#also the very jarring shift from the first laugh to the second. GOODBYE

[apricotzel]

here it is, folks! here is every FUTURE laugh that i could find while listening. and even in chronological order with the podcast timeline! (meaning the first clip has a bit of dialogue in it from s5, but i felt in my bones that i had to keep it in. apologies if that bothers you) i am so so normal about this funky little AI (lie)

[lilyharvord]

Do you in red queen univeres is like harry potter. The silvers are like the pureblood family. Mare is a newblood like being a muggles born witch and Julian is more like Dumbledor or the Weasley what do you think?

I'm gonna say the universe itself does seem to lend itself to those categories! Or sub-catagories! It also very easily lends itself to a Hogwarts AU! PREPARE FOR AN AU UNDER THE READ MORE

I mean, Mare seeing her favorite big brother Shade receive a super pretty envelope from this strange school saying he is a wizard and is being offered a position in that school? Going to Diagon Alley with her family and Shade picking out a owl, and old faded robes cause he family really can't afford anything else. Then her hugging him tightly as he has one foot on this strange train and one foot on the strange platform that they had to run through a brick wall to get to?! Holding his hand through the window and running along side the train as he promises to write her every week before she runs out of platform and has to stop as the train pulls away and he is waving and smiling wildly at her. Her little hand slowly falling from her wave to be by her side and she wishes desperately to be on that train with him? ONLY TO RECEIVE HER VERY OWN PRETTY LETTER THE NEXT SUMMER? She gets to do the whole process! And she has all these fantasies about what it will be like based on the letters Shade sent her all last year. She wants an owl, or a salamander, or something like that. And she want to play the strange quidditch game he mentions. She wants to run up and down staircases that change. When she gets on the train with him, she practically pulling out of her mom's arms, and almost forgets to hug a very upset Gisa goodbye.

On the train, Shade tells her all the details, introduces her to his friends: ketha (a second year like him), Ada (a sixth year), and Farley (a second year that Mare is incredibly intimidated by until she sees Shade heart eyeing her every two seconds).

They tell her about the houses. Shade is more than proud to be sorted into Hufflepuff even though Farley teases him about it and Ada only smiles at the whole thing. But they all get quiet about Slytherin. It's not a house you want to be in, Shade says quietly. Mare doesn't quite understand. Cunning? what's so bad about being that? Smart and quick witted? Hell, there's nothing wrong with it.

Then she meets them. The Slytherins. And she sees why she shouldn't be a part of that House. But then she meets the strange, dark haired, blue eyed boy at the back of the group with her, who tries to sit in a boat alone until Mare clambers in behind him, cursing the fact that her socks got wet and they're going to be gross and her shoes will squelch while she walks. He seems a little uncomfortable around her big personality until she introduces herself, and he smiles and shakes her hand, quietly introducing himself as Maven. Nothing more. Mare doesn't mind, loads of people don't give their last names.

Then she's in the Great Hall, underneath the Sorting Hat, Shade smiling at her like a fiend from the Hufflepuff table while Maven is already sitting at the Slytherin one, slouched and looking just a bit upset. (It's not what you think y'all. it's because CAL's a Gryfindor, and their dad was too and he still wants to get his fathers love, and he pretty much just CEMENTED the fact that he won't get it now.) Mare sees him, and the Sorting Hat huffs and says, making friends already? Mare frowns and then thinks back it: he's lonely. And the hat laughs before saying: loyal then, hufflepuff might do you well. She makes a face and it laughs once again when she thinks: I can do better than that. And it seems to nod in understanding before standing upright and announcing SLYTHERIN. Maven sits up taller as Mare leaps down from the stool and runs to him with a big, shit eating grin on her face. Shade goes a little pale in the face but smiles at her nonetheless. It's his baby sister, and if she's happy, he is too.

She's very happy. Slytherin isn't all that bad. Maven's her friend and he's a very good one. He's smart as a tack, and knows all these neat tricks to get through work. But its when they go out to fly on the brooms where they differ finally. Maven is... not a fan of being off the ground. Mare... she could live up there. She tries to get him interested but he jut won't have it, preferring to bury his nose in books and study. (Mare wonders why he wasn't sorted into Ravenclaw like Ada, but she shrugs it off).

It's one day when they're all out walking and that girl Evangeline starts teasing some kid and throws his whatever in the air that things finally get interesting for Mare. In a very impressive showing of skill, she catches this tiny object while flying. IMMEDIATELY, the captain of the Slytherin team wants her as his Seeker. Its UNHEARD OF everyone argues. NO FIRST YEARS allowed! But it's vetoed, and Mare is allowed to play. Shade is more than proud, puffing out his chest, and forcing her to walk around with him so he can introduce her to his class and everyone as the youngest Seeker in years.

It's after she is sneaking out of the Gryffindor tower one night, having stayed to talk with Shade and Farley who is finally losing some of her Ice Queen exterior and even cracked a smile at one of Mare's jokes, that she almost gets in trouble. She is sprinting down the stairs of the tower when she runs smack into someone so they both end up tumbling down the stairs and hitting the back of the Fat Lady's portrait when they land. She stumbles over apologies, trying to grab her things in the dark (and pocketing one or two of his by accident), when she looks up. She's seen him before, she know she has, but can't remember from where. Plus, it's a little dark and she can't see him all that clearly. He's sitting there, tie undone, and shirt all messed up from falling, and rubbing the back of his head where it hit the back of the portrait when he looks at her. HE knows her. This the girl who is the youngest Seeker in years! They blink at each other, and she tries to take off, but he grabs her wrist, keeping ahold of her as he says: Thief! when he realizes she grabbed a few of his things. She looks down at the mess of things in her arms, and then frowns at him before saying, No! These are my things! he pulls out his wand and book from her hands and she's like: okay, well, those aren't mine, but whatever. And he smiles at her as he stands and she's suddenly craning her neck to look up at him, and LORD ABOVE what did he eat as a child?! She squints up at him, still trying to place him when he shifts his things to his other arm and holds out a hand for her to shake. She looks at it, and then takes it slowly. His grip is so warm and comforting, but not sweaty like some of the other boys her age. He shakes her hand and introduces himself as Cal, and THEN Mare knows who he is. This is Maven's brother. The older one, the perfect spitting image of his father who is the "Perfect Son." Maven always sneers just slightly when he says that, and now that she has met this Cal, she knows Maven is right. Turning up her nose at him, she spins on her heel and leaves, completely uninterested.

Okay she lied, she was a little more interested than she let on. She sees him EVERYWHERE after that. He raises his brows at her in the Great Hall, and even smiled and said good morning Mare when she walked by with Maven to Charms one day. After that day, Maven gets really sullen, and tells her that she shouldn't talk to him, that he's trouble. He's a third year, in line to be Prefect and Headboy at some point. She doesn't want to get mixed up with wet blanket like that. She agrees, but something about him, his eyes, the gentle smile, and way he'd looked at her the first time he saw her makes her heart do a little jig every time she thinks about him.

Before she knows it, its the first Quidditch match, and she's set to play. She steps out in her beautiful green and black uniform, and while she's in the tunnel adjusting the straps on her wrist guard with her teeth, someone laughs behind her and says: there is a better way to do that. She looks up, the laces half in her mouth, and a tiny bit of drool running down her chin to see Cal leaning against his broom. Of course he plays Quidditch, she thinks with a scowl. What perfect son wouldn't? He takes her wrist though and ties the guard gently, pulling the laces perfectly through the loops. Maven tried to help her with it this morning but gave up when he couldn't do it. Her face burns with embarrassment but he doesn't notice, or at least, he pretends not to notice. When he finished both wrist guards, he shoulders his broom and with a wink says, "eyes up and head up, dont want to take a Blunger to face on your first day." He strolls away after that, and Mare stands there, watching his shoulders as he leaves. How does a thirteen year old boy manage to look like that?! Shaking it off she steps on the pitch but... that's all she remembers. She takes a nasty blunger to side of the head and falls to the pitch floor. When she wakes up, the entire Slytherin team is around her and so is half the Gryfinddor team, Farley is grimacing as she takes in the situation, and Cal is leaning over her, shielding her from the son. She frowns up at him before saying, "you didn't say they moved that fast." He snorts to hide a laugh as the medics take her off the pitch. Good news? She learns later in the Infirmary, they won! When she went down, Cal, the Keeper moved as if to go to her and they were able to put the Quaffle in to get the final point! Her captain claps her on the back, and she tries not to puke when the movement jars her head.

The year ends uneventfully, and she waves goodbye to Maven as she disembarks and he leaves with Cal. A woman with matching icy blue eyes and stark, ash blonde hair frowns at her as Maven smiles and waves his own goodbye. She pointedly ignores Cal's title wave goodbye.

The next year is much of the same but there is a... current in the air, a charge that wasn't there before. Something is happening, something dark in the world. Shade and Farley go to Hogsmead and talk about it, but Mare can't go yet. She sits in a hidden alcove of the Astronomy tower, watching the world outside with her books open before her. Maven is quieter this year, but there is a strange new confidence and glint in his eye. It worries her. He is not the boy she waved goodbye to at the beginning of the summer.

One day while studying, she hears footsteps and looks up to see Cal pausing along side her. Her stomach flip flops when she sees him. The summer did wonders for him. Somehow, he is more attractive. She didn't even realize that was possible. And she REFUSED to admit that she thought about him a few times... well more than a few times... over the break. He smiles at her and before she knows it, she's leaning toward him to talk. She asks why he's not at Hogsmead and he grimaces before saying he is struggling with Diviniation and has to take an extra class on it every week. She laughs, and the smile he gives her when she does laugh turns her stomach to molten lava. He helps her out of the windowsill and they walk to the Great Hall together. Maven intercepts them before then, his eyes narrowing and darkening when Cal waves goodbye and heads on his way. Mare nudges Maven with her shoulder and teases him saying: are you worried I might like him more than you? Maven glowers at her, and she softens before taking his hand and promising him that Cal is "a complete and utter moron, who she could never like." It seems to relax him, but not completely. Again, Mare worries. He was never concerned about Cal or any of this before.

The year works that way though. She slowly get closer to Cal. They have this strange unspoken agreement to meet at HER windowsill once a week and then walk along the ground by the lake. One day, in the winter, she forgets a thick enough coat, and is shivering in her sweater until he shrugs off his cloak and drapes it around her shoulders. She blinks in surprise, before smiling and thanking him. It's far too big on her and drags on the ground a bit, but its warm and it smells like him. Which she is terrified to realize she kind of likes.

She starts spending time in the Gryffindor tower too, getting closer with Shade's friends, and sometimes, Cal is there too. He's not really a staple (he and Farley don't really get along, something about her calling him a Pure Blooded Hypocrite), but Mare finds she likes when he is around.

That summer is terrible. Maven doesn't write her as much as he promised. And the world is getting Dark™️. There are strange disappearances on the TV. Things are getting weird. Shade gets secret letters from Farley that he hides from her. When they go back to Hogwarts, things are... different. There are guards, there weren't Guards before. Maven looks more gaunt and haunted. Even Cal doesn't seem as cheery anymore. They're walks around the lake go from once to twice to three times a week. He tells her about his side of the Wizarding World, and she learns about a group that is known as the Death Eaters (who serve a mysterious Dark One that wants to eliminate the muggle population and the mud bloods). Mare frowns when he says that word. He says it quietly, like its something bad. She's not sure why, it's a word. When she asks Farley about it, her friend's face hardens and she tells her it's a nasty term that Pure Bloods use to describe the people like them. The ones who come from non magic families.

She finds solace in Quidditch, she even goes out when Cal offers to show her a few tricks, and that time... it is strangely magical. She finally gets to go to Hogsmead, and spend time with Shade and Farley there. They have a new little group, a taller fifth year named Tristan is added, Ada is with them, Ketha, and a couple of others. Shade tells her to go off and find something to do one time and she ends up spying on them. When she does, she overhears them talking about the Dark One, that they are back and that is the reason so many Muggles are dying and disappearing strangely. That Hogwarts might not be safe anymore. She confronts Cal about it one day, and he stops dead in the snow, spins on her and says never to talk about it. That the Dark One is dead, has been dead for year and that she should never mention them. She is taken aback, he's never seemed so concerned to desperate before. So she drops it. But things get worse over christmas break.

When she returns, Maven is almost cold with her. She tries to tease him like she used to, but he just isn't having it. She clings tighter to him, worried that things are not going well at home. She knows his mother isn't great, knows his father is an asshole. She can't understand how two people like that managed to make someone like Maven, and someone like Cal. But she tries her best to be a friend for Maven. She can't help but get closer with Cal. Something about him draws her in, and keeps her.

One day at Hogsmead, she runs into him (literally, again). She slips on the ice and he catches her, his hands grabbing her hips and pulling her close so she has to grab the front of his coat and cloak to keep herself upright too. They look at each other for a long time, confused and full of butterflies before she spots Maven at the other end of the bridge. She was supposed to meet him at the sweet shop but was running late. His eyes narrow ever so slightly at what he sees, and Mare pulls away from Cal glaring at him and adjusting her hair when he blinks in confusion. She turns on her heel and leaves without a word, taking Maven's hand in her own as she passes him and dragging him along.

That summer, something changes fundamentally in the world. The world actually gets even Darker. Shade gets more worried, and Farley starts showing up at thier house. Mare know they are seeing each other. But she keeps it to herself. When they go back to Hogwarts... there are Guards on the train. She walks down the hallway and runs into Cal on his way to his compartment. The train rocks as she is trying to pass him and she ends up in his arms again. She's fifteen, and he's seventeen, old for a sixth year. But in his Prefect uniform, he looks quiet attractive, and somehow he got MORE attractive over the summer. The flutters that had once been nothing but tummy flutters when she was elven/twelve are now full blown butterflies in her stomach. She would never admit it, but she had a dream about him over the summer. About his hands on her hips and the stone wall of the Gryffindor common room rubbing against her back as she pinned her to it. She doesn't pull herself out of his arms right now though, there is something comforting about being in his embrace right now, when the world seems to slowly falling apart around them. He lets her go, a falsh of something in his eyes before he smiles at her and says, safe travels.

When they get to Hogwarts, she knows there is something wrong with Maven. He looks like a corpse, his eyes are dark and his features are sharper than usual. She tries to get him to smile for her, but he can't seem to muster much. So one day, out of desperation, she kisses him. He melts finally, and she melts with him, burning like Icarus when he got to close to the sun. They become... a thing for lack of a better term. He clings tightly to her, pulls her away from Farley and Shade and her friends, pointedly makes sure she doesn't spend time with Cal to the point where he actually seeks her out one day, and Maven jeers at him until he leaves. It scares her, he was never hostile, never a person like this. When she talks to him about it, he raves about things she doesn't understand. An In fact, he seems almost angry with her. She can't understand, she tries to get it out of him halfway through the fall, and he turns around and calls her a nasty Mudblood, jeering at her about the fact that is lucky he even considers her a friend. It breaks her heart, shatters it into a thousand pieces. She didn't kiss him just because it might make him feel better. She kissed him because she wanted to, because she thought it felt right (she also did it because a secret part of her hoped that kissing him would make the dreams about Cal stop.)

She stops hanging around him, the other kids like him and the other Slytherins embrace him instead, folding him into their group, while she starts to gravitate to Shade and Farley again.

they go home for Christmas, and the world tilts completely on its access. There is horrible accident that kills a number of families, and Shade immediately packs a backpack that night to go see Farley. Mare forces him to take her with him. When they get to Farley's, everyone is there, all the people Shade has been friends with. She learns they are forming a group, the Scarlet Guard, to defend themselves. The Dark One is coming back, and they will be ready.

When they return in the spring, the teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts does not prepare them right. Mare feels like a child being handed a pair of children scissors to solve a grown up problem. She talks to Shade about it, and the group agrees. They need training. It's then that Mare does what cements her fate with Maven. She seeks out Cal. He is not looking too great either, there is something haunting his face and when she finally walks up to him one morning on the lawn near the lake, he looks at her suspiciously. She doesn't know why but she ends up curled against his side, sobbing. He's taken aback at first, and then soften, wrapping an arm around her while she tells him everything. With a tight jaw, and a nod, he agrees to help them training.

They form a secret group, and they start training. It's then that Mare starts to realize that perhaps she likes Cal more than she lets on. he's a good teacher, a very good one, and whenever he holds her hand and guides her wrist through a complex spell movement, she feels her face heat up. He's a sixth year, seventeen and on the cusp of greatness it seems. His OWLs were outstanding, he is set on the path she knows he wants. They train together privately. On a nondescript day like any other, she stays after to talk to him, and when she does, he kisses her. It turns her into a pool of liquid mercury, and when he breaks it off and gently caresses her cheek with his thumb she knows she is doomed.

They leave for the summer, and she writes him daily. He writes back, telling her about things happening at home. There are issues, his father is stressed, his step mother is being cagey, and Maven... he's not himself. She worries, Shade is a sixth year and she's just a fifth year, but the world feels like it is resting on their shoulders.

When they come back to school in the fall, Maven confronts her. He found the letters she wrote to Cal. He accuses her of a number of things she is horrified by. Cal steps in to push him back, and in a horrible moment, Maven draws his wand and puts to Cal's throat. The brothers stand like that for a moment, and Mare with her hand on her wand fears who she will have to point her own wand at. But Maven drops the wand, and that is that when he storms off.

The Scarlet Guard grows in number. And then it happens right before they leave for Winter Break. The earth shattering, horrible truth. The Dark One returns, and no where is safe. Hogwarts is under attack before anyone knows what is happening. Mare is fighting through the halls, throwing out hexes and charms she never thought she would have to use. She battles her way to Cal, who takes her hand and pulls her close. The Aurors arrive but they are not enough. Shade, Farley, Mare and Cal storm the upper tower. Cal makes them stay below in the hidden crawl space because Maven is up there and he can hear his father. When he gets up there, it is not what he thinks. Mare and Farley and Shade watch from below in horror as Elara uses the Imperius Curse to actually turn Cal on his father so he kills him. When that happens, the truth is revealed. Elara is the Dark One, or the new chosen Dark One among the Death Eaters. Mare storms up the steps before Elara can kill Cal, using the one spell she knows might end the duel. But Maven steps in and they end up dueling. With tears steaming down her cheeks, she tries to fight him off. But he is not fighting to stun her, he is fighting to kill her, to put her out of commission. She is disarmed, and in a horrible moment, thinks he will kill her. Elara is cooing at him to do it, to punish her for loving his brother instead of him. She pleads with him silently, begging him with her eyes not to. His lips twist as he struggles with the decision. It's too long, Shade and Farley get up the steps and force Elara and Maven to appirate away.

The world cracks open like an egg as war spills out after that.

HOLY SHIT THAT WAS LONG. ANYWAY, ENJOY EVERYONE. I'm not going back and rereading this so whatever you see is what you get XD

[hottestthingalive]

a storm in your eyes (lightning and dark skies)

It is then, with Virgil curled up against him, wet hair soaking Logan’s neck and the smell of hot chocolate in the air, that Logan realizes he loves a thunderstorm in human form. 

His best friend.

Oh, god, Logan is in love with his best friend. And also his roommate. And also his favorite person in the whole of the universe.

(He’s pretty sure that if Virgil could hear his thoughts, and if, y’know, Virgil wasn’t the person in question, he’d roll his eyes and say, “Oh my god, they were roommates.” The idea nearly makes him laugh.) 

–

Notes: Thank you so much to @snek-snacc, @smileyzs, @confused-sunflower, @xaimelarks​, and all my other followers for putting up with me ranting about this story, and helping me edit. Y’all are the best!

Edit: After publishing this, I got this AMAZING piece of art from @ent-is-undecisive / @birdsongisland! Go check them out, because they’re insanely talented, and looking at this piece makes me so so so happy!

Two sequels also exist for this now! 

waffles and wedding vows (promises and proof)

songs and stars and silence (of loving you)

Hope you enjoy!

Relationships: Romantic Analogical, background romantic Royaliceit, background romantic Intrusleep/rem^2, platonic drlamper

Words: 6885

Ao3

–

Logan Sanders falls in love with a thunderstorm.

Well, not a thunderstorm, exactly. As far as Logan knows (and he knows quite a lot), a tempest, no matter how powerful, cannot take the form of a human.

Still, the first time the boy with a hurricane’s eyes enters Mugnificent (the coffee shop Logan very reluctantly works at), he swears the smell of ozone fills the air. 

His name is Virgil Foley, and he sweeps into Logan’s life like a summer storm, filling it with wind and chaos and unmatched wild beauty. 

The first time they meet, it is 5:26 in the morning, and he’s considering revolt. Yes, he needs this job to supplement his scholarship, but being up this early is awful enough to warrant mutiny. Besides, customers are few this early in the day, and thus the tip jar is woefully empty. 

The door opens with a ding 

(there is a smell like lightning)

and in walks a person with dark hair tied in a bun under a black beanie, rummaging around in their backpack. Their bag is covered in pins, and Logan notes a rainbow one near the center. 

“Hey,” they say, and he meets eyes the color of stormclouds, a grey bordering on purple and blue simultaneously. “Can I just get a small coffee, please? Black is fine.” 

“Yeah,” Logan nods. “Name?”

They glance around the empty Mugnificent with a raised eyebrow, but reply with “Virgil,” anyways. 

“Nice to meet you, Virgil,” says Logan, and he’s not normally one for small talk, but he also is sleep-deprived, and too tired to have any sort of filter. “I’m Logan.”

Virgil relaxes, and they hold out a hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you, too. I use he/him pronouns, by the way.”

“Ah, yes,” Logan nods, returning the handshake. “He/him for me, as well, thank you.”

Virgil pays and waits by the counter as Logan goes to prepare the coffee, scrolling through his phone. There is a comfortable silence as he makes the drink, which Logan spends mentally cursing out Roman, his coworker who was supposed to arrive for work thirty minutes ago. “Here,” he says finally, holding out the cup for Virgil to take. 

“Thanks.” Virgil is wearing fingerless gloves, and his nails are painted a bright purple. They shine in the fluorescent lighting. “Have a nice day, Logan.”

“You too,” he replies, and it seems too little. Logan doesn’t believe in magic, or gods, or destiny, but as he watches Virgil turn, about to walk out the door, something twangs in his chest. Despite himself, Logan opens his mouth, searching for something to say, anything that will make him stay. 

He blinks, about to speak, and Virgil is gone.

A few minutes later, it begins to rain. 

–

The second time he meets Virgil, it is in his psych class. 

Logan has always liked psychology. It’s fascinating how the human brain works, he thinks, and even if he isn’t always so good at understanding emotions, he’s quite good at the science behind them. His appreciation for said science is the only reason he signs up for the class at all, when it has practically nothing to do with his astrophysics major. 

He’s just about forgotten about the boy with eyes of a storm by the time he sits down for the first psychology class of the semester, pulling his computer and textbooks out of his own bag, and setting them before him. Logan cracks the knuckles on each hand individually, a nervous habit he’s had since he was in high school. He’s done his best to break it, but he supposes, as annoying as it is, it’s better than some of the alternatives.

Case in point, the boy from Mugnificent, who walks into the room nervously tapping his thigh while chewing at his lip. There’s a split in it, one that shines a bright red against the chapped surface, and Logan wants to wince just looking at it. 

His eyes flash with recognition as he spots Logan in one of the back rows, and he pauses. “Logan, right? From the coffee place.”

“And you’re Virgil,” Logan smiles, and okay, maybe he hadn’t forgotten Virgil so much as attempted to forget him. 

“Can I sit there?” he asks, nodding to the seat beside Logan. 

It turns out Virgil is smart, and funny, and just a little bit snarky, and a English major minoring in psychology. He’s got all kinds of nervous habits, chewing on his lip and tapping out rhythms known only to him and drawing on every available surface, and Logan often notices a tendril of ink wrapping around one of his fingers from under his gloves. 

They become fast friends, him and Virgil, bonding over a love for space and science and poetry. He starts coming to Mugnificent for coffee more often, and Roman teases Logan incessantly about it. 

“You’re finally making friends!” he pretends to sob, throwing his arms around him, and he has to shove Roman away, rolling his eyes. Virgil is stifling a laugh behind one gloved hand, and Logan mouths “Traitor,” at him, though he isn’t really mad at all.

They fall into patterns -- psych and history and statistics together, always seated side by side, sometimes accompanied by Roman or Patton or Remus or Janus or any one of their expanding circle of friends. The two of them buy each other coffee, edit essays, go out for junk food (that Logan complains about but secretly loves) with their friends. 

Virgil begs to paint Logan’s nails one night as they watch documentaries together in Patton and Virgil’s dorm room. His tongue sticks out of his mouth slightly as he focuses on the tiny white dots he’s adding, and Logan ends up loving the night sky that graces his fingers. In return, Logan styles Virgil’s long hair into a crown of braids. 

“Your Majesty,” he bows as he leads Virgil to the mirror. 

“If I’m royalty now, I demand a feast to celebrate,” Virgil grins, admiring his hair. “Sir Logan, this calls for pizza!”

“All the junk food you consume is going to kill you one day,” Logan sighs, but he’s already dialing their favorite pizza place.

They eat dinner seated on the floor, holding paper plates and drinking soda as they watch Cosmos. Patton returns to the dorm a few minutes later, accompanied by Janus and Roman both, and snags some of the pizza for himself – luckily, they’d thought to order extra, as soon Remus, Remy, and Emile all show up, too, crowding into the dorm room and around Logan’s laptop. The documentary is switched to Big Hero 6, Virgil showing off his hair and Logan his nails as the others admire them. Soon Virgil is breaking out his nail polish again, painting delicate puppies on Patton’s fingers, and Logan is teaching Roman how to do the same hairstyle on Emile’s curls. 

It’s a Saturday night, so they feel comfortable all crashing in Patton and Virgil’s room, squeezing far too many young adults into one small space. Emile giggles that it reminds them of sleepovers they went to when they were in elementary school, and Remus points out that they ought to play Truth or Dare with a manic grin. Virgil quickly puts a stop to that, however, distracting Remus with conspiracy theories and carving marshmallows to look like Lovecraftian monsters, and Logan wants to laugh because Virgil is very much a mom friend, despite his protests to the contrary. Still, as he sips hot cocoa with a marshmallow Cthulhu staring up at him from the mug, he has to admit it was a good idea. They all get into the fun, carving marshmallows with whatever cutlery Patton and Virgil have in their room, and eventually Monster Mallows will become a tradition for all of their friend group. 

When he falls asleep that night, lying on the floor in the blanket fort Patton and Roman had insisted on building, he dreams of rain and lightning, across dark skies that resemble Virgil’s eyes. 

–

Logan realizes Virgil is his best friend in the middle of winter, when he shows up at Mugnificent at the end of his shift, ordering two coffees and taking them as Logan gets ready to leave. “Sorry, Roman,” Virgil says, though he doesn’t look sorry at all as he hands Logan one of the drinks and reaches out to hold his other hand. “C’mon, L, we’ve got to hurry if we’re going to get there in time.”

“Where are we going?” Logan raises an eyebrow, throwing on his coat and waving goodbye to Roman (who is saying something dramatic about a grievous betrayal) as he sips at the coffee. It’s perfect, his order exactly. 

“Look!” Virgil grins as they leave the coffee shop, and it’s snowing, white flakes falling around them and coating the ground. Some of the cars nearby are already covered in it. “C’mon, we’ve got to get to the park.” 

“Wait, why?” he asks. “Virgil, this looks rather like the makings of a blizzard. We should probably go back to our dorms so we can prepare if we get snowed in.”

“I know it’s a snowstorm,” Virgil rolls his eyes, and his stormy eyes are bluer than Logan’s ever seen them, shining with excitement. “Now, let’s go!”

Logan should probably argue more, but he’s laughing as he gets pulled along, the two half-running towards the park. 

They slow down at the top of a hill already lightly coated with snow, and Virgil reaches into his bag to pull out a picnic blanket. “No,” Logan protests, but he’s cackling as Virgil yells “Snow picnic!” and spreads it over the snow. 

“This is going to turn into a blizzard,” he manages to say, stifling his giggles. “We are going to be buried alive because you wanted to have a picnic in a snowstorm.”

“Oh, shush,” Virgil grins, flopping down onto the blanket and digging into his bag again to retrieve two bagels wrapped in tinfoil. “Drink your coffee and watch the snow with me, Logan Sanders.”

The bagel he hands Logan has Crofters jam instead of cream cheese spread across it, still warm from toasting, and Logan could kiss Virgil if they weren’t very platonic…

Well, it feels like they are a whole lot more than friends, at this point. There’s something about their relationship that feels different from the ones Logan has with their other companions, be it Remus or Emile, Patton or Janus, Roman or Remy. 

Are they best friends?

He asks, and Virgil merely grins and says “I hope so.” 

It’s amazing, lying there as they watch the sky, munching on bagels and sipping at their coffee and pointing out oddly shaped clouds. Virgil is practically covered in snowflakes by the time they have to leave, the wind picking up too much to stay, and Logan is no better. Still, he thinks it was worth it, even when he gets a cold and has to spend the weekend curled up in blankets, sneezing and coughing as he works on his essay for his cosmology class. Virgil gets a cold, too, and they end up on the phone together as they work, Virgil blasting music on his end and Logan parroting his roommate’s consistent reminders to take medicine, and drink some water! 

Emile seems to think it’s cute, for some reason, and they tell Logan to say hi to Virgil for them, a smile playing on their lips that he’s too sick to interpret. 

–

Logan has a crush on a boy in their shared statistics class by March, the one who sits three rows in front of him and two seats to the right, who has green hair and a cheerful grin. Virgil listens patiently about it whenever Logan brings it up, and when they have to pair up for a final project, he pushes him towards his crush, joining Remus instead.

He finds out his crush already has a romantic partner in a strictly monogamous relationship when they’re nearly done with the project, and Virgil shows up to Logan’s dorm room with ice cream and his laptop that night, pulling aside Emile as he comes in and whispering something to him. Emile leaves shortly after, and the two of them are alone.

“What did you tell Emile?” Logan asks later, when they’re sitting on his bed and watching trashy teenage romcoms, because, according to Virgil, “This way, you won’t associate any good movies with this.” 

“Well, Patton invited him for a ‘sleepover,’” Virgil says, eating directly from the carton of chocolate ice cream, gaze shifting from the screen to Logan. “Did the moment he saw your text on the groupchat.”

Logan had texted that his crush has a partner when Roman had begun teasing him about it on said chat. Looking back, it may not have been the best of decisions, but all he wants to do right now is curl into the comforter and watch bad movies, while simultaneously eating unholy amounts of ice cream. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he protests, pulling the blankets closer around him. 

“Listen, L, you’re sad ‘cause the boy you like… well, you know. Anyways, you being sad is a big deal, at least to us.” Virgil isn’t wearing his normal clothes, only a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt (Logan knows he ran over in his nightwear, which makes him feel worse), so he can see the ink covering his hands, smudged in places.

“Why do you draw on yourself so much?” He leans over to look at the patterns of spirals winding their way up Virgil’s arms, tracing them with one finger. “That much ink can’t be good for your skin, pretty as it is, Vee.”

Virgil bats his hand away, blushing behind his curtains of dark hair, and Logan laughs. “It’s just a nervous habit, okay?” he exclaims, and Logan pokes his cheek, cooing. 

“Aw, lookit you,” he smiles, and even though Logan’s heart hurts from what happened with his crush, he doesn’t think he would trade anything for his friendship with Virgil Foley. “So cute.”

“I’m not cute,” Virgil grumbles, pressing play on the computer. “Watch the shitty movie and shush, nerd.”

He gets over the boy from statistics eventually, and gets an A on the project, which Roman insists they celebrate with breakfast at Logan’s favorite diner on campus. (Logan’s pretty sure Roman just feels guilty about teasing him about it, but he goes anyways, pulling his friend aside later to tell him it’s fine.)

–

They return from summer vacation changed. Janus, Patton, and Roman are dating now, for one thing, and it’s disgustingly sappy. Emile comes out as asexual and aromantic a few days after they get back, and Logan helps them hang flags in their dorm room when they arrive a week later. Remy has switched majors, from biology to culinary classes, and Remus tells them excitedly that he’s managed to start a rather popular horror comic online. (Logan reads it, and learns Remus is quite adept at art, writing, and scaring the crap out of him. He never looks at door knobs the same way again.) Virgil, meanwhile, has started wearing far less baggy clothes and more makeup – in other words, people around campus start realizing that Virgil is actually hot, and not just a relatively cute bundle of sweatshirts. 

Logan kind of feels weird about it. He knows how aesthetically pleasing Virgil is, of course – they’ve spent enough time together for him to have figured that out – but… well, Logan had realized while he was away how much he’d missed Virgil, even more so than his other friends. He tells himself it is because of how close they are, and ignores the ugly anger in his chest when people flirt with Virgil, or how his heart pounds and face flushes when they curl up to watch movies these days. 

As for him, well, he’s dyed his hair a dark blue, a color so dark it’s almost black. Roman marvels over it, asking how he managed to not damage his hair in the process, and Logan doesn’t feel like telling him that he had meant to do a brighter shade, but hadn’t realized how hard it would be to get proper color without bleaching his normal dark hair. He does end up telling Virgil later, though, when Remy and Patton drag them and the rest of their friends to a party.

For the record, Logan tended to avoid such events. He didn’t see the point, firstly – he’d never been a fan of crowds, especially not ones where everyone was drunk off their asses, and he generally had too much work to do to bother with parties. Secondly, he simply didn’t care enough to look nice for such a thing, or to go at all. Logan would much rather spend time with his friends if he had to be up in the middle of the night, whether haunting the 24/7 diner a few miles off campus or playing stupid games in the woods or making fun of Disney movies while throwing popcorn at the screen and shushing each other so they didn’t get noise complaints. 

But then there were Patton and Remy, social creatures who liked seeing other people and didn’t mind getting wasted to do so. Roman and Janus typically followed Patton wherever he went, so they were a given, and Remus had developed a raging crush on Remy by then, so he’d probably have tagged along even if Remy hadn’t grabbed his hand and said “You’ll come, right, Ree?” with a grin. 

Well, Remus was lost to them after that, and that left Emile, Logan, and Virgil alone.

Which would have been fine! Except then Virgil had got dragged in by Patton (a difficulty of being his roommate, according to Logan’s best friend, was that Patton was very, very persuasive when he wanted to be) and Virgil had begged Logan to come for “Introvert solidarity, L! Introvert solidarity!”

Then Emile had sighed, said something about being the only responsible one, and appointed themself designated driver. So Logan didn’t even have that excuse to pull himself and Virgil out of it early. 

He finds himself on a couch in someone’s house, sitting besides Virgil. Janus tells him that it is owned by someone who goes to their college but lives nearby, a summer home belonging to their parents or something. Janus says ze aren’t sure who the actual host is, and ze run off to go find Roman or Patton before Logan can ask why all of them are attending a party hosted by someone they don’t know.

Virgil has obviously already had something to drink, or he’s insanely sleep-deprived, as he has started playing with Logan’s hair. Logan’s willing to bet on the former (although knowing Virgil, he can’t be sure – he has an awful sleep schedule) especially since he’s never known the other to be so touchy, even when tired. 

“How’d you get it like this?” Virgil asks, running his fingers through Logan’s curls. He’s perched on top of the couch, and though he would normally be concerned that Virgil might fall, Logan is just glad he doesn’t have to bend over so his friend can examine his hair. 

He tells Virgil, and can’t help but smile as he laughs, perhaps a little more than the story warrants. They sit there in peace for a few minutes, Virgil humming along with any song he recognizes and Logan scanning the room for any of their friends. 

“Your hair is so pretty,” Virgil eventually says, and Logan is surprised he can hear him at all over the noise of the music and other people. He slides down from the couch to sit beside him, reaching up to poke Logan’s cheek. “You’re pretty. You know that, right? You’re real, real pretty.”

“Aw,” Logan grins, hoping the dim lights and Virgil’s addled brain will hide his red cheeks. “What is it you say? Oh, right; you think I’m warm.”

“No, dummy, I think you’re hot,” Virgil sighs. “Get it right.”

“Why, thank you.”

“‘Course. You’re my best friend, Logan Sanders.”

“Same,” he replies, dodging Virgil’s attempt to flick him as he scans the room. “Have you seen Remy or Remus around recently?”

“Oh, they’ve been making out in that closet over there,” Virgil says offhandedly, pointing, and Logan nearly chokes. “You didn’t know? They’re so obvious, Remy’s been whining about it to me for weeks. ‘Oh, Virgil, I’m doomed to be alone forever!’ ‘Oh, Virgil, Remus is so hot, and I’m going to whine about it to you for hours!’ ‘Oh, Virgil, I have a crush on a trash rat man and I won’t stop talking about it ever!’”

“Did Remy actually call Remus a ‘trash rat man’?” he snickers, turning to look at Virgil, who is wringing his hands in mock despair as he imitates Remy.

“No,” Virgil pouts. “Wish he had. Remus would love that.”

“He would,” Logan agrees, rolling his eyes fondly. “Hey, do you want to leave?”

“Why, Logan Perfect-Hair Sanders, are you asking me to ditch a party with you?” he laughs.

“That isn’t my middle name and you know it.” Logan shoots off a text to Emile, standing and turning to grab Virgil’s hand, pulling him upright. “But sure. Will you, Virgil Emo-Nightmare Foley, ditch this absurd party with me?”

“Logan, I thought you’d never ask,” Virgil smirks. “Let’s bounce!”

They get lucky – Logan hasn’t had anything to drink, and due to how large their group is, Virgil had had to drive over Patton, Janus, Roman, and himself earlier. Virgil hands him the keys to the car, and Logan drives them to the nearby McDonalds, where they order fries and milkshakes. “Let’s go somewhere high,” Virgil says when they return to the car, grinning, and Logan obliges, driving them to his favorite stargazing spot near campus, partway up a mountain in a parking lot for an old playground. 

Soon, he finds himself sitting on the hood of Virgil’s car, dipping his fries in a chocolate shake as the two of them stare up at the stars and the moon, pointing out constellations. “Look,” giggles Virgil, his head on Logan’s shoulder as he traces lines between stars. “It’s the glasses one!”

“There is no ‘glasses’ constellation, Virgil,” he points out, but the path his friend is etching into the sky does look rather like a pair of glasses. 

“Well, there is now,” replies the other. “It’s your constellation! You deserve one, y’know, ‘cause you’re pretty, and smart, and nice, and funny, and you’re just the best, Lo, okay?”

“How much did you have to drink, exactly?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow, and his friend punches him in the arm, lightly. “Ow!”

“I’m telling the truth,” Virgil rolls his eyes, pulling the blankets they’d retrieved from the trunk closer around the two of them. “You deserve a constellation. You deserve the universe.”

“Well, now we have to find you a constellation, too,” he muses, ignoring the heat in his cheeks (he seems to be blushing quite a lot lately, talking to Virgil) as he searches the sky. It takes a few minutes, and Virgil is half-asleep on his shoulder by the time he makes his choice, but finally Logan says “I found it.”

“Well, lemme see,” Virgil mumbles, opening his eyes. 

He traces lines between a series of stars. “It’s a cloud,” he explains, “and a lightning bolt. Because you’re a thunderstorm, V.”

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” He’s biting his lip, suddenly subdued, and Logan feels a surge of guilt, because no one should ever make Virgil look like that, anxious and hurt and scared all at once.

“No,” he answers, fiercely enough that Virgil jumps slightly. “You’re wild, and chaotic, and occasionally a bit destructive, but you also make people feel alive. You bring rain to help things live, you bring the sound of a storm and the beauty of lightning, you simultaneously wake me up and help me sleep. You are beautiful, and inspiring, and so amazingly you, and the best friend I could ever ask for.”

“...And I thought I was the English major,” Virgil says quietly, and his face is bright red. “You have no right to be better at words than me, Sanders.”

“Well, Foley, I’m the astrophysics major, and you’re the one who started making constellations, so turnabout’s fair play,” Logan replies, and Virgil lets out a laugh at that.

Later, when the fries and milkshakes are both gone, they get back into the car and drive back to their dorms. For Logan’s birthday that year, a month or so later, Virgil presents him with a painting of the glasses constellation. He’d commissioned Remus, he explains, staring at his feet, and Logan tells him he loves it. For Virgil’s birthday, he gets a similar art piece from Roman, of the stars making a storm, and Virgil pulls him into a tight hug.

For now, though, the two of them simply sit and gaze into space. 

–

Logan goes on a few dates with someone he meets at the coffee shop, named Andy. They become boyfriends. Virgil teases him about it whenever he brings it up, and eventually he stops talking about his partner to his best friend. The two of them start to pull apart, their friendship strained.

When Logan and Andy separate, Virgil is dating a girl he’s only met a few times, who shares Virgil’s English classes and wears colorful barrettes to hold back her curls.

He hadn’t even known Virgil liked her. 

–

College passes by quickly. They graduate, and Logan tumbles into a job at a rather prestigious observatory. He lives in a small apartment in the city nearby, buys coffee from the Starbucks across the street every morning, settles into a routine.

Gradually, they all start to fall out of touch. It sucks, but things have been off between Virgil and him ever since Logan had dated Andy Michaels, and at the moment Logan sees his ex-boyfriend more than his ex-best friend. Their relationship had ended amicably, but still – he misses Virgil Foley, more than he’d ever like to admit. 

A year or so later, Logan receives the invitation to Remy and Remus’ wedding. 

It is in the fall, and Logan isn’t surprised in the least that they plan to have it in a forest, if only because he knows that the odds of Remus wanting the guests to jump into leap piles with him are absurdly high. At least they’re at an actual wedding site, so they can be inside if needed – Logan half expected, when he found out they’d gotten engaged, for them to drag a bunch of guests to a Starbucks for the event. 

What does surprise Logan is the fact that Remus has apparently sent it early, because Logan is going to be one of the wedding party attendants. 

He calls Remus and Remy that night, certain they’ve mixed up things, but Remy simply laughs. “Logan, you’re still one of our best friends,” he says. “Come on, please?”

“Besides,” Remus adds, “Virge will be one too, and Patton and Roman and Jan and Emile! You can’t break up the team!”

He ends up agreeing, and no matter how much Remy teases him about it later, it was not just to see Virgil again. 

The wedding rolls around. Logan has managed to avoid speaking to Virgil for more than a friendly greeting and a bit of small talk through all the preparations the two of them had had to attend, but the they both arrive early on the day of, and Logan doesn’t know anybody else, and, well, he does miss Virgil. 

“Hey,” he says. Virgil is nearly as tall as him in the heels he’s wearing (Logan had managed to opt out of them, convincing Remus to let him wear flats with his dress), and his green dress offsets his stormy eyes perfectly. Logan doesn’t think he looks nearly as good in the color, but he’d decided not to argue with Remy’s puppy-dog eyes. Besides, he much prefers the dress to the suits Emile and Patton had opted for. 

“Hi, Logan,” Virgil replies. The tension in the air is palpable, and Logan hates it. “How’ve you been lately?”

“I’m good,” he answers. 

“Oh, good,” nods Virgil. He’s gnawing at his lip again, and Logan can see the split in it even through the lipstick. “Me too.”

“I miss you,” Logan says suddenly, because he does. “You were my best friend, and I hate not being close, because you are one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

“...I miss you too.” He smooths his dress, looking out the window at the trees, and then laughs. “I’m surprised they didn’t have their wedding in a Starbucks, honestly.”

Logan can’t help but chuckle at that, especially when he spots Remy breezing past them, a coffee cup in hand and makeup only half-done, frantically trying to catch his little brothers and sister, whom he and Remus had appointed flower children. “I thought the same thing,” he admits. 

It’s easy for the two of them to talk, after that, sharing jokes and telling stories and talking about their new lives. Logan feels oddly happy when he learns Virgil is single, and when he mentions how he’s looking for a roommate and Virgil remarks that he is too, it feels as natural as breathing to ask where he’s currently living. Finding out they live in the same city makes Logan feel strangely elated. 

“Help!” Remus exclaims, skidding to a stop in front of them, collapsing into Virgil’s arms and only barely being caught. “I’ve lost my husband-to-be!” 

“Alright, please calm down,” Logan says, exchanging exasperated looks with Virgil, who pulls Remus back to his feet. “Have you actually lost Remy, or are you just being overly dramatic?”

“He has been stolen from me,” Remus whines. “We were kissing, and then he was dragged away by my evil brother!”

“By any chance, was he dragged away to prepare for your wedding? The event we’re attending, so you two can get married? The one that most guests are expected to arrive for in fifteen minutes?” Virgil crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. 

Remus’ eyes widen. “Fifteen minutes?” he asks, checking Logan’s watch, and groans. “Oh, drumsticks. Drumsticks torn right off a chicken. Bloody chicken legs everywhere.”

He darts off, and Logan and Virgil sigh simultaneously.

“We should go help, shouldn’t we?” Virgil asks, and Logan nods reluctantly. “Well, it was great to talk to you.”

“It was pleasant to speak with you, as well,” he agrees. 

As he turns to go find Patton, Virgil grabs his arm. “Hey, L, save me a dance, okay?”

They do indeed dance together that night, after they watch Remy and Remus get married among the colorful leaves, and talk, and laugh, and by the end of the wedding they are good friends again.

Virgil and Logan move in together by the end of November. 

–

They become surprisingly domestic, the two of them, moving into their large apartment that is close to both Logan’s job at the observatory and Virgil’s work at a publishing company. He’s not surprised Virgil has become an editor (he was always the best at it, when they exchanged essays to review), but he is rather impressed when he notes some of the books in Virgil’s room have his full name on the cover. “I write poetry, mostly,” he explains when Logan asks. “It’s… I used to use it like therapy, I guess, and I got some of it published. I’m not famous or anything.”

“That’s amazing,” Logan says sincerely. 

The poetry becomes important, later, but then, it is simply something for Logan to admire, another flash of beautiful lightning in Virgil’s storm.

Saturdays become movie nights, and they order junk food and make popcorn and watch documentaries or horror movies or cartoons together. Occasionally, some of their friends will join them, and every so often, all eight of them cram into Logan and Virgil’s living room. Despite his love for the others, however, Logan’s favorite nights are usually the ones when the two of them are alone, when they curl up together on the couch and make fun of trashy films or contribute their own knowledge to documentaries or sing along quietly to Disney. It is peaceful and lovely and utterly perfect.

Logan doesn’t mean to fall in love with Virgil. It sneaks up on him, mornings of coffee for him and tea for Virgil and memes shared over breakfast, afternoons texting each other with reminders to get groceries and news from the office, nights of cooking together and dancing to the radio. 

One day, when both of them have work off, Virgil pulls him out of bed, waits impatiently while Logan gets dressed, and drags him outside into a storm. They walk through the park together, enjoying the rain on their skin, both of them jumping into puddles and belting the title number of Singing in the Rain and getting utterly soaked. 

They return home for cocoa, each taking a warm shower and then sitting together on the couch to watch old movies with small white krakens bobbing in their cups. It is then, with Virgil curled up against him, wet hair soaking Logan’s neck and the smell of hot chocolate in the air, that Logan realizes he loves a thunderstorm in human form. 

His best friend.

Oh, god, Logan is in love with his best friend. And also his roommate. And also his favorite person in the whole of the universe.

(He’s pretty sure that if Virgil could hear his thoughts, and if, y’know, Virgil wasn’t the person in question, he’d roll his eyes and say, “Oh my god, they were roommates.” The idea nearly makes him laugh.) 

Logan tries to get over his crush (and there’s no other word for it, as juvenile as it sounds). He really does. But it’s so hard, now that he knows it exists, especially when he has to see Virgil every single day. And he can’t just cut himself off, or leave their apartment, because that might ruin their friendship, and that’s the whole reason he’s trying to escape his feelings, because he loves being Virgil’s friend more than anything. 

So he exists in this inbetween state, thrashing in the eyewall of a storm, so close to safety and danger simultaneously, trapped in chaos and uncertainty. 

Logan isn’t quite sure whether he really wants to return to the eye, blissful quiet and the peace of oblivion, or if he can at all. But he thinks entering the storm itself, the danger of telling Virgil how he feels, the potential for a life with him, is equally impossible. 

Eventually he decides that it is best to just ignore his rebellious feelings. It works, sort of – Virgil doesn’t seem to notice anything different, and Logan gets to keep his best friend. Still, every moment together is tinged with a sort of bittersweet sadness, the dancing in the kitchen and cuddling on the couch and meals together a harsh reminder that they are just friends.

He’s not sure exactly how his other friends figure it out, but they do, judging from how Remy and Janus tell him exasperatedly that he really ought to say something to Virgil, how Patton and Roman tell him how cute they would be together, how Remus does his best to shove Logan towards Virgil at any opportunity, how Emile tells him pointedly that repressing his feelings isn’t exactly healthy. Logan does decide that he’ll confess… eventually. 

The problem with eventually, however, is how ambiguous it is. The others have realized as much, evidently, but they don’t force Logan to say something, or tell Virgil themselves, and he appreciates that.

It is a Saturday when eventually finally comes, a peaceful movie night interrupted by a phone call with Roman’s name flashing on the screen. He holds up a finger over his lips as he accepts the call, grimacing apologetically to Virgil as he steps into his own room. “What do you want?” he asks exasperatedly when he picks it up, and winces as the other line fills with noise. 

“Logan, have you read Virgil’s latest book?” Roman practically screams, and in the background Logan can hear Patton squealing with excitement as Janus shushes them both. 

He frowns, closing the door to his bedroom. “I wasn’t aware he’d been working on one.” Normally, Logan knows whenever Virgil is working on another collection of his poetry – he’s often the first person Virgil hands it to for editing. 

“Get on your computer this instant, Pocket Protector,” says Roman, and Logan can hear his grin.

A quick search confirms it; a new book of poetry, just released by Virgil Foley. The revelation is almost painful (does Virgil not trust him anymore? Not like him?) until Janus’ voice comes over the line, hir voice sarcastic and concerned altogether.

“Way to go, love, he’s definitely not overthinking this,” ze sigh. “Logan, listen to me. I need you to go look at some of the reviews for the book, okay? Actually, no, if you can find a sample online, go read that.”

He’s operating in a haze, a robot in human flesh, and what do robots do but obey orders?

Logan barely understands what he’s reading at first, lines of poetry in the sample flashing past him. He checks the reviews, words of praise and admiration flowing through his mind, and it takes a second before he understands any of it. 

Clicking back to the online sample, he starts to recognize the story being told. It is a tale of late nights and hot drinks in the morning, of pining and fear of destroying a friendship older than love.

It is Logan’s story, told through another’s words, a voice speaking of a scholar of the stars, of glasses and storms, of hugs and hand-holding and a cute barista, a boy in psych class, a friendship repaired at another’s wedding, of admiration and hope and love. A love for someone seen not as a storm, but as stars, as the universe in human flesh. 

Virgil is in love.

Virgil is in love with Logan. 

“I’ll call you back,” he hears himself say, and drops his phone on his bed in his haste to get back to the living room. 

“Logan?” Virgil’s voice pierce the haze of his thoughts, his eyes 

(a storm, wild beauty) 

shining with concern, and he sits up from where he’s lying on the couch. “You okay? What happened?”

There are many things he wants to say, questions and explanations and promises, but in the end, all he says is “Can I kiss you?”

“What?” He doesn’t expect Virgil to look quite so flustered, but then again, Logan did just storm into the room, looking desperate and probably a tad deranged, and ask to kiss his best friend. 

“Roman told me about the new book,” Logan says first, and Virgil’s eyes widen even further, and he can sense the incoming apology, but he isn’t done, not yet. He begins to crack his knuckles, a habit he’d thought he’d finally lost, full to the brim with nervous energy. “I’ve read some of it, and as far as I can tell, you are romantically attracted to me. Which is good, because I also harbor such feelings for you, and have for about a year now. So. Can I kiss you?”

“Isn’t it ‘May I kiss you’?” Virgil grins, playing off his feelings with humor, as always. Logan opens his mouth to apologize as his world comes crashing down, because oh, he’s messed up, oh no, but then his best friend’s expression softens, and he whispers “Of course, Logan Sanders.”

“Thank you, Virgil Foley,” he says, and abandons the eyewall for the storm. 

They don’t watch any more movies that night. The two of them kiss, and talk, and kiss some more, and Virgil grabs his author’s edition of the new book from his room, and they read it together on the couch. 

The next morning, they sit with their coffee and tea and talk some more, about labels and boundaries and dreams. Their friends come over for movies the next Saturday, and Virgil and Logan hold hands as they tell them they are dating. 

(Roman choking on the popcorn in his excitement almost makes up for the money Logan spots being exchanged between Emile, Remus, and Patton.)

Eventually, Virgil’s latest book will gain fame, and they will end up with quite a bit of money between the two of them, especially after Logan gets a promotion. Eventually, they will move to a larger house, one a bit outside the city, one where they will have two cats and a dog and a son named Thomas. Eventually, they will get married in the spring, and when it starts to rain as they say their vows, the two of them just laugh. 

But that is eventually. In the now, Logan Sanders is in love. In the now, Virgil Foley is in love. 

They are glasses and hoodies, poetry written and spoken, dancing in the kitchen and cuddles on the couch. 

They are thunderstorms, and they are stars.

[angryinternetduck]

When All Feels Lost Chapter Three: We'll Be Alright Nerves, fancy boas, a phoenix rising from the ashes. A princess is left on a cliffhanger, Harry's a dramatic Renoir painting, and you dive in headfirst. It won't be an easy ride, but you'll be alright. Warnings: Explicit language and more of the heavy topics from last chapter. about 8,000 words << prev chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist | ask ~*~ “You look nervous,” Harry murmurs into your ear as he appears next to you. His hand hovers at your waist, charm turned up high as he gives smiles and waves to the people walking into the theater.

You shrug, keeping your own smile on your face as you say, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“You’re gonna be great,” Harry tells you anyway.

“Sure hope so.”

Around you, the theater looks nothing less than glorious. All the lights are on, a warm golden against the deep burgundy of the walls and carpet. Diamonds glitter, shoes shine, dress hems flirt with the floor.

There’s a low hum of chatter from the masses of people filtering through the lobby and making their way to their seats. Lights in the chandelier hanging miles above you twinkle and clink as they shift in the soft breeze floating through the open doors.

Despite what you told Harry, he’s right; you’re nervous as hell.

Which makes sense. It’s opening night. Of course you’re nervous.

Your first scene is a few scenes into the second act, meaning you have plenty of time to help Harry greet everyone up front before heading backstage to get ready. It’s quite different than all of your previous opening night experiences, but it’s no less nerve-wracking. In fact, it’s significantly more nerve-wracking because of how much is riding on its failure.

A small man wearing a beret and large glasses catches your attention, and you nudge Harry so he sees him too. Harry nods, confirming your suspicions: that’s the critic from The New Yorker.

Harry wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Laughing slightly, you walk over to the critic and start to fiddle with your purse. He looks up, thick eyebrows furrowing at the sight of you. “Hello,” he says curtly, and you smile at him. “Hi,” you reply. “You’re here for Fatigue?”

“Yes.”

“A critic?” you go on.

“Yes.”

You clear your throat, slipping your hand into your purse. Lowering the small bag to waist height and glancing around to ensure no one’s looking your way, you murmur, “I’m a co-producer of this fantastic play...” You shift your fingers to show him a few hundred dollar bills. “And I’m sure your review will be nothing less than spectacular, correct?”

The critic scoffs, eyes widening, and he whips off his glasses in rage. “You dare attempt bribe me?” he hisses. “You think I, a critic of high moral and dignity, can be swayed by a few measly dollar bills?”

You struggle to hide your grin.

“I can assure you, madam,” the critic continues, “this review will be short and honest.”

“Oh, no,” you say.

The critic scowls at you, barks a crisp, “Goodbye,” and storms out of the theater.

Turning around, you meet Harry’s gaze and snap your fingers in a sarcastic oh, drats sort of fashion. Harry grins, and this time you don’t hide your own smile as you mirror his expression and walk back to him.

“Too easy,” you tell him.

Harry smiles. “And now we wait for, uh - Joe,” he says, reading an email on his phone.

“Joe,” you echo.

“Dziemianowicz.”

You blink. "What’d you just call me?”

Harry snickers and tilts his phone so you can see the name on the screen. Sure enough, it says Joe Dziemianowicz. “‘The esteemed critic from the New York Times,’” you read. “I’m sure he’ll love this.”

Harry shakes his head. “I certainly hope he doesn’t.”

“Right,” you say. “How do you know he won’t react like, uh - like The New Yorker guy?”

“Because I’m such a charmer,” Harry replies with a sweet smile.

You raise a brow. “And I’m not?”

“You are,” Harry says, shrugging. “When you want to be.”

“You flatter me,” you deadpan.

Harry grins. “I do try my hardest.” He points out a guy with a notebook under his arm, then tells you, “I’ll catch up with you later, yeah? Make sure D’Angelo’s not fainted yet.” He walks off, and you watch him for a second.

The plan is to get as many awful reviews as possible. Most of them should just come naturally - no one could watch the play and give it any positive comments at all - but you’re guaranteeing two of them to be absolutely horrific with bribes.

The critic you just attempted to bribe from The New Yorker should give some sort of irate nonsense about the dishonorable intentions of the producers of the surely terrible Fatigue. As for the fellow Harry’s heading for, his review will be more detailed in its critique. Harry’s goal is to actually bribe this Joe Dziemianowicz successfully - but for a bad review.

As Harry begins his explanation to Mr. Dziemianowicz, you slip through the crowds until you reach backstage, where D’Angelo is, in fact, on the brink of losing consciousness. He’s taking small sips of water from a glass in which you can see small pink feathers floating. They’re probably from the large pink boa he’s wearing over his suit, which is a slightly jarring green color covered in tiny pink butterflies.

“Angel,” you greet him, giving him a hug.

“Oh, Magenta,” D’Angelo replies woefully. “It’s a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.”

You sigh. “It hasn’t even started.”

“Oh, but when it does, it shall go down in flames.”

“And from the ashes shall rise a phoenix.”

D’Angelo gives you a faint smile. “I do adore you, darling.”

“And I you,” you say with a grin. “Come on, Angel, we have a play to put on.” You gently lead him through the dressing tables, where everyone’s getting ready. Someone glues orange lashes on while another person zips their dress; an actor expertly quiffs his hair in the corner with a loud can of hairspray.

“Your optimism… is inspiring,” D’Angelo murmurs, absentmindedly fixing someone’s collar as he passes. “That’s the goal,” you tell him, taking his glass of water from him when he holds it out to free both his hands. He takes a makeup brush and palette out of a girl’s hand and begins to brush some product on her face. She looks slightly startled, but doesn’t say anything.

“Where’s your Harry?” he asks as he works. “Charming the audience, I presume?”

You start to reply, stop, and then decide on, “Um… probably.”

“He certainly has a way about him, doesn’t he,” D’Angelo muses.

You clear your throat and look down, smiling involuntarily. “Yeah.”

D’Angelo sighs. “You must remember to keep your head up.”

Impulsively, you snap your chin up straight, then realize he’s talking to the girl whose makeup he’s doing. “And keep your voice up as well,” D’Angelo continues. “Project, my dear. You have a very pretty voice.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Also,” D’Angelo adds, handing her makeup products back, “your blouse is inside out.”

Flushing through her makeup, the girl looks down at her blouse, which is, in fact, inside out. The tag waves at you from her neckline. She looks a bit horrified, and she hurries away to correct it as D’Angelo ambles on.

“Have you talked it out yet?” he asks. “With Harry?”

You frown. “Huh?”

“Oh, you know,” D’Angelo hums, giving you a lazy smile. “The ‘what are we’ talk.”

You’re too surprised to even reply, but D’Angelo takes your surprise for denial. “Oh, don’t play coy, Magenta. To steal the wise words of Miss Swift” - he clears his throat - “you could see it with the lights out.”

“Sometimes,” you tell him, “you’re just a bit too dramatic.”

He catches your eye. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You hold his gaze. “You are.”

“Your acting talent is astounding,” D’Angelo murmurs, looking away.

“I think I preferred your hopeless talk of your failing play.”

His brows jump. “My failing play,” he echoes incredulously.

“Our failing play,” you amend.

“Go find Harry, darling,” D’Angelo tells you with a smile, “and stop bothering me.”

You grin. “If you insist. Break a leg, Angel.”

“I’ll break yours if you keep talking,” he says. “Run along, now.”

***

The theater, sweeping out below you in a magnificent blend of golds and reds, is truly breathtaking. You’re in the balcony seats reserved for you and Harry now, watching the chatter and buzz of the people below.

You nudge him and echo his words from earlier. “You look nervous.”

“I am,” he mutters.

“Don’t be.”

He laughs wryly, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. “Gee, that fixes everything.” You sigh and sit back in the chair, looking down at the stage. “It’ll work. There’s no way it won’t.”

“I know,” Harry says softly, looking up.

There’s a beat of silence. You’re not sure what to say. Then the lights begin to dim, and Harry leans back again. In the darkness, you feel his hand find yours. He squeezes your hand, then lets go.

The conversation fades, and Charlie Manswell, playing Leopold Gray the retired FBI agent, walks out onto stage. He looks even more nervous than Harry does; you can see his hands shaking from all the way up here.

The play drags on. Neither you nor Harry says a word at all. Tension settles, heavy and dense, thickening in the air between you and Harry. An hour in, a group of people walk out. Low murmurs sound throughout the theater, and then it goes quiet once more.

You and Harry exchange a glance.

A few minutes before intermission, you go down to start getting ready for your part. Backstage, D’Angelo has calmed down significantly. He looks to be in a bit of a daze, holding his half-empty glass of water in both hands.

“Ah, Magenta,” he greets you when you say hi. “Just in time. Your costume’s over with Madeline… Stay away from the makeup, darling, Madeline will do it for you.” A smile teases the corners of his lips. “No more catastrophes, thank you…”

“I’ll try my best,” you reply, walking over to get changed. Your nerves intensify as you get dressed and made up. A swarm of butterflies turns your stomach over, adrenaline spikes through your veins, sweat gathers in your palms.

Standing in the wings just out of sight, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. The lights dim, the curtain lifts, and you open your eyes. Your gaze darts over the crowd, struggling to see anything through the bright lights.

It takes a second to process, but a grin’s breaking out across your face almost before you can fully form the thought: the theater’s practically empty. People must have walked out during the intermission, you realize with a quiet, giddy laugh.

Charlie, standing on stage, must have noticed too; his voice wavers just slightly through his first few lines. You feel a twinge of sympathy for him. Despite everything, you do feel terribly for all the actors who really are taking this seriously. They’ll still get their cut, though, if not a great review in the newspapers.

When you see your cue, you walk out and begin to act.

Ridiculously, it feels good to be on stage again. Even if it’s doomed to fail, if it’s a joke, if your already nonexistent reputation will almost certainly take a nosedive after this play even if it’s the best performance of your life.

The second half of the play goes much faster than the first. You’re taking bows before you realize, and you smile happily not because of rambunctious applause, but because of the few scattered claps you receive from the nearly empty audience.

Harry’s giving you a standing ovation from his box.

Backstage is quiet after the curtain falls. D’Angelo, surprisingly, is the most cheerful, popping around and giving everyone enthusiastic feedback. He’s exchanged his glass of water for a flute of champagne, which he sips at elegantly in between words.

“Wonderful job, darling, positively splendid,” he says to you, patting your cheek. To Harry, he adds, “And wonderful play, Mr. Styles. The reviews shall be the first of their kind.” A grin begins to spread across your face, and D’Angelo winks at you before whisking off to console someone crying by the mirrors.

“The first of their kind,” Harry echoes under his breath.

You laugh and reply, “He got that right.”

“Let’s get food,” Harry suggests. “I’m starved.”

Nodding, you tell him, “I’ll meet you at the diner,” and grab your stuff to change out of your costume. He walks off, saying goodbyes as he leaves. After changing into something more comfortable, you do the same, hugging D’Angelo goodbye and talking with a few people on your way out.

A Fleetwood Mac song is playing on the jukebox when you walk into the diner. Harry’s chewing french fries, staring out the window. He looks pensive, and you tell him that as you slide into the booth.

“I am,” he admits quietly. Then he tacks on, “Worried” like it hurts to say. “I’m worried.”

You bite your lip, watching him for a second. His eyes are downcast. “Your ringer’s on, right?” you ask, nodding at his cell phone. Harry nods, picking it up. “She’ll call,” he murmurs, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself.

“She will,” you assure him. It’s the company manager you’re talking about, who will hopefully decide that between the attendance - or lack thereof - and horrific reviews, she can’t keep your play open any longer.

“Ninety percent of the theater walked out,” you go on. “There’s no way they won’t close us.” Harry shrugs, leaning back and clearing his throat. “Er… yeah. Yeah.” He nods, an air of finality around him as if he’s done talking about it.

Tapping your fingers against the table, you hesitate for a second before speaking again. “Not to… pry or anything, but what happened with you and her?” you ask. “Gwen? The company manager?”

Harry’s brows jump. “What makes you ask that?”

A tad embarrassed, you shake your head. “Oh, it’s… nothing. Just with… Aurora… and what you said about, uh - Tanner Smith liking your old… girlfriend… presumably…” You laugh, a bit awkwardly. “But you don’t have to answer that. Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Harry says. He shrugs, looking at his glass of water. “Yeah, we had a thing. It was a while ago. We, erm… We were pretty close.” A small smile curves his lips as he traces shapes in the condensation on the glass, and your gaze shifts to the window.

“We worked on a project, a big play we wrote together… Smith helped with that. She’s gorgeous, Gwen…” He pauses again. You regret asking. Finally, he clears his throat and goes on, “Er, but yeah, he took a liking to her. That’s really the only reason he still invests in anything, I think. He keeps hoping she’ll come back.”

He looks up, giving a wry laugh. “She won’t. Aurora scared her off. I brought her to the hospital and she kind of… It was too much. She was a little bit… she wasn’t very…” He clears his throat. “Nice with her. With - er, with Aurora…” His smile fades into something a little bit more genuine, and he meets your eye. “Not nearly as nice as you are with her.”

You frown.

Another bit of a pause, and he looks back at his glass. “But, erm… yeah, Gwen wasn’t a huge fan of the whole… taking-care-of-a-sick-child-in-the-hospital thing. She said all this stuff about commitment and not even wanting -” His jaw clenches, and he makes faint air quotes with his fingers as he mutters, “‘Normal kids’, much less a kid that…” He fades off. “I dunno. Wasn’t great. So.” He looks up and shrugs. “That’s that.”

“Wow,” you breathe. “I’m - I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

“Don’t be,” Harry sighs. “It’s over now.” He gives you a half-smile, popping a fry into his mouth. “I’ve gone and ruined the mood, haven’t I?” You shake your head and reply, “I asked.” You half-smile back at him. “If anything, it’s my fault.”

“If you insist,” Harry says. “Come on, tell me something good.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

He smiles big, nudging your foot gently under the table. “We’re going to Rio.”

You smile big too, because he’s not even kidding. You booked the tickets with him a few days ago. The plan is to get out of the country for a while until everything settles down. You’ll avoid a few calls, lay low, then come back to thousands of dollars and all your problems solved.

“I can’t wait to go to the beach,” you murmur, leaning back against the booth.

Harry hums in agreement. “You’ll love the view,” he says.

“You’ve been?” you ask.

Harry shakes his head, a stupid smile on his face. “Nah. But the view of me in my little yellow swim shorts can make up for any underwhelming scenery.” You scoff a laugh and echo, “Little yellow swim shorts?”

“They’re fantastic, darling,” Harry assures you with a big grin. “We’ll have to go shopping so we can match.” You nod, giggling despite yourself. “Forget the beach, I can’t wait for that.” Harry nods sagely. “It’ll be great.”

You crack jokes with him about his swim attire the whole way home.

The phone doesn’t ring once.

***

The second night is not nearly as exciting as the first. The lobby is empty. A few people filter in, but there were significantly more tickets bought than the number of attendees. As far as you know, there aren’t any more ticket sales, either.

You’re somehow even more uneasy than you were last night. Harry is, too. Nobody says anything. It’s just a bunch of nervous looks and heavy silence. Backstage is quiet, too. D’Angelo is the only one saying anything at all. His voice is lower, though, and even his orange boa seems to be a bit lifeless.

The play seems to take hours. People walk out. It’s getting a bit depressing - you realize that’s your goal, for the theater to be totally empty, but it’s really quite difficult to act to a nonexistent audience.

Backstage is quiet after the play, too. You get changed and walk out to meet Harry, brows jumping when you see him talking to a woman you don’t recognize. She’s tall and thin and blonde, sunglasses perched on top of her head. Her clothing is casual, just a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

“Hello,” you say hesitantly as you walk up to them.

“Hey, there,” the woman greets you. Bright blue eyes meet yours, and she smiles as she sticks her hand out for you to shake. Her nails are painted a light pink. You match her smile and shake her hand, introducing yourself.

“Nice to meet you,” she says. “I’m Gwen.”

Ah, you think. You steal a glance at Harry, who looks a bit tense.

You clear your throat. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Yeah,” she replies, laughing a little. “I, uh… Yeah. Well, uh, I was just starting to talk to H about Fatigue. And, um… I’m sorry, but I’m not sure you’ll be happy to hear our decision…” You look at Harry again, and he doesn’t meet your eye.

“That doesn’t sound good,” you say, because Harry stays quiet.

“Well, I think you’ve seen the reception,” Gwen says. “And there hasn’t been a single ticket sale since before it opened last night.” She sighs, a sympathetic look on her face as her gaze bounces between you and Harry. “I’m afraid we just can’t afford to keep it open any longer.”

“We understand,” Harry says, finally speaking up. His hand slides into yours, surprising you, and you watch Gwen’s eyes flick down to catch the action. “We’ll go tell everyone,” Harry goes on. “It was nice seeing you, Gwen.”

He leads you away, and you nod goodbye at Gwen a tad awkwardly over your shoulder.

“You okay?” you ask quietly once she’s out of earshot.

You see his jaw flex, but he doesn’t answer for a moment. He pulls his hand away from yours and runs it through his hair, and then, barely loud enough for you to hear, he says, “That was my sweatshirt.”

“Oh,” you say, wincing.

“I can’t believe her,” he mutters. “Christ.”

You pause a second, unsure what to say, then decide, “I’m surprised she didn’t just call.”

Harry just shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just… We’ll have to tell them. They should hear it from us.” You nod and murmur, “D’Angelo will be devastated.” Harry sighs, pushing open the door. “I’m sure he saw it coming.”

Everyone looks up when the two of you walk in.

As soon as D’Angelo sees your expressions, he finishes the last of his champagne in one gulp. He sighs, holding your gaze, and then speaks to Harry. “How’s your lovely Gwen doing, then?” he asks breezily, his easy tone a sharp contrast to his strained body language.

“I’m not sure,” Harry says quietly. “We didn’t talk much.”

D’Angelo hums lowly. “It’s not good news, I presume?”

“No,” you say. “No, it’s… it’s not.”

“Finished, are we?” D’Angelo asks.

Both you and Harry hesitate.

And then Harry answers, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” you add weakly.

D’Angelo raises his empty champagne flute. “It was a valiant effort.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then everyone looks away and begins packing up their things. Low chatter breaks out, and D’Angelo slowly drifts over to the half-empty bottle of champagne in the corner. He inspects the label, swirls it around, and then takes a drink directly from the bottle.

Harry clears his throat next to you. “I was planning to go to the hospital,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, that’s a - that’s a good idea,” you reply with a nod.

You lock eyes, just for a moment, and then Harry turns away.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” he says, and walks off.

You say your goodbyes and follow Harry out.

***

“You’re… leaving?” Aurora gasps, eyes wide and beginning to glisten.

Harry squeezes her hand and tells her, “Just for a while.”

“A while?” she echoes, a tear rolling down her cheek. “But - but -”

“We’ll be back before you know it, princess,” you murmur from behind Harry.

Harry nods. “You’ll blink and we’ll be back.”

Aurora hiccups a sob, chin wobbling as her gaze darts between you and Harry. “But we’re almost done with - with Trumpet,” she whispers. “You can’t leave me on a - a hill - a hang - a rock -” She breaks off with another sob, pulling away from Harry to wipe at her nose with her little hand.

Your heart cracks in two. “A cliffhanger,” you whisper.

“You can’t leave me!” Aurora cries.

“We’re not, baby,” Harry insists, voice cracking. “I promise, we’ll be back.”

Aurora sniffles, crossing her arms over her chest and stubbornly looking at the other end of the room, away from either of you. “Just go,” she whimpers. Harry reaches out, and she jerks away, closing her eyes as tears fall faster.

“We’ll be back,” Harry promises again, voice barely audible.

“Go away!” Aurora sobs, and she burrows under the blankets.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, looking hopeless, and you place your hands on his shoulders. “Come on,” you say softly. “She’ll come around. We’ll call her. FaceTime.” Harry closes his eyes, just for a second, and then stands up.

“We’ll… we’ll be right back,” he murmurs.

No response.

“I love you, okay?” he tries. “And I promise… I promise we’ll be… right back…”

Still nothing.

Harry wipes his face and clears his throat. “Bye, Aurora,” he whispers.

Aurora just sniffles again, pulling the blanket further over her head.

Gently, you take Harry’s hand and guide him out.

“It’ll all be worth it,” you tell him, squeezing his hand.

Harry nods and squeezes your hand back, silent.

***

Everything’s packed.

The money has been transferred to several offshore accounts, safe to stay unnoticed until everything’s settled down and you and Harry can start slowly shifting it back into your own accounts.

The plane ride is a bit tense. Harry brought a deck of cards, of course, and you trade magic tricks and play games of Go Fish and Gin Rummy. He chews gum and you giggle watching him attempt to blow bubbles.

It’s hot in Rio. Harry holds your hand as you navigate the airport and the buses to your hotel. It’s a relief to finally arrive, to collapse onto the big fluffy bed and sprawl out in the glorious air conditioning.

The first night, the two of you order room service and eat dinner while watching TV.

And the phone. You watch the phone, too.

Every so often, your gazes will both drift to the phone at the same time, and you’ll catch his eye and give a half-smile. You’re waiting for a call from an investor, of course, demanding where their money is and why the hell they haven’t been able to reach you.

In reality, there’s no way they’ll think of you. The play has probably already been forgotten. Individually, each person gave such a small amount that they probably forgot about it days after they signed the papers. To think that they’d not only remember your play but that they’d be angry that you lost their money is ridiculous.

There’s no way.

It’s silly to think about, really, and whenever you find yourself worrying, you take a breath and think about how mind-boggling your situation is. You’re in a hotel room in Rio de Janeiro that’s almost as big as your entire apartment.

The hotel room you’re in is large. It’s a suite. The bathroom’s ginormous, the closet’s practically just as big, and the desk is a rich, dark oak color fit with huge drawers and a bright lamp. There are two small couches situated in front of the windows, right in front of the door to the little balcony just outside.

Huge windows look out over the glittering city, and far in the distance, you can see the Christ the Redeemer statue. Twinkling lights wink at you, brightly colored in the pitch-black night. Trees sway in the light breeze, and the softest sound of music can be heard even as far from the city as you are.

In a suite as big as this, there are two beds. Harry falls asleep in the same bed you do anyway, on the opposite side. You don’t think about it until the next morning when you realize both of you somehow gravitated to the middle, and you’re curled into his side with your head on his chest.

The sound of birds wakes you up. You’re struck with the oddest of feelings; everything is just so surreal you’re not even sure where to begin. It’s so much more pleasant than it should be to just lay there, reveling in how content you are nestled up to this guy you used to despise with all your being.

Then, suddenly, your heart begins to ache, because you realize you haven’t gotten around to letting him know just how much your feelings towards him have changed. Nothing’s happened since that kiss, and it hurts.

It hurts just to think about it, and being right next to him like this isn’t helping. You roll out of bed, wash your face with cold water, push all of those thoughts out of your mind. It’s not worth the stress.

Harry stirs as you brew a cup of coffee, sitting up and running a hand through his hair with his eyes still half shut. “Smells good,” he mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. “Coffee,” you tell him, lifting your now full cup. “Want some?”

He nods, stretching up towards the ceiling before flopping back down. “Mhmm.”

You start another cup, then turn around and lean on the dresser, watching him while you take a hesitant sip of your scalding coffee. You can see his chest rising and falling gently, and his swallows peek out of his white t-shirt. He’s on his back, head to the side, morning sunlight reflecting through the trees by the window and splashing over his face like he’s in some dramatic Renoir painting.

The coffee maker sputters to a stop. You blink, feeling like an absolute creep for just staring at him like this, and hurriedly turn around to grab the cup. Harry sits up as you walk over, and after handing him his cup, you sit on the edge of the bed, crossing your legs and cradling your warm coffee in both hands.

He takes a sip, and his eyes flutter shut blissfully. “Bloody hell,” he sighs.

“Jesus,” you laugh. “It’s not that good.”

He pouts at you. “It’s fucking incredible.”

“Guess it’s those Brazilian nuts.”

Harry grins. “Damn right,” he says.

He holds your gaze for just a second, smile still in his eyes, and you have to look away.

Standing up, you clear your throat and turn to look out the window. “We should… go somewhere, or… something,” you say. There’s a beat of silence, and then he laughs, just a little, and you’re looking over at him again before you can stop yourself.

“What?” you ask, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling, either.

He giggles at you. “I - we’re in Rio, and you think we wouldn’t go somewhere?”

You scoff, shaking your head as your face heats a bit. “Hey, I don’t know!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he tells you, still smiling, and he stands up and runs his hands through his hair as he stretches again. “We can take a walk,” he suggests. “Get to know the place.” You nod, looking down into your coffee.

“Sounds good,” you say.

***

“It’ll have six bedrooms.”

Harry grins. “Eight bathrooms.”

“Twelve kitchens.”

“Fifteen pools.”

“Twenty - uh… Twenty… fireplaces…?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head, and takes your hand, swinging it up and down. You’re walking along a beach, sand slipping under your flip-flops and sinking under your feet. You’ve just finished breakfast, and you feel perfectly content.

“I’ve always wanted to build my own house,” Harry says.

“Missed opportunity in construction?”

Harry frowns and amends, “Er - well, more design my own house.”

You nudge his hip, smiling. “Think you’d look good in one of those orange hard hats.”

“Thought you’d prefer something else that’s hard…”

You scoff a laugh. “Wow. Coming on strong for ten in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Harry laughs. “Too much?”

“Maybe just wait a few more hours. Let me get something better than coffee in me.”

“Asking me to get you drunk?”

You just shrug, grinning at him.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Harry says.

There’s a beat of silence, and you watch your hand, intertwined with Harry’s, still swaying back and forth. The waves gently crash against the shore, birds chirping away in the distance.

After a second, you clear your throat. “So,” you say, “you kissed me.”

Harry gazes off at the water. “Did I?”

You stop walking. You open your mouth to reply, then close it again.

He looks at you, and there’s a smirk on his lips. “Don’t remember that,” he says.

You’re not sure how to respond. Hurt rushes through you, then anger, confusion, and -

“I think I’ll have to do it again,” he goes on. “See if it rings any bells.”

Relief floods your body. You smile, just slightly. “Right,” you breathe. “Guess you will.”

He kisses you, softly, hand cupping your cheek gently. He touches you gingerly, like you’ll break, like you’ll pull away, like he’s a little scared. So you’re the one to lean into him, you’re the one to slide a hand onto the nape of his neck and pull him closer, grinning against his lips and giggling when he smiles too.

“You’re a bastard for that,” you tell him when you pull away, a bit breathlessly.

“For what?” he asks innocently.

You roll your eyes. “Pretending you didn’t remember.”

“Sorry,” he says, kissing you once more.

He takes your hand, starting to walk again, letting silence linger for just a second. He’s looking at the sand, smile fading away. He looks like he’s in deep thought, and you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He looks up at you and smiles just a bit. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. I’m just thinking… You know, erm… I don’t want to pressure you,” he tells you, his voice lowering as he stops again to face you fully. “I, er… I know the original plan was to - you know, go our separate ways after… after all this. And it’s… It’s a lot, I know -” He laughs softly. “Christ, I’m a lot, just with Aurora, and the theater, and…” He fades off, running a hand over his face. “Er… But yeah. I just… I wanna let you know that I’m not… pressuring you to stay, or anything… We can stick to the - the plan.”

“No,” you say immediately, and then feel a bit self-conscious. “I mean… I don’t want to. I really…” You give him a smile. “I really like you. And Aurora. And it’s a lot, yeah, but… I don’t care. I don’t mind. I love all of it. I -” You falter, then, “I mean - I like - I -”

He raises a brow at you.

So you bite your lip, then dive in headfirst. “I love you,” you say.

“Love you too,” he replies with a big smile, and he kisses you.

***

It’s hours later, now, and you’ve wandered into some restaurant by the beach.

The bar is loud, crowded, and thrumming with music in Portuguese. Somebody’s singing from a big stage in the back. Your hand is firmly in Harry’s, walking next to him through the mass of moving bodies. A warm breeze heavy with ocean air flows through huge open windows, colorful lights shining in the dark.

When you finally make it to the counter, Harry gestures vaguely at something on the wall to the bartender, and you point at the drink of the person next to you. You glance at each other, shrug, and watch as the bartender mixes and shakes up a bunch of mysterious liquids.

Your final result is bright blue, like the one the girl next to you just finished. Harry’s is pink and green. With laughs neither of you can hear over the noise, you clink your glasses against each other and take sips.

Harry’s nose wrinkles. “Sour,” you see him say.

Yours is extremely sweet, and you make an eh motion with your hand and hold it out to him. He takes it and gives you his, and you try his as he tries yours. Your nose must wrinkle like his did, because he grins and hands yours back.

You shake your head, though, and look around for someone who has a drink you’d actually like to have. When you spot someone downing a shot glass full of what looks like water but clearly isn’t, you point that out to the bartender along with two fingers.

A few shots later, you’re buzzing, dancing with Harry amid the mass of people on the dance floor. The music’s so loud, electrifying the air around you. It seems like you’re being shifted towards the front of the room, and before you know it, you appear to be on the raised platform all the way at the front.

Bright lights hit your face, making you giggle and squint. People start clapping, Harry spins you around, and everyone cheers. There’s a screen directly in front of you. You walk up to it, practically dragging Harry with you, and realize it’s a song bank - and there are microphones on the table next to it.

“Karaoke!” you shout at Harry.

He grins and starts flicking through the song choices. When you see one you like, you reach out and tap the screen, pointing at it. Harry laughs and nods excitedly, clicking it. Immediately, the music changes.

On cue, you and Harry come in.

“Yoooo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want -”

It’s not in Portuguese, but nobody seems to mind, and they give you rambunctious applause regardless. You and Harry can barely get the words out for how much you’re laughing and giggling at each other’s dance moves and crazy singing. He spins you around again, you spin him, both of you trip on the mic wires at least three times. As the song ends, he dips you, kisses your nose, and then stands up so both of you can take big bows.

You’re breathless by that point, and you stumble off the stage with Harry as someone else takes the mic. On some unsaid agreement, you both keep going out of the restaurant and back onto the beach towards your hotel.

With your fingers tangled in his and chests heaving, you walk all the way back to the hotel. It’s pretty close, and when you arrive, the two of you lean against the door and grin at each other, hearts still racing.

Harry kisses you, then, hand sliding against your cheek and lips smiling against yours. The wood of the door is cool against your back, and it’s not because of the hot Brazilian air that you’re warming up again.

He pulls his shoulder off the door, almost pinning you against it as your smiles fade and your kisses become more desperate. You want more, more, more; want him closer, closer - even closer - and with fumbling fingers you shed the clothes that separate you as you lurch towards the bed.

It’s warm, in Brazil, so warm, and you’ve never felt a greater thrill.

***

The next morning, after grins and kisses and coffee, the phone rings.

Harry glances at you, then picks it up.

“Hello?” he says. Then, “Yes, this is he.”

He’s quiet for a while. He fiddles with his lip.

“I know,” he says. “Right. Right, I know. Don’t worry… Yes, expect a call soon. Won’t be from me, no, but… No… Yes, of course, I… Fantastic. Great talking with you. Expect that call! Bye, bye now.”

He hangs up.

“Investor?” you ask.

He nods.

You open your mouth to say something, then stop.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you, starting to smile. “They’ll never remember. One call, that’s all. That wasn’t even the guy himself - it was his assistant. We’ll be buried under hundreds of other things to do. I’ve had to remind people, you know, even on plays that do well. They always forget.”

You’re not quite persuaded, but he comes over and squeezes your shoulder and says, “It’ll be alright” so convincingly that you can’t help but believe him. You nod, taking his hand, and let him lead you out to the balcony, where fruit and warm bread are waiting for you.

Over the next few weeks, only a couple of calls come in. Harry handles them, uses that same calming tone, and says basically the same thing each time: expect a phone call, sorry for the delay, don’t worry about it.

You sit back and distract your racing heart with the beautiful sights, sounds, and food.

***

Harry makes some killer pancakes. After living with him for months and months, you’ve had more than your fair share of his fluffy, buttery pancakes. And while you’d be the first to crown him the best pancake maker in New York, his pancake breakfasts have absolutely nothing on the Brazilian breakfasts you’ve had since you’ve gotten to Rio de Janeiro.

Nevertheless, it’s a few weeks later, and you’ve awoken to the scent of bacon.

“What are you doing?” you ask incredulously, following your nose to the small kitchenette in the hotel suite. “Pancakes!” Harry exclaims, flipping around to brandish his teeny frying pan at you.

“Oh, Harry,” you sigh, taking a tiny pancake from the pile anyway.

Harry turns back around to busy himself with his task. “Listen,” he begins seriously. “I’m aware of how good the food here is. We’re had right scrumptious meals here -” You giggle through a bite of pancake and interrupt, “You’re right scrumptious.”

“Shush,” Harry says, but you can see him dimpling from behind him. “What I mean to say is that I was bored, so don’t blame me for the American food.” You frown at his back. “Bored?” you echo.

You’ve hardly been sitting around doing nothing, you think at first, but then as you think about it more, you… kind of have. The two of you were on a good run the first few days, going out every day and finding a new sight to see. Three weeks in, though, it’s a lot more tempting to just stay in bed all day and lounge around in the sunshine.

“Yeah,” Harry replies now as he turns to face you. “I’m getting antsy.”

“Find an anteater.”

He pouts.

You smile apologetically at him and hold up a little pancake. “Delicious.”

“Thanks,” he says.

You bite your lip, leaning back in your chair as your brain slowly wakes up. “How about… a picnic?” you suggest. “We could go down to the beach again and bring a basket - make it all aesthetic and pretty!”

Harry points his spatula at you. “That’s the spirit!”

“You can pack the basket,” you say.

He frowns. “Maybe try a different spirit.”

“How about - I don’t pack it, and you pack it!”

“That’s… the same spirit.”

“I’ve never believed in ghosts anyway,” you tell him, and you stand up, sliding your plate into the sink. “Have fun!” you say, patting him on the chest as you pass him “And pack some fruits, Styles. Let’s stay healthy.”

“Let’s,” Harry echoes, grumbling, “as in let us. Let us pack the basket.”

“You’re such a gentleman,” you call.

He is, really, he is a gentleman, because he packs it despite your later offers to help and then presents you with a ginormous sun hat when you appear fully changed. You put it on, and when its brim droops over your forehead, you say, “Hey, it flops, just like all of your plays!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry scoffs, but he’s laughing so he can’t be too insulted.

It’s gorgeous by the water, unsurprisingly, and you feed each other strawberries and sip sparkling water while you chatter away about nothing. You drift closer and closer until you’ve forgotten all about the view of the sunset for strawberry sweet kisses, and you both decide to call it a day and head back for the hotel.

You see him fiddling with his phone as you step out of the bathroom, changed after your shower, and your smile dims a little as you realize what he’s thinking. “We should try again,” you tell him, and he looks up, looking conflicted.

You’re talking about Aurora, about calling her, because she hasn’t picked up the last twenty times you’ve tried. Harry’s talked to her nurses, who say she’s doing relatively well health-wise but not great with everything else. She misses them, the nurses say, but she’s still angry.

“Come on,” you say, plopping down next to him on the bed and gently sliding his phone out of his hands. You move slowly, giving him the opportunity to stop you, and then hand it to him before pressing the call button.

He gives you a smile. “Hundredth time’s the charm.”

And lo and behold - he’s right.

“You gotta come back,” Aurora says as soon as she picks up. “I had a dream about the little swan last night, Harry, you gotta come back! I need to know what happens!” Harry breathes an incredulous laugh and clears his throat.

“I - er, yeah, Ror, of course,” he says. “Soon.”

You pop into the camera view for a second, wiggling your fingers, and Aurora gives a shy smile. “Hi,” she says, sounding a little guilty. “Sorry for not… picking up.” Harry glances at you, and you reply, “Don’t worry about it, princess.”

“We’re still sorry,” Harry adds.

Aurora pouts, looking down, and mumbles, “Should be.”

“Just a few more weeks, Ror,” Harry tells her, his voice weak.

She huffs a little bit and then glances up again. She moves around a little bit, peering into the camera like she’s trying to look behind you. “Where are you guys, anyway?” Harry smiles and exclaims, “Brazil!”

Aurora still looks confused. “Well, where’s that?”

“Remember when we went to Disney World for your birthday?” Harry asks, and when Aurora nods, he goes on, “Right, well, it’s like if you went there, then kept going for a few hours until you heard Portuguese.”

Aurora blinks, then chirps, “Okay!”

“How’re you, princess?” Harry asks. “Any drama we should be aware of?”

“Oh, so much,” Aurora gushes. She starts her story, and as the air warms with her voice, Harry’s hand slides into yours and you begin to relax. Through the end of the phone call, you and Harry can barely keep the smiles off your face.

***

You stay in Brazil for a long time. After it’s been two weeks without a single call from any of the investors, you decide to pack it up. Back home, it’s totally quiet, like nothing ever happened. It’s still scary, though, and the plane ride back is mostly quiet. You’re cautious driving through town, peeking into the theater, greeting people as you walk into Harry’s apartment.

It only takes a look to agree on where to go first after dropping everything off in the apartment, and you’re at the hospital in no time with a huge bag of souvenirs. You’re both greeted with huge smiles and hugs all the way to Aurora’s room.

Aurora’s asleep when you walk in, and Harry gives you a bit of a nervous look before approaching and kneeling down beside her to gently place a kiss on her forehead. She wakes up slowly, blinking blearily before processing Harry in front of her and gasping and throwing her arms around his neck.

“Harry!” she squeals, hugging him tightly. With wide eyes, she looks up, then exclaims your name and you walk over to give her a hug of your own. “You’re back!” she says happily, glancing between the two of you excitedly.

“We sure are,” you tell her.

Harry nods. “We missed you, princess.”

“Missed you too,” Aurora replies.

You clear your throat and bring the small present from behind your back. “We have something for you,” you tell her, handing the little white bag to you. Aurora laughs delightedly, clapping her hands and crinkling the tissue paper inside before pulling out the gift.

“Oh…” she breathes. “Pascal!”

It’s not exactly Pascal, Rapunzel’s pet in Tangled, but it’s a little stuffed toy of a chameleon you found with Harry in some gift shop in Brazil and you figured Aurora would like him. “Told you I’d bring you a Pascal one of these days,” you say with a wink.

“I, of course,” Harry begins with a dramatic sigh, “am completely against this gift.”

Aurora breaks out in giggles.

“... So I had to get you something else,” Harry finishes. He hands her his own gift, a sparkly pink bag with two things inside. Aurora is enthralled with the delicate tiara, and Harry makes a whole production of crowning her princess of all of New York.

The second gift is a small snow globe, but glitter rains down on a beautiful beach scene rather than snow when Aurora flips it upside down, eyes wide with wonder. “I love it,” she says, voice a little quiet in awe.

“We won’t have to leave again,” Harry promises softly.

Aurora looks up, lowering the globe to her lap. “Please don’t,” she says.

Harry smiles a little, then squeezes her hand and stands up, sliding The Trumpet of the Swan off its spot on the table. “Hope you didn’t read any without us,” he sighs, settling down in his spot on the sofa.

Happily, you curl up next to him, just as pleased as Aurora to be continuing the story.

***

Back at the apartment the next day to finalize some paperwork, your phone begins to ring. It’s an unknown number. Glancing at Harry nervously, you pick it up and wander over to the window as the voice on the other end begins to talk.

Your heart drops as you realize what’s happening. It’s someone from another company, asking you to audition for a play they’re starting to work on. Apparently, someone had seen your performance in Fatigue and thought you were wonderful. They couldn’t believe you were working with such a shit producer, they said, and would you like to join their company?

“Yes!” you say immediately, a little too excitedly. “I mean - yes. Please. Thank you.”

They give you the details, and with a still racing heart, you turn around and see Harry, working on some papers at his desk, looking very confused. Your eyes widen. “Oh my God,” you say, realizing what you’d just done.

“You alright, love?” he asks, sounding a bit amused.

You clear your throat. “Um, I just agreed to audition for another play?”

His brows jump, and he comes around his desk to wrap you in a hug. “Bloody hell!” he laughs. “Congratulations! That’s great - did they say when auditions are? Is it close by? What theater?”

You sputter a laugh, surprised at his reaction, and start, “Well, I… I mean… Are you okay with this? Did you want me to stick with you?” Harry scoffs, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You’re too good for me. My producing days are over.”

“Really?” you ask, startled.

He leans against the desk, shrugging slightly. “Well… yeah. I mean, my record hardly suggests greatness, you know? I’ll find something else.” He grins, wiggling his brows, and adds, “Maybe I’ll go into writing. I certainly know what to avoid.”

“That would be great!” you exclaim. “Harry Styles, writer-producer extraordinaire!”

“Damn right,” Harry tells you, and he kisses you. You lean into him, hand sliding into his hair, and he whispers, “This desk hasn’t been broken in yet.” You snicker, about to reply, when your hand grazes a stack of papers and you sigh, pulling away. Harry whines, puckering his lips and smooching at you.

“We have paperwork to do,” you tell him.

He pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“After,” you say, giving him one last kiss.

“Maybe we can multitask,” Harry muses, turning around anyway and starting to shuffle some papers. “It takes you about a million years to finish a document when I’m not distracting you,” you reply, stealing a pen from his cup.

“Reckon I just need practice,” he says as you collapse on the sofa. You sigh, smiling despite yourself as you click your pen, shuffle some papers, and get to work. “Sure, Styles,” you say.

***

Two nights later, you’re sitting on the floor in the hallway of the hospital.

Beside you, the vending machine hums lowly. It harmonizes with the fluorescent lights buzzing on the ceiling, which are so bright they make your head hurt even when you close your eyes. Every few minutes, the lights flicker just slightly. Just enough for you to notice.

Harry dusts his hands off, reaching up to toss his candy wrapper into the trashcan. Like yours, his legs are stretched out in front of him. His hands are folded in his lap, head rested against the wall behind him.

He nudges your toe with his foot, shifting to look at you. He looks tired. When you meet his eyes, he starts to smile, lips curving slowly until he’s full on grinning, dimpling at you and laughing just a little.

“What?” you ask, unable to stop yourself from laughing just a little too.

He shrugs. “Dunno.”

You hold up the wrapper from the candy bar you just ate, peering at it, and tell him, “I wonder if it’s possible to get a sugar rush at one in the morning.” Harry takes it from you and pushes it into the trashcan.

“If you eat the entire vending machine,” he says, “probably.”

“I’m tired,” you whisper.

“What happened to the sugar rush?”

You take his hand, a bit delirious, and flip it palm up in your lap. “You’re gonna have a long life,” you say softly, tracing a random line on his skin. You start at his wrist, and follow a few lines up to one of his rings. “And be very stylish,” you continue, spinning a ring around.

“Why, thank you,” Harry says.

You smile at him. “You’re welcome.”

Harry touches the bottom of your chin with his finger, gently pushing up, and press his lips to yours. You relax at his touch, eyelids fluttering shut as his hand slides to hold your cheek, supporting you, grounding you, giving you butterflies.

Aurora’s sleeping in her room. Harry finished reading The Trumpet of the Swan just before she fell asleep. Earlier, while she went through tests and played, you and Harry filled out the proper forms for the procedure she’d need in a few months. It won’t be an easy ride, but she’ll be alright. And sitting on the floor, head rested on Harry’s shoulder and hand entwined with his, you get the feeling you just might be alright, too.

~*~ and there she is!!! all done!!! i'm gonna admit this chapter took SO LONG - i'm pretty sure i finished the first two chapters in like less than a month and this one took me. five months. BUT i got it done and i hit my word goal and i'm super proud of myself! honestly i'm just glad i got it out lmao. but i do hope someone out there enjoyed it, and if u did, a reblog and some feedback would be absolutely splendid <3

thank you for reading!!!!

masterlist | ask

[whumpingcrow]

Ink Poisoning - Chapter 11

The Art of the Crash

CW: bbu and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol (explicit), noncon drug use, aftermath of drug use, vomit mention, food mention, discussion of noncon, dubcon kissing, conditioned/trained responses from whumpee, brief mention of suicide (vague), dehumanizing language/themes (let me know if I missed anything!)

Gio slept well into the afternoon the next day. Nicko let him, he knew from experience with Rory that there was an inevitable crash that followed the highs, and he'd spent quite a few days ignoring her sleeping body on his bed, usually it ended in her getting up only to vomit and then cry to Nicko about how shitty life was. So this time, with Gio, he waited in the bedroom with him until that happened. He finished the painting he'd started the night before. He had to refrain himself from waking Gio up to see it. Then he sat on the floor and sketched more, using Gio's face pressed against his dark pillow case and the dull light of sun through snow clouds dancing across his face as inspiration. He didn't draw the bruises or the hickeys, found himself strangely jealous over them both. He kept the tattoos, because those belonged to him, and Giovanni's adorable crooked tooth, and his messy, wavy hair that splayed out across the pillow and his face. Nicko couldn't wait for him to wake up so he could draw him with bed head.

When Gio finally woke up, it wasn't to throw up or to complain about the nightmare of his life crumbling around him, not that Nicko would've blamed him, but to the sound of some music that Nicko had put on quietly to help him focus, deciding to work on some long put off art assignments. Nicko didn't notice that he woke up, and Gio rubbed his eyes just a little and glanced over Nicko's shoulder to see the bright array of colors across his page, dark marker scribbling purposefully against the paper. He was enthralled for a moment, then he turned his focus up to the large canvas he'd caught a darkened glimpse of last night, and he gasped sharply.

Nicko swiveled around to look at him, eyes blown wide like seeing Gio conscious was jarring. It made him wonder how long he'd been out. "Oh. You're awake."

Gio glanced at him for a second, then turned his attention back to the painting. The painting of him, sleeping in bed, lost in a world of blankets. He pushed himself up to his elbows with a wince. "Is...is that me?" He whispered.

Nicko looked back at the painting in question, smiling bashfully to himself. "Uh, yeah. Yeah you were just...you look nice in my bed." He fought the blush creeping up his cheeks, the embarrassment was uncomfortably new. He didn't know why he was embarrassed, just that suddenly he was the one who couldn't make eye contact with Gio. The switch in dynamic was painfully tangible to both of them, with Nicko on the ground, cheeks rosy and face turned away, and Gio sitting on the bed, looking down at him. With a yawn, Gio pushed the blankets off of him and stood up.

Nicko watched him closely, surprised that he hadn't hurled already. Then, as if on queue, he closed his eyes and swayed forward, bringing his hands up to his head with a groan. Before he can tip over, Nicko is up on his feet next to him, placing strong hands on his shoulders to hold him steady. "Are you ok?"

Gio dropped his hands, blinking a few times before squinting up at Nicko. "Dizzy." He looked a little dazed, his face pale, and Nicko crouched down on the floor, gently pulling him down with him. Gio easily knelt, body soft and easily movable, as always. Once Gio was all the way on the floor, hunched over just a little to make himself smaller, as if he wasn't already pathetically tiny already, Nicko ran his hand up his neck, across his jaw.

"I'm gonna go make you something to eat. Ok? You wait right here."

Gio nodded eagerly, towards Nicko's hand, his huge vacant doe eyes gazing up at him through his curtain of hair. Nicko had been right, his curly hair was framing his head in a dark halo, and he had a sudden sense of urgency to get some food in him so he could draw him. Nicko smiled at him, patting his head softly as he stood straight.

Salem was in the kitchen when Nicko came out, and they both froze awkwardly in their places when they saw each other. Nicko nodded at him as he passed, opening the fridge and grabbing a bowl of fruit and a protein shake, then deciding last minute to also palm a bottle of water. When Nicko shut the fridge, Salem was standing a couple feet away watching him.

"He woke up?" Salem asked.

"Yeah. I think he's ok, just hungry." Nicko hesitated, they both looked at each other, then away, then Nicko sighed. "You wanna come? I think he'd like to see you."

Salem lit up just a little, straightening his posture and smiling to himself. "Sure."

When the door opened, Gio flinched upright from where he'd been leaning over just a little, looking at Nicko's sketchbook, at the cartoonish portrait of a woman he had been drawing. He turned to see Nicko standing in the doorway, Salem a couple steps behind him. Gio couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

They both came in and joined him on the floor. Nicko opened the bowl of fruit and set it in front of Gio, but he wasn't paying much attention, watching Nicko's face apprehensively. He knew from observing that Salem and Nicko weren't particularly fond of each other, he'd heard them fighting before, and he was a little worried to show any attention to Salem in case it came across as disloyal. He couldn't afford anymore mistakes, when it came to Nicko.

Nicko sensed it, and opened the water bottle and forced it into Gio's hand as he said, "Salem was waiting for you to wake up like a kid on Christmas. He missed you."

Salem laughed awkwardly, shifting where he sat. "Yeah. It sucked not having anyone to show my lame music to."

Gio was grinning ear to ear at them both, but he said nothing. Truthfully, he didn't really understand what they were talking about, didn't remember what Christmas or lame meant, but he was happy to have them speaking to him anyway. Salem only stayed for a few minutes, then he told them he had to get to class. When he said goodbye to Gio, he gave him a soft pat on the top of the head, like Nicko kept doing, and Gio smiled up at him as he left. Nicko wondered why Salem wasn't Gio's favorite. He was at least nice.

Once he was gone, Nicko picked up a block of fruit, mango maybe, and gently coaxed it into Gio's mouth since he hadn't eaten any yet. Then he reached for his sketch book and his pencils, moving so he was squared up to Gio, who looked a little nervous when Nicko's pencil started scratching across the paper.

"So you were with Rory, huh?" Nicko asked. He kept his tone light, he knew that Gio was anxious enough around him already, could see his face get a little more horrified every time Nicko's voice was a little too loud, too harsh.

He nodded stiffly, only once, then moved very slowly to eat a strawberry. He knew Nicko was drawing him, he was trying to be as still as he could be. He was too cute.

"And how was that?"

Nicko thought he heard Giovanni huff in disdain at the question, and he looked up to see his face screwed up in a tight frown, like it pained him to think about. Nicko sighed, then kept drawing.

"You can tell me as much or as little as you want, Gio. It's just...you don't look too good. I just want to know how she hurt you so I can help." His pencil froze on the paper when Gio reached up and covered his eyes for a second, then he hastily dropped them back to his lap like he remembered he was supposed to be sitting still.

"She told me she was gonna bring me back," he whispered, voice trembling painfully as he thought back to that day, how stupid he was, "she wouldn't tell me where we were going, but she just kept saying she would bring me back before anyone noticed I was gone."

"Ben called me right after you left, I think."

Gio frowned at him. The entire time he'd been wishing that Ben would come out and stop Rory from taking him, and he had called Nicko right after he left? Why did he wait? Gio bit back his frustrated tears, then continued on.

"We went to this guys house. Oscar." Gio flinched as the name passed his lips, then shook his head to himself. "The entire time we were driving she was drinking and smoking, and so I was too. I tripped at some point and made my nose bleed, so he let us in so Rory could clean me off. Then she was talking about...about buying something. From Oscar."

Nicko knew the name, he'd met him only once before, but he knew that he was huge and even more of an asshole than Nicko was. He was the one Rory always went to for her hard shit, which Nicko hated so he hadn't accompanied her after the first time. He stopped drawing altogether, setting his sketchbook down and moving closer to Gio, who was now shaking all over.

"She didn't have enough money, I guess, and uh...um." He couldn't look at Nicko anymore, turning his head away from him completely. He couldn't bare to see Nicko's face when he admitted to the horrible, unfaithful things he did. Giovanni knew he belonged to Nicko and only Nicko, and he was absolutely disgusted in himself for having allowed Oscar or Rory or the motel owner or any of the others to do what they did to him. "He wanted her t-to pay a different way."

"Oh, shit, Gio."

"Only she didn't want to," he continued, "and she was scared, and I didn't want her to be scared so...so when she asked me to do it instead, I-I did."

Nicko was stunned into silence, eyes instinctively dropping to the mess of hickeys all over Gio's frail neck. It was heartbreaking, thinking of Gio feeling the need to protect Rory like that, especially when he was the one that needed protection. It was even more heartbreaking to think of him under Oscar, who Nicko had no doubt had ripped Gio to shreds with their size difference.

Gio was only more frightened at Nicko's lack of reply. Silence meant anger, silence meant that Master was thinking very hard, something Gio was too stupid to do, and more often than not, silence meant brutal, meticulously planned punishment. So Gio did what he was best at: he started to beg.

"Sir, I'm so sorry, I know I'm yours, I shouldn't have ever let them touch m-me." He looked up at Nicko, then his composure broke and he let out a tiny whimper before crawling over to him. "L-Let me make it up to you, sir. Please, use me, let m-me be good for you. Please le-let me-"

"Gio, stop." Nicko was flustered by Gio crawling right up between his legs, trailing his trembling fingers over Nicko's leg suggestively. But all of it was happening rather quickly, too quickly for Nicko to react well, and Gio was freaking out, for whatever reason, so all he could do was sit still. And what was this "them" that Gio was talking about? Had it not just been Oscar that Rory handed the box boy over to? He wanted to ask, but he couldn't form the words, not when Gio was on his knees inbetween Nicko's legs.

"P-please! Please, sir. Wan-wanna be useful." Now his hand was brushing tentatively at his belt, over his zipper, and then Nicko reached down and snatched his wrist up tightly in his hand before he went any lower. Gio gasped, snapping his head up to look at Nicko. He was closer than either of them had realized, now that they were face to face they were inches apart. Gio's eyes were glazed over with something Nicko hadn't ever seen before, something that made them soft and dulled down more so than usual, but simultaneously had a sad glimmer of tears over it. Nicko had thought the huge, spaced out gaze Gio did at him sometimes was his version of puppy dog eyes, but that paled in comparison to the way he was looking at him now. Nicko would never admit it out loud, but it drove him absolutely crazy, to have someone looking at him with such gentle desperation.

"Stop calling me sir." Nicko instructed after a moment of silence. Gio didn't break his gaze, he only blinked a few times, and then he nodded. "I want you to say my name, when you beg like that. Alright?"

Giovanni melted in Nicko's grip, leaning forward just a little closer. "Nicko..." he breathed, and that was all it took. Nicko dropped his wrist and took his face in both of his hands, drawing a small whimper from him.

"I don't want to take your clothes off or use you, or anything like that." He whispered, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against Gio's. "I just want to...try something. For one second. Ok, Giovanni?"

"Please, Nicko."

Gio held his breath right before Nicko kissed him, focusing on keeping himself still and soft and good for Nicko, but it all went out the window once their lips were actually pressed together. Gio had been burning for this since the first time Nicko had kissed him, but he was too afraid to ask and Gio always seemed to make him regret it anyways, so he didn't think there was much use hoping for it. And here he was, with Nicko holding him close, kissing him, just kissing him, and he was so nervous he was going to mess it up and not be good enough at it to make Nicko want him.

Nicko pulled away from him after only a couple of seconds, he laughed when Gio huffed in obvious displeasure. But he was calmer now, not panicking and calling him "sir" and saying all of those...other...disturbing things. So Nicko was satisfied.

"I seriously think you should eat, darling." He trailed his fingertips over Gio's jaw as he spoke, slowly pulling his hands away. "I'm worried you're gonna blow away if we go outside."

Gio sank back to sit down where he had been, picking up the bowl of fruit again and watching his hands tremble as he picked up another piece of the sweet orange-ish fruit Nicko gave him earlier. He couldn't force himself to put it in his mouth, knew he wouldn't be able to chew and swallow over the huge lump in his throat. Why didn't Nicko want him? Why wasn't Gio good enough for him? Maybe it was arrogant of him to think he was good enough, he should be humble, he should just keep trying harder until he actually was. But truthfully it wasn't hurtful because he thought he felt deserving, it was hurtful because he was scared. He wasn't good enough for his old master, he wasn't good enough for Rory, he wasn't even good enough to keep his old life. And he loved Nicko so, so, painfully much, he had finally found somewhere mostly safe and his master was perfect and if he wasn't good enough again then maybe Rory was right, and he should just give up, find a way out, like she said.

Nicko got a little freaked out at the way he could physically see Gio's crash start, he was a little unnerved to see his posture sink in a little, his throat bobbing up and down as he tried not to cry. He could see his thoughts spiraling, realizing that, damn, life kind of sucks, and it kind of always has and what if always does? By now, Rory would be a blubbering mess.

As if reading Nicko's mind, Gio started to sniffle, trying again to press the fruit to his lips, still unable to bite. If he opened his mouth, he might make a noise, and he just wanted to stop messing up already. But then, Nicko was sitting in front of him, gently grabbing his hand and taking the mango away from him, setting it back in the bowl for him. Then he grabbed Gio and pulled him into his lap, holding him close.

"You're ok, Gio." He told him. "I know, it hurts, I know, but I'm here, I've got you."

Giovanni let out a soft mewl, trying without much strength to squirm out of the comforting arms. He was terrified of the gentleness he so obviously didn't deserve, knew it could easily be used against him later. "I was so soft with you earlier," the warm body would say, "Don't you want me to do that again? I will, if you do this for me."

But this wasn't just a warm body, it wasn't his old Master, it wasn't the couple of guards who would visit his cold, concrete cell late at night long after training was over, it was Nicko. And Nicko didn't even want him in that way. Why didn't Nicko want him that way? "Nicko, please please u-use me. I-"

"Shh, Gio. I don't want to do that to you."

"Why?!" He sobbed out, fingers tightening into tight fists around Nicko's shirt. "Why d-don't you w-wa-want me?!"

Nicko gasped at his outburst, reflexively tightening his grip around him just a little. "Giovanni...I...shit. It's not about what I want, it's just that it would be, uh, different, with you. Like it wouldn't be the same as sex with a regular person cause you're uh...trained for it."

Just like that, the boy grew rigid and stopped shaking, leaning away from Nicko as much as he could. He just had to be reminded of his place, that was all. Nicko didn't want him because Nicko was a person, and Gio wasn't. Maybe Nicko just wanted him as something to practice art on, whether it be with the tattoo gun or painting him on a canvas or sketching him in his little notebook. As much as that hurt Gio, to know that he wasn't human enough for Nicko to want him back, he could live with being useful in that way for him.

"I'm sorry," Gio looked away from Nicko and up at the huge painting of him a few feet away. Nicko had done a wonderful job on it, he made Gio look small and pale and broken, like he was and felt he always would be. But Nicko had also done a good job of showcasing Gio as alone, swimming in an ocean of black fabric, isolated and untouched and useless. Like he was, and felt he always would be. "That was...out of line. I'm sorry."

"Gio, c'mon. Don't... Don't be all sad now. I do like you, I really do. I think you're the cutest thing ever." He reached out and grabbed onto a piece of his hair, twisting it somewhat playfully. "And you're a real good kisser, too. Honestly." Gio looked up at him, and Nicko grinned at him, trying to elicit some sort of positive reaction. Finally, Gio cracked a small, halfhearted smile, dropping his shoulders from how tense he was. "But I don't want to have sex with you cause it...you know, it means something different to us. You understand?"

Gio nodded slowly, forcing himself to take a deep, ragged breath. "Yeah, I understand."

Nicko leaned forward just a little and placed a soft kiss into his hair. "Good boy," he mumbled, "now eat your fruit so I can finish drawing you, yeah?"

The smile on Gio's face was genuine that time around, and he sat a little straighter. "Yes, Nicko." So Gio sat still, he watched Nicko scribble against his paper while glancing up at him every so often, and he ate his fruit. It wasn't what he wanted to do, but that didn't matter, he did it because he was told to, because Nicko wanted him to. Gio had once been told, in training, that as long as his master is happy, he should be to. He was seriously starting to wonder if he was broken, because it was seeming like he couldn't be happy at all, even as Nicko smiled at him over his notebook.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

History comes to life; Ahkmenrah x reader

*Author’s note*

Hey guys well this has been a LOOOOONG time coming in. For years I’ve alwasy wanted to try and write an Ahkmenrah fanfic and thanks to a Wattpad friend of mine, she gave me that chance. So here we are with my first Ahkmenrah fanfic. Now this is only part 1 and I’ll try to have pt.2 up as soon as I can. Hope you all enjoy this fic my lovelies :)

UPDATE: PART 2 IS HERE

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@dancingcoolcat​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@kairosfreddie​

@queendeakyy​

@geek-and-proud​

@simonedk​

________________________________________________________

2006. New York City. The Museum of Natural History. My home away from home.  I mean to a college girl going for a master’s degree history that’s a lot, and all at the age of 23.  Yeah whenever it came to school I was always deemed the ‘smart one’ or in some cases the ‘nerd’.  

Was Valedictorian in high school, completed my bachelor’s degree within my first 2 years of college and now I’m completing a 4 year master’s degree.  Not only that but I once did an entire year abroad in Egypt as a part of one of my courses that gave me 3 credits for one of my History courses.

And now here I am completing an internship credit instead of going for a core course credit, here at the Museum of Natural History.  So far into my second week of my three month internship it’s been pretty good.  Since I’m also having to write my dissertation about the ruling of Ahkmenrah, this place has been a great place to think.

Whenever I wasn’t needed by the boss, Dr. McPhee, you would normally find me in the Ancient Egypt hall, sitting in the room of the pharaoh himself writing my paper.  And I know it sounds crazy but sometimes I wish that I could actually have the chance to speak with him, I mean if I’m to complete my dissertation I wish to know things that I didn’t already know (there’s only so much you can find on the Internet).

Little did I know that that day would soon come, and it all started with a blast from the past. 

I was currently walking down the steps after completing my day here at the museum when I saw walking with Cecil, one of the three night guards an old ‘boss’ you could say.

“Well I’ll be damned. Larry Daley.” I greeted as I came up to them.

“Oh hey, hi uhh…..” ahh the same old Larry forgetful Daley.

“(Y/n) (l/n). I used to live down the road from you guys.”

“Oh right sorry! Wow it’s been a long time.”

“Yeah about 3 years since I graduated high school.” I said with a smile.

“So I see you know our new nightguard huh Ms. (l/n)?” asked Cecil.

“Yeah I’ve babysit his son since the day he was born. How is Nicky by the way?”

“Oh he’s you know good. Fine. Loving hockey.”

“Oh that boy and his hockey. I remember he tried to get me to play it in the house and we ended up breaking that lamp.”

“Yeah thanks for reporting that.”

“Even though he tried to convince me not to speak of it.” I giggled. “So Cecil says you’re going to be the new night guard?”

“Yep. Just showing Larry around, giving him a little tour before his shift tomorrow night.” Cecil explained.

“Well, welcome to the team.”

“So do you work here too?”

“Oh no I’m just here for an internship credit but Dr. McPhee has allowed me to do further researching even after my internship’s up.”

“Read her dissertation a couple of days ago, she’s quite the researcher. Any further questions you can always ask her.” Cecil said.

“Oh Cecil you old charmer stop it. Well I better get out of here before traffic gets too crazy. Bye Cecil, Mr. Daley, welcome aboard again and I hope to see you before your shift tomorrow.”

“Yeah of course, see yah then (y/n).” I smiled and gave the gentlemen a nod goodbye before bundling up and walking out into the New York winter air.

I was now at home typing up what I had written down on paper and transferred it to the rest of my dissertation that was on Word.  I heard my door open and in came in my mom and she said.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay mama, just half a minute and I’ll have everything typed up.”

“Sweetie you’ve been working non-stop ever since you got home. You can step aside for ten minutes to eat dinner.” I looked up at her then saved the changes I had and said.

“Fine mama, you win.” She grinned down and said to me.

“I always do. Until you become a mother yourself, you’ll never win.” I scowled up at her before the two of us walked out of my room and headed downstairs to eat.

As we ate our dinner, I told her about my progress and about Mr. Daley now working for the museum as the new nightguard.

“Wow, Larry Daley. Hadn’t heard from him in a while. Not since the official divorce.”

“Wait what?”

“Oh honey I’m sorry to tell you this but Larry and Erica were going through a divorce this past year.”

“Ahh man. How’s Nicky taking it?” I asked.

“Well last time I ever talked to Larry he told me it was a joint custody agreement. Now whether that went through or not I’m not sure.”

“It must’ve, I mean he did say Nicky was still playing hockey so that must mean he gets to have Nicky at least some days of the week, maybe the weekends.”

“Erica was always hard on him. Even when they first got together. Don’t tell her I said that though.”

“I promise mom.”

After dinner, I took the dishes and cleaned them out before placing them in the dishwasher before going back to my paper. Before I even knew it when I finally ran out of ideas and edits, I saw that it was after midnight.  So after saving everything I shut my laptop off and got ready for bed.

The next day it was like any other day.  I went in, did my rounds for Dr. McPhee, organized some files and edited some papers.  Then after my lunch break I had time to do my paper for the final 4 hours of my day today.  Even with the small crowd of people in the Pharaoh’s tomb, I wasn’t really bothered or distracted from doing my dissertation.

In fact I was so invested into it that I almost didn’t hear the voice speak over me.

“Hard worker as ever.” I looked up and smiled at Mr. Daley.

“So, ready for your first night tonight?”

“I don’t think it should be that hard. I mean not really anything happens in a museum at night.”

“Do you got a second? Just wanted to see if you’re interested in a cup of coffee. Colleague to colleague?”

“So not just for the sake of me being your old babysitter? Is that all I am to you now, just a colleague?”

“No. I mean yes. But not in that way I mean I was just…..” I laughed and said.

“I’m just pulling your buttons Mr. Daley. I’d love to get a cup of coffee. Maybe even educate you on what you’ll be guarding.” I packed up my stuff and we both headed out to the coffeeshop just down the block from the museum.

As we walked around Central Park he asked me.

“So that paper you were writing earlier, what’s it on?”

“Oh it’s my dissertation paper for my master’s degree.”

“Masters?! Wait so you already got your bachelor’s?”

“Yeah. I got it just last year. Now for my masters I’m doing the full 4 years so in total I’ll be doing 6 years of college.”

“Wow, sounds exhausting.”

“It can be, but I can’t help it. I’ve got a thirst for knowledge. And as an ancient civilizations concentrator I can’t help but want more.”

“Yep your mom always did call you her little book worm.” I smiled and nodded. “So that paper.”

“Oh yes that. Well I’m doing my dissertation on the ruling of Ahkmenrah and how he was the most justified ruler Ancient Egypt had ever known. Sure there have been good pharaoh’s but I’m setting to prove just how fair and just Ahkmenrah truly was as a ruler. Even with his short time as king.”

“How long did he rule?”

“Well he was given the crown by his father when he was just 16 and ruled for only 4 years before he was murdered by his own brother.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, his brother was extremely jealous of Ahkmenrah. So much so that after murdering his brother, he tried to claim the throne only to throw Egypt into despair in just under a year of his ruling.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Ahkmenrah sought to treat everyone with a kind but firm hand when need be. Did you know that he was the only pharaoh known to be kind to the Hebrew slaves?”

“I did not.”

“Yeah. He even tried to seek out a fair system where they wouldn’t have to work on their sacred holidays. Of course it wasn’t passed yet because well—he died just before he could declare it a law.”

“Wow, things would’ve turned out very differently had that happened.”

“Yeah. Cecil’s also been a good resource too since he was there when he found his tomb when he was just a kid.”

“Cecil found Ahkmenrah’s tomb?”

“Yeah. The three sarcophagus’ of him and his parents.”

“But wait I thought you said he had a brother?”

“He was. His brother wasn’t buried with them. Kahmunrah was condemned to be mummified alive and buried in a tomb far beyond the royal family’s because of what he had done.”

“Wow that’s—horrifying. Don’t they like rip their guts out or something?”

“All their organs were placed into jeweled canopic jars.”

“Wow. I think I lost my appetite to drink this coffee now.”

“Sorry Mr. Daley, I can be a little assertive when describing some of the things the Ancient Egyptians did. But you should’ve seen me when I actually got to set foot in an actual mummification area.”

“So you actually went to Egypt?”

“Yeah last year during my bachelor’s degree last spring. I spent an entire semester down there. Learned a lot, and I can speak a little Arabic. Ancient Egyptian is a little rusty but I know like a word or two.”

“So if you could, could you read what’s written around the tomb of Ahkmenrah?”

“Now you’re really challenging me Mr. Daley.”

“Thought you said you loved a challenge?” I chuckled.

“That I did. But sadly no. Probably a word or two as I said.” I looked down at my watch and said.  “It’s almost sunset, better get back to the museum less you wanna get fired on your first day. I’ll check in on you first thing tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks for the little history lesson on the pharaoh (y/n).”

“Anytime. And here, give me your phone.” He handed it to me and I went through his contacts to see if he still had my number. Turns out he didn’t so I went ahead and gave him my new number since I got a new phone. “Here, any questions or concerns or if you just wanna chat. Give me a call.”

“Thanks (y/n). Anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

“Give me a chance to see that knucklehead Nicky again and we’ll call it even.”

“Will do.”

“Well good luck Larry.”

“Thanks.” I waved goodbye and walked back towards the nearest exit and hailed down a taxi and told them my address.

As I lay down in my bed after typing up the next several pages of my paper, I charged up my flip phone since it was almost dead from this week’s use.

“Hope Larry’s liking his new job. I’d give anything to stay the night in that place.” I stretched myself out and cuddled into my bed before falling asleep.

Bright and early the next morning I got around and headed on out of the house.

“Mama I’m heading out!” I cried out.

“Have a good day sweetie, give my love to Larry for me.”

“Will do mama.” I gathered up my stuff and took the bus toward the museum.

Once I got there, I entered inside just to see Mr. Daley walk out.

“So how was the first night?” he looked at me like he had just been through a rumble with Mike Tyson or the Rock as he said.

“Well I—”

“Dad.” A young boy’s voice said.  We both turned to see Nicky walking with another man with short black hair and looked younger than Mr. Daley.

“Hey, hey buddy. What are you guys doing here?”

“Oh Erica had to be in court early today so I’m taking Mr. Big stuff here to school. But he wanted to swing by see your new job.” The man explained with a smile.

“It’s so awesome that you’re working here.” Nicky praised.

“Well your dad gets a praise but I don’t get so much as a hello?” I teased.

“(Y/n)!” he came up and hugged me and I hugged the little monkey back. “Do you work here too?”

“No I’m just here as an intern for a couple of months.”

“So Nicky whose your friend here?” the man asked.

“Right, (y/n) this is Don. Erica’s new uhh…well he’s her new….” Larry tried to explain but Don butted in by saying with a business man snake-like smile.

“I’m her boyfriend. So you’re the famous (y/n) the babysitter I’ve heard about.”

“Yeah. So you’re the new guy huh?” I looked over him once over and all I saw was a monkey in a suit with an earpiece to his ear.

“Yeah.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Hey Nicko. Wanna take a lookie-do inside. Maybe your dad or your friend can give you a VIP tour?”

“You know what we’re actually kinda slammed this morning but I promise I’ll show you around soon bud, deal?”

“Deal. Love you dad.”

“Love you too.” Nicky hugged his dad and Mr. Daley gave Nick a kiss on the top of his head before he and Don walked hand in hand across the crosswalk before heading towards his school. “Yeah Erica and I are going through a—”

“I know, mom told me the other night. I’m so sorry. You both seemed really happy together.”

“Yeah well sometimes life happens. I’m just thankful I get Nick on Wednesdays and every other weekend.” He said solemnly as he kept his eyes on Nicky.

“Were you really thinking about quitting?”

“How did you…..”

“I’ve seen that walk so many times with my friends. Hell I’ve even done that walk before once at the Library of Congress. So c’mon Mr. Daley the truth.”

“Last night was……intense I’ll admit. But I really want Nick to be proud of me, and not see me as…..ordinary.”

“As Teddy Roosevelt once said, ‘some men are born great, others have greatness thrust upon them’. Maybe this is your moment. Look I know being the night guard may not be the funniest job ever for you. But don’t do it for yourself, do it for Nicky.” I said as I placed my hand on his shoulder.  He looked up at me and said.

“You truly were the best babysitter Nicky ever had. No wonder how he got so wise.”

“History geek, you get great life quotes. Not just from Star Wars or Lord of the Rings.” I then skipped up the steps and walked inside.

“Oi intern!” I sighed heavily.  Even after 2 weeks he never really does call me by my name.

“Yes Dr. McPhee?”

“The Egyptian tour guide called in sick this morning, I want you to take over his shift. You’ve got the better resume to give a tour with your year abroad. So do it.”

“Yes Dr. McPhee.”

“And see to it that the children don’t touch the exhibit. God I hate it when those sticky little monsters think a museum is a-a-a-a-a…..touchy place.” He then turned away mumbling to himself.

“Out of all the bosses I’ve had, he’s by far the goofiest and strictest. But it’s better than organizing files again.” I then went up and Rebecca handed me my Egyptian tour guidance flag and I waited for the first wave of guests which was in fact kids from the middle school I went to years ago.

When the class arrived I greeted them and told them my name and that I would be their tour guide today.  I walked them through the Egyptian wing before finally leading them to the tomb of the Pharaoh.

“Now we are finally arriving into the tomb of the pharaoh himself. King Ahkmenrah was known as one of the youngest pharaohs to rule in the Upper kingdom of Egypt in 232 BC. He was even the first pharaoh to be crowned above his older sibling.” It was then I had a young girl raise her hand. “Yes sweetheart?”

“What are these statues?” she gestured towards the 20ft. jackal guards.

“Ahh those are the Anubis guards. The Egyptian god Anubis, Lord of the dead is said to be the judge of the underworld. He would deem by balancing your soul on a scale with sand and if your soul weighed heavier than the sand, you would be damned in the underworld. But if your soul was lighter, you’d be granted peace in the afterlife. His guards which you see up there are the protectors of bodies, especially over the royal families tombs.” I got another hand raise this time from a black child.

“Do the mummy’s really get wrapped up in toilet paper?” at that the kids all laughed, to which I couldn’t help but laugh.

“No. No it’s not toilet paper. They get wrapped in special linen which is sorta like a gauze wrap. How many of you had an injury and your parents would wrap your injury with a sorta white bandage?” I got a few hands raised. “It’s basically that. But before they wrap up the bodies, they expose the body to a type of oil and salt to de-moisturize the body so that it could be preserved from the elements.” Another boy asked.

“What exactly is that gold thing up there?” I looked up and I said.

“Ahh that my dear boy is the tablet of Ahkmenrah himself. It arrived here at this museum in 1952 from the Nile expedition. It is said to bring the dead back to life.”

“Yeah right.” The boy sassed back.  Kids today, so desensitized by movies and television.

“It’s a legend but never mock the powers of Egyptian magic. Okay kids, why don’t you have a look around and check him out. But please don’t touch the stone slab.” I then walked aside and the kids all gathered around Ahkmenrah’s sarcophagus. “If only it were real.” I muttered as I sat down and rested my feet.

The day dragged on until finally I was clear to go home.  I decided that for tonight, I would leave my dissertation for next time and just immediately go to bed.  I covered myself up with my thick warm blanket and was out like a light.

The next day it was just about closing time and once again I was in the tomb of Ahkmenrah.  I stared down at his sarcophagus sighing softly.

“Excuse me miss, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to vacate the premises.” I jolted slightly but when I turned around I saw that it was only Mr. Daley.

“Oh sorry, just—kinda got caught up in my thoughts is all.” He switched his flashlight off and walked up to me.

“So this whole Egyptian stuff really—gets to you doesn’t it?”

“Ancient Egypt has probably been one of my most favorite ancient civilization. It’s just fascinating of how the Egyptians were able to build things like the pyramids, the sphinx, and intricate tombs that have endless passages in order to trap graverobbers when they didn’t have the technology we have today. It’s amazing.”

“Yeah, guess that is kinda cool.” We stood there side by side in brief silence before he said, “Hey (y/n), do you really believe History comes to life?”

“I mean yes. In a way all around us we are always being given knowledge of every historical moment. And this museum helps us to actually in a way live through it.”

“I mean do you truly believe that history can come to life?”

“I—don’t get what you’re saying Larry.”

“I mean that…..I tried to tell Rebecca this earlier but she ran off on me. She thought I was making fun of her but I really wasn’t I’m telling the truth, I told her the truth.”

“What truth?” he looked around before he leaned close to me and whispered.

“Everything in this museum comes to life. At night. All because of that tablet. Ever since they brought it here back in 1952, everything in this museum came to life.” I looked at him before saying.

“Uhh—have you been overworking yourself again?”

“No, no I swear to you (y/n) I’m not lying.”

“Look, your shift’s about to start and I should really get going. We’ll—talk about this tomorrow. Goodnight Mr. Daley.” I quickly walked around him but I could hear him trying to call out to me.

As I exited the museum I began thinking back to what he was saying.  I mean I know I said that there could be a slight chance that the tablet of Ahkmenrah could hold some magic but this—this is something else.  I hailed a cab and asked him to drive me back to my place and in just 10 minutes I arrived back home.

As it got darker and snow began to fall from the sky, what Larry had told me earlier this evening was still spinning in my head.  I mean what he said was absolutely crazy, if he was implying that the figurines, statues, and the actual pharaoh himself can come to life at night—he was even crazier than when I first met him.

Suddenly something was thrown at my window.  I gasped and turned on my lamp to see the leftover remains of a snowball.  I got up from my bed and looked out the window to see some figures standing down along the sidewalk.

From the streetlights I could see that it was Larry and Nicky but along with them were two others.  One was dressed up as an Egyptian pharaoh and the other was dressed like Attila the Hun.  I put on my coat and boots and quietly walked down the stairs and unlocked the door.

“Nicky? Mr. Daley? What are you guys doing here?”

“Hey (y/n) look I know this is a lot to take in right now and I don’t have a lot of time to explain so I’m gonna cut right to the point. Cecil stole the tablet of Ahkmenrah, along with Gus and Reginald. We have the other two back at the museum but we need your help in getting Cecil.”

“Whoa wait what? Mr. Daley you mean to tell me that the former head of security, someone I’ve looked up to for years has stolen the tablet of Ahkmenrah? Why would he want to steal it?”

“He said he and the other two guards were gonna sell it so that they could get a wealthy long retirement.” Nicky spoke up. I then turned to the two costumed gentlemen and I said.

“Am I missing the historical convention or something?”

“No, no, no. You know how I told you the tablet makes things in the museum come to life? I’d like you to meet Attila the Hun and the pharaoh himself Ahkmenrah.” I turned towards them and almost couldn’t believe it, especially with ‘Ahkmenrah’.

I mean there’s never been a real documented picture of him due to his short reign but—he was kinda cute. Wait what am I saying? This could all be a trick.

It was then Attila said something in Mandarin as he nodded to me.  I looked at him confused, that’s when Ahkmenrah said.

“He says he’s honored to meet someone who knows his true history and not the fables that surrounded him.” I walked up to Ahkmenrah and I looked him over.  His light blue eyes and sun kissed skin.

“How do I know you’re not just some method actor?”

“I assure you my lady I am no actor. But if you want to test me since you know so much about my history especially, ask me something only I would know.” I crossed my arms at his challenge.

“Okay.” I thought long and hard about a question that only either I or the ‘pharaoh’ himself would know.  “How exactly did your brother kill you?” yeah I know it was a dark question but it was all I could think of that was a difficult question.  Some scholars have even debated on Ahkmenrah’s death but I alone knew the truth after getting some good research done.

“It was sunset. I had just gotten through with wanting the Jews of Egypt to have free will among my kingdom when my brother called me into the studies to speak about the new law. At first I thought we’d go into another argument about it, but he wanted to drink a celebratory toast in light of the new law. I thought nothing of it so my brother and I drank the wine he had prepared. After the toast, I felt this pain in my stomach and—my brother standing over me with nothing but a cruel smile on his face.”

Oh…….my…..god.  It—this was……Ahkmen—he…..Ohhhhhh shit!

“My pharaoh I—” I proceeded to bow before him but he stopped me and he said.

“Please no. There is no need for that.” Oh my god his hands were so warm on my cold ones.

“I—I can’t….I just can’t believe. Oh my god I’ve really fallen off the deep end haven’t I?”

“Told you I wasn’t crazy.” Mr. Daley spoke up.

“Okay, okay I believe you. So where is Cecil at right now?”

“Last we saw him he was heading for Central Park.”

“Then why the hell did you come here for!? Central Park from here is halfway across town compared to the museum! We’ll never catch him on foot.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He then whistled and soon a horse came charging in and stopped right in front of us.

“Uhh Larry I hate to break it to you but we all can’t fit on one horse.”

“Oh I know this is my ride, your ride is Rexy.” I soon heard the thundering footsteps and soon following behind a toy truck was the giant T-Rex that you first see when you walk into the museum. It let out a roar and my mouth just dropped.

“You finally get your Jurassic Park wish huh (y/n)?” Nicky said to me with a wide smile.

“I—I suppose so.” The truck stopped right by us and I took notice of the two small miniatures inside that were inside.  The Roman General Octavius and the cowboy Jedidiah.

“We ready to get this rodeo on the show now gigantor?” said Jedidiah.

“Yeah guys. So you remember the plan right? You all round Cecil off and I’ll follow behind him.”

“We’re on it my liege. Everyone hop on. The enemy must not escape our sights!” Octavius proclaimed.  Larry and Attila got on top of the horse and the two of them rode off while Nicky, Ahkmenrah and I got on top of Rexy.  Ahkmenrah got on first and he held his hand out to me.

I took it and he helped me mount onto the T-Rex. My back was pressed up against his chest and our noses almost touching each other’s.

“Thank you.” I softly whispered in awe.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt. It’s—very different from mounting a horse.” I nodded as I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

“Shall I leave you two alone to get a room?” Nicky sassed out.

“Oh you little twerp just get on.” He grinned smugly as he came up and I told him to be careful as he came and sat in front of me. “K guys we’re ready!” Nicky told the two miniatures suddenly Rexy lunged forward and soon we were running full speed towards Central Park.

Within 10-20 minutes we arrived at Central Park and on the other side through the trees I saw Cecil riding on top of the money carrier horse and coach.

Rexy soon began to run faster which forced me to lean further up against Ahkmenrah.  We looked at each other and smiled at each other as I felt him hold onto my waist tighter so that we wouldn’t fall off.  Rexy then suddenly took a sharp left and we were now right in front of Cecil’s path.

But then Cecil took a sharp turn right past us just barely missing Rexy’s leg by a few inches.  It was then I saw the horrifying sight of the truck that Jedidiah and Octavius were riding in spin out of control until it flipped over a small foot of snow before exploding.

With no bone to follow, Rexy soon stopped and whined and we all looked in the direction where the two miniatures had disappeared to.  I saw that Larry had stopped just ahead of us and he was looking right where Jed and Octavius had fallen.

“Rexy let me down boy.” He lowered himself down so that I could get off of him.

“Where are you going?” asked Nicky.

“I’m gonna help your dad end this. Ahkmenrah, can you keep an eye on Nicky?”

“Yes of course.”

“Nicky, stay with him alright?” I told him in my sitter voice and he knew to never go up against me when I used that voice.  I hopped off and raced towards Mr. Daley. “Larry!” he turned to me and I said. “I’ve got a plan, but I need you to do exactly what I tell you.” he nodded.

“Hop on.” I got on the back of the horse as Larry said, “C’mon Tex let’s finish this. HIYAH!” soon we took off racing after Cecil.

“Stay close to the back of the coach, I’m gonna try to hop on it and grab the tablet.”

“Are you crazy!?”

“Yeah well it’s been a crazy night. So just do it!” he urged Tex on and soon we were right up on the stagecoach.  I reached out as far as I could and missed it a few times before finally getting a grip onto it.  Once I pulled myself up, I nodded to him telling him to get Cecil’s attention while I went for the tablet.

“Give me the tablet Cecil!” Larry cried out.

“Can’t do it, son!” the horses whinnied as they ran faster and I slowly crawled up towards Cecil’s back where I could see the glimmer’s of the golden Egyptian tablet.

“Pull over!”

“It ain’t gonna happen. Moving on!”

“Last chance Cecil! Stop the horses or I will!”

“They can’t be stopped, Larry. Don’t you know your history? These are money carriers. They were trained not to stop for anything but a secret word.” I finally grabbed the tablet and pulled it out of the bag as I said.

“You don’t say?” It was then Cecil turned and saw me with the table. “You mean a word like—”

“DAKOTA!” Larry cried out.  I then held onto the roof railings of the stage coach as the horses suddenly stopped and Cecil went flying forwards into the snow.  As Larry rode up towards Cecil, I got off the stage coach and followed right behind Larry.  “Read up on my history, along with a little help from a friend.” Larry said as he turned towards me.

“And by the way. Consider yourself out of my dissertation paper.” I told Cecil.

“And also, never talk to me like that in front of my son.” He then grabbed Cecil and threw his famed words back at him, “Moving on.”

We soon met up back at the stagecoach where Ahkmenrah, Nicky, and Atilla and his Huns came in.

“Oh hey, Huns.” Cecil said nervously as Larry transferred him over to them.

“Tell Atilla to have his boys take him back to the museum, put him back with the rest of the guards.” Larry told Ahkmenrah who then translated it to Attila in his tone. “Oh and uhh no limb ripping, okay?” Larry told Attila.

Attila tried to reason with Larry but he shook his head saying no.  That’s when Attila pinched his fingers with a little bit of space between them as he asked Larry.

“Mikaka?” Larry turned to Cecil for a moment before turning back to Attila doing the same thing as he responded.

“Makeekaka.” Hearing that made Attila and his friends very happy as Attila then proclaimed out to his Huns.

“Hey, w-wait. Hold the phone. What’s Makeekaka mean? Wait, translation please?” he asked Ahkmenrah as the Huns picked him up and carried him back to the museum.

“That’ll teach him to steal from the museum.” I bragged. “Not bad Mr. Daley. That was impressive.”

“Hey, couldn’t have done it without those websites you sent me to help me out with the research. You’re the real hero here tonight (y/n).”

“Yeah, and that was so awesome of how you got onto that stagecoach. You were like a superhero back there.” I blushed at Nicky’s praising.

“They are right (y/n).” Ahkmenrah said.  “We owe this night to you, thanks to you I once again have my tablet.” I smiled and said.

“It took all of us. Teamwork is what got this back.” I said as I held up the tablet.

“Oh boy.” I heard Larry say grimly.

“What is it?” asked Ahkmenrah.

“I gotta get you guys back to the museum.” He said urgently.

“Why? What happens if they’re not back at the museum? Well besides it being empty.”

“If the exhibits are outside of the museum when the sun comes up, they turn to dust.” He told me.  My eyes widened in fear as I turned to Ahkmenrah and he looked at me with a grim expression that expressed the truth.

“How?” asked Nicky as I turned to see half of the museum already here in Central Park.

“It’s gonna take us hours just to wrangle everyone up. And this isn’t even half of the exhibits we need.”

“Ahkmenrah. We’re gonna need your help.” Larry guided me over to the young pharaoh as he continued, “This is your tablet, you know the instructions. We need you to get everyone back.” I handed him his tablet and he took it from my hands.

As we did the transfer, our fingers briefly touched one another’s and I swear to god I thought I felt a spark.   I swallowed my little crush (was it a crush? I don’t know) and nodded to him and that’s when Ahkmenrah began to speak in ancient Egyptian as he looked down at the tablet.

As soon as I heard him say his name, the tablet glowed which reflected his face majestically, but that’s when I heard Rexy softly growl as he then began walking back towards the museum.  Not only was he walking onward but all the exhibits, it seemed they were all in a trance as they walked on.

With that the four of us left alongside the exhibits and we went to make sure that everyone got back there and to their designated wings safe and sound.

Once everyone was inside, present and accounted for; I walked with Ahkmenrah back to his tomb and he said to me.

“Thank you, for helping me retrieve my tablet (y/n).”

“It was no problem. Really. I’d do it all over again a thousand times if it meant you and the others could live to see another night.” He smiled and as he placed it back to its proper place he asked me.

“Will I see you tonight?”

“Oh I don’t know.” I sighed heavily.  “I can’t let Larry just get the boot for this, at least not if I can help it.”

“You have a kind heart (y/n). In another life you would’ve made the perfect Egyptian Queen.”  I blushed and laughed shyly. “If that is the case, then it was an honor to finally meet you (y/n).”

“Believe me it was an honor meeting you. I just…wish we had more time. I have so many questions for you.” He smiled and said.

“If the Gods make it to be, perhaps one day we shall cross paths again.” I nodded as I extended my hand out for a handshake. He took it and instead of a handshake, he turned my hand over and kissed the back of it.

I felt my face heat up and butterflies fluttered around my stomach as I nervously smiled.

“Yeah, you too Ahkmenrah.” I then helped him back into his sarcophagus and once I closed it up, I heard nothing but silence.  I turned to the Anubis guards who now stood very still and figured that it must be sunrise about now.  “Wadaeaan ya fireawn. Num jayidaan.” I whispered as I gently touched Akhmen’s sarcophagus.

I left the Egyptian wing and saw that all the exhibits were now once again either statues once more or had phased back into their wax figurines.  I walked down the steps to see the large mess once again.

“You got him back to his wing safely?” asked Larry.

“Yep. Safe and snug in his sarcophagus. C’mon. Let’s clean up whatever we can before McFreak comes in and flips out.”

“(Y/n).” Rebecca scolded me.  I shrugged at her as I picked up a broom from the supply closet nearby and handed one to Nicky and the two of us began to collect all the toilet paper that had been tossed around.

When Dr. McPhee did come in, he was definitely not happy.  After having Larry and I sit through the news that was talking about all the sightings that had happened last night from Rexy’s footprints in the snow, caveman drawings in the subway and even the Neanderthals up on top of the museum building waving torches in the air.

“Any explanation at all?” he asked the two of us. Larry thought about it before he came to a fake conclusion.

“No. Got nothin’.”

“Me neither.” I answered.

“Right. I’ll take your keys and your flashlight then.” He said as he walked up to Larry before turning towards me and continuing, “And you. Can turn in your membership and research card. You’ll be banned from the museum until further notice.” Larry and I looked at each other before Larry turned in his stuff and I turned in my access card.

He guided us out of his office to let us out of the museum but what we saw was something I had not seen since I was probably a little girl.  

The museum was packed! There were probably hundreds maybe even thousands of people walking about, getting tours, checking in, and asking for information about certain figurines or exhibits.

A wide smile spread across my face as I placed my hands over my mouth trying to contain my excitement.  But what really got me excited was when Dr. McPhee gave Larry and I back our stuff and gave us a small smile before walking away.

“Oh my god.” I said in awe.

“Seems the news really brought this place back on the map.” Larry said.  I then hugged Larry as tight as I could and he hugged me back. “What’s that for?”

“I have no idea. Just—thank you for probably the greatest moment of my life.”

“You sure it don’t have anything to do with the pharaoh just one floor up?” he teased.  I playfully punched him as hard as I could in the shoulder.

“I’ll see you tonight Mr. Daley. I’ll even pick up Nicky and bring him here.” I headed off to start my shift since I knew the tour guides needed more help so I decided to lend a hand and help out.

Of course that was fun and all, but the real fun began when the sun went down.  With my I-pod hooked up to the stereo on my “Happy feet playlist”, I had my #1 song ‘September’ by Earth, wind and fire playing while all the exhibits were gathered around the main lobby in celebration.

Everyone was either dancing or playing soccer and I couldn’t help but smile at seeing a once ancient pharaoh dance so badly that it was almost embarrassing.  Our eyes soon locked with each other and he came over to me and said.

“Come on, let’s dance.”

“Oh no, no, no, no, no I don’t dance Ahkmenrah.”

“This is our party and I demand you dance. By royal decree.” He teased at the end with a wink down at me.  Well—who was I to deny a royal pharaoh’s decree?

“Just a little warning for you, I don’t know how to dance.”

“Neither do I.”

“So you’re not at all embarrassed?”

“Not really. We’re amongst friends. And true friends don’t laugh at one another, even in their silly moments. Now come (y/n).” he took my hands and pulled me onto the dance floor and the two of us danced to the beat as silly as we possibly could.

[raekahwritings]

A Second Life, Finding Redemption (Shinsou x Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x Villain!Reader Rating: Explicit, N*SFW Warning: Angst, Murder, Assassination, Fake!Death, Decapitation, Some Smut Word Count: 8,731 Words A/N: This does not have a tragic ending, I can’t bear to write angst without a happy ending.

Summary: You’re a cute coffee barista that Shinsou has feelings for-- and hopefully he never finds out your real purpose in Japan. You are a villain in pursuit of revenge but you wish you could’ve lived a simple life, that you really were the barista you masqueraded as. If Shinsou knows the truth, he would hate you. Or does he? 

From Me: I’m trying to post this in time for @bnhabookclub​ (Antagonist x Protagonist prompt) and I haven’t had time to proof-read this or beta it so please excuse any mistakes or pacing issues. I hope to re-post at a later point but I definitely wanted this out.

Also, inspirations for this work is from @katsukisprincess, @lady-bakuhoe, @iwvs-on-ao3, @bnhabookclub, @/lemonlordleah-shinzawa, @/marilla-eldriana, @/queensynderella.

 Sometimes, there was no other end in sight. You could rewind the moment a million times and try to find something you missed, but it would always end the same miserable way.

“Shinsou, you should know what people think of us.” You idly sat from the rafters of the room, simply a shadowed silhouette to the brain-washing hero Shinsou Hitoshi. He desperately looked but he was lost through the maze of unconscious people talking all at once. “They will never trust people who can manipulate others.” Numerous voices bounced around the room, making Shinsou’s eyes dart back and forth—were you even here, or was it yet another machination?

“Marionette—You don’t need to do this.” Shinsou tried to tempt you away from the shadows, trying to sift through the ‘dolls’ you had set in place. You knew he would be sorely disappointed. You had already known about his abilities and set countermeasures in place.

Shinsou caught an idle movement above him, letting his capture weapon snake up to the beams while imperceptibly turning on his own voice-changing mechanism—but it was foiled. “Don’t try that. You know I wouldn’t fall for something so obvious.” You backed away from even the shadows, dissipating, away from his empty oaths and reassurances. Away from the ignorant and unaware hero. With a flick of your wrist, you dispelled the strings of your quirk and letting the bodies fall to the floor.

Shinsou tried to make his way through the unconscious victims but it seemed like you had no more desire to speak to him—you soon disappeared in a silent farewell. Your dolls soon fell to the floor, crumpling as their marionette master was gone.

This is fucking creepy. When Shinsou had arrived onto the scene, it was eerie at how doll-like everyone had seemed with their glass-like eyes and lifeless motions. But upon his arrival, they had come to life and stalled the young hero.

“She got away again.” He frustratedly sighed. This wasn’t the first and this wasn’t the last time you escaped… But he was starting to get the hang of your quirk; it seemed you had to be somewhere nearby to manipulate people. Shinsou reached down for a child, relieved to discover they were breathing and no apparent harm. But as he garnered a better look – it didn’t seem as if anyone was harmed here.

This was strange; you had been responsible for the killings of several prominent people. A businessman. A minor government official. A doctor. The most notable was a visiting dignitary. This latest incident invoked a sense of international outrage and a greater calling for your arrest. Your signature calling card was a single severed head amongst immobile witnesses who only remembered a blackened haze. Their loss of memory was surprisingly similar to Shinsou’s own quirk which is why he had been called in. So far, the only clue he found was your spider-like wires.

“Hey, get the crew in here. There’s a lot of unharmed civilians who need assistance.” Shinsou radioed the information in and took one last look to make sure it was safe before back-up reinforcements were to arrive.

Strange. Shinsou tried to muse over this information; no one else aside from your victims was ever hurt. It seemed that you were aiming for something awfully specific. Shinsou didn’t know what though….  

That’s how Shinsou found himself in a cat café, sprawled in a chair, and lost in thought. He was currently on-break from the case since the police were investigating the unconscious victims and the link. So far, they seemed to have found none.

“Hello. Did you want a refill on your coffee?” Shinsou looked over and gave you a slight grin—you were his favorite barista at this cat café. Most places served awful drinks, relying on the kittens to draw people in and shitty service. What a rare find it was to find both adorable kittens, cats, and amazing coffee.  

Here you were, one of the most cheerful people he had ever met. Beautiful? Shinsou wasn’t much for conventional beauty or ‘instagram’ models that seemed to be so ‘in’ nowadays. But when cats were crawling all over you and you bundled them all in your arms in a fit of laughter—yes, he thought you were pretty.

Shinso gave you a grateful smile, especially since a napping kitten seemed to have him rooted to the chair. “That would be wonderful.” You leaned over to take his cold cup and Shinsou politely leaned back. Albeit, even he was a virile male and couldn’t help but to take a lightning-quick look at you bending over and shoving down thoughts of how delectable your ass looked.  

You apparently didn’t notice but you took a look of your own at his face. Of course, he had his darker-than-usual eye bags and you sighed sympathetically. “You look like you’re working harder than usual.” Shinsou didn’t think he looked different…? But fuck yeah, he felt tired. “Why don’t I add an espresso shot? A little bit of milk to make it sweeter?” He was your favorite customer after all. The purple-haired man had become something of a fixture around the café—you wondered if he ever actually slept sometimes. But he was always wonderful with the cats and often over-tipped. It was to the point that you as a barista, had to hide the tip jar and give him a very pointed glare.

You had caught him stuffing fifty dollars once and you had to draw the line; the poor man needed food and you sent him home to buy dinner for himself. Instead, he sheepishly came back with food for you both and had left it for you at the counter.

This was probably the first moment you had fallen in love with the purple-haired sleepy customer that constantly came to your café that you worked at. The owner gave you plentiful shifts because of your coffee skills.

“…. I think you’re the only one to know about my sweet tooth.” Shinsou said sheepishly. You took that as agreement, happily walking over back to the counter.

You filled up the metal tins and efficiently started frothing the milk, snagging the espresso shots, adeptly mixing the syrups and continued. “Hey, hey, I know when someone doesn’t like Americanos.” You gave him a mischievous smile. “I also saw your nose scrunching up and if you had a cattail, it would’ve been stick straight.”

“Ugh, you remember that.” Shinsou face-palmed. He remembered the first time he came in and one of his hero coworkers had ordered it for him; apparently, he had cultivated the image for loving the watery and bitter brew. No, it was because his office had no fucking good coffee and he was forced to drink it to stay awake. Shinsou had bit back any words and stifled the longing he felt for something tasty.

Apparently, you had noticed. Then you had come over, profusely apologizing that you had given him the wrong coffee and given him a specialty drink with no one the wiser. That moment solidified Shinsou’s affinity for this particular store.

“Do you pay attention to all your customers like this?” Shinsou took the new drink with great appreciation; it seemed everything here was good. He had yet to dislike any of your coffee concoctions.

“I try my best.” You said honestly. Shinsou looked around, there were a few people left at this late hour but for the most part, you seemed to be lingering near him. He bit back a stray thought, maybe that you also liked him a bit more than a regular customer, and gave you a small quirk of his lips. Shinsou wasn’t much for smiling but maybe your drinks invoked some kind of magic.

Shinsou hummed with delight. “I noticed. How long do you think you’ll be working around here?”

“Hmmm. I wonder!” You gave a little bit of a laugh, scooping up a yawning kitten and putting it back in their bed. Another customer gathered their things and gave a friendly goodbye.

Shinsou was content to let the comfortable silence reign but he was compelled by his own curiosity. “What would you do if you left?” He could only hope you’d stay… but he hoped you’d do what you want to do. Life tended to take people all over the place.

“Owning my own café would be a dream.” You wiped the empty tables nearby and took a bit more time cleaning than you usually did… Staring down at the table with a furrowed brows and bitterness. It was an expression he’d never seen before because you were always so happy with the customers.

Shinsou looked questioningly at you. “I think you’d be rather good at it. What’s stopping you?” He gestured to the cafe and you gave him a bit of a melancholy smile.

“Life.” You put your hand on your waist and gave him a smile—it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Huh, Shinsou thought. He noticed you had a way about yourself… answering but not saying anything about yourself.

You tapped his messy paperwork. “Probably the same reason you’re here? Why are you inside my café on a Saturday night? You could be ‘living’ it up with all your friends.” You air-quoted the words, giving him an eyebrow raise at his lonesome self.

“Hey, when did this become about me?” Shinsou held his hands up in a ‘I surrender’ gesture. Interesting deflection though. You had smoothly changed the topic and you were rather adept at turning the conversation to others.

But he couldn’t resist having the last word, call it petty of him. “I still think you’d be great at owning your own café.” He muttered— he knew you could hear. But it was something you should hear. He could see your dedication; you had been here unfailingly every weekend and he knew you took over shifts no one else would take.

“You, my dear customer, need to take no for an answer.” You jokingly rapped him on the head with a familiarity that few people showed.

Then you turned around to see someone secretly taking a picture of Shinsou. He had heard the click of the phone but unfortunately, it was all too common. He was going to ignore it but you weren’t. You shot a daggered look at the customer. “Excuse me, we value discretion in this store.” You courteously told them with a steely undertone.

Shinsou… was surprised. “Hey. Thank you for that.” He didn’t realize you noticed. This was a new side to his barista. He had never once seen you other than impeccably friendly. to civilians and heroes alike.

You dismissed his thank-you. “No, that’s my bad. I should be making sure our customers know not to bother you. You need your privacy too.” Your flippant words caused something to click within Shinsou. You weren’t like the others, you knew heroes were people. People who also should be respected, unlike those goddamn paparazzi sell-outs.

Yea, Shinsou liked you. He really liked you, more so because you didn’t seem to give a damn about his hero-fame. So he finally got the courage to ask you—

“Would you want to grab a bite to eat after the café closes?”

You looked back at him, a bit startled. “Me?” Even the kitten, napping in his lap, jumped away at his suddenly terse invitation.

Shinsou was now a bit embarrassed – he wished he was smoother about this. “No pressure. You just work super hard and I really want to treat you for everything you do for me. I know you stay late because I’m here--” Shinsou was rambling. He never rambled. God, you threw him off his game.

“Sure.” There was no harm in accepting his invitation. “You mind if I choose? I know this izakaya with home-made food but it’s a bit out of the way.” Shinsou nodded. The door rang as another customer entered. You gestured to him ‘five minutes’ and rushed off.

Soon enough, you were both at the amazing izakaya and Shinsou swore to himself that he would drag Aizawa here. This place had black garlic ramen and delicious chicken and sides. His mouth was watering from the moment he entered the place. You wasted no time in getting your orders in.

“I take it I picked well?” You were really happy you got to see your favorite, not-a-crush, customer eating with you. Your elbow was on the table, your face leaning on one hand as you watched him demolish the ramen in front of him.

He nodded, his mouth too full otherwise. “Calm down, the food’s not going anywhere.” You leaned over to push his messy locks back and gave him a chiding smile.

Shinsou froze. You froze. You leaned awkwardly back in your seat. “Um, I don’t want you to eat your hair.” You said lamely. Shinsou… leaned in to get another bite, trying to pass this off as a casual moment. You took an awkward sip of your drink. He could see the pink blush at the tip of your ears and he wondered…. Maybe you liked him back too?

The night was over too soon. He wished it could last longer… You both were at the nearby station, ready to part ways.

He had made the first move so you could take a step too. You tugged at his jacket to catch his attention. “If you ever need a ramen buddy, I’ll be happy to keep you company.” You… nervously said. Because what if he didn’t enjoy the night as much as you did?

Shinsou gave a grin as big as a Cheshire-cat smile. “Now I know what to do to pay you back for all those free lattes!”

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

Who knew that random ramen night would lead to café shenanigans between you two?

If anyone were thinking perverted thoughts, they would be disappointed though. Shinsou now helped you to coral mischievous cats and kittens into their cages.

You both had collapsed on the couch after a particularly troublesome kitty had decided to dart every which way and crawl near the coffee beans. It had taken every trick in the book to outsmart this particular kitten.

“Oh god.” You started giggling. “When did a kitten get smart enough to outsmart both of us?” Shinsou started chucking as well. You had to say between fitful of laughter—“You’re a pro-hero and you’re supposed to be smarter than this.”

Shinsou pointed accusingly at you. “I wasn’t alone in this!” You gave him a ‘ohohoho’ laugh as you got up. As a reward for his troubles, you dropped a brown paper bag of pastries onto him to take home. “God, if people saw us, they would’ve thought we were insane.” Chasing the kitten around, scrambling to get it before it escaped to the shelves…

Shinsou meant to get up. He really did. But as he lazily lied on the couch, watching you turn off the coffee machines and the glow of the lamps left a hazily ambient glow… He even shut his eyes for a few moments, relaxing his guard around you… You leaned over him to wake him up…

And then you heard it. The soft, sleepy whisper… “I wish I could see this every day.” He said it before he could think to shut himself up.

Shinsou was so gentle and sweet. You ached for him so much, so much that at those words, you gave in to the temptation. You leaned down to kiss him before he fully woke up. It was chaste, a gentle press of your lips against his.

“I hope you meant that for me and not the kitten?” You teased.

Shinsou’s eyes widened as he woke the fuck up.

Had you overstepped your bounds? Was he not interested? You hesitantly leaned back.

Not to be beaten, Shinsou tugged you down this time. “You don’t get to confess and become all shy, kitten.” His fingers entangled themselves into your hair and he caught your lips with his. He craned his head to lick your lips open, gently requesting permission.

And how quickly you caved, as you crawled into his lap.

You wished you could kiss him forever, Shinsou tasted so sweet— of caramel and sugar— he made you feel so preciously loved. His fingers stroked the nape of your neck, his lips moved down your throat, and his chest met yours as you both breathed heavily.

“I wasn’t hoping for this…” Shinsou whispered. “But I would be lying if I said I didn’t think of this.”

You nodded in a daze. Shinsou leaned forward to cup your breasts in his hands, relishing the feel of your skin against his. He claimed one for his own as he took your hardening nipples into his mouth. You writhed against him as Shinsou took his sweet goddamn time licking both breasts.

You writhed in his lap, feeling the burgeoning erection but Shinsou kept you still. “That isn’t fair…” You whined. You wanted his pants off, you wanted to feel his throbbing length against yourself. But Shinsou merely laughed, letting you suffer through the feel of the maddening cloth barrier. “Are you trying to torture me?” You whined.

“Hm?” Shinsou tugged at your hair, making you arch your chest against his. He took a chance to nip at your throat, giving you just a hint of dominance underneath his nice-guy exterior.

You thrust impatiently against him. “Pay a little attention down here, won't you?” You locked your legs around his hips, bunching your café skirt up, and shoved your wet panties against his tightening pants.

Shinsou nearly groaned, he could swear he felt you throbbing against him. But he did have to concede— there was too much between you two.

“Alright, alright kitten.” He lifted you up from the couch— oh god, you didn’t expect it but his lanky build hid more strength than you realized— and splayed you on the table. What a delicious view. Your lay passively back as he took off his shirt, exposing his toned muscles and inching down his pants. Your eyes didn’t leave his hands for one moment, he had a way of inching his pants down like he was a goddamn stripper.

His cock? You weren’t disappointed when he finally shimmied out of those pants. It was long and curved, already erect at the sight of you. You opened your thighs lewdly and snuck a hand down to rub lightly—

“Kitten, oh no.” Shinsou let his voice drop low, a slight threat to this tone. “You are going to wait patiently for me.” It wasn’t a question. This Shinsou— this wasn’t the awkward, endearing Shinsou that you came to know. This was…

He bent to a knee, looking straight into your soaked panties. You thought he was going to fuck you, not this— you closed your legs but Shinsou wrenched it apart with his hands. “Patient means you get to wait as I get my fill.” What did he mean? You gave him a wide-eyed look, questioning… “Oh kitten, are you embarrassed?” He leaned forward to lick at the wet patch forming. You jerked away but he held you still, teasing you and making you wetter. He could almost taste your slick, the heady damp-heat enticing him. But he wanted to see you beg. He pushed his finger against your cunt, letting you feel his decisive movements through the irritating fabric.

Oh god, it was the first he had touched down there all night.  But he didn’t touch you, you needed the panties off. You needed more. But no man had ever cared for foreplay with you before, you had always been used for their pleasure— you only knew to do what they wanted.

“Wait.” You tried to move away from his heated breaths— “I can handle it. It’s better for you if I just take it all in—“ Shinsou withdrew his fingers, his other hand tightening on your thighs and stopping your movement.

“Kitten. You are wet but you’re not wet enough to handle this.” Shinsou glared at you. Did you make him mad? You didn’t understand.

“It’s not about me though, it's about what feels good for you?” You tried to offer.

It was definitely the wrong words to say. Shinsou was feeling a little baffled and a little incredulous. “What do you mean by that?” He demanded. You… didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t this how it worked? Even more so because Shinsou was so important to you, you should’ve been on your knees for him.

Shinsou didn’t like your silence. “Y/N, who have you been with?” You looked away… Shinsou pinched your thigh in warning, “Let me clarify. I’m not asking who. Did no one take care of you?” He had stopped his ministrations.

“What would anyone ‘take care’ of?” You thought Shinsou wanted to fuck you. This was about him. You honestly didn’t know what he wanted of you. So you tried to cajole him out of his increasing irritation with practiced words, “It’s okay, I’m okay. I’m wet enough for you to just take what you want. Don’t you want this?”

Shinsou looked at you with darkened eyes and finally, finally slid your panties off. “Y/N, I’m not trying to just fuck you with no pleasure. I want you to feel this,” he circled your clit with his calloused fingers. “Feel like you’re wanted.” You felt wetness coming from you, getting wetter and wetter. “Have you hot and needy,” You jerked your entire body as he plunged his entire tongue into your cunt as he licked you— you had never felt this before. No man had ever decided to eat you out there but Shinsou ate like a man determined and starved. It felt like forever, Shinsou just wouldn’t let you go. You felt your entire body go taut and Shinsou squirmed his fingers in to pinch your throbbing clit and you screamed as an orgasm washed over you.

“And have you scream like that.” You weren’t even down from your high as Shinsou thrust his fingers in. He scissored his fingers in there, searching, not letting you rest until he found a spot that made you tear and cry. You tugged at his head futilely and Shinsou gave you his Cheshire-like grin again. He finally crawled up to relish your awed, tear-stained expression but he still didn’t stop.

“Shinsou, just stop. Just fuck me, please.” You implored and pleaded with him. In a way, you were trying to escape a pleasure you had never encountered before. No one had cared enough, no one had ever found this spot within you. Why was he doing this? Why did he care? This made your heart hurt, this made your cunt throb in a rising heat you had never felt before.

“I’m not going to fuck you, not like that,” Shinsou said in a low, raspy murmur. “I’m going to put it in you.” He thrust his fingers in time with his words. “When you’ve come.. a few times. Until I’m satisfied that you’re taken care of.”

Shinsou relentlessly pursued the spot within you while leaving his bite marks all over you, his mind tucking away every detail of your skin and every spot that made you feel sensitive. Until you had squirmed, screaming on breathless climaxes. Until you could no longer beg, beg those selfish words.

He never wanted to hear that this was about himself again.  He waited until your throat was hoarse and your thighs utterly soaking in your release before he inched himself into your luscious warmth.

Then he started an achingly slow pace that had you feeling every ridge of his cock, your tired body heightened in pleasure. Only when did you utter the most delicious little sighs, did he piston his length into you and finally take his climax alongside yours.

*****

At least you were on closing shift the next day. You didn’t have to wake up early, you and Shinsou had messily cleaned up after yourself in the café and you had followed Shinsou to his apartment.

Shinsou didn’t want to be apart from you and had been accompanying you at the café.

“We’ll be closing soon. Do you want me to come over tonight?” You inclined your head towards the last few customers. Shinsou was about to say yes but then an incoming call came again.

“Sorry!” Shinsou cupped his hands over his phone and walked to a corner to take a call.

He heard the familiar creation hero’s voice, “Shinsou! We have a meeting tonight!”  Shinsou realized, oh shit, he was supposed to be meeting with Yaoyorozu tonight. He had enlisted her help for after-hours with the case for Marionette.

You looked curiously over but said nothing. Shinsou still turned away though, sighing. “Yes. Sorry, it slipped my mind but I’ll be home in thirty minutes.” He hung up the phone.

He looked sadly at you. “Work.” You understood his work was important so you nodded. He gathered his stuff but you busied yourself and made several drinks for him to go. “Your co-worker can choose what they want.” You had included muffins, hot tea, a latte, and a coffee.

Shinsou gratefully accepted, a little at a loss for words. You were endearing yourself, more and more, even sending him off with food so he wouldn’t starve. He left the café but not without throwing a look over his shoulder; wondering if you were ever lonely closing or if you were safe.

You noticed him standing outside and made another ‘shoo, shoo’ gesture. Shinsou reluctantly walked away, curling his jacket around himself in the cold night air. Maybe he would take more patrols in your area to make sure you were okay?

Shinsou nodded to himself and decided, that would settle it. At this time, he wouldn’t possibly have known how this would have turned out—

You lay dying on the floor with a small hand reached out to Shinsou. “It was always going to turn out this way… Don’t cry. I don’t deserve it.” The pro-hero lay over your body, his arms forced at his sides as he shoved back his questions, his outrage, wondering how he could’ve ended this differently. He couldn’t even lend a hand to you. You gave him a pained smile despite bleeding out and let your arm fall. “Thank you… for letting me finish this until the end.” He could see the light of your eyes leaving, the blood choking any further words you wanted to say.

It was always going to end this way. It didn’t matter what he did.

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

You saw Shinsou off with a fond smile. A smile you shouldn’t have had; judging by your fellow ‘friend’ who was watching you from the corner of the café.

You leaned in to pick up your so-called friend’s book, thumbing through it to find the loose-leaf sheet you’d been waiting for. “Y/N, are you getting soft for him?” She murmured in a soft voice. You had hoped she wouldn’t notice. You shook your head decisively but she grabbed your arm, looking at you with near-desperate eyes.

“You know that he’s a hero right? If the option came down to it, you will have to choose.”

You shook her off, giving a glare of your own. “No innocents, heroes or no heroes. I’ve accomplished it so far. There’s only one target left.” You scanned the address listed.

“Y/N…” She dug her nails into your skin, tears in her eyes. “You know we have nothing left. This is the last chance to set things straight.”

You leaned your hand reassuringly over hers. “I promise you, nothing, absolutely nothing will stop me.” You looked at the time; noting it was nearly time for you to take over tonight’s operation after the café closed. A customer walked in so the conversation came to a halt.  “The shift is almost done here so why don’t I go and get you a drink?” You sent her off with a drink, waited until closing and bidding goodbye as everyone left.

You let the smiling façade fall and curled your fingers painfully into your palms. A cat came up to you, weaving around your legs and gently comforted you. Cats are uncannily perceptive. You hunched down, picking it up and burying your face into its soft fur.

Shinsou had made you think for a second, you could continue to live this life. To indulge in a second of whimsy, to hold onto this brief and mundane happiness.

“It’s such a stupid dream… so stupid for someone like me.” You felt the rising emotion in your throat, but you dammed back the tears, and shoved the anxiety that threatened to overcome you in your lonely moments.  You loved this place, adored the gentleness of the innocent kittens, and cherished the trivialities of this daily life. A life that was simple. Working, having fun, laughing, maybe having a secret, starry-eyed relationship with a certain sleepy customer.

It was too bad that this was never meant to last; night had fallen, and you needed to finish one last thing before this illusion overtook you.

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

“Yaoyorozu, none of this adds up.” Shinsou frustratedly pushed away the numerous papers surrounding him. All of Marionette’s victims seemed to have no connection, no reason or rhyme as to why she targeted them. But that wasn’t possible; the precision in which she chose her victims should prove she had motive.

Momo sighed, staring at the list again. “Let’s go over what we know, shall we?” She lined the portfolios up. A businessman. A minor government official. A doctor. An international dignitary. They had both been pouring over the victim’s backgrounds but had yet to see a connection. Momo looked at their respective work and occupations, their paths had occasionally crossed but nothing stood out.

Shinsou looked up the families, the nationalities, their political beliefs but none of those stood out either. Except for their… religion? He stared at the church on the dossier for the businessman and doctor. Something was familiar…. But he could not put his finger on it.

“Hey, can you check on the government official and dignitary? Their list of funded causes?” Shinsou frowned. He couldn’t find information on the their religious beliefs; it wasn’t listed because government entities couldn’t publicly pledge allegiance to any religion—lest it be known, and their commitment swayed away from public conviction. But he had sworn there was a familiar name.

Momo scanned the sheets. “Both their records showed they funded a Russian church.” Shinsou tapped the sheets before him. “This doctor is Russian and this businessman had numerous Russian business deals.” He leaned back, thinking…. Then Shinsou pulled up a slightly illegal database, a website he had obtained from one of his informants on the street.

“Don’t look too closely, Yaoyorozu, or you may see things you don’t want to see.” He typed in the church organization, pulling up a number of results. He rapidly keyed in some back-door codes, punching through sensitive data files.

Yaoyoruzu looked at him with lilting eyes, her fingers paused on the paperwork. “You don’t want to ask the police?” Surely, police would be privy to any information they would need.

Shinsou shook his head— “They don’t have enough international information. What I need probably isn’t on official servers.” Regardless of his warnings, Yaoyorozu inched closer and peeked over his shoulder. What had so raptly caught his attention? Shinsou jotted a note on a paper, monologuing to fill his fellow pro-hero in. “As you well know, Russia is one of the worst criminal countries in the world.” He let that sink in. The creation-based hero was informed of the world events—Japan had taken control of their villain society and with All Might, they had issued in one of the most peaceful eras to date. Not to say there wasn’t the League of Villains lurking about. Other countries hadn’t been so lucky. “If you know about Russia, their justice system is highly corrupt and their church and government is known for propagating war crimes.” Yaoyorozu nodded but she wasn’t sure what exactly they were talking about. “And this unique equation of victims makes me think of something really bad.” Shinsou rapidly clicked through the results, not quite finding what he suspected.

He typed in the dignitary’s name, opening an article about his funded endeavors…. “Well, shit.” His tired eyes glazed over the newspaper and article, noting the familiar faces.

Yaoyorozu leaned in and gasped at the contents of the picture. “That’s all four of our victims.” She realized with dawning horror at who they were with. “Shinsou, they couldn’t possibly have….”

Shinsou grimly nodded. “I think so. If I’m right, this last person is the next victim.” He tapped the computer screen and rapidly looked up the captioned woman—“And she lives here in Japan… as a airport customs official.” Shinsou punched in a call to Tsukauchi.

“Hey, I think we found the next victim. Can you send a police escort to them while I fill you in? I’d like to go over and talk to them personally as well.”

-----------

Shinsou was soon driving over, with the police requesting assistance from Tokoyami and Todoroki. Yaoyorozu had teamed up with the police investigators, filling them in on their research.

He met up with Todoroki at the bottom of the apartment building. Was Tokoyami missing? Todoroki answered his question before he could even ask, pointing to the dark night sky and emergency stairwells. The raven bird hero was much more adept at dealing with the situation that Shinsou might be.

“I assume you read up on Marionette?” Todoroki nodded. “Looks like we’re prepared.” Shinsou and Todoroki advanced upwards. They both entered the darkened hallway while Shinsou stared pensively at the eerily silent door of the apartment.  Where were the police escorts? Where were the neighbors?

Both of the pro-heroes had a bad feeling; flinging open the door without warning. Todoroki instinctively put up an ice barrier, deflecting the lethal cut of wires flung at the door. Despite the icy steam and darkness, they could still make out the bloody severed head on the floor and unconscious police officers, lit by the blue light of the computer screen.

You, Marionette, looked back at them in your disguised mask. Your blade ran fresh with blood, still dripping heavily and they realized they must’ve only been minutes too late. Shinsou took a lightning-quick assessment, noting the police were still breathing and unconscious, and again, only the victim looked dead.

“Marionette.” Todoroki stepped in. “You’re under arrest by the authorities of the hero association, for the murders of—”

“Stop.” You let the knife fall and waved away his words. For the first time in all your encounters, you deemed to speak a word. In your real voice. Shinsou knew they had you cornered... but it didn’t make sense. Why? Why had you chosen to stay when you could’ve escaped in the ample few minutes? You didn’t attempt to escape, even as Todoroki froze the only other window over. “It didn’t take you very long this time.” Why did you choose to speak, when you had evaded his abilities so well before? Shinsou and you stared at each other.

Shinsou could’ve taken control but he wanted to hear his suspicions proved wrong. He wanted to believe that the victims… were truly victims. That you, Marionette, was a cruel murderer.

Todoroki faded into silence but you all knew if you made a move, he would not hesitate to freeze you in a split second. With that in mind, he let Shinsou step forward closer to you.

“Marionette, we just want the truth. You told me before, no one would trust us.” Shinsou let the past memory sink in, let its weight fall heavy. “Tell me the truth about St. Magdalene boarding school.”

Your breath hitched at the mention of the school. It was the first, discomposed, emotion he had heard from you in all his encounters.

“Trust? Figures you’d be the one to figure it all out, hm? Shinsou.” The brain-washing hero’s blood ran cold— he recognized that familiar way of speaking. More so, how else would you know his name?   Todoroki now looked confused. You cast off your hair clip, letting the familiar locks fall and crooked your head at him with a sigh.

“It’s not…” Shinsou rasped out. He had caressed those silky locks this morning, pressing a vulnerable kiss to your sleepy face. He could even see the finger-shaped bruises of your passionate interlude— you couldn’t. Please, not you. But you took off the mask, dispelling any hope Shinsou could’ve had. You looked at him, your expression one of martyred determination. “Why?” His voice come out more agonized than he wanted to show, Shinsou died inside at seeing you.

You leaned forward, pulling— Todoroki got ready to deter you with fire but you simply pulled a thumb drive from the computer. The screen flashed with the same information you had withdrawn, slowly panning pictures of innocent girls. If Shinsou knew the truth…. Then he would know what you were about to say. “St. Magdalene is a Russian school from all appearances.” You felt Todoroki’s ice experimentally but made no violent movement and the pro-heroes remained alert. “If you believe the records. But we both know its far more than that?” Todoroki looked at the girl’s pictures with a dawning realization.

Shinsou decided to fill in the gaps. “But it was an operation for human trafficking, especially from Japan. All the victims— no, culprits, had the connections and means to get children through the channels and have them disappear.” You had to give him credit, he got farther than anyone else.

Yaoyorozu had researched the supposed names that had graduated from the school, only to have them disappear from any official records. “Where they went? We haven’t found a connection but the police are working on that.” Shinsou couldn’t find anything more but he was determined to.

You traced the computer screen, tracing the faces you had grown up with and had seen sacrificed, suffered, and mutilated. “I can help you with that. ”

Todoroki shook his head, muttering. “Disappearing means there’s a chance we can help—“ You let out a cruel scoff.

“You’re naive pro-hero.” Your voice dripped with disdain for Todoroki. “Disappearing would’ve been a kinder fate than what we went through. You name it, you got it.” You tapped the screen at one girl. “Bought and sold to the highest bidder, found dead from sordid sex gone wrong. She was dumped like an animal.” You watched as another face flashed on by. “This one, she wasn’t very pretty. Cut up for organs for the nouveau-rich.” You waited for another one, grimacing. “Drug mule; except she was cut up countless times, screaming every time they carved out her innards.” Shinsou could only imagine it but already, he felt sickened. “My sister?” You hesitated at that one. “She was given to the church, probably from some pedophilic fetish— didn’t help that she was crucified and burnt alive as a whore.”

Both pro-heroes wanted for you to lie; otherwise, the consequences of those well-known officials and the longevity of their career meant there had been countless victims over numerous years. It means that countless people had been involved in hiding these atrocities.

You shifted from the computer to walk directly to the brain-washing hero. You turned your emotions to cold steel, willed your sentimentality to die. Right, because it was oh-so-easy. If it had been, you wouldn’t be on this vendetta for revenge. You would’ve been gone to live the life you wanted.

“I will hand this thumb drive to you if you, Shinsou, promise to bring these people to justice.” You gestured to the rolling head beside you. “The organization will be in disarray but what’s left of it, they probably don’t deserve to die.  Just rot the rest of their lives in jail.”

Todoroki regarded you suspicion. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

You clapped your hands in a mocking gesture. “I’ve left you not only the names but times, dates, locations, names, and potential future victims. You should be able to work off of that.” How you got that information? Well, it certainly wasn’t through official channels otherwise it would’ve been covered up.

Shinsou was reluctant to let the conversation end. “Why didn’t you just run then?”

You gave a weary sigh. “It’s not like I could’ve continued this forever. How many more bodies would I need to kill? How much longer before a so-called pro-hero ‘arrests’ me? If it's not you, it’ll be a hit on my head. I’ll die without bringing this to light.”

They couldn’t deny it. But you... you gestured to them. “But I’ve heard of you two. You and Deku, you won't abide seeing the system like this.”

You looked world-weary, bone-tired to all the killing you had done. You looked like you had given up. So Shinsou tried to consider a way you could be saved— a way that was right as a pro-hero.

But none of you had time, not as a gunshot rang loud and clear in the room and you lurched, looking down at yourself.

You were bleeding. You were bleeding heavily as you fell forward. Todoroki swore, leaping forward to disarm the weapon as one of the police officers look triumphant.

“What have you done?” Shinsou looked near venomously at the police officer, kneeling forward to catch you.

“No!” You coughed blood up, holding Shinsou back. “It’s not safe for you.” You could feel the taut wire of control fading, your life ebbing with the flow of blood. Your quirk was reacting badly, you weren’t sure if you could keep it in check.

So you kneeled on the floor, your body crumpling. Shinsou looked agonized above you— but you gave him a lackluster smile. You reached out your hand… and looked for no comfort. “You look like you’re gonna cry. I don’t deserve it.” You tossed the thumb drive to him.

Todoroki lay a hand on Shinsou’s shoulder. “We have to call the ambulance… but I’m not sure she’ll make it.” Shinsou wondered how he could’ve ended this differently. Could he have helped you? What if you had come to him?  But none of that would’ve changed how this ended. You had been on a lonely path to vigilante justice.

The fiery streak of pain and bullets was nothing new to you. Neither was bleeding. You know what was new? Seeing someone who actually cared that you were dying.

Paramedics pushed past Shinsou to take Marionette in, others cordoning off the scene with the decapitated body. Tokoyami flew in, having heard everything from outside.

“Shinsou, take a look at the computer.” Everything was well and truly deleted from it, the bios flashing with erased data. Some kind of virus program? Meticulous planning.

Someone brushed by him to examine your wounds… Shinsou’s eyes flickered over to the paramedic.

“Todoroki, can you run this to Yaoyorozu? Make sure I get a copy and to pass one to Aizawa. I want the originals before this moves up to the police and higher-ups.”

“Understood.” They both understood how.. ‘sensitive’ this was. “I’ll protect this on my life.”

***

You woke up, groggily moving and wincing as pain shot through your stomach. You gently laid a hand on the gunshot wound, expecting to see red— but came away to see neat bandages on yourself. Surprising, she’s not usually so thorough.

“I didn’t expect such loving care.” You turned to your friend, expecting to see the informant from the coffee shop. But instead, you saw a purple, messy-haired and raccoon-eyed hero.

One who was smirking at you like you were an idiot.

“What the fuck.” It was the first of your plans that had gone so awry, the brain-washing pro-hero was sitting there as if he was a figment of your imagination. Maybe he was. Maybe your drug-addled brain was hallucinating. So you turned away, scrubbing your face with your hands.

“I’m not disappearing,” Shinsou said helpfully—giving credence that your hallucinations were extremely vivid—never mind that fact you’ve never had any before.

You took a deep, deep breath. “Humor me. How did you find out that I was alive? And if you knew, why aren’t I in jail?”

Shinsou gestured to the medical equipment hooked up to you. “We have mutual friends, for once, in our line of work.” You… didn’t expect that. Your cohort at the coffee shop had promised you an escape route—albeit risky—and you didn’t think to check on the connection. “Turns out you’re not the only one who’s had the idea to fake their death. But it usually needs very specific quirks and connections so here we are.”

You looked down at your bandaged and nearly naked form, sighing. “It was that or just dying on the way here. I didn’t expect to get shot.”

Shinsou scoffed at that. “What did you expect then?”

“I thought Todoroki might try to kill me. Either that, I could try to poison myself. “You threw out suggestions as conversationally as one might discuss the weather. “The better question is, why did you let me live? If you knew what I was up to?”

Shinsou leaned back in his chair, giving you an assessing look. “Your information, as far as we can tell, has panned out to close multiple cases.” So Shinsou knew you hadn’t lied about what you’d told him. About anything you told him. “So I’ve made a case to the Eraser Hero that you be kept alive to supply the police with information.”

You … absorbed that knowledge. “So you want me to be a confidential informant.” You closed your eyes wearily. “From one organization to another, I’m going to be used like a scapegoat.” You were changing hands from the Russian government to Japan’s government and used like their dirty little patsy. “I thought you would be different, pro-hero.”

Shinsou shoved himself to his feet, growling in frustration. “I’m not that much of a fucking low-life—don’t accuse me of that bullshit.” You may have shrunk back a little bit; this was the first time you had to see him angry at you. Honestly, you thought you would never see him again. You’d never face the moment of truth because you’d either be long-dead or long-gone. Here he was with all your secrets laid bare—and he was going to use you like the rest of them.

“You’re under the direct protection and surveillance of me and Eraser Head—we are the heroes who are holding you accountable. We give you the orders; not some fucking government organization.” Shinsou pointed to himself, scowling because of your accusations. You.. were reeling. Because how could he have worked that out?

“I can’t believe that. There’s no possible way you could have that authority. At best, I’ve got life in jail.” You knew how this worked. “At worst? I’m more than dead from Russia. I’ll be lucky if they kill me first.” You had already killed too many… You regretted the innocent you killed. You regretted the path you used to climb to the top. But after that? You could justify every sordid thing you did to get to Japan and to get the culprits responsible. “I know this can’t be true.”

Shinsou could finally get the upper hand here. “And this is where you’re wrong. Aside from a few of us pro-heroes, you’re dead to the world.” He flung down the newspaper at your bed, you shakily took ahold of the articles. You could see the gallant statements of heroes, Shoto and Tsukuyomi having taken down the international villain, Marionette. You were pronounced dead at the scene—inconspicuous pictures of your supposed corpse with no discerning features.

He could see your confusion. “Aizawa and I are handling the rest. You’re getting a different identity; hopefully you like the name Y/N because I’m not even sure that’s your real name.” Shinsou was mildly, oh-so-very-fucking irritated that he didn’t even know your real name. He couldn’t even find this one simple fact about you.

You… couldn’t believe it. If what Shinsou was saying was true…. It was too good to be true. You could finally be free. Whatever they’d want of you, it couldn’t be as bad as the others. You felt warm emotions claw up, the composure you held for so many years crumbling at this possibility ahead of you.

Shinsou sat at the edge of your bed, watching you. Evaluating and gauging you. You were a trained and murderous assassin—but he could see that you fought for good. That you hadn’t lost your humanity. “Y/N… if that’s your name. Listen to me.” He held a hand to your cheek, gently. “We’re going to arrest everyone who’s been involved in this. And when we do, I want you to find peace.” He had been there. The desire for revenge, the desire to shout to the world that they were wrong—it was all-consuming and would burn the entirety of your soul.

“Shinsou…. I’m so tired. So tired.” You finally sobbed out. “I don’t want to kill anyone anymore. I don’t want to lose what’s left of me— Was it just too much to ask for a simple life where I can be happy?” You cried, probably disgustingly into your hands.

“A life of cat cafes and being a barista?” Shinsou ventured to ask. If anything, the words made you cry even harder. You tried to nod between all the hiccupping breaths and tears. You tried to stop, you tried to breathe—but it was so hard. Even as you tried to believe him, the fear that all of this was fake, that this would all be taken away like some cruel dream had you almost hyperventilating.

“Please tell me if this is a lie. If you’re going to send..” You tried to breathe, still losing more oxygen than you were taking in. “… Me to jail, just don’t torture me.” You beseeched him, imploring with your eyes—it was too cruel.

Shinsou could see how desperate you were; a hint of the lost little girl you must’ve been at one point. The girl who probably never had a chance of a childhood, of meeting friends, of growing up and falling love. How did it feel to have that all taken away from you with no choice?

Despite all his logic and rationale screaming at him that this could be the worst decision, that he would be yet another naïve hero you so disdainfully scolded—Shinsou leaned forward to kiss you, to give you the oxygen you deprived yourself of.

You were too shocked to cry more. Shinsou took that chance to give you his own breath, stealing what was left of your panic and just kissing the life out of you. If you thought he was hungry before, Shinsou was stealing what was left of your soul. He eventually lifted his mouth from yours, whispering gently. “If you promise you want to be good, Y/N, that you won’t kill anyone—that if I can believe you, I’ll do my best to save you.”

You gave a watery smile. “I want to be. I want to be someone that can atone for everything I’ve done.”

Shinsou brushed your hair back from your face, mindful of your injuries. “Just atone? Don’t you want a chance to try to be happy?” You… looked up at him.

“Do I deserve to try?” You dared to ask. You dared to even try hope.

“I think you do.” Shinsou murmured.

You hesitantly laced your fingers with his, hoping he wouldn’t pull away. Not that you could blame him if he hated you. “What if I told you… that you made me happy?” You were a little scared to meet his eyes, your gaze flitting nervously between his limp hand and his unreadable expression.

“I would tell you, I’ve never tried dating an assassin but I’d make an exception for you.” Shinsou laced his fingers firmly with yours and gave you another stolen, chaste kiss.

“But you definitely need to heal up before we talk about anything else.”

[bellakitse]

You and I, Collide

Carlos looks at the firefighter, he’s handsome, seriously and almost unbelievably good looking with the greenest eyes he’s ever seen. He’s amazed by them. It’s probably why when he opens his mouth to reassure him that he’ll stay awake, what comes out instead is – “You’re really pretty.”

* Carlos is in a car accident, TK and the 126 show up at the scene.

for @lire-casander, Hope you have the happiest of birthday! 💖💖

thanks to @lauraperfectinsanity for the prompt idea, here

When he comes to, it’s to a pounding headache and a blaring horn of the truck that slammed into him. It takes him a moment to process the thought correctly, but when he does, he does it with a groan. He hurts all over, not just his head.

He starts to recall moments before the accident. He remembers waiting at the light behind a blue compact Sedan that is now a hell of a lot closer, given the fact that the front of his squad car has wrecked the back of it.

He also remembers being shoved forward with a jarring force, his seatbelt pushing him back but not before his head rammed into his steering wheel, leaving him to see spots just as his airbag deployed. He closes his eyes for a moment before forcing himself to open them again.

Slowly he raises his arm, and even though it hurts to move at least it’s doable. He gets his hand to his radio after what feels like an eternity; all of his movements feel like he’s slower than molasses.  

“Dispatch,” he croaks out as the radio statics to life. “Officer Reyes, 286, multiple car collision on Rainey and Davis,” he waits, letting out a relieved breath when the response comes back quickly.

“Roger that, Officer Reyes,” the operator answers, and Carlos realizes with a sense of relief that it’s Grace. “Any injured?”

“Besides me?” he asks dryly, trying to chuckle, but it comes out a painful groan. “I’m not sure; it hurts to move, and I think my door got warped in the collision.” He explains as he tries to pull on the handle and it doesn’t budge

“Carlos?” Grace questions; her voice while still professional doesn’t hide the concern. “Are you saying you’re part of the accident?”

“Yeah, Gracie,” he says tiredly, maybe if he shuts his eyes for a moment he’ll feel better. “Call someone, will ya?” he trails off, and as he closes his eyes, he thinks he hears her calling his name again. He wants to answer, he hates being rude to someone so nice, but he just can’t when sleep is calling his name too.

He'll apologize to her later.

 ֍֍֍

 There is a loud buzzing sound at his side that wakes him up again, followed by some grinding that makes him frown at how noisy it is.

“Officer Reyes, can you hear me?” he hears to his left. It takes him a moment to realize the door to his car is now open. “I need you to open your eyes for me.”

He turns in the direction of the voice; it’s nice, soft but steady, and comforting. He thinks he hears it ask for his first name.

“Carlos, open your eyes for me,” he’s asked again, the voice is still soft, but also firm, it’s more of an order and Carlos finds himself falling back on his training, responding to the command he opens his eyes slowly.

For a moment, everything is out of focus before a figure appears in front of him wearing a firefighting uniform.

“There we are,” the man smiles at him. “Officer Reyes, I’m TK, we’re going to get you out of here in a few, just keep your eyes open, can you do that for me?”

Carlos looks at the firefighter, he’s handsome, seriously and almost unbelievably good looking with the greenest eyes he’s ever seen. He’s amazed by them. It’s probably why when he opens his mouth to reassure him that he’ll stay awake, what comes out instead is – “You’re really pretty.”

The firefighter – TK, blinks at him twice, his mouth drops open.

“Did – did he just call you pretty, Strand?” Carlos hears behind the beautiful fireman, and he watches, now more alert, TK turning a pretty shade of pink as he hisses back ‘Shut up Judd.’

“Judd?” he questions, shifting forward to try and look over TK’s shoulder at his friend. “Ryder?”

Judd’s head appears behind TK; his face is concerned, though there is a hint of a smirk tugging on his lips. “Yeah, brother, it’s me, you’re going to be fine.”

Carlos gives him a nod before resting his head on the headrest. “I didn’t answer Grace back,” he says, remembering her on the call earlier. “Tell her I’m okay.”

“Will do buddy,” Judd promises. “Now just hold on a little longer. Pretty boy and I will get you out of the car. Michelle is waiting to yell at you and then fix you, in that order.”

“Awesome,” he grumbles. TK lets out a noise, and when Carlos looks at him again, he finds a beautiful smile on his handsome face.

“You really are beautiful,” he says again; this time, TK doesn’t look surprised, and the smile on his face grows softer.

“You have a concussion,” TK tells him, he’s serious, but there is a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” he answers back. “I can have a concussion, and you’re beautiful.”

“Oh man, I can’t wait to tell Grace and Michelle about this,” he hears Judd laugh, and TK hisses at him before turning back to him.

“Officer Reyes –“ TK starts gently.

“Carlos,” he tells him, cutting him off. “Do you like tamales?”

“I’ve never had any,” TK answers indulging him.

“I can make you some,” he says, hopeful when TK gives him another smile.

“I’ll tell you what,” he starts, his green eyes shining as he grins at him. “Let's get you to the hospital, and then we’ll talk about dinner, how about that?”

Carlos returns the smile, feeling excited, and a little dizzy. “Cool, I’m just going to close my eyes for a second though,” He thinks he hears an objection, but he can’t be sure as he shuts his eyes one more time.

 ֍֍֍

 Carlos wakes up for the third time to noise and lights, only this time, he’s not sitting in his car but lying down. There’s beeping, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s a heart monitor.

“Hey, Romeo.”

Carlos turns his head to find Michelle sitting next to him, watching him with assessing eyes.

“Hey, chica,” he mutters tiredly.  “My head hurts.”

“That would be the concussion,” Michelle tells him as she stands. “You also have a few bruised ribs from the seat belt, and you’re probably going to ache for a few days, but you’ll be okay, Romeo.”

“Why are you calling me that?” He questions, frowning when Michelle grins down at him.

“Because that’s what you are,” she starts. She chuckles as she shakes her head at him. “Only you would awkwardly flirt with a firefighter while in a car accident, and not just any firefighter but the son of the new captain of the 126. Thanks for that, by the way. Judd, Grace, and I will be laughing about this for a while.”

“What are you talking – “ Carlos stops, frowning harder as he tries to remember, green eyes flash in his head, a sweet smile on a very kissable mouth. “TK,” he whispers, letting out a low groan as it all comes back to him. “I didn’t dream him up? He was real?”

Michelle opens her mouth to answer, but another voice stops them both in their tracks.

“Am I dream material?”

Carlos stares at his friend pleadingly only for her to smile at him with a wide grin. He rolls his eyes at her complete lack of help and turns his head to find TK, the firefighter from earlier standing by the door. He’s in street clothes with a soft-looking yellow hoodie that Carlos really wants to touch. There is a small quirk of his eyebrows as he looks at Carlos with a sweet, teasing smile.

“H-hey, TK,” Carlos gets out, he gives him a small awkward wave and feels himself go instantly red at the chuckle Michelle covers with her hand.

TK bites down on his bottom lip, but it doesn’t hide the way his smile grows just a little bigger as he walks into the room, coming to stand at the edge of Carlos’ bed.

“I came to see how you’re doing,” TK tells him, answering the silent question showing on his face.

Carlos’ cheeks still feel hot from embarrassment as he remembers more of his encounter with TK earlier; now that he’s awake, he’s getting flashes of himself going on and on about the guy’s eyes. Given Michelle’s earlier teasing, he’s sure he made an ass out of himself.

“I also brought you dinner,” TK continues, holding up a plastic bag. “Since I figured they would keep you for at least the night, and hospital food sucks.”

Carlos stares at TK, not quite believing he would go to the trouble for a stranger he saved just to be hit on by him while doing his job.

“That was really nice of you, TK,” Michelle says for him when he can’t seem to find his voice.

“Yes – “ he clears his throat. “Thank you.”

TK smiles at him and gives him a shrug of his shoulder. “I found a place that makes tamales,” he tells him, his smile turns playful. “I figured I needed something to compare, for when you make me yours.”

Carlos finds himself staring at TK again, his heart beating hard in his chest at the implication of his words.

“Well, that’s my cue to get out of here,” Michelle says with a laugh, she leans down and kisses the top of his head, when she pulls back her eyes are dancing with delight. “Enjoy your dinner boys,” she says as she heads for the door.

TK says goodbye to her without taking his eyes off him. Once they’re alone, TK moves around the room and rolls the overbed table over, placing the food on it. He makes quick work of opening the take out containers, not the least bit bothered by the fact that Carlos still hasn’t said anything. Every few seconds, he sneaks a look at him and smiles like Carlos is amusing him greatly. When he’s finally done with everything, he sits down on the chair Michelle left by his bed with a plate in his hand.

He watches him expectantly, and Carlos looks at him some more, amazed that this beautiful man is even in his room, indulging his earlier ramblings. He shakes his head as he picks up the fork and takes a bite of the tamale.

When he’s done chewing, he finds that TK is still watching him, obviously waiting for his verdict.

“It’s good,” he starts, his heart ticking upward again, it’s going fast enough that the heart monitor beeps, causing TK to raise an eyebrow at him. “But not as good as mine,” he continues, feeling himself smile when TK chuckles softly. “You’ll see when I make them for you. Maybe this weekend, if you’re free?”

TK grins at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Carlos is struck yet again by how beautiful he is. “It’s a date.”

[dothwrites]

161 please??

---

google doth always taking prompts

161--Where did that cat come from?

---

The rainstorm starts when Dean pulls into the space outside the bunker’s door. It’ll be a pain in the ass to reverse and pull into the garage, plus he and Sam have a trunk full of groceries, so Dean just curses and puts the Impala into park before he gets out of the car. Water droplets start to pelt against the top of his head and the back of his neck as he loads as many bags on his wrists and arms as humanly possible. 

From there, it’s a quick trip down the bunker stairs. Sam follows behind, with a more modest amount of bags swinging from his hands. Dean walks quickly, cognizant of his struggling circulation, not to mention the unpleasant wind of a single bead of water down his spine. Their steps echo down the bunker stairs, which would alert Cas to their presence, even if the “Cas, we’re home!” didn’t. 

“Shut up,” Dean automatically says when he hears Sam’s poorly repressed snigger. 

“Needy much?” Sam does a faulty reproduction of Dean’s voice, making sure to give him a falsetto. “Cas, we’re home!” He continues to snicker as they make their way to the kitchen. “You’re about one step away from Lucy.” 

“Ok, first of all, it was Ricky Ricardo who said those lines and secondly--shut up.” Ok, so not the best comeback. Blame the rain and his screaming wrists and arms. Dean flushes and turns away from Sam as he lifts the groceries onto the counter with a quiet grunt. 

“Nice job, He-Man. Maybe next time you could try multiple trips?” 

“Go out? More than once? For groceries? Sam, it’s like you don’t even know me.” Dean starts unpacking the bags, pausing when he reaches a certain jar. “Cas! We’re in the kitchen!” 

On the opposite side of the kitchen, Sam starts to hum something that sounds like needy baby needy baby. Dean debates throwing a can of green beans at the back of his shaggy moose head. He settles for lobbing a poisonous glare at Sam’s head and not letting up until his brother turns around. 

“Hey, he dipped out on grocery shopping. The least he could do is come and help put the stuff away.” Plus Dean bought a jar of the good stuff for Cas, organic, comb in honey. It cost him an arm and a leg, but it’ll be worth it once he sees the pleased, shy smile spread across Cas’ face, which he can’t see until his boyfriend makes his way to the kitchen. 

Sam must catch sight of the honey because he lets out a very unflattering snort. Dean defensively scoops the honey out of sight. “It’s good for the environment,” he defends, despite the fact that he’s never recycled a day in his life. 

“Sure.” Sam really shouldn’t sound so smug, Mr. I Drink Kale Smoothies and Poop Compost. “Look, all I’m saying is that if my boyfriend had me that whipped, then I would at least own it.” 

“Your boyfriend would run away from your ugly face,” Dean snidely digs. Far from dissolving into a snotty mess, Sam just makes a very rude gesture involving use of a singular finger, and turns around to continue stocking the freezer with pizza rolls. 

The first sign of trouble is a singular sneeze. Dean shakes it off--it was raining outside, pollen is in the air, and the bunker that they live in was made by a bunch of old, dead guys, so there’s bound to be some dust. 

The second, third, and fourth sneezes come as more of a puzzle. 

Sam, ever the solicitous brother, raises an eyebrow. “You dying or what?” he asks. 

“Or what,” Dean wheezes, though his eyes are watery and itchy. A rattle starts in his throat as another sneeze rocks through his body. This is not normal. In fact, he only gets like this when...

Cas walks into the kitchen, wearing jeans and one of Dean’s hoodies that’s just a bit too big for him in the arms (though it stretches delightfully across his chest and shoulders). As soon as he crosses the threshold of the kitchen, as if on command, Dean sneezes. 

Through watery eyes, Dean squints at the suspicious bulge in the front of the hoodie pocket. Castiel casually shifts to the side to hide it, but it’s too late. Dean just saw something move. Cas might be happy to see him, but he’s nowhere near that happy. 

“Whatcha got there Cas?” He tries to make it clear from his tone that his question is not a polite request. 

It’s not every day that Dean gets to see a former angel of the Lord acting shifty, but that’s exactly what he gets to see as Cas tries to sidle his way out of the kitchen. “Cas,” Dean barks. Cas shuffles his feet as he plasters a very unconvincing look of innocence on his face. “What’s in your pocket?”

His facade of hardass suffers from the sneeze that rockets through his body, but it’s enough. Cas walks into the kitchen. Sam, intrigued by the drama, draws closer, but Dean’s eyes are focused on Cas’ hand as it dips into the hoodie pocket. 

Castiel withdraws his hand, holding his burden out for inspection. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam’s mouth drop open in a paroxysm of delight (fucking softie). For his part, Dean greets the reveal with three consecutive sneezes, each one more violent than the last. 

“Cas,” Dean finally says, sniffling around his words, “where did that cat come from?” 

The cat in question can’t be much more than a kitten. It sits easily in Cas’ large hand. Luminous green eyes blink up slowly at him through a haze of black fur. As Dean watches, the kitten opens its mouth, revealing tiny sharp teeth and a pink tongue. A soft mew fills the space. 

Dean answers it with a sniffle. 

“I was out in the garden earlier today,” Cas begins. He doesn’t even have the good grace to look guilty as he pulls the kitten in close to his chest. Dean winces (that’s a hell of a lot of dander and fur that’s winding up on an article of clothing that still technically belongs to him) before he outright flinches as the kitten digs its claws into the fabric. Say goodbye to that particular hoodie. 

“It was just starting to rain and I found her.” Cas looks at him, all huge blue eyes and plaintive voice. “She was cold and shivering. I don’t think that she’d eaten for several days.” 

Great. Just great. Dean can already see where this is going and exactly what parts they’re all going to fall into. Cas, the crusader for justice and kindness, Sam, the well-intentioned supporter, and Dean, the cruel hand of logic. 

“Well, feed her, and then after the rain finishes we can take her to the shelter.” 

Next to him, Sam gasps. Cas’ mouth turns down in a stubborn frown. 

“Dean, the shelter is a kill shelter.” Sam’s voice sounds as scandalized as though Dean had suggested that they carpet bomb the whole town. 

“It’s a kitten. It’s cute. It’ll get adopted in like three seconds. I mean, it’s already got the two of you wrapped around its little dagger claws.” 

There’s something embarrassing about the soppy eyes that both Sam and Cas shoot towards the kitten. No angel should look that sickly sweet. 

“Dean, cats are fairly low maintenance,” Cas begins, which is exactly where Dean thought this talk was headed. 

“I have allergies!” Dean protests, to be met with unsympathetic looks from both his brother and his boyfriend. Traitors. “Plus, who’s going to take care of it when we go on hunts? We going to pay the neighbors to come over into our super secret bunker filled with satanic stuff?” 

Cas’ mouth flattens. “There are several establishments in town which cater to the boarding of pets.” Great. He’s already done research. “Also, many stores offer over the counter products designed to alleviate the symptoms of allergies.” 

Between Sam’s puppy eyes and Cas’ jutting lower lip, Dean feels his defenses wavering. “You’d better keep it away from my room. And if it starts pissing on the floors or tearing up the furniture, it’s out of here. And you’re,” he points to both Sam and Cas, “going to pay for my allergy meds. And you’re going to feed it and pay for all its stuff.” He’s never felt more like a dad than in that moment, lecturing his brother and boyfriend on the proper care of the cat. “This is your pet; I’m not going to take care of it!” 

Cas nods earnestly before he walks across the kitchen and kisses the bolt of his jaw, right in the sweet spot that always turns Dean weak in the knees. Bastard knows exactly how to play him. Dean turns his head to kiss Cas properly, ignoring Sam’s gagging noises in the background. Cas hums into the kiss, his teeth ghosting over Dean’s lower lip in a hint of a tease. 

Dean’s just ready to make it a proper kiss, Sam be damned, when he’s stabbed. Yelping in pain, he jumps backward, glaring at the tiny, cockblocking, ball of fluff still held in Cas’ hands. The kitten retracts the minuscule knives attached to its paws as it blinks innocently up at him.

“Oh, I think you must have squashed her,” Cas says, rubbing a finger underneath the kitten’s chin.

For its part, the kitten yawns at Dean before falling asleep. 

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, massaging at his wound (seriously, he’s bleeding and Sam is just laughing at him like an asshole). “Yeah, this is going to turn out swell.

(It comes to no one’s surprise, least of all Dean’s, when he goes to bed and finds not only Castiel, but the kitten curled up on his mattress. I said she’s not allowed on the bed, Dean tries, but the protest is weak at best, especially when Cas has decided to play dirty and is lying bare-chested with the sheet artfully draped over his waist. 

Well, I could take her back to my room, Cas murmurs, scooping up the kitten, and Dean’s going hellishly soft in his old age because he just says Over my dead body, before crawling over the mattress to where Cas waits. The kitten finds her way to the floor. 

In the morning, Dean wakes up with his nose running and his eyes gummy, due to the fucking cat who has decided to sleep less than a foot away from his face. The heated kiss that Cas gives him when he wakes up only partially helps to stop his bitching.)

[bts-storys]

A bad mix of sweets

Author: bts-storys

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Rating: mature content, 18+

Genre: Strangers to lovers/ Fairground AU / Smut / slight Angst

Word Count: 4,941

Summary: You work at a fairground selling crêpes, minding your own business, sometimes judging a customer in your head. When all of the sudden someone has an order you just can’t stay quiet about. 

Warnings: oral (female receiving), fingering, dirty talk, graphic description of sex, penetration

A/N: This piece is my first smut. Ever. I really hope you like it :)

The sweet scent of melted chocolate caught your nose. 

Easily, one of the best smells imaginable. Except it was probably the 200th time today and at this point you would much rather smell some freshmen’s dirty underwear. 

 “Y/N, can you get me another bowl of dough from the fridge?”, Miriam asked, cutting you from having more weird thoughts about unwashed boxers. 

You put it down on her table and turned around to meet the next customer in line. “Hi, what can I get you?” 

While listening to the little girls’ order – once again something screaming ‘caries’ on another level – you thought about your job and if the money was really worth hating on chocolate. To be fair, working at a crêperie wasn’t all bad. Most customers were extremely nice and your payment was definitely higher than average. Plus, you didn’t need to wash your hair five times to get rid of all the frying fat, like Fynn who sold French fries at the other end of the fairground.

Still, at some point you started losing your sweet tooth which was sadly one of the reasons you even wanted to work as a crêpe maker. The fairground had always been one of your favorite places in the city, one of the reasons being the fantastic smell in every corner. You handed the little girl her chocolate-marshmellow sugarbomb and put your eyes on the next person waiting in line.

It was a tall guy. He looked like he was your age or maybe a bit older and he was almost ridiculously handsome. His dark hair went over his ears, hiding the top part of his silver earrings underneath it. He was wearing a white tee combined with black leather pants and he looked like one of those guys who could get anything they asked for. Still, he wouldn’t meet your eyes as if something made him feel very uneasy. When you asked for his order, he scratched the back of his head, before finally looking up to you. You felt your heartbeat increase, right before he started talking. 

“Could you make me a crêpe with everything, please.” 

“A… What?”, was all you could get out, taken aback by his request. 

“Just… You know, with everything”, he repeated. 

“You’re saying you want me to make you a crêpe containing chocolate, strawberries, banana, marshmellows, sugar, vanillasauce, cream cheese, ham and salmon?!” 

With every ingredient you mentioned, he looked even more like he was in pain.

 “Listen”, he began. “I uh- I might have lost a bet saying I could throw 40 baskets in a minute on one of those hellish Basketball machines…” 

You cut him off by bursting into laughter. When you saw Miriams irritated gaze from the corner of your eye, you quickly tried to stop and catch your breath again. 

“I’m so sorry”, you giggled. “But I think you just made my day. I’ll get started right away.” 

He did look slightly offended by your outburst, but offered you a smile when you started making the crêpe. It made him look a lot younger and to be honest pretty cute. You felt your cheeks rose from that realization. 

“May I ask how many baskets you managed to throw?” 

The question coming from your mouth surprised you. You wouldn’t consider yourself shy, but normally you tried not to talk to the customers too much while preparing their food. 

The guy groaned with frustration. “16.” 

“Wow, that is actually impressive!” 

You meant what you said. Everybody around here knew, that Leo always got the bounciest balls for his basket game. You smiled encouragingly while handing him the crêpe if one could still call it that. He paid and took it from you while scrunching his nose in disgust. Before he left, his gaze locked with yours one more time. 

“Thanks, for trying to cheer me up.” 

You failed to smile back at him as you felt something hot bubbling in your belly while looking into his dark eyes. Luckily, he turned around right then and didn’t catch you staring after him. You saw him approach a group of boys who crackled with laughter on his arrival. One of them playfully smacked his back while they headed in another direction. 

“Well that was strange”, Miriam said, snapping you right out of your trance. 

 “Do you mind if I head home, Y/N?” 

“No, it’s fine, the last two hours aren’t too busy, I can manage them alone.” You gave her a smile, turning to the next customer. But in the back of your head, you were still thinking about the cute guys smile for the rest of your shift.

“He ordered WHAT?” 

You sat on your bestfriend’s bed the next day, trying not to laugh at her horrified expression. 

“It’s not that weird!”, you tried defending the poor boy. “He lost a bet you know? Also, didn’t you tell me about that one guy the other day who bought like 20 different bath bombs to try them all together?” 

“Actually, he bought them from my co-worker. She says his name is Jin and he wanted to see what color they would produce! Crêpe-Boy was just trying to get a higher bill at the dentist as it seems.” 

At that you just laughed. You and June had met through some college courses and quickly decided to move in together, while bonding over some secret comfort Ben&Jerrys in the library during the week of finals. It was just like her to defend some strange guy from her job at the Lush store. 

“At least tell me he was handsome enough to pull it off”, she sighed while bringing her hand over her eyes in a dramatic gesture. Under her palm you could still see her eyes sparkle. 

 You looked away. “It wasn’t like that.” 

“So, he was handsome!”, she grinned, knowing she got you right where she wanted. 

“Stop acting and let’s start with the presentation already. You know we’re due to tomorrow”, you laughed while she fake-pouted your way but reached for her notes nonetheless. “I don’t even think I will see him again.” 

Your head was caught up with loads of university stuff for the next day, so you didn’t have the chance to think about the crêpe-guy until your next shift on Friday. You were busy cleaning some shelves when you heard a voice behind you. 

 “Hi.”

You turned around quickly, only to find yourself staring into dark brown eyes. Today he wore a black turtleneck, fitting almost too perfectly to his upper body and his hair looked freshly washed. Startled you tried to brush away some loose strands from your face. 

“Hi! What can I get you? Or are you here to sue us for selling you this crappy thing on Wednesday?”, you asked jokingly. 

He gave you a little laugh. “Actually, I came here to buy another one.” 

You froze and stared at him. He noticed your expression and quickly lifted both of his hand in front of his chest. “Oh! No- No! I mean I want to buy another crêpe. Maybe only chocolate this time?” He smiled sheepishly.

You laughed with relieve. “Thank god, here I was thinking I had to put you on my weird people list.” 

“Your what?”, he asked, while you started making the Crêpe. “Who exactly is on that list?” 

“Well”, you counted on your fingertips. “Barb, the fortune-teller, for trying to convince me that I would lose my right foot the other day, the mailman because I once caught him licking one of my letters, my great uncle Jim for collecting dozens of different pickle jars…” 

“Okay, okay!”, he interrupted you with laughter. “I get it, I don’t want to end up on that list. Even though I wonder what color that bathtub had at the end.” 

His response made you giggle and you felt your face heat up again when he met your eyes. Quickly you looked down, handing him his order. When he gave you the money, your hands touched for a split second. 

“Well uh- see you next time!”, you told him, hating yourself for not coming up with a better goodbye. He walked away and you wished you had asked for his name. 

The following weekend you visited your family but often had your mind wandering off to a certain black-haired boy. The last time you dated anyone was even before you started college and it was thrilling to think about someone that way again. On Monday you woke up from the buzzing of your phone. 

June: Are you excited for todayyy? [9:25 AM] 

Y/N: Please enlighten me. What would I be excited about? [9:29 AM] 

June: HAHAHA [9:34 AM] 

June: You can’t play me girl! I know you’re hoping to see crêpe-Guy again [9:34 AM] 

Y/N: I never said that! I don’t even know his name! [9:36 AM] 

Y/N: Also, where are you right now? [9:36 AM] 

June: Stop trying to distract me y/n. You know I’m right [9:38 AM] 

Y/N: Are you having breakfast without me? [9:39 AM] 

Y/N: You know I can see that you left me on read! [9:59 AM] 

 A little part of you knew that she was right. But that part was a bit dreamy in general, so you tried your best ignoring it for the rest of the day. By the time Miriam went home, leaving you alone for the last hours, every last one of your secret hopes had disappeared. 

He hadn’t shown up. 

Instead you found yourself hiding behind the counter for the second time since your shift began, trying to avoid fortune-teller Barb. Who knew if it wasn’t the day your left foot would get a bad forecast. At least the shift was almost over. You kneeled on the floor, counting to 100 when you heard a familiar voice.

“Hello? Anyone there?” 

You closed your eyes. Of fucking course it would be bad luck to hide from someone who could see the future. Your options were limited. You could just wait until Crêpe-Guy disappeared again, missing yet another chance on talking to him or… You stood up. 

“Yeah, I’m uh- here.” You gave him an apologizing smile. He was clearly confused by your sudden appearance. “I’m sorry, this looks pretty ridiculous right? To be honest I was kinda… hiding? You know I really like my feet and I want to keep them and also I think she looks just really creepy sometimes so I didn’t want her to see me…” You stopped mid sentence. “Sorry, now I’m just talking too much, what can I get you?” 

You could see a spark of irritation in his eyes but he still proceeded telling you his order.

 “I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook”, he suddenly blurted out. You stopped in your motions just fast enough to see him wince uncomfortably.

 “I’m Y/N Y/L/N”, you smiled and went on with his crêpe. 

“So, Y/N.” You really liked the way he said your name. Soft and with some sort of special emphasis. “Where is your co-worker? Without wanting to end up on your creepy people list, why are you alone all of the sudden?” You could see in his eyes that he was really interested, mixed with something else you couldn’t quite make out. 

“That is exactly the kind of question some creep would ask”, you laughed. “But to give you an answer, Miriam always leaves two hours ahead of me so she can get to her yoga class. I’ll manage the remaining time alone and when the fairground closes in a few minutes, I’ll head home as well. There you go.” 

You handed Jungkook the warm Crêpe, taking his money instead. 

“You’re going home all alone? In the dark?”, he asked startled. 

“I don’t live that far”, you smiled at him. “Just right next to the university.” 

“Still. You shouldn’t have to go alone. I could walk you. I mean- If you want me to.” His offer got you by surprise. And apparently, Jungkook took your silence as a no. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to push you into anything, you don’t even have to answer me, I-“ 

“Jungkook”, you interrupted him. “Wait for me to shut the booth?” 

He nodded and started relaxing again, patiently eating his crêpe while you cleaned and finally locked the door behind you. Looking at Jungkook from your elevated place behind the counter was something completely different from looking at him on even grounds. Suddenly he was right there next to you and you tried your best to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. 

His black Hoodie let you imagine what his muscular arms would look like without it and when you glanced at him from below, you noticed how defined his jawline was. Suddenly you felt the urge to touch his face and the soft strands of his hair surrounding it. 

On the way back to your apartment the two of you talked about your courses at college and Jungkook being a freelance photographer which you found really impressive. He wished you a good night at the door of your building and you felt excitement rushing through you at the sight of him disappearing into the darkness. 

On Tuesday, even some of your professors commented on you being weirdly fidgety. Of course, only June would connect the dots between your behavior and ‘this Jungkook guy’. Your nervousness had it’s peak on your Wednesday shift. At some point you even lightly burned your hand with the pan and Miriam almost send you home asking if you didn’t feel well. You managed to brush her concerns aside and exactly 15 minutes before closing time, Jungkook showed up in front of the booth. 

“Hey there!”, you chimed, trying to hide your obvious excitement. 

“Hi”, he smiled at you. “I was just on my way home and I thought I could walk you again? You know, because you shouldn’t walk all on your own.” 

You chuckled lightly and started a conversation about a movie both of you liked while you cleaned the surfaces. 

Walking next to Jungkook felt nice. You didn’t touch but you were almost shoulder to shoulder and his soothing voice mixed with the noises of the city.

“What kind of pictures do you like taking the most?”, you asked him curiously.

“I love portraits. When you see every element of a person’s face. Every scar has a story, every wrinkle means something. You can really see a person through their picture. I also like landscapes though, I’m sorry if that sounds boring”, he finished as if he didn’t want to annoy you. 

“It doesn’t. I would love to hear more about your art.” You smiled at him, stopping right in front of your door. 

When you grabbed your purse to get the key, you hissed with pain. 

“What’s wrong?” He sounded alarmed.

“Nothing”, you tried to play it down. “I just burned myself earlier, it’s okay, really.” 

“Show it to me”, Jungkook demanded, grasping your hand carefully. 

His soft skin felt warm under your palm and suddenly you noticed how close he was to you. When you looked up, you met his gaze and the butterflies in your stomach started moving again. You took a step closer, bringing your other hand to his face and he leaned into the touch. His cologne smelled like leather mixed with something really sweet you couldn’t name and it made your head spin with intoxication. 

His eyes trailed all over your face, stopping at your lips and then finally he caught them with his own. The kiss was soft until you sighed into it, giving him full access to your mouth. His tongue ignited a firework inside of you and he tasted sweet and hot at the same time. It was like nothing you ever tasted before. You put your hands in his hair and he pulled you closer by your hips, leaving burning marks where his fingers touched you. When he pulled away, both of you were panting hard and he took a step back to catch his breath. 

“Do you believe me now?”, you asked. 

“Huh?” 

“The burning really isn’t that bad, right?” 

Jungkook could only nod, which made you chuckle. “Goodnight, Jungkookie”, you said sweetly while opening the door. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

When you told June about the kiss, she wouldn’t stop screaming into her pillow, telling you how happy she was for you and how she had told you to stay away from frat boys, for good! 

Friday arrived and you worked next to Miriam when she suddenly pulled at your sleeve. 

“Isn’t that the guy who bought a crêpe containing everything on the menu the other day?”, she asked. 

You looked in the direction she pointed and your upcoming smile fell from your face. She was right. On the other side of the street you saw Jungkook in his black hoodie. From where you were standing you could see how his hair reflected in the sun. He wore those leather pants again which made his muscular legs look gorgeous even from further away. You noticed all of those features but could only focus on the person standing right beside him. 

She had long black hair and even though she looked some kind of weird from behind, you could make out her blue skirt and her red pumps. Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, Jungkook laughed and took the girls hand, pulling her with him. You tried to understand what was going on. Jungkook had told you he had an older brother and no cousins. Who was that girl he held hands and seemed so familiar with? 

“Y/N?”, Miriam asked and you heard the concern in her voice. “Are you oka-“ 

“I have to go, I’m sorry Miri!”, was all you could get out before you practically ran out of the booth so she wouldn’t see you cry. 

You couldn’t remember how you got home, only how June found you later that day, buried between your pillows. After making sure you were not physically hurt, she hugged you until you told her everything. 

“What an asshole!”, she exclaimed after listening to you. “So that guy really has a girlfriend?! I wish I could make his manly parts disappear! I would even pay fortune-teller Barb to jinx him! I’m so sorry girl!” 

You snorted at her remark, making you feel the tiniest bit better. After speaking to June, you called in sick at your work for the next week. You tried convincing yourself you didn’t even knew him that well, but having your heart broken after a long time of not giving it to someone felt just shitty. You tried to distract yourself from the thoughts by studying harder but you still felt like crying most of the time. 

It was only now that you realized how much you had actually liked Jungkook despite knowing him for a few weeks top. The kiss you two had shared felt so special to you, well at least now you knew it hadn’t meant the same to him. He was after all just a good-looking guy like all the others. After a few days you started to get really angry with him for leading you on like that. He had walked you home, he did kiss you back, where was his problem? When June left on Sunday to visit her family for a few days you were fuming. It was also the day before you had to go back to work again. 

“You go tell him, girl!”, June told you when she hugged you goodbye. 

On Monday, everything seemed normal. Miriam asked you if you felt better and, after hearing your answer, started chatting about a new yoga studio right around the corner. The time flew while you sold all kinds of crêpes and when your co-worker was gone, you just hoped for Jungkook not to show up. It seemed like your wish would be fulfilled because he was neither there when you locked the door nor when you started walking to your apartment. You almost sighed in relieve before you saw a tall figure right in front of your door. When you approached the building, he called out your name. 

“Jungkook”, you said quietly. “What do you want?” 

“What do you mean?”, he asked with confusion. “Are you okay? Why were you gone the whole week? Did anything happen?” 

“None of your concern. Would you let me get inside please?” You tried pushing past him but he wouldn’t move. 

“I don’t understand! What’s wrong?” Now he looked just really frustrated which provoked your anger. 

“I saw you, Jungkook!” You blurted out, unable to hold it any longer. 

He blinked. “You… saw me? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I saw you at the fairground with your girlfriend!” Finally throwing the information into his face made you feel a lot better. 

“But Y/N I don’t have a girlfriend! Why would I lie to you about that?” He pushed a hand through his hair, getting more irritated by the second. 

You laughed into his face but it wasn’t a nice feeling. “I’m not stupid. Last Friday I saw you with that black-haired girl, you were even holding hands! And I was foolish enough to think you would ever be interested in someone like me!”

After your last sentence he looked at you with his big, brown eyes. “First off Y/N, I don’t know what you’re saying. You’re fucking gorgeous! I still don’t know how I got the courage to even start talking to you!” He looked into your eyes. “Can we please go inside and talk about everything? You must be wrong, I wasn’t with any girl last Friday I was-“ He stopped talking. 

You could see on his face when the realization hit him. You cocked an eyebrow. “Finally remembered your girlfriend, Jungkook?” 

He looked at you like he saw you for the first time ever. “Y/N, I am so sorry. I never thought about you seeing that but you have to believe me I don’t have a girlfriend. It wasn’t even a girl I was with on Friday. Do you remember that I had to buy that first crêpe because of a lost bet?” 

You nodded, still being suspicious. “Well, in my group of friends we bet each other a lot and when Min Yoongi lost his bet last week, he had to dress up as a girl and ride the ghost train at the fairground. That’s who you saw me with! If you don’t believe me, I even have a picture.” 

He pulled his phone from his backpocket, showing you a picture of a guy who was clearly not amused by being photographed. He was wearing a black wig as well as the blue skirt and red pumps you saw the other day. If the situation hadn’t been so tense, you would’ve laughed at how ridiculous he looked. 

Jungkook offered you a smile. “I’m really sorry Y/N. If I had known how you got it all wrong, I would have come here a lot sooner.” 

“No”, you said. “I’m the one who has to apologize. I’m really sorry I made assumptions about you without even asking. I’m sorry I just cut you off. It’s just that I really like you and seeing you with another girl- it hurt, you know?” 

His smile widened at your words. “You like me?” 

“I do, dumbass”, you flicked him off with you hand, not trying to hide your own smile anymore. 

“Good. Because I like you too.” His confession made your cheeks heat up. 

You lowered your gaze so he wouldn’t see the redness of your face but Jungkook made one step and grabbed your chin forcing you to look up again.

“Don’t be ashamed Y/N. You’re beautiful.” His thumb went over your bottom lip in a caressing gesture. “I really want to kiss you right now”, he murmured. 

“Do it then.” 

His lips felt soft against your own and his hand moved to your neck tilting your head slightly to get better access to your mouth. You brushed his hot tongue with yours grabbing the fabric of his top to pull him closer. He wore that damn turtleneck again. Jungkook walked you back until you hit the wall of the building and when he pushed against your body you could feel the hardness in his pants. You brought one hand down to his crotch stroking the front of it and he moaned against your lips. The sound was addicting. In return, Jungkook started pinching your left nipple through your shirt. Arousal built up between your legs. You stopped the kiss, meeting his dark gaze with yours. 

“I think you’re right”, you panted. “We should go upstairs and ‘talk’ about everything.” 

He smirked, seeing you fumble with your keys, letting you pull him inside the house and into your apartment. Both of you kicked your shoes off and then he was all over you again. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and nipping the soft skin until you were a whining mess in his arms. After pulling your shirt and bralette off, he stared at your bare chest in awe. Diving down he started sucking your nipple having you close your eyes, moaning from his touch. 

“You’re so responsive, baby.” The new nickname sent shivers through your whole body. 

“Jungkook please, bedroom”, you moaned, showing him to your room where he laid you on your bed. He started kissing you again feverishly, taking everything, you had to offer. 

“Tell me baby. What do you want me to do?”, he asked as he broke the kiss. 

“I don’t care, just do something, I need you Jungkook!”, you whined. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot. Take you pants off for me baby.” 

You did as he told you to, exposing yourself in front of him. You felt a new wave of heat rushing through your core at the thought of being completely naked while he was still fully dressed. Jungkook put two fingers in front of your face. “Suck.” 

You did your best, licking them with your tongue, bobbing your head making him imagine your lips around his cock instead. “God”, he groaned, pulling his fingers from your mouth. “I will make you feel so good baby, I promise. Spread your legs for me.” 

The next thing you felt was a single digit stretching you out and you moaned at the feeling of Jungkook pushing deeper. He curled his finger professionally leaving no imagination to where this would end. While he held you in place with one hand, the other one was working towards your relieve.

“You’re so wet baby, do you think you can take another one?” 

“Yes, please”, you told him before crying out at the stretch of two fingers inside of you. He started pushing them in and out scissoring you from the inside and when you felt his tongue circling your clit you knew it was over. 

“Ah, I’m coming, Jungkook!”, you let out a high-pitched moan as he worked you through your orgasm. 

“That was so hot, you look fucking gorgeous when you come”, he told you, looking at his wet fingers. “I need to be inside of you right now. Please?” 

You hummed in approval, already feeling empty without him. Somewhere distant you could hear him tear his clothes off and rip open a condom. The next moment he was beside you again, rolling you over on your side and positioning himself behind you. 

“Are you ready baby?” 

“Fuck me, Jungkook.” 

The second those words left your mouth, you could feel his tip at your entrance. He pushed himself further inside, still going slow to let you adjust to his size, before he started pumping in and out of you in a steady rhythm. Now that you could feel how big he was, you were relieved he took his time preparing you before. 

“Your sweet little cunt feels so tight around me, fuck!” 

You cried out at his words and the feeling of his cock entering you from behind. He shattered kisses down your neck and your shoulders, still pushing deep inside of you. His large hands were holding you in place, sometimes teasing your buds to tear a whimper from you. Heat started to build up again inside of your stomach and Jungkook noticed your moans turning higher. He started speeding up bringing one hand to your front where he began rubbing circles to your sensitive point. With every thrust he would hit a certain spot inside of you, making you see stars. 

“Ahh, right there!” 

“That’s it, baby. Come for me.” His cock and his hand made you trip over the edge, moaning uncontrollably into your pillow. White light exploded in front of your eyes as the pleasure hit you. Only a second later Jungkook groaned, spilling himself into the condom. 

He gave you a few last pushes before pulling out and you sighed at the loss of him. You heard him throw the condom into your trashcan before he got back on the bed, pulling you into a hug. It was silent for a long time where both of you just listened to each other’s heartbeat before Jungkook spoke up again. 

“Would you go on a date with me Y/N? I meant what I said outside, I really like you.” 

You turned and smiled at him shyly. “Me too. I would really like that.” 

He playfully nudged your check with his nose. “I’m so glad I lost my bet and had to buy that nasty crêpe. Even though it tasted real shit.” 

You furrowed your brows. “Please don’t tell me you really ate that!”, you said, trying not to laugh but failed miserably. 

“I did. All of it.”

© Bts-Storys, 2021. Do not copy or repost without permission.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading until now! TT There’s still much I would like to improve about my writing so stay tuned!

[angstyaches]

Ok so I freaking love belly rubs and now that we’ve seen Shayne receive a belly rub I want to see it reversed 😂 Charlie has an upset stomach for some reason and realizes that he just really needs to burp but he can’t and all day long the feeling just gets worse until he’s finally home and can lay down but still nothing will come up and when Shayne shows up and he lets him through the window he immediately knows something is wrong (p 1 of 2)

(P 2 of 2) somehow Charlie convinced him to help him by rubbing his stomach which of course helps and he burps into his fist a couple of times but it’s not releasing the pressure at all, actually it’s making him feel nauseous and before he knows it he suddenly vomits all over him and Shayne ( I know this doesn’t really fit with the plot you’ve got since the ending of the last fic with Shayne but i didn’t know how to make it fit 😂 you can ignore this prompt if ya want lol)

Milo, thank you, thank you, thank you. I had so much fun writing this. Baby’s first prompt.

Sorry if this is obnoxiously long; I have no idea how to judge length yet.

CW: vomiting

In the pub

Charlie had zoned out hours ago, upon realising that the three-year age gap between him and his oldest cousins meant a lot more when he was eighteen and they were fifteen. Whatever pop culture they were chatting about held no interest for him, and whatever gossip his parents, aunts, and uncles were engaging him would likely be just as boring.

He wished he could have gone and talked to Jonathan. He hadn’t seen his half-brother in months, yet he’d barely wanted to speak two words with Charlie all day. He’d brought two friends along, which Aunt Pauline had been annoyed about at the start of the day. She had gotten over it; Charlie, however, had not. The three of them had been skulking outdoors in the smoking area for hours.

Although, if he’d been given first pick, Charlie would have been chatting to been the pretty bartender with the gold lip ring. The guy looked run off his feet, yet had a smile for every one of Charlie’s relatives who had an order to bark at him, be it a chocolate-stained little cousin or his cane-wielding grandmother. He was so cute, but Charlie was too nervous to even look him in the eye. He also felt slightly… guilty, though he could think of no rational reason why he should feel guilty. He wasn’t spoken for by anyone; not even close. And that just made him sink further into his loneliness.

So, with no conversational opportunity, Charlie had occupied himself with the bar food that came out in waves. He didn’t often eat greasy food at home, and he ate exactly like a kid let loose in a store full of chicken goujons and potato wedges. His stomach started to feel kind of sloshy at one point, but that might have been from copious amounts of fizzy orange. More food would surely soak it up and settle everything down.

After the cute waiter dropped off a tray of drinks at the “adult” table, Charlie’s dad stood up and took a glass over to where Charlie was sitting.

“There you are, designated driver,” Trevor said. His cheeks were flushed red from drinking for pretty much the whole day.

“Thanks, Dad,” Charlie said, fidgeting with the keys in his hoodie pocket. “Can we go soon? I’m getting tired.”

“Of course. Last drink and we’ll hit the road,” Trevor winked, giving Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “You really are a blessing, son.”

He couldn’t tell if the flutter in his chest was because of the waiter still, or because of what his dad had just said. It might also have been indigestion, though he wouldn’t think of that until a little later.

“Maybe go and say goodbye to Jonathan before we head off, yeah?”

“Alright, Dad.” A blessing, he thought as his father went back to the proper adult table and sat next to his wife. Their half-demon offspring is a blessing to them. Part of him wanted to burst out laughing, the other half wanted to weep. He hovered somewhere in between, smiling despite the tightness in his chest.

He guzzled a few mouthfuls of the fizzy drink, stealing his courage as he stood up and went to talk to Jonathan.

In the car

The drive home itself was exhausting. Charlie’s energy was already spent after a whole day of socialising. His stomach was making some awful sounds, though it felt lazy and sluggish inside him after being fed such little amounts so many times throughout the day. The flavour of the fizzy orange kept repeating on him too, and he vowed never to touch the stuff again. He glanced over to see that his dad had fallen asleep against the passenger door. In the rear-view mirror, he saw that his mum was snoring with her head thrown back.

Charlie swallowed harshly. It felt like some of the fizzy orange was sitting in his throat, blocking his airways a bit. Gripping the steering wheel tightly at ten and two, he tried to let some of the air up from his stomach, but the bubbles stayed exactly where they were, gurgling amongst the sickly combination of food in his belly.

He slid his right hand from two to twelve on the steering wheel, glancing once again to make sure his dad was still asleep; Trevor would definitely yell at him for having one hand off the wheel, but it was a straight, empty road, and Charlie was decidedly below the recommended speed.

Besides, he could probably pull up enough strength to telekinetically steer the car, if he had to. Having acceleratingly strong demonic powers had its unexpected quirks, after all.

Charlie rubbed a hand across his belly, realising that it was filling out his hoodie a lot more than it should have been. He stifled a whimper as he pushed on the swell, hoping to force up at least some of what was making his stomach feel so bad. It gurgled under his hand, the pain shifting slightly but not upwards. There was a slight rumble in his chest, a fizzing in the back of his throat, but nothing more.

He put his left hand back on the wheel and sighed, surviving on the fact that at least he’d be home and lying in bed without the hour.

Back home

“Night, Mum, night, Dad,” Charlie called dully down the hall, though they’d probably both passed out on their bed in the time it had taken him to brush his teeth. He’d hoped the minty flavour would have soothed the burning acidity, but it had just mixed sickly with the fizzy orange reflux. He could finally hunch over a bit and rub his belly with a little more force, now he was alone in his room.

He reached for his bedside lamp, when a tap on the window made him jump. He almost knocked his little brown stuffed bear from the nightstand, and he rushed to straighten him.

“Sorry, Vincent,” he whispered before approaching the window. Another tiny pebble hit the glass and Charlie groaned under his breath. Couldn’t that boy learn how to send a text?

Charlie cradled his belly as he spotted the dark-haired figure in the back yard. Usually, the sight of Shayne gave him a very light, pleasant feeling, but right now he felt the furthest from light he’d ever been. He sighed and directed his gaze towards the back door, focusing on undoing the lock before ducking back into the room.

He leaned against the windowsill, rubbing his belly desperately. It was definitely too much to ask, that all of the burps trapped inside him come up in the time it took Shayne to get inside, take off his ridiculous boots, and creep upstairs. All Charlie succeeded in bringing up were a couple of orangey splashes that burned his tongue.

“Whatever it is, I’m not in the mood,” he whispered as soon as Shayne let himself quietly into the room.

The dark-haired boy frowned as he closed the door. “Hmm?”

Charlie sighed and sat down on his bed. “I don’t care if it’s a voodoo doll or a silver stake or a monkey’s fucking paw. Can we do it another time?”

“Okay, first of all; hi,” Shayne muttered. “Second; how would any of those things be useful in exorcising or communicating with a demon? And third; where were you all?”

“My cousin’s christening,” Charlie said, slipping a hand into his hoodie pocket so he could keep some pressure on his stomach. “It went on kind of late.”

“You’re telling me?” Shayne began to pace evenly back and forth. “This place gives me shivers on a normal day. Ten times worse when it’s all dark and unoccupied.”

“Well, you could try not hanging around on other people’s property,” Charlie grumbled.

“I caught three demons in the back yard,” Shayne said. “Three demons that will never possess your parents, so you’re welcome.”

“So, you’ve got fucking warding jars on you?” Charlie whined. He knew he was feeling awful for a reason, but if those jars were close-by, they certainly wouldn’t be helping.

“’Course not, I left them at the far end of the garden,” Shayne hissed. “Okay, you’re sounding more like me than me tonight. What’s going on?”

Charlie swallowed and looked up at his friend. His belly was groaning, and he hoped he was the only one hearing it. He pulled his hand from his pocket and started holding it a bit more firmly, giving up the secrecy.

“I don’t feel so good,” he whined, sitting forward. “My tummy’s really sore.”

“Oh. Well, why haven’t you taken any of those tablets you always try to force on me?”

“Because I’ll be fine once I can burp, but so far, nothing wants to come up.” Charlie’s face burned at hearing himself give so much detail. He lowered his head as he leaned towards his knees, curling around the knot of pain.

He felt the mattress take Shayne’s weight, and then a hand prying his away from his stomach. He took a sharp breath and looked up.

“Are you going to rub my tummy?”

“You’ll never hear me say it in those words, but… yeah.” Shayne was still frowning, though Charlie recognised a slight blush in his cheeks. “Here, straighten up. Stop sitting like an idiot.”

“That’s mean,” Charlie whined, slowly released his vice-grip on his belly and straightening his back. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be really bad at – mmm.”

Shayne’s hand could almost have covered Charlie’s whole belly if it hadn’t been so bloated and tight. His stomach churned uneasily alongside the movement of Shayne’s fingers, until Charlie felt gas bubbles press up towards his chest. He felt himself groan without deciding he was going to.

Shayne held his breath, pausing the motion of his hand. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”

“No, no, don’t stop,” Charlie groaned. “Can you rub my back, too?”

As soon as Shayne pressed on Charlie’s stomach and ran a hand up his spine, Charlie felt the gas bubbles release, making a deep rumbling sound in his chest. He pressed a fist to his mouth and turned his head away from Shayne. The burp was so loud Charlie worried it would wake his parents, and lasted about four seconds.

“Holy shit,” Shayne whispered. “I think I felt the room shake.”

“Shut up,” Charlie groaned.

“Feel any better?”

“Not really.”

“I’m going to lift your jumper, okay?”

Charlie almost squeaked as Shayne slid his hand under his hoodie, rubbing at the straining skin of his belly. Charlie dug his nails into the duvet to keep himself from wriggling. His skin was starting to feel prickly and warm, but that could have just been because of what was happening. Shayne was here and touching him, and not just through his clothes. He had his hand on Charlie’s bare torso. He was in pain, but he should have been enjoying this at least a little.

A weak smile twitched across his mouth as he nudged his cheek experimentally against Shayne’s shoulder. When the dark-haired boy didn’t flinch in any major way, he let himself lean a little harder, hoping his heart wasn’t pounding as loudly as he thought it was.

“What did you do to it, anyway?” Shayne asked, and it took Charlie a second to realise he was talking about his stomach. His fingers kneaded gently across it

“I, um, just kept eating, I guess.” Charlie turned his head to let out another burp, though this one sounded like it was strangled on its way up from his stomach. “And my dad kept bringing me fizzy drinks. Designated driver, you know? Aw – fuck, Shayne.”

Charlie frowned and winced as his stomach suddenly lurched under the pressure of Shayne’s hand.

“Shit – what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie murmured, his cheeks suddenly tingling. A certain kind of panic began to ring in his ears. “Oh, god, I think I’m going to –”

He retched before fully realising it was happening, before he could do any kind of aiming or get his hands in front of his mouth. His hands did fly out, one landing on Shayne’s back, the other on his own knee. The majority of the thick, orange vomit landed down the front of Shayne’s jacket and t-shirt, the rest of it flicked across Shayne’s jeans and the duvet cover.

“Oh, my god, Shayne,” Charlie gasped. His hand was shaking as he brought it up to cover his mouth. Almost immediately, his head pitched forward again, another long gush of sticky orange liquid and chunks of bar food spraying over the sleeve of his hoodie as he tried to block it, but a lot still landed in Shayne’s lap.

Shayne sighed, though he really hoped Charlie didn’t hear it. He’d definitely take it the wrong way, thinking Shayne was sighing out of frustration when really, it was the only way he could release the intense sympathy he felt as the blonde boy clung to him and vomited. Shayne continued to rub Charlie’s back, though he wasn’t sure if it was helping or making things worse.

Charlie hiccuped into his sleeve, clearly forgetting that he’d just gotten sick all over it.

“Shayne,” he croaked, slowly lifting his gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

“Feeling any better?”

“Actually, yeah, I am.”

Shayne shrugged. “Then it’s fine. Jesus, if only exorcising you was so damn easy.”

[greensaplinggrace]

Hi! I really liked your other Cloud whump fic and I was wondering if you could do more hurt/comfort! With a claustrophobic!Cloud & maybe a bit of Clarret? Thanks in advance! :)

Barret goes *hard* in this fic, and I’m so sorry for that XD. I actually think he’s the softest character in the whole game, but I kind of wanted to hit their dynamic with a sledge hammer, instead of the delicate chisel and saw I usually prefer. Hopefully it’s still as in character as possible for being thrown into an extreme scenario (that also happens to take place in the beginning of the game when he’s a *lot* more suspic). I hope you like it! :)

*TW for panic attacks and ptsd flashbacks

-If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are here!

---

“It’s just down this hall, right?”

“Third door on the left!”

“Yeah, got it. How’s our rear guard looking?”

“Oh he’s looking real fine.”

“Enough with the gossiping!” Barret snaps, racing to catch up with Jessie and Biggs. Behind him the sounds of a fight ring on, but he’s more worried about securing their escape than checking out the merc’s flowing blonde locks. As his own damn team should be, too. “Can we get this door open or not?”

Biggs shakes his head, still working the lock slowly. “It’s seeming less and less likely.”

“Then how the hell are we gettin’ out of here?!”

Biggs curses, yanking his hands away from the door, and stands roughly. He’s quick to pocket his tools, glancing around desperately for another escape. 

“The intel said this was the right way out!” Jessie huffs.

“Well, clearly we got double crossed!” 

“I don’t know, Barret. If we got double crossed, the entire security system would be down on us. Right now it’s just the monsters we picked up outside.”

“Yeah, but-!”

“We’ll discuss this later!” Barret interrupts, trying frantically to think up a fallback plan. They hadn’t been provided with the actual layout of the building. Just some vague instructions with some shady details, and he’s beginning to suspect there’s a lot more going on here than they’re prepared for.

“Well how are we getting out, then?!” Jessie demands, leaning forward with her hands on her hips. She’s got a scowl in place, hair bouncing wildly as she pulls back and whips her head around to look at the door again. “I could blow it up, I suppose-”

“No bombs, Jessie!”

Barret snorts. “If the security ain’t on our asses now it would definitely be up in arms once we blow a hole in the wall.”

“Has everybody forgotten that we’re fifty stories up?! Blow out the wall and the ladder goes too!”

“So we kick the door down!” Now that is an idea Barret can get behind. “No explosions and no destruction! We could just-”

“Don’t.”

As soon as the voice comes out from behind him, Barret realizes the sounds of fighting have stopped, and he knows exactly who Biggs and Jessie are smiling at. He scowls, turning to see the merc standing next to them as if he’d been there all along, expression blank as ever.

“What?” Barret snaps aggressively. He glares for equal measure, but the merc is entirely unfazed. Freakish as always, face cold and distant. It sends shivers down Barret’s spine.

This is a man that can’t be trusted, he knows. Someone who doesn’t care for anything. No emotions or fears, throwing himself into life or death situations like it’s a job - like it’s a game. Instead of an ongoing fight for their planet’s very survival.

“Kicking the door will trigger the alarms as well,” he says, and Barret snorts in response.

“And how would you know that?” Maybe he’s the damn double crosser. Playing at the friendly mercenary while sucking innocent people in need dry of money. Hell, maybe he still works for Shinra.

Maybe Tifa was wrong.

The merc blinks at him for a moment, expression fluttering strangely, and it makes a different kind of uncomfortable feeling settle in Barret’s gut.

Just like he said: shifty. Shifty as all hell.

But Barret trusts Tifa’s judgement. Trusts that she’s got Avalanche’s best interests at heart, despite her doubts, so he pushes the feelings aside and greets his teeth against the surge of wounded pride.

“Then how the hell else are we gettin’ out of here, Mr. Expert?” Though he can’t quite keep the mocking tone from his voice. Hell, it’s not like the merc gives a shit anyway.

“The elevators.”

“The elevators?”

The arrogant little shit gives him a look like he’s lost a few brain cells just being in the same vicinity, and Barret has never been hit harder with the urge to punch a smug look right off someone’s smarmy face. Luckily for the merc, Jessie speaks before he can follow through with it.

“This building doesn’t have any working elevators,” she says, “our inside man told us they were all down due to-”

“He lied.”

“Oh come on!” Biggs explodes, “So we really did get double crossed!”

“I’m telling you if he’d betrayed us he would have triggered the alarms!”

“Hey!” Gaia, sometimes Barret feels like the dad of the world’s oldest teenagers, “Enough, we’ll talk about this later, okay? When we ain’t seconds away from getting caught with our pants down.”

“He wasn’t double crossing you, he was lying,” the merc points out unhelpfully, and he’s got Jessie up in arms again just like that.

Barret cuts an irritated hand through the air to silence them, then looks pointedly at the merc. “Where are these elevators?” He asks calmly. Because he’s got a team to keep safe, and if Jessie and Biggs are able to can it about their double crossing inside man, then Barret can sure as hell take the merc’s lead for a few minutes until they’re all out of harm’s way.

The merc gives a sharp nod that practically screams military before turning to backtrack down the hallway. They follow him over fallen monster bodies and the charred remains of some beast, struggling to keep up as the blonde basically dances over the corpses he’d cut down. For someone so small the kid sure moves fast, and he’s turning abruptly down another hallway before they can do anything about it, disappearing from view.

There’s a beat as Barret turns the corner where he thinks - knows - that this is it. This is the moment of betrayal. The merc will be waiting around the corner with a raised sword or a group of Shinra soldiers, ready to end it all.

But then they do turn around the corner, and all he sees is another long, empty hallway with two elevators at the end. Cloud is standing in front of one of them, looking it up and down with a pinched expression, and as Barret finally gets close enough to get a good look at it he knows exactly why.

“Hm,” the merc grumps, and Barret is hard pressed to agree with him, “I thought they’d be bigger.”

He hears Biggs bark a laugh out from behind them, Jessie springing to their side at the same time. She grins lasciviously and gives the merc the type of once over that should never stray from the pages of a porn magazine, and Barret almost has a mind to reprimand her about sexual harassment in the workplace before he remembers who the hell he’s dealing with.

“There’s no way we’ll all fit,” she crows delightedly.

Barret sighs. “Well we’re going to have to make it work.”

“No way,” Biggs laughs, “we’re splitting up-” he raises his hands defensively against Barret’s look of reproach, stepping towards the elevator furthest from him with an apologetic wince, “-no offense man but I’m not keen on dying squeezed between your 700 pounds of pure muscle and Jessie’s knife elbows.”

Barret opens his mouth to argue, but before he can Jessie jumps over to the same elevator, babbling a mile a minute. “If we split it evenly we won’t be in any danger, alright? We’ll protect each other. Biggs and I are both average sized, so we’ll go together, and you can go with Cloud! Since you’re big and he’s tiny.”

Barret doesn’t even have to look at the merc to know he’s burning holes in them at the words, but he barely manages a cut off “you can’t-” before they’re both piling into their elevator and waving smug, cheery goodbyes through the quickly narrowing doorway.

And then they’re gone.

Barret scowls at the descending elevator, but the short, irritated breath released next to him has his eyes shifting to the merc. He looks stoic as always, only slightly more tense than usual, but Barret swears he heard the guy sigh.

“Let’s go, then,” he says, stepping into the small space of the second elevator.

“I’m the one calling the shots here, merc.”

“Whatever. Just get in, we don’t have all day.”

Barret’s lips thin angrily, but he refrains from responding. Instead he shoves himself into the elevator, jostling the other man roughly in the process, and slams a fist against the button for the lower floors. 

“I’d better get my money this time.”

Barret grits his teeth, breathing out slowly as he focuses on the doors sliding closed in front of him. “You’ll get your damn money, merc,” he hisses, “now shut the hell up.”

The merc doesn’t even flinch at his tone. He steps further back into the elevator, away from Barret’s bulk, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He lowers his head, too, and Barret is reminded of the time he’d fallen asleep during their first mission not too long ago. 

He scowls. “You’re a damn freak, you know that?”

The merc just ignores him. Probably already conked out, despite the rattling, rickety descent.

Barret snorts at him and shifts to lean against the wall. “Some super soldier,” he grumbles to himself, watching the numbers tick down excruciatingly slowly.

It’s about when they reach level fifteen that the merc actually opens his eyes again, looking up at the numbers with a slight frown.

“What, this ride goin’ too slow for you, Shinra?”

He turns to Barret with narrowed eyes, opening his mouth to say something, and is almost immediately cut off with a jarring click of the teeth as the elevator slams to a stop. He staggers, eyes widening in alarm, but Barret doesn’t see much more before he’s sliding gracelessly to the elevator floor.

“Shit!” Barret bellows, slamming a fist against the worthless thing as it rattles violently, knocking his sideways, before finally calming down again.

He huffs, hauling himself to his feet, and stares at the elevator doors incredulously. “What the hell was that?!”

There’s no answer from his current companion, but Barret could care less at this point. This is not a good place to be trapped, he knows. They’ve essentially put themselves in a kill box and served themselves up to the police, who could literally be arriving at any moment.

“We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” he grunts, squeezing his fingers between the doors and attempting to pull them open. They screech as they part, grinding against a solid concrete wall, and he kicks at it experimentally. “Shit.”

So much for that plan, he supposes.

He hovers by the door for a second, trying to formulate a solid backup strategy, and for the first time notices the merc’s glaring silence. He hasn’t said anything since they stopped. He hadn’t even moved to help open the doors, and Barret’s earlier suspicions come flying back with the force of a freight train

He tries to keep them at bay. Tries to remind himself that he doesn’t have to like the guy - that Tifa recommended him - but that’s hard to do when it was the merc who led them here and allowed them to get trapped. Who now stands silent and unhelpful behind him, mako eyes glinting in the dim, flickering lighting, like a statue dedicated to everything wrong with the world.

He whirls around, fist clenched and gun raised, ready to tear the traitor apart, only to see wide, vivid blue eyes instead of narrowed challenging ones. A chill, closed off expression and slack lips.

“What the hell?” 

Barret hesitates uneasily, then steps forward and lowers his gun a fraction. The merc doesn’t even blink at the heavy weaponry pointed straight at him.

“Hey merc,” he snaps out, huffing as he still gets no response, “if this is some kind of twisted prank or trap, you’re gonna have hell to pay.”

Still nothing. Barret swallows roughly, gun lowering even further.

“This some kind of weird SOLDIER ritual that I don’t know about?” He asks, but this time the words are weak.

Those are not the eyes of someone planning a betrayal. They look startlingly similar to the eyes of someone having an episode.

He lowers his gun completely, feeling foolish for having raised it in the first place. Even if the merc had been a traitor, bullets in an enclosed metal space wouldn’t have done anyone any favors, least of all him.

He closes his eyes for a second, calming the sting of anger he can still feel in his heart, and opens them again with a clearer mind. Then, for the first time since they’d entered the elevator, Barret takes a good look at the merc. Actually looks at him, like he would one of his own instead of the enemy, and realizes with dawning horror that the kid’s terrified. Fingers white with the pressure of squeezing stark bruises into his arms, eyes wide and shoulders taut like a bowstring. His whole body is screaming discomfort.

How had he missed this?

“Damnit!” Barret curses loudly, and it’s only because he’s looking so closely that he catches the minute twitch of the merc’s fingers at his outburst. The subtle way he leans back, lips parting with short, heavy breaths as the rise and fall of his shoulders becomes harsher.

It’s looking a lot like a panic attack to Barret, but it’s hard to tell with such innocuous cues. The merc would appear frozen in place to anybody who didn’t know better. Hell, he’d probably just appear stoically uninterested.

And he’s completely out of commission. Barret doesn’t think the kid’s even capable of speaking right now, with how tight his muscles are, throat working soundlessly.

“Gaia, you’ve got it bad, kid.”

Barret intentionally softens his stance as he approaches, steps light but telegraphed. Open, easy movements that get him halfway across the elevator before the merc’s gaze snaps to him. There’s a hesitance in the flash of expressions across his face, as if he isn’t quite sure what mask to put on, that leaves a strange sort of vulnerability in the sheen of his eyes.

Confusion. Blank, empty confusion.

Shit. This is worse than he’d thought. 

He should have known - hadn’t even considered -

“Hey,” Barret tries, tone low, and the eyes find his lips like moths to flame, but it’s obvious the merc’s not seeing them.

“Can you hear me, Cloud?” 

Still nothing.

“Can you see me?”

Cloud actually blinks once at that, brows furrowing, and a fraction of the fear fades for a moment, something like recognition entering his eyes. Barret grasps at the opportunity.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Tifa…”

“Tifa?!”

“Tifa’s friend. It’s - Barret,” he gasps, voice raspy, and Barrett reels a bit at the sound of his name on Cloud’s lips.

“Right, that’s me. Do you remember-” and Barret realizes that was the wrong thing to say as soon as Cloud expression changes, entire body snapping to face the solid concrete wall blocking their exit.

His breathing picks up again. Nails digging crimsons crescents into his skin as he staggers away from the walls, spinning in the center of the enclosed space and sucking in air like he’s drowning.

Barrett moves without thinking, reaching out to steady him, but Cloud whirls around with wide, panicked eyes and lashes out. His forearm connects with Barret’s chest in a savage thud, knocking him clean to the other side of the elevator.

“Don’t touch me!” Cloud yells. “Don’t-“ he curls inwards, heaving, and presses himself to the opposite wall.

“Okay.” Barret steadies himself, then raises his hand and gun as a show of peace. “Okay, I won’t touch you. I’m just right over here, and I’m staying perfectly still.”

Cloud shakes his head frantically. “There-there has to be another way out. You- the, the roof-”

“Roof wouldn’t be a good idea.” Especially not with Cloud incapacitated the way he is. And Barret definitely isn’t fitting up there, that’s for damn sure.

“So…so we’re trapped?”

“For now, but it’s probably a simple power outage. We just have to wait.” He leaves it at that, even though it’s almost physically painful to do so.

Nothing he says is going to reassure Cloud at this point, so he just lets the guy tense up against the wall, breathing shakily. He looks an absolute wreck, face wet with tears and hair matted in sweat. Paler than the moon and trembling like a leaf, he appears such a stark contrast to the usual Cloud that Barret almost has a hard time believing it’s the same person.

Except Barret more than anybody knows what PTSD can do to people, and he hates the damn group with a burning passion, but he can acknowledge that any SOLDIER worth a damn has probably got some traumatizing memories locked away.

Maybe Cloud isn’t so unfeeling as Barret had assumed.

But claustrophobia?! It’s a hell of a thing, and Barret would be furious that the kid hadn’t told him if he didn’t know the exact reason why. A leader is supposed to be someone you can turn to - somebody you can trust to always have your best interests at heart - and he’s failed miserably in that department, former enemy or not.

Cloud had been subtle about it, too. Good enough at hiding his reaction that Barret had taken minutes to notice. That’s not even counting the first elevator ride, even though he absolutely should. Nobody sane sleeps like that in an elevator unless they’ve got issues with it, and he damn well should have noticed something was up right then and there.

He’d been purposefully obtuse; willfully ignorant about the truth right in front of him again, and it had nearly cost him a second time.

Of course, the fact that Cloud had been so good at hiding it is a bit concerning, and Barret is beginning to get the sneaking, sickening suspicion that Cloud has been having a lot more of these episodes in his presence than he should be.

And he’s never bothered to help with a single one.

Tifa’s going to have his head for this.

She’s the one who recommended Cloud for the jobs, but Barret doubts she knows a thing about this.

Does anyone?

Barret looks up when he hears Cloud shift, watching on with dread as the other slides numbly to the floor. The look in his eyes is enough to make Barret feel as if he’s been doused in ice water, and the panting is only getting louder, more panicked and sharp. Interspersed with small, terrified whimpers that push at every single protective instinct Barret has. The ones that tell him to keep his family close and to never let them suffer. The ones that usually include Jessie and Biggs and Wedge and Tifa and now, apparently, Cloud.

Gaia, not this damn brat.

He can’t think about this right now, though. Not while one of his team is lying prone on the floor of a kill box that could start running again at any moment, no matter which particular member of his party that person is. So he pushes it all from his mind and focuses on the problem at hand.

He can deal with this later.

“Cloud, hey,” he soothes instead, voice almost a whisper, “I need you to breathe.”

Cloud chokes. Claws at his chest and kicks at the floor, head shaking wildly. “I can’t-!”

“You can.”

“It’s-it’s too small. There’s no air. I-!”

“There is air!” Mako eyes flick to him in surprise, latching on desperately, and Barret continues on in a calmer tone. “I need you to listen to me. There is air in here, but you have to breathe.”

“I can’t-”

“In,” Barret interrupts, waiting patiently through Cloud’s startled, bleary pause for the strangled breath he sucks in afterward. “Count for four seconds and hold...then out again.”

He slides forward a bit on Cloud’s ragged exhale, and pushes even further when Cloud doesn’t protest the movement. He’s watching Barret like a hawk, but Barret has the feeling he’s not seeing much.

“In,” Barret repeats, “and out.”

Cloud struggles to follow the instructions as Barret finally manages to sit directly in front of him.

There’s not a single doubt in Barret’s mind as he grabs Cloud’s hand, guiding it to his chest.

“Breath with me.” He locks eyes with Cloud. Watches fear turn to confusion and distrust, powering right on through it. “In and out,” he instructs, sucking in a long, deep breath to show that there’s air. When he exhales, he watches Cloud do the same, eyes drifting to their overlapping fingers.

It goes on like that for a while, the elevator still remaining stubbornly in place. Cloud’s fear doesn’t seem to fade, but he slowly, methodically works away the panic, breathing in rhythm with Barret until his whole body doesn’t shake on every exhale. Until he’s almost relaxed again, eyes beginning to droop.

The way they sit is almost casual, now. As if they’re chilling on a weeklong vacation and not recovering from being trapped fifteen floors above the ground. With the press of silence between them, the urgency of the moment wearing away, Barret finds himself struck again by the absurdity of the situation.

Cloud Strife. SOLDIER. Ex-Soldier. Mercenary. It doesn’t matter. 

If he told the Barret of even ten minutes ago what they’re doing right now, he’d be laughed right out of the room.

He sighs, ready to pull them back to their feet and forget this ever happened, for the sake of both their pride, and looks over to see that Cloud is shaking. Then he’s gasping, shoulders heaving, and Barret has a brief, panicked second to think Cloud is having another attack before he realizes the other is crying. Actual, tearing sobs that wrack his entire frame as he crumples in on himself like a marionette with its strings cut.

That heated, protective surge of anger that he’s only ever felt for his team instantly comes back in full force, and Barret doesn’t even think before he’s pulling Cloud against him. Wrapping his arm around the smaller figure and pressing Cloud’s face to his shoulder, carding his fingers through soft, downy hair.

Cloud shakes against him, fisting desperately at his shirt and burrowing violently against him like the touch is too little. Not enough. And Barret tries to hold him tighter; to contain it all as it all comes spilling out of him. Loud, reckless weeping and the desperate need for comfort.

And as they sit there, Cloud cradled in his arm, Barret gets the feeling that they may never recover from this, after all. But damn the pride and the image and the stupid, ridiculous facade. Like hell is he going to let another one of his family suffer for any longer than they have to. Even Cloud. Especially Cloud.

[timeguardiansarchive]

Rescued from the Depths:

@makesownluck​​ continued from X 

(Please don’t kill me for taking creative license with this or the fact that I continued it. I will also apologize heavily for Rose. She got super carried away. Hope the reply makes some miniscule amount of sense. There is absolutely never any pressure to match length or anything!)

Pure pandemonium had erupted upon the once leisure-filled decks and Rose, feeling more observer than participant in it, found herself clinging to Jack as tightly as she dared. Her exhaustion riddled orbs fixate on witnessing an emotional father bidding adieu to his bawling, petrified daughters. He had adorned himself with a brave face and spun a silvery tale in parting. While she was only being vaguely attentive in her eavesdropping, his words lodge in her cranium. “It’s goodbye for a little while,” the man professes. Nevertheless, she could see the truth laid bare in his eyes. With that thought, remained the knowledge of the conversation she had held with Mr. Andrews about the number of lifeboats the Titanic housed. Mr. Andrews’s words wage war on her already dismal dwellings. “There aren’t enough lifeboats even by half.” If what he claimed was true, and she had little doubt that it was having done the math herself and checked it by Mr. Andrews, her mind raced through countless more calculations until panic begins to inspire her to protest the offered spot on one of the lifeboats. This night would end with many innocent lives being lost. 

Whatever insistence she made was quickly overridden by the adamant and unrelenting persuasions of Jack and Cal. They had made an arrangement. Or at least Hockley claimed, that he had one with a ship’s officer to escape safely. Why he would offer such salvation to Jack, she is uncertain. Doubtful, she observes them both but allows herself to be ushered into the waiting lifeboat. She turns her back to the ocean and finds Jack’s outstretched hand, clutching his fingers with all her might willing him to come. Why couldn’t he just forget chivalry and join her? Why did he have to be as valiant and selfless as he had been the moment they first met?!

All too soon, the warmth of his contact is wrenched away, and she is pushed towards the back of the tiny wooden vessel to make room for more. Eerie traces of dimly illuminated indigo waters etched and ebbed across the side of the massive, struggling ‘Ship of Dreams.’ Oh, how that bestowed title torments her in that very moment. It was no longer a palace of celestial imaginings. It was a full-blown nightmare straight from the pit of hell!

While Rose was outwardly skillful in concealing her terror, it continued to bubble up inside of her chest. The force of which, battered heavily against her ribcages as her gaze shoots upwards, seeking, till they find Jack. He and Cal have a deal. She kept reminding herself. However, if they had a deal with an officer on the other side of the ship, why would they remain so stagnant in nearly the same place she had taken her leave of them? Conscience whispers, there is no deal. Is there? There is no grand reunion coming later on. Was there?! This was going to be their final goodbyes. The longer she ruminates upon these thoughts the more the internalized panic began to claw its way to the surface.

In the glow of the lone bursting flare, Rose could see the intolerable grief etched upon Jack’s handsome countenance. With that glimpse alone, she realizes, she can’t do this! She can’t abandon him now!!! She loves him more dearly, more ardently than her own life. She pictures where this road to supposed salvation will lead and it is the same hideous path she’d been set upon with Cal. A road that led her to near self-destruction.

She rallies courage around herself like a cloak, rises to her feet and she lunges quite forcefully forwards across the lifeboat to make the biggest leap of faith she can muster. However, sheer will alone does not propel her far enough towards her end-goal. Whilst her arms were outstretched and the ship had been briefly in reach, Rose finds herself plunging helplessly into the glassy indigo waters below.

There is little Rose can do to prepare herself or brace for the pending harsh impact. It’s all happening far too fast for actual cognition to fully ignite.

The connection with the frigid water below is punishing, forcing her to let out a terrible gasp. Following that gasp comes an influx of salted water that burns down every inch of her esophagus. Choking, she scrambles to suck in another breath of air, but the effort is futile. This inhale is also tainted with water. Lungs heave out a final ratty cough expelling as much as she could before she’s pulled below.

Rose begins to kick furiously, her legs tangling precariously with her skirts. She desperately grapples with her cold-numbed hands, clawing for the surface. Yet, she finds herself being dragged farther downwards. Weighted as if her pockets, correction- Cal’s pockets, were lined with bricks rather than luxurious fabrics. With every second, the adorned articles of clothing seem to be growing heavier and heavier as the water absorbs into the once dry material. It does not occur to her panicking mind to shrug the dress-jacket off. Instead, her focus remains on getting back to the surface despite her rapidly waning energy.

Rose had desperately wished for this horrific fate. Not more than a night or so ago, she had stood on the Titanic’s stern. She peered into churning waters that beckoned with the promises of eternal liberation and prepared herself to take the readily offered exit. That alluring promise had been nothing more than a mere mirage which, Jack Dawson helped to expose. He rescued her and gave her life purpose again!!!  

Jack had also been right about the water feeling like ‘a thousand knives all over one’s body.’ The chill is suffocating, snatching the breath straight out of one’s lungs. Something Rose was now experiencing with terrifying, miserable clarity thanks to the miscalculation.  

The auburn-haired young woman is jarred from thoughts of her own death by a sudden forceful tug that propels her upwards till she resurfaces. A powerful arm coils around her middle and draws her nearer. Sputtering out water, Rose turns her alarmed orbs towards the source. There is an immediate, grateful softening  to the cerulean hues as she discovers Jack beside her in the water. Hoarse vocal cords rasp out, “J...J...Jack? Wh...wh... what are y... y... you doing ... he... here? Y... you we....were safe! You ha....had... had that deal. Did ... didn’t y... you?” Rose prods, with great effort. Guilt adds to the crimson stains stealing across her porcelain skin. It was her fault that he ended up in the water!

She shivers fiercely against the night’s unforgiving chill as it winds through sopping curls and weaves itself into the drenched fabrics surrounding her slender frame. Rose allows herself to be drawn closer to Jack’s sturdier build knowing full well that she can hardly rely on her own strength anymore. Stiff fingers clumsily attempt to curl around his deeply saturated shirt until the wooden lifeboat begins to gain on them.

It took a good deal of effort on the ladies behalves to hoist both bitterly cold  unintentional swimmers to ‘relative’ safety. Rose stiffly pauses near the ledge of the wooden raft and clumsily attempts to help with Jack’s rescue until the indomitable force she recognized as Molly Brown slung a blanket over her shoulders and ushered her towards an empty space away from the edges. “Well ain’t you two a sight for sore eyes,” Molly exclaims, in a purely materialized way. “Sure glad we made room for you. Thought we nearly lost you both.” She confides, taking up a seat near-by.

The air is torturous, hardly tolerable against her already numb skin. Every subtle strike of a breeze feels more like a slap than a caress. Rose allows her violently quivering limbs to be maneuvered closer to the familiar comfort of Jack’s. Gnashing teeth attempt to emit a strained sound of words, “God, I’m ... I’m s.... sorry, Jack. I... I couldn’t...  I... I cou... couldn’t ... leave you.“ She confides, her tired eyes flooding with hot tears.  The contrast between the tears and the cold was uncomfortably significant though, Rose actively elects to ignore it in favor of Jack’s comforting words.

Cerulean orbs linger, fixating on drinking in every inch of Jack’s beloved countenance. Her own tired mind is dogged with unrelenting doubts that are compounded by the soundtrack of horrific screams, calls for lost loved ones, and the sound of twisting and groaning metal. She briefly pries her gaze away to examine the endless horizons but she could discern no warm lights from responding vessels.

Internally, Rose did not relish boarding another ship of any kind. Still, she is far too keenly aware that they are thousands of miles off their intended destination and that if they did not receive help soon, the disastrous fate of the others, would also become their own.

Rose knew that if she let herself focus on any more of the sufferings playing out all around them, she might drown in something more deadly than the depths of the North Atlantic. Shifting her attention, she whispers in question, “th... thi... think we’ll ev ... ever see New York?” Right now, the thought of dry land itself felt like a pipedream, a fleeting, hopeless imagining. An imagining that was infinitely safer than reflecting on the fact that many of the people she had brushed shoulders with, locked eyes with, shared a laugh or smile with, or even saw milling around the various decks, would never reach the final destination. Was it selfish of her to want to fixate on something sanguine than death? Perhaps. But Rose was beyond the point of caring.

There is something about Jack’s claims that bids her to believe, dares her to dream, that this nightmare would cease with the awakening of dawn's first light. His words offer a salve to her troubled soul and she melts into it as eagerly as she does his proffered embrace.  

“You...you’re.... you’re shivering.” Rose blandly states, pointing out the obvious when her attention returns fully to Jack. She instinctively moves to shuffle more of the drier parts of her damp blankets around him and she nestles tighter against his side. While she didn’t have much warmth to share, she would gift him what she could. Feeling a renewed sense of gratitude for Jack, she breathes, “you ... you could have le... left me behind...” There is no chastisement in the shallows of her syllables but rather curiosity and relief. If he had left her, she would have surely died without his intervention but his health wouldn’t have been potentially jeopardized. 

[inawickedlittletown]

I’m With You (1/?)

Summary: 

Having a crush was nothing to be ashamed of...lying to the family and friends of said crush about being the guy’s boyfriend, that was a whole other problem. When Buck saves the life of Andrew Diaz and accidentally makes a nurse think that he’s Andrew’s boyfriend, Buck soon finds himself lying to Andrew’s firefighter friends/coworkers as well as Andrew’s family including Andrew’s very suspicious and attractive brother, Eddie.

Based on the 1995 movie While You Were Sleeping.

Words: 4,050

Notes: Hello. I am back with another fic. This is based on one of my favorite rom coms: While You Were Sleeping (1995). I was watching it a few weeks back and I just wanted a Buddie version of it. Anyone that hasn't seen it: go watch it immediately, it's a classic. Rom coms are not made like they used to be. 

The fic title comes from the song of the same name by Vance Joy. Listen to it, it is perfect. Enjoy. :)

Read on Ao3

Masterpost

-

Coffee Time was always busy at three very specific times of the day. In the morning from opening at 6am until around 9am and then 12pm to around 1pm and then after 5pm until just after 7pm. The rest of the day was full of the odd person stopping in for a quick snack or drink and they often got a few people that loitered and sat at tables by the windows with their notebooks or laptops. Buck worked the morning shift going in at 5am to get everything ready for opening and leaving just after their lunch rush and it meant that Buck was there when Mr. Perfect arrived for his usual order : two black regular, one mocha latte, one iced green tea no sugar, and a regular latte. 

Mr. Perfect arrived for the lunch rush which meant that there was never any real time for idle chat. He also always placed his order online for pick up and there was never a name attached. Just the order number. Buck was always the one to fill it and as tempting as it was to add his number to one of the cups, he also had no idea if Mr. Perfect was interested in men and which of the cups in the order was his. So, he never did. Instead, he admired from afar. It felt like the easiest thing to do. 

It was busier than usual on a Thursday probably due to some event happening down the street. It meant that they had people coming in and out in what seemed like a stream and Buck was getting behind on filling orders. So much so that he failed to get Mr. Perfect’s order ready before he arrived like usual. 

Mr. Perfect busied himself with his phone while he waited and didn’t seem too bothered at the wait or how crowded the place was and it gave Buck a few moments to admire him. He was broad and muscular and his shirt seemed to be just a little tight on him but Buck didn’t mind the way that it helped to make his biceps look big. The logo on the corner of his chest suggested that Mr. Perfect was a firefighter but Buck wasn’t entirely sure if that was his profession. But what really captivated Buck was the way he always smiled when he was picking up his order like he genuinely meant it. His eyes crinkled and they were so warm and dark and Buck loved them. It always left him feeling a bit distracted after Mr. Perfect walked away. He had that kind of affect on Buck and Buck knew that he would never really talk to him. 

“One day, I want you to form sentences and speak to him,” his coworker, Ali, said, nudging him and passing on a marked cup for the current customer in line. 

“Or never,” Buck said with a sigh. 

The thing was that Buck wasn’t a shy person. And he definitely wasn’t shy about flirting or about getting someone to hook up with him. At least, that was who he used to be. But ever since his girlfriend, Abby, went off on a trip to Ireland and then ghosted him, Buck just didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t think he wanted to go back to quick hook ups and one-night stands that left him feeling used and empty and yet he also wasn’t sure if he wanted to find someone to actually date. And Mr. Perfect — if Buck even had a chance with him — he was the kind that you wanted to date and fall in love with and marry and have a family with. 

When Buck had finally got around to getting Mr. Perfect’s order ready, he set it down on the pick up counter and called out his order number. Mr. Perfect looked up from his phone at once and walked over, his lips turning up into a full toothed smile. His eyes found Buck and for a second Buck wondered if he should try and talk to him but then the moment passed. 

“Thank you,” Mr. Perfect said and then dropped a few dollars into the tip jar. 

“Have a good day,” Buck managed before letting out a sigh. 

The next day, Mr. Perfect didn’t appear at his usual time and Buck pretended to be annoyed when Ali made fun of him for it but deep down he was a little sad about it. That he looked forward to seeing the same stranger at work more than any other part of his day should have been concerning, but Buck really didn’t have much else going for him. 

When the lunch rush died down Buck took off his apron and walked into the back to clock out. From the closet he grabbed his things and he walked back out. He was waving goodbye at Ali, when he saw Mr. Perfect walk in and Buck actually stopped to watch him as Ali got his order to him. Ali shrugged at Buck when she caught his eye but Buck was mostly just glad to see him. 

Buck made it out the door before Mr. Perfect turned away from the counter with his order, but he lingered outside looking in through the window like a creep before he shook his head at himself and started heading towards his car. He was so utterly pathetic. Buck hadn’t made it far when he heard someone yell out. When he turned, he realized that it was Mr. Perfect. 

At first Buck didn’t spot him and he couldn’t have if it wasn’t for the cup of spilled coffee that had rolled away from him. All of the drinks were spilled on him and around him and he was several feet off of the sidewalk on his back and not moving. Buck ran to his side. 

“Hey! Hey!” Buck yelled as he reached him but there was no response. 

Buck checked his pulse at once and let out a breath when there was one. He put his hand out by his nose to check if he was breathing and felt a few puffs of air. That was good. He was breathing and he had a pulse. 

“Okay. Okay. So what next. Can you hear me?” 

Buck tried shaking him a little but Mr. Perfect didn’t react. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around either so Buck fished his phone out of his pocket and he dialed 9-1-1. He was just in the middle of trying to explain what happened to the operator when Buck realized that they were on the street and that while the street had been empty for a while, a car was coming their way and not stopping. The driver couldn’t see them. 

“Holy shit,” Buck said and he scrambled to his feet, grabbing Mr. Perfect by the armpits and pulling. 

He was heavy and it was a bit difficult to maneuver a fully grown man but Buck was strong and somehow he managed to get him to the bike lane mere seconds before the car drove right over where Mr. Perfect had been lying. Buck let out a breath. 

“Oh my god,” he said. “That...that just happened.” 

Buck knew he should have felt scared but instead he felt energetic and like he could do anything at all. 

“Hello! Hello, what’s happening?” 

His phone was on Mr. Perfect’s chest and luckily it hadn’t fallen off while Buck was pulling him to safety. He grabbed it, then. 

“Sorry. Sorry. It’s just he was on the street. I pulled him out of the way. Car was coming. He’s still not awake. I don’t—”

“Sir, an ambulance is on the way. You said he’s breathing and has a pulse?” 

“Yes. Yes. Looks like maybe he hit his head.” 

Having moved him meant that Mr. Perfect’s head had lolled a bit and Buck could see that there was a growing lump. Buck also noticed that Mr. Perfect’s wallet was sticking out of his pocket and he figured he should grab it and get his name. The operator had asked for it at first but Buck didn’t know it. He literally knew nothing about him. 

His license was right there at the top and Buck pulled it out. His name was Andrew Diaz.

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur but he remembered being able to tell the operator Mr. Perfect’s name and age (he was 29). He followed the operator’s instructions and then waited. A few people had stopped by to ask what was going on and if they could help but there was nothing to do but wait. Buck just had to keep making sure that he was breathing. 

With Mr. Perfect — Andrew — out cold, Buck could really get to look at him without the danger of awkwardness if he was caught doing it. Andrew had long eyelashes that fanned out over the top of his cheeks. His hair looked curlier up close, a bit of a wave going through it. His lips were a nice rosy pink and just a bit chapped and Buck wished more than anything to be able to kiss him. There was a slight cleft to his chin and Buck could make out laugh lines next to his eyes and by his mouth. Up close, Buck could also make out a few freckles across his nose, not easy to notice on his skin tone. 

Buck almost didn’t hear the ambulance arrive due to how distracted he was especially when he noted that Andrew had a small scar on his jaw. It made Buck curious. 

Buck only got up when one of the paramedics touched his shoulder so he could get out of their way. He stood back and watched with a bit of fascination as they got a collar on him and then put him on a stretcher. They seemed to do a whole number of tests before they loaded him up but even then the whole thing was rather quick. 

“Is he — is he going to be okay?” Buck asked. 

“Just fine,” one of them said and then, “are you coming along?”

Buck was supposed to be just a bystander, a stranger with a crush that just happened to be the only person to see Mr. Perfect splayed out on the asphalt. He was the guy that helped out because he happened to be there but the way that the paramedic was looking at him like he was supposed to be more than that. 

“Uh...what hospital? I — my car is here. I can just drive there.” 

Buck had no idea why he said it or why he didn’t clear up that he was no one to Andrew but the guy that made him his coffee every day. After he had the information, Buck felt weird not going to the hospital to at least find out if Andrew would be okay. Maybe he felt a little weird about going too. It was for his own peace of mind and either way, Andrew didn’t have anyone else at the moment and Buck figured he should go and be there and maybe even wait it out until his family got there. Even as he tried to rationalize it, the whole thing felt stupid. 

When he arrived at the hospital almost an hour later because of traffic, he got just a little turned around but then finally found an information desk.

“Andrew Diaz. He just came in and I was — I was with him and—” 

Buck spotted him then. He was on a gurney now and they were rolling him away. 

“That’s...that’s him. I—”

“Honey, honey, calm down. Are you a family member or friend? I can only release information to family. Someone has probably already been tasked with informing his emergency contacts and—”

Buck tried to take a breath. He didn’t quite know why he was freaking out so much. Maybe everything was finally hitting him. “I — I saved him earlier and I just want to make sure that he’s okay because I’ve been seeing him pretty much every day for months now and he’s like this perfect guy, you know, and I was going to...I was going to marry him, I think, maybe. If I ever built up the courage to—”

“So you’re not immediate family, then,” the woman said and her tone which had been friendly and almost comforting a moment ago had gone flat. 

“I — no...no, I’m not.” 

“Nothing I can do, then,” she said and turned away in one fluid motion leaving Buck with an open mouth. 

Buck didn’t know what to do. Did he just leave and never find out what happened to Andrew? Did he wait it out to see if his family members came in? But then that would mean explaining himself and the whole weird crush from afar thing wouldn’t go off too well. Not to mention he really didn’t know Andrew at all. He’d learned his name a little over an hour earlier. Buck was just about to turn around and leave when he felt someone touch his shoulder. He turned and found a nurse. Not the one from earlier. This one was younger and she smiled sweetly at him. 

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Olivia and I sort of overheard you earlier. I’m sorry about her. She’s not the worst but she’s not very open minded. But if you want to see your boyfriend, I can make that happen. Or — well, will it be fiance soon?” 

Buck was speechless. Words completely failed him leaving his mind blank because that wasn’t what he was expecting. Olivia smiled at him and then motioned for him to follow her and Buck didn’t hesitate. She took him down the hall and past some doors into a room where Andrew was lying prone on a hospital bed. 

She pat his arm. “You can sit with him, if you want? No one will bother you. I should get back.” 

Buck didn’t even think about correcting her as she stepped towards the door because he could see Andrew through the glass and even in the hospital bed in a gown and with an IV line in his hand he still looked as handsome as ever. 

“And I bet today was a hard day. You’re the one that pulled him off the street too, right?” Oliva asked. “The paramedics were talking about it when they brought him in.” 

“I — yeah, I did.” 

“He was lucky you were with him,” Olivia said and she sighed. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.”

Buck felt maybe a little bit odd, but he still walked over to the chair next to Andrew’s bed and he sat down. He would just linger for a moment and then leave and even if the nurse said anything about him to anyone it probably wouldn’t even matter. He just wanted to get another look at Andrew. Maybe next time he saw him stop by Coffee Time, Buck might actually talk to him. 

“Wish I could have met you properly,” Buck muttered. “But at least you’re going to be okay. Anyway, I should — I should go. I’m kinda being a bit delusional but I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Buck stood up and he looked at Andrew one more time.

Technically, Buck realized, he didn’t even know if Andrew would be okay. Olivia hadn’t bothered to tell him and maybe she didn’t even know. Looking at him, though, it made Buck hope that he wasn’t too badly off. His heart was a steady beat on the monitor and he was breathing on his own which had to mean something good. Not to mention that if he had been badly off he would have probably been in another place in the hospital like the ICU and not just a regular room. 

Buck didn’t mean to linger as long as he did, but sitting there next to Andrew was weirdly peaceful. It was also a lot less lonely. Buck knew he’d made a mistake when he heard footsteps at the door to the room. He didn’t turn at once, hoping to find Olivia or maybe Andrew’s doctor. Instead, he found a police officer. So maybe the nurse had been wrong and someone had called security on him. It was no matter, Buck was ready to go anyway. 

The woman stepped towards him. She looked like the very definition of authority. Her hand was on her belt inches from where her gun was holstered and the other she lifted towards Buck as she walked towards him. 

“I heard you were responsible for helping him out,” she said and Buck took her hand and shook it. 

Her grip was strong and sure. Buck would be stupid if that woman didn’t scare him just a little bit. 

“I — I did, yes,” Buck said. Maybe she was just there to question him. “I didn’t — I didn’t see what happened though. Just heard him yell out and then he was on the ground.” 

She nodded and made a humming noise. She wasn’t even looking at him though and instead her eyes were settled on Andrew. 

“He got lucky you were there, Mr…”

“Buckley,” Buck said. “Everyone calls me Buck, though.” 

She nodded. “Sergeant Grant,” she said. “But you can call me Athena. The nurse out there told me you’re Andrew’s boyfriend. I didn’t know he was dating anyone, but you saved his life so that makes you alright in my books even if he didn’t bother to fill me in on this development.”

Athena knew Andrew personally. Suddenly the hole he’d dug himself into felt like it had gotten feet deepert. But maybe if he just told the truth she wouldn’t hold it against him and he could walk out of the hospital without any trouble. Buck couldn’t lie to the police especially when the whole thing was a misunderstanding. All he’d wanted was to make sure that Andrew was okay.

“I—” his words were cut off when three people walked into the room. 

They were all in uniform but they weren’t police. They were firefighters. So at least Buck had been right when he guessed that Andrew was a firefighter. It was probably how he knew Athena seeing as they were first responders and probably worked closely together. Buck had always admired first responders and seeing them rush in towards the hospital bed and crowd it checking on their friend and co-worker, it warmed his heart a little. This was what Andrew was a part of. 

He went unnoticed for a moment and Buck could have snuck out if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. Instead, he watched them. They were all in uniform but none of the gear. The woman, dark skinned with a shaved head and glasses stood by the foot of the hospital bed next to an Asian man. The two of them were talking to each other in low tones. The other firefighter was older but he had an easy air about him and an open countenance. He went to stand by Athena and it was Athena that brought attention to Buck. 

“He is the one you should thank. Saved Andrew. But you guys probably already know him, he’s Andrew’s boyfriend.” 

Buck could have facepalmed for not jumping in and fixing it right then and there but in that moment two more people walked into the room. An older hispanic woman followed by an even older hispanic woman. 

“Whose boyfriend?” the younger of the two asked. 

“Well, Andrew’s,” Athena said. “I mean, I’m out of the loop all the time but you all share everything so I figured—”

“No,” the woman firefighter said. “No, he hasn’t said anything.” 

Her companion spoke up. “I think maybe he’s been seeing someone. Eddie would know.” 

They were all looking at him and Buck had no idea what to do or what to say. The older woman was led to a chair by the younger and for a moment they were distracted looking at Andrew but no amount of time could give Buck an out. 

“Well anyway, this is Buck,” Athena said. “This is my husband and your boyfriend’s Captain, Bobby.” 

Bobby shot him a warm smile. 

“That’s Henrietta but we all call her Hen. Chimney is next to her and don’t bother to ask why anyone calls him that,” Athena said with a nod at the other firefighters. 

“I’m Josephina,” the younger hispanic woman said. “This is my mother Isabel. Andrew is my nephew.” 

Buck looked at all of them. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Evan but everyone calls me Buck. It’s nice to meet you all. And I really — I should apologize because—”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Athena said at once. 

“You really don’t. We’re a little pushy and in each other’s business but it’s okay if Andrew felt like keeping you to himself,” Hen said. 

“My grandson can be a bit taciturn,” Isabel said but she smiled at Buck. 

Buck had no idea how he was going to explain it to them. They were all just so nice and so welcoming and Buck still had no idea if Andrew was straight or bi or gay but all of his friends and family seemed to have no problem with it at all which gave Buck no answers. It made him panic a little, though, and he really needed to set things straight. 

“Okay, but I really do need to clear something up—”

Buck had to stop when he realized that Isabel had gone white. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Pepa, pero tu dijiste que—” 

[“Pepa, but you said that—”]

“Mama, no te preocupes. Todo esta bien. Andrew va a estar bien.”

[“Mom, don’t worry. Everything is okay. Andrew is going to be okay.”]

Buck’s Spanish wasn’t exactly perfect, but he understood what they were saying without much trouble. 

“The nurse didn’t tell me much,” Buck said when they all looked to him. 

“He’ll be okay,” Hen said. 

Isabel let out a breath and she seemed to regain her color and she smiled at him. “Thank you, Buck,” she said and there was a bit of an accent in her voice but not much. “And thank you for being there for him.”

“What happened exactly?” Bobby asked. 

“I — I’m not sure. I was turned away and I heard him scream so I rushed towards him and he was on the ground passed out. Not too far from the sidewalk but kind of out of view so I had to pull him out of the way and I called 9-1-1.” 

“A witness said it was a kid on a bike,” Athena said. “Avoided hitting him head on but Andrew fell. Hit his head.”

In that moment a doctor and the first nurse that Buck had seen walked in. Her eyes narrowed on him when he saw him and Buck knew he was in trouble now. 

“What is he doing in here?” She asked. “He’s not supposed to be here. It’s family only and—”

“And do we look like we’re related to him,” Athena said at once. “We are his family. That includes Buck.”

Olivia came running in, then. “Anyway, he’s his fiance,” she said. “Has every right to be here, Maria. Saved his life and everything.”

Buck felt all of their eyes on him and if he had ever wanted the floor or the universe itself to swallow him whole it was in that moment. 

“Well...we’re not exactly—”

“You’re engaged!” Isabel said at that same moment. 

Hen was covering her mouth and Chimney’s mouth was open in shock. Athena looked a little confused and Bobby almost shared her expression. But it was Isabel that held his attention. 

“I — well not exactly,” he said and he noted how Isabel just lit up. 

“But he wants to ask him,” the ever so helpful nurse threw in. Olivia was going to be the death of him.  

Buck could have face palmed. He was really not getting out of this unscathed. 

“Well that is...I—”

Isabel was looking at him with far too much expectation. 

“We’re not engaged exactly,” Buck said. 

“But you want to be,” Athena said. 

Buck had no idea what made him nod. 

----

Next Chapter

Notes: Thank you to anyone reading and please let me know what you thought. :)

I will be trying to be consistent with updating so it shouldn't be too long of a wait between chapters. 

Anyone that wants to be tagged on future chapters do let me know. 

[spectralscathath]

Skinny Vanilla Latte

Mikaela is the world's nicest customer, and Yuu's heart absolutely Does Not go 'doki doki' whenever he comes into the cafe for his standard order. Anyone who says otherwise is entirely incorrect. (Mikayuu but Coffee Shop AU)

Commissioned Mikayuu oneshot for @fyrecrackeruwu

Ao3 link, ff.net link

“Peppermint mocha, extra whip, for Lacus!” Yuichiro called out, trying to remember his customer service smile even though he knew his eyes said ‘I’ll kill you’ to every person in the café. Narumi just had to go and get a new job, like the traitorous bitch he was. Being a lifeguard wasn’t even a real thing.

Narumi’s absence left the Moon Demon Café down a barista, and because Shinoa and Kimizuki were banned from interacting with the general public, Yuu had been the only one they could shunt from the kitchen into front of house.

Fuck this job. If he didn’t need it so badly he’d have tossed his apron in Guren’s stupid face to get rid of the shitsmug smirk.

“Hi, welcome to the Moon Demon Café,” he turned to the next customer. “What can I-” oh my god. Don’t pause keep talking. “… I get you today?”

Holy SHIT someone call Heaven because an angel had gone missing. Seriously, the customer standing on the other side of the counter was the prettiest guy Yuu had ever seen. Not to be corny on main, but this was the first time Yuu had ever thought ‘eyes like sapphires, hair like spun gold’ had ever felt like actually applicable metaphors for someone.

“A skinny vanilla latte, please?” Pretty Boy said with the utmost politeness, and Yuu remembered that breathing existed and so did brain functions.

“Of course, can I interest you in any of our specials today?” He put on his best grin, writing down the coffee.

“No thank you, just the coffee.” Pretty Boy kept smiling, already having his card ready to pay because clearly this guy was Mr Perfect Customer.

“Sure thing, can I get a name for this order?” He barely held back from tacking a pet name onto the end, but he managed. Someone get him a medal.

“Mikaela. Mika works though, please don’t try spell ‘Mikaela’.” Pretty Boy- Mika’s- smile became slightly glassy, with the wartorn eyes of someone who’d had consistent misspellings of their name throughout their life.

“Mika it is,” Yuu grinned at him and scrawled it down. “I’ll have that ready for you in a jiffy.” Why the fuck did he say ‘jiffy’.

Mikaela snorted, bringing a hand up to cover his smile. “Sure thing.”

Yuu smiled and started up the coffee grinder, his cheer instantly evaporating away when he heard the sound of an empty grinder. Where were the coffee beans kept again? Shinoa better not have moved their location to fuck with him.

“It’ll be just a sec,” he forced a grin at Mika, getting a shrug in return. Customer seemed chill, cool. He reached under the counter to find empty air, instantly ducking down to check. Nothing but coffee residue from the bags. Welp.

“Hey, Kimizuki?” He yelled at the back.

“What?!”

“Where’d the coffee get moved?”

“You think I know?! Figure it out yourself, dumbass! I’m cooking!”

Yuu’s eye twitched and he counted to ten in his head to prevent himself from leaping through the overpass to wring Kimizuki’s neck. “Of course,” he grumbled. “Let me just pull some coffee beans out of my ass, that’s how we run things here.”

There was a soft chuckle and Yuu blanched, realising that shitfuck his sarcastic grumbling might have been a little too audible. He whipped around. “Uh- sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Mika hid his laughter behind his hand again, blue eyes glittering like sapphires. “No no, it’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Yuu relaxed a little bit, kinda starstruck by the mirthful twinkle in those eyes. “I’ll just find you the coffee, give me a moment.” He spun around, hunting through every cabinet he could until he managed to find a dark roast with ‘hi Yuu’ scrawled on it in purple glittery ink. Shinoa and her fucking gel pens.

He started making the coffee properly this time, mentally promising that he would commit first-degree murder and get away with it the minute Shinoa showed her rat face again. He waited for the coffee machine to do the job and wrote Mika’s name on the takeaway cup, pausing before thinking to himself ‘fuck it’ and adding his phone number. He was gonna take the shot, especially since Mr Gorgeous had laughed at his sarcasm.

He finished putting it all together and smiled as he handed it over. “Skinny vanilla latte for Mika.”

“Thank you,” Mika grinned and pulled out a cup sleeve, slipping it onto the cup and completely hiding Yuu’s number. Yuu’s smile cracked. Fuck.

“Uh-” But Mika was already walking away after dropping change in the tip jar.

“Thank you!” He waved goodbye, the door closing behind him with a little jingle.

“You’re… welcome.” Goodbye gorgeous. Guess Yuu’d never see him again.

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

It was with great surprise that Yuu did in fact see Mika again, this time over Mitsuba’s shoulder as she did the ordering and customer talking while he just made coffee after endless coffee. Fuck rush hour holy shit.

He tried to catch Mika’s eye in-between frothing up milk and shaking cocoa powder over a cappuccino, green catching and locking with blue for the barest second before Mika smiled widely and gave him a little wave, a fancy-looking camera hanging around his neck. “Hi Yuu. Good luck with the rest of your shift, I hope it calms down a bit.”

“What, this? It’s no problem!” Yuu bragged, before he caught the side of his wrist on the milk spout and bit back a curse. Always with the burns.

“See you next time.” Mika grabbed his coffee, oblivious to Yuu’s plight, and walked out the door, again emptying some coins into the tip jar before he left.

Mitsuba turned to Yuu, blonde twintails bouncing with the movement. “You know that guy? He’s the nicest customer I’ve had yet. I hope he becomes a regular.”

“Yeah.” Yuu nodded. “Me too.”

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

Mika did, in fact, become a regular. Which was awesome.

Every Wednesday and Friday like clockwork he’d show up, order his skinny vanilla latte to have there, pick a booth, and do stuff on his laptop. It was pretty cool, aside from the fact that Yuu couldn’t write terrible pick-up lines on the latte glasses.

That was Plan A of ‘Operation: get Mika’s number’ thwarted.

Plan B was to write it on the napkins, but then the problem was that Mika didn’t order food. Currently Yuu was on Plan C, which was Plan B but better.

Mika walked in with his laptop bag and his camera-holding thingie, waiting patiently in line until he was at the counter. “Hi Yuu.”

“Hey Mika. The usual?” Yuu gave him a charming grin.

“That’d be great, thank you.” Mika beamed. It was really pretty.

Yuu had to take a second to recover.  “Easy, one usual coming up. Do you want to try a muffin to go with it? On the house, between you and me.”

Mika looked like he was considering it and for a moment Yuu’s hopes were rising, rising higher- “Thank you for the offer, but I already ate. Just the coffee, please.” And down those hopes fell, dashed against the rocks and crumpled like wretched Lucifer, cast from Heaven into the pits of hell.

“Sure thing. Give me a shot if you need a refill.”

“Will do.” Mika smiled at him, paid, and pottered off to go take a seat.

Yuu watched him go, noticing that he was wearing thigh-high boots what the fuck that wasn’t fair. That was illegal, that had to be illegal.

“Uh, sir? Sir? Can I order now?” Someone rang the bell and Yuu snapped back to reality, looking at the man in the- what the fuck was that a fucking cat? It looked like this man had lopped off the skull of a white tiger and mounted it on his head what the actual fuck. Yuu really hoped it was fake, he desperately fucking prayed.

Okay, goodbye Mika, hello Crazy Customer of the Day #309.

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

“Afternoon, Mika, the usual?” Yuu grinned at him, the café a bit quieter than usual. Maybe this time he could get a good conversation in while making Mika’s coffee.

“Yep, and also an English Breakfast tea, no sugars. I hope that’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all. You meeting a friend here?” He hoped it wasn’t a date. His attempts to try give Mika his number through shitty pick-up lines could not be foiled so easily.

“You could say that.” Mika smiled cheerfully, offering his card. “On debit, please.”

“No prob. He here yet?” Yuu looked around, not spotting any new faces.

“He said he’d be by in a few minutes. I’m surprised there’s not a rush, normally this place is quite busy. I thought getting a table would be harder.” Mika looked quite concerned at that.

Yuu waved it off as he finished putting in the docket. “It’s pre-midterms week. Everyone’s panic-studying, ordering pizza in, all that stuff.”

Mika chuckled. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m on top of my studies then, or else I might have had to miss out on the best coffee on campus.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” Yuu shot him a finger gun and a wink, before wondering if he’d overdone it. Luckily, Mika seemed to find it hilarious by how his smile went supernova and his laugh bubbled out of him.

“Definitely not. Thanks again.” Mika placed some coins in the tip jar before he went to the booth he always tried to sit at, pulling out his phone once he sat down.

Yuu watched him go and set to work on making the drinks, wondering if he should try make a food platter. Counterpoint to him trying to woo Mika through good food was the fact that Kimizuki was a snotty bitch who would kill him if he gave out even more free food, crushes be damned.

And yeah, Yuu could totally throw down with Kimizuki, but Mitsuba would tattle about it if there was a fight and he’d probably lose his job.

He’d just have to make it the best damn coffee in existence.

He was halfway through making the tea when a man walked in, and Yuu had to stop and stare for a sec because while yes, he was very fucking gay for Mika, he still had eyes.

It was when the total hunk sat down in front of Mika that Yuu felt his bout of ‘he’s pretty’ turn into entirely rational jealousy. Was Mika dating this guy? It took a special kind of hotness to pull off a braid and dyed bangs, Yuu could admit.

He put on his customer service smile as he carried the drinks over, rampant envy broiling in his veins. He set drinks down, being extra delicate and polite with Mika’s coffee and blanking out the other guy entirely. “here you go, Mika. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks. Crowley, this is Yuu, the barista I mentioned. Yuu, this is my dad, Crowley.”

Yuu practically heard the record scratch sound. Dad?

His next thought was along the lines of ‘oh thank god, Mika’s still possibly available’, and he was starting to realise he may be desperate. “Nice to meet you, Crowley.”

“You too,” Crowley grinned back with a touch of a British accent curling around the words, red eyes twinkling in amusement. “Thanks for the cuppa, luv.”

Yuu nodded before tuning him out again and giving another smile to Mika, going around to clear some other tables and already plotting his next move. Fingerguns and winks were now on the table. Mhuahahahaha.

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

“So, Mika, how’s the photography?” Yuu struck up a conversation as he cleared away the latte glass, taking advantage of the restaurant’s quiet to try and kickstart a deep meaningful conversation that he was absolutely going to fill with stupid jokes.

“it’s going well,” Mika smiled, saving the photoshop file on the screen. Clearly he’d lost a file once by accident and saved every program with the vigour of a spartan warrior ever since. “Are you interested in photography?”

“Actually, I’m studying psychology,” Yuu grinned. “Gonna go for a masters if I can once I’m done with this, then eventually you’ll have to address me as Dr Yuichiro.”

Mika’s smile sharpened slightly. “A PhD, huh?”

“Thinking about it.” He shrugged, trying to look humble when he was anything but.

“I think Dr Yuichiro’s got a good ring to it,” Mika smiled slyly, and oh no that wasn’t fair he was not allowed to make it sound so sexy.

“You’re the first. Kimizuki said I shouldn’t be allowed near people,” he grinned.

“And you work the register?” Mika laughed.

“Used to work in the back ‘til Narumi up and ditched us to ‘follow his dreams’,” Yuu told him conspiratorially. “I’m the only one of the kitchen staff who can reliably not scare away customers, so I got shunted here.”

“Maybe I should thank Narumi then, if he got me such a good barista,” Mika smiled. “You’re not scary at all.”

“How dare you, I’m terrifying,” he joked.

Mika scoffed, sapphire eyes sparkling. “As terrifying as my cat.”

Yuu let out a theatrical gasp, balancing his tray on one hand as he clutched his heart. “I think I liked you better when you were a polite customer.”

Mika blinked innocently at him, a challenge curling at the edges of his toothy grin. “Am I not anymore? Shame.”

What a brat. Yuu smirked at him in answer. “Well, I can’t be rude to customers, so I’m legally required to say no.”

“Only legally? Not morally?” Mika rested his chin in his hands as he leaned forward on the table, his photoshop file left entirely forgotten.

“Morally I can say whatever the hell I want as long as it’s not said in front of consumers.” Yuu winked.

“I guess you’re treading on thin ice right now, huh?” Mika bit his lip in affected concern, a prominent pearly canine catching for a moment, and Yuu’s mind went fucking blank. “Best be careful then. I wouldn’t want my favourite barista to go jobless. Right, Yuu-chan?~”

“R-right.” Yuu stuttered for a moment as he tried and failed to come up with literally any kind of flirty remark in reply, getting zero zilch zip from his flatscreening brain. Head empty no thoughts. “I’ll get you a refill, then?”

Mika’s smile screamed ‘cat who caught the canary’. “Don’t keep me waiting, Yuu-chan.”

He nodded and scampered back behind the counter, taking a minute to settle his racing heart. He heard a tapping sound and looked at the overpass into the kitchen, Kimizuki rapping a spatula on the counter.

“You’re pathetic.” Kimizuki’s scornful gaze was only amplified by the glasses he wore.

Yuu flipped him off. Fuck Kimizuki.

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

Yuu steeled his nerve as Mika walked in, refusing to let his crush pull one over on him again. Shinoa hadn’t let up since Kimizuki had told her, and Yuu was getting real tired of every whipcrack hand motion she was sending his way.

Mika smiled very innocently as he walked up to the counter, blue eyes bright and oh-so-breathtaking. “Hello, Yuu-chan.”

Little bastard.

“Good to see you too, Mika,” he grinned, resting his elbows on the counter. “Here for your usual, or are you thinking of switching it up?”

“Hm,” Mika tilted his head like he was considering it. “Now that you mention it, maybe I should try something out. How about something a little sweeter this time, Yuu-chan?”

“I think you’re sweet enough already,” Yuu flirted cheesily, watching Mika’s eyes widen a touch. That’s right, he could flirt too. All that ‘Yuu-chan’ business had no power over him now. “But sure, hit me up with what you want to try.”

Mika’s eyes sparkled delightfully, a challenge in his smile. “What’s your poison, then?”

Yuu raised a brow. “Well, I’m a black coffee kind of guy-”

“Because you grind so fine?” Mika interrupted him, like he didn’t just say the sexy pick up line for Yuu.

He gave Mika a Look, Mika merely batting his eyes back at him. “Double shot, nothing extra.” Maybe a bit of hazelnut when he really needed a pick-me-up. “That’s my coffee.”

“A ‘keep me up til two AM’ kind of guy, I like that.” Mika snickered.

“Stop it,” Yuu cautioned. Only he was allowed to use terrible puns like that.

“Make me,” Mika downright dared him, leaning over the counter a little more.

Yuu grabbed his chin and looked him in the eye, a spark of victory gleaming in his emerald gaze. “Keep it up and we’ll see where it gets you, gorgeous.”

Mika’s pupils dilated.

Yuu smirked at him and let go, picking up the docket sheet. “So, coffee order? You’re holding up the line, babe.”

Mika beamed, a smile like spun sunshine. “You know what, I think I’ll go for my usual after all. But maybe next time I’ll be a bit more daring.”

“Sure you will.” Yuu winked at him. “Later, beautiful.”

Mika laughed as he went to his favourite booth, Yuu internally high-fiving himself as he went. That went excellently.

Okay. Next time he’d ask him out. Next time for sure.

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

Today was the day. It was absolutely the day. Today for sure.

He handed Mika his coffee, got ready to say ‘I love you give me your number’, and chickened out when he realised that was absolutely not the way to ask and would instead plant him straight in ‘ultra creep’ territory.

Next week. Next week for sure.

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

Yuu looked up from wiping down the counter, groaning as Shinoa came in. “Aren’t you meant to be on your day off?”

“Well, yes,” Shinoa smiled far too innocently, and Yuu’s hackles went up with suspicion. “But my dearest friend has been telling me ALL about his new favourite café, so I had to come by and see it.”

“Shinoa, you work here.” Yuu glared at her.

“He doesn’t know that,” she smirked, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I never say names, my darling Yuu.”

“I never agreed to you calling me that.”

“I don’t care.” She swanned up to the counter, propping herself up on her hands and tiptoes. Yuu scowled as she smeared her hands all over the area he’d literally just wiped clean. “Now gimme free coffee.”

“Fuck off. Employee discount only and even then I’m debating making you pay full price.”

“You’re so mean,” she pouted. “And when I’m buying for my friend as well. I think you’d like him, as much as a big meanie like you can like anyone.”

“I like people, I’m not Kimizuki,” he rolled his eyes. “Who’s your damn friend?”

“Oh, you might know him.” Her evil grin came back full-force, making her look downright demented. “Why don’t we see if you can guess from his order?”

“Do you know how many customers we have?” Yuu snapped a tea towel at her hands. “Hands off the counter, you’re probably infested with something.”

“Boo you.” She huffed and raised her hands, twiddling her fingers as she did. “Anyway, I want a multi-mega mocha milkshake with extra sprinkles and four shots of coffee. Oh! And whipped cream. Lots of it.”

“You’re going to die from a caffeine overdose and I will film it.” He wiped the counter down again out of spite.

“Maybe so, but at least I’ll die not hopelessly pining for some boy who takes, oh, what was it now?” She tapped her chin, looking deep in thought. He didn’t buy it for a second, especially not when she turned a vicious smile onto him. “Oh, right, skinny vanilla latte. Large.”

He wondered what the hell kind of expression he made that had her cackling like the wicked witch she was. “You gotta be joking.”

“Nope, and remember, on the cup for that one, my friend’s name is Mik-ae-la~” She sounded out the name, taking too much joy in it. “And make it fast, sweetcheeks, he’s going to be here soon.”

“I hate you with every blood cell in my body.”

“Make sure to put one of your cute little pick-up lines on that now,” she winked. “I’ve been reading them whenever I take out the trash. You’re so desperate it’s cute. Now shoo shoo, make me coffee, coffee man.” She flicked a hand at him, revelling in the power that a customer had. Shit like this was why she was banned from interacting with the general public at work.

“Sure thing. I’ll bring your drinks out to you,” he forced out through a smile, teeth grinding together as he gritted them. His eye may have twitched. He wasn’t sure.

She twirled around and skipped to her seat, spinning her favourite little trinket in her hand and making the green and orange lights on it flare up like she was at a rave. He tried to stare a hole through the back of her head before he set about making her the drinks she ordered.

Mika. Mika was friends with Shinoa. It was a testament to how in love he was with that guy that knowing Mika willingly hung out with Shinoa did not become an immediate turn off. He liked her too, sure, for whatever was left of his sanity’s sake, but she was still a pain.

He heard the little bell above the door jingle and glanced up, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Mika waving at him. “Hey Yuu,” Mika grinned, sounding way too proud of himself.

“Hey Mika,” he smiled back, unable to stop himself from getting all soppy at the edges. “Skinny vanilla?”

“You bet,” he winked at Yuu and sauntered off to sit with Shinoa, the two of them immediately starting up some sort of gossipy conversation judging by the hand motions and expressions.

He looked down at the drinks he was plating up, took a deep breath, and furiously scribbled a puntastic pick-up line and his number on the napkin under Mika’s coffee. This was it. He was going to do it.

“I am not a coward,” he muttered to himself, picking up the tray and carrying it over. “That was a multi-mega mocha milkshake with quadruple shots, extra whip, and sprinkles, and a large skinny vanilla latte?”

“She’s having the deathshake.” Mika pointed at Shinoa, who fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“No problem.” Yuu set the drinks down, trying to ignore how he could hear his heartbeat thundering in his eardrums like the bass beat of a good metal concert, keeping on a smile that was at this point reserved only for Mika. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do,” Mika reached for a packet of sugar and dumped it into his coffee, picking up his spoon before his hand froze, sapphire eyes tracing over the wickerscratch handwriting on the napkin.

Are you an espresso? Because you’re a shot to my heart. Call me?

Mika blinked up at him, Yuu frozen in place with the sort of calm that only came from blasting beyond panic and landing in the cool grey apathy of total nerve-ridden shutdown.

Shinoa snorted, the sound snapping Yuu out of his quiet reverie. “Uh- I mean, unless you want to kinda- not to be a creep or anything, but we could-” he paused when Mika put a finger over his lips.

Mika’s smile was soft as silk. “I like movies?”

“Movies. Right. I’m off at eight?” No way no way no way-

“Eight sounds great,” Mika’s grin became a bit toothier. “I’ll meet you out front?”

“It’s a date?” Yuu smiled hopefully.

Mika grabbed the front of his apron and kissed his cheek. “You bet it is.”

“Great!” He gave him a thumbs up, practically floating back towards the counter with a sunshine smile all his own.

He heard Kimizuki scoff from the overpass at him. “What coffee shop fanfiction bullshit is this?”

Yuu ignored him, too happy to even care. Best workshift ever.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 1: Bad To The Bone]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist! :)

This kid is going to be the death of me.

“Eli Fitzgerald Hardy, DO NOT drop that frog!” The words launch from your throat like loosed arrows. Do you sound scary, commanding, authoritarian? You hope so.  

His defiant glare glints wildly beneath dark russet curls. His lips twist into a maniacal grin, revealing small white teeth. His grip noticeably loosens around the wriggling green frog. Maisy, paralyzed by fear, is wide-eyed and whimpering softly in her chair. Eli is standing, looming over her. The room is unnervingly silent as the other students watch in horror.

“Eli, don’t!” you plead.

It’s too late. The frog tumbles from his opened hand. The panicked amphibian lands in Maisy’s frizzy red hair and instantly becomes tangled there. Maisy is screaming, you are screaming, everyone is screaming. Well...everyone but Eli. He points and cackles as you sprint to Maisy’s side and try to pull the frog out of her hair.

“Honey, don’t cry, it’s going to be okay!” you shout over the children’s shrieks as Maisy sobs, her face a frantic shade of pink, her freckled cheeks glistening with tears. At last you manage to free the frog, swiftly carry it to the open window, and let it leap from your palm into the bushes. You wipe your hands on your skirt, your brand new skirt, the skirt now marred with tears and amphibian slime and muddy frog footprints. And have I mentioned that you fucking hate frogs?

“It...was...on...my...HEAD!” Maisy heaves, waving her hands in disgust. The other children are trying to comfort her.

“Maisy, sweetheart, the frog is all gone now. Here, let me fix your hair for you...”

You get Maisy cleaned up and settle the class. Then you turn to your worst nightmare, your arch nemesis, the smug lurking face that keeps you up at night. He’s smiling in the shadowy corner of the room by the coat closet, prowling there like a wolf.

“Eli, come over here please.”

“Yes Miss Teacher.”

“I do have a name,” you say, but halfheartedly. No matter how many times you’ve introduced yourself since the school year started three weeks ago, the students always lapse back into calling you Miss Teacher. One of the many hazards of first grade.

Eli obediently approaches, but his smile never dies.

“Now, that was a very unkind thing you just did to poor Maisy. We don’t want to scare our friends. And we don’t want to bring outside animals into the classroom. They could have germs, or they could bite someone—”

“Frogs don’t have teeth,” Eli points out astutely.

You sigh. “Be that as it may, we cannot drop frogs on our friends. And I think Maisy would really appreciate an apology. Isn’t that one of our class rules, making sure we apologize if we hurt our friends’ feelings?”

You turn to the other students for support, and they nod enthusiastically.

“Can you do that for me and Maisy, Eli?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Maisy, I’m sorry I dropped the frog on your head.”

“That’s alright,” she replies, wiping her drying eyes. Such a prodigiously sweet child. They hug, the conflict seemingly forgotten. But Eli shoots you a mischievous smirk; he may have Maisy fooled, but you’re a bit shrewder. He’s not really all that sorry, and he’s likely already planning his next act of terror.

After you escort the kids to art class, you sit behind your desk and flip through the emergency contact notecards until you find Eli’s. The first person listed is his father. This is unusual; mothers are almost always the primary contact, especially in this neighborhood. Trophy wives stay home with the babies, dads trot off to their law firms or production companies to rake in the six-figure salaries, those are the unwritten rules. But dad is first on Eli’s card: Benjamin Whitaker Hardy. Actually, there’s no mother listed at all. You drum your fingers thoughtfully on the desk.

You dial Mr. Hardy’s number with your iPhone. It rings, but no one answers. At the tone, you leave a message.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy.” Benjamin Whitaker Hardy, what a pretentious fucking name, he’s a too-important-to-deal-with-his-own-kid corporate desk job guy for sure. “This is Miss Y/L/N, Eli’s teacher here at Dolphin Cove Elementary. I’ve been wanting to speak with you regarding some of Eli’s behavior in class, and I haven’t had much luck with the notes I’ve sent home.” Probably because Eli’s trashing them or burning them or casting voodoo spells with them or whatever demons-in-training do. “I’m hoping we can connect sometime soon and find a solution that works for everyone.” Perhaps an exorcism? “I look forward to hearing from you! Goodbye for now.”

You hang up, sip your Coke Zero, and check your watch. You have fifteen minutes of freedom remaining. You glance out the window to see if the frog is still in the bushes. Blessedly, there’s no sign of it.

After art is reading and writing, then it’s time for the kiddos to go home. You make sure no one forgets their folders or backpack as you corral your class into a semi-orderly line and follow them out to the pickup area. Buses and cars wait patiently as students trickle out of the building and scramble to the vehicle doors, shouting excitedly about the events of the day. “Mommy, I got a gold star in social studies!” “Nana, I had pizza for lunch!” “Mom, Maisy got a FROG dropped on her head!”

Winston—a shy, gentle boy with huge black-rimmed glasses and chubby arms full of library books—stumbles as he sprints for his bus. “Ow!” he moans, spilling his books across the sidewalk, clutching his left knee.

“Uh oh! Win, dear, let me help you.”

You rush to the boy’s side, lift him upright, and brush the dust off his pants. Oh fuck, if he goes home scraped and dirty I’m going to catch hell from the nanny. As you kneel next to Winston, there are footsteps behind you, and then a deep, unfamiliar voice.

“Hi, hello, sorry, Miss Y/L/N...?”

The mysterious voice is jarring: British, sophisticated, impossibly smooth. You are frozen for a moment, then you whirl and rise to your feet. He’s young, really young. Far too young to be a parent in a district where most people don’t start having kids until their late-thirties. He’s blond, green-eyed, fit. And he doesn’t look anything like an attorney or film producer. He looks like a goddamn J.Crew model. Wait, what did he say? Oh yeah, my name.

“Yes, I, uh...that’s me!”

He’s restless, shifting his weight from foot to foot, wearing an expertly-tailored black suit, impatient, arrogant even. “I think you left me a message earlier. I’m Eli’s dad.”

You blink at him. “You’re...his father? Not his tutor? Not the nanny?”

Benjamin Whitaker Hardy narrows his eyes at you. “No.”

“Oh.” This is not going quite the way you’d planned. “I’m sorry, I just...he doesn’t have an accent, and there’s not much of a resemblance, I didn’t make the connection. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“Yeah, he takes after his mother.” Mr. Hardy peers irritably around the pickup area, his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. He’s clearly inconvenienced by this conversation. “Sorry I couldn’t pick up my phone earlier, I was at a...” He waves his hand flippantly. “A work thing.”

You find your words in a rush: “Well I wanted to speak to you because your son is clearly extremely gifted and highly intelligent, but he caught a frog at recess and then dropped in on a classmate’s head and it was all pretty traumatizing for the girl, and he has an unfortunate habit of doing things like this, on Monday he tried to glue Winston to his chair, and last week he told Brayden that hamsters don’t go to heaven when they die and Brayden was inconsolable for hours, and then there was the time—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him.”

That’s all? Really?! “Mr. Hardy, I don’t mean to be overbearing, but this is quite a persistent problem and I’ve been hoping to speak with you at length about it and I really think it warrants a more detailed discussion—”

“Right,” he cuts you off in that posh British accent. “I actually have to run, but I’ll be in touch.”

I bet you will be. “Look, Mr. Hardy...” You lose your manners, just for a second. “I’m sure you’re a very busy man—there are lots of fantastically important people in this city—but you’re also a father. And I get the sense that your son is dealing with some very serious challenges at home that are causing him to act out here. I can’t fix that alone. I need your help.”

Mr. Hardy stares at you, stunned, simmering. Eli bolts out of the throng of students and collides into his father’s suit-clad legs, clasping them and giggling. “Hey, buddy!” Mr. Hardy gushes in a strikingly tender tone, ruffling Eli’s hair. Then, incredibly, his face softens as his jade eyes flick back up to you. “I get it. You have a job to do. And I bet you’re pretty great at it.”

He extends his hand, which is strong and perfect and meticulously manicured.

“Ben,” he offers.

“Y/N,” you reply, shell-shocked, as you grasp his hand.

“I really do have to rush off, though,” he says apologetically, already turning towards a black Lexus.

“Okay. Yeah. We’ll chat soon.”

“Cheers.”

You watch as Ben and Eli jog to the Lexus, disappear inside, and speed off, weaving hazardously through minivans and Land Rovers and buses. You tap your shoes—electric blue flats—against the sidewalk, pondering as laughing children breeze by.

“Awesome,” you whisper to yourself. “The dad is probably a demon too.”