#and i think i tossed out the paper towel without realizing the teeth were still wrapped up

[practically-an-x-man]

not me JUST now realizing that I completely forgot about the teeth I had sculpted for my mask prop and I may have accidentally tossed them when i cleaned up the studio

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Turn Your Luck

Summary: After a day filled with bad luck and a series of unfortunate events, Natasha manages to turn your day around

Pairing: Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: None

Words: 6,167

When you woke up in the morning and smacked your big toe off your bed frame, you didn't even think twice of it. It sent a jolt all throughout your foot, but after a few swear words, you were already feeling a little better. You didn't bother making the bed you'd just stood up out of. All your life you'd reasoned that it wouldn't be 24 hours before you just messed it up again. You grabbed a towel and moved into the bathroom. The hot shower made you forget all about the sore toe you'd been sporting only a moment earlier.

You were feeling great when you stepped out of the shower. The warm water had always instilled comfort into your very bones even this early in the morning. You wiped some of the condensation off the mirror to brush your teeth. The tube of toothpaste was completely empty, and the drawer where you usually kept the new ones was also barren. You rolled your eyes at your own irresponsibility, before brushing your teeth without any toothpaste and then using some mouthwash to try and compensate for it. You stepped out of the bathroom.

You got dressed in your favourite white shirt and black pants before making your way into the kitchen. You tossed your phone onto the counter as you passed it on the way to the small kitchen table. You were after the fruit bowl, which was already needing a refill. There were still a few apples left, though, and you were expecting to have one for breakfast. You were mistaken. You pulled the empire apple out of the blue bowl to find the bottom had grown immensely soft and was clearly not in any condition to be eaten. You were disappointed but tossed it into the compost bin and moved on.

Humming a soft tune as you moved, you popped a pod into the single-serve coffee maker and pressed start. You were moving toward the fridge in no time when a strange noise caught your attention. You whirled to face the coffee maker. Instead of the steady stream of coffee you usually got, it was spraying the hot liquid like it was a shaken pop can. You jumped behind the small island, using it as a shield. Thankfully, you'd managed to keep your white shirt safe from the wrath of the coffee. When it stopped, you finally dared step back into the kitchen. The dark liquid was dripping down every nearby surface. You huffed, running some paper towel across the biggest surfaces quickly.

You gave up on the coffee. It seemed you weren't going to get it anyway. You glared at the machine as if it had intentionally smitten you. Instead, you reached into the fridge instead and poured a glass of orange juice for yourself. You sipped it before setting it back onto the countertop. When your phone buzzed and indicated an incoming message, you reached for it. Your elbow hit your glass and it fell onto its side. The orange liquid spilled off the counter and into your white shirt. You gave the mess the middle finger, tossing a dishtowel on it to soak it up, with the intention of actually cleaning it after work. You already had to clean the coffee up anyway.

Any attempt at breakfast was abandoned. After the three kitchen incidents combined, you were convinced you'd be better off heading to some drive-thru on the way to work. Now in a new blue shirt, you grabbed your bag and headed out your front door. You unlocked your car, slid into the driver's seat, and hit the ignition. The car sputtered for a few seconds, before refusing to start. You tried again, and then again, before groaning, taking out your frustration on the steering wheel in front of you. You stood up and stepped back out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind you with much more force than necessary.

Then, it was off to the bus stop. You headed down the sidewalk to the nearest one, pulling out your phone as you walked so you could check your app to find out when the next bus was coming. When you saw big red letters informing you that the bus was halted until further notice, though, you had to refrain from throwing your phone hard into the concrete. You supposed you should have had a little sympathy for those in the accident that had halted your bus, but you couldn't find it in yourself right then. Your morning was not going well.

It was a good thing you hadn't smashed your phone against the sidewalk. It was the only thing you could use to get you to work now. You switched apps and ordered an Uber to come to pick you up. When the driver arrived, you climbed into the back seat and gave him the address of your place of work. He nodded and pressed his foot down on the gas. Your eyes had been glued on your phone, but your gaze flickered at the driver's movement. He was adjusting the mirror and you were absolutely sure he'd angled it to face you a little better. You could have puked when you realized the creep was checking you out. You didn't say anything, at this point just wanting to get to work and be done with it.

You practically sprinted into the building when you arrived. Security didn't seem to mind your rush, having seen your face every day for over three years anyway. You hopped up the stairs two at a time, faster than the elevator would have been able to carry you anyway. When you reached the meeting room door you took a few seconds to catch your breath, not wanting to seem too flustered in your professional environment. When you finally pushed the door open, everyone was rising to their feet. Their eyes all darted up to glance at you. You smiled sheepishly.

"You're late."

"I know, I'm sorry." That was honest. You might have been frustrated, but you hadn't wanted to inconvenience any of your coworkers as well. "I've really had a rough morning."

Your boss nodded. "We've all had those days. I'll send you an email and give you a summary."

You thanked him and left the meeting room with everyone else. You trudged into your office, throwing your bag to the floor, and refraining from slamming the door behind you. You collapsed into your office chair and closed your eyes for a brief moment. But you didn't have time for that. The paperwork on your desk needed your attention. You gave it. The hours you spent on all the files, emails, and documents were the smoothest thing that had happened all day, even if it was mind-numbingly boring and felt absolutely endless. It might have been smooth sailing, but it didn't brighten your spirits at all.

When your phone rang, you reached out blindly until you felt your hand come in contact with it. You shuffled it until it was upright in your hand. You were so completely absorbed in the document that was displayed on your computer screen that you didn't even bother to look at your phone as you fumbled to slide the answer bar. Only when the incessant ringing had finally ceased did you know you'd successfully answered the call. You hesitated before you slowly raised the phone to your ear, eyes still scanning the lines in front of you.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Hun."

Immediately you regretted not checking the caller ID before answering the phone. You could have kicked yourself. In fact, the move was so ridiculously and incredibly stupid that you could have beaten yourself to a pulp. The voice on the other end of the line was familiar, completely unwelcome, and not a surprise after having the day that you were having. You turned away from the screen, resting your elbow on the desk and massaging the migraine that was beginning to form in your forehead. You sighed heavily, sure she heard it.

"Hi," you stated. "What?"

"Hun-"

"Please stop calling me that, I already asked you."

You had asked her that. Multiple times. You'd broken up months ago after she'd broken your heart. Catching her in bed with someone else had left you shattered and unsure if you could trust anyone. You'd been okay for a couple months now after some comfort and reassurance from your best friend, who you were having dinner with tonight. You glanced at the time. Your attention was unfortunately brought back to the girl on the phone, though, when she sighed your name as if she were the one who was hurt. She had no right to be hurt.

"I just-"

"I'm working," you finally said bluntly. "Is it urgent?"

"No. No, I'm sorry. I... I can call you tomorrow."

You wanted to snap and tell her not to bother, but you didn't. You just nodded despite her not being able to see it, said goodbye, and hung up. Once more you were faced with the urge to smash the stupid phone. Once more you fought it, instead shoving it into a drawer so you could ignore it and work on the mountains of paperwork you had to get through before your six o'clock reservations. You got back to it. Soon enough, the information was able to push your ex far from your mind. You didn't want to think about her anyway.

It felt like it had been eons since you'd arrived at work, and yet, according to the clock in the corner of your screen, you still had over an hour until your reservation. You might have slammed your head down onto the desk in front of you had two things not stopped you. The first was the migraine that was still throbbing in your head, and the second was the ringing of your office phone. Even though you knew she couldn't call you on here, you checked the caller ID before you picked up this time. It was the front desk.

"Hey, Tamara. What's up?

"There's someone here for you. She said you're going to miss your reservations."

"Reservations? It's only 4:45."

Tamara hesitated. "Daylight savings. It's 5:45."

You had entirely forgotten about that and even if you hadn't, you would have expected the computer would auto-update something like that. But you had forgotten, and the computer hadn't jumped forward, and now you were going to be late, and you still hadn't turned in the file that you'd promised to turn in today. You groaned in frustration, but transferred the file to a flash drive, shoved it into your bag, and left your office. Clearly, everyone else had remembered the time change, as the office was empty.

You cursed all of your coworkers in your head. You made for the elevator. When you stepped on and hit the button to bring you down to the lobby, you actually crossed your fingers. With your luck, all of the cables on the elevator would snap and you'd plummet all the way to the parking garage and die in a fiery explosion. Thankfully, your little gesture of luck seemed to work, for the doors slid open safe and sound in the lobby. As you stepped out, though, your bag hit the door, and the company ID snapped off and slipped in that tiny little crack between the elevator and the floor and out of sight. You cursed loudly.

You didn't dare shine your flashlight down the crack to try and see how far it'd gone; either your phone would have gone down after it out the doors would have slammed shut on either side of your skull. Neither of those things were a chance you were willing to take. You abandoned your ID and continued to the front desk, letting Tamara know what had happened. She nodded in understanding before pointing out your best friend, who had come to collect you after you'd let her know this morning that you'd taken an Uber to work. You approached her and tapped her shoulder.

"Hey," she said brightly.

"Hey, Nat."

Natasha Romanoff was the best thing to happen to you all day. She was your very best friend. Too, maybe you wanted her to be a little more. She was the most beautiful woman you'd ever laid eyes on, the red waves on her head only accentuating her emerald green irises, which sparkled when she smiled at you. That was only her physical beauty. Though she was, to most everyone that knew her, a tough, scary Avenger, you knew it was a façade. Natasha was the kindest, most generous, selfless, and caring person you'd ever had the pleasure of knowing.

"Tamara tells me you forgot about daylight saving time started last night."

"Shut up," you grumbled.

"Irritable because you lost an hour of sleep?"

"Nat," you said, already feeling bad for snapping at her. You rubbed your head. "I'm not having the greatest of days."

That was how your friendship with Nat was. You both understood that not every day was a good day. She tried to convince you not to compare, but you especially understood that. Natasha had been through hell on Earth when she was a child and you wished with every fibre of your heart that you could bear some of that for her. But you couldn't, and you were sure that if you could have, she wouldn't let you. So instead, you understood the bad days, and in turn, she did too. When you stated that today was one of those days, she turned to you with concern sparkling in those beautiful eyes.

"You okay?" She asked.

Your heart fluttered when her hand took yours.

It was a friendly gesture, of course, but you couldn't help but wish it otherwise. You wanted to hold her hand and have it not be just as a friend. You wanted to be able to intertwine your fingers with hers and squeeze her hand tight and feel that constant touch against her. You didn't want it to be friendly, you wanted it to be more. You wanted it to be so much more. You wanted to call her yours and for her to call you hers. But she was just a friend, and it was far better than nothing.

You hadn't always believed that someone could fall in love without some sort of a romantic relationship leading up to it. Now you realized it didn't need to be romantic. You and Natasha were close. You were closer than you'd ever been with anyone before. Because of that relationship, you knew you loved her. You were head over heels in love with her at this point, and you'd realized that a little while ago when you caught yourself fondly admiring her as she drummed her fingers against the table, deep in thought. It was a habit that had once had the ability to drive you up the wall.

"Hello?" She tried again. Her hand squeezed yours.

Your stomach flipped. "Yeah. I'm alright. Just waiting for my bad luck to run out."

"What happened?"

"What didn't happen?" You scoffed. "My fruit is all spoiled, my coffee maker broke, I spilled orange juice on my favourite white shirt, my car won't start, my bus wasn't running this morning, my Uber driver was a creep, I missed my meeting, I almost missed our reservations, I lost my ID badge and... she-who-must-not-be-named called."

Natasha's eyes darkened, her hand gripped yours tighter, and her gaze moved to meet yours. You took a chance and swiped your thumb over the back of her hand to try and get her to ease the tension out of her muscles. It seemed to work, as she relaxed a little. Her shoulders moved back down, the crease in her eyebrow lessened, she loosened her grip on your hand and exhaled carefully. She nodded in thanks, green eyes once against soft and gentle as she searched your eyes. You knew she was looking for any hint of you being upset. You weren't, though. You were with her.

Natasha hated your ex-girlfriend about a hundred times more than you did. She'd begged you to let her sneak over to her house at night and slash her tires and egg her house. You'd given that a firm no, not wanting Nat to get in any sort of trouble. It was Natasha's idea to never speak her name again, and to burn a bunch of photos and clothes that were left behind at your house. She'd gone so far as to have the bench you'd once carved your names into removed from the park and replaced with a brand new one... on Tony's Starks card, of course.

"What did she want?"

"Dunno. I told her I was busy," you actually laughed a little for the first time that day. "It wasn't exactly a lie. I was swamped today."

"Hey, if Fury is overworking you, I'll kick his ass."

Imagining Natasha kicking Nicholas Fury's ass was utterly amusing. You had no doubt she could, but Fury was a force. She'd kick his ass and the next day half of S.H.I.E.L.D. would be at her doorstep to retaliate. But he was a good boss. It wasn't his fault you'd procrastinated your own work for days. That was on you, and you knew it. So, you shook your head no, he wasn't overworking you. She seemed satisfied by that, but the topic of your ex wasn't dropped yet.

"Next time she calls you can direct her straight to me."

"Tasha, you won't answer."

"Damn right I won't."

You laughed again. It brought a smile to her face too.

With that, you continued on down the street without another word of she-who-must-not-be-named. You had almost reached the restaurant where Natasha had left the reservations when you stepped on something that most definitely was not concrete. If Natasha hadn't had your hand, your leg sliding out from underneath you would have left you on your ass. She held tight to your hand, her other arm catching you around the waist. You had to force yourself from blushing red as a tomato.

You glanced down at what you'd stepped in and could have punched someone. The white paint that was being used on the storefront had spilled onto the sidewalk and of course, you'd stepped in it in your new, black shoes. You scraped the bottom of it off on the sidewalk, grumbling all the while. Natasha had let go of your hand when you'd tugged it away from her to wipe the excess paint on the side of your shoe onto the post of the 'no parking' sign next to you. It was still ruined, but at least you'd gotten enough off that you wouldn't stain the restaurant's floor.

"You weren't kidding with the bad luck, huh?"

You shook your head no. You motioned onward, though. She got the hint, and you closed the distance between you and the restaurant. You shifted your bag on your shoulder as you stepped in, hoping they wouldn't notice the wet paint you were tracking onto their floors. If you managed in and out without them seeing, you'd be alright. It was New York City. You were sure people had walked in with worse things on the underside of their shoes.

You watched Natasha closely as she gave her name for the reservation. You hated how the host eyed her even more than you hated how your Uber driver had eyed you this morning. You didn't want anyone to eye her like that. You wanted to be the only one allowed to look at her like that. You knew you weren't, though. You ripped your gaze away from where it had been travelling along her jawline just in time for the host to arrive and lead you to your table. You sat across from her, keeping your eyes down and you collected your thoughts.

"What are you having?"

When you looked up, her eyes were trained on you. Her eyes were your absolute favourite part of her. They always shone so brightly, and so clearly expressed whatever she was feeling. They sparkled like they could see into your very soul and were so deep you could get lost in them for hours. Even the colour was perfect. They were that amazing shade of green that had very quickly become your favourite colour. You often found you'd been staring into them for a little longer than what might be considered normal. Now was one of those times. You looked back down at the menu.

"I'm not sure. Definitely a drink," you hummed. "Though I might get poisoned."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think your luck is so bad that your assassin will choose to poison you today."

No, because she would protect you from anything. She always had. You might have been a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and perfectly capable of protecting yourself, but she was always stepping in front of you to defend you. You couldn't say you minded. You liked having her at your back. Some people had a physical location where they felt safe. You didn't. Natasha Romanoff was your safe place. When you were with her, you felt like nothing in the world could touch you. She wouldn't let anything hurt you, and you wouldn't let anything hurt her.

Soon enough the waitress was stepping up to your table and taking your order. You gave yours first, opting for a simple fettuccine alfredo. Natasha gave hers, unaware of the way you watched her lips moving as she talked. When the waitress left and she looked back to you, your eyes were cast toward the window, watching a young couple pass by, huddled close together in the cool March evening. When she called for your attention and you gave it immediately, looking over to her. She sipped her wine as you did.

"You said your car wouldn't start?" She said.

"Yeah. It keeps sputtering on and on."

"I'll drive you home and take a look at it tonight. I know a thing or two about cars."

It was a good thing she did, because you knew absolutely nothing about what was going on under the hood of the car. All you could think was that maybe the battery had died on you, but that wasn't possible. If you'd left the lights on, you would have been able to see it through the window in your bedroom the night previous, and you hadn't. There was no other reason the battery could have been drained. You'd driven the car yesterday from your house to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York location. You might not have known what the hell was wrong, but Natasha would figure it out in seconds. The thought of her bent over to study the underside of the hood made you shiver.

The image was pushed from your mind when the waitress returned with your food. She placed your pasta down in front of you and you thanked her politely. She set Natasha's down as well. The redhead smiled widely and after double-checking that everything was alright, the server left the two of you to your dinner. Natasha glanced up at you, a very amused smile playing on her lips. You knew exactly what it was about, too. You'd gotten the wrong order and said absolutely nothing of it. Honestly, you didn't really care. At this point in the day, you just wanted to eat.

"You could've said something," Natasha teased.

"It's nothing. I'm hungry and this is just as good."

"We can still say something."

"It's fine," you assured.

"Let's stop and buy you a couple hundred good luck charms on the way back to your place."

You laughed aloud.

Dinner was good, despite having gotten the wrong order. You suspected that was due to Natasha's presence. The two of you had been exchanging stores of the craziest missions you'd ever gone on. Of course, she was winning. She was an Avenger. Your missions as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent were anything but boring, but they didn't compare to the alien invasion last year that Natasha had been at the heart of. You'd been helping from the edges of the city, evacuating civilians and the like, but you suspected she'd killed hundred more of the Chitauri than you did: one.

Before long you'd both finished, and the empty plates were cleared away. The server returned to you with the bill. You made sure your card was out before Natasha could even think about trying to pay. They collected your card, and you gave Natasha a very smug little smirk. She only rolled her eyes and thanked you softly. You thought all was said and done when the server returned. You prepared to leave but she shook her head, signalling you to stop what you were doing. She reached out, handing you your card back. You took it.

"I'm afraid the transaction isn't going through."

It seemed that your bad luck had struck again. You were fully confident that there was enough money in your account. There had been last night when you'd checked it, anyway. Either you'd had the misfortune of your card deciding to kick the bucket while you tried to buy dinner for Natasha, or even worse, someone had gotten into your bank account and cleared it out. That thought made your heart drop into your stomach as you reached for your phone, hardly noticing Natasha pulling out her own credit card this time.

You prayed for one tiny bit of luck today. Your prayers went unanswered. You logged into your online banking to find that someone had managed to get your credit card number and had been online shopping all day. Your card had long hit its limit and you were already dreading the phone call you were about to have with the bank. You huffed as you set your phone down roughly on the tabletop. Natasha glanced over at you as the server took her card this time. She raised an eyebrow. You were sure smoke was billowing from your ears.

"Luck isn't turning yet?"

You didn't answer that. "Thanks for dinner, Natasha."

She laughed. When the server returned her card and wished you both a good evening, she took your hand and dragged you back out the doors onto the noisy streets of New York. She was leading you back to S.H.I.E.L.D., where you knew she must have left her bike. When you got there, she scanned her ID and brought you both down into the parking garage. She brought you right to the motorbike and lifted the helmet off from where it was hanging on the handlebars. She reached out and set it on your head, doing it up underneath your chin. Her fingers brushed your skin as she worked at the straps.

"Normally I would never condone riding without a helmet, but I only have one. This head," she said, rapping her knuckles twice against the helmet on your head. "Is much more important than mine."

"Is not," you laughed. "There's hundreds of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but there's only six Avengers."

"And there's only one you," she insisted. "The helmet stays on that pretty little head of yours, and that's final."

That compliment seemed to awaken the butterflies in your stomach. They were still present when you both climbed onto the bike. They fluttered even more when Natasha told you to put your arms around her and hold tight. You could have stayed like this forever if she'd asked you to. You almost wanted her to ask you to, because you loved the ways your arms fit perfectly around her waist. Facing forward, she wasn't able to see the smile that was growing on your lips. Maybe all that bad luck was to make up for this.

Reluctantly, you took your arms off from around her when she pulled into your driveway. She put the kickstand down and took the helmet once you'd pulled it off and handed it back to her. You straightened out your hair a little bit in the reflection of your car window. Wordlessly, Natasha had moved to the hood of your car and tapped on the red paint to get your attention. You unlocked the car and popped the hood for her. She unhooked the latch and lifted it up, studying the inside carefully. That scene you'd been picturing earlier was coming true before your eyes.

"Start the car for me?"

You nodded. You dropped your bag on the doorstep, digging through the pockets until your hand had closed around your car keys. You withdrew them by tugging on the dinosaur keychain that Natasha had once given you after winning it at the arcade, where you'd spent hours at all the different games. You slid into the front seat, turning on the car when Natasha gave you the thumbs up. The car sputtered loudly. Then it made a sound you might have mistaken for a gunshot. The backfire nearly made you jump out of your seat. You quickly got out.

"You alright, Nat?"

"I'm good," she nodded. She moved away from the car. "It's probably just your spark plugs. When's the last time you had them replaced?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Hell if I know. I drop it off for a tune-up and expect them to tune it up."

Natasha laughed. "I'll grab some tomorrow and replace them for you."

You nodded. You watched as she reached up and grabbed the hood of the car, closing it again. She rubbed her hands against her pants. You clicked a button on your car keys, locking the doors. The lights flashed to indicate that it was indeed secured. You fiddled with the keys in your hand to get the house key out, opening your mouth to invite Natasha in as well, but found you couldn't find the golden key. You growled at nothing and dug through every pocket in your bag to see if it had fallen off in there, but there was no trace of it.

"My house key is missing."

Natasha actually laughed at this. "Did you walk under a ladder this morning? Spill the salt? Break a mirror?"

You glared at her. "Can you help me get in through a window?"

She nodded. You both moved around to one of the windows that you'd left open last night, after telling her you weren't sure you had locked it when you shut it this morning. Indeed, she found that once you'd removed the screen, she was able to slide the window open. You linked your fingers together to make a spot for Natasha to use for leverage. You boosted her through the open window and then moved back to the front door just as you heard the deadbolt slide out of place.

"My hero," you grinned as she opened the door. "I owe you a drink. Come on."

"I still have to drive home."

"Stay the night," you offered. "If you don't, I could very well just get murdered tonight."

Natasha laughed. "Well, I'd better stay and make sure you're okay, then."

You smacked her gently. She knew her way around your small bungalow well, having visited what could have easily been a million times. She made herself at home on the couch, tossing her leather jacket beside her. You moved into the kitchen, only paying half a glance at the towels you'd thrown over the two spilled beverages. You poured the both of you a drink and then brought them into the living room, kicking back on the couch beside her. You grabbed the remote, clicking the TV on. The screen lit up the room. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the beautiful face beside you that had been illuminated. You turned back to the screen.

"I can put Netflix on," you said, pressing a button. "What do you want to watch?"

"Can I test your luck?"

"What?" You responded, turning your full attention to her.

She didn't offer an explanation. You felt her hand touch your thigh. Your breath hitched and the remote almost fell to the floor. You managed to set it down on the table as your cheeks began to burn red. She left her hand there for a few seconds before it slid away, letting you take a moment to remember how to breathe. Her hand moved away and wrapped around her glass. You knew how obvious you were being when you watched her touch the rim to her lips and the slight movements in her neck as she swallowed the alcohol. You needed a drink too, but you were frozen.

"I just mean... I could either turn your luck around or just maintain the bad luck."

You still didn't know what she meant. She was setting her glass down on the coffee table. Her eyes searched yours and you were once again tossed into the sea of green that you were so obsessed with. When she leaned forward and connected your lips, though, you lost sight of emerald green. Her eyes had shut and only a second later, yours had fluttered shut as well. You put a hand on the back of her neck to hold her closer and moved your lips with hers. You wondered briefly if you were dreaming. You didn't have long with your thoughts. Your mind was so overcome with whatever was happening right now.

Natasha pulled back. Her hand had, at some point, moved back onto your thigh, and was resting there gently. Your hand moved to cover it. She flipped hers over so that her fingers could intertwine with yours and for the first time, it didn't feel like it was just in a friendly manner. It felt so much more than that, just liked you'd wanted it to. Your eyes moved from there up to her face. She had been studying you intently. You'd never seen Natasha Romanoff look nervous. Not until that very moment. You chuckled a little, nervousness in your chest as well, and let your eyes fall.

"You definitely turned it," was all you said.

"Yeah?"

"By a long shot. I mean, I think this amount of good luck was enough to actually balance out the bad luck."

You didn't know Natasha could giggle, but she did. The sound made a smile immediately spread over your face. You reached out and took her hands in your own. You leaned forward and kissed her again, infatuated with the feeling of her soft lips pressed against yours so rough and yet somehow so soft. One of your hands pulled out of hers so it could thread through the red waves on her head. You'd wanted to do that for so long. She only pulled back when you'd both lost your breath. Your forehead rested against hers and you could smell the whiskey on her breath.

"Do you know how long I've wanted that?" You breathed.

"I'd guessed it, but I thought it was just my imagination because I wanted the same thing."

You laughed. She put her hands on your shoulders, pushing your back down against the couch and then putting her knees on either side of your waist. Her lips were on yours again, a little hotter this time. You didn't complain. You just let her lean down over you and kiss you and run her hand down your side. You only raised a hand to her chest and pushed her away when you once more felt the need for oxygen burning inside your chest. She didn't move far, face inches from yours, studying you this time from above. You blushed under her gaze.

"I... I've felt really strongly about you for a while," you said, hand moving so you could trace your fingertips across her cheek. "You know what I mean?"

"Are you trying to tell me you love me without saying you love me?" She asked, the teasing back in her voice again. "Because you're not going to scare me off. You can say it if you want."

"I love you, Natasha."

"I love you, too."

You couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't funny in any way, but maybe it was the relief trying to find a way out of your body. The sound seemed to make Natasha's eyes, sparkle. Your heart softened and the laughter fell from your lips and you didn't move a muscle. Her face was so beautiful looking down at you like it was. You felt so right having her touch you like this and touching her the way you were. Her hands were holding her torso up above yours and yours were touching her face so gently. It wasn't like a friend touched a friend anymore.

"Thanks for turning my luck."

"Are you kidding me? I'm the lucky one."

"I think we're both really fucking lucky, Natasha. Thank you."

[wasabito-reblogs]

here’s my entry for the konoha simps server collab :) check out the rest of the entries here or at @bakubabes-hatake’s page!

prompt: occasions

word count: 2.5k

tags&warnings: established relationship, domestic fluff, hints of spiciness at the end (nothing major)

summary: In which you and Aizawa rediscover your synergy

❤︎

There was a sudden click at the front door, following telltale sounds of a key being jimmied into the lock. Both were enough to break the still quietude and have Aizawa cracking open a bloodshot eye, his sleepy, hooded gaze darting around the room until he finally spotted the sudden intrusion.

You stood at the foyer, slipping off your work shoes, with a look of mild concern on your face. Your lips held a slight frown that looked misplaced, especially when directed at him. He knew immediately that he’d fucked up.

A damning, half-empty cup of coffee sitting innocently on top of your old Heroics in Society textbook drew your attention first, before any of the other things. In your shared living room, the state of disarray all pointed to the simple fact that your boyfriend had come home and gone straight to grading.

Aizawa coughed and sat up straighter on the sofa. Though his body moved in slow motion, his mind raced to find some logical reasoning to explain why he was, once again, neglecting his health in favor of work.

Stuck to his chest was the exam sheet he had been eye-balling before succumbing to fatigue. Even after a somewhat restful nap, Aizawa could scarcely make out what hieroglyphics Kaminari had written on his paper.

You came and leaned into the back of the chair to read over Aizawa’s shoulder. Pointing to the true and false section of the exam, you wondered aloud, “Why do the T’s and F’s look so similar? I can barely tell which is which.”

He snorted lightly with a roll of his eyes, “That’s probably the point.” He said, but considering he had just woken up, it sounded more like grumbled nonsense.

Your noncommittal hum in response was all he got before you plucked the sheet from his hands. He watched as you came around and stacked up his papers, making sure to separate graded works from the ones he had yet to look at. How many times had you caught him like this? Passed out on the living room couch with class 1A’s assignments scattered every which way.

“You really gotta take better care of yourself, Shou.”

“I know,” he tugged on your hand, bringing the back of it to his lips. “I’m sorry.”

Your gaze softened at his words and the sleepy expression on his face. It was almost too endearing. “Yeah, okay, you say that now, but I’m sure you’ll be back to it again tomorrow.”

Aizawa couldn’t even deny your claim. He was a workaholic through and through. Most of his time was spent doing some form of work, whether it be in managing his class as a U.A teacher or patrolling the city as a pro-hero.

No one understood the toll it took on him better than you. You were a quirk counselor at Ketsubutsu Academy, after all, so it was your job to make sure that both students and staff were taking care of their physical and mental health. A lot of your work tended to trickle into the home, usually in the form of fussing over your boyfriend and making sure he was taking breaks and getting proper rest.

“You’re home early,” he commented. He kept your hand in his lap to fiddle idly with your fingers. “Something happen? … You look nervous.”

Even half-asleep, Shouta was astute as ever.

“Ah, not really. There’s this thing at work tonight, but I think I might skip it.”

His brows furrowed as he considered your words, “A work thing? Tonight?”

“Yeah, just a little ceremony for the staff, no biggie.”

“Sounds important. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

“I—” you fumbled; how could you forget this man could read you like a book? Whenever you were dodgy or evasive, he knew just where to press until you were honest with him. “It’s actually an award ceremony. I’m being honored for my work at the school.”

Aizawa smiled, showing off a row of teeth in a way that made your heart skip a beat. You nearly missed his next words.

“I’m proud of you, kitten. Seriously, you deserve the recognition.” His long fingers threaded into yours, and you felt centered in the feeling of his firm grip like you were finally on solid footing. It definitely helped ease the tension off your shoulders.

“Thanks, Shou.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “So, what time is this thing, because I’m not letting you sit at home and miss it. And before you argue, consider the logic in remaining home when you know you’re being honored for something like this.” He stood from the sofa, stretching, and then cracking his neck. “It just isn’t rational.”

“So...you’re coming with me?”

You couldn’t hold back the surprise in your voice. It seemed almost too good to be true, you and Shouta going out together and to an event, no less. Usually, it took being dragged out of the house by his coworkers for him to enjoy a Friday night off.

Not to mention, no one knew of your relationship. His friends probably had their own assumptions but no one on your end knew a thing. This would be your first public outing as a couple.

“Of course I’m coming with you.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You smiled, realizing it was.

❤︎

An hour later, you stood behind a seated Aizawa in the middle of your bathroom with a towel looped around your body, still dripping from your recent shower.

“You have to hold still, baby, or else it’s gonna hurt,” you mumble while adjusting your grip on the hairbrush.

He had asked you to help him out with his hair, but the task proved quite tricky. Its length and thickness gave you no other choice but to work in smaller sections, which you had no issues with. If only your fingers in Shouta’s hair didn’t put him straight to sleep again. This was the third time he’d nodded off and caused the brush to snag at his roots.

With a sigh, you attempted to run the brush gingerly through his hair once more. In the past, you’d seen pictures of your boyfriend as a child, always with his hair looking unkempt and so obviously unattended to; at least before he grew old enough to do it himself. Funnily enough, it was like you finally understood the reason why.

After a few more minutes of careful ministrations, you patted his shoulder and smiled. “All done!”

Aizawa looked up bleary-eyed, then shook his hair out and ran his fingers through it. “Nice, thank you.” He leaned over and pecked your forehead before standing to his feet. “Want me to do you?”

You snorted at the subtle implications of his words. “Go get dressed already. I can ‘do’ myself.”

“Oh, can you?”

You were tempted to play along with his little joke, but it was getting late and neither of you were dressed yet. Regrettably, you shooed him away so that you could continue to prepare on your own without him being a distraction

Following another thirty or so minutes, you dressed up and met Aizawa at the door. He had put on a crisp button up shirt and a pair of dark, tailored pants that fit him so well, you had to resist the urge to pinch his ass.

When you approached, he was standing at the mirror in the hall, tying his hair into a bun. You could tell he had given up on fussing with his tie just by the way it hung loose around his neck.

“Here, let me,” with deft fingers you undid the knot, sliding the tie off and then promptly tossed it onto the couch. You also unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, smiling to yourself at the lidded stare Aizawa was pinning you with.

“You want me to go out like this?”

“I thought I’d let you off the hook,” you laughed. “No tie tonight.”

Closing the gap between you two, Aizawa planted a kiss at the corner of your mouth, as a silent thank you.

❤︎

From what you understood, the ceremony wasn’t supposed to be a large one, still a good bit of Ketsubutsu staff and student body were present.

Already you could tell that Aizawa was a little put off by the amount of people, especially those who kept staring at you two. Though, it just couldn’t be helped. Not many knew that either of you were in a relationship. Dressed as he was, you wouldn't be surprised if most simply didn't recognize him as the pro-hero, Eraserhead.

Even you had to admit that your boyfriend cleaned up nicely, a stark contrast from his usual ‘rolled out of bed’ appearance.

“Hey! You made it!” Emi Fukukado, otherwise known as Ms. Joke, called to you over the crowd. You were just about to go over to greet her and the others when Aizawa cleared his throat.

“I’m gonna get you a drink.” he gave your hand a light squeeze and excused himself before you could respond.

“Hey, hey!! I’m so glad you’re here.” Your coworker had waltzed over and scooped you into a tight hug.

“S-Same,” you wheezed. “Mind letting go?”

“Oh whoops!” Emi laughed sheepishly. When she finally released you, you couldn't help but notice her looking around. “Weren’t you just with someone? I didn’t get a good look but I’m positive—”

“Oh yeah,” you looked around for Aizawa but couldn’t see him anywhere “I um...didn’t come alone. I came with my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?! Since when?!!”

“Ah! Well…”

Thankfully before you could delve into explaining anything, you were saved by the proverbial bell.

Over the intercom, the principal announced for all attendees to proceed towards the auditorium where the ceremony would be held. Although you followed Emi without question, you still silently searched for Aizawa in the crowd but to no avail.

You were escorted to a seat in the front row with all the others who were also being recognized. Still you couldn’t help wondering where the hell Shouta had gone. You could barely focus during the entire opening speech, your attention having been snatched by worry. If not for Emi subtly tapping your arm, you might’ve even missed your name being called.

You stood up and walked across the stage, willing your legs to move forward. The principal shook your hand and presented to you a plaque with your name engraved in gold lettering. Several others on stage, some heroes and staff, also commended you with handshakes and warm hugs. You murmured thank yous all the way to your seat, but still you wondered about your boyfriend.

“Hey, Emi.” You said as you handed her your award. “I’ll be right back, could you watch this for me? I’m going to the washroom.”

Emi seemed a little concerned by your tone but agreed. “Got it!”

Quietly you exited the auditorium and headed in the direction of the reception hall where you’d last seen Shouta, but it was empty save for a few students milling about the snack table. You were tempted to ask if they had seen Eraserhead, but decided against it, you could find him on your own.

After about ten minutes of searching you went to one of the balconies overlooking the sports field. To your immediate surprise, there stood Aizawa, though he seemed preoccupied. There was a cell phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. He noticed you not a second later, and concluded his call quickly.

“Shou, what are you doing out here?”

He frowned. “I got caught up in a work call, I’m sorry. Has it started?”

“It’s more than started, it's almost over.”

Your boyfriend looked stunned for just a moment before he let out a sigh, “I’m really sorry I missed it kitten,” he came to loop his arms around you.

“Like I said, it was no biggie,” you mumbled.

“You okay?… You’re shaking.” he whispered, lips pressed against your hair.

“I’m fine,” you responded. “Just cold.”

At that, Aizawa pulled you closer into his chest, his arms acting as a shield against the evening chill.

Something had been on your mind since the beginning of the night. It was an intrusive thought and although you knew better than to entertain it, it was also proving to be hard to ignore. Shouta had been acting strange since arriving here. You thought it was because of the crowd but he wouldn't have missed the ceremony for something as minute as that. You breathed in his scent, slowly gathering the courage to ask what had been rattling in your brain for a while now.

“Be honest with me, Shou, are you afraid of us going public?”

You felt him stiffen and pull back slowly to see your face fully. He didn’t ask you to repeat yourself, so you knew he had heard you loud and clear.

“What makes you say that?”

You looked away from him, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, “I don’t know… it’s just a thought.”

Aizawa didn’t speak for a long while. He still held you close, almost protectively, but he remained silent like he was trying to find the right words to say.

“Yeah...I guess you could say that.” He sighed, “but it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m not afraid of what people will think when they see us, far from it. But the thought of you getting hurt because of your association to me...makes me...hesitant.”

You blinked up at him. The way his jaw was set as he spoke became proof enough that he wasn’t as unaffected by things as he appeared. Always so cool and collected, and yet he was possibly the most capable of emotion. You pressed your forehead against his chest as you considered your next words.

“I get that. But that doesn't give you an excuse to run off!” You pinched his arm lightly as if it emphasized your point.

“You’re right kitten, although it was an important call.” his lips spread into a wide smile. “How can I make it up to you?”

“Hm, I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Aizawa huffed and rolled his eyes at you, then bent to capture your lips in kiss. It was heavy and comforting in a way mere words simply failed to be. And for a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in that feeling. His hand drifted lower down your back until he was nearly cupping your ass.

“Mmmm, Shou.” You pulled back, feeling the heat in your cheeks. Aizawa said nothing, instead he smirked like he had something planned. He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray lash.

“Shall we take this home?”

❤︎

(Part 2 in the works, stay tuned!!)

[duuhrayliegh]

watch your six - part two

pairing: eventual bucky x reader

warnings: some violence, trigger warning of sedation (it isn’t in there for a long time and the description of it isn’t super good BUT it’s still there), mentions of kidnapping, i think that’s it. 

word count: just a bit over 3k 

a/n: okay! here’s part two, i’m experimenting with the longer parts, so let me know what y’all think of it. bucky does make an appearance soon, i swear y’all :) just be patience with me babes. also, i know this isn’t like the typical fan fic because it isn’t in the second person but we’re powering through together. i hope y’all enjoy babes <3

p.s.: if y’all want to be added to a tag list for this series, shoot me a message and we’ll get it worked out 

series m.list

ray’s m.list

*****************

I shot up from my bed, eyes wild and frantic searching for anything to ground me to my current surroundings. It was just a dream, just a dream. It was just a dream. Except it didn’t feel like a dream. Everything was too detailed, too crisp for it to have really been just a dream. I swung my legs off my bed and grabbed a hold of the fluffy white comforter. Groaning, I pushed my feet to touch the cold hardwood of my apartment. I made my way towards my kitchen and my coffee maker. I popped a breakfast blend K-cup into the slot and dumped a mug full of water into the side of the machine. Pressing the button, I turned while listening to the coffee machine force the water through the coffee grounds and filter and into my cup.

Looking out into my living room, I eyed my couch. It was intact with no bullet holes riddling the cushions. It was still the pristine white that I’ve spent many nights curled on watching movies. The dark stained wood coffee table in front of it brought memories of long study sessions with books and loose papers strewn across it. A faint smile graced my lips as I was reminiscing. The black coffee maker spit the last of the dark substance into my mug, so I reached into my cabinets and pulled out the essentials. I’ve never been one for pure black coffee, tastes like tar in my opinion. The aftertaste isn’t something that I want to deal with for as long as it’ll last.

I dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup and then poured a dash of liquid creamer in along with it. Stirring the now light brown liquid, I raised the mug to my mouth and took a much needed sip. Sighing as I swallowed, I walked around to the couch in the living. Plopping down, I kicked my feet to rest on top of the coffee table. Leaning back against the cushions, I tried to process what my dream was about.

It was just too real to be a dream, right? It was awfully specific to be a dream. Squinting my eyes, I nodded my head and set my mug on the table. Reaching for my laptop and opening the first browser I could, I searched ‘dream analysis.’ Maybe they’ll have something that can give me an answer as to why it was so clear. Scrolling down the first website, my eyes scanning the bolded letters. Nine Common Dreams and What They Could Mean, oh perfect. Flying, being naked in public, teeth falling out, cheating, none of these are like my dream. I shook my head and swiped out of the website and back to the search engine.

It was late in the morning and the sun was rising to its peak when I finally gave up. It’s obvious what happened though, I’ve gone mental. Absolutely insane, just plain certifiable. No, no, that’s not what it is. My coffee now gone cold, I placed my closed laptop on the coffee table next to the discarded coffee mug. I stood and my head started throbbing. Deciding I would have a better outlook on things without a pounding head, I took a shower. The water was a pleasant, scalding temperature. Leaving the bathroom with my hair in a towel and another wrapped around my body, I changed into a simple pair of ripped mom jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Hanging my towels on the rack in the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and then turned out the light as I left.

Today was my one day off of work this week and I was going to savor it. Slipping on a pair of ratty sneakers and grabbing my purse from the hook next to the door, I left my cozy apartment. I locked the door and shoved my keys all the way to the bottom of my purse. I left my building with the intention of trying to shake off the nightmare that I had. To do so, I went into the coffee shop at the end of the block. I pushed the doors open and was greeted with a warm and inviting atmosphere. Dark floors gave way to twinkling lights illuminating the charcoal gray walls. Behind the counter, I make eye contact with the barista and receive a tight-lipped smile from him. “Hi, welcome to Beniot’s Beans. What can I get started for you today?”

I glanced at the chalkboard menu and ran my eyes over it quickly. I already knew what I wanted, but I needed to prepare myself to say it out loud. “Hello, can I get a medium caramel iced coffee to go, please?” I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet as he scribbled my order onto the clear plastic cup. He told me my total as I looted in my wallet for my bills. After placing the money in the register, he explained that they would call my order when it was ready. I nodded and walked off to find somewhere to sit that was out of the way. After situating myself on one of the comfortable armchairs, I pulled my phone out in an effort to discourage human interaction. After retrieving my order from the counter, I sat back down in the armchair, trying to decide what to do next. The hour was just rolling over to being almost lunchtime, which made me realize that I hadn’t eaten anything yet. Shrugging my purse back onto my shoulder and shoving my phone into it, I left the store throwing a small wave to the barista behind the counter.

Sighing contentedly, I made the trek back to my apartment while steadily drinking the iced coffee. Some people say coffee shouldn’t be cold, and then there’s people who have sense. Giggling to myself, I took in my surroundings. Brick buildings lined the small two-way road. The donut shop on the opposite side of the street had two cop cruisers sitting in front of it. The contrasting black and white paint with black lettering outlined in yellow was intimidating. There was no reason for it to be, but there was just an aura of discomfort encapsulating the cars. By this time, I had stopped, slurping on my almost empty iced coffee. Breaking out of my trance with a ring of a bell, four officers exited the donut shop. Two of the officers held off-white cardboard boxes, they were all laughing at something. I tilted my head and scrunched my brows, guess the stereotype about cops is true, they love their donuts. Sensing a stare, one of the officers looked around for the source. Eventually, our gazes locked and he winked. Uh, ew. Making a face, I shook my head and went about my way back to my apartment.

Despite that experience, it was nice to be able to have no specific agenda, just relaxing and going with the flow. My inner monologue stopped when I got to my kitchen and started deciding what to prepare for lunch. Finally landing on a box of macaroni and cheese to satisfy my hunger, I set to work. The pot of water now on the stove, I tossed my empty plastic cup from the coffee shop into the garbage bin. I went around to my living room and grabbed my coffee mug from earlier and placed it in the sink, after rinsing it out. I’ll wash that and the stuff I use for lunch after I finish eating. I dumped the box of uncooked noodles into the now boiling water. Soon, the macaroni was ready to be eaten, so I poured the cheesy noodles into a bowl. Hoisting myself onto the granite countertop, I began to inhale the food. Wow, okay I was hungrier than I thought. It didn’t take long to finish off the noodles. As I was washing the dirty dishes, the intercom system of the apartment went off. Weird, I wasn’t expecting anyone. “Who is it?” I inquired into the speaker box. “Hi, I’m looking for the inhabitant of this flat.”

My brows furrowing, I asked again, “Who is this?”

“Ma’am, please don’t waste my time or yours. Is this the woman who lives in this apartment, yes or no?” They sounded exhausted. “I need to speak with the woman who lives here.” I was shocked, this didn’t seem right. Alright, I’m a woman living alone in an apartment building. Some stranger comes to my building, asking to speak to me, so what do I do?

“Uh, yeah they’re not here. You’ll have to come back later.” The lie was easy. Safety first and all, right? There was no reply after waiting a few minutes, so I went back to doing my dishes. After drying and putting them away, I kicked my shoes off and settled into my couch with a fluffy blue throw. Flicking the TV on, I picked the home improvement channel. I stretched out on the couch while wondering how realtor Bessie May was going to find this couple the perfect home. Snuggling further into the pillows, I was able to drift off into a dreamless slumber.

*********************************

It was loud banging that eventually roused me. Untangling myself from the fluff that wrapped around my legs, I toppled onto the floor. “I’m coming, hold your horses!” I shouted at the door. Who the hell? I swear if it’s my crazy neighbor again. “Marge! If this is you, we are going to have a problem!” I huffed my way to the door and yanked it open to reveal a group of men in what looked like dark tactical gear. Confusion overtook my facial features. I took a step back and tightened my grip on my door knob.

“Um… hi? Can I help you?” I questioned the group at large.

“Ma’am, we’re looking for the permanent resident of this apartment.” The man to my left said. He was short and stocky, he was also the only man wearing a dark gray suit. “Are you the permanent resident of this unit?” He continued while trying to see over my shoulders and into the living room.

“No, they’re not here right now.” I repeated the lie from earlier. I had an inkling this had to do with that, what else could it be?

“Well, do you know when she’ll be back?” He pressed, still stealing glances into my abode.

“No, she didn’t say. You’ll have to come back later. Goodbye.” I stated while closing the door. I was almost home free until a combat boot clad foot was stuck into the door frame.

“You see ma’am, this really isn’t the time to be lying to me.” The suited man explained. I took a deep breath and continued trying to close the door.

“Well, I’ve already told you all I know. The person who owns this place isn’t here right now.” The door was stopped yet again by the same foot.

“Ma’am, you need to invite us inside. We have things to discuss.” Suits ordered.

My brows raised, “Or what?” I scoffed, “Look you need to leave before I call the police. Good day to you gentlemen.” Another attempt to close the door was once again defeated, but this time the door swung in. Allowing entrance into my apartment. My eyes widened and I rushed away from the door, putting as much distance between the group of men and myself.

“What the hell are you doing! I’m calling the police.” I reached for my phone that was laying on the coffee table. It was snatched away from me by a man in tactical gear. His hair was cropped and dark, he slipped my phone into one of the many pockets of his vest. I raised my eyebrows at the man, and began demanding my phone from him.

“Listen ma’am, we’re going to need you to come with us.” Suits insisted. My gaze darted to him, if looks could kill man. “We’re allowing you the privilege of getting a bag of your necessities.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my ever rising nerves. I brought the heels of my palms to my eyes, trying to clear the fogginess of sleep to process what Suits was saying. “We don’t have all day. Get your stuff now.” I shook my head and started refusing.

“Yeah, that won’t be happening. I’m asking you one last time to leave my apartment before I start screaming.” I crossed my arms over my chest in a protective stance. They’ve got five seconds before I raise hell. Suits made a face that looked like he was disappointed.

“Grab her.” The man who took my phone advanced at me. His whole hand covered my upper arm, lifting it and beginning to drag me to the door. I started kicking out, clawing, trying to make contact with anything that I could hurt. Damage, don’t stop fighting. Don’t give in. Whipping my upper body around, I managed to scratch the man's cheek. He cried out in pain and his grip loosened for just a moment. Long enough for me to wrench my arm away from him and run towards the front door. My path was interrupted by a wall of a man. Towering over me, he wrapped both of his arms around my torso. Effectively stopping all of my movement while he turned me in his grasp to face Suits once again.

“Help! Someone help me! Help me!” This was a quiet enough building, shouts like that would surely gain someone’s attention, right? “Help! Someone help me, please!” I was screaming my throat sore. Not stopping until there was a large hand placed over my mouth. Even then, there were muffled cries that could be heard throughout my otherwise silent apartment unit. Stifled sobs were leaving my lungs in heaves. Suits approached me and shook his head,

“It really didn’t have to be like this but, of course.” He turned to one of his goons and nodded his head towards me. I began screaming again as the final goon stepped forward. His hair was slicked back and I could smell the hair gel that he must have just dipped his head into. Hair Gel reached into his pocket and brought out a small white case.

He unzipped the case and gestured to the mass of a man behind me. My head was moved to expose my neck, I struggled against Mass while Hair Gel approached. Screaming and thrashing trying to disrupt what I thought was about to happen. Hair Gel assembled a syringe, outfitting it with a blue capped needle. Hair Gel extracted a clear liquid into the syringe, he got closer to my jolting body, glaring at Mass.

“Hold her still, you buffoon.” He grunted at Mass. The grip around me began cutting off my circulation to the lower half of my body. Not deterring me in any way, I still made it as hard as I could for Hair Gel. There was a pinch on the side of my neck, and then a warm feeling passed through my body. Mass’s hand was still covering my mouth and his arms around my torso, if it weren’t for that I probably would’ve fallen straight to the ground. Oh hell man, what am I going to do now?

My body went limp in Mass’s hold, and my mind was starting to become fuzzy. Looking around at the three men in front of me, I worried what was going to happen. I’ve seen Taken. I know what happens to girls who travel alone. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen to people like me. Suits sighed yet again, looking disinterested in the whole affair. Suits looked to the man who I scratched and shook his head at him.

“You seriously let her get her hands on you?” Suits mocked, “That’s pathetic, Gomez.”

“Pathetic? She was clawing me, man!” The man, Gomez, defended.

“It doesn’t matter, you idiot. You still aren’t supposed to let it happen.” Suits berated Gomez and then waved him off, “Go get the stuff. And don’t mess it up this time, ya got that?” Gomez rolled his eyes at Suits, but nodded anyway. He left the room towards my bedroom. My eyelids started drooping, I willed them to stay open a bit longer.

“How long’s it gonna take that stuff to kick in?” Suits asked Hair Gel.

“Oh, it starts working immediately.” Hair Gel finished replacing everything in his white case, turning to me, he continued, “The body reacts to the compound right away, inducing temporary paralysis. It’s really quite remarkable to watch it in action.”

Suits glanced at Hair Gel, “You mean to tell me it doesn’t make them unconscious? What the hell did I bring you along for?”

“Of course it makes the victim unconscious, what do you think I’m stupid or something? It just takes a couple of minutes for the enzyme to break down for the brain.” Hair Gel tilted his head while looking at me. He gave me a once over and if I had any kind of control over my body, there would’ve been an unmistakable shiver that passed through my body. Gomez emerged with a duffle in tow and dumped the closed bag on the couch.

“Don’t forget the laptop, Gomez.” Suits reminded him while his attention was on the kitchen of my apartment. “Alright, let’s go.” With the effort it takes to lift a feather, Mass carried me bridal style out of my unit. My eyelids were becoming even more heavy and I screamed and shouted in my head, but my mouth just wouldn’t move. The four men made their way out, passing my crazy neighbor Marge.

“Can I help you boys with something?” Marge’s door was open, and she leaned up against the frame, watching this scene go down.

“Nothing to be worried about ma’am. This is official government business.” Suits reported, simply shrugging off Marge.

“Government business?” Marge shrieked, and a glimmer of hope flashed in my head. Marge won’t fall for your bullshit Suits. She’s going to save me. “I always knew there was something off about that one.” What the hell, Marge?

“Like I said ma’am, nothing to worry about. Now if you would, just go back inside. We’re done here.” Suits advised. Marge, who was none the wiser, bounced her shoulders and turned back into her own unit. She could be heard through the door explaining to her guests that her next door neighbor was always strange and never really sat right with her.

“Doesn’t surprise me they’re taking her away. I always knew something was off about that girl. I told you so.” Marge howled with laughter after her statement. My last hope dashed by my crazy neighbor’s complete ignorance and lack of acknowledgement for her surroundings. Mass began his descent of the stairs with a steady pace. The constant rocking back and forth of his body weight served to lull my eyelids the rest of the way closed.

[anonniemousefics]

The Walls Are Thin

Originally posted on AO3

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej

Word count: 5,282

Synopsis: The walls are very thin in the old rickety house they called The Slat. Inej attempts to quiet the strange boy who lives above her, but, over the years, gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

Inej opened her eyes in the dark. It was well past midnight, and Kaz Brekker was stomping all across the floor above her again.

She glared up at the low ceiling in her little room below his in The Slat, trying a bore a hole through the wood with her glare. She wanted to wring his neck. She’d just spent two days following a rich, adulterous merch for blackmail fodder, with barely two hours of sleep in between, and she wanted to sleep for the next ten days. Instead, she’d been listening to Kaz’s uneven gait, pacing for the last half hour. Sometimes, she’d hear him sit on his bed, the coils on the mattress squeaking beneath his weight. Other times, she’d hear his chair scrape across the floor.

Go. To. Sleep. She was trying her hand at telepathy. It wasn’t working.

What was she going to do? Kaz was only a little older than she was, but he had intimidation and menace in spades. He’d been kind to her, sort of, since he’d bought her indenture three months ago. One of the kindest Kerch she’d met so far, anyway, by a long shot. Nevertheless, he wasn’t a friend, and he was certainly unpredictable.

But she was so tired.

The next time she heard the grating bounce of his old mattress, she lost all patience. She shot out of bed, quivering in frustration and anger, and threw on a jacket over her loose blouse before trotting up the stairs to the door to Kaz’s room.

She was just going to inform him of the way the noise carried, she determined. Very professional. Totally polite. But, when she went to knock, she noticed the door had been left ajar. This gave her pause. She leaned sideways, slightly, her dark braid dangling over her shoulder, and peered through the crack.

Moments later, she’d wonder why she did it. She’d mentally berate herself for spying on the boy who was supposed to be her boss. But, for that brief instant, she was taken in.

She had never seen Kaz looking disheveled. Every waking moment, he exuded organization. He wore tailored suits only grown men wore. His dark hair was never out of place. He kept a cool, effectual air about him, quiet and scheming like a perfectly coiled snake.

But tonight, through that little crack in the door, she saw a boy who looked worn and exhausted, flat on his back on his bed, shirttails loose, his holey socks out in the open. The crook of one arm was draped across his eyes, while he gripped at his bad knee with the other hand. As Inej started to lift her knuckles to the door, he let out a low, wincing groan through his teeth, his fingers tightening on his knee.

She’d seen his limp – she knew the cane he carried wasn’t for show. Still. It was rattling to see a boy as composed as Kaz Brekker writhing in obvious pain.

She knocked anyway, straightening herself.

“Go away,” came his gruff reply. She peaked back one last time.

“Are you –?” She meant to ask if he was okay. But in the blink of an eye, she watched him pick up and throw something at the door, something resembling a shiny, polished shoe, though it was hard to make it out in the blur of its speed. The force of its impact slammed the door shut in Inej’s face with a bang. She flinched backwards. And frowned. Jerk.

Well, fine. She wasn’t stooping to his level. Inej squared back her shoulders and leaned her mouth close to the door.

“These walls are thin,” she informed him. “And some of us are trying to sleep for the first time in days. So…could you stomp quieter? Please.”

There. Professional. Polite. And there was no one around to see how hard she was blushing. Everything was going to be fine.

But Kaz was glaring at her from behind his desk the next morning when she came up to his office to give her report. Her stomach twisted, and she folded her arms in front of herself.

“Was that you knocking on my door last night?” he asked her. He didn’t sound mad, but he looked it. But then again, he always looked it. Jesper Fahey joked once that Kaz probably came out of the womb scowling. Luckily, Kaz had not been around to hear, although everyone already knew what his reaction would have looked like.

Inej wasn’t going to let the scowl intimidate her. She’d been the polite one. She wasn’t the one throwing shoes. She lifted her chin a little.

“It was,” she confessed, trying to appear unashamed. He didn’t need to know she’d snooped, too.

Kaz’s frown deepened, and Inej swallowed.

“What did you want?” he asked. Strange. He still didn’t sound mad. Maybe, she was starting to realize, maybe he wasn’t angry – just confused. There were subtle differences she was starting to pick up on.

“I can hear everything happening in your room from mine,” she told him.

“Ah.” He looked down at the papers on his desk, starting to rearrange them at random.

“I didn’t know if you knew that,” Inej went on, watching his gloved hands skim over papers. She didn’t feel the need to hold her arms in front of herself quite so tightly now.

“I’ll…take better care,” Kaz replied, awkwardly. “And I won’t throw shoes next time.”

“I would appreciate that,” Inej said with a nod. Interesting he would assume there would be a next time, she thought later. She certainly had no intention of doing that again, not after how badly she felt after.

Unfortunately, a side effect of becoming the Wraith was how her sense of hearing seemed to sharpen with each passing month she spied and sleuthed. Where she once struggled to overhear a conversation through a closed window, now she could wait in the bushes and piece together every word.

This also meant becoming keenly aware of the nights Kaz was preoccupied with the pain in his leg, pacing the floor to loosen the tight muscle or tossing and turning on his noisy, old mattress.

She tried to ignore it, to let him be. They weren’t friends. It was none of her business. Although, six months after he’d thrown a shoe at her, she was certainly less intimidated by him and his cool exterior. So, when she heard him again one night, in the middle of a bad thunderstorm, she climbed the stairs once more and knocked on his door.

“What?” she heard him bark from the other side. She could envision him now, kneading at his knee, scowling beneath his flung arm.

“It’s Inej,” she said, leaning against the door with her arms crossed.

“What do you want,” Kaz shouted back. It wasn’t a question. He didn’t care what she wanted, only that she would be going soon.

“Can I get you anything?” Inej said to the door. “To help you sleep?”

“Go to bed, Inej,” was the only grumbling reply. She seethed a quiet sigh. I wouldn’t be here if that was an option.

“Ice would help it, if the muscle’s inflamed,” she pushed. “This is coming from an acrobat who’s hurt many limbs. I know a thing or two. I can help you.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Kaz’s voice was snarky and mean, and Inej scowled to herself. “I’ll just wire the ice shop and have a fresh batch of ice delivered up right now.”

Inej rolled her eyes. So rude.

“Would you like me to bring you some ice, Kaz?” she drawled, her own voice mocking-sweet. Anything for a night’s peace in this rickety old house.

There was a long pause.

“Fine,” came the muffled, reluctant reply. Say please, Inej wanted to say, but she wouldn’t push the issue. They weren’t really friends. Not really.

Instead, rolling her eyes, she shoved herself away from the door and trotted the three flights of stairs toward the shared kitchen of The Slat. They kept an old ice box there, rusting and dilapidated, but it kept things cold. She shucked some ice out of it, wrapped it in a blue tea towel, and returned upstairs. When she reached the landing, Kaz was waiting with the door ajar, his hand extended. He didn’t even lift his gaze to look at her. She dropped the ice bundle in his waiting palm, and he withdrew, slamming the door without so much as a thank you.

Inej suppressed an exasperated sigh in her throat and returned to her little room for a few solid hours of sleep. He’d get his own ice next time, she swore.

Unlikely.

Because the thing of it was, while Kaz Brekker excelled at nearly everything, he was absolutely rubbish at stairs. And, given his rudeness, Inej was wickedly glad sometimes to do something he couldn’t do, though she’d never admit it. That would just be mean. Much like Kaz himself. Whom she was nothing like.

And so it started to become a ritual: every few weeks, particularly after long, physical jobs, Inej would pop up to the third floor to see if he needed ice. She’d get more sleep that way. Eventually, she stopped asking altogether. If she could anticipate it – even more undisturbed sleep. And undisturbed sleep was a gem to Inej. So, she watched him throughout the day, noticing if he seemed stiffer, if he was carrying his weight a little differently, all so she would know whether or not to make a quick trip to the ice box before turning in for the night.

Her timidity around him wore off quickly this way. During the day, Kaz Brekker was a formidable force few had the courage to try to understand. But the grumpy boy she delivered ice to some nights? That Kaz was all bark and no bite.

If he’d been particularly nasty during the day, Inej had no qualms about dropping the freezing cold bundle of ice directly onto his stomach before marching away. In fact, it was a little satisfying to hear his surprised, uncomfortable grunt when she did. Once, when he’d failed to mention the scouting assignment he’d sent her on required her to wait for two hours neck-deep in a vat of vegetable oil, she took a significant amount of sick pleasure in pretending to drop the ice onto his groin, catching it at the last second. Though not before half his body curled up off the mattress while he shouted something unintelligible in wide-eyed horror. Inej had to bite both of her lips to press back a laugh while he snatched the ice from her hands and flopped back onto the pillows with a heavy sigh of relief, the mattress squeaking beneath him.

“Get out,” he rasped, pointing to the door, though Inej knew him well enough now to know that, somewhere deep down, he was mildly impressed with her reflexes.

“’Thank you, Inej,’” she cued him in a sing-song voice, as she slipped through the door.

“Yes, thank you, gentle Inej, for not sterilizing me,” Kaz grumbled after her.

“I don’t want to point this out,” Inej leaned back into his room with a wicked grin, hanging onto the doorframe, “but you’d be less focused on your leg right now if I had.”

“Don’t point it out, then.” Kaz looked mortified, and Inej snickered. When she did, a quicksilver smile flickered across Kaz’s lips, there and gone in a breath. “You’re not helping,” and he tried to frown. “This is not helping me. Go to bed.”

“Good night, Brekker.”

“Good night, you sadistic spider.”

And that was the worst bedridden Kaz Brekker could do: tell her to get out while trying (and usually failing) to look angry at her. Not that he didn’t try to get her back some nights. If she wasn’t quick enough, sometimes he’d dig his fingernails into the ice and flick freezing, wet bits of ice at her if she wasn’t leaving as fast as he would have liked.

“You know what,” she said once, trying to keep a straight face as she wiped the cold water off her face. “Get your own ice next time.”

“I think I’ll just go back to my usual nighttime hobbies instead,” Kaz said, narrowing his eyes up at her from his bed. This was how he joked. Much like how Inej imagined sharks would joke.

“You don’t have hobbies,” she said, slitting her eyes at him.

“I absolutely have hobbies,” Kaz objected, totally deadpan. “Marching loudly, jumping on squeaky mattresses, smashing china on the floor at completely inconsistent intervals--”

“You are insufferable.” Inej was shaking her head. She was not going to smile; she was not going to encourage him.

“I was thinking of taking up the tuba. Just as a nighttime hobby, though. Nothing professional. That won’t bother you too much, will it?”

Try as she might, Inej couldn’t hold back the laugh that came with the image of Kaz fucking Brekker playing a goddamn tuba. Kaz grinned stupidly when she cracked up, and it was contagious. She was still laughing to herself as she trotted back down the stairs to her room.

Some nights were entirely different, however. Some nights Kaz didn’t say much at all. Those were his bad nights, Inej realized, and it was often when a big storm was rolling in from the harbor. Changes in the weather seemed to affect him most severely, and sometimes it seemed like ice did absolutely nothing to help.

“Sometimes, stretching with a counter weight can help,” Inej tried to offer one night, when his face looked pale and drawn. “If I held the leg here--”

“Don’t touch it.” Kaz bolted upright in the bed, his hands flying to block hers from brushing his bare ankle. “Don’t.” His black eyes were blazing, and, for the first time in over a year, Inej felt frightened by him. She recoiled instinctively, holding one wrist close to her chest, her hand balled in a fist.

For a brief moment, Kaz looked out of breath, wild-eyed and panicked. But when his gazed flickered up at Inej’s startled expression, he made a concerted effort to try to soften. He took in a deep breath and adjusted the bundle of ice over his knee, swallowing hard.

“I just,” he fumbled, “I don’t want it touched.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Inej tried to explain.

“I know.” Kaz closed his eyes for a moment, looking frustrated. “I know. But don’t. Don’t touch it. Ever. Please.”

Inej blinked. Kaz never said please, not in the entire span she’d known him.

Saints. Are we friends now?

“I won’t touch it,” she promised, gently. Her gaze drifted to where his black leather gloves sat on his nightstand, and something itched at her brain. She’d never seen Kaz touch anyone. Kaz Brekker made himself untouchable. Her fingers lingered on the mangled scar where the peacock feather tattoo on her arm had once been, the tissue now waxy and lumpy. Maybe Kaz didn’t want to be touched. That was something she understood.

“How did this happen anyway?” she ventured as Kaz shifted himself back, propping himself up against the headboard of his bed. In the years Inej would know Kaz, she would hear him tell many different tales about his leg, each story tailor-made to intimidate whomever he was trying to size up. And she would wonder why, that night, he decided to tell her the unexciting truth.

“Fell off a roof ages ago,” he muttered, as he tried to mash the ice bundle to encompass his kneecap. “It broke, and it’s never really been the same since.”

Inej frowned.

“Kaz,” she started, carefully, “that’s entirely fixable, you know. You could visit any Grisha Healer, and they’d put that right in a day.”

But Kaz scoffed, glaring down at the leg.

“Pain isn’t the enemy,” he said, his rasp harsher than usual. “Pain is a reminder that something needs to be set right.”

“In this case, your leg,” Inej nodded, pointedly.

“Metaphors, Inej.” Kaz looked exasperated, shifting his gaze up at her. “If I took you to a Tailor to have that scar covered up, would you go through with it?”

He was looking straight at the remnants of the peacock feather tattoo, and Inej held a hand over it, her face warming. She didn’t like the turn this had taken. She didn’t like Kaz thinking of the way he’d found her. And yet…

“I don’t know,” she said, honestly.

When she had torn into her own flesh, cutting at the tattoo’s colors and swirls, she’d meant to take back control of her body and cut herself off from how the Menagerie had used her. But it had never been quite that simple. Now, when she looked at the scar, she remembered the other girls who had been taken, the ones who had not been so lucky. The ones who could not cut themselves off. When she looked at her scar, she was reminded of why she fought and spied in the shadows of this saintsforsaken city. Because, one day, maybe not soon, but some day, she would help them as she had been helped. And she would take down the ones who’d marked her.

It was a reminder.

“What does this help you remember?” Inej asked, looking back at the ice on his knee cap. But Kaz clicked his tongue, shook his head.

“We’re not talking about that.” His harsh rasp was flat. “I don’t ask you about the scar. You don’t ask me about this.”

Kaz Brekker makes himself untouchable. Inej wanted to be untouchable, too. They were more alike than she cared to admit.

“Fair enough,” she relinquished with a nod, and left him alone with his ice and his memories.

She intended that night for that to be the end of it. They were untouchable, and there were barriers between them that would never be breached. That was how it ought to be with your boss, Inej would tell herself, since that it was Kaz was. Although, he wasn’t exactly. Not anymore.

The Ice Court and the Van Eck affair would change all of that. They were no longer untouchable – worse, she thought about his touch now. She longed for it, in ways she now understood he couldn’t give, maybe not ever. And there was no ignoring the new quality of Kaz’s glances at her, no matter how reserved he tried to appear. There was nothing that could take back the way his gloved hand had gripped hers on the deck of the Ferolind, the tone of his voice when he’d asked her to stay. To stay with him.

She’d tried to stay in her old room in The Slat one night only when the dust began to settle in the aftermath of the Church of Barter. It had been her home once, after all. It was still her home, wasn’t it? It wasn’t.

She could hear him up there, the mattress creaking, his uneven footsteps pacing. Just like it had always been. And yet, somehow, nothing was the same. Her heart raced this time as she stared at the low ceiling above her. What if she took him a bundle of ice? What if their hands brushed, or he asked her to stay again, or, really, spoke at all in that voice of his, with that soft mouth that had just barely kissed her neck, those lips that had taken her breath away? Her fingers twisted in her sheets at the thought. Suddenly, she didn’t trust herself anymore. She didn’t want to leave him with a bundle of ice. She wanted to curl up on that squeaking mattress next to him. She wanted to kiss him until he stopped hurting. She wanted him to give her a reason to stay.

Clearly that wasn’t happening, and Inej wanted to scream. The walls had never seemed thinner, and it terrified her.

She didn’t give an explanation when she packed up her things the next day and moved to the Van Eck mansion. Jesper was there, after all. Kaz was more than welcome to follow, if he wanted. (He wouldn’t.) It didn’t have to be a strange thing.

She almost bolted for The Slat the first night, when the unending silence of the enormous house stretched before her like a bottomless pit. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to fall asleep without the rusty creaking and that comforting, uneven footfall above her.

But she did. Sleep could come for her in all kinds of new and strange conditions, she would learn, as she set sail on the Wraith for the first time. Maybe she wasn’t actually a light sleeper, she’d wonder sometimes. Maybe it had just been Kaz.

For that reason, for a long time, she chose to stay at the Van Eck mansion when she visited Ketterdam, and Jesper and Wylan didn’t question it. They might have even preferred it, Inej realized, when they presented her with her own key, even as she and Kaz both made concerted efforts to take down their own walls that separated their hearts from each other. She accepted the little brass key wholeheartedly. If anything, she just needed the rest. She didn’t want to lie awake at night, thinking about what she wanted to do to Kaz – and couldn’t -- when she heard his footsteps.

Until –

“I forgot my key,” Inej told Kaz at two in the morning, while they drained the last of their drinks at The Crow Club. It was a lie. The key had been a formality, a thoughtful gesture, but the Wraith had never needed keys. And surely Kaz knew this when he set his drink down, shaking his head at her.

“Whatever will you do,” he said, in that teasing way of his. Not unlike a cat throwing a bird around, Inej had once noted.

“Sleep in the gutter, I suppose,” Inej shrugged with a smirk. “Or on the roof. Or beg some charitable merch to take me in.”

“There’s going to be begging?” Kaz lifted his eyebrows, eagerly. “I was going to offer you a room, but if there’s going to be begging--”

Inej kicked him under the table.

But she took him up on it. The rain began to fall on their slow walk back to The Slat, where a wash of old memories flooded in when Inej breathed in the house’s old musty scent.

She said goodnight to Kaz at the door of her old room and left a soft, lingering kiss on his rain-damp cheek. She heard his breath catch, his body stiffening, and he darted a quick glance over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one had seen. Then he nodded his goodnight, his hair wet and mussed, and Inej watched him hobble away until she heard the floorboards of the stairs groan beneath his slow ascent to the attic.

And then again on his walk to his room. And then again as he paced his floor.

Inej sighed as she sat lightly at the edge of the bed, hearing the mattress above her groan at the same moment. The walls were as thin as they’d always been.

They could be thinner.

She changed out of her wet clothes, hanging them out to dry along the footboard of the narrow bed, all the while listening to the creaking above her head. She threw on an old nightshirt Kaz had lent her – it hung to her knees, but at least it was dry. She combed out her wet hair with her fingers before braiding it tightly for the night, and then she crawled under the covers in the darkness. The floorboards above her sighed with every uneven step.

Her palms were starting to sweat.

Kaz was probably changing out of his wet clothes, too, she realized. Toweling off the hard planes of his torso. Raking his bare fingers through his crow black hair. Raindrops trickling over the curves of his shoulder muscles.

Inej was staring at the ceiling, this time wishing to see through walls.

Or his leg might hurt, she thought. It had been ages since they’d done this particular dance. She could just take him a bundle of ice as she used to, and if he happened to be half-dressed when she got there, well, that wouldn’t be her fault, would it? She was just trying to be helpful.

When did you become such a creep? She would wonder to herself as she shucked ice out of the old icebox in The Slat’s shared kitchen. She clenched her bare toes nervously while she wrapped up the ice, and then darted up the stairs before anyone wandered out and caught a glimpse of her in only Kaz’s shirt.

Her heart was racing when she knocked on his door.

“Yes?” came the tentative response. Did he sound expectant? She leaned closer to the door.

“It’s just me,” she said, hand on the knob.

“Come in.”

Inej gave the old door a shove and inched inside. Kaz had changed out of his tailored suit, opting for a pair of soft, dark sleeping trousers, and – sweet Lizabeta – he hadn’t put on a shirt. Inej felt her face warm as she shuffled the ice between her palms, absentmindedly. He hadn’t even looked up – he was hunched at the edge of his bed, tense and kneading at his bad knee.

“Am I making too much noise again?” he asked. Inej could see him wincing even though he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“I thought you might want some ice,” she offered. Kaz huffed, trying to straighten the leg.

“Ice doesn’t actually do much when it’s raining,” he confessed, his voice strained, and it was Inej’s turn to scoff.

“Wait. All these years…?”

“I just wanted your attention? Yes. Yes, I am a bastard.” And Kaz started to raise his head, a crooked, painful smirk on his mouth, but his eyebrows lifted suddenly, noticing her bare legs. It was Inej’s turn to smirk. She didn’t have to be the only one made to feel things.

She closed the door behind her.

“You know, I do know other things that might help,” she offered, setting the bundle down on his nightstand as she crossed to his ogling stare. “Stretching or massaging or--”

“Touching.” Kaz’s stare darkened. Not at her, she knew that now. At his own inner demons.

Inej gave a soft shrug and moved to brush the wet, tangled hair back from his forehead.

“I’ve already broken that promise, haven’t I?” she said, half teasing. “What’s one more?”

Kaz fell silent, considering, his dark eyes drifting to her knees. His fingers tightened on his kneecap, like he could hold himself together just there.

“What do you want me to do?” he rasped, after a long moment.

“Just sit comfortably,” Inej said, and, though it pained her a bit to add: “Put a shirt on first, if that makes you more comfortable.”

It would make him more comfortable, it seemed – he threw a plain white shirt over his head before slowly inching back down onto the edge of his bed, wincing on the way down. He was trying to fix his longer locks of hair when Inej crawled up behind him, as if trying not to look as unraveled as he clearly felt.

“What are you doing?” He threw her an alarmed look over his shoulder before she even put hands on him.

“Everything’s connected,” she explained. “If your leg’s hurting and you’re walking unevenly, you likely have tense muscles elsewhere, too.” And she gently rested her palms just above his shoulder blades, where he was warm and solid beneath his soft shirt. “Mhmm,” she confirmed, pressing in. “Oof, you’re as tense as a Fjerdan diplomat.”

Kaz’s shoulders shook a little in a light chuckle, loosening just a bit. Inej smiled to herself.

He loosened even more as she worked her way down his back, kneading around the wings of his shoulder blades, stroking down his spine. He sighed, soft and contented, as she rubbed over the slopes of his muscles, and, when she glanced up once, she noticed his eyes had fallen shut. Once he seemed sufficiently relaxed, she moved to the side and told him to lie back.

The nervous light in his eyes flared up again as he inched back and lowered himself back toward his pillow, the mattress rasping with every movement. Oh, Saints, the whole house is going to hear.

“Relax,” she whispered to him, and softly pressed a warm hand to his bad hip. His eyes still betrayed his skittishness. “When have I ever hurt you?”

“You tried to throw ice on my balls once,” Kaz frowned, looking wary. He was still propped up on his elbows, refusing to give in the last few inches.

“You still remember that?”

“I still have nightmares about it.”

But that quicksilver smile of his flickered when she muffled a laugh, and while he looked more at ease, she moved to softly massage his thigh.

“Wait,” he hissed, tensing, “That’s -- huuuuh…” He never finished his sentence. Inej ran the side of her hand down the tense muscle on the back of his thigh toward his knee, and his eyes started to roll back in his head. He released his hold on his elbows, dropping back onto his pillow with a groan, and the mattress coils squeaked.

“Shhhhh,” Inej insisted. The walls were so thin. “Is this all right?”

“Mhmm.” Kaz had pressed a tight fist over his mouth. She was softly stroking his thigh with both hands, gently bending his knee.

“Are you sure?” she whispered. “It looks like it hurts.” His dark brows had knit together, lines crinkling in his forehead.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, in a single moan. Inej shushed him again, unable to tear her eyes off him in fascination. Surely no one had ever seen Kaz Brekker so undone.

He only continued to collapse as she gently rubbed down his calf, taking great care around tough bits of scar tissue and atrophied muscle. When she made her way down to his ankle, he released the hand from his mouth with a sigh, like the mattress had begun to swallow him whole. She glanced up at his face, his features relaxed in the flickering lamplight.

His eyelashes barely fluttered when she moved to his other leg.

“There’s more?” he asked. He sounded half-awake. Inej hummed a confirmation.

“This one’s doing all the work,” she explained, pressing in on his stronger thigh. Kaz let out another groan, this one deep from his chest, as she kneaded her knuckles into the tissue.

He was as still as a corpse by the time she had finished, and Inej slipped off the edge of the bed, tip-toeing to turn down the lamp. She thought to sneak back downstairs. When she’d glanced at him once last time, his lips were slightly parted as his chest slowly rose and fell, and she’d assumed he’d fallen asleep.

But instead, to her surprise, he murmured her name, “Inej,” and reached out to touch her sleeve.

“Feeling a little better?” she whispered. She perched at the edge of his mattress, trying to keep the springs from squeaking, and Kaz gave a comfortable hum.

“Come here.” She looked in amazement at his sleepy eyes as he opened up his arm and started to fold her in.

Kaz shifted his weight and began to pull his girl in, and, Saints, the sounds the lurched out from deep within the clunky old mattress then. It was Inej’s turn to wince. There was no getting around it. The whole world probably heard. No hiding anything now.

“Saints, Kaz, how cheap are you,” she hissed. “This bed sounds older than the making at the heart of the world.”

“Shhh,” Kaz hushed her, mocking. “The walls are thin. Everyone can hear you.” But Inej couldn’t help grinning to herself in the dark, even as she rolled her eyes.

He tucked her head below his chin, cradling her head against his bicep as he bent his arm to hold her head. Something warm and welcome spread in her belly as his fingers slid into her hair, and she pulled him closer, an arm over his torso.

“That’s a yes, then?” she whispered, as his other arm circled around her. His hand curled in the fabric between her shoulder blades. “You’re feeling better?”

“I defy any man who would have me believe that sex is better,” Kaz mumbled, half- asleep, and Inej stifled a laugh into his chest.

“Nina would say don’t knock it til you try it.”

“Nina’s a podge, too, then.”

And, outside, the rain fell, dribbling down the clay rooftop, but inside The Slat, the night was warm and dark. And silent. And right.

[that-otome-potato]

Choices

- Pairing: MC x Sotetsu / MC x Kongou

- Rating: NSFW for explicit sexual content, language, and TW: abuse, blood, gun violence

- Requested by: @lancermylove

- Request: Your choice: Koku, Kei, Kong, and/or So. (CM = cast member)(sfw version) A few years back, s/o and CM1 were dating, but she left him suddenly and in a bad way. Unbeknownst to him, she broke up with him to protect him (dets up to you). In the present time, s/o is dating CM2 but she still feel guilty about CM1. By chance she meets CM1, & he's still angry at her because he never stopped loving her. Which guy will s/o choose? Will the people who were trying to hurt CM1 return or will they target CM2.

- A/N: I hope this is what you had in mind! I used a couple different flowers that a couple places said meant danger, beware, and infatuation - it’ll make sense later haha. If I got it wrong, please let me know!

-A/N 2: There will be two endings for you to choose between at the end.

Under the cut to save space ^_^;

“Sotetsuuuu! I’m home! Are you ready yet? It’s almost time to go to Starless!” I listened as I took my shoes off at the door and put my bag on the kitchen table, hearing the sound of the shower running from our bathroom.

When I entered the bedroom, I paused at the sight of a fresh-from-the-shower Sotetsu, dripping with water and good looks, standing there with one towel tied loosely around his waist and one covering his head. Even after being together as friends during two years of university, then lovers for three of the last four, he still made my heart race and take my breath away to this day.

All of the moisture left my mouth and moved down to the juncture between my legs at the sight before me. Sotetsu just stood there in all his swarthy glory, his hands on his hips, watching me lick my lips while my gaze trailed after a droplet of water that traveled from his temple, along his chiseled jaw, down his pectoral muscles and trailing down his right side to slide down his iliac crest and past the edge of his towel. Which did little to hide how much he was enjoying my heated gaze. The only thought in my head was that I wanted to lick up that droplet with my tongue before it disappeared.

Sotetsu slowly brought his hands from around his hips to the front of his towel and slowly started to unwrap it from his hips and I could feel my heart rate increase further and further, right along with my breathing. By the time he dropped his towel to the floor, standing proud and tall in the buff, I felt my feet moving me towards him and he was cupping my jaw to tilt my head up towards him. My hands landed on his scalding flesh before he slanted his lips over my own and started devouring them, nipping and biting as if a starved beast.

His hungry kisses set kindling to the flame that had been given birth inside me the moment I walked into the bedroom, and a moan escaped as my arousal roared further to life the longer they lasted. Then he was thrusting his tongue past my lips and teeth to toy and tease my own and I felt my knees grow weak. Sotetsu noticed and wrapped an arm around my waist as he guided us backwards until the back of my knees came up against the large, sturdy bed.

Sotetsu took over completely once my back met the fluffy covers, and soon enough, my pants and panties were both strewn across the floor behind him, and his fingers were inside me, riding me deep, preparing me for his hardened girth.

“So...So, we don’t have much time. We’re going to be late.” I try to say when he released my lips to hear my moans and cries of arousal as he continued to play with me below while moving to nibble my earlobe and jaw, neck and collarbone.

The only response I got from him was a deep, vibrating chuckle, before we both got lost in our passions for the other.

We were very, very late.

~*~

Several days later, as I was walking up the stairs to the carpeted lobby of Starless, I noticed a man standing at the door and looking into the space, using his hands as shade against the mid day light. When he saw me standing there, he stared waving at me in a friendly manner.

Cautiously, I walked close enough for me to hear what he wanted to say, seeing a flower company's name on the left breast of his red polo shirt.

“Good afternoon miss! I have a floral delivery for __________ at this address. Would you be able to help me?”

Hearing my name was a surprise. Who could they be from? Sotetsu never sent me bouquets. However, as of late, he’d been surprising me here and there with little things like a bracelet, a flower, some sugary sweets. Small, intimate, sweet. All in private, but all the more special for the fact that they were from him.

“That's me.”

The younger man’s face lit up and he hurried back to the back of his delivery van that was the same shade of red and had the same logo as on his shirt, to bring out a small, but beautiful bouquet of orange lilies and a flower I didn't recognize. When he was right at the door, I unlocked it and took the bouquet from him and bowed in thanks before closing the door again, looking around for a card.

While walking back towards the office, I passed Sotetsu as he was talking with Kokuyou while walking to the stage. I paused him with a grip to his forearm and kissed his cheek, thanking him for the beautiful bouquet then continuing to the office.

I didn’t see the look of confusion and concern on his face as he watched me walk into the office and close the door.

Inside, I set the vase on the top of the desk and pulled out the card.

What I read made my smile disappear as if it had never existed and almost drop the card in fear. I quickly looked up what the main flowers in the bouquet meant and what I discovered caused my hands to shake and I backed away from the computer. Danger, beware, infatuation. I looked back at the card again and felt the color drain from my face. The name signed at the bottom was a ghost from my past that I would have preferred to stay there. Instantly, I thought I was about to lose whatever was in my stomach right there on the desk as memories of the nearly two years with the abusive man flooded my head.

Hand over my mouth to keep things where they belonged, I looked at the card again and read: ‘You’ve had your fun, my dear. But it’s time to come back to me like the good little girl you are.’

I stared at the card without really seeing it, seeing that man, feeling his hand cracking across my cheek when I attempted to go see an upset friend, or when he caught me talking to Sotetsu while I was dating him. That had earned me a black eye, a broken nose and an unhealthy amount of fear of him.

Shaking my head, I frowned down at the piece of paper in my hand. No! That had been years ago now. I couldn’t let my past haunt and control me when I had a bright and loving future ahead of me. Besides, he couldn’t possibly be serious about threatening me to get me back? As if that would actually work on me now after spending so much time around the various members of Starless and having Sotetsu as a partner.

I ripped up the card with satisfaction and tossed it in the waste basket before taking and placing the undeniably beautiful, yet upsetting, bouquet on a table in the lobby to brighten up the area. Completely forgotten about shortly after.

~*~

Over the following week, two more bouquets with the same threatening theme, arrived for me. I narrowly avoided Sotetsu noticing the second one, but when the third one came, he was standing with me.

“Secret admirer?”

My head swiveled towards him, hoping not to see any upset or anger as the same delivery man left and the van drove off. No, I wouldn’t see that with him. Sotetsu wasn’t him. He knew I was devoted to him and him alone, but surely the bouquets were becoming suspicious.

“Something like that. More like an irritation if I’m completely honest.” I say as I start to walk over to an open spot in the lobby to place the small bouquet of flowers on near the other two.

I’m not sure why, but when I pause to look out the front doors, I noticed that the delivery van had moved and I saw him standing against a car across the street. When I realized that it wasn’t a bad memory manifesting, that he was actually there, I felt the vase slip from my hands and shatter on the floor. It sent shards of glass and flowers all over the place at my feet. But I didn’t move to clean it up immediately like I normally would. I couldn’t. Despite my insistance that I was stronger than the woman who had dated that man, fear rooted me to where I stood as I stared at him and our eyes met across the road and through the glass doors.

When I managed to tear my gaze from his hatred-filled gaze, I noticed someone was shaking me. I faced front to see a concerned Sotetsu looking down at me with his large hands on both of my upper arms. A few seconds after focusing on him again, Sotetsu picked me up bridal style and walked me to the office where the first aid kit was to treat the small cuts on my legs from the shattered glass.

“Who was that?”

“Someone I had hoped never to see again.”

~*~

After that, I clung to Sotetsu at every opportunity, not only to protect myself, but to make sure nothing happened to him. I didn’t know what that guy was fully capable of and I didn’t want him to run into Sotetsu and cause him harm. I loved him too much. At times, I worried that my increased clinginess and affection might annoy Sotetsu, but he seemed to enjoy basking in it, hearing no complaints about it the next day or the next after that.

Just as I was starting to think my ex had given up, I received another note. This time it threatened Sotetsu and I, warning me that I really should take him seriously. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to worry Sotetsu, or get him involved more than he already was with my crazy ex because of my fears. I’d thought about asking some of the others, but I refrained. ‘I’ll just have to keep an even closer eye on him.’

The next day, Sotetsu and I were walking around a park nearby, holding hands and just enjoying the day. Or rather, Sotetsu was. I was constantly scanning the area around me, watching nervously for anyone suspicious.

“You should relax. It’s our day off.”

I squeezed his hand tighter. “I know, I'm sorry. But after the last card he sent, I’m worried. I don’t want anything happening to you because of me.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Everything will be fine.”

“The optimism in your voice is so satisfying, because I’m going to change that depending on __________’s reply.”

I felt myself freeze at the sound of my ex’s low voice, laced with anger and hatred, and turned from looking at Sotetsu, to looking at him. Though it was a warm spring day, he was wearing a jacket with both of his hands in the pockets, looking at us with a smug grin. When I opened my mouth to reply, I noticed his dark eyes had taken on a crazed glint, so I knew I had to choose my words carefully.

“Why now? It’s been years since I left.”

“I’ve always missed you, __________. You were born to be with me, not this muscle-bound ignoramus you cling to so tightly. Have you forgotten how good I was to you? It’s time to come back, I’ve let you play long enough.”

“Hey asshole, she isn’t your possession or play thing. She is her own person and you’ve done enough.”

The man before us didn’t even look at Sotetsu, looking at me with a soft smile usually saved for those who cared about each other. “You deserve to be with someone more stimulating than this jock. Never thought you would be interested in someone who takes steroids or other such drugs.”

That pissed me off enough to forget my fear for a moment, and I moved around to stand before Sotetsu protectively. “There is no way in hell I’m going to let you bad mouth him right in front of me. You want to talk stimulation? He is more stimulating to me in all ways than you ever were. The only reason I stayed with you as long as I did was because I was scared of you! I regretted breaking up with So the entire time I was with you and meeting with him the day you gave me the black eye was the best thing that had happened to me in a long time. I’ve grown into a stronger woman because of him and the people here - you have no power over me anymore. Now, leave before I really make a scene.”

When he didn’t immediately leave, appearing to still be in shock at my admission and outburst, I turned and grabbed Sotetsu’s hand before walking past him in the direction we had originally been heading.

“Wrong answer, __________.” He whispered as we passed by, not stopping to even give him the time of day. He didn’t like that and growled under his breath. “__________!”

We were several feet away when we heard the audible sound of a heavy click and turned.

Everything after that happened in slow-mo.

In what felt like eternity, but couldn’t have been more than the space of a blinking eye, there was a loud bang and I watched with utter horror as the gun was fired in our direction. My horror only growing when Sotetsu let go of my hand to face our enemy, blocking me entirely. I could feel a scream building up in my throat, wanting to be released when Sotetsu flinched back on his left side, his right hand moving up slowly to cover his shoulder.

The scream was released, blood-curdling in its birth, and suddenly everything was moving at normal pace.

“SOTETSU!”

I moved around his body to face him, seeing him clutching the front of his shoulder, his dark red blood seeping from between his fingers at an alarming rate. I ripped off the bottom of my shirt to place under his hand to press against his wound, my focus completely on him and getting his bleeding to stop. I didn’t hear the shooter - because that’s what he was now - come up behind me. Not until Sotetsu tensed and frowned, looking over my shoulder.

“I told you, __________. I told you to come back to me. You should have listened. If your boy-toy dies, it’ll be your fault.” His voice sent a chill up my spine while I continued applying pressure to Sotetsu's wound.

“Don’t listen to that asshole, __________. You know I’m not going anywhere.” This just causes the other man to laugh with a slightly hysterical sound. “He’s just trying to get in your head. You don’t need that shit.”

I knew he was right. I knew I had friends who supported me and a boyfriend who loved me.

But my fear of something happening to Sotetsu, or anyone at Starless, had already burrowed endlessly deep, despite my attempt at bringing forth my bravery, echoing as if I was stuck inside a dark, murky cave. ‘Your fault! Your fault! Your fault!’

With only a moment to react, kicking the other man completely from my thoughts, I felt Sotetsu clasp my shoulder with his bloody right hand before he collapsed to the grass below. To keep him from further injury, I fell with him.

“So!” His name fell from my lips loud and ragged as I cushioned his fall the best I could. In the plush grass beneath us, I gently tapped the side of his face with palm of my free hand in an attempt to keep him awake and focus his attention on me. “So! Sotetsu! Come on, baby. Stay awake for me.”

His orange gold eyes opened blearily as he looked up at me, his beautiful eyes clouded with pain even as he gave me one of his charming smiles. “You worry too much. I told you I’m not going anywhere.”

I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes as I brought my hand, that was against his cheek, up to push his dark hair out of his eyes, his much larger, bloody hand coming up to cup my cheek coolly for a moment before it fell to his side and his eyes closed.

Even when I noticed he was breathing after laying him in the grass and applying pressure to the wound with a large chunk I tore off of his shirt when the piece I used before had become sodden, the fear lingered, pooling in my chest and making my heart clench.

Even while calling for an ambulance, the fear remained. ‘His injury is my fault’ my brain supplied as the ambulance arrived and the emergency professionals began treating Sotetsu before placing his large frame on a gurney, his eyes staying closed during the whole time.

Even at the hospital, once the doctors had cleaned him up and sutured his wound after pulling the .9mm out of his clavicle, the fear remained. They told me he would need to spend a couple days in the hospital because of the amount of blood he lost from the bullet grazing an artery, but that he was expected to make a full recovery. Despite that wonderful news, fear for him refused to leave.

‘What am I going to do? I don’t want to leave Sotetsu, but I don’t want to risk that maniac coming back to finish off what he started.’ I thought to myself as I sat in Sotetsu’s room against the window, watching his even breathing. All I could do was stare at my blood-covered hands in my lap. ‘I don’t want him to get himself involved, because that might just make it worse. I just need to give him a reason not to want to get involved.’

I gave it some thought as I sat there in his hospital room staring at my still bloody hands - I had to sear the image into my brain to remind me of why he was here. I took solace in the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor attached to his chest creating a soothing beat of life. However, the only conclusion I came to was to leave Sotetsu. To make him want to hate me, forget about me. ‘That would keep him safe.’

My heart cried out at what my brain was deciding on, the battle inside me tearing me apart bit by bit as I clenched my hands into fists to withstand the pain for what I thought needed to be done.

Before I could change my mind, pushing past the screaming for me to not do this, I took a piece of scrap paper that lay nearby and scribbled a short note to Sotetsu before gathering all of my things, placing one last, lingering, kiss on his forehead as he slept, and slipped out of his room without a sound.

I paused at the door and looked back at him one more time at the sound of him murmuring my name as he slumbered. I rushed out at the sound, fearing someone would see the tears in my eyes as I fled.

~*~

Hours later...

Sotetsu’s consciousness came back slowly and the scenery around him came into focus bit by bit.

‘This isn’t the park.’ When he looked around, he saw all of Team K sitting nearby, chatting in low tones. Yoshino is the first to notice he was awake.

“Sotetsu! You’re awake!”

All at once, three other sets of eyes turn towards him, all of them looking relieved, but he also thought he saw upset in two of them as well.

“What happened?” He looked to his leader for answers.

Kei leaned forward, his bright blue eyes flashing. “A few hours ago, you were attacked by a man claiming to be __________’s ex. He shot you and the bullet nicked your subclavian artery.”

He remembered being shot, the look of fear in __________’s eyes, the tears - he’d never forget it. He shook his head. “Where is __________? Is she ok?” ‘Why wasn’t she here?’

This caused Yoshino, Ginsei and Kei to all look at me at the same time, sympathy taking over them. Poor Gui just kept examining the hospital room listlessly.

“What? What happened?”

Kei stood up and walked over to where Sotetsu lay, holding out a folded piece of paper to him. “This was on the night stand next to your bed when we came in to check on you.”

Sotetsu took the small piece of paper. It had his name in what he recognized as __________’s handwriting on the outside, the same handwriting inside scrolling across the paper, its content growing steadily worse:

‘My sweet Sotetsu,

‘I know it probably doesn’t mean much, but thank you for protecting me today. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you woke up, I hope you can forgive me.

‘I’ve done some thinking as I sat near you in this room. Knowing you, you’ve probably already figured out what I’m about to say.

‘Sotetsu, I love you more than life itself. I always have and always will. Of course, you already know this. But after what happened to you today, I realized that if he came back, I wouldn’t be able to protect you just like I couldn’t today. So I am going to do what I need to in order to keep you safe from him.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m leaving. Starless will keep you safe. Your team will be there for you where I could not.

‘I love you, Sotetsu. Please don’t look for me - I can’t very well keep you safe if you find me.’

‘Forever yours, __________’

Sotetsu just stared at the paper in shock for a moment before crumpling it in his hand. He felt anger, betrayal. Sadness. She was breaking up with him? Through a fucking note? Who did that?? After everything he’d done for her, taking that bullet to protect her from that crazy. Didn’t she trust him? He deserved better than that.

“Sotetsu, are you ok?”

His angered gaze was drawn from the crumpled note in his hand to Gui, who had asked after him. After a moment, he looked back down and sighed. He wanted to rant, to rage. She left him because she didn’t think she could protect him. She was a strong woman, but he was bigger and stronger. He was a protector.

Sotetsu looked at Kei. “Did she go to Starless before leaving?”

Kei nodded. “That’s how we found out. She told us you’d gotten attacked and that you were in the hospital. We offered to bring her back with us to save money on a cab, but she said she had to do something at the shop first. We tried calling her once we got here, but she didn’t answer anyone’s call.”

“She texted me. Told me to stop trying to call her. She left Starless.” Ginsei added somewhat sheepishly.

“For the day?” Ginsei shook his head at Sotetsu’s question.

“Ginsei, why didn’t you say anything?” Kei chastised him. Ginsei responded, but Sotetsu had turned his attention internally, thinking about everything he had learned since waking up.

She doesn’t want to be found by him or anyone at Starless. ‘I wouldn’t be able to protect you... I can’t very well keep you safe...’

She left Starless for him, for them. He thought back to the times he’d been working some lead outside of Starless on some information he needed and had taught her a few tricks of the trade so she could disappear if she was ever in danger.

__________ felt like he was in danger, so she was using the skills she’d learned from him against him. Well, joke was on her because he knew what she was doing and would be finding her by tomorrow at least. He'd bet on it.

~*~

One year later...

“I don’t know, Kongou.” I looked at the employee entrance with uncertainty. It had been just over a year since the last time I’d come within one hundred yards of this building and I was worried about how they would respond to my sudden return. Kongou had assured me everyone had forgiven me and was looking forward to my return, but anxiety kept me from feeling joy at the thought. Particularly since I knew that Sotetsu was still working here.

‘Sotetsu...’ Could I even look Sotetsu in the eye after how I ended things with him? I did it with the best of intentions because I knew he would try to convince me otherwise and I couldn’t risk something happening to him again. Since then, I had recognized my error. I should have talked to him about it before taking the situation into my own hands. After coming to that realization, I could have, should have, rectified it by returning to Starless. My pride refused to let me.

So while Kongou tried to convince me to return to Starless, to our friends, we grew closer and eventually started dating after a few short weeks.

Kongou placed a sweet, chaste kiss on my forehead and gave me a bright smile, warming my heart. “It’ll be fine! Even Sotetsu is excited to see you again.”

He was sweet to say that of course, but I was still apprehensive. I wrapped my arms around myself and looked to the side, Kongou’s bright personality too much to keep looking at. “I still don’t know...”

“I told you, __________! Even back when I found you by chance at the park two months ago, everything will be fine. You’ll see!” Kongou smiled brightly at me and I felt my heart flutter slightly. “Trust me.”

I looked up into his kind, emerald green eyes and saw confidence and assurance that I didn’t feel, but knew I could trust. My lungs filled with air as I inhaled as deep as I could, held, then released in a rush, mentally fortifying myself for what was to come.

“Okay.”

~*~

Turned out that Kongou was right.

Everyone on both sides seemed to welcome me with open arms - some more begrudgingly than others - all just seeming to be glad that I had returned.

I looked past the group surrounding me the best I could and caught sight of an achingly familiar set of wide shoulders and brown hair. My heart clenched at the sight, knowing I had hurt him the worst. But how could I face him?

Kongou had seen the way I was looking at Sotetsu and squeezed my shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

He had been right so far, perhaps he was now as well. With a nod, I excused myself from the Starless teams and followed Sotetsu into a quiet back area.

When he stopped, I stopped, clenching my hands at my sides while trying to figure out what to say to him. What did someone say to another person after they broke up with them while they were in the hospital by way of a folded piece of paper? I squared my shoulders and cleared my throat. 'Get it over with...'

“So?” I could see his back visibly tense for a moment before releasing with a heavy sigh. I bit my lip to keep back tears of upset and frustration at the situation. “Sotetsu, I...”

Sotetsu rounded on me when I tried to speak. I thought he had been angry, but there was a heavy pain deep in his golden eyes. A pain I had caused.

“I looked for you, you know. For weeks? Months? Did I ever even stop? I don’t know now. No matter where I looked, who I talked to, you were gone.” He held up one of his large hands to keep me from speaking when I tried again. “I know you told me not to, but did you actually think I wouldn’t? Who do you think I am? So I got to thinking about the guy who started it all that day in the park.

“It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but I finally found him and gathered enough evidence, leaving an anonymous tip with the police, to have him arrested. I thought to myself: maybe if she heard about that guys arrest, she would come back. You said in your note at the hospital that you had left me to protect me after all.

“So I set to work doing just that. It took a couple months, but I finally got him arrested for abuse and sexual misconduct. Apparently, he was already a wanted man, but thought he was smart enough to get away.” He paused to look at me with furrowed brows. “But that still wasn’t enough to bring you back.

“Then Kongou comes in one day with one of the biggest smiles on his face. Told us that he had run into you while he was shopping for Starless. Imagine my surprise when he said that. Kongou of all people found you, instead of me. The one person in the world who knows you best!

"And to find you, a year later, with fucking Kongou? God damn it, _____! How could you do that to me? I looked for you everywhere. I never stopped. I used almost all of my contacts to find you, to protect you from that guy. I never stopped loving you. You were it for me, you know? Are you dating Kongou now? Fucking him?”

I flinched at his accusing tone, but quickly recovered and returned my own narrowed gaze towards him. “That’s enough! You know, ever since you opened your mouth, all I hear is me, me, me. I know I hurt you. Do you honestly think I wanted the past year to happen to us? Never in a million years did I think that something like that man coming back into my life. I didn’t want to leave you, Sotetsu.

“I did it because I believed it would protect you, since you were constantly protecting me. If I hadn’t cut ties with you, he would have kept coming and coming until he killed you. If you had...died... because of me, I’d... I’d never forgive myself.” I had to pause because of the emotion rising in my throat, threatening to choke me. “I would have died inside - I DID die a little inside when I watched you get shot. A little bit of my heart was left behind in that hospital room with you.”

The last of my impassioned speech was released loud enough that it echoed about the space.

“You could have come back to me. I got the guy imprisoned for a long time. You have to know how often I tried to call you, left voicemail after voicemail.”

I couldn’t help the heartbreak showing on my face. I knew that, but I couldn’t go back to him - not after he had almost gotten killed because of my crazy ex boyfriend. “I was...ashamed.”

“Of me?”

I threw up a hand to grip the front of his work shirt, making him focus on me. “No! Never of you. Of myself. I couldn’t face you. The thought of doing so after I had heard he went to prison scared the life out of me. I panicked at the idea of facing you after abandoning you when you needed me. But in my heart, I knew I’d done it to protect you because I loved you...”

“Loved. Past tense.”

I fidgeted where I stood in the shadow cast on the ground by the taller man, but I couldn’t look up at his reaction. Oh, but I heard exactly how he felt in just those three simple words. The raw pain he was feeling deep in his heart - like stitches being ripped from an open wound just barely starting to heal.

“I...I’m with Kongou now, Sotetsu.”

“Don’t remind me.” He spat, then sighed when he saw me flinch at his words. “Do you love him.”

“I like him a lot.” There was a long, awkward silence that encompassed them both. "But it's too soon to know."

The fact that I said I liked him, rather than love, didn’t escape either of us. Sotetsu reached up and gripped my wrist as if he were about to pull it from his shirt to separate us, but he didn’t.

“Is there still a chance you love me? Enough to come back since your ex won’t bother you anymore?”

My breath caught in my chest at the plea in his voice that he couldn’t cover up with his usual teasing tone. Something that he wouldn’t let just anyone see or hear.

Was there? Did I? Would he let me go back to him after everything I’d done? Did I deserve to?

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

Choice time! Since I couldn’t decide on an ending, I wrote two.

I want to stay with you, Sotetsu!

Our time is done. I want to stay with Kongou.

[starkerkeyz]

Love Me Sweetly, Kiss Me Softly

Length: 6543 WC

AO3 Link

Mads💗: So. This was meant to be a one shot, first of all and we had plans to post this on Vday and didn’t finish on time 😅. Second, our RPs have gone from complete smut to… this? 😂 I swear, the intention is smutty though 😱 and it will be! …Later.

Keyz 💖: It was supposed to be a one shot! But then, we kept building up the world and thinking up ideas for more and more interactions. This is the longest we’ve gone without writing smut! 

Warnings:  TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF (for nooow), intersex omegas, naughty but innocent Peter?

Peter isn’t even fully awake when he reaches for the slim dildo on his bedside table. His body knows the motions and he’s able to slip it inside with a sigh of contentment.

His body is sleep warm and lazy but the building orgasm has no problem reaching its peak. It only takes a couple of thrusts of the toy since Peter’s well versed in getting himself off. He doesn’t even need to touch his cock before his body shudders in completion, slick and cum soaking into the towel he had laid beneath him before he fell asleep last night.

He drifts back into lazy dreams for a few minutes more and then finally rouses. 

The thin blanket gets tossed to the side and he stretches long, lean limbs before finally sitting up. His dildo is on the bedside table again and he takes it along for his shower. 

It’s his daily routine and he makes it to work on time for his shift. 

His ears, long and the same sandy brown as his hair, gently flop as he bounces into work, a beaming smile on his face. It may disgruntle some of the other workers, morning people, they are not, but they expect it of Peter.

His fluffy little tail pokes out from his bottoms and it wiggles in excitement as he ties on his apron.

“Register duty,” MJ tells him gruffly.

“You got it!” Peter chirps back. 

It’s another perk of being his kind. Bunny pheromones tend to lull customers into a cheerful mood so it’s like they’re getting a shot of espresso before they even get their coffee. There are downsides to it, but Peter tries not to dwell on it.

He’s still signing into the register when the first customer arrives.

“One second, sir,” Peter says, just making sure the customer doesn’t think they’re being ignored. “Registers always take a bit to start up… Ah– what can I get started for you…?”

“Tony, gorgeous. I’ll have a large caramel macchiato, sub almond milk.” Tony winks at the cute omega bunny boy that’s been fluttering around behind the counter with a happy little bounce. 

He didn’t think rabbits really did that outside of TV but here -Tony looks at the nametag- Peter is, bouncing around with a smile and a tail wiggle and it’s bringing up Tony’s day just seeing the chipper young man getting set up. 

Tony flicks his triangular ears in the direction of someone laughing from further in the cafe and then centers back on Peter. All that movement draws Tony’s predator instincts like a magnet. The alpha instincts on top make him want to pin the bunny to one of the coffee machines and attempt to fuck the bounce out of his step. 

Peter calls out the order, the words barely registering in his head before they flow out his mouth. He does an excited little wiggle when the machine is ready and then he’s punching in the order with quick, dextrous fingers.

“Large caramel… macchiato,” Peter confirms, “almond milk!”

Tony can’t take his eyes off of the happily wiggling cutie. Just watching Peter prance around with a smile and a bob of his fluffy tail was a mood enhancement. He’d heard that rabbits could do that with their pheromones if they aren’t terrified of the wolf hybrid nearby. 

He’s never been around a bunny not scared of him. This is nice. 

Peter finally glances up, a smile on his face.

“That’ll be–” Peter barely pauses when he gets a look at his first customer, but recovers quickly. “$5.53, Tony!”

It’s a new customer! And– Peter’s eyes grow wide because he looks like– 

His eyes dart to the number of customers in line. It’s the morning rush and he pouts a bit to himself when he realizes he can’t take the time to talk to this new customer. To Tony.

Tony smiles and makes sure his teeth, and subsequently, his fangs, don’t show. He doesn’t want to scare the bunny away with his hunger and he’s aware that his very pheromones can set some prey types on edge instinctively. 

He’s got a hint of wildness to his scent that no dog would ever bring to the table. His fangs are just a little too long, his eyes just a little too intent, and his tail just a little too stiff.

“Long shift today?” Tony asks casually. 

He takes a discreet sniff, nostrils flaring out as he tries to subtly figure out if Peter’s single without asking outright. He likes the challenge of using his senses to sleuth it out as much as he wants to avoid the embarrassment of being rejected if Peter has a girlfriend or boyfriend. 

He doesn’t smell another person but he does catch the deep notes of relaxation and lingering sex that come from masturbation. It makes Tony imagine Peter naked and wonder how soon he could get him there again. 

Tony’s tail wags fluidly behind him with the idea of seeing when this cute bunny might have a break. He might be able to wait for it and chat him up some more if it’s soon. 

His tail freezes when he realizes Peter can’t possibly have one coming up if he just got here. Then it droops, hanging down the back of one leg and staying there. Tony’s smile drops to a polite lip curl. 

Peter probably gets asked out all the time on the clock anyway. Bad idea, really.

Behind him, Peter’s fluffy tail is going crazy with excitement. He recognizes that Tony is a wolf. There’s no other excuse for why the hairs at the back of his neck tingle with warning.

But even though the instincts are there, Peter’s become very good at ignoring them. They live in a modern society and those prey instincts are just relics of the past.

They do some pretty exciting things to his body though. Peter gets a burst of adrenaline which he tricks his mind into translating as excitement. 

It’s another reason why they like to put him up front. Bunnies give off those yummy scents but Peter was particularly good at not being prey, no matter what his instincts scream at him.

So it’s easy for his scent to remain carefree and inviting and for Tony, he thinks it even deepens in curiosity. He’s never met a wolf before…

Tony’s dark ears catch Peter’s attention and he just wants to reach out and see how velvety smooth the fur is.

“Oh…! Yes,” Peter laughs, face going a bit pink when he realizes he’s been keeping Tony waiting on an answer. He fidgets a bit with the little bow tie they have him wear.

Tony’s eyes and ears both flick down at the motion, honing in on Peter’s throat where the bowtie lies on his neck. Tony’s pupils expand like he’s on the hunt. His tail shoots up so fast he knocks the person crowding behind him into giving him more breathing room. 

Peter’s been through this often enough that he recognizes an opening when he sees one. Usually, he brushes them off, playing ignorance and claiming naivety. It’s not really a good idea to give out his shift hours but…

A quick little discrete sniff gives Peter so much intel on his new customer. His scent reminds Peter of warm summer nights and maybe oak?

Peter likes warmth. Peter likes summer nights.

“Wow, buddy, calm that nub down,” Ned laughs behind him as he passes by.

Tony hides his laugh behind a hand, knowing he couldn’t possibly hide his fangs. His tail lifts higher in excitement and starts wagging stiffly back and forth as he waits, hoping that the stalling and the bouncing is a good sign. It’s been ages since Tony tried dating someone, and never a bunny.

Peter freezes again but then pretends it didn’t even happen. His tail continues twitching, he can’t really control that part and Ned knows it.

“I usually have a break around one…” Peter offers, heart skipping beats. He tries for casual and his fingers curl to stop them from playing with his ear. “If you’re around.”

“I could make the time,” Tony offers. 

It’s hours away yet. He drums his fingers on the counter and then picks up the pen used for receipts. He scribbles his number on a spare scrap of torn receipt and slides it over to Peter, fingers lingering.

Peter’s eyes dart to the tiny slip of paper before his hand shoots out to take it. His face blushes pink and he knows it’s futile to try hiding this from Ned and MJ but he still tries.

He knows he should assure Tony that he shouldn’t be inconvenienced just for him but he can’t bring himself to say the words. Their fingers brush and Peter’s heart quickens even more.

“I’d really like that,” he says with a smile.

He tucks the note into a pocket in his apron for safekeeping.

“Maybe we could get something to eat after your shift sometime, too?” Tony hopes he’ll say yes. The little omegan bunny smells so fresh and bright, like springtime grass and freshly bloomed flowers. Growing, ripe, fertile. 

Tony feels like an asshole for thinking such stereotypes. 

To Tony, Peter smells ready for sex and adventure. Like he would be perfectly at home taking a tumble with someone in the middle of a hike. Like he’s definitely gotten grass stains on his knees from fucking in a meadow. Like the athletic cutie wouldn’t say no to being held against a large oak tree and knotted-

Tony clears his throat and pins his ears back with a chiding shake to his own foolish head. He needs to be better than that. No one deserves to be stereotyped into a cock slut just because they were born with certain ears and tail. 

“Your pick.” Tony doesn’t want to come across as more of an ass by asking if Peter’s vegetarian. Is that insulting to assume? Tony hasn’t been around enough prey animals he wants to make a good impression on to know. 

The request surprises Peter but in a very good way. His smile turns sweeter and he leans forward, drawn in by the wolf’s charm.

“I’ll think of something,” he says, meaning he’ll be frantically texting everyone he knows for a good place to take a wolf. “Maybe I’ll have something if you do stop by at one.”

“Looking forward to it,” Tony says in answer, leaning forward in mirror to Peter. His ears are fixed onto Peter, not even flicking away to catalog the hiss of steam and blaring of alarms. 

It almost feels like the world has narrowed down to the two of them and Peter’s more than happy to remain in that bubble.

Until Ned pops it.

“Large caramel macchiato, almond milk,” Ned calls out, “For Tony!”

Peter straightens, eyes darting back to the screen. His ears swing back, one covering his right eye. “Oh, um, $5.53.”

His face feels so warm and he feels a bit embarrassed to have gotten so smitten by a mere two minute conversation. He tucks the floppy ear back, giving a flustered smile.

Tony can’t stop grinning as he fishes his wallet out and pays. He makes sure their hands brush again when he gives Peter a cash tip, winking at the blushing bunny. He wants to be allowed to brush his ear back for him next time.

“I’ll see you at 1, Peter.” Tony tips his caramel macchiato at him in salute and steps out of the way to let him get back to his job. 

Peter’s eyes trail after him as though his brain hasn’t gotten the message that he’s at work. Of course, he snaps back to attention when the next customer, a regular, clears their throat.

“See you,” Peter sighs out, head completely in the clouds and heart in la la land.

Tony makes his way out of the cafe and back to his day with one more meeting on the books.

Internally, he’s giddy to have a shot with someone so smoking hot and unbelievably cute. And his smell! 

Tony just wants to bury his nose right in the source of all that beautiful freshness. He could feel his gums aching and saliva pooling in his mouth already and shakes his head, slapping at his own cheek for focus when he’s sure the bunny couldn’t possibly see him being so weird. 

“Okay. Time to get everything I had planned up to dinner done before noon.” 

Tony sips at his drink. His mind drifts back to Peter. 

Should he bring chocolates? Could bunny hybrids eat chocolate? Hybrid canines could eat up to four pounds of the stuff before it reached toxicity levels and was considered normal to gift out in small, elaborately wrapped packaging. Maybe Pepper would know…

Tony arrives with flowers that smell like Peter and a little fancy clear bag of oatmeal and carrot bunny cookies in his pocket that Google told him is the most coveted brand on the market. Pepper had told him to only bring one or the other but he couldn’t decide and leaving one behind made his tail flick and swish agitatedly, leg bouncing with stress. 

So he has both to present. 

He pushes through the door with his free hand and scans for Peter. He automatically begins cataloging the many scents swirling around the shop; identifying people, machines, ingredients, cleaners and more so that he has a map of the place visually and through olfactory within moments. 

His tail goes high and side to side when he spots the bunny, ears alert. He sweeps through the tables and up to Peter in a flash, holding out the flowers with another carefully subdued smile. 

“Hello, beautiful. Thanks for letting me see you again so soon.” Tony sweeps the cookies up out of his pocket and gives them to Peter on top of the flowers. “I hope you like them as much as the reviews say you should.”

Whatever Peter’s expecting come 1 PM, it isn’t this. Truth be told, the bunny was a ball of nervous energy in the past half hours, worried that the wolf wouldn’t show.

Seeing Tony walk through the doors of their little cafe has Peter so giddy with happiness that he isn’t sure how his feet are still on the ground.

The sight of the flowers already has his eyes growing wide but he recognizes the brand of cookies Tony gives him. They’re a very well known brand of cookies and they’re expensive too. Peter has only allowed himself to buy them a couple of times a year as a treat for him and May so this unexpected treat has Peter’s mouth dropping.

He takes both items, looking at one and the other then back at the waiting wolf.

Tony waits for Peter’s verdict with a small dance of weight between his feet and a continuous wagging of his tail. He holds back from nudging the treats closer or barking to prompt a reaction, just barely. Peter’s wide eyed silence was starting to make him wonder…

The wolf let out a tiny whimper as the seconds ticked by. Was he wrong? Did he pick a bad brand?

“Oh, thank God,” Peter blurts out, “I wasn’t sure if you just wanted to talk or just be friends or– I don’t know, maybe get a free coffee now and then but– but you… you like me? Like… maybe…”

He’s babbling, he knows he is and what’s embarrassing is he does quick anxious little wiggles in place as he talks. He clutches onto the flowers then makes a worried sound when he realizes he might be crushing them.

They’re a sturdy bunch though and he’s relieved to see that not even a single petal was bent.

“I’m glad you like them and no, I definitely didn’t mean just friends. Not for this and not for that dinner invite. I want to get to know you better and maybe… I mean, if you’re single and I’m single…” Tony needs to stop talking. ‘If you’re single and I’m single’ like that isn’t how typical dating worked.  The wolf shakes his head at himself, furry little ears flicking in self disapproval, and hopes Peter will overlook his awkwardness. 

“Honey Bunnies…” Peter says in awe then realizes something else. His eyebrows twitch as he realizes. “Wait, how did you even get these? This flavor isn’t supposed to be out until next month.”

Honey brown eyes look at the wolf with barely veiled delight. If someone accused Peter of being a puppy right now instead of a bunny, he wouldn’t even fault them for the mistake.

This has to be puppy love…

“I love these things,” Peter says. “I– I shouldn’t even ask how, right? They’re a gift so I should just be saying thank you.”

Tony is glowing from Peter’s reactions to his presents. He takes a seat across from the bunny and leans forward, ears and eyes focused with laser intensity on the cutest bunny on the planet.

“I looked up the flavors and ordered the one that sounded best to me, honestly.” 

He knew he’d be the one eating it if Peter didn’t like it and paid extra for the gamble. Oatmeal and carrot sound pleasant enough to him. 

Oatmeal and wheatgrass? Barley and broccoli? Not really appetizing to a wolf that grew up on the iron rich delicacies of lamb chops and steak and learned to navigate dinner parties with the refined taste of sushi and caviar.

Tony yips quietly to himself to refocus on Peter at present, a small sound he’d taught himself (with Rhodey’s help) that no one else should be able to hear in the cafe. 

College had been a nightmare of sounds and smells distracting him until his friend taught him self direction through vocal cues. Something they did in the military, he’d said, but Tony thinks he was just covering up whatever therapist technique it was. Probably meant for dogs.

Tony’s ears twitch and his eyes scrunch the slightest as he notices himself drifting again. He yips firmly to himself and then tunes back into the person he actually wants to pay attention to.

“I was wondering why they’re called Honey Bunnies the more I read. Most of the cookies use grains and vegetables for the main flavor.” Tony shrugs a shoulder. He doesn’t handle marketing in his company for a reason. He smiles at Peter and ducks his head, almost like a bow as both hands settle flat on the table. “I can bring you a new flavor next time if you like?”

That sounds like heaven but Peter can’t possibly accept.

He shakes his hard so hard that his long ears swing side to side.

“You don’t have to!” He tells the wolf, “I-I mean… They’re hard to get sometimes… a real pain… And besides, even these will last me a while.”

It may or may not be true. He hasn’t tried these and he might just as well scarf them down if they’re that good. They’re always that good though… He’d be lucky if he could save some for May to try.

Tony waves off Peter’s concerns about money. He doesn’t expect any kind of favor system or to get presents of equal cost. He gets the people he likes material things because seeing them light up and enjoy them makes him warm and excited. 

He likes hunting down the perfect gift and preening from a job well done when it’s well received. So if Peter likes those special honey-not-honey cookies, then Tony will get him as many as he can stand to eat.

Peter tucks his unruly ear back into place, peeking at the wolf with a smile.

“And, um, they’re called Honey Bunnies cause… cause the founder was a non-rabbit kind who wanted to give his doe something to munch on…” Peter says with wide eyes.

Considering Tony hadn’t known, there’s no way he could’ve planned some sort of meaning behind the gesture. But… considering he bought it for Peter, isn’t it the same, anyway?

“Ahh… I see I’m not the first to fall for a cute pair of ears then, huh?” Tony reaches out and gently tucks Peter’s ear away for him. His eyes sparkle a little and he enjoys the simple pleasure of feeling how absolutely velveteen Peter’s ear is below his fingertips. 

Peter’s cheeks warm up and he knows his tail is twitching in excitement. He tries not to let it get to his head but it may be too late.

He boldly reaches over to squeeze the wolf’s hand before his nerves get the best of him. A moment later and those same fingers retreat.

“I… can be your honey bunny if that’s what you want?” Peter almost squeaks.

Is this how flirting is done? He’s never really cared to try… He just hopes he’s not making a fool of himself 

Tony reaches out for Peter and repeats the motion back, squeezing his hand gently. He leaves his hand over Peter’s instead of pulling back as the bunny had done, smiling broadly enough to show off his upper and lower canines and sharpened incisors. 

The bunny’s eyes can’t get any wider but his breath does catch at the sight of Tony’s fangs. That sweet adrenaline courses through him once more, warning him to run but Peter’s fascinated.

“Of course, I’d love that! I’m definitely going to get you more cookies though, if you’re going to be my honey bunny and all.” Tony winks outrageously, flopping his ears with it to add even more comedy to the effect. 

The little ear wiggle is adorable and only makes Peter want to reach out and touch them. Coupled with the wink, Peter ends up beaming at the wolf, disarmed and maybe a bit enamored.

Looking at Tony, Peter can’t imagine how anyone can be afraid of him.

“If you insist, I won’t say no,” Peter says and it comes out a bit shyly.

He’s out of his depth here and he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful or to give Tony the wrong idea. He turns his hand over and twists their fingers together in a loose hold.

Peter is so unbelievably sweet and pure. Tony wants to lean over and kiss the breath out of him to seal the deal, but it feels almost wrong to be so forward with the bunny boy. This is literally their first date, ever, so Tony can wait and be a gentleman. 

Judging by how hesitantly Peter had touched his hands just now and how flustered he was receiving the presents, he’s either incredibly good at acting or very inexperienced and nervous. 

He’ll let Peter set the pace in either case. He could keep it in his pants and his hands to himself for as long as Peter needs to feel ready. No pressuring or assuming. 

Even drop dead gorgeous bunny boys like Peter could be virgins.

“Can I still take you out to dinner sometime? When are you free?” Tony swishes his tail behind him and resists the urge to slide his hands forward and scent the backs of Peter’s hands with his wrists. 

He’s being a gentleman. He’s going to go slow. He could do this, for Peter. 

“My shift ends in three hours,” Peter says automatically. He blinks when he realizes how eager it sounds. “But my next day off is Thursday…”

Thursday seems so far away and Peter’s little bunny heart wants to curl up at the thought of not seeing the wolf until then. But he has to play it cool.

He doesn’t realize it but his lips pucker into a gentle pout.

Tony wants to suck that pout between his fangs and keep it safe. He’s almost panting after Peter, the cute bunny managing to turn his head in circles with just a smile or a pout.

Tony is a wolf but he’s charming and easy-going. He doesn’t trigger any of Peter’s instincts besides the normal ones that predator scents incite in him. For Peter, he feels relaxed and doted upon.

How could he not? He has pretty flowers that he knows MJ was eying earlier and Honey Bunnies that Ned will try to steal. He wouldn’t take a courting gift from his best friend….

… Is the wolf courting him…?

Tony takes one hand off Peter and reaches into his pocket with the other to grab up his phone. He doesn’t want to stop touching Peter now that he’s been allowed. 

That’s probably too intense, isn’t it? Especially for a first date? Tony doesn’t want to scare Peter off by going too fast…

Peter feels like he’s blurted out too many embarrassing questions already. Tony’s already shown his interest and while that reassures him, the bunny worries about some other things. This being the first person he’s ever wanted to know better in a more intimate sense, he realizes that what he wants may be fast for the wolf.

Bunnies would already be humping by now. May not even exchange names because who needs names when that itch needs scratching…? Peter’s always been a bit different though.

Or so he thought. Looking at the wolf’s roguish smile, he feels his insides warm and his belly clench with excitement.

His fingers twitch beneath Tony’s but he gives the wolf another smile. He’ll behave… He doesn’t want to scare Tony off with all those intense rumors about bunnies that happen to be true…

Reluctantly, thinking the twitch meant he’d overstayed his welcome, Tony places both hands on his phone. He uses the tech as a prop to keep his hands full and fiddling and not grabbing the bunny’s soft hands back up and holding on like a creep.

Peter already misses the warmth from Tony’s hands but he doesn’t chase after him even when his instincts want him to.

“I work pretty much every day but a lot of it I can do from my phone. So just let me know if another day or something works better, don’t be afraid about me not making it.” Tony says to his phone, both ears pointing at Peter and betraying where his attention truly is. He doesn’t dare look up at Peter.

Valentine’s day is this Friday.

Peter might not even want to celebrate. They just met and Valentine’s could be a pretty big deal to some couples. Or maybe Peter wouldn’t feel comfortable spending it with a new paramour. There are so many good, sound, logical reasons Peter could say no. Tony doesn’t want to pressure him and will leave it up to the omegan bunny to decide. 

He really, really hopes, though. 

Peter leans forward and lets his fingertips brush against the back of Tony’s hand. It barely does so but even this bit of contact makes him happy.

It’s Monday…. And Peter normally does not like Mondays but perhaps he has to change his mind on that. He feels giddy just looking at the wolf.

“Um, well I’m working every day until Saturday…”

Tony tries not to let his disappointment show. It’s not Peter’s fault he’s scheduled that day and can’t rearrange his entire work schedule for a sudden, intense new interest like Tony. Peter’s still willing to entertain a second date and Tony needs to focus on that positive instead of the other negative.

There are other big events they could spend together in the future. Tony will have to plan ahead, that’s all.

Peter subconsciously tugs on his ear with his free hand as he considers what to say.

“I work late tomorrow… But I get out the same time on Wednesday and Thursday… Friday, I’m supposed to close,” he says as he mentally ticks off his work schedule.

He creeps his fingers closer until he can gently rest them on top of Tony’s wrist. He can feel the strong steady pulse right there and it feels like his heartbeat resets to mimic it.

Tony feels his ears and tail drooping in pleasure when Peter’s slender fingers come to rest right on his scent gland, bold and soft at once. Peter willingly scent marking himself makes Tony’s heart rate pick up the pace where it’s running laps around his ribcage. 

His nose and ears twitch in conjunction as he tries to sniff out what Peter&Tony smell like off of Peter’s skin. 

Grass and forest. Meadow and heat. Those weeks when spring is heating up into summer, the air simmering itself pleasantly along sweaty, flushed skin. The well seasoned frenzy of mating ruts and bountiful, fertile heats. 

Alpha and omega and predator and prey and Peter&Tony.

Peter ducks his head a bit, peeking at the wolf with a hesitant smile. “Is Wednesday or Thursday okay with you…?" 

Of course, he’d like to see Tony more, but he doesn’t want to be a clingy person. They’d only just met and Peter already feels he’s falling for the guy.

Tony yips to focus himself, realizing he’d gotten lost in the smell of their first real scenting. He smiles widely at Peter, giddy that their scents are so compatible. He knew Peter was special.

“Wednesday or Thursday is fine. I think Thursday would be easier for me though, if you don’t have a preference?” Tony has to hold back from offering to take Peter out both nights. He can’t overwhelm the bunny or he might run.

The thought of chasing him produces a high, excited whine that he quickly bites back with a nervous glance at Peter. He doesn’t want to chase Peter to scare him, but he doesn’t think the truth would go over well either. Telling him, on the first date, that Tony’s whining at the chance to chase him down and fuck him wherever he catches him would be a good way to get tossed on his ass. 

“Sorry. Happens sometimes. Um. When I’m… looking forward to something.” 

Now, Tony’s blushing and looking down at his hands. He sees Peter’s fingers on his wrist and is reminded of their wonderful scent all over again. It only makes him more flustered and happy.

The sound surprises a smile out of Peter and he leans closer. He’s never really been around wolf types and has only really seen them from afar. There were a couple when he was in school, but he never really paid attention to them. His ears have learned long ago to filter out those kinds of noises as background sounds so any barks or yips were generally ignored.

He thinks the sound Tony made is adorable and Peter kind of wants to hear it again. He also wants to know what other sounds Tony would make. Being a wolf… would he growl during intimate moments?

Peter’s face flushes. He’s not used to having these kinds of thoughts at all! But instead of weirding him out, he lets the feeling flow through him and settle.

Tony watches Peter’s facial expressions, amused at his expressive face and the dark blush that’s starting to crawl up his neck. The bunny is so cute. Tony wants to lick his plump, blushing cheeks to taste the heat and the sweetness that must be there. Peter was too pure for anything less, Tony was sure. 

Peter wishes now that Tony had sat next to him just so they don’t have this distance between them.

Then he perks up. His ears don’t have the muscles to stand straight up but the tops do rise a bit in his excitement.

Tony’s eyes and ears zero in on the motion in a single snap. His lips part just enough to show a hint of fang and a flash of tongue as he licked his lips.

"Have you eaten yet?” Peter asks, hoping to extend their time. 

He’s only supposed to take a thirty minute break and he’s already used a good chunk of it… But suddenly, he’s famished.

“Hold on, lemme just–” He dashes off without another word, ears flopping as he rushes back to where Ned’s making drinks.

Tony watches him go with no shame. Peter’s ass is a bouncy round handful and his tail is a flash of color against the cafe’s uniform that Tony wants to bite. 

He hopes no one else in the cafe can see how hungry he is for something other than food.

It only takes him a few minutes and a few overdramatic claims of possibly starving to death before Ned brushes him off with a grin. There’s a reason why Ned’s his best friend and Peter would straight up crush him in a bear hug if he wasn’t holding a cup of steaming hot coffee.

He returns to the wolf but doesn’t reclaim his seat.

“Ned said I can take the rest of the day off,” he says, a bit breathless.

Then, realizing the implication, he stutters a bit. “But, I mean– You don’t have to spend the whole day with me, I know you’re probably just on break and have work too. But maybe, uh, I was thinking Five Guys? Their burgers are really good and– Oh, God, I should’ve asked you first.”

He bounces anxiously on his toes, ready to rush back behind the counter. He can pretend he hadn’t just completely made a fool of himself.

Tony stands up and steps closer to Peter. He tries not to loom but wants to be close enough to brush their hands and wrists together, the wolf wanting to soothe and strengthen their ties. He lowers his chin and ears to tell Peter he’s in control of the situation, not Tony, and signals with a tail against his leg that he would defer to Peter’s judgment. 

Peter’s eyes are large and round when Tony stands. He’s taller than him by a couple of inches but for some reason, the bunny isn’t feeling intimidated.

Instead, he feels a sense of excitement and his fluffy little tail twitches. He’s not sure why he feels so at ease. Something in Tony’s eyes, the warmth and deep brown that reminds Peter of warm, sun-soaked soil beneath his bare fingers…

His body sways as though it’s being lured in by the wolf’s calm demeanor.

Peter has to force himself to focus when the wolf talks.

“I’m starving, actually. I haven’t eaten since yesterday if you don’t count coffee.” He’d skipped out on breakfast to avoid a board meeting, which is how he found himself in Peter’s cafe this morning. Then, he’d skipped out on lunch in order to make it to this date with Peter and get all his work done. 

Possibly he had skipped dinner the night before, too. It was hard to tell; when Tony got focused he could go for a long time without food. Whenever he emerged and remembered, he’d eat a significant portion of his own body weight in food and sleep for 10 hours. 

Then he’d usually repeat. 

“And I happen to have the rest of the day off, myself. So don’t worry about it, I’d love to extend this date.” 

Tony flicks his eyes at Peter sidelong, hoping that the bunny isn’t so upset anymore. Tony could smell the anxious wafts coming off of him earlier and he wants to make sure not a drop of his scent is tainted with stress. Peter deserves to smell happy and fresh, ripe and fertile-

The fast flowing words sweep away the worry that hovered around the boy. In fact, the news that Tony’s free has Peter giddy and ready to bounce in place from sheer excitement.

Tony wanting to extend the date though… Peter feels like he’ll just melt right there.

Tony yips to himself, flicks a reproachful ear at nothing, and focuses on Peter again with a small, nervous smile. He keeps talking to stop himself from straying in his thoughts. 

Peter’s eyes catch the quick movement of the wolf’s ear– a cute little flick and the bunny thinks it’s so adorable. He almost wants to nibble on it just to see how Tony would react then.

His eyes widen and he quickly shoves the thoughts to the back of his mind before his scent gives him away.

“Don’t be alarmed if I eat them out of house and home. Wolf stomach. I’ll pay.” Tony wouldn’t ever make a date pay the tab he’s about to rack up, even at a fast food place like Five Guys. 

Tentatively, Tony laces their fingers together, making an inquisitive noise from the back of his throat as his ears perked and lowered in a wiggle of question. 

Peter looks at their interlocked fingers and practically vibrates in place from sheer delight.

He honestly doesn’t make much. Even just comparing the two of them, it’s obvious who’s making bank. 

Tony’s suits are tailor fit and Peter’s wearing jeans and a silly t-shirt of no brand. Black leather shoes, brightly polished compared to the standard converse Peter wears… yeah, it’s painfully obvious to the bunny, but the sight of their hands clasped together seems more important than that.

“I’m only accepting,” Peter begins, “Cause I’m getting the next tab.”

Tony’s ears flick a quick negative before just as quickly sweeping back and down, chagrined at his automatic dismissal of the bunny. He rubs his thumb against Peter’s wrist, scenting himself. He doesn’t want Peter to feel inadequate or incapable. 

He understands the urge to provide; it lives in his blood and bones.

“That’s doable. Back and forth, right?” Tony smiles with fang. He’s pleased with the implication of that. Of course, there’s going to be more dates. 

Peter nods enthusiastically, making his floppy ears waver in the air.

“Right,” he says with a wide smile.

He brings their joined hands up and rubs his cheek against the back of Tony’s hand, grateful and affectionate.

Tony steps smoothly into Peter’s space so that he’s crowded up close, their shoulders bumping and arms tangling together.  His tail relaxes towards Peter, swishing through the space where another wolf’s tail would have been brushing back in returned affection. 

He waits patiently for Peter to finish and then gently, almost reverently, brings Peter’s wrist up to his mouth. He kisses the pulse point, hot and with fang pressing to skin, dampening the bunny’s skin with his lips and teeth. He turns and rubs his cheek on the sensitized spot of skin, signature facial hair rubbing his scent in where he’s already primed and stimulated Peter’s scent gland. 

His scent would linger like a calling card for weeks. His ears stood tall and tail up straight behind him, proud to have been allowed the privilege and challenging anyone to try and take Peter from him. 

Peter’s resolute on this money thing. He doesn’t want Tony to pay for everything even if he’s more than capable of doing so. He’s glad Tony doesn’t argue with him on this. He’s not sure he would’ve been able to resist because the wolf has those kinds of eyes that just makes Peter want to melt and blindly agree.

Then he smiles sweetly at the wolf, squeezes his hand once and sets off towards the Five Guys just a couple blocks away.

.

Mads 💗: Peter is a very horny bunny but he’s also a very romantic bunny and wolf Tony is perfect 😭 Just wait till we earn the E rating lol 😏 The upcoming date is awesome toooo 😂

Keyz 💖: Tony is trying SO HARD to respect his bunny! If only he knew how badly Peter wanted to be defiled 😂 The date is so good it will probably be the entirety of ch2!

[wordynerdygurl]

Sweetness and Light

Author’s Note:  Hi everyone!  This is the last of my 500 Followers Request stories and I’m so happy to be sharing it with you!  As I was working on it, I saw a challenge from @peterman-spideyparker​ and took on one of the quote prompts, “I am in love with you and I’m terrified.”  It just flowed into this story so well!   Thank you @brokenthelovely for the amazing request!  Enjoy! Summary/ Request:  I’d like to request a Loki fic.  The reader and him have feelings for each other but he won’t make a move because he thinks everyone will be against it and he isn’t good for her.  She starts dating some guy and he tries to let her go but everyone eventually calls him out for letting her go and of course he realizes he was an idiot and then wins her back and they all live smuttily ever after! Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Warnings:  Some fluffy smut at the end, a little angsty and Loki being mischievous!

Why did you always have to look so good?  That was the thought crossing Loki's mind as you flitted past, one arm wrapped around Bucky, the other around Natasha.  Laughing, your scarlet lips a daring contrast to the emerald dress caressing you in ways that made Loki jealous of satin.

He was always so aware of you.  Without conscious thought, Loki would, inevitably seek out your soft figure.  Relaxing only once he knew you were in his line of sight.  

His ear, normally attuned to classical music or epic poetry, could pick up your sugarcane sighs across a crowded room.  The lilt of your voice, dropping to a whisper in order to tell a bawdy joke, seemed to float above the hollow ringing guffaws of everyone else.  To Loki you were a songbird, glorious of plumage, spellbinding in sound.

It was a nightmare for the fallen prince.

A being as lovely as you lived in the light.  Sunkissed and radiant, you had this annoying habit of drawing everyone into your orbit.  Even the historically stoic, your Bucky Barnes or Bruce Banners, found their withered roots spreading in the enchanting glow of your attention.

Natasha Romanoff wasn't immune either.  Just yesterday she had smiled at Loki.  A genuine  smile, something he had never experienced before, which set off a chain of events leaving the young God spooked.  

“What?  You're smiling at me… It’s eerie, quite frankly.”  Snarky sarcasm laced each syllable as Loki sipped from his espresso's miniature cup, Natasha's ever watchful eyes on him. “Come on, Loki.  You know…"  Waiting for his response, impatient and searching, she cocked her head.  "He has to know right?  Right?”  Turning to Captain America, his nose in a book, Natasha shook her head in disbelief.  

Searching through the assorted granola bars, desperately looking for a dark chocolate almond wrapper but coming up empty, Loki was only half listening.  "Damn, all out."  Meeting Natasha's glare, "I have to know what, exactly?" "I… I can't.  Not today.  Not with you, Loki"  Spinning on her heel, steaming tea in hand, Natasha left with a wide eyed glance at Steve.

"Not that I truly care, but what exactly is her problem?"  Biting into an overripe pear, juice running over his fingers, Loki spared a look at the doorway before The Captain could answer.

You again.

Coasting into the room, bubbling and bright, whistling to yourself, "Hiya Stevie!  How's the book?  You like it?"

Smiling at you in a way that made Loki's blood boil, Steve sighed, "It's so good.  Like, speaks to my soul, good."

Shooting a wink his way, "I told you!  The part where she goes to the farm?"

"And she sees the truck!"

Scooting into the seat next to Steve, your hand resting on his bicep so casually, "I know!  Oh, it's so good!  Wait until you read the ending!"

Wishing he was sightless, Loki really didn't want to see anymore.  Watching Steve grin at you, your easy connection with the super soldier visible to everyone, turned Loki's stomach sour. The wholesome display of you and the Captain, discussing some novel, made Loki nauseous.

As it was, you were practically perfect, Steve was actually perfect.  Together you were All American, teeth crackling, sweetness.  It was blinding, the beautiful brilliance of the pair of you.  Sunshine and pretty teeth, foreheads nearly pressed together, seemingly lost in a private world.

"Have you ever read it, Loki?"  Your voice changes.  He notices because it's not as warm or friendly as before.  It cools just a bit, freezing your intentions, confusing the hell out of Loki.  

You haven't looked at him once, a thing Loki wishes he didn't notice.  Even now you're focused on the cover of this wonderful book and not the God of Mischief.  Turning to the sink, Loki answers you over his shoulder.

"Drivel, I suspect.  Midgardian garbage.  Melodrama and kitsch… no thank you."  Focusing on washing the pear from his hands, lest he get sticky, Loki's features are unreadable.  His voice though, that oozed disdain.

"I like it… so far."  Steve defended, trying to correct the conversation.

Your mysterious voice went soft, "Well, can't win 'em all I guess.  Thanks for teaching me about your literary tastes now, Loki, rather than after the wedding!"  

He stiffened at your teasing comment.  His back was to you, gripping a paper towel, drying his hands.  Wedded to you?  What a ludicrous thought.

Tossing his towel into the trash, Loki sees you rifling through the snack bin, "Dang!  No dark chocolate almond granola bars?  That's why I come down here!"  Plastering on a pretend pout, you pass behind Loki and suddenly you are that bobbing band of gold again.  "Drink some water, Loki!  It's good for you!  See you later, Steve!"

A hurricane was less destructive.  In a matter of minutes you had blown in and out, leaving Loki in the wreckage of your touchdown.  Even Steve was different after your visit.

"Man.  Natasha is right.  I never noticed it before… but, holy moley."  Chuckling as he returned to the much adored story, Steve looked at Loki over the pages, "You're crazy in love with that girl."

"What?  How dare you!"  Feeling the hot flash of anger flood his face, Loki instinctively went for his daggers, ready to silence the impertinent Avenger in front of him.

Lifting his hands in a sign of surrender, Steve was still laughing, "I take it back.  I take it back.  I won't tell her that you like her."

"I don't know what you're talking about.  Like her.  Like her?  What's to like?"

Steve closed his book and crossed his arms over his chest, "Everything.  Loki, she's just a great person.  And for some reason she likes you.  A lot."

"No.  Not me.  You maybe, but not me."

"Wrong.  It's you, buddy.  And… I think you like her too."

Those words had taken root in Loki's head.  Sprouting branches of thought that he would have never considered possible even hours ago, Loki tested the strengths of Steve's accusation, the validity of his claims.  Could it possibly be true?

Loki denied it.  What a silly idea, really.  To think that some little earthling might tempt the rightful King of Jotunheim, Prince of Asgard, son of Odin and God of Mischief.  Hardly.

And yet… He couldn't help the niggling feeling that there was something about you that deserved his attention.  

Was it in the way you seemed surrounded by music everywhere you went?  Either singing or humming, whistling a tune or blaring your playlist, it was rarely quiet in your presence.  Annoying.  But also, rather charming.

Or perhaps it was your turn of phrase.  "Yes, sir Drill Sergeant!" was a favorite whenever someone asked for your help.  "Put some pep in your step, a little glide in your stride, a little dip in your hip!"  With quips and quotes for all occasions, it seemed to Loki that you had a ready answer for everything.  No situation ever caught you off guard.  You were funny, unflappable and light.

Then there was your physical form.  Curvy.  Soft.  Deliciously feminine and daringly female.  

You wore short skirts with canvas tennis shoes.  Vintage band t-shirts with wide legged trousers and suit jackets.  You rolled up your jeans and sloughed around in ancient wooly cardigans.

Patterns got crossed, like plaids with polka dots.  Colors collided.  But you always pulled it off, an avant garde runway model for a post-modern haute couture design house.  

In short, you were the essence of cool.  Effortless.  Easy.  

"Oh gods… I do.  I like her."

It was that thought that kept Loki awake all night.  When sleep tried to claim him after an hours long workout with Thor, your voice pulled him back to wakefulness, the message relayed through the compounds AI.  "Hi everyone!  Don't forget!  Tonight is the annual scholarship fundraiser hosted by our favorite philanthropist, Tony Stark.  Tuxedos and gowns kiddos!  See you there!"  Even recorded you sound chipper and cheerful.  It delighted and disgusted Loki in equal measure.

At the fundraiser, tucking himself into a shadowed corner, Loki pretended not to watch you and your emerald gown.  Nursing a cocktail, chatting only when absolutely necessary, his plan was to forget his wayward thoughts and yesterday's conversation with Steve.  If you kept away, he might get through the night.

An hour in and Loki's restless with need.  What he wants to do is march over to you, take you in his arms and press that pliant body of yours to his.  Feel your crimson lips, taste your singing mouth and discover if it's as warm as he imagines.  

His tumbler hits the bar with a heavy thunk.  Running his hands through his dark hair, tightening the knot of his tie, Loki exhales once.  With renewed purpose, crossing the floor, he’s stalking towards you.  Nothing will distract him now.  He is a man of action going after the thing he wants most.  You.

Just a few steps more, Loki thinks.  Your profile is illuminated in the dim lights of the hall.  You're laughing.  You are always laughing, it seems.

Watching as you swing your head his way, Loki's certain that you've spotted him and his intentions.  Wanda taps your shoulder, directing your focus back to her as she points into the crowd, giggling in your ear.  A man, broad and strong, strides into your circle.

Loki's step falters as his excellent hearing picks up your joyful squeal of delight.  This person, this interloper, puts his hands around your waist.  Swinging you into a possessive bear hug, kissing you at the same time, he makes a show of literally sweeping you off your feet in front of everyone at Tony’s gala.  

You’re a blur, the motion of it making Loki dizzy.  He is also frozen in place.  Questions buzz like angry bees at the familiar way this person is handling you.  It's not right.  It's not proper.  And it's all because those are not Loki’s hands on you.

"Loki!  Hi!  I want you to meet my boyfriend Marcus!  Marc, this is Loki!"  

A beefy hand extends your way, attached to an equally beefy person, with an overeager smile.  "Loki!  I've heard so much about you.  You're good with knives, right?  Maybe we can train together sometime?"

Loki, noticing how Marc's hand rested possessively on the swell of your hip, thinks, Yes.  I would love to throw daggers at you, Marc.  Instead, with a charming chuckle Loki answers, "Well, our girl is too kind.  It was nice to meet you, Matt."

"It… it's Marc."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!  Marc.  Right.  Apologies!  Please, enjoy your evening!"  Plastering his smile on permanently, pride stinging, Loki slunk away to nurse his wounds in the solace of his room. 

You were with Marc now.  He was too late.  And there was no good excuse beyond pride for Loki's inability to see the plain truth.  You were pretty wonderful, something Loki had always known, deep down.  Now, you were someone else's.

In truth, it took Loki two days to square with the fact that you were with a lesser man.  You were beautiful and clever and a constant delight, but you were with Marc.  There was no changing that fact, right?

Wrong.  The reason Loki didn't surface during waking hours for the next week was because he had a plan.  He would win you, do the work, make you realize that you belonged with him. 

Yet, each plan failed in one way or another.  

When Loki accidentally on purpose cancelled your dinner plans at a trendy new hot spot, Tony had called in a favor.  You and Marcus had dined in the private wine cellar, met the chef, and walked back into the compound holding hands.  Loki stormed away before you could tell him all about your wonderful night. Overhearing Marcus brag about a weekend away, bathing suits and a boat, Loki asked Thor for help.  “It’s the weather.  You see, I need it to rain.  I need thunder and lightning.  And all those wonderful things that you control.” “Brother, I am the God of Thunder, not the God of Weather.” “Can you please, just… do this one thing for me?  Please?” Whether it was Loki‘s manic sincerity or his desperation that convinced Thor, Loki would never know.  What he did know was that your seaside sailing excursion had been cancelled due to unprecedented storms.  However, Wanda had helped Marcus with booking a hotel room for two nights instead.  You had a couples’ massage and drank champagne.  Loki sulked. Feeling like a cartoon coyote, Loki knew the surrender was near.  Always pragmatic, and resourceful, he had realized that as much as he might want to woo you, it was possible that you did not want to be wooed.  At least, not by Loki.   So, the handsome prince, with a gloomy face, once again strayed from the others.  Not content to make small talk when his heart knew such hurt, Loki slept during the day and moped around at night.  He avoided everyone as much as possible.  When interaction was inevitable, it was brief and direct.  Loki had no energy for games.  He was played out. He was also hungry. Which is how he found himself in the kitchen at 3:00 am, spooning cherry jell-o into his face, thinking about you.  He was so wrapped up in the idea of you that he could swear your voice was playing in his head.

“But, I don’t understand.  Marc?  That… that’s not fair.  I told you.  I told you how the job was… what I had to do… how it might be hard sometimes… But I thought?  Oh.  Oh…”  

Pausing, Loki realized that you weren’t an illusion.  You were at the compound, and tonight you weren’t laughing.  In fact, Loki was fairly certain that he heard a sniff, something that you did when you were crying.  He remembered hearing it when the gang watched Old Yeller.  You had sobbed over the fictional pup.  It was adorable then, now, not so much. “Well… if that’s what you really think… Wow.  Ok, Marcus.  You made your point. Goodbye, I guess.”  Loki had heard you cry before.  Over the old yellow dog in that movie, because of a missing classified document and once due to Clint's awful singing.  Tonight though, there was silence.  Expecting to hear your sobs, Loki, surprised by the quiet, risked a peek around the corner to check on you. Probably, because you thought you were entirely alone at the inhumane hour of three in the morning, you let yourself sink down to the floor.  Bathed in the blue light of the Avengers “A”, resting your head against the textured wall with your phone still cradled in your palm, one fat tear rolled down your cheek.

Later on, Loki would tell you that everything that followed was because of that tear.  Something about that shiny track of sadness had hit the jokester right in his heart, watering the shriveled seed of his love for you.  It made him want to hold you, to keep the hurts of life away, protect you from the kind of sadness that had forced your happiness into hiding. Unhappy didn't do your current mental state justice.  More silent tears joined the first.  Another failed relationship, and if you were honest the water works weren't for Marcus.  They were for you.  

He was a handsome distraction, for sure.  And his reasons for dumping you?  Valid.  True.  

Canceled dates, long nights at work, the constantly ringing phone.  All things that you found more important than Marcus.  He was absolutely correct when laying the blame for this failure at your feet.  You did not want your partnership with Marcus to thrive, survive.  You had been killing time with him and that wasn't fair.

Not when there was someone else on your mind all the time.  

Marcus had been a paltry replacement for the man you really wanted.  Even though you had tried to deny it, fight against it, every time he touched you, you ached for the nimble fingers of a demigod.  Each kiss from Marc made you hungry for the flavor of Loki's mouth.  You hated yourself for it but stopping those thoughts had proven too difficult to manage.  In response, avoiding your boyfriend had become an easy habit to cultivate.

Which was worse, you sat on the floor wondering.  Having the wrong man or having no man?  Lusting after one while leading on the other?  Being desired by Marcus but faking your interest in him?  Wanting Loki but not being wanted by him in return?

You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, mad at yourself.  There was no way to know Loki was watching you fall apart from the safety of the kitchenette.  Awash in self anger, almost alone, you struggled to pull yourself together.

Instead of second guessing himself, taking a deep breath, Loki swiftly rounded the corner and slipped down next to you.  His bony knee brushed against your own, "Some might give you a penny for your thoughts… but I'm afraid I only have a dark chocolate almond bar."  "Loki…"  Sighing with a small chuckle, barely surprised at his presence, you grabbed the offered snack, "My thoughts aren't worth this much."

"That's where you are wrong, dove.  I would pay this and more to have a better understanding of you."

Snorting derisively, "Really?  Most days you can barely be civil to me."

Loki's fierce gaze locked on your watery one, "Yes… well.  For that, I apologize.  You… You are a very nice person.  I, unfortunately, am not."

Swiping at your wet cheeks, smiling, "You are too!  Or, you can be… if you want to be."

"No, I leave chivalry to my brother.  Kindness to Captain Rogers… Sweetness to, well, you."

Turning toward him, your leg folded under you, "You're here now, and with my favorite snack, no less!  That's pretty nice, Loki."

Shyly smiling, "About that… I know you like them.  I keep a small stash in my room, in case Stark runs out."

"What?  Really?"  It's hard to believe that Loki would be so secretly thoughtful.  Playing with the wrapper in your hand, you raised a glance to the studious prince beside you, "That's… that maybe the sweetest thing anyone has done for me."

"I doubt that.  I'm sure your friend, Marcus, has done kind things for you."  Just saying the name made Loki's heart leap, worried that it might spook you.  Or, and this was worse, that you'd defend him because Marcus was the one you wanted.

"Don't play coy, Loki.  You know he just dumped me.  It's over… it's been over almost since it began."  Resting your warm hand on Loki's arm, the zing of your touch scorching his cool skin, distracted and disoriented him for a moment.

Whispering, almost timid with wanting to know, "Did you love him?  Do you?"

Slumping forward, your shaggy hair covering your face, "Nope.  Not even a little bit."

"Really?"  Loki fought against the swelling of glee that surged through him at your admission.

Snapping your head up, searching his face, "You sound surprised.  You shouldn't be… See, Loki,  I'm not as nice as you think I am."

"Oh yes you are… even now you feel bad about all this.  You wish you could have loved Marcus, eased his hurt, regardless of your own unhappiness. "  

Shaking your head gently, shrugging, "It would be easier, I think.  Less painful.  And I wouldn't be alone… again."

Loki betrayed nothing in his voice, but his mind was in a tailspin.  In a husky hum, he asked you, "Is that all you want, dove?  Not to be alone?"

Flashing your floormate a small smile, it faltered when you realized just how close you and Loki were.  He hadn't moved.  You had.  Near enough that you felt his body's heat melt into yours.  

"No… but it's a good start, don't you think?"

Instinctively, Loki reached out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.  "I think I am in love with you and I'm terrified."  

Hanging in the air between you, Loki's words, uttered so casually, expanded to fill the following silence.  Raising his hope filled eyes to yours, Loki offered a half smile, "Come on dove, if I have even half a chance, then for Odin's sake, tell me."

First your body went cold, shocked at Loki's revelation.  Next, a flush of heat rolled over you, flaming your cheeks.  It settled into your lower belly as a throbbing ache, an unscratched itch, needy and raw.

Murmuring, stunned, "You like me?"

Tossing his dark hair, "No… no, little one.  I love you.  And I am truly scared that you don’t feel the same way."  Loki shifted, mirroring your posture, your folded knees grazing against each other.  Leaning into your space, Loki's hands cupped your face.  Brushing his lips across your forehead, he kissed down the bridge of your nose and over your heated cheeks.  

His thumbs stroked along your jaw, tilting your chin up, as your lips parted.  Wasting no time, Loki pressed his firm mouth to yours, kissing you sweetly.  You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, drawing you deeper into Loki's arms, his tongue licking into your warm mouth.

Happily swallowing your sweet sigh, Loki's lips asked for more of you and you obliged.  Your hands gripped his shoulders, enjoying the firm muscled man beneath your hands, savoring the taste of Loki's tongue.  He pulled away first, groaning, "I have wanted to do that for a long time."

"Me too."

Picking up your hand, threading his digits through yours, "But… my leg is falling asleep sitting here on the floor."

Laughing out loud, "Me too!"  You moved to stand, but Loki tugged you back down again.

"Before we go… I wanted to ask you out for a proper date.  Dinner, a movie… dancing, drinks… whatever.  You name it!  I want to do this right, you see."

Nodding, you bit into your bottom lip, "I will let you wine and dine me, Loki.  I promise.  But… if I'm honest with you, I have been thinking about kissing you for months now… and I don't want to stop."

Loki stood taking you with him.  Once you were on your feet, your tall god wrapped his arm around your waist, snuggling you into his chest.  "I was afraid I had missed my chance.  That someone else had taken your heart."

"It's always been yours, Loki.  I’m in love with you too."

Your body melded to his.  Those lips were on your neck, making you gasp in rapture, as Loki's hands cupped your bottom.  Draping your arms over his broad shoulders, feeling the tensing muscles underneath the fabric of his dark tee, had you panting.

"Gods, you are incredible!"  

Like a purring cat, you rubbed your cheek into Loki's chest, "I could say the same about you."

Swallowing hard, still keeping you close, Loki studied your expression.  "Come on, dove.  Let's go."

Confusion crowded your features, "Go where?"

"I'm taking you to bed!"  Loki scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, as if you were a distressed damsel.  Squealing his name, you threw your head back, happy in Loki's capable hands.

In his apartment, naked on Loki's bed, you let his mouth devour you.  Starting with your full, round breasts, Loki licked and sucked your nipples under they were painfully taut.  Then his fingers found your peaks, pulling and tugging, until you were mewling for more.

Loki's tongue traced a line down the center of your body.  When he reached your glistening core, Loki used his thumbs to part your lower lips, blowing gently over your aroused flesh.  "Stop wiggling, dove!"

"But Loki!  I need you!"  As the words left your mouth, Loki's tongue licked through your silky skin, circling your clustered nerves.  You cried out when he sucked the sensitive nub between his lips while still licking against your sex.

With shaking thighs, your body released hard while Loki drank down your nectar.  Kissing back up your body, you tasted yourself when his mouth met yours, your tongues colliding.  Reaching down between your bodies, your fingers found Loki's significant size and you smiled wickedly.

"Easy kitten!"

"Oh no, I want you, Loki.  Hard and fast.  Please?"  When he tipped his head, agreeing, you gave his length a gentle squeeze.  Loki rested his forehead to yours as your lovely little hand directed him to your velvet core.

Once there, Loki's mouth found yours, tenderly kissing you as he gently burrowed into your slick satin skin.  Taking more and more of you, claiming your body with his deep thrusts, Loki's hips rocked into you.  Each plunge pushed you closer to completion.  

Your walls tightening, gripping Loki, had him moaning your name.  "I'm close, dove… so close."  

"Me too, Loki!"

His clever fingers dropped to your cleft, rubbing your engorged button, as Loki drove into you once more.  In a flash of supreme pleasure your bliss roared through you, stealing Loki's climax at the same time, as you clung to your man.  Shivering from the intensity of your passion, you refused to let Loki go, keeping your arms firmly around him as your body moved mindlessly in delight.

Loki kissed away the happy tears that spotted your cheeks.  Brushing the hair back from your face, he whispered tender words like "love" and "beautiful" and "darling girl" until slowly your tense muscles relaxed.  Loki gently withdrew from you, rolling you to your side to face him, wrapping a protective arm over you.

Satisfied beyond reason, you looked at your raven haired lover, eyes heavy.  "You should sleep, dove." "Hmm… yes.  But you'll stay with me, right, Loki?"

"Of course.  You're my sweet girl."

Scrunching into his side, snuggling under his quilt, you smiled.  “That’s me!"

The next morning Loki stirred some sugar into his tiny espresso cup, a secret smile turning up the corners of his mouth.  Steve sat at the counter, a newspaper spread out in front of him, mug of coffee nearby.  From down the hall, your whistling reaches the room before you do.

"Hiya Stevie!  Any good news in there today?"

Tearing himself away, "Not that I've seen.  How are you?  You seem… happy.  Happier than usual."

You lock eyes with Loki, grinning from ear to ear, "I am.  Things are good… great even."

Hopping up on the island, looking through the bin of snack bars, Loki steps between your knees.  "Looking for this?"  

"Yes!  My favorite treat!  And my favorite you!"  Throwing your arms around his neck, you draw Loki into a deep kiss, his hands running up your sides.

Understanding lit up Steve’s face, "Whoa!  Wait!  Is this real?  Did it finally happen?"    

"Yup!  So, uh… tell Tony we're taking the morning off, ok?"

"Actually, Steve, please tell Stark that we are taking the rest of the day off.  Don't call.  My sweet girl and I will be too busy to answer."  With that Loki grabbed you by the hips, wrapping your legs around him as he marched you out of the room.

Sweetness and Light, that’s what you were and that’s just what Loki needed.   ----

Tags:  @brokenthelovely​ @iamverity​ @just-random-obsessions​ @jamielea81​ @archy3001​ @jessiejunebug​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @mizfit2​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @lots-of-loki​

[idonotbitemythumbatyou]

Found a prompt list and would love to see one (or more than one!) of these done for an OC pairing if they resonate:

- things you said while we were driving

- things you said too quietly

- things you said at the kitchen table

Also happy birthday month :)

Thank you for this fun prompt!

These are characters from a piece I’ve been playing with on and off for a year. I hope it makes sense with zero context.

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

You asked me to pay for breakfast like a normal person. With money. I don’t know what it was but something about that pissed me off. 

So when the waitress came back I said, “I know you have to smile for work, but we’re very lucky to see it.”

“What?”

You rolled your eyes and scowled out the window - muttering something in Irish under your breath. She didn’t notice, and I ignored you.

“You have a beautiful smile” I said, finishing the attack with a sincere smile of my own. 

She blushed and opened her mouth only to find herself speechless. 

Thus disarmed, I extended my will to encompass her like a warm embrace. I held her in my heart and said simply, “Maybe this breakfast could be on the house.”

The waitress faltered - I felt her shift inside the comfort of my will - but not very far. She grinned as though the two of us were sharing a delicious, intimate secret. She really did have a beautiful smile, it brightened her round face and transformed her from an unremarkable person into a heart-stopping beauty. “On the house, darlin.” she said, placing an empty check on the table in front of me with a wink, “Don’t tell.”

Tammy gave us some serious guff when we tried to leave - choking and stuttering and belching when you turned the ignition. You gritted your teeth and turned the key with increasing irritation culminating in a hearty slap to the dashboard (followed by a gentle pet and a whispered apology).

You pulled out of the diner parking lot and towards the poorly lit highway. You looked carefully before turning (even though the flat terrain would have revealed headlights a mile off and I think I saw one car pass by the entire time we were in the diner.)

We were on the road in total silence for an excruciating three minutes. Not even music. Only the grumpy rumble of the deteriorating engine. 

After a long time you took a deep steadying breath. “You probably got her in trouble,” you said.

I laughed - relieved that that was all you were annoyed about, “We’re in trouble, Maeve.” I cranked the window down to vent the trapped sun-heat into the night air. “You act like we have money to spare. I don’t just do that for fun.” The ends of your crimson hair whipped in front of me, drawn by the wind outside. I brushed it out of my face, revelling in the feeling of the strands between my fingers, the smell of you through the horrible motel conditioner. My voice came out gentler, softened by the contact. But I was not ready to back down on how right I was, “Do you think I’ll be able to do that when Tammy here finally gives up? We have to be tactical about where we spend money. Thank you. A-very much.”

You sighed. “But did you have to go that route?” 

“I had to disarm her.”

“Don’t give me that, Lilias -”

“O~oh full names.”

“You only use compliments when you’re trying to annoy me.”

“That’s not true!” 

It was true. A little light flirtation is the easiest way to disarm someone, but it also has the most painful hangover for the person influenced - once they realize that something strange has happened. Especially if I lie. You were the one to point that out to me.

“I didn’t lie to her.” I said (petulantly. I can admit it), “She does have a beautiful smile.”

Without another word, you pushed the wired tape into the tape deck and scrolled down your phone to choose a discordantly jaunty pop song for the rest of the drive back to the motel.

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

I have loved you since we were fourteen. Part of me knew you were the only one who could understand what I was - even if I hadn’t wrapped my own head around it yet.

The first time we kissed - years later - I was terrified because by then I understood the power I wielded. I wanted you to love me the way I loved you. But I hated to think you might love me because I wanted it. I tried so hard not to feel anything about you that night. Because I wanted you so badly it was certain to encompass you if I wasn’t careful. I sat beside you, nose to nose, rooted in place  shaking like an ash tree, with tears (tears!) welling my eyes. 

Absolutely mortifying. I could have died of embarrassment.

But you had touched my face and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “I have resisted the influence of fair folk kings.” you had said, in that melodic voice of yours - a little sadly, a little exhaustedly, with absolute gentleness, “you cannot make me do anything I do not desire.”

And then you waited for me to close the distance, and smiled into my lips. When we kissed, I realized the love I’d had for you up to then had only been practice. It could have been anyone, but now I was ready to love you in full, with all of myself in return.

From then on, I have faced everything with you. I would not change you for the world. But I did sometimes wish that we could have loved each other in a world that didn’t ask us to face so much. 

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

You took a shower while I warded the motel room. A dull routine by now. When I was nearly done, I looked up to find you sitting at the table of what could only be called a “kitchen” under the most generous definition. You had a towel wrapped around yourself, and your hair - usually a majestic flaming halo of curls - hung damp and lank down to your waist.

On the table beside you, my practice scissors rested on a newspaper made entirely of useless coupons.

“I think it’s time to cut my hair.” you said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been leaving bits of myself everywhere. It’s becoming dangerous. And if they send a hunter -”

“Of course. I can-”

“A hunter will know exactly what to do if they find my hair.”

“Yes. Let me just-”

“So will you cut it for me?”

I noticed then that your hands were balled into white knuckled fists in the towel on your lap, and your chin was trembling. I stood from the knot I was twining around the doorknob and went to you, taking your face in my hands.

“Of course, Maeve.” I said, and I kissed your forehead lightly, “Let me finish these wards, and I’ll be back to help you.” I took the scissors to cut the twine - extending my will to protect us into the knot. I then went back to you and helped you spread the paper under the kitchen chair. I brought over the ugly standing lamp with it’s fuzzy, peeling lampshade to illuminate our work with dull orange light. You played some quiet music and sat back on the kitchen chair.

I asked you what you wanted.

“Just… short. As short as you can,” you said, “if I can still have some of my curls left, that might be nice. But short.” 

I hardly knew where to start. Your hair is so thick I had to tie it off into five different sections to get the scissors through it, before tossing it piece by piece into the little plastic waste basket.

“We’ll have to burn it in the morning,” you said.

After the first chop, your hair was around the length of your jaw. You wanted it even shorter. I told you it would seem shorter when the curls finished drying. You insisted. So I sectioned your hair with pins instead of bands and kept cutting. Careful snips to the sound of your soft acoustic music.

“Do you know why they’ve never found us, Lily?” You said.

I did. But the theatre of this conversation had kept us safe so far, and it had become a comforting prayer, “Why Maeve?” I said gently (snip)

“Because,” (snip), “they think they know how we should be feeling.”

“Oh?”

“They are reaching their mycelium tendrils out to search for our fear. They don’t expect us to feel anything else. They only know what our fear smells like. They haven’t scented out our joy yet. They don’t know what our love is like.” (snip)

I took another section of your hair down. “Then they’ll never find us.” I said, “What I feel for you is stronger than fear.” (snip), “I’m sorry about the waitress.” 

(snip) “Thank you.”

“We can check on her tomorrow if you’d like.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. We should be moving on.”

I nodded, though I knew you couldn’t see. Of course we would keep moving. We would do so for as long as we could. I wondered when the folk would learn to track my exhaustion.

It took nearly an hour to cut your hair all the way down. You were blessed with gorgeous thick curls. Back when I was “jealous” of you, this was my greatest source of consternation. I obsessed over your hair as I sat behind you in algebra class. I was irritated beyond all reasonable measure that you didn’t even seem to know how to style it, and imagined vividly what I would do if I could style it for you. I did poorly in algebra and only later interrogated what that jealousy had masked.

If only I could tell my fourteen year old self that I had run my hands through your hair more times than I could count since then. I had braided and combed your hair. Nestled my face into its depths, kissed it so many times that surely my love had reached every strand by now. I had even, on occasion, nearly choked, breathing it into my mouth in moments of uncontrollable ecstasy (a detail I would certainly not share with my fourteen year old self).

I cut it nearly to the skin on the sides - as evenly as I could manage with scissors (I am sorry, my love, the sides looked a bit uneven and plucked for a few days before we acquired the clippers), leaving a long flop of red curls on top to cascade down nearly to your eye-line on one side. I stepped back to behold my clumsy effort, and was about to apologize when your muddy green eyes met mine and my breath caught in my throat.

You had gone from an ethereal beauty to a striking creature whose appearance was less easily defined with words like “beautiful” or “handsome.” I saw for the first time how your cheekbones ran parallel to the sharpness of your jaw. Your long neck arced gracefully to meet your slim freckled shoulders. Even the bow of your lips seemed more prominent. You furrowed your brows at my reaction and turned to see yourself in the mirror through the open bathroom door.

You blinked in disbelief. Then grinned. “I look… They’d never know me now.”

The folk do not rely on vision. If we were found, of course they would know you in an instant by the impression of your being - even if you somehow grew an extra four inches taller or switched bodies with me they would know you. Normally I would never imagine a haircut could make any difference. But as you looked in the mirror your entire demeanor changed. The carriage of your weight, even the set of her shoulders shifted. We had cut your hair so you might not leave such distinctive tracks behind us, and instead we’d revealed an entirely new essence of your being. “You know Maeve,” I said, wonderingly, “I think you’re right. You look like someone they’ve never known before.”

You looked like yourself for the first time in 400 years. 

I felt a pang of self reproach that I’d been perfectly happy these seven years only knowing the masked version of you. You took another rinse to get the clippings off your skin while I swept up. I hesitated before dumping all the hair and paper into the bin. After a moment, when I was sure you weren’t just about to get out of the water, I reached into the bin to pull out a long lock of your hair. I opened my kit and tied the hair with twine, then wrapped it around a quartz with an iron emulsion to keep it safe, and placed it all in a little pouch. I packed it at the bottom of my kit, and put everything else on top of it.

By the time you re emerged into the room, the kitchen was clean and I was in one of the twin beds, scrunched up to the side to leave room for you. It was a tight fit, but we were used to it, and we both felt safer together. You crawled in next to me, and took your place in my waiting arms. 

“There’s more room now without your hair.” I said, nestling my face into the back of your neck, feeling your damp hair against my forehead. I felt you laugh in my arms, and then you were still, breathing steadily for so long I thought you were asleep. Until you spoke again.

“I know you are tired, Lily.”

I closed my eyes and held you tighter. “I just worry, you know? Like. I don’t know if I can run my entire life. And we’re no closer to finding a permanent solution.”

 You shifted a little closer to me. “There might not be one.” You said. “But whatever happens, I’ll be here.”

I kissed your shoulder and breathed you in, finding solace against the inevitability of our eventual failure in the weight of you against me. After a long time, when you were asleep - for sure this time, I whispered to myself, “I’ll be here too.”

[offbrandmercyplates]

An OBMP Holiday Fanfic Special

Me: I should do a thing, get back in the writing spirit and all that.

Time of Year: *Is a holiday*

Me: I think I know what I’m going to do today.

So, yep! It’s a OBMP fanfic holiday special! WHOOOP! This thing actually went through a few different versions before I finally settled on one. There were some weird versions, which reminds me: what would happen if you tried to bake cookies without proper ingredients? One of the versions involved trying to make chocolate chip cookies with powdered milk, egg protein, and no baking soda. I have no idea what would happen if you actually tried that. I can only assume the worst. Also, there was a salt rock. And an elaborate traipsing through the halls and down the stairs. Not the best setup.

Anyway, this one should be much better! Please enjoy!

…

Messy Gyftmas!

Emmibee’s cozy cocoon of warmth and hazy sleep was viciously torn open by a muffled buzzing sound. She quickly scrambled to shut off the old alarm clock she had buried in clothes and towels on her side table. She flopped back onto the bed. Just a few more seconds… a few more seconds…

…Kind of weird that Dr. Gaster hadn’t come into her bedroom to see what the alarm was about.

…Dr. Gaster?

Emmi snapped upright. That’s right; Dr. Gaster was taking his once-a-week night off and actually sleeping! (It was very, very slow progress in getting him to sleep more properly, but progress all the same.) She quickly threw off the covers and slipped on the fuzzy pink socks she had managed to find at the Snowdin Shop recently. She tiptoed out of her bed room and past Gaster’s room.

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard a gravelly snore that made her freeze. She turned towards the couch and spotted the skeleton doctor sprawled across the couch, glasses askew and a bunch of papers over his torso and lap. It seemed that he had fallen asleep while working instead of sleeping in his room like they agreed.

She shook her head. That stubborn old man…

Well, he was actually asleep, so that was good enough for today.

Emmi stepped into the kitchen and reached into the fridge. She had been meaning to ask why exactly Dr. Gaster kept so many bags of Popato Chisps in the fridge, of all places, but they hid Emmi’s personal purchases more than adequately, so it didn’t matter right now.

She retrieved the frozen waffles, bagels, and the two different kinds of spreads, and set them on the countertop. Two waffles were popped into the toaster, a few bagels were cut in half put in the oven to warm, and the two spreads— plain and strawberry flavored cream cheese— were opened and set out to soften a bit.

Emmi grinned and clapped her hands together quietly. A nice, warm, sort of-nutritious breakfast would hopefully give the doctor a reason to have more regular sleep schedule.

She pulled a large plate out of the cupboard and began to tastefully arrange the food (ha, puns). It was a shame she couldn’t find any maple syrup to put on the waffles, but maybe Gaster would appreciate being able to hold them in his hands and bite them like cookies. Once the plate was arranged to her taste (somebody stop her; she’s having a pun-derful morning!), she picked it up and began to carry it over to the coffee table by the couch.

At least, that’s what she intended to do, before a crunchy *thump* sounded from outside the house, followed by a strange, almost annoyed-sounding lowing. Emmi set the plate down and peeked out the window.

The snow wasn’t glittering with the warm, orange lights of the buildings in town, which meant that by all standards, it was still nighttime. Still, Emmi’s eyes quickly adjusted to see a strange, four-legged creature stumbling around in front of the house. Perhaps a fellow monster needed help?

She stuffed her snow boots on over her socks and grabbed her heavy coat. She opened the door to the house and stepped into the cold.

It was snowing, as it did every night in Snowdin. Emmi realized that the monster wasn’t stumbling; rather, it seemed to be bucking like a horse, a donkey, or a deer. The crunchy *thump* from earlier was likely caused by them tripping and smacking into a snowbank outside the house. They lowed again, more loudly, and shook their antlers. The movements were accompanied by tinkling bells, rustling paper, and other sounds.

A Gyftrot, Emmi realized with a quiet gasp. She had not yet met this particular monster, but the distressed noises it made were probably because of the decorations adorning it.“Hello?” Emmi called. Gyftrot snapped their attention to her, and she flinched.

Even when playing Undertale in her old life, Gyftrot was a funny looking creature. In person, though, they were almost terrifying. Their big, gaping eyes seemed both sunken and laser focused, and their sideways mouth steamed in angry sounding puffs and clicking teeth. They towered over her, their antlers almost doubling their height. They growled and backed away, dragging their hooves in the snow.

“W-wait!” She called. “I promise I’m not a child! I’m a perfectly grown-up adult!”

Gyftrot paused, then tilted their head in a way that seemed to say, “Oh, are you, now?”

“I am!” Emmi insisted. “Look, I’m not wearing a striped shirt.” She opened her coat enough to show off her pastel-colored nightgown, then closed it quickly. She was not built for cold weather.

Gyftrot rolled their eyes and huffed out another cloud of steam. “Okay, fine,” they seemed to be saying. “Now what?”

“You look like you could use some help. Would it be okay if I undecorated you? I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Gyftrot squinted at her for a good few seconds before folding their legs and resting in the snow, their antlers more at Emmi’s level.

“Thank you,” Emmi bowed politely and approached them. The tinkling bell sounds came from some thin plastic balls smacking together, looped over the prongs of Gyftrot’s antlers. The rustling paper was, in actuality, several strands of threadbare garland strands, wrapped around their neck and, again, their antlers. Following these were some of the strangest items Emmi could imagine: multiple stockings, tiny walking canes, boxes of raisins, a few car fresheners, and for some reason, a small, very confused dog. Emmi could have sworn the dog gave her a knowing wink before bounding into the forrest.

She looked over her handiwork and nodded. “Everything looks good.”

Gyftrot rose back to their hooves, and Emmi gave them some space. “Thank you, Miss,” they said in a deep voice. “I was asleep on the edge of the forest for the night, and when I awoke, I was covered in all manner of trinkets and nonsense. No doubt the work of some young punks. Oh, and pardon me for thinking you one of those children. You have a youthful demeanor about you, and you are very short.”

“Hey!” Emmi laughed with mock indignation. Gyftrot snorted a few times, a mischievous gleam in their eyes. Then their gaze dropped, and they went quiet. “Something wrong?” Emmi asked.

“It’s a bit silly, but… after all of that, I’m a bit hungry.”

Emmi thought for a second. “Well, I was making some breakfast for a friend when I heard you out here… Would you like me to bring you some?”

Gyftrot’s ears flattened a bit. “Well, I’d hate to take the meal you made for your friend…”

“No worries! I can make more. Wait right here; I’ll bring you a plate.” Before they could protest, Emmi sped-walked into the house, grabbed the plate of food, and brought it outside. “Here we are! Waffles and bagels. Do you like cream cheese—?”

As soon as Gyftrot spotted the plate, their eyes grew as big as saucers and they stuck their snout into the food. They were an enthusiastic and sloppy eater, but Emmi was too distracted by watching the way their jaws worked to notice the bits of cream cheese and crumbs spilling onto the front of her coat.

They grinned at her when they finished; a grin that, without context, would have seemed almost sinister. Emmi knew it was a smile of satisfaction. “Thank you again, Miss. Perhaps we’ll meet again, at a better time of the day. Good night.” Gyftrot trotted out of sight.

Emmi watched them go. Her socks were starting to become soaked through her boots, but the warmth in her SOUL distracted her from the cold.

The snow began to glitter orange in certain spots around her. “Emmibee?” She looked up to see a tired Gaster standing in the still open doorway of the house. Oops. “Why is the door open at this hour? You hate being cold.”

He stepped into the snow, not bothered by the weather, and stood over Emmi, looking her up and down with an analytical curiosity. She turned to face him, grinning just a little deliriously. Maybe she should have gone to bed earlier instead of reading all night…

“…What are you wearing?” Dr. Gaster asked.

She looked down at herself, seeing the crumbs and cream cheese smears from Gyftrot’s early breakfast, as well as a few of the decorations she had removed from Gyftrot’s person. Somehow, the garland had wrapped around her shoulders, a tiny walking cane hung around each of her ears like strange headphones, and a few stockings hung from the buttons on her coat. She blinked for a moment. Then, she smiled up at her housemate. “I’m the messiest Gyftmas tree. Hohoho, heeheehee.”

Gaster squinted at her, his bone brow furrowed as he tried to comprehend what she just said. “…You’re a very strange woman,” he finally stated.

“Actually, if you recall, I said I’m—”

“Yes, I heard you the first time. You are the messiest Gyftmas tree.”

“You have to say ‘hohoho, heeheehee’ after that part.”

“No.”

“Phooey.”

“Will you explain why you’re outside at this hour now?”

“After we go inside. I’ll make more breakfast.”

In the time it took Emmibee to remake Gaster’s breakfast plate and tell her story, she was barely standing on her feet. Before she could fall over, Gaster guided her to his spot on the couch, removed her coat, boots, and decorations, and tossed his lab coat over her sleeping form, since it was the closest thing to a blanket within arm’s reach.

He found himself glancing at her repeatedly and he ate the breakfast she made. Her curly brown hair was frizzy and tangled from the snowy winds, and her round little face was pink from the warmth of the house. It filled him with… nondescript contentment. It definitely didn’t make him feel nice. Most certainly not. Definitely not.

…So what other word could he use to explain these feelings?

…

A strange and messy Gyftmas, but satisfying all the same, I hope.

Gyftrot showing was one of the first things that came to mind for this story. Who could be more perfect for a holiday special? And, one of my favorite parts: it shows off Emmi’s integrity. Even a scary looking fellow like Gyftrot deserves a good breakfast and not being covered in weird decorations. (Seriously, though; look at Gyftrot’s battle sprite and tell me that wouldn’t be a little spooky in real life.)

There were some little tidbits in some of the earlier drafts that didn’t make it into the final story, like Emmibee spending her evenings in bed reading by candlelight, the exact spots that don’t squeak on the stairs, and little things like that. Now that I think about it, I don’t know if flashlights would be prevalent in the Underground, or if they’re a more limited resource. It can’t be that easy to find fresh batteries in the dump heap, but maybe the Underground is able to make batteries with the materials it has. For some reason, my mind was in a kind of archaic rut, so I think I imagined the Underground having more limited resources than it probably does; hence the earlier draft with the powdered milk cookies.

Gaster: What is this feeling? It couldn’t be… the warm fuzzies!? No! I’m too sophisticated and cool to have the warm fuzzies!

It has been said before, by many different sources, and it shall be said again: Emmibee is a smol.

Also, the “messiest Gyftmas tree” is a reference to the song “The Happiest Christmas Tree.” It’s… interesting.

Okay, I think that covers all the extra bits. With Ms. Emmibee’s permission, I’ll be posting this to my fanfiction and AO3 accounts at a later date. I hope everyone had a happy holiday! Let’s hope next year’s just a little bit better. Until then!

~~~

THE WARM FUZZIES!!

Apologies for posting this so late, but I truly truly appreciate and adore this fic. Gyftrot is one of the most interesting monsters, I think, and Emmi’s interaction with it is SO pure????? This is wonderful and I love it and THANK YOU!!!!

Please post it to FF and AO3 at your leisure!! 

[i-run-with-a-wolfpack]

One Question♡ Paul

Pairing: Paul Lahote and fem reader [OC]

Warning: mature language and sexual situations

1 part complete

Words: 2,138

One Question

"One question...are you going somewhere?"

I sighed deeply.  Freezing rain was pelting my car, the trees were painted with ice, and the sky was gloomy.  Every surface was covered and it kept coming down. I noticed the power line sagging under the weight of it all and I wondered how much longer before it snapped and we lost power.  Well, he lost power. I don't live here. 

"Well?" Paul prompted from the other side of the room.

I drew a heart on the window pane in the fog that my breath has created.  I didn't know why I drew a heart. It wasn't like I knew what love is. Sure we said 'I love you,' but if we didn't act like it, then did we really?

I turned slowly to find Paul reclining on the couch, soft black flannel pajama pants resting beautifully low on his trim hips. No shirt.  God, did he ever wear a shirt? Hardly ever. In fact, it was weird to see him wear one.

My eyes travelled up to his face.  That fucking smirk pissed me off. But it was there.

We've been fighting since yesterday, maybe longer.  Really it's just the same fight as always. It's about the only thing we ever argue about.

Don't talk to other guys. Period.

I knew this by now.  After he revealed to me several months ago, that I was his imprint, it didn't take long to realize that Paul was possessive with a capital "P."

But this particular fight started at the grocery store.  Once I heard there was winter storm coming, most likely nothing but a downpour of ice, I knew I needed supplies.  The chances of getting back out in this were slim and now I could see I was right to get the extra bread and milk.  The roads were treacherous and my car was a block of ice.

"It's kinda bad out there, huh?" Paul smiled a little as he rubbed a flattened palm up and over his stomach and back down again.

I sighed deeply and retreated into the kitchen.   Begrudgingly, I yanked different ingredients from the refrigerator and pantry with the intent of making myself a sandwich.  And that dickhead didn't deserve anything. I thought I'd let him starve. 

My mind wandered back to yesterday at the store...where the fight started.  Paul had sauntered over to the magazine aisle, no doubt to peruse the car magazines, leaving me to decide on something for dinner.  In the produce section, I fondled the tomatoes and made my choice. "What I wouldn't give to be that tomato." A voice from behind me whispered.

I turned slightly, noticing the young guy next to me with the amazing smile.  I watched as he lifted heavy sacks of potatoes like they were nothing, hoisting them up to rest in an intricate pyramid in the wooden bin.  He glanced over at me and caught me staring at him as he worked. I had seen him in the store a few times before, but he had never spoken to me.  His voice was nice. "Can I help? Find something, that is."

Then he laughed.  And I laughed. God, I'm a dork.  I grabbed a little container of strawberries and inspected it carefully.  "No.  I'm good," I replied quickly.  

He nodded and moved behind me.  I could feel his eyes on me and his shoulder as he brushed past me.  "Stocking up for the big storm I see," he casually announced as he moved to stand beside my cart.

I smiled a little, thankful there wasn't anything in the cart that I didn't want him to see.  Well, except for…

He zeroed in on exactly what I didn't want him to see and he blushed nervously.  "Well I was gonna say that I hope you have someone to keep you warm tonight...but I guess you already do."

I gave him a tight smile as my eyes darted away from his intense stare. I tossed the strawberries into the cart in a feeble attempt to cover the extra large box of condoms that Paul had tossed in, because I knew I didn't grab them.  Another weird laugh came from me. Dork.

"I really don't think you need to worry about who's keeping her warm tonight...asshole."

I gasped when I felt Paul's fingers tighten around my hips from behind...yesterday and again right now.

"Quit it, Paul," I argued weakly as he pressed against me, trapping me between his towering body and the edge of the counter.  

"That looks good," he observed as he leaned over my me, his breath fanning over my exposed collarbone.  I reached up to adjust my shirt and use it to cover my shoulder as it had slipped down. Paul pushed my hand aside as he reached for my sandwich and took a bite.

I sighed as I began to create another one.  I was hungry too, dammit! I could hear Paul munching in my ear and I could feel drops of chicken salad plop onto my shoulder.  "Sorry about that," he sighed, his voice low and growly.

I stretched my arm across counter to reach the paper towel holder, only to have Paul's large hand encircle my wrist and pull it back to my side.  "Paul…"

I squeezed my eyes shut as his tongue flattened and smoothed over my skin, licking away any remnants of his spilled lunch. I gripped the edge of the counter tightly, pressing my lips together in an effort not to scream.  He's only licking my shoulder, for fuck's sake!

A small whimper began to form in the back of my throat as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin on the side of my neck.  Goosebumps erupted up and down my arms as his stubble brushed my skin. "One question…"

"Hmmm?" I squeaked.

Paul's hands slid up under my thin sweatshirt, climbing up to cup my breasts gently.  My head fell back to rest on his shoulder. His lips curled around my earlobe and I shivered.  "Are you still mad at me?" he breathed.  

"Yes," I replied without hesitation. 

"One question…"

I rolled my eyes and laughed a little. Only because he always said 'one question' and then proceeded to continue asking more, usually asking different versions of the same question until he got the desired answer.

"Can I taste you?"

I squeezed my thighs together and sucked in a deep breath. "Paul…"

"I'll take that as a yes," he declared as he lifted me by my midsection and carried me the short distance to the dining room table. He held my wrists, pressing my hands flat on the wooden surface in front of me.  I panted when I felt him push into me from behind.

"I'm still mad at you," I insisted with a shaky voice.

"So you said, Babydoll," Paul growled as he peeled my leggings and panties down and discarded them.  

I turned in his arms, facing him now, ready to continue our fight.  His eyes were bright with desire, incredibly turned on by my insistence that we argue more.  If I didn't know better, I'd swear he only started these fights with me so we could have the mind-blowing sex that followed. "You embarrassed me at the store yesterday.  You didn't have to be such a dick."

I watched Paul's expression change, suddenly worried that I had gone too far.  He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. "One question…"

I rolled my eyes and nodded as I yanked on my sweatshirt in a feeble attempt to cover my myself.  "Did you really expect me not to say anything? That kid was hitting on you. Don't you care?" he insisted.

I huffed and scowled at him.  "That's like… two questions."

He laughed and I gasped when he bent down, slid his hands around my thighs and lifted me up onto the table.  His grip on my knees curled behind as he lifted, forcing me to lie back. "You didn't answer my question."

I swallowed thickly when Paul lowered his face and his head disappeared below my shirt.  I could feel his lips on my stomach and my mind went blank. "The question?" I prompted with a shaky voice.

His head popped back up and he leaned in close to my face.  "Don't you care that kid was hitting on you?"

I shook my head quickly. "It doesn't matter, Paul.  I'm with you," I breathed as my hands held his jaw. "Every guy in town can talk to me and it won't change how I feel about you. Don't you know that by now?"

Paul squeezed his eyes shut before yanking me to the edge of the table and disappearing between my thighs.  My back arched when that wide, wet tongue of his worked it's way to my most sensitive place and I had to hold onto the edge of the table.  I panted furiously as his fingers slid inside me and worked in tandem with his mouth to take me to the brink.

I could feel myself teetering close to the edge when I reached for and dug my fingers into his broad shoulders.  That feeling was lost when he slung my legs over his shoulders, wrapped his arms around my thighs and carried me to the living room with my ass resting on his chest, my hair swinging below me as he walked.  I grasped the back of his neck with both hands, holding on for dear life. "Paul! You're gonna drop me," I whimpered.

He knelt down in front of the fireplace, holding me a few feet above the fluffy rug in the center of the room.  "You really think I would drop you, Babydoll?"

My eyes went wide as he let me drop, just to pull me back at the last second.  I squirmed in his arms as he smiled down at me. "I could never hurt you," he insisted as he finally lowered me to the floor all while still nestled between my thighs.

When Paul leaned toward to capture my lips in a kiss, I held a finger to his mouth and I cocked my head.  "Are you ever gonna trust me to be around other men?"

Paul sighed deeply, resting on his elbows with his lips mere inches from mine.  "I do trust you. It's them I don't trust. How could I ever live with myself if let you get away?  You mean everything to me and I...I…"

That's all I needed to hear before closing the distance between us and pressing my lips to his.  "I love you," he mumbled over and over against my mouth.  

I knew it.  I'd known it for months and more than that...I could feel it.  I felt it in the way he protected me, even when I didn't need it.  I felt it in the way he worried over things I didn't even notice. His love for me was all consuming, confusing and most times, overbearing.  But the idea that I wouldn't have him in my life had my heart clenching in fear.

Paul Lahote drove me crazy with his jealousy and 'one question' stuff, but I wouldn't have it any other way.  I was his and he was mine.

He gazed down at me when I began tugging on those pajama pants of his.  "You sure?" he questioned breathlessly, his brow furrowing with concern. 

I nodded quickly and laughed when he made quick work of discarding them.  "One question," he smirked as he pulled off my shirt and tossed it near his pants. 

"Okay?" I urged, eager to feel him inside me.

Paul licked his way between my breasts and raised his head to meet my curious eyes.  "Do you love me...want me...as much as I want you?"

I sighed sadly at how insecure my baby boy could be sometimes.  I smiled widely as I reached between us and guided him to enter me. His hips lunged forward and he pressed his forehead to mine, waiting for my reply.  "I love you, Paul. I want you...so much."

His eyes drifted closed and he nodded slowly as we moved together, getting lost in each other.  The sounds of the ice hitting the window and tree branches snapping under the weight of of the furious drizzle that wouldn't let up were all around us. I jumped when the power went out and the house went silent.  The only light in the room coming was from the fireplace and illuminating Paul's beautiful face.  

His eyes snapped open as he continued to move inside me.  "One question…" he began. "Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare," I insisted as I rolled us over and took charge. 

Paul held me tightly against him as we rode out the storm… together.

The End ♡

[fleckcmscott]

Things Past

Summary: Arthur shares a childhood memory with Y/N. She sees it differently than he does.

Warnings: Mild angst

Words: 2,645

A/N: This was an anonymous request! Thank you for sending it to me - it was a real challenge. A big thanks to Karen, too. Not just for beta-ing, but for helping with the basis of the memory in question. (I had an idea but hers was much better.) 

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Y/N was clad in her robe and brushing her teeth when Arthur entered the bathroom, flashed her a half-smile, and sat on the side of the tub. A mix of nicotine and cologne hung in the air. He must have smoked half a pack if he was trying to cover up the scent. The flexing of his bare toes on the dark tile floor, and the nibbling of his thumbnail caught her eye in the mirror. Once she rinsed, she grabbed a piece of floss and sat next to him, situating herself so they were hip to hip.

They were fast approaching five years together. Arthur and she still found respite in each other's presence. In shared warmth, not only in the familiarity of their affection, but also in the meeting of lips and bodies during lovemaking and otherwise. And in their companionable silences, which continued to hold a tacit acknowledgment that he could tell her whatever he needed, whether he uttered a simple word or two, or the rare paragraph.

Arthur appeared to be somewhere in the middle of that range of need now. It was evident in the tightness of his back as she put her palm on it. Rubbing gently, fingertips tracing his spine, she sought to bring him out. Like she had back when he'd sat on her sofa with his journal, a stand-up fresh off his first performance. The morning she'd realized she'd fallen in love with him.

His sigh let her know her attention was working. "Dr. Ludlow wants to talk about when I was a kid," he murmured. "I won't know what to say. I barely remember anything."

The subject of his childhood was seldom discussed. Even after his mother had passed away last spring; he'd been silent when they'd picked-up her belongings at the home. (He'd thrown out everything besides the periodic letters and photos Y/N had sent, stating "I like reading I make you happy.") They had never gone over the details in the Arkham file. He'd told her he hadn't and wouldn't look at all of it. He'd seen the headlines, scanned the psychiatric interview, touched the adoption certificate. That had been enough.

While he'd guessed she'd looked at Penny's records, she hadn't disclosed that she'd eventually read all it contained. Had learned the details of his neglect and abuse. Had seen the photos of his emaciated, bruised body. Her throat constricted as they flashed in her mind's eye. It was a mercy he wasn't aware of everything that had occurred. Even if his unconscious knew.

Of course, if he asked her, she'd answer any questions he had. Tell him all of it. But she didn't want to burden him. Or for him to feel shame, an unwarranted reaction her experience reading family cases had taught her was common. The two of them would keep doing what they always had: deal with the residual effects of his past, the symptoms of his illnesses together, as best they could. And for what she couldn't help with, he had his doctor and his journal.

"You can say whatever you want." Y/N bunched up the floss and tossed it towards the trash can under the sink, groaning as it bounced off the rim and back at them. "You could bring back some classic parts of your act. The one about how you hated school," she said, nudging his side. "And how the other kids were too unsophisticated to see what a sweet, funny boy you were."

He retrieved the plastic thread and stood up, threw it away. At his scoff, she realized her attempt to lighten his load hadn't worked. "That was, what? Over thirty years ago?" Then he turned to her, his thumb stuck in the waistband of his pajamas. "We have our life now. Why should it matter?"

Reluctance to admit one's past affected the present was understandable. She'd denied it to herself when she'd first moved to Gotham. Burying herself in her work had been enjoyable. And it had had the convenient side effect of allowing her to avoid processing the ways caretaking had changed her. Starting a relationship with Arthur had forced her to stop and take a breath, to examine its impact. It had done her good. She was certain it would him, too.

"Arthur." He took her proffered hand without pause and stepped to her automatically. She pressed her mouth above his navel, laid her cheek against the warm skin of his belly. "I'll be right here for you." The caress to her hair was featherlight and her hold on him tightened. "You've put so much work into yourself. This is difficult but you can do it."

Bending to her, he kissed the top of her head. "Go to bed. I don't wanna keep you up."

"It's all right if you do. I happen to like your company." At last, she succeeded in getting a chuckle out of him and a playful swat to her thigh. But he withdrew and wished her good night. Heading into their bedroom, she heard the click of the lamp in the living room, the opening of the door to the fire escape. He'd be outside for some time, she assumed. Quickly, she got one of his sweaters and brought it out to him. Though he raised a brow at her, his eyes were full of fondness. She slung the wool shirt over his shoulder and pecked his jaw before taking her leave.

~~~~~

Occasionally, Arthur would call her office before leaving for an appointment. He'd never say he was thinking of skipping a session. That he was having doubts they were working at all. That tough days were infrequent yet harsh. His flat tone and pauses clued her in, though. He'd been calm when he called today, and she'd kidded with him until his mood had buoyed and he'd said he was going. Promising a date night, if he felt up to it, had helped.

Currently, Y/N was in line at Marchetti's waiting for take-out. Wanting to catch-up on the evening news, she grabbed a Gotham Journal from the newsstand. Since the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne in a robbery six months ago, Gotham's malfeasance appeared to have gotten worse. Reports of small businesses being cited for minor code violations, while establishments run by people with the right name and enough money were left to their own devices, flourished. Construction strikes had become more frequent, which she would normally support. But they had a way of ending as soon as the city placed a higher bid. The chief of police had been photographed hobnobbing with a crime boss, but the mayor had taken no action.

On top of it all, the Wayne Foundation, that thorn in her side, was drawing back many of the initiatives it had begun after increasingly austere program cuts. Including services at that damned medical center in Otisburg. They couldn't run out of funds, the board claimed. With the continuously sluggish economy, returns on their investments weren't what they used to be. The organization needed to ensure the Wayne's son would be taken care of.

Y/N didn't buy those excuses. She had nothing against the boy - she couldn't imagine losing her parents at such a young age. But how many mansions, gazebos, and toys did a child need? The skeptical part of her, the one that always suspected an angle, wondered if the increase in the city's corruption and the Wayne Foundations machinations were related...

Stop it, Y/N. Quickly, she shoved the paper back in its spinning rack. If she thought about it too much, she'd find a way to stumble into an investigation she couldn't ignore. While she'd be ready for one and relish it, she didn't want to focus on that tonight.

Their order was ready in about twenty minutes. Arthur and she had gotten into the habit of getting two individual pizzas, borne of his limited willingness to experiment with toppings. Normally, he was happy to take her recommendations, but he insisted cheese was just as good as any other kind and liked to have it to fall back on. She'd gotten Hawaiian for herself. If he was in the mood to eat, she was sure they'd split them.

Happy notes from the Sinatra live album she'd gifted him for his most recent birthday hit her as she opened the apartment door.  It was a pleasant surprise. Arthur only listened to the LP when he was doing all right. (It had prompted him to tell her of his wish to go see him in concert together, and he didn't want to taint that with negative thoughts.)

Upon peeking around the corner from the kitchen, she spotted Arthur in his writing nook, scribbling hurriedly and tapping his feet to the beat. He was obviously engrossed, but she didn't think he'd mind if she interrupted. Soon she approached his desk, plates in hand. "Knock, knock."

A gentle snort as he put down his pen, "Who's there?"

"Delivery service." She propped her hip against the edge of his desk, and placed the food next to his journal, along with a paper towel. "You owe me a tip."

"I do, don't I?" He angled his head up and pulled her in for a quick kiss. "Thanks. I've only had coffee since this morning. Just been working on my material." Swallowing, he flipped back a page in his notebook. "How did the little boy learn to get home?" His green eyes met hers, a hiccup of laughter in his throat. He allowed about three seconds before giving her the punchline. "Step by step by step by step."

Her features softened and her grin drifted away as she absorbed what he'd jotted. In the past, his act had contained references to his childhood. References which could have been based on recollections, figments, or both. This was an observation in joke form, as his jests tended to be. "That's clever." She reached to brush a chestnut wave from his forehead, deciding to ask what she'd been curious about since she got in. "I'm glad you're doing so well. I take it therapy went better than expected?"

Nodding, he gave her a tight-lipped smiled, dimples on display. "Mhm." She moved to sit more fully on his desk, straightening as she secured her paper towel to the neckline of her blouse. They munched quietly, glancing between their slices and each other. It was clear he wanted to tell her more. After he finished his first bites, he shifted in his chair. "I remembered something nice."

A weight rolled off her shoulders, and the corners of her mouth turned up. "That's wonderful."

"Yeah." His teeth worried his thin bottom lip, his gaze going to his plate. "I was at school late - maybe I got in trouble for laughing. Penny was supposed to get me. But I think she forgot, so I had to walk home... It was dark. I hadn't gone that far by myself."

With every word he spoke, Y/N's elation ebbed, replaced by sympathy. But she didn't stop him. "The next day was the same. My mother wasn't there." He still switched back and forth between her name and that title, though he used the latter less and less. "I buttoned my coat and tied my shoes on my own." The satisfaction reflected in his expression contrasted with the pain welling in her. "The steps were icy, but I didn't fall once."

A hitched chuckle left him. "Penny stared at me when she finally answered the door. She couldn't believe I remembered the way home. Then she picked me up." His eyelids fluttered. And the beam on his face was blinding. "She said I was a good boy and told me I was big enough to walk home from then on. She gave me a quarter for a movie." His voice became small, as small as the boy in the story. "I think she was proud of me."

Y/N kept her stare fixed to the floor. Her chewing had slowed, then halted completely. A question nagged at her, even as she assumed the answer would hurt. "How old were you?"

A slight shrug in the corner of her eye. "Six? Seven?"

It shouldn't have stunned her that what he'd introduced as "nice" was to the contrary. But she was gutted. The implications behind it tightened her chest. Was it the last time his mother had held him? Had he gone to the damned movie theater alone, too? Why the hell had the city given him back to Penny?

She'd spent a lot of effort helping him learn that it was okay to be angry and upset sometimes. That he didn't have to lie to her about how he felt. That he didn't have to hide if things were too much for him or he had a bad day. And here she was, doing her best to paste on a smile for him. The difference, she supposed, was that it was to protect him. Not to lie to herself.

She didn't want him to have an inkling regarding the tumult she'd experienced in the last five minutes. That this memory wasn't ideal. Telling him how to feel about it would be crossing the line from honesty into cruelty. There had to be a truth in this she could be happy about. And following some pondering, she found one. He had so few memories from his youth. She supposed he'd been fortunate to retrieve one he considered positive, even though it broke her heart.

She permitted herself to sniff once, blinked a few times at the carpet, and looked to him. "I'm glad you have that to hold onto." Thank god she'd managed to keep her voice from wavering. She distracted herself by squeezing his hand, then brought his knuckles to her lips. "You deserve it."

After a sharp exhale, Arthur moved his palm to hold her shoulder and drew her to him. "You know how you needed me to get into NCB studios? To do your job?"

Twisting to put her plate on the desk, she couldn't stop her giggle. It hadn't been her job - it had been the opposite, frankly. "Of course."

"You're like that for me when it's hard." It was a simple comparison, but she thought it was one of the most beautiful she'd ever heard. She pushed her lips to his, titling her head to deepen the connection and cup his cheeks.

He loosened himself from her grip and grabbed the paper towel she'd tucked into her shirt. Laughing, he tried to wipe away the grease she'd gotten on his face. Y/N plucked the napkin from him and weaved her fingers into his silky hair, imploring him not to care. She looked down at him, unable to stop a smile from forming.

Damn, she was a lucky woman. How did he manage to cheer her, even with the ache lingering in her breast? She'd have to be extra sweet to him in the upcoming days. Hug him tighter, longer, until he pushed her off and shook his head with a smirk before pulling her back in again. It would soothe her, allow her to deal with the mixed emotions she felt at his recollection. Ensure his joyful mood stuck around and make him happy.

She'd start tonight. "We can skip Gotham News and watch whatever you want." She tapped his chest. "You pick."  

"I like watching the news with you." He grinned, then. "But I rented a movie. A comedy from the thirties. There's dancing."

Comedies were much more his cup of tea than hers. But she'd watch anything to sit next to him, to see joy in his eyes, to hold and be held by him. She nuzzled at him and kissed his cheek. "I'm sure we'll love it."

~~~~~

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[oikawasballs]

Mad Dog and Puppy

Hey so it was brought to my attention that people can no longer access the original “Mad Dog and Puppy” English translation post since the OP deleted her account. She’s a friend of mine and she felt bad so she asked if I could repost it, so here y’all go:

From Haikyuu!! Light Novel 6, Chapter “Mad Dog and Puppy” written by Kiyoko Hoshi with illustrations by Haruichi Furudate.

One fine holiday in fall, there was a man standing in a convenience store nearby Aoba Jousai High School. The guy, wearing a volleyball jersey, walked out as the opening and closing door made an electronic sound. The man’s name is Kyoutani Kentarou, a second-year member in Aoba Jousai High’s volleyball club.

Kyoutani tore the wrapping of the chicken—chicken is his favorite food—that he took out of the convenience store bag before sinking his teeth into it, making an audible noise; this was how he walked toward school. The volleyball club took Mondays off. Practice starts morning today, which is a Sunday.

Kyoutani had not attended the club for quite a while since the middle of his first year due to various circumstances, though he has been recently thrown into the spotlight for coming back after being recalled by Oikawa, the team captain.

At the preliminary round of the Inter-High Miyagi Finals in June, Aoba Jousai suffered defeat at the hands of Shiratorizawa Academy, the invincible champions. It was necessary to regroup and reorganize the currently completed team in order to clear themselves of the disgrace come the next Spring High School competition, move on from second place and aim for the Nationals. What they wanted to strengthen in particular was their offense. The fighting strength that served to be the trigger of that was Kyoutani, whom Oikawa jokingly called “Mad Dog.”

**********

For Kyoutani, club activities are frankly troublesome; everyone in the club is annoying and he wished they would stop calling him Mad Dog or anything for that matter. Though he tries not to care about that too much, as long as he gets to keep playing volleyball. 

While there was a common agreement for the time being among the manager, coaches, the captain and other third-year members on what to do about him, at any rate, Kyoutani‘s fellow second-years had more complex considerations. They, who had been practicing everyday since he left, felt they’d been working hard only to be sidelined by Kyoutani who just came back as if nothing happened when they thought he already quit.

That same Kyoutani also did not seem keen to a change of heart just because he came back, his attitude still as bad as his manner of speaking. And while they thought things would turn out fine if Kyoutani thoroughly practiced at the very least, he would often still come late to practice.

In the third gymnasium where the volleyball club is gathered, Yahaba Shigeru, a second-year back-up setter, clicked his tongue silently as he glared at the clock on the wall.

**********

Kyoutani was noisily eating his chicken while walking down the road when his mouth came to a stop. His feet, hurrying as he thinks he’s running late, stop at the same time. He noticed a small cardboard box placed at the middle of a gaping-wide, empty plot of land—basically like a missing tooth—in the residential area along the street he uses everyday to go to school.

“…?”

The empty lot was covered in tall grass, and it didn’t seem like it had only been there since yesterday or today. But Kyoutani had never noticed this area. That it had suddenly caught his attention must have been because of the cardboard box. The cardboard box from an online shopping website that could often be seen here and there did not appear to have been trampled upon or crushed nor did it appear to have been drenched in rain and lost its shape; it was properly, squarely propped up and brand new, which made it unnatural, and it was almost like a poorly constructed trap.

Regardless, Kyoutani came up and stepped into the thicket quickly without hesitation and peeked inside the box.

“…Fur?”

A light-brown furball that is around two sizes smaller than a volleyball is inside wrapped in an old towel. As soon as he tried to crouch and touch it, two wet, small, black eyes appeared from inside the round ball. Kyoutani, surprised, pulled back his stretched-out hand.

“It has eyes!”

Inside the box, the furball opened its red mouth and made a vague sound. That is when Kyoutani finally realized.

“A dog.”

What was inside the cardboard box seemed to be an abandoned puppy. It’s very small and frail, and it doesn’t have a collar on. That said, a lot of dogs walk in that area, so it’s not an unusual sight at all. Kyoutani, concerned he was going to be late, resolved to leave the place immediately.

However, the puppy clambered up the box making it tumble and fall to the ground and followed Kyoutani as it cried. It turned back but cried helplessly with its small tail waving back and forth.

“… Meat.”

Kyoutani noticed that it was following because of the chicken he was holding, so he threw the last of it into his mouth in one go, noisily chewed and then drank water. He then folded up the paper wrapping, pocketing it and immediately walked out of the lot.

It is a dog after all. It only tried to follow me because I had food, that‘s all. Thinking that, he headed to school without looking back. He would get a scolding if he arrived late, so it was for his sake that he rush and ignore some dog.

Walking at a quick pace, Kyoutani slowly sulked. A rush of memories came and went and he suddenly felt bad.

He expected to be made to come back by Oikawa, the team captain, but the unsettling part was having to hear complaints from other members for such a small matter as if he was the only one who had been causing trouble all the time. He even thinks to himself of quitting this shitty club on the spot if he so ever hears someone self-importantly explain to him that volleyball is about team play while lecturing him. Thinking that, he even became angry at himself for staying with the club for these past months without quitting. The wave of exhaustion that had slowly been building over him was starting to crash. There probably really wasn’t much of an excuse for losing his shit on people, but he realized that his desire to start yelling and acting like a completely impatient prick was really only a desire to let out his exhaustion, frustrations, and confusion.

He’s never told anyone that and never will. He thinks, just maybe, that they wouldn’t understand.

“…”

Club activities are annoying, and the fact that the cuff of his jersey keeps brushing against his ankles whenever he takes a step is annoying too. The grass in the empty lot might have been wet with the morning dew. He thought of that as he looked at his foot. And when he did, he realized he was about to step on a black-ish shadow or something, so he stopped in panic as if a piece of trash had landed in front of him.

However, before his feet was no trash but the puppy earlier looking up at Kyoutani.

It made a sound.

“The dog.”

Why is it still following him when he has no food anymore? Does he still have the scent of meat? Without realizing, he tried to take a sniff of his jersey, but he’s not sure. Kyoutani furrows his eyebrows and glared at the puppy silently. However, the puppy, probably because it was still small and untrained or because animals cannot precisely comprehend human emotions, coiled around Kyoutani’s feet and cried.

“…You’re in my way.”

That is what he said, but of course his words remain undecipherable to the puppy, who bites Kyoutani’s pants while tumbling and crying; it is enjoying the moment, even letting its tongue out.

“…”

He strangely became irritated while looking at that innocent furball. “Becoming attached to anyone and starting to beg food from them is probably what you do. You probably go around stealing people’s convenience store chicken knowing they couldn’t possibly resist a small creature like you, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he said.

Okay, maybe he had been a little harsh. Or maybe a lot. 

But having accepted the puppy wouldn’t understand anything he was saying, Kyoutani left the poor dog and ran away. He has to go to the club anyway.

He thinks he can hear its helpless voice from behind him, but he ignores it and continues running.

Yahaba would probably see this as some kind of sarcastic mockery, wouldn’t he? Well, of course he would. 

This whole thing is stupid.

Kyoutani thought it was ridiculous to be running then when he was already late anyway, but he continued to sprint toward school, never slowing his pace.

This day is going to suck.

**********

“You’re late. Are you actually serious about this?”

As soon as he arrived at the gym and removed his jacket came Yahaba’s jeering. Kyoutani, ignoring him—though he does momentarily get upset about it—joins for spiking practice. He did arrive late, and he has no choice but to explain to them that it is a dog’s fault. He’s watching Yahaba while he speaks, can’t even explain to himself why, because he shouldn’t care, but he does. Regardless, the benchwarmer didn’t mind telling him things as they are.

While Yahaba has been grumbling his discontent even after Kyoutani had silently fallen in line, he finally shuts up when his fellow second-year Watari glares at him. Oikawa, the captain, who had been looking at what Yahaba had been doing from across the net, also kept calmly focused on his own practice. This degree of dispute had not been a rare occurrence since Kyoutani’s return, but it was better compared to last year’s. Things were grimmer that time to the point that Kyoutani would ditch club activities. He supposes it’s better now since he hasn’t quit yet.

The gym’s atmosphere returns to normal and practice restarts after having momentarily paused. Yahaba and Oikawa stand on either side of the net, and they go and toss to the spikers who enter the court taking turns. Next is Kyoutani’s turn. He throws the ball to Yahaba, the setter, and runs. The toss was made. He steps in looking at the ball, jumps and hits it.

Before that, everyone else made impeccable spikes that no one could complain about. However, Kyoutani hits the ball taking advantage of his weight and power, but upon landing, bumps into Yahaba while bearing that excessive force on his way down.

“Ow! Why would you bump into me?! Watch where you’re going! You came late and still have the guts to do that?”

Kyoutani also grows angry as Yahaba complained, his hands on the floor.

“What does my being late have to do with bumping into you?”

“Whatever! I’ve had enough of your excuses. I’m just telling you to take things seriously!”

That caused Kyoutani to hesitate. He had expected Yahaba to supply his reasons for him, so he could just deny everything while watching the results.

He gets up heavily and looks down at Yahaba, who is still on the ground, and says:

“Aren’t you the one who should be taking things seriously?” Even to himself, Kyoutani knows his voice sounds way too harsh, but he can’t help it, and he can’t explain it, and he won’t even try.

Yahaba’s eyes fix instantly in that furious way that Kyoutani tiredly decides he’s never going to live down. “What did you say?!”

Kyoutani takes a deep breath. He can’t talk about this, he’s barely holding his shit together. “…I’m going home.” And that sounded so pathetic he’s almost ashamed of himself.

“Huh?!”

Yahaba, his eyes wide upon hearing Kyoutani’s quite selfish remarks, didn’t try to stop him. “We don’t need Kyoutani in the team. We can win without him. We’d be better off without him,”  he thought.

The club members were dumbfounded. Kyoutani who had just arrived left the gym alone.

**********

The winds of fall felt awfully cold as if in connection with him leaving the hot, stuffy gym. Kyoutani returned to the path he had dejectedly come from.

He came to play volleyball, yet he couldn’t do a single decent spike. He was so frustrated, asking himself how it had come to this point he almost wanted to scream. Club activities were troublesome, and all the club members were annoying. Come to think of it, it doesn’t matter if it were a team composed of hard-working individuals or even if it weren’t a school club at all as long as he can play volleyball. There are a lot of teams everywhere. Volleyball isn’t something people cannot do if they aren’t wearing the Seijou uniform.

At that moment, Kyoutani heard some crunching sounds in his pocket. It’s the paper wrapping of the convenience store chicken. He took notice of it at once and wanted to quickly throw it away, thinking of it as a huge bother due to his frustration. He thought of going back to the convenience store when he realized upon raising his head that he was all of a sudden back in front of the empty lot earlier.

“…”

It felt like a premonition of a mildly uneasy event to come. However, without even giving him time to escape, the thicket rustled, revealing a dark reddish-brown furball that tumbled out.

It makes a sound.

“…It’s you again.”

The puppy coils around the cuff of his jersey pants as if it remembers Kyoutani or it remembers the smell of the convenience store chicken. Why is that? Why is it so attached to him? He never gave it food, yet why? Kyoutani was struck with questions. But he immediately stopped thinking about it, and at that moment thought of once again running away to another direction.

“What is it with you? You could be playing with other dogs, you know?”

Oh hell no. Not now.

He turns too fast, knows he does, stumbles and feels like an idiot, but who the hell could blame him? Yahaba is feet away, wearing the same Seijou jersey uniform. He stands with seeming unease, glaring at Kyoutani, his gaze fixed on him like a spotlight of pure, unrelenting interrogation.

“You came back to us after being asked, and now you’re playing with a dog?” His voice is so off-hand that Kyoutani can’t read it. That makes him nervous.

However, Yahaba seemed surprised when he noticed the cardboard box sitting there.

“Oh, is that an abandoned dog?”

Kyoutani sulkily nods as the puppy remained coiled around him.

Yahaba raises his voice for some reason. “Are you going to take in an abandoned dog or something?” There’s all this shock and excitement in his voice that would be funny as hell if it were, oh, any other time and any other day. “This ain’t no shoujo manga, you know! For goodness sake, stop fucking with me! For all I know, you could be planning something awful!”

What the hell is he talking about? Goddammit. “Fuck off, Yahaba. Damn, you’re so fucking crazy. Just leave me alone!”

Kyoutani thinks it may say something about their relationship that Yahaba doesn’t even blink.

“But what are you really doing here, Kyoutani? I don’t buy that you left practice just to play adorable puppy finder, though that’s what I’m going to tell anyone that asks, just so you know.”

Annoying little shit.

For his part, Yahaba had never liked the careless and conceited way Kyoutani behaved since he joined the club in their first year. Or rather than not liking him, it was annoying that Kyoutani kept causing trouble with their senpais despite the two of them belonging in the same year. Kyoutani would yell “fucking shits” to their third-year seniors and just generally go around not giving a fuck like he had no common sense. You’d think he’d been living his whole life so senselessly.

But indeed Kyoutani was amazing. It was frustrating but he was incredible and had no equal among their grade. They had him join practice matches, and was also a regular first-year player in official games. That’s why it was frustrating, since the same people also expected something out of him. Yet that guy…he was amazing yet picked fights with their senpais and was hated by them in return. He would take on challenges he could not win; it was as if he didn’t care about anything at all. People were honestly relieved when he stopped showing up to club activities.

But even Yahaba could not vocalize any complaints when Kyoutani was called back by Oikawa. They treated him like some hotshot rookie despite him being gone the whole time. Even worse, he barely came to practice making people wonder why he even came back at the first place, though he still played as amazingly. He was really a frustrating fellow.

Irritated by the memory, Yahaba watched Kyoutani standing before him. He silently glared at the dog biting and pulling at the cuff of his teammate’s jersey.

With his back turned, Kyoutani thinks he can actually hear Yahaba grinding his teeth.

“Why the hell did you even show up late just to leave on your own and then bother some abandoned dog?”

“I‘m not bothering it! This dog just followed me by himself!”

“Are you trying to appeal to girls by telling them animals like you?”

“What the fuck?!”

They just keep exchanging words like that, and while they do so, the puppy tumbles around Kyoutani’s shoes and seems to be falling asleep.

Yahaba continues, dropping his voice to convey how very, very serious this discussion suddenly is. “You know that dog is going to be trouble, right? We have to make sure it’s taken somewhere farther from here.”

Kyoutani searches for the right response. Play dumb? Look shocked? Throw a fit? Or…“Huh?”

“I think I have an idea.”

“Does it involve leaving?”

Yahaba grins at him now like he’s the funniest thing ever. Then he laughs. It’s an odd, almost foreign sound–he hasn’t heard Yahaba laugh in way too long, and it’s edgeless, and it’s amused as hell, and it’s just Yahaba all over again. And through all this, Kyoutani tries not to pay attention to how weird this whole thing makes him feel. “Sort of.”

Kyoutani raises his brows at that statement. “I really, really don’t like how you said that.”

“Jeez, stop glaring! And anyway, as if I’m going to believe you. You senseless moron. I wouldn’t even be surprised if you ate that dog alive.”

Kyoutani decides to ignore that, not sure why Yahaba seems determined to piss him off. Bastard.

Yahaba continued mumbling and then held up the puppy that had fallen asleep atop Kyoutani’s shoes. “This puppy needs to eat. You think you can get some dog food?”

“Sure, I can pull them out of my ass,” Kyoutani snapped. 

Yahaba snorts his opinion of that one, then he looks up, studying Kyoutani’s face. Kyoutani doesn’t dare move. One wrong move and he won’t be able to breathe. Yahaba does that to him sometimes.  

Yahaba relaxes then. Whatever he saw, or didn’t see, in Kyoutani’s face seems to satisfy him. He then puts the puppy back inside the cardboard box, holds the thing up to his chest and urges the other boy, “Hey, we’re going.” He doesn’t even know why he’s saying this. He’s not seriously thinking of–he just isn’t.

“…Huh. Where?”

Kyoutani grew flustered. Where on earth could they be going with a dog in hand? At any rate, Yahaba didn’t seem to have any idea where to go either.

“For the meantime, how about the police? They might tell us at least where to bring it. Anyway, you carry it since you found it in the first place. I don’t want to get bitten. Hey.“

Yahaba’s eyes flicker down, fixing on Kyoutani with that disturbing team-radar that he seems to have tuned on him at some point.

Kyoutani takes a slow, deep breath, clearing his head. Thinking this through will mean he’ll screw it up. That’s what always happens when he overthinks something. It’s what happens when anyone overthinks something. Do it or don’t, but don’t sit on your ass–or stand in the middle of an empty lot–and try to think about it.

“Fine. I think you’re out of your mind, but fine.” The grumbly undertones hide the worry.

“Great,” Yahaba answers with a spastic nod, and the tiny fluff of hair at the top of his head jerks around hypnotically. Kyoutani realizes it’s almost impossible to look away.  "Let’s go then, Mad Dog-chan.“

Kyoutani gives him a narrow look and makes a bitterly amused sound. "I hate that.”

“You never told us before,” Yahaba actually looks concerned.

“Nobody asked.”

“I mean, I remember you telling Oikawa-san to stop calling you weird names, but I don’t think anyone’s realized that you actually hate it.”

“What a fucking surprise,” Kyoutani sneers.

Flexing his fingers, he takes a breath and lets it out like he was taught. Easy and slow. It’s been worse. Other people have done and said worse. At least, he thinks so. “Whatever. Call me anything you want, just tell me where the fuck we’re going.”

Yahaba pauses, looks at him seriously. And though they’re standing right in front of each other, the look in his eyes says he may as well be a thousand miles away. “I guess we have a lot to talk about, Kyoutani.”

Are you lying to me, Yahaba? “Any reason why?”

Yahaba drops his head to contemplate his outstretched foot. “I’m bored?”

“Try again.”

“Because you apparently want people to ask you stuff? And I think that’s cool. I can think of a lot of things to start with.”

Kyoutani bites back something snarky and unkind, swallowing a lump in his throat and wondering if he could possibly be any more annoyed than he is right now. But whatever. It’s never comfortable to remember their earlier spats, and if this could make things a little better, then what the hell. Besides, he just isn’t up to any more arguing today. He shrugs his shoulders. “You ever tell anyone anything, I’ll deny it.”

Inside the box they’d been pushing back and forth to each other comfortably slept the lumpy, small ball of fur. Its breathing was surprisingly fast, faster than when it was coiled around Kyoutani’s feet, as if to show evidence that it was a living thing.

**********

Somehow—and Kyoutani has no idea how, never will, doesn’t even care—Kyoutani and Yahaba walked the road side by side carrying the cardboard box. Both of them were completely silent, though they sometimes peeked inside when the dog moved or made a sound. And when their eyes accidentally meet, they would turn away and awkwardly face somewhere else. This happened many times over, uncomfortable enough for them, until Yahaba who was then lightly carrying the box finally said, “Having a dog inside an online shopping website’s cardboard box feels almost like you got a dog delivered to you, doesn’t it?”

“…”

Yahaba, a bit embarrassed that Kyoutani only continued walking without giving any response, snapped. “Hey, you’re supposed to say something in return when someone talks to you. What sort of reaction was that?”

“…You’re boring.”

“You’re the last person I want to hear that from! And just so you know, when the senpais are proved right and we actually end up becoming friends in the future, you’re going to feel so dumb for ignoring me.”

Kyoutani makes a weird sound right next to him. Like he’s choking to death, though he can still walk okay, so Yahaba’s not too worried.

“Oh, there’s the police box! Let’s go.”

The two entered while carrying the box. A young police officer is seated on a chair writing something, and he looks at their faces. The police box was small to the point that nobody could fit anymore after the two went in; it had posters about remittance fraud and traffic safety, leaflets about wanted criminals and maps of the neighborhood pasted all over. The police officer examines the insides of the box without a word after taking a peek at them as if suspecting Kyoutani’s bad expression.

“Whose dog is this?”

However, Kyoutani just says vague statements like, “It went after my convenience store chicken,” and “I came from practice.” Yahaba had no choice but to answer from the side.

“Um, it’s an abandoned dog, so we’d like to ask what we should do with it.”

“Doesn’t it have a collar?”

“It’s still small, and it was in this box wrapped in a towel. I think it was thrown away.”

“You picked it up?”

Yahaba shook his head upon being asked by the police officer. “This guy did,” he said as he turned his eyes to Kyoutani, who was just staring straight ahead, like he had nothing to do with this conversation at all.

“You there,” the police officer said nodding his head. He took out documents from a drawer and looked at Kyoutani. “It will be received here at the police box as quasi-lost property, but will you care for it in case the owner did throw it away or the owner doesn’t appear?”

“…Huh?”

Kyoutani was surprised and then looked at Yahaba as if asking for help. However, Yahaba just shrugged. The police officer looked at the two and started explaining, as if he had been repeating a set phrase he had gotten used to saying often, with a gentle nod.

“Ah, in case the owner does not appear, it will be moved to a health center after a few days, but there it will be temporarily …”

Despite him just having started speaking, Kyoutani suddenly slams the desk. The color of the police officer’s eyes changed, but Kyoutani yelled without regard.

“What crap is that? We’re asking you where to bring it so we can have someone take care of it! That’s what I want to hear about!”

“Just wait, you idiot!”

Shaking off Yahaba’s effort to stop him, Kyoutani glared at the police officer. “We don’t need your help anymore!!”

Having said that over his shoulder, Kyoutani rushed out of the police box carrying the cardboard box, the puppy poking its face out of it. Yahaba was left alone in the police box, bowing his head saying, “I’m sorry. That guy’s an idiot,” as an excuse and followed Kyoutani who had run off to somewhere.

Upon finding Kyoutani who was standing a little far away all the while holding the box, Yahaba ran to follow him without pause.

“What the hell was that back there?! You do understand you’re not helping, right?! Though I was surprised too when he told us to bring it to a health center…”

“I know he was surprised, but would a person normally suddenly yell like that? You would have to be crazy to yell at the police, right? Was that occasion not more appropriate to just look annoyed, get out without a scene and ask for help? What was the point of coming all the way here only for you to get mad?” thought Yahaba, but he didn’t feel Kyoutani would comprehend it even if he said it. The newborn puppy seems more likely to understand than Kyoutani. Even now, Kyoutani continues to silently glare at Yahaba’s feet, making Yahaba wonder what it could be that has piqued his interest. The dog inside the box was staring at Kyoutani’s face with its wet eyes.

While it was looking at them, Yahaba found himself suddenly thinking of many different trivial things:

“This guy doesn’t really have a clue. Fine, let’s go to the police, he said. They’ll help us. Or not. I don’t understand why this dog is ignoring me, why it’s so attached only to this jerk.”

"Stop deciding things on your own. I really don’t understand you.”

Just as Yahaba said that, Kyoutani quickly turned on his heel without even nodding at Yahaba and walked toward town, still carrying the box. "I’m trying to help, asshole.”

Is this guy serious?

“Wow, you’re really something else,” Yahaba thought with a slight sense of admiration. Moving his brows as if to ask where they’re headed to, Kyoutani just ignores him and goes to walk steadily alone. A helpless cry can sometimes be heard making a sound.

While gazing at the distance with Kyoutani’s back getting smaller and smaller, Yahaba tells himself: “This is good for now. The mad dog and an abandoned dog—that’s just too much for me, and surely this task would be too much for anyone, too. Anyway, he’s not a kid anymore, and he’ll probably figure it all out by himself. And even if he doesn’t, that wouldn’t be my fault.”

However, Yahaba felt his mood grow heavy and clouded. Something is pulling him into action, like small fishbones poking the insides of his throat. In his mind’s eye, he can see Kyoutani looking at him absently, and Yahaba hates that look on his face: stubbornness warring with an unhappiness so deep he can feel it from here.

“Oh, this is bad.”

There’s no reason why he should, why he should want to do this. None at all.

He eventually accepts it.

“Wait for me, for fuck’s sake! The senpais will get mad at me if I don’t come back with you!” 

In the end, Yahaba chases Kyoutani and the puppy.

**********

Beyond the police box is a main road that gets a lot of pedestrian traffic. Yahaba stopped and turned to Kyoutani and the puppy. “Okay, listen to me before you decide to get stubborn. With how things have turned out, it’d be best to entrust this to someone we can trust.”

However, Kyoutani only glares at Yahaba, his expression betraying his disagreement.

“…”

“What’s that look for? I mean, can you take care of this? Or do you actually want to go back to the police?”

Kyoutani was exasperated as he averted his eyes; the puppy stretches its body from the box and licks his chin. Kyoutani puckers his face and half-heartedly returns the puppy inside the box as he was tickled by its fur. Yahaba tried not to pay attention to the cute interaction.

“Neither of us can take care of it. And since that’s the case, we’ve got no choice. Surely kind-looking people love dogs. A kind little girl and a puppy—that’s the best-case scenario, right? It should be totally better visually than you and a puppy, shouldn’t it? Right?”

While he didn’t really understand why the person they would hand the dog over to had to be a girl, that scenario was indeed better. If they can’t take care of it themselves, there’s no choice but to find another person who can. Kyoutani reluctantly agrees.

“Fine, let’s find one.”

Yahaba hadn’t even realized he wasn’t breathing until it escapes in a soft sigh. Okay, that’s done. He immediately looked around their surroundings. It’s still early in the morning, and naturally his eyes would land upon a person who is out to walk their dog. Among these persons who already have a dog, there should be at least one of them who would not mind taking in another one, he thought.

He tries approaching a few people, but none of them would take in a puppy. While he thought taking care of one or taking care of two made no difference and took the same amount of time and effort, it was probably not so. Is there no one who would willingly accept a dog and just think of it as the little brother or sister of the dog they already own?

When the two grew tired, the puppy who had been quiet inside the box all that time suddenly made a shrilling bark.

“Woof, woof, woof!”

The two looked at the distance thinking it was barking at the appearance of its original owner. But the person immediately averted his eyes and looked at the ground.

The person that was there was a poorly built man who didn’t quite fit the morning atmosphere. Yahaba, his eyes not particularly looking at anything, tells Kyoutani with a small voice, “Hey, make it shut up. Do something, Kyoutani,” imploring him to make it quiet, though the puppy didn’t seem to care and continued to bark. After a while, the man seemed to have noticed that it was him being relentlessly barked at by the dog.

“Hey, what is it?”

The man slowly comes close. The way he’s looking at them is threatening. The way Kyoutani was looking back at him is also threatening, but it is a wholly different notch higher. The dog continues to bark even more. This is bad, and it’s getting worse, thought Yahaba who decided to just let this misunderstanding come to pass. Just as when he had convinced himself that it was best not to say anything unnecessary, to fake a smile and avoid making trouble and to slowly move on without provoking anyone, Kyoutani suddenly dashed out toward the man barking like a dog.

“Who’re you? We’re not doing anything! What are you looking at?!!”

“…!?”

Yahaba promptly pulls the mad dog back and ran away. He can hear someone yelling, “You want a piece of me, brats!?” But it was preferable for school sports club members to just run away. Yahaba yells while running for his life:

“Why would you go pick a fight with someone like that?! Look at your opponent!”

“Shut up!”

“Huh!?”

He continues to run regretting not escaping alone and deserting this idiot and his idiot dog. Yahaba finally came to a stop thinking they’d be fine by then having come from several blocks away at that point.

“Fucking hell.”

He clicks his tongue looking at Kyoutani beside him with the cardboard box in his hands not even looking tired at the very least despite running out of breath, at least compared to himself who is breathing with his shoulders. It really angers him.

“Why did you fucking come back…” Yahaba told him and looked at the distance as if unable to endure any further. Suddenly, the color of his eyes sharply changes. Yahaba combs his hair with his hands, steals the cardboard box from Kyoutani uttering, “Sorry!” before running off. Kyoutani chases him, the hardest chase he gave in his whole life.

In the end, what Yahaba was chasing after all was a group of high school girls in uniform.

“Girls! What do you think? Would you care to look at a puppy? A puppy!”

The girls variously reacted with caution at first: “Eh?”, “Is this for filming or something?”, “Does it bite?” But they timidly looked inside the box, likely enchanted by Yahaba’s gentleness. They then shriek out of joy upon noticing a puppy curled up into a ball inside.

“Eh, is this really a dog? Oh no, it’s so cute. Look, look!”

“What’s this? Is this a real dog, like does it really move? Why is it inside a box? You’re doing this to record our reactions, aren’t you?”

“What dog is this? It’s so fluffy.”

“Isn’t this a Shiba? Shiba Inu. Right? Did I guess correctly?”

One of the girls who came forward and said that blushed with a hiccup. Her eyes were fixed onto the face beside Yahaba’s. That prompted him to look at the space next to him, and there was Kyoutani glaring at the girls, his eyes brimming with bloodlust.

The other girls also notice Kyoutani’s stare and find themselves frozen.

“Hey, what are you doing?!”

It was too late, however, and the girls let out a high-pitched scream and ended up running away. Yahaba loses his patience and violently gets mad.

“Stop glaring! One of them could have taken this dog! We had good communication, and you were staring at them as if you wanted to turn them into stone! What was that all about? Are you some kind of Medusa!?”

Kyoutani steals the box and the dog back from Yahaba and snaps back. “Do you have some ulterior motive?!”

“I don’t! I mean, I did but that’s got nothing to do with what happened just now!”

“You never have no ulterior motives.”

The puppy also cries as if to add to the tension.

“Are you a total idiot!?”

A car pulled over next to the two boys who had been arguing at the middle of the road. They immediately kept their mouths silent, then a woman revealed her face from the driver’s seat and spoke. Her words were beyond anything the two could have possibly expected.

“Excuse me. You don’t really want to throw that dog away, do you?”

Noticing that Kyoutani is instantly growing into a frenzy upon hearing that sentence, Yahaba stops him saying, “Just wait!” What is up with him? Is he some kind of feral child? Is he less evolved than a dog?

The woman gets off the car and speaks to them while Yahaba calmed Kyoutani down.

“Do you know what would happen if you threw that dog away? Even if you leave it to an animal shelter, there is no guarantee that its owner would be found.”

“It’s not like we don’t know that already!” Kyoutani barks as if ready to bite, while the woman asked with mild bewilderment, “Eh, then why are you …”

“You shut up already,” Yahaba seethes and commands Kyoutani to keep quiet before he told her the actual story of how they picked up an abandoned dog and how they were then trying to find a new owner. Upon hearing their and the dog’s bizarre adventure, the woman apologizes saying, “I’m sorry. It seems I misunderstood the situation,” then she struck the hood of the car she had been riding.

“But it’s a good thing I called you out. I’m going to look for its owner myself.”

“… Eh?”

Kyoutani and Yahaba looked at her blankly and observed the car she’s been riding in more carefully. The hood of that roundish car had drawings of dogs and cats, written on it was the name of a veterinary hospital.

“Veterinary hospital…?”

The woman worked at a veterinary hospital and she explained that she can find an owner by coordinating with organizations that help abandoned dogs and cats.

“Our hospitals also have fliers recruiting people who want to own pets.”

Upon saying that, the woman took the box where the puppy was in from Kyoutani. The puppy whined and licked Kyoutani’s hand when his hands let go of the box.

“I will contact you when we find an owner.”

She places the box on the rear passenger seat saying that and closes the door. Then they could see the dog through the glass but couldn’t hear its cries.

The woman hopped into the driver’s seat and immediately drove off. Yahaba bowed at its rear window, but Kyoutani just stood there stiffly as if feeling uneasy.

The car was soon out of sight, and the puppy issue ended an instant too soon. The two of them quarrelling just earlier then felt like a dream. But it was not a dream; it was real. And speaking of reality, they must go back to the club soon. Yahaba turned to Kyoutani who was standing beside him. “Hey, look. The dog’s gone now, and we have to go soon.”

“…”

Kyoutani glared at Yahaba as if sulking. And he kept at it. But Yahaba understood how Kyoutani felt. It was a strange feeling, as if a hole had been punched through his heart, or as if a feeling could not linger because of how fast reality had unfolded. But they can’t afford to slack off here, either.

“Everyone’s waiting. You caused some trouble for the senpais, and it wasn’t something you should have shown to our juniors, either. Just realize that you have teammates who are waiting for you just like that dog has friends waiting for him, too. I think it was cute that you immediately tried to search for a rightful owner and it got attached to you. It’s so unlike you.”

Yahaba continued watching Kyoutani who was staring intently at his shoes like a sulking child. Yahaba felt stupid for feeling frustrated earlier somehow.

Why did I have to tell a jerk like him words like that? He came in late and left by himself. He picked up an abandoned dog on his own and caused trouble for me. And now he’s sulking that the dog is gone. I’m honestly glad when he doesn’t show up to practice, yet why did I bother following him to bring him back with me…

Yahaba fell into silence as Kyoutani raised his head. And then he said, “Let‘s go. Quick.”

Then he immediately walked forward alone.

“Huh?! Oi, wait for me! I’m the one who’s supposed to be saying that!”

“You smell of dog.”

“You smell worse!!”

**********

The two walked up the school path, alternating between silence and bickering. Neither of them talked about the puppy. They probably will never talk about that dog going forward, Yahaba thought.

Soon enough, they were at school. Just as when Yahaba thought of suggesting that they explain to the senpais why they were late, he heard a feeble cry from somewhere. He looked around expecting something bad about to happen, when they noticed they were back at the empty lot where they had picked the dog up.

“Here…”

The thicket brushes against their feet. Without them realizing, they stopped and explored the area before a kitten revealed its face amid the grass.

It meowed.

“It’s a cat.”

“Hey, don’t look at it. Act like you didn’t see it!”

So said Yahaba as he pulled Kyoutani away. Yet the kitten helplessly climbed up Kyoutani’s jersey using its claws, and before he knew it the kitten was perched atop Kyoutani’s large shoulders meowing.

Then it licks Kyoutani’s cheek.

“Why the heck are they so quick to get attached to you!?”

“It’s not my fault!”

“I hate the fact that you’re so easily liked!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

It had been around an hour since practice started. The two, wearing the Aoba Jousai volleyball uniform, were still a far way off to returning to the third gym, however.

**********

The End

[lynelovespopculture]

THE CHILLING ADVENTURES OF ZELDA-CHAPTER 18-THE BREAKING POINT AS THE MORTALS AROUND THEM GROW MORE OBSESSED WITH WITCHES, THE SPELLMANS START TO FEEL THE PRESSURE.

After the announcement of the play, the rest of the day was pretty much shot. After school, Faustus had more work to do so Cordelia took the bus home.  She sighed as she opened and closed the front door. “I said no.” Zelda’s voice came from the kitchen. “Mom, you are never going to believe this,” Cordelia muttered as she dropped her backpack onto a chair, entered the kitchen, and froze. For Zelda was not alone. “Look, Lilith,” Zelda said through gritted teeth. “You came here to ask me a question and I have answered you. I said no and it’s staying no!” “But I need you!” Lilith insisted. “We both know that you’re the best of the best. Besides, as the queen of hell, I can simply command you.” “Oh no, you can’t!” Zelda held her ground. “In fact, as I recall the last time I asked for your help, you told me that since I was not a part of hell’s court and was no longer a member of the church of night or the church of Lilith, that I was an outsider and you were under no obligation to help me.” Lilith knew she was losing her case but she continued pleading regardless. “It won’t be like last time. I promise! Lucifer is still inside that council member, still very much locked up. The minion and I check on him often. I swear it won’t be like last time.” “I know it won’t,” Zelda agreed “because this time I’m not getting myself or my family involved.” Meanwhile, Cordelia stood silently in the corner, confused over this exchange. Lucifer? Queen of hell? What the heaven did this all mean?  Cordelia was pretty sure she knew the woman who was fighting with her mother but didn’t know from where. “Please Zelda,” Lilith continued.  “Adam was just so sweet when I told him 3 weeks ago.  He insisted we return to the surface and get married at the courthouse that very day. Nothing like when Zander was born.” That was it! Cordelia suddenly remembered that this Lilith was the happy bride she saw when she and Faustus were driving past city hall on that 1st day of school. “Cordelia!” Lilith purred, bring the child back to the here and now by sliding a hand under her chin and studying her.  “What a lovely young lady you’ve become.” “Thank you,” Cordelia said, unsure.  “Um, have we met?” “Only briefly, a long time ago. But I hope we’ll get to know each other better in the future. Since you and my son are- “ “Lilith! If you say 1 more word, you’ll be returning to hell in a body cast!” Zelda threatened. Cordelia looked on as Lilith coolly shrugged and then walked out the front door before she turned back to her mother. “Who was that, Mom?” “No one you need to concern yourself with. Now, please go fetch your brother and Ambrose. Supper is almost ready.” Cordelia knew her mother’s tone and knew even she asked again, she wouldn’t get any real answers so she turned on her heel and went to get the boys.

Faustus didn’t remember the last time he was this tired. After closing the door, he rested against it for a moment, before tossing his car keys onto a nearby side table.  The house was quiet and dark, which was no surprise considering how late it was. Faustus yawned deeply as he made his way upstairs. On the second floor, the only light led him to his room, where Zelda was sitting up in bed, paperwork all around her. He came forward and kissed Zelda’s welcoming smile. “Hello, my beautiful reason for existing.” Zelda’s smile only grew bigger as she kissed her husband back. “I was expecting you late tonight once Cordy told me about the play.” “Ah, so you’re all caught up?” “Unfortunately, yes.” Faustus gave a little nod, then took off his blazer and unbuttoned his shirt, as he crossed to the room to the chest of drawers that held his night clothes.   “I’m sorry I didn’t call, my love, but it’s hard to make a phone call in the middle of an argument.” “And who were you arguing with?” “Principal Hopper,” Faustus sighed. “I spent 4 and a half hours trying to convince him to put on a different play, any other play! I tried any excuse I could come up with. All in vain, the play will go on as planned. The only good news is that they can’t force Cordy to perform in the play, but since this is a grade 7-8 production, she’ll have to  work backstage somehow.” Faustus explained to his wife on his way to the bathroom. “I had an interesting day too,” Zelda called out as she collected her paperwork off the bed. “Oh?” “You will never believe who came to see me today-Lilith.” Zelda couldn’t help but smile as her shocked husband appeared in the doorway.  His mouth foaming with toothpaste, the brush just dangling.   After he went back and rinsed, Faustus returned to the bedroom. “Lilith, eh?  Haven’t heard that name in this house in a couple of years.” “I had hoped to keep it that way,” Zelda muttered. “So, how is the queen of hell?” “Newly pregnant by her mortal husband, Adam. She asked me to serve as her mid-wife.” Faustus lifted an eyebrow. “What? Again? After what she put this family through last time, I’m surprised she even had the nerve to ask.” “Thank you!” Zelda exclaimed.  “That’s exactly what I said! But she wouldn’t take no for an answer and even after I refused her, she followed me home from the academy and I couldn’t make her leave until after Cordelia came home from school. She even hinted at the odd marriage pact again.” “Don’t worry, dearest. Even if Lilith did keep that damn contract, with no signature, it’s not valid.” Zelda smiled. “It seems you have given this matter some thought.” Faustus shut off his bedside lamp and got into bed. “I’ll admit that I might have brought the case up to Daniel Webster once or twice. Besides, if Lilith is hurting for female company, I know a nosy, moral bitch she can have right now.” Zelda chuckled as she made herself comfortable in Faustus’s arms. “I assume we are now speaking of Nina Robinson.  Is she still giving you trouble?” “Nothing but!” Faustus then told Zelda all about Nina’s absurd behavior from that morning. “I just can’t get rid of this woman! I can’t get any work done either. I finally had to pretend that I was going home, drove around the block, and finally had to hide in a broom closet just to get my work done. It’s pathetic! Oh, and all this was after she undermined me at every turn during that meeting with Hopper.” It was then that Zelda realized something. “Why go to Principal Hopper at all? Why not talk to Theo? He would be more understanding.” Faustus nodded. “That was my 1st idea too but he took off early for a long weekend with Robin. I’ll ask him on Monday,   beloved, and see if he can deal  with Hopper.” Soon after, Zelda fell asleep in Faustus’s arms, her head on his shoulder. Faustus himself was half asleep when he realized something. He and Zelda were still passionate lovers. Making love more times a week than not. But tonight, the topic was not even bought up and that was okay.  Faustus had sensed that Zelda was tired. Did she sense he was too? It was like they could communicate without words. After 13 years of marriage, he had obtained something with Zelda that Faustus never had with any other woman; true intimacy. He vowed that no one would ever take that away.

Turns out Faustus didn’t get the chance to talk to Theo about the play or anything else. Early on Monday morning, even before the 1st-morning bell, Theo slipped and fell on the floor. Bruising his neck and breaking his leg in 3 places. Theo had to take leave.

Cordelia sighed and sat back. “Dad, you’re killing me!” It was Monday evening and Cordelia sat at the kitchen table with her homework while Faustus stood a few feet away, finishing washing the dinner dishes.  Zelda had just left to do a bed check at the academy. “What’s wrong, honey?” Faustus asked. “You know what’s wrong.” His daughter frowned. “I’m the first 1 up tomorrow to read my family tree essay in front of the whole class. What were you thinking when you handed out this assignment.” “I was thinking that we all have families and all the class could share in it. So, what’s wrong? Isn’t your essay finished?” “Oh, it’s finished, all right,” said Cordelia. “And come tomorrow morning everyone in grades 7 and 8 will know that I’m descended from nothing but witches and warlocks. There’s not a mortal in the bunch, well, except for Sabrina, of course. So I figure if I read my essay at 10:15, they should be burning me at the stake on the school’s front lawn by 10:30.” Faustus rolled his eyes and wiped his hands on a towel. “Don’t be overdramatic, Cordy.  Bring your essay over here please.” Cordelia got up from the table and, with the pile of papers, went over to her father. Once Faustus had the papers in his hands, he spoke in Latin and for a moment, the essay glowed bright orange before he gave it back. “There.” “What did you do?” “I fixed it.  Now, the word witch is replaced with the word countess and a warlock is now an earl. It should read just as well.” Cordelia raised an eyebrow.  “You spelled my homework?! You’ve never done that before.” “Don’t get any ideas, Cordy. It’s only a 1-time thing. To keep us all safe.” Faustus took another look around the room to see if anything else needed to be cleaned. He saw a book on the table.  Faustus didn’t even need to move to know that it was the novel called ‘the witch’. The book Nina had assigned for English.  He gestured with his head. “How is that?” “Very odd,” Cordelia answered. “And it’s certainly fiction.” “What makes you say that?”   Cordelia walked back to the table and picked up the book, flipping through the pages. “This is a direct quote, ‘A witch is always a woman…There  is no such thing as a  male witch.’” Cordelia put down the book, frowned. “Now we both know that’s not true.” “The author is a man, right?” Faustus shrugged. “Sound like someone is trying to shift blame.” Cordelia had not thought of that, but the thought did make her smile. Faustus was right. Cordelia’s essay went over well the next day.   She actually felt good about it and managed to hold on to the positive feelings until the mid-morning break. The class was just letting out when a secretary posted something on a nearby bulletin board. It was a signup sheet for play auditions, starting that very afternoon. The triplets and Sara were the first to sign up, then they handed the pen to Cordelia. Cordelia took a step back. “No, thanks.” Erin frowned. “What’s wrong, Cord?” “Nothing, I would just prefer to work backstage.” Erica lifted an eyebrow.  “Since when are you shy?” “See? I told you guys that she  would see herself to be too good for our play.” Sara cut in. “I didn’t say that!” Cordelia snapped. It was Emily who tried to keep the peace.  “But the 5 of us always do everything together.” No, Cordelia thought angrily. The 4 of us always used to do everything together. Sara just showed up a month ago. As Cordelia dealt with her friends, Faustus stood in the classroom doorway when a smiling Nina walked up to him. “I’m glad we’re co-directing this play. It will give us more time together.” Faustus held her skin as she tried to hold his hand. Wordlessly, he just sighed and walked away. Great. More time with Nina Robinson, exactly what he didn’t want.

The rest of the school week was filled with play rehearsals and family tree presentations. Being from the same family, the triplets were allowed to present their essay together. On Friday, it was time for Sara to read her essay. Cordelia didn’t care to pay attention so she picked up a pencil and did some math. So she was only half-listening when Sara said, “Turns out I’m descended from a judge from the Salem witch trials.” Cordelia dropped her pencil and buried her face into her palm. Of course, Sara’s family was from Salem. Of course, they freakin’ were! 20 minutes later, the class clapped as Sara finished her report. “Sickening,” Cordelia muttered. “Do you have a problem with my report, Cordelia?” “Yes, I believe  I do. I understand that you can’t choose your family or where you come from but you spoke so proudly of your relatives from Salem.” Sara shrugged. “Maybe I am.” Cordelia got up and went up to Sara. “You’re proud to be related to a man whose job it was to murder people?!” “It was his job. His civil duty.” “It’s still murder!” Cordelia insisted. “Calm down, will you?” Sara asked. “It’s not like witches are real people.” “Miss Spellman,” Nina finally stepped in. “Please return to your seat.  Sara was nice enough to listen to your report.” Cordelia’s hand curled up in a fist, but only Faustus saw it and covered it with his own as he whispered into his daughter’s ear.  “You have every reason to be upset. But she finished now, the worst is over.

Yet, it wasn’t. The following Tuesday afternoon, during English class, everyone was asked to hand in their novel, Witches, and their notes about it. Cordelia, for one, was glad to be rid of it. But then, Nina rolled in a TV and DVD player. “Now I know that they just did a remake of this movie but the 1991 version will work just as well.” Faustus allowed his 7th graders to watch the movie as well. It was a little silly yet seemingly harmless. Until the so-called ‘witches’ met in a hotel ballroom, locked the doors, and took off their faces-which were all rubber masks. Now all the normal-looking women looked like wrinkled old crones. Except the 1 they called the grand high witch. To call her a wrinkled old crone would be an insult to old crones! 1 moment, she was a lovely woman, the next, a monster. She had little white hairs growing out of every part of her body except on her head. Her spotty skin could have seen on her back which was as uneven as her very long nose. Her ears were large and bat-like and her eyes were not of this world. It happened so fast and cause such shock that it caused Faustus’s mouth to fall open. As soon as the shock wore off, Faustus looked for Cordelia. “Oh no.” He saw that look in his daughter’s eyes before and he doubted that a mere TV and a DVD player set stood a chance against the divine child. Only the kids in the front room saw the glass on the screen crack but everyone saw when the golden sparks flew from the television. Then the TV went black. A moan from the hallway instantly told Faustus that the power had gone out all over school. A boy looked out the window and remarked, “Hey, looks like there’s a blackout all over town!” Meanwhile, without asking permission or bothering with a hall pass, Cordelia got up and left. Faustus rushed after her. “Cordelia!” Faustus entered the hallway just in time to see his daughter duck into the girls’ room. He went in with caution but when he was sure no one else was there, he locked the door. In the last stall, Faustus noticed that there was fresh vomit in the toilet and a white foot coming out of the wall.  Faustus gently nudged the foot with his own and the shoe color returned and the rest of his daughter emerged from the wall. Faustus tried to keep things light. “You have to work on your hiding spells.” However, Cordelia would have none of it. Her face was bright red, and there were plump, hot tears fresh on her cheeks. “Is that how they see us?” She asked. “That we all are evil, gruesome creatures who are out to murder foul-smelling mortal children?” “Oh, honey.” Faustus grabbed a bunch of toilet paper before he sat down and drew Cordelia into his lap, just like he did when she was little. “Darling, you know that’s not true. That was a stupid movie based on a book by a writer, who as you told me yourself doesn’t believe in male witches.” “No.” She insisted as Faustus wiped her tears. “A book can be 1 person’s opinion but it takes a whole lot of people to make a movie.” “You’re right, but that movie has nothing, I repeat, nothing to do with us. And I can prove it.” Cordelia put her head on Faustus’s shoulder. “You can?” He nodded. “The main character is called the Grand High Witch.  You and I both know that there is no such title. The highest title in a coven is a high priest or a high priestess. Speaking of your mother, she is 100% witch but she is also a great beauty as well as a professional midwife and teacher. 2 jobs directly related to children, who she would never hurt.” “But why do mortals do this? Why are witches always the bad guy?” “Hmm, good question.” Said Faustus. “I think it’s a paradox. Mortals love to be scared, yet mortals fear the unknown. So they put all their fears in these characters and called them witches. The mortals who don’t believe think there isn’t anyone to offend and even those who do believe, don’t realize that we have our own faith, our own laws, and society, our own world and therefore, have no need or desire to steal theirs.” “You’re really smart, you know that Dad?” “Thank you.” Faustus looked at his watch. “We should be getting back.” “No, I can’t. I can’t go back in there.” “There’s a blackout. I’m pretty sure that means no more movie for today.” “But they’ll still be talking about it.” Cordelia pointed out. “I’m telling you Dad, I have reached my limit for now.” Faustus sighed. “Okay, since there are only 20 minutes of school left for today, go lay down in the nurses’ station, and then we’ll go home.” Cordelia’s half-smile made them both feel a little bit better.

The pre-teen witch wasn’t the only 1 having a bad week. The triplets were understandingly upset when their father moved out of the family home earlier in the week. To cheer her girls and herself up, Mrs. Warner bought tickets to a magic show and because the show was on the day before the girls’ monthly sleepover, she got 2 extra tickets for Cordelia and Sara. They were even invited to sleepovers on Friday night as well as on Saturday. The magic show took place in a nearby town, so they showed up early and decided to browse the local shops. It was there that Cordelia got the feeling that she was being followed and she was right. The boy followed Cordelia as she and her friends went from shop to shop. However, he lost sign of Cordelia when the others approached the theater and he hid in an alleyway. “Why are you following me?” The boy turned to an annoyed Cordelia behind him, her arms crossed. “I have gotten so tired of Mother and Adam acting so lovey dovely all the damn time so I decided to come to the surface and visit you. Mother was right.  You are pretty.” He tried to touch her face, but Cordelia dodged him. “Hold on there! ‘Visiting’ would imply that we know each other. I’ve never seen you before in my life.” The boy seemed genuinely puzzled. “I’m Alexander Morningstar, the crowned prince of hell.” Something clicked in Cordelia’s mind. “You’re Lilith’s son?” “Yes, and you may call me Zander if you like. Now, I have a question for you. Why are you and those other witches from your coven going to see a mortal magic show? Don’t you know that stuff is all smoke and mirrors?” “Well, my friends are mortals so- “ Zander looked horrified. “You associate with mortals? Willingly? That must stop. It’s unbecoming for the future queen of hell.” Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me the future queen of hell? How on earth do you figure that?” “Well, we are betrothed, so obviously when I become king- “ “Hold on, did you just say betrothed? As in engaged? You’re crazy!  I’m only 12!” “So am I but it’s not up to us. It was all arranged by my mother and your parents when we were just infants.” Cordelia shook her head. “Now I know you’re lying. My parents would never do that to me.” Before Zander could respond, a voice called out. “Cordelia? Where are you?” “Coming, Mrs. Warner!” “Are those mortals bothering you? I could kill them for you if you like.” “No! You are not going to kill my friends! Go home to your mother!”  Cordelia ordered. “Don’t walk away from me!” “Go!” Zander flew through the air and hit the wall at the end of the alleyway.  “You have got to learn to control your divine powers.” Yet, Cordelia was already gone.

Faustus loved making love to his wife. In fact, he could make love to Zelda morning, noon, and night and still crave more of her. Therefore, he had no objection when Zelda woke him up early on Saturday morning and began to make love to him. They were both breathing heavily when she rolled off of him. “See? I told you I always get my man.” Faustus was shocked and horrified to see Zelda transform into Nina. “NO!” Faustus screeched as he sat up in bed. “Darling? What is it? What’s wrong?” Faustus turned to see the real Zelda lying beside him and he felt his lip begin to tremble.  “Darling, I’m been unfaithful!” “What?!” It was now Zelda’s turn to jolt up in bed. She was angry, but only for a moment until Faustus explained about his dream. Then she smiled and shook her head.   “Faustus, my darling, how many times must we go through this? It was only a dream and dreams don’t mean anything.” “I know! I know!”  Faustus muttered. “But why did it had to be about Nina Robinson? I don’t want that woman anywhere near my mind, this house and certainly not our bed!   It’s bad enough that I can’t escape that woman during the day! We share the same classroom, now we’re forced to codirect that damn play together. In fact, there’s another rehearsal this afternoon, so- “ “So, no wonder she’s on your mind. But mortals do not use glamour spells so it’s unlikely   your dream will come true.” “It was more like a nightmare,”  Faustus muttered. Soon Zelda had calmed her husband and as they lay side by side, Faustus wondering why Zelda was suddenly silent.  “Penny dreadful for your thoughts, my love?” “This is going to seem like an odd question since we had our own affair, but why was it that once you cheated on Constance left, right, and sideways without the slighted hint of guilt but you seemed ready to cry at the mere thought of being unfaithful to me?” “I wasn’t loyal to Constance because I never felt that I need to. Yes, we were married, but as you know, she was not my choice. At the wedding, I was just saying words, not vows.  With you, it’s the exact opposite. I’ve loved you since I was 16.  Your name is carved on my heart. I have spent years, decades dreaming, yearning to be your husband and the father of our children. Now, that Hecate has seen fit to bless me with all I could desire if I ever lost you for my own stupid, avoidable actions, I would never be able to forgive myself. I think that’s why these dreams freak me out so much. It’s not just about me having affairs, it really hurts that because of that damn curse that I can’t trust myself not to hurt you. I hate that.” “Then it’s a good thing that I trust you whole heartily,”  Zelda said softly before she kissed him. During the kiss, they could hear whining and scratching at the door.  “What’s wrong, Tom? You want out?” Zelda got out of bed and patted her familiar before she opened the door to let the dog out and then     Zelda got an idea, took off her underwear, and returned to the bed.   “You know, Faustus,” Zelda said as she slowly undid the cord of her husband’s PJs pants and exposed his manhood. “what I think you need right now is a good detraction.” Zelda kissed him deeply as she climbed on top of him. She broke the kiss only long enough to yank her nightgown over her head. As they reached their shared climax, Zelda moaned and bent back as Faustus left a trail of kisses from her stomach to her rib cage. “Feeling better?” Zelda smiled at him in the afterglow. Faustus smiled back. “After such a sweet distraction, how can’t I?” “Good.” Zelda leaned over and kissed him deeply again. It took everything Faustus had to stop her. “Dearest, you know I want this, but if we are missed at breakfast, they might come up here.” “Faustus, there is no ‘they’ to miss us. Cordy still at the Warners, Jake, and Ambrose decided to go with Dr. Cerberus to something called a comic a con.” Faustus propped himself on his elbow. “Are you saying that we have the house all to ourselves? That never happens! Well, the heaven with breakfast,” Zelda laughed as Faustus rolled onto her, pinning her arms down. “I say we celebrate!” Her husband declared. And boy, did they celebrate!  They made love for hours. They even felt like breaking out their old toys, the whips, chains, and the cat of 9 trails. Faustus laid back, sighing contently when he noticed that Zelda was up and reaching for her robe. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Downstairs,” Zelda answered. “It’s almost 2 p.m. and we’ve missed breakfast and lunch, I’m hungry. Besides, I need to keep my strength up for the 2nd round.” “In that case, I’ll come with you.” Down in the kitchen, Zelda and Faustus talked, laughed, and flirted as they made a meal together. Zelda chuckled as Faustus kissed her behind her ear as she stirred the pot. They both looked up as a knock came at the front door. “I’ll get it.” Faustus was in great spirits, however, he lost his smile as soon as he opened the door. “Faustus, baby!” “Mrs. Robinson, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” “Oh Faustus, how many times do I have to tell you? You don’t have to be so formal? Just call me Nina.” “And how many times do I have to tell you? If there was a more formal way to call you than Mrs. Robinson, I would call you that. Now, what do you want?” Faustus demanded. Nina looked around before asking. “Where’s Cordelia?” “At a friend’s house.” “Great.” Before Faustus could figure out what was happening, Nina had stepped forward, grabbed him, and kissed him. Faustus struggled for a second before finally pushing her away. “What on earth are you doing?!” “Your daughter is in our class. I finally figured out that you don’t want Cordelia to tell your wife about us. That’s why you pretend not to like me at school.” For the love of Hecate! Faustus rolled his eyes. “I’m not pretending anything! I don’t like you. I never liked you and I never will like you.” They talked more and hearing voices, Zelda came out of the kitchen.  She could only see Nina from behind. “Can I help you?” Nina turned. “Yes. You can leave us alone.” Nina only got madder when Zelda came to join them. “Faustus, tell your employee to give us some privacy.” Faustus put an arm around Zelda.  “This isn’t my employee. This is Zelda, my wife.” Nina pointed. “This is Zelda…but I’m so prettier than her.” “No, all you are is rude,” Faustus grabbed Nina’s arm and guided her out the door. “You’re also out of    here.” Faustus shut the door in her face. Nina went down 4 steps when the door opened. “You can handle this afternoon’s rehearsal by yourself, right?” Faustus asked. “I suddenly feel very    sick.” He made a lame attempt at a fake cough and slammed the door again.

“Look, I’m not saying I don’t think the play is not good or anything. I just don’t think it’s great yet.” Sara said. Cordelia felt like screaming. Last night’s magic show had been fun, once she was able to put that odd boy and his crazy comments out of her mind. By the time they were back in Greendale, it was too late to do anything but sleep. The morning seemed peaceful enough she supposed, but the play rehearsal this afternoon took hours. Somehow, on the walk back to the Warner house, the subject of the Greendale 13 came up. Sure enough, right after supper, Cordelia followed her friend back into the cold October night to go visit Mary Wardwell. Cordelia wasn’t happy at all to see the very woman who shot and nearly killed her own mother. They finally stop talking about Greendale 13, only to start talking about the play again! Sara lit up. “I just got a great idea. I mean it, I’m a total genius! We should go to Salem ourselves. I mean, we should take the whole class on a field trip. To really understand the play.” “You’re right, that’s a great idea!” “Yeah, we should totally go to Salem!” “Cool!” Cordelia felt very uncomfortable as all eyes looked at her. “Um, I got to pee.” She grabbed her PJs and ran down the hallway to the bathroom. “Calm down,” Cordelia told herself in the mirror. “No one is going to Salem. They’re just thinking out loud.” After taking 5 minutes to calm down and get undressed, Cordelia returned to the triplet’s bedroom to find all the other girls on their phones. “What are you guys doing?” Cordelia asked. “We’re looking up how to get to Salem. Look guys, it says Salem is just 7 hours away by car.” So much for just thinking out loud. “Look, guys, I don’t think a field trip to Salem is such a good idea.  If it takes 7 hours to get there, it would take 7 more to get back.  That’s 14 hours in travel alone and suddenly we’re on an overnight trip. Given that the play is next Friday, I don’t think we have the time to fundraise enough.” “Typical Cordelia, always with the negative,” Sara muttered. “Oh, shut up, Sara!” “Lay off, Sara,” defended Erin. “She has been a better friend to us than you’re ever been!” “Why?!”  demanded a hurt Cordelia. “Just because I didn’t want to act in a stupid play?” Emily spoke up.  “Excuse you, but we chose that play!” Cordelia crossed her arms. “Why do I get the feeling that Sara picked the play and the 3 of you just went along with it because the longer we know Sara, the more you’re turning into sheep.  If I’m right, it begs the question, why would a self-proclaimed Wiccan chose a play about the Salem witch trials?” “’ Self-proclaimed?  It’s like you don’t believe me.” “I don’t. In fact, I think you’re lying about the whole thing.” Cordelia had to raise her voice against the triplets’ outcry. “Name 1 magical thing you’ve done since moving to Greendale.” Sara looked Cordelia right in the eye and said “I summoned the fear demon.” You remembered. Cordelia thought as the triplets showered Sara with awe. The fight continued for another hour, with raised voices and hot tempers. “Enough, I can’t stand this anymore!” Erin finally said. “Cordelia, I think it’s time you leave.” “What? Why me?” “Because you’re the 1 who started this fight.” Cordelia didn’t know about that but she was aware of the time. “You really want me to leave? Now? It’s 10:30 at night. I live across town; Sara lives down the street. Why doesn’t she leave?” No one said anything. Cordelia saw all the girls frowning all at once. Cordelia didn’t know what to think, but she knew the triplets had never thrown her out before. “Fine!” Cordelia stood up and swallowed back her tears. “I’m not going to stay anywhere where I’m not welcome.” Cordelia got redressed and gathered up her things before leaving the house. She secretly wished 1 of the triplets were stop her but no one did. Once the front door closed, Cordelia took out her phone and called Zelda. “Mom? The triplets threw me out. Can you come to pick me up please?” “Oh, Cordy. Your father and I are not home right now and- “ “Mom? Mom?!” Cordelia realized her phone was dead just as it started to drizzle.  “Just  perfect!” Seeing no other choice, Cordelia flipped up her neck collar and then drew the jean jacket closer to her body and ran all 5 blocks to Dr. C’s bookstore. The shop had been closed for hours, so the preteen took a detour and knocked as she could on the steel back door. She gave a huge sigh of relief when Hilda answered the door. “Thank Hecate, you’re here! I’m sorry for disturbing you this late, aunt Hil, but I didn’t know where else to go. The girls and I had a huge fight, the triplets threw me out of their house, but I don’t blame them, blame Sara. Now they’re talking about going to Salem. I can’t get a hold of Mom because my phone died and- and- “Cordelia burst into tears. Hilda hugged her niece close and then ushered her inside. After a quick phone call, Hilda discovered that Zelda was at the movies, in the middle of a double feature with Faustus and Sabrina. Hilda managed to convince her sister not to change her plans because Hilda wanted to spend some much overdue alone time with her night daughter. It was just after midnight that Cordelia put on her nightclothes for the 2nd time that evening. Since Dr. C was gone for the night, Hilda insisted that her niece share her bed for the night. The remote was on the bed so Cordelia jumped when she sat down and the TV turned on. “I’m sorry, Auntie H, I didn’t know the remote was on the bed.” “Oh, that’s okay, love. Looks like you literary just fell upon a classic, bewitched!” “Aw, the only witch show in pop culture that does make me want to scream, cry or throw up,” Cordelia said while getting under the covers. Hilda nodded. “You know every time I see this show, I think about your Uncle Edward and Aunt Diana.” “And a gender swap.” Hilda nodded. “Also, call me crazy, but little Tabitha always reminds me of Sabina as a baby.” Cordelia smiled, for she knew that there was a strong, powerful red-haired witch on the show. “Would that make Mom Endora?” The 2 witches looked at each other and laughed. It felt so good for Cordelia couldn’t remember how long ago she laughed so hard.

As hard as Cordelia laughed on Saturday night, she cried even harder on Wednesday afternoon. Zelda had to let her daughter cry on her shoulder for over an hour before Zelda got the full story. Apparently, Principal Hopper came in at the end of the day and announced that he had just discovered an envelope marked for the Salem trip on his desk had 5000 dollars in it. That, on top of parents’ donations, made the trip possible. They would travel on a deluxe bus and would be in Salem for 3 days and 2 nights. They would leave the day after tomorrow. It was unbelievable that this trip was put together in a mere 6 days. “I’m 12-year-old, Mom,” Cordelia said, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to die.” “You’re not going to die, Cordy.” “Your mother is right,” Faustus said, coming into Cordelia’s bedroom.  “I may have lost complete control of my classroom but I am still your father.  I say you’re not going to Salem and neither am I! That is final!”

It was final and none of the rest of the family ever bought up the subject. It was on Friday morning and in the middle of breakfast, Zelda looked around. “Where’s Cordelia? Her food is getting cold.” “I think she’s still in bed.” Said Jake. Faustus raised an eyebrow. “At this hour? You know your sister isn’t much for sleeping in. Even if she and I were excused from school today since the rest of the class left for Salem this morning.” “I know, but I bumped into her in the hall at 5 this morning. She was so excited to get a text from 1 of the triplets saying they didn’t want to leave without making up.” Faustus and Zelda exchanged a look. After their big fight, Cordelia and her friends hadn’t spoken in 5 days. The longest they ever went without speaking. When they did manage to talk yesterday, it only took Cordelia saying that she wasn’t going to Salem, to start the fighting again. “5 AM is pretty early and Cordy said she was going down to the school to talk to them for 10 minutes so that’s why I think she’s still asleep.” Jake continued. “I go get her.” “Thank you, Ambrose,”  Zelda said before turning back to the boys at the table. “We have to make this a fun and busy weekend for Cordy so she won’t think of the triplets or Salem too much.” “Sure, Mom.” Jake nodded as Faustus kissed his wife’s hand. A few minutes later, Ambrose rushed back in. “I’ve looked everywhere upstairs; I can’t find Cordelia. She’s gone!” “Gone?” “What do you mean she’s gone?!” “Hecate, no!” The 3 looked back to Faustus, who was now looking at his phone and had suddenly turned whiter than a ghost. “Darling, what is it?” “I just got an S.O.S text from Cordy. She’s stuck on that bus and it’s bound for Salem.”

[ahh-fxck]

Gay Bar AU: Warrior’s Blues part 4

Hello folks! Here is the next part of my gay bar AU, featuring Geralt and Jaskier.

Big thanks to @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​ for being such an amazing beta!

Tag list: @astouract​ @smolpoe​ @yes-im-the-violin-girl @ladyknight-keladry

The link to the rest on Ao3 is here.

“Geralt?” A muffled voice calls from outside of the door. Geralt recognizes Jaskier’s voice instantly; Would recognize it anywhere, even though he’s only known him for a night. A flush creeps across his whole body as he dithers, damp towel clutched tightly. “Geralt? Is everything all right?” Jaskier calls again, sounding worried. “Just, it’s two o’ clock in the afternoon… I thought you might be hungry. May I come in?”

Geralt turns to look at the door, seeing the lanky shadow of the handsome man through the shade. He rasps, “I’m fine.” The words seem to unstick him. He strides across to the bed in a swift, efficient movement, drops the towel, and calls gruffly, “I’ll be right there.” He tucks the rest of the items back into his bag in a neat roll, followed by the discharge papers. His injured hand flashes with bright hot pain as he stuffs the papers into his bag, and he growls under his breath. Then he rises and quickly opens the attic door for the man waiting patiently outside.

He is greeted by a charming, crooked smile as Jaskier greets him over a little tray holding two coffees and a couple of open faced bagel sandwiches. There’s sugar, even cream, each in little bowls that bear a buttercup motif. Jaskier himself is dressed in a loose yellow tank top and denim shorts, though these are significantly longer than yesterday, hanging down to just above his knees. His face is lightly stubbled; he hasn’t bothered to shave yet today. Seeing this, Geralt isn’t sure whether to be irked or charmed by how informally the man comports himself.

“There you are,” Jaskier sighs happily, tilting his head and fixing Geralt with a wide smile. “Breakfast?” As Geralt steps stiffly aside to let him in, he nudges past him and into the loft, humming, “Well, I suppose it’s more like lunch, but never mind that. How are you today?” Bending over, he places the tray on the little table, then straightens and glances over his shoulder at Geralt.

Above Jaskier’s house was a small attic studio. It was painted a mellow sky blue inside, with white moulding, furniture, and decorations. It consisted of one room divided into two parts. First, there was a sitting area on a white tiled floor, with wicker chairs and a wicker table with a clear glass top. On a shelf below a windowsill there was an electric kettle and a box of rather rumpled looking tea sachets in their paper envelopes. Mugs were visible on the lower tier, stored neatly upside-down. Behind a half-wall, there was a sleeping area with a twin-size bed and two small dressers emblazoned on the sides with painted cornflowers. By the dusty, empty smell, no one had been up here in some time. There was a bathroom in the corner, with a full sized bathtub and a little sink above which a white mirror hung with makeup lights sat. There was only one entry, a simple white door that led to a steep staircase wrapping around the outside of the blue house and terminating in the driveway. 

The light in the room turns to grey, dim fingers of it penetrating through the windows to caress the simple wicker decorations on the low half-wall separating the sleeping area from the main room. In the bed, Geralt breathes deeply, head lolling awkwardly where it rests halfway on his pillow, his injured hand resting on his chest. 

By the time he had arrived here last night, he had barely been able to hear Jaskier explain the little apartment over the roar of exhaustion in his ears. He had fallen into bed, fully dressed save for his boots, and had moved only once during the night to pull the creamy blue and white duvet over himself when the temperature had finally dropped. He had barely even managed to get his head on the pillow.

Now the temperature creeps back up again as the dawn light warms, turning a rich buttery color as the sun comes up over the horizon. Geralt’s eyes flicker open, habit and light conspiring to rouse him from slumber. He glances around, disoriented, then closes his eyes again quickly. The blue and white room is frighteningly unfamiliar, friendly colors and new smells crushing up against him as he begins to wake. It stirs half-remembered guilt and shame, burning feelings that he would much rather escape. Dimly realizing that he is no longer on a schedule and doesn’t have to wake, Geralt heaves a heavy sigh. Rolling over, he puts his arm over his head and curls softly under the covers. His arm blocks out the light and he retreats into the warm hollow that his body has made in the blankets. With a yawn, he drifts back to sleep.

This process repeats several times, until the room is bright and hot and Geralt’s bladder is achingly full. Each time the guilt and the shame press harder, a growing static that gnaws at him even in his sleep. Finally he is forced to open his eyes. As he lays there with his arm over his face, squinting out at the hot light of the attic, he hears a stereo turn on below him. It’s muffled, too quiet to pick out the words, but the beat is happy and strong. His heart speeds up and stutters as he tries to parse the addition of the music to his already overwhelmed senses, and his lips pull back to show his teeth as he growls in irritation. Sudden tension races along his arms, whipcord strong and hot as lightning. His hand lashes out, bandaged knuckles slamming into the wall before he can think. The world vanishes for a moment in a brief, hot flash of pain that whites his vision out.

The wall reverberates, and below, quiet footsteps pause. A moment later the stereo volume lowers, and the rhythmic sounds of daily living resume. Geralt shakes his head to try and clear the cottony feeling away, tries to shake off the stars exploding behind his eyes from the pain in his hand. Rolling, he staggers out of bed and cradles it to his chest as he limps towards the door he faintly remembers Jaskier indicating as the bathroom. 

The little room is clean and quiet, with very little to say for itself aside from an empty towel ring and a plastic basket full of half-used toiletries sitting on a back shelf. As he passes the mirror he spots his stubbly reflection out of the corner of his eye and remembers that he needs to shave. 

After relieving himself he retreats to his backpack. Squatting down, he eyes the khaki sack critically, bracing himself to confront the contents within. His mouth tastes like ashes as he reaches out and tugs open the zipper. The discharge papers tumble out, pages upon pages of his career on trial sifting to the carpet like dead leaves. Pages of reminders of what he has lost. He can feel his face go numb first, then his tongue, a wave travelling outwards until it robs even his feet of sensation. 

His eyes go blank as he paws automatically through the rest of the sack, retrieving his last pair of clean fatigues, his socks, underwear, straight razor, and soap. He sets these aside jerkily on one of the dressers, then turns and kneels, gathering the papers back into the folder. His movements are sloppy and disjointed as he fumbles the papers together, scanning them without reading them, placing them back in order on autopilot. Then he shoves the folder under the bed, right next to the sack, and straightens. Below him there is still the faint sound of music, and someone’s voice, presumably Jaskier’s, breaks out into a muffled song. In a fog, he grabs his things off of the dresser and heads for the shower.

After he is clean he gets out, dressing himself. The music has stopped by now, and the bathroom has descended into dripping silence. The soggy bandage is still on his hand, but he’s not ready to confront it yet. Instead, he takes his dirty shirt to the mirror, scrubbing some of the steam away. He eyes his reflection critically, then the makeup bulbs, giving them a puzzled grimace. Turning, he retrieves his shaving implements from the shelf next to the plastic basket, coming back to the mirror only reluctantly. The last of the fog from his shower is beginning to clear, and he eyes his reflection uneasily. 

His white hair is shaved short, too short to be mussed by sleep and showering. He has a handsome face. It is pale, with high cheekbones, a square jaw, and lips that have a surprisingly lovely cupid’s bow. Under his wide amber eyes there are shadows though, dark and hollow. The lines of care in his face are graven deeper than usual, darkened by stress and tight with pain. His heart aches as he tries to meet his own gaze, finds that his stomach churns when he tries. Worse, his face is littered with white stubble, making him look grizzled and unkempt. Untrustworthy looking, he decides; undesirable. Still, he realizes as he gingerly flexes his injured hand, there is no way he can safely shave with his straight razor. With a disgruntled sigh, he tosses the shirt back onto the toilet and begins to clean up after himself. 

By the time he is done, there is a tentative knocking on the outside door. Feeling his whole body contract with sudden tension, he stops dead in his tracks halfway out of the bathroom. The rest of the little loft is suffused with light and warmth, a peaceful heat that sinks deep into his bones. He stares about the little room, searching for answers as he tries to figure out how to react.

“Geralt?” A muffled voice calls from outside of the door. Geralt recognizes Jaskier’s voice instantly; Would recognize it anywhere, even though he’s only known him for a night. A flush creeps across his whole body as he dithers, damp towel clutched tightly. “Geralt? Is everything all right?” Jaskier calls again, sounding worried. “Just, it’s two o’ clock in the afternoon… I thought you might be hungry. May I come in?”

Geralt turns to look at the door, seeing the lanky shadow of the handsome man through the shade. He rasps, “I’m fine.” The words seem to unstick him. He strides across to the bed in a swift, efficient movement, drops the towel, and calls gruffly, “I’ll be right there.” He tucks the rest of the items back into his bag in a neat roll, followed by the discharge papers. His injured hand flashes with bright hot pain as he stuffs the papers into his bag, and he growls under his breath. Then he rises and quickly opens the attic door for the man waiting patiently outside.

He is greeted by a charming, crooked smile as Jaskier greets him over a little tray holding two coffees and a couple of open faced bagel sandwiches. There’s sugar, even cream, each in little bowls that bear a buttercup motif. Jaskier himself is dressed in a loose yellow tank top and denim shorts, though these are significantly longer than yesterday, hanging down to just above his knees. His face is lightly stubbled; he hasn’t bothered to shave yet today. Seeing this, Geralt isn’t sure whether to be irked or charmed by how informally the man comports himself. 

“There you are,” Jaskier sighs happily, tilting his head and fixing Geralt with a wide smile. “Breakfast?” As Geralt steps stiffly aside to let him in, he nudges past him and into the loft, humming, “Well, I suppose it’s more like lunch, but never mind that. How are you today?” Bending over, he places the tray on the little table, then straightens and glances over his shoulder at Geralt. 

Geralt is still standing in the doorway, studying the other man with quiet intensity. While he’s been around civilians before, he’s never seen one quite like Jaskier up close, never seen a man so perfectly comfortable in his softness. It makes him want to bark at the man to fuck off, it makes him want to run away… it makes him want to sit and eat and never stop looking at him, ever again. He clears his throat as he feels Jaskier’s gaze upon him, closing the door with a little soft ‘thump’ that he half-feels, half-hears.

Jaskier turns and sits himself down in one of the wicker chairs, gesturing an invitation at the other one. Giving the chair a long stare, Geralt weighs his options. He is right next to the door; all he has to do is turn and walk away. It’s not like he needs anything in his backpack, not really. Even the documentation proving his identity is practically worthless now, and what isn’t, he can eventually replace. 

As if sensing Geralt’s thought process, Jaskier carefully picks up his coffee cup and leans back in the chair, fixing him with a gentle but frank look. “Breakfast makes vanishing into the wild blue yonder a little easier, Geralt. At least have a bite before you go?” 

Geralt fixes the younger man with a look of guarded astonishment. His injured hand twitches on the doorknob, then slides down to rest at his side. It gives a dull throb, but he crams the pain down, ignoring it with practiced skill. Rumbling doubtfully, he rocks back and forth once on his sock feet before tentatively advancing towards the empty chair. His ears burn as he realizes that he is so disoriented that he was genuinely about to run out the door without his shoes, and subsides into the chair across from Jaskier with a sheepish grimace. 

“There, now,” Jaskier says, pleased, and pushes the coffee towards Geralt. Geralt takes it gratefully, humming with pleasure as he picks the warm cup up gingerly in his left hand. He leans his elbows on his thighs and blows on it, feeling the pleasure of the warm steam and rich scent playing across his lips. Unlike the coffee available on base, this smells lively and rich. He takes a tentative sip and raises his eyebrows, impressed. Jaskier beams and pushes the sandwich towards him, too. 

Geralt tentatively tugs the sandwich towards himself with his bandaged hand, cradling the coffee mug in the other. Jaskier’s eyes flicker as he grimaces in pain, his gaze dropping to the soggy bandage that Geralt is still wearing. 

A little furrow appears between his brows, but instead of addressing the pain Geralt is obviously in, he says, “Normally at this time of day today I’m off at work, but luckily for us, I have the day off.” He fixes Geralt with a sunny smile, picking up his bagel and taking a bite out of it. “Which means I’m at your disposal for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Day job?” Geralt inquires, his voice thick and a little hoarse. He grimaces again and takes a swig of coffee to clear his throat. 

Jaskier nods pleasantly, chewing. He watches Geralt’s sore hand out of the corner of his eye thoughtfully as he continues, “Mmhm! I’m an adjunct professor at the college a few blocks from here, get to ride my bike to work on nice days. It’s summer so it’s only office hours and faculty meetings once a week right now, but in fall it picks up.” 

Geralt tilts his head to the side, considering this information, trying to conceal his surprise. “What do you teach?” he asks, after a moment, then picks up his bagel and takes a bite. There’s ham on it, lettuce, tomato, cheese, even a fried egg. The mayonnaise has hints of garlic and rosemary, sharp and delicious. Probably not store made, then. Impressed despite himself, he eyes the sandwich, then Jaskier.  

“Medieval music theory!” Jaskier proclaims, eyes twinkling. “Terribly arcane, I’m afraid, but I simply fell in love with it as a young man, and now here I am.” He sips his coffee and licks a drop of it off of his lower lip reflectively. “At least it helps pay the bills. Worse things could be said for a passion.” Shrugging, he sets the cup back down and takes another bite of his sandwich. “Do you have any plans for the day?” Despite himself, he finds his eye straying back to Geralt’s bad hand, watching with concern as the other man painfully cradles his bagel. 

“No.” Geralt replies shortly, taking another bite of his sandwich. Now that he’s started eating, he can finally feel how hungry he is, and he makes short work of the food. 

Jaskier watches in fascination as the bagel vanishes in only three or four big bites. Geralt finishes by unceremoniously draining his coffee cup. Jaskier searches for something to say, settling on, “Well then. Let’s at least take another look at that hand of yours, darling. I have a first aid kit downstairs.” He puts his half-eaten sandwich back on the tray, along with his empty coffee mug, and stands. “I’ll meet you down there. Do you remember where the front door is?” 

“Yes,” Geralt says, who doesn’t remember anything of the sort. He was far too tired to remember what his name was last night, much less the exact location of the front door of the house. He figures it won’t be hard to find, though, and he is desperate for an excuse to be alone for just another moment while he tries to collect himself. Jaskier nods and heads for the door, beginning to fumble with the tray in an attempt to get the doorknob. Standing hurriedly, he steps around him and pulls the door open. It puts him face to face with the smaller man, and when Jaskier turns another thousand-watt smile on him, he feels like the floor has dropped out from under him, leaving him in free-fall. 

Jaskier studies Geralt’s face for a moment, kind blue eyes tracing the contours of his scarred cheeks and square jaw. He lingers briefly on his lips, chapped and cracked from dehydration and stress. A quick sad expression flits across his face, and he turns away. “All right then, I’ll see you in a moment Geralt.” As he turns and exits, the tension humming between them snaps and dissipates, leaving the air of the attic feeling oddly empty in its wake. 

Geralt closes the door behind him as he leaves, slow and soft, like he half doesn’t want to shut it. He steps back from the door bewildered, feeling his hand pulse and ache with the sudden pounding of his heart. Reluctantly, he glances down at it. The bandage is beginning to dry again, a stiff, disgusting brown from where the blood has soaked into the gauze. His hand itself is swollen and red, far worse than it was yesterday. Running his eyes across it, his lips pull back in a grimace as he notes the mangled skin peeking out from the place where the bandage has come loose. He would take care of it himself, Jaskier be damned, except that he doesn’t have any medical supplies. Deep down, he knows that an infection isn’t worth his pride. 

After a further moment of delay, he returns to the bedside and sits next to his wet towel, staring at his tan leather boots. They are worn but well-cared for, stained, a little thin around the heels on the inside. He ponders how to get them on, as his hand is becoming stiffer by the moment. The pain is growing from a distant misty throb to a full blown, gnawing ache, which makes it difficult to think properly. Gritting his teeth, he decides to just grab them in his good hand and shove them on. The laces he pulls carefully tight. He fumbles with them for a long moment, trying to tie them, but his injured hand is so stiff that he can’t manage proper knots. Grumbling with frustration, he shoves the laces into the top of his boots and stands.

He looks around for the keys to the attic, spotting them on top of one of the dressers where he tossed them the night before. Those go into his pocket before he heads for the door. But, as he reaches it, he stops. His heart constricts in his chest as he hovers there, feeling the weight of his vulnerability pressing down on him. The idea of going into yet another new setting, of sitting across from that unbelievably kind man and letting him touch his hurting hand, is too much to handle. He feels like the oxygen is going out of the room as he stands there with his fingers on the doorknob, unable to move forward, unable to retreat. The room fades into a blurry blue and white impression as he begins to pant, lips numbly tingling. He steps back from the door instinctively, staggering to one of the wicker chairs and sinking into it. 

Time swims as he hunches in the chair, awkwardly pulling his hand in close to his chest and huffing short breaths. Shame sweeps up his body, his posture collapsing as he tries to fight his way out of the panic. When he was young this never happened to him, but recently it had been coming on more and more frequently. He begins quietly, subtly rocking in the chair, pressing his face into his arm. The warmth of it is grounding, the smell of his skin bringing him slowly back into himself. In the end, he stills, leaning back into the chair with a heavy sigh as the tension in his body begins to run out. A fuzzy haze settles over him, and he closes his eyes as the numbness sweeps up and blankets him in darkness. 

He becomes dimly aware of footsteps on the stairs some time later. Stirring, he sits slowly up in the chair, gold eyes focusing on the door as the footsteps come closer. The tall shadow of Jaskier shows through the curtains again, and he hears a gentle knock. “Geralt? Is everything ok?” 

It is not ok, but Geralt doesn’t know how to say that, so instead he calls thickly, “M’fine. Got distracted.” Outside, Jaskier is silent for a moment. Then he says, “I brought my first aid kit upstairs. Would you mind terribly if I came in and looked at your hand?”

Geralt sits stiffly, hand cradled along his collarbone, feeling uneasy and a little trapped. Even his closest friends had rarely treated him with such persistent kindness; had rarely needed to. He was not a person who made himself vulnerable easily, and had gone to great lengths to keep his distance from anyone who might see him that way. On one level, he knew that accepting the man’s kindness was fine. Sensible, even. On the other, all he wanted to do was run until he found someplace dark and quiet to hide and never emerge from, ever again. 

Outside, Jaskier sighs. “Geralt, are you sure you’re okay?” His voice carries a little worried note in it this time that makes Geralt flinch. 

Geralt is tempted to lie again. It comes right to his lips, but stutters and stops before he can speak it as he watches the little movements of the man outside. Feeling oddly light, he stands to walk across the room and opens the door. He steps aside and looks down into Jaskier’s uncertain face, his own expression unreadable, then gestures shortly for him to enter. 

Jaskier does so without argument, ducking inside before the ex-soldier has a chance to close the door on him again. He places the first aid kit on the little glass table and sits, making himself smaller immediately, and Geralt feels himself relax. Seated, the man looks softer, less demanding. He notices that his face is cleaner, too, all the stubble shaved away. Geralt’s bright gaze rakes over him sitting in the wicker chair, taking in the gentleness of his posture, the frank kindness that he regards him with. Stomach still churning uneasily, Geralt notices that he is nevertheless warmed by the gaze fixed on him. He feels his own face soften from a glare into an expression of uncertainty, eyes flicking between Jaskier and the empty chair. 

Jaskier makes no movement whatsoever, his body language quiet and gentle as he continues to watch Geralt in the doorway. He can feel the man’s hot golden gaze searing across him, feels the weight of his attention as he considers what to do. He is hummingly aware of how dangerous the tall man looks, his toned body alert beneath his fatigues. Despite that, he finds that he is unafraid. He slowly leans back, sweeping his hand towards the first aid kit. 

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want help. I just thought you might need this.” He feels his heart constrict a little in his chest as the man obviously relaxes, uncertain expression easing. All he wants to do is stand and push the man into the chair, to lavish him with gentle affection, but he gets the sense that this could cause the man to shut down or worse, lash out. So he holds still, exquisitely still, allowing Geralt to come to his own conclusions. 

Geralt relaxes as Jaskier leans back, offering him the first aid kit. He feels by turns ashamed and relieved, his throat tight and his cheeks burning. Flexing his good hand slowly, he pushes at the numbness that is trapping him, urging it to abate. Feeling begins to return to the tip of his tongue, his lips, slowly spreading until he finds himself able to move freely again. Clearing his throat, he walks to the empty wicker chair and sits without further comment. Rummaging through the first aid supplies, he pulls out what he needs in silence. 

Jaskier watches as the man bends to the task of caring for his hand. When he peels the bandage off, he leans over to the side and grabs a small wastebasket from near the tea shelf. He extends the basket to Geralt, and Geralt flicks his gaze briefly to him, nodding an acknowledgement as he tosses the bandage into the bin. Then he begins to methodically clean his wounds, face tight and wooden as he wipes them clean with cotton balls soaked in soothing antiseptic. 

Jaskier inspects the wounded hand from a distance as he does so, finally able to get a clear look at it for the first time since yesterday afternoon. The skin is raw and ugly around the knuckles, pitted from the impacts with the tree. His fingers are curled thickly inward, held in place by the swelling that makes his whole hand look angry and bruised. There is a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Jaskier realizes that these are no mere abrasions that he’s looking at. Not anymore, at least; unless he’s missed his guess, Geralt’s hand looks broken. 

Silence stretches as Geralt cleans, wraps, and tapes his hand. Then, he looks up and flicks his eyes to Jaskier’s for just a moment before cutting off to the side. “I need a hospital for this,” he rumbles, his deep voice cutting through the silence. 

Jaskier’s thinned lips pull into a grimace of dismay and he nods, unsurprised. “There’s a hospital not far away from here. I can drive you.”

[mintchocohip]

taking care of sick sub!bts

requested 〉 headcanons for taking care of the members when they’re sick!

warnings 〉 sexual healing, mentions of porn

a/n 〉 to everyone living in places where the weather is becoming colder: stay healthy! 🍂

𝙏𝘼𝙀𝙃𝙔𝙐𝙉𝙂 

Taehyung expects you to get grossed out, or annoyed. He doesn’t blame you for having emotions and reservations. You aren’t grossed out, and you aren’t annoyed. Somehow, if you were doing this bitterly, Taehyung would feel far less guilty. When he sees exhaustion hint over your face, it lifts a weight off his chest. The two of you are suffering together. 

His sore throat is the worst part. Taehyung hates it. The discomfort makes him want to crawl out of his skin. His eyes tear up and his eyebrows flinch every time he swallows. A cup of ginger tea that is 90% honey and lemon pulp trembles in his hand and twitches against his jaw as he swallows it down, but the hot, fresh curry you ordered for him disappears when he abandons a spoon and just cleans the bowl with his fingers. “Another?” His red eyes blink with amazement, as he swipes off his hands on the towel you wrapped over his pillow, “can I have another one of those?” 

Taehyung’s stomach has become a bottomless pit. Anything with a serving of rice tastes and feels like the world’s best medicine. Hot takeout dishes, crunchy biscuits, and fizzy drinks send you on constant voyages to take out bags of recycling and trash. 

Hot baths are curative. Gently soothing Taehyung out of bed doesn’t work. Taehyung snaps at you to leave him alone. When he finally rolls out of bed and drags his feet towards the bathroom, he doesn’t look happy about it. The apology will arrive when he’s feeling better. He nodded weakly when you asked if he wanted a bath. He was hoping he could teleport into it. As he slips into the water, Taehyung’s shivers and pained expression fade with slow relief. Watching him relax fills you with slow, happy relief, too. You pull up a chair by the side of the bath. You were planning on amusing yourself with your phone. As you watch Taehyung hug himself and rest, you realize minutes have drifted away. 

𝙔𝙊𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙄  

“Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself.” You texted him a few times, but he never answered. You feel like you’re invading Yoongi’s space. You also know that if you don’t check up on him, once the fever and chills have disappeared―Yoongi will feel ignored and pained that you didn’t try. 

He’s working on his laptop, sucking through a bag of coughdrops, and shivering under a blanket he tugged around his shoulders. “I’ll just heat you up some broth.” “That doesn’t sound good.” “A cup of tonic water, then?” You watch Yoongi aimlessly click on links, before typing out gibberish five times until he finally spells his search term correctly. “I don’t want to drink anything.” “Okay. Then... let’s just go to bed. The hormones will make you feel better.” Yoongi is twitching his mouse aimlessly around the screen. “You’ll get sick.” “Let’s get sick together.” 

Yoongi wants to think the idea is unromantic and offputting. He can’t deny the way it makes him feel. He’s too stuffed up and weak to do anything, but he knows you’re satisfied using his body however you want. The fact that he’s able to feel satisfied amazes him, and the fact that he drifts off to sleep easily for the first time in days makes him tear up and and shudder in the few minutes he has before everything goes black. 

Long naps drift Yoongi away. The thermostat is pumped up hot, but he’s still shivering under layered pajamas. At some point, he migrated onto the couch with a throw blanket. He’s chattering his teeth and curled up in a ball when you find him after your shower. Tucking him into a thick blanket is like wrapping up a Yoongi burrito. Yoongi is curled up tight. One half of the couch is unoccupied, so you slide into that space, rest your head on his hip, and smile when you feel Yoongi’s body unwind.

𝙅𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙆𝙊𝙊𝙆 

Humidifiers, scented lotion, cotton swabs, clothing changes, and constant showers are a necessity. Jungkook needs to feel clean.

He doesn’t want you to take over completely. Jungkook accepts some help. If you pull down the ankles of his sweatpants and slide on his socks, he stops trying to do it himself. He hands you his blow-dryer and comb wordlessly after a shower, before drifting onto the floor of the bathroom and tugging the towels you heated up around himself. It’s his way of showing he wants to bow over with exhaustion, and let you sweep warm air and soothing shapes over his scalp.

Jungkook doesn’t get sick often. It unbalances him when it takes him. Not being able to do anything without a headache unnerves his emotional energy. He feels like a different person, and feeling like a different person makes him shy and uncertain around you.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Jungkook manages. “On the couch? No,” you can’t mask your surprise at Jungkook’s barely audible offer, “I’ll sleep on the couch.” “Oh... you don’t want to sleep in bed with me?” Jungkook feels gross. He doesn’t want you to get sick. He also wants you to stick to him like glue. Those desires are balanced on constantly contradicting offers and questions. 

His awkward questions around whether or not you want to cuddle are answered with actions. You insist on being the big spoon. Jungkook keeps wordlessly offering to hug you and squeeze you like he isn’t limp as a ragdoll―crawling into bed with him, you wrap your legs and arms around him until he can’t move, give him a few soft words about how much you like spending time with him even when he’s sick, and squeeze him until you can hear his heavy breaths wheezing out into sleep.

Yesterday morning, Jungkook told you he would be feeling better in a few hours. Tonight, you set him up with cups of water on the bedside table, an open capsule of effervescent tablets, tissues, and a kiss on the forehead to tell him it’s okay to need time.

𝙃𝙊𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆 

Favorite stuffed toys get hugged, squished, and tossed. Hoseok isn’t afraid to feel needy for his favorite things when he’s sick. This is a private moment, too―so, he isn’t afraid to let out little blips of brattiness. When his toys hit the floor, he stares at them with half-lidded eyes and expects you to pick them up for him. 

If you don’t pick up the toys for him, Hoseok slides out of bed in a single sleek movement, picks them up, rearranges his bed, cleans, and finds something to do with his time. It’s all or nothing. If you aren’t going to take care of everything, then Hoseok has to admit it to himself: he doesn’t need your help. He can take care of himself.

He doesn’t want to take care of himself. You don’t want him to take care of himself, either.

Taking care of everything means taking care of everything. 

Feeding Hoseok healthy food is nearly impossible. Vegetables are picked around in favor of fat, flat noodles. Fruit is tasteless, and he pushes it around his plate. Breakfast food tastes amazing, but handfeeding is the only way to stop him from tearing the omelette into pieces on his quest to remove every slice of mushroom.  

It hurts to talk, so Hoseok doesn't talk. He won’t tell you why he drew you into the bedroom with the sound of his whining, but when he’s spread out like a starfish and looks like he’s about to cry, he probably wants some water eased down his throat. It’s painful trouble. Pets behind his ears are his reward. Am I being annoying? Do you want to take a break? He catches your arm. His placid expression has broken with an insecurity in his eyes. You do your best to read it. “It’s fine,” you smile, as you pluck his hand away and rest it back down onto the bed―”I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t want to.” Even if that wasn’t his question, Hoseok is closing his eyes and smiling faintly as you reach forwards to pet his hair.

𝙅𝙄𝙈𝙄𝙉 

Jimin is lounging around on the floor in a sea of pillows and blankets. He wishes he had a crackling fire in front of him, and snowfall outside the window. Delicately cushioned headphones surrounding him with the quiet hum of a snowstorm are a fine replacement for the real thing.

Taking care of Jimin is simple. You keep your voice low; you walk slowly.  He mostly wants to be alone, and he just needs quiet and calm. 

Sometimes, you receive a text from the other room. i look pretty, Jimin typed lazily under the blurry selfie he sent you. Very pretty, you agree.

The headache his awful―Jimin swallows some pills for it, and watches some porn for it―but he’s good at resting, and keeping his imagination occupied through long, monotonous hours. 

Getting sick makes Jimin wistful, and romantic. It feels awful. But, there’s an element of coziness and acceptance in just staying at home, making himself comfortable, and forgetting everything else. He needs things to feel cozy, of course: blankets, sources of heat, dim lights, diffusers, and something to watch. Those things are available, though, and he is fine with making things as easy for himself as possible.

Thin defenses make everything amusing. The laughter is pained. Jimin is curled up under the blankets with something―you step around the shape he’s made on the floor―and the laughter is morphing into a harsh coughing fit. Jimin requested some paper and a pen through mime, earlier today. He finds you in the bedroom, and shows you something he drew―his attempt to recreate one of Fernando Botero’s Birds of Peace―and he’s falling against you with contagious full-body laughter.

𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙅𝙊𝙊𝙉 

The only tissues he has left are old packets found at the bottom of a drawer. They’re patterned with cute frogs. Every time he swipes his nose, Namjoon feels like he's committing a crime. “Do you have any tissues without patterns on them?” You hand Namjoon a roll of paper towels for now, and pull your shoes on. You’re planning on buying bags and bags of plain tissues.

A stuffy nose frustrates Namjoon. He can smell his own sickness; everything smells like sickness, and he keeps apologizing for his own scent. The brief joy of sweet body lotions during a shower or the creams you rub over his skin before handing him the fuzzy bathrobe you laundered flutters away some of that insecurity. 

Laying a damp towel over his burning forehead is the easiest way to make Namjoon feel cared for. If you offer to lightly massage his shoulders, his whole body shivers the moment your fingertips light down.

When Namjoon is awake, hot food gets inhaled. He eats well normally, but he’s rarely ravenous―when he’s sick, Namjoon migrates into the kitchen, piles random things on the table, sits down with his phone, and digs in. Guilt makes Namjoon tidy. He washes down the table with a rag when he’s finished, but if you brush stray crumbs off his bathrobe or ask whether that stain is ice cream, he numbly notices the fact that he’s still a mess, nods, and lets you help him clean up.

Getting sick gives Namjoon a social itch. His phone is constantly lighting up with notifications. He wants pictures of his friend’s and family’s days; trees they saw, or a lovely sunrise. He wants idle text conversations. You offer to let Namjoon lay his head on your lap while you facetime with a mutual friend. You don’t realize he’s knocked out and drooling until a few hand signals on the screen direct your eyes downwards. You pet Namjoon’s hair, and finish up the conversation in whispers.

𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆𝙅𝙄𝙉

Seokjin exaggerates everything. He makes him feel better by making it look worse. 

He sniffles and goes hoarse as he walks up and tries to initiate a conversation with you. Doing housework shakes him and trembles him, but you walk into the room to find him elbow-deep in the sink, or folding laundry slowly. He wonders aloud if the two of you should go see a movie this evening. 

Seokjin really just wants you to turn him down again, and again. He feels relief every time you say, “Stop. Stop pushing yourself. Come sit down.” or “No. You’re sick. Don’t be ridiculous. We’re staying home.” 

When you say those words, wrap your arms around him, and pull Seokjin close, he feels like his body is trying to shake and tingle away like leaves shaking off a tree. Arms cradling him are a comfort that his pain is being seen, and heard, and known. He goes limp, he shivers, and he sighs himself down into a watery, misty acceptance. 

Drooly sleep wakes Seokjin up in the middle of the night. He’s cold, and frustrated. He just wants to sleep. The wet patches on his pillow brim him up with tension that could tear his pillowcase into a million pieces. The reminder that you’re sleeping behind him is sudden, and when your arms slide around his upset stomach, Seokjin is relaxing, whimpering, and rolling around to disappear under your arms and legs and weakly bury his face against the warmth of your neck. 

He knows he’s gross and messy. He’s been gross and messy around you before. 

Seokjin is thankful. He doesn’t feel better yet, but he still wants to thank you for staying with him. Unsure of how to show his thankfulness, he mostly just stares at you from under the sheets when you walk into the room, and twitches his fingers to show he wants you to hold his hand.