#a hangover might be a welcome distraction at this point

[piratefalls]

there’s been so much going on in the last like two weeks and i am so tired and it’s coming up on final exams at work and that’s going to make me more tired and i am now double tired in advance

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 36

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: we got that xmas hangover.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The living room is silent as you enter. Andy remains as he’s been, sitting at the corner of the couch, beer in hand as he stares at the television. Amber distracts herself with a hanging landscape on the wall, seemingly trying to disappear into that photographic world. Steve clears his throat as he follows you.

“Do you we have a truce?” The doctor asks.

He doesn’t get much of an answer. Andy slurps loudly from the neck of the bottle and Amber shrugs and grumbles. You hug yourself and stop at the end of the couch. Why can’t they get along? They both love you, don’t they?

“Bub,” Amber spins away from the framed picture, “were you going to show me your painting?”

“Oh, uh… yeah,” you rub your neck, cradling your elbow as you peek over at Andy. He stays transfixed by the television. It’s deliberate. He’s tuning you out. 

“Can I tag along?” Steve asks.

You nod and make yourself stand straight. You point them through the door before flitting through yourself and lead them down the hall. You sigh as you escape the tension of Andy’s silent sulking. 

You fumble with the garage door, you can feel the cold through the metal handle. You get it open and the light inside flicks on as the sensor triggers. You stand back and wait for them to go first.

Amber takes the lead, then Steve passes with a gentle smile, and you trail after them. They descend the few steps as their breath clouds visibly in the cold air. Your stomach flips as they turn their attention to the painting. They stop as they consider your work.

You near the edge of the easel and chew your lip, “do you like it?”

“Bub, it’s so good,” Amber claps her hands. “You did this all by yourself?”

You nod emphatically and smile. She marvels at the large canvas as Steve steps closer with narrowed eyes. His cheek dimples as he gives the pigment an inquisitive stare.

“How did you do this?” He asks breathlessly, “the feathers…” he raises his hand but doesn’t touch the canvas, “they look real.”

“Well, um, I just… did my best,” you sway back and forth, nearly squealing in delight. 

You step away from the easel and turn to take in your work. A few days ago, you wanted to paint over it all but now, you wouldn’t dare change a stroke. It really is nice. And you did all that!

“It has personality,” Steve continues, “I can tell you made it for Andy… it looks a bit angry.” Steve chuckles and you give him a sheepish look, brows rising high, “not in a bad way. 

“It’s cold out here,” Andy startles you as he stands at the top of the stares, filling the doorway with his tall figure.

“Not that bad,” Amber rubs her hands together. “Colder outside.”

Andy sighs and rolls his eyes, “not arguing, just saying.”

Steve sniffs, “we’ll come in soon. We’re just admiring the art.” He brings his hand to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully, “what are your rates?”

You look at him in surprise as Andy lets out a ‘huh’.

“Might want something small for the office,” he muses, “I know they’re kinda plain but I always thought nightingales were pretty.”

“I like nightingales,” you chirp.

“That sounds like a fun project,” Amber encourages.

You still feel a bit cloudy but your heart swells happily. A new project is always a new adventure. In the back of your mind, you think it's a good distraction. You glance back at Andy as he glowers.

“I should have time since I’m all done this,” you say.

“I’ll be more than happy to compensate you for that time,” Steve assures, “do you offer lessons? I always wanted to get into painting. I recommend it to so many patients, I might just take my own advice.”

“I’m… oh, I could…”

“You don’t need to make up your mind now,” he crosses one arm, cradling and elbow as he stretches his other hand wide, “I’m thinking out loud.” He shudders and wiggles his shoulders, “brr, it is cold out here.”

“Let’s go warm up with some tea,” Amber suggests as she pats your back, “huh? Tea always helps.”

“Sure,” you walk beside her toward the door.

Andy looms as you approach, not backing up until you get to the top of the steps, Amber just behind you. He inches away, stern as he watches you pass. He doesn’t move until Steve comes inside and he reaches to slam the door behind him.

“Don’t wanna leave that open,” he mutters, “heat bill’s high enough.”

🕊️

Amber lingers at the door. Steve stands behind her, neither eager to be away. Your sister clings to your hand, swinging your arms between you. You see the worry in her smile.

“I’ll miss you, bub,” she says, squeezing your hand.

“Miss you too,” you eke out, “you could come back again. Maybe tomorrow?”

She hesitates and glances past you to the doorway. Her lips slant, “yeah, that’d be nice. Or maybe… you can come visit.”

“Oh,” you blink, surprised by the offer. You hadn’t thought of going home; to her house. You were too afraid to invite yourself, “maybe. That’d be nice.”

“I still have all your things, you know? You could grab some stuff,” she offers.

“Sure, I… yeah,” you pull your hand from hers, twiddling your fingers. What about now? You don’t ask but you want to as you hear Andy in the next room.

“Have a good night,” she croaks and pulls you into a hug. It’s so tight, you can’t breathe, “please… be careful.”

“Amb,” you touch her side, “I’m okay.”

“I know,” she holds you close and rocks you, “I know, you’re strong.” She parts and keeps you at arm’s length, “you can call me. Any time, you know?”

“Yeah,” you sniffle, “Amb, really…”

“Make sure you call my office too,” Steve intones as he steps up behind her, “should get a time in before next weekend.”

“Alright,” you chew your lip, “I’ll… call. Both of you. Promise.”

“You better,” Amber’s lips quiver, “please, I… I worry.”

“I will,” you avow firmly, “okay?”

“It’s late,” Steve touches her shoulder, “we’re all tired.”

You clutch your hands together, sinking your nails into your skin as you squeeze tight. You’d been so happy to see Amber, the thought of her leaving hadn’t even crossed your mind. Now the reality of it hits you like a bus. You can go with her.

Andy coughs from the other room. Your hope dissolves and you make yourself smile. You should stay, make sure he’s okay. After all he’s done for you, you owe it to him.

“Good night,” you squeak.

“Night, bub,” Amber says, “love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“See ya,” Steve waves over her shoulder as he pulls open the door, “get some sleep. Oh, and drink water.”

“Thanks,” you murmur and come forward as they sidle out the door.

You hesitantly shut the door in their stead and lock it. You stay and watch them leave through the window. The headlights of the car flash as it chirps and their doors open and close sharply. As long as the day’s been, it’s not over yet.

You shiver as cool air wafts up from under the door. You back up, crossing your arms, and turn slowly to face the empty house. You take careful but uncertain steps down the hall and stop at the threshold of the front room. 

Andy’s head leans against the back of the couch as a sports recap shows plays on the television. You inch closer and peek around the side as you approach. His eyes are closed as his arm drapes over the armrest.

You ponder leaving him there. You’re tired and you’re starting to feel a bit sick to your stomach. The wine coats your stomach sourly and rises in acrid belches. You stand stuck in indecision. You could lie and say he wouldn’t wake up.

“They gone?” He startles you with the question.

You nod and gulp. His head drifts over and he looks at you, expression drawn with discontent. You pick your thumbnail and bounce on your heels.

“Amber helped me clean up,” you say, “so… we can go to bed. It’s late–”

“It’s nine,” he stretches his arm out, “come here.”

He latches onto you, pulling your arm up, trailing his hand down to your wrist. He guides you around the front of the couch as he sits forward. He lures you in as his beer-laced breath tinges your nose.

“I’m tired,” you take his hand in both of yours, “we should lay down–”

“We don’t have to go to bed,” he insists.

“I want to, Andy, please? My head hurts–”

“Because you drank too much wine,” he reproaches, “who’s fault is that?”

You wince and your eyes flick over to the empty bottle on the end table, then back to him. He sighs and curls his lip, “beer isn’t as strong as wine, did you know that? Hmm? Of course you don’t. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I…” you quaver, “I’m trying–”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he sneers, “to embarrass me.”

“What?”

“All day. Humiliating. You chose everyone but me. You hurt me, dove.”

“No, I wasn’t– I didn’t–”

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head and looks away, “you said you love me but I think you’re lying to me.”

“What?” You pout.

“Just like you did with Amber. You’re using me,” he accuses.

“No.”

“Then what are you doing, huh? Dove,” he reaches forward and frames your waist, pulling you in as he slides to the front of the cushion, “if you love me, prove it.”

You bat your lashes as your mouth falls open. You don’t understand. You did everything he wanted all day. You cooked, you cleaned, and you tried to spend time with him but he pushed everyone away. Somehow it’s all your fault again.

He runs his hand up your arm and tickles your neck. He holds your chin between his thumb and index as he stares you down. You surrender. You’re too tired to fight. You lean in and kiss him.

The taste of him makes you sick. It’s wheaty and alcoholic, not as sweet as the wine. His arm hooks around you as he pulls you against him. You press your hands to his chest. His hand dips down your back and he gropes your ass, purring into your mouth.

His touch wanders further and he bends your leg, lifting it over his as his other hand travels down to mirror the movement. He urges you into his lap as he leans back. You part from his lips, straddling him awkwardly as you keep your hands flat to his chest.

“Andy,” you babble, “please, let’s go to bed–”

“We’ll stay here,” he reaches to grab the back of your head, yanking you close. Your arms bend but you keep your lips away from his, “what’s your problem?”

“Andy, please,” your stomach swims violently, “I don’t feel good.”

“You’re fucking drunk,” he slurs, “of course you don’t feel good.”

“Let me go,” you wriggle on top of him.

“What does it fucking matter?” He hisses, “you can lay on your back and do your duty.”

You flinch and slap his chest with one hand, “that’s mean. Andy, let me–”

You yipe as suddenly you’re scooped up and swept onto your back. The impact on the cushion knocks the air out of your chest as Andy quickly puts himself over you. His hand goes to your neck as he holds you down, pinning you as he lays between your open legs.

“Andy,” you beg as you grasp his thick arm, “you’re scaring me.”

“I just want a kiss,” he growls.

You close your eyes as he leans in again. You let him kiss you. He smothers you with the sticky lips as you squirm. A kiss isn’t much. A kiss won’t last long.

His knees shift as he raises himself slightly. Your heart leaps. His other hand creeps along the short hem of your dress and he tickles your thigh. Your stuck splayed beneath him as you writhe. He feels along the lacy edge of your panties and you whimper into his mouth.

You hit his shoulders as you try to push him away. You turn your head and gulp in air, “Andy, please, get off.”

“Baby, I need you,” he nuzzles your temple as he tugs aside your panties, “please, I’ve been waiting all day.”

Your chest pounds and your ears ring. You shove him helplessly as your chest racks painfully. No, no, no. The word echoes in your head. ‘You can tell them no…’

You ball your hands and hit Andy harder, “no!” You shout, “Andy, no! I don’t want it. I don’t want you!”

He ignores you, nibbling on your ear as he roughly jams his fingers between your folds. You squeal as your breath hitches. You can hardly puff it out as your heart hammers faster and faster. 

“No, no, no…” you chant as you struggle beneath him, “no, get off… no, no…”

You reach above you and grab onto the arm rest. He hardly notices as he touches you, violates you. His fingers slip along your entrance, poking you dryly as you whine and plead. You grunt and pull yourself up with all your strength. You manage to drag yourself up only a few inches.

“Dove,” he snarls as he lifts head, his fingers delving into your cunt, “be good—”

You swing your elbow down. Not a thought, not a doubt stops you from cracking the pointed bone across his head. You’re not thinking, you’re too scared for that. His hand slips from between your legs as he cries out and cradles his head.

You wriggle under him, kicking and flailing until you slip free, falling heavily onto the floor. Your skirt is around your waist as your panties cling in the crease of your leg. You pant wildly as you crawl away from the couch, trying to get as far as you can.

You stop only as you hear a strange noise. You look back, sitting on your knees as you fold your hands to your chest, trying to calm the swell of fear. Andy stays on the couch, folded over as he holds his face. His body shakes as he sobs.

“Dove,” he croaks and sniffs, “how could you?” He slowly pushes himself up, a hand over his eye, “you hurt me. Why would you do that?”

You flutter your lashes as the pain in his voice stabs deep into your heart. You didn’t mean to hurt him, you never wanted to hurt anyone. But you were afraid and he wouldn’t stop. You just wanted him to stop.

“I– I said— no…” you eke out.

He bends forward, holding his head as he curls his shoulders. He looks small and weak. You shakily get your feet under you and stand. He wipes away tears as he hides his face from you. As you come close, you reach to touch him and he recoils.

“Andy, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t touch me,” he swats you away, “don’t—” He looks up at you, his blue eyes swirling with fear, “dove…” his lip trembles, “you’re scaring me.”

You rip your hand back and grip your wrist against your chest. You back up as if you’ve been struck. You? Scaring him? But… 

He stands, watching you as if you might lunge. His shoulders stay rounded and hunched as he staggers, his hand still on one side of his face as he whimpers in pain. You reach your hand out and he winces again.

“Stay away,” he holds out an arm to shield himself, “dove, please, don’t hurt me again.”

He backs up, his gait uneven, almost stunned. He drags himself around the couch, sniffling loudly as he warily passes through the doorway. You look down at your hands, the throbbing still in your elbow from hitting him. You… hit him.

[theprettynosferatu]

Note: This is not a kink story, it's a psychological horror story. Still, I hope you'll enjoy it! The character of Shaun was created by hTheconqueror.

I

Beyond the door, the party rages on. Shaun wants to go back, desires it with the kind of longing women expressed in letters to their boyfriends at war, long, long ago. Instead, he looks at the mirror. The bags under his eyes. The stubble. The sheen of insomnia and alcohol coating his eyes. He feels as if he wears his sins on his very skin. How others can look at him and not notice them is a mystery to him. 

Lucille would notice them, if she saw him. She wouldn’t say a thing, of course. But she would give him The Look: that silent judgment their parents had perfected and passed on to their golden child, their pretty, demure, perfect daughter. Shaun could see her in his mind, head down in the books, taking notes, repeating out loud the key points of the topic at hand. He feels his chest tightening, his feet growing cold, something like a slug crawling up his spine. He should be doing the same thing. He should have devoted more time to his studies, to avoid the need of a late term crunch. He shouldn’t be at a party. 

He tries to push the guilt away. What good will it do now? He’s here. He should be enjoying himself, like everyone else out there. Way to go, kiddo. Locked in a stranger’s bathroom, not doing what you should do, not doing what you want to do- or what you think you want to do to avoid facing what you should do. Fucking grand champion you are. The thoughts come to him unbidden, solid like stones. Well, let he who is without sin cast the first one. Shaun sure as Hell isn’t without sin, but that doesn’t keep him from stoning himself. Do the voices sound more like his parents or his sister, he wonders. 

He knows he’s spiraling. And the only way to keep it from getting even worse is to ignore it all. Get out there, try to regain some of that enjoyment, of that being-in-the-moment. Yes, ignore everything. That has worked so, so well.

Fuck it. There’s a party out there, and Shaun intends to enjoy himself. He takes a deep breath, counts to five. Exhales, counting to eight. Waits for a count of three. Inhales again, repeats the process until he feels like something close to himself. The door handle reminds him of the coat of sweat on his palms, but he chooses to ignore it. He can fake it until the pleasure becomes real again, the laughter sincere.

The smell of weed is almost overpowering, even with the windows cracked open. He wishes, just for a moment, that he could partake in that particular vice. It feels so seductive to just smoke his worries away. To let go of his own need to keep a grip on things. But he knows he won’t do it. There are sins and there are sins and his family has put the fear of God and Drugs deep inside him from birth. Just getting drunk is a transgression he knows he’ll pay for in both hangover and shame soon enough. He suspects he might be getting a contact high for a moment, before remembering that his stupid brain doesn’t need chemical assistance to go into full alert for no reason.

And Shaun is certainly going into full alert. Like machine gun fire, details and sensations batter down his senses. The way a ring sparkles, reflecting the cheap LED strips that provide so-called “ambiance” to the house party. How a girl to his left lets loose a little sort of yelp every time she laughs. Slightly crooked glasses frames on running makeup. One of the speakers failing, distorting the high-end of the music. The scent of butane from a guy playing with a lighter. An amorous couple in a dark corner, his face buried in her neck. The taste in the air of slightly charred brownies. Everything is too near. Too clear, and at the same time, slightly warped, as if coming to him from behind a subtle veil. 

Then the battle begins. Shaun would welcome the distraction, if only the intruder’s shirt wasn’t a hideous Hawaiian mess of clashing colors that is, in itself, an attack on everyone watching in general and Shaun in particular. The Man in the Shirt is arguing with the frattish kid manning the laptop and blasting the kind of music that commands the listener to dance and have the night of their lives. Some wasted chick tries to ride in aid of the poor, besieged DJ. One of her stockings has run down to her mid-thigh. Shirt Man seems to be shouting. Shaun half-wishes he could know what he’s saying, while part of him is grateful for the distance sheltering him from both words and the full effect of The Shirt. Eventually Shirt Man prevails, and DJ Kid cuts his losses. Shaun feels like he’s melding with the wall. 

Shirt Man seems to have interesting tastes. All his songs seem to be from between 1982 and 2001, no further. The crowd is most certainly not feeling it. Shaun feels invisible, watching just as a scientist would observe a primitive tribe. No one dares challenge Shirt Man, who appears to be getting more and more angry at the people’s lack of enthusiasm for his musical selection. Shirt Man’s eyes scour the living room, studying every reaction. When they set on Shaun, a chill goes down his legs and he looks down. Don’t look at me, Shirt Man. I can’t stand to be looked at right now. Focus on your own shit, man. People are leaving.

Shaun decides to leave as well. It feels like defeat. Unable to do productive things. Unable to relax like a normal goddamn person. Failure. His exit has the taste of punishment- not by the hand of God but by his own, shaped and molded by God’s rules. Or his parents’ rules. Same thing, really. 

Outside, the moon appears to watch him with bemused indifference as he walks back to his apartment.  

II

After three sleepless nights, Shaun decides he hates the sun, that unblinking eye, like God’s gaze, casting light on his every sin. He knows it’s irrational, but he can swear there’s a mark on him, a malaise that everyone can see. He’s stained, polluted. Broken.

He wants to tell everyone to stop looking at him. He wants to punch his roommate Raul for putting him in this situation. A walk would be good for you, man. Yeah, right. 

He’s being unfair. He knows it. Raul is worried. Shaun wishes Raul would just leave him the fuck alone. But then again, what good would that do? Three days of supposed crunch, and nothing to show for it. Every second brings him closer to a final deadline that looms, in his mind, with the mortifying certainty of death. He knows it’s not a life or death situation. He wishes he could convince his chest of that fact, but his heart keeps pounding away in a mad frenzy.

Everything around him feels unreal. Distant. The street is a mess of color and movement with no meaning. His steps lead him nowhere. He wants to be inside, anywhere with four walls and a roof- like a womb, or a safe bubble. But he knows the instant he finds a place, he will feel claustrophobic, with every nerve ending screaming to get out. No peace indoors. No peace outdoors. Sweating like a condemned man walking up the gallows.

Insomnia is one hell of a mindfuck, he thinks. Hours spent reading books, only to not recall anything except a phrase here, a fragmented piece of a diagram there, half a definition of a term he should know, but can’t recall. A waste of time. Unable to sleep. Unable to be productive. Utterly useless. Even his perception is misfiring- startled by something moving right at the edge of his vision. Something that isn’t there. At least out in the sun he’s not scaring himself to death with imaginary phantoms. No, he’s scaring himself to death with real people, looking at him, seeing him in all his pathetic mediocrity. Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself. So you have a final. Boo-fucking-hoo. There’s people out there with real problems. What right do you have to collapse over a task so simple your sister could do it without breaking a sweat? She has been through shit too, you know. And you don’t see her fucking up her life- and you, bucko, are fucking up big time.

Ice-cream. The thought appears like a raft in the middle of a storm. If anything has remained true in Shaun’s life, is that ice-cream makes everything better. Despite all the changes, despite moving across the world with his family, despite his constant shortcomings as a person… ice-cream is always there.

He looks at the list on the wall. The ice-cream parlor feels small. Oppressive. The words seem to slide right off him. None of the flavors seem appetizing in the slightest. Shaun tries to remember what each of those words tastes like, tries to figure out what he wants. What the fuck does he want? Shit, shit, the line is moving too fast. The girl behind the counter looks bored out of her mind. Don’t look at me. Don’t see me. Don’t see my failure. 

He ends up ordering almond chocolate, just because it was his favorite as a kid, more as a reflexive action than a real choice. Anything to get out of there. Anything to get away from the girl’s eyes.

He’s eating ice-cream on a park bench. Alone. It tastes like nothing. His mind keeps racing as he devours the treat, not taking the time to enjoy it. Not that there’s anything to enjoy. It’s just… ice-cream. How stupid is he? Why did he think ice-cream would solve anything? How pathetic he must look, he figures. Eating his sad little ice-cream by himself. People must pity him. He can almost feel their disdain as they walk by. He deserves it. He deserves their scorn.

Well, great job, Ice-Cream Boy. You can’t even relax right. Let’s add this to the ever-growing list of your failures, shall we?

It sure feels like a failure. Shaun wonders back home, trying not to look at people’s faces. Maybe he’ll be able to nap, he figures. Yes. A nap would fix him. And after that, he could truly buckle down and study. That’s the ticket.

He wishes he could believe it.

III

A restless, half-sleep. Exhaustion closes Shaun’s eyes. Before he knows it they spring open, his heart beating as if he’s falling into an endless, merciless void. He’s sweating. His sheets feel like a thousand hands suffocating him. He tries to take slow, calming breaths. He puts on relaxing meditation videos on his laptop. He tries to push it all down, to go back to something resembling normalcy. His eyes close and he drifts to sleep, only to wake up again with a scream stuck in his throat. He realizes he’s too tired to actually scream, even if he wanted to. Time gets fragmented. A wink can take an hour. An hour can feel like a week. Blood rushes through his veins. He needs to escape, but there’s nothing chasing him, nowhere to run to. Anywhere he goes, he will be there. He can’t escape himself. The thoughts come to him, taunting him. Birds start chirping outside, announcing the dawn to come. He hates them. They sing his sleepless night. They mock his failure to sleep. He sits up, shaking. It’s there again, just… there, at the edge of sight- some blur of clashing colors that vanishes as soon as he tries to focus on it. There’s nothing there, boy. Your mind is too tired to make sense. You can’t trust that rusty tangle of cables you call a brain.

Part of him wishes Raul would wake up. Wishes he could tell him how fucked up he’s feeling. Wishes his roommate will somehow find the exact words to make it all better. Oh, you sound like a kid longing for mommy. How pathetic can you get? As the first rays of sunlight slither through the window, he gets up. He needs to be out of his room. Anywhere else will be better. Oh, you idiot. Anywhere is the same. He shambles down the hall, collapses on the couch. Broken. Broken. Broken. The word gets stuck in his head, an endless loop shutting out all hope. The ice is cracking, little broken boy. You’re going under.

“Hey. Did you sleep on the couch?”

Shaun wishes that was the truth. Raul is looking at him with a degree of concern that feels both frightening and somehow insulting, like Shaun is transparent, all his fucked up thoughts plain to see. Don’t. Look. At. Me.

“No. I just… I…”

“Hey. Shaun. It’s okay. Did you manage to get any sleep? At all?”

“No.”

“Shit.”

The silence grows heavy between them. Maybe it’s a male thing, Shaun half-thinks. Maybe Raul is particularly ill-equipped to help. Maybe Shaun was deluded in his desperate hope. His friend won’t help. He can’t help. No one can help.

“I think… there’s something wrong.”, Shaun manages to get out with a shivering voice.

“Well, of course. I… Maybe you can just not turn in that final… it wouldn’t be, you know, great, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Maybe you’ll have to retake that course, but…”

“It’s not just the final.” Shaun says, oddly feeling the absence of an anger he knows he would normally feel. “It’s something else. Something… I don’t know how to explain it…”

“Just do your best, man. Lay it on me.”

“I think I might be going crazy.”

“That’s a big, you know, like a big-big statement”

“Yeah. I know, but…”

“And not sleeping is not always a sign of madness, right?”

“Sure. Whatever. Raul, listen. It’s not just the insomnia, okay? I’m being serious. I’m… seeing something.”

“Something? Seeing what?”

“I… I don’t fucking know, ok? It’s just, like… a blur of swirling, clashing colors, except they’re not there if I look at them. I know I’m making zero sense, but… I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s this color that’s not a color, and it’s watching me. I feel how… petty it is. How cruel. And it’s always looking at me, always there, all night, just… watching.”

Raul is scared now. It’s obvious to Shaun, no matter how much his friend tries to hide it. Eyes darting around the room. His tell-tale leg bouncing. He’s afraid. Not of Shaun, not of the being haunting him, but for Shaun. It feels worse than anything else, and yet even the self-pity Shaun experiences is strangely… dull. Like a shadow of a feeling. 

“Look, man, just… stay here, okay? Rest up. I have to… I have to go to work, but when I come back we’ll figure it out. I think I have some pills somewhere that…”

“No pills, please. I…”

“What, could they make you feel worse? How? Look, they’re just normal anxiety pills. A lot of people take them every now and then. You need to sleep, man!”

Shaun can’t fight him. He shakes on the couch as Raul opens drawers and looks inside bags, until he announces his triumph with exaggerated, theatrical gestures. Shaun figures Raul is trying to pretend things aren’t so bad, and failing badly at it. Fine. Pills it is.

Raul leaves. Shaun shakes, covered in sweat. The pills kick in quickly, sending him into more restless not-sleep. He blinks hours away. He wants to scream and cry and end it all. The only thing he can do is stay there, on that damn couch, shaking.

IV

A hand on his foot rips him from a nightmare. There’s a mixture of feelings inside Shaun: a faraway, muted safety, almost as if that single hand was the one thing holding him together lest his chest explode; at the same time, a profound misery and some remnants of anger try to surface once he realizes who the hand belongs to.

“Hey.”, says his sister.

“Why are you here?”, is all Shaun can muster. Rude. Petty. Pathetic. Lucille should be acing tests. She should be doing whatever it is perfect fucking people do. Instead, his sorry state has brought her here. Wasting her time. She really is wasting her time, isn’t she? You’re not worth her time.

“Raul texted me. Said you were sick- didn’t go into detail but he seemed really freaked out. Did you see a doctor?”

“I’m not sick. I’m… I’m not okay, but I’m not sick. No point in seeing a doctor. They wouldn’t be able to help.”

“Okay… it’s a… psychological issue. So what? There are doctors for that too, you know. And… I mean, do you want to talk about it?”

“What’s the time?”

“Sorry?”

“What time is it, Lucille? Is it night already? I have no fucking notion of… it’s just… the fucking pill Raul gave me, it made me all loopy. I’ll… I’ll be fine, okay? But… is it night?”

“Why? What happens at night?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. But it’s worse at night. The thing, it- nevermind.”

“The thing? What thing? Look, I get it. You don’t want to talk about it, and you certainly don’t want to tell me about it, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of, okay? Whatever it is, whatever you’re… sensing, or seeing, or feeling… you can tell me. If you broke a leg, would you be embarrassed to see a doctor? This is the same. The brain is an organ and it can-”

“Look, Lucille, I appreciate it. I do. But I’m not dealing with a bone here. People don’t… you know, when you have a cast on your leg. And anyway Raul should be home soon so he…”

“Yeah, he, um, he’s gonna crash with some friend tonight”

You scared him. He can’t stand being near you, you crazy freak.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you, if you’ll let me”, says Lucille. Oh, good. Girl is going after all the good Samaritan points. Shaun is too tired to argue, but he’s not about to spend a night with the living embodiment of everything he has failed to be. He gets up, dizzy- fucking couch. He hates the couch. Hates that he spent all day on it. Hates that Lucille saw him that way. Hates her. Hates himself. And yet only the last part feels truly real. The rest is less an emotion and more a secondhand telling of an emotion, or an emotion described by a particularly lazy narrator. A silhouette of where an emotion should be. He gestures at the fucking couch.

“You can… there. I’ll… just go to bed”

He shambles back to the room. Closes the door. He needs to be alone. He needs to rest. He needs to get his head straight, somehow. He needs to show Lucille he’s not some pitiful, crazy, charity case. If only he could calm his mind, have some proper sleep…

He’s on the bed. Did he fall? No. No, he was pushed… by… colors. Pushed by colors? That’s insane. A scream dies in his throat as a weight pins him down and a single second of pain assaults him, like syringes in his neck…

Then, peace. Simple, complete, blissful peace. His heart rate slows down. His breathing steadies. He feels as if he’s floating. Light. It’s okay. Everything is okay. Everything will be okay. His heart slows down more and more. Good. Things start going dark. That’s fine by him too. 

Suddenly, his peace is ripped away. The figure towers over him, flushed, rejoicing. Colors that slowly start making sense. The ugliest Hawaiian shirt he’s ever seen. Then, the Shirt Man smiles, his pupils like needlepoints. 

“Still not enjoying my tunes, asshole? I saw you, staring at me. Yes, you freak. Freak. I’ve felt that fucking brains of yours. Didn’t have to twist too much, didn’t I? Mr. Too-Good-For-Your-Music. Mr. Too-Classy-For-Your-Shirt. That’s what you thought, wasn’t it? What? Too sexy for this shirt? Too sexy for this shirt? Right Said Fred, ninteen-ninety-fucking-one! You uncultured swine! You fucked up freak! I barely had to break you! You were already broken! I like that you’re bro-ken…”

Shaun is too weak to move. Shirt Man is dancing. Shaun can’t tell if the creature is screaming or whispering. He seems to be doing both. Darkness crawls from the edges of his vision. He wants to scream for help. He can’t. Too tired. Too late. Failure. As usual.

“And now you die. Die-die-die! It’s shutting down. I can hear it, you know? It’s slowing down- your heart. Your breaky-achy-heart, bozo! No tomorrow… no tomorroOooow…”

Somehow his singing hits every note but the right one. Shaun can’t help but notice. It’s all so ridiculous. This is how he dies: serenaded by an off-key creep in the most offensive shirt ever manufactured. A smile almost forms on his pale lips.

“What’s so funny? I’m funny? Funny? You’re dying and you find it funny? No, no, no, you’re mocking me! Still! Still! You’re dying and you’re mocking me! So cruel! I gave you my gift of illumination! I made you see the world, feel the world how it truly is! And I’m giving you an exit! And you mock me? I give you all a boy could give you! Oh, tainted fuck! No. No, no no. I take it back! You don’t deserve an exit!”

Shirt man bites his own arm, and pushes the bloody wound on Shaun’s mouth. Shaun’s out of it, almost like he’s watching a reaction video of someone watching the scene. His lips part, almost by instinct.

“Yes! Do it! Feels good, doesn’t it? Celebrate good times, come on! Celebrate forever and ever and ever, you pathetic clown! No rest for the terminally classless!”

It’s fire. It’s a spring in the desert. It’s a lover’s caress. It’s a mother’s hug. Shaun drinks it all in. When the arm is pulled away, he convulses on the bed. Death. Finally.

“There’s nothing left to do but say goodbye…”, laughs Shirt Man.

V    

A blast to the chest. Shaun feels as if he’s having a heart attack- a feeling that vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving behind barely an afterimage as something else, something more urgent, pulses inside him. He can hear something pounding, so close, almost as if it’s beating the insides of his skull.

His eyes open and a tidal wave hits him. The moonlight shimmering on every speck of dust floating in the air around him. The breathing of the neighbor’s dog. The stench of a long-forgotten chip under the bed. It’s all too much. Too much. Shaun wants to just curl up on the ground and let everything wash over him. To just… not be there. 

But he can’t. The pounding is getting stronger. It demands something from him. What, he cannot tell- only that a scent is coming from the living room, beckoning him, conquering every other emotion until his existence is reduced to a constant, meaningless barrage of stimuli. The creaking of his soles on the floor. The almost painful coldness of the door handle. The sweet, sickly perfume of shampoo, applied earlier in the day. The glint of half-formed tears in a pair of eyes. The slushing of blood coursing through veins. And the pounding of a heart, quickly accelerating. There’s nothing else. Nothing to think, nothing to consider. No hope to stop what’s going to happen. Nothing but red.

Elation. Peace. Ecstasy. Everything he could ever want or need, the only thing that matters, that will ever matter. It comes in delightful waves, coming slower and slower to Shaun until his heavenly tranquility fades away.

She looks too white, almost hurting his eyes. Shaun can almost see how cold his sister’s body is. The almost invisible marks he left on her neck. 

No. It’s not real. Can’t be. He refuses. 

He’s standing on a street he has never seen before. How did he get here? Dazed, he looks down. The red is too bright, strident, painful. The coppery smell, overwhelming. No, it can’t be her blood. How long was he… out?

A voice sings in the distance. Where? Shaun doesn’t know. He takes one unsure step, then another. Maybe he should clean up. Maybe he should hide. Maybe he should run the other way. But the song beckons, the night awaits, the city wears a new vibrancy. Step by step, he goes deeper into the maze of alleyways, one hungry shadow among many.

His heart is not beating. He knows it. And yet he can feel the tension in his chest, like the pain from a phantom limb. He can taste his sin like tar in his mouth. He feels hollowed out, and the space of what he once was filled by the dense fog of shame. He follows the song. There’s nothing else for him to do- and part of him hopes and dreads that the silent melody will lead him to another few precious, terrible moments of sweet, red relief.

Did you like this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[raibebe]

Love Is On Air

Genre: fluff & smut Words: 8.722 Prompt: radio host Johnny x secret admirer female reader Warnings: soft dom Johnny, oral (f receiving), safe sex, dirty talk

A/N: Finally: My entry for the February event of my lovely network @neosmutcollective​. This is totally not the fic I planned on writing. In fact this was started way later after I realized I was never going to finish my original fic on time. Not that this one is on time... Special thanks to everyone who sent our lovely DJs some music recommendations @sly-merlin​, @moonctzeny​, @lenaluvs​, @lucas-wongs​, @burtonized​ and to @ncteaxhoe​ who helped me figure out this idea. I hope you enjoy this even though it’s wayyy too late.

You hurried home to your apartment after your last class of the day that was horrifically late because of whoever had fucked up your schedule this semester. Panting heavily, you busted into your room and threw your jacket and backpack somewhere onto your couch, diving straight for your laptop that was perched on your desk. Cursing the old thing, you waited for agonizing minutes until it had booted up and your browser was open. You quickly opened the familiar page of your university’s campus radio just in time to hear the familiar voice saying: “Hi I’m John-D, welcome to NCT Night Night.” After that both hosts chuckled lowly before Jaehyun spoke: “Tonight we’ll read some of the letters you wrote us over the week again and we will try our best to help you out with whatever problems you throw our way.” “Exactly. Right after we play this song that was suggested by evangelie_99 over on our Twitter, it’s Pluto Projector by Rex Orange County and she said that she loves our show. We’re glad you like it so much, darling. This one is for you,” Johnny softly said before the soft tunes of the song filled your little one-room apartment.

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, carelessly toeing your shoes off. Listening to NCT Night Night was your escape at night from the stress that classes brought you. The two DJs that were on air every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday were your favorites though. Not only did they have great chemistry but they both could be incredibly funny as well as soothe all your nerves with their calming voices – especially Johnny or John-D as he was called on their show. You might have developed a slightly embarrassing crush on the fratboy with a heart as sweet as his voice from what you knew about him from his radio shows and your shared classes. Since they had started their weekly segment where they would read out letters that students could send them, you had gathered the courage to send Johnny little messages about how you were crushing on him and it had quickly become a running gag on the show. Jaehyun would tease Johnny about it every week while Johnny kept insisting that his secret admirer should just talk to him. But how could you do that? Johnny was everything one could want in a boyfriend. Not only was he ridiculously tall and devastatingly handsome but he was also smart, always seemingly staying on top of his classes and he also went to the gym regularly if his thirst traps on his Instagram stories were anything to go by. When he wasn’t giving out advice in a gentle voice on their radio program, he was out partying with his frat brothers on the weekends more often than not complaining about headaches on their Sunday show. How could you just walk up to him and talk to him? Right. You couldn’t. So you had to resign to sending him anonymous love letters through his radio show.

“Welcome back, hi,” Johnny chuckled once the song had gently faded out and you couldn’t help but giggle along. “That was Pluto Projector by Rex Orange County,” Jaehyun tried to stay on script but you could almost hear the grin on his face because of Johnny’s antics, “If you want your song to play on today’s show, please suggest something over on our Twitter with the hashtag,” Jaehyun paused momentarily and let out a dramatic sigh before continuing, “hashtag JohnDplaymelikeaviolin.” Jaehyun hadn’t even read the whole hashtag out loud when Johnny was already bursting out in laughter and how could you not laugh along with his melodic laughter. “I swear to god I am never letting you choose hashtags for our show ever again,” Jaehyun groaned while Johnny sounded like he was still dying in the background. “Don’t be mean to me Jaehyunie,” he whined and even though today’s episode was not viewable, you could vividly imagine how he was pouting. While the two friends were busy bickering and talking about what they had done since their last show, you pulled up your own Twitter to send a recommendation in.

“Aaaah, I see we’re already getting plenty of suggestions. Sly-merlin suggested us Sexy Dirty Love by Demi Lovato – a great song – and added ‘I wish John-D would actually play me like a violin.” After a potent silence, Johnny broke out in laughter again. “And this is why you won’t choose any more hashtags,” Jaehyun groaned again. “Baby,” Johnny rasped into his mic and even though you weren’t wearing headphones, it sent tingles down your spine, “Just come to our frat party on Friday and I’ll see what I can do.” “Stop plugging our parties on the radio,” Jaehyun scolded the elder, the slap audible over the radio, “Also sly-merlin has to stand in line. You still have your number one admirer who has sent in a letter yet again.” “She still hasn’t come up to me,” Johnny shared, “I can only keep up my chastity for so long. I am saving myself for this girl.” You know he was joking but you were just a simple woman and even in your secluded home, you felt heat rising to your cheeks, your thumbs stopping on your keyboard where you had typed out your song recommendation. Both DJs shared a quiet laugh before Jaehyun asked: “And you really don’t know who she is?” “I really don’t man,” his friend sighed, “Like I have my suspicions because she has to be in my major if she sees me in class that often. That or she’s a stalker which I do not want to think about. But for real, hit me up. I’ll take you out for a coffee.” “Now everyone is going to come up to you and claim that they’re her.” “I’ll take that risk,” Johnny laughed, “Maybe I’ll finally meet the love of my life and settle down.” At that Jaehyun snorted loudly. “The woman that can make you settle down gets free coffee for like a month from me.” “Watch me have a wife and kids at 25 Jae, just to spite you,” his friend snorted, “But up until then, let’s play sly-merlin’s song recommendation: Sexy Dirty Love by Demi Lovato.”

While the song was playing, you finished up your own tweet and hit post before you grabbed your bag that you had carelessly thrown away before to get out your notes. You actually had to start a project for one of the classes you and Johnny actually did share. The professor had announced that he would announce the pairings for a group project tomorrow and you didn’t want to seem like an actual idiot if your group would decide to already meet up and discuss after class. So while you listened to your favorite DJs discuss the questions and worries of whoever had sent them to their email address, you worked through the notes you had taken over the last couple of weeks, trying your best to organize them to remember the key points.

“Oh John-D, I have a very special letter here,” Jaehyun said, waving the paper in front of the microphone so it would pick up the wiggling noises. “What could that be?” Johnny asked with over-exaggerated interest. “It’s from your secret admirer, John-D. So I think you should read it out.” Just like every time, they read your letter, your heart began beating faster and faster in your chest until you were sure, it would break free from your ribcage. “Okay, here I go,” Johnny announced while Jaehyun was playing the same cheesy music he always played when they were reading your letters, “Happy Thursday, John-D. The weekend is almost in reach, keep up the energy for the last day of classes! – she’s so sweet, I’m holding up alright – One of my professors will announce the pairings he made for a group project soon and I am nervous. I don’t have many friends in the course and I’m praying that I will get good group mates I can work well with.” “Oooh, I get that struggle,” Jaehyun interrupted, “I once had to work with a bunch of stoners and ended up doing all the work for a presentation that made up 30 percent of my grade. Worst experience of my life, would not recommend. But we’re wishing you all the luck.” “But you know what’s more interesting about this story?” Johnny tuned in, “Coincidentally my professor for my literature class is assigning our group projects tomorrow as well. Say, my sweet admirer, are you perhaps in the same literature class as me?” In your otherwise silent room, the panicked squeak you let out was loud even to your ears. There was no way Johnny could figure out who you were, there were probably at least 20 more girls with a crush on him in that class alone, so you were safe. “Oooh, so maybe she’s a lit major so that’s why she’s writing love letters.” “Could be but lots of people from different majors are taking that class,” Johnny argued, “Anyways, back to her letter. But I won’t let that disturb me! I will be doing my best regardless! – That’s the spirit – I’ll work through my notes as I listen to your honey voice so I can be prepared. I’m glad you don’t do viewable radios on Thursday’s or else I wouldn’t be able to get anything done, you’re just too distracting John-D,” at that Jaehyun let out a fake gag while Johnny just giggled softly, “Thank you secret admirer, I do clean up quite nicely if I do say so myself. – On last Sunday’s episode you melted my heart when you hid in your hoodie for half the show. – God that was the worst hangover I had in a looong while, I was so miserable.”

“You should have seen him at home,” Jaehyun laughed, “I had to physically drag his whole 180-something-centimeters body first into the shower, then into the car and into the station. He is the biggest crybaby when he’s hungover.” “Don’t expose me like that, Jaehyunie,” Johnny whined loudly, “I was dared to drink a bunch of tequila and my mother didn’t raise neither a quitter nor a coward.” “No, but clearly an idiot,” the younger DJ laughed his deep laugh. “Let me read my love letter in peace,” the other grumbled, “I couldn’t follow for half the show because I was so focused on watching you. Not in a creepy way of course! – Of course not,” Johnny chuckled, “I hope you finished that essay you had to work on after the show in time and still had some time to relax. – I did, don’t worry.” That you already knew when Johnny had handed in his essay in another class you two shared just before you had handed in yours and he had thrown you a little smile that had kept you going through the whole day. “Take care of yourself and keep smiling your beautiful smile, I look forward to seeing you again on Sunday or in classes. And fighting to Jae-D as well of course! – I look forward to hearing from you again, secret admirer. I bet your group project will go just fine, don’t worry too much. If anyone is mean to you, just expose them here and we’ll fight them for you.” “Love that she acknowledged me in one sentence as well,” Jaehyun grumbled, cutting off the cheesy music abruptly. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a sweet admirer who sends you cute messages,” the other teased his friend. “Yeah, yeah, shut up and put that letter in the box under your bed.” “It’s in my sock drawer, thank you very much.”

Giggling, you listened to the two friends bicker, your chest warm with a feeling you were scared to put a name on. “Anyways, I think it’s time for another music recommendation you can still send in via our lovely hashtag JohnDplaymelikeaviolin. This one is from lenaluvies and she says: Please play Hurts So Good by Astrid S thank you. No, thank you for sending something in darling. This one’s for you,” Johnny announced and you couldn’t help but laugh a little pained laugh. That song title hit a little too close to home for your liking. The rest of the radio show went by smoothly and Johnny and Jaehyun tried to help a handful of more students with their problems that couldn’t be more diverse. From a boy who had fallen in love with his best friend which had send him into an identity crisis over to a girl who was failing her classes because she claimed the professor hated her to a freshman who wanted to apply for a fraternity but was scared because of the rumors surrounding them which the DJs quickly debunked since they both were in the same fraternity. In the end they had to cut themselves short, asking their viewers to vote on a poll they would make if people wanted a whole Tuesday episode surrounding fraternities.

“So.” “So,” Johnny copied his friend. “We’re almost at the end of our time with you guys. We couldn’t get through all of your submissions but we hope our team picked a few good ones and at least some of you could get some advice.” “As always you’re free to send us your own stories to our e-mail JohnJaeNNN@NCTU.com to get some advice next Thursday from your favorite DJs: John-D.” “And Jae-D. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday on your campus radio on 127mHz. On NCT-“ “Night Night,” they said their ending together and just like every night with them, you said goodnight to your computer screen, closing the tab which draped your little apartment in silence. Sighing loudly, you looked over your notes that needed a little more work if you wanted to make a good first impression on your fellow students tomorrow. Because you couldn’t stand the silence, you opened your Spotify to play the NCT Night Night playlist Johnny and Jaehyun had made with the songs that had been recommended to them, still missing the new additions from tonight.

The next morning found you in your literature class, sitting two rows behind Johnny, staring at the back of his head while doodling on your paper rather than taking notes on whatever the professor was saying. If you were to let your eyes wander, you’d see that almost everyone in the big room was paying as much or even less attention as you were; the students in different states of excitement and anxiety over the group projects he had yet to announce. “I’m sorry professor,” Johnny’s voice suddenly cut through the room, “I’m sure you have already noticed that no one is paying attention to whatever you’re trying to teach us right now. Could you please just announce the groups for the project?” That moment you swore you would be able to hear a pin drop until your eccentric professor chuckled lowly. “I like you, Suh. I was waiting for someone to mention it,” he spoke, getting the dreaded list out of his bag, “Listen closely now, you’ll be assigned in groups of four and each group will get a specific novel to work on. Deadline will be by the end of the semester and your individual paper combined with the group presentation will make up 40% of your final grade.” That made a bunch of people, including you, gasp out loudly. A group project with this much credit to your final grade was always dreaded. “I don’t want to hear any complaints, that’s how it’s always been. Now listen carefully, I won’t repeat myself but the list will be hung on our blackboard as well.” With that being said, the professor began listing names and novels in the most monotone voice he could muster. To say you were basically vibrating off of your seat was an understatement when he got further and further down the list and neither yours nor Johnny’s name had been called yet. “And lastly, an all-time favorite: Romeo and Juliet.” You didn’t even register anything else after the professor had announced that the group featured both Johnny and you along with two other students you didn’t know. Your brain was reduced to static noise while everyone else was getting up around you to pick up the books that had already been stacked in a corner, probably by a poor TA. Only when a person bumped into you, you broke from your stupor to quickly pick up your stuff as well to hurry down to steps to where a crowd of students had already gathered.

Luckily Johnny towered over most of the other students and you could easily spot him and the rest of your group that were two other boys you didn’t recognize. “Hey, you’re the last one we were missing,” Johnny smiled and handed you over your copy of the book. “Y... Yeah, sorry for making you wait,” you stuttered, clutching the small book tightly in your hands. “No big deal,” Johnny played it off, “Do any of you have any more classes today?” When everyone declined, you all agreed that you should get a head start on your project as it would be hard to make a good project out of such an overused love story. While walking over to the student center to decide on a concept, conversation flowed easily between the four of you even though you were still really nervous to be around Johnny. God, you really hoped he didn’t think you were stupid or something just because you were nervous.

The little study session went by in a blur and only further confirmed that you were so whipped for Johnny it wasn’t even funny anymore. You found yourself attentively listening to all of his ideas and laughing at every of his stupid little jokes and only mildly spacing out while looking at Johnny when the others were discussing ideas which had led to one or two mildly embarrassing situations where you would lose track of what you were actually discussing, your mind blank of any input when they asked for your opinion.

Soon you found yourself parting ways with your groupmates, leaving you and Johnny alone because his frat house and your little apartment were located in the same general direction. “Anything fun you’re doing this evening?” Johnny asked, trying to make some light conversation to fill the silence. “No, I’ll just binge watch some shows maybe or listen to the campus radio,” you shrugged it off. While today’s show wasn’t your favorite, you quite liked the DJs soft and gentle voice. “You listen to the campus radio? I have a show on there,” Johnny smiled. “I like listening to you and Jaehyun,” you confessed, trying to fight the heat that was licking at your cheeks. “Oh.” “You seem surprised.” “Yeah, it kind of still seems weird that people enjoy listening to Jae and me rambling for hours on end. You know with him it just feels like I’m hanging out with my brother rather than work.” “Your voices are really soothing, you know,” you tried to explain what you were feeling when listing to them, “And your friendship is kind of adorable. Like we can feel how much you care about each other and you always genuinely try to help your listeners without making fun of them.” For a while Johnny didn’t say anything and you thought you had fucked it up, that he thought you were weird now. “Thank you,” he suddenly said. “Huh?” “It means a lot hearing that. We do lurk on Twitter to see what people think of our show but hearing it like this is something else entirely.” “It’s nothing,” you mused, playfully hitting his arm, “No need to get this soft.” “Hey,” he laughed, “I’ll have you know that I am 180 centimeters of walking softness despite what people might say about me.” Smiling softly you caught his eyes for the first time since you two had started walking and the way his honey eyes were smiling back at you momentarily took your breath away.

“I- My room is right around here, sooooo,” you stuttered. “It was nice working with you. Even though you were spacing out half the time,” Johnny teased, “Thinking about a special someone?” You. The word sat on the tip of your tongue, the low light of the afternoon sun making you bolder than you actually were and Johnny just made you feel incredibly comfortable. “No... No- I- I’m single.” “A crush then?” “Something like that,” you mumbled, your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your jacket. “Talk to him. Or her. Or them,” Johnny advised. “I really can’t,” you sighed, “He doesn’t even know I exist.” “Well you don’t need to confess your undying love for him,” he laughed, not knowing he was the boy in question, “Just you know. Casually talk to him. Get to know him.” “I’ll try?” “Is that a question?” “Yeah?” “Have more confidence in yourself,” he gently nudged you, “You’re nice and very easy to talk to.” “Nice... Wow.” “Shut up,” he laughed, “I usually give better compliments but I have yet to get to know you better.” “Would you... Would you even want that?” “Sure,” Johnny shrugged and your heart skipped a couple of beats, “I have to get going or everybody will already be drunk when I arrive. So... I’ll see you in class? And you’ll hear me on Sunday?” “Yeah sure. Don’t drink too much or you will be miserable all show like last week,” you giggled. “Don’t remind me,” he groaned, “I’m never going to drink tequila on a Saturday ever again.” “Goodbye Johnny,” you smiled, really liking how his name sounded when you said it out loud. “Bye,” he waved before going his way.

Once you were sure he was out of hearing distance, you let out a little happy squeak and jumped up and down excitedly. You did it. You had actually done it. You had talked to your crush. And managed to not make a complete fool out of yourself in front of him. Which was a win in your books. A huge win. With a little spring in your steps, you stepped by one of your favorite pizza places to treat yourself before heading home where you spend your evening daydreaming about none other than Johnny while watching reruns of old dramas.

“Hi, I’m Jae-D.” “And I am John-D. Welcome to NCT-“ “Night Night.” “John-D.” “Yes, Jae-D,” Johnny chuckled. “It’s Thursday again which means it’s time to tend to our listener’s worries,” Jaehyun read off of the script, not getting distracted by his friend’s antics, “And today is a very special episode.” “Special?” Jaehyun barely repressed to roll his eyes at his friend’s over-exaggerated acting before continuing: “Yes, since tomorrow is a day off for all students, we have decided to make this episode extra lengthy and-“ he shortly stopped to flash the camera a peace sign, “Viewable despite it being Thursday.” “Do we look okay?” Johnny laughed, checking himself out in the video that was playing on one of their monitors. “Aaaaah, the comments say we look good tonight, thank you,” Jaehyun mused.

And they really did. Not that either of them had to do a whole lot to look good but today they were both wearing white button-downs with their sleeves rolled up to expose their forearms. Jaehyun had even gone so far as to put on some fake glasses. “And if you’re following us on our Twitter you also already know that this week it’s all about love on our campus radio and our show today is no exception,” Johnny read his part of the script. “Today John-D and Jae-D are Loveholics, trying our very best to help you with your problems surrounding love,” Jaehyun completed, “You can send in song recommendations through the hashtag JohnJaeLoveholic just like taryn1026 did – I hope I said that right – but they recommended Paris in the Rain by Lauv to set the mood for today.”

The soft tunes of the song made you relax a little into your sofa where you had chosen to watch today’s episode of NCT Night Night. You had to say that you were kind of nervous for today’s episode. Just like every week you had written your letter to Johnny, telling him about your week and cheering him on for your group project. At this point it should have been pretty obvious just who exactly you were and judging by how Johnny was acting towards you, his flirting leaving you flustered after your study sessions and your group mates mildly annoyed, he seemed to already have put together the pieces. But yesterday while writing your letter you had felt extra bold (and maybe also extra riled up and horny from Johnny’s shameless flirting) and had written him a message that should confirm all his suspicions and would hopefully lead him straight to you and into your bed. But until the end of the show or at least until they read your letter, which you really hoped they did today as well, you had to wait sitting in your apartment, for once not in comfortable clothes but in a nice shirt and pants.

“That was Paris in the Rain by Lauv, recommended to us by taryn1026 through our Twitter with the hashtag JohnJaeLoveholic,” Johnny’s raspy voice filled your apartment when he leaned close to the mic, “Jae-D are you ready to make some love happen?” “I already had my love juice,” Jaehyun answered, showing his pink Starbucks drink to the camera, “And my reading glasses are on.” As to prove his point, he hiked his glasses up his nose before scratching his eye through the holes in the frame, making both DJs chuckle. For the next hour Johnny and Jaehyun tried to solve several relationship dramas as well as a very tricky friends-with-benefits situation and telling a boy to break up with his cheating girlfriend which had been a rather heartbreaking discussion. “So after this,” Jaehyun sighed, “Let’s play another song recommendation. Burtonized has sent in a very fitting song, I hope you all don’t mind a little Korean: It’s God Damn by I.M – a song about heartbreak.”

While the foreign song was playing, the two DJs stretched their backs and sipped on their respective drinks: Jaehyun still on his pink sugar concoction and Johnny already on his second iced Americano. Jaehyun must have found something funny on his phone, nudging his friend to look at him but Johnny was busy typing away on his own, only acknowledging his friend after he had typed his message. Just after that, your own phone buzzed with a message, showing Johnny’s name on the screen.

From: Johnny Are you watching our show?

To: Johnny Sure, you look good today

From: Johnny Make sure to listen closely ;)

“That was God Damn by I.M suggested by burtonized over our Twitter hashtag JohnJaeLoveholic,” Jaehyun’s smooth voice tore you from your spiraling thoughts about the winking face Johnny had sent. “Sadly our show is coming to an end even with our extended airtime.” “But John-D a very important letter is still missing before we close our show. Dare I say it could be the highlight of our show,” Jaehyun joked, already playing the cheesy music he was always playing when Johnny would read your letters. “You’re right Jae-D my lovely secret admirer has sent in another letter,” Johnny mused, arranging himself so he could read the printed out letter while being as close as possible to the mic for it to pick up the rasp in his voice, “Happy Thursday John-D, I hope your week has been more exciting than mine. I have just been going from class to class without much thought, the only high points are my group meetings for the group project we have to hand in soon – That seems very familiar, baby – But since today is all about love, I’ll tell you about a little problem I have: – get your love juice ready, Jae – There is this boy in my group. And boy isn’t really the right word to describe him, he’s a man really,” at that Johnny couldn’t hold back a low chuckle, “I’m sorry, I’ll be serious – And he is flirting with me. Has been for a couple of weeks now. And it has gotten to the point where our groupmates are kind of annoyed at us. He has also walked me home a couple of times but he never so much as touched me. At this point I am so frustrated with him. Is he just playing with me? Or is his mouth bigger than his actions actually are? He has been riling me up all day today and I was ready to let him have his way with me but he only wished me goodnight and left again, leaving me to deal with what he had done all by myself – oh wow, I,” Johnny stuttered, sharing a gaze with his friend who was only barely repressing his laughter, “Wow, okay, I hope we’re in the good for reading this out and it’s late enough,” clearing his voice and raking a hand through his hair, Johnny continued, “John-D I hope this man hears what he has done to me and will deal with the consequences of his actions. Would you play Animal by Jin Yosef and RIELL for me? Just in case this letter hasn’t gotten my point across? – Y... Yeah sure, darling. We’ll play that once our show is over.”

“So John-D,” Jaehyun grinned while loudly slurping on his ‘love juice’, “What would you advice your secret admirer to do about this problem?” “Well if I were her,” Johnny started, his gaze going straight to the camera where he knew you were watching and it felt like he was looking straight into your soul, “I’d wait for him. I’m pretty sure he can prove that his actions speak even louder than his words.” For a while it was quiet between the two DJs, safe for Jaehyun’s obnoxiously loud slurping noises but even if they would have been saying anything, you weren’t sure if you could have comprehended any words with how furiously your heart was beating. “Anyways,” Jaehyun eventually broke the silence once he was sure there was nothing left in his ‘love juice’, “I’m afraid that was it for tonight. This has been your extra lengthy episode of Jae-D and John-D and we will leave you with this wonderful song recommendation: Animal by Jin Yosef and RIELL. If you’ve liked today’s show, we’re here every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday night on your campus radio on 127mHz to listen to all of your worries on NCT-“ “Night Night,” Johnny joined in and they both waved into the camera as your song of choice started playing. The video stream didn’t cut off immediately, showing the boys gathering their things and if your eyes weren’t betraying you, you swore you saw Johnny tense up when the song turned a little more explicit. The two DJs waved to the camera one last time before the stream cut off, leaving the screen of your laptop dark.

That was when it dawned on you what you had done. Shit. With how Johnny had sounded, you probably had about fifteen to twenty minutes until he would be at your doorstep. Oh god. Shit. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you tried to ground yourself before hurriedly closing your laptop and cleaning everything that seemed messy in your little one-room apartment. That was until you heard a knock on your door.

With shaky hands, you slowly opened the door and while you knew who would be standing on the other side, you weren’t ready for how he was going to look like: Johnny was leaning against the doorway casually with his arms crossed over his chest so the tight button-down he was wearing would strain over the planes of his chest muscles but what really reeled you in was how dark his eyes looked when he raked them over your body. “Good evening miss,” he drawled. “Hi,” you breathed. “Tell me what you want so I’m not misinterpreting any of this,” Johnny all but growled, one of his hands coming up to cup your face. “I want you to have me.” If you thought his eyes were dark before, they turned into bottomless black orbs once the words had left your lips. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, baby.” “Please,” you whimpered and that seemed to break Johnny’s resolve as he pulled you close to him and all but crashed his lips into yours. The kiss wasn’t delicate in any way, shape or form with how Johnny was licking into your mouth the second a moan left your lips. His tongue was intertwining with yours messily and in no time both of you were panting into each other’s mouths. “Inside. Now,” you rasped. “All with due time,” Johnny chuckled but let you pull him into your apartment, slamming the door shut to crowd you against it, one of his strong thighs slipping between your legs like it belonged there, “If you’re a good girl and listen well, I’ll give you anything you want.” “Fuck,” you cursed before slamming your lips together again, a new neediness bleeding into the kiss as you tugged on the longer strands of hair at the back of Johnny’s neck which made him growl lowly. “Anything off-limits?” Johnny breathed into your skin as he kissed down your neck to suck a mark there while his hands were busy pulling your shirt from your pants so he could rake them over your naked skin. “Just,” you had to cut yourself off with a moan, “Don’t be mean to me.” “Never,” he promised, “You’ll be my pillow princess.” His sweet words were in stark contrast to how hard his hands were gripping your hips and how his teeth were grazing over your neck that must be littered with marks already. “Take me to bed,” you heaved breathlessly, positive your legs would give out if it wasn’t for Johnny holding you up.

Listening to your demand, he slowly started walking you backwards towards your bed until the two of you were toppling down on top of the covers, his lips never leaving your skin. Whoever had spread the rumors about Johnny being a great lover had been absolutely right, he knew just how to touch you to have you gasping for air and judging by the grin on his lips he hadn’t even started yet. “Please,” you whimpered, arching into his touch, not exactly sure what exactly you were asking for but Johnny seemed to know all the better when he freed you from your top and pants to leave you in your matching lace set while he was still fully clothed in his by now wrinkled button-up and pants. “All for me?” He chuckled and pressed a kiss right between the valley of your breasts, his big hands cupping the soft flesh to squeeze it gently. “Have me,” you gasped out and you could feel the growl he let out vibrating where you were pressed together. “I’m going to ruin you,” Johnny promised, pulling down the cups of your bra to wrap his plush lips around one of your nipples to tease the soft nub until it hardened under his ministrations, sending waves of pleasure down your spine and straight to your core where you could feel your wetness starting to seep into the fabric of your panties. “Johnny,” you mewled and arched into his every touch, his calloused fingertips setting your skin alight when he let them travel down your body to tease over your lower stomach. As if by reflex, you let your thighs fall open for him to finally touch you where you needed him the most. “Such a good girl,” he smiled, blowing cold air over your spit-slicked nipple to watch you squirm beneath him. Your remark got stuck in your throat when he finally cupped you through your panties, feeling how damp the fabric had already become. “Naughty,” he chuckled, his eyes never leaving your face as he circled your clit through the fabric, watching your eyes fluttering shut when his gaze became too intense.

“Johnny,” you sighed, forgetting all other words except for his name. “Relax, princess,” he rasped and kissed his way down your body, leaving love bites on the sensitive skin of your stomach and thighs that shook with anticipation. If you’d say you hadn’t dreamed about his lips on you like this, you would lie and you weren’t going to miss the sight of this for nothing. Fighting back the fog that had started to cloud your mind, you forced your eyes open to look down to where he had settled between your open thighs to find him staring right back at you. “Good girl,” he praised you again before pressing a kiss over your clothed sex that made your head fall back already, the anticipation of what was to come making you push up your hips which made Johnny chuckle lowly. He didn’t leave you any time to feel embarrassed by how needy you were when he hooked your panties to the side unceremoniously and licked a broad stripe up your center, tasting your arousal. “Oh fuck,” you breathed out, your hands flying down to tangle them in the long strands of his hair. Johnny worked his tongue in slow and clever strokes, leaving your mind reeling with pleasure and taking his time to take you apart piece by piece, not even paying attention to your leaking center or your aching clit. But when he did wrap his lips around your clit to gently suck on the nub, your mind almost went numb with how intense his touch was, your thighs clamping shut around him. To make it even worse, he started humming around you while prying your thighs back open, holding you down with his large hands. You felt your orgasm approach almost embarrassingly fast now that he was altering between teasing your clit with his tongue, lips and even his teeth and fucking your velvety walls with his tongue, setting your nerve endings on fire. “Johnny I’m close,” you warned him but instead of slowing down, he stretched his jaw wide to press his tongue further into you, his nose bumping into your clit in the process and with the combined sensation and his doubled effort, it took no time for your first orgasm of the night to wash over you, a scream of his name leaving your lips as you shook through it, your mind going equally as numb as your legs.

When you came back to it, Johnny had straightened up between your legs and he was grinning down at you while he was unbuttoning his shirt, his face still shiny with your arousal. “That was the first one,” he spoke darkly. “Come here,” you whined, making grabby hands for him until he took pity on you and covered your body with his before connecting your lips in a bruising kiss. You could still taste yourself on his lips but that somehow just made it even hotter.

“Want you inside me,” you panted against his lips when Johnny broke the kiss in favor of raking his teeth over your racing pulse. “Yeah?” He rasped and ground his hips down into yours, making you feel him strain against the fabric of his pants. “Need it,” you moaned at the sweet friction. “Think you can take me?” He laughed as he leaned back on his hunches to pop open the button of his pants, pulling down the zipper agonizingly slow. With wide eyes you watched him push his pants down his narrow hips, leaving him in just his navy boxers that showed the sizable imprint of his hard cock, the fabric against the head dark from where he had leaked precum. Chuckling, he stroked over the outline and just the sight alone made your mouth water. “Show me,” you breathed, spreading your thighs so he could see your needy core, clenching around nothing. “Hmm,” he hummed, dragging one of his fingers that wasn’t preoccupied with teasing himself through the mess of arousal and his saliva between your legs, only barely dipping it into you to feel the muscles trying to suck him inside. “Don’t tease me,” you whined high in your throat. “But I like seeing you squirm,” Johnny grinned but took mercy on you and sunk his finger into you up to the knuckle, gently pumping it inside you. Still sensitive from how intense your last orgasm had been, you were torn between pulling away and wanting more but Johnny made the decision for you when he pulled his finger out, wiping your arousal onto your thigh.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded and finally freed his cock from his briefs. “Fuck.” The curse left your lips without even noticing at the sight of his flushed cock, too heavy to properly stand up against his toned abs. The tip was tinted red and shiny with precum that Johnny generously spread down that whole length, his eyes not leaving yours as you watched him lazily jerk himself. “Like what you see?” You eagerly nodded your head. “Want it inside me.” “Yeah? Show me.”

Throwing all caution out of the window, you quickly sucked two of your fingers between your lips before guiding them to your weeping core to slip them inside you, letting out an over-exaggerated moan as you crooked them. “Oh you’re so naughty, baby,” Johnny groaned, squeezing the base of his cock tightly as he watched you fingering yourself and if you had even one coherent thought left in your head, you’d have the decency to be embarrassed because of how intensely he was staring. “It’s not enough,” you pouted, pulling your fingers free and spreading them to look at the slick covering them, “I’m so wet for you.” “Such a dirty mouth,” he groaned, quickly grabbing his pants to fish a condom from his wallet to roll over his hard length. “Please, Johnny,” you hiccupped, winding your legs around his waist to pull him closer to you. “Sssh, princess,” he soothed you, running his hands over your torso before bending down to press tender kisses to your stomach, “I’ll take care of you.” “Please kiss me.”

Dropping his elbows next to your head to support his weight, he covered your body with his and caught your lips in a kiss much too tender for your current situation, taking his time to explore your mouth until you were perfectly pliant beneath him. “Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered into the small space between you while he snaked a hand between your bodies to guide his cock to your core. When the head slipped in without much resistance, both of you let out twin moans of pleasure. Painstakingly slowly Johnny pushed inside you, centimeter by centimeter until his hips were flush to yours. “Breathe, princess,” he reminded you because you indeed had held your breath and had buried your nails in his biceps. “Shit, you’re big,” you cursed. “So I’ve been told,” Johnny chuckled and peppered your face and neck with little kisses while he slowly ground his hips so you could get used to him inside you.

“Move,” you demanded after a while.   “What’s the magic word baby?” He grinned. “Please, Johnny,” you whimpered, clenching down on him. “Once more.” “Don’t make me beg.” “But you sound so pretty when you do,” he chuckled, only barely moving his hips. “Johnny please,” you whined, trying your best to move on his cock on your own but the angle was just not working out. “Oh, you want to do the work?” “I want you to move,” you groaned, pawing at his chest.

“But I think you’d look so pretty riding my cock,” Johnny rasped and in one fluid movement, he had sat up and pulled you onto his lap. Shit, it felt like he was even deeper now. “Come on, princess.” Whining, you wound your arms around his shoulders and pulled your legs beneath you so you could lift your hips up to make his cock smoothly slide out, the friction just right before you slowly dropped back down again, earning you an appreciative groan from Johnny. “That’s right, baby,” he praised you as you slowly found a comfortable pace, swiveling your hips until the angle was just right. Tightening the grip you had on his shoulders to use it as leverage, you began riding him in earnest, impaling yourself on his cock over and over again until your head was spinning and your thighs started to burn. “Come on, doll,” Johnny grinned, catching one of your nipples between his lips. Whining, you rolled your hips faster until your thighs began shaking. “Need help?” He just grinned, his big hands holding onto your hips to help you move up and down his cock at a steadier pace. “Please Johnny,” you hiccupped, hiding your face in his neck to ground yourself, “Please fuck me.” “Am I not doing just that?” He chuckled, filthily grinding his cock inside you. “Do it right,” you panted into his skin, “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, baby.” He didn’t have to tell you twice, it was almost comical how quickly you obeyed his command and arched your back for him. “Hmm, that’s it,” he praised you, tracing the curve of your spine with his hands until he reached the space between your shoulder blades where he gently pushed down to make you arch even further. “So good and pliant for me, just waiting to be filled.” “Please,” you just whined again, past the point of caring about how pathetic you sounded, begging for his cock. “Say it baby,” he demanded, slapping his cock against your wet folds. “Please fuck me Johnny. Please. I want your cock inside me so badly. Want you to fuck me until I can’t even remember my own name anymore. Please I need it. I-“ your frantic rambling got cut off by the surprised moan leaving your lips as he thrust into you without any warning. “Don’t hold back baby,” Johnny rasped before gripping your hips tightly to finally fuck you in earnest, the sound of skin slapping together loud in the otherwise silent room. “God, your ass looks amazing,” he moaned, burying himself in your tight heat over and over again, mesmerized by how his cock was glistening in the low light and how easily your body opened up for him, “You’re basically made to take my cock.” You could only mewl at his dirty words and fist the sheets tightly in your hands as you tried to meet his thrusts as best as you could while you felt like you got your soul fucked right out of you.

“Feels so good,” you slurred when you felt the familiar knot in your stomach ready to snap, clenching around Johnny’s cock. “God baby, if you keep clenching like that I’m gonna cum,” Johnny cursed, grabbing you by the neck to pull you up against his chest, the pace of his hips only getting faster. “Please Johnny. Want it inside,” you whined, letting him use your body how he wanted to relish in the low moans he let out. “You want me to fill you up baby?” “Want it so bad, Johnny,” you mewled. “Then cum for me. Cum on my cock and I’ll give you anything you want.” And oh god. You had never thought that the strained sound of a couple of words could be enough to actually trip you over the edge but the rasp in Johnny’s voice had you falling apart in his arms, your orgasm ripping through you so hard it had your thighs shaking. “Such a good girl,” Johnny praised you before he let out a low guttural moan and fucked into you once – then twice – before his hips came to a halt, emptying his cum inside the condom.

For a while you two just panted loudly before Johnny gently laid you back down onto the mattress, chuckling lowly when you whined at the loss of his cock. “Shit,” you giggled while he quickly got rid of the condom, throwing it in the general direction of your trashcan. So tender you could have missed it, Johnny pressed a row of kisses down your spine until he reached the swell of your ass. “Cuddle me,” you pouted, making grabby hands at him. “We’re sweaty, princess,” he laughed but gave in when you kept pouting. “I don’t care,” you whined, fitting your head beneath his, wrapping your arms and legs around his body to cling to him like a koala. “You’re cute,” he smiled, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“For how long did you know?” “Know what?” Johnny asked, clearly confused. “That I was your secret admirer.” “I didn’t.” “It was so obvious,” you groaned. “Okay maybe I got a hunch after we started that group project. But you never said anything.” “What was I supposed to say? Oh Johnny, by the way, I’m the one who has been writing you cringey love letters for like half a year already. Please go out with me?” That made Johnny laugh, the sound melodic in the quiet of your room. “I would have said yes, you know?” He spoke lowly, “I’ll miss your letters.” “What makes you think I will stop writing them?” “Because you can tell me all that stuff in person now when we go on dates.” “We’ll go on dates?” “That’s what people do when they like each other, princess,” Johnny chuckled, “And I really like you. Both as my secret admirer and my classmate.” “Oh my god stop,” you whined, hiding your hot face in his chest, feeling shy all of a sudden while Johnny was just laughing.

“I like you too,” you eventually mumbled once it had gotten quiet again. “I figured,” he teased you. “I changed my mind,” you immediately shot back, rising from where you were cuddled into his chest but every other protest died on your tongue when you saw his dreamy expression, his honey eyes finding yours and completely ignoring the fact that you were still very much naked. “Date me,” he said. “Okay,” you answered, easily meeting his lips in a sweet kiss that wouldn’t be the last one you two shared tonight.

“Hello and welcome back, that was Middle Of The Night by Monsta X, suggested to us by raibebe through our Twitter with the hashtag JonJaeLoveTalk. We’re your DJ’s John-D.” “And Jae-D on NCT Night Night. Hello again to all of our listeners. John-D.” “Yes Jae-D,” Johnny chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Something is off today. I looked through our mail and there was no letter from your secret admirer.” “Oh really,” he feigned surprise. “Either they didn’t send anything in or our director got sick of the pining.” “I can calm you right back down Jae-D,” Johnny smiled, “Because she simply doesn’t need to send any more letters. I finally found her.” “No way. For real? And you didn’t tell me? I have to find out through our radio show? Friendship is dead,” Jaehyun sighed dramatically and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Jae-D you know you’ll always be the number one in my heart, you know that.” At that Jaehyun let out fake gagging noises that made both friends chuckle.

“No but for real. I finally found her and asked her out. It’s going great so yeah,” Johnny shrugged, “In case you’re listening baby: I’m dropping by later and bring sushi.” “This is so domestic already,” Jaehyun sighed dramatically, “Where is my secret admirer?” “Maybe you could find love as well if you stopped acting like the textbook example of a frat boy.” “What is that even supposed to mean?”

Smiling, you leaned back on your sofa and listened to your boyfriend bickering with his best friend. Boyfriend. That sounded good even though it still felt unreal. Love Letters weren’t dead after all it seemed.

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 4: Uninvited

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

Peter didn't really wake up the next morning, because he hadn't really fallen asleep last night. He'd been incredibly tired, but his hair hadn't been able to lay flat and he hadn't been able to block out the overwhelmingly disgusting smell of Mr. Fowler's closet. He'd been it the entirety of the day and even throughout the night when Mr. Fowler stomped into the room and passed out on the bed. The lilting stumbles in his steps made Peter think he'd been drunk and had likely forgotten about the kid trapped in his closet.

So he hadn't really slept, but his eyes had been closed--the darkness of his eyes was better than that of the closet--until the door had finally swung open, allowing Peter his first full breath in almost a whole day. The dankness of Mr. Fowler's room was a thousand times better than the closet. An arm had grabbed his own, pulling him roughly to his feet and out of the closet. His legs had ached with the disuse, but he'd stumbled to his feet nonetheless.

"Are you going to talk back to me again, son?" Mr. Fowler had asked, a horrible pleasantness to his voice. Peter had shaken his head. Something had been shoved into his hands, and he'd fumbled only to realize it was his wallet. "There. The card doesn't work anymore, so you can have that piece of shit back. Now get out of here."

"O-okay. Thank you," he'd said, stumbling out of the room and into the bathroom that he'd been deprived of for almost twenty-four hours. Once he'd finished and washed his hands, he'd searched through his wallet.

His few crumpled bills had been taken, but the pictures stuffed inside had been left alone, and the black card had sat crammed in a pocket. He'd grabbed it with fumbling fingers, brows furrowing. It didn't work anymore? Had the man maxed it out? Peter had swallowed, a pit forming in his stomach as he thought about what the hell he'd bought to do that. Probably a lot of alcohol had been his guess.

He really, really hoped that Mr. Stark couldn't see his purchases.

After a quick shower, in which he'd had to sit down his vision had swam so much, he'd rushed out the door with his beaten up backpack swinging off of his shoulder. He knew he probably should have stayed to check on the other kids who'd had to listen to the fight last night and might need help with homework, but the teenager couldn't stand to be in that house for any longer. Everything smelled like Mr. Fowler's awful closet and he just needed to be out in the bright Sunday sun. He wanted to find just a little comfort in his shadow that he'd been deprived of the night before.

So he'd changed into his suit and swung around for most of the day, flipping for some overly excited middle schoolers and directing an old man from Ukraine visiting his son who lived in Harlem and ignoring the pain in his stomach. When there was a lull in the late afternoon, he strung a web between two buildings and just did as many daring flips and handstands as he could. It was a feeble attempt to distract himself from the events of the past few days.

Hits and threats from Mr. Fowler were nothing new, in fact, they were a staple in the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but last night had been different. He'd never been trapped like that in the group home. He'd always had a lot of free reign as long as he operated within the curfew and got his chores done, but yesterday was like someone had flipped a switch on that, and he was still reeling from the terror.

Or that could be the hunger eating through his stomach. Peter stopped flipping on the web for a moment, instead laying down and balancing himself on the thin string as his stomach growled so hard he flinched. He wouldn't even be getting anything today. When did his grounding end again? He was pretty sure it was Thursday, but he wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Fowler extended it after last night. Maybe he could stop by Ned's and get a granola bar or something.

The teenager looked down at the ground to stare at Mr. Stark's shadow, blinking as he realized it was no longer clothed in normal attire, or a sharp business suit, but rather the larger outline of what he could now identify as the Iron Man armor. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the man must be doing. Probably something really important.

Peter sighed, moving to sit up, when a sound made him pause. He cocked his head before finally turning in the direction of the mechanical whine to make out the Iron Man suit flying towards him.

Huh.

He tried to feign disinterest, laying back down on the web and placing his hands underneath his head as the suit landed on the nearest building rooftop and Mr. Stark stepped out, but Peter couldn't lie to himself about how excited he really was to see the man.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," he greeted from the web.

"Hey, kid."

"Um, thanks for the letter." Please don't ask about the card. Please don't ask about the card. "Are you sure about the phone, though? I mean, that thing looks like it could cost as much as a house."

"Keep it, kid, I gave it to you for a reason," Mr. Stark said, waving him off. Peter watched him warily as he sat down on the edge of the building, shuffling nervously. Peter smiled to see the man very clearly out of his element, as if he would let him fall anyway. "So, how's your day been?"

Peter shrugged. "Fine."

"No hangovers or anything?" Peter froze. "Can you even get drunk? Cap can't."

The teenager hesitated before answering. It was either 'I bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card' or 'My foster father bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card.' He wasn't sure which one was better, but there didn't seem to be much to win from lying, not that there was much to gain from telling the truth either.

"I don't know," Peter responded honestly as he sat up on the web to stare at the shadow on the ground. The imitation felt more comforting than the real thing at that moment.

"You don't know? You bought three hundred dollars of pure liquor."

"Three hundred--Oh, jeez. I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark."

Mr. Stark blinked at him for a second before his gaze softened.

"You didn't buy any of that stuff, did you?" Peter shook his head. "Who? Andrew Fowler?" A moment. A nod. "Okay, I'll just deactivate that card and give you a new one."

"No, it's fine, Mr. Stark," Peter said, pulling his wallet out of his hoodie pocket and showing him the black card. "He gave it back. I think he was annoyed that it was, like, maxed out or something."

"Well, it is most definitely not maxed out--there's a lot more than three hundred on that, kid--but I'm glad you got it back."

"Thanks."

There was a minute of awkward silence before Mr. Stark rolled his shoulders and sat up straighter.

"So, no tower yesterday?"

Peter suddenly remembered the little note at the end of his letter. He shrugged bashfully, mumbling, "Yeah, sorry, uh Mr--Mr. Fowler kept us pretty busy yesterday. Chore day, so."

"Wanna stop by now?"

Peter looked up at him in surprise. It was a wonder this man didn't hate him yet. The foster parents Peter had before Mr. Fowler had gotten sick of him pretty quickly, or just hadn't been very attached in the first place, while the majority of his teachers regarded him with either pity or disdain at his situation and record. As far as Mr. Stark knew, he had an accident-prone, snotty teenager as a soulmate whose favorite pass time was to be a juvenile delinquent.

And yet, the mechanic regarded him with a soft smile. A little strained, but welcoming nonetheless. It unfurled something in his chest.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Yeah!--I mean, sure sure, that'd be fun." Mr. Stark gave him an amused smile as the teenager stepped off of his web and onto the roof of the building. With a quick glance and a rare smile, Peter leaped off the roof, enjoying the way Mr. Stark yelped in surprise. Peter called, "Beat you there!!"

He did not, in fact, beat Mr. Stark to the tower. To be fair, the man was in a suit that flew faster than a jet and Peter was only propelled by physics and muscles.

The teenager watched from a short distance as the Iron Man suit paused in front of a higher point in the tower, faced him for a moment, and then dove through the window. He raised an eyebrow, but doubled down in catching up to the man, only barely managing to swing himself high enough so that he wouldn't have to crawl his way up more than a couple of stories.

Finally, just a few minutes later than Mr. Stark, he rolled through the window and landed hard on the floor just a little unsteadily, not that he cared in the slightest. There were much more interesting things to care about in that moment.

"Whoa..."

"You like it?" Mr. Stark called from across the lab. Peter nodded dumbly, staring, widemouthed, at the state of the art equipment decorating just about every inch of the room. There were cases of Iron Man armor lining the walls, robots rolling around--he managed a laugh at one with a dunce cap sweeping the ground with a broom inefficiently--and tables filled with projects Peter couldn't even begin to dream of. "You can take your mask off here, kid. No one's going to see you."

Mr. Stark's voice pulled him back to reality, drawing him further into the room hesitantly. He glanced at the man, but realized dimly that his spider sense had finally calmed down. This wasn't the danger he'd felt after being fished out of the lake, or the feeling that had been following him since, it was a normal calm mixed with just a hint of nerves.

He tugged his mask off.

Mr. Stark stared at him, a soft look on his face, before finally tearing his gaze away when Peter shuffled uncomfortably.

"Sorry, kid," he apologized. "Didn't mean to freak you out. Just..."

"Just what?"

"It's just nice to see you, Peter."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just offered the billionaire a strained smile and stepped over to the desk the man was standing at. He felt more than a little out of place, but his curiosity overwhelmed his discomfort as he glanced over a shiny metal case held lightly in the billionaire's hands in interest. Mr. Stark tapped it when he caught the boy looking.

"This, kid," he said, sliding it over, "is for you."

Peter caught it effortlessly, his fingers light and hesitant as he glanced from it to Mr. Stark, his head down.

"I can't accept this, Mr. Stark. You already--"

Mr. Stark interrupted by reaching over and pressing something on the case. It sprang open, spooking Peter enough for him to take a step back but holding his attention as he caught sight of the bright red fabric. The eyes were what really caught his attention, looking unreasonably cool and intimidating. Peter mumbled, "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen."

Mr. Stark chuckled. "Good thing it's yours."

"It's--" He gaped at the man. "Mr. Stark, I really can't accept--"

"Too bad," he interrupted. "It's a gift and it's rude to turn down a gift. So, there's a bathroom right over there if you want to try it on. Give it a whirl?"

After a moment of hesitation, he closed the case, thanked Mr. Stark, and headed to the bathroom to change.

  ---

When Peter stepped out of the bathroom in the new suit, Tony couldn't help but frown. He covered it up as quickly as possible, but the sentiment still remained as his eyes roamed over the kid. He was muscular, sure, but he was so thin that it practically hurt. The teenager's ribs were practically there just for him to count and worry about. He filed it away for later as Peter turned to look at him, the mask's eyes narrowing.

"Looking good, hotshot," Tony said. "How's it feel?"

"It's awesome, Mr. Stark," Peter responded, his hands held out in front of him as he tapped the webshooters. "It smells like a new car!"

Tony couldn't help his laugh. "If you think that's cool, just wait. Friday, Babysitter Protocol."

"Babysitter--" Peter cut off with a confused yelp as his suit lit up blue, the AI in his suit supposedly greeting him. The kid cocked his head. "Oh, hi. Nice to meet you too."

Tony turned away, letting the kid and the AI get acquainted as he pulled out his phone and ordered a few pizzas. Five might be enough. Steve had always eaten a lot, and even if he didn't manage to burn through the best pizza in the city, the kid could definitely use leftovers. He entered the order and shifted back to observe the kid again.

"--uh, Liz? No, no, that's weird. How about Karen?" A moment as he waited for a response. "Fun. Nice. Cool, this is so cool."

Tony smiled, unable to tear his eyes away from the kid. His soulmate. His little shadow. 

Peter turned to look at him after a few minutes, muttering a quick goodbye to the AI--Karen, he guessed--before tugging the mask off again. There was a hesitant smile tugging at his thin face. Much too thin. How many pizzas would it take to get the kid back to even a semi-healthy weight? Probably way too many.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Stark," Peter said. "I really can't thank you enough."

"Please, you can thank me by not thanking me. Pepper says my ego's already a little off of the charts." Peter laughed and Tony couldn't help his grin. "Wanna stay over for dinner? I ordered pizza."

Peter hesitated, but after a moment he answered, "Alright," which was so much better than the kid regarding him defensively or looking like he was constantly on the edge of running away again. And, as it turned out, Peter fit more easily into his life than he could have thought.

In barely thirty minutes, the kid was sat beside him at a desk filled with vials of web fluid and pieces of Iron Man armor, an old, frayed hoodie of Tony's slipped over the suit, and a stack of freshly baked pizza laid out in front of them. Peter sat in the chair next to him as the mechanic ran through the schematics of his suit, hanging on every single word.

"...most of the framing is between the protective layers of your suit, completely waterproof by the way, if you ever get yourself into another lake. You also have a parachute if you pass the three thousand feet threshold."

Peter glanced over his shoulder in surprise. "There's a parachute in this thing? How?"

Tony tapped his back where he knew the spider logo was. "A magician never reveals their secrets."

"Did you compress all the air out of it? Or build it into the wiring on the patch on my back somehow?"

"Both are true." He took a bite of pizza. "You're pretty smart, huh?"

Peter ducked his head with a shrug. "Sorta. I can figure out chemistry, but that's about it."

"I don't believe that for a second, but we'll stick with the modesty for now." Peter huffed out a laugh, spinning the hologram of his suit and staring at it in complete adoration. It dragged a smile onto Tony's face.

Peter had a sort of ruggedness to him, a desperate scrappiness, but it was embarrassingly easy to see that that wasn't all there was to the teenager. His rambles were fast and excited, his scarce smiles adorably bright and always lighting up his doe eyes. There was a kind of spark to Peter that Tony couldn't explain, and, though he was sorry that the kid was saddled with him, he couldn't have wished for a better soulmate.

Apparently, five pizzas ended up being a great number, because Peter ate everything Tony offered him. He was practically a human garbage disposal, though much more polite. Tony was glad that the kid was filling up, but it made him seriously question how much he was getting at that group home. After letting the kid get comfortable for about an hour, he voiced it.

"Do they feed you where you live, kid? I swear, you just put down over ten thousand calories."

Peter paused on the slice he was eating, swallowing before putting it back on the plate nervously, and Tony immediately regretted ever opening his big, fat mouth.

"Yeah. They--Mr. Fowler feeds us fine. Just, enhanced metabolism, so." He shrugged. It was said so nervously that it felt like an outright lie, but Tony left it alone.

"Okay. Good to know. Just make sure to use that card whenever you get hungry, kid. I'm not having my soulmate starve."

At his mention of being soulmates, Peter glanced over his shoulder to stare at their shadows. Right now they almost looked like their own shadows, mirror images of each other, but if you looked hard enough you could see the slight difference in hair texture and the distinctive widths of their shoulders.

"It must've been weird," Peter said. Tony glanced at him in confusion. "Not having a shadow. You didn't get one until I was born, right?"

"Oh. Yeah," Tony agreed. He swallowed as he admitted, "Thought I was broken for the longest time. It was the best day of my life when your tiny little baby shadow appeared at my feet... What about you? Always had a grown man following you around, huh?"

"That sounded creepy, Mr. Stark." Tony just grinned cheekily. "It was nice, actually, always having you there. Like--like a guardian or something."

"And now you've got the real thing." Peter rolled his eyes and Tony pointed at him. "Ah, there's that good ol' sass I was looking for. I was afraid I'd lost it."

"Uhuh. You're kinda weird, Mr. Stark."

"Right back at you, little shadow." Peter smiled at the nickname before glancing out the window where the sky was a deep russet red. "Time for you to head out?"

"Yeah. I've still got some homework to do."

The two stood up and walked over to the window. Peter moved to take the hoodie he'd been wearing off, but Tony stopped him. "Keep it. I've got plenty."

"Oh, thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm so generous. Have fun with the suit, kid, I'll see you soon."

"When?"

Tony paused, looking over at the kid who had only just begun to pull the mask over his head, hopeful eyes staring at him. He desperately wanted to tell the kid he'd pick him up from school tomorrow so that they could hang out in the lab again, but he knew he genuinely didn't have any time. He'd been putting off packing for a few too many days.

"After we move. I'll pick you up from school on Friday. We can go explore the compound together. Sound good?"

Peter nodded. "Yep. Real good, Mr. Stark."

"You can call me Tony, Mr. Parker," he joked.

Peter pulled the mask down and jumped out the window with a call of. "See you Friday, Mr. Stark!"

Tony's shoulders shook with laughter.

  ---

Friday. Peter couldn't wait for Friday. With a burst of excitement and energy he hadn't had in a while, Peter flipped in the air and let out a WHOOO! only catching himself at the last second before flipping back up.

"Wow, this suit is so intuitive!" he exclaimed, shooting another web.

"I am glad you think so, Peter," Karen responded, shocking him so bad he nearly let go of his web. Oh, yeah, he'd forgotten he had an AI now. Man, Mr. Stark was so cool. "I am currently taking feedback for the suit's systems in case anything needs to be changed on Friday. Would you like to rate the suit's webshooters?"

"Oh, full eleven out of ten, Karen. It's great."

"Thank you for the feedback, Peter, I have sent a note to Mr. Stark."

"Oh." Peter blushed. "You didn't have to tell him that, Karen."

"Why not? He has asked for feedback."

"No, it's not--" He cut himself off, sighing as he flipped himself into a large arc. "I just don't want to bother him. He's already been so nice to me."

"Mr. Stark has asked for feedback, Peter."

"It's not the--it's not the feedback, Karen," he tried to explain.

"I do not understand."

He spluttered and then sighed, waving it off. "Whatever. It's fine, Karen, just forget it."

"Of course, Peter. Would you like me to show you the quickest route home?"

Peter hesitated. He did have a lot of homework to do, and Eric probably needed help with his reading, but he had to swallow down fear at the thought of being in the same room as Mr. Fowler again. It was irrational--it was so stupid--and Peter knew it, but he couldn't stop the way his hands seemed to shake and his entire body quail.

"Actually, let's take the scenic route. Really test out the suit, y'know?"

"Of course, Peter. Planning now."

A blue line appeared on screen, leading Peter back to the group home. He muttered, "So cool."

Spider-Man was only halfway back to the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, finally across the bridge and back into his home territory, when his spider sense went off again. He immediately glanced down at his shadow, which had lengthened as the sun set, for some kind of comfort or guidance. But of course, there wasn't one. It was just a shadow.

A little put off by the shiver that had run down his spine, he attached himself to the side of the building, staring out over the street. Nothing too out of the normal. People hurrying on the sidewalk, cars honking down the street, and shadows following along aimlessly.

"Karen. What's going on?"

"What do you mean, Peter?" the AI asked.

"It's just--there's something wrong. Maybe--" At a second shiver up his spine, Peter turned to look at where his senses were directing him at the ringing of a bell.

It was a small bodega, its door swung open as two men stepped inside in unreasonably thick coats for the warm weather. He narrowed his eyes, and the suit zoomed in with him, scanning the men before they disappeared through the door.

"What's the time, Karen?"

"7:30."

"Alright, we're good then. Plenty of time." He swung over to the bodega, attaching himself to the wall above the door, out of sight of the occupants inside. His senses had yet to calm down, so he assumed that he was right about this being a robbery. "Ready to test out the suit, Karry Berry?"

"I am always ready, Peter."

"Y'know, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Does that mean I should assign you a nickname too?"

"Definitely! Think about it for a moment and get back to me after we do this," Peter exclaimed in an excited mumble, straining his ears to hear whatever was going on inside. There was the tense calm of nothing for a moment, and then a shuffle and a squeak followed by a spike in his senses. He muttered to himself. "Finally."

He kept his ears strained on the actions going on inside, dropping down in front of the door quietly to watch what was happening. There was a teenager at the register, her hands fumbling with the register while the two men from earlier in their dark coats pointed shotguns at her. He could see tears streaming down the girl's face, clearly terrified.

Peter crept forward, picking up on the muttered conversation inside.

"--just open the register, keep it quiet," the closest man said in a raspy voice. "Hand everything over nice and quick."

"It's--it doesn't open," the girl cried. "It doesn't open unless a purchase is made and--"

The man flinched forward. "Do I look like I care? Just open it!"

Finally having heard enough, Peter placed his fingers against the door and pulled it open as quietly as possible.

Ding!

Peter froze. Heads turned. Curses flew.

The superhero darted forward as the gun pointed at him, firing a shot that missed him completely as he dove behind a grocery aisle of gummies and pregnancy tests. Bodegas really were something. Peter crouched down, muttering under his breath, "Fuck that stupid bell."

"Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark to your predicament?" Karen asked.

"What? No! I can deal with this, Karen, just watch."

"I like the new look," came the voice of the man that had shot at him. "New government sugar daddy or something?"

Peter blanched. "I really wish that that would stop being people's first assumption. People can be platonic y'know!"

There was a scoff and the sound of something warping. Peter's eyes narrowed, peeking around the grocery shelf and then immediately ducking back. The man, the one who hadn't shot at him, had pulled out a large and glowing weapon that looked incredibly similar to the one that had been at the ATM robbery. Man, he was getting really sick of those things.

The teenage girl had looked okay, shivering behind the desk and thankfully not making any moves to alert the police, as far as he could tell anyway. The last thing he needed was cops showing up in such a tense situation. And his first time using the new suit! That would be just plain embarrassing.

"Platonic or not, I don't give a shit," Normal Gun Man said. "A new look isn't going to change your situation. So either come out, or we shoot you."

"I don't know if you can shoot me while I'm back here soooo."

There was a click and a squeak. "Yeah? What about her?"

Okay. So that was a little different.

Without hesitation, Peter stepped out from behind the aisle shelf, his arms raised half-heartedly in the air. The two men had ski masks over their face--not quite as fun as the Avengers masks, but it'd do--but he could still see the honestly nervous smile of the man holding the gun. Clearly he hadn't expected the arrival of Queens favorite vigilante.

"Good to know that you can comply," Normal Gun Guy said. Alien Gun Guy had the weird blue gun pointed at Peter, but the shotgun was still directed at the worker. He chose his target.

"Not really."

With a flick, he webbed the shotgun and slammed it into the wall. There was a startled scream at the same moment his hairs stood on end. Peter only managed to jump forward before he was encased in a blue light that gave him quite possibly the worst headache of his entire life. He hated the feeling of that stupid thing. He didn't quite know what it was, but it felt like something out of The Incredibles. Like Syndrome and shit.

"Ugh! This thing is so weird!" Peter complained in a warped yell. Alien Gun Guy gave him a brutish look and then swung him through the window.

Peter grunted as he crashed through the window, wincing at the clinking shatter of glass that broke under him, but, surprisingly, none of the glass managed to grab at him and slice through his skin, even as he was shot across the street from the force of the alien weapon, only stopping when he thudded against the wall. He groaned as the air was forced out of him.

At least the suit had kept him from getting cut.

"Ugh... The hell." The teenager shook his head, forcing himself back to his feet, clinging to the wall for just a moment as he blinked out dizziness. Remembering himself, he turned back to the bodega across the street, panicking when his head pounded. That wasn't from being hit, that was his spider sense.

The men ran out of the door, hulking along a cash register and a handful of cigarette packs, but the teenage girl had yet to leave and his head only pounded harder. Spider-Man dashed across the road, leaping through the already broken window, his breath catching as he caught sight of the purple thing sitting on the ground in the middle of the bodega. It whined, louder and louder.

Bomb. Bomb!

Peter's head shot around so fast he physically winced, but he caught sight of the teenager behind the counter. Working on instinct, he jumped over the counter as the whine reached its apex, wrapping his arms around the girl and pushing himself between her and the bomb. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, gritting his teeth.

The world shook and she let out a surprised cry into his shoulder but didn't let go. Peter barely managed to hold down a whimper of fear. Be brave, be a hero. Be brave, be a hero. He could do it. He was fine.

He was fine.

Peter blinked his eyes open, moving carefully to peer over the counter.

"Dammit," he muttered. The rest of the windows had shattered, and just about every product in the store had been knocked back and now littered the ground. A tile fell from the ceiling, making him tense his shoulders. They'd gotten away. Some hero he was.

"I have a nickname for you, Peter," Karen said in his ear. He frowned in annoyance. Well, he had told her to tell him once the situation was over.

"Great," he snapped, stepping over the counter, his boot crunching on the glass. "What is it?"

"Peter-butter!"

"...Okay that's actually pretty good."

  ---

After double checking that the cashier was alright, Peter had fled the scene, cursing himself for how bad it had gone. Nobody had died, but that wasn't really the standard he was looking for. If anything, he'd really just made everything worse. Stupid, Parker, stupid!

The teenager sighed, dipping into the dark alleyway where his backpack had been left earlier. He grabbed it from under the crate of boxes where he'd hidden it, pressing the spider emblem on his chest, allowing the suit to cascade off of him. Frustrated, Peter ripped the mask off and untangled himself from the fabric at his feet, stuffing the items in his faded blue bag and jumping back into his own clothes, and, after a moment of hesitation, slipped into the hoodie that Mr. Stark had given him.

He pulled the bag over his shoulder and buried his hands into his pockets as he stepped out of the alleyway and back onto the streets in the direction of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys. His brows were furrowed and his face squished into a deep frown. He couldn't believe he'd been given a superhero suit by literally Iron Man and he'd screwed it up immediately. He chittered nervously at the thought of Mr. Stark seeing what had happened at the bodega and realizing just how shit of a superhero his soulmate was.

As he was debating the likely-hood of Mr. Stark taking the suit back and never talking to him again for his screw up, his phone buzzed. Hesitantly, Peter pulled it out to find two texts waiting for him. One from Ned and one from Mr. Stark.

He clicked on the one from Ned first. The text app opened up to show Peter a grainy picture of him in his new suit followed by Ned's message of 'Excuse me??? tf is this?? tell me everything rn or im going to die'

Peter smiled faintly, making a mental note to call his friend in a few minutes. With a deep breath, he clicked on Mr. Stark's message.

Mr. Stark: I saw the news. You okay?

Peter blinked. He wasn't mad? He chewed on his lip as he sent a response, 'All good. Sorry I freaked you out.' 

Mr. Stark texted back almost immediately, 'No problem. Just glad you're good. Text ya later, kiddo.'

And that was that, Peter supposed. No...no nothing, really. He'd expected a lot more resistance or opposition from the billionaire, but he wasn't mad that he hadn't gotten any. He was about to call Ned when his phone buzzed again.

Mr. Stark: 'P.S. You can talk to and text Karen through your phone. Knock yourself out, Peter-butter.'

Well, that was embarrassing. But still kinda cool.

With a shake of his head, he finally dialed Ned's number. His friend only picked up after two rings with a breathless greeting.

"Yo, what the hell is up with that suit? Did Mr. Stark make it for you? Are you super hero buddies now!!? Officially his sidekick!!?"

Peter smiled, shaking his head in amusement as he stopped at a streetlight. "Yeah, Mr. Stark made it for me. It's cool right? It even has an AI!"

"It has an AI!!? Please, please, tell me you'll let me look at it."

"Duh. Yeah, you can look at it. We can go to your house after school." Peter thought for a moment, thinking of the alien weapons. He'd messed up today, probably disappointed Mr. Stark, but if he could take the whole operation down... "Besides, I need your help with something."

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff. 

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

#

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

[cauldronofmorning]

I just needed to get one more Piercintyre meta out. “How Season Three Broke Up Hawkeye and Trapper before Welcome To Korea Happened” under the cut:

Disclaimer that while I don’t know if the MASH writers knew that Wayne Rogers was officially leaving at the end of the season, this is based off the assumption that they knew where the wind was blowing. If not intentional, there’s enough connecting evidence here anyway.

In the first season, it takes them until Bananas Crackers and Nuts to have their first ten second fight, over being in surgery for too long to fill up the still. Even just a short spat upsets them because Hawkeye is the reigning champion of co-dependence (Trapper would like to pretend he’s not) and that leads to eventually exaggerating a mental health episode. They sit in each other’s laps, banter like a couple and Hawkeye makes even bigger heart eyes when Trapper can’t see him.

It starts going a little wrong at Mail Call. They’ve argued before, talked past each other and Trapper’s been worried about Hawkeye’s sanity, but after male wife adorableness where Hawkeye loves Trapper talking about his kids, Trapper starts family spiralling that BJ perfected to an art form and steadily gets more drunk/depressed about not getting to see them grow up. Hawkeye eventually finds him manically packing a bag to go AWOL (naturally he’s jokey-scared that he did something wrong because the man is already a mess) and internally falls apart when he realizes Trapper is serious. It ends up okay because laughing at Frank is a good distraction, but they don’t talk about it outside of ribbing over a hangover, and Hawkeye nervously locks the bag away.

A lot of good and a lot of foreshadowing happens in Check Up. For the good, they love each other so much. Hawkeye is delighted to make Trapper laugh at the end when he’s taking care of him like he did in Carry On Hawkeye, they do manage to talk at least a little; Hawkeye being brave and proving “I’m the only one who can handle him” in BCN as having a lot of truth to it, and Trapper wanting to stay because of Hawkeye.

But that last part is also Trapper’s problem, and what hurts Hawkeye later on (and in turn BJ). He can’t say in earshot that he wants to stay “with… with…” [joke about the camp to diffuse the tension], he can’t dance for real with Hawkeye only when it’s for a joke, he can’t actually be scared and worried for Hawk’s mental state to his face in Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde, and twice in Dear Dad and Aid Station, he reassures Hawkeye that there’s nothing to worry about and only lets the mask fall when Hawkeye is gone. Neither we or Hawkeye see the seventy two hours where Trapper and Radar try and contact him, so with all that, you can’t blame Hawkeye for having a (not the whole story) pattern of proof for thinking he wasn’t worth it.

Two episodes on, and after the homoerotic fever dream image of them riding a pony together, is Alcoholics Unanimous. Alcohol has already been the cause of some of their fights, the aforementioned Bananas, Crackers and Nuts, and the end of Iron Guts Kelly; where Hawkeye calls out Trapper for ignoring reality through booze, Trapper replies reality is up for grabs, and they both get distracted by nurses, which is really their problem summed up, but they end up going for the throat in more ways than one when alcohol gets taken away.

The first half of the episode is them being cute and co-dependent, well, alcoholics, but after the adorable boozing with Margaret and being left to their hungover, they start to feel claustrophobic with each other. It’s Hawkeye who starts being cruel first, as he often does when he’s trapped in a corner and wants to lash out (see the finale). He goads Trapper into a fight, casting himself as the girl again (borrowing Trap’s razor to shave his armpits) and digging in that Trapper is macho and boring for reading hunting and repair magazines.

Trapper eventually gets sick of him, and gives the attention Hawkeye’s been brattily aiming for. His problem is that Hawkeye’s never at a loss for words, something that Trapper has and will struggle with, and always the shot, always the needle. And after more needling, he loses his temper and gets shouty. When they’re about to throw breakable shit at each other (Hawkeye grabs Trapper’s ukelele that he’s been using to chill himself out this season) he’s the one that can stop and introspect a little that they might actually be alcoholics, while Hawkeye makes a crack about renting himself out to a firing squad if he thought that were true. Trapper either struggling or conflicted, while Hawkeye’s in denial or fine when he gets reassurance he needs, comes up a few times throughout the season.

They’re still fighting when it comes to Mulcahy’s sermon, to the joy of Margaret and Frank until it ends up with Frank getting hurt (and if you ever wanted to know who wins in a Trapper vs Hawkeye fight, it’s easily Trapper, though Hawkeye can flail his legs in interesting directions) and needing booze. Like Mail Call, Frank is a distraction both of them can use to not talk about what’s bothering them.

Next up is Adam’s Ribs. While they don’t fight in this one, it’s a much lighter version of Dr Pierce and Dr Hyde, with Hawkeye running around having a manic episode and both Trapper and Henry looking concerned in the background. They’re worried he’s losing it and they’re right; when they leave (Henry dying, Trapper having to go while Hawkeye is on R&R), a piece of Hawkeye is gone no matter how much he and BJ lean and love each other. “Trapper went home; they're still coming. Henry got killed and they're still coming. Wherever they come from... they'll never run out.”

But it’s not even just about the ribs. Hawkeye barely hides anything in this episode; the “I love her”/”it’s a him”/”I love him” without missing a beat, that he’s always been a hedonistic mess when Trapper is faintly disgusted with him, that he thinks letting a stewardess force him is an acceptable thing to just casually shrug about and definitely not being subtle about his interest in “Big John”. Like he often does when Hawkeye gets too serious, either in general or about their relationship, Trapper looks concerned when Hawkeye leaves.

Mad Dogs and Servicemen goes into mental illness again, and there’s a big contrast between Hawkeye; who while still having to administer the tough love approach that the not there Sidney advises, does that thing where you try and empathize but end up foreshadowing… I mean making it about your issues and not helping by talking about how many breakdowns he has a day, and Trapper. Trapper is both seconds away from killing Frank when he dismisses mental illness and only Hawkeye manages to calm him down, and also manages to get the soldier to open up about his trauma by letting him talk about Boston and sports. The macho less good with words-just being the rock thing that Hawkeye needles him about actually helps this time.

Trapper struggling comes up again in Bulletin Board. He knows how Henry is feeling when he talks about there’s no point distracting yourself if the war will kick you in the teeth later. He also writes a letter to his seven year old daughter (Becky), telling her a kid-friendly version of saving kids with frostbite. She’s complained that he never tells them what he gets up to and of course he can’t because how can you put your at home children through that? But it also proves he doesn’t just hide from Hawkeye, as unlike most who wrote letters to their family, he chooses the most secluded times possible, and he tells her all he can do is make the best of things before turning the record off and looking haunted.

Like Dear Dad in the first season, Aid Station has Hawkeye having to go to the front again. Klinger and Radar giggle over his dresses, Margaret doms Frank and tells him she’ll kill him if he goes out with other nurses, and it immediately goes to Hawkeye telling Trapper he should go out with other doctors. It eventually gets serious in the only way they know how: Hawkeye looking afraid of the reaction he might get, bringing up his will, and when the mood is down, making a joke about his sluttiness. When he has to go, Trapper again does his job of reassuring (like he will Radar and Henry later on) and then his face falls in worry. On the other end, by the episode’s finish, Hawkeye has a connection with Margaret that Frank and Trapper assume could only be sexual, so they get closer while both pairings drift off.

The last time they fight is Pay Day. Hawkeye is trying to have a date while also trying to not get arrested for supposedly stealing money, while Trapper is as usual losing badly on a game. Hawkeye can’t give him fifty dollars, even an appeal to their friendship doesn’t work, and so Trapper steals his watch for stakes. When Hawkeye finds out, they have a short but explosive yelling session, and in a rarity for them, they do kind of talk about it, ending the episode on Hawkeye proving to Trapper he’s bad at card games.

Then it’s Abysinnia Henry, the last time we see Trapper and Henry. Henry’s plane gets shot down before he manages to make it home, and Hawkeye and Trapper try desperately to contact each other while Hawkeye is on a bender of an r&r and before Trapper’s plane leaves Korea. Trapper can’t find the words for a note, leaves Hawkeye with a kiss, and Hawkeye never gets closure. A season of drifting and it ends like that.

[lavenderbau]

The Table of Celebrations

summary: after Strauss died it became a morbid tradition to all sit and share the good times when someone on the team dies. alex left the team to go teach with james and they were able to convince emily to come back. this is the story of them carrying out their tradition.

tw: death (a lot of it), substance abuse, car crashes, cancer, guns

words: 1.5k

Aaron didn’t see it coming like this. He thought during his times in the field, or during Foyet, hell even driving to work would be his end. He never thought it would come to him when he’s 63 in a bank. He should’ve known they were robbers the minute they stepped into the building, he used to be a profiler for Christ’s sake. But he didn’t. And he stands here now, seeing the bullet fly towards his chest, and all he could think about was that damn table. Or more importantly how nobody would be sitting there when he died. 

It started with Strauss. After the funeral they all could see Dave ready to dive head first into the grief, and so it was Aaron’s idea to get drinks and tell stories about her. They all sat there laughing so they wouldn’t be crying, because pain in the ass or not Erin didn’t deserve that. Aaron listened as Penelope told them about the time she answered the phone thinking it was Derek, and couldn’t help but laugh. That was a fond memory of his. He saw how Dave needed this and how helpful this was to him and it made his heart swell. Little did he know it would become a tradition. 

Dave, fittingly enough was next. They all knew that’s how it should be. He was the oldest of them all so it was only the circle of life his seat was the first one empty. Alex had left right after Strauss’ death to teach at Harvard with James, and Aaron somehow managed to convince Emilly to come home. They all sat at the table, tears staining their cheeks. Dave was a father figure to both Aaron and Emily and a grandfather for the rest of them. Penelope told them about how she and Kevin were walked in by Rossi and all that followed. Aaron remembered Dave telling him about that, saying he would have never done that for a woman and maybe he should have; Derek told them about how he used to tease Rossi about the gray in his hair and Emily told them about how he knew the perfect cure to any hangover but refused to teach her. Aaron saw the way she folded into herself when she realized he would never get the chance to teach her. Aaron pulled her in close when they left telling her that she didn’t need to worry, because Dave would be with Carolynn and his son.

He would’ve thought it would be him next. Hell, it should’ve been him. It should never have been her. But it was. He was the one to notice the lump on her breast and she kept insisting she was fine. They had been, whatever they had been since around the time she came back from London, after Beth had left him. It started out just as sleeping together but it was slowly turning into something more. She was in his office when she passed out, pulse weak. He was panicking and didn’t know what to do. This was Emily, his Emily. He was there when she got the diagnosis. Breast Cancer, stage four. They said at this point there was little they could do, she should just go home and be as comfortable as she could, saying the disease would take her soon. Emily wept into his shirt apologizing for not getting it checked, saying she didn’t want to leave him. He took a sabbatical to spend her last days together, trying to make it last. It didn’t as when Aaron woke up one morning and went to pull her in, her body felt too still and cold. He realized instead of calling her baby, he would be putting in a call to the morgue. He never did imagine he would be standing in front of her grave again, except this time knowing her body was actually in it. Her table was much more grim. They tried to tell funny stories, tried to distract from the pain, but unfortunately they couldn’t do that a second time. So instead they just said bottles up and drained their cups. Derek would come to tell him later what makes this worse than last time is the fact that there’s no one to blame, no bad guy to chase down. Little does he know that if Aaron maybe pushed a little bit harder she might have had a fighting chance.

Aaron never truly recovered from Emily’s death. So that’s why the next one hurt him so much, because two seats left the table that time. Derek and Penelope had gotten together shortly after Emily’s death, realizing the years of playful banter had much more depth than both of them ever assumed. He remembered how Derek stopped by his office to check in on him before he left for his and Penelope’s date night. They had a standing date night on Tuesdays that they didn’t have a case. The next thing he knows he’s getting a call in the middle of the night. He assumes it’s a case, but it’s from the hospital. Apparently he was Derek’s power of attorney and had to choose whether to pull him off of life support or not. He rushed to the bathroom throwing up the little of dinner he ate that night. How could this be happening? Was he really such a curse that everyone around him died? After dry heaving for five minutes he went to the hospital to find JJ. His heart sank when she said through her sobbing she got the same call for Penelope. It was a drunk driver who hit them head on. He called Spencer, because ironically their team was down to three. How have they lost more than they had? Of course they got new members, but they weren’t part of the family. Maybe that’s a good thing. He pretended not to hear Spencer and JJ’s tear filled goodbyes. He went to call Derek’s sisters when he overheard the doctors say Penelope was about six weeks pregnant. He couldn’t handle this. Penleople deserved the chance to be a mother. Derek deserved to be a father. They both deserved to just fucking be alive. How did Aaron get here? How did Aaron get everything they deserved? He was a father, he was alive, and he didn’t deserve that not over them he didn’t. Jayje found him on the floor sobbing against the wall. All she did was slide down next to him. Everything there was to say has already been said twice before. They sat at the table together in silence, not able to understand how a table of 7 could go that quickly to a table of 3.

Aaron had retired from the BAU early. He couldn’t handle anymore heartache. He spent his days with Jack, trying his best not to destroy him like he did to everyone else. Spencer always called him on Thursdays, becoming a crutch they both needed. He got the call on a Monday. Spencer was a blubbering mess, stammering about how JJ was stabbed in the field. He tried to put pressure on the wound, but she was bleeding too quickly. He made an off hand comment about how he knows how Derek felt when Doyle happened, oh how that seemed a lifetime ago. He said he couldn’t call Will. He couldn’t do it. Aaron told him he would take care of it. Aaron always took care of it. He went in person and told a great man he was a widow. God he would never forget the way Will collapsed against him. The way Micheal and Henry ran up asking what happened and Aaron had to tell them their mother died. He got too many flashbacks from when he had to tell his own son the same thing. Her service was beautiful, but Spencer couldn’t get through his speech so Aaron took over. He read the words off of the page, thinking too much about Haley and how he failed her just like he failed Jayje. He failed everybody. Spencer told him while sitting at that goddamn table that he was quitting and going to teach, but he’d keep in touch. It was just too hard to sit at that office and see all of the reminders of them. Aaron understood and wished him the best.

Aaron stopped by Spencer’s place three weeks later. He found him on the floor empty syringes surrounding his too still body. Aaron cursed himself. He should have seen this coming, he knew JJ was his rock, his older sister. He didn’t even see the signs. He laughed to himself when he realized that he was the only one left. He sat at that table alone. He drank his sorrows screaming to the heavens to take him, but they never did. He broke every one of those stupid chairs and that stupid stupid table. No one was ever going to sit there again. 

So as the bullet entered his chest, six familiar faces surrounded him. They were all sitting at that table, only his chair empty. He sat down and they welcomed him home. And it was the first time in too long where he actually felt like he was home.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.15 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is still dealing with the fallout of the last chapter. Like he needs anything else to happen right now?

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Read ‘First Step’ on AO3

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Read it here!

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As hot as the days were, these last, lingering sticky days of summer, the nights in Backwater tended to cool off as soon as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

It made for a good time to sit out on the back porch for a quick smoke. Usually only tobacco, Stretch didn’t have Red’s resilience when it came to getting up the next day after smoking his atom bomb version of weed. The last thing he wanted was to give the local kids their first view of an ugly hangover, he’d leave that sort of education for their parents to dole out.

Most of the time, Stretch kept it to one cigarette. His first paycheck was better than he’d expected but it was still wiser to be frugal, so he stuck with his one cig and tried not to think about how that would have pleased his brother. Blue’d been trying to get him to quit for years now and in the past months whenever his bro brought it up, his ex always chimed in with a similar opinion on it, both of them citing statistics as if they were practicing for a damned public service announcement.

Quitting his smokes was something Stretch resisted for no damn good reason other than he didn’t want to quit, thanks, sorry for him trying to adult a little around here. All the nagging did was take the joy out of it and left him smoking out of resentment rather than recreation. Cutting down to one a day was milestone he’d never managed to get to back in Ebott. Not even when the Docs told him it might help with—well.

Anyway, tonight he’d decided to indulge himself; after the day he’d had, he figured he deserved to go through a whole damn pack.

The porch light was a stark, sodium-yellow and the furniture cast strange shadows in it, bones of the true darkness that lay beyond. Stretch sprawled out on the dusty old sofa, blowing lazy smoke rings up at the overhang covering the porch and occasionally tapping ash into the rusty old Maxwell coffee can that Red kept around as an ashtray. The other skeleton had already gone inside, and the living room windows were dark, a pretty big clue that he’d probably already headed off to bed. Early for him, but, eh, Stretch figured he’d had a hell of a day, too, and his guilt over his own involvement in that sat in his chest like a lead brick.

At his feet, the dog curled up in a tight little donut of fluff and Stretch absently pet him with his bare foot, wincing as strands of hair caught in his bony joints. The dog didn’t seem to care about the little yanks and tugs, only huffed out a contented sigh, pushing demandingly into the touch.

“dunno if you deserve pats,” Stretch told him absently. He tried for something resembling stern, though he didn’t stop petting, “you weren’t being too friendly out at edge’s place.”

The dog only snorted and rolled to his side, giving Stretch access to his belly for more rubs.

Stretch hadn’t even realized Red brought the dog along at first. Not until he hauled his bike over to truck bed, still flustered over the almost-could be-kinda-a-something that his boss/landlord’s timely arrival interrupted. Before he could even start heaving the bike in, the dog popped up like a slobbery jack in the box and began attacking Stretch’s face with kisses.

“wha—stop, you shit!” Stretch sputtered, laughing and trying to fend off the dog’s eager advances. The bike was heavier than a normal one and awkward to hold, and between that and the doggy love attack, Stretch lost his grip. The handbars swung into the side of the truck and shrieked their way down in a scrape of metal against metal as it fell, the rest of it finishing off with a loud clang. Not that it did any damage; Red’s truck probably only qualified as one by a technicality, held together by vague hopes, rust, and the liberal use of miles of duct tape.

Behind Stretch, Edge spoke up, “Here, let me help.” But the moment he stepped forward, the dog’s excited wriggling screeched to a halt and morphed into stillness couched with a sudden, unexpected growl.

“woah, hey, boy,” Stretch said with surprised caution. The dog hadn’t even growled when those guys in town were trying to use him as a pinata, too scared, maybe, but Edge wasn’t a threat so why the hell—

A low, deep throated snarl came from behind Stretch and the dog yelped, ducking down into the truck bed, cowering. Stretch whipped around to stare at Edge in disbelief, okay, yeah, that one wasn’t on his bingo card for weird happenings. "did you just growl at my dog?"

Edge only looked back steadily, "You have to assert dominance."

Well, uh, that was…it did seem to work, sort of. The dog chose that moment to abandon ship, scrambling up and wriggling through the little back window that led into the cab to curl up against Red. The moment he was safe, he looked at Stretch and Edge with wounded betrayal, like he hadn’t started it, the little shit.

Good thing the dog didn’t know what the memory of that growl was doing to the inside of Stretch’s pants, (fucking rawr). The pooch would never forgive him.

“quit traumatizing mutt," Red snorted. He ruffled the dog’s ears soothingly and the pup settled, resting his chin on Red’s femur as he looked up with a mournful ‘the big kids are pickin’ on me’ expression. "c'mon, armstrong, let’s hit the road, s’getting dark."

That woke Stretch up from his dual versions of shock and unf!shock. He grunted with the effort of heaving the bike into the truck bed, mumbling a grateful ‘thank you’ when a second pair of strong hands helped out, and he really, really tried not to feel the way Edge was pressed up against his back, a line of warm moving against him as both of them settling the bike securely in. It was only when Edge stepped back and took his fatal distraction with him that something clicked.

Wait. Not the mutt, but—

Stretch stuck his head in through the open window, looking at the skeleton and his dog, who pointedly weren’t looking back. “you named the dog mutt?”

“didn’t name it anything,” Red scoffed. He scruffed the dog, whose name was totally Mutt, gently.

“technicalities won’t save you,” Stretch told him gleefully, “there was a list on the counter, you had options, and you still named the dog…dog.”

That got finally got him a look, or more precisely, a glare. “could always let you walk home.”

That was true. Stretch abandoned ribbing without even getting to pun about it and climbed hastily into the truck. The door hinge squalled when he pulled open the door, flakes of rust falling in a shower as he slammed it shut. No wonder Red didn’t drive around much if this was his primary vehicle, but in the interest of not getting kicked out, Stretch decided it would be for the best to not bring up the rubber banded pile of newspapers Red was sitting on. He definitely wasn’t gonna ask how Red was reaching the pedals.

Edge rounded the truck to Red’s side, briefly outlined in the glare of the headlights. With the remains of the sun at his back, his eye lights were stark in the growing darkness. Bright crimson glaring in at his brother as he stood next to the truck, his arms crossed over his chest. “You could always come in for coffee.”

It wasn’t a question and Red didn’t answer it. “tell the kid i said hi.”

Edge replied tartly. “Tell them yourself.”

“heh.” A strange laugh, humorless and somehow still tinged with amusement. “see ya around, bro.”

Yeah, there was some kind of story there, all right, and Stretch was the guy who waited too long at the concession stand and came into the play during Act 3.

There was only one person who might give him any answers, since two-thirds of the people involved already turned him down and it was the same guy who didn’t even give Edge a chance to say goodbye, only threw the truck into reverse and with a clumsy three-point turn that barely avoided any of the flowerbeds, they were headed back down path that led to town, out of the woods.

The ride back wasn’t exactly quiet, the bumpy road and rattling complaints of the truck took care of that. But it was wordless, for a while. Until they got closer to the main road and the bumps smoothed out a little, droning hum of tires on asphalt an invitation.

“red—” Stretch started, slowly. He wasn’t even sure what he was gonna say yet, uncertain if he really wanted any other revelations tonight. He was feeling a little epiphanied out.

Red only sighed deeply, “pretty sure you, the kid, and my bro had a helluva chat, you sure you really wanna talk to me about it now?”

No. Yes. “maybe?”

The newspapers under him made a dry shuffling sound as Red shifted his weight to change gears. “one question, kid, that’s all i got answers for. choose wisely.”

Great, now he was on an impromptu grail quest.

Stretch hesitated over his options; there were so many, how could he pick only one? Like, why didn’t Red live with Edge and Frisk, why had he refused to even go into the house, and what the hell was up with Edge being so salty about it? Hell, there were deeper question than that, if he wanted to dig. How had they gotten out of their Underground to here, what happened to Red’s leg, so many whats and wheres and whys.

A look at Red showed he was grinding his teeth, his crimson eye lights focused solely on the road and at the end of the day, there was only one question Stretch really needed an answer to tonight, for reasons he desperately didn’t want to talk about.

He ran his tongue over his teeth nervously, looking down at his hands in his lap rather than the passing blur of road in the headlights out the windshield. “you knew who i was when you first saw me here, didn’t you. edge said you watched the tv when we first came to the surface.”

The joints in his hands creaked as they went tight on the steering wheel and Red exhaled with weary slowness. “yeah, i knew.” He slanted a brief glance at Stretch, eye lights flicking between him and the road. “gave me a hell of a start, don’t mind tellin’ ya. you were busy chasin’ beer cans and didn’t notice me almost fallin’ on my ass.”

“that’s why you helped me, isn’t it, when i first came to town?” The accusation that Red was ‘adopted’ him because he looked like Edge stung, but it was true enough, wasn’t it. Someone with his kid brother’s face, someone to feed and clothe and take care of, like he couldn’t with his own bro for whatever their secret reasons were. Like he was a fucking pet, another dog, woof woof, and the care that seemed so genuine that morning felt suddenly tainted, as stifling as his own brother’s.

“heh,” Red’s mouth twisted into a sneering smile, “kid, come on.”

Stretch said nothing. He could see the neon sign from ‘The Whistling Cow’ slowly approaching, looming closer, blurring in his vision and there was no subtle way to wipe at his sockets, he could only do it quickly and hope it wasn’t noticed.

A failed hope, like most. Red made an impatient sound, loud enough that the dog sleeping his lap stirred, then he said roughly. “yeah, okay, you reminded me some of my little brother, but that ain’t why i let you stay.”

Let it go, let it go, Elsa, you don’t have anywhere else to go. “then why?”

“‘cause i like ya, that’s why!” Red snarled. His ever-present grin curled into a grimace, tight and strained, each word as sharp as one of his jagged teeth. “been rattling around alone in this old shop for awhile now. been kinda nice to have someone underfoot, since i ain’t got goddamn feet. good enough?”

“yes,” Stretch admitted, a threadbare little word. It was, helped ease some of the pained tightness surrounding his soul to know that Red wasn’t simply another person who wanted to be around him not out of friendship, but mere circumstance. He’d had plenty of that in his life and all it left him with was an empty contact list on his phone and an emptier ache in his soul.

He startled at a hand awkwardly touching his own, bony fingers briefly squeezing before they withdrew. “stretch? you and my bro ain’t nothin’ alike. c’n trust me on that much.”

“is that good or bad,” Stretch couldn’t help asking. He thought of the little borrowed room he was sleeping in at night, his part time job hawking groceries, of Edge’s home in the woods with its beautiful gardens and delicious meals.

Red shrugged. He turned the wheel, guiding the truck into a parking spot that was nearly hidden on the other side of the shop. “beats the fuck out of me, just is, and it don’t matter, anyway. don’t care what the charts and graphs and shit say, ain’t no reason to compare ya. ya ain’t the same person. you’re you and bein’ you should be good enough for anyone.”

The engine ticked slowly as it cooled and Stretch thought of the way their landlord back in Ebott kept mistaking him for Papyrus, of getting bitched at once for a window he hadn’t broken or thanked for muffins he hadn’t brought. Not anybody or nobody, only himself, at least here in Backwater. “thanks.”

“s’fine,” Red grunted. “just don’t forget i ain’t your bro.”

“oh, fuck, no,” Stretch blurted out. He winced as he realized how that sounded. “i mean, you’re more like a mom, anyway.”

“heh,” That laugh was more a little more genuine, not much, but it was something. “fuck you.”

“nah, that wasn’t in the rental agreement.”

“and thank the fucking angel for that.” With a groan of hinges and a slam of the door, Red got out of the truck, the dog at his heels. He didn’t turn back to see if Stretch was with him, only went as fast as he could, cane swishing at his side as he practically ran into the house, the screen door banging shut behind him.

Stretch followed more slowly, stopping off at the porch and that was where he stayed, thinking about having a cigarette and not at all about giving Red some time to himself after having the asshole he was trying to help question his motives, exactly like an asshole would.

Mutt hesitated, debating for a minute over choosing between them before finally decided that Stretch was the victor, and whether or not that was because he thought Stretch needed watching over more didn’t matter. Stretch appreciated the company, anyway.

That left him here, smoking and watching moths flutter suicidally close around the porch light.

Stretch dropped a used butt into the coffee can and debated lighting another. On one hand, he was starting to feel a little nauseous from so much smoking, on the other, he sort of wanted to feel nauseous. Wanted to feel something that he could name.

What was the proper term for how to feel when you were living in a weird town with alternate version of yourself and your bro, which, by the way, one out of the two has been crawling up your top ten list of spank bank partners? If there was a definition for it, it was gonna take more than a quick google search to ferret it out.

He still hadn’t decided whether or not to light another when at his feet, the dog suddenly lifted his head, ears perking up.

“what is it, boy?” Stretch leaned up on his elbow, squinting out into the darkness outside the protective ring of porch light. “if this is about a kid in a well, you can tell timmy he’ll have to wait, this is not a good time—hey!”

A threatening line of fur rose up on the dog’s back as he let out a low, deep woof, nothing like the little growl at Edge earlier. Before Stretch could grab for him, Mutt was scrambling to his feet. He leapt off the porch and ran off into the night, fuck, in the direction of the forest.

“hey, wait! no, no, no, damn it!” Stretch shoved his feet into his shoes, wincing at the friction and almost immediately tripping over the laces. “not that way!”

There was barely time to hope he didn’t break his damn leg as he chased after the dog, following the little puff of whiteness through the dark as he tried not to go facefirst into anything. It was sheer luck there weren’t many obstacles in the path; town was in the opposite direction and there was nothing much behind the shop but parched earth and dead grass. Right up until the edge of the woods where saplings rose up in clusters, little ponds of greenery that led to the ocean of trees and that was where Stretch skidded to a halt, watching helplessly as that patch of white disappeared into the darkness.

Yeah, okay, he wasn’t about to go in the woods, ignoring warnings around this place was bad for life expectancy and Stretch wasn’t the kind of guy who’d feed weird critters after midnight.

“fuck, fuck,” Stretch muttered under his breath, pacing right outside the treeline and slapping away any sapling that tried to get in his way as he wracked his brain for what the hell he could do now.

Maybe if he stood outside and shouted at the damn mutt, he’d at least have something to follow back out. He wasn’t sure there was much else he could do, the townsfolk were nice, but he didn’t think asking them out for a midnight search party for a dog would go over very well.

Overhead, the bloated circle of the moon faded in and out from behind the clouds. He didn’t even have his phone, it was still in his bag on the porch, safely beneath that splash of light that seemed so far away now. Stretch dug into his pocket for his lighter, the rasp loud over the faint rustling of leaves overhead. It flared to life and the tiny flame barely illuminating the space around him, but it was better than nothing.

“mutt?” Stretch called tentatively, then more coaxingly, “c’mon boy, come back out!” He tried a few iterations of that with increasingly sappy endearments, feeling as stupid as he had when he’d tried them on his ex. The dog responded about as well, stubbornly refusing to bow to any version of baby, sweetums, or snooky that Stretch tried.

“damn it all to hell,” Stretch cursed softly. First, he’d gotten caught nearly macking on Red’s little brother when he’d said he wouldn’t, not a broken promise but still, then he’d blunder into giving Red’s traumas a quick poke, and now he’d lost the dog that he’d only just gotten for Red. He was obviously already pretty attached to the so-named Mutt and after hearing him vague about how he’d been lonely, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

But going into the woods after him felt a hell of a lot like making a bad situation worse.

Stretch sighed heavily. Nope, better not to chance it. Maybe if he brought out a bowl of food, the dumb mutt would smell it and head for home and—wait.

…what was that? Stretch tipped his head to the side, straining to listen.

He hadn’t really even notice that soft sound at its beginning, the soft lilt of a melody winding its way through branches and leaves out of the woods, a song he almost but didn’t quite know. It was the seductive peal of a silver laugh of delight, it was the delicate caress of the wind, the chuckling burble of a cool stream pouring invitingly over smooth rocks, and the intangible caress of unearthly desires

It was the alluring sweetness of a siren, the song of a temptress calling one who was no sailor into a dry sea and doom.

His vision was cast into paleness like the bloom of the moonlight, filling him to the brim until nothing was left within but that endless song. Without a single thought of his own left crowded in amongst the tangled notes in his head taking mastery over him, Stretch took his first dazed step into the woods.

tbc

[ironmandeficiency]

force sensitive

pairing: rex / reader

word count: 2017

summary: you’re a mechanic for the 501st & you go with torrent to 79’s during leave. you get drunk off your ass & start pushing things off tables, claiming that it was the force (it wasn’t). then, after a few minutes, it was.

rex didn’t know what he did to deserve any of this. he was just trying to have a fun night at 79’s and wind down after yet another visit to fellucia, the hellhole planet that tested his sanity, and reunite with some brothers he hasn’t seen in a while. in hindsight, there was no point in hoping that things would be quiet at the clone bar because the words “quiet” and “79’s” didn’t belong in the same category.

this, however, would have been above his pay grade if he actually got paid for this shit.

you were drunk off your shebs, to describe your condition briefly. in more vivid detail, you were splayed across the laps of him, fives, and hardcase with a smile that took over your face as you laughed at literally anything anyone said. you had an arm wrapped around rex’s shoulder and was currently using his pauldron as a pillow despite saying it was uncomfortable. there was a double-digit number of empty glasses in front of the area where you previously sat and rex knew well how miserable your hangover would be in the morning.

he also knew that tomorrow would be a terribly busy day for you and your fellow mechanics because the 327th was temporarily going to be bunking with them on the resolute, and they just got back from another hellhole rex didn’t have the displeasure of knowing. “alright, i think it’s time to get home-“

“but rex, look!” you swept your free arm across part of the table and knocked over the bottles belonging to fives and hardcase with a flourish. “i used the force! i’m force sensititive!! i need to go to the temple, as soon as i can!”

hardcase started laughing so hard that he nearly shoved you into the floor. the only way you don’t fall is the way rex and fives grip onto you and save you from the grimy bar floor. no one deserved to be on that floor. there was no telling what diseases someone could get from it.

“y/n, cyare, you’re drunk. we need to get back to base so you can get a head start on sleeping out this hangover.” why did rex have to be the voice of reason? it was so hard and emotionally taxing. but on the other hand, he thought with a hidden smile, it did give him some serious blackmail for when his vod’e needed to be straightened out.

you pouted, shifting yourself clumsily away from rex and snuggling closer to fives. the arc trooper didn’t mind it one bit, hamming it up with an arm around your waist as he pulled you into his lap. a small shriek accompanied fives burying his chin in between your shoulder and neck, the tickling sensation heightened by his goatee burning slightly into your exposed skin.

“fives! fives, stop! i- i can’t breathe! fives!” you were giggling and bracing yourself on his thighs, clueless to the wrath beginning to boil in the captain at the sight of you all over his vod. he quickly brushed it away and buried any evidence of his jealousy as he lifted you into his arms, trying not to glance at your inebriated smile that was now dangerously close to his.

“c’mon sweetheart, you’ve got a long day ahead of ya tomorrow.” fives said nothing as you were removed from his lap but with that knowing look in his eyes, he didn’t need to. the protective body language of his captain and the way you leaned into him were signs that pointed to something a little more than platonic.

you let yourself relax into rex, the plastoid armor not even a bother in your pursuit for comfort. you’d been in far less comfortable places as a mechanic; plastoid painted in five-oh-first blue was always welcome. footsteps carried you out of the bar and back home. “you’re soft, captain. anyone ever tell you that?”

rex flushed redder than a sith’s ‘saber at the affection in your words paired with your breath innocently panting against his neck (maker how he wishes it were anything but innocent). “no, i… can’t say that i’ve been made aware of that knowledge. is it a good thing?” he didn’t know where the last part originated from, only that he said it and it unfortunately couldn’t be forced back down his throat.

your smile seemed to bring him back to the planet, while the way you nudged his ear with your nose as you replied, “it’s a wonderful thing, alor’ad. absolutely wonderful.”

he smiled despite himself, allowing himself this time of bliss while he carried you out of 79’s and back toward the barracks. your mando’a was a little lacking in some places, but he loved to hear the way your tongue rolled over every syllable. especially when it was to him.

“rex, i did it again!”

“i’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

another clatter was heard around his quarters and rex didn’t know whether he should laugh or groan at the mess you were making as you claimed to be using the force. he knew that you probably should be staying in your bunk in the mechanics’ quarters for the night, but only a cruel man would leave your bunkmates subject to the giddy drunk that was his cyare. so he carried the burden gladly, looking forward to falling asleep beside you once you had tired yourself out.

you had only been in rex’s private quarters on one other occasion, and that first time was so brief that you hadn’t gotten the chance to see the small things that made it his and different from the same official-looking bunks that all commanding officers were given.

he had a wooden hat/cloak rack in the corner closest to the door that held his helmet and your prized bomber jacket. there was a bottle of unopened corellian whiskey on a caf table that rested in front of a worn couch that no one knew how he got into his room. all they knew is that it was comfortable & was a great place to talk about your problems with the blond man currently enduring your drunken antics with a smile.

you plopped down next to him on said couch, toeing your boots off clumsily and letting your feet prop themselves on the coffee table. they didn’t stay there for long. rex’s voice was chiding you right after but he did so softly, knowing that you wouldn’t have done that if in your right mind. “cyare, feet off the table!” he grabbed your legs and swung them over his lap, your angle changing to where your head was resting against the arm of the couch.

“i’m sorry, rexy,” you pouted as you wiggled around for a moment to get truly comfortable in the new position. “forgive me?” you gazed at him through your lashes, your foot now nudging his armored thigh playfully, a smirk growing as he jostled slightly at your efforts.

his grin mirrored yours after a minute and it could’ve powered the entire damn ship with how bright it was. “yeah, i couldn’t stay mad at’cha for long, anyway.” in your honest/drunken opinion, he didn’t smile like that often enough, and you resolved to do anything to bring that light back to his face. you didn’t know if you’d remember the vow by morning, so it was more of a sentiment than anything at this point.

hummed approval emitted from your throat, deciding to enjoy the comfortable silence that had now settled in the room. a gloved hand came up to rub your leg and your eyes drifted shut when he began to massage the muscle. rex took your head falling back a sign that his ministrations were effective and so he continued, secretly filling away the image of you on his couch so relaxed. you were always running yourself ragged trying to keep everything in working order for him and the entire five-oh-first that you deserved this peace, to let loose every once in a while.

then he heard a clunk as his helmet landed in your lap, the thing seeming to float all the way across the room as if you used- holy kriff, you weren’t lying.

“y’know what would be weird, rex? if the five-oh-first had gold paint and the two-twelfth had your blue.” you ran your fingers over the markings of his helmet, taking the time to admire the welding marks that signified the way he customized his phase 2 helmet. “don’t think your jaig eyes would pop out the same th’ do in blue. not sure why not, might just be because this is the only real color i’ve seen you in. blue suits you, i think.”

he wasn’t paying as much attention to your words as he would have been otherwise, but you just made his helmet float to you! he was warranted a bit of distraction, in his opinion. he chuckled when thinking back to it now, knowing that your mischief has probably caused at least one food fight in the mess because of course his gotabor’ika would use the force to start shit.

rex was in his head for a moment too long because your feet had returned to nudging his thigh, you clearly not satisfied with his attention being held elsewhere while you were trying to make conversation. drunk you took his silence as a cue to him being sleepy, and even though plastoid felt okay when you were being carried by the strong arms of your captain, it most likely wasn’t comfortable to sleep in.

getting your feet with a slight wobble (rex would have laughed) you stretched out the hand not holding his helmet toward him, signalling for him to hold your hand. “rex, we gotta go’sleep. bly’s coming tomorrow and i wanna say hi, an’ i can’t say hi if i’m sleeping off a hangover.” rex stood but didn’t take your hand, deciding to remove his armor first.

“your logic is flawless as usual, gotabor’ika. you go on ahead, i’ll get this stuff off and meet you there.” he’s slept next to you before, it wasn’t a new experience for him; the unfamiliar territory was that it was in his bed without the prying eyes of his brothers to watch him hold you as protectively as he ached to when you were assigned to join them on the field.

a little huff followed you making your way to his bed, once again flabbergasting rex as you used the force to move his blanket aside enough to crawl in. your eyes watched approvingly as he stripped down to his bottom blacks, your arms hugging his helmet like an extra pillow.

you didn’t put up a fight when his hands moved your arms away from the helmet, body already succumbing to the exhaustion that would be trailed by a nasty hangover. your eyes were fighting it, them being your only ally in your quest to admire the blond man now shimmying under the covers. his quiet little demand for you to scooch warranted compliance because it sounded so soft, like he was saying something with far more substantial than the six-letter command.

rex felt a hum vibrate in your chest as you tangled your body around his. you’d told him before that you got cold easily and the mechanics’ barracks being below the air filtration system made them colder than most of the ship. you were letting yourself get lost in the warmth of him, your mind becoming peacefully blank of everything but rex.

he simply smiled as your breath fanned across his bare chest, lightly blowing the light chest hair that adorned his body. in this bliss he’d nearly forgotten that you could apparently use the force until you used said force to tug the blanket up to your neck and tuck them around you both. eh, that force stuff can be a problem for future rex. all he wanted to do was stay in this moment with your weight resting comfortably against his side, not a worry in sight.

[sevenstarsinning]

Summary: Raditz loses his mate when Planet Vegeta is destroyed and finds himself working alongside Prince Vegeta. When he comes to Earth to recruit his brother, he’s dealt another devastating blow when Goku refuses to join and leaves him near death. He’s found by a human and attempts to adapt to life on Earth.

Chapter 1 is here

Chapter 2

The smell of wet grass and dirt filled your nostrils when you awoke. Before you opened your eyes, you knew the sun was beaming overhead. Judging by the layer of sweat on your forehead, it was going to be a hot one.

Your clothes stuck uncomfortably to your body as you turned over to your back, groaning the whole way. Along with the nausea, your entire body ached from sleeping on the hard ground all night.

"Human, who are you and why did you sleep on me last night?" A large silhouette stepped up next to you, nearly blocking out the sun entirely.

"Thought you were just a vivid dream." As the events of the previous night flooded your brain, you realized how many unanswered questions there were regarding the handsome stranger.

"Wait... how are you standing? You were pretty much dying a few hours ago."

He bent down and grabbed your wrist, bringing you to your feet without much finesse.

"Hangover!" You shouted when you came face to face with his wide chest. A cold sweat broke out all over and before you could so much as turn your head away, you vomited all over the front of him.

"What the hell is wrong with you, human? That smells horrible," he growled, stepping back to get away from the odor but, of course, it followed him. He tugged at his armor and tried to wrestle it over his head but his face went pale before he could get it off.

"Spicy," you panted while you pulled your shirt over your head to wipe your mouth, "bar food, man... it's good going down but it fucking sucks coming back up."

He bent over and dry heaved a couple of times before his stomach emptied what little still remained. He groaned and clutched his ribs before pulling his cracked armor off the rest of the way. One side of it was almost completely gone and the rest was barely hanging together.

The two of you fell silent when you stopped and finally got a good look at one another. The only thing that covered him looked like some kind of spandex wrestling attire that left little to the imagination.

You stood a few yards away in a black bikini top from your visit to the community pool next to the bar the day before and your favorite pair of jeans, perfectly worn in and comfortable.

"As far as morning after looks go, this is not my finest. Self medicating hangover is not a good look on me," you said, breaking the intense silence between you.

"Who are you?" He asked again, completely unamused.

"Dude, you were dying in the field right next to my house dressed like you just left an anime convention. You tell me who you are first."

"I don't take orders from weak little humans," he snarled, offended you would even attempt to tell him what to do.

"I don't see any weak little humans," you shot back, unfazed by the difference in size between you. He had to be well over a foot taller and built like a tank.

He took in a sharp breath to come back with another insult but all that came out was a groan as he clutched his ribs and dropped to his knees.

You approached with caution as he tried to catch his breath. Each time he inhaled, the pain seemed to intensify. Even on his knees he was close to being at eye level with you.

"Do you need a doctor or... " you trailed off, unsure how to help him.

It was clear he wasn't from Earth which wasn't all that surprising or disconcerting living on the outskirts of West City. It seemed to be a hotspot for strange activity and visitors from the cosmos.

"No doctors," he growled.

"So, what, I'm supposed to just leave you here to die slowly? Not my style, big guy. Come on, my house is right over there." You took a step forward and offered your hand.

He tilted his head up to meet your gaze. The friendly smile you displayed took him by surprise. He expected some amount of fear from his less than welcoming first impression, but there wasn't any.

"I don't need help from a human," he grumbled as he began to stand.

"That's too bad, you're getting it anyway." You grabbed his arm to help him stay balanced and hoisted it over your shoulder. The second he let the full weight of his massive arm rest on you, it felt like you were sinking into the ground.

"Jesus fuck... how are you so goddamn big?"

"How are you so tiny?" He grunted, shifting to take a little weight off of you. All you could do was help keep him steady, anything beyond that was out of the question.

"I haven't been home in a couple of days so the house is probably a mess," you said, ignoring his question.

The small patch of woods near your house offered a short reprieve from the sun's intensity. You had never been more thankful for the end of summer. The sweltering hot days were miserable and difficult to enjoy because it was too uncomfortable to do much of anything.

You came to an abrupt stop when your house came into view. The front half looked fine, not a brick out of place. The back half had been reduced to crumbling walls and bits of rubble.

When your eyes settled on the pod sitting in what used to be your bedroom, you slowly turned your gaze to the stranger at your side.

"What's your name?" You asked, calm on the surface but inside your blood was boiling.

"Raditz, why?" He answered with a little more attitude than you could let slide.

"I'm assuming that's yours, Raditz?" You pointed to the small round ship surrounded by chunks of your walls and roof. Imagining him folding his massive body into the pod would’ve made you laugh if not for the anger over your house.

"Yes."

"And where you're from, I'm assuming you're well versed in galactic travel?"

"Yes, human. What are you getting at?" He sighed and clutched his ribs, not at all bothered by the fact that his pod decimated your house.

"This area is like 90% cow pasture, how the actual fuck did you crash land on my house?!" You shouted, loud enough for your voice to echo.

"How dare you raise your voice-"

"Oh fuck no, you're not pulling that high and mighty bullshit with me," you interrupted, hands shaking from the overwhelming anger.

"Do you have a death wish? I've killed beings bigger and far scarier than you for much less," he shouted back despite the pain he knew it would cause. 

"You destroyed my house, you gigantic asshole!" You stared up at him, not the least bit intimidated.

"I'm warning you, human, your life means nothing to me and I won't hesitate to end it," he growled back.

"Is that supposed to scare me? Dude, this is Earth, like half of us wish for death every fucking day!"

Raditz opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out while he processed what you said.

Your chest heaved with a long, drawn out sigh. Without another word, you headed towards what was left of the house. The inside was a complete wreck even in the front half of the house. The impact of the pod hitting the back half of the house shifted everything and left the floor covered with valuables from your shelves and TV stand. The only thing left unscathed was the furniture.

Glass from broken picture frames crunched under your shoes as you navigated the living room to grab the first aid kit from the small closet across from the bathroom.

"Sit." You pointed to the couch when Raditz appeared in the doorway.

He hesitated for a moment, looking around at the chaos his ship caused. After crossing the threshold, he moved gingerly towards the couch and sat down next to you.

With the first aid kit laid out on the coffee table, you shuffled through to find disinfectant wipes, bandages, and whatever else you might need to get him patched up.

He slowly pulled his ripped up black spandex top over his head and sat back on the couch, shifting to find the most comfortable position. His whole left side was one massive bruise with cuts and dried blood smeared across it. The cuts on the rest of his body had long since stopped bleeding but still needed to be cleaned.

"I'm guessing you have a broken rib or two?" You finally turned to look at him. The anger and annoyance that marred his chiseled features just minutes before was replaced with curiosity.

He nodded and moved his arm out of the way to give you access to his battered side.

"How do you take care of broken bones where you're from?" You pulled a disinfectant wipe from a small foil packet and unfolded it.

"Medical machines," he answered. Right when you pressed the wipe to the cuts on his abs, he hissed.

"Keep talking, what's a medical machine on your planet?" You continued, hoping to keep him distracted from the discomfort.

"A pod... " he winced and took a deep breath, "full of a healing liquid... it can heal us from any wound as long as we're still breathing."

You placed a bandage over one of the deeper cuts and moved onto the next. "I wish we had something like that here. How long does it take?"

"Dammit, woman," he grunted when you added a little pressure to his ribs to clean another long gash.

"Depends on the wound," he said through gritted teeth, "minutes up to a few hours."

"And I'm guessing you don't have one in the pod that destroyed my house?" You raised an eyebrow and glanced at him.

"Obviously not. What do you have on this pathetic planet that can heal me quickly? I have more important things to do than sit here and answer your questions," he bit back.

You pressed against his ribs out of spite and got an anguished groan out of him. Before you could return to cleaning the last of his cuts, he grabbed your arm to stop you.

"I could snap your wrist with one hand."

"Yeah? If you really wanted to, you would've just done it," you challenged. It was a gamble to keep pushing back but you ran out of fucks to give long ago.

A few seconds of silence passed between you and he finally released his grip.

His curiosity returned when you focused on patching him up as if he didn't just threaten bodily harm. The way you were able to be simultaneously angry and caring towards him wasn't something he expected from a human.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I don't want a rotting corpse in the field next to my house," you answered without a second thought, "you're also not leaving until you fix the chaos your pod caused."

"I owe you nothing, human-"

"You're also kinda cute but that's not going to last long if you keep being a dick," you continued, turning your attention to his arm.

He jerked it away and growled when a sharp pain shot through his body.

"Feel like a big man now?" You chided before pulling his arm back into your lap.

"How do you expect me to fix this? I'm a warrior, not a builder."

You raised an eyebrow and said the first thing that came to mind. In retrospect, it was probably the worst thing you could've said but you were incapable of keeping your mouth shut.

"Maybe you'll be a better builder since you clearly suck at the whole warrior thing."

A tingle went down your spine when he turned his murderous glare to you. It wasn't the dying part that filled you with fear, it was the infinite number of ways he could go about it that made your life flash before your eyes.

[dismuch47]

STARTING POINT

Length: Longer than a drabble, but a one shot with no intention of continuing.

Marvel AU in which Vision (I’m calling him Paul) is the illegitimate child of Howard Stark. There are tensions between half-brothers, and this is the first time that they actually talk about something other than the strange family situation. And it happens to be about... a girl. I hope you enjoy.

This has been moved over from my deactivated blog, so no, this is not stolen if you recognize it.

“’Sup, nerd?” Tony let the door slam itself shut after flinging it open in a grand flourish. He flung his bag of dirty laundry on the mahogany dining table, let his leather jacket fall to the immaculately clean floor in a heap, and then trotted over to the kitchen fridge to excavate.

Paul shifted out of his cross-legged, curved shoulder posture (his studying posture) and sat up in a rigid manner. He placed his book on the cushion beside him, his lips in a thin line.

“Hilarious...considering your field of study in Quantum Mechanics and Theory, Anthony.” Paul called out for the other youth to hear. It wasn’t in his nature to give jabs to other people... but ever since Mr. Stark... or rather Paul’s biological father... had acknowledged the existence of a bastard son in England and the illegitimate child had been included into the multi-billionaire’s home at Mrs. Stark’s request... Paul had tried to rise to the challenge in order to “bond” with the golden son, Tony Stark. Apparently he only responded to sarcasm, rather than sincere attempts of friendship that Paul preferred.

Tony peeked his face from around the kitchen door, tilting the aviator sunglasses down from his face. “I study it, I don’t wear it. What is that, an argyle sweater vest?” His face disappeared once more as he grabbed one of his father’s choice beers from the fridge, closing the door shut with his hip.

“Mrs. Stark likes it...” Paul looked down placing a hand on the sweater vest. He didn’t dislike it... but he didn’t care for it. But anything was better then the second-hand clothing that was always too small for him back at the London shelter. And if it helped the mistress of this home approve of a bastard child more...

“Your mother will disapprove if she sees that rubbish on the dining table.” Paul warned his older half brother. He picked up his thick book and began reading again. “Why you insist on bringing that home when you can just-”

“Carmen. CARMEN will ‘disapprove’. I don’t think mother has done laundry or set a dinning table since her college days...” He slumped down in a white wing-backed chair across from the couch, separated by a glass coffee table. “Besides it’s all apart of the collegiate experience: announcing my arrival home with proof of my hard work and stank of my sheer brilliance.”

“Anthony, your father-”

“For the last time, it’s TONY.” He took off his sunglasses, his dark eyes like daggers at this blonde intruder of his home. He didn’t dislike Paul... he disliked how different Paul looked, sounded, and talked... forever reminding everyone in the household of his father’s infidelity. Of his mother’s pain... and tragic kindness for wanting this person to be part of the Stark family. The dark moment passed and Tony tossed his glasses carelessly to the glass table.

“...And dad can just deal with the mess.”

Paul’s blue eyes were cast downward, trying to resume his reading... recognizing the subtext of that wording, but Tony turned on the television to an outrageous volume, swallowed and sighed loudly over his beer.

“Tony-”

“Little brother, PLEASE.” Tony cut in. “Your bro is nursing a hangover at the moment.” He took another swig of beer. “Do you mind?”

There was no warmth in the word ‘brother’; it seemed more like a reminder that Paul was an outsider that Tony had to put up with. The lanky teenager began to slowly pack up his schoolwork, not feeling particularly welcome in the space...

Tony blinked darkly at the screen; images and colors barely managing to distract him from his mood... and guilt. He was mad at his father... not the accidental child resulting from unprotected sex. His brown eyes darted over to Paul, who was quietly collecting his things to leave.

“What are you reading?” Tony asked, monotone.

Paul blinked in surprise, then looked down at the book in his hand. “A Tale of Two Cities.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “This is why you are a nerd...”

“It is a school requirement.”

“Is it your first time reading it?” Tony raised a dark brow. “Or is it your 3rd or 4th time?”

Paul shut his mouth. It was his 5th. He couldn’t explain how it was that he was able to read so fast, or find a book so compelling upon a 5th or 6th reading. He traced his long fingers across the dog-eared pages.

“At the shelter, all I had was books. I...I like to revisit them...” He couldn’t meet the Stark’s brown eyes. “Like how Mrs. Stark likes to watch old movies over and over...she says they are ‘old friends’ that never change, but grow more enriching with each viewing.”

Tony looked down at the beer in his hand. That did sound like something his mother would say. He recalled her telling that to him. He also felt super awesome for reminding Paul about his life of poverty... which was still fresh. Tony turned off the tv.

“Fine. Books are the exception.” He finally looked over at Paul. “But you have GOT to get out of that gaming stuff if you ever want to get laid, Goggles.”

“Vision.”Paul corrected, a little too hastily. His hands held on to the book a little tighter. “It is live action role-play-”

“Oh my god, I can’t tell you how much I don’t care-”

“-And it is very therapeutic. It helps me get out the frustrations of being in a new home environment, learning American customs... feeling so different. According to Dr. Cho.” Paul defended, blossoming as he talked about this passion of his. “Vision is not just a character... he is an extension of my subconscious; trying to sort out and deal with my very average conflicts.”

“Yeah, that’s the ah...mutant...god... robot thing?” Tony asked, with a belch. Pretending to care was starting to give him a headache.

“Synthezoid.” Paul added.

“Right... with the magical jewel stone for... ultimate power?” Tony yawned

“Mind Stone.” Paul began realizing how stupid this all sounded. Tony had been present at the therapy session when Dr. Cho had explained how this experimental role play with peers might be good for Paul.

“Fascinating. I think I need to go whiz now.” Tony got up from his chair, setting the empty beer bottle, with out a coaster, on the glass table. “Well have fun with that sausage fest.”

“There are girls.” Paul blurted. “...A girl... there is one girl who does it too.”

Tony backed up, a bemused expression at Paul’s outburst. “I’m sure she’s a looker... geeking it up with the oily skinned, pimple-marked-”

“She is beautiful.” Paul’s tone took Tony aback; it sounded stoney firm and  indisputable. And Tony couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit emasculated with his younger half brother now towering above him.

“Prove it.” Tony beckoned.

Paul narrowed his eyes down Tony Stark, feeling it trivial to prove his truth... as if his best friend was some prized stock animal to be appraised. Tony didn’t deserve to gaze upon real beauty... but Paul was a teenage boy. And he wanted to make this college tech jock drool.

He sat down, pulling out his phone and searching for a picture of her. Tony plopped down beside him and yanked the phone out of his younger half-brother’s hands. Paul protested, reaching with his long arms, but Tony was athletic and broad. He put Paul in a headlock after a brief struggle, and scrolled through the pictures on the flip phone.

Tony gave a sigh at all the larp pictures... they were in COSTUMES. “Is that face paint? Really, Vision??? Oh my god, you are going to die a virgin...” Then he came across a larper who was entirely too hot to be hanging out with such nerds. “Whoa... whoooaaaa. Is that her?” Tony showed the screen to Paul, who was still gasping for air before pulling out of Tony���s lessening grasp.

“...Yes...” Paul tried to push his hair back into place.

“Name?”

“Scarlet Witch-”

“Her real name, idiot.”

“Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.”

“Russian? Like Natasha... oh what’s her name. You know, she’s a senior this year...”

“Wanda is from Sokovia.”

“Same difference.” Tony shrugged.

“Actually-”

“Which means she probably has one of those dusky european accents.” Tony stood up, looking at more pictures. “Please tell me she has a dusky accent.”

“...Yes.”

“Oh god.” Tony looked at the screen for a beat. “You’re sure she’s only in high school?”

Paul firmly took his phone back.

“Fine... too young for me. And way out of your league.”

Paul looked down at the screen. He knew that was true, but it didn’t hurt less to hear someone say it. “She is just a friend. My only friend.” He held on to the phone for a beat, then closed it. He returned it to his pocket and picked up his book that he had discarded on the table. His shoulders sagged, and the words on the page were blurring together. Completely unreadable.

Tony damned himself when he saw the effect that his teasing had on Paul. The oh so sensitive, yet robotic Paul. “Okay. I’m taking this away.” He took the book out of his half-brother’s hands and sat on the glass table, directly across from the tall teen. “You’re tall, you have a pensively sweet British accent, and some girls like the peach-fuzz stubble look. You just need to stop slouching, and you’d be any girl’s dream boat.”

Paul looked up. “You have said that I’m oafish, awkward, and that my dialect is ‘annoying as hell’.”

“I lied. It’s hard to compete with. I cut you down to make myself feel bigger. Thank you Dr. Cho.” That didn’t seem to make Paul feel better; he seemed to slump even more in his seat, eyes downcast at the floor. “What... what is this? I basically called you pretty and you're being a pooper. What’s  the problem?”

The blonde teen took a deep breath. “Steve Rogers.”

Tony blinked. “The star quarterback? The ruggedly handsome boy next door, class president, and so patriotic that he’s Captain America at all the Sunday Picnics? Sky-blue eyed, chiseled Adonis-bodied Steve Rogers? That Steve Rogers??”

Paul clenched his jaw and looked up at Tony.

“Oh man... good luck with that.” The Stark son gave Paul a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Paul leaned back into the sofa, feeling defeated. He looked up at the ornate crown molding on the ceiling. “She does not talk about him all the time... but she stares at him constantly. She wants to take our roleplaying sessions out by the football field just so he can see her in her costume. She has even invited him to one... and he came. She only stayed by my side because she was too nervous to be alone with him. He smiles at her and I just... I...”

“Wait... so they haven’t hooked up?”

“...I do not believe so.”

“Has he told her he even likes her?”

“Yes... well... he told the group that he likes us and what we do. He’s actually really nice and great in battle, which is an absolute annoyance...”

Tony rolled his eyes. “And have you told her? How you feel about her?”

Paul looked down at Tony. He opened his mouth but closed it. He looked away, trying to find anything else to focus on, but Tony drumming his fingers against the glass table drew his attention.

“If I told her how I felt... and she did not feel the same...”

“Well Vision,” Tony said standing up with a stretch. “Don’t you at least agree it’s a good starting point?” He made his way to the kitchen to throw away his empty bottle.

Paul sat, thinking about all the scenarios in which he could get rejected by Miss Maximoff. But there was one hopeful scenario in which she, in her usual tender way, is caught off-guard. Her eyes would warm and a broad smile would light him on fire inside...as it always did.

“Perhaps.”

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: seungcheol x reader. ⚬ word count: 4865. ⚬ warnings: drinking / smoking. ⚬ genre: mostly angst, fluff, some suggestive/borderline nsfw scenes. a casual life!au? (meaning he isn’t an idol) 

✧✎ synopsis: seungcheol knows you’re no longer together, that he should’t be thinking about you as often as he does, and yet, you keep appearing. his heart doesn’t know how many times it can afford to split.  

✧✎ a/n: i really wanted to write smth as i work toward finishing that other massive fic. so HERE. bc i miss seungcheol ;-; and idk i just like angst lol. 

i.

Seungcheol doesn’t know if it’s right for him to be looking at you like this. It doesn’t necessarily feel wrong, but there’s a distinct craving in his gaze that spots him with doubt. You’re not together any more. The chapter where your lives were once romantically intertwined was coldly shut months ago, leaving little room for reconciliation or even the most surface-level of acquaintances. Yet, Seungcheol is struck with a sudden pining as his eyes inspect you from top to bottom across the room, finding it pure luck you were both at the same new year’s party.

There’s a doorway from the living room that leads into the kitchen. Seungcheol is sitting on the sofa with a jade-tinted bottle in his hand, though the amount of alcohol he’s consumed since first arriving has greatly subsided. He’s too distracted by you to even raise the bottle to his lips, nor does he adequately listen when Joshua attempts a conversation. You’re talking to some people he doesn’t recognize, your eyes rather milky and a shiny can in your hand. He stares at the side of your neck and thinks it would be nice if he were giving you a hickey right now.

“Hey.” Joshua bumps Seungcheol’s shoulder and the boy finally turns his head.

He sees Wonwoo and Hansol as well, who give Seungcheol a warm glance. He notes that Hansol is carrying his signature black lunchbox.

Joshua then leans toward Seungcheol’s ear in order to whisper over the music: “We’re going outside to smoke, you coming or not?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Pass,” he says, “I don’t really feel like it.”

He pays attention to the beer in his hand, titling his head back as he gulps down a significant amount of the tangy, bubbly flavour. It doesn’t taste that good, and the bottle’s not even cold at this point, but Seungcheol figures he should just finish it anyways. Joshua sees you in the kitchen, leaning generously against the sink while you attempt to smile at the strangers who converse with you. It was worth a try to get Seungcheol off the couch and away from lamenting at your lost relationship, but he’s unimaginably stubborn when he wants to be.

“Okay,” Joshua replies, patting his shoulder, “don’t get too hung up or anything.”

Seungcheol watches the small crowd weave their way through the congregation to reach the patio door, the last he glimpses of Joshua being his bright blue hat before he slips into the chilly night. Quickly, Seungcheol polishes off the remaining alcohol inside the jade bottle, heavily swallowing the deep burn that melts down his throat while deserting the glass on the arm of the couch. He senses a distant thrumming in his cranium, knows he’ll regret every sip by morning, but for now he cares so very little.

As he leans back in his seat, Seungcheol comes to focus on the body that’s suddenly standing right in front of him. It’s weird, who would do that? However, the breath instantly whisks from the boys’ lungs when he realizes that it’s not just some intoxicated, fucked up stranger who isn’t even cognisant of what room they’re in. It’s you. You’re standing in front of him, to which Seungcheol poorly hides the stupor that colours his face. Before he can stumble out a single word, you’re straddling his lap and settling your hands against his firm shoulders.

Evidently, Seungcheol doesn’t know what the hell is happening. Neither of you are in a sober headspace. Furthermore, he hasn’t touched you (let alone been this close to you) in almost three months. Out of habituality, he grabs the familiar warmth of your waist, the simple contact with your skin igniting an emotion that was once wholly repressed. Staring into your eyes, he sees how foggy they are. He knows his can’t look much different.

“W-What are you doing?” Seungcheol stutters, his cheeks hot and sunset pink.

At first, you don’t speak, only crack a small smile while wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing your faces in close proximity until you’re practically breathing the same air.

You blink at him heavily. “Kiss me.” You whisper against his mouth.

Seungcheol doesn’t believe he’s capable of ever denying you.

The next few hours seem to seamlessly blend together. Seungcheol remembers the intense make-out that ensued on the couch and the little regard he carried for the environment around him. Once he tastes the sharp liquor from your lips, he completely submits to that catastrophic buzz you give him. Feeling your weight push down against his lap, how your fingertips slip through his soft, onyx hair, the way it feels morally wrong to welcome your tongue into his mouth, but so physically right that Seungcheol can only pull your hips closer.

He remembers the warm, open-mouthed kisses he nipped to your sensitive neck, murmuring in a slurred, gritty tone: “let me take you upstairs, baby.”

Joshua might throw the remainder of Hansol’s stale bong water over his head if he discovered what you and Seungcheol did. Somehow, there’s an empty bedroom available at the end of the dim corridor. After falling onto the sheets, you hastily pull the white top over your head and fling it toward a dusky corner, reaching for Seungcheol as he climbs over top your body. While pressing more heated kisses against your throat, already bruising and marked with indents from his teeth, Seungcheol’s hand rubs a sweet friction between your thighs, right over your jeans.

He hears you release a small cry of his name, your nails dragging down his back.

Nothing has ever made his heart shake more.

ii.

Seungcheol is confused as to what time is it. There’s no alarm clock on the bedside table, and his phone is buried within the pocket of his navy green jacket slumped at the end of the bed. He can’t hear much from the level beneath him. Looking toward the blinds, he can only gauge slits of the night sky. All of a sudden, there’s a sickly coughing noise from behind the shut bathroom door, to which he views a small sliver of yellow light underneath. Seungcheol notes the empty space beside him. He hears another cough, followed by a pained and irritated groan.

Damn – you have to be hungover.

Stumbling drearily out from the bed, Seungcheol brushes away the black strands of hair that flop before his eyes. He almost topples over trying to get his boxers back on. The pounding in his head isn’t unbearable, and he figures he’ll be fine after getting some water in his system and dozing off to a few painkillers. Seungcheol taps his knuckles against the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice still thick with sleep, “how bad is it?”

There’s a moment of silence. Seungcheol assumes it must feel bizarre to have your ex consoling you through a hangover, especially considering the history of last night.

“I don’t know…” comes your weak response, “I think I’m dying.”

Seungcheol leans his head against the wood and laughs. “You’re not dying, honey. Can I come in?”

The door swings open, and Seungcheol sees you half-dressed in your white t-shirt and underwear, a watery film in your eyes and a look of pure exhaustion draining your countenance. Then, you’re immediately collapsing back to the cold tiling, leaning your head against the side of the bathtub while the toilet sits across from you. This doesn’t feel like an unfamiliar scene. Seungcheol used to always nurture you through your intoxication, and at least this time you possess enough strength to stand without your legs trembling.

“You want me to get you anything?” Seungcheol asks. “Water? A wet cloth? Some pills?”

He doesn’t know where he’ll get the pills. It’s probably three in the morning, but he figures the convenience store in town might still be open.

You swallow tightly and wrap your arms around your knees, the fluorescent lights gleaming against your balmy, flushed skin. It seems as though you won’t look him in the eyes. Seungcheol understands. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Neither of you should be in this bedroom.

A poignant sigh escapes your chest. “What’s wrong with me?” You ask, the water glimmering bright in your eyes. “Why did we do this?”

Seungcheol stiffens. When he catches a glimpse of his body in the mirror, he can read the hazy extent of your night together. The bruises are tinted like cherry and violets, smudged against his chest, his collarbone and neck. Even now, as he really concentrates, Seungcheol can feel the cool air sting dully against his back, which he can only hypothesize is decorated in long, deep scratches that will possibly burn like hell in the shower. His body hasn’t looked like this in months. There’s a clandestine part of him that wishes the marks will never lose their vibrancy.

He doesn’t know how to soothe your conflict.

Instead, Seungcheol takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub and stares down at you tenderly.

“I don’t know,” he replies, “we don’t always make the right decisions.”

You tilt your head back and meet his eyes. Seungcheol’s chest flutters.

For a moment, you look like you want to say something; however, an immediate grimace wrinkles your face and a tight hand is curling around your stomach. You scoot close to the toilet, holding onto its rim while a heavy cough burns acrid against your throat and suddenly, you’re upchucking the potent, venomous liquor from last night. Seungcheol collects your hair in his hand, pulling it back from your face. Once the surges calm for a few minutes, you’re too energy-depleted to do much apart from hang over the toilet, Seungcheol rubbing your back.

It’s three in the morning, but he feels like he would do anything for you.

iii.

Seungcheol opens his wallet and forks out the bills necessary to cover his lunch. He slides out from the booth first, accompanied by Seokmin and Jeonghan who suggested they go out to eat after their basketball game. Seungcheol trails behind them on his phone as they walk down a slim corridor toward the front of the restaurant. He’s texting Joshua about what their fridge looks like, and if it’s necessary to ask Jeonghan about making a stop at the supermarket. The afternoon light is dull as they enter the front house, and Seungcheol sees it’s raining outside.

“Wait—,” Jeonghan stops them before they can leave. “Let me try the gumball machine. Does anyone have ten cents?”

“The gumball machine?” Seokmin laughs. “Are you a child?”

“Shut up.” Jeonghan tuts in response. “I want a pink one. Now do you have ten cents or not?”

“Sheesh, give me a second, I’m checking.”

Seungcheol has developed the skill of tuning out their innocuous banter. He looks through the windows and into the downpour, which ripples unforgivingly against the glass and slicks the pavement. For their sake, he’s glad Jeonghan was able to find a parking spot across the street. As the boy gets down on his knee and crams the small coin into the slot, cranking the handle, something manages to catch in Seungcheol’s peripheral vision. His heart skips a beat. You’re looking out the window while nibbling worrisomely upon your bottom lip.

“Are you freaking kidding? Orange? That’s the worst.”

“Why does it matter?” Seokmin quips. “They all taste the same.”

Jeonghan huffs petulantly. “But I wanted pink! Do you have another ten cents?”

Seungcheol hasn’t seen you since your wicked hangover at the New Year’s party. Though it’s a moment of the past, he remembers the situation so vividly, even more so how restless he felt afterward. He was unable to remove you from his mind, and he thought about you so often that he felt the ache with his whole chest. You haven’t noticed him yet. Seungcheol wants to approach you, though he’s not sure how kindly you’ll react or if you’ll brush him off.

“Awe, yes! Pink!”

Jeonghan stands triumphantly from the gumball machine. He holds the pink candy between his fingers and gets ready to pop it straight in his mouth, and yet, the slippery thing flings from his grasp at the last second. The gumball hits the floor, rolling outside into the rain just as someone runs indoors with their umbrella. Seokmin starts cackling, and Jeonghan just looks like he wants to go home. But Seungcheol can’t leave right now. He decides he has to talk to you.

“Meet you guys in the car,” he says, “I have to do something first.”

Seungcheol taps you on the shoulder. You jump slightly, and he feels bad about scaring you, but he’s relieved to see that your expression is cordial rather than aggravated. It blatantly feels strange. You don’t resemble a stranger, yet you’re not extremely clear to him either.

“Seungcheol? Did you eat here?”

The boy nods. “Yeah, I came here after basketball with some friends”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, looking off to the side, “I’m just waiting.”

You then gesture out the window, toward the grey, heavy rain. Seungcheol spots Seokmin and Jeonghan walking across the street, sporting their jackets pulled over their heads, looking somewhat like imbeciles who he has a soft spot for. At one point you were close with both of them, but now Seungcheol doesn’t even know if you still keep in touch. When you broke up, your worlds started floating apart, and that included contact with each other’s friends.

“Right,” Seungcheol snaps his fingers, “you’re still doing the tutoring thing at the library, huh?”

A timid smile pulls on your lips. “I’m tutoring someone today, but it’s so rainy out. I don’t think it’s gonna pass very soon.”

Seungcheol finds that he doesn’t even process what comes out from his mouth. There’s a sudden rush of giddiness in his veins, and he feels like his nervous, sophomore-self that once crushed on you before your relationship even started. At the same time, it’s an offer he used to make without thought when you were dating, and it warps into a conflicting, emotional mess.

“Do you want my windbreaker?” He asks, plucking at the black and white fabric. “It’s waterproof and stuff.”

Your mouth hangs open for a little bit.

“Uhm… I just—I don’t know, you don’t have to—,”

“It doesn’t matter, seriously.” Seungcheol replies, staring into your wide eyes with a soft expression. “Just give it back whenever we see each other again, okay?”

You lick your lips, swallowing tautly before nodding your head. Seungcheol removes his jacket and helps you slip into the material. It’s a little bit big on you, and the hood droops down far over your face, but, god, seeing you in his clothes engenders Seungcheol’s heart to beat so unbelievably fast. He experiences a concoction of different emotions, different memories. He remembers how it felt seeing you wear his t-shirt after the first time you slept together, how he felt when you’d set up a long distance skype call and you’d be dressed in his old hoodie.

Everything comes rushing back. He doesn’t want to walk away from you, but he knows it’s wrong to linger. You don’t belong to each other anymore.

But at least he’ll get to see you again.

iv.

Seungcheol bounces the basketball a few times against the lacquered floor, feeling the leather texture brush beneath his palm. Then, he takes a deep shot, watching the ball suction perfectly into the hoop just before it echoes against the ground. He was the sole person occupying the gym after a late-night practice. Seokmin was with him about ten minutes ago, but he ended up packing his things and heading off to shower stalls, wishing Seungcheol a goodnight. Even though Seungcheol said he would be leaving shortly, he didn’t know why he was still here.

He picked the ball up and tossed it again, hearing the satisfying swish of the net.

The gym doors suddenly squeak, loud and metallic, to which Seungcheol takes out an earbud assuming that maybe Seokmin forgot something. However, the face that smiles at him doesn’t belong to Seokmin at all, and Seungcheol feels his heart soar. You’re holding the windbreaker that the boy let you borrow during the downpour last week, and he hears a relieved sigh.

“I figured I might catch you here.”

Seungcheol smiles and sets his earbud back in. It astonishes him that you can recall the days he has basketball practice, though Seungcheol supposes it makes great sense considering you used to attend all his warm-ups and games. He grows oddly fond seeing you from the court again.

“Just put in next to that black bag on the bench.”

“I never got to thank you for letting me use it,” you explain while returning the windbreaker to the rest of his belongings, “it was really pouring out, but I was definitely less wet than if I had nothing. I wasn’t too sure if you would still be here. Of course, I knew when I saw Seokmin.”

“It must’ve been weird for him to see you coming back here.” He replies. You would never come to the court unless Seungcheol was there.

“He said hi to me,” you admit, scratching your arm, “he looked kinda nervous though.”

Seungcheol can’t help but note that you seem a little saddened by the interaction. The break-up between you two was all but civilized and pretty. There was shouting, tears, bitter and cold words shanked through the thick air with infinitesimal regard for the other’s feelings. Seungcheol remembers you pushing a picture frame of you two together off the shelf, how the glass cracked, different shards scattering far across the floor. He remembers storming into his bedroom and throwing all your clothes into one heaping pile, demanding that you leave, swearing that he hopes to never see you again. Now, everything feels so pointless and stupid.

The falling out crumbled an entire web of ties between you. Seungcheol understands why Seokmin would be nervous to see you, but he hates to know how it’s upset you.

“Hey,” Seungcheol calls out, attempting to lift the depressive mood, “Wanna shoot?” He bounces the basketball.

You immediately tense. “Uh – no. I haven’t touched a basketball since we were dati—I mean, well – you know. I haven’t played at all.”

Seungcheol smiles, rolling his eyes. “Just come here.” He beckons. “I’ll remind you.”

“I-I don’t know, my friend is in the car. I shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“It’ll take two minutes.” He reasons. “I promise.”

The boy is delighted to see you comply, even if you are hesitant and approach him with bleeding apprehensiveness. While he shows you how to hold the ball as well as the correct motion to make with your wrist, there’s a smile blooming from one corner of your mouth to the other. Sometimes the past feels exactly like it should: the past. At this moment, a warmth ignites between you two, a spark that feels passionate and ever-lasting. Once he gives a few examples, the ball is suddenly in your hands, and he watches brightly as you sink a basket.

Seungcheol collects the ball, smirking. “You wanna play?” He then asks, checking the ball straight into your chest.

“No,” you respond, sending it back harder, “you know I just said I have someone waiting.”

“It hasn’t been two minutes yet.”

“There’s probably thirty seconds left. We have no time.”

“Fine,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “be a loser.” He doesn’t wait for you, and flicks the ball through the hoop.

It hits the glossy wood, bounces a couple times, and proceeds to roll slowly across the ground. You look at Seungcheol, and Seungcheol looks at you. There’s a small moment of silence.

Until you’re both racing across the floor with arms extended, practically throwing yourselves toward the basketball. It just ghosts under your fingertips, and somehow you manage to secure it against your chest, though you’re unable to even rise from the floor as Seungcheol straddles your waist and attempts to whack the ball out of your grip. The chime of your laughter echoes loudly through the entire gymnasium. You’re too slippery and end up weaseling away, scrambling haphazardly to your feet and using your last breath to sail the ball toward the net.

Seungcheol is too late. He reaches for you, but the ball has already gone through.

As the boy wraps his arms around your waist and hugs your back against his firm, hard chest, you cry out triumphantly, pumping your fists in the air. To anyone who observed from the outside, you wouldn’t exactly paint the image of a broken relationship. You were laughing, celebrating, making harmless mockery pertaining to the other with stupid grins on your faces.

“You’re such a cheater.” Seungcheol says.

Wriggling to face him in the comfort of his grasp, you slide your arms around Seungcheol’s neck and scrunch your nose.

“How did I cheat? That was fair!”

Seungcheol grabs your hips tight, pulling you in close against his body until he can almost count the individual sparkles in your eyes and smell the sweetness of your hair.

“Uh? You said you weren’t gonna play.”

“I wasn’t!” You giggle. “Until you called me a l—,”

The metal doors squeak again. At the speed of light, you and Seungcheol detach from each other, the playful mood disintegrating as the girl who’d been waiting in the car comes looking for you. Seungcheol sees the light drain from your eyes. He watches your shoulders slump, and the deep lump you forcefully swallow upon being interrupted. Seungcheol is utterly disappointed too. His heart doesn’t quite beat the same when you bid him the tiniest, quietest goodbye before running over to your friend, apologizing to her for the unexpected wait. The doors rattle once more, and then the gym is completely empty. It stings worse than anything.

Seungcheol doesn’t understand why he can’t just have you back.

v.

It’s sometime after ten-thirty when Seungcheol finally leaves Hansol and Wonwoo’s house. It’s not a long walk back to his miniscule apartment complex crammed in the middle of town, and he loves to soaks in the calm beauty belonging to the clear, star-speckled sky. He only went over to smoke after a tiresome day at his job, but he ended up staying much longer after Wonwoo revealed his game console. They took turns playing Portal and Grand Theft Auto. It was fun, a perfect way to unwind, and now Seungcheol is ready to wash up and go to bed.

He’s wearing his earphones while walking through town, listening to old songs that remind him of you, a playlist actually, one he started making before you were even together. No matter what happens – Seungcheol is always thinking about you these days. He misses you in a way that aches deeply, like his heart has been split in two by a sharp and jagged stone. In fact, while standing at an intersection, waiting for the light to glow in a walking man symbol, Seungcheol almost mistakes someone sitting at the bus bench across the street for you.

A moment passes, and he squints through the meagre lighting. Wait—that is you.

Your gaze keeps flitting nervously from the lurid phone in your hand to the dimly lit area that surrounds you. Your knee is quickly bouncing, and Seungcheol can sense at a distance how nervous you’re feeling. He doesn’t know why you’re sitting alone in the dark, but he can’t just leave you there. Instead of walking his usual route back to the apartment complex, Seungcheol approaches you, calls out your name softly as to not make you afraid. At first you respond to him with a moonfaced expression, but then you recognize his face and your heart quiets.

“Everything okay?” Seungcheol asks, taking out his earphones.

You gulp thickly and reflect a jittery smile. “Um, kinda. My boss made me stay late for closing. I tried texting my friend to pick me up, but she’s not responding.” A frozen breeze rifles through the air and you shiver. “I-I just, I don’t want to walk home alone.”

Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to extend his hand.

“C’mon, I’ll take you.”

A grateful smile warms your face. Standing up from the cold bench, you grab Seungcheol’s hand and interlock fingers. Your address is still fresh in his mind, to which he easily navigates the streets with you beside him. At one point, a loud dog starts barking from a few blocks over and you nearly jump out from your own skin, though Seungcheol just slides his arm around your waist, gently pulling you further into his solace. He feels you instantly relax against him. An indescribable light fills his chest. To be able to make you feel safe, like he used to, it’s aweing.

“This is it, right?” Seungcheol asks upon approaching the house porch. He knows it’s right, but he waits for you to confirm it.

“You’re right.” You tell him in a tiny voice.

His hand grazes the small of your back as you walk up the steps together, stopping before the door and its weathered, white paint. A bitterness stings against Seungcheol’s throat, a truly horrible bitterness. He doesn’t want to say goodbye – he wants to stay. He wants to take you inside and wait on your bed as you get ready for the night. He wants to experience that beautiful fluttering in his stomach when you crawl into his arms and shut off the light, his hand stroking your spine as you fall asleep, your soft, slow breaths fanning against his neck.

Why does it have to hurt like this? Seungcheol hates that he’s so in love with you, but he’d never want it any other way. Even if he has to endure this pain, it’s better than never getting to know you, touch you or love you. He swallows the hot salt and gets ready to bid his goodbye.

“Sleep well, okay? Maybe I’ll see you agai—,”

Suddenly, you’re hugging Seungcheol. Your arms wrap securely around his waist and you bury your face in his neck. He takes a slight step backward, caught off guard by the blitz of affection. He hears you suck in a trembling breath, and then he feels wet, cold droplets slide against his skin. Instantly, he holds you, one hand dearly cradling the back of your head while the other passes up and down your back. You shake in his arms and he doesn’t know why. Seungcheol just hugs you tighter. If he has to, he’ll hold you for the entire night.

“S-Seungcheol,” you release his name in a sob, lifting your head from his neck. His heart beats wildly as he looks directly into your teary eyes. “I’m s-sorry.” You cry to him. “I-I’m so sorry…”

“What?” He cups your face, collecting a few thick tears with his thumb. “For what, honey?”

“E-Everything,” you hiccup, grabbing his waist tighter, “for the st-stupid fights, the p-picture, all those h-horrible things I yelled at you – I hate my-myself because of it.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and brings your face in closer to his, brown eyes glistering. “I don’t care about that. I don’t. I said horrible things too, sweetheart. I yelled at you, I told you to leave, I made you so upset, and I know exactly how you feel.” He rubs his thumb tenderly below your damp eye, and you ease into his touch. “But that was a different time. No matter what, I’m still in love with you. What happened months ago doesn’t change that. I promise.”

You sniffle back the new pearls that nearly stain your face.

“Really? Y-You still love me?”

Seungcheol leans in. He presses his forehead against yours, his fingers delicately framing your wet, warm cheek. And then he’s kissing you softly, pouring every ounce of his heart into the contact. Your hand curls around the back of his neck. You respond passionately, keeping him as near as possible, nipping gently at his bottom lip while stealing each other’s breath. Seungcheol peers directly into your gaze. It’s glassy from the tears, but also sincere and welcoming.

“I never stopped.” He says earnestly.

He feels your fingertips thread through the black silk of his hair. You kiss him again, and his grip finds the familiarity of your hips, leading you backward until you press against the door.

“I love you too.” You admit to him between every peck.

In the rising heat, you whisper against the boy’s pretty mouth, “I want you back,” to which the words engender Seungcheol’s heart to positively melt. Seungcheol knows you already have him. It doesn’t take long before you’re unlocking the door with the key beneath an ancient flowerpot. You hop into his arms, and Seungcheol catches you like it’s nothing, sitting you on top of the corridor dresser while his kisses wander further down your neck. Every whimper he hears turns him fonder. You admit again that you love him and he smiles against your skin.

Seungcheol will always need you. He hopes he always has you.

[imjustthemechanic]

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 17/? - A Miracle Part 18/? - A Matter of Circumstance Part 19/? - Nome Part 20/? - The Future Part 21/? - A Hero’s Welcome

Captain America’s return is big news, which meant that it will not be a surprise to Daniel.

-

Takeoff the next morning was delayed a little longer, as Howard said he needed to go see a man about some dogs.  This turned out not to be a euphemism – he had purchased a team of sled dogs to send to Resolute and replace the ones the army had shot.  That was fine with Peggy, because it gave her a moment to figure out what she was going to do next.

When they got to Los Angeles, the SSR would doubtless be there to meet them. Daniel was probably frantic, both because he was about to meet Steve in flesh and because he doubtless wanted to know how that would relate to his future with Peggy.  Masters would probably have doctors lined up to give Steve another physical, since he would want to extract as much information as he could from the living man.  That would give Peggy a moment to take Daniel aside, tell him an abbreviated version of the story, and perhaps give him some reassurance that she wasn’t going to run off with Steve.

Not immediately, anyway.

The problem was deciding exactly what she was going to say.  As the plane roared through the sky, she was happy to let Steve, Howard, and Jason play cards with Kay, while she took some time to think.  She would need to let Daniel know what Kay had told them… that she was a Soviet defector from the future.  She would need to let him know that whether that was true or just an excuse, the woman did seem to know what she was talking about.  And she would have to explain the proposed next step.

Peggy had enough faith in Daniel to be sure that he would want to do the right thing, even if he were worried about what Steve’s return might mean.  He wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. Neither was Steve, thank heavens.  She could count on both of them.

That would only last so long, however.  Kay’s quest would be a distraction for a while, but eventually Peggy would have to make a decision about her own future.

“Okay, show me your cards,” said Steve in an accusing voice.

Peggy looked up to see Kay beam as she turned her hand around to display all four queens.  She hadn’t been paying much attention to the game, but Peggy was pretty sure the woman had an entire extra deck secreted about her person.

“You’ve been cheating this whole time!” Steve said, reaching for the pile of cigarettes they’d been using as chips.  Kay snatched them away.

“She has?” asked Jason.  He and Howard were both trying to play through their hangovers, and neither had noticed.

“Is this all part of your master plan to make us trust you?” Peggy asked.

Kay’s only reply was to take one boot off and pull four more queens out of it.  The men groaned and tossed their cards on the floor as she laughed at them.

“You shouldn’t smoke anyway,” said Kay, tucking the cigarettes into her coat. “It’s bad for you.”

Steve, who had been prescribed tobacco for his asthma as a teenager, looked at her suspiciously.  “Is it really?”

“Gives you cancer,” said Kay.  “That is bona fide knowledge from the future that you will all thank me for someday.”

Everybody got rid of their coats and boots as the plane came in for a landing in Los Angeles.  They’d been able to wash and change their clothing at the hotel in Nome, but Peggy was still looking very much forward to a long, hot bath.  She would talk to Daniel first, of course, but by tomorrow Steve’s return would be in all the papers and the press might want to talk to her. Now that she’d healed from Kay’s spray attack, she had no intention of facing them without makeup on.

Unfortunately, that choice was very much made for her.  As the army’s plane taxied towards its hangar, Peggy looked out the window to see there was a crowd gathered.  The hangar was decked out in red, white, and blue bunting, and expensive cars were pulled up.  When they came to a stop and the back of the plane opened to let them out, somebody was there to unroll an actual red carpet for the passengers to walk along.

Masters straightened his tie before heading down the ramp to address the crowd with a smile on his face.

“Governor Warren, Mayor Bowron, ladies and gentlemen of the press,” he began. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and I am here to tell you that those rumors are…”

Peggy could almost hear the collective breath being held as Masters held the pause for dramatic effect.

“… absolutely true!”  He beamed. “Captain America is alive and well!”

Steve knew that was his cue.  He sighed and heaved himself out of his seat.  “You’d think being dead would earn you some vacation time,” he muttered, but went to stand next to Masters and wave to the ground.  Flash bulbs popped and a brass band began playing America the Beautiful.  Howard, never one to miss out on the spotlight, hurried up to stand on Steve’s other side and join in as the Mayor of Los Angeles and the Governor of California, with their wives, came up to be introduced.  Right behind them was a figure in a tan suit, leaning on a crutch… Daniel.  Peggy closed her eyes and wondered what he must be thinking right now.

“I can make it look like an accident,” Kay offered.

“No, thank you,” sighed Peggy.  “If anybody’s going to kill Vernon Masters I prefer to do it myself.”

“I’m not joking,” Kay told her.

“I’m not entirely sure I am,” Peggy replied.

One of the soldiers came running up to hand Steve his shield – they’d ruined his uniform cutting it off him in preparation for the autopsy, but the shield they’d saved – and Steve held it up to wild applause.  The politicians led him to a red convertible that was waiting, also hung with patriotic fabric and with a flag flying from the back, and police vehicles gathered around for an escort.

“Are they going to have an actual parade?” Jason asked, watching this motorcade drive off. The brass band was climbing into a bus to follow.

“Looks that way,” said Peggy.

“Car accident?” Kay suggested.  “Heart attack?  I’ve got several things that can induce a heart attack.  Fall down the stairs?”

“I’ll think about it,” Peggy said.

The crowd began to disperse, the flash bulbs stopped, and the soldiers who’d accompanied them started to troop off the plane.  Peggy took this to mean that she and the other plebes could leave as well, and grabbed her things to head down to the tarmac with Kay and Jason. By this time, somebody had already come to take the red carpet away.

Among the few people who stayed behind was the contingent from the SSR. Daniel was waiting there nervously, and did not approach as Peggy walked down the ramp.  Something pulled in side her heart.  She knew that if Steve had come back as a corpse, Daniel would have been right there to hold her and help her to deal with it.  Steve coming back alive was something he was no more prepared for than she had been.

“Hello, Daniel,” she said.

“Hi, Peggy,” he replied.

Plainly he was not going to take the initiative, so it was Peggy who went up and put her arms around him.  “That was horrid,” she said.

“Yeah.”  He hugged her back… and was it her imagination, or was it a little tighter than usual, as if he were afraid of her vanishing?  “I guess you probably need to go and…”

“And what?  Join the parade?”  Peggy stepped back.  “Look at me, Daniel, I’m hardly fit to be seen in public.  All I want right now is a cup of tea and a good night’s sleep, but I need to tell you what happened up there.”

Daniel nodded.  “Masters intercepted Dr. Wilkes’ request for backup from Stark Industries,” he said. “And…”

“No, no,” Peggy told him.  “There’s ever so much more to it than that.”  She looked over her shoulder, and found somewhat to her surprise that Kay was still there.  It didn’t seem beyond her to vanish into the first crowd she found and never be seen again. “I don’t think you two were properly introduced…”

Kay came up and offered a hand.  “Chief Sousa,” she said.

“This is Katerina Lachkova, Katherine Lake,” Peggy said, having decided for now to keep Kay’s real name to herself.  She had no proof that Natalia Romanova was less of a pseudonym than any other this woman had used.  Katerina Lachkova would get the point across.  “She claims to be a Soviet defector, and has more information for us than just Steve’s location.”

Unsurprisingly, Daniel looked skeptical.

“I know,” said Kay.  “I wouldn’t trust me.  I cheat at cards.”

“She does, but I cannot deny that at least one thing she’s told us is entirely true,” Peggy sighed.

Daniel pressed his lips together for a moment.  “Okay.  You ladies go get cleaned up, and we’ll talk.”

He squeezed Peggy’s shoulders and then stepped back to let the women get in one of the cars.  Peggy felt as if something inside her were being torn to pieces.  He was trying to look like it wasn’t affecting him, but he desperately needed to be reassured.  What reassurance could she give him when she didn’t know, herself?

Peggy didn’t know if it were a good idea or not, but she pressed a quick kiss to Daniel’s cheek before getting in the car.  Kay got in and sat down next to her, feeling around on the seat beside her for a moment before sitting back and scowling.

“What are you looking for?” Peggy asked her.

“Nothing,” said Kay.  “Force of habit.”

Daniel went in a different car.  Peggy watched him get in, then looked away from the window as their own vehicle started to move.

“Sorry,” Kay said.

“Hardly your fault,” Peggy assured her.

“Actually, yes, it is,” said Kay.  “Like I told you, if I weren’t here, nobody would have found Steve until 2012. You’d have been married to Daniel until 1955, when he was shot by an undercover HYDRA operative.”

Peggy blinked, and then covered her mouth in horror at the mental image.  “So… if we aren���t married, will he not…”

“I have no idea.  I doubt it would have made a difference,” said Kay.  “Anyway, if I manage to get my to-do list done, that will never happen anyway.”  She sighed. “But I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.  I’m not very good at having emotions, but I’m good at reading them.  I figured you’d be happy to see… Captain Rogers, because I knew he always wished you two had gotten your happy ending.  I didn’t stop to think about you making your own happy ending after he was gone.  Now I’ve ruined it.”

Peggy didn’t know how to reply to that.  If she’d gone into this knowing everything Kay had just told her, would she have done anything differently?  No… no, she would not, because there were so many ways in which this was not about Peggy.  Steve deserved to live.  Sergeant Barnes deserved to be rescued.  Howard deserved to feel like he’d brought some good into the world.  Peggy’s personal problems were nothing next to that.

“I suppose I’ll just have to figure it out all over again,” said Peggy.

“I can’t even tell you what should happen, because I’m flying blind from here,” Kay admitted.  “Free will, isn’t it great?”

“Are you so very sure that changing the future is a good idea?” Peggy asked her. “Isn’t there always the possibility you might make things worse?”

“Too late to worry about it now,” said Kay.  “I can’t skip ahead and check and then come back and tweak it.  I’m just here… making it up as I go along.” She offered Peggy a weak smile. “Just like everybody else.”

“Well, you do have a few…”  Peggy tried to find a better metaphor, but was forced to fall back on the unfortunately obvious.  “A few more cards up your sleeve, let’s say, than a normal person.”

“Don’t worry,” Kay replied.  “I’m going to play every single one of them.”

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts Recs: Auror Partners

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Boiling Point by GoldenTruth813 Rated:  Mature Words:  42882 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Partners, Non-Linear Narrative, Wandless Magic, Duelling, Bickering, Snark, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Bars and Pubs, Never Have I Ever, Flirting, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Pining, Social drinking, Drunk Harry Potter, Falling In Love, Coming Out, Bisexual Harry Potter, Boys Kissing, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Romance, Bearded Draco Malfoy, H/D Food Fair 2018, References to Past Canonical Child Neglect, Missions Gone Wrong, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Tattooed Harry Potter, Harry Potter Cooks, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Burn Summary:  Ferveret - n. boiling point After an Auror raid gone wrong, Draco ends up trapped in a dodgy safehouse with nothing but Harry Potter’s dubious company and a dwindling supply of food. With only each other and the walls surrounding them, they're forced to confront their past and their feelings which have long been threatening to boil over. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 True Children Still by gracerene Rated:  Explicit Words:  34240 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Developing Relationship, Aurors, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, Kink Exploration, Dom/sub Undertones, Dom Draco Malfoy, Daddy Dom Draco Malfoy, Sub Harry Potter, Subspace, littlespace, Age Play, Daddy Kink, Internalized Kink Shaming, Praise Kink, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Switching, Endearments, Dating, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Drinking, Italy, Age Play Little Harry Potter, H/D Sex Fair 2020 Summary:  After years of dancing around each other, Draco and Harry have finally begun to date, though they're taking things slow. They've got enough to figure out as it is, and the last thing Harry needs is an unexpected introduction to desires he's not quite ready to face. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Cold Never Bothers Me Anyway by acupforslytherin Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  3350 Tags: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Auror Mission, Song: Let It Go (Disney), Draco is a good cousin, Harry can't stand the cold, The Arctic, falling, into the snow, and maybe also in love, Banter, Community: hp_drizzle, HP Drizzle Fest 2020 Summary:  It takes Harry one pointless mission to the Arctic, three falls into the snow, a few lines from Let It Go, and thousands of floating ice crystals to realize just how beautiful Draco Malfoy is. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Incredible Race by Cheryl Dyson Rated:  Mature Words:  52325 Tags: N/A Summary:  Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Aurors, are forced to join a televised global race in order to provide some free positive publicity for the Ministry, despite the fact that Aurors Potter and Malfoy don't exactly get along. ❤️ Read on FFN

📜 the strength to stay by violetclarity Rated:  Explicit Words:  29016 Tags: Auror Partners, Case Fic, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Suspense, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Chubby Draco Malfoy, Body Image, Insecurity, Potions Abuse, very brief mention of addiction and overdose, Kidnapping, forced drugging, Dreams and Nightmares, canonical violence, extremely brief use of an IV, Love Confessions, Explicit Sexual Content Summary:  Draco and Harry are the best Senior Aurors in the DMLE, which is why they’re working the case about Wings – a dangerous new potion that sends users into a dreamscape from which they may never return. When Harry is kidnapped by the group behind Wings, Draco takes it upon himself to go after him, and is forced to confront the reality of Harry’s feelings for him, which he’s been ignoring for years. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Naked by bixgirl1 Rated:  Explicit Words:  57449 Tags: Auror Partners, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Magical Theory, Nudity(sooo much nudity), Banter, Flirting, Mystery, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Anal Sex, Switching, Humour, Drama, Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship Summary:  Harry and Draco are sent on an undercover assignment to catch a Dark wizard — which might not be so bad if it weren't at a Muggle nudist resort. Now Draco has to deal with a very interested Harry, temptation he's long-since learned to ignore, and threats around every corner — including the one to his heart. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A Welcome Distraction by MaesterChill Rated:  Explicit Words:  2869 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Auror Partners, Trapped In Elevator, Trapped in a Lift, Claustrophobia, wanking, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Work Partners to Lovers, devious!harry, A wink Summary:  Draco and Harry get trapped in a Ministry lift. Whatever shall they do to distract themselves? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound Rated:  Explicit Words:  149549 Tags: Auror Partners, Sexual Content, Wandless Magic, Mystery, Investigations, Magical Tattoos, Getting Together, Trapped, Secrets, Secret Relationship, Shower Sex, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Duelling, Falling In Love, Hats, Glasses, Curry, Tea, Bars and Pubs, Hoodies Summary:  Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Potential Gravity by zeitgeistic Rated:  Explicit Words:  32052 Tags: Pining, Travel, Explosions, mind healing, Aurors, Manticore, Cards Against Humanity, Magical Accidents, Magical Injury, video games - Freeform, Bisexual Harry, The Middle East, Auror Specialties Summary:  Draco is not good at Cards Against Humanity, but Harry’s not good at being human, so it all works out. Except for the explosions. And Harry’s inability to live when Draco’s not around. The one with Beirut and video games. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Shut Up, Potter. by SidneyJane Rated:  Explicit Words:  50528 Tags: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Case Fic, Fraud, Statute of Secrecy (Harry Potter), Messy Office, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, they're partners tho, Sarcasm, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Harry has a hangover, Draco is annoying him, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Defence Branch, The Daily Prophet, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Nightlife, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Breakfast, workaholics, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Scars and tattoos, Angst, injuries, anguish Summary:  Harry and Draco were partnered together after completing their Auror training, their second case together has some... interesting... developments. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 That which hurts (and is desired) by onereader Rated:  Explicit Words:  19890 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Blood, Hurt Draco Malfoy, Under-negotiated Kink, Friends to Lovers, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Aurors, Voyeurism, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Dom Draco Malfoy, Sub Harry Potter, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Getting Together, POV Harry Potter, Frottage, Dry Humping, Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Switching, Rimming, Happy Ending, Magical Theory, Coming Untouched, Praise Kink, ball slapping, Topping from the Bottom, H/D Erised 2019, Flashbacks, Face-Fucking, dom/sub dynamics, Biting, Cursed Draco Malfoy, Riding, Kissing, Feelings, Undressing, Love Confessions, Light Angst Summary: Draco was lying still, and pale, on a bed in a private room in St Mungo’s. The sheets were white, clean, enchanted against stains, vanishing the blood that kept spilling out of him. He hadn’t moved in two days. Not a twitch of his elegant fingers. Not a blink of his fierce eyes. Harry couldn’t even see the faint flutter of his pulse in his throat from where he stood at the foot of the bed, helpless, impotent, furious. There is nothing Harry wouldn’t do for the people he cares about. As it turns out, that might bring him everything he’s ever wanted. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The seven stages of alcohol intoxication by Sassy3 Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  2714 Tags: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Drunken Confessions, In Vino Veritas, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Partners, Oblivious Harry Potter, Supportive Ron Weasley, Supportive Seamus Finnigan, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Alcohol Intoxication, Friends to Lovers, Drunk Harry Potter, 7 stages of alcohol intoxication Summary:  After a challenging day at work, with a big presentation the next day, Harry wasn't quite in the mood to celebrate Seamus' birthday. But, what's the harm in just one drink? Stage 3: Excitement Harry was in the middle of a shot race with Seamus, when he got the brilliant idea that he should inform Malfoy what a good partner he was. He’d never told Malfoy how much he appreciated him and how much Harry enjoyed working with him, but he should totally do that right away. Harry dragged Seamus in for a hug, and shouted into his ear. “Mate, I’m going to talk to Malfoy. Tell him how much I like him. Like work. No, like working him. With him?” ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A Push, A Pull by Cruisinwritealong Rated:  Mature Words:  1099 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Aurors, Auror Partners, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, One Shot, Drarry Summary:  Denying their ever growing attraction was increasingly difficult. The tension between them grew as they protected their partnership above their desires. It was exhausting, pushing it away over and over, only to have it pulled back to them by some invisible magnet. Read on AO3

Dashing Heroics by Lokifan Rated:  Mature Words:  20897 Tags: Accidental Voyeurism, Banter, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Training, Auror Partners, Auror Draco Malfoy, Aurors Summary:  Harry loves being an Auror. He loves it less when the Aurors start taking on the trainees for a few weeks of on-the-job training. As it turns out, Malfoy wants to be an Auror too. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Special Affinity by skeptique Rated:  Explicit Words:  3783 Tags: 5+1 Things, 5 Times, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mutual Pining, Auror Partners, Accidental Bonding, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Inadvertent Mind Reading, POV Alternating, Post-War Summary:  Auror partners Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy seem to have a special affinity for getting into convoluted accidental bonds. Once is a mistake, twice is bad luck, and five times...well five times seems like carelessness, doesn’t it? Or, 5 times it was a bonding curse and 1 time it wasn’t. ❤️ Read on AO3

[wickedmilo]

NOT SO TERRIFYING | MILO & METZLI

PLACE: Metzli’s Apartment TIMING: 8:57 PM SUMMARY: Struggling to process nearly hurting Bex, Milo turns to Metzli for support WRITING PARTNER: @deathisanartmetzli CONTENT WARNINGS: Alcohol tw, alcoholism tw, mentions of grooming, abuse tw, emotional abuse tw

The vampire version of sleep wasn’t something Milo usually enjoyed. Yes, it allowed for a few hours of blissful escapism, but it wasn’t the warm, comfortable escapism that Human sleep so often provided. This was cold, and clinical. A strange sense of nothingness. Sometimes it felt like he closed his eyes and lost entire days, no passing of time, no way of knowing just how long he had been dead to the world. But today, waking up as the sun began to disappear behind clouds, and the White Crest horizon, he was grateful for it. Grateful that, for a while at least, he had been able to forget the previous evening. Bex had been so ready to get drunk, so ready to have fun, but her intoxication had quickly become a rage he hadn’t seen before, there was a frenzied spark behind her eyes as she hurried into the woods, in search of someone, or something he had never heard her speak of. And then… he swallowed, the memories rushing back to him. He had never lost control like that before, never been so overwhelmed by the urge to hurt a friend. It was different to the way he had felt upon first becoming a vampire. That had been feral, and confusing, and his mind had gone utterly blank. This loss of control hadn’t just been desperate, but calculating. He hadn’t lunged for Bex to kill her, or drain her. His mind had been telling him to be careful, justifying the urge for her blood alongside the urge to protect her. It scared him to know he could think that way, could validate his own desires when they were obviously at the expense of somebody he cared about. He had text Metzli during the day, asking for their help, but now that night was falling and he was able to visit them, he didn’t feel so confident in his decision.  

He could talk to Harsh, but he didn’t want to disappoint him, and he definitely didn’t want to cause him any more trouble. After taking him in, and teaching him so much, he didn’t deserve to worry about whether his ward might be volatile, or dangerous. He could talk to Metzli too, but he was embarrassed by what had taken place, undeniably ashamed of his actions. No, Metzli was the perfect person to talk to. And he needed to talk to someone. Not only would they understand the effect fresh blood could have on a vampire, they had almost hurt Bex once too. The thought filled him with guilt. The two vampires closest to Bex had both made attempts to drink her blood, it couldn’t exactly fill her with confidence. But at least Metzli knew what he was going through, they must have faced the same inner turmoil, the same guilt, and trauma after their own attack. Picking up his phone to make sure he remembered their address, he peeked outside to make sure the sun was well and truly set before shrugging on a jacket and leaving the house. He had showered, and changed into clothes not covered in mud. But he still didn’t feel clean. His skin was itchy, his mouth dry like cotton, and his head was pounding due to the hangover he had been hoping he might be able to avoid. The blood bag in his pocket was heavy, and he wrapped both hands around it, holding it so that it wouldn’t tug down the whole front of his hoodie. He could only imagine the looks he would receive if people only knew what he was carrying. Eventually approaching what he assumed must be Metzli’s building, he let himself in and wandered the halls, taking each staircase slowly, prolonging the inevitable. When he finally reached the right apartment, he chewed on his bottom lip, staring at the door for far too long before finally knocking on it. Hesitant, and awkward. “Metzli- it’s me.”

Metzli was just in the middle of finishing up a match when Milo knocked. They had spent the day at home, only playing and doing the occasional stretch. The gallery would be fine, and the three employees they had could run it with ease. After a simple lie of going to acquire paintings out of state, they took their leave and cooped themselves up. Without even realizing it, they had begun to nest. Avoiding day to day responsibilities in order to stay isolated and do what they could to turn the negative thoughts and feelings into something different. Maybe even forget what they had learned so they didn’t have to feel this mixture of rage and agony. 

The door opened suddenly as they pulled rashly, and they put in their best mask, sewing it together with their veins. “Hey Milo, come in.” Metzli waved him in, but really Yuca was the one who prompted him to step forward when she rubbed against his legs. “Yuca. ¡Apacíguarse!” They snapped and shooed her away while Milo was greeted with a picture perfect living room.  

Yuca trotted away, beeping and meowing in a way that sounded annoyed. The reaction she gave them made them chuckle a little before returning their attention to Milo. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get us a drink.” Metzli walked over to their minibar and collected two crystal glasses and a whiskey decanter. When they were finally seated, the glasses were filled a quarter of the way and parsed out the cups between the two. “So, tell papa Metzli what’s going on.”  

Milo flinched as the door was pulled open. It was sudden, and fast, and having the one barrier between himself and Metzli removed made him feel infinitely more vulnerable. Avoiding eye contact with them, he crossed the threshold after being invited in, immediately hit by a familiar scent. “Is Bex here?” His voice was sharp as he became concerned by the fact that his friend might be present. He wasn’t ready to face her just yet, he was barely ready to face himself. But it quickly became clear the scent was a remnant, the only heartbeat he could hear belonged to the cat rubbing against his legs. He offered the animal a weak smile, his expression slipping back to one of forlorn self-pity as Metzli hurried to shoo their pet away from him. For a brief moment, Yuca had been a welcome distraction. Finally looking up, begrudgingly catching Metzli’s eye, he walked further into the room at their instruction, heading towards the couch. He stopped before sitting down, reaching into his pocket to pull out the blood bag. “Speaking of…” He muttered, waiting for Metzli’s attention so that he could throw the bag to them from where he was standing. “Enjoy.”  

Pushing his glasses further up his nose, pulling off his jacket to throw over the armrest closest to him, he fell back onto the cushions with a huff of breath. His shoulders hunched, it didn’t take very long for him to slip down into them, slouching as though maybe he could hide from his problems if only he made himself small enough. Waiting patiently, he listened to Metzli ready two drinks, focusing on the quiet sounds so he wouldn’t be forced to contemplate the reason for his visit. The smell of alcohol wafted towards him on a barely existent draft, and as his drink was poured, he reached out eagerly for the glass. Tapping his fingers against the side of it, grateful to have something to do with his hands, he shrugged, attempting to look casual, and unaffected. “I still don’t know if this is a good idea.” He admitted. “If I even…” But he did want to talk about it, whether he wanted to admit that to himself or not. That much was made clear by the fact that he had considered who to talk to, had messaged the best person to console him, and walked to their apartment the moment he was able to. Why did everything have to be so difficult? “Last night was just... really fucking shit.” He said finally, a frown creasing his brow at the understatement. “And I don’t know what to do- I don’t know how to feel. And I thought maybe- maybe you would understand.” 

Metzli wiggled their fingers in overly excited anticipation. It had been a few days since their last meal so they quickly took the blood bag from Milo’s hands. Their teeth punctured to holes and they took a few gulps as Milo spoke. His voice was filled with regret, guilt built up from what had transpired between him and Bex. An all too familiar sound, but this time it wasn’t Metzli that was the source of it. “Why did you try to bite her anyway? You didn’t want to kill her, that’s obvious.” A pointed statement, an unnecessary one. Milo knew why he wanted to talk about it, but Metzli didn’t.  

They could relate in a way, but they couldn’t connect with the true feelings of what they had done easily. If they thought of it passively, there wasn’t a single regret, not one morsel. But if they thought long enough, and played the images in their head, they could practically grab the regret and through the walls of soullessness.  

“I guess I might understand. But the two times I bit Bex…she volunteered once, and the second time…I wanted to kill her. Well—I wanted to want to kill her.” 

Milo watched as Metzli tore into the blood bag with their teeth. He was too used to pouring his blood into mugs, heating it in the microwave to mimic body temperature. He could only assume if his friend was drinking it cold, without any kind of hesitation, that they were thirsty. He remembered them mentioning an arrangement with somebody they knew. Were they still getting regular meals? Or were they starving again? He chose not to ask, too worried about what the answer to his question might be. His frown deepening as Metzli decided to forgo small talk, usually he would be grateful, but he almost found himself longing for it now. He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Of course I didn’t want to kill her.” He couldn’t stop himself from sounding defensive, offended by the thought even though he knew, deep down, it was a valid concern. “I was… I was scared.” He admitted, his voice quiet as he lowered his gaze. He stared at the glass in his hands, at the alcohol inside of it. Fear felt like a good place to start. “We were drunk too, I was- I was so drunk, Metzli… Bex ran into the forest. I followed her and there were these- these creatures. I think she knew what they were, but not well. I’ve never seen anything like them before. She was bleeding, I can’t remember why. I think while we were trying to escape the creatures I was distracted. I knew I wanted her blood but it wasn’t my priority, you know? I could ignore that feeling…” He trailed off, taking a long drink so that he had a moment to collect his thoughts. The alcohol burned, and he relished the sensation. Hopefully it would chase away his hangover.  

“And then the creatures left… it was like everything that was distracting me disappeared at the same time. The fear, and panic, and adrenaline. Everything was just… gone. All that was left was her blood. So I-” He broke off again, blinking tears from his eyes. He wasn’t sure when they had formed, and he reached up to brush them away, embarrassed by the display of emotion. “I didn’t know that could happen.” He said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I know if we don’t eat, we can be dangerous… but I drink a lot of blood, more than I need to. And I didn’t realise I could still lose control like that. I wasn’t trying to kill her, but doesn’t that make it worse? Because I kind of knew what I was doing, I was trying to rationalise it.” Letting out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping now that he had said what he needed to say, he was hoping it would feel like a weight had been lifted. But if anything, he only felt more miserable. The second time I… I wanted to kill her. His heart dropped, an uncomfortable sensation now that he no longer had a heartbeat, a constant sense of movement inside his chest. Maybe Metzli couldn’t understand. Maybe this entire endeavour was pointless. He finished what was left of his drink, pushing himself to stand. “Forget it.” He muttered, swiping his jacket from the arm rest. “Forget it, this was stupid. I shouldn’t have come.” 

With the blood bag depleted, Metzli threw it on the coffee table and grabbed their drink. “Milo, look…” They leaned back cooly into the couch, enjoying the cold sensation of the untouched  leather. “Whether you like it or not, you’re a predator. And Bex, she’s your prey. You’re still relatively new to being a vampire. Blood is blood and when the animalistic side of our brain registers it, it’s like it turns off every humane sense in us.” Memories of when they tried to kill Bex plagued their mind, and they bit their lip, hard. “That side does get easier to manage though. When I bit Bex, I was able to let go. I was even able to have her blood smeared on me and able to clean it up. It just takes time.”  

Metzli looked softly at Milo but was quickly distracted by Yuca leaping onto the couch for attention. Always for attention. She purred loudly and pushed her head into Milo’s chest, basically begging him to pet her. Regardless of how cute she was being, they continued, “It’s natural to crave it, it’s who we are. It’s ingrained in us. My recommendation? Until you’re able to suppress that side, take to biting your own hand or arm,” they paused, taking a sip of the whiskey before continuing. “Pain usually overloads the senses enough to stop everything else. It’s what I do when I’m fighting for control. It’s what I did when Bex practically begged me to take her blood when I was starving myself. And if a piece of shit like me can stop themselves, so can you.” 

Milo glared at Metzli, partially because he didn’t enjoy being spoken to as though he was missing something obvious. Partially due to the fact that they were undeniably making a lot of sense. Just because he chose to navigate around the bloodlust, and aggressive instincts, it didn’t mean they weren’t there. His body and mind had been changed, even if he hated the idea, even if the idea made him uncomfortable. He had been carefully designed to see humans as food because… well, they were food. “But I wasn’t hungry.” He stated again, as though that alone could erase what had taken place. He wasn’t hungry, so he had no reason to lose control. Why couldn’t it be that simple? He could hear the desperation in his own voice, hear how hard he was trying to move past his guilt, but he was too tired to hide his emotion. Metzli already knew he was upset, they could probably read him as well as Macleod given how much time they had spent together. “I don’t want it to take time. I don’t want to feel like- like some ticking time bomb that could get triggered the moment somebody gets hurt. If I can’t trust myself then… then how is anybody else going to trust me? How is Bex going to trust me, Metzli?”  

Falling silent, he felt fresh tears begin to sting at his eyes as he welcomed the sudden appearance of Yuca. The cat settled the anxiety in his chest, and he reached out to scratch her ears as she clambered onto his lap. She butted his palm with her head, rubbing against him without any concern for her safety. “I should bite myself?” He echoed. Maybe once upon a time the thought would have felt barbaric, and animalistic. Now, given his natural desire to lead with his teeth, it made an awful lot of sense. He secretly hoped there would never come a time where the strategy would become necessary, but he wasn’t stupid. He understood just how possible it was. “I don’t think you’re a piece of shit.” He murmured, staring down at Yuca so that he could avoid making eye contact with his friend. “I think you’re a good person.” 

Metzli understood that fear, that panic to get a sense of control over something so clearly out of reach. The anger that came, not only at the person who caused it all, the sire, but yourself too. Because now that the sire is gone, all that is left is you. You’re left with this slice of life with nothing sweet on the side. Left to figure skate alone on thin ice. But Milo didn’t have to be alone. Not if Metzli figured out how to be there. “I think you just need to accept what you are now, Milo. Stop hating what you are and accept yourself. All of it. The blood, the instincts, the senses, all of it. You’re still you, depresso.” They put as much energy as they could muster in the words, feeling a little dejected and tired from their own troubles.  

“Bex hasn’t lost her trust in you. She still trusts you. And cares about you. She has accepted you before you have.” Metzli stated, as if it was obvious enough for everyone to see. “I tried to kill her and when I had a panic attack at that very moment, she checked on me.” A scoff slipped past their lips at the memory, and a pang of something made their face fall into a small frown. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s gonna take a little bit of time and practice. You’ll get there, though.” They waved dismissively at the compliment and stretched before pouring more whiskey in both glasses and propping their feet onto their coffee table.  

“Oh, neat. They’re healing faster now. Thanks for the blood.” Metzli referred to the bite marks on their thighs. With Milo being current company, they laughed and got excited at the potential to gross him out.  

Milo chewed on his bottom lip. It wasn’t the first time somebody had told him to accept his vampirism as a part of himself. Maybe one day he would get there, he had definitely stopped mourning for everything he had lost, stopped focusing on what he missed so that he could pay more attention to the present. And it was becoming more familiar, more steadily normal. But not easy. Not yet. “I don’t know how.” He admitted, feeling small, and helpless. At a loss of what else he could say. He appreciated the way Metzli was speaking, they were no longer reminding him of how illogical his thoughts could be. Instead they were comforting him in the way they knew he needed to be comforted. “I know I’m still me…” His voice was quiet as he thought back on the first conversation he had ever shared with Harsh. Harsh had been one of the only people to tell him that, to tell him no matter what happened he was still the same Milo Summers. Finally looking up again at the mention of Bex, there was no doubt in his mind that Metzli was right. But he didn’t want to believe them because he didn’t deserve forgiveness, or understanding, or trust. Not from Bex, not from the person he was supposed to protect.  

“Was she here?” He asked, still able to detect her scent. It clung to the furniture, briefly becoming stronger each time he shifted in his seat. “Did she tell you that?” A weak smile tugging at his lips as Yuca finally curled up to sleep, he focused on the warmth of their body, how unconditionally loving she was. “She ran- I don’t know if she told you that. She couldn’t even look at me, she just… ran.” His heart ached as he considered how scared she must have been. How jarring was it to escape danger, to feel the crushing sense of relief that came with the knowledge of being safe, only to realise there was a new danger? An unexpected danger that you could never hope to be prepared for?   

Ignoring Metzli as they poured him another drink, he became momentarily distracted by their comment, glancing up at them to see what they were referring to. It was only as they lifted their legs that he noticed the bite marks littering their inner thighs. It took him all of two seconds to realise Macleod was the one to leave them there, and he wrinkled his nose, unable to help himself. “Jeez, you guys have issues.” He muttered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re like teenagers… you need to fucking chill.” 

“Practice then,” Metzli began, a voice full of experience and history. “You’re scared of your own existence. And you have every right to be. We’re deadly creatures. We drink the lives of humans and can do it before they even react. You know what that feral feeling is now. Use it.” They stared at Yuca, taking a second to listen to her purr. Two monsters in a room and she felt safe. That had to mean something. “Use that experience and take control of the beast. You don’t have to be scared of what you can do. You just have to be scared of failure. And I think you love Bex a lot more than you are scared of your inner beast.” This, too, was familiar. The control that Metzli lacked after being turned. Nearly killing the last of the survivors when they went to check on the ruins of their village. Impossible wasn’t an option then, and it isn’t one now for Milo either. Success was akin to effort and chance, that it felt so close to being in range. 

“She was here, yeah. After what happened, she came straight here and spent the night. I could smell her outside the building and wanted her blood so badly. But I…I love her more than I do blood and managed to patch her up and let her fall asleep on me.” Metzli smiled softly at the recollection, but tensed soon after, feeling vulnerable and exposed for saying such a thing. “I—uh, she, yeah. She left the next morning and was fine. Just a little scraped and tired.” 

Eager to move on, Metzli raised their crop top and revealed several more bite marks on their abdomen and neck. “You should see your mom. She gets a lot more, but she heals a lot faster. Look, it’s not her fault she can’t feel as much. We gotta do what we gotta do.” The vampire gave Milo a toothy grin, hoping he wouldn’t remark on the proclamation they just gave only moments prior. 

“I’m not scared.” Milo bit out, knowing even as he spoke the words that they were incredibly untrue. It was obvious to him, and undoubtedly obvious to Metzli, but he refused to correct himself. Maybe if he said them with enough conviction they would become true. Maybe if he didn’t take them back then he could manifest them. Still focusing on Yuca, allowing the cat to distract him from the true weight of the conversation, he was surprised to find Metzli was making a lot of sense. When you were familiar with a sensation, you had more hope of controlling it, or at the very least recognising its triggers. You don’t have to be scared of what you can do. You just have to be scared of failure. A sigh escaping him, he nodded in response. He did love Bex, he loved Bex more than he had ever been expecting to. Something told him his company might relate to that. Maybe he had spent too much time running from what he was, and not enough time breaking it down, learning about every aspect and element of his new being. 

A gentle smile tugging at his lips, he tried to imagine Metzli sitting with Bex curled up in their lap. It was a strange image, given what he knew of the vampire, but a very welcome one. It made him wonder whether they liked him more than they let on. They always made such a show of not caring, but maybe to some degree it was just that; A show. “She was okay?” He asked, unable to hide how desperate he was for the assurance. “Really?” Not realising he had been leaning forward in his seat, he fell back against the cushions again, letting out a petulant groan at the sudden change of subject. “You gotta do what you gotta do but that doesn’t mean you gotta tell me about it.” He teased, feeling his mood begin to brighten as they fell back into their usual habits. He wasn’t used to being so vulnerable with Metzli, and he was so tired. Both mentally, and physically. “I already have enough trauma, I don’t need you two adding to it.” 

Their eyes couldn’t roll any harder if they tried. But Metzli wouldn’t remark on Milo’s fib. He wasn’t just lying to Metzli, but he was lying to himself too. They understood. It was a practice they had mastered themselves. “She was okay. Just a little panicky. By the time morning came, she was a lot better and even had some breakfast. She’s okay, Milo. Worried about you, even. It sounds crazy, I know. But like I said, she’s accepted what you are before you even could.”  

On their third glasses, they didn’t even bother to sip it, simply throwing their head back to practically inhale the drink. As they poured another glass, Metzli locked eyes with Milo, “I recommend getting in touch with her. ‘Cause right now, you’re more scared of you than she is of you. And next time, you’ll be better prepared. I've been a vampire a long time. A soulless one at that. If I can learn, so can you.” A reassuring energy covered their words, actually finding a source of genuine fondness for Milo. They saw a lot of themselves, their self that had a soul as a vampire for a few weeks, in him.  

“What, you gonna go tattle to her? Again?” Metzli laughed and let their head fall back onto the couch. “I think I’m actually starting to really like her. Her and I are actually gonna go on an actual date on Friday. Oh! Speaking of,” they paused, sipping on the whiskey. “I’m heading out of town on Saturday. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. You think you can come by Saturday night to feed Yuca? No problem if you can’t.” 

Milo narrowed his eyes, not failing to notice Metzli’s response. But they didn’t say anything, and he didn’t have enough energy to try and start an argument. Not when they had been so understanding, not when they were genuinely trying to help him. He felt the guilt in his chest flare at the mention of Bex being panicked, but he reminded himself that said information wasn’t new. She had run from him, of course she was panicked. What truly mattered was how she felt once she was safe, whether she was scared of him, or angry, or anxious. A quiet laugh of disbelief escaping him, he shook his head, as always intrigued, and amazed by his friend’s ability to forgive. Metzli was right. Bex knew he was a vampire, and she knew what that meant for their dynamic. He was the one who was struggling to accept the truth. Quickly finishing what was left in his glass so that he could encourage Metzli to refill it, he relished the buzz of the alcohol he had already consumed. It was warming his fingertips, relaxing his tense muscles.  

“Yeah, I guess…” He agreed, resigning himself to what he was being told. Metzli knew better. And though they weren’t the type to bring up their age gap, they were older. They had been doing this for far longer. He really should be listening to them, he really should be taking in what they were trying to teach him. “She text me…” He admitted, swallowing as he thought about the reply he still owed her. It was so difficult to know what to say. Hallmark didn’t sell ‘sorry I tried to drink your blood’ cards, and even if they did it wouldn’t feel like enough. His smile slipping back into place, he stuck out his tongue. “Maybe…” He countered, pleased for the lighthearted topic. “Although you’re a bad influence. It probably won’t be long before she starts doing this shit too, and then who’s going to get mad when people punch me in the face?” Shifting in his seat, curious to hear what Metzli was going to ask him, he was shocked to realise they wanted him to take care of Yuca, and he could only assume their apartment by extension. “What? Why?” He felt suddenly concerned. It was strange that they were leaving with no idea of how long they might be gone for. “What are you- I mean, where are you going?” 

The effects of the alcohol were visible on Milo. He relaxed and began to genuinely listen to Metzli’s words, which they didn’t expect him to do. As someone who rarely listened to anyone else, they never felt offended when someone didn’t listen to them. That’s why when Milo half heartedly agreed, it didn’t really incite a reaction. There wasn’t one that needed to be executed. Moving on, they tipped the decanter towards Milo’s cup and poured. It was halfway gone now, but there was no buzz to be found yet.  

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll be the one to get mad. Or maybe both of us. But I don’t know. It’s probably best we just stay fuck buddies. I’ve never done the whole relationship thing and don’t plan to. Connections like that are dangerous.” Metzli thought out loud, practically rambling. Shaking their head, they managed to refocus and look at Milo as he questioned them. They wondered if they should tell him the truth. But if they were to not return, they thought it best that they did. At least, for Yuca’s sake. “I’ll pay you. I only plan on being gone two, maybe three days. Uh…” There was a loud gulp as they chucked the rest of their glass back and poured another. The tingling and warmth finally come to the forefront of their senses. “My sire, my master, he uh…he found me. Sent some clan members to spy on me and feed him info. So I’m gonna go find the hideout and rip them apart.”  

Fear and rage mixed together like oil and water. It didn’t work. They wanted so desperately for them to mix so they could use them both as motivation. But fear won in the end. What their face showed though, was nothing but composure. Not having a heartbeat was a saving grace. One brought out of hellish actions and not a prayer. “And don’t worry, I got backup. Bex was already on my ass about it.” 

“I don’t want either of you to get mad.” Something Milo definitely wouldn’t have said out loud if he had been sober, but he also didn’t regret his words. They were true. Metzli, and Macleod had both been integral parts of his life as a vampire. He didn’t know where he would be without them. The thought of them getting upset, or arguing made him nervous, which was ridiculous really. As much as he liked to joke, they weren’t actually his parents. “Yeah, me neither…” He murmured, a frown creasing his brow. It was something he was being forced to consider a lot, as of late, and not a topic he was entirely comfortable with. He always told himself he didn’t need a relationship, he was more than happy on his own. He was saving himself a lot of trouble by avoiding them, but what if it wasn’t that simple? The way his heart ached for Orion told him that he might be lying to himself. Jeez, why hadn’t he just kissed him? 

“Dangerous why? Because people could get hurt?” He asked, wondering what logic Metzli was using. Maybe it was a similar brand to his own. He opened his mouth, confused about the offer of payment. He knew he should insist otherwise, tell Metzli he didn’t need their money. But truthfully, he was never somebody to turn down payment, not when his habits were so undeniably expensive. “I- okay.” He agreed, watching them as they seemed to search for courage at the bottom of their glass. Only when they spoke again did he understand why. “What?” His voice was so sharp that Yuca stirred, staring up at him as though daring him to interrupt her slumber. “Metzli, what the fuck- isn’t he like, the biggest asshole on the planet? Can’t you just- I don’t know, lay low for a while?” He spluttered, sitting upright, on edge again despite his intoxication. Yuca gave up on a comfortable perch, standing slowly before jumping from his lap, realising he was no longer going to sit still for her. “Metzli, backup or no backup, you can’t just take down a bunch of vampires. Even I know that.” 

Metzli chuckled and shook their head as they pinched the bridge of their nose. “Connections like romantic relationships are dangerous because I’m a monster, Milo. Though I enjoy it most of the time, even I know things like me don’t get that romantic ending. And I’ve never cared for one anyway.” Their glass of whiskey was quickly depleted and they stared off into nothing, losing focus and watching as their vision blurred. Everything was so muffled while they got lost in their distant stare. But Milo managed to reel them back in with his questions and concerns.  

“Chill. I know how master works. He’s gathering intel right now, and I need to get rid of his little crew so he gets blinded for a while. It’ll buy me time to figure things out. Macleod is actually the one coming with. She said she’s an expert at ripping heads off, so I figured she was my best bet.” Metzli explained further and motioned for Milo to calm down. Confidence radiated from their body language, knowing that they could handle themselves from years of experience. “I’ve taken down multiple groups of vampires, kid. I’ll be fine. Please just focus on Yuca.” A half-hearted smile formed subtly on their face and they sighed. The signs of stress were making themselves evident, but they knew they had to be strong. 

With a pat to Milo’s shoulder, Metzli looked straight into his eyes and began, “I promise I’ll be fine.” A grimace flashed over their face and they gagged dramatically. “Yeesh. That felt weird to say. Just tell me to fuck off and die so I know it’s real.” 

Milo sat in silence, watching Metzli as they explained their stance, their words cutting through him sharper than any knife ever could. Had he missed his chance? Had he spent so long insisting he didn’t need romance in his life that the moment for it had entirely passed him by? He thought of Evelyn and Miriam, of Bex and Mina. They were supernatural, and they had found ways to navigate their love for each other. Evidently it was possible. “Does that mean I don’t get one either?” He asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He didn’t want to admit the longing he suddenly felt, but it was true that you only knew how much you wanted something when it became impossible, when somebody actively took it away from you. “Things like us…” He corrected, a weight on his shoulders that hadn’t been present until hearing the way Metzli spoke. They weren’t people, they were things. Monsters undeserving of affection. His frown only deepening as the conversation moved back to Metzli’s clan, he let out a frustrated huff of breath.  

“You still call him master... do you realise how fucked up that is?” He asked, unable to help himself. The dark mood settling over him was making it difficult to stay calm. His gentle tone wasn’t easy to maintain. “You’re going to take him on and you still call him master. How do you know you won’t falter when you see him, Metzli? How do you know he isn’t going to get inside your head again?” Feeling a spark of relief upon realising Macleod would be accompanying his friend, if any two people could take on a clan, it would be Macleod and Metzli, fighting together, side by side. “She’s definitely your best bet.” He begrudgingly agreed, making it clear he still wasn’t happy about the idea. “Yeah, you’ve done it before, but I doubt any of those vampires ever groomed you.” Glancing down at Yuca, who was carefully cleaning her paws on the floor at his feet, he couldn’t deny the affection he had for the animal. “I’ll take care of Yuca… obviously.” He muttered, looking back up to hold Metzli’s gaze as they leaned forward to pat him on the shoulder. Their words comforted him, but he knew he couldn’t count on them, so he shrugged them off, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “You can’t make that promise, and you shouldn’t. If you hadn’t made that ridiculous promise to Mina, Bex and I wouldn’t have gone out and none of this would have happened.” He tried to stay angry, tried to cling to his resentment, but a smile was soon tugging at his lips in spite of his best efforts. A few seconds passed before he finally gave into it. “I’m not telling you to fuck off and die, asshole. I want you to come back.” 

“I never said you were a monster, idiot.” Metzli eyed Milo carefully and with soft eyes. “I said monsters like me. I was a monster well before I became a vampire.” They looked away, as if Milo was too bright and they needed to avert their gaze to protect their sight. “You and I couldn’t be any more different despite what we are.” A darkness fogged over Metzli’s eyes and they furrowed their brow, showing brief signs of despair. Erasing the signs with whiskey, this sucked their teeth and begrudgingly sipped on their drink more. How many times did they have to explain? How many more people did they have to tell? It was becoming monotonous.  

Just as more words formed on their tongue, Milo struck them with the flick of his own tongue. Do you know how fucked up that is? Metzli indeed knew how fucked up it was. If it were Milo, if they had the capacity to empathize, they would’ve slaughtered Eloy immediately. Could someone, could multiple people have that ability for them? The answer was yes, but that wasn’t something they were letting themselves believe. Not when people leave so readily. “I don’t know that. I don’t. But I have to kill him. Myself. He took everything from me. I have to try. It has to be by my hands. And I need more time l—more time to get stronger and make a plan.” The unsteady momentum of their voice was prominent, but they hoped they could break from the coffin of terror they had been nailed shut in.  

“That’s surprising. Don’t know why you’d want me to come back. Figured you’d want Yuca all to yourself.” A slow, wry smile tugged onto their lips and they propped their elbows onto their knees as they leaned forward. “I’m not gonna make stupid promises anymore. If I make a promise, it’s because I mean it. I got shit to do. So, I promise I’m coming back.”

Milo continued to frown, tapping absentmindedly at the side of his glass as he thought on Metzli’s words. “I don’t believe that.” He said finally, mustering all of his conviction so that they would know he was being entirely serious. “Not for a second.” Waiting for them to look up at him so that he could pointedly hold their gaze, he couldn’t help but notice their expression. Just how lost they looked. He wasn’t used to seeing Metzli so vulnerable. He wondered whether he ever looked the same way to them. “We are different, but that doesn’t make me good or you bad… it only means that we’re- well, that we’re different.” Not the most eloquent of speakers, even sober, with the alcohol in his system he could only hope his muddled sentence was enough to convey his sentiment. He had done some pretty terrible things, and so had Metzli. But he also knew Metzli had done some wonderful things, things to help others, and make the world a better place. Whether they believed that or not, it was true.  

Not expecting such honesty in response to his comment, he fell silent, scared by his friend’s admission. If they did falter, they would die. They had to know that. Part of him wondered whether they really cared. They had spoken about death before in such a casual way. They seemed to hold no value for their own life, only ever the lives of others. “I know- I get that.” He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to validate any of what they were saying, but they deserved honesty too. It was the very least he could do for them, all things considered. “I just don’t want to lose you… and I know there are other people who don’t want to lose you. You’re not bad company, you know?” Offering Metzli a weak smile, unable to hide how worried he was about their mission, he patted his lap at the mention of Yuca, knowing the cat was eyeing him from where they were sitting in the centre of the room. It didn’t take long for the animal to approach, apparently forgiving him for disturbing her earlier. She clambered back up onto his legs, purring, and butting her head against his chest in a desperate bid for attention. “I do want her to myself.” He agreed, his smile growing, becoming stronger, and more genuine. “But something tells me she might try and eat Summer and Quinn so I guess she’ll just have to stay here with you.” Scratching Yuca behind the ears, it was comforting to be so accepted by an animal. There was something so pure about their affection. “I’m going to hold you to that promise…” He said, his voice quiet, and pensive. “I’ll be waiting for you when you come home.” 

Metzli’s eyes closed briefly, trying to take in Milo’s words in a way that wouldn’t break them completely. First Bex, then Milo, and now even Macleod showed them compassion and care in a way that they had never experienced. Never even hoped to experience. How did someone so vile and monstrous manage to have that happen? “You don’t have to believe that, Milo. But, I do.” They stood up suddenly, becoming acutely aware of the preparations they needed to make before they left town for a few days. Keys jingled from a key ring that hung by the front door, and Metzli sat down while simultaneously dropping the key into Milo’s lap. “You’re gonna need this,” They pressed their lips into a thin line and then finally rolled their eyes. Somehow, they had managed to settle back into a more relaxed deposition. “Well, you can’t have Yuca, and I’m definitely coming back. And don’t say cringey shit like that. Lose me? Come on, get real.” 

A hand pressed against Milo’s arm and shoved him playfully, making everything that much more light-hearted. Metzli didn’t like the seriousness that had taken over the conversation on their part. But they supposed that both vampires needed this. Needed to not feel so alone, and maybe find the answers to the internal questions that they didn’t dare say aloud. “Are you feeling better?” Their voice had a candor of annoyance, but that was only a show. Truthfully, it was more to find out whether or not they were getting better at their own version of compassion. To see if they were capable of making things better despite not being a whole person.  

“You can stay here tonight. But I gotta go check on my gallery and make some final arrangements. All my alcohol better be here when I get back. Actually—” Metzli rose once again from the couch and went to their liquor cabinet to lock it. “There. No you have to only survive on the rest of that whiskey if you stay here.” 

“Well, I know it isn’t true, and that’s what actually matters.” Milo countered easily. He wasn’t about to let Metzli get away with talking so negatively, especially not about themself. He knew if the roles were reversed, they would all but bite his head off in an attempt to get him to stop. Watching curiously as they jumped to their feet, it soon became clear what they were doing, and he hurried to catch the keys. It was strange, holding physical proof of Metzli’s plan. It made everything feel more real, and the anxiety in his chest seemed to triple in a matter of seconds. “I’m allowed to be cringe. Let me be cringe.” He muttered, trying to hide his concern. It wouldn’t benefit either of them, and he didn’t want to make things any harder than they needed to be. Despite his nerves, a laugh managed to escape him when Metzli playfully shoved him, and he grinned when Yuca glared up at him, clearly worried he was going to move again. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to her, gently running his fingers through her fur. “I’m not going anywhere.” She made a soft sound in response, and if he didn’t know better he would say she had understood his words.  

His smile faded at Metzli’s question as he was reminded of the reason for his visit, but it didn’t disappear. “You’re right.” He said, forcing himself to be open. It was difficult to admit but he didn’t want them to leave thinking he didn’t trust them with his feelings. “I am scared of myself. Sometimes I- I’m really fucking terrified.” He exhaled, tilting his head to stare at the ceiling, composing himself before speaking again. “But I have you, right? And you make everything… you make everything not so terrifying.” His grin firmly back in place at the mention of taking their alcohol, his expression fell when he realised they planned to lock their liquor cabinet. Apparently they were being serious. “No fair.” He pouted. “If you wanted me to leave, you could have just told me.” But he was teasing. He was done lying to himself, and done lying to Metzli, at least for the evening. And their company was a comfort, it made him feel almost normal, as though his problems weren’t miriad, and entirely overwhelming. “I guess I’ll be here when you get back then.” He offered them a smile, his eyes shining with open affection. “Unless you need any help with your gallery?” 

Milo’s words forced Metzli to look away and act like they were just calmly grabbing their keys. You make everything not so terrifying. Being a source of comfort never seemed possible, and it felt good to finally be doing something right for a change. Pretending to sift through some papers for just a few seconds longer, they closed their eyes tightly and composed themselves enough to appear` normal. “I guess you do have me. For now. If you get too clingy, though, I’m gone.” Tone was teasing and obviously playful. Taking a few strides to the back of the couch, they tousled Milo’s hair and chuckled lightly.  

“You won’t need to come again until Saturday night, so just let yourself out before I get home in the morning. Unless you wanna see some freaky shit.”  

Metzli walked to the door and grabbed a few more things before opening it and pausing before stepping out. “Thanks for helping me out. And...I’m glad I was able to help a little bit. I’ll see you soon, okay? Try not to wreck my apartment.” The door closed slowly and their steps receded down the hallway. The connections they were making were growing in number. And while it was only a handful, it was far more than Metzli had ever dreamed of having. It scared them, having this much to lose with their former master so close to taking everything away. But they thought maybe that’s what made it worth fighting for. They just had to fear failure, and nothing else.