#SO UM. RIP DUCK I GUESS.

[suzukiblu]

Guessing game: Farm

Context: a familial soulmates AU is happening to newly-decanted baby clone "Superman" and Ma and Pa "it's free alien baby" Kent.

The waitress comes back with the drinks and asks if they're ready to order, and then they have to actually read the menu. She leaves them to it. The Zesti does taste really good, but Superman has a hard time concentrating on the menu and barely resists the urge to glance up at Jonathan and Martha every five seconds.

"Oh, wait–can you read yet, kiddo, or do you need some help with that?" Jonathan asks with a faint frown as he glances up at him himself, and somehow the question doesn't sound judgmental at all.

Weird, Superman thinks again.

"Yeah," he says. "Um–Cadmus was educating me with information uploads. I didn't finish them, but I can read and write and do, like . . . well, some math, anyway. I got through trig and precalc, mostly. Uh, and some chemistry and biology. And, like, I can speak English and Spanish and a little Mandarin, and I know basic ASL. I don't think I'm actually as smart as they thought I was gonna be, though, some of it's kinda . . . confusing, to be honest? And they only ever showed me stuff once, I think they just thought I'd . . . you know, get it."

"You're two weeks old!" Martha says with an exasperated huff. "Those damn morons, you're gonna need a lot more than two weeks' worth of yellow sun before you're going to get the eidetic memory or the enhanced intelligence."

"The–what?" Superman blinks. Jonathan and Martha glance at each other, oddly, and then back to him.

"Superman had perfect recall," Jonathan says. "Hyperthymesia. A photographic memory, you might call it."

"Oh," Superman says, blinking again. "Uh–I didn't know that."

"I don't know how much most people ever thought about it, so far as his powers went," Jonathan says with a shrug. "Not quite as flashy as the heat vision or the flying. Actually it's a surprise you can fly this quick, come to think."

"I'm sort of . . . cheating," Superman mutters, ducking his head. "My Kryptonian physiology isn't developed enough to give me the real powers yet and they didn't know how long it might take for them to come in, so they sort of . . . there's like this . . . field, kind of, that the original Superman put off? Subconscious telekinesis, I guess. Skin-tight force field, basically. It's why bullets weren't ripping up his suit all the time and why he could, like, pick up a whole freaking bus or whatever one-handed and it wouldn't just break in half from the fucked-up–uh, the messed-up support. The field would just wrap around whatever he was touching and reflexively keep it together. So Cadmus just kinda . . . copied that and cranked it up to eleven, for me. So I'm telekinetic, kind of?"

"Huh," Martha says, looking a little puzzled. "You know, that never even occurred to me, but it certainly explains a few things."

"It only works when I'm touching something," Superman says, fidgeting uncomfortably and feeling kind of like . . . well, he guesses his powers not being the same as the original Superman's were yet isn't gonna disappoint the Kents, right? Like, why would they care? "It's tactile-based. But I can always use it on myself. So I can fly and pick up real heavy shit and hit like I've got super-strength and make it look like I'm invulnerable. No heat vision or ice breath or X-ray vision or, uh, eidetic memory, though. Or super-speed or super-senses."

And definitely, definitely no enhanced intelligence.

"So you mean you're going to be stronger than Superman was?" Martha asks with a little frown, and Superman . . . blinks.

"Uh . . . I don't think so?" he says uncertainly, not sure where she got that idea. "I don't know how the hybridization of my DNA will affect, like . . . any of the Kryptonian powers. They might turn out weaker than his were, since my genes are sort of already adapted for a yellow sun."

"I don't know, being primed to process yellow sunlight might make your powers end up stronger, on that logic," Jonathan points out reasonably. "Once you grow into them a bit, anyway. And either way you'll have the telekinesis enhancing your strength and invulnerability, and that might get stronger too. And, well, at least some hybrids have a tendency to turn out bigger and stronger than their parent species."

Superman tilts his head. Blinks a couple times.

"Huh," he says.

Well, there's a really freaking cool and absolutely fucking terrifying thought.

"How do you know all that?" he asks. "Are you a biologist or something?"

"I'm a farmer, son," Jonathan says wryly. "I'm talking about mules and wolfdogs."

"You're a farmer?" Superman repeats in absolute bemusement.

"We both are, dear," Martha says. "All our lives. We live out in Smallville, actually, we're just here visiting . . . well. Clark's fiancée. Her name is Lois."

"Where's Smallville?" Superman asks, still bemused.

"Kansas," Martha says. "We have a little farm out there. And . . . well, we'd very much like to take you in, obviously, though I don't know where you're staying right now."

"Just, like–wherever, right now," Superman says awkwardly, trying not to sound as pathetic as he's pretty sure he does even as he wonders how that's supposed to be "obvious". He's not, like, a little kid or anything. It's not like he can't take care of himself. "Like, it's not really . . . just wherever."

Jonathan and Martha glance at each other. Superman feels embarrassed. It's not like it matters where he's staying, and like, he'll find a place, eventually, just . . . he hasn't quite figured out how to do that yet. That's all.

Cadmus, unfortunately, did not prepare him to ever live . . . well. Outside of Cadmus.

"Would you like to visit, at least? Take a look around?" Jonathan offers. "It's not too far a flight from Metropolis."

"Um . . . maybe," Superman says, really not sure what he'd ever do on a farm of all places. Like, in what way is a farm a "Superman" kind of place to be?

Though he guesses it'd be politer than making Jonathan and Martha come to Metropolis. And if they actually . . . if they really want to see him . . .

He could swing by sometimes, that's all. He guesses he'd have to be careful about doing it because probably the Kents aren't gonna want anybody to know they're his soulmates, given the whole "being civilians" thing. Maybe he can just . . . just pretend to be . . . he doesn't know, exactly? Just–maybe some random distant relative or something. Maybe they have some cousins or whatever. Or just . . . something.

Superman actually has no idea how many people hang out with their extended family members like that, to be honest, but it's the best idea he's coming up with right now.

[sanddusted-wisteria]

Earth and Sky, Ch. 1

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At the sound of the door, he glanced over his shoulder, expression deadpan and unamused. He pushed up his round-frame glasses as he plainly asked in a sharp-sounding accent, “Can I help you?” Now that he was facing her, he looked even messier at the front than the back. Hair a scraggly nest, a loose, half-knotted tie, shirt half-untucked and a tear ripped at the seams.  Wis blinked as she realized that she was just staring. “O-oh, uh… I’m Wisteria. The…new builder in town. Or Wis, if you want.” The man frowned. “Another builder? I was never informed of this.” “Well, um…now you know, I guess…” The man was silent, no reaction of any sorts in words or on his face. Wis glanced around uneasily, wondering if he was waiting on her to say something else.

Also on AO3

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Foreclosure.

Wisteria stared at the word on the well-read letter. It was the only one she could see. All the others had blurred into meaningless noise.

She sighed and folded the paper back up. Today was her last day as the property owner. Everything had already been cleared out. All that was left was sawdust and the clean outlines of where her old machines used to be (all sold, of course). She didn’t even know why she was here. Just trying to stretch out all the time she had where this place was truly hers, maybe.

She slowly peeled herself off the wall she was leaning against and went outside for the final time.

Only one thing left to do.

She took out her hammer and approached the sign still hanging proudly next to the door:

FRESH PINES

She leaned in and sniffed. The wood still had a little bit of that piney smell.

She flipped her hammer around and brought it to the sign, yanking out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 nails. The sign fell into her hand.

She hefted it under her arm, took one last look at the empty husk of a workshop, then slowly walked away. Never to return.

Wis should’ve walked back towards Main Street. Back up the route to her little apartment that she could no longer afford. But instead she found herself wandering down the side street, past all the closed shops, past the sleepy homes, all the way to the trailhead into the woods.

Thick conifers lined either side of the trail, sentinels that blotted out the moonlight above. Wis paid them no mind as she slowly trekked over their knobbley roots and ducked under low-hanging branches.

A moonlit clearing lay ahead. Wis knew it well, with its simple little wooden bench off to the side. She’d come here for many a lunch break before. Quiet and undisturbed.

But this time, she didn’t even bother sitting down. She simply walked to the center of the clearing, arm starting to ache from lugging her sign, and turned her tired eyes up to the darkened sky.

Her arm finally gave out, and the sign fell to the ground with a muffled thump, kicking up the scattered pine needles.

Wis only sighed, eyes not focused on the moon or any of the stars. Only the darkness in between.

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

Three years later

Wis stepped out the front door of her parent’s house into a breezy, partly-cloudy day. So in Highwind, just another day. She started down the street with a hurried stride, weaving around slow walkers as politely as she could. She was already running a couple minutes late, though her boss probably wouldn’t mind.

Past all the little cafes and restaurants on her parents’ street was a simple little newsstand. Wis always passed there every morning to glance at the headlines as she went along. Rarely would there be anything worth picking up the paper for. Just more local political bickering where no one would come out satisfied, or rumors of Duvos making a move to swallow some more territory, or maybe an announcement about a local festival or a new place that opened in town.

But today, right on the front page of The Windy Times, two simple words caught Wis’s eye.

BUILDERS WANTED!

She’d just passed the newsstand when she saw it, screeching to a halt and backing up to take another look at the rather loud advertisement. Builders wanted where…?

She picked up the paper and unfolded it to read the whole thing.

The city of Sandrock is seeking two new builders, as our last remaining builder is retiring soon! We have two open workshops ripe and ready for the taking! We’re always in need of a couple helping hands around here, and we’ll all be happy to call you our new neighbor!

*Only providing property. Transit and living costs not covered. Must carry a valid Builder’s License at time of inquiry. Make inquiries out to: Sandrock City Hall, Sandrock, Alliance of Free Cities.

Wis stared at the paper, reading it over and over again. Sure, it was Sandrock, the Free Cities’ little desert hobble town, but…open workshops…

Suddenly, there came the clearing of a throat. Wis looked up. The old man who owned the newsstand was looking at her with a polite, but nudging smile.

Wis let out an apologetic laugh. “How much?” she asked, holding the paper up.

“Two gols,” replied the old man, his smile warming a little bit.

Wis flipped open the coin pouch on her toolbelt and pulled out two small coins. After handing the old man the money and thanking him, she took off down the road in the direction she came, darting between the slow walkers with plenty of “excuse me”s and “sorry”s, all the way back home.

She slammed open the door to find her parents right there, each with one shoe on and halfway through slipping on the other, mouths agape and brows raised.

Panting a bit from the sprint, Wis answered their silent question by holding up the paper, crinkled a bit by her tense grip. She jabbed a finger at the ad on the front page, feeling the thud of her pulse in her ears.

“I’m moving to Sandrock.”

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

Canyons and mountains. Mesas and buttes and pillars reaching for the bright blue sky. A sleepy town atop a bed of light tan sand.

Wis blinked the sleep out of her eyes as the train rushed out of the tunnel, into the blinding light of the morning sun. She gaped at the sight outside, eyes trailing from the depths of the valleys to the spine of the distant mountains. So it wasn’t just all sand out here.

The train slowed to a halt with a slight lurch. Around the half-full train car, Wis only saw one or two people leave their seats, carrying their meager belongings with them.

“Sandrock! Welcome to Sandrock, folks!” The voice of the conductor boomed into the train car.

Wis had already shouldered her backpack on and grabbed her suitcase, leaving only her conspicuously large sign to tow. Carefully gathering it up under her arm, she made her way to the exit.

The heat was what hit her first. Dry and almost sizzling. She had to squint as she stepped out from the shaded train car into the morning light. Blinking a few times to adjust, she looked around the platform. On one end, the station’s conductor was busy overseeing some freight being loaded off the cars behind the passenger car. On the other end was a young woman in green, with a cap and googles sitting smartly atop her head. In her hands was a small wooden sign, the name “Wisteria” in neat, white-painted writing the only thing on it.

Wis raised an eyebrow and approached her. “Hi. Looking for me?”

The woman brightened, reaching out a hand for Wis to shake. “Wisteria? I’m Mi-an. I’m the other new builder here! I just moved in last week.”

“Oh! Well, nice to meet you. ‘Wis’ is also fine. Hope we’ll do good work out here,” Wis said as she set her suitcase down on the platform to shake Mi-an’s hand.

“Me too! But uh, speaking of work, our boss already needs to see us, so follow me.” She led Wis down the platform and towards the town proper. No buffer time to properly settle. Interesting.

Wis looked up at the coarse, wooden buildings and steel-plate roofs, all in washed-out colors and shimmering in the heat. The local temple stood at the top of the hill, shining proud with its pale, hewn stone. A rough looking place, though not as ramshackle as some people in Highwind seemed to think.

“You’re from Highwind, right? Or did you just pass through?” Mi-an asked, and Wis turned her head back to the other builder.

“From Highwind, yeah. Lived there my whole life.”

“Oh, nice! I’ve never been. I’m from Tallsky, and…that’s a bit far. Even for our vacations.” Mi-an chuckled.

Wis only hummed. Tallsky…a city well known for its builders. Wis hadn’t gotten into their Builder Academy, supposedly the most prestigious one. Highwind’s wasn’t anything to sneeze at, though. If Mi-an was from Tallsky, she was probably very good at what she did.

“Ah, there you are. Finally!” A high, nasally voice suddenly caught their attention. Standing a few paces away were two men. One with ginger hair and beard, in dusty overalls, slouched and lips drawn in a thin line, and the other a gangly man in a snappy suit and overalls, brown mustache quirked up at one end in what seemed to be an attempt at a polite smile. It looked more like a sneer.

“Well now, howdy and nice to make your acquaintance and blahdy blahdy blah!” he said. “I’m sure you’re just as eager to get to work as I am to give you something to do, so all we gotta know is that I’m President Yan, and I’m you and Mi-an’s supervisor!”

He offered no hand to shake, but even if he did, Wis wasn’t keen on shaking it. “President” was not any kind of official title in the Commerce Guild hierarchy, even the larger ones that needed more delegation. “Yeah. Well, I’m Wisteria, as you know…”

“Right! Wisteria…Wis…Wist…Wisty! Hope we’ll all get along and you’ll get some good work done! I might be your boss, but nah…think of us more as buddies! …Just that I’m your buddy that’s supervising ya.”

Wis bristled. Three strikes already. Lofty, unofficial title, trying to make them out to be friends instead of boss and employee, and the nerve to call her Wisty. That right was reserved for actual friends. She grit her teeth and simply nodded with a strained “Mhm.” Now wasn’t the time to deal with this.

Yan gestured to the dismal man beside him. “This here’s Mason. You two’ll be replacing him soon, since he’s retiring ‘n all. But you already knew that! It was in the papers!” He chuckled to himself. Wis and Mason were silent. Mi-an let out a hesitant pity laugh.

“Anyway…” he continued once his laughter died down. “Mi-an got here first, so she nabbed the workshop plot in town already. As for you, Wisty, you get Mason’s ol’ workshop all the way out there.” He pointed in the opposite direction, out beyond the train tracks where a simple house sat behind a simple wooden fence. “Mason’s Workshop,” wearily declared the old, worn sign atop the roof.

“Speakin’ of Mason… Got any words of wisdom for our fledgling builders before you’re gone forever, Mason?” Yan gestured to Mason with a gusto that Mason absolutely did not meet.

“Eh… Well, let’s not get too comfortable here…” Mason grumbled. “I guess…the workshop. It may be cramped…and run-down…and dilapidated…and…many other things… But when you get used to it, you’ll see that it also has plenty of…heart. Yeah. Let’s go with that.”

Everyone was silent.

“That’s all I’ve got,” Mason continued, almost with a hint of relief at no response. “May you bring telesis to this town and all. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Without waiting for the others to respond, he turned around and headed for the building across the street, the Blue Moon Saloon. He certainly looked like he was waiting for a drink.

“Heh heh… He was always an awkward one…” Yan said sheepishly, not even bothering to wait until Mason was inside and out of earshot. “But never mind that! You two gotta get relicensed, so let’s get crackin’!”

Yan gave them instructions on how to make a pickhammer (not a pickaxe… An interesting multitool that seemed to combine wrench, pick, and sledgehammer), and a diagram for a recycler, to be used to break down scrap. Then he shooed the builders off and headed back up the road.

“Let me show you to your new place!” Mi-an said, waving a hand in the direction of the tracks. “It’s not all that far.”

“I-it’s fine,” said Wis. “I won’t get lost when it’s right there. You should go start on your pick and stuff.”

Mi-an beamed. “No, no, really! I insist. I can help you at least put your stuff down and settle in a bit.”

Insistent. Not necessarily a bad thing. It was just that Wis really wasn’t used to a colleague being so eager, especially so soon after getting introduced. Normally they’d be more on the end of Mason.

She nodded. “If you insist, then. Thanks.”

They turned around and headed back out towards the station, towards the little shack in the distance.

Wis could feel the other builder’s gaze flicker towards her occasionally as they quietly padded along. It looked like she was trying to get a peep of Wis’s sign. Wis hoisted up a little more snuggly into her arm, inviting Mi-an to ask about it.

“What even is that? I-if you don’t mind me asking…!” Mi-an said, leaning over to get a better look.

“This? My old workshop sign. Don’t think I’ll be changing the name.”

“Oh!” Mi-an’s eyes widened. “You had a workshop back in Highwind? I’ve only worked for my family’s workshops before now.”

“Yeah, emphasis on had,” Wis said with a sad smile. Even now, it still stung to think of it. At Mi-an’s sympathetic frown, she waved a hand. “L-long story. All in the past now, don’t worry.”

Mi-an’s face softened into something more solemn. “I guess we both have that in common. Came out here for a fresh start.”

Wis only hummed, not feeling right to pry.

They were at the workshop now, looking at its dusty and barren yard. No machines at all. The broken stone furnace in the back corner didn’t count. Aside from the worktable, Mason probably sold anything of value already…had there been anything of value here.

“Hmm…” Mi-an hummed beside Wis, trying to find something polite to say about the place. “Pretty slim pickings…not that my plot was that much more welcoming.”

“It’s…a workshop. At least there’s that.”

Mi-an chuckled, unaware of the unironic meaning behind what Wis said. It was indeed…a workshop. Not a very good one, but not everyone could say they truly had their own workshop. It was more of a fleeting privilege than one would expect, as Wis had unfortunately learned.

She set her sign down, leaning it against the fence. “Well, I guess I should put my stuff away and get to work.”

Mi-an looked like she was about to nod, but she paused, a more thoughtful look passing over her face. “Actually, real quick, while it’s just us…”

Wis raised an eyebrow.

“Sandrock…” Mi-an’s voice had lowered. “Everyone knows it as the Alliance’s scrapyard, but…this place used to be booming and beautiful.”

“Right… This used to be a pretty big city way back when.” That was just about the extent of what Wis knew about Sandrock’s history. She tried to research the place at least a little bit before she came here, but all anyone she asked seemed to care about were the rumors of terrible desert creepies and crawlies, and the news of the apparent bandit problem that had sprung up in the last year or so.

“Eventually it all kinda…faded. Resources started drying up, quite literally…and here it is today.” Mi-an’s expression was solemn for a moment, before she perked right up with a glimmer in her eye. “But I think we can take Sandrock back to its glory days. Build it back up! Really make this place deserving of that old name, y’know?”

“You think…?” Wis raised an eyebrow. She honestly wasn’t expecting this much…eagerness in a place like this. The Alliance’s smallest city, only a couple sandstorms away from falling off the map entirely. You’d think people would’ve been a bit more cynical. “We’re just…two builders.”

“And two builders is better than one!” Mi-an chimed, her face brightening. “Or…none, I guess, since Mason’s moving out. Unless Commi–er, President Yan builds, too…”

Wis hummed, still not quite sure how to respond. I just want a stable workshop, to be honest… she thought. You really think we can make promises about this entire place?

She said none of this out loud, of course. If there was any spark of hope in this kind of place, the last thing she wanted was to snuff it out before it had a chance to ignite.

“But… Well, I suppose…” Mi-an continued. “If nothing else…I just wanna make a difference.” Her shoulders sagged, and her gaze fell. “Even if it’s just to make someone’s life a little easier.”

A light smile tugged at Wis’s lips. “Now that I can definitely get behind.” Safely get behind, at least.

Mi-an’s face brightened again, happy to find some common ground. “Then…it’s a promise? Builder to builder?” She held out a hand.

Wis stared at it for only a brief moment before clasping it with her own. “A promise.”

A solid shake.

“Let’s give our all,” Mi-an said with a nod, determination renewed. Wis nodded back, feeling a bit of her energy leak into her.

“Well then, we shouldn’t wait any longer!” Mi-an said after she dropped her arm. “My workshop’s just through that tunnel there. Stop by if you ever need any help!”

With a nod and a wave, the two parted, and Wis immediately got to work. Making a pickhammer was a bit strange, with how used she was to making pickaxes, but with a couple tries at the binding and a few practice swings, it was quickly added to her arsenal. The recycler was an interesting device. She wondered why Highwind didn’t really have anything similar. Maybe just not enough miscellaneous scrap piles to need it.

Yan gave her a hand-wavey approval after that, and sent her on her next assignment of “fetching your certificate and stuff” from the City Hall. It was prominently situated in the town square, nudged flush against a stone cliff face.

Wis’s eyes wandered around the square as she approached, at the general store and the hair parlor and the stray cat wandering about. So when a shout came from up above and a large man suddenly SLAMMED down in front of her path, she was taken by complete surprise. She yelped and froze in her tracks, hands thrown up to block an incoming attack.

But none came. Only a boisterous laugh. “Hahaha, you need to be more alert, citizen! You never know when a bandit might strike…or if you are a bandit or general evildoer, when the Protector of Sandrock might strike!”

Wis’s heart was still pounding from the sudden scare. She peeked out from behind her hands to see who the man was. Tall and broad, with slicked-back hair and a sharp jawline, complete with a toothy and smarmy grin. “Um…” she managed to spurt out. “Who, uh… who are you?”

The man’s grin only widened, a glint in his eyes. “Aha…! You must be that new builder! Heh, could’ve mistaken you for one of Logan’s gang! Well. The name is Pen, and I am the Protector of Sandrock!”

Wis looked this “Pen” character once over, noting the lack of anything that looked like a Civil Corps uniform. How many unofficial titles did people hold out here? “Uh huh…?”

Pen huffed, seeming to not particularly care how she reacted. “Your arms… How can they be that skinny?! Don’t tell me you moved out to the harsh, wild desert not knowing how to defend yourself?!”

“Um…no, I know how to—”

“Very well, then!” Pen held a finger with a triumphant expression. “As the one and only Protector of Sandrock, I hereby uphold my duty by offering you, helpless civilian, a combat lesson!”

“A c—?” Wis finally shook herself out of her stupor. “N-no thanks, Mr…Pen, right? I already know how to handle a weapon. I’m good.”

Pen’s face screwed up into a half-decent imitation of concern. “Whaaat? No, surely with arms as skinny as those, you clearly need a helping bicep or two!”

A huff escaped Wis’s lips. Her arms were perfectly normal-sized, thank you very much. “I’ve been a builder for 3 years and I’ve handled daggers in hazardous ruins before. Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

“Is that so?” Pen’s face dropped to a deadpan, bordering on a glower. “You know of the dangers in this place, surely…? Giant creatures? Mutated spawn? Vile villains that have turned upon their own villagers…?!”

“I’ve heard stuff, yeah…” Plenty of rumors on Sandrock could be picked up from just about everywhere. Usually all coming from people that have never been anywhere near Sandrock.

“Then you would be foolish to not take this opportunity!” Pen exclaimed, the grin shooting back up his face. “A free lesson from unquestionably the strongest man in all of Sandrock, from the goodness of his heart!”

Being polite wasn’t really working, it seemed. “Listen…” Wis groaned, injecting a bit more insistence this time. “I’m busy. I just moved here and I just need to get my workshop registered. You’re really generous and all, but…” She started to scoot around him, eager for an out. The door to City Hall was just a staircase away…

Pen frowned again. “If you insist… If you’re intimidated, I shan’t pressure you, Skinny Arms… But don’t pin the blame on me if you get strung up by a bandit…or devoured alive by something or other.” He walked away in the opposite direction, throwing his hands up in a shrug. “The Protector can only be so concerned…”

As he rounded the corner down the road towards the station, Wis let out the sigh she was holding. For a “protector,” he sure seemed a bit eager to beat up one of the alleged “protected.” She shook off the crawl in her stomach with a shake of her head, and opened the heavy doors to City Hall.

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

The minister Matilda was a kind woman. Apparently she was filling in for the mayor out on an expedition. She was waiting patiently across the desk from Wis, doing some paperwork of her own while Wis filled out the registration form.

Simple stuff. Personal info, work contract terms (nothing overtly strange in there…), and last but not least before the signature line, the blank for the workshop name.

Wis didn’t hesitate for a second. Confident strokes wrote out the name for the first time in years: “Fresh Pines.”

“My, that was quick!” Matilda said with a raised brow. “Some builders hem and haw over that line for ages.”

“It’s the name of my old workshop,” Wis said with a wan smile. “Closed down a while ago. Always wanted to see it up and running again.”

Matilda’s face softened into a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure you’ll make it better than ever, dearie.” She signed off on her certificate with a few flicks of her wrist, and held the precious document out to Wis. “You’re all set, sweetie. May you bring telesis to Sandrock!”

Wis felt a spot of warmth bloom deep inside her chest as she nodded. That recently revitalized streak of hope. Her very own workshop. Fresh Pines. A fresh start.

She was back.

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

The air of quiet celebration abruptly disappeared when Wis reentered the Commerce Guild.

“H-h-hey, Rocky, buddy! Wait a minute!”

“First you tell me that you threw your back. Then you tell me your turtle threw his back! And you don’t even got a turtle! And turtles don’t even got a back!!”

Wis and Mi-an stared at the two men in front of them, looking like a fight was about to start in plain view of the Commerce Guild door.

The larger, bulkier man—Rocky, from the sound of things—was looming over the knobbly Yan, ass on the floor and scrambling straight into the wall of the staircase behind him.

The builders exchanged a look. They just wanted to grab their first commissions, and yet they walked in to this.

“U-um!” Mi-an blurted before a punch could be thrown. “Is—is everything okay?!”

Yan and Rocky froze. “Errr…yeah!” Yan eeked out. “R-Rocky, like I said…”

“You didn’t say nothin’.”

“Uhh—what I was about to say was that I was about to get someone to work on that lift for you! Those two! Haha, n-no hard feelings, just a little delegation work, y’know!”

The gears turned in Wis’s head, and she scowled. Now she knew exactly what he was.

Mi-an stammered, “Uh… We just came here for—”

“The crane lift!” screeched Yan. “Right, right! Good! About time, newbies!”

“Newbies?” Rocky raised an eyebrow, turning towards Wis and Mi-an. “Ah, new builders. Finally someone who can actually help. Unlike this mopstick here…”

“M-mopstick…? A-anyway!” Seeing as Rocky was no longer immediately planning to throttle him, Yan shot up to his feet again, brushing the dust off his suit. “Lookie here, newbies! You got your first commission! And it’s a big one too! Our ol’ pal Rocky here needs two crane lifts for his scrap yard!”

“We ain’t pals,” Rocky snarled. He turned his attention to the ladies, his demeanor shifting to be significantly more welcoming. “Now, you two. You already look more capable than mopstick…and it ain’t like I got any choices left. Name’s Rocky, head of the salvage yard. And here’s what I need.”

He pulled two diagrams out of his back pocket, unrolling them and handing one each to the builders. “Two big cargo lifts. We’re haulin’ bigger ‘n bigger scrap up nowadays and we’d like not having to lug it all the way up a hill! We’ll have ‘em installed over the cliff leadin’ down to the ruins. Probably’ll have to come to our salvage yard to pick out some of the parts you need.” He glared once again at Yan. “You payin’ for their passes?”

Yan gaped, making a show of patting down his pockets. “N—ah—whaaa? Eheh, well. Was going to, but I guess I got the paperwork for that mixed up, heh heh…”

Wis would roll her eyes, but it wasn’t like the Highwind Commerce Guild was ever so generous with compensation either.

Rocky huffed. “Oh, for the love of— How’s this? Normally it’s 200 gols for a weekly pass, but since this mopstick is a bit of a cheapskate, your first week? On us.”

Wis’s brow raised. “That’s…generous of you. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Rocky, waving a hand. “Those lifts’ll be huge for us. I figure them alone make up for just 400 gols…gotta check with Krystal on the numbers, though. But we’re counting on you.”

“Yeah, you heard him!” Yan just had to steal his thunder. “Do it and do it right!”

“Alright, alright,” Rocky said loudly with a roll of his eyes. “Let’s let ‘em get to work without any bother, okay?!”

“Yeah, come on,” Wis said to Mi-an, trying to keep her voice even against the grating of her patience. “Let’s go.”

“Oh!” Mi-an exclaimed, caught off guard. “Uh, y-yeah! Let’s go! Building time…!”

When everyone but Yan finally stepped back outside, Wis breathed a sigh of relief. She looked up at Rocky as the three started for Eufaula Salvage up the hill. “Is he always like that?”

Rocky grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah…either he passes stuff off to builders that can barely handle what they already got on their plates, or he promises to do things himself… And never delivers.”

Wis sighed. “Oh boy.”

“I mean…he could be busy too…?” Mi-an piped up uneasily.

“Nope,” said Rocky. “Nobody ever sees ‘im actually do anythin’. He just stands at those machines of his and pretends to do all sorts o’ work.”

“Oh…” Mi-an looked down in thought.

Wis eyed her uncertain expression. If she only worked with her family before, she probably wasn’t very keen on doubting or even fixing a stinkeye towards her boss. “Listen… I dunno what kinds of bosses your family were… But sometimes bosses can be really…” She searched for a polite enough word. “…really big pieces of work. Trust me. That’s why I moved.”

Mi-an hummed. “It’s… Well…I dunno if we should be badmouthing the guy that’s paying us, you know? He could maybe…”

He could leave us penniless.

Wis bristled at the silence. What on earth did she go through in her family’s workshop…?

“Ahhh, don’t worry about that,” said Rocky. “We’re the ones that’ll be payin’ you the most. If Yan tries to pull anythin’ and cut your wage, well. I can at least say me an’ Krystal’ll hand you extra commission fee. Other folks will too, I imagine.”

“Oh, y-you don’t need to—!” Mi-an waggled her hands frantically.

“But we should,” Rocky said emphatically.

“N-no, really, I should be—” Mi-an froze, spotting the gates to the salvage yard. “Oh! Look at that, we’re here! W…well, we should get to work, I guess…!” she stammered hastily. They had already reached the salvage yard. Without waiting for another word, she slipped through the gates.

Wis shot a worried look up at Rocky, who only shrugged. Mi-an seemed so open from what little Wis knew…but not entirely, it seemed. Once again, it didn’t seem anywhere near right to pry.

So she simply wished Rocky a good day, entered the yard, and found a promising-looking scrap pile to try digging for something, a short distance away from Mi-an. She rummaged around with her pickhammer, sometimes slamming the hammer head into it to break things apart and to make headway.

About halfway into separating the pile, a shiny bit of something suddenly caught Wis’s eye, a glint buried deep inside. Letting out a curious hum, she focused her pickhammer strikes on clearing the junk surrounding it. After enough hits, she reached in and pulled it out. A round, light blue disk, still a bit dusty with sand.

She looked over at Mi-an, holding it up. “I found a data disk in here.” Finding one on the surface was unusual. She never really saw them anywhere besides deep in the mines.

“Oh!” The other builder paused her hammer swinging and looked up. “Yeah, Eufaula Salvage usually brings in stuff from the ruins around here. Plus, with just how many ruins there are here, sometimes disks and things just kinda get swept up on the wind and into random junk piles around.”

“That plentiful?” Wis turned the disk over in her hands, inspecting it for scratches. It didn’t look too damaged. “I used to have to do a lot of digging in the abandoned ruins to find enough of these for a diagram.”

“Me too…not out here, though! No shortage of materials.” Mi-an jabbed a thumb in the direction of town. “You know where our Research Center is? It’s actually right to my place. The researcher, he’s…” She squinted. “…well, he’s a little…interesting. You’ll see. Just…whatever he says, d-don’t take it too personally.”

Wis pursed her lips. “That bad?”

Mi-an furiously shook her head. “N-no, not bad! M-maybe ‘he takes getting used to’ is better…?”

Wis let out a half-hearted chuckle. “Well, we gotta work with him either way. Can’t avoid him forever.”

“Mhm… I don’t think you’ll get anything with just one disk, but if you want to donate it to him, knock yourself out. And introduce yourself, too! As…as best you can…” Her voice trailed off towards the end.

“Yeah…probably good to take a break…” Wis straightened herself and flexed her wrists in a satisfying stretch. “We’ll see what this guy’s all about.”

Mi-an promised to keep chipping away at the piles of junk while Wis stepped out. It was a welcome break after the constant swinging of the pickhammer, the feel of which was still a bit strange and unfamiliar.

She followed Mi-an’s directions through the pipe tunnel, looking past her house and instead at the imposing all-metal building behind it, standing out against the wooden buildings of the rest of town. Machinery could be heard from both outside and in, even from where she was standing. Did Mi-an really have to put up with this noise all day?

She made her way to the large double doors in front, carefully pushing one open.

It was much cooler inside, the noise surprisingly reduced. The air smelled of metal and a mix of other strange things that Wis couldn’t pick out. The space was a laboratory, it looked like, and at the workbench in the back, surrounded by papers and books arranged without any semblance of order on the desk, was a dark-haired man in a dress shirt, wrinkled and lightly-stained.

At the sound of the door, he glanced over his shoulder, expression deadpan and unamused. He pushed up his round-frame glasses as he plainly asked in a sharp-sounding accent, “Can I help you?”

Now that he was facing her, he looked even messier at the front than the back. Hair a scraggly nest, a loose, half-knotted tie, shirt half-untucked and a tear ripped at the seams.

Wis blinked as she realized that she was just staring. “O-oh, uh… I’m Wisteria. The…new builder in town. Or Wis, if you want.”

The man frowned. “Another builder? I was never informed of this.”

“Well, um…now you know, I guess…”

The man was silent, no reaction of any sorts in words or on his face. Wis glanced around uneasily, wondering if he was waiting on her to say something else.

“Are you going to state your business with me?” the man said after a moment, brow furrowing slightly. “Neither of us benefit from wasted time.”

Wis jolted. He didn’t ask before. “E-er… I just wanted to introduce myself. Since we’ll be working together and all that.”

“Only pleasantries? Well builder, I’ll have you know that I don’t exactly—”

“But also!” Wis jumped in, pulling the data disk out of her bag. “I wanted to…hand this over to you. It’s the first one I found, and I don’t see me getting too many more until I can get to the Abandoned Ruins, so I might as well give it to you.”

The frown on the researcher’s face disappeared, back to its flat neutrality. “Ah.” He took the disk and turned it over, letting the fluorescent lights from above glare on its surface to expose any scratches. “Viable disk, for certain. I assume you’re familiar with them?”

Wis nodded. It was a simple principle with Research Centers. Bring disks, get diagrams.

The man stared at the disk for a second before handing it back to her. “On second thought, perhaps it would be more efficient for you to keep this. Come back when you obtain more and are in need of diagrams.”

Wis hummed as she slipped it back into her pocket. “Makes sense. Thanks, Mr…?”

“Director.”

“H-huh? Your name’s—?”

“No. My title is ‘Director.’”

Wis blinked. “Oh, uh…and…your name?”

“Qi,” the director said, not once showing any flicker of emotion aside from vague boredom. “Now. Is that all?”

“I…I guess so…”

“Very well,” Qi said, abruptly turning back to whatever he was working on before. “Good day, then.”

Wis snapped her mouth shut, whatever response she was formulating in her head shut down just as quickly as the conversation. The director paid no attention to the slightly confused frown on her face, just jotting away at one of the many papers on the table. Seeing there’d be nothing more from him, Wis left the Research Center. As soon as the doors were shut behind her, she sighed.

That was a Vega 5 researcher, all right. They were by far the oddest ones to work with. Not all of them were as…blunt as this one, they almost always felt as much in their own bubble as the city of Vega 5 was to the rest of the known world.

But regardless, Qi was the only researcher, from the sound of things. She and Mi-an had to deal with him one way or another. No avoiding it.

When she returned to the scrap yard, Mi-an had already dismantled the entirety of her junk pile, and was sorting through it to find useful parts. Her head shot up once she heard the opening of the salvage yard gate, flashing Wis a smile as she entered. “How was it?”

Wis let out a chuckle. “I can see what you mean.”

Mi-an also let out a chuckle, though more sheepish. “It’s not like he’s a bad guy or anything… He gets you the diagrams you need and everything…but I think that’s all that I’ll get from him. I dunno what he’s even working on half the time.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t need to deal with him too much, then.” Wis picked up her pickhammer again from where it was leaning against the chain-link fence. “But anyway…what do you have so far…?”

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

Wis got up right on time the next day, shooting out of bed and quickly getting ready to work. She was fairly confident that she could start and finish the lift today. She and Mi-an got all the parts they needed, and the furnace could churn out just enough bricks with how much fuel she had on hand.

The whole morning, she was in motion. Pour the clay into the brick molds, toss the remaining tangled scrap into the recycler, lay out the platform, screw everything together nice and tight, lug all the big finished components over to the salvage yard to prep for the final build. Just as she dropped off the last parts, she turned around and saw Mi-an hustling up the hill with her final parts.

“Alright, alright!” Rocky said with a solid clap of his hands once Mi-an entered the yard. “Finally, the lifts! Let’s see what you got!”

The builders threw him a confident nod, and set to work right away. With the diagram clipped up on the fence nearby, and with the helping hands of the salvage crew to hold things in place, Wis and Mi-an built the elevators up, side by side.

Once the last rivet was driven in, Wis stood up to admire her handiwork. A fully finished cargo lift, three times her height and capable of lifting a hundred times her weight. The last thing she built in Highwind was a simple wooden chair.

Mi-an wasn’t far behind, and her lift was done soon after. The salvage team tested them out (thankfully the ropes didn’t fail over a cliff several hundred feet tall…), and after the okay was given, thank you’s and applause rang up from the entire team.

“Would ya look at that,” said Rocky. “Works like a dream! What excuse does that mopstick have now, huh?!” He held his hand out for a shake, and clapped Wis’s hand with enough oomph to feel stinging pain against her palm. “I owe both of you a big one. You don’t know how much this is gonna speed things up for me and the crew.”

“Not a problem,” Wis replied with the first genuinely confident smile she’d had in a long while. “That’s what we’re here for and all.”

“What she said!” Mi-an exclaimed, before a yelp when Rocky gave her that rock-solid handshake. “I know we’re still new, but I hope you know that you can count on us!”

“No doubt about it. I reckon we’ll all be seeing an awful lot of you two once you get your feet on the ground.”

Wis felt a hum of anticipation in her veins at that. Exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she needed. Real, meaningful work, for people that needed it. People that cared. And ideally, people that could light a fire under the ass of her inevitably terrible boss to do better…

The builders said goodbye to the satisfied salvage team, then to each other as they parted to take a well-deserved break for the rest of the day. But just as Wis was about to head inside, her eye caught on something.

Her workshop sign. Still leaning up against the wall where she’d propped it last night, too tired to put it up.

Wis hummed. Now was no less than a perfect time, wasn’t it?

She grabbed her hammer out of its pouch on her toolbelt, and a couple nails from a pouch in the back. She paused for a moment, staring at the sign. Where…was she going to put it? Mason had already taken down his old sign from the roof, but he took the sign’s supports with it, too. Apathy, or carelessness? Hard to say. But Wis didn’t quite feel bothered enough to scramble up there and make new ones. Her front wall didn’t have enough space, with the lantern next to the door. So that only left the side wall.

She hoisted the sign up into her hands, carefully aligning it parallel to the wooden planks of the wall and holding it in place with one arm as she hammered the first nail in.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 nails.

Wis stepped back, hands on her hips. Fresh Pines was back, so declared the worn, but proud sign. Now with…significantly fewer pine trees.

She snorted. Of all things to stay the same…

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

A/N: The first part of this fic is largely centered on Wis, but have no fear, Qi is in there plenty, and we'll gradually shift more towards him in the later parts!

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next | index

[twinstarsies]

no quirks au, meet cute (ish), implied stalking (not bkdk)

Katsuki is standing in the store debating the merits of picking up the shitty coffee Hitoshi drinks or making the fucker get it himself with his own money when a hand slips into his seemingly out of nowhere.

"The fu—"

He looks over to see bright green eyes surrounded by freckles and a wide smile that makes his knees go a little weak. The man gives his hand a squeeze and leans into his side, and Katsuki gets a whiff of warm cologne and spearmint.

"Ah, Kacchan! There you are!" he says brightly. It's followed immediately by a low, "My name is Izuku, I'm being stalked, and your resting bitch face is absolutely terrifying. Please just go with it."

Chalk it up to his knee jerk response to a challenge being to kick its ass, or maybe his innate rage at people who choose to be assholes, but Katsuki shuts his mouth and doesn't question it further. He slips his hand from the one holding it and instead wraps it around the stranger's—Izuku's—waist, turning his head to nose at soft curls as he makes a discreet sweep with his eyes.

And there—at the end of the aisle is a skeevy-looking guy that looks like he hasn't left his mom's basement in at least five years. His beady eyes are trained on Izuku pressing close into Katsuki's side, and his skin crawls at the hunger he sees in them: dark and possessive, and not in a fun way.

His arm curls tighter around him. "I think we need to try a new brand," he says, loud enough for Creep McStalker to hear, but no more obvious than his normal volume. "Wedding prep is kicking my ass and the shit you usually drink ain't cutting it anymore. The hag's gonna rip me a new asshole if I fall asleep during the rehearsal dinner."

His impromptu fiancé snorts a laugh. "That'd be funny to see. But I guess I don't want you passing out during our vows either, so."

Katsuki just grunts in response, still watching the guy loiter by the teas. When he looks away from Izuku and meets his glare, the guy immediately turns tail and fucks off without even pretending to grab something.

As soon as he's gone, the tension leaves Izuku's shoulders, and he slumps against Katsuki.

"Oh, thank goodness," he says. He smiles gratefully at Katsuki, and wow, he's pretty when he does that. "Thank you so much! He's been following me for, like, an hour and a half now. Nothing I did got him to go away."

Katsuki pulls away with a surprising amount of reluctance. He feels strangely comfortable with Izuku tucked under his arm—he doesn't want to let him go. He clears his throat, his face feeling warm.

"'S nothin'," he shrugs. "But, like. Do you need to go to the police or some shit?"

Izuku blinks at him and then waves his hand. "Oh, yeah, I will. I managed to take a picture of him and everything, so hopefully they can, um. Find his identity and... take it from there, I guess. I don't know how that works, really. Cop dramas don't really go into detail about stalker cases. Homicides, sure, and at this point I feel like I've watched enough procedurals to be able to commit a murder and get away with it, but—"

"You're a rambler, huh," Katsuki interrupts him, eyebrows raised in amusement. Izuku snaps his mouth shut, freckled cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink as he gives him an apologetic look. He just grins and can't help but tease, "That's kind of hot."

Izuku ducks his head bashfully and playfully swats at his arm. "Don't tease me, Kacchan. It's mean."

Katsuki nudges him back, then realizes something. "What's with that nickname, anyway?" He never told Izuku his name, so how did he know—?

"Kacchan?" Izuku gestures at his chest. Katsuki looks down and sure enough, his name badge is still clipped to his shirt. Because he just got off his shift. "I read your name badge and it was the first thing that came to mind. I know it's kind of childish, but it sounds like we have history, which I figured would make a relationship between us more believable.

"N-Not that—" He stutters, and Katsuki watches him turn redder as he waves his arms around. "Not that I really thought we'd have to justify our fake relationship to the creep stalking me, but. I don't know, okay! It made sense in my brain at the time!"

Izuku's cheeks puff out as he pouts in his embarrassment, and Katsuki thinks he's the cutest thing he's ever seen. With a fond huff, he reaches up and ruffles his soft curls.

"It's fine, nerd." He grins again and winks. "I'll be your Kacchan anytime."

A certain gleam lights up those green eyes, and Katsuki senses a kindred spirit: someone who sees a challenge and takes it immediately just to come out on top.

"So," Izuku says, tone sweet as he bats his lashes, "would you be my Kacchan if I asked you out for coffee, as thanks? Not bought from the grocery store of course."

"Hell yeah," Katsuki agrees immediately. A spontaneous coffee date with a cute guy? Sign him the fuck up. His roommate can get his own shitty coffee. "You free right now? I ain't got anywhere to be."

His heart skips half a beat in excitement when Izuku takes his hand and slips their fingers together, beaming up at him with the prettiest smile. He has the passing thought that it's too bad Izuku isn't actually his fiancé—or even his boyfriend—because he kind of wants to see that smile for the rest of his life.

Izuku squeezes his fingers. "I'm yours for the afternoon, Kacchan."

Katsuki decides right then that he wants this afternoon to last forever.

[foxys-fantasy-tales]

OC Kiss Week - Dance (JudithXChit or Chudith) It is 8pm and I am happy to have finished this little scene in time. I plan on inserting this into book two of Arigale in a few chapters time, but I kept it pretty spoiler free but for the ship, ya know, smooching. <3 You can read more below the cut! I should also have a kiss sketch for these two soon! Keep an eye out for it. I wanted to have it to post with this little scene, but so it goes I guess. (edited - Posted at end! Also have a new divider I just made in Canva!)

Chit stared forward through the thick foliage. If anything, Illene had taught them how great shrubbery and vines were to hide things. Judith was still a couple of steps behind him, which gave him just enough time to take a breath before he grabbed her hand and led her onward. His tail parted the plants and made way, but she still had a few twigs and leaves in her hair on the other side. She looked just like the day he met her. 

“I-I um, made, or well foraged…this.” 

Chit rubbed his head as his tail pointed toward a blanket straight from their room with a candle at each edge and a basket of berries along with roasted mushrooms and fish on sticks. The scent of fresh ash and firewood still clung nearby, but wisps of smoke from the small gathering of wood proved it had gone out. A full moon provided ample light, silver mixing with the hints of golden flames as she took a seat on the multicolored quilt. Chit sat at arm’s length with the basket in the middle with his great tail curled about him in a spiral. 

Judith picked up a couple of skewers and began to alternate between mushrooms and fish without a word. The softness in her eyes, that was something that had changed, and it ripped out his heart to see it. Sparkles that once resided there were slowly returning, yet it felt like years and not months since he’d seen them. A large blackberry bursting with juices was speared by the tip of his tail and held up to her in offering. The appendage wavered, as did his resolve. Judith took it from him gently with her hand. He stuffed down any desires curling in his stomach that she took it with her lips. 

“I know we’ve b-been at odds lately. I was hard on your training. It’s…I-It’s how I learned, but I should have listened that it wasn’t working for you. I’m sor-” A mushroom was shoved into his lips along with her forefinger and thumb. 

“No need. I’ve been pretty rough to handle and I know it,” Judith interrupted.

“You’ve had more than enough reason to,” he argued. 

“You have too. We’ve both been through it, but I didn’t make anything easier. Is…Is this a peace offering?” 

He tucked his lips in under his teeth while a pit formed in his stomach. Of course it was obvious. The candles were a bad call, weren’t they? 

“Only w-wished to make things up to you somewhat. The last time we tried to make time was in Stemoss and, well…” The memory still brought a pain to his gut. Rubbing didn’t help. Black eyes filled with every star in their reflective surface as he ducked from her gaze. Grass rustled as he wiped the juice from his tail there. 

“And before that it was after I had just woken up from a very long nap.” Her hand entered his loose barrier and rested upon his knee. “We had fun there, but… I stressed you out again by wandering off. I’m not used to having someone look out for me so much, but I’m trying.” 

“Y-Yes.” What else could he say? Chit fidgeted by flicking the tip of his tail around and alternating to spinning it in circles. He nearly reached liftoff when she leaned in to kiss his cheek. When was the last time? Did it matter now? Bit by bit, his tail uncoiled itself and fell behind him. “It’s alright, really.” 

“You haven’t made it seem so, but… For now, can it be?” The soft bounce of her bushy hair met his shoulder before her weight settled over it. Hints of the fresh fruit, the ever present sea, and her usual yet strange touch of fresh carved wood and dirt made him feel as though he were bathing in the land itself. If not for the horrors, their forebears may have found this land to be pleasantly hospitable. 

A crack of a twig shocked him to alertness again. A small shadow proved the source of the sound to be nothing more than the wildlife, what little there may be on the island. Judith’s hand moved from his leg to his back and clapped him. 

“W-What was that for?” 

“Too tense. We’ve both been. Come on!” 

“Judith, what are you doing?” He was pulled to his feet as away from their meal to a barren patch of land just outside the candles’ glow. Her hands grasped at his and pulled him a couple unsteady steps nearer before she laid them on her hips. 

“We’re dancing.” 

The phrasing was so matter of fact he didn’t have a chance to argue, or to complain he didn’t know any real steps again. Just like that distant day where he was so relieved to see her alive, to see her smile and frolic about like nothing had happened, she took his shoulders and pulled him along in a dizzying twirl. Step for step, back on his right, then forward, back on left, she made it easy to follow. Where the first was nothing but a whirlwind, she’d calmed to a stiff breeze. She was the sort of clime he could sit forever in just to soak in her rays and a breath of fresh air. The smile she wore suited her better than any jewel. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

He didn’t know he was speaking until the words had slipped from his lips. Abrupt as it was, he hadn’t expected it to stall her so. Judith’s fanciful movements winded down into a close two step with bunched up elbows between them. With all they had been through together, these quiet moments spoke the loudest. Surely, this was to be a memory he could add to the treasures, few that they were, but precious. 

His tail curled at her lower back to hold her near. He didn’t have to speak, to fumble, though his hands shook as he ran both through her long hair to rid her of some of the debris from their walk. Not yet. He didn’t want it to end, so he pulled her along to the right in a circle. Judith became the fulcrum, his anchor. Even as he grew farther and farther away and she fell to giggles at his attempts at improvisation, he knew he’d do it all again to hear her. 

Judith wound herself up in his tail as she spun back to him. Chest to chest, the two breathed in near unison as the breeze stirred the greenery around them. No beat, no lyrics, yet he felt the stir music raised in a soul. She vibrated with it every day, but he’d grown too accustomed, too disinterested in the midst of the turmoil their lives became. Her cheeks were flushed with emotions he knew well now, yet he wanted to hear it once more. It would always be once more. What a frightening concept, yet, she was worth coming out from the dark. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

The next steps led him back away. She did love a game. He was re-learning how to play. Judith gave chase with a grin and a sparkle back in her eyes. His hands were stolen into hers as she pulled and crossed one to her chest in a half turn. This time she circled around him in a much tighter motion. He jerked some as he was compelled to move with her from the tether of their hands, around and around in circles, the two spun until Chit was dizzy and Judith’s laugh was their background noise. Skips, tugs, untraceable steps all became more common as she danced like the first time they danced. 

He fell behind, leaving her on her own so he could watch a moment. Red strips of fabric spun around her long legs in a blur. No rhyme or reason were in her movements, but it flowed as easily as breathing for her. Out of breath as he was watching and chuckling, Chit ran back in. Judith jumped back half a step in bewilderment as he charged up close. His tail caught her back and pulled her in again. He’d meant to go for her shoulder with his hand to rejoin her, but the softness of her cheek brushed his skin instead. From there, one movement led to the next as if they had practiced more. 

Gentle at first as he parted her lips with his own, yet the heat of the kiss carried down into his stomach. Judith’s hands found a spot to rest on his lower back over the spasms of his tail. Eager lips pressed in harder to his own. The tart, sweet taste of berries melded to his lips. His eyes welled, but he didn’t let it fall until the salt of her own tears turned the embrace that much sweeter. His thumb passed under her eye to wipe at the overflow, but he wouldn’t pull away. 

Both had stilled for an indeterminable amount of time, but the moon still shone above when Judith pulled back to take a shaky breath and finish drying her eyes. Her smile quivered. He wished to cement it, but settled for stealing another kiss. 

“I love you too,” she replied late. Her next kiss pushed his lips to his teeth as her arms wound around his back. He barely kept them upright with his tail, leaning back on it as a spring as they sank slowly to the cold ground below.

(Art by @fracturedfable - Twitter and dA)

[factorialsfandoms]

I’m now behind on whumptober, but there’s a few days in a row now inspiring my brain. One of which was yesterday, but then I realised I’d never poked Wind much which is a shame, and /maybe/ I shouldn’t have tried getting to know him watching Time get tortured but, well, here we are.

Also I was reading both notes on how the CIA waterboard people and guidance for nurses working with victims and that’s fucked up! Time is getting the long end of the stick *either* because Wind is panicking and so counting too fast, or because these random ne’er-do-wells are awful people. Which is also true! Have fun I guess??? It starts most of the way through the torture because um no

angst with a happy ending

prompt: waterboarding

CWs: torture, choking, kidnapping

... But Wind gets to threaten people with a sword...?

34, 35, 36... Wind breathed a sigh of relief as water stopped being poured over Time's face, the cloth covering his eyes, nose, and throat pulled away for a moment. The old man's chest heaved as he spluttered for air, but heave it did. Time. There was still time. Time for Time; Wind suppressed a half-hysterical giggle as he continued manipulating the ropes on his wrists. The one positive - the only positive - of the torture they were putting Time through was how their captors were distracted. 3 breaths later and the cloth was back, another second and the water began to pour too, Time choking and fighting against his own bonds like a dying man. Like a man who knew he was drowning - to every instinct he likely was. Wind tried not to think about how long this had been going on, or how even for panicked breaths his gasps sounded /wrong/. Instead he focused on counting the seconds and unpicking the rope. ...10, 11, 12... Just a little more; he was not a pirate for nothing! Tetra has taught him well, and part of that was how to manage all sorts of escapes and daring deeds. ...18, 19, 20... It also included how to torture information from someone - just incase they were ready to resist if they were caught. With how long this had been going on, Tetra would have forgiven any information slipped as not worth the health of her crew, only scolded herself for being so slow. ...29, 30, 31... He was pretty sure they had passed the number of repetitions likely to case damage some time ago, though he was struggling to keep track. The number of seconds was more important, and easier to keep track of both. ...35, 36, 37... Wind finally, after nearly half an hour of patient struggling while his friend was /tortured in front of him/, slipped the knott. Already he wanted to sob, certainly he wanted to run over there and stop all this, to grab Time and drag him away and get his Hero's lungs checked out. Instead he waited for those few agonising breaths Time was permitted to pass, biding his time to act once again. The kidnappers were stupid; they hadn't even blindfolded the pair, let alone checked them for hidden weapons. Idiots. Incompetent kidnappers who just seemed to be torturing Time for the power trip now, but knew how to do it none the less. The water bucket was refilled, the cloth pulled back, and torture began once more. With everything he had Wind suppressed what he was seeing, counting it out. 1. 2. 3. Wind slowly shifted to draw his knife. 4. 5. 6. Careful to make no noise he raised himself up. 7. 8. 9. Patience, patience... 10. He threw himself across the room, knocking hard into the person with the bucket. Water spilt everywhere but on Time's face as he tackled the man three times his size to the ground, twisting his arms back and binding them before the other man had chance to react. The other man had a weapon, but so had Wind; he ducked under the sword swing, stabbing the emergency knife deep into the man's thigh. He dropped his sword and Wind grabbed it, using it as a clear threat as he ripped the cloth from Time's face. Still keeping the sword pointed at their captors, Wind used his now bloody knife to cut the bonds tying Time to the table. When he did not move, noting but the heaving of his chest as he coughed, Wind's heart picked up in fear; still wary he shunted Time with his shoulder until the Old Man was lying on his side. Another couple of heaving coughs and water was hurled up and out of Time's lungs. One of the men tried to move; Wind slammed the sword into the ground beneath his fingers. "Don't," he hissed, hiding the tremble of his terrified being wrapped in spit. Maybe the men had some sense; they stopped moving. Behind him, Time had finally stopped choking. Carefully, Wind backed up, coming to stand beside him. Time's eyes were hazy, but they did find their way to Wind. "Can you walk?" The answer was obviously no, but Time stumbled to his feet. An arm wrapped over Wind's shoulders, leaving heavily for support despite the angle. It would do; Wind turned his attention back to the men. "We're leaving now." Neither followed them as Wind backed up, doing his best to pay attention, to walk backwards, and to keep Time from falling. Somehow it worked. Weird. He'd been pretty sure it would fail. The two of them made it just beyond the walls of the building before Time slumped further, his weight knocking Wind to the ground. The old man was still desperately gasping for air and coughing intermittently - he needed a fucking doctor - but all Wind could do was ease him to his knees. And then... Wind had to try not to panic. He still had the sword and a knife, and it would have to do. One in each hand he tried to ignore the sounds of Time trying - and failing - to catch his breath, desperately hoping it was psychological and he hadn't damaged himself fighting uselessly. A movement from the bushes. Wind twisted, pointing the sword that way. A moment later, a familiar snout poked out, followed by a dark blur that twisted running wolf to running man. Twilgiht eyed Wind's new sword; when Wind dropped it he made the rest of the way to Time's side, helping position him better. The coughing eased, but his breathing was still terrifyingly heavy. "Needs a doctor," was all Wind could manage - Twilgiht was here now, they'd be okay now, it'd all be okay. "There's one closer than camp, just this way," Legend followed up behind Twilight, Pegasus boots and power gloves on. "Rancher? Get your Old Man. Wind, it's a piggy back I'm afraid." Oh. Oh good. Someone was taking control. Wind obeyed the instructions without complaint - earning him an incredibly worried look - slotting himself onto Legend's back. By the time he was up there, Time was carefully positioned in Twilight's arms, and Four had also arrived. Okay. Okay. They'd be fine now. With that realisation, the shields around Wind's brain collapsed. His eyes widened, the pain in his self-dislocated hands registered, and he let a scream out into Legend's back. They were safe now. The Rancher and The Veteran would know what to do - and the Smithy would make sure they did it. They'd be okay. It was going to be okay. Terror swept back over Wind's mind. Safe among his family, he permitted it to drag him under as his own breathing picked up to match Time's own, desperate gasps. The reassuring squeeze to his knees was not nearly enough to comfort it. The sensation of Legend's hips moving as he and Twilight both ran towards town... Did only a little bit better. They were safe now, and being safe meant letting the panic get felt too. And so Wind did.

[nami-writes]

Seek, And Ye Shall Find - Harry Potter

[ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 ]

content warning: past self harm

the underdog.

It's close. 130-150. The crowd roars with mixed cheers and boos as Slytherin’s Chasers score yet again, bumping the score up 130-160. A Bludger aims straight for them but by the time it gets there it's already too late and Harry darts over to instead swat away the other Bludger on their Chaser’s tail.

They’re doing bloody well, if you ask him. They’re practically head-to-head with the Slytherins— in fact, they are head-to-head, their Chasers scoring another twenty points at once to bring them to 150— and the Keeper helps deflect enough of the Slytherins’ attempts to score that their Chasers’ goals are catching up quick. They’re doing great, but Draco…

Draco is faltering.

He puts up a good fight but he backs down easily. Twice he’s locked in, fixated on the Snitch, been absolutely determined to catch it— only to back down at his opposing Seeker flying at him, throwing him off his rhythm. A Slytherin Beater bats a Bludger at him and he freezes and ducks. His Gryffindor teammates are starting to give Harry foul looks that say everything they’re thinking: why in the world did you choose him?

Draco’s better than this. He’s so much better and Harry’s seen it, they’ve all seen it before. What went wrong?

He’s fighting off a Bludger from attacking a Quaffle-bearing Chaser when he realizes neither Slytherin Beaters are anywhere to be seen. An angry yell above him catches his attention and he whips around to find out why— Draco is caught between both opposing Beaters batting the other Bludger back and forth, taunting him, trapping him, until he reaches out to grab it and it rips him off his broom, sending him tumbling to the ground.

“Draco!”

A whistle sounds out and their Captain calls time. Draco doesn’t get back up, wincing and clutching his arm. Their teams descend to the ground and Harry makes a beeline to Draco, scrambling to his side.

“Draco,” he says, “Draco, are you okay?”

He hisses with pain. “Fuck,” he breathes, “fuck, oh bloody fucking hell.”

“Come on. Come on, I’ve got you.” He slings Draco’s arm around his shoulders and hoists his body up. Draco stumbles, catches himself, clings to Harry. “Can you walk?”

“...Think so,” he mumbles, and Harry carefully lets go. Draco wobbles but remains upright. “Yeah. Yeah, I… oh, Merlin. Fuck.”

“Come on. Broomshed.” Gently, he guides him along, past their staring teammates and snickering opponents. A few Slytherins watch with worry but he doesn’t care. Their Captain not-so-discreetly chews out the Slytherin Captain and Harry wishes he could do the bloody same.

Draco is unsettlingly, terrifyingly silent, save for heavy breathing and stifled grunts. Harry opens the broomshed door for him and when he closes it after himself, he turns to Draco.

“Are you oka—”

“I can’t do this.” His eyes lock desperately onto Harry. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. He just wishes Draco saw in himself what Harry does. “You can. I know you can. You’re incredible at Seeking. Those Slytherins are just a couple of tossers.”

“No, Harry. I really can’t do it.”

He winces mid-gesture. Harry looks him up and down. “You’re hurt?”

“Aside from the twenty-meter fall?” he snaps, then softens. “Shit. Sorry. Meant to say yeah. The, uh… the Bludger messed up my arm.”

“Not broken, is it? That would probably put you out of commission for good this year, though I guess that’s what you want.” He takes the hand Draco offers out to him with a slight teasing smile. “Wouldn’t suggest it though. Hurt like hell when I did it.”

He hooks his thumb under the edge of his sleeve.

“Wait—”

Draco yanks his arm away with alarm. Harry stares. “What? Did I do something?”

“I… no. No, no, it’s not you.” His eyes search him— for what, he isn’t sure. “It’s just… I don’t know how to, um…”

“Draco, whatever it is, I don’t care. I just want to make sure your arm’s okay.”

“It’s not broken,” he says. “It’s fine in that regard. It’s… something else.”

Harry frowns. “Okay.” He’s curious but Draco is worried, almost scared. “Do you want to tell me?”

Draco’s quiet.

“It’s alright if you don’t. We can just get back to the game,” he adds, pointing with his thumb behind him.

“No, I— I do.” He sighs and looks away. “Erm… you remember how I was a Death Eater?”

“Yeah. Kind of hard to forget.”

Draco cringes.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Go on.”

“It wasn’t my favorite time of my life either,” he shrugs. “I did a lot of things I didn’t feel very good about. And I… I’m better now, I think, but I just couldn’t forget it. My Dark Mark didn’t make that any easier, so I…”

Harry doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like where he thinks this is going, but Draco just looks solemn.

“I tried to get rid of it.” He chuckles but it’s empty, there’s no lightheartedness to it. “Didn’t work very well.”

He holds his arm out again. Like he’s voluntarily subjecting himself to Harry’s scorn. His eyes lock onto the floor.

Harry takes his hand and pulls his sleeve up. Sure enough, his Dark Mark is there.

Mangled underneath a myriad of scars.

Somewhere in there he sees neat lines, faded white rows along his forearm where there was once order. Calculated attempts at relief, he thinks. But somewhere along the line, it devolves into chaos. Angry slashes at the snake, X’s crossing out the sockets in the skull, a slight curve along the top of his forearm that looks like he tried to carve the entire patch of skin off and gave up soon after he started. The scars cover most of it and yet it’s still clear as day what it is. A sign for everyone to see how low Draco had once let himself get. An indicator of the worst time of his life.

“I didn’t want you to look at me differently,” he says softly. “But… I guess you’ve already watched me contemplate throwing myself off of the Astronomy Tower and seen me at my worst last year, so how much worse could I make it?”

Harry puts a hand over the Dark Mark. He runs a thumb over the scars, feeling every raised line and rough surface. He’s especially gentle with the reddening bruise forming underneath. And then he pulls Draco in close. “I don’t care who you were last year. I care who you are now. And right now, all I see is you. Draco Malfoy. Not a Death Eater, and not your Dark Mark. That’s not who you are.”

For a moment, Harry thinks Draco’s going in for a kiss. But Draco’s arms wrap around him tight and he returns the hug as Draco clings to him like his life depends on it. Frankly, it just might.

“You know who you really are?” Harry asks, smiling. “My hot not-Gryffindor boyfriend. The best player on the Quidditch team. And the one who's going to win us the game.”

The shoulder of his robes feels wet. He rubs comforting circles against Draco’s back. Just the rise and fall of his chest is comforting enough to Harry.

Eventually, Draco pieces himself back together and takes a deep breath. He pulls away but looks into Harry's eyes with a deep affection he's never seen before in anyone, yet it looks so natural on him. “I, um… thanks. A lot. I really needed that.”

“‘Course.” He leans in for a final reassuring peck. “Ready to get back out on the field?”

Draco flushes red, then nods. “Yeah.”

—

Harry doesn’t take his eye off of Draco once, and he’s glad it seems he doesn’t need to. The Slytherin Beaters don’t try any bullshit again and now Draco has a fair chance against the other Seeker. It shows in his flying; he’s more confident, more bold knowing his team is on his side and Harry is never too far away. Harry focuses on keeping the heat off of Draco when he can and Draco channels the same energy and determination he has when it’s just them, alone, battling for the Snitch.

The score is 210-200 and the Slytherins are getting more aggressive, but the Gryffindors don’t let up. Their Seeker flies close to Draco, their billowing robes almost tangling in the wind, but Draco doesn’t back down, doesn’t so much as falter, and pride fills Harry’s chest. He stifles it and puts it away for later when they win. Because there’s no chance in hell they’re going to lose this, not when they have Draco on the team.

210-210 and now all eyes are on the Seekers, red against green, racing around the pitch side by side after the Golden Snitch. They fly dangerously close to one another but neither one of them falls behind. The announcer calls out another goal for Gryffindor and Harry doesn’t even realize their Chasers are still scoring. All he sees is Draco.

The Snitch flies upward and they shoot up in pursuit. They’re both inching closer, the Snitch just barely out of reach, when the Slytherin Seeker lifts a foot up to plant it on their broom.

Draco glances over and realizes what they’re doing as the crowd goes quiet, watching with bated breaths. The Seeker climbs to their feet on their angled broom, crouched with one hand still on it, other hand outstretched and still just the slightest bit too far. Panic sets in, but at the same time Harry can see the gears turning in Draco’s head.

It’s just like that night flying down the Astronomy Tower. One Seeker tempting fate, the other trying to keep up. In the end, Draco still won. Harry has no doubt he can do it again.

This time, though, it’s not his cunning or cleverness that saves the day. It’s not any particular quality from any particular House. It’s a flick of his broom, base knocking against his opponent’s in what could almost be an accident mid-turn, that sends the Slytherin falling off and gives Draco just enough time to secure the Snitch and the win.

The crowd roars. Harry’s throat hurts from screaming with pride, he can’t smile nearly as wide as he wishes he could. The Slytherins fly over to catch their teammate but Harry flies over to jump onto Draco’s broom in front of him, grab the back of his neck, and kiss him.

He doesn't care who's watching. The only person he sees is Draco. The rest of the world never mattered at all, and it seems by the way hands grasp the back of his robes that Draco finally shares this sentiment too.

When they finally separate, the crowd is still cheering, and it takes him a moment to realize that now it’s for them. The Chosen One, but more importantly, the new Seeker who caught the Snitch. The final score is 370-210 and when Harry meets Draco’s eyes again, it’s all they can think to do to break out in laughter.

“Told you you’d win us the game,” Harry says, and Draco laughs awkwardly.

“Glad you had confidence in me,” he says, “because I had none. I don’t know how I pulled that off.”

“Because you’re a bloody genius, and an incredible Seeker, and my goddamn boyfriend.”

Draco laughs again, real this time. “And now you finally get to brag about it. Not much of a secret anymore, is it?”

“Did you want it to be?”

He pauses. Then he shakes his head. “No.”

[understandableparadox]

Cherub Camping diaries: Part 4, side A.

"why is the battery so low...oh well, OK! hello listeners! another day, some more chores, sugary stuff running low, surprising amount of meat left but..."

*she pats her stomach.*

"allergies...so I am going to figure out if you can tap trees on alternia today for some tree sap! not the best sugar content so ill have to reaserch that... god, what must it be like to be an omnivore? that's insane to me like..."

kratanor rips off a chunk of bark from a nearby tree and examines it... looking it over as if seriously considering biting into it...she then looks over at the soft inner wood of the tree. a slight look of bewilderment crosses her face.

"actually...Can i just...nooo...but theirs sap in there.... or i guess that's where sap gets made? like sugar exists in most plant life so it has to be at least a little bit in there..."

as kratanor contemplates wither or not a cherub is capable of sapro-xylophagous behavior's such as eating bark or straight up biting into the side of a tree like a vegan vampire, she hears a bit of a commotion near the camp...

her musing stops as she suddenly equips her strife, pair of knuckle dusters made from scrap metal, the ends of which sports some rather nasty tetanus inducing points. her eyes flick to the camera...she takes it with her, as if wanting some way to record whatever ill-fortune that may befall her...

the area has a few signs painted in very crude red making it very clear that nothing is here, that nothing exists behind the tree and that any sound that could be heard from said tree is not actually being heard. kratanor is quick to rip down the outside evidence of their existence, especially given each one is written in human English's instead of the trollian scripts.

not being a complete idiot kratanor checks behind the tree. a troll is there, tied up within the hollow. the yellow blood trolls eyes gain a look of both fury and fear as they start squirming harder... knocking over a bottle of mountain dew and a now crusty looking raw meat sandwich that had been left on the ground Infront of them.

kratanor, if they had skin that could, goes white as they look.

"ooooh...oh no...no no no no no no..."

*she quickly moves out of his site and clutches the camera... as if to try and transfer some of her frustration from her and into the screen...

"ok...ok i can fix this! yep, totally, I can definitely fix this! haha, not a problem!"

the manic look in her eyes suggest that yes, that this is indeed a problem. one she has no idea how to fix. She is not good at lying and given the way shes pacing shes not much better at lieing to herself.

she returns to the troll trying to look as apologetic and in control of herself as she can.

"um...hi! hello! I am kratanor! I think you met my brother, whats your name?"

the yellow blood looks at her incredulously. there is an awkward pause between the two as one awaits the answer and the other attempts to make it clear nonverbally that its not going to happen.

"ok... ok im going to take the gag off... please know that again, that was my brother, oh... wait wait you don't know what a brother is...um...its like a lusus, but their the same species and age as you, and they are related through genetics and you wake up as them. but that last one is conditional!"

The yellow blood eyes twitch...

"ok, im going to take off the gag, im going to ask you politely not to scream. please?"

kratanor gently removes the sloppily applied duck tape... the yellow blood doesnt scream... the charub deflates slightly...

"oh wonderful, thank you, my na-"

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS WRO-"

"AH!"

*Smack. thump.*

"ohh...ohhhh no..."

[slashpaws]

FAKE CLONE DUCK KILLED OG DUCK IN EPISODE 2 OH GOD??

[nights-legacy]

Left Behind - All Might's Daughter Pt. 1

PLEASE READ NOTE

{Note/Question/Request- Right now this isn't a paired imagine. I was wondering, after you've read it, where you think I should go with this. If I pair her with anybody, who should is be? How or should she forgive the two OFA users? Etc. Let me know!!}

+2460 Words Slight, slight spoilers from the Sports Festival!

+Y/N L/N is the only daughter of All Might. She has her mother's last name and what can be qualified as a super soldier quirk. She is fast, strong, powerful, and built like a tank and it's all in a small 15 year old girls body. After Midoriya comes into the picture, Y/N starts to feel left behind after a while. So she starts to pull away from them and gets close with Bakugo. Eventually, it all snaps at once and it was at the worst of times.

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

I huffed and puffed as I slowed to a stop I looked behind as the rest of the class caught up with Iida and I. We were the fastest in class without quirks and with most of the time. With the sports festival coming up, everyone was trying improve on things they lacked.

“Great job everyone.” Iida congratulated as everyone made it in. I walked over to Midoriya who was nearly doubled over.

“Are you okay there, Midoriya?” I asked patting him lightly on the back. He looked up at me, nodding. “You seem really winded. Maybe you should sit down for a minute.”

“Probably.” He said before he fell back, flat on his back. I laughed at him as he clocked out. I leant over him, hands on my knees, making sure he was okay. A yell of frustration caught my attention. I looked over at the source and saw Bakugo yelling at Sato who was just standing their indifferent.

“Okay, okay.” I went over and grabbed Bakugo’s arm, forcefully dragging him off. He growled at me and ripped his arm from my grip as we got a ways off.

“What do you want?”

“Not a blood bath.” I said with sass. He stared at me before smirking. He crossed his arms and leaned in close.

“I can take someone out without any blood being split.” He said.

“That may be true but who said I was talking about the other person’s blood.” I joked with an amused look on his face. His smirk turned glare and he went off on me. I just laughed and let him. I saw a flash of yellow and blue. I looked over and saw my dad whisking Midoriya away. My face dropped.

“What’s wrong with you now?” Bakugo exclaimed. I looked at him surprised before I saw him look where I was originally. Midoriya and my dad were out of sight now.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” I said, covering up my dejected annoyance with a smirk. “Now, sorry. I wasn’t listening to you before. What were you saying?”

“You damn…” He growled.

*Time Skip*

The roar of the crowd was empowering but there was a lot on my mind. The sports festival is a big deal. The first two events were alright and I got through fine but the last one was trickier. There are a lot of students with great quirks that could kick my ass. I walked through the halls before I heard two familiar voices. (Reader is in the final round instead of Shiozaki.)

“What are they talking about now?” I whispered to myself. I leant against the wall a ways down the hall. I listened to them and heard Dad encourage Midoriya. After that, Midoriya walked out to the field. Dad began to walk down my way. “Hey dad.”

“Y/N, you spooked me.” He jumped, holding a hand to his chest.

“Sorry.” I said, chuckling.

“Well, it’s alright. You are doing well out there, my little Powerhouse.” I tensed at the nickname.

“Dad.” I whined. He chuckled before moving to walk on. “I’m nervous for the next round.”

“Everything will be fine, Y/N. You’ll see.” He said in a caring voice. He walked away and my shoulders dropped. I needed more than that. Much more. I turned and leant against the wall with my shoulder. I set my head against the wall and took a few un-steady breaths.

“What are you doing dumbass?” I jumped and looked at Bakugo disoriented. I shook my head. I had no idea how long I was standing there. “Are you crying?”

“What?” I reached up and wiped them away. “No just caught some dust in my eyes.” I said before I went to walk away but he caught my arm.

“That’s not it. What’s wrong?” He said softer. I noticed his grip on my arm was soft and…comforting? I looked up at him.

“I just needed some encouragement from someone who didn’t give it. That’s all no big deal.” I pulled away from his grip gently. I had only walked a few feet away when he spoke up.

“Whoever they are, they’re not worth your tears. You shouldn’t need anyone’s encouragement. You strong enough on your own.” I turned to him surprised. He had his back to me, hands in his pockets. I smiled sadly.

“If only you knew who I was talking about.” I whispered.

3rd POV

Bakugo looked over his shoulder as the girl walked away. He fully turned and watched her walk away. Crossing his arms across his chest as he thought about what she said. He knew she meant for him not to hear it but he did.

“Who are you talking about?” He asked out loud. He looked off in the distance in thought. It wasn’t until footsteps caught his attention. He looked behind him to see Deku coming up behind him.

“H-hey Kacchan.” He stuttered while looking a bit tired. Bakugo remembered that Deku had known L/N since before the first day of school.

“Deku! You know L/N, right?” Bakugo asked. He looked at Bakugo strangely.

“Yes. I do. Pretty well, I guess.”

“Who is important to her? Is there anyone here that would or should be in her corner?” Deku looked at him surprised.

“Um, yeah. There is.” He said tentatively.

“Who is it?” Bakugo growled. Deku looked at him before squaring his shoulders.

“I am afraid I cannot tell you, Kacchan. And before you ask me why, it’s not my place or right to tell you. There is a reason they haven’t told anyone and I will not break their trust by outing something that isn’t mine to tell.” Bakugo just stared at him in surprise before Deku walked off.

Y/N’s POV

I breathed out in pain as I walked back into the stadium halls. I had won my first battle against Kaminari but not the second against Iida. My confidence was already down and affected my performance. I rolled my shoulder as I sat down at a table. I pulled my leg up and relaxed back for a moment.

“You did great out there L/N!” Uraraka called out. I smiled at her.

“Thanks.” I called back. I got up a little bit later and walked out. I went to walk up to the student stands. In the corner of my eye is saw green and yellow. I didn’t want to look but did. I saw dad comforting Midoriya and I gave a shaky sigh. I shook my head, biting my lip before continuing on.

*Time Skip*

I was breathing hard but I still ran. I pushed myself harder to try and get away from the robots. This training session was intense and very hard. Half the class was already out and the last few were running dry. I could hear Bakugo and Midoriya just past some rubble. A hit landed right next to me, knocking me off balance.

“Umph.” I rolled off the side and back onto my feet. I dodged an attack before vaulting over a rubble wall. I paused, hearing the robot fussing on the other side. I looked around and saw Midoriya down the street. I rolled my eyes as he waved.

“You doing okay?” He asked.

“Just fine.” I snapped at him. He reeled back at the aggression.

“Are you sure? You’ve been rather testy lately. Did something happen?” He asked concerned. I sighed heavily.

“Of course something did. You’re both just to enamored to see!” I yelled before running on. He ran after me, trying to talk to me but I ignored him. We made way into the cityscape center. I saw Bakugo across the way.

“It’s too quiet here.” Midoriya commented. As soon as he said that, he was tackled off to the side.

“Shit.” I ducked as a bit of the robot flew over my head. I stumbled back, hitting a wall. I watched as he fought the robot with ease. My chest began to fell heavy.

“Come on, Miss L/N. Push on.” I heard my dad’s voice. I scoffed.

“That’s the most encouragement you’ve given me in a month.” I said under my breath. I pushed off the wall and started to fight another robot that showed up. I heard Bakugo on the other side doing the same. In the moment I heard Midoriya scream one of my dad’s catch phrases, I stopped. I just stood there, staring off.

“I give up.” I said softly.

“L/N! Are you alright?” I heard Midoriya yell.

“Oi, dumbass. Get moving!” Bakugo called across the field.

“Miss L/N, I would advise you moving on. Stalling is not advisable in the field.” I heard my father say through the field. I let out a sob. I fell to my knees, burying my face in my hands.

“I give up!” I screamed. “I can’t do this anymore. I. Give. Up!” I screamed, crying out. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I heard yelling around me but I didn’t care not anymore. I am tired, I am hurt, and I just want this to end.

“Y/N! Look out!” I heard Bakugo’s voice close to me. I looked up right as he grabbed me and pulled me off to the side. We rolled and landed a few feet away. I looked over and saw a robot where I once was. It started to move towards us but shut down. “What’s wrong with you dumbass?” Bakugo yelled at me. I looked at him and saw a glare but concern behind it.

“Are you alright, L/N? What happened to…”

“Stay away from me!” I screamed, shuffling back away from Midoriya as he run up. I hid my face in the back of Bakugo’s shoulder as Midoriya skidded to a stop. I peeked over Bakugo’s shoulder at him and he was in shock.

“Young L/N, are you alright?” We all looked over to see All Might and Aizawa running up.

“You stay away from me too!” I pointed at my dad. I hid my face again and gripped onto Bakugo’s arm. I felt him place a hand on mine but I could tell all of them were confused. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t immediately recognize the touch so I figured it was Aizawa. I peeked out at him with teary eyes.

“Are you alright?” I nodded before retracting back.

“L/N, what wrong?” Bakugo asked. I just shook my head.

“Not here, not now.” I mumbled.

“Alright.” Aizawa said and stood. “We’re done for the day. All of you go get changed and go home. You three, meet in the classroom.”

“Why me?” Bakugo yelled.

“Because you’re the only one that L/N seems to be comfortable around right now.” Aizawa said firmly. It was silent for a moment.

“Alright.” He agreed without another argument.

I was sitting on the cabinets in the back of the classroom with Bakugo leaning next to me. Midoriya and my dad were at the front of the classroom. I had calmed down some but was still upset. I wouldn’t even look at the two. Aizawa finally came in closing the door behind him.

“Okay. What is going on?” He asked out loud. I glanced at him before looking back out the window. “Not talking. Alright. Do you two know what it is that made her act this way? That made her break down in the middle of a dangerous training session?” From the accusation in his voice I could tell he already knew.

“I am not sure. I have never seen her act like this before.” My dad said. I chuckled darkly.

“Then open your eyes or take off the blinders.” I growled. He looked at me surprised. I saw Bakugo glance between the two of us. He raised an eyebrow at me.

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean. I…” I cut him off.

“Of course you don’t!” I shot up and yelled. “You haven’t noticed one thing about me in month’s dad! Ever since…” I looked at Midoriya. “Ever since then. I have been left behind. Every time I needed encouragement from you I got nothing. Every time I needed advice from you I got nothing.”

“That can’t be, I…”

“The sports festival! I was nervous about the last round and I told you! But the only thing you said was everything will be fine, you’ll see.” I laughed with no amusement. I could hear Bakugo muttering confused behind me. I looked back at him and he had surprise and confusion written all over his face. “Yes, All Might the symbol of Peace is my dad. Unfortunately at the moment.”

“Y/N.”

“No. I’m not done. You made me despise a person that has never done anything bad to me. I haven’t got anything from you since day one. Nothing substantial at least. I don’t have a mother and no one else in this world then my dad but it seems like he’s in someone else corner only. Everyone else corner than mine. Well at least you’ve never treated me bad right? I guess it’s not all bad.” I said in a dark tone.

“Y/N…” He stood stunned.

“Speechless, huh?” I chuckled, feeling tears coming on again. “Look, I don’t want stop with your prodigy but a little acknowledgement or help from time to time. Okay? Okay.” I said before grabbing my bag and walking out. I heard someone running behind me. I looked back to see Bakugo.

“So…your All Might’s daughter, huh?”

“Yeah, the one and only.” I said. I crossed my arms over my stomach as we walked. He hummed and we walked in silence. I could feel the silent tears falling down my face.

“As awesome as that is…right now All Might is my least favorite person right now. Even less than Deku. Why was he even involved in this? Whatever. They are both little shitty…”

“Bakugo!” I yelled frustrated. He fell silent. We stopped and I took a big breath. “I know this is your own way of trying to comfort me but it’s not working, alright? I just…” I covered my face with my hands for a second before letting them drop. I looked at him. “I just want to be alone alright? I can’t, I don’t…I just can’t right now.” I paused to look at him in the face. “I don’t want to blow up on you like I did him. So please, I just want to be alone.” I could see apprehension in his eyes but I didn’t care. I turned and walked away.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.” He called after me. I could hear him take a few steps before stopping again.

“I know.” I said before turning a corner and walked away from him.

Tags: @spicy-therapist-mom

[aerimomo-mellon]

ENHYPEN walks in on you changing.

Paring~ ENHYPEN x Reader

Genre~ Fluff cause these boys be too cute.

A/N~ Requested! BTW girl I love you! thank you for requesting!

ENHYPEN M☁List ll Main M☁List

Heeseung

The second he walks in he is in panic mode.

His mind is probably like "Oh my god! what did I do! I should have never stepped in! I don't know what to say ahhhh!"

But of Corse that is in his mind cause he would never say that out loud.. cause he likes being cool and experienced despite the fact he is freaking out.

When you finally say "hey what are you doing here?" he manages to say " oh um just chilling you know.. I think.. NO I mean I don't think.. NO I actually mean I came here for my... watch yea!"

"baby your watch is on your wrist!" you say pointing at it.

"oh haha must be a mistake then..." he says scratching his head and awkwardly leaving.

I guess his effort of acting cool failed..

Jay

The only fucking one to be very cool about it.

Acts as if he has already claimed every bit of you so won't even bother to make a big fuss about it...

"Hey y/n! do you know where the scissors are? I can't rip the duck tape with my hands.." he says walking in the bedroom.

*Finds you wearing a pair of joggers. *

"aren't those mine?" he says eyes fixed on your lower body. (loves to look at you for some reason) and plus point you are basically half naked( yes you have your under garment on.) so he won't loose the chance.

"no 🙄... my friend got it for me yesterday.." you say avoiding eye contact to hide your Lie.

" Yea yea... now tell me where the scissors are." he continues. "its in the night table drawer." you reply.

"oh right!" he pecks your cheek "thanks baby!"

Jake

shy boi #1. *Walks in and finds you putting on a t-shirt*

Obviously freaks out cause he just has seen your bare back. When you turn around he immediately regrets his life choices.

"oh um.. sorry. I did not know you were changing.." he says looking at the floor.

"when did you get here?" you speak wearing you t-shirt fully. "oh just now! yes just now. and you turned around" he lies lol.

"hey Jake is your foot okay? is it itching? or smth?" you say looking at his foot that was awkwardly rubbing the carpet.

*Jake realizing what he is doing😳* " oh there was this weird thing on the carpet so i rubbed it off" he lies again ..

" oh yeah let me see is it gone?" you say walking towards him.

" yeah yeah yeah its all gone" he had to lie again. You stand in front of him looking up to him. " you don't have to be all shy about it." you say wrapping your hands around his waist, giving him a smile.

Sunghoon

I would not categorize him as shy in this case. Just because he would not be shy at all.

Rather then being all red and shy and uncomfortable he would only awkwardly smile at you.

Eye contact but never lowers his eyes from yours since he respects your privacy.

Laughs after a while and apologizes. "sorry I'll head out now.. love you!"

"me too" you say and he would simply walk out the door. BUt that cute little session you two had was very sweet to you and to him too.

Yes he is out of the room but still thinking about you ahaha and smiling alone in the living room. (sweet but creepy if you ask me ahaha)

"Baby why are you smiling?" you ask walking out of the room. "oh what do you mean? when did I smile?" he says quickly keeping a straight face.

Sunoo

Shy boi #2. Whatever random shit he was doing he decided to check on you and give his little hug.

Having that thought in mind he did not know or expect you to be literally taking your shirt off in the bedroom.

*walks in all happy and Skippy to hug you but*

He raises his eye brows his mouth wide open 😱 *panic mode*

you look back to see who it is but then you find him. The moment you saw him he brings his hands to his eyes to cover it.

" oh sorry hehe.." he says turning around so he isn't facing you. (but still covering his eyes lol) " I did not know you were changing"

"It's okay " you say giggling to yourself cause of his cuteness. "I'm done! you may turn around now" you say making your way to him.

"now, tell me what you wanted" you say as you sat on your bed looking at him. "nothing just wanted a hug 🤗" (that emoji is literally Sunoo) "Cm're" you say spreading your arms for him to fall into.

Jungwon

Shy baby #3. (Enhypen has a lot of shy boisssss sorry but it's true.)

You were getting ready for dinner with your friends. And you wore a cute dress for the night but couldn't get the zip up.

Of Corse you were struggling which made him come check on you.

*walks in the room but doesn't find you at first* (cause you were struggling in the bathroom.)

Finally he finds you and when he opens the door he is 🍅. "oh sorry I did not mean to😳"

"NO its fine can you please help me!" you say quick before he walks out. " It's almost time and I need to zip this. Please, please, Pleaseeeeeeee" you say. "yea sure" his face still 🍅.

Slowly makes his way towards you from behind to zip you dress. *his heart is like in the tempo of Drunk Dazed* anyway he manages to get that zip up.

"thank you!" you say giving him a quick hug. "no problem 😳" (and yes he is thinking about that all day)

Ni-Ki

Not shy specifically but the most awkward one.

You did not know he was going to visit you at your place today. (And yes he did)

You just came out from the shower looking for your clothes to change into.

*randomly comes in the house since he knows the password.* as he made his way to your room….

He finds you only with shorts and no t-shirt. 🧍🏻← yup this is him right here→🧍🏻

“I’m sorry I did not know” last words before he turns around and heads out.

That’s basically what you get from this man. I mean he would probably feel a little shocked but as far as I know he would not make a big deal about it in front of you. Preventing any sort of miscommunication.

After you change you two don’t even bother to bring that topic cause you both be too young for that shit.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Someone Else (I'm Still Right Here)

also on ao3

minor warning for Geralt coming on to Jask when he doesn't know who he is, but nothing comes from it. 

 They've hardly been in town long enough for anything to go wrong and yet, Jaskier finds his thoughts interrupted by banging on the door of their room. If it was Geralt, he would simply let himself in even if he didn't have his hands free to open the door properly, so it must be important. Jaskier rises from the bed, setting his lute aside with a sigh. He detests being interrupted while he's working for anything less than an emergency - and judging by the fact that the knock hasn't come again, this is hardly an emergency.

He saunters to the door, pulling it open to find the face of the innkeeper's wife staring back at him anxiously.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, "it's your Witcher, sir. Something's happened and no one is... well, they're all afraid to get too close to him. They called in the healer from the next town, but-"

Jaskier frowns. The contract was for a pair of drowners, not even a nest of the damn things. Geralt could have taken them out in his sleep - so what went so terribly wrong?

Jaskier lets himself be led downstairs, doing his best to mask worry with intrigue, but it isn't working. The innkeeper's wife leads him to the edge of the forest where her husband is waiting, a look of pained concern on his face. Jaskier's stomach drops as the man just points into the trees, and he hurries forward without delay. If the people in town won't help Geralt, he will certainly do his best.

When he finds him, Geralt is in a bad state. His eyes are still dark from the potions - probably why the locals wouldn't come near - and there's blood streaked down the side of his face.

Jaskier stays quiet. It's bad enough that Geralt can hear his pulse racing, he doesn't need to make his fear any more obvious to him. He kneels down on the soft ground, assessing the damage before moving him. He's learned from experience that one wrong move can make a wound worse rather than better.

"Okay," he says once he's satisfied. "I'm just gonna pull this off," he taps on Geralt's left pauldron, "make sure your head is the only thing you banged up." Jaskier frowns as he says it, but Geralt seems, as usual, unconcerned. He's much better behaved than usual though, which strikes Jaskier as being particularly odd.

He ignores it and pushes through, tearing an already ripped piece of Geralt's shirt to wipe away some of the blood. Geralt will be grouchy about it later, but if Jaskier replaces it, he can't be too angry. He does his best to clean Geralt's skin and he finds just the one injury - a hefty blow to the head. Not that it seems to be bothering Geralt any.

But when Jaskier cups his jaw, tipping his head to one side, Geralt hums. It catches him off guard and Jaskier jerks back to look at him.

"Your hands feel nice," Geralt breathes and leans into the touch. Okay. So maybe the head injury is more serious than it appears. The innkeeper's wife said a healer was coming, Jaskier will mention it to them when they arrive. Or maybe it's just the blood loss. Either way, the healer will be better prepared to deal with it than he is.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asks.

"The innkeeper's wife came to collect me. Figured someone ought to come and collect you."

"No one else would even get near me."

"Yes, well, I'm not everyone else, am I?"

"Hmm. Guess not."

Jaskier comes around to look at him, straddling his thighs and Geralt leans forward, resting his head on his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.

"Yes yes," Jaskier hums, "I know you're tired, darling, but we have to get you up and back to town."

Geralt is reluctant, but he lets himself be hauled to his feet and doesn't even complain about Jaskier propping him up as they make their way back toward town. He's quiet, which is to be expected, but Jaskier is worried that he's keeping something from him, that he's worse off than he seems because Geralt seems quite happy to let himself be assisted - something he would regularly fight against.

As they make it back to the inn, Jaskier knows everyone is watching them and he scolds a couple of them for not offering to help when a man was injured. He takes Geralt up to their room and ducks out from under his arm, leaving him alone for a moment so he can get the fire lit and ready the bed for him. But before he can do either, he finds himself pressed up against the room door with Geralt's face mere inches from his own.

The dark veins and darker eyes are… sexier than they have any right to be and Jaskier swallows back a groan, pressing a gentle hand to Geralt's chest. The Witcher is still woozy and unsteady on his feet, but he resists being pressed back and Jaskier frowns at him.

"Mm, as much fun as this is, I doubt you'll think so highly of me in the morning, darling." Geralt smiles slyly and, for a split second, Jaskier worries that he's become Geralt's quarry, that the toxins running through Geralt's body are really as bad as he always claims they are and that he is, in fact, in real danger around him. But then Geralt leans in, bumping his nose against Jaskier's and any thoughts of fear dissipate immediately.

Instead, Jaskier ducks down and away, holding both arms out as Geralt follows him.

"Geralt," he asks, "what's gotten into you? Not that I mind, but-" he eyes him carefully and Geralt just grins at him again.

"Don't be coy with me, bard, this is what you brought me here for."

"Um. No? I brought you here to rest, to put you to bed not take you to bed, and find you something to eat. This is our room, Geralt, not my room. They only had one left and I didn't think you'd mind-"

"Our room?" Geralt interrupts and Jaskier nods. Worry creeps in and he looks closely at Geralt. His eyes are black still, though the veins are retreating and he seems brighter than usual, not so gloomy.

"Yes?"

"Why would we be sharing a room," Geralt huffs, "I've only just met you."

Jaskier gawks at him. It's not like Geralt to play games, that's Lambert's area of expertise - and this is stupid and obvious even for Lambert's tastes. But something is off about Geralt tonight. The worry turns to fear and Jaskier suddenly wonders if the man he's brought back is his Witcher at all.

He's never met a doppler, but he's heard Geralt tell stories about them. For the most part, they're harmless, but Jaskier suspects they can be paid or bribed like anyone else and the thought of a stranger here in the room with his things, with Geralt's things-

"I thought you wanted sex," maybe-Gealt says again, slightly confused but not at all dissuaded. Normally Jaskier would take it as a compliment that he was still so enthusiastic about fucking him, but this feels very, very wrong. And yet a part of him still considers it.

If it is a doppler, there's no harm really. He's consenting and Jaskier is more than happy to fuck a man with Geralt's face (he doesn't think too much about how that will affect him after it's fine). Right? But there's still a nagging feeling that this isn't a doppler. He'd know, he thinks, if he brought someone else home with him.

"Can you just-" he says, backing up toward the bed where his bag is sitting on the floor. Maybe-Geralt just watches him with confusion as he crouches down and pulls his dagger from his pack.

It's just a little thing, but it's pure silver, gifted to him by Geralt in case of emergency.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Jaskier says, holding it out, "I just need you to touch this."

Maybe-Geralt gives him a questioning look but reaches out and takes the dagger from him, turning it over in his hand. Nothing happens.

"Hmm," he says, "nice weight, well made. A little decorative maybe-"

"Doesn't hurt?" Jaskier asks and maybe-Geralt, who is seeming more and more like just Geralt laughs.

"Not unless you stab someone with it."

Jaskier valiantly ignores the little smirk and shuts his eyes.

"Okay," he says, "start at the beginning, what do you remember?"

"I… woke up in the forest and then you showed up," he smiles at him and Jaskier is already preparing a refusal.

"Listen, Geralt, I am your friend and you would probably even argue that-"

"How come? You're very handsome and you've been helpful and kind-"

"But it's not like that, Geralt. It never has been. I offered once and you were… less than impressed with me." Geralt says nothing and Jaskier takes the opportunity to reign the conversation in. "Can I clean you up now? Something is obviously wrong and we have to get you to a doctor."

"They said a healer was coming."

"I was thinking of someone a little more professional," Jaskier says and Geralt gives him a look. "We have a mutual friend who may be able to help. But for now, you've got me and I'd like to take a look at that wound."

Geralt relents and Jaskier finally succeeds in getting him sat on the bed without Geralt trying to come on to him again. He pulls Geralt's hair back and ties it out of his face, it'll need to be washed later, but he's not going to try and explain how it's fine for him to wash his hair but not fuck him right now.

The wound itself it's so bad, a bit swollen, a bit bruised, but the actual gash is small and very manageable. He cleans it first with water and then with vodka and applies a good amount of salve. He doesn't know which herbs Geralt combines for a poultice, so he bypasses that for the time being; when he gets him to Shani if the wound isn't healed on its own, she'll be able to tend to it.

He finds linen wrap at the bottom of his bag and presses it to Geralt's forehead, gently wrapping it around and tying it at his temple.

"Should be good for now. I'll go down and have supper brought up. Do you want a bath?"

"No. Thank you."

"Alright. Just… stay here, I'll be back."

As soon as the bedroom door is shut, Jaskier closes his eyes, but he waits until he reaches the main floor to lean against the wall and sigh. He has no idea what he's going to do. He never thought he'd be sad to see the day Geralt tried to get him into bed, but it feels so wrong. He'd rather spend the rest of his life failing to impress Geralt than spend another five minutes with him like this.

He takes his time ordering food, half-hoping that Geralt will be asleep by the time he gets back to the room, but their supper is ready quickly and Jaskier reluctantly takes it back up to their room, setting the tray on the table beside the bed.

Geralt at least spares him conversation while they eat and then Jaskier sets the dishes aside and strips out of his clothes for bed, already dreading having to share a bed. He keeps his shorts on and waits until Geralt is already in bed before climbing in after him.

The fire is burning low already, so he's not worried about it, but he blows out the candle beside the bed and pulls the blankets up over himself. He faces out into the room, preferring not to see Geralt right now. It feels weird to want to avoid him and it makes his chest ache because this is Geralt, but it's not. He just wants his Geralt back.

He shuts his eyes and tries to sleep but Geralt is cuddly like this, shifting closer and pressing up against him. He gets an arm around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. It's everything he thinks about during the long nights sleeping around a campfire, but he can't let himself give into it. But it feels good because it's Geralt's arm around him, Geralt's chest pressed to his back, Geralt's breath against his neck. He very nearly whines because it's so damn unfair.

But then Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and a little gasp escapes his lips, unintentionally. He ignores it the first time, but then he does it again and when he shifts closer, Jaskier can feel the length of his cock pressing against his ass. And fuck, that's hard to turn down, but Jaskier wrenches himself out of Geralt's arms.

"I can't," he whispers, unconvincing even to himself.

"You want it, though," Geralt hums, "I can smell it on you."

"Maybe," Jaskier confesses, "but not like this. Not when you don't know who I am. Not when fucking any other person in this place would be the same for you. I can't, Geralt. Go to sleep."

Jaskier hates how disappointed Geralt sounds when he pulls away, but he doesn't try again and Jaskier almost finds himself wishing he would. He tugs the blanket a little tighter around himself and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to force back the fear that he might not get his Geralt back.

In the morning, Geralt wakes first and Jaskier is relieved to find himself alone in bed, although he worries about where Geralt has gotten to. But when he drags himself out of bed, he finds Geralt packed and ready to go with a hearty breakfast waiting for him.

"What's all this?" Jaskier asks, "trying to get away from me all of a sudden?" It comes out more bitter than he intends and he winces at the tone of his own voice.

"You were so sad, last night," Geralt says quietly. "I don't know how to fix this, how to remember you, but I thought you'd want to get started early. I had breakfast brought up." He offers a soft smile, gesturing to the food and Jaskier's heart flip-flops.

"Oh. Thank you."

"I've eaten. Take your time and we can leave when you're finished."

"Right."

Geralt just sits on the bed while Jaskier eats his breakfast and contemplates the fact that this is still his Geralt, as much as it doesn't seem like it. His own things are still ready to go and he has no idea who to go to to collect the reward for the drowners, but it couldn't have been much anyway, so he's not worried about it. Geralt won't be pleased about it when he remembers himself, but there's only so much Jaskier knows how to handle and he wants to get Geralt to Shani as quickly as possible.

They head out mid-morning, and Geralt insists on letting Jaskier ride, which is… nice, in a concerning way. Roach is equally confused and concerned, but Jaskier does his best to comfort her. Thankfully, they aren't far from Oxenfurt or Jaskier isn't sure how he would cope.

Geralt walks alongside him, happy enough apparently to let Jaskier ride. He hums as they travel, a low wonderful sound that had Jaskier's heart fluttering, but it tears him in two because the song is his which means Geralt does remember something, but he's also so sad to see him this calm and relaxed knowing his goal is to take that away from him.

For now, he won't say anything, will just let Geralt enjoy the journey. When and if they find a way to get his memory back, he'll explain everything and give Geralt the chance to decline if he wishes. The selfish part of him hopes he doesn't.

They carry on in much the same way, but even when Geralt talks, Jaskier struggles to find it in himself to be too enthusiastic about anything. He's already in a difficult spot and he just wants to get through this, whatever the outcome. But it's obvious Geralt notices and that he's trying to distract him from it.

Jaskier tries to cheer up a little, if only for him, but he finds it difficult because he knows Geralt can tell how he's really feeling. But Jaskier appreciates the effort, either way.

"Remind me where we're going?" Geralt asks and Jaskier realizes he hasn't told him, Geralt just trusted him not to be leading him towards certain death.

"To Oxenfurt," he says, trying to sound cheerful, "it's one of my favourite places on the continent. I have a friend who practices medicine, she should be able to help."

"You don't have to pretend for me. I know you're sad, I know you miss him. Me. I wish I could give you your friend back."

Jaskier's heart clenches and he takes a steadying breath. "I'm fine," he says, "and I can't miss him, he's you and you're right here." He feels odd, like he's talking to a child, but Geralt just smiles at him, softly but like he doesn't believe him. Jaskier wouldn't either, he's never been good at lying to Geralt.

There's a heavy silence that falls after that and for some time they continue forward unspeaking. Jaskier twitches to feel the silence, to sing or talk to something just to keep from thinking that Geralt is upset with him. Then, abruptly, Geralt speaks.

"What kind of man am I?" Jaskier doesn't even have to think to answer that.

"You're kind," he says, "more than anyone gives you credit for. You always try to take the less violent route, even though your job is to kill monsters. You're generous and loving and you care so deeply for your friends and family."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat. Because he's not included in that group. He knows Geralt must care for him, but not in the way he loves Eskel or Lambert, or even in the way his friendship with Shani or Zoltan comes so easily to him. Next to him, Geralt is silent for a moment and then.

"Jaskier are you-" Jaskier shuts his eyes, dreading whatever is coming next. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do," he says, forcing cheeriness into his voice, "You're my best friend."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Geralt-"

"I know I don't really know you, but I… think I love you, too."

"Geralt, don't say that," Jaskier shuts his eyes tightly, "you can't know that."

"I feel it."

Jaskier wants to scream. It's so unfair to hear those words from Geralt's mouth and know they’re not true. He pushes Roach a little quicker forward, but Geralt stops him.

Roach comes to a full stop and Jaskier grows frowns at Geralt as he comes to stand next to him. Geralt raised a hand up, cupping his jaw and guiding him downward.

"I feel like you won't hear it from me again, so I love you." He's soft, almost breathless, and when he stretches up to kiss him, Jaskier doesn't stop him.

It's just soft, no urgency, no want for something more than just a kiss and Jaskier can't help but lean into it just a little. Because those are Geralt's hands on him, Geralt's mouth against his own, soft and slow.

But Geralt moans softly against him and Jaskier remembers himself with a start. He pulls back from the Witcher, almost unseating himself, but Geralt steadies him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I can't, it's not fair-"

"To me?" Geralt asks and there's sadness behind the humour in his voice.

"Yes."

After that, they spend the rest of the day in silence and Jaskier feels bad for Geralt - he can't imagine losing his memory and not knowing who he is - but he can't stand the fruitless hope. Because Geralt doesn't love him, he's made it known that they're not friends and how could Jaskier hope for more when he can't even attain friendship?

Then again, the man walking next to him now still is Geralt. He doesn't feel like Geralt and he doesn't act like Geralt, but he is. Jaskier isn't sure how people usually react when they lose their memories, so he doesn't have a basis to judge by, but it is still Geralt.

When they stop for the night, Geralt sleeps close enough to keep him warm but doesn't cuddle up like he did the night before and Jaskier hates himself for it. Maybe Geralt has a chance here at a new life, one where he can be happy and not weighed down by the memory of his childhood. And if he does, if he wants it, who is Jaskier to deny him that?

He's not sure he could be a part of it, though. Even thinking about him now, wishing Geralt would come a little closer, curl an arm around his middle, he feels like he's betraying his friend, betraying the old Geralt as the case may be.

Either way, he'll get Geralt to Oxenfurt so they can speak to Shani and see if there's anything that can be done. If there's not, he doesn't have to worry about making the decision to leave or stay, but if there is- If there is a chance Geralt can regain his memories, Jaskier has to let him make that choice alone and then make his own depending on what Geralt wants.

They reach Oxenfurt a few days later after what feels like a month-long journey and Jaskier is just glad to be somewhere warm where he can have his own room and not have to worry about wanting to be close. He leads them immediately to the inn and rents two separate rooms. It's fairly costly and he's reminded of the reason they needed to take the last contract, but he could be in Oxenfurt for a while depending on how this goes and he'll be able to pick up work easily enough.

Jaskier heads up to his room and makes sure Geralt gets settled, then he heads down and orders food and a bath up to Geralt's room before heading out to find Shani.

The first place he looks is the hospital, but the nurse working informs him that Shani has her own clinic now and she's located near the centre of town. Jaskier thanks her and doubles back, following the directions she'd given. Shani's clinic is tucked between two other buildings and Jaskier knocks before entering. There's no one inside but it's only a moment before Shani emerges from a back room, the neutral look on her face quickly growing into a smile. When Jaskier doesn't return the gesture she frowns.

"I take it this isn't a personal visit," she says and Jaskier can feel something inside him slip. He shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I- we need your help."

"Geralt?" she asks and the last bit of his self-control gives way and he chokes on a sob. "Hey," she says, "come sit down."

Shani guides him to a back room and sits him down on a plush soft, surprisingly nice for a medical clinic. She shuts and locks the door behind them and sits next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Geralt," he chokes, "hes'-" he takes a deep breath, swallowing back another sob. "Shani, he doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know who I am."

"Oh. What happened?"

"I wasn't there. I just- they came to get me because no one else would get near him. It was just supposed to be a drowner contract but he got hit in the head or something. I don't know what to do."

"Where is he now?"

"Back at the inn."

"Here?" she asks. Jaskier nods. "Why don't you take me to him, I'll take a look."

"I- I don't know if he'll want to be fixed? He came with me but Shani, he seems happy."

"Why don't we go and see him first. We'll figure out what's wrong before worrying too much, hm?" Jaskier agrees and Shani packs a bag and they head for the inn.

They find Geralt in his room, having eaten and bathed and he looks good. He's got his hair down around his shoulders and he's shirtless and Jaskier has to avert his eyes. He takes a seat in the corner and lets Shani introduce herself and asks to look him over. Jaskier stays quiet and watches cautiously as Geralt easily lets Shani look him over. Once she's finished with his body, she examines his head.

"Well," she says at last, "you obviously took a pretty hefty blow to your head, but the good news is it should be simple to reverse the memory loss."

"Good," Geralt says quickly. He spares a glance for Jaskier before turning back to Shani. "What do we have to do?"

"It's simple really, just a shock to your system should do it. I have a friend who can help."

As Shani goes into the details, Jaskier tunes out. He hears something about neurons, but he's more concerned about getting Geralt alone for a couple of minutes before he makes a decision. He loves Geralt, wants nothing more than for him to be happy, so he wants him to go into this knowing everything Jaskier can tell him.

"Can we have a moment Shani?" he asks and Geralt looks at him as Shani nods and ducks out of the room.

"You want to do it?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're happier like this," Jaskier whispers, "Geralt, I've never seen you this relaxed. In twenty years, you've always been miserable. I just- I want you to make an informed decision."

"You say you want me to be happy," Geralt says, "but since I told you I didn't know who you were you've been so sad. How is it fair for me to be happy like you say when you're still suffering." He tips Jaskier's chin up with two fingers and looks into his eyes. "What I said before, I wasn't lying. I don't know where all these feelings are coming from but I know you are so important to me."

He pulls up a smile and Jaskier knows how this is going to end. And he'll be happy to have his Geralt back, but know him like this? To know this Geralt wants him, even in some weird, imaginary way? He doesn't know how he'll be able to continue.

"Okay," Jaskier relents. "I just… wanted you to know what you were getting into."

"I'm sure it can't be all bad. I have you."

Jaskier's heart clenches, but he doesn't get another chance to speak because Shani enters the room. Thankfully, Geralt has stopped touching him, but he's still close and she gives Jaskier a look.

"I put out a call to my friend," she says, holding up a box that looks vaguely familiar. "Xenovox," she explains, "Marilla is a mage. She should be here in the morning."

It's late afternoon now, so that means spending another night at the inn and Jaskier is torn. On the one hand, he wants Geralt to be back to normal, but on the other- he's selfish and he wants Geralt like this. He wants so badly to have anything and- no. No, he can't.

Shani leaves them shortly after assuring Jaskier that it will be alright, that Geralt will be fine. He wishes these were better circumstances, that they had come to visit Shani instead of asking for her help, but she waves him off with a smile.

"Come and visit when things are back to normal," she says, "I'll see you in the morning."

Jaskier sees her off and then returns to the room to find Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating. He's still shirtless and Jaskier finds it hard to look at him directly. He sits in the bed next to him, hands folded in his lap.

"Well," Geralt says, "we have the night. Things will be different after I get my memory back, right?" He turns, reaching out to cup Jaskier's cheek. "Be with me tonight," he breathes, "just for tonight, let me take care of you while I have the chance."

Jaskier huffs a humourless laugh. "That's the problem, you always have the chance, but you never want to take it."

"Then let me now," he hums and his hand falls to Jaskier's thigh.

And it's so tempting. Because Geralt is right here offering everything he's ever wanted, if only for a night. But this is not the Geralt he fell in love with. This is not truly his Geralt's consent. When Jaskier looks up, it's obvious that Geralt knows his answer before he even speaks.

"I'm an idiot," he says softly, "to not jump at the chance to be with you. If I don't remember tomorrow, I want you to know you're important to me." Jaskier nods weakly, but he can't find the words. "Maybe we should turn in early? We have a long day tomorrow, I think."

Jaskier nods and he lets Geralt pull him down to the bed and tonight, he lets himself be held, curls into Geralt's hold and presses his nose into his neck. He doesn't let himself think, just buries himself in Geralt's scent, so warm and familiar and shuts off his mind.

Jaskier awakes to a knock on the door and realizes he's still in his clothes from yesterday. Geralt answers the door to Shani and Marilla, and Jaskier is only just climbing out of bed when they come into the room. He gets a look from Shani, but if she's feeling any particular kind of way about finding him in Geralt's bed, she doesn't say anything.

The actual process doesn't take any time at all. Marilla comes in and does something to Geralt, what she does is unclear but he falls unconscious and Jaskier panics at first, but Shani holds him back.

"Sorry," she says, "I should have warned you."

Jaskier does his best to make Geralt comfortable in the bed and he leaves with the two women to let him sleep. He thanks Marilla desperately and asks her to stay until he wakes, but she tells him she has other business to attend to and after dipping down to kiss Shani briefly, she disappears down the stairs.

"Friend, huh?" Jaskier asks and Shani smiles at him.

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Actually, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course. Why don't we get a drink, he could be out for a couple of hours."

They head down to the common area and Shani orders them a pair of drinks while Jaskier finds a table out of the way. He's never understood why Geralt likes corner tables, but right now he gets it. He doesn't want anyone to talk to him and he just wants to be able to sit and drink with Shani.

When she returns, she slides his drink across to him and slips into her seat.

"What did you want to ask about?"

"Uh," Jaskier starts, turning his mug in his hands, "when I first took Geralt back to our room, just after he was hurt. He tried to kiss me. He… thought I was bringing him back there to fuck him."

"Oh."

"You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not, really. I'm surprised he acted on it, but-"

"What does that mean?"

"Geralt doesn't have any brain damage," Shani explains, "something just… got knocked loose, so to speak. He was still him, Jaskier. His thoughts, his feelings? That was all him, Jask."

"You're telling me-" abruptly, the memory of Geralt telling him he loved him comes back to him and his mouth goes dry. "You're telling me that was just him?"

"Mmhm. Without all the baggage and self-loathing."

"I don't- he can't- if he wanted me that way, I would know."

"Would you?" Shani asks, "because I think you would be the last person to know. Wait till he wakes up, talk to him."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Shani, for this and for everything."

"Happy to help."

They finish their drinks and Shani heads home. Jaskier thanks her again and promises to visit when things are better and waits until she's gone before heading back up to Geralt's room.

The first thing Geralt knows when he wakes up, is a pain in his head. He blinks awake to find himself in a bed in a nondescript inn. A better look around finds Jaskier asleep in a chair next to him, but he stirs as Geralt sits up and then he's scrambling to pass Geralt a mug of water.

He feels woozy, but Jaskier's presence soothes him; he knows from experience that Jaskier would never let anything happen to him and is willing to risk his own health and safety to assure it. There's no one else he'd rather see upon waking. But he doesn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers is taking a hit and stumbling away from the scene.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks gently. He looks up and the first thing he notices when he looks at Jaskier is how sad he is. The emotion wafts off of him, but Geralt doesn't need his heightened sense of smell to be able to tell.

"What's wrong?" he mumbles, his voice thick.

"Tell me what you remember. From the start."

Geralt thinks back, going through the events of the hunt, none of which are very interesting until he was thrown into a tree. Water hag, he remembers, chucked mud and blinded him. Then he's stumbling away, all three monsters dead and then- fuck.

His gaze snaps up to Jaskier's face, looking for any sign of recognition, but he remains eerily calm, even as Geralt recollects kissing him, pressing him up against a wall and- fuck, what was he thinking? The more he thinks about it, the more comes back to him, but in bits and pieces.

Kissing him, touching him, pressing up against him in bed. The memories are all foggy, scattered, but they feel too real to have been a dream. But Jaskier shows no signs of being assaulted by him.

"I'm-" he starts, but sorry doesn't feel like it's enough. Jaskier is open with his affections, but he wouldn't be okay with that.

Geralt tries to push himself up, to get out of bed and away from Jaskier because he can't stand the thought of doing something like that. He can't remember why he did, but the more he thinks about it, the more real it feels.

"Geralt," Jaskier says firmly, "I'm not mad. But I think we need to talk if you're up for it."

He doesn't want to talk to Jaskier. He would rather find out from someone else, he can't bear to hear the words from Jaskier. And he knows Shani was there. Shani and another woman who he didn't recognize.

"Where's Shani?" he asks.

"She's gone home, darling. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

Geralt looks up at him and he feels hopeless. Jaskier is exhausted, he can see the bags under his eyes, the dark circles. And he doesn't seem any less sad than he did initially. It doesn't take much to realize what happened.

"I'm sorry," Geralt mumbles, "about what I did- when I kissed you, I-"

Jaskier stops, already halfway toward the door and sighs deeply, stopping in his tracks before turning around.

"Okay," he says, "we're talking about this now, then." He comes back and seats himself on the end of the bed, facing him. "Tell me exactly what you remember, Geralt."

"I remember taking the contract, fighting off the drowners - and a water hag - got mud in my eyes, stumbled and something hit me, threw me into a tree. Probably one of the drowners pushed me. I took them out, started back toward town but I must have passed out, the next thing I remember is-"

"Me."

"Yeah. You took me back to our room, I thought you were- I thought you wanted sex."

"I know, you were fairly adamant about that."

"Fuck. Jaskier I'm sorry-"

"You didn't know who I was. If a handsome stranger took me back to his room, I'd think the same. When you didn't know who I was I was… terrified. I didn't know if I'd get you back." They're both silent for a moment and then Jaskier prompts him to continue.

"I remember that. I remember talking to you," he lowers his eyes, "I told you I loved you, I don't know why." Immediately Jaskier's sadness intensifies and he catches it in the twitch of his lip, the way he glances away.

"You asked if I was in love with you," Jaskier explains, "and told me you loved me. What else do you remember?"

"I remember asking you to- suggesting we- I propositioned you. And I remember being in bed- Jaskier, did we-?" He can't imagine anything worse than sleeping with Jaskier while he's not himself, than having the chance to be with him and not truly being present in the moment.

Because he certainly won't have another chance, especially not now that he's gone and muddled things up.

"No," Jaskier confirms and for the first time a small smile tugs at his lips, "not that you didn't try. But It didn't feel right. I knew when you had your memories back, you'd hate me for it and I couldn't-"

"I could never hate you," Geralt interrupts, "if anything I'd hate myself for pushing you into it."

"No," Jaskier says, shaking his head, "Geralt you don't understand. I wanted to. I wanted so badly to just say yes last night when you asked me. I tried to work it around in some way that you wouldn't hate me for taking advantage, but every time I just feel terrible to even think about it. The reason I didn't sleep with you is because I couldn't bear the thought of fucking you when it wasn't really you. Because I didn't want him, even if he was you. I wanted- I want this you."

"You do," Geralt snorts, "someone who throws himself at his friend because he doesn't remember, someone who tells him he loves him unprompted-"

"Do you think," Jaskier suggests, and it's clear by the look on his face that he's considering his words very carefully. "That maybe what you said to me and what you did- what you offered," he corrects quickly, "was because you do have feelings for me?" His voice shakes just faintly and Geralt can smell the anxiousness coming off of him.

It's cloying, overwhelming and it mingles with the scent of sadness and fear and just the faintest hint of something hopeful.

"It's just that Shani said there was nothing wrong with your mind, it was still you in there when you asked, when you said that." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt feels years of emotion welling up inside him and he doesn't know how to hold it back any longer, not what Jaskier is asking him outright.

"Jaskier, I-" he takes a deep breath, focuses on a mark on the blanket between them. "I don't remember everything. But I did mean what I said. I do… I love you," he whispers, "I didn't want you to think less of me or," he glances up and Jaskier's eyes are shiny like he's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this."

"I'm not sad," Jaskier says, "Geralt, I have been following you around for half my life, caring for you, singing about you and you didn't think for maybe a moment that I could love you back?"

"You-" Geralt stumbles over his words as Jaskier's confession sinks in. "You sleep with everyone. Everyone but-"

"You don't even call me friend, Geralt. Why would I try and take you to bed with me thinking you don't care enough to call me your friend?"

"Oh."

"Oh? You didn't consider that?"

"You're not my friend," Geralt says, by way of explanation, "but you're not a lover, either. You're not a brother. Not a comrade. I don't know what you are."

"Oh."

"But you could be… a lover?" the word feels strangely heavy in his mouth and he nearly regrets saying it at all until he sees the way Jaskier's eyes light up. A smile tugs at Geralt's lips and he leans forward, reaching out to take Jaskier's hand, tentatively turning it over.

"Jaskier," he whispers, "can I kiss you?" A wide grin spreads across his face and Jaskier tips forward toward him.

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

[uniquevocashark]

Tea and Ice Lattes Part 3

hnnnng part 4 coming soon

Its Saturday morning, and though it had been storming for most of the week, it seemed as if Alcina’s sheer desire for a good day for your date had pulled the sun out from behind the clouds.

The café was busy in the morning but the kind of busy that was all take out and no stay ins. The doors had been wedged open, and the breeze that blew in was welcome.

You checked the clock.

Eleven minutes to ten.

You drummed your fingers on the table. The noise was pleasant at least, familiar. Grounding, as you stared at nothing in particular to avoid blushing when Alcina looked at you.

The shop tables were all but abandoned that morning, but for you, her and her ducks, who waddled about your table inquisitively. She was wearing a long orange dress, ankle length, with a high neckline decorated in three yellow roses. Her ducks wore little capes of a matching colour, the family crest on the bottom left corner.

Conversation had been dry; on her side a preoccupation with the time, and on yours from the crushing realisation that this was, most technically, a date. And only the start of a date at that.

You had been nervous all week, spiking up to a new high on Tuesday, and it turned into something uniquely hell inspiring when she sat in front of you.

…

It had started on Tuesday night. You had just gotten home, a bone deep tiredness settling in your bones and a light coffee induced headache rattling in your skull, when you were approached by the oddest dressed woman you had ever seen. She was on the reedy side of tall, muscled but with little else, and covered in scars that looked like bitemarks, bearing the crest of the Countess on her breast pocket.

She licked her teeth anxiously as you approached, a cream box underneath her arm, “Do you live here?”

She had gestured at your door.

“Who are you?”

You watched her visibly relax and then hand the box to you like it was a cursed, burning object, “This is from you. From the heiress.”

“Um.” You didn’t grab the box.

“From Miss Dimitrescu,” She repeated, her voice going into an even shriller whistle, “I must be going, so take it.”

And then she was gone, like a phantom on the wind, and you stood at the door of your apartment holding a box that looked like it cost more than your entire wardrobe. You unlocked the door and went in. You really had to talk to her about the gifts.

There was a huge letter attached, lilac in colour, and it seemed to radiate a certain kind of malice only present from intense apprehension. It, and the box which was equally suspicious, sat unopened on the opposite side of your tiny couch for three days before you finally felt compelled enough to open it.

You didn’t know the difference between grades of paper, but just the feel of the envelope felt disgustingly expensive. The lettering was golden filigree, or maybe even golden ink?, and when you ripped it open you felt intensely lower class that was probably unintentional.

Probably.

There were two papers in the envelope: a small crème card, your name in bold red letters, a formal invitation out underneath it in looping black lettering. A small I’m so excited to see you this Saturday was scribbled in the corner, with a little smiling duck next to it that made you smile. And behind it was a handwritten note, on paper blotched in different kinds of ink, with a different loopier handwriting. There was no address line, or even a simple hello, but you could guess who sent it.

Rest assured that this gift given in good faith, and from Alcina alone, and that I merely wished to impart my congratulations to my dear daughter’s girlfriend (you noted that the word was indented into the paper deeply, like the person had been pressing too hard with their pen) of whom I have not be appropriately introduced.

I am so looking forward to our second introduction, for my daughter has been quite tight lipped about you.

Till this evening and with my fullest, warmest regards,

Countess Dimitrescu

You read it over, then looked at the box.

You almost threw it away. Almost.

And then you remembered that if you did, the Countess would almost certainly destroy your life.

You opened it.

Inside was a frock and you could barely believe you were holding anything when you picked it up.

The fabric was impossibly light and soft, a dark and luxurious peach colour, and it was your size. You turned it around in your hands, and checked over the measurements, and you had the strongest urge to just lay down and not move for the next day. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

It was fine, this was just a kind gesture, you were sure. A bit of an assumption, true, but you were positive it was just a gift from one friend to another. You weren’t that bad with your clothes, you had good clothes to wear, you didn’t really need this, she just wanted you to have something good to wear.

You rubbed the fabric between two fingers, barely able make out the individual threads of the expertly woven garment.

Oh god, it was a total fuck me frock.

Was she coming on to you?

You set it down carefully in the box, it was your goddamn size, and then grabbed your empty mug. Another coffee would have made you manic, and you were in no mood for a stomach-ache, so you filled it with water and sipped through it slowly while staring vaguely into the distance. You would have to wear the coat, wouldn’t you?

…

Here you were, Saturday morning, wearing the frock.

It was a really good dress, and you normally didn’t have any time to wear something so nice. It might have seemed a bit shallow but, it was made for you, and it did look good. You were certainly going to bring it up with her, it was concerning that she knew your size for fucks sake. The little duck buttons on the cuff were cute but goddamn did it make a statement you weren’t too comfortable with.

If you were her girlfriend, and had she asked beforehand, maybe you would have accepted it. it was an almost sweet gesture but for the little addition that how the fuck did she know your size and who the fuck told her where you lived. It might have even been friendly other than those details.

You really were going to bring it up to her. Soon. Definitely soon.

How would you even explain this gift? How would you even phrase it? Oh yes, my sort of friend who might have a crush on me and is taking me to a rich person place for a date and who gave me the frock I’m wearing. Yes, it was a gift. No, I’m not a sugar baby, why do you ask?

Maybe it was also because it was a sign that someone cared about you and that you were happy for that, hence wearing the frock. Or maybe you were overthinking because you were going on a confirmed date with Alcina Dimitrescu and were going to have a formal, awkward introduction to the mother that gave you some sort of plague sore. Overthinking was more like you.

“Are you sure you don’t want a coffee before we go?” Alcina asked, and you realised you had been staring straight at her unblinkingly.

You cleared your throat, “I’m alright, I’ve already had two today.”

“I see.” She recrossed her legs, Archibald laying on her hand like a villainous cat.

She stared back at you and drummed your fingers on your leg, “Hey, about the dress.”

“It looks very good on you.”

You sucked in a breath to stop from stuttering, “Thank you, but I was more thinking about how it was sort of out of the blue.”

“oh,” she even had the sense to look embarrassed as she said it, “I jumped the gun a bit, didn’t I?”

You thanked your lucky stars she understood, “Yeah. It was really uncomfortable to find some random woman outside my house with a dress my size.”

“A woman?”

“A maid, I think?”

“That isn’t right.”

“That’s how it happened.”

“It was supposed to come to the store,” Alcina muttered, one hand covering yours gently, “I swear, she was only supposed to come here and nowhere else. I don’t even know where you live.”

From the way her whole face seemed to ooze sincerity, you believed her, “Your mother left a note with it.”

She hissed and you laughed nervously. You curled your shoulders in more, the back of your neck prickling.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Alcina said gently, “My mother has been doing this since I was younger.”

“That sucks.”

She winked at you, but it didn’t make you feel any better, “You get used to it.”

Her watched beeped before you could answer, and she offered you her hand while her ducks filed into her purse. “You don’t have to come, if you’re not comfortable.”

You looked at her and sighed, “Of course I’m coming.” You said and took her hand. Her fingers closed over yours gently, and warmly.

It felt surreal to hold her hand. It was so much larger than yours, all encompassing, and warm as a blazing hearth too. God. You were so gay. She helped you stand and then your hands fell away from each others, and you caught a glimpse of Maxwell and Rosalyn exchanging worried glances from behind the counter. That was super reassuring.

You followed Alcina to the car that fishtailed through the busy morning traffic, sliding up to the curve with nary a care to the way the quick stop made the tires screech. Alcina opened the door for you and you slid in, and wow, the car was spacious. Alcina slid in beside you, her hip bumping into yours even when you went to the other side, and you realised you’d be that close to her for the entire car trip.

“So,” She started as she shut the door, stretching out her legs and resting them on the empty seats opposite you both, “We’re going to a restaurant not to far from here, Beneviento’s, that I thought you might like.”

“The insanely expensive one that will bankrupt me for one meal?”

She looked at you oddly, “It’s not that expensive, surely?”

How could you have forgotten that she was filthy fucking rich. “It’s 600 to book a place if you’re,” You gestured vaguely, “more human than not.”

“Oh, I had no idea,” She said flippantly, “I know the owner, she promised a free spot for you.”

You gaped, “You know the owner?”

“Yes? We grew up together.”

“The current head Beneviento. The one that’s travelled the world over and is renowned for a palate so exact she could accurately age a cauliflower by taste down to the hour?”

“Yes?” She raised her brow and then her purse quacked in protest.

“I forget that you’re rich, often.”

She frowned, and looked at you from the corner of her eye with a soft pout on her lips while she riffled through her purse, “I’m sure it’s not that different to how you live?”

You almost called her completely out of touch. Instead, you grabbed her other hand as she whispered admonishments into her purse. You sort of leaned into her, and she leaned back, just a touch.

“Not really.” You answered after ten minutes, after she had fully seated her ducks into their little chairs, and the car was speeding down the road, and your head rested on her bicep lightly, her cheeks a soft shade of pink.

[fruitydiaz-archived]

for the prompts: #70?

70 — “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

buddie fluff!

from this prompt list

“Do you think you’ll ever find love again?”

They’re in Buck’s kitchen, Chris sitting on the couch catching the end of their movie, while Buck and Eddie wash and dry their dishes, when Buck blurts the question out suddenly. Eddie pauses mid-wiping down a plate, and raises his eyebrow, turning slowly to give Buck an amused look.

“That’s a question,” He says after a moment. Buck flushes a little and rolls his eyes.

They’d been talking about a call they had this morning. It was one of those old married couples that always hit Buck right in the gut. He had sat to the side on the curb with the wife, while they carried her husband to the ambulance, and listened to her tell him their love story.

He didn’t even try to hide his tears as he climbed back into the truck with the rest of the team.

“I’m sure I will. I’m not interested in looking for it right now, though,” Eddie says, smiling over at Buck. “I’ve got everything I need right here, you know?”

Buck turns to look over at Christopher, smiling at the look of his face, transfixed on the movie.

“Yeah, I know,” Buck nods, turning off the sink and grabbing an extra towel to help Eddie dry.

“It just — don’t you get lonely sometimes? It’s been so long since I lived with somebody else. Sometimes I just think...it’d be nice to have someone to come home to.”

Buck’s starting to think maybe he shouldn’t have gone ahead and had that extra beer. He’s not sure what’s gotten him thinking like this. He and Taylor decided they were better as friends a long time ago — and since Eddie had broken up with Ana around the same time — they just filled the space for each other. He hasn’t really felt lonely in a while. He doesn’t really want someone else to be here...he wants Eddie to stay.

Eddie looks at him for a moment before he grabs the last plate from his hand and puts it away. He sighs and leans against the counter, reaching for his beer.

“You could always move in with me. Then you can come home to us,” Eddie says, like a joke. Except it’s not; he’s mentioned moving in to Buck at least a dozen times over the last couple of months, since they both got out of relationships and started spending almost every non-working moment in each other’s homes. Buck never seems to think he’s serious though.

“Right,” Buck chuckles, ducking his head. When he looks back up at Eddie, he’s a little shyer and quieter. It’s the look he gets when he starts to doubt himself, and it always makes Eddie want to reach out and shake some sense into him.

“It’s just different I guess. I want to come home to someone who loves me.”

That hits Eddie like a punch.

His body tenses up and he feels a wave of emotions building up in his chest. He’s hurt, for one, and angry.

“Buck,” He starts, running a hand over his face. He crosses his arms and sets his bottle back against the edge of the counter, glancing out the window. The city lights calm him a little bit.

“Why do you think I keep asking you to move in?” He asks eventually, his voice soft. Buck tilts his head to the side and shrugs.

“To save money?”

Eddie looks at him, unimpressed. It makes Buck shrink in on himself a bit.

“You don’t think it’s maybe because I want you there?” Buck blinks at him.

“Eddie…”

“No, listen to me, Buck. I don’t think — I don’t think you understand.”

Eddie looks down again and brings a hand up to his face, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose as he thinks. His head’s spinning a little bit — not drunk, just overwhelmed and dizzy — because of Buck. Because of all of these feelings he has about Buck that have been building up inside of him for years. Because it’s getting harder for him to pretend that he just wants to be friends with him.

These last months have been nice, the way they’ve slid perfectly into the empty spaces in each other’s lives. But any time they have a conversation like this, Eddie feels that fear spike up in him, the fear that he’s about to lose one of the best things that have ever happened to him. Sometimes he thinks he should just tell him, just rip the band-aid off and finally expose the softest, most vulnerable part of himself that he’s been guarding all these years. He knows Buck would never leave him — especially not over the fact that Eddie loves him. But things would change, they’d have to. And that’s the part that holds him back most of the time.

But tonight feels different. He knows Buck wants this as much as he does — he has to. But Buck will never be the one to make the first move, because he’s weighed down by his past: by the abandonment, the neglect, the fear that he’s too much for anyone to stick around for.

Eddie’s not sure how he doesn’t get it at this point.

“After everything we've gone through together, you still don’t think I love you?”

“I know you love me, Eddie—“

“No, Buck,” Eddie says again, and his voice is worn and exasperated. “No, you don’t. I love you. Christopher and I are here with you almost every night we have available. You keep the cereal we like stocked in your pantry just in case we’re here for breakfast. I keep those weird vegan protein bars you like. You have a drawer in my room with sweatpants and t-shirts and a spare uniform just in case. I broke up with Ana and haven’t even thought about another person in months because...I don’t want anyone else.”

Buck swallows hard.

“I don’t understand…”

“I’m in love with you, Evan.”

“...Eddie...”

“I mean it. And you don’t — you don’t have to say anything back or...or try to let me down gently, or whatever. I just...I need you to know. You always say you’re alone and that no one ever really wants you. I need you to know you’re wrong.”

Neither of them says anything for a moment, and Eddie busies himself with his beer, trying desperately not to let the panic take over him, trying desperately not to feel like he has to pack up his stuff and grab Christopher and get out of there immediately. He’ll give Buck space if he needs it, but only if he asks.

God, he hopes he doesn’t ask.

“I love you, too,” Buck says eventually, quietly. Eddie looks up at him. “I’ve just...I really like you, you know? This thing we have with each other. It’s special...and it’s different. And I’ve always known that, so I just...I never wanted to risk losing it. I’m so used to people I love leaving, Eddie.”

“I’m never leaving you,” Eddie says instantly, confidently. Buck stares at him wide-eyed, before the softest smile Eddie’s ever seen spreads on his face.

“I know.”

Eddie’s pretty sure that they should kiss, pretty sure that that’s the thing that they’re supposed to do next, but he can’t move. He’s fixed to his spot against the counter and Buck seems fixed to his spot in front of the sink, because all they can do is stare at each other, grinning like two fools in love — because that’s what they are, aren’t they?

Eventually, Christopher’s movie ends, and he calls out for Buck and Eddie.

“Dad, Buck, can we watch another one?” He calls, a hint of mischief in his voice. He knows he’s usually only allowed one movie and then he and Eddie have to head home after dinner. Buck grins.

“How about I pack a bag and we head back to yours and we can start another one there. Maybe I can even...stay a couple of days?”

“You moving in already?” Eddie teases and Buck rolls his eyes.

“Well, you’ve only been begging me to for months now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Go pack a bag and I’ll get Chris ready.”

Buck nods and then turns to run up the stairs to grab his bag — but he stops. He turns around and looks at Eddie, a small smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes, cheeks a little red.

“Um,” He mumbles, taking two large steps to close the gap between them and ducking to the side. He leans in quickly and presses a shy kiss to Eddie’s cheek and then steps away.

Eddie stares at him, a little stunned. He’s never known Buck to be shy with physical affection, especially not with someone he likes, but it’s endearing and sweet and breaking Eddie’s brain a little with the realization that they’re actually doing it. They’re crossing this line.

Buck spins around and disappears up the stairs into his loft before Eddie can say anything, leaving his mind speeding a thousand miles a second into the future, imagining all of their future kisses, their future dinners, Buck moving in officially, no longer having to travel 20 minutes to see each other, no longer spending the night alone in his bed wishing Buck was there with him, waking up to his face in the morning, kissing him goodnight.

Maybe they’ll even get married. Eddie would like that. He’s pretty sure Buck would too.

Not that he’s in any kind of rush.

He’s got everything he could ever want right here, right now.

[mintmatcha]

dense - tendou satori

Part One

College AU

Eventually fluff

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Tendou squints at his notes harder, trying to ignore the rhythmic pounding of the volleyball bouncing against the wall. It’s obnoxious, the way you clumsily catch and toss the ball every couple of seconds, but it makes his heart swell to see you having fun, smiling to yourself. You’re draped across the carpet- which you compared wasn’t clean enough ten minutes ago- with legs up on Ushijima’s bed, feet buried deep in his unfolded sheets.

 From his own bed, he tries his hardest not to watch you, but he can’t help it. God, there’s just something magic about you, something he can’t keep his attention away from. The hem of your shorts, just barely peeking out from your oversized shirt, taunts him every time you move. You readjust, lifting your hips off of the floor to pull the elastic band of your shorts down, and Tendou begs his mind to stop wandering. If he doesn’t focus, he’ll start thinking about things he shouldn’t- like how those hips would feel in his hands, or how those thighs would feel wrapped around his head-

“Alright, how do you test for vagus nerve damage?” you ask with another toss. 

“The vagus nerve is, uh,” he flounders for an answer, physically trying to shake those thoughts out of his mind. You’re a friend. Just a friend wearing comfortable clothing. Nothing more. “Tested with your jaw? Like, chewing?”

“Final answer?”

“Final answer.”

“Eeh-” you try and mimic a gameshow buzzer, “Wrong. You test the patient’s gag reflex." You arch your back to look at him, with a shit-eating grin. “Our test is in two days, dude.”

Flopping back on to his bed, surrounded with a multitude of notes and textbooks, Tendou lets out a strangled sigh. “I know! I’m trying!” 

“It’s okay- we’ll get there.”  he can’t see you, but he knows you’re offering a smile. Ice clinks against plastic as you take a sip from your coffee. “Why did you even take Neurology? You’re a poetry major!”

Easy- you and Ushijima. It was the one class where your majors interlaced. He tried to convince himself it was an attempt to keep your little friend group together, but really, it was the thought of you two- late nights, studying together, bonding over neurons... He was already conscious about the amount of time you two spent together; he just couldn’t resist the urge to join.

Jealousy was officially ruining his GPA.

You toss the ball again, slamming it into the wall. When it bounces back, you fumble and the ball rolls out of your reach, under Tendou’s bed. With a grumble, you uncurl yourself and start crawling towards your lost toy. He definitely doesn’t watch the way your hips wiggle as you move.

“Our RA is going to write us up if you keep doing that.” Tendou says, dodging your question.

You snort as you duck under the bed. Tendou can feel your back press against the mattress, creaking the stiff metal springs. “She’s in love with Toshi- there’s no way she’d say anything to you.”

“Oh, no she’s not.”

“Uh, yes, she is.”

Of course she was. Who wasn’t? He was athletic, surprisingly smart, and tragically attractive; it felt like every person on campus was lusting after Ushijima- even you. 

Especially you.

“It’s fucking disgusting under here, Tori.”

Honestly, you deserved each other. Both of you were his favorite people.... at least if you ended up dating, he’d still see you-

Even if he was seeing you in his roommate’s bed.

“You know-” he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to point out the obvious, but it feels like ripping off a bandaid, “You should confess sooner rather than later.”

Thunk. 

This time, it’s the sound of your head hitting the bedframe. You cough and sputter, slinking out with wide, teary eyes. A dusty bunny clings to your shirt, bouncing with every breath as you sit back on your haunches. You’re unfairly close, face only inches from his when he rolls into his side. 

“Wh-what?” 

Both of you sit there, watching each other, volleyball long forgotten.

“Confess,” Tendou’s smile is melancholic as he speaks, “Ushiwaka’s pretty dense when it comes to feelings, so he'll never realize how you feel if you don't say anything.”

You blink hard and the worry and excitement are gone from your face. “I do not like Ushijima.” you laugh a bit too hard.

“Oh, yeah, you do.”

“Uh, no. I don’t.” you throw up your hands, bewildered, “Why would you think that?”

“You’re always over here, trying to study, going to parties with us, getting breakfast,” he shrugs, “Typical fan behavior.”

You rest on your elbows and the plastic mattress creaks under you as you look down at him. He’s acutely aware of his heartbeat, droning on in his ears.  

“Satori.” you take a long sigh, “I don’t- Um. Have you ever noticed that Ushi isn’t here when I come over?”

��Yeah,” he sighs, “You’ve got bad timing, I guess.” 

“And I have breakfast with you. Just the two of us?” your voice lilts up at the end of the sentence, like you’re trying to lead him to a solution. 

“Well, yeah, but that’s because you think Ushi’s breakfasts are boring.” he pushes himself up on to his elbows, so you both are eye to eye, “Which they are, but that’s the life of a student athlete.”

“And when we go to parties, who do I dance with?” 

“Me, but that’s just ‘cause I’m fun.” 

Your hand cups his cheek, ever so softly, and Tendou swears his brain boils at the contact. He’s stuck, staring at you with a dumbstruck face. “Who am I with right now?”

“M-me.” He’s frozen in your touch, trying to process what the fuck is happening right now, but it’s hard when your lips are so close to his, when his fantasies are forming into reality.

“Just remember that.” you pat his cheek a little too firmly. Tendou scrunches his face and pulls away, finally free of your spell.

“Ow,” he rubs the spot where your hand just was, savoring the lingering warmth, “What does that mean?”

“Think about it- you’ll figure it out.” you shrug, “Maybe.”

[honeymoonjin]

pairing: namjoon x jimin genre: smut, 18+ readers only word count: 5.1k

summary: namjoon has worked as a bodyguard for an upscale BDSM dungeon for long enough to know that jimin is the most sought-after dom there. it only takes one miscommunication for namjoon to discover firsthand why that is.

warnings: unedited, sexually explicit content, power bottom!jimin, sub top!namjoon, unprotected sex, degradation, light pain play, BDSM dynamics, kinda temperature play, i think that's it but i'm so out of practice so i apologise if i missed something

a/n: this piece came to fruition thanks firstly to the @armyadvocates AAPI Justice and Advocacy initiative, and secondly to the kind commissioner @goldenwallsvol6 on twitter who requested this (i'm so sorry for not including everything you asked for, i got a little carried away kdsjfdssk). please check out the AAPI initiative here, consider donating, and check out the resources that come with it.

-----

Clocking in to work has become such a routine for Namjoon that he often finds himself switching his brain off, preoccupied with half-thoughts as his body runs on autopilot.

He signs in, uses the staff changing room to replace his sweats with the company standard uniform - a tight t-shirt and slim fit jeans, the belt of which he hooks his keys on. He doesn’t actually start his shift for another couple minutes, and so he ducks to the bathroom, chews a breath mint, and stretches before heading out of the office and down the narrow hallway that leads to the den.

In fact, it takes him a few steps into the dungeon before his automatic schedule is disrupted.

It appears Namjoon is entirely alone in the facility.

His steps, taken with heavy-duty boots, echo around the hollow space with nothing but the walls to absorb them. It’s a Thursday night (he consults his phone just to be sure) and he was on the closing shift. On any usual day, he’d be starting work right at the bustling high of the BDSM dungeon, yet he finds himself wandering alone.

Shaped in a rough X, the center of the dungeon is open-plan, with more private spaces forking off. The wing he’s in is generally full of swingers and kinksters making use of costume changing stations and a room full of cleaning supplies and disposables like condoms or wet wipes. It was always the calmest section, but never dead like this.

In a daze, Namjoon glances inside the rooms anyway, half-expecting the place to burst into life at any given moment. But it stays undisturbed, and in no time he’s in the central atrium, weaving through bolted-down couches, benches and racks until he can sink onto a stool at the bar.

Coherent thought escapes him. His brain flails for a reason, but the absurdity of an entirely vacant sex dungeon has him lost for words. After a moment, in restless futility, he stands back up and goes behind the bar, back further into the mini storage/kitchen that he knows features a window.

Outside the narrow, slightly dusty frame is an empty parking lot. His heart sinks, feeling sorely left behind and out of the loop, but a glint catches his eye. Pressing his nose to the glass, he squints and peeks a somewhat familiar vehicle, pulled into the closest park to the entrance of the dungeon.

Namjoon stares pointedly at the Hyundai, racking his brain. God, who was it that had a-

A wooden scrape from behind has Namjoon jumping in violent fright, catching his forehead on the protruding frame of the window. Cursing, he whirls around and glimpses movement further inside. Another drawn-out scrape is followed by a very human-sounding huff.

Heart still racing, Namjoon makes his way out of the storage area and stands behind the bar, seeking out the presence.

“Oh, shit, you gave me a heart attack!” Park Jimin stands off to the left of the room, hands on his hips and head tilted back in relief. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“No,” Namjoon states redundantly, mouth not quite working beyond that. He knew he recognised that silver SUV - every Thursday he watched Jimin hop into it and pull away after a long night of scening. The two had exchanged words often, more than Namjoon could say for most patrons. Being the bouncer for a sex dungeon didn’t lead to that much genuine conversation, but he always appreciated the effort Jimin would put in, hair wet with sweat and lips curved with happy exhaustion but still asking Namjoon if he’d managed to work out whether it was birds or the neighbour’s cat eating his strawberry plants.

He forces himself to check back into the present when current-Jimin cocks his head with a slightly sheepish grin, awaiting an actual explanation. “I, um,” Namjoon stutters, having to avert his eyes to construct anything coherent, “I didn’t realise the club was shut, I’m honestly a little confused.”

Jimin’s smile drops, plush lips rounding in surprise. “Oh, really? Hoseok-hyung said he sent out emails to all the staff. There was a pipe leak so we called off our whole calender until Monday. Did you not get it? We’ve had troubles with work emails getting stuck in spam; something about a sex dungeon really seems to set off the detectors,” the man quips with a jovial lift of his brow.

Namjoon bites down on his tongue, offering up a silent nod of acknowledgement. He’d seen Jimin more times than he could count in black, red, royal purple. In the club he favoured leather, not buckled and studded but sleek and tight, often decorating his lithe body with harnesses, gauntlets and heavy rings instead. More often than not, he’d boast unsmudgable smokey eyes with sharp liner, cheekbones as harsh as they were dewy. It had taken a while, but Namjoon had eventually grown used to the sight, able to prevent chubbing up at the mere sight of his ass as he bent to open his car door.

For some reason, seeing him outside of that whole persona is far more intimidating. Still covered in a light sheen of sweat, that’s the only linker to the Jimin Namjoon is faced with today. He’s got chunky white sneakers weighing down his feet, long overalls rolled up at the cuffs to let some air reach his ankles. The overalls prove particularly problematic to Namjoon, as they don’t seem to have anything underneath. Namjoon can see collarbones, glorious collarbones, and the lean bare sides of Jimin’s torso. If he bent over, Namjoon would probably get a glimpse of his nipples. The thought dampens his mouth with need.

Jimin himself seems unaware of, or at least unbothered by, the way Namjoon stares  him down. Instead, he reaches down to push a cardboard box as tall as his waist across the hardwood floor closer to the bar one shove at a time. “Anyway, you’re welcome to head home. I’ll get Hoseok to add half an hour to your payslip for your troubles.”

“What are you doing here then?” Namjoon asks reflexively, cringing at how loud he’s accidentally pitched his voice.

Jimin’s face is surprisingly round without the stroke of makeup to emphasise dimensions, and when he beams at Namjoon, it softens his whole face even more. “I’m taking advantage of us being closed to install some new furniture. D’you wanna see?” He seems to reconsider, shooting Namjoon a worried look. “It is sex stuff, though.”

“I wasn’t expecting a bookshelf,” he answers honestly, and is rewarded with the bubbling sound of Jimin’s laughter, drowned out prematurely by another shove of the box. “Here,” Namjoon says suddenly, darting out from behind the bar, “let me help.”

At first, Jimin pushes while Namjoon pulls, but after a few grunts of exertion, steps back and lets Namjoon take over, not disguising the way his eyes linger on the way Namjoon’s biceps and pecs flex under his t-shirt sleeve. Obediently, Namjoon lets the bleach-blonde guide him to an open space near the centre of the room, depositing the weighty box there.

With a satisfied hum and a lingering glance at Namjoon’s body, Jimin bends over with a pen from his pocket, using the nib to pop and rip the tape on the box lid, yanking back the flaps with ferocious enthusiasm. He lets out a delighted cry upon lifting a frame of styrofoam out of the box, revealing the goods inside.

One at a time, he takes out oddly-shaped plates of metal, plastic baggies of bolts and screws, and some rubber caps. Kicking the empty box away, Jimin slots his hands back on his hips and grins at Namjoon. “Can you guess what it is?”

Namjoon takes a moment to consider the different sections of stainless steel. The largest isn’t flat, but a rectangle with a slight curve to it, the gentlest arc. The rest come in mirrored pairs, most just for structure, but four of them featuring heavy-duty O-rings. Though he works outside the play area, Namjoon can guess what those are for. “Something for bondage?” he ventures, stomach flipping when Jimin eyes glint with thinly veiled interest.

“A breeding bench,” Jimin explains, squatting to let his fingers trail down the side of one bar, “the metal feels sterile and cold for those that like it. Have you used one before?”

Namjoon feels unsteady on his feet. “No,” he answers, but the softness in his voice betrays his lack of aversion to the thought. But Jimin might think he was a dominant, too, Namjoon worries. Everyone else tended to. “Not yet,” he adds after a moment.

Jimin sucks in a silent but sharp breath, chin lifting. “I could use a hand setting it up. Would you mind…?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, no problem.” Namjoon tries to clear his throat, but the lump of anticipation remains. “Happy to help.”

“Excellent,” the dom beams, fishing around the pieces of styrofoam to locate the printed instructions, handing them to Namjoon. As Namjoon begins to make sense of them, looking over the basic diagrams, Jimin sits down on a nearby ottoman, intended for viewing the other stations, but continuing to face his new help instead. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you more anyway,” he divulges in a honeyed tone.

“Really?” Namjoon glances up from the instructions, feeling the heat of Jimin’s gaze. Even in worn overalls and unstyled hair, the man strikes a gorgeous image, and his posture screams distinguished dominant down to the curl of his fingers. His mere presence has Namjoon feeling off-balance in the most electric way. “There’s not much to know.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Jimin replies immediately, deadpan. “Why are you standing outside every night when you’re just as kinky as those of us indoors?”

“Excuse me?”

Jimin leans forward, legs splayed wide and elbows on his knees. His eyes are intently focused, blazing. “For a while it drove me crazy,” he starts, “you looked so familiar. I saw you every evening and couldn’t put my finger on it. But you used to scene here, didn’t you? Years ago.”

Namjoon’s heart stops beating, sitting heavy behind his ribs instead. “You- You’re not meant to approach people you know from the dungeon outside. It’s against the rules.”

“We aren’t outside,” Jimin counters. “I want to know why you stopped. You don’t look happy, Namjoon, seeing others come and go while you’re stuck to your post. Help me understand.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Namjoon stays silent, opening his mouth seeming too daunting a task. After a moment, Jimin swallows hard and sits back again, giving up the inquisition. Namjoon chooses to continue the task at hand, consulting the instructions.

The bench itself is a relatively simple setup. There’s two long cuts of steel in an X below the main panel for stability, four legs with the O-ring bars at either end, and the rubber caps on the bottom to avoid scratching the floor. As he putters around with the nuts and bolts, using a tiny spanner provided in the baggies to tighten them, he feels Jimin’s curious gaze on him. Silent.

Eventually, the silence has its desired effect, and Namjoon lets his internal thoughts vocalise. “I played here for a while. My partner and I ended up going our separate ways, and I wanted to give him space.” He doesn’t make eye contact, pulse thudding and heating the pieces of metal he fiddles with.

Jimin takes a short moment to reply, but it feels cavernous. “It’s been years, then. Hasn’t he had enough space yet?”

Namjoon’s eye twitches. How many nights had he stayed up with that exact question in mind? “It doesn’t feel right anymore. People would know me for who I was then. And I’m- I’m not that person.” His partner, an eager sub with a need for a firm hand, had asked Namjoon one day if he was sure he was really happy being a dom, and it had entirely dismantled the place in BDSM that he’d cultivated for himself. That sub was right, and he didn’t know how to adjust his course to fit his true desire.

So he’d pulled away entirely, unable to fully leave this world, but unsure of whether it still had a spot for him inside it. He just wants to feel what it’s like to let go in the way his subs did.  And as his hands focus on constructing the heavyset bench, his mind wanders deeper in this vein, loose-lipped enough to confess it all to Jimin.

Jimin listens without judgement, not even seeming surprised when Namjoon admits to feeling more submissive, and the lack of reaction is liberating in a way he couldn’t have expected.

It’s not until the final bolt is fastened in place and Namjoon leans back, slightly breathless, that Jimin stands up and approaches him again. He crouches in front of Namjoon, eyes tender and hesitant, reaching out a hand.

Confused, Namjoon holds his out, palm-up, and Jimin takes it carefully, circling his fingers around the narrowest part of his wrist. Still, it’s too meaty for Jimin’s fingertips to connect. He squeezes lightly, carefully, before locking his gaze with Namjoon again, who swears he’s no longer breathing.

“Do you want to try?” Jimin asks. His voice is low, soft but full-bodied. “Do you want to try to let go? Club rules would apply.”

And Namjoon is nodding, and the grip on his wrist is tightening, restraining, and Jimin’s surging forward, lips on his.

His free hand comes up to hook around the nape of Namjoon’s neck. He’s held there, unforgiving, as the dom deepens the kiss. There’s no space between them, just skin on skin, tongue on tongue. It’s uncoordinated on Namjoon’s part, but so calculated and thorough on Jimin’s, like he knows the exact way to unwind him.

Jimin’s fingers scratch up into Namjoon’s hairline. He’d been growing out the length a little for winter, just enough to cover his ears, and it provides leverage for Jimin to grip on and tug, tug, tug in sharp bursts, timed unevenly enough that Namjoon is never ready. Every pull sends an electric shock down his spine, right between his legs.

He’s hard already, achingly so, and it just worsens when Jimin shifts his weight, bringing a foot forward and over Namjoon’s thigh, half-caging his body flush against his.

Jimin’s body is hot, even through the denim overalls and searing when it’s skin-on-skin. Namjoon can hear himself panting when their mouths split apart briefly, but he can’t stop his head from spinning long enough to care.

Before long, a rumbling growl escapes Jimin’s throat, and his teeth find Namjoon’s lower lip, scraping and nipping at the flesh. It’s not until Namjoon’s hand is shaking in Jimin’s grip that he pulls away, eyes wild and alight.

Namjoon must look utterly debauched, with swollen lips, hazy eyes and rucked-up hair, but his cock is screaming to be touched, and his breaths become infused with pleas for more, begging Jimin to touch him.

“God, you greedy little thing,” Jimin remarks in wonder, and a shudder takes over Namjoon’s body. Jimin quirks a brow. “Good? Bad? I don’t know what you like.”

“Good,” Namjoon insists without shame, “oh my god, good. Say m-more like that.”

Jimin hums with a grin, hand on Namjoon’s neck slipping around front to fist his shirt, yanking it suddenly. “Up, then,” he barks, standing himself, “I want you on the bench you built for me. Thank God that body is good for something; it’s not much fucking use now, is it?”

Namjoon’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he gets up shakily, almost tripping over his own feet as he lowers himself back down on the end of the bench. It’s chillingly cold even through his jeans, and he trembles at the thought of touching it with bare skin. Jimin has no such qualms, however, planting his palm on Namjoon’s chest and pushing him backwards, insistently guiding him down without knocking his head on the metal.

His teeth chatter briefly, but it’s nothing compared to when Jimin clicks his tongue and reaches down to strip the thin fabric of his t-shirt off with one fell swoop, the stitches breaking as they’re forced over the broadest part of his shoulders.

Ice erupts across his back and he gasp, shooting up. Jimin’s hand prevents him from getting far, and his breathing grows loud and sharp, shivering violently as his body fights to warm up the steel. The slight arch of it slots perfectly into the divot of his spine, meaning every inch is flush against him.

“You stay where I put you,” Jimin scolds, flicking at a nipple in punishment. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? You, lying here, asking to be degraded by somebody half your size? Pathetic. You’re lucky I’m a giving man.”

“Th-thank you,” Namjoon offers up with wide eyes. He doesn’t know the protocol, doesn’t even know how he should be acting as a sub, let alone as a sub for Jimin. He can barely believe the situation he’s ended up in, but he’s never felt so alive. The cold steel is a wakeup call to sluggish veins, his blood rushing faster than ever, most of it going straight to his dick.

Jimin huffs like he’s not quite pleased with the response - even as his eyes crinkle and glint with satisfaction - and simply hooks a finger into the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans, frowning. “Can’t even get undressed yourself. For goodness’ sake.”

Namjoon’s cheeks burn, and he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling so overwhelmed. Though it was years ago, the habit of being in control hasn’t left him, and part of him feels anxious being so vulnerable. Closing his eyes eases that, and Jimin lets him, briefly reaching up to give his upper arm a squeeze, a lilting hum asking the unworded question.

“I’m okay,” he breathes to the darkness behind his eyelids, and the squeeze returns before Jimin straightens up again, fingers yanking impatiently at Namjoon’s jeans, undoing them and yanking them off, taking his briefs with them.

The new level of nudity sends another shock of cold to his system, but this time Namjoon welcomes it with a groan, tilting his hips up so that his cock rests on his lower stomach. His fingers twitch, aching to wrap around himself.

His desire is answered, not with the delicious grip of fingers, but with the hard press of the heel of Jimin’s palm, pinning his hardness down without mercy. A moan dies in Namjoon’s throat as his body tries to curl inwards. A second hand holds him down still, leaving him unable to escape the heavy pressure.

He pants, writhing and toes curling, but Jimin just sighs softly, like he’s more relaxed than ever. “Such a waste,” he drawls, his voice blooming with all the flourishes of a Disney villain, “wanting to be treated like a slut, but what am I getting out of this? Hm?”

“U-uh-” Namjoon has no idea what to say, cracking his eyes open to seek out the comfort of acknowledgement above the level of the scene. His breath is taken away at the sight. Jimin, above him like an avenging angel, golden-haired and glittering with sweat, still fully clothed (as fully as you could call a single piece of denim). He finds Namjoon’s searching gaze and sends him a calm, dreamy smile of encouragement, before twisting his palm against the base of Namjoon’s dick, wringing a strangled groan out of the man. “You can take me,” he pants, filled with the urge to provide, to serve, “take what you want.”

Jimin tilts his head to the side, like this proposition is worth considering. As he makes a show of pondering, he taps his fingers lazily against his cock’s dripping head. Namjoon swallows the whimpers that threaten to bubble up, and forces his hips not to budge. “I’ll be honest with you,” Jimin says finally, “because you don’t deserve sugar-coating. If I was here with a fleshlight or a dildo, I would’ve come already. You’re wasting my precious time, sweet boy. I don’t want you to lay here and simper, I want you to be a good toy for me. So what’s it gonna be?”

Namjoon’s muscles are trembling; from his lips to his toes, he feels like he’s vibrating slightly, restless down to the very atoms that make him up. Jimin is patient, lazily drawing sticky patterns of precum on Namjoon’s abdomen with his pinky finger. Namjoon fights against the primal part of his brain for something coherent, replaying his words. Fleshlight or dildo. Be a good toy. Jimin was offering him the choice to top or bottom, Namjoon realises, and his cock twitches, feeling liberated and thoroughly taken apart with that heady mix of submission and power. He was giving control to Jimin, but never losing his choices.

For a moment, he does consider what it might feel like to let Jimin take him. He’d never bottomed before - at least not for anyone but his own fingers in his experimental years - but if anyone could make him feel safe, he suspected it would be the dom leaning over him. It’s once he really thinks about it that he knows he’s not ready, a thin strand of dread winding around his lungs that won’t go away until he’s stammering to Jimin that he can have Namjoon’s cock if he wants it.

Jimin sucks in a slow, pleased breath, a smile curling at his lips as he lays the weight of Namjoon’s length across the palm of his hand, looking it over. The chill of the steel beneath him is nothing compared to the iced shiver that runs through him upon being inspected in his most private area. Second most private, he corrects. Baby steps.

“I suppose,” Jimin declares finally with a sigh, “this should do. Not winning any awards, though, is it?” Namjoon’s cheeks burn with shame at the comment even as his face scrunches up in disagreement. If there was one thing to be proud of physically, it was that he could always bring his partners pleasure with the equipment he grew into.

Jimin sees the unfiltered reaction on Namjoon’s face and suddenly claps his free hand over his mouth, turning away. The giggle, impish and delicate, doesn’t get as muffled as he probably intended. “Dammit,” he mumbles, “stop being funny, that’s not fair.”

Namjoon blinks, still stark naked and hard as rock beneath the clothed and chuckling dom. “...Apologies,” he says after a pause, “but do you want to- um- are we-”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin says, clearing his throat and wiggling the muscles in his cheek to force the smile down. His fingers reach nimbly for the straps that hold his set of overalls on, and undresses down to skin as he takes some deep breaths as if to hype himself back into character. Once he’s done, he swings a leg over the metal bench and straddles Namjoon’s thighs with a swiftness that takes his breath away.

While it may take Jimin a second to slip back into his dom headspace after the break in mood, all Namjoon needs is the feeling of Jimin’s plump ass cheeks settling onto hs lap and he’s being smacked in the face with submission, ready to beg to feel it more intimately.

Jimin doesn’t wait for him to beg, however, rolling his body forward and down, all the way until their cocks are pinned together between their stomachs, and their noses bump. Close enough to kiss, Jimin stays right there, a breath away, and Namjoon freezes, unsure if he’s allowed to close the gap.

Pleased with the restraint shown, Jimin smirks, eyes wandering over Namjoon’s face in pure bemusement, slightly cross-eyed with their proximity. “Most toys can’t kiss back,” he mentions, a hand sliding up Namjoon’s forearm and shoulder to thumb at his jaw, tilting his head back and holding it in place, “so I figure I might as well treat myself.”

“Most?” is the final worried exclamation Namjoon manages to get out before lips are descending on his, and heat erupts.

There’s no way Namjoon could keep up. Not when his face is pressed tightly to Jimin’s, lips nipped at, tongue sucked at, and mouth thoroughly explored. Not when every inch of his front is pressed to Jimin’s, the latter’s nipples hard against the soft, relaxed flesh of Namjoon’s chest. Not when he becomes aware of slow rocking, Jimin grinding their cocks together.

It takes him an unknowable eternity of this to realise that the slow, indulgent groans passed between them aren’t all his, and that Jimin’s shifting motions are brought on by the way he’s reached behind himself with a finger slick with their shared spit, working himself open.

It’s that realisation that becomes the last straw for any of Namjoon’s reserves. He feels so - so passive, not even prepping the man who’s about to take his cock. He’s lying on unforgiving steel, body used as a grinding post and mouth deeply plundered, just a mindless toy, dumbed down to pleasure and need. He isn’t even really aware of his own body where Jimin isn’t touching it; he isn’t too sure where in space his hands are, or what his feet are doing. His lips are for Jimin and his cock is for Jimin and that’s enough to make him light-headed.

When Jimin sits up, Namjoon grunts a bit and fights for some clarity to help line himself up against Jimin’s awaiting body, but the dom just tuts and rebuffs the advances, suiting himself. Part of his weight is on Namjoon’s right shoulder as he props himself up, slowly bearing the rest down so that the head of Namjoon’s cock pushes inside.

The moan that leaves Jimin’s mouth is enough to make Namjoon’s bones shake, wishing he could hear it on repeat, and the dom certainly seems to be doing his best to make it a reality with the enthusiastic way he works his hips down in tight circles, clenching around the intrusion.

Namjoon feels like he’s floating, the hard edges of steel no longer grounding him. He doesn’t lift his hands up to hold onto Jimin, he doesn’t fuck up into him, he’s barely even looking at him with how low his eyes are lidded, but there’s liberation in that inaction.

The pressure to perform is entirely lifted, and he feels the pleasure twofold, once from his own sensation and then again like an echo with every sigh and groan that leaves Jimin’s lips.

The dom has the stamina of an athlete, lifting a leg up onto the metal base beside Namjoon’s hips to gain better leverage, and Namjoon has a front row seat to the way the muscles in Jimin’s thighs flex. They’re corded and thick, such an erotic contrast to the softness of his ass, and Namjoon feels drunk off of it.

He lets Jimin take what he wants, and he feels, and that’s all.

He doesn’t even think, not really, nothing deeper than mindless observation.

Jimin is beautiful, like nobody he’d seen before, and the lack of makeup and unstyled hair certainly doesn’t change that. It’s a reminder that he’s real, and that he’s sharing this experience with Namjoon. He sits up, leaning backwards with a hand on Namjoon’s knee instead of his shoulder, and the first time he plunges down, his whole body is wracked with a violent tremor.

“I’m close,” he pants outs, eyes flicking down to Namjoon, a lazy grin appearing momentarily, onto to be knocked off by an expression of pure euphoria as he swaps the bouncing out for grinding. He rocks his hips back and forth, Namjoon buried deeply inside, and seeks out his own end irrelevant of the body that cock belongs to.

Namjoon doesn’t care, loves the near out-of-body experience he’s having, and wills the pleasure to simmer long enough for Jimin to come first.

When Jimin gets really close, he loses some of the fluidity in his movements and becomes jagged, seizing up more and more until he’s stock still, breaths staccato and mouth wide open. The physical release follows soon after, and Namjoon shudders as hot white paints the underside of his chin and his chest.

Jimin has a hand around himself, tugging out every last drop as he sucks in desperate lungfuls of air, slowly curling in on himself until his burning forehead is on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, chest heaving.

Namjoon reaches his end without even noticing. The pleasure throughout his whole body is so electric that an orgasm is barely a notch higher, more so a spreading warmth throughout his body. Wet where Jimin’s still joined to him, and damp everywhere else with perspiration, but it’s blissful nonetheless.

Jimin heaves himself back upright after a brief interlude, brows furrowed as he glances down at Namjoon. “Did you- oh,” he remarks, shifting a little and seeing the cum that’s split around the base of Namjoon’s cock. He lets out a deep sigh, eyes slipping closed for a moment as he tips his head back. “Okay, bye-bye dom.”

Namjoon’s mind slips back into awareness at a snail’s pace, feeling first the way his throat has dried up a little and his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth. Then his voice comes back to him, and he coughs a little, blinking up at the dom above him. “Does dom have a return date by chance? That was… fucking incredible,” he admits.

Jimin laughs, the action causing him to clench around Namjoon. With playful fingers, he reaches down and lightly pinches the fat of Namjoon’s cheeks. “You’re too cute,” he declares, before lifting himself up and off, clicking his tongue at the rush of wetness that drips down his legs. “Far out, it’s like you haven’t nutted in a year.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks heat against his best intentions. “That’s just normal.”

Jimin sends him a sharp look, searching his face. “Holy fuck,” he muses, stalking over to the nearest station to raid a small drawer of wet wipes, “and you’ve been letting that beast sit out in the cold every night instead of coming in here? Masochist.”

It takes all the energy left in his body to sit up, but Namjoon gratefully accepts a fresh wad of wipes and begins to clean himself off. “The beast doesn’t pay the bills,” he quips, already feeling more casual with Jimin after their intense shared experience.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to enjoy its company on your free time,” Jimin offers up, avoiding Namjoon’s gaze with what appears to be a shy streak as he dresses himself.

Namjoon smiles, appreciating the gorgeous sight of Jimin’s body before he covers up. Appreciating even more the way he feels so comfortable in his presence, enough to let go the way he did. “I’d like that.”

[darter-blue]

Stucky/ Shrunkyclunks/ fluff

Read it here on ao3

Or part one, two, three, four , five and six on tumblr

Steve

Steve’s mind comes back to consciousness in increments. The first thing he notices is the warmth. A warm body tucked up against him, soft hair against his skin, an arm around his waist. He knows, or his body knows, that this is nothing to fear. This is the same warmth and softness that he fell asleep wrapped around. This is the same feeling of contentment and belonging that he let his heart rest to last night.

But he slowly becomes aware that the body resting against his is not quite so relaxed.

He feels Bucky’s body tense. Feels his diaphragm stop mid breath, feels the length of him coil and stiffen as he wakes up and finds himself pressed against Steve.

Bucky doesn’t remember.

Steve feels his own calm start to recede, he freezes too, and the two of them are lying together, Bucky across Steve’s chest, one leg between Steve’s, holding their breath and waiting.

With no idea what they’re waiting for.

Bucky is the first to move - he pushes back and away to prop his body up and look down at Steve.

His expression morphs from confused to surprised to sheepish in a matter of seconds, skin blushing an adorable rose, his eyelashes dark against the olive tone of his cheeks as he lowers his eyes.

Steve commits the image to memory even as his heart plummets into his stomach.

Bucky doesn’t remember.

Steve won’t get to keep this.

‘Umm… hey,’ Bucky says, looking back up at Steve and biting his lip. ‘Good morning?’

‘Morning,’ Steve says slowly, carefully. He looks over to the clock on his nightstand and balks at the time. ‘Oh…’ It’s already nine - they were supposed to go and pick up the paperwork from Mavis. They were supposed to get breakfast together - ‘We’ll miss breakfast.’

‘Oh no!’ Bucky says, jumping up and out of the bed. ‘Oh, my flight leaves in two hours!’

Steve is left alone in bed, the warmth leaching out from where Bucky has tossed the covers back. He sits himself up and leans back against the headboard. He’s not sure what to do, whether to offer to drive him to the airport (he has Tony’s car, and Thor can get back on his own) or to explain that they’ll need to unsign their paperwork.

They’ll have to ask Mavis how to undo it.

She’s going to be devastated.

‘Are you-’ Bucky starts to ask as he looks back over at Steve and freezes. He looks Steve up and down. Steve who is now sitting up in nothing but his underwear, the covers gone, and Bucky has his mouth hanging open as his eyes travel across all the skin that Steve has on display. ‘Uhh… I, we… oh shit,’ he jumps as his phone beeps at him from the pocket of his pants Steve had folded up for him last night.

He dives for his phone and checks the message. Types back furiously and then looks back up at Steve.

And then he freezes yet again as he flexes the fingers on his left hand. Sees the ring.

He looks over at the t-shirts that have toppled to the floor as he pulled his phone free, down at his own state of undress, and then back at Steve again.

‘Umm…’

‘We uh-’

Bucky’s phone beeps again and he hisses a bad word as he checks it and types back.

‘Sorry,’ he says, looking backup at Steve, ‘I’m um, I have to hurry,’ and he starts to drag his jeans on, grabs at the t-shirts, looks around and can’t see that there’s any other clothes - another thing they’ll have to pick up from Mavis - and pulls the pink ‘groom’ shirt on over his head.

Steve doesn’t know how to correct him, tell him that’s Steve’s shirt.

His heart sinks just a little bit further.

‘Bucky tucks his phone into his back pocket and runs a hand through his hair, turning his head to search for something, and makes a little ‘ah’ noise when he spots the bathroom. He dashes in, Steve can hear him exclaim again at the size of the enormous shower, and then ducks his head out from the door to look over at Steve, still in bed. One eyebrow raised quizzically. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Where?’ Steve asks, confused.

‘To breakfast!’ Bucky says, his head disappearing and then reappearing as Steve hears him running water in the sink, ‘We have just enough time to get the free buffet before I have to get my stuff from my room and head to the airport.’

Breakfast with Bucky? Steve is jumping out of bed too, ripping his jeans on and squeezing himself into Bucky’s smaller t-shirt. Not caring that it doesn’t even fully cover his stomach. ‘Yes!’ he says, hopping on one foot as he pulls his shoes on, ‘yes, I’m coming!’

He rushes through washing his face and grabbing his room key, herding them out and pulling the door shut behind them as they head to the elevator, the elevator that has him blushing just standing in with Bucky again - he can feel the heat in his cheeks - and press level one for the casino diner.

They stand awkwardly next to each other. Not pressed together, At least a foot of distance between them, and Steve has to swallow down his disappointment.

Bucky has asked him to breakfast, this is not nothing.

He needs to steal whatever time Bucky will give him. He needs to not ruin this with too many thoughts.

He could say something though. He should say something.

‘Are you… do you…’ Steve tries to get the words to come out right, but it’s not working.

Bucky looks up at him, adorable eyebrow raised, hands in his pockets and waits for Steve to finish, nods to show he’s listening.

Steve can’t do it. Can’t ask him what he remembers. Can’t face what Bucky might confirm.

‘Need a ride?’ he finally finishes with.

‘A ride?’

‘To the airport,’ Steve clarifies. ‘I can drive you, if you need.’

‘Oh,’ and Bucky’s face lights up, ‘that would be a life saver.’

Steve nods his head, enthusiastically agreeing.

A ride to the airport means more Bucky. Means maybe he can stretch for time. If Bucky misses his flight, Steve can just drive him all the way home. Wherever that might be. He doesn’t even know.

God.

He doesn’t even know where Bucky lives.

The elevator stops and they step out, one after the other weaving their way through bleary eyed travellers and wide eyed, backpacked tourists, and find themselves a booth to nab just as someone is leaving.

Someone who eyes Steve up and down, sees his ‘Elvis said we do!’ t-shirt, two sizes too small and hurries away, clicking madly into their phone as they bump into a table.

Bucky stares after the person looking a little perplexed, but ignores it in favour of clearing the abandoned dishes to the edge of the table and helping stack them as the waitress rushes over to take them for him.

‘Just grab a plate and help yourselves,’ she says, gesturing to the buffet with a nod of her head, ‘you’ve got about half an hour till they close.’

‘Thank you,’ Bucky says to the waitress, who smiles as she turns away, then back to Steve as he points with his thumb, ‘I better get some food.’

Steve’s stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble ridiculously loudly and Bucky’s smile intensifies.

‘You better get some too, big guy.’

He looks so sweet, Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him his stomach is in knots because of Bucky.

But when it rumbles again he thinks maybe, actually, Bucky might have a point.

And the pancakes looked pretty good.

Steve is halfway through trying to bury his anxiety in a mouthful of maple soaked pancake when Bucky looks at him and says, ‘So…'

Steve freezes with the fork midway to his mouth, and waits for Bucky to say the words that will break his heart.

'Umm…' Bucky looks down at his hand and then holds it up to Steve, wiggling his ring finger, and the band it now carries, 'So this happened…'

Steve, terrified of how to answer that without scaring Bucky away, takes too deep a breath and inhales half of his pancake into his windpipe. He swallows a mouthful of juice to try and dislodge it, and finally gets himself under control enough to answer. 'Right, yes. That. That… happened.' he nods, looking down at his pancakes and desperately avoiding what Bucky might do once he knows the truth. 'And how do you… how do you ah… feel? About that?'

He waits with his head down… for an answer that Bucky gives enough time to have properly measured.

'I think… I mean I don't really remember exactly how this happened,'

Steve feels the weight of those words sink through him like lead. Until Bucky’s next words.

'Not that I mind,’ Bucky says, in more of a rush suddenly, ‘I was just thinking it might be nice to… have a refresher?'

And Steve snaps his head up to catch Bucky’s expression. Open. Honest. Warm. Everything Steve knows Bucky is. Everything that gives him hope that this could really happen. 'A refresher?'

And Bucky rushes ahead to explain himself. 'Only because we woke up so late and rushed down for breakfast and then… well it might be nice to go through exactly what happened last night again, in some detail…’

Steve is going to have to take him down to see Mavis-

‘Perhaps a full physical re-enactment?'

Steve isn’t sure what he means, retracing their steps exactly, the whole night? Even- Oh.

Oh.

Bucky doesn’t remember what didn’t happen last night. Bucky woke up next to Steve, both of them in nothing but their underwear, wrapped around each other, wedding rings and matching t-shirts and an awkward morning after and…

Bucky is looking at Steve with the most beautifully vulnerable expression, somewhere between salacious and embarrassed and Steve could honestly reach across the table and gather him up and never let him go.

Or he could take what time they’ve got left and finally get Bucky back to his room.

'You know, I'm feeling kind of full, and we do have at least another hour until check out…'

'Well we should use it wisely.' Bucky says, smile breaking out in full technicolour and Steve has to breathe. Has to be calm and controlled. Has to pull Bucky back to the elevator with the gentlest grip around his beautifully round bicep.

Bucky is looking up at Steve and clears his throat to ask quietly, 'I guess, I mean, since you're my husband now, I should like, actually know your name…?'

'Steve,' Steve answers, huffing a laugh at this crazy situation, 'Steve Rogers.'

'Well, Steve-Steve Rogers, I'm-'

'James Buchannan Barnes.'

'Right,' Bucky says, swallowing, 'You remember that huh?'

'Oh I remember everything.' Steve, bolstered by the way Bucky says Steve-Steve Rogers - as if those memories are there, waiting under the surface, bolstered by the evidence of how much Bucky really was being himself last night, dares to press in close. Close enough that he can feel Bucky’s heart beat, can feel how it increases as Steve moves closer still.

They reach the elevators and Steve’s nose is practically nuzzling Bucky’s hair. The doors open and he guides them inside, pushes Bucky up against the wall, close enough that their chests are pressed together, close enough to push a knee between Bucky’s thighs as the doors close.

As Steve lifts his hand to push a lock of stray hair behind Bucky’s ear, Bucky tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

'Steve Rogers? Why does that sound familiar?'

And Steve reaches over to pull the emergency stop button, lifts Bucky up and smiles as Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, smiles as his arms fly up to circle Steve’s neck, and presses him even further up against the wall of the elevator.

He almost never, in his life, has got to redo a moment like this. Take it back and make it perfect. He looks at Bucky and measures his words, lets his tone drip like honey, sweet and smooth and rich. 'Okay, don't be mad, baby, but, you've heard of Captain America, right?'

The way Bucky stares down at him. Not surprised, not upset, not greedy, just accepting. The way Steve can see the cogs turning in his head as he calculates what that means exactly, the way he raises his eyebrow and scrunches his lips and then makes a tiny little shrug of his shoulders.

It’s breathtaking.

'Sure, I've heard of him,' Bucky says, smiling and leaning forward. He presses a soft kiss to Steve's mouth, 'But I mostly want to hear more about Steve-Steve Rogers if you don't mind.'

Steve knows he’s smiling like an idiot but he doesn’t care. He’s so deep in this now there's no hope but to dig further.

‘I don’t mind,’ he says, leaning up to kiss Bucky again, ‘I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.’

‘Kinda wanna know what you plan to do with me in here,’ Bucky says, softly, between breaths as he nips at Steve’s lips, snakes his fingers up into Steve’s hair at the nape of his neck.

‘I have to confess, we didn’t actually get this far last night,’ Steve says, pulling back a little to look Bucky in the eye. Wanting to make sure he's fully informed.

‘We didn’t?’

Steve shakes his head.

‘But you want to?’

Steve nods, hard and fast and without a doubt. ‘Do you?’ He asks. He wants to be sure. He thinks he knows, but he wants to be sure.

‘So much,’Bucky says, smiling into Steve’s lips as he presses forward to kiss him again.

‘Wait,’ Steve says suddenly, pulling back again.

‘What?’ Bucky looks down at him with concern.

‘Your flight!’

‘Oh, fuck it,’ Bucky says with a laugh, ‘I’ll catch the next one.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely,’ Bucky says, pulling Steve in closer and kissing him again, ‘I will hitch back to New York if I have to, this is worth it.’

‘New York?’ Steve says, shifting Bucky’s weight and pressing him further into the wall, ‘you live in New York?’ And he might be lighting up the entire Vegas powergrid with the power of his smile right now.

Bucky nods against Steve’s face as he kisses his cheek, his nose, and back down to his other cheek.

‘I could give you a ride all the way home.’

This time Bucky pulls back, pulling at Steve’s hair a little to put space between them, ‘Wait, what?’

‘I live in New York too. I can drive you home.’

‘You drove here?’

‘I mean… I took a jet, but Tony left me his car to drive home, said I should let my hair out… or down…’ Steve shakes his head, ‘either way. He wanted me to take my time coming home.’

‘And how long do you have the room for?’

‘As long as I want, probably…’

‘So we could… we could stay a whole nother day and night?’

Steve hadn’t even thought of that, had never even dreamed of it, but he wants it. He wants it all.

He nods and pushes forward, latches onto Bucky’s mouth and kisses not so gently this time, rocking his hips up into Bucky and biting and licking into his mouth.

‘Anything you want, Bucky, I’ll give you anything you want, always.’

‘Just this,’ Bucky says, kissing back with the same fervour, wrapping his legs tighter around Steve’s waist and pulling him closer, chasing that friction, ‘Just you.’

And Steve runs his hands up under Bucky’s shirt, desperate to feel him, desperate for the warmth of his skin, to be as close to him as possible. He mouths down Bucky’s stubbled chin and down his throat, drawing a gasping moan out of him, rocking up again at the sound of it.

‘Gonna wreck you in this elevator, baby,’

‘Yes,’ Bucky says, nodding and arching up into Steve, tipping his head back to expose the long line of his neck, to give Steve more room to suck and bite marks there.

‘God, I’ve been wanting to touch you like this all night, all morning.’

‘Me too,’ Bucky says, ‘I mean, I assume.’

Steve has to laugh, even as he sucks a searing bruise into Bucky’s throat.

‘Knowing me, I’ve been wanting this since the second I saw you.’

‘Yeah,’ Steve kisses the words up the other side of Bucky’s throat and into his cheek, ‘that sounds about right.’

Their bodies are rocking together, and the movement is desperate, filthy, Bucky’s breathing is short and fast and gasping, Steve can feel his heart beating out of his chest. He runs his hands all the way up Bucky’s stomach to put his palm over his heart, letting his finger brush again his nipple.

It sends a delicious shiver down Bucky’s entire body, Steve can feel the vibration of it.

‘Our bodies found each other, Bucky,’ he says, letting his erection slide against Bucky’s, not caring at the fabric between them, leaning into the pleasure-pain of the way his cock is straining against his pants, ‘Our particles are dancing again.’

‘Oh, I knew, I knew you,’ Bucky says, soft laughter in his voice, ‘I recognised your vibration.’

It makes Steve sigh into another kiss, fall into Bucky.

‘Like soulmates,’ Bucky whispers into Steve’s mouth, and that’s it, Steve is done for. It’s not even just the sensation of Bucky’s skin under his hands, the way Bucky is grinding into him, the way their bodies move together, the bitten off little moans Bucky makes as Steve teases at his nipples, mouths at his throat. It’s the idea of Bucky. That idea that even starting again this morning, Bucky can feel it, their connection.

He believes it.

It's real.

And Steve lets it go this time. His control. His fear.

He lets go and he lets the hope and the happiness and the overwhelming pleasure wash over him. Feels it gush out of him, and feels Bucky follow him over.

It's perfect.

It's everything.

Until something heavy lands on the roof of the elevator and rips off the maintenance hatch.

And Steve watches with growing horror as Tony Stark, in his Iron Man suit, pokes his head into the elevator and flips his face shield open.

'Well well well,' Tony says, shaking his head, smug smile on his irritatingly goatee’d face, 'I leave you alone for five minutes.'

Steve looks at Bucky, who is staring up at Tony with an open mouth and saucers for eyes, a ring on his finger and ‘groom’ on his chest. And yeah… okay.

This is going to be hard to explain.