebrow.

“for what?”

“for this. for my son. for marrying me. for everything really.”

you blushed at his upfront words and put the lid on the boiling pot before facing your two boys.

“yeah? and thank you.”

this time oikawa blinked in surprise.

“me? for what?”

“for asking me to marry you, for bringing our son into the world with me, for letting yourself be happy and doing something you love, for showing off pictures of me and kosuke for every stranger you meet, for -”

“-huh? what was that?”

“for asking me to marry you?”

oikawa whined as he tugged at the hem of your sleeved.

“y/n! who told you i show off pictures, i bet it was the old lady down the street who always walks her dogs when I'm out for my run she-”

“haijime.”

oikawa let out a dramatic gasp to which his son fell into a little fit of giggles at his fathers childish behaviour.

“i’ve been betrayed!”

you laughed as you pecked his cheek before walking past him to grab another kitchen utensil.

“i think it’s cute.”

oikawa pouted before carefully placing your son back into his highchair.

“...you wanna see them?”

he didn't even give you the chance to reply as he strode back to the hallway to dig through his bag to find his wallet before returning to you with a proud smile.

opening up, oikawa showed you the selection of photos he carried around with him all day.

“haijime only told me you carry a few! you have a whole albums worth of pictures in here tooru!”

“i do not! they’re all my favourite ones look!”

oikawa shuffled through the photos showing you the various ones he kept.

there was one of yourself and tooru at your wedding, one when you were giving birth to kosuke, one of you holding kosuke for the very first time, one of you and kosuke sat behind the birthday cake on his first birthday, one of you napping in your bed with kosuke cuddled up to you and a large array of just random shots of yourself and your son individually.

“see, all my favourite ones.”

you took a photo off the small pile and smiled. your husband really was just a big romantic, that much hadn't changed.

the photo fell out of your grip between your fingers and you went to pick it up off the floor. oikawa quickly said to “wait!” but you’d already seen it.

on the back of the photo, oikawa had written a small caption on the back.

“y/n pleaseeeee!” he whined as he tried to swipe it before you only to lose to you.

your eyes widened at the neat writing on the back.

‘my beautiful wife and our little star on his first time watching me play a match.’

you smiled widely as oikawa blushed in embarrassment.

“you weren't meant to see that.”

“well, i’m glad i did... do they all have little captions?”

oikawa sighed before nodding curtly handing you the small pile.

each photo had a little description of what was going on in the photo and it made your heart warm as oikawa watched you with a small look of adoration twinkling in his honey pooled eyes.

“tooru, you’re such a sap, but i really really do love you.” you laughed as oikawa mumbled in embarrassment that his wife had been exposed to an even sappier side to him.

“i like to be reminded of when and where these were taken, not that i need to but when i’m old and my memory begins to falter, i’ll have these little descriptions to help me remember the blessings you’ve given me and how lucky i am.”

if oikawa tooru wasn’t making your heart speed up before he certainly was now.

you placed the photos neatly in a pile on the counter before throwing your arms around your husband who happily pulled you into him.

“i love you so much y/n, and i love kosuke just as much. of course i want to carry these photos around all day, it’s like i have a little piece of you by my side when i can't be with you.”

you pulled your head into his chest listening to his heartbeat.

“i spoke to my coaches and well, i’ll be spending a little more time with you, that's why i was home so early today.”

“how comes?” you mumbled into the cotton of his shirt he'd changed into after a quick shower after his training.

“haijime told me you’d been missing me a little more so i spoke to the coaches and they'd noted that i’d been doing particularly well recently and granted me a more flexible schedule since we don't have any actual games coming up until two months time.”

you smiled and let out a little sigh in satisfaction.

“you didn't have to.”

“well y/n, i did. and you know why? i want to expand that little pile of photos i have and i can't do that when i’m not there to take any new ones.”

“you are such a sap!”

“your sap though.”

the two of you stood there in the dim rays of sunlight peaking through the window of your spacious kitchen listening to nothing but the sounds of the tv still going on in the background and your son’s noises of amusement watching his parents embrace right next to him.

“i’m still going to kick haijime for telling you though.”

“no you won't.”

“...no i won't.”

#oikawa torū #oikawa tooru #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa fanfic #oikawa scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu scenario #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fanfic

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yelenasdog · 3 years

Text

something like “i know” (ben hardy x fem reader)

genre: FLUFF FINALLYY

summary: sometimes making tiktoks with ben doesn’t always turn out the way you plan, but by no means is that a negative.

words: 1.4k

warnings: age gap (not dramatic, reader is like, idk, 23 maybe?), kissing, i think that’s it but lmk!

a/n: hi! so i’ve had this idea for ages and wanted to write it so here it is! the end of it is far sappier than i planned but meh whatevs. also ty to cici and eva for helping me pick the moodbard hehe. k enjoy!

☆❂✧

Having an age gap was never something that put a large damper on their relationship. The conflicting personalities of the two balanced out quite nicely, and the similarities that drew the two of them together in the first place (apart from the aforementioned) made sure they never had a lack of interesting things to talk about that weren’t generational.

Until TikTok, that was.

Now of course, there were some other millennials on the application, but Ben just for some reason couldn’t get it.

“Yes, I know that, babe, but why do they do dances?”

“They lip sync too!”

“But what is the point?”

And that’s how the conversation would end. Every single time. So Ben would sit on the sofa, watching as she danced about in front of the small screen, occasionally playing some cruel (ok, that’s a large exaggeration, they’re somewhat mean, at best) joke on him, claiming it was a trend on TikTok? That just did not sit right with him.

He didn’t remember hearing “mean pranks” in the initial description of the app when she had described it to him all of those times.

Ben tried to tune it out, he really did. He would wear his headphones, blasting Zeppelin as loud as he could while reading scripts or a book. But somehow, those catchy little tunes always managed to worm their way into his ear, being stuck in there for days and days on end.

He would waltz around the house humming Megan Thee Stallion, the occasional Flo Milli or underground indie artist also making an appearance often.

He was pouring a cup of coffee for himself one Tuesday morning in the kitchen before going on a run, Y/n watching fondly from afar. Rain was softly rolling down the windows, barely coming to a cease. The air was chilly, and fog floated through the early morning sky, a sense of calm washing over their shared South London home.

The room was kept somewhat warm, though, from the fireplace that she had insisted the house had to have, which Ben ended up being grateful for on more than one occasion. He looked over his shoulder briefly, smiling at the sight of his beloved wrapped up in his seafoam jumper, watching him move about contently.

As he turned back to where he was working on filling the two mugs in front of him, he began to oh so quietly sing the lyrics to what sounded like a familiar tune off of the app. Watermelon Sugar, maybe?

“Ben? Baby?”

He turned, his eyes growing wide and his hands flying to his hips as he leaned against the countertop behind him.

“Mhhm, yeah, w-what’s up, babe?”

She couldn’t hold in her giggle at the sight of her boyfriend’s red face and disgruntled appearance, one of his hands now scratching casually at his gold locks.

“What’re you singin’, pretty boy?”

His blush only increased at the nickname, eliciting another laugh from his girl.

“Y’know, just somethin’ I heard on the radio the other day.”

She immediately recognized his lie, he refused to listen to the radio, only using either Bluetooth or the aux cord, his music taste too pretentious for mainstream stations. She didn’t mind, though, always finding it quite funny how much of a music snob he was.

But rather than call him out, she only nodded and smirked, standing up and bringing her phone with her over to the windowsill where she usually filmed her TikToks, pulling Ben along with her.

He sipped from his mug, eyes slanted as she scrolled through something on her phone, various sounds emitting from the speaker.

A little smile showed up on her face when she (apparently) found what she was looking for, leaving her to set the phone down, allowing a video under the sound to play on repeat.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” He asked, ever so cautiously, taking a step towards her. She walked towards him, engulfing him in a hug which he (yet again) cautiously reciprocated.

“I am going to teach you a TikTok dance.”

He had to do a double take.

“Come again?”

She pulled on the elastic waistband of her sweats, grabbing Ben by the arm.

“Come on, I know you wanna. And if nothing else you’ll do it to make me happy.”

He rolled his eyes, slightly irritated at her confidence and that she was so incredibly correct, he would do mostly anything to put a smile on her face.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He grumbled, moving to stand next to her.

She clapped once in excitement, joy flooding her entire body. The music started up again, but this time, she began to dance along to it.

“Ok, so just try to do what I’m doing, alright?”

“No! Not alright, can I just stand here, I think I should just stand here-“

“Ben, it's literally not that hard, 8 year olds can do it!”

“Well, I’m an extremely confused 29 year old man, thank you very much!”

And that’s basically how the next 15 minutes went until she finally gave in, allowing Ben to stand behind her, occasionally doing a little move of sorts. The two were in a fit of giggles now, struggling to keep enough composure for long enough to get even one successful video.

“Benjamin Jones! This is the last one, okay?”

He put a hand on his stomach, both of the pair attempting to catch their breath.

“Yes, yes, right okay, got it, last one.”

The little timer button counted down, the sound echoing throughout the property.

The music then started, and she could barely keep a straight face for the 15 seconds. Bored of the routine, but never of her, Ben decided he would grab her and throw her onto the sofa, as payback for all the “TikTok pranks” she would pull on him. He waited for the perfect time to strike (one where she wouldn’t hopefully be too infuriated), restlessly shifting from foot to foot.

Nearing the last few seconds, he made his move. He swooped forward, a high pitched shriek falling from her lips as he wrapped his strong arms around her waist, running and jumping onto the couch, crushing her. He rolled off quickly, and she moved to be on top of him, her hair wildly astray. She sat up, straddling his thighs with a bright smile plastered on her face.

“You little jerk.”

He only smiled boyishly in response, a lovesick gaze set in his eyes.

The song was still playing on repeat as she leaned down, positioning her hands on either side of his head in order to place her lips gently upon his.

“That’s your reward for putting up with me today, Jones.”

He scoffed, taking her by the shoulders and bringing her to his chest. She looked up from where she was now comfortably lying, meeting his homey emerald gaze, his eyes like sea glass that had washed up on white sands, waiting to be rediscovered.

“I feel as if I deserve something more for all of that.”

“Oh, do you?”

He hummed and nodded, closing his eyes. She reached up, placing another peck on his plump lips, before scurrying away to retrieve the phone. He sat up rather quickly at the sudden loss of her body weight, smiling at the sound of her laughter coming towards him.

“Ben, look, it turned out so well.” She managed to slip out before basically throwing him the phone. A grin erupted on his own face soon after, along with the hearty chuckles to match.

He made some commentary on how wonderful it was, before handing her back the device. She moved so she was once more essentially laying on top of Ben, the screen in both of their views.

After sharing a few more laughs over the video, she captioned it and posted it, throwing her phone to get lost in the couch cushions as the likes and comments began to roll in.

She looked up at him once more, and he met her gaze, as he always would, bringing a hand up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

It didn’t leave her cheek, resting there and lightly caressing her skin. The two were most serene then, almost appearing as two felines that had decided to nap during the morning showers, most comforted by each other and the steady sound of the droplets as they pattered.

He was whispering now, the rambunctious energy of the room fading into a much more tranquil and stolid vibe, wrapping the two up like a warm embrace.

“Y’know I really would do anything to make you happy, my love.”

She closed her eyes, taking hold of one of his hands.

He then heard her mutter something like “I know”, and all was well.

☆❂✧

it was fitting for the theme. but anyway i hope u enjoyed, pls reblog and like if u did :) go drink some water, eat some protein, and take an electronics break!

love you bunches! xx hj

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mashiraostail · 4 years

Note

who do u think r the biggest simps??

eigFJKD THIS ASK IS SO FUNNY TO ME THANK U PUT IN ORDER FROM MOST TO LEAST SIMP LIKE I PROB FORGOT PPL BC ITS LIKE LATE LATE BUT I WANTED TO WRITE THIS AHSLSEDS

1.) Hizashi: THIS MAN IS SUCH A SIMP IT’S PRESENT MIC I DON’T CARE EVEN A LITTLE BIT THIS MAN IS SUCH A FUCKING SIMP!!! I can’t explain it honestly i just...i can so picture him being the biggest idiot for his s/o he’s always looking at pics of them and staring at them when they’re around and he’s gonna compliment everything they do period. Like aw the way you sit is so cute, aw I love how you twirl pencils with your fingers when you’re trying to focus, aw your stutter is precious. And god even a tiny CRUMB of kindness from you will put him on cloud nine. Oh you like his jacket?? Okay, he can happily die now. He has pretty eyes? Excuse him he has to go cry in the bathroom. The sappier you get the easier it is to get your way. . He gives so many gifts, little stupid things that make him think of his s/o but also big extravagant gifts tht always leave them totally flustered and embarrassed. Biggest simp. Simp of the year.

2.) Sekijiro- Sorry but.. Vlad king supremacy?? Idk why he’s such a respectful simp I just get those vibes from him. Like he’ll do anything his s/o asks, need something lifted? Ok he’ll be there in 5 minutes. Oh need help reaching something? Sure thing whatever you need. Had a bad day? Oh no well come sit here with me and we can talk about it or watch your favorite movie if you don’t wanna yet! This man loves love, if he gets hurt on the job, or has a bad day all he’s gonna wanna do is curl up with you and get all the kisses and loves and back rubs. If he’s having a bad day he’s def gonna sit around daydreaming about you. His phone bg is def either a pic of you together or just a pic of you, he has a lot of pics of you and he enjoys them very much. It’s always your way, you have to beg him to just tell you what he wants sometimes, and no ‘whatever you want babe’ isn’t a valid answer!!! sorry not sorry about it!!

3. Toshinori- GOOODDDDD THIS MAN IS A SIMP. He’s totally stupid in love w his s/o the minute they meet. He’s all blushy and stupid and smiley at them and he’s always paying little tiny thoughtless compliments like ‘oh you have really nice hands’ or ‘you’re always so helpful (: I’m so lucky to get to work with you!’ He’s just happy to be around his s/o and he’ll do whatever they want. Shopping? Sure he’ll tag along. Got a bunch of boring errands to run? He’ll keep you company. Need to do a ton of house work? He can help! He also loves giving small gifts, and any matching thing on the planet will make his heart soar, rings of course, but also bracelets, key chains, mugs anything this man will want it. If you say a song reminded you of him he will listen to it on loop for weeks. He’s totally fantastically infatuated and it’s such obvious puppy love too.

4. Taishiro Toyomitsu- PLEASE again this man is a major simp gentleman. He holds doors he gets you flowers he cooks you dinner he talks about you all the time. Seriously all the time. Tamaki probably knows your whole life story by now all he does is brag about you. Complete a slightly difficult task? Everyone Taishiro interacts with is gonna know it. Even the villains. If he ever does an interview you’re getting brought up. He doesn’t care how much he has to bend over backward to do it, he’s gonna talk about you or he’ll perish. When you’re together it’s kisses and hugs all the time, he barely ever walks by without giving you some form of kiss, and god the amount of times this man says ‘i love you’ in one day, hell one hour, should be illegal.

5. Kugo Sakamata- he’s not a super simp BUT he is still a simp, and the nicer you are to him the more simpish he becomes. If you have a normal comfortable give and take dynamic that’s good with him, but if you’re ever very affectionate with him he’ll be total putty in your hands. The longer you’re together the worse it gets. He loves gift-giving and there truly is nothing you can’t have. If you want it then it’s your’s Kugo doesn’t care, why would he? If it’ll make you happy then you can have as many as you want. So all in all, may not be a super simp at first but you can def mold him into one.

6. Keigo Takami- He doesn’t simp at all in the beginning, he’s actually an annoying little turd. But the longer he spends with you the more infatuated he becomes until eventually it feels like going 6 hours without a kiss from you is majorly pushing it. Tokoyami has heard about every accomplishment you’ve ever made from your job to how quickly you did the dishes the night before. He has seen a thousand photos of you and probably knows you really well if he for whatever reason hasn’t met you. Because Keigo is always stopping to visit on patrols, or begging you to come to see him at the agency for lunch or just a quick hello if you’re going to be passing through. When he gets to know you all he wants to do is make you feel good.

7. Aizawa Shouta- people probably wanted him higher on this list but idk he doesn’t scream simp to me. In public he def does NOT simp, he might stare at you a little too long if he isn’t expecting to see you and he’ll always smile back if you smile at him but don’t expect him to plaster pictures of you everywhere and constantly talk about how much he loves you because that isn’t his style. In PRIVATE though?? This man can simp for the right cause. And sir can this man SIMP. What do you want? A bath? Okay I can do that. Your favorite food? Sure that’s easy. Massage? You don’t even have to ask! He likes the effect he has on you, watching you get flustered and melt at his affection is something he starts to really enjoy the longer the pair of you stay together.

8. Mirai Sasaki- At first he doesn't simp, but once you hit a few milestones he’ll start. He likes making you laugh, and seeing your smile is at the top of his priority list, he has tons of photos of you smiling and if anyone is having a bad day he’ll think of some silly story about you to tell to cheer them up. Like others, his intern, Mirio, has heard all about you and probably knows you really well. He probably made it a point to introduce you after working with Mirio for a while. Mirio probably sees you as a package deal at this point.

9.Nemuri Kayama- Girl does NOT simp. You simp for her and you like it that way, periodsm!!! No actually though at first she also doesn’t simp at all, she doesn’t care, she can have pretty much anyone she wants so if you don’t like her then you can pack it up and find someone else. But the longer you stay with her the more she starts to warm up to it, she likes seeing you happy, so going the extra mile even if it is a bit much for her is something she’s going to start doing more and more. She’ll remember all your favorite things and give you random gifts. She’ll take lots of photos of you to keep for herself and she’ll send you plenty of her own. She starts to also find a lot of comfort in you and will be looking for ways to spend time with you.

10. Enji Todoroki- I aint explaining this. Mans aint no simp.

#aizawa shouta #hizashi yamada #nemuri kayama #yagi toshinori #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #kugo sakamata #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #keigo takami #hawks #aizawa shouta x reader #present mic #present mic x reader #bnha hc #headcanon #bnha requests

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kiras-sunshine · 3 years

Text

tarlos valentine 2021 day 1 prompt: “babe please sharing is caring” + blanket hogging

words: 5111

summary:

“Are you seriously reading a WikiHow article about how to stop hogging the covers?”

"Yes"

read on ao3

”This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” TK declares as he takes yet another forkful of the chocolate cake that Carlos has baked for his birthday.

He cannot remember when someone would have baked an actual cake for his birthday. They celebrate everyone’s birthday at the firehouse, but usually those are bought from the supermarket and they taste and look exactly like they cost less than five dollars.

His dad has threatened to bake something every year, but after the year when he served the dairy, butter and sugar free cake, TK had banned him from birthday related baking.

“Seriously,” he continues, gesturing towards the almost empty plate with his fork, “this cake made me fall more in love with you and I didn’t know that was possible.”

Carlos shakes his head, clearly in amusement, as he bites down his smile. He looks delighted and pleased. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like is an understatement,” he remarks and reaches over the narrow kitchen island to press a quick kiss on his lips.

The cake tastes amazing, rich and sweet, and the texture is fluffy, but firm. It looked gorgeous too, as if it were straight rout of the high-end confectioneries of Manhattan. He had asked where he had bought it before Carlos admitted, rather timidly, that he had baked it from the scratch.

TK hadn’t been expecting anything other than the supermarket cake, and honestly, he thought his birthday would be just grouped together with the firehouse annual Christmas party. Being born in December usually meant that it got joined with Christmas celebrations and it didn’t get to be a separate thing. TK is fine with it. It bothered him more when he was a child, but now he doesn’t mind that much.

Hoping that one day would be about him feels like a dumb, childish and selfish wish.

Carlos had been uncharacteristically quiet about the upcoming birthday or any plans related to it, and TK had been almost convinced that he had forgotten the whole thing. It would have been fine if it were the case, but obviously, he hadn’t forgotten. Instead, he had gone all out.

TK knows he should have suspected something when Marjan had asked all slyly if he had any plans for his birthday when they all had been gathered around the firehouse dining table to eat the pathetic looking supermarket cake.

He had said no, and everyone had smiled like they knew something he didn’t, but he had brushed it off.

TK reaches scoop a forkful of the cake from Carlos’ plate, because his is almost empty, and he grins at him brightly. “Babe please, sharing is caring,” he chuckles.

Carlos rolls his eyes, but the fondness is too visible to make him seem even a tiny bit annoyed.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he mumbles. There is no heat behind his words, and he pushes the plate closer to TK.

It’s obviously meant to be a joke and his voice is light, but still TK is aware that it is the closest thing to the truth anyway. He feels lucky, incredibly so.

Carlos is a kind, caring and loving person in general and it is evident in the way he does his job and the way he treats people around him, and TK is fully aware that he would be lucky to get just a fraction of the love Carlos has to give, but the fact that he has decided that TK is worth of all of it makes it a whole another thing.

Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Privilege, maybe.

He has started to notice lately that the English language doesn’t have nearly enough words to describe what he is feeling for him. But that doesn’t stop him from trying.

“I know,” TK eventually replies, several beats too late it to be counted as banter anymore and the fondness in Carlos’ eyes just grows.

He does steal another forkful of his piece of cake and lets his gaze wonder around the small cabin.

Instead of forgetting his birthday, Carlos had rented a cabin for three days. It is a couple hours away from Austin, located near camping-area, and while the cabin is small, it is still objectively really nice and fancy for a log cabin.

He looks at the dark brown wooden walls and the shiny marble kitchen island. He tries his best not to think how much money he has spent on his surprise.

Carlos had also coordinated it so that they both have the three days off around his birthday, and he had listed his whole crew’s, and his dad’s help, to do it, several months in advance. TK guesses there are certain perks that his boyfriend gets along with his family like a house on fire.

Carlos yawns. He blinks a couple of times, before focusing his gaze back to him. He smiles and it is warm and genuine one, but TK can see the redness of his eyes and the dark circles below them. He looks exhausted, even though he is trying to hide it.

“You should go to sleep,” TK points out, softly, as he places the fork on his own plate.

“I’m fine,” he insists.

In his opinion, it is a small wonder Carlos hasn’t collapsed already. He had pulled an fourteen-hour shift with some over time on top of it. After that he had still driven them up to the cottage and cooked him a huge dinner. It’s a bit unclear to him where he found the time to bake the cake, but the point is, he knows that he is tired.

He would know it without having all the details. They have been together for year and a half, and TK likes to think that he can read him. Understand all the little cues from his facial expressions and behavior. At the moment, everything he picks on screams that he is fatigued.

“You look like you could pass out from exhaustion,” he remarks.

“It’s your birthday,” Carlos argues, a little flatly, but he is poorly attempting to repress yet another yawn.

“I’m aware,” he says, amusedly, as walks around the kitchen island and reaches to take his hand into his own. He presses a soft kiss on his knuckles. “All of this is really nice, and I love it, but it also pains me to see you so tired.”

He blinks slowly, but his smile is lopsided, but still full of adoration. “I wanted to do something special for you.”

TK remembers faintly that he had told him on his last birthday that his birthday rarely was a priority, always getting entangled to the preparations of the holiday season, and he had certainly not meant anything with it. But Carlos, being a strong contender for the title of most considerate person in the world, had hung on his words and decided to indulge him on his silly wish of having a proper birthday.

TK had snorted when they had picked up the keys of the cabin and the receptionist had frowned when she clarified that there would be no Christmas decorations, per request, but Carlos had just grinned at him.

“And it is,” he reassures, squeezing his hand slightly.

It makes his stomach flip as he thinks how much effort he has put into the whole thing, just so that he would feel loved and cared for.

“Maybe,” Carlos admits softly, “but going to sleep before eight wasn’t really part of the plan.”

Carlos lets go of his hand, but places both of his hands on his waist and pulls him closer. TK has no objections against that, and he loves the feeling of their bodies being pressed together. He loves the closeness of it, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to be so up in each other’s personal space.

“Yeah, just one of the many perks of dating a first responder,” he deadpans, resting his other hand on his bicep.

Carlos huffs amusedly. “Because there are so many of them.”

“Our never matching schedules,” he offers. He lets his other hand run along his spine and settles it to hold the small of his back.

“Monthly hospital visits.”

TK glares at him. “They aren’t monthly.”

“Bi-monthly,” Carlos corrects himself with a shit-eating grin and it makes his nose scrunch, and it is one of the most adorable things TK has ever witnessed.

“Constant fear and worry,” he adds.

He knows he should be almost used to it. Since early childhood, he has had to learn to live with the fact that one day his dad might not make it to home, and now almost everyone he loves and considers family risks their lives on daily basis to help others.

He should be used to it, but the truth is that he isn’t. The fear and worry still sometimes knock him off his feet and take over every part of his body, but he can cope with it. Most of the time. Although, he loathes the fact that his standards for a good day have been lowered to the simple rule of if they both make it home in one piece, it’s a good day.

Carlos nods and presses a soft kiss on his forehead. He doesn’t immediately pull away. “The way you smell like smoke,” he murmurs against his skin.

TK lets out a surprised laugh and the ghost of his kiss still lingers right above his eyebrows when he pulls away. “I could always shower again.”

He has gotten into the habit of showering at the firehouse when the shift ends, because Carlos does have a point about the smell hazards. Most of the time he reeks after the shift and he had rinsed his skin today too, and the shift hadn’t been terrible. Only one fire at the 24-hour diner when their deep fryer had caught on fire, but that was hours ago.

“You’ve smelled like it since the day we met,” he points out, “I’m not sure a shower is going to help.”

“Hey,” TK protests, but he doesn’t bother to hide his grin.

“I wouldn’t change any of it for anything,” he says under his breath, “apart from fearing for your life.”

Over the couple of years, he has known Carlos, he has noticed that certain things happen when he gets thoroughly exhausted. His accent becomes thicker and he becomes sappier than usually and he starts to lack a certain filter. It’s mostly just amusing and endearing, and he loves that side of Carlos just as much as any other, but he also wants to take care of him.

It makes a certain kind of knot of uneasiness to form in his stomach knowing that he is burning the candle from both ends for him.

“I know, me neither,” TK reassures, softly, but pushes him a little backwards, “but seriously, you should go to bed. And you don’t even have to go alone.”

He is also a little weary after the shift. His muscles are achy, and he wouldn’t mind sleeping around the clock. And as always, seeing Carlos yawn, makes him sleepy, too.

“Your pickup lines are terrible,” he retorts, but takes a couple steps backwards towards the bedroom.

TK snorts. “They worked well enough on you.”

He still keeps walking backwards, his left shoulder only slightly bumping against the doorframe as he enters the bedroom. “They didn’t. I didn’t need pick-up lines, it was that damn smile.”

He ought to add getting complimented by him to the list of things he should be already gotten used to, because Carlos does it a lot. It’s a casual comment here and there, and it definitely isn’t always about his looks, but still no matter how many times he hears them, they always make his stomach twist in a best way possible.

Even now, the bubbling feeling of happiness settles into his chest and his lips are curling into a smile, and he knows it’s giving away everything he is currently feeling. The happiness and adoration mixing into together and spilling out as a soft and bright smile.

“That’s the one,” Carlos whispers, contently and almost in awe, and few seconds later his fist is full of the soft fabric of TK’s grey sweatshirt and he is pulling him close again.

“Yeah,” TK finds himself saying, but he cannot tear his gaze away from his lips and judging by the glint in his brown eyes, he has noticed it too, despite the sleep deprivation.

Sometimes, most of the time really, it is like electricity humming underneath his skin when Carlos looks at him. It feels like it now, too, and while they established very early into their acquittance that they are into each other. It was painfully obvious from the way they glanced each other while dancing and from the way they ended up hooking up within an hour.

Still, TK cannot help but marvel the that the feeling of sparks and electricity is still there, but it is still different. All the rush and fumbling are gone because there is more certainness now, of that the other is not going to disappear and that any of the lingering touches would be the last ones.

Now, every moment is like a small declaration of love.

He tugs the hem of Carlos’ shirt and gently yanks it upwards and helps him to undress it and Carlos helps him to get rid of his sweatshirt and tosses it somewhere on the floor. Suddenly, his lips are on his again, and the kiss is soft, but it still makes TK’s heart beat faster and toes curl up with want.

He runs his hands along his arms and squeezes his left forearm slightly. “Mmh, not when you’re that tired,” TK mumbles against his lips.

He knows where it is heading unless he breaks it off, and while he wants to, it still defeats the whole purpose of his grand plan of Carlos getting enough sleep.

Carlos immediately takes a step back, like he always does when he lets him know he is not up for something, and his smile is mischievous, but still a little flustered. “I’d not fall asleep on you,” he adds, as he takes off his sweatpants, but this time he folds them neatly and picks up their shirts from the floor.

“You have,” TK points out, kindly, as he gets rid of his own pants, “and you probably would now, too.”

Since their schedules don’t always match, they tend to take up any opportunity that arises, but a couple of times, after double digit shifts, Carlos has fallen asleep before they have even properly started, and it’s no big deal. TK knows he has fallen asleep on him too.

He mostly finds it endearing, but it also means to him that Carlos trusts him enough and is comfortable enough to fall asleep without a second thought to it.

Carlos just hums amusedly as a response and gets into the way too huge bed.

The bedroom is tiny, and the bed takes a ridiculously big part of it, but he is surprised to find it to be incredibly soft and comfortable. Still, as TK sits on the bed, he pushes his pillow closer to his because he is not sleeping twenty inches away from him.

He settles down, lying right next to him and Carlos immediately drapes one arm over him, resting it on his chest and nuzzling his shoulder. TK’s hand fumbles a little until it finds Carlos’s other hand and curls his fingers around his.

“I’m--,” Carlos starts, quietly, but TK cuts him immediately off.

“Don’t you dare apologize again,” he says, softly. “This is all I ever wanted and it’s perfect.”

He runs his fingers along his forearm. He hopes that he knows that he doesn’t mean the cabin or any of it, but just that he gets to spend his birthday with him.

Twenty-year-old TK would have laughed if someone would have told him that his best birthday would be in rural Texas, but there he is, more content than ever.

“How did you know what I was going to say?”

He glances at him. “I can hear you think.”

Carlos exhales softly and TK can feel his breath against his bicep. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. You deserve all of it and more.”

It has been a long process to learn that he deserves nice things and to be loved, because of everything and despite of everything. He has Carlos to remind him about it occasionally, but still he cannot help but wonder what he has done to end up with more love than he could have imagined a couple of years ago.

He turns his head to press a gentle kiss on his temple. “Why this place?”

TK has wondered about it since the moment they arrived. He has never heard about the place before and albeit, his knowledge of anything about Texas outside of Austin is a little wobbly, but the whole place seems to be quiet and has a little hole-in-the-wall feeling to it, like you would have to know about its existence to find it.

“It’s a dumb story,” he murmurs against his shoulders.

“I wanna hear all of your dumb stories.”

Carlos shifts a little. “We came here with my family when I was maybe thirteen,” he starts, slowly and absentmindedly tracing some sort of pattern against his ribs. “I loved this place, and we had great time, but it still filled me with dread ‘cause the place was full of happy couples and families, and I was pretty convinced at that age that I couldn’t ever have any of that on my own.”

His heart breaks a little as he listens to him. He meant his words that he wants to hear all of his stories, dumb or not, but now he regrets a little of ever asking because he knows that his coming out process hasn’t always been the smoothest and deep south hasn’t been the most forgiving place for him to live and grow up.

“But,” Carlos continues, “I had this dream that one day I’d bring here someone I’d love.”

TK breath almost hitches in his throat. It’s almost too much, but in the best way possible. To know that he has had that idea in his head for years and that he decided that he would be worthy of being a part of that. It makes his heart soar.

“I did try to warn you it was dumb,” he mumbles, taking his silence in the wrong way.

“It’s not dumb,” he rushes to say, “it’s actually really sweet.”

It’s not the most eloquent response, but it’s too difficult to pinpoint anything he is currently feeling or to put them into comprehensible words that would reflect any of the love he has for him.

“Yeah, well, you’re the only one I’ve brought here, so there is that too,” he adds, his gaze focused on his jawline, but he looks up to his eyes too, with the softest of smiles.

He is convinced his heart is going to burst. “Thank you for sharing it with me,” he whispers, right below his ear, “and for including me in it.”

They lay there for a moment, in silence, only listening the steady breathing of each other’s, but eventually TK sits up to reach the corner of the duvet and tries to settle it so that it covers both of their bodies.

“Are you going to hog all the blankets again?”

Carlos has closed his eyes already, but his voice is light and teasing.

“I don’t hog ‘em.”

He sputters out a laugh, and it’s warm, happy and genuine, and TK loves to hear that particular laugh.

“Oh, so I’ve been sleeping without one willingly for a year and half,” Carlos asks, quizzically, but it looks like another fit of laughter could erupt from him at any given moment.

“What?”

“You always steal the blankets, even if there are two,” Carlos explains, sounding almost fond as he looks at him.

“I don’t?”

TK hates how it sounds like a question to his own ears, too. He is aware that he moves a lot in his sleep, and his ex-boyfriends have given him so much shit about it, which is also why he tried to avoid staying the night when he started seeing Carlos.

Nothing is more charming than elbowing significant other in their sleep or kicking their shins. Still, Carlos has never said anything about the way he sleeps.

He knows that their bed is a goddamn mess every time they wake up, the blankets are usually disregarded somewhere, and they are not in the same positions as they fell asleep to, but he had no idea that he was the main cause of it.

“Mhm, you do,” Carlos hums, his eyes closing again.

TK shoots perplexed glance at him. “Why haven’t you woken me up?”

He is a little more than appalled that apparently he has been doing it since the beginning of their relationship, but he is only hearing about it now.

Carlos opens one of his eyes, squeezing the other one shut. “Yeah, wonder why I haven’t woken up my boyfriend, who on regular basis pulls twenty-four-hour shifts,” he mumbles, but there is nothing but kindness in his voice.

“You could have,” he argues, flatly.

“I’ve tried to steal them back sometimes,” Carlos admits, his gaze landing back to him, and his eyes are gleaming. “But there’s no point. You just steal ‘em back. I’ve extra blankets, too, but there is no limit to how many blankets you hog in a night.”

Not for the first time around Carlos, TK finds himself to be a little loss for words. This time it is because of completely different reasons, he is a little too stunned and confused to talk.

“The way you clutch to them and collect them is almost adorable,” he adds with a low chuckle.

“So, every time you have said you sleep better when I’m there with you has been a blatant lie?”

He almost wants to laugh. It’s a bit more than ridiculous that he is only learning about his own nocturnal habits now, and Carlos has told him multiple times that he sleeps more soundly and deeply, that he feels safe, when he is around, and he has always found that a little more than endearing, but now it feels impossible to wrap his head around that it would be anywhere near the truth.

“Nope.”

“You really expect me to believe that the best sleep of your life happens without blankets?”

Carlos blinks, but the look he gives him is soft and laced equally with love and fondness. Still, he gently pokes him in between his ribs. “Am I in the habit of lying to you?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer,” he replies, easily and effortlessly, as if he has accepted the fate of sleeping without any blankets, ever.

TK grunts and picks up his phone from the nightstand and starts typing.

“Are you seriously reading a WikiHow article about how to stop hogging the covers?” Carlos questions, as he peaks the article he started suddenly to browse through.

“Yes.”

He cannot put his finger to what actually bothers him about this small revelation so much. The unnamed feeling in his chest grows and it starts to resemble something similar to guilt, even though some logical part of his brain is telling him that there is no reason to feel that way.

He can admit that it makes him uneasy to know that Carlos has stayed silent about it for so long, especially when it must have affected the way he sleeps, too.

Carlos chuckles, softly. “It’s not that big of a deal, Ty,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on his shoulder.

“Apparently we could sleep separately,” he reads aloud as he scrolls through the surprisingly long article.

“Out of question,” Carlos replies, without missing a beat.

He huffs in some sort of agreement. It’s not the solution he would be eager to try any time soon, but he wants to find something tangible to make the uneasiness in his heart to go away.

“Somehow trap the covers underneath the mattress, smaller bed, bigger blankets--,” he continues to slowly read as he makes through the list, until Carlos gently yanks the phone away from his hand and places it face down on his chest.

“We don’t need to do any of that,” he reminds, “I sleep perfectly fine. You cling like an octopus and you’re like a walking radiator, I don’t need a blanket. And above all, I like sleeping with you.”

It’s a tiny confession, but he sounds sure of it and there is genuine fondness in the way he says it, and he cannot help but believe that he means it.

TK loves the way they sleep. There is so much closeness in it. Their bed is pretty wide, but every time he wakes up, they are close and touching each other, in one way or another. A hand resting on a thigh, fingers against hip, face pressed against shoulder blade, entangled legs and arms.

He is pretty convinced there are no moments when they are not touching when sleeping. He sort of likes that. That they drift towards other, even when they are completely unaware of it. They move in their sleep. Carlos always falls asleep on his side but ends up lying on his back. He moves around a lot more, but the fact that they always wake up pressed together, means that they move together.

When the other moves, the other follows. Invisible string connecting them in their dreams. Like magnets pulling each other in.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” Carlos continues to fill in the silence, “I knew you’d get stuck in that beautiful mind of yours about it, but I didn’t know it’d bother you this much.”

There is a question hidden, and he knows he is giving him the space not to answer, but he wants to.

TK groans, quietly and softly. He places the phone back on the nightstand and rubs his own face. “It’s just that—you simply decided to put up with it,” he tries to clarify, still trying to make sense of the emotions that keep bumping against each other inside of him, “instead of telling me to do something about it.”

He knows that he cannot control what he does in his sleep, but he would still like to try and make it better.

“I get that, but sayin’ that I’m putting up with it makes it sound too negative,” he says, exhaustion leaking back into his voice just slightly, “and I’d have told you if truly bothered me, but it doesn’t.”

“Yeah.”

He strokes his side, in slow moments, with his thumb. It sends small shivers along his spine. TK glances back at him, but his eyes are closed again. “I love you and I’ll gladly sleep without a blanket for rest of my life, it’s a small price to pay.”

Silence follows, and TK can feel how he tenses up slightly next to him. It’s a small change, but he knows him well enough to spot the difference.

“That’s pretty much wedding vow material already,” TK jokes, planting another kiss on his forehead because he wants him to know it is okay, and that he is not freaking out about any mentions of their shared future, and that he can say stuff like that to him.

That he wants to hear it.

Some of the tension immediately leaves his body when he pulls away from the kiss.

“I know,” he slurs, sleepily. “I should write it down.”

“Height of romance.”

He laughs, even though he manages to make it sound tired too, but it is still a beautiful sound. “Damn right it is.”

“I’m gonna buy a bigger duvet when we get home,” TK declares.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but I want to.”

It might not help anything, and Carlos does seem pretty content with their current arrangements, but he still needs to do something. To try, at least, even if it is something as small as blanket hogging.

Carlos opens his eyes again, clearly fighting off the sleep. “Promise something.”

He is a little surprised by his words, but he cranes his neck on the pillow so that he can get a better look at his face. “Anything.”

“Don’t start to overthink it, the way you sleep isn’t something you should actively think about. You’ll only lose sleep,” he tells him.

TK knows he has a point. It’s definitely an easy rabbit hole to fall in, and to become too self-conscious about every moment and not being able to relax and just be. Maybe he should take Carlos’ word for it.

“I’ll promise I’ll try my best to get over the fact that I’ve forced you to freeze your ass every night for over a year.”

Carlos’ eyes are shut, but the grin that forms on his lips is bright and brilliant. “We live in Texas, it’s hot and humid most of the time, my ass is fine.”

“It is.”

He laughs again, mostly against his fluffy pillow. “How did we end up having this conversation?”

“About us, the blankets, the future or the future of our blankets?” TK asks, deadpan, just to mess with his sleep deprived brain.

“Any of it?”

“I don’t know, you started it,” he tells him, amusement shining in his soft voice

“I’m too tired,” he half-slurs, but the smile still lingers on his lips.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” TK points out, kindly, and moves his other hand to run through Carlos’ hair, massaging his scalp soothingly.

“You’re right,” he breathes out, and TK can hear the smirk in his voice, “just this once.”

He laughs quietly, trying not to stir him any more than necessary, and he thinks he might have already fallen asleep, and he almost startles when he hears his voice again.

“Ty?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t need any blankets, just need you.”

He would have expected his voice to be light, teasing and joking, but it sounds surprisingly sincere and like it half-accidently escapes away from his exhausted mind, but it sounds still so goddamn sincere that it makes TK’s heart flutter.

“Smooth,” he remarks, quietly, unsure what to do with all the happiness that keeps bubbling inside of him, but the only reply he gets is the quiet and steady breathing.

#tarlosvalentine21 #tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #once again i have no excuses

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bubonickitten · 3 years

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Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: The process(es) of resigning from a terrible, no good, very bad assistant position.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 22: discussions of eye-gouging/eye horror (not graphic); brief mentions of spiders/arachnophobia; anxiety/panic symptoms; lots of dissociation/dpdr; Peter Lukas being a manipulative shit; Lonely-typical content (including fear of abandonment & some abysmal self-esteem on Martin’s part); allusions to police violence & Hunt-related themes (re: Daisy’s past actions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 22: Resignation

Georgie paces in a slow circle, alternating between biting her nails and picking at her bottom lip – entirely immersed in her own thoughts, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. Jon hasn’t seen her this overwrought since the last depressive episode he witnessed. Just watching her is enough to make his chest tighten with vicarious unrest.

Wary of contributing to a vicious feedback loop between the two of them with his own customary pacing and handwringing, he forces himself to keep his knees locked and hands at his sides. Still, he can’t help rubbing his fingertips together and rocking minutely on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t we sit?” Jon finally interjects, wincing when it comes out more curtly than he intended – more like a command than a suggestion, but luckily without any accompanying static.

Be mindful, he silently chides himself: being on edge like this only makes him more susceptible to accidental compulsion.

“What if something goes wrong?” Georgie whispers. Jon doubts she even heard him beneath her nervous refrain. “What if –”

“Georgie?” Jon tries again. No response. He steps into her path and places a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie.”

“What?” Georgie raises her head, but she isn’t looking at him so much as she’s looking through him.

“I think you should sit down?”

“What?” Georgie says again, sounding utterly lost. Her eyes are darting around the room now, as if she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

How the tables have turned, Jon thinks grimly.

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her to the nearest chair. She offers no resistance, trailing behind him like a flagging balloon. When he presses on her shoulder to coax her into a sitting position, she goes easily. Keeping hold of her hand, he drags another chair closer to her and takes a seat.

Okay. Now what?

Jon jiggles his leg as he wracks his brain for the right thing to say. She deserves more than handholding and awkward silence, but soothing words have never come naturally to him.

“Do you, ah… do you want to talk about it?” Jon cringes at his faltering delivery. “I’m sorry, I’m – I’m still not very good at this,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh – then immediately shuts his eyes, kicking himself. Why are his attempts to relate to others always so clumsy and – and weirdly self-centered? “I mean –”

“I’m scared,” Georgie blurts out.

“You… what?” Jon tilts his head. “But I thought – you don’t feel –”

“Fear?” Her clipped, brittle laugh dies in her throat. “No, I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

Jon strokes the back of her hand with one thumb, but remains silent. She always elaborates on her own time, given some space to order her thoughts.

“I don’t feel… terror,” she says slowly. “After I had my… encounter, I did a lot of research on how the brain works. Trying to understand what was happening to me, you know?”

Jon nods. He’s intimately familiar with that urge. As a child, he went through a spider phase, as his grandmother called it, obsessively seeking out any information he could on them, hoping even then that he could conquer his fear if only he could see the world through a detached, academic lens. There were plenty of academic odes to the spider to be found; no shortage of enamored arachnologists waxing poetic about the wonders of evolution and the vital role that arachnids play in their particular ecological niches.

Unfortunately, a phobia – especially one arising from acute trauma – tends to be resistant to reason and reality. His obsession only ever yielded heart palpitations and lucid nightmares. Despite that failure, he never stopped clinging to that idea that if only he could know everything there was to know about a thing, he could finally scrape together some semblance of control over his fear.

In many ways, that fixation is exactly what drew him to the Magnus Institute.

Unless the Spider really was pulling the strings all along, he thinks, and then: No, we are not going there.

“As far as I can tell,” Georgie continues, “my sympathetic nervous system still functions. I can still experience all the physiological aspects of sympathetic arousal – and fear is only one possible trigger for those sorts of responses. What’s missing is my capacity to interpret those responses through the lens of fear. To emotionally process or identify them as fear.

“I can still experience anxiety, to an extent – or something close to it. But mostly in the context of worrying about others, being scared for them. I mean, I can feel apprehensive about the possibility of experiencing pain or loss or failure myself, I have a stake in my continued existence, I can recognize danger, but sometimes it feels… I don’t know – mechanical, almost? There’s just always the feeling of something missing. Something important. And there are times when I feel that void more acutely.”

“Like now.”

“Yeah.” Georgie looks away, chewing her lip in silence.

“I’m listening,” Jon coaxes, sensing that there’s more she’s holding back.

“It’s just… hard to feel like a full person sometimes, you know?” Georgie says helplessly. “I worry sometimes that it – I don’t know, does a disservice, I guess, to the people I care about? Like no matter how much I love someone, it isn’t… complete? Or – genuine, in the right way? It’s – hard to find words that actually describe it. There are times when it feels like I’ve lost something vital that made me human, that made me me, and it’s… difficult to reconcile who I was – who I could have been – with who I am now.”

“That I understand,” Jon says softly.

“I know.” Jon wishes he was less familiar with the sad smile she gives him just then. “It’s just… I remember a time when I would have been terrified of all this. Not just worried, or upset about someone I care about being hurt, or devastated by the prospect of losing someone I love. Terrified. And knowing what I should be feeling – what I would have felt at some point – is… it’s unnerving. There’s a void there that shouldn’t be there. It’s like… having part of you gouged out and left hollow. An absence that’s so present it’s almost visceral.” She frowns. “Does that make any sense?”

“In my future I had a Flesh Avatar reach into my chest and wrench out two of my ribs, so… yes, actually.”

Georgie blinks several times, then laughs breathlessly. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Jon returns a cautious smile, but the levity evaporates after a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you don’t have to have access to the full spectrum of human emotion in order to count as human. And I don’t think any of this makes your concern for others any less heartfelt, or – or comforting. You might not be the same person you were before you were marked, but that doesn’t make you any lesser as a person.”

“You should try applying that metric to yourself sometime,” she replies, not unkindly.

“It’s –”

“Don’t say it’s different,” she cuts in. “Just… keep it in mind, okay?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try.” Georgie nods, but says nothing. Jon grips her hand a little tighter. “Listen, I – I know you’re worried for Melanie, but I think it’s going to be alright? I can’t predict the future –well, I have knowledge of one possible future, but that’s because I lived it. I don’t have any precognitive abilities, or anything like that. But… it turned out okay last time.”

Until I jump-started an apocalypse –

Jon reins in the thought before it can gain momentum. Georgie doesn’t need his brooding right now.

“Melanie is a fighter,” he says instead, offering a tentative smile. “And she has you.”

Georgie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came out of the apocalypse sappier than you were when you went in.”

“Side effect of traversing a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a hopeless romantic, I think.” That gets another little chuckle out of Georgie. “I mean it, though. I think Melanie will be okay, especially with you looking out for her. Not to mention, the Admiral is a perpetual serotonin generator.”

“You really miss him, huh?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve pet a cat, Georgie?” Jon practically whines, playfully dramatic. It manages to keep the amused smile on Georgie’s face, he’s pleased to note.

“Maybe I should bring him by sometime.”

“Absolutely not. This place doesn’t deserve him.” Georgie snorts. Although Jon is reluctant to ruin the temporary shift in mood, this is as good a time as any to broach a subject he’s been dreading. “Also, I, ah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue visiting here.”

“What?” Georgie says, eyes narrowed.

“If you have to take a step back,” Jon says carefully, “I’ll understand.”

“I mean, I might not be able to come by as often as I have been, especially while Melanie is still recovering, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be around at all.” Georgie’s frown deepens. “I’m not about to cut you out of my life, Jon.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to. But – no, listen,” Jon insists, seeing Georgie about to protest. “What I’m trying to say is – I know Melanie wants to put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible. If it turns out that you staying involved in all of this is too close to home, then… well, I don’t want her to feel like she’s still trapped in the Institute’s orbit, is all.”

Or mine, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be a reason for Melanie to feel unsafe. In the past, he has been – and that’s not who he wants to be.

These days, Melanie has come to view him more as a fellow captive than a complicit enemy. Lingering resentment still sparks to life from time to time; she still struggles with her anger, and once or twice, she’s had to leave a room for fear of that rage boiling over. Overall, though, she no longer directs the majority of her ire towards him. When they do butt heads, it hasn’t gone much further than bickering – and even that feels comforting in its familiarity and mundanity. Almost companionable, in its own way.

Most significantly, ever since their talk, Melanie hasn’t once likened him to Jonah Magnus. Jon doesn’t know if that’s because it’s no longer an automatic association at the forefront of her mind, or because she’s consciously watching her words around him, actively taking care to avoid tripping that perpetual trigger. Either way, Jon is grateful.

But Jon also knows that he’s inseparable from the Institute. Despite his intentions, and regardless of whether or to what degree the others hold him personally responsible, the fact remains: he’s embroiled in something unspeakably evil, and that poses a danger to anyone who stands too close to him.

Georgie doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking the time to seriously consider his words. He’s always appreciated that about her, as uneasy as these moments of silent suspense can make him.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” she says eventually, “once she’s recovered enough to have that discussion. I don’t know how she’ll feel about staying in direct contact herself, especially at first, but… I doubt she expects me to cut you off. And I imagine she’ll still want to know how everyone is doing, even if she doesn’t want the details.” She glances up to meet his eyes. “Anyway, regardless of how often I visit in person, I’m still going to be checking in with you, so answer your damn phone, will you?”

“I do answer my phone,” he says defensively. “I just… forget to answer texts sometimes. And I don’t get service in the tunnels –”

“Well, come up for air and cell service from time to time.” She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tolerate being down here for hours on end –”

Jon startles slightly as the trapdoor creaks open above their heads. Georgie stands as Melanie makes her way down the ladder, hurrying over to fold her into her arms. Basira follows behind, closing the trapdoor behind her as she goes.

“Mission successful, I take it?” Jon says quietly as Basira approaches him, giving Georgie and Melanie a moment to themselves.

“Uneventful,” Basira says with a shrug. “A few sidelong glances, but otherwise, none of the library staff even acknowledged us. Definitely didn’t seem keen on asking why we were rummaging in the repair supplies.”

“They probably didn’t want to know.”

“Yeah.” A small, rueful smile crosses her face. “Some of them used to talk to me, you know. Nothing personal – we weren’t close – but… when I returned a book, they’d ask what I thought of it, give me recommendations, that sort of thing. Now, though…”

These days she prefers to wait until everyone has gone home for the day before visiting the library, Jon Knows. He also Knows that the library staff are well aware that she’s the one pilfering research materials in the dead of night – and that they have no plans on confronting her about it. She never leaves a mess, after all, and always returns items to their proper places once she’s finished with them, which is more than can be said for many of the students who make use of the library’s resources.

“You know, I don’t think any of them have looked me in the eye for months.” There’s a distinct note of regret in Basira’s voice. “They just watch me out of the corners of their eyes when they think I’m not looking. I don’t know if that’s because they’re afraid of Lukas disappearing them for fraternizing, or because everyone is leery of the Archives these days, or because I’ve just become less approachable. Maybe all three. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

Jon knows the feeling well. Before he can answer, though, Melanie clears her throat. Jon looks over to see her facing his direction, one hand clasping Georgie’s tight enough to blanch her knuckles.

“This is it, then,” Basira says solemnly.

“Yeah.” Melanie closes her eyes and breathes a long, shaky exhale. “It’s time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me there?” Georgie asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see that.”

“But –”

“She won’t be alone,” Basira says. “I’ll be right outside the room.”

Melanie faces Georgie fully, taking her other hand as well. “The plan hasn’t changed. Basira will call 999. I’ll make it quick, and – once it’s done, Basira will come in and sit with me until the ambulance gets here.”

“I have a general idea of what the response time should be like,” Basira adds, looking at Georgie. “If we time it right, Melanie will have medical assistance within minutes. I can come get you when the paramedics get here, if you want to ride in the ambulance.”

Georgie nods and tightens her grip on Melanie’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Only if you want,” Melanie says haltingly. “But – maybe try to avoid looking too close, if my eyes are uncovered? It’s just – it probably won’t be pretty.” A stressed laugh claws its way out of her throat. “Potential trauma fodder, you know? I don’t want to worry about you remembering me like that every time you see me, even after I’ve healed.”

“Okay,” Georgie replies softly.

“It shouldn’t take long. Just – wait here with Jon until then, okay?” Georgie nods again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Speaking of which –” Melanie glances at Jon, as if just now remembering his presence. Startled by the sudden direct eye contact, he reflexively straightens his spine and stands at attention. “I guess this is goodbye, huh? For a while, anyway.”

“I, uh. I suppose it is.”

“Right. So, um… good luck, I guess?”

No disclaimers or ill will tacked on this time, Jon notes privately.

“You too.” He forces a smile, but he suspects that it comes off as awkward rather than reassuring.

“Try not to die.”

“Yes, ‘not dying’ is relatively close to the top of my to-do list.”

“If I come to find out that you’ve gotten yourself killed and broken the eldritch employment contract binding us all to this place after I’ve gone and gouged my eyes out, I’m going to be livid.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon says wryly.

“Seriously, though.” Melanie’s smirk melts away, taken over by a somber, quiet sort of intensity. “Either beat Elias at his own game, or get the fuck away from this place the instant you find an out. Whichever comes first. Preferably without any of the self-sacrificial bullshit.”

Fractious as its delivery is, the demand is oddly touching, coming from Melanie.

“I, uh… I’ll do my best?”

“You’d better.” Melanie nods – a curt but cordial dismissal – and turns her attention back to Georgie. “Hey,” she says, her voice going measurably softer, releasing one of Georgie’s hands to reach up and cup her face. Her watery smile belies her mental state: resolve warring with trepidation. “Look at me?”

For a long minute, she studies Georgie’s face, clearly enraptured. Jon forcefully tears his gaze away from the intimacy of the moment.

“Okay.” Melanie takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “I’m ready. I’ll see you soon, okay? Or – well, I won’t see you, but – you’ll see me, and I’ll…” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, whatever – you know what I mean.”

Georgie lets out a tearful chuckle, and Melanie relaxes marginally.

“I’m sure about this,” she says. “I promise. This is what I want – a life with you, away from all of this. And if this is the price I have to pay, then… I’m okay with that. Really, I am.” She stands on tiptoe to give Georgie a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie says, leaning down for a return kiss, smiling weakly against Melanie’s lips. “See you soon.”

When Martin first heard the bustle outside his door – coworkers venturing outside their solitary offices to trade whispered questions and eager gossip as word of paramedics in the archives made its way upstairs – his stomach gave a little lurch: a combination of horror and wonder. He hadn’t expected Melanie to change her mind – he knows how determined she can be once she’s settled on a course of action; how desperate she was to extricate herself from Elias’ – Jonah’s – schemes. Still, though, faced with the reality of it, he found himself in awe of her nerve.

That was yesterday. Martin didn’t get much work done, preoccupied as he was. He isn’t having an easier time of it today: his attention keeps slipping away to linger in remembrances of sterile hospital rooms and muted hallways, thoughts drowned out by the ghosts of sirens and beeping machinery.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Martin jolts in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. It only takes an instant longer for his alarm to mutate into aggravation.

“Peter!” Martin spins around to glower at the man. “How many times do I have to–”

Peter flaps a dismissive hand. “To be honest, Martin, the drop in temperature tends to tip most people off. The only reason you continue to be surprised by my arrival is because you’ve become acclimated to the Forsaken.”

The revelation is slow to sink in, a stark chill blooming in Martin’s chest and snaking its roots outwards. Only now that it’s been brought to his attention can he feel the nip in the air.

“Here I was certain you were becoming estranged from our patron, but it seems I needn’t have worried.” Peter’s smile is laced with malice. “Or should I?”

Martin says nothing, eyes wide and stinging from the now-conspicuous cold. Peter sighs, folds his hands behind his back, and begins a meandering back-and-forth pace.

“Our success is dependent on your voluntary isolation, Martin.”

“Yeah.” The word turns to fog as it touches the air, and Martin finds himself transfixed by the sight. “You’ve said.”

“It seems you need a reminder.”

The condescension dripping from the words is enough to drag Martin back into the present moment. Heat rises in his cheeks, contrasting with the temperature in the room and making the chill that much more noticeable.

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” he snaps. “You keep expecting me to just – go along with whatever you’re scheming, no questions asked.”

“You ask many questions, Martin –”

“Yeah, and you never answer them! You’re so – so bloody cryptic about all of this.”

“Martin, Martin,” Peter says, placating in the most patronizing way possible. Martin bristles: he hates the way Peter says his name. “There’s no need to get so worked up –”

“If you want me to be a partner in – in whatever it is you’re planning, you can’t expect me to go on blind trust!”

“I’m still conducting my own research,” Peter says mildly. “I would rather not confuse you with extraneous details before I have all the kinks worked out.”

“I’m not an idiot –”

“Rest assured,” Peter interrupts, “if I was capable of stopping the Extinction alone, I would. Unfortunately, it will require someone touched by the Beholding.”

“Why?”

“Because it requires this place, and this place” – Peter’s lip curls in distaste – “is the Eye’s seat of power. The One Alone has no dominion here.” Martin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You are the only one who can do this, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin repeats.

Judging from the muscle ticking in Peter’s jaw, his limited supply of patience for conversation is precipitously depleting.

“No, really,” Martin presses, “why me? I mean” – he spreads his arms out with a scornful chuckle – “look at me. I’m not exactly hero material, am I?”

“That really depends on you. I can’t force you to cooperate. It won’t even work unless you’re a willing participant.”

“And what makes you think that your plan is the only way? You – you keep going on about how it’s my choice. Well – what if I choose to work with the others? It can’t hurt to have more eyes on the problem –” Martin rolls his eyes at Peter’s unconcealed revulsion. “Yeah, I know. No one would ever accuse you of being a team player, obviously. But I can be the liaison; you don’t have to interact with anyone at all.” Would prefer you don’t interact with anyone at all, Martin thinks. “I mean, that’s already my role, isn’t it? Dealing with people so you don’t have to?”

“Martin,” Peter says, low and dangerous.

“I’ll do it off the clock, even. I’ll isolate myself in my office during the workday, or whatever” – Martin gives a flippant wave of his hand – “and continue researching the Extinction.” And practically running the whole damn place on an assistant’s salary, he grouses silently. “After hours I’ll pursue my own research with the others.”

“Part-time isolation will not suffice to equip you with the power you’ll need.” Peter presses his lips into a pale, rigid line. “Be reasonable. Are you really willing to risk an apocalypse, just because you can’t appreciate solitude?”

“If it starts to look like there’s no other option, I’ll reconsider.”

“And if the Extinction emerges while you’re wasting time searching for an alternative that doesn’t exist?”

“Based on the limited information you’ve given me, I don’t think the Extinction is going to just… emerge overnight. I’m still not even convinced it’s going to be worse than any other Fear. I mean, the Flesh is relatively new, isn’t it? And it didn’t… leave the fear economy in shambles, or whatever.”

“It isn’t about competition, Martin.” Peter releases a slow plume of fog through his nose before continuing, voice cool but simmering with pique just under the surface. “The Extinction is different from the other Powers. It is defined by widescale eradication. The other Powers may seek to change the world, but none of them strive for a world without us.”

“But what makes you so sure the Extinction would?”

Peter’s eyes narrow. Ignoring him, Martin runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he replays Jon’s impassioned conjectures on the matter: It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one.

“What’s to say it wouldn’t be just fine with the world as it is, like the End?” Martin says, more confidently now. “People have been prophesying about the end of the world for – all of human history, probably. I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon. Maybe at its core the Extinction is just… the fear of an uncertain future. And a particular future doesn’t have to be realized in order to inspire fear, as long as the potential is always there. It’s about the suspense – the ‘what ifs’, the unknown, the – the lack of control in it all.” Martin laughs. “In a way, that’s… that’s what most fears boil down to, isn’t it?”

“The stakes are rather high to gamble on a thought experiment, don’t you think?” The temperature plunges a few more degrees as Peter speaks. “I think that the most important ‘what if’ you should concern yourself with is what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not?” Martin counters. “You act so authoritative, but aren’t you also just speculating? When I agreed to work with you, you told me you would provide me with evidence to support your theory. So far, I’m not convinced. You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ I mean – if it’s between trusting you and – and trusting Jon, and the others? You can’t really be surprised if I choose them over you.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter tuts, shaking his head with derisive, disingenuous pity. “Since when has the trust you’ve placed in others ever been reciprocated?”

“I trust him,” Martin says defiantly.

“But does he trust you?” Peter pauses for effect. “Of all the times you’ve allowed yourself to form attachments, has anyone even once genuinely returned those affections?”

Jon did.

Whatever expression Martin is wearing brings a sneer to Peter’s face. Martin clenches his teeth and ignores him.

Jon does, he corrects. Present tense. He said as much.

Martin still can’t fathom what Jon could possibly see in him, but Jon wouldn’t lie about something like that, right? He wouldn’t.

…would he?

No, he wouldn’t, Martin chides. You know he wouldn’t. Trust him.

“Sure,” Peter persists, “you may open yourself up to the potential for something more, but you know as well as I do that it won’t last. Is the inevitable loss really worth the risk?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says. He tries to ignore the slight quaver that insinuates itself into the declaration. “But if I never take the risk, I’ll never know, will I?”

“I think you already know the answer.” Peter’s pale eyes glitter with spite. “Remember what it felt like, languishing at the Archivist’s deathbed. Recall the state you were in when you first came to me.”

The words are incisive, sliding under Martin’s skin and lodging there like shrapnel. He can feel his confidence waver, the conviction he stood fast on only seconds ago splintering underneath him like thin ice.

“How many times do you think he can court death and survive? He all but died stopping the last apocalypse; he was willing to bury himself alive for a woman who tried to kill him. How do you think he’ll react if you tell him about any of this? You think he’ll listen to reason? Trust in your judgment?” Peter fixes Martin with a smug, hungry look. “Or will he throw himself in front of the first bullet he sees?”

He already knows about all of this, Martin reminds himself. Jon isn’t about to sacrifice himself on account of the Extinction. Moreover, he seems to be genuinely committed to working as a team rather than striking out on his own.

But he also sees himself as a cataclysm waiting to happen, says the nagging doubt skulking in the far corners of Martin’s mind. As much as Jon insists that he doesn’t want to die, he’s already lived through one apocalypse. Martin has no doubt that Jon would sacrifice himself to prevent another, if it came down to it.

Jon is a powder keg of fear and guilt, and there is no shortage of potential ignition sources waiting in the wings. It only takes one untimely spark to set an archive ablaze.

“I trust him,” Martin repeats to himself, but the statement is rendered feeble by the leaden, frozen knot unfurling in his chest.

“Can you really weather another round of grief?” Peter continues, triumphant. He knows he’s found a gap in Martin’s defenses; all he needs to do now is twist the knife. “You’ve already done your mourning, cut the infection off at the source. Let him back in, and you only open yourself up to more pain. Better a numbed scar than a wound that never heals, don’t you think?”

“No.” There’s something off about Martin’s voice – as if it doesn’t belong to him; as if it’s originating from outside of himself, faint and frail and faraway, smothered by the cold, empty fog clogging his lungs. “N-no, I…”

“Connection is a fleeting, fickle thing,” Peter persists. “It’s a lie people tell themselves. The truth is that we are all alone. In the end, all we have is ourselves. Think about it.”

Unthinkingly, Martin shrinks away as Peter steps closer.

“You asked for more evidence.” Peter slides a few statement folders onto the desk. “Take some time to yourself. Consider whether you’re willing to wager on the fate of the world.”

When Martin looks up, he is alone.

“It’s so loud,” Daisy mutters heatedly, stalking to and fro like a panther in a cage. She scratches furiously at her forearms as she goes, blunt fingernails leaving faint red stripes on pale skin.

“Daisy,” Jon says evenly, “I think maybe you should –”

“Itch I can’t scratch.” She pivots on her heel, retracing her short path in the opposite direction. “Feels like fire under my skin.”

“I don’t think clawing your skin off is going to help.”

Daisy barks a laugh. “With what claws?” She stops short and brandishes the backs of her trembling hands, fingers splayed to highlight nails gnawed to the quick, ragged cuticles stained rust-brown with dried blood. “Dull now.” Her eyes go unfocused, staring vaguely at her hands as if she doesn’t recognize them. “Too dull.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he means it.

It never gets easier to witness her like this, frenetic and fraying in the throes of the Hunt’s compulsion. These spells have a way of making her features look sharper, her mannerisms more animalistic. She’s all protruding bones and sallow skin, but that seeming frailty does nothing to tame the violence thrumming in her veins. If anything, that all-consuming hunger only makes her more fearsome.

Jon’s strict rations have given him an underfed, pinched look as well, but at least he has something. Not enough to put meat on his bones, so to speak, but enough to stave off starvation. Daisy, though…

When Jon takes a step forward, she rounds on him with teeth bared and a snarl in her throat. Jon flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re afraid of me.” Daisy exhales an exhausted rattle of a laugh, as if vindicated. “Good. You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jon says. “I have an overactive startle reflex. Always have, really.”

“You’re lying.” Daisy breathes heavily through her nose, fists clenched at her sides now. “Admit it.”

Jon knows what she’s trying to do. She wants him to lash out, to bite back, to make her bleed. He’s uncomfortably familiar with that craving. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he reiterates.

“Liar,” Daisy hisses, fixing him with a baleful glare.

He’s seen her like this many times before, hunger-ravaged and swamped by bloodlust. She’ll doggedly bash herself against the nearest witness to her shame like a ship crashed against a jetty, driven forward again and again by cresting waves of guilt and self-loathing until she’s free-floating wreckage. Every time, it gets more and more difficult to gather up all the debris and repair the damage. Jon fears that one of these days, the storm will pass and there won’t be enough pieces left to put her back together.

“I’m not a knife you can cut yourself on, Daisy,” he says patiently.

Daisy looks positively mutinous, mouth opening and closing several times before erupting: “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I used to be,” Jon admits, leaning back against the tunnel wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Before the Buried. I was terrified of you. Dreaded every moment I had to be alone with you. Thought it was only a matter of time before you finished the job.”

“It was,” she rasps out – and with that, her shoulders slump and her fists relax to hang limply at her sides, fingers jumping and twitching with the last dregs of her agitation.

“I know. But then you changed. You were different, after the Buried. As afraid of yourself as I used to be of you. As afraid of yourself as I was of myself.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks. “I looked at you and saw my own fear reflected back at me. There are so many things to be afraid of. You were – you are trying very hard not to be one of them.”

“If I’m afraid of me, you should be, too.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Jon asks, shaping each word carefully to keep the compulsion at bay.

She pauses, considering the question.

“No,” she says eventually. “Afraid for you, sometimes.”

“As I am for you.” Jon’s tentative smile fades after a moment. “I’ll admit, I do have… reflexive reactions, sometimes. There were a few incidents where I walked into the breakroom and you were holding a knife, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in before my conscious brain could catch up with reality.”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, the look on her face isn’t pleading so much as it is resigned. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. Jon doubts she ever will.

It’s just one more thing they have in common.

“I know,” he says quietly. “To be clear, I don’t feel unsafe with you, as you are now. It’s just… flashbacks. They can be – unpredictable. And if I’m already feeling on edge, or – or not quite present, it doesn’t take much to set me off. But,” he adds, giving her a serious look, “I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. That only puts me more on edge.”

“Fine. But will you tell me if I do something to scare you?”

“Yes.” She made the same request last time. “But I’ve never had to. You could always feel when I was afraid. From a few rooms away, even.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a choked laugh. “Your blood is – very loud sometimes.”

“And now?”

These episodes tend to be capricious. Sometimes, what seems to be the calm after the storm proves to be only a lull before a second wind. If the way she’s wobbling on her feet and favoring one leg is any indication, Jon suspects that the worst of the flare-up has passed for now, taking her adrenaline surge with it. Still, he waits for her confirmation. Daisy takes a minute to mull over the question, head cocked slightly to the side as if listening.

“Quieter,” she says.

With that, Jon lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back against the wall, beckoning her over to take a seat. She hesitates for a moment longer before following his lead, slumping down next to him with a labored sigh.

“Sorry for growling at you,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Daisy tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You said I ended up going back to the Hunt last time.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“September. But – but that doesn’t mean it has to happen again,” he adds hurriedly when he sees her face fall in a mixture of anguish and resignation. “It was – sort of a perfect storm of extenuating circumstances. Like I said before, if you didn’t let the Hunt back in, you and Basira would likely have been killed. But I think you knew you wouldn’t be coming back from it. Before you changed, you made Basira promise to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And did she?”

“She lost track of you in the chaos. You gave chase after one of the Hunters. Once you killed her, the other Hunter started hunting you. For revenge.” Jon’s voice drops to a low murmur. “A few weeks later, the world ended.”

Which makes it sound far more passive than it actually was, but Jon isn’t in the mood for a scolding should he opt for an ‘I’ statement.

“And then what?”

“You were a full-fledged Hunter in a – a perpetual fear generator of a world,” Jon says grimly. “Do you really need to hear the details?”

“Tell me,” Daisy says. “Please.”

Jon understands the need, but recounting the apocalypse never gets any easier. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I opened the door and let all the Fears into this reality,” he begins, “the world was divvied up into thousands of different domains, each belonging to a different shade of terror. With few exceptions, most people were confined to one domain – usually whatever aligned with their deepest fears. Avatars and monsters were subject to the Ceaseless Watcher, but otherwise able to exercise control over the humans in the domains of their patrons. Most seemed to stake out territory and settle in one place – customizing their own little spheres of influence, creating playgrounds of their own making. But some got around. You were one of the ones that traveled.”

“What was –” Daisy grimaces. “Who was I hunting?”

“Well… in that place, no one got what they deserved, only what would hurt the most. And people are rarely afraid of just one thing. Most were magnets for multiple fears. The more nomadic Avatars and monsters would gravitate towards whatever individuals were most susceptible to their power, so to speak.” He bites his lip. There’s really no tactful way to phrase this next part. “In your case, you had a roster of specific targets that you were tracking. Former prey. Whether you were drawn to them because of their own fear of you, or because some part of you judged them to have ‘gotten away,’ so to speak… I’m not entirely certain. It may have been a bit of both.”

“I see,” Daisy murmurs. “Guess it makes sense that I would rank high among some people’s greatest fears.”

“Basira was tracking you when we ran into her. We were with her when we found you.”

“And was I… still me?”

“Yes and no,” Jon says hesitantly. “You were you, in a way, but only a small part of you. The Hunter. Everything else was buried too deep. Drowned. Even if I could have brought you back, it would have killed you. You – you didn’t even recognize me, or Martin. You recognized Basira – saw her as pack, wanted her to join you in the Hunt – but…”

“You were prey,” Daisy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You never did manage to grow a self-preservation instinct, did you?” Daisy squints at him. “I went full monster on you, and you still want me to sit next to you now.”

“You had sharper teeth then,” Jon says drily. Daisy scoffs and nudges his shoulder with hers. She doesn’t draw back after making contact, and when Jon doesn’t pull away either, she leans into him.

“Basira kept her promise?” Daisy asks after a minute.

“Yes. She didn’t want to, but…” Jon swallows thickly, the memory of Basira’s heartbreak bringing to mind his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

Daisy rubs at her chest with one hand, as if to soothe an ache. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of her, was it?”

“Maybe not,” Jon sighs. “It seems fair choices are hard to come by, for most of us.”

“I… I don’t want her to have to make that choice this time.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s never going to stop, is it?” Daisy glances at him, allowing her head to rest lightly on his shoulder. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“Melanie got away,” Daisy says, a tinge of bargaining in her tone. “She managed to purge the Slaughter. And break away from the Eye.”

“Her situation was… different from ours. She wasn’t as far gone as we are. The Slaughter hadn’t fully claimed her, and the Eye never took her as an Avatar. But you’ve been living with the Hunt for most of your life; I signed myself over to the Beholding the moment I became the Archivist. We’ve become… attached to our patrons, dependent on them for survival. Symbiotic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“You really don’t think there’s a way back, then.”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen it before, in my future, but – the world was different then. During the apocalypse, I was able to, uh… shift a person’s status from Watched to Watcher. I – I mean, technically everyone was Watched – the Eye had dominion over everything – but I could give someone control over one of the smaller domains. Create new Avatars, for lack of a better term.

“But turn a Watcher into solely the Watched, and they would typically unravel. I don’t know if that’s because the full focus of the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze just happens to be lethal – particularly for Avatars aligned with other Powers – or if an Avatar is simply unable to survive being cut off from their patron regardless of the means of separation. I do Know that I wouldn’t have been able to survive being cut off from the Eye unscathed. I was… too much a part of the Eye in that reality. Not sure about now. For either of us.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘no.’”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I don’t know. Supposedly escaping the Buried was impossible, and here we are.”

“Apples and oranges,” Daisy says sullenly.

“Maybe. I think it’s all too complex for clear-cut categories. Even the hard-and-fast ‘rules’ are only as strong as our collective belief in them. Almost like our expectations shore them up. I’ve witnessed all of reality being rewritten – all physical laws and supposed universal constants reshaped to center the Eye.” He reaches one hand up to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. “After all I’ve Seen, it’s difficult to conceive of anything being categorically impossible. Between all the dream logic and reality bending, there’s plenty of space for firsts and exceptions to the rules.”

‘I don’t knows’ are where the hope lives, Martin said once. At the time, Jon teased him for being a hopeless romantic, but truthfully, Jon was just as hopelessly endeared by Martin’s belief in such things.

“Have you talked to Georgie yet today?” Daisy asks, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Oh, uh – yes. This morning.”

“And?”

“Melanie was out of surgery and stable, but she wasn’t awake yet. Georgie promised to call tonight with an update.” Assuming nothing major comes up before then, a worried voice in Jon’s head supplies. He shakes his head to jog the thought loose. “Speaking of Georgie… have you given any thought to her suggestion?”

“What,” Daisy says, drolly skeptical, “playing a video game?”

“I realize it’s… somewhat out of the box, but it might be worth a try. Like Georgie said, there are multiplayer games where you can, uh… hunt down other players.”

Daisy plucks absently at her collar, glowering at the opposite wall as if the bricks there committed a personal offense. “It’s not the same.”

“A simulation might not come close to a real hunt, no, but – you might still get something out of it? Maybe?” Daisy directs her scowl up at the ceiling. Jon only digs his heels in, undeterred. “There are even some that have a survival horror theme. An aesthetic that already puts players in the mindset to be frightened, you know?”

“People play those games for fun, Sims.” She finally looks at him, eyes narrowed. “It’s about thrills, not mortal fear.”

“Sometimes genuine fear can sneak through. Haven’t you ever been so creeped out by a horror story that it stayed with you after nightfall?”

“Not really?”

“O-oh. Well, some people have that experience.” Jon gives an awkward little cough. “Anyway, under the right circumstances, a game can get the adrenaline pumping as well as a chase can. A fight-or-flight response doesn’t necessarily require a real physical threat.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, transparently cynical. “Do you really think the Hunt is going to be satisfied with jump scares and – and low-stakes adrenaline rushes filtered through a screen?”

“No,” Jon admits. “But it might take the edge off. Sort of like reading old statements does for me. Not enough to stop you starving, but maybe enough to distract from the hunger pangs. At least temporarily. If nothing else, you did say you need a new hobby, and it’s not like this place is overflowing with viable entertainment options.”

“I guess,” Daisy sighs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m paying rent. May as well squander my paycheck.”

“If that’s the case, you should see if that eBay listing for that vintage The Archers board game is still up,” Jon says drily. “Last I checked, it was £2 with no bidders.”

“Yeah, and £30 shipping.”

“Sounds like £32 well spent, if you ask me.”

Daisy snorts and bumps her shoulder against his. “You, Jonathan Sims, are an absolute menace.”

Adrift and thoroughly divorced from the concept of time, end of the workday passes Martin by without his notice. Once again, he wonders whether Peter deliberately assigned him an office with no external window, not only to put another wall between him and the rest of the world, but to make it easier for him to lose track of time.

For an interminable stretch of time he sits catatonic, mind peppered with sporadic sensory input: Dead-weight limbs, listless and foreign-feeling. The brush of fabric resting against bare skin, every point of weightless contact a violation. The distant ticking of clockwork, rote and irrevocable.

Stand up, comes the thought, detached and intrusive: an instruction he cannot parse; empty phonemes wafted into a vacant mind, abandoned there to echo and disperse until they lose all meaning. A fragment of a signal from brain to nerves to fingers presses numb fingertips to thumbs, a cautious test yielding no sensation but for the vague, spongey give of flesh.

Then the body ostensibly belonging to him is on its feet, the connection between floor and soles disturbingly incongruent with unreality. Walking now, every footfall jarring in its impact; every step stretched and blurred like a botched time-lapse photograph; every molasses-sluggish forward motion met with invisible resistance, like swimming against a sludgy current.

He does not remember how or when or under whose direction he arrives in the Archives, swaying at the threshold of the Head Archivist’s office. Empty and still. Silence so pervasive it’s almost tangible. Viscous and inexorable. Trapping him like a fly in honey. Drowning.

When next he becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s wavering at the bottom of a ladder. Walls curving up and over his head, a brickwork warren stretching on and out into the murk.

Standing in place. Hovering like an afterimage. Rootless and incorporeal. Searching for… staring at… calling to…

There: something real.

“Martin?” Jon’s breath fogs the air as he speaks, but the way he says the name… his voice seems to cradle the word, shielding it against the cold. He sits up straighter, keen gaze sweeping the area like a lighthouse beacon. “Martin, is that you?”

That’s me, Martin thinks, and then, wonderingly: He says your name like it’s something precious.

At that thought, Jon’s eyes land on him like a searchlight.

“There you are.” His soft smile immediately falters, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

He’s sat on the floor with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest, and Daisy pressed up against his side in a mirrored position, sharing a pair of corded earphones. Daisy is already thumbing at the screen of her phone, presumably pausing whatever it is they’re listening to, as Jon removes his earbud.

Martin opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs has turned to viscid fog and the confused tangle of half-formed thoughts in his mind refuse to coalesce into actual words. Jon exchanges a glance with Daisy, who is already moving to stand. Martin wants to object – she doesn’t have to leave on his account; he can see that they’re busy; he’s fine; he’s just overreacting – but before he can cobble together a protest, she’s halfway to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

“I’m alright now,” Martin can hear her say.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks in a low murmur.

“Yeah.” She winces as she straightens her spine. “Knowing Basira, she’s still pouring over the same statements as she was this morning. She could do with an interruption.”

“Can you manage the ladder?”

Daisy stretches her leg out, testing her mobility. “Think so.”

They give each other another long look, a shared nod, and without another word, Daisy staggers her way to the exit and mounts the ladder.

As it does every time he witnesses these displays of unspoken understanding between them, an ugly pang of jealousy burns in Martin’s chest – some combination of envy, inadequacy, longing, and loneliness. Possessiveness, almost – and an instant later, the shame sets in.

But then the trapdoor closes, Jon looks Martin in the eye again, and the sincere, tender warmth sheltering there is enough to leave Martin reeling. It’s hard to comprehend anyone – let alone Jonathan Sims – looking at him like that; difficult to reconcile requited affection with a lifetime of fruitless want. Martin can’t shake the feeling that it will always be this way – and that his inability to trust in unconditional love is precisely what makes him so unlovable in the first place.

Jon clears his throat and pats the floor beside him. He’s seated on a blanket, Martin just now notices, folded over several times to cushion the hard ground.

He’d better not be napping down here, Martin thinks to himself.

“Martin,” Jon says, in that impossibly soft tone he’s taken to using around Martin these days, “I’d like you to come sit, if you’re amenable.”

It’s such a Jon way of phrasing the invitation, and the familiarity it engenders has Martin accepting without a conscious thought. He settles himself beside Jon, close but not touching. Those few inches of distance manage to be simultaneously loathsome and assuring. Martin lets his hand rest in that vacant space, fingers clenching around a fistful of blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand twitch, as if fighting back the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he starts to rub the fabric of his trouser leg between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you need right now?” Jon asks.

“I…” Martin pauses, unsettled by the sound of his own voice, grating and almost unfamiliar to his ears.

“Take your time.”

It takes a minute for Martin to wrap his mouth around more than one syllable.

“Nothing,” he says, the weight of the word nearly pinning his tongue in place.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Several more minutes pass before Martin is able to construct a full sentence.

“I’m just being stupid.” The words seem to echo faintly in the tunnel, despite how quietly he says them.

“What do you need?” Jon asks again.

“Nothing,” Martin repeats dully. He doesn’t need anything.

Jon doesn’t immediately respond. Martin can feel himself go rigid, anticipating… what – aggravation, impatience, disengagement? But Jon only runs a thumb along his jawline, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “what do you want, then? What would – what would help you feel better right now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin says in a voice so feeble it’s nearly inaudible. He flexes his fingers uncertainly, chasing after any physical sensation at all, only to find them numb and deathlike. The helpless sigh that shudders out of him wants to be a whimper. “I just – didn’t – don’t – feel real. Feels like I’m not really here.”

“Hmm.” Jon looks at him – really looks at him, taking his time to study Martin’s face. “Well, I can confirm that you are here.”

“You… you can see me?” Martin asks meekly, pleadingly, dreading the answer.

“Yes.” Jon pauses. “And if you’re agonizing over being a bother, don’t, because you aren’t. I always like seeing you.”

He should trust Jon – he does trust Jon – but it’s still a constant struggle to drown out that Lonely part of him that insists that isolation is safer, more dependable, and far more habitable. Unthinkingly, Martin reaches over, hand trembling in the air above Jon’s, fingertips just barely ghosting across scarred skin.

“Would you like me to hold your hand…?” Jon ventures.

Martin’s fingers curve inward as he pulls back slightly. “I, um.”

“You can say no,” Jon reminds him.

“I… I want it, but I – I – I don’t know if I can handle it right now, and I –” Martin draws back entirely, flapping both hands in frustration, trying to relieve the pins-and-needles sensation prickling through his veins. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”

Martin grimaces at the outburst, but Jon doesn’t seem to be judging him. Instead, he’s looking off to the side, a crease between his eyebrows now, as if he’s working through a problem.

“No skin-to-skin contact,” he says to himself, and then he looks to Martin. “Pressure helps me sometimes, when I feel like I’m not real. You could… lean against me? If you want.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to,” Jon rushes to reassure him.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to. I guess I’m just…” Martin can feel himself flush with embarrassment. “It’s daft, but I’m worried that I’ll be – I don’t know, incorporeal, or something.”

“I distinctly recall you telling me that you’re not a ghost.”

It takes a few seconds for Jon’s deadpan humor to sink in. When it does, Martin nearly chokes on a surprised laugh.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was a ghost,” he says, cracking a smile. The tight, bitter-cold knot in his chest yields just a little, like ice disintegrating under a spring thaw.

“In my defense, I was quite distraught at the time.” Jon’s eyes wrinkle at the corners and Martin is struck by overwhelming fondness. He doesn’t pull away when Jon reaches out, open palm hovering just above his shoulder. “May I?”

Cautiously, Martin nods.

“Hmm.” Jon applies the lightest touch at first, watching Martin’s face carefully. He waits until Martin nods for him to continue before he presses down more firmly. Before long, Martin can feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through his jumper. That warmth carries over into Jon’s smile. “Feels solid to me.”

The confirmation comes as a relief, as foolish as that makes Martin feel. He braces himself and leans against Jon’s side, releasing his held breath when his body meets with tangible resistance. At first he worries that Jon, scrawny as he is, won’t be able to support the weight, but he doesn’t budge when Martin melts against him. After that, it’s a struggle for Martin to keep his eyes open.

Jon must notice, because he whispers, “You can rest. I’ll be here.”

Martin doesn’t even have the strength to nod, let alone the energy to argue. He allows the steady rise and fall of Jon’s chest to lull him into an almost meditative state, his mind still floating somewhere outside of himself, but now tethered to the ground.

Then the silence starts nipping at his heels.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Did you know that highland cattle have a double coat?” Jon says after a minute of consideration. “It insulates them against the cold. The outer layer is long – the longest hair of any cattle breed, in fact – and oily, which helps ward off the rain. Underneath is softer, almost woolly hair.”

Once Jon gets started, those little scraps of trivia soon progress to a nearly encyclopedic lecture. It doesn’t take long for Martin to lose himself in the rich timbre of Jon’s voice as he goes on about various Scottish breeds of cattle. Although he doesn’t fall fully asleep, Martin manages to drift in and out of consciousness enough that he loses track of time once more. This time, though, it’s a comfortable daze: there’s someone to keep him from straying too far.

At some point, he unthinkingly seeks out Jon’s hand. Jon presses his thumb into the center of Martin’s palm, rubbing small circles there, coaxing Martin further into peaceful relaxation.

“Sorry for interrupting you and Daisy earlier,” Martin murmurs groggily into Jon’s shoulder.

“Oh, we were just listening to The Archers.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Martin asks, opening one eye to scrutinize Jon’s expression.

“Unfortunately not.”

“You like The Archers.”

“Good lord, no. Blame Daisy.”

“Daisy likes The Archers,” Martin says, even more dubiously, sitting up now to squint at Jon.

“There are stranger things.”

Martin snorts and nestles into Jon’s side again. “If you say so.”

“Feeling better now?” Martin reflexively snuggles closer. Jon laughs softly, a little puff of a breath that rustles Martin’s hair. “I’m not going to deny you cuddles if the answer is ‘yes,’ you know.”

“Cuddles,” Martin whispers, the word dissolving into a clipped giggle.

“What?” Jon tilts his head. There’s a puzzled scowl on his face, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should take offense. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Cuddles,” Martin repeats, in a poor approximation of Jon’s voice this time. “Not a word I ever expected to hear from you.”

“Quiet, you,” Jon huffs, but he can’t disguise the way his indignant pout cracks into a smile under the weight of his own amusement. He almost seems to preen, as if pulling a laugh from Martin is a victory on which to pride himself. He reaches up with his free hand, pausing just above the top of Martin’s head. “May I?”

At Martin’s affirmative, Jon begins to comb his fingers through Martin’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. For the briefest of moments, some primal fragment of him recoils from the contact, instinctively unnerved by the vulnerability inherent to such closeness. Martin spurns that voice, breathes through its fit of angst and panic, and leans into the touch.

Little by little, step by step, he’s acclimating. He just wishes that it wasn’t such a process each and every time he lets his guard down like this.

“Bad day?” Jon asks once Martin settles.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Martin groans. “But I should.”

“Only if you want to.”

“No, you should know, I just…” Martin heaves a wearied sigh. “Peter’s back.”

Jon gasps like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. The hand stroking Martin’s hair abruptly stills; the other, still clasped in Martin’s, constricts like a death-grip.

“Did he hurt you?” The question is steeped in an artificial, fragile sort of calm, but Jon can’t quite mask the intensity buzzing just under the surface: fear, protectiveness, and desperation all intermingled and reinforced by that ominous inkling of power that, despite his intentions, lurks behind every word.

“He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just… trying to get me to recommit to the Lonely.” Martin scoffs. “And of course he was trying to do it in a way that would make me feel like it was my idea. Get me to convince myself that it was what I wanted, rather than something he was pressuring me into.”

“Of all the Powers, the Lonely is one of the most insidious, I think,” Jon says quietly. “It seeks out victims who already have one foot in the Lonely, reinforces those fears, promises kinship – a paradoxical form of it, anyway – and then it just… waits. Spend enough time disconnected from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take long to start telling yourself the lie that it’s for the best. That it’s what you are; that it’s all you’re meant to be.”

“And I fell for it,” Martin mutters.

“Anyone would, subjected to the right conditions.” Jon waits until he catches Martin’s eye before he continues. “It isn’t your fault. This is what the Fears do. It’s what they are. They find an opening, they sink their hooks in, and they pull you under. They don’t let go until either you drown or you learn to breathe fear. The only way out is for someone to throw you a lifeline, and even then, the odds aren’t great. And the Lonely in particular – one of the first things it does is make it difficult to even conceive of a lifeline. It’s hard to catch hold of one if you never think to look for it.”

“I thought you hated convoluted metaphors.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately the Powers That Be tend to elude any sort of straightforward, concrete discussion,” Jon grouses. “Just one more reason to begrudge them, really. My point is, the Lonely is an insufferable liar and so is Peter.”

“What do you know, they’re perfect for each other.” The remark succeeds in putting a lopsided smirk on Jon’s face, much to Martin’s delight. “Anyway, Peter said his plan won’t work unless I’m voluntarily Lonely.”

“He’s right, although his plan has nothing to do with the Extinction. He needs you to choose the Lonely because those were the terms of his bet with Jonah. He poaches you out from under the Eye – gets you to pledge yourself to the Forsaken – and he wins, with the Institute as a prize. He fails to convert you, he loses, and he does what Jonah wants, which is for me to be marked by the Lonely.”

Jon says that last part so nonchalantly. As if it’s a foregone conclusion; as if he’s become so accustomed to dehumanization that it doesn’t even give him pause. Martin grits his teeth, biting back a surge of anger on Jon’s behalf.

“Yeah, well,” he says tightly, “Peter bet on the wrong horse.”

A sharp intake of breath leaves Jon sounding strangled when he says, eyes wide and lips parted, “Oh?”

“I mean, he can’t just sic the Lonely on me like he would any other victim, right? That wouldn’t count as a win. He needs me to choose it. And I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah?” The expression of unguarded, cautious hope dawning on Jon’s face makes him look years younger.

“Yeah,” Martin says, feeling increasingly emboldened. “The funny thing is, I don’t – I don’t think I ever chose loneliness. I never wanted it – that was just a lie I told myself, and the Lonely just – echoed it back to me. S-so Peter’s out of luck, because if there are other options, then the Lonely will always be involuntary. Because it’s not what I want.”

“You – you mean it?” Jon brightens, leaning forward.

Martin’s heart skips a beat and flutters hummingbird-quick against his ribs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jon smile – not like this, that is, beaming and uninhibited and altogether breathtaking. Immediately, Martin decides that he wants more. It seems wrong for something so exhilarating to be so rare.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, and it doesn’t matter, because Jon is in his lap, and Jon is nuzzling into his shoulder, and Jon is here and solid and so, so alive in Martin’s arms, breathing warm and steady into his neck, smiling against his skin, hands scrabbling at his back to cling to his jumper. Martin’s fingers seek purchase of their own, and then something clicks.

“Jon,” he says, leaning back just far enough to confirm his suspicion, “is this mine?”

“Are you just now noticing?” Jon asks, devastatingly fond. “Martin, I’ve been wearing this jumper off and on for the last several weeks.”

“You have?” Martin all but squeaks, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “No. No, you –” Jon’s grin is widening, leaving Martin increasingly flustered. “I – I mean, yes, you have, obviously, I know that, but I – I – I –” Martin gulps, mortified, as Jon finally fails to contain his suppressed laughter. “Look, I didn’t recognize it until just now, alright?”

“Well,” Jon says, ducking his head to chuckle softly against Martin’s throat, “it’s mine now, and you can’t have it back.”

Which is fine with Martin, really, because he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t helplessly charmed by the newfound knowledge that not only is Jon an unrepentant clothes-thief, but apparently also an insatiable cuddler.

End Notes:

To address Martin’s concern: Jon does, in fact, nap in the tunnels sometimes. Listen, with Jurgen Leitner (derogatory) in absentia, there was an opening for the position of Beleaguered Tunnel-Haunting Hermit and Jon has all the necessary qualifications.

So anyways, who else thinks Peter’s bio on a dating app would probably just be that “every living creature on this earth dies alone” quote from Donnie Darko? I bet he thinks 'survival of the fittest' means 'every man for himself'. What an insufferable clown.

No Archive-speak in this chapter to cite.

I wanted to make a joke about a The Archers-themed Monopoly, so I asked duckduckgo if it was a thing. Sadly, it is not. There IS, however, a 1960s The Archers board game, and yes, there ARE eBay listings for it.

The first section of this chapter was written before eps 190-192 dropped. I think it still lines up well enough with what we saw of Melanie & Georgie’s characterization in these most recent episodes, with the qualifier that things have gone very differently in this AU compared with canon. (Also, I took some liberties wrt Georgie’s not-feeling-fear thing, obvi. Some of it matches with the most recent episodes, some of it not so much, but I decided to keep it anyways.)

Oh and I think I might have given myself cavities with the last section of this chapter. (I’m aro-spec; it’s hard to tell when I’m going over the top, but hopefully it’s fluffy without being overly cloying.)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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jincherie · 5 years

Text

mystery gang; unsolved | PT. 1

☾ — pairing: taehyung x reader ☾ — genre: demon au, supernatural/paranormal au, buzzfeed unsolved au/inspired, smut (oncoming), f2l ☾ — words: 8.1k ☾ — rating: adult! this one is sfw, but future part/s will be nsfw ☾ — warnings: demons and haunted houses, supernatural & paranormal themes! some slight dark themes too. ☾ — notes: part one of 2! or maybe three. depends how the next parts go. I’m finishing this over the next few days-- it was meant to be done completely by now, but a combination of life and my usual “accidentally giving the story too much meat” antics have resulted in this! I wanted to stay at least a little true to my word, so here’s the first part!

ever since you met taehyung in one of your first year classes at university, you seemed to click and you hadn’t parted from each other’s side since. you’ve been his friend for a few years now, and your mutual interest in the supernatural and taehyung’s propensity for finding the spotlight wherever he goes led to the two of you starting up your very own supernatural investigation vlog series. friends isnt the only thing you want to be, and one night close to hallow’s eve when the two of you get a little in over your heads in a way you never have been before, you find out that maybe it’s not only you that feels that way.

— posted; 01.11.2019 // masterlist | next⇥

MYSTERY GANG; UNSOLVED — PART ONE

Every creature, past or present, had one true weakness. This weakness was cut from the same cloth of creation as them, complimentary in every sense of the word and a match so perfect and natural it shook even the most corrupt of creatures to their very core. The universe moved to reunite a creature with their weakness only every so often, and when it did there was no question, no refusing it.

Centuries he’d lived, walking the planes of the mortal realm, the underworld, and the space between. He was young, for a demon, and had spent most of his youth chasing pleasures of the flesh and wreaking havoc in the mortal world. He’d had a riot doing so, too, until the fateful day the universe shifted and he met you. A weakness, his weakness. He was thousands of years too young to ever have considered the possibility of such a rare occurrence happening for him, and as such wholly unprepared for what the future held for him. Try as he might he was unable to resist the strings puppeteering him so, and it was with great reluctance that he resigned himself to the remainder of his time spent guarding, protecting, shielding this weakness.

He never imagined he’d end up enjoying it so much.

– x – x – x –

“Can you pass me the lens, Tae? I need to clean it before we pack it all up ready to go.”

Instead of the heavy weight of the camera lens you were expecting, it is a ticklish sensation against the palm of your outstretched hand that greets you. Unimpressed, you look over to see Taehyung tickling your palm with his fingertips, a large grin tugging his lips. When you shift, preparing to smack him, he ceases his movements with a loud laugh. The requested camera lens is quickly placed into your palm to appease you before you get too violent.

“Thank you,” you emphasise, shooting him a sarcastic grin despite the fact you admittedly found his antics a little funny.

“You love it when I tease you,” he scoots closer, huffing and blowing silvery strands out of his eyes so he can nail you with a smouldering look without hindrance. His next words escape on a low breath that has shivers running down your spine that you do your best to hide and ignore. “Admit it.”

“Hmm, don’t think so,” you offer a rebuttal, shooting him a sly look before returning your attention to the lens and cloth in your hold. “But keep trying, maybe one day it will work.”

Taehyung snorts, leaning back on his hands with his legs crossed before him as he lets out another loud laugh at your response. You can feel his eyes on you still, and do your best to ignore it despite how it makes heat crawl and trickle like lava down the column of your spine, dripping slowly into your gut. Year three, month two of pretending the male you befriended so quickly and easily in your first year of university doesn’t have such a powerful, swaying effect on you, and it isn’t getting any easier. His stare alone has the little hairs along your skin raising to attention, body constantly on high alert. If only, if only you had the same effect on him—then perhaps there wouldn’t be such power imbalance in that regard.

As mentioned, you’d met Taehyung around halfway through your first year of university, when the first semester ticked over into the second and you were dealt a whole bunch of new classes, new people, and new seatmates. The second you saw him enter the large lecture theatre your next class was to be held in, you registered that he was far too attractive and therefore painfully out of your league, and made a note to avoid him at all costs to save yourself any future embarrassment. Like any respectable individual who was actively attempting to avoid someone, you shrunk into your seat and focused on scribbling nonsense onto the back cover of your notebook, allowing your hair to fall from its style and shield your face somewhat for maximum sleuth as the walking Adonis began to climb the steps of the aisle.

Your efforts were for null, however, as you’d caught his attention the second he stepped foot into the room. A scent so divine it bordered on sinful brushed his senses upon entry, and he was suddenly aware of one distinct heartbeat amongst the eighty-odd others in the room. His gaze was drawn to a seat in the far middle of the theatre, besides the windows and pushing the title of a back row. There, it was you. The source of the intoxicating scent, the owner of the heart beginning to race in what he pinned to be a mixture of excitement and anxiety, and the most captivating human he’d ever laid eyes on. He made a beeline straight for you.

Of course, you would never be privy to any of that. You just knew that one second you were scribbling aimlessly, waiting for him to pass, and the next you were jerking your head up at the sound of chairs nearby squeaking as people pulled out of the way and—oh god he didn’t go past he was walking straight for you. While you aren’t proud of the flustered, discombobulated manner in which you’d handled the situation and introduced yourself, you are proud to say that after that initial interaction you were quick to develop a resistance, a filter of sorts. You aren’t immune to his wiles and charms, his odd flirtatious remark and heavy-lidded gaze, oh no, no, no. You aren’t immune, but you’ve gotten better at handling it, hiding it. And for that, you’re pretty proud of yourself. Kim Taehyung is a hard man to resist.

You were pleased to find, upon engaging in that initial conversation, that Taehyung wasn’t just a pretty face—he had many interests and hobbies, most if not all of which aligned with your own. The most notable of these, was an interest in the paranormal. When you’d first mentioned it casually, feeling gingerly for how your keen interest would be received before opening yourself up about it, you’d been surprised at the more than eager response you’d received. His eyes had lit up, and something curled and gleamed behind them but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what—a sense like he was smiling to himself registered in your mind but you dismissed it quickly. The more extroverted of the two of you, he’d had no problem diving deep into the topic and dragging you with him.

You can’t really remember any of the finer details of how exactly you’d gotten from point A to point B, but by the end of the semester you were closer friends than you’d ever anticipated and recording the first episode of many to come of your very own paranormal investigation vlog series.

Admittedly, investigating paranormal hot spots and haunted places is something you’ve always thought about and an idea you’ve always toyed with, ever since you were younger, but you’ve always been too much of a… well, too much of a pussy. Something about Taehyung, though, had you changing your mind and agreeing to go through with it. You don’t want to be sappy and say that you feel safer around him, or any of that garbage… except you kind of do. Perhaps it’s less that you feel safer, because some of the locations you’ve been have definitely made you feel anything but—perhaps it’s more so that you feel even if things go haywire, Taehyung is capable of protecting you.

That sounds even sappier than what you were trying to avoid, damn it.

All of that aside, the two of you managed to establish yourselves pretty early on as a strong paranormal investigation team on a few different streaming sites—aptly and humourously called Mystery Gang; Unsolved, after a night spent drinking where you lost a bet to Taehyung and he got naming rights. Despite the odd name, over the years you’ve been doing this, you’ve managed to build up quite an impressive fanbase. A part of you likes to think it’s because you’re so damn funny, but really you know that it’s because Taehyung is drop-dead gorgeous and there’s a solid ratio of about eighty-twenty of females to males that watch your vlogs—and you know Taehyung has all the females and about half the males in the bag as well. Not good odds for you for finding a partner in either gender, really. It’s fine. You’re content with the odd comment directed to you among thousands. You’re fine. Really.

It’d be a bit hypocritical of you to be upset about the sheer amount of individuals attracted to Taehyung since you, too, happen to be sitting quite decisively in his bag as well. Sue you.

“Are you gonna clean the camera or sit there staring into space for a while longer? I know we’re kind of freelance, but we still have a window we gotta grab, you know. The witching hour isn’t at ten in the morning.”

Jerked from your reminiscing, you immediately slide Taehyung the stink-eye. He’s awfully rude for someone so attractive, you can’t help but note and grumble internally.

“How about you clean the cameras? Ever since we’ve arrived you’ve been sitting around doing nothing!”

There’s not an ounce of bite in your tone, and you feel like even if there was it would have rolled right off Taehyung’s shoulders as he shrugs, grinning lazily. His pose on the hotel bed has shifted, now his long form is draped indolently across the surface, elbow propped on the mattress and hand cupping his cheek. His long lashes brush his cheeks as he blinks slowly at you.

“I don’t need to stress-clean, I know we have this in the bag,” he says, lips curling as he speaks in his usual low drawl. “You were so nervous the second we got here that I thought if I tried touching anything you’d simply burst into smoke or something.”

The male’s reference to your odd cleaning habits irks you, but only slightly and only because it’s true. The rest of what he said is true, too. As much as you’d like to complain, cleaning your equipment meticulously and probably more than needed has been doing wonders for your nerves. You always tend to have a healthy, respectful dose of fear with every location you visit, but for some reason your nerves seem to be off the charts, tonight.

Perhaps it’s because you’re visiting a church. You always hate it when the haunted location is a church. Something about somewhere meant to be so holy becoming so desecrated that evil spirits haunt it… you don’t like it.

You sit for a moment, feeling your face contort as you assess the nauseous feeling beginning to churn in your stomach. Instead of answering his previous comment, you allow your thoughts to spill from your lips, somewhat distractedly. “I don’t… have a good feeling about tonight.”

Your words must be somewhat unexpected, as silence follows for a few moments after they enter the air. You regain control of your gaze where it had been centred on nothing, directing it towards the male on the bed. Taehyung’s eyes are on you, and you swear you catch something akin to a flicker of concern flitting across his features, before the tension leaves his face and he slaps on a silly grin.

"If ghosts and ghouls were real, y/n, you'd almost be begging them to haunt you," he quips, brows quirking in a sly manner. "Them's invitin' words, darlin'."

You're not sure what weird-ass accent he just pulled out of his rectum, but you're definitely sure your body shouldn't have reacted as shamefully into it as it just did. You throw a glare his way to mask the way you just shivered, at a damn pet name of all things, and turn back to cleaning your lens. He laughs, and you resign yourself for the millionth time to the fact that you'll probably never stop being so affected by him.

"Oh yeah? Well it really sounds like you're inviting a smack right now, mister. Don't make me break out the sandal."

At that, Taehyung bursts into loud laughter, flopping back onto the bed to let out his howling cackles unhindered. You can only sit and shake your head as you continue to rub your equipment clean, fighting a smile but allowing the fondness of the moment to sink in and cover the weight in your stomach.

Taehyung isn't worried, so you probably shouldn't be either.

X x x x

"You're a monster."

Your gaze is petulantly pointed out the window, but you can feel Taehyung fighting a smile from the driver's seat. It's almost silent in the cabin, aside from the low hum of the car beneath you and the smooth sound of slow r'n'b thrumming from the speakers. You do like that about Taehyung's choice in cars; he always managed to find some with excellent speakers for the bass-y songs the two of you enjoy listening to.

"You said you didn't want them!" Taehyung protests, a slight whine to his voice. Oh, he thinks he can get out of trouble by acting cutesy? The absolute nerve.

“No! I didn’t!” You’re affronted, unable to help the way you turn in your seat to pin him with an incredulous glare. “I said I was going to give them a break while I had some of my thickshake! I didn’t say you could have them!”

“You left your fries alone for more than a minute, what was I supposed to do? Let them go cold?”

“It wasn’t an invitation! Honestly, how could you… after all we’ve been through?”

Taehyung makes a choking noise, and you presume it’s because he’s trying not to laugh. You haven’t broken character yet—despite the fact you’re genuinely a little miffed that he finished off your fries while your back was turned earlier—so if he does before you, then he loses. The two of you are far too competitive for this to be anything but normal in your friendship.

"I can't help it," Taehyung says at last, apparently having managed to squash his laughter for a while longer. "They looked so good sitting there, so tempting... I was only going to take one, but you know I can't help myself when I see something I want."

As your eyes train on the scenery beyond the window as it blurs past, you snort, unable to help but quip playfully, "Glutton."

Taehyung finally lets a laugh loose, the sound rich and low, an almost indecipherable smile curling his lips at the corners. "Not the only sin I'm guilty of, but definitely the big hitter."

You roll your eyes, deciding you don't need to add anything more to that since it's definitely true. Sometimes you find it a little odd, how the two of you managed to become friends when you're both so different in subtle but significant ways. It isn't unusual to be unable to reach Taehyung some weekends, which you'd found out through a mutual friend (Yoongi, his roommate and an absolute tattletale whose loyalty is easily bought with wine and lamb skewers) was due to the fact he either didn't come home or brought someone else home. That knife had hurt when it entered your back, but you weren't, and still aren't, in any position to actually be upset about it. Taehyung's often extracurricular activities are probably one of the biggest differences between the two of you; not because you've never gone out or done things, no, but you've never been one to be comfortable with a stranger in your bed every other night. You're not so much into flings and one night stands, as Taehyung seems to be.

Another difference is probably the fact that despite the fact you're a definite ambivert and not one to shy from social situations, you've never actually met anyone as blatantly extroverted as Taehyung. His aura and presence are truly something else; all he has to do is step into a room for all attention to be drawn immediately to him, and for it to stick for the entirety of the time he's there. His confidence is unshakeable, and you think that probably has a lot to do with it. It's as though he has this sense of assurance in himself that no matter what a situation could throw at him, no matter which way it could turn and end up, he can get through it and come out right on top. It's impressive, you admire him for it, but also in a way... it's a little bit unnerving. Slightly intimidating. You can't put your finger on it, but sometimes it feels like there's something more to that confidence, something you're not quite aware of but lingers just under the surface of what he shows you.

He's a bit of an enigma, your Taehyung. You've known him for what feels like so long, and you know enough about him to fill about three encyclopedias, but at the same time... it feels like there's so much you don't know, an ocean behind each page you file away in your mind. It's like the difference between possessing a painting or a photograph of the sea, and actually standing on the shore with your feet in the sand, basking in the beauty of it in person.

Now that you think about it, the ocean is probably the best metaphor you could've chosen for describing Taehyung.

"You still nervous?"

Taehyung's inquiry, somewhat softly spoken but unmissable with how primed you are to hear him, is what pulls you from your light reverie. Blinking and interrupting your gaze where it was staring into the darkness beyond the window, you turn to the male and allow yourself a moment to analyse his features.

Taehyung is one tough cookie to read, you have to admit. He's expressive, sure, but sometimes you feel he has a bit more to offer in terms of what he's thinking and feeling at the moment. You've yet to crack that code but you'll get it one day, you know it.

Currently, his eyes are directed forward (as they should be-- he's been threatened many times with a smack whenever he lets his eyes stray even an millimetre while driving), but what you can observe of his side profile is a somewhat neutral expression. You're used to looking a little closer though, and when you do you find the barest creases of concern at the corner of his eye, brows drawn together just slightly. Aw, he's actually a little concerned for you. How sweet.

"Well, yeah," you answer after a moment, forcing your eyes away from his face and averting them back out the window as you lift a hand to rub the back of your neck. "But I mean, when aren't I? I don't think we'd have a show if both of us were skeptics."

The male hums, shaking his head to dislodge a silvery lock of hair that has fallen across his forehead. "That's true. I guess then we'd really be relying on my face for viewers, huh?"

Somewhat outraged, you let out an angry noise and hit his arm— just the reaction he was looking for. He snickers, still distracted as he watches the road and takes in the signs as he passes them. Sooner than you expect, he's flicking on the indicator and taking a left, down a road that is more dirt than tarmac and feels like it's leading nowhere good. The nerves that had left you momentarily, courtesy of the good mood eating put you in, return now in full force— twisting and writhing and tightening in the pit of your stomach. You take in a deep breath, the exhale a little shaky. Taehyung's eyes flick to you for the barest moment before they return to the front.

Trees line each side of the road, the twenty-plus minute drive having taken you a slight ways out of town. Beyond the trees at the edge of the road, you know there are miles and miles of fields; the odd house is scattered around, of course, but you know that the locals are far too wary of this little area to want anything to do with it, despite the acreage on offer.

The road twists and winds just barely, before Taehyung pulls the car into a partially obscured driveway on the right and you gulp, feeling more nervous than ever. The headlights drill holes of illumination into the pitch black, casting across blurred greenery and bushes for a moment before finally falling upon something lighter and firmer. Stone basks in the ray of the headlights, and gleaming glass windows just barely beyond the light's edge.

"We're here," Taehyung announces in a singsong manner, seeming entirely too happy about your arrival at what you consider to be one of the most cursed destinations you've included in your travels. The car rolls to a stop, Taehyung's large hand pulling the handbrake up and deciding your fate. You feel the weight in your stomach sink further.

Well, no time like the present. If you're gonna die in here, you may as well go on and get it over with.

x x x

The first ever haunted house that you explored with Taehyung, was probably the scariest.

Before becoming friends with him, and subsequently being roped into forming a paranormal investigation duo, you’d never stepped foot in a haunted or otherwise allegedly supernaturally afflicted building. Of course, you’d read your fair share of online accounts and retellings, and watched more investigative programs than is probably healthy, but even you are capable of telling what has been dramatically exaggerated and digitally edited. Before that first house, you’d sort of teetered on the edge of scepticism and being a believer. You were open to the idea, but weren’t cemented in your beliefs. That first house pushed you decisively from the middle and into one of those sides.

Your biggest regret is that you didn’t have the proper equipment to record what you witnessed that night. Since you were just starting out, all you really had was a crummy recording device and a handheld camera, in addition to your phones. Kind of humiliating, in hindsight. How on Earth had people taken you seriously back then?

Everything had gone fine, up until the point where the two of you decided it would be a neat idea to spend a few minutes alone in the most ‘haunted’ room of the house. Before then you were having fun, but you weren’t exactly convinced anything paranormal inhabited the place. In the middle, you remained. Taehyung had been somewhat distracted as you went, but not so much that he didn’t manage to slip in the odd witty quip. Sometimes, you’d turned and caught him staring into space for a few moments longer than expected, before he was once more moving on. You’d figured he was just deep in his thoughts.

As you’d ventured through the house, there were a few little things you both observed, but they were also easily dismissible things; items falling as you moved past them, creaking sounds, windows and curtains moving, shadows out of the corner of your eye. Nothing solid and material, and some to be expected when you were moving about an old, creaky abandoned building with no light save for some battery-powered torches and the flashlights on your phones.

Nothing that would hold up as evidence—at least, nothing until you entered that room alone.

The basement, said to have been where the most activity was and where some not-so-nice things went down while the house was still occupied, was the final stop of your little investigative tour. You’d originally planned to go in there together, but a small argument about jelly beans led to the proposal of going in there one at a time, and spending a few minutes in there alone in an attempt to get some interaction from any spirits that might be there.

From the very second you set foot on the first step, you’d known intrinsically that the experience you were about to have wasn’t going to be a good one. Your skin had crawled even then; it was as though you’d stepped into a freezer instead of a basement, immediately chilled to the bone with the air weighing so heavy against your body that each step was an effortful struggle. You’d been nervous before going down, yes, but this… it was different. Before you could have even turned to act on your second thoughts, the basement door had closed behind you with a final, resounding thud.

“Go down to the bottom! Your five minutes starts now.”

You’d felt disproportionately scared as you reluctantly continued your trek to the bottom, as you’d originally intended. It was colder at the foot of the stairs, if possible, and the small torch in your hand had started to flicker. It smelt rotten, too, and the further into the room you went the stronger the smell. For the first time since entering the house, you felt unsettled, for reasons almost indiscernible.

Some of them became clear to you as soon as the beam of your torch illuminated over the walls.

Deep scratches in the cement and brick, sigils and symbols drawn across the expanse of the wall. Something akin to black sludge was smudged intermittently across places, dripping from cracks and oozing from gaps in the ceiling. There was a disrupted circle on the floor, dark maroon flakes and drops of wax scattered and highlighting more smudged symbols and lines. A copper bowl lay turned over and discarded, its apparent contents scattered across the floor; bones, dried leaves and flowers, rocks, a tooth. You hadn’t even realised how your breath had begun to speed up, chest tightening. Of course, you’d tried to calm yourself and rationalise— someone just did this for a prank, they planted these things to feed the stories.

But then you’d felt a gust of hot air against the back of your neck, so stark in contrast to the chill of the room. Alarmed, you’d jerked, and your torchlight had moved with the flinch of your arm. It whipped over shapes veiled objects in the room, angles creating deep shadows that seemed to have no end, and you’d managed to look up just in time to catch sight of something as it was illuminated in the corner; a long shape, a silhouette, present in the light just long enough for you to see the gleam of two eyes staring right at you—

The torchlight flickered off in tandem with the sensation of your heart dropping through your stomach; something hot and sharp dragged across your sternum, and driven by nothing but fear and instinct you threw yourself back—or had you been thrown? A voice, disembodied in the pitch black, had grated the outskirts of your ears, warped and distorted and registering in your senses in such a way that even now, you can’t be sure whether you’d really heard it or not.

“A human girl walking right into my den… And you smell so good too. Won’t you stay, girl? I hunger.”

You don’t recall screaming, but as you would be informed later, apparently you did. You’d stumbled backwards, crashing into a number of items and feeling something grip your arm. It burned, and of course you’d jerked away once more.

Whether it was the ruckus or your own sounds that concerned your companion, the basement door had quickly been thrown open and Taehyung had bolted down the stairs. Disoriented, you weren’t even aware of where you’d stumbled in the room once your torch had gone out, but when you’d looked up to see Taehyung darting over to you, the room now illuminated, you’d been several metres from where you’d first stopped.

As Taehyung would tell you later, you were shaking as you sat there, partially curled into a ball on the floor. Your torchlight had been all the way on the other side of the room, and your phone a few feet away. He says that when he asked you what had happened, you’d only babbled incoherently, somehow simultaneously telling him off and yet clinging to him in distress.

Your memory of events after that scare is a little hazy, but you do recall that he’d surveyed your form, freezing as his eyes fell upon your arm. When you’d looked down, you’d caught blood trickling down from three irregular lesions across your bicep, the entire flesh of your upper arm red and inflamed and sore, yet in the cold of the room somehow still numb. Despite the horrified look on Taehyung’s face, and the way he’d fussed over your wound from that point onward, he was quick to dismiss it.

“You must have cut it on something when you were tripping about,” he’d said later, once you were out of the house with all your things packed away, back in the safety of the hotel room. His touch had been nothing short of tender as he cleaned and dressed the cuts that just would not stop oozing blood. Perhaps that night, is when you’d really first begun developing feelings for Taehyung. That hadn’t stopped you being secretly frustrated at his words, though. “There were a lot of sharp things down there, I’m not surprised you managed to cut yourself on one of them.”

Even as, days later, the red welts on your arm developed into bruises—long and thin, like imprints of spindly fingers that had wrapped around your arm— and the cuts didn’t heal quite as they should, Taehyung stuck with that story. He insisted on being the one to take care of the wound and still insisted you’d just bumped into something lying about down there in the basement. Once, you’d gone to tell him exactly what you’d seen and heard, but thought better of it. You’d just be annoyed when his sceptical ass tried to dismiss and rationalise it. It didn’t help that the recording you had of the experience had somehow corrupted on your phone.

Oddly enough, ever since that first house you’ve never gotten as scared, or witnessed anything quite like it. It kind of makes you wonder—did you hallucinate it? Was your brain just overactive and scared, and making you see and hear things that weren’t there? You think about it a lot, an especially every time you venture into a new location. Like now, as you’re in the entry of the church and preparing to film the introduction segment of your little vlog.

“Lot on your mind, babygirl?”

Flinching and feeling your cheeks heat as they usually do whenever Taehyung hits you playfully with that particular pet name, you break from your thoughts to send him a glare.

“Only the usual amount,” you answer, a hand coming to unconsciously rub your arm where those cuts had first appeared. They’d never quite healed as expected, didn’t scar as things usually do on your skin. Normally you heal pretty seamlessly, but those scratches had healed in three pink lines, not raised but stark on your skin. Sometimes you think you feel them ache and sting, but it’s just a phantom pain. More often than not, they’re just a bit itchy.

“Camera is ready to go, are you?” Taehyung inquires, holding up the hand-held and leaning around it to flash you a cheeky smile. He has a torch attached to his headband, and combined with the light of the torch attached to the strap over your chest and the torches attached to each camera, the entrance of the building where you stand is somewhat illuminated. It is, admittedly, in a poor state. Cement and brick are in various states of disrepair, the odd piece crumbling whenever you move past. You’re actually more worried about a part of the ceiling falling on you tonight than anything paranormal. Although, you suppose you’d developed a bit of a stronger resistance over the years. These days, as Taehyung says, your bravado is through the roof.

You hold your thumb up for him, waiting for his subsequent nod and the blinking of the light above the camera lens that tells you it’s on and running. As soon as you get the signal, you slip a smile onto your face.

“Hello and welcome to another episode of Mystery Gang; Unsolved,” you launch right into the introduction, the name of your little duo coming easier every time you say it. At this point, there’s almost no resistance at all; you’re barely embarrassed by it these days. “Today we’re here in a small town on the East Coast, and we’re investigating the abandoned and allegedly ‘haunted’ grounds of FigTree Church.”

Taehyung has a small smile on his lips as he watches you talk, something you catch as you glance down at your phone for the notes you have prepared. Awfully cheeky he is, as always.

“Now, you might be thinking—that’s quite an odd name for a church, right? Doesn’t it have an official name, something a little bit more proper? Well, no, actually.” You shift, taking a few steps to your left and bringing your arm up to gesture to the rest of the church. It’s pitch black, and you ignore the way the hairs on your arm begin to stand. “This church, nestled in the corner of FigTree Pocket and hidden away from the rest of the world, was never given a name. And when we investigated further, we found that there was never actually any record of this church in any registry or archive for this region.”

“For our research, we had to turn to the townsfolk and some ledgers hidden deep in the town library to unearth just what this church is and what happened that earned it the reputation as one of the most haunted locations on the East Coast.” You pause briefly, glancing to your notes. “As it turns out, the reason there are no records of this church and no name ever given to it, is because this church… was technically never meant to exist.”

Taehyung makes a surprised face, and you sense a question oncoming. “Allegedly, this church, built in the late 1800s, was formed in secret by a small faction that split from the branch residing in the nearby capitol. There is no consensus as to whether the original branch is Catholic or Christian, or something else, and a lot of the lore surrounding it is more hearsay than actual recorded facts. What is known for sure, though, is that this church was formed and built in secret, operating under forged papers and fostering a religion that didn’t quite fit any preconceived ideologies that were around at the time.”

“So this was, like, an extremist sort of situation? They didn’t quite agree with the workings of their original church so they went and made their own?” Taehyung speaks as soon as you leave him a gap, looking at you with intrigued eyes and a shit-eating grin from behind the camera. “Exactly what kind of things did they get up to in here that they needed the place to stay a secret?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you say, referring to your notes for a brief moment before continuing. “Apparently, according to stories passed down through generations in this town and some accounts in the town history books, some pretty dark shit went down in here.”

Taehyung tilted his head, sweeping the camera over the rest of the room before centring it back on you with a shrug. “I could see it. What kind of sins are we speaking here?”

“Well, some stories are more believable than others,” you offer. “The less popular ones say that this was less of a church and more of a cannibalistic cult. Others—”

“Cannibalistic cult?!” Taehyung sputters, lowering the camera slightly so he can meet your eyes over the top of it. “Are you for real—?!”

“Yup,” you affirm, fighting a smile. “The next best one after that says that this wasn’t a real church, but a cover for a satanic cult that operated in the night time hours. Apparently they performed their rituals either in the basement, the attic, or a secret room behind the altar.”

Taehyung chortles at that, the denim jacket he has on over a dark hoodie making a loud scuffle as he slaps a hand to his stomach in his laughter. You’re glad he’s amused by what you’re saying, as usual. “This is great. I wonder whether we’ll find skulls or pentagrams.”

“I don’t know which is worse,” you admit, rolling your eyes when he laughs again. “Anyway, those are just outliers. The consensus on the history of this place is a bit of a different tale, actually. Still kind of dramatic, though.”

Taehyung hums to urge you on, gaze flicking to the side for a moment at a particularly loud chirp of a cricket. You shift where you stand, retreating closer to the wall—you don’t like the feeling of having your back to the expanse of darkness.

“From what I was able to gather, most people say this operated as a normal church for a few years. They held mass, you know, did the usual church things. The common thread that everyone mentioned, though, is kind of in line with what you said earlier. In a sense, the principles of this church were kind of extremist, and very misogynistic, moreso than you usually see from the old days. The women that were part of this church were apparently treated no better than property, in-home slaves expected to sit and be pretty, cook, clean and bear children.”

Taehyung winces, apparently noticing the unimpressed tone to your voice. “So if the ghost of one of the pastors is here, you’re gonna beat him up?”

“Maybe so,” you utter, shooting him a sly smile. “But don’t you wanna know what the big happening was? What really gave this place a name—well, I guess it didn’t give it a name, but it did give it a reputation.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, silvery strands of hair flicking from the motion of his head. “Of course, why else do you think I do these little investigations.”

“For the ghouls?” you suggest, grinning in anticipation for the face you know he’s going to make in response. He doesn’t fail to deliver, and you let out a laugh before continuing your initial spiel.

“Like I was saying, for a while this operated like a normal church. There were pastors and priests, and proceedings as normal. But before long, their operations were brought to a screeching halt.” A glance to your notes, then a somewhat nervous glance over your shoulder. “In what would unknowingly be its final year, the church was to hold a wedding. Meena Law, the daughter of two dedicated churchgoers, was to be wed on November 1st, 1899— to a man her parents chose, who was twice her age and, according to accounts of the time, quite an unsavoury character, but someone of a high standing within the church.”

“Oh yuck,” Taehyung utters, almost making you break character and smile.

“Unlike her parents, Meena wasn’t content and complicit with the rules and principles of the church. She was against the wedding from the beginning and fought it with everything she could. It was no use, however, and by the time the eve of her wedding arrived, she was desperate.”

Your thumb scrolls across your notes, and you take a breath. You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think the air feels a little colder suddenly; you have to fight a shiver from rolling down your spine. “Here is where the stories diverge a little. One account says that what happened in this chapel was nothing but a tragic accident. As she walked up the aisle in her wedding dress and arrived at the altar to stand beside her would-be husband, the heavily embellished wrought-iron chandelier came loose above them and fell, crushing the two of them and the minister officiating the marriage—who happened to be head of the church at the time, Lui Fonset.”

“The chandelier is actually still over there on the floor, glass shards and rusty metal and all,” you supply, pointing your flashlight in the direction of the altar. You don’t like the way it gleams beneath the torchlight.

“Wait, they never cleaned it up?” Taehyung joined you in shining his torch in that direction. He let out a soft noise of interest. “They just decided that’s it? They’re gonna leave it there?”

You snort. “Actually, this incident seemed to be the beginning of the end for them. Understandably, the tragedy of three deaths within their church, their head included, was quite a blow. It took a while before they gathered themselves and attempted to fix the place up.”

Taehyung shoots you a curious if somewhat confused look. “But they didn’t…?”

You shine your torch in his face to be annoying, and he levels you with a glare. The harshness of the light makes the dark brown of his irises gleam reddish-brown. You ignore the way your neck tenses as a result.

“They didn’t,” you confirmed, “But it wasn’t for lack of trying. This church sat in disrepair for a short while, vacated and momentarily abandoned, but the remaining churchgoers returned to fix it up. No one ever managed to, though, because ever since that fatal incident, it would seem that any activities within the church walls would be met with the most unfortunate, awful luck.”

“To paraphrase an account from one of the townspeople, it was like the building had obtained a life of its own and was hellbent on fighting back against anyone that stepped on the grounds. Windows shattered right as people walked beneath them, pews fell and chunks of statues weakened at just the right times. Some people also reported hearing things, seeing things, feeling things that made them feel so uncomfortable they left and refused to return to the site.”

“Is it the ghosts of Meena and the two that died with her?” Taehyung queries, going for a quick pan of the room beyond the little entrance nook. Rotting pews lined the large space, some reduced to splinters and others weak and sagging. None were in neat order and a few of them were sprinkled with glass and stone and dust—oh, the dust.

“That’s what some say.” You shrug. “But there is another version of the events that happened here. It’s a little more interesting but since we are here tonight, I think I like it a little less.”

Your companion was curious now. “What is it?”

“The night before her wedding, Meena was desperate. So desperate, in fact, that she would have done absolutely anything to stop the marriage—and some say that, in her darkest hours that night, she was driven to do the unspeakable.” You pause, because you know that Taehyung is about to take the piss out of what you’re about to say. “Some say, that on Hallows Eve, the night before she was to be wed, Meena performed a ritual to summon a demon, and then made a deal with him to ensure that the wedding wouldn’t go through.”

Your eyes flick to Taehyung’s face but surprisingly, he doesn’t seem like he’s about to make fun of you. Instead, he seems deep in thought, staring blankly for a moment as he’s consumed by whatever is on his mind. Odd. Usually he’s well on his way to making fun of you by now. He knows you’re especially scared of demons.

“Of course, as is usually the case in stories like these, it seems that Meena wasn’t aware of the little loophole she provided,” you say, preparing to continue before Taehyung speaks suddenly and cuts you off.

“She left it too open,” Taehyung says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “I mean, the wedding was stopped, but at what price? Amateur.”

“Don’t insult the ghosts,” you say, more of an automated, habitual utterance than anything at this point. “And yeah, that’s how the story goes. The unfortunate nature of her death and the despair of her last moments allegedly caused her to linger, whatever soul she had left attached to this place. It’s said that the spirits of the priest and the groom are here too—different sort of entities, apparently. People report a range of weird occurrences in this building, some antagonistic and some merely… supernatural. But they’re not the only presence rumoured to be here that gives this place such a foreboding reputation.”

Taehyung’s head tilts, before his eyes light up in realisation. “Oh, the demon? But how would he be here? Aren’t they meant to be unable to enter holy places such as this?”

For some reason, you swear you detect the slightest bit of humour in Taehyung’s tone. You raise your brows at him, but answer his question anyway. “Yeah, that’s usually the case, I guess. There are a few theories as to why a demon could enter here. First, some people propose that it’s because this was never a legitimate church. Which… I think makes a bit of sense. The second theory that floats around is that when she summoned the demon, she actually did it within the church walls. I mean, I’d think that wouldn’t work, but hey, maybe it did.”

Taehyung purses his lips in thought. “Hmm, I think it could work. Maybe it’s a big boss demon.”

You roll your eyes, locking your phone and sliding it into your pocket. “If that’s the case, I don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t need to be thinking about high level demons lingering in the halls as I walk through a haunted church, thank you very much.”

Taehyung lets out a laugh, passing you your own camera. You turn to the one currently in his hold, offering a smile that you can feel has somewhat of a nervous tinge this time around.

“Alright, lets go catch some ghosts!” you cheer, feeling like you’re painting a target on your own back, as you usually do. Taehyung nods, smiling to himself as he cuts the camera for a break before you both begin recording and venturing through the church.

“I hate this,” you murmur into the sudden silence, rubbing your arms as a wash of cold air touches your skin. “Why do we always have to film at night? Late at night? In the dark and cold?”

Taehyung snorts, stepping over and slinging an arm over your shoulder somewhat distractedly as he fiddles with settings on his camera, hand rubbing your arm. The action brings out a wave of butterflies in your stomach that you don’t even bother to quell.

“Everyone knows ghouls only come out at night,” he chuckles, flicking wavy strands out of his face. “Demons too.”

You groaned, already feeling much worse than earlier about the night ahead of you. This wasn’t going to be fun in the least for you. Before you’d entered the church, the crickets in the forestry outside had been loud, almost as though they were screaming at you to leave, attempting to ward you away (maybe you’re reading a little too much into it). In here, though, you can barely hear them. Only softly, subtly; whispers of the living world outside slipping in through the broken glass and crumbling stone. In contrast, it’s very still in here—and very cold. Probably from the stone and brick. You slip your arm around Taehyung’s waist for warmth, grinning at the way he jumps and looks to you in surprise.

“Bold of you,” Taehyung wags his eyebrows. “How am I supposed to seduce the ghosts if they think I’m taken?”

“Dirty ghostfucker,” you utter, instantly annoyed enough that you don’t feel like using him for body heat anymore. You pinch his side and withdraw, turning your camera on and moving towards the large room beyond the entrance. Taehyung laughs when you stumble over a piece of rotten wood. Great.

If you don’t end up dying in here tonight, then you just might end up killing Taehyung instead.

Taehyung fires up his cameras once more, his torchlights aiding in illuminating your path as he follows behind you. Right, on with the tour you go.

a/n: pls let me know what u think and pls heart or rb if u read and liked it!!! it helps me know how many people have interacted and enjoyed it!!

masterlist | next⇥

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mlepclaynos99 · 3 years

Text

Holiday Cards (Christmas Eve)

The second last chapter to the 12 Days of Peraltiago I’ve been writing!

Summary: Amy looks over the family holiday card on Christmas Eve!

The smell of cookies wafted through the apartment that was brightly lit up by the decorations. Jake and Mac were busy singing “Jingle Bells” extremely off key and taking over the actual music that was playing in the kitchen. Wearing the blue snowflake pajamas that matched theirs, Amy adjusted the stockings that hung by the fireplace while glancing over at the father and son. They had strangely offered to clean up the kitchen after yet another attempt to bake cookies for Santa and she knew from the giggles from the open area, the two were up to another one of their mischievous antics. Smiling as she remembered last year when her toddler was covered in powdered sugar and she was presented a plate covered in more icing & sprinkles than the cookies on them. After cleaning Mac, she had spent last Christmas Eve shaking the sprinkles out of Jake’s curls and tonight, she made sure anything resembling sprinkles was hidden in her pantry.

Read on AO3

Walking by their Christmas tree, her lips curved upwards in tranquility, as she ran her hand over the colorful ornaments. As the years had gone by, she had let go of having their Christmas tree be covered in one colored ornament, enjoying how the three of them would put together a tree full of different colours. She couldn’t decide whether she enjoyed putting up a crossword ornament with their names on the tree or watching Jake and Mac carefully deciding where their favourite 4 turtles should be placed. She sat down on their couch, realizing watching Mac sitting on Jake’s shoulders as he tried to put up the star on the top of the tree was the best part of decorating their place.

However, her smile slowly washed away as she sighed picking up the empty frame and their holiday card that had reached their all family and friends earlier in the day. This year they had chosen to take a picture for the card outside in the snow instead of another picture of them at home in their pajamas like they had been sending out for the last two years. She had sent a generous gift to her photographer friend who had managed to capture the three of them laughing as Jake and Amy had each taken one of Mac’s mitten clad hands, and lifted him into a swing off the ground. However, the more she looked at the photo, the more she kept noticing her own appearance in it. While loving how adorable her baby looked in his puffy winter jacket that seemed bigger than he was and a beanie that made his chubby face cuter than normal with Jake who smile stole the picture, she found herself worried about the whether she had made the right choice to wear that winter coat and whether she shouldn’t have worn a turtleneck under that coat. The clothes reflecting how her appearance was slowly changing had her worried it would let their little secret.

“Amy, you gotta try these! They’re amazing!”

She looked up from the card and frame to find Jake and Mac bringing a plate full of cookies to her. Setting down his smaller plate by the tree, Mac rushed over to Jake ready for more sugar. Refusing the cookie Jake offered her (before he shrugged and ate it himself), she had a harder time saying no to Mac as he kept holding up the cookie ha decorated just for his mom.

“Chwistmas cookie!” He pouted to her, his big puppy eyes resembling Jake when Mac had said he wanted to watch Elf instead of Die Hard last night. Looking over at Jake for help, she was met with the same look on his face and she had no choice but to open up her palm for his cookie. Planting a kiss on Mac’s cheek, she felt his tiny sticky hands grabbing her face and leaving icing on her cheek as he reciprocated her gesture before running off to his toys powered by the sugar rush.

“I saw the cookie package in the garbage, these are store bought.” Amy pointed out as she took a bite off the top of the tree shaped cookie before handing the rest to Jake, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. He thought he had been sneaky enough last year and today to replace their homemade cookies with the store bought ones, but he should have known better than to get anything past his wife.

“I never said fresh, I said they’re amazing. And we decorated them.” He quickly and nervously mumbled while shifting on the couch, worried about hurting her feelings while she laughed, having accepted the Peralta-Santiagos should probably never open up a bakery.

“It’s fine, I only like the idea of baking you with two, not eating those cookies. I had a package in the cupboard as well. You just beat me to it.”

Watching him breathe a sigh of relief, she thought she had lost his attention when he picked up the TV remote and looked back down at the holiday card. Amy should have known she would never lose his attention since he had put down his plate of cookies seeing her expression change when she had looked down and inched closer to her to wrap an arm around her. She lifted up the card in front of him and pointed towards herself in it.

“Look at this.” She frowned at him, and he wanted to the lower lip she stuck out in a way he would always find cute. But curious to know what she saw in their family picture, he took it with his free hand and held it up higher and only saw the way Amy looked at Mac making him almost wish he could frame those two in their own photo.

“It’s a masterpiece.” He shrugged and handed it back to her only for point at herself again and he knew she was overthinking how her choice of clothes again.

“But-”

“It’s you, me, and Mac. It’s perfect.” She closed her mouth, letting his sentence dangle as she took another look at their photo.

It was beautiful; a reflection of the perfect day they had. The snow was falling lightly that day. The corner of the park was empty around them. They had been laughing all day in the snow, building snowmen, sipping hot chocolate on their way home, and cuddling under one blanket by the fireplace as they watched a movie. It was perfect day and their photo was a reflection of that. She looked back at Jake and saw him looking at the card, the love he had for her and their son was so evident in that picture & in the way he looked at that picture. Placing her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes holding back her emotions that were going to come down as tears if she didn’t. She had been worried about various people’s thoughts on their card, but as she sat next to Jake who had his hand gently grazing over her stomach and listening to the sounds of their son playing, it didn’t matter.

“You’re such a sap.” She mumbled against his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head with a chuckle, knowing she wasn’t wrong. He was especially sappier around the holidays, contrary to the Jake she knew years ago, and it wasn’t going to ever change.

“I was just worried, I just know my mom is going to call and make some comment on how different I look...”

She started talking and pointed to her face and stomach while he sat up on the couch realizing she wasn’t worried about not hiding her changing body, but rather what her mother would think of her. Jake clenched his jaw for a moment, trying not get upset at how Camilla managed to affect Amy after all these years and why his mother-in-law felt the need to still make scrutinizing remarks about her brilliant, beautiful, badass daughter.

“Okay, first off it would ridiculous for her to do that. Second, if she does say anything, you hand me the phone immediately. Third…Mac will make my third point.”

Amy opened her mouth to stop him, wanting to tell him that it didn’t matter to her but stopped when he called over to their child, letting him go on and wanting to see what he was about to do. Mac immediately left his toys, running into Jake’s arms and quickly finding his spot on his dad’s lap.

“Mac-a-roni, who is the prettiest person in the whole wide world?” Jake asked tickling the toddler and Mac leapt onto Amy’s lap who put aside the items on her lap, quickly made space for him.

“Momma!” Mac wrapped his arms around Amy’s neck and she hugged him back, so glad she had let Jake talk. Inhaling the smell of cookies and candy canes that came from her son, she closed her eyes when she felt Jake’s hand on her. Her crazy boys thought she was everything, and it meant she needed nothing from anyone else. Parting back from their hug, letting Mac snuggle into her, she ran her hands through his curly hair while looking up in an attempt to stop her tears.

“Come on, Mac wouldn’t lie.” Jake, thinking she was rolling her eyes, nudged her soft before pulling Mac’s chubby cheeks that he never got enough of.

Now Amy genuinely rolled her eyes as she uses the back of her finger to wipe off chocolate from the corner of Mac’s mouth.

“He just lied about eating the chocolate chips.” She pointed out to Jake who looked offended but not as much as their son who got off her lap and stood up on the sofa. Taking her face into his tiny palms, Mac looked dead serious as he tried to defend himself, making it hard for Jake not to laugh watching how precious their baby was.

“No not lie Momma.” With widened eyes, Mac looked on eagerly waiting for Amy to say something only her for to scrunch her nose as she continued to wipe more chocolate off his face.

“Who ate the chocolate chips then?”

“Dadda!” Mac’s finger pointed at Jake whose soft laughter had turned into shock as he realized how mischievous Mac was becoming and put his hands up.

“Woah woah woah, I did no such thing.” Jake stood up, lifting Mac off the couch as they ran off to kitchen to get rid of any evidence of chocolate chip theft from either of them, although she knew they were both guilty of emptying half a package of the tiny, sweet nibs.

As they were getting cleaned up, Amy picked up their holiday card and finally put it into the frame. Knowing exactly where it belonged, she placed it on the shelf by their TV, right next to the last two holiday cards they had sent out. She realized how quickly their son was growing up every time she looked at progression of their holiday pictures, wishing she could slow the time and be with him more, as if she would ever come to a point of having enough time with Jake and Mac. She made sure each frame was perfectly aligned, taking a moment to look at them and remembering the days behind the photos.

The first year they sent out a holiday card was an impromptu decision when they had received the Jeffords’ card. Starting their own card, she remembered how they had spent hours dressed Mac, a few months old back then, in a Santa hat, moving him all over their home and filling up their camera rolls with pictures of him they would share for the entire year. It had taken them even longer to settle on a picture of Mac in a gift box as their holiday message to everyone, secretly reminding themselves, they had the cutest baby ever.

Last year, they had a harder time to get a picture since Mac had just learned about how to walk quickly without fear a few weeks earlier, and was looking for any reason to show off his new skills. They had struggled for the entire day to calm their energetic child, but the only time they could keep him still enough for a picture was when it was dark and time for bed. Amy had quickly set up a camera and Jake had put up some decorative lights in their bedroom as Mac finished up his bottle, putting him in a sleepy state. Managing to have him sit up against them as they took a picture in matching pajamas, they didn’t have to spend time deciding which picture to use, since Mac had fall asleep on their bed after the first two.

As she looked at the recent picture, she felt his arms snaking around her, hands stopping over her stomach and his head resting against her. Admiring their pictures and already excited for the one they would add next year, he whispered into her ear.

“You’re so beautiful Ames.”

She felt her heart warming up more than it already was, and leaning into his touch she smiled looking at all their pictures, also knowing the next one would be incredibly special. Turned her head, she placed her lips against his cheek, letting them linger until she felt Mac’s little hand tapping against her leg. Catching their attention, the toddler looked at the ground shyly before Jake kneeled down and asked him to speak up.

“Open pwesents now?” He looked towards Amy’s directions and she gave in to the soft puppy eyes yet again, to retain her title as the prettiest person in the world.

“Just one.” Jake ruffled Mac’s hair before he ran towards the pile of presents under the tree, trying to find one that his name on it.

“Do you want a present right now too?” Amy looked at Jake with raised brows in an attempt to see him following Mac’s actions only for him to shake his head and his arm around her.

“I am just waiting for this one.” His hand carefully touched her stomach, caressing it gently with his thumb and she didn’t stop herself from leaning in to kiss him before they had to supervise Mac opening up his first Christmas gift.

The following year, Amy placed another framed holiday card on the shelf as chaos of baking cookies was taking place once again, but the music and Jake & Mac’s laughter quieter because of the baby slowly dozing off in her arms. Aligning the frame, she admired the photo of her and Jake sitting in front of the fireplace, Mac in her lap, and all of them looking at the new prettiest girl in the world, fast asleep in Jake’s arms.

#brooklyn nine nine #b99 #peraltiago #jake peralta #mac peralta #amy santiago #christmas fluff

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liquidlikecats · 3 years

Text

Ahaha okay here's some of that good good aro gn reader & aro felix hugo f niche content. It's already posted on my ao3, which is also liquidlikecats. Originally I wrote just the first part but then eventually caved and made an even sappier sequel. Uh. Tell me what u think of it, feedback is my lifeblood

Relationships: none/can be read as a qpr or otherwise platonic relationship

Tags: emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, snuggling, I think they kiss I don't fucking remember, very touch starved like to the point where it kinda knocks you down, felix not being very good at taking care of himself

Text under the cut

Aching

A kitten had come over and was curiously sniffing on his sweat soaked hair before purring and clambering onto his heaving chest. He'd been laying here for a while now, how long exactly he had no clue, with the hot gravel of the deserted training grounds digging into his back. His tired hand arched up to gently scratch the little feline behind its ears, the other one remaining clutched about his sword.

"Fuck."

The young man cursed and returned his gaze to the dusk speckled sky dousing everything in soft light. This shit had been building up for days now but as always his pride had kept him from seeking help. Hazily he wondered whether someone would find him and should that happen, if he'd rather choose a quick end for himself or bear with the humiliation of having to be carried back to his room. Maybe he'd be lucky enough and a certain someone would notice his absence. Or maybe that'd be the worst of luck.

It wasn't the first time exhaustion and the deep ache of longing had chained him to the ground. When had he last really touched someone outside of combat? Sylvain had slung his arm over his shoulders earlier, trying to drag him to town and it'd all just been too much, days of carefully maintained balance crashing down on him. It'd sent him flying, carrying him here to do the one thing he didn't have to think about. To simply get lost in his training, the swords a calming weight in his palm and an extension of himself.

A low sigh slipped past cracked lips and he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the deep pain and exhaustion that had sunken into his very marrow and created an endless pit in his stomach.

Not that it had ever worked before. No matter how much he trained and ran himself ragged, it hadn't worked ten years ago and still didn't now. It wasn't a problem he could solve himself, no matter how much that bothered him.

The cats made it better, and if just a little bit. His fingers still diligently carded through his fluffy companion's fur and the gentle warmth and weight eased his pain a little. It would pass eventually, he reminded himself. It always retreated again, hiding in his core until it would emerge once more and slowly drown him in his craving.

Gravel crunched under secure steps, making him cringe and fight to get up. But alas, his body remained where it was, navy hair spilled over the ground and no doubt at least as dusty as the rest of him. Resigning himself to his fate, he instead focused his attention on the approaching person and managed, with much struggle, to crack and eye open and shift his head as to be able to see whomever he was unlucky enough to have run into.

The sight of you, weapons still strapped to your belts from your earlier spars, a large flask dangling from your hip and your pockets undoubtedly stuffed with pastries released the dread that had settled over him. Had it been anyone else, he would've longed to simply sink into the ground never to return, but over the years he'd begrudgingly come to stop hiding his pain around you. Usually you could tell either way.

Sturdy boots came to a halt near his side and soon after your concerned face appeared in his blurred view.

"Fe, you're still here. I couldn't find you at dinner so I got you something in case you were too caught up with training again. Doesn't look like it tho. What's up?"

You'd seated yourself beside him and were fumbling for some water. Felix just groaned and closed his eye again, the kitten still securely nestled against his palm. You chuckled and shuffled to lift his head into your lap, your fingers immediately disappearing into messy locks.

"Did you overdo it again or is this one of those situations?"

Another non-committal sound reached your ears and you tugged a little at his hair, delighted by him melting further into your hands.

"I'm guessing the other thing, then. It has been a while… You oughta drink something before I can move you. Ya think you can sit up yet?"

A slight expression of distaste furrowed his brows, but Felix nodded and let the kitten jump off him before being pulled into your lap. He sank against your chest with a sigh on his lips, head falling on your shoulder and still desperately holding onto his weapon. You let your fingers trail over his cheeks and put one arm around his waist, the other holding your uncorked flask. For a moment you were absorbed in the feeling of a warm body against yours. Even though it happened more often these days, the feeling still managed to catch both of you off guard every time. Shaking your head and returning to the current situation, you raised the water to his lips and watched him devour it in small sips.

"Wonderful. I'll sheathe your sword now, okay? I can't carry you otherwise."

He grumbled more, stating his displeasure with your plan of actions. You smiled down at his weak frame.

"Can you walk there?"

Felix frowned but had to admit to this current inability to do so.

"I thought so. Chances we'll run into anyone else are slim, if that makes it any better."

Hair brushed against your neck and your breath got momentarily caught in your throat. The man in your arms nodded once and you took the sword without resistance, returning it once more to its sheath. Your forehead shortly pressed against his temple in a reassuring gesture. You could feel him quiver.

"I'm gonna lift you up now."

Another nod into your chest, accompanied by a small sound of disgruntled approval. Getting up in the most careful manner possible you looked down at Felix, slumped and displeased in your arms. And yet, it had gotten so much easier for him to show any kind of weakness to you. A few years ago he'd have adamantly remained in whatever spot he was currently occupying and waited the pain out.

You squeezed his hand and started walking.

The short trip was as deserted as you'd anticipated, much to the relief of you both. There were already too many rumors about romantic involvement between the two of you, although neither of you ever fell in love.

You'd arrived at your destination and wrangled the fickle lock open with the spare key Fe had given you after the first time this happened, his cheeks pink and ears glowing.

The fond memory got a silent chuckle out of you.

You steered towards the bed and carefully sat down, placing the swordsman beside you. He looked even more exhausted in the dim light, dark eyebags suggesting he'd not been sleeping much again.

Felix leaned against you for support as you set to removing your armored pieces.

The moment you were done, scarred arms looped around your torso and pulled you under the covers. You were buried under the soft mounds and his warm body pressing against your chest. Trembling he hid his face in your neck and tangled your legs together. You started running your fingers through his hair and over his scalp without having to think about it at all, barely noticing the faint familiar shiver it sent down his spine.

"I'm here now, Fe. I won't leave until you want me to."

Voice filled with affection and your lips brushing against his forehead, you curled closer around him. The navy strands were dusty and smelled of sweat, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. It brought a smile to your lips as you rested your chin on top of his head.

He was heavy in your arms. His weight had always been an anchor.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your neck and hid his glowing face away from your soft gaze. The red tips of his ears still gave him away and you couldn't help but press a kiss on top of his head.

"You keep saying that."

A hint of helplessness shimmered through the words.

"And I mean it every time. If you don't want me to leave, then I won't."

A shaky breath ghosted over your skin and you instinctively pressed closer. He was safe in your arms, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other at the small of his back. You could've stayed like this until the end of time.

"I don't love you and won't ever, but I do care for you. If that's enough, I'll share my life with you. Wherever it'll lead us."

You were trembling now and took a deep breath, the familiar scents of leather, metal and sword oils washing over you in calming waves. You feared you'd said too much as you laid in waiting for an answer.

Felix was silent for a while and you were all too aware of how much the both of you were shaking.

When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with an unnamed emotion.

"I don't- I've never-"

You could feel him struggling for words, arms still securely around your middle. He took a deep breath and started to speak again, this time sounding determined.

"I don't want you to leave. I don't love you either, but- you fight good. I'd be annoyed if you died."

Relieved laughter shook your form and you started peppering his flushed face with kisses, suddenly feeling very warm and fuzzy.

"No getting rid of me now."

Your body was light.

"As if I'd want to."

His was too.

Gentle

Calloused fingers come to rest upon your cheek, cupping it with a gentleness beholden for few. You needn't turn to see who just glid behind you, the swordmans touch and step being the most familiar things in the world. Closing your eyes you lean backwards into soft cushions, a serene smile caught on your lips.

When you take his hand in yours and turn ever so slightly to place a kiss in his palm, a small sigh escapes him. Soft and pliant he follows your guidance as you lead him down and into your lap, leaning against the crook of your neck as you circle your arms around his waist.

You fit so well together like this.

Even after all these years a faint blush dusts his cheeks when you lean down to pepper him with kisses. Melting further into your hold, Felix raises his head to blink at you with dazed, amber eyes. He is smiling, one hand reaching up to card through your hair, the other once more cupping your face. You cannot think of anything that fills you with as much warmth as seeing your friend so peacefully content. You can't help but chuckle, more out of happiness than amusement, and rest your forehead against his.

"Age really did mellow you out."

He snorts softly.

"You're just starting to go soft in the head."

You look at him innocently, fingers stealthily untying his hair and letting the navy locks fall down. You can't help but smile when his eyes flutter shut at the gentle caress.

"It's infectious~"

Felix laughs and leans in to kiss you. His smile is so bright it's almost blinding. He can't even pretend to be affronted with you anymore.

"You're insufferable."

_________

The soft firelight gently dances over his skin, caressing fading scars and illuminating thoughtful eyes. He is looking down to where you lay nestled against his shoulder, fast asleep and secure in his arms. It must be nearly two decades ago now that you first met, still over a decade that you promised to stay by his side.

His gaze falls upon your unringed fingers, intertwined with his own.

You never married. You never wanted to, either. It fills him with such warmth to think that you two have lived together as partners and comrades for half your lives, unbound by customs neither of you ever wished to adhere and feelings you never had.

There is such peace to be found in your companionship, the banter, touch and talk, unlike anything either of you ever could've imagined.

He moved to brush a stray lock of hair out of your face, a fond look on his own.

Maybe he really had grown soft.

#Veld writes #Aro writing #Hrgrhr.. Grhrgr. Scresms #Anyways;#I have many feelings abt Felix and someone has to make the mcfuckinh nice content #Felix Hugo Fraldarius #moss screams

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argylemikewheeler · 4 years

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|| i saw this post and just had the idea of will freaking out at mike for being tall-- but of course that’s not really what it’s about. just something short and sweet (literally) for you || ao3

It’s in the grocery store that Will just snaps at him. Will’s going shopping for his mom after school. It’s no big thing; Will enjoys the time alone. Except of course, it’s the last day before spring break and Mike’s skipped the last day of school and driven up to see him. Mike’s an extra set of hands to help brings bags into the house, and he’s not too bad of a driver to man the cart.

When Mike pulls up to the house-- just as Will’s grabbing his bag and getting to Jonathan’s car-- he looks so different. His hair is just a little shorter-- cropped and kept, just how Ted likes it, but with Karen’s kind influence of letting him be, Ted, come on. The main thing, at least to Will, is that he’s taller. The man is taller. Will feels his neck crack as he tilts back, just a little. He didn’t shrink, but when Mike runs up to him, he swears he did.

When Will is silent and stares at him for a while, Mike replies that he’s six-foot-two. Which is fine. It’s fine. It’s just that Will is five-foot-six still. But whatever. It’s fine.

Will kind of forgets about it-- forgets about how his new friends call him small. not short but small; how his new doctor is worried he’s stunted from all his “medical trauma” and is trying to talk his mother into having him take steroids; how he secretly likes being the same height because he knows his mom can’t afford buying both him and El new clothes; how he hates that the first thing people notice between him and Mike isn’t even that they’re two men since Will’s short enough to match people’s perception of what “normal” couples look like. Will just forgets about it. And for a while it’s nice.

Mike doesn’t know jack shit about vegetables and Will teaches him how to pick fruit that is just the right amount of unripe so it will last longer in the fridge. Mike pushes the cart and nods, at least pretending he’s enjoying the lesson. It’s 1988 and Mike places his hand on Will’s back when he stands and stares at the wall of soup cans, trying to read prices and brands quickly. It’s 1988 and Will doesn’t even watch how he says “Michael”. It’s a nice outing until they get to the cereal aisle.

It is nearly cleaned out, all the extra boxes up on the top shelf in disorganized storage stacks. Will groans and steps up onto the bottom shelf, his hand straining as he feels around for a box of something. His ribs are pressed to the middle shelf and he tries to keep from swearing. There’s an older lady with two young kids that’s been watching them since they arrived in the aisle-- Mike’s hand gently finding Will’s-- and Will doesn’t want to give her any ammunition to start shouting.

“Would you like some help, Will?” Mike laughs and grabs him under the arms. He hoists Will nearly like he’s weightless, helping him step down to the floor again.

Will sighs. “Yes.”

“What do you want?” Before Will can answer, Mike is sliding box after box down and placing them on the shelves in front of Will’s eye line. “I’ve got ‘em all.”

“I just needed the Cheerios, thanks.” Will grumbles, taking the box and tossing it into the cart. He pushes the cart and they leave the woman’s stare. He feels tense all over again. He forgets to keep forgetting about it-- about everything-- for a moment.

“How do you do this without me.” Mike is simply trying to tease him-- be verbally affectionate when his hands can only jostle his shoulders. “I need to think about moving up here you don’t have to struggle every time you just want to buy something--”

“Shut up, Mike.”

“W--What? What did I say? Was it that you’re short? Because... Will, we know this. It’s my favorite thing about you, you know that.”

“I don’t really want to hear it right now.” Will isn’t aware he’s clenching his teeth until he hears himself speak. “Being small is kind of not my favorite.”

“Oh, but-- It’s fun! You fit right under my arm and you don’t really need to steal as much of the blankets when we sleep--”

“Mike.” Will tries to drop out from under Mike’s arm: he placed it around his shoulders to demonstrate his point. Will is suddenly very aware that they’re two men, even if from every other angle no one seems to notice because he’s... a full eight inches shorter than Mike. It doesn’t feel great to be able to excuse homophobia because he’s as short as a girl. “Mike, please shut up.”

“What?” He’s sincere, but he’s still very confused. He still thinks it’s about being short. He doesn’t move his arm. “OH, well, actually I do hate the whole you-get-to-steal-my-clothes-thing. But if those are the reparations--”

“Would you just shut up, Tall Boy!” Will snaps, twisting around to face Mike. They’re in the middle of the baby section, where no one would be likely to stumble into them.

“T-Tall Boy?” Mike laughs, but he’s still trying to figure out that Will’s genuinely upset. “I-- What? What happened? Did I say something?”

“Yes! Stop talking about how short I am. I hate it.” Will doesn’t know why but he chokes up a little. He pretends he needs to be looking at plastic sippy cups. They look so out of place when the older lady and her children come strolling past. “I hate remembering I’m short.”

“Remembering.” Mike repeats. “Do you... forget?”

“El grew four inches in like... two months.”

“Okay...”

“Mom had to buy her new skirts and jeans because they got too short, too fast. It was the middle of winter and her ankles were so chapped-- She worked another two shift to pay for it.” Will’s breathing is choppy and it’s so stupid. Mike is silent, but because he’s listening, which is still weird for Will to think about.

“Okay. So short is good. You’ve got all your clothes and you’ve got all mine if you need it. And I’m sure Steve’s got more stuff that’s up your alley. It’s okay. Will, it’s okay. I won’t let you go cold.” Mike places his hands on Will’s shoulders, his thumbs brush against his neck.

“They say I’m small at school.” Will pushes through. “Small. You know what else is small? Babies are small. Mistakes are small. OH and you know what is usually small? Girls. Girls are small-- except my sister. Who’s giant--”

“She’s only like... five-nine.”

“Mike.”

“Sorry, literal perspective I see is not the point here.” He nods. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s just-- People don’t think you’re gay sometimes.” Will realizes this doesn’t make sense to anyone but him.

“Uh. That’s... I’m not sure that’s our fault.”

“Well, see, it’s my fault. From a distance, I look like your girlfriend. Not a very, short short man.”

“Well, that’s not your fault. People are blind and weird and straight. That’s not-- You’re not a girl, Will. You definitely aren’t a girl nor look like one or act like one or-- You just aren’t. Being short is not a fault!”

Will sighs and leans into Mike’s hand. “You’re supposed to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I could complain-- would you like me to?” Mike says with a smile. His eyebrows are still furrowed though: he’s upset. “I hate that you can fit comfortably on any bed we share. I hate that... You sometimes can buy kids’ shirts? Because they’re always cooler. Like, you have one you bought as a painting smock that has a freakin shark on it and I gotta say... Men’s clothes, not as cool! I’m less cool as my art school boyfriend because I got tall too quick. Dude, that sucks. I want to be cool like you!”

Will is definitely crying, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. He laughs and smiles. He hopes it makes up for his sniffling. “You think I’m cool?”

“Yeah! My cool, short boyfriend. He’s awesome and he’s super nice because he... worries about the socio-political meaning of him being short. Like. He’s so smart. So smart.”

“He’s the only one who knows what the hell a mango is in your relationship.” Will says, wiping his eyes.

“Yeah! Concentrated intelligence!” Mike reaches for Will’s underarms again. He catches Will’s smile before jokingly hoisting him an inch off the ground. “He’s better because of-- everything, but right now let’s say it’s because he’s not a six-foot-two monster who hits his head on every door frame in his house.”

“Oh my god-- is that what that bump is from?” Will hiccups, laughter nearly scaring him. “Oh, Michael, you poor.... tall thing.”

They laugh in the baby aisle until Will’s face is less red and puffy. As they walk, Mike makes jokes about the weird names of food brands. He offers to get Will things on all shelves, just being a helpful partner rather than a shopping giraffe. He repeats Will’s name every time he speaks to him and someone is in earshot. Will smiles and each time calls him a sappier and sweeter version of “Michael”. Will finishes shopping and feels rather accomplished as they pack the car up.

He forgets about everything again for a while. Everything but Mike. Well, Mike, but more importantly how he makes him feel: so happy, so listened to, so short. And it’s all okay. It’s nothing. Just one small thing in a short life full of so many wonderful, loving things.

#byeler #byler #mike wheeler x will byers #stranger things writing #this could have a trans reading bc ya know *i* wrote this but like take it however you want #just something i wrote during my essay break #prompts

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 3 years

Text

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 74: 10 Short Films about 1-A

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

“What’re you watching, dork?”

Toshi looked up from his desk to see his sister, Hana, standing in the doorway. “Oh, just a video Shota sent over. He wanted to know what I thought. It’s Sequoia Rose and Kestrel fighting some of the Sons of Stain… Looks like they were planning some kind of raid on the local Agencies before they routed them out.”

It was a pretty impressive fight. But the Sons of Stain were no joke; they were followers of the late Hero Killer, who still believed Hero Society was corrupt and worked to bring it down. There was something very satisfying about seeing them get beaten.

Hana rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how you can just watch all that stuff in your free time. Dad’s a Hero. Mom’s a Hero. More than half the adults we know are Heroes. You’re studying to be a Hero and so are all your friends! Don’t you get tired of it?”

“No?” he tried. “It’s just all… so cool! Besides, Rose and Kestrel are still pretty young! There’s a good chance I might get to work with them someday, so it helps to know about…” She rolled her eyes again and Toshi trailed off.

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“You know,” he said, “just because you pretend you’re too cool for this kind of stuff doesn’t make you cool. We used to watch videos together with Dad! You used to run around in a Froppy onesie!”

Hana looked him dead in the eyes. “Meh.” He actually felt a chill go down his spine, but pressed on.

“Oh, come on! You wanted to be a Hero when you were little! What changed, Hanners? Your Quirk’s way stronger than Grandma’s! It’d be perfect for Hero work!”

“Maybe I don’t want to spend my life beating people up, dork! You ever think of that?” Hana looked annoyed. He’d known for a while now her interest in Heroes or in being one had been waning, but her disinterest seemed to have picked up speed since she became a teenager. She did want to be a doctor, which was still helping people, but…

“But you could be a Rescue Hero, like Mom! Or a Medical Hero, like Aunt Eri! Your Quirk would be great for that! You could move rubble or people, maybe even help with injuries....”

Hana pointed at him and he felt a slight shove in his chest, nearly knocking him out of his chair. “Tosh,” she said. “Let it go. Not everybody wants that life.”

“Even with a punch like that…” Toshi began, but the fire in her eyes silenced him. “Okay, okay. I’ll let it go.” He smiled. “You know we’ll all be proud of you, no matter what you do, right?”

There was another eyeroll. “Could you be any sappier? I’m surprised you aren’t crying.”

“I don’t cry that much!”

“Suuuure….”

“But you know, though,” he said, “Aunt Eri and Katsuma got through med school way faster with way less debt…”

***

“You’re what?” Katsumi growled, staring at Dad.

Dad looked up from where he was packing his suitcase. “Going to the Training Camp,” he said. “The other teachers think it’ll be a good idea if I go and get an idea of what you kids can do.”

She threw up her hands in irritation. “And you were planning on telling me this when?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t find out until a couple days ago.” He’d been commuting back and forth to U.A. a lot lately, getting things set up so he could start teaching the next term. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that or how she felt about having him around and in her space that often. “And I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

Scratch that. She was relieved to still have him around after his injuries. But she still wasn’t sure how she felt about him being their teacher. Aunt Itsuka was a homeroom teacher, not a subject teacher, so it probably wasn’t as bad for Kana as this would be, but maybe she’d talk to her and see how she dealt with it.

She crossed her arms. “So you’re leaving Tai alone with Papa to eat take out the whole time we’re gone?”

He gave her a look. “I’m not that dumb. Tsukushi’s given them a standing invitation to dinner while we’re gone. She’ll make sure they’re fed.”

Leaving Papa and her little brother to the Monomas? Dad was desperate. Well, Papa and Tsukushi got along. And Tai loved Takeru. It was really only Dad and the elder Monoma who fought, usually over stupid stuff like hedges and an ever escalating “niceness” war that probably wouldn’t end even when they moved.

“Don’t worry,” Dad said. “I’ll give you your space. I’m not going to be looking over your shoulder the whole time or anything.”

She held his gaze, then shrugged. It wasn’t like she had anything to hide anyway. It was just the principle of the thing. “Yeah, all right.”

He grinned after that. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on any of you, though.”

“Wasn’t asking you to.”

“Not even Izumi.”

The words caught in her throat. She could handle All Might pushing them. His jocular demeanor meant that even when he was driving them the hardest, it was hard to get mad at him. Even Aizawa’s pushing was a serious, focused thing.

Dad would push as hard of any of them, probably harder. It was, she admitted, what they all needed, how nuts things were right now. He’d force them to go beyond their limits, because he knew no other way.

Could she handle seeing her best friend pushed like that? She’d been trying hard to let Izzy face her own challenges and not step in immediately to protect her. Even since the Sports Festival, she’d been more acutely aware of how Izzy could take care of herself. Dad knew that about her.

“She’ll appreciate that.” She’d have to try and do the same.

***

KA-BOOM!

The device exploded, leaving a large scorch mark on the opposite wall of the testing range. Automated systems activated, with arms extending from the wall and spaying fire-suppressant foam over the flames. Later, a cleaning robot would emerge and take care of the mess.

Flipping up her protective mask, Mother let out a laugh. “Aw, I thought for sure that baby was going to work! But didja see the size of that explosion! Wowee!”

Sora joined her in the laugh. “Most spectacular!” she agreed. “Perhaps we should adjust the fuel to power ratio by twenty-percent for the next version?”

Her brother shook his head. “If we are intended to make a rocket-propelled gauntlet for our costumes, then we will require sufficient force to do any damage. Better to reinforce the material to survive the forces involved.”

He was incorrect about that. “Material strength will only go so far,” she told him. “And reinforcing the material will add additional weight, which will diminish speed.”

The incorrectness persisted. “Incorrect,” he said. “The advancements being made with lightweight alloys should prove sufficient to…”

Both of them frowned, then turned to face Mother. At the same time, they began, “Mother tell him/her that I am correct!”

Mother let out another laugh. “Babies, babies, babies,” she said. “I think it’s adorable when you have a science fight. And as much I’d love to weigh in on this one…” The clock on her design desk chirped with an alarm. It was loud, shrill, and impossible to ignore. Father had insisted on her having one like that. It would even trigger back-up alarms if not silenced with the correct passcode. It was ultimately necessary to allow Mother proper time-keeping.

She silenced the alarm. “I promised your father I would have you both in one place so he could talk to you.”

At that, the door to the lab snapped open and Father walked in. He had his projector laptop under one arm. Sora looked at Tensei nervously. It was rarely a good sign when he brought that out. It would mean he had a topic for discussion that he considered important enough to require slides.

Father regarded them seriously and set his laptop up. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “As you know, you will be leaving on Monday for the two week Training Camp. While I trust Aizawa and your other chaperones to maintain order, I also still remember the third year camp my own class undertook. Denki and Kyoka were somehow able to sneak away to go skinny-dipping. The resultant pregnancy scare that resulted a few weeks later is not something I wish to see repeated with either of you or your class.”

Tensei brought a hand up. “Father, seeing as how Takuma and I are both male, that would be a highly unlikely outcome, should we choose to engage in such behavior.” He went a bit red. “Even though we will not. May I be excused from this discussion? It seems as though it would be better focused on Sora.”

The traitor! She made a mental note to hide his soldering kit later.

Mother, however, just shook her head. “Let him have this. He spent all of his last day off making these slides. I tried to distract him, but he resisted my feminine wiles.”

“Mei!” Father erupted. “That is not an appropriate thing to say!”

“I thought it tied right in, Tenny.”

Father went a bit red, as he often did when Mother teased him. “Regardless,” he said, “as you are both now in relationships, I feel this next stage of talks to be highly necessary.”

The presentation projected from the laptop’s holograph lens began with Relationships: How to Make Smart Decisions That Will Ensure a Successful Future for You and Your Partner. Looking carefully, she could see the slide was numbered as one of one hundred fifty.

It was going to be one of those presentations then. Father certainly did love to lecture. Takuma, she understood, but how could he not trust Toshi?

“Perhaps we should be taking notes?” Sora ventured. “But I believe I left pen and paper in my room. I should go and get them!”

“As should I!” Tensei agreed quickly.

Father seemed to be searching their faces for signs of deception, but nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Ten minutes, then we will begin!”

More than enough time. She ran out of the lab as fast as her legs would carry her, Tensei hot on her heels.

***

Carefully, Kimiko closed her suitcase. She had enough clothes to get her through the Training Camp and a few of the medical textbooks Doctor Izumi had provided her with. According to Doctor Izumi, since she was progressing well with her studies, she’d be able to receive additional medical training at the camp. The studying was often long and arduous and cut into her gossip-wrangling time, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t also rewarding. It was an application of her Quirk that didn’t involve sneaking around, didn’t make being invisible the be-all and end all of what she was.

There was a knock on her door. “Come in, Daddy,” she said.

Her door slid open as Daddy padded inside. He smiled. “How’d you know it was me, ‘miko?” As always, he was able to look her right in the eyes, something almost no one else could. Even Kenta had trouble with it sometimes.

“Pretty distinctive knock,” she told him.

Daddy smiled again. “You’re getting good at observing,” he said. He nodded towards the shelf where some of her medical books still were. “You’re getting good at lots of things.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she said. “You’re going to make me blush!”

He chuckled at that. “You’ve got everything you need? Sunscreen? Extra changes of clothes? Reflectors?”

“Yes, yes, yes, …wait, no!” Kimiko ran to her dresser and pulled out her reflective headband, armbands, and gloves. They were useful when she was going places in the dark, otherwise it was very hard to see just her clothing. They stood out when she couldn’t.

She stashed them in her suitcase. “Whew! You’re a lifesaver, Daddy!” She threw her arms around him in a hug.

“Offf!” Daddy grunted, returning the hug. “I still need to breathe, ‘miko!”

She let go, but gave him an affectionate punch on the arm. “Oh, Daddy!”

“Smart, pretty as your mother, and a heck of a right hook,” Daddy said, beaming. “No wonder you’re going to make a great Hero.”

“Daaaaaddy!” she wailed, arms flailing. “You’re too much!”

“I’m just telling the truth.”

He always did believe in her. When she’d told her parents she wanted to be a Medical Hero, get her paramedic’s license, they’d both been supportive, but Mom had been more cautious, telling her about all the hard work that would be involved. But Daddy, Daddy had immediately thrown his full support behind her.

She gave him another hug. “Thank you.”

After the hug, he crossed his arms. “Now, you’re going to behave yourself on this trip?”

“Of course, Daddy!”

“You’re going to pay attention to Aizawa and the other teachers?”

“Of course, Daddy!”

“Not going to hit your friends too much?”

“…I’ll try, Daddy!”

“Not going to spend the whole time shipping your classmates and friends? Or trying to arrange a ‘summer romance?’”

“…I’m only human, Daddy.”

“’miko…” he began, a chastising tone in his voice.

“Fine,” she said, stomping her foot. “I’ll try and keep it to a minimum.”

“That’s all I ask.”

***

Shopping in the upscale boutique, Takiyo reached for the designer shirt. Another hand did so at the same time. Wrapping his glowing fingers around one side of the hanger, he tried to take it. But the other hand, ending in sharp looking claws, wrapped around the other side and tugged too.

He looked to his right and shot them a glare, finding a boy his age, with a mane of purple hair and a feline-ish cast to his face. He was very pretty, with a style that suggested the kind of trying too hard to look like he wasn’t trying hard to look that good. “Pardon,” Takiyo said, “I had it first.”

“Oh, please,” the boy said. “I saw it first. It’ll look better on me anyway.”

Takiyo wondered if he could distract the boy by using his Quirk like a laser-pointer, but he doubted he was cat-like enough for that. “There must be something wrong with your eyes if you think that’s true.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, his yellow, vertically-pupiled eyes moving quickly. He tapped a finger against his chin. “U.A. student, right? First year? I do remember seeing a glowing boy during the Sports Festival.”

Takiyo’s thoughts darkened at that. He hadn’t stood out nearly as much as he would have liked and he was certain he’d only ended up on an Internship with Cellophane because the class’s parents had arranged for no one to be left out. Still, if he had made enough of an impression for someone else to remember, even someone infuriating…

He put his free hand on his hip. “If you remember me, then you should remember how stunning I am.” He almost regretted his words. He had told Koda he was trying to be nicer to people. She would be disappointed in him and he hated to think of that. He could already see her disappointed face in his mind…

The boy shook his head, sending his mane waving in what had to be a practiced motion. “You keep telling yourself that.” He snapped his fingers, then licked his lips. “Now the boy who took first… that’s a different story. Though my friend was rather partial to the girl who took second. But nobody was talking about you, honey.”

Neither of them had let go of the shirt in the meantime. It was the last one left in that color and style and he was not backing down. “Regardless,” Takiyo said, “none of it changes the fact that I had my hand on this first. It’s mine.”

The cat-boy laughed, but did release his grip on the shirt. “I suppose it’s the duty of the pretty to do everything they can to help the less fortunate. And you, my friend, need a lot of help.”

Takiyo gritted his teeth, feeling his glow intensify for a moment. “Must you be so infuriating?” he demanded.

The boy laughed as he walked away. “Oh, you’ll see just how infuriating I can be, honey.”

What did that mean?

***

“Up! Up!”

Takuma looked down to see his little sister, Moji, tugging at his pant leg. She looked a lot like a miniature version of Mom, with pinkish skin and horns, topped by dark, fluffy hair. At only two, she didn’t have a Quirk yet, but he was sure it would be trouble, whatever it was.

With a grunt, he bent down and picked her up. She wrapped her arms around him and he planted a kiss on top of her head, causing her to giggle. “Did you come to see your favorite big brother? Or did you just want a snack?”

She gave this serious consideration. “Snack!”

Takuma laughed and shifted her so he was only holding her with one arm. “Okay, hang on, I think we’ve got goldfish crackers around here somewhere… Assuming Mom hasn’t eaten them all.” At four months pregnant with twins (Or as Dad like to refer to them, “Players to be named later.”), Mom had developed a lot of cravings.

“Snack?” Moji repeated, more insistently. She had a bit of a one track mind sometimes.

“I’m getting it,” Takuma told her, finding the small serving pouches. He set her down, ripped the top off, and handed it to her.

“Snack!” Moji said again. “Thank you!” Her cravings satisfied, she walked off, leaving him alone in the kitchen. She dodged around Mom as they passed each other in the doorway.

“Hard to believe you used to try and sell your brothers,” she said.

“In my defense, Kenta really wanted a brother. He would have liked Yamato.”

“You’re not going to try and sell the twins, are you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’ll be out of the house by the time they’re old enough to be trouble.”

“You will, won’t you?” Mom asked. “Hard to believe you’re almost sixteen. I must have done something right. Tsu and Momo were so worried when I had you! They were afraid I’d leave you at the park or something! As if! That only happened two times.”

“Three,” he corrected. “It was raining.”

“Meh, who’s counting.” She crossed the room and pulled a container of ice cream from the freezer. Mom grabbed a spoon and proceeded to eat directly from it. She gestured with her spoon. “So how’s things going with you and Tensei? Good? Tell me it’s good. In-Laws with the Iidas? Mama’s gonna have a nice retirement! You know, Training Camps are great for cementing relationships…”

Takuma felt himself flushing a deep purple. “Nope, nope, nope, not having this conversation!”

Mom cackled at his discomfort. “Oh, come on. You can’t possibly be traumatized by this. Your dad and I have always been very frank about sex.”

Too frank, really. And with four siblings and two on the way, too often too. “Nope, nope, can’t talk, gotta go upload my last video!”

Not entirely a lie; he wouldn’t be able to upload anything while at the camp. Two weeks without external validation from strangers? He was gonna die!

***

The Anivoice Agency was not a large organization, but the building was significant. This was because the ground floor contained an animal rehabilitation center. Most of the animals had been seized from trafficking operations. Father was frequently called upon to rehabilitate the animals before they were returned to the wild.

While there were employees charged with caring for the animals, Father also liked to spend time with them. Akaya had many memories of helping and was accompanying him today.

They paused before a large enclosure holding a gigantic beast, combining the features of many animals. “How are you, Manny?” Father asked. “Feel like talking? No? Okay, let me know if you do…”

Manticore made a soft rumble. He had been in Father’s care for ten years and was barely closer to regaining his humanity than he’d been the day he arrived. Yet Father tried.

Father turned to her. “Looking forward to the Camp?” With other people, Father often had trouble finding his words, but never with her or her mother and brother.

What could she tell him? That the words that had shattered her during her Internship still haunted her? That her classmates were all finding themselves in relationships, while no one had expressed any interest in her? That she was certain that no one would look upon her with romantic eyes?

“I am,” she said. Not entirely a lie. She could throw herself into being a Hero. And there would be plenty of time to spend with her friends. It did not do to devote oneself entirely to romantic pursuits. Father and Mother had not even begun dating until they had graduated.

She had time. She could tell herself that.

“I’m glad.” Father was also not one to push, preferring instead to simply listen.

Her faith taught her honesty…

“I’m not,” she said. “I haven’t felt truly glad for a long time.”

“I know,” he said. “We were worried you would never tell us.”

“You knew?” she asked.

“You’re like me, easy to read,” he said. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It began during my Internship.” She told him all that had happened.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” he said. She could tell he was pushing down anger on her behalf. “The world’s filled with too many people filled with hate. But love wins.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It did for me. For Grandma. For her father. Our skin is stone, but our heart still feels. We’ve all felt it. You’ve already braver than I was at your age. Stronger too. I know someone will see you for the amazing person you are.”

“Would that I could be so certain.”

“It will get easier. Someone will see you and just go ‘wow.’”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know it.”

She wished she could believe it so easily. Something about the way Father said it made it sound possible. “Okay.”

For a moment, the world was all right. Manticore cooed encouragingly. “Thank you, Manny,” she said.

***

“It’ll be fine, Mom,” Daisuke said, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea. Mom sat across from him, likewise drinking tea, a nervous look upon her face. Dad was at work.

Mom was a tiny woman, dark-haired and serious. She had an arm-stretching Quirk and had been a graduate of U.A.’s General Education program. She worked in finance, well away from the world of Heroes. And she was worried. It didn’t show on her face, but he could tell by the subtle way her teacup shook in her hands, the way her arms kept ever so slightly lengthening and then retracting to their normal length, the way she was blinking too much, her breaths quick and shallow.

“The first time your dad went away to a training camp,” Mom said, setting her cup down, he lost a hand, most of his classmates were injured, Bakugo was kidnapped, and Fumikage almost was too.”

“The hand…”

“And don’t say the hand grew back!”

“…Yes, Mom.”

Mom frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m not like Tsu or all the other spouses. I’m not a Hero. I worry enough about your dad when he’s out there. Haru gets it, Mei a little, but… I remember how worried I was when the news broke about what happened at the Training Camp… I don’t think I slept a wink until he called.”

“It’s not going to be like that,” he told her. “One, there’s no Villains after us. Two, even if there were, Tokoyami’s Quirk isn’t like her dad’s and wouldn’t go berserk no matter what else happened. And three, anyone who kidnapped Kirishima-Bakugo would return her within the hour.” No offense meant to his explosive classmate, but she would be far more trouble to kidnap than anyone would want to deal with.

Mom frowned at that. “I know. Just promise me you’ll be careful, all right? Even with your teachers watching out for you, you’re going to be out in the middle of nowhere. If somebody gets hurt…”

Mom worried a lot. It was easy to forget sometimes, how many people didn’t have powerful Quirks, how many people weren’t Heroes. At U.A., it was a bit of an insular bubble for his class, the children of so many Heroes who’d not only grown up as friends, but were all concentrated in one place. People like his mom had to worry more about Villain attacks, about who would help if something went wrong, about who would get hurt.

His Quirk and his strength made him a frontline fighter and a brawler. She would worry about him getting hurt no matter what. But how could he not put his skills to use? His Extendo-Arms might not have been as flashy as the majority of his classmates’ Quirks, but he had the right skills and the right Quirk to be the right person for someone who needed a Hero. He didn’t seek fame or glory. He just wanted to help. It was enough.

“I promise, Mom,” he said.

***

“Can we have Mighty Burger for dinner?” Taki asked. Asuka’s dark-haired younger brother was the only one in the family to look entirely human. Though the eleven year old’s shadow never quite seemed to match his movements.

“Yeah!” Nanami added. Her nine year old sister’s wings flapped furiously, though not quite enough to get her off the ground.

“That would be good,” Asahi said. Her frog-faced brother, all of thirteen, had not picked up the moodiness that some teens seemed to. If anything, he was too well-behaved.

With Mom at sea and Dad at work, it was left to her to manage her younger siblings. Normally, Asahi would be in charge since she’d started UA, but as long as she was there, she was drafted into the role of caretaker. Not that she minded. She had already done so before attending U.A and had been doing so for much of the Summer break. They’d spent much of the afternoon at the library, so that Nanami could check out books and so that Asahi could begin to do research for a project he would have in his next school term, and were now walking home.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Mighty Burger!” Taki insisted.

“Mighty Burger!” Nanami said.

“Mighty Burger!” Even Asahi was joining in now.

Asuka felt the familiar sensation of Frog-Shadow leaving her body. “Mighty Burger!” Frog-Shadow insisted, joining in the now repetitious chorus of wanting to get take out.

“We have food at home,” she said firmly, using the same tone of voice her mom used to manage them. “I’m making pasta for dinner.”

Frog-Shadow zipped and around and hovered right in front of her beak, eyes wide and pleading. “Pleeeeeease,” her familiar begged. “They’ve got Hero Babies toys in the kids’ meals! I wanna get Baby Ground Zero before they discontinue it!”

“…Why do you know any of that?” Asuka demanded.

“Because Toshi told you about it and I know everything you know.”

Asuka squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Ever since she had almost lost her, she had made a greater effort to include Frog-Shadow, allowing her to roam freely and speak to her more often. It had, by and large, been going quite well. Being included more often had tamed some of her childish impulses, though it seemed that it was still an uphill battle.

“I’m pretty sure you’re outvoted, Asuka.” Taki said. The shadows around him rippled a bit.

Asahi just laughed, a low, croaking sound that flared his throat pouch. “Hey now, Mom and Dad left her in charge. If she says we’re having pasta, then we’re having pasta.”

There were now four pairs of eyes staring at her. She should be strong. She should be tough. She was the responsible adult here. If she could wrangle her classmates as Vice-Representative, then she should certainly be able to handle her family as eldest child.

And perhaps if she flapped her arms hard enough, she could learn to fly without Frog-Shadow.

“Fine. Mighty Burger!”

***

“Hi! Welcome to the Nice Guy Convenience Store! Let me know if you need help with anything!” Isamu said to the customer who had just entered. Ever since he’d returned from I-Island—and he still couldn’t believe everything he’d become privy to during that time—he’d been working in his dad’s store, pitching in where he could. It was nice and normal and grounding. The woman grunted and nodded in acknowledgement.

Weird. The dark-haired woman looked familiar. Where had he seen her before? That was going to bug him until he figured it out. She headed to the back to pick up a handful of ready-made frozen meals and a six pack of energy drinks.

The woman seemed to be eyeing him as well when she returned to the front. As he was ringing her up, she asked, “U.A. kid, right? One of Eraserhead’s brats?”

“Ah, yes, ma’am,” he said. Was she a Pro-Hero? He didn’t think so, though she could have been an Underground Hero. But not that many people would know who Aizawa was, even if his own face had been on practically every television in Japan during the Sports Festival.

That, mercifully, had started dying down. The U.A. Sports Festival was a major event, but compared to daily Hero fights and premieres, it was easy to get forgotten by anyone who wasn’t a diehard fan.

Was he in danger? He let one of his hands behind the counter. Slowly, he began charging up an energy pulse, just in case he needed it. He just needed to keep his face neutral…

“Thought I recognized you,” she said. “You’re the zippy kid who tackled me at the last second.”

Isamua’s eyes went wide. Shadow-Thief? She was on parole, right? Aizawa said they earned their paroles…

“Yeah,” he said. Should he apologize?

She shrugged. “Just didn’t expect to see any Hero kids working a regular job. I thought all you Hero types had rich families.”

“Not a Hero family,” he said. “Just me.”

“They stuck you with all those Hero kids?” Shadow-Thief asked. “What the hell? That ain’t exactly fair to you, is it?”

“I’ve already learned a lot from them.” Isamu shrugged. A sudden and rare burst of confidence filled him. “And besides… I think I’m doing all right for myself.” Sports Festival winner, Intern with Deku, “Hero” of I-Island, even if he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about that last one, especially the paycheck that had shown up from the Mighty Agency for “services while deputized” with way too many zeroes in it. At least that adventure had been kept out of the news.

Shadow-Thief laughed at that. “You, you’re all right, kid.” She took the bag with her purchases in it and headed for the door. “Stay in school kid. I wanna get to say I was your first take down someday.”

What did it say about his life that getting encouragement from a former Villain was not the strangest thing to have happened to him?

#my hero academia #their hero academia #toshi midoriya #katsumi kirishima-bakugo #sora iida #tensei iida (tha)#takuma sero #kimiko ojiro #daisuke shoji #isamu haimawari #asuka tokoyami #takiyo aoyama #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing

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