#half of the comments said that in their head their appearances were switched. but ive seen ppl post that

[lookwhatyoumademedo]

bc i always see the exact same comments any time someone draws the folklore characters:

in your head, which hair colour do betty & august(ine) have?

(bc there's a limit to the amount of options, black hair counts as brunette)

reblogs for a larger sample size are appreciated <3

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao. 

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings. 

 The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow. 

 The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway. 

 "Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!" 

 A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough. 

 "Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

 He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy." 

 "My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please." 

 "Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

 "'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice. 

 Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you." 

 You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it. 

 "Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

 "Didn't even notice," he reassures you. 

 Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen. 

 Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

 She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

 "Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later. 

 "You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

 "Uh, yeah. I could eat." 

 Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything. 

 "Sandwiches okay?" 

 Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth. 

 "Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich. 

 You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

 He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask. 

 He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days. 

 Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow. 

 After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

 It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer. 

 "It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free." 

 Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better. 

 You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie. 

 He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow. 

 "I can pick something else," he tells you quietly. 

 You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften. 

 "'S'fine."

 "Are you sure?" 

 "Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

 He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be. 

 He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies. 

 "You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

 "You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

 You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress. 

 Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep. 

 That's good. You could use a nap. 

 He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours. 

 But first. 

 As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf. 

 It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before. 

 The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses. 

 Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward. 

 They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother. 

 Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

 He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book. 

 Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

 He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole? 

 Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible. 

 It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on. 

 Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

 Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left. 

 The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album. 

 He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

 "Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album." 

 Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes. 

 "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

 You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

 But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length. 

 "Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

 "What's there to tell?" 

 Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth. 

 "It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

 Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books. 

 "Is it, though? Is it really?" 

 "I..." 

 Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language. 

 Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you. 

 It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

 At least it makes sense now. 

 "I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it. 

 You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch. 

 Then, you flop back down on your pillows. 

 "So. Any questions, Zacharias?" 

 He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

 A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

 "Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease. 

 "Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

 Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up. 

 "Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous. 

 "He left." 

 "Yeah."

 And then he gets the full story. 

 Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

 "Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

 The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom. 

 "He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick." 

 He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since. 

 "I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

 "Were you ever close with him?"

 You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

 It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

 At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him. 

 He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk. 

 "Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

 Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice. 

 Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him. 

 "I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

 Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies. 

 "Have you seen him since?" 

 You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

 Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction. 

 You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

 "Anyway," he mimics. 

 "I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

 "Is this why?" 

 "Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

 "Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know. 

 Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months. 

 "So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

 "For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

 "Mm. I guess."

 The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better. 

 Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster. 

 Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark. 

 When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest. 

 It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate. 

 You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth. 

 He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut. 

 Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer. 

 He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth. 

 Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

 Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

 He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

 So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you. 

 After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other. 

 He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now. 

 If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back. 

 He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself: 

 I love you. I love you, I love you.  

 You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day. 

 You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

 Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

 Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear. 

 Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it. 

 And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

 You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

 It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

 He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening. 

 The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

 You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail. 

 Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence. 

 Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can. 

 Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

 “Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

 He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

 “You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

 “Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

 “Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

 He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

 Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip. 

 “Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

 It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you. 

 “I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

 After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way. 

 You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done. 

 Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it. 

 Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock. 

 He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

 It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying. 

 Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

 Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger. 

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books. 

 It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice. 

 Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town. 

 It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway. 

 Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder. 

 The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!" 

 Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

 A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles. 

 "It's fine. You can calm down."

 You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused. 

 The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him. 

 "You're Zeke Jaeger."

 He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

 Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players. 

 You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face. 

 "Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

 He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

 You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself. 

 "Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

 Your stomach flips at the mention of him. 

 "We're not dating."

 Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

 "No. Just friends."

 He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain. 

 "Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try. 

 He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

 "I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

 "Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

 You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

 "I'll walk with you," he states more than offers. 

 Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.  

 But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen. 

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does. 

 Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

 These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip. 

 Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

 You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

 He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

 You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

 It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

 “You listening, sweetheart?”

 Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

 “No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

 “That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

 “It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

 Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

 You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor. 

 Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

 The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

 “Yeah, okay.”

 He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

 No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said. 

 What a fucking joke. 

*

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside. 

 “You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

 “Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

 “Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

 You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

 “Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

 He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.” 

 He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

 Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day. 

 And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

 Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

 Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece. 

 If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

 But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

 What is happening to you?

 “So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

 But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

 You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

 Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

 His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

 You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car. 

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

 Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

 You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys. 

 “I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

 “Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

 Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

 “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

 “I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

 You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes. 

 “Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

 You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

 Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

 “Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

 “You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

 “I—”

 “It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

 Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him. 

 But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

 He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

 Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

 Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that. 

 “What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

 You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

 “Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

 “Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

 “Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.” 

 God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

 Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

 “Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

 Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

 More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

 “Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem. 

 “I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

 “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

 You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

 That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his. 

 He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth. 

 You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

 “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

 The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more. 

  And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

[lostcoves]

oooo okay, ill do yuuji since ive barely starting watching mha and dont wanna mess anything up with iida (although i do love him so so much)

okay maybe i made it a little longer than i thought i would-

ive never really written jjk stuff so let me know what you think darling

----

When you first met Itadori Yuuji, you had no idea who he really was. Sure, you'd heard the rumours of the boy who'd eaten Sukuna's finger, but you never thought that you'd ever get to meet him, let alone fall so deeply in love with him that it was wrong.

That was the thing. Being with Itadori Yuuji meant being comfortable with the idea that he was going to die, and there was nothing that you could do about it. No amount of begging Gojo or Nanami could prevent it.

So you did what any reasonable person would do and pretended you didn't have those feelings. You ignored the way his voice seemed to linger in the back of your mind. Or the way his face would appear one too many times in your dreams.

Sadly, you needed to work with the strawberry haired boy so much that his voice and face became a permanent image in your mind. "You know," Nobara sighed, leaning back against the wall while hiding from Gojo, "he totally likes you."

You spat out your drink, not expecting the sudden comment from the sorcerer next to you. "W-what?" You sputtered, trying to catch your breath

"Itadori, he likes you. What? Are you blind?" She teased you, nudging your rib with a not-so-delicate elbow. You frowned, pulling out your phone and dialling Gojo's number.

When he picked up, you hummed happily, "yeah, I found Nobara." You ratted her out, internally laughing at the look of betrayal on her face before giving him directions to where you were.

"You'll see, sooner or later." Nobara sighed when you hung up the phone.

Apparently, it would be sooner rather than later.

You were on a mission with Megumi and Yuuji, clearing a small building which had a lot of cursed energy radiating from it. So much you were almost choking. You'd been tasked with clearly out any Grade 3 and 4 curses while Megumi and Yuuji handled any that were above that level.

About half way through, you felt a sudden increase in cursed energy, which could have only meant one thing. Without a second thought, you ran in the direction that Megumi and Yuuji had gone in, only to find a Grade 1 curse looking more scared than anything. IN the distance, you could see an almost traumatised Megumi.

The one thing it could have been was confirmed when Yuuji- or Sukuna poked his head out from in front of the curse, smirking at you. A flash and he finished off the curse before strolling over to you.

His gaze was more intense, like he was eating you alive with only that. You knew that he knew you wouldn't be able to take him down if it came down to it, so you puffed out your chest and stared him back down, basically directly challenging him. Across the room, Megumi looked at you like you were insane, but you didn't have any time to question yourself.

"You're a pretty little thing," Sukuna hummed, lifting one finger to trail along your chin, but you pushed him off quickly, rolling your eyes. "And fiery, too." Sukuna chuckled lowly, but you could only ignore him to the best of your ability.

"What do you want, Sukuna?" You said.

He chuckled again. "I see why you like this one, brat, she's definitely something..." your cheeks flushed at that statement, but maybe it was just Sukuna teasing you.

That's what you thought until Yuuji's mouth appeared on Sukuna's cheek. "Shut up, old man!" He yelled and you had to stifle laughter.

"Is it true?" You asked, hoping it sounded cooler to him than it did to you.

"What?" Yuuji responded.

"Do you like me?" You quirked a brow.

Even if he was just a mouth right now, you could see the hesitation. Maybe the curse was feeling particularly nice (or evil, but you'd decide that later) because he switched with Yuuji, leaving you both staring at each other.

Yuuji, ever growing uncomfortable with this conversation, smiled at you awkwardly. "I do, like you, I mean. I think I have since I first saw you." He admitted and you laughed and looked away.

Your conversation would be cut short by a disgruntled Megumi, a few Grade 3 curses, and a very confused phone called from Gojo. And sure, Sukuna was the reason your relationship with Itadori Yuuji began, he was also the reason that it would inevitably end. But until then, you get to enjoy so much time with him.

Time that you'd cherish as much as he would.

YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES

NOODLE THIS WAS A MASTERPIECE

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction || Another Member Doesn’t Like You

Seokjin:

It didn't take a genius to work out that Min Yoongi didn't like you, you knew it and so did everyone else but your boyfriend Jin, who insisted that Yoongi did like you, he was just tired whenever you were around together and that's why he threw comments at you that made you uncomfortable or left whenever you were coming to the dorms to hang out with Jin. You just got on with the fact that you couldn't get along with everyone and not everyone was going to get along with you, so you did your best to stay out of Min Yoongi's way, you figured it would be best that way, you stay out of his way meaning no more sly comments about your relationship with Jin or how you dressed or acted and that plan was going well until now. Jin had invited you down to the studios to come and see him before you went out to lunch together and you were just about to get into the elevator when Yoongi appeared and got into it before you, to save an argument you took the staircase instead heading up towards the dance studio where Jin told you to meet him inside.

"Jin?" You called out, walking further into the darkroom feeling along the wall for the light switch, you flicked it on and no one was inside so you went and sat on the floor by the back of the room, knowing Jin would be there soon to come and meet you and that he was probably just held up somewhere in the building.

"Jin why did you want to meet in here?" You heard Yoongi question, shutting the door behind him but not looking up from his phone, you looked up and he stared at you.

"Jin?" He called out sending you a glare and turning back to the door which was slammed shut behind him, you got up on your feet and walked over to it, trying to open it and groaning when you realised it was locked.

"It's locked." You said in a low tone to Yoongi who grumbled something before pushing you out of the way and trying the door for himself as if he had some magical ability to be able to open it.

"You mean we're stuck in here?" He questioned, pulling harder at the handle as if that was going to do anything.

"It's locked." He repeated and you resisted the urge to tell him you told him so, you took out your phone and began texting Jin to come and let you out, and that it wasn't funny.

(X)

"Nothing from Jin?" Yoongi questioned breaking the silence you had both been sitting in for the last hour, you checked your phone and shook your head.

"Nothing." You whispered back to him, reaching down into your bag and pulling out a bottle of water, offering it to Yoongi instead of drinking from it right away.

"Thanks." He whispered taking it away and drinking from it, you reached through your bag trying to find something else for you both.

"I have some fruit, crisps and a chocolate bar if you're hungry?" You questioned, he looked at you with a raised eyebrow and came closer to you.

"I am pretty hungry." You let out a small laugh and handed him the food, while he was eating you played with your fingers, unsure of how to bring up any conversation with him as this was the most you'd talked to one another without an insult being thrown in your direction.

"Why do you hate me?" You blurted out, he almost choked on the piece of chocolate he was eating and looked at the floor, you needed to know why if you were going to avoid him.

"I don't hate you-" You cut him off with a laugh and threw your head back against the mirrored wall you were sitting along.

"Yoongi you insult me all the time, I'm constantly getting glared at and you always leave when I'm around." He felt bad that you thought he hated you, he didn't particularly like you but he didn't hate you.

"I don't...I just, when you and Jin first started dating it threw him off his game, he stopped practising so hard and he just thought and talked about you all of the time...I didn't want to be around someone who could be taking the chances of our dreams away from us." You sighed and looked at him, finally he was opening up to you about it.

"I told Jin I didn't want to be a distraction, and that I didn't want to date him if it was going to start something." Yoongi shook his head, turning to face you now and making sure you were looking at him.

"I've never hated you though. I figured it was easier to stay away from you then to get distracted as well." You nodded and smiled a little, looking up into his eyes, his were soft and a small smile was on his lips, this was the first time he'd smiled at you in the whole time you'd known him.

"I promise to keep him on track and not distract him anymore, you guys are amazing at what you do and I've loved your music forever." The door began to rattle and you both got to your feet.

"After all you are my favourite rapper." You said as Jin came through the door, you rushed over to him leaving a kiss on his cheek and smiling.

"Beside Jin of course." You giggled and Yoongi chuckled along with you.

"You haven't killed one another so that's a good sign." You heard Namjoon say from outside the dance studio door, you sent him a playful glare and Jin took your hand in his, getting ready to take you to lunch like he'd promised.

Yoongi:

Multiple times you told Yoongi to slow down and take regular breaks when he needed to but he wouldn't listen to you, he wouldn't listen to anyone and with the new comeback coming up he was working even harder than before so you tried to make sure he took breaks whenever he could, or whenever you could get him to. You knew that this was his dream but he still needed to take breaks or he could get sick, you tried to talking to the other guys to help you get him to relax but none of them could get him to relax either. That's how you ended up here, on your way to the hospital after getting a phone call from Namjoon at 3 am telling you he found Yoongi passed out in his studio, you were in a race to the hospital, you didn't think there would be much traffic since it was 3 in the morning but it was still busy. Once you got to the hospital and called Namjoon to let him know you were outside but he said he'd gone back to the apartment to get some clothes for Yoongi and to call Hoseok who was upstairs with him, you hung up and debated it for a second. You and Hoseok didn't see eye to eye at all, for some reason he'd just never liked you, your finger hung above the call button next to his name and you sighed locking the phone and going into the hospital to find Yoongi yourself.

(X)

"Y/N?" You heard someone ask from behind you, you were standing at the nurse's station trying to find out some information on where Yoongi was being held but they weren't telling you anything, you looked over your shoulder to see Taehyung standing there with a tray of hot drinks, you smiled at him softly and then looked around.

"Is he on this floor? They won't tell me anything." You sighed, he nodded for you to follow him and you went through the halls together, he was about to talk to you when you reached Yoongi's room, you could see him through the small window and wanted to cry, it felt like your whole world had stopped, he was laid in the bed with an IV in his arm and he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"You." You heard someone say, your attention was dragged away from Yoongi to Hoseok who was storming over to you, red in the face with anger, Taehyung awkwardly walked into the room and left you and Hoseok in the hall alone.

"This is your fault." You were taken back but let him continue his verbal attack on you,

"You did this to him! Always wanting to go out on dates! Spending time together! He had to stretch himself so thin he got sick!" He yelled gaining attention from nurses but you kept your head down, you'd never seen Hoseok this angry before with anyone and you knew he needed to be mad at someone right now.

"You should just break up and make it easier on everyone." You looked behind him at Yoongi who was still asleep but then back at Hoseok who was still angry with you.

"I get that you're angry Hoseok but this isn't my fault." You whispered not wanting to drawer any more unwanted attention but he wasn't having it, he was shaking his head and yelling again.

"But it is, you're always asking him for attention, or to take you out, or to come home and spend time with you when he needs and has to work." That was it, you had enough. You knew Hoseok didn't like you but he didn't need to pin something that wasn't your fault on you and spin-off fake facts.

"Listen, I get that you're mad okay Hoseok and I know you hate me for some reason but I didn't do this. I didn't put him in this hospital bed." You said, he tried to cut you off but you held up your hands to stop him from talking.

"All those times when I was asking him for 'attention' or to come home was to get him to rest because he needed sleep a and real meal for once Hoseok instead of living off take away and sleeping on his sofa! I was trying to prevent him from ending up in this place, not make him stretch so thin he'd be here." You pushed past his shoulder going to the door but he took your wrist in his hand to stop you from moving away from him, you turned around ready for another argument with him but you found him crying, tears streaming down his cheeks, you stepped closer to him half expecting him to move away but he stepped into your arms and hugged you, you hugged back softly patting his back in a comforting way and shh'd him as he cried into your arms.

"What did the doctors say?" You questioned when you pulled away from each other, he wiped his eyes and both of you looked at Yoongi on the bed.

"That he'll be okay after a night here, and that he has to go home on bed rest." You sighed leaning your head against the cold glass.

"Bedrest? That's not going to be easy with him." Hoseok chuckled in agreement and then looked at you, you frowned and looked down at yourself, you were dressed in your Mang PJ's, you laughed and rolled your eyes.

"Mang's the best." You admitted causing him to laugh a little more coming to stand next to you and look at his sleeping best friend.

"I don't hate you by the way." He admitted you looked up at him with a raised eyebrow,

"I just hated the way Yoongi would always be too busy for anything anymore." You nodded in agreement.

"Well he'll be on bed rest, you can help me get him to stick to it."

Hoseok:

You agreed to go on tour with Hoseok, your boyfriend of six months when he asked you because you figured it would be great to spend time together even though he would be on tour, he assured you it would be fun and you guys would enjoy it and you agreed. You were taking some work with you from college so you could study while he was busy and you wouldn't in the way of them when they had practice or a show. The first month of the tour was going great except for the fact that Namjoon was giving you glares every chance he could or sending snide comments whenever he could, you did your best to ignore it but it was getting to be every time you would come to see Hoseok now, and when you were alone waiting for Hoseok to finish practising he would have something to say to anyone in the room about you, thinking you couldn't hear him or saying it knowing you could hear him and not caring. Today was no different, you'd come by the arena to meet Hoseok for lunch and he was running late so you waited with some of the stylists, Namjoon walked in and let out a grown when he saw you sitting there, you ignored him and he sat on the sofa behind you.

"Don't you just hate being distracted at work, you would think people have something better to do with their time." You ignored him, playing on your phone when you heard him say something about that too.

"Using people for their money as well, that's something that really grinds my gears." You looked up in the mirror to see him staring in your direction, an evil glare playing on his lips so you got up from the seat going to the door.

"Imagine using someone for their money." You'd had enough so you stopped yourself from walking out of the door and turned around to look at Namjoon who was laughing to himself.

"I wouldn't know, I'm not using my boyfriend for anything." You said going to the door but he stopped you,

"You have a new laptop, new phone and are currently visiting different countries but sure...you're not using Hoseok for anything, he's too blind to see through you but I'm not." You scoffed pulling your bag over your shoulder and shook your head at him.

"I get that you hate me Namjoon but I love him, I never asked for those things he did that. Now I think I'll go home, and not hotel home, I mean Home, home so I'll let you explain it to Hoseok." You said going to the door again but Namjoon's last words caught your attention.

"I wouldn't miss you. Nobody would." Your breath hitched in your throat and everyone in the room fell into a total silence by what he'd just said to you.

"Well, you explain to Hobi where I am and why I'm gone." You said, leaving and slamming the door behind you.

(X)

The knock on the hotel room door caught your attention, Hoseok probably forgot his key again so you got up and walked over to it, opening it to see Namjoon standing there before you could slam the door in his face he put his foot in the way to stop you.

"What do you want?" You questioned throwing clothes into your suitcase and trying to find everything you had in the room so you could go and catch a plane ride home.

"To apologise." You scoffed at him, ignoring him and going to find the bathroom products that you'd packed.

"I mean it, what I said was mean...What I always say to you is mean." He admitted you stopped in the doorway to the bathroom and bedroom and looked at him, he was being serious.

"It's fine." You lied.

"No it's not, what I said was out of order and I don't hate you." You scoffed again and came back to the suitcase, folding up some clothes and adding them into it.

"I'm serious, I don't hate you."

"You make it hard to believe." You sighed at him but he nodded in agreement.

"When Hoseok told us you were coming I didn't want you to and it's not because I hate you, because I don't. I think you're the best thing to ever happen to Hoseok but I hated the fact that there would be another distraction for us all...As the leader-"

"You want them to have their heads on right and be in total concentration mode...I told Hoseok that but he promised it would be fine and that he asked you before he asked me to come." Namjoon chuckled and sat on the bed next to your suitcase.

"Yeah he did, I just didn't have the heart to say no to him." You nodded and looked at the case.

"Still want me to leave?" He shook his head, taking out one of your college books and flicking through it.

"No, who else will tell me facts I don't know and who else will I get to tell my facts to." You smiled and he chuckled, nodding over at the door.

"Now let's get back to the arena, I promised Hoseok I'd bring back coffee."

Namjoon:

You were waiting for forNamjoon in his bedroom at the dorms when you heard him come through the door, you wiped the tears from your cheeks, you'd had a fight with one of your close friends that day and she told you never to talk to her again so you knew it was over, the friendship had been toxic for a while but you thought you were close enough to overcome it but apparently not. So you came to see Namjoon, your boyfriend, but he wasn't home so Taehyung let you in and let you hide out in his room until he got home from the studios.

"Baby?" You looked up from the bed to see Namjoon standing there, he dropped his bag onto the floor as soon as he saw you'd been crying and rushed to your side to sit with you and hold you while you told him what was wrong and going on that day, but you knew he had another dance practice later with Jimin so you told him to leave it, you didn't want to keep him from it again since you'd already done it twice this week, you and Jimin didn't get along on the best of days so you didn't want to give him an extra reason to hate you.

"You have practice." You tried to protest but he said nothing, just sat back in the bed with you in his arms, rubbing small circles into the bottom of you back while you told him what happened to you.

(X)

You must have fallen asleep because you woke up to yelling coming from outside of Namjoon's bedroom door, you climbed out of the bed and went to open the door but stopped when you heard your name being mentioned.

"She's just having a rough time right now Jimin." You heard Namjoon defend you but Jimin was having none of it.

"Practice is more important." You wanted to tell him you agreed but Namjoon started talking again.

"She's having a hard time Jimin, her friend just ditched her." Namjoon walked away and you came out into the hall, Jimin looked up at you and scoffed. You were a mess, your hair was thrown into a messy bun, tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

"No wonder nobody likes you." You felt your heartbreak a little, you knew Jimin didn't like you but he'd never been so direct with it, it was normally sly comments about it or ignoring you whenever you tried to do something nice for him.

"Look Jimin it's not my fault he won't go." You tried to explain but he wasn't having any of it, he went to walk away and ignoring you as he always did but you weren't having it this time, you grabbed his wrist in your hand and made him stop walking away from you.

"No, you're going to listen to me." You ordered, he stared at your hand and then back up to your face so you dropped his wrist from your hand.

"I'm trying to make him go to practice, I told him I was fine but he's insisting Jimin it isn't my fault...What am I supposed to do to make him go? Leave him? Will that make you happy?" You felt tears rushing to your eyes at just the thought of leaving Namjoon but if it would make things calmer between them you didn't mind. Anyone would be blind if they didn't notice the tension between Namjoon and Jimin at the moment, ever since Joonie started seeing you more and more, things with Jimin got tense and he started being rude to his Hyung.

"Maybe it'll make things easier on everyone if you did, we'd have our leader back." You nodded, giving in and looking at him, thinking that if you did you would end up crying in front of him and that's not what you wanted to do.

"Can I ask why you hate me?" You questioned, you had to know what his problem was before everything with Namjoon was potentially thrown away.

"Because you're a huge distraction to Namjoon." You shook your head, you knew he hated you before you and Namjoon got serious, back when you were just friends.

"No you hated me before that, back with Joonie and I were just friends." You stated, remembering all of the times you used to come over and he would instantly leave the house or ignore you all of the time.

"I didn't hate you. It was just easier that way." You frowned, standing your ground.

"What was easier?" He sighed and looked up and down the hall before continuing to speak.

"I used to like you...Namjoon never knew about it, no one did so I started to hate you. It was easier to hate you than to like you and see you with someone else." Your mouth formed an 'O' shape and you went to ask him something but he answered before you could get the question out to him.

"I don't like you like that anymore, but I don't hate you...You have to know it's not hate it's just how I deal with it." You nodded and looked at him in silence for a couple of seconds,

"Do you think we could try and get along? Act like civilised people?" He looked at you, your eyes bloodshot and still badly swollen from the crying you'd been doing all afternoon and nodded,

"Yeah sure, I have some ben and jerry's stashed away and we can get you something for your eyes to bring down the swelling." You smiled brightly and nodded.

"I'd love that." You both walked down the hall together in silence coming out into the living room where everyone looked up at you, neither of you were throwing insults at each other and Namjoon was shocked.

"I'm going to get you some cold tea bags for your eyes, make sure you get comfy." You went over to the sofa and Jin stared at you in disbelief.

"You're just friends now?" You nodded with a smile and lent your head on his shoulder.

"We are."

Jimin:

You were supposed to be meeting Jimin for a meal tonight for your anniversary but you'd been waiting in the restaurant for an hour and he never showed up, you walked out of the restaurant with your head kept down, not wanting people to look at you and have yourself feel more embarrassed than before. You took out your phone to find out where your boyfriend was when you were met with drunken messages from him, he was with Taehyung and both of them were drinking back at the dorms, you groaned going to find a taxi to take you back home where you would go to bed and ignore his drunken calls and messages all night. You weren't mad that he forgot your plans you were just annoyed, but you knew he wanted to spend time with his friends, he'd not seen them much on the break they were all on and it was just a small anniversary meal, no big deal.

(x)

"Jimin?" You quizzed as you opened your front door to find him standing there, or rather, leaning there. It was 2 am and he was drunkenly trying to talk to you, he'd been calling all night but you ignored your phone, wanting him to have time with his friends, You let him inside and he went over to the sofa, crashing onto it and crying.

"What's wrong?" You panicked rushing to his side in case he'd hurt himself on the way over to your apartment.

"I forgot our anniversary." You sighed and went to go and get him some water to sober up with.

"It's nothing Jimin, you were having fun with Tae." Jimin let out a fake laugh and laid back on the sofa, he knew you and Taehyung didn't get along.

"But it's our day and I spent it with someone you hate." You sat him up handing him the cup of water and making him drink from it.

"I don't hate him Jimin." You defended, he nodded in disagreement with you,

"You do, Tae told me you hate him and he doesn't like you." You didn't want to fight him on this tonight so you got up to find him some blankets when the doorbell began ringing, you walked over to find Taehyung standing there, sober.

"He's on the sofa." You said moving out of the way and letting him into the apartment, he looked at Jimin and then are you.

"You're so pathetic you know." You were taken back at what he said to you, you frowned and looked at him then to Jimin who was now asleep on the sofa, empty cup in his hand.

"Why's that?" You questioned, going over and moving the glass from Jimin's grasp so he wouldn't smash it in his sleep, Taehyung shook his head at you.

"Texting him all night to get him to come over here when he hasn't seen me in a month, we were having fun." You crossed your arms over your chest and stared at him.

"Excuse me, but Jimin was the one texting and calling me all night. I ignored his texts because he was with you despite it being our anniversary and him forgetting our meal and leaving me alone in a restaurant for an hour." You defended yourself, there was no need for Taehyung to be like this with you, you knew he hated you but you didn't actually know why he hated you so much.

"Oh." You scoffed and moved into the kitchen placing the glass in the sink and going on the hunt for a blanket for Jimin, you had no chances of moving him up to the bedroom and you knew waking him up would be a bad idea.

"You had an anniversary dinner?" You nodded laying a blanket over Jimin and looking up at Taehyung who, for the first time, looked like he was sorry towards you.

"I'm not bothered, he needed time with you." You said going into the kitchen and signalling for him to follow you, you began making a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate.

"I knew he missed you over the break, so I understood...What I don't understand is why he thinks you think I hate you." Taehyung sat down on the barstool in the kitchen and looked at you.

"You don't hate me?" You shook your head with a frown on your face,

"Why would I hate you?" You slid him his drink and he shrugged his shoulders,

"I just assumed you did...So I hated you back." You let out a small laugh but stopped yourself when you saw how hurt he was about this misunderstanding.

"Taehyung, I don't hate you. I think you're amazing, in fact...Don't tell Jimin but you're my favourite." He chuckled and sipped on his drink.

"Well I'm glad that's out of the way, I should get going though." You shook your head.

"Stay over, if you help me move Jimin up to the bed you can have the guest room tonight. I'm sure Jimin will love to hear the story of how we both thought we hated one another for the longest time."

Taehyung:

You and Jungkook had grown up together so when he started to act strangely with you it was weird, he stopped hanging around with you and started insulting you whenever he got the chance to, people always say that friends grow apart so you assumed that's what happened with Jungkook but it didn't stop it hurting less, especially when every secret you ever told him he was telling to everyone else. In the end, you stopped trying to keep your friendship alive and decided to ignore him like he was doing to you, family members stopped trying to force you to be friends and you never spoke again, that was until you began dating one of his friend Taehyung, but you didn't know they were friends when you started dating. Things were awkward at first, considering Tae didn't know you were friends before and just invited you to hang out all the time, you and Jungkook would act civilised in front of him but as soon as Taehyung was out of earshot you were getting insults over and over again.

Today was no different, Taehyung had invited everyone out to dinner to celebrate the fact that you'd just landed your dream job and Jungkook was coming along. The restaurant was lovely but if you'd organised this event you could never afford it which made you feel guilty that Tae was splashing his cash for you, even if it was a celebration.

"To Y/n," Namjoon said with a giant smile on his face, you smiled back at him and everyone cheered before drinking from their glasses.

"Yeah congrats," Jungkook said sarcastically in your ear, you ignored him and went to get another drink from the bar, him following behind you. You continued to ignore him until he began whispering insults at you, you looked over at the table, the boys were lost in their own conversations.

"Can you please be happy for me for five minutes?" You questioned with a raised eyebrow but he began laughing at you, you felt your blood boil as soon as he did this,

"What is your problem Jungkook?" You spat at him wanting answers now, you were sick of this Freud that he had with you.

"You're my problem." You scoffed at him and ordered a drink, going back to looking at Jungkook once again.

"What's wrong with me? What did I do?" He stared at you, you really didn't know what you did to him?

"You know what you did." He said trying to walk away but you forced him to stand there and talk to you about whatever it was he was talking about.

"You spread all those rumours in school, about us being together, about me, telling everyone my secrets." He said to you, you stared at him puzzled by what he was talking about.

"You did that to me Jungkook not the other way round, you singled me out and spread all of the secrets I told you." He shook his head at you, a cocky smile across his face and you had enough.

"Jungkook I assure you I kept every secret you ever told me...Even though you made my life a living hell I've kept everything a secret because that's what best friends do." You scoffed going over to the table and excusing yourself for some fresh air, Taehyung tried to come with you but you told him you would be fine alone.  

(X)

"Leave me alone Jungkook," You said as he came out onto the balcony of the restaurant.

"You really didn't spread any rumours?" You shook your head at him and looked out at the view of the city in front of you.

"I wouldn't do that, unlike someone I know." He sighed and came to your side, putting his jacket over your shoulders.

"I thought you did it first...I was getting payback." You sighed and laid your head on the balcony bar in front of you.

"Well, it hurt like a bitch." He chuckled at you and you giggled along with him, it felt good to be together and not have him insulting you the entire time.

"I don't hate you though...When I heard those rumours and secrets I pushed you away, it was easier to hate you than to deal with the fact that you'd done that...or I guess not done that." You nodded in agreement with him and looked at him.

"I didn't do it, maybe now we can go back to being friends? It'd be nice to be in the same room as you and not dread what you're going to say to me." He nodded and gave you a side hug and you smiled.

"Now let's go celebrate your new job."

Jungkook:

Dating Jungkook was one of the best things to happen to you, you met him in the small cafe you work at and it was love at first sight. He'd come in every day for the same drink just to speak to you until you finally gave him your number. You'd been dating for seven months now and you were close to all of his friends, well all of them except for Jin. He didn't like you very much from what you could tell so you tried to stay out of his way whenever you went over to the dorms or hung out with them all. You didn't know why he didn't like you, you just knew he didn't like you and you accepted it, not everyone was going to like you. From all the death glares that were sent your way and snide comments, he made about you or in front of you about you.  If anyone else heard them it would sound like banter between friends but you knew it wasn't that, it was something more than that. He would purposely go out of his way to make sure you felt singled out and out of place whenever you went to events with Jungkook, so much so that you stopped accepting Jungkook's offers to go out together and just hang out alone.

(X)

You were dressed in a red silk gown, Jungkook had invited you to be his date at a charity event tonight so you were going all out, you'd saved up all your money to buy your own dress and felt proud of yourself.

"You look stunning," Jungkook said as you walked through the charity hall together looking for everyone else, you walked over and he smiled leaving you alone with Jin and Jimin while he went to find you some drinks.

"I'll go help him," Jimin said leaving you alone, you wanted to scream out for him to stay but he was gone so you smiled politely at Jin and looked around the room, going to make small talk when he started first.

"I'm surprised you let Jungkook come, you're usually wanting to keep him to yourself." You looked at him but he was looking in the opposite direction so you ignored his comment, wanting Jungkook to hurry up back so you could get away from Jin.

"Your dress looks expensive, get Jungkook to buy it for you?" You stared at him, was he being serious right now? You looked down at the dress and back up at Jin. You weren't going to stand around all night and have insults thrown at you before you could open your mouth to talk he was walking out of the room, so you followed behind him, making him stop before he went into the men's bathroom,

"I know most people don't like me; I don't care, I don't like most people but what is your problem with me?" You questioned finally wanting answers from him instead of stupid comments about you but he scoffed trying to walk away again, you grabbed his wrist and forced him to stand there until he told you.

"I haven't told Jungkook you hate me or make snide comments about me so you can either tell me your problem or I will tell him everything." You threatened, not meaning it and hoping he wouldn't call your bluff.

"I hate you because you're you. You're always keeping Jungkook away from us, he's always with you instead of with us. When we're supposed to practise he's distracted when we're supposed to have a nice evening he brings you along, like tonight. You're just using him for his money so do us all a favour and just leave him." With that, he walked into the restroom and left you outside of the door with a dumb look on your face but this wasn't over.

He came back out and you were still standing there, going through your purse, once you found what you were looking for you pushed it into his chest.

"The receipt for the dress I bought, I have paycheques at home from all three of my jobs I work despite Jungkook begging me to quit because he can 'care' for me, I'm not using him for anything. I happen to love him." You said closing your purse and looking up at Jin who looked shocked that you were doing this.

"I love him enough that I stayed away from one of his best friends who wouldn't stop insulting me as if we were in school together and it was the normal thing to do. I tell him to go to practise and concentrate, it's not my fault if he doesn't Jin...Tell him I wasn't feeling well." You said going over to the exit but being stopped by his hand on your wrist.

"Look...I'm sorry. I thought him being away from us was your fault because you told him not to stay with us...Not because of me." You nodded and he let go of your wrist,

"Can we start over?" You thought about it, it would be nice to not have to avoid the boys all of the time.

"I'd love that Jin."

Tagline: 

@lovies-kpop-fan-fiction​ @yoongisdumplingcheeks​

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Forty-Three

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: trigger warnings for suggested abortions

Sitting still and being patient was driving Lev nuts, but he watched Cameron anxiously. He’d been told he was well enough today to see Eden, and while he waited for Nate to bring Eden over, he fidgeted anxiously. Nik hadn’t gotten out of bed either, and was curled into Lev. Lev petted his hair lightly, just to have something to do.

Shrieks of laughter announced Eden’s presence long before Nate appeared in the doorway. When she saw Lev, she kicked excitedly, babbling out a quick, “DaDaDaDa.”

Unexpectedly Lev’s eyes welled up. “She- she’s saying my name,” he said, sitting up enough he dislodged Nik.

Nik whined at him. Lev patted his hair, but reached out for Eden.

The moment Eden was in Lev’s lap, she smacked his face. Lev caught her hands even as she babbled angrily at him.

“I’m sorry bitty girl,” Lev said gently. In retaliation, she headbutted him. “Eden!” Lev scolded, touching his nose. At that her eyes filled with black tears, and she started crying. Lev switched gears immediately, tucking her close.

“You know she’s manipulating you, yes?” Cameron asked dryly.

“After being gone for four months, I think she’s entitled,” Lev mumbled, pressing a kiss to Eden’s hair. “I’m right here, baby. Did you miss me?”

Her little nails dug into his skin, but Lev just hummed. “Did Cameron send your clothes?” Lev asked, pointedly not looking in Cameron’s direction. “Someone needs to get some color for your wardrobe.”

“Like yours is any better,” Cameron replied.

Lev looked down at his black hoodie and grey tee shirt. “Fair,” Lev admitted. “But I was making attempts. My sweaters are colorful. Nik picked them out.”

“Exactly. Nik did.”

“I picked out the bear pyjamas. Which I still can't find, by the way.” Lev’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

“And you’ll never find them,” Cameron said without mercy. When Lev stuck his tongue out at him, all Cameron said was, “Careful.”

Lev hummed once more, and returned his attention to Eden.

---

Ash showed up a few hours later with the intentions of checking both Nik and Lev over, especially after he had allowed Nate to bring Eden for Lev to see. He had waited for Nate to bring the little hellion back before heading that way.

Unsurprisingly he found them in Lev’s bed. Ash leaned against the bedroom doorway, watching how Nik was curled into Lev as close as he could possibly get. He wasn’t going to keep that up for long if he was planning on keeping the fetus. Or if he wasn’t planning on telling either Cameron or Lev, even if he did suspect Cameron had his suspicions.

He debated on waiting to see if Lev would wake for their appointment but decided to go talk to Cameron in the kitchen instead. As much as Cameron irritated him, he couldn’t help but appreciate just how nice Cameron’s kitchen was. The sleek black marble and appliances to match contrasted deeply against Cameron’s moonwhite skin and even paler hair.

Cameron seemed to be skillfully chopping up vegetables at the kitchen island in pure silence and did not even look up when he gave a firm, “Sit.”

Ash fought the urge to turn around and leave right then, instead he sat across from the ass and swiped an apple for his troubles. He bit down into it and looked at him. “So.”

Cameron sliced into the broccoli deliberately before looking up at him. “What.”

Ash hummed for a long moment, mostly just to waste Cameron’s time. “We, uh, gonna keep trading one word sentences? Or?”

Cameron held direct eye contact while he resumed his slicing. “Well?”

“How was Lev with Eden, today?” he asked, knowing Cameron was going to keep being a petty petulant dick until Ash got to his point.

Cameron went back to chopping up his vegetables. “He stayed in bed for the whole duration. When he started to get exhausted I had Nate take Eden and leave. He’s been sleeping since they left. As has Nik.”

Ash thrummed his fingers along the black marble. “And how has Nik been?”

Cameron put down the knife and leaned forward on his delicate hands. “Why don’t we skip the part where we pretend you don't know I already know,” he suggested flatly. “Stop wasting my time.”

Ash took another bite from his apple. “What was it that tipped it off? The drinking comment or the Nik being overly emotional?”

Cameron lifted a slight brow. “Nik is always being overly emotional,” he replied, “and you’ve never tried cutting back his drinking until now. So I wouldn’t say you were being all that subtle.”

“Subtlety is not my forté,” Ash said. “And I wasn’t sure if you maintained the brain cells to catch my drift.”

“No worries,” Cameron said, going back to resuming his work, “I know you aren’t capable of commonsense thinking. Of course you wouldn’t realize that I am more intelligent than you.” he flicked Ash a look. “In more ways than one.”

Ash bit his tongue to stop from raising to that bait. “Do you know who the father is?” he asked.

Cameron hesitated so slightly Ash almost did not catch it. “I am.”

“That’s not-”

Cameron gave him a dark look. “I said I am.”

The clipped tone had Ash raising his hands in defense. “Fine. Does Nik know you know?”

Cameron picked back up with a silky smoothness that had a chill running down Ash’s spine. “No. He does not want me knowing, so I’m going to play ignorance and pretend that it’s not painfully obvious.”

“That’s rather kind of you,” Ash observed.

“No,” Cameron said. “It’s a waste of my time to make him upset by confronting him about it when I can just wait until he wants to tell me. He only has a finite amount of time to tell me before he either starts showing or decides to terminate it.”

Ash could tell he was telling the truth, for the most part. Even if there was just the slightest flutter that suggested otherwise. Cameron was most likely as well adept at lying as Bay or Nik. Possibly quite more if he lived and breathed court life for five hundred years.

It was then that Lev shuffled into the kitchen with his IV stand in tow. He still looked a bit groggy, but he was awake. Cameron peered narrowly at Lev, but it was Ash that said, “Did you come here without an escort?”

Lev blinked owlishly at them both. “One of the sentries followed me.” he said, moving to sit in one of the chairs.

“I should have made it clear,” Ash said. “When I said I wanted you walking with someone, I meant either Cameron or myself or Amara or someone that isn’t hired help like the sentries.”

Cameron pointed at Lev with his knife. “Never do that again, understood?”

“Okay,” Lev said. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to wake up Nik.”

“How much has Nik been sleeping?” Ash asked, either of them.

“He sleeps whenever Lev sleeps,” Cameron said.

He looked to Lev for confirmation. “What do you say?”

Lev looked a little guilty. “I’ve been sleeping a lot,” he admitted. “I don’t have much else to do.”

It was Cameron that said, “If you’d prefer, I could have you do tasks for me here in the kitchen. Keep you alert. Nothing too difficult.”

Like Cameron was going to let Lev do anything of substance in his kitchen.

“I’d like that,” Lev said, quietly.

It was then that Nik decided to drag his carcass out of the bedroom and come plop down next to Lev. His hair was a mess and he was wearing sweats and a loose black shirt. He snaked his hand into Lev’s and pressed his forehead against Lev’s shoulder. “You left,” he mumbled, still half asleep.

Lev kissed his temple. “You were sleeping.”

“So?” Nik said, petulantly. “You were too.”

“And then I wasn’t.”

Nik groaned and lightly bit Lev’s shoulder before moving back to the counter. He palmed his eyes and looked tiredly at Ash. “I’m guessing you’re here to mother us?”

“Something like that,” Ash said.

Lev gently smacked Nik’s shoulder. “Nik.”

Nik jutted out his bottom lip at Lev. “What?” he mumbled. “He’s always doing that. I’m allowed to call him out on being overbearing for the last nineteen years of my life.”

“He worries about you,” Lev said. “And so do I.”

Nik muttered under his breath and went back to pressing his forehead against Lev’s shoulder. Lev looked back to Ash. “Other than the sleeping, I think I’ve been doing better. I haven’t thrown up in almost a day now.”

Now that was interesting.

“Well I’m glad,” Ash said, finally. “Let’s keep it that way.”

---

Ash waited until it was just him and Lev in the bedroom before deciding to question him further, and to scold him as well. He had helped Lev into bed and had forced Nik out of the room, and had Cameron keep him busy so Ash could work with Lev in peace.

“Cameron said you stayed in bed when seeing Eden?” Ash said, more in asking for confirmation while we went about starting with Lev’s vitals.

Lev nodded. “She was a little mad,” he said, amusement shading his sheepish tone.

“I can imagine,” Ash said, wryly. “She did not make it easy for Bay and Nate. Imagine that little beast at full speed nonstop for the last four months.” On top of a newborn, who luckily, has been well behaved for the most part.

That had the undesirable effect of Lev wincing. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have been there to take care of her.”

“Well,” Ash said, squeezing Lev’s shoulder. “You did what you could. And what you did manage to do, for the most part, stopped her from reigning hell down on my entire family. So.” except for the small part of Lev, well, trying to keep his best friend dead, but considering Lev didn’t have his memories at the moment, he was going to put a pin in that particular bomb.

Lev rubbed at his eyes. “At least I’m back. I can take care of her now.”

“Uh, no,” Ash said. “What you are going to do is not exhaust yourself so you keel over on me. Speaking of. Walking to the kitchen? Alone? See, I remember telling you to do exactly the opposite. And do not try to split hairs with me by saying you had a sentry with you. Like I’d trust a glorified bodyguard to take care of one of my patients. Do something like that again, and I’ll confine your sorry ass to a wheelchair. Then we’ll talk about following orders, Levant.”

“I’m sorry,” Lev said. “I didn’t think about it. It won’t happen again. I don’t wanna die again. Nik needs me.”

“You know you have value outside of what you provide to others, yes?” Ash asked, leaning back. “You can just not wanna die because dying sucks. You don’t need to justify wanting to stay alive.”

Lev looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said, again. “I don’t know how to change my thinking over night.”

“Well,” Ash said. “Follow my orders and you might just get a hell of a long time to figure out how. Anyways, now that that is hammered into your head, and I am trusting you to not disobey my orders again, tell me how everything went the last few days. Leave nothing out.”

“I kept my last two meals down,” Lev said. “And I’m very tired.”

“Was a three day nap not long enough,” Ash said, with a dry smile. “I’m thinking that should fade soon enough.”

“I’m still cold.”

“Is it painful?” he asked. “Have there been times when your body heat went back to normal?”

“Sometimes,” Lev said. “Nik can rub some warmth into my arms, and baths help, but it always settles back into cold. It’s not hurting me,” he added. “It’s not stopping me from functioning, either. It’s just- cold.”

Ash hummed, thinking. “We can get you some food to produce some natural body heat,” he said. “Maybe it’ll help warm you up and it might jumpstart your body into its regular temperature. Maybe we can also jumpstart a heat…?”

That would definitely jumpstart something.

Lev wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want a heat. Not so soon after losing my baby.”

Ash sighed softly. “I know,” he said. “A heat, even if it’s not being used for reproductive uses like most omegas, or well, just simple intercourse, has many functions that are designed to help your body get back to it’s normal. Some patients who have been sick can have a heat induced to try to get the boost to their immune system that they need in order to get healthy again.”

“I’d still like to wait,” Lev said. “If it’s possible. At least… don’t induce one. Everything’s so weird right now.”

“Alright,” Ash said. ���Your body has its own natural defenses. Odds are your body is going to want to keep itself alive on it’s own anyway. But you need to help. And since we’re not inducing a heat, that means we get to change your diet to include some new foods.”

“New foods would be nice,” Lev said. “Everything’s been kind of boring lately. Food included.”

Ash snorted. “Yeah? How do you feel about spices.”

---

Nik was chomping at the bit by the time Ash and Lev came out of the room. When they appeared in the kitchen, Ash’s eyes went for him while Lev went for Cameron’s lap. “Alright,” Ash said. “Your turn.” Nik grumbled and got up and startled for the bedroom, but not before hearing Ash say, “He’s gonna have a new diet. I’ll catch you up later.”

Nik went to plop down on the bed. “They’re going to ask why you keep wanting to see me,” Nik said, eyeing him.

“And I’ll tell them to mind their own business,” Ash retorted, sitting down in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

“I keep throwing up and crying and eating and sleeping all the damn time. Somehow, I turned into Lev overnight and I’d like to stop and go back to being not neurotic., thanks.”

“Well,” Ash said, “You’re pregnant. It’ll be that way for a few months, yet, unless you decide to take further action and terminate.”

That whole exchange scraped against his mind. “I don’t- When do I have to say anything?” Nik gnawed at his bracelets, trying to stop himself from getting worked up at the thought of having that particular conversation with either Lev or Cameron.

Ash lifted a shoulder. “You can start showing between 12 and 16 weeks,” Ash said. “Maybe less. However, you don’t have to say anything. It’s your body and your right to tell people to fuck off where it is concerned.”

Nik grimaced. “I don’t- I can’t have a kid,” Nik said, voice dropping more and more by the second. “Eden is different because I did not push that screaming ball of joy out of my body. And just. It’s not Cameron’s. He would know it’s not his, like he knows everything for some damn reason. What’s he going to do when the kid comes out looking nothing like him? Just because he lacks any kind of pigment does not mean that he’s not going to realize that the kid’s gonna look nothing like him, damn it.”

“Have you considered,” Ash said, irritatingly calm, “that Cameron just would not care?”

“Okay but he’s going to care that I cheated on him with-” Nik’s mouth snapped shut. “He’s going to care.”

“You have your options,” Ash said. “If you want, we can figure something out, but the longer we do nothing, the worse off it’ll be in the long run. You need to be on prenatal vitamins and need to adjust your diet. Especially if you’re getting sick.”

Nik wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Do you want that kid coming out with two heads?” Ash asked. “No, no you do not.”

“I came out with two heads and I’m doing just fine.”

“Nik. Focus.”

Nik folded his arms and slumped back into the bed, sighing tiredly. “What if he makes me go again,” he said, hating how his voice almost broke. “I don’t want to go.” He palmed his eyes when he felt the telltale prickle. He was not going to cry damn it.

“Destris is dead,” Ash said. “You’re going to stay home, wherever home is for you. And right now, he’s probably going to keep you as close as he can. You and Lev.”

Nik snapped up into a sitting position, too startled to focus much on anything but apparently the fact Destris was now dead and once again no one bothered to tell him a damn thing. “I- what? Since when?”

“A soul for a soul,” Ash said, tiredly. “Took his soul to get Lev’s back, I guess. Besides I figured his days were numbered anyway. It’s why Mar bailed on us at the beach.”

Nik curled back into the bed and pressed his face into the pillows. Made sense that Amara would prioritize putting Destris down to get her cousin back over Nik. Seemed everyone was prioritizing Lev over Nik lately. “Are we done now, because I want to go back to sleep.”

Ash put his hand on Nik’s shoulder. He seemed to want to say something, but thought better of it. “I’ll go get Lev for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Nik mumbled.

Ash gave him a final squeeze before getting up and leaving him alone in this irritatingly large bed. He only had a few minutes of quiet tears before he heard them come back towards the bedroom. Nik hastily wiped his eyes just in time for Cameron to carry a comatose Lev into the room.

Lev instantly curled in towards Nik the moment Cameron put him in the bed with him. Cameron watched Nik silently, gaging. “Do you need me to stay?”

“I’m sure you have paperwork or something else important to do,” Nik said, curling in against Lev. “Didn’t you burn your club down or something? Probably already working on the blueprints for a new one.”

“That’s not an answer,” Cameron said, flatly.

“Well it’s the one you’re getting.” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Lev. Maybe if he got lucky he’d have needled Cameron in the right way to get him to leave him alone. But of course it wasn’t his luck because he could feel Cameron’s eye roll directed at him.

A few moments later Cameron was climbing in bed with them, and even if Nik’s omega preened at the contact from his alpha he hadn’t had in months, it didn’t stop the guilt eating at him like acid.

---

It was Nik who woke Lev. He assumed it was for dinner, but when he sat up, Amara was in the doorway. Cameron was behind her, looking somewhat displeased. “Mar?” Lev asked, still half out of it.

“You get five minutes,” Cameron told Amara. “I won’t have you wearing him out.”

“Looks like he’s been sleeping plenty,” Amara said the moment she was out of arm's reach.

In a bored voice, Cameron said, “Sleep does not equate rest.”

Lev rubbed his eyes, and when Amara sat down on the edge of the bed, he leaned into her. She clung to him tightly. The kiss she pressed to his hair was firm. “Missed you,” she mumbled.

“I don’t remember… any of it,” he offered.

“Good. You were a fucking mess.” She pulled back, frowning. “Stars, you smell like roadkill. Minus the rot.”

“Shut up,” Nik said snippily.

“I do?” Lev asked in a small voice. He looked between Nik and Cameron. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been snuggling up with the two of you for days now.”

Cameron shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“I wouldn’t know to ask if I smell dead,” Lev retorted, distressed.

“It’s fine,” Nik mumbled against his shoulder.

Lev pursed his lips, but looked away from them all. “I don’t know where my phone is,” he told Amara. “Or else I would have called you.”

“It’s fine.” Amara petted his curls. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“As you can see,” Cameron said. “He’s still breathing. You can leave now.”

Lev grabbed her wrist, knowing Cameron could see. “When I get a phone I’ll call you,” he said carefully, “But Cameron’s right. I need rest.”

“Are you accusing me of being non-restful?” Amara asked, pulling Lev’s hair lightly. Before anyone could call her out on it, “Yeah, alright. I’m not. Renee might head over this way,” She added. “Just? Call me? Semi often? Scared the shit out of me, lollygagging for three days. Thought you’d up and die again on me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Amara said, sounding tired. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

Lev nodded, and leaned into the kiss she pressed to the top of his head. “Okay.”

Amara ruffled his hair, pointed a threatening finger in Nik’s direction with a mouthed ‘fucking call me’, and then stood, flouncing past Cameron with a loud, “AIright, alright, I’m going. Out of your hair.”

Nik looked a little resigned.

“I’ll be back,” Cameron said, nodding at Nik as he added, “Keep him entertained.”

Lev looked over to Nik once Cameron was gone. “I’m guessing he didn’t mean the usual way,” Lev said solemnly.

Nik lifted his brows. “I’m guessing not, but I’m not opposed.”

Lev gave a small snort. “Are you ever?” He asked.

Nik gave a tiny smile. “I have my moments.”

Well. Fair. Lev touched Nik’s cheek, pressed their foreheads together. Nik kissed him, soft and hesitant. Lev kissed him back, wrapping his non-IV’d arm around Nik’s neck.

“That’s not resting,” Cameron said from the doorway, startling Lev away from Nik.

Lev blinked. “You said to keep him entertained,” Lev replied sheepishly.

“I did,” Cameron said dryly.

When Lev looked at Nik, he was glowering at Cameron. “Yeah, you said keep me entertained, Cameron.”

“It was just kissing,” Lev promised. “Nothing stressful. Promise.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Lev leaned back into Nik. Nik bit down on Lev’s shoulder. “Is it time for dinner?” Lev asked settling a little more comfortably against Nik.

Cameron watched him. Eventually he said, “It will be soon. I can come get you when it’s ready, unless you want to help.”

Lev shook his head. “Honestly, I’m tired,” he admitted. “I was going to ask if I could eat in bed.”

Cameron pursed his lips. “Alright,” he said quietly. “If you need anything, have one of the sentries come get me.”

“I will,” Lev promised. Once Cameron was gone, Nik curled into Lev. Lev kissed Nik again, before closing his eyes. “Wake me when Cameron comes to get us?” Lev asked sleepily.

“Okay,” Nik replied quietly. He kissed Lev’s forehead, and gave a soft, “Love you.”

Lev blinked hard. “What?” He asked, looking up at Nik.

Nik looked startled. “Um. I love you?”

Something warm bloomed in Lev’s chest. “I love you too,” Lev promised.

Nik kissed Lev’s forehead. “Go to sleep,” he said.

So Lev did, pleased and content.

 Tagging: @incandescent-creativity @idreamonpaper @solangelo3088 @halstudies @alittleyellowdinosaur @i-want-to-pinch-cams-cheeks @caelisis

[veiledpeaches]

chance encounters | part ii: i just want to be untangled

Summary: Between pages of meddling friends and societal expectations, all she actually wants is to find a happily ever after with Doyoung, even if it feels like that is no longer possible.

part i x part ii x part iii x part iv x part v x part vi

word count: 3.5k

GIF originally posted by @lukhei​

Johnny’s laugh rings loud and infectious in her ears, and Haewon squeezes her eyes shut as the glare of the morning sun shines into the passenger seat. She had forgotten her damn sunglasses. They had left their apartment at barely eight in the morning, but the sun was relentless nonetheless. It’s still too early to think, and Johnny hasn’t even had his morning coffee but he remains energetic as ever, his pink aviators jovially perched on the bridge of his nose.

“He really said that?” He turns to pull down the passenger seat visor for her, “that the kid won because of how he looks?”

“There’s no way something like that could win!”  Haewon mimics, “the emotions are too raw and the writing is too unrefined. He doesn’t even know his tenses!”

Johnny erupts into raucous laughter once again, “he’s such a literary snob!  I swear, for someone who preaches about discovering young authors’ works and all that future generations stuff, he’s a hell of a hypocrite.” Johnny’s shoulders are still shaking from laughter as he shakes his head.

Haewon smiles, “well, he’s thorough.”

“That’s what makes him so attractive to you, isn’t it?” He turns to wink at her playfully, but his face falls into concern when he hears a long sigh escape from her lips as she sinks deeper into her seat.

“So how’re you doing there kiddo?” He’s deliberately being generic, but Haewon can tell what he’s referring to.

She inhales deeply, and then lets it go.

“I don’t know,” she replies truthfully.

“It’s a month and a half to the big day,” Johnny softens his voice, slowing down to switch lanes. “Doyoung told me you haven’t RSVP’d yet.”

They don’t say the word ‘wedding’ in their conversations anymore, not since they got their invitations in the mail and Johnny watched her sink into their couch, her shoulders bunched and jaw tightened. Because Haewon doesn’t cry – not sober, anyway – and Johnny doesn’t have the heart to ask her to let it out, knowing how obstinate and prideful she can get about her feelings.

Three years ago, in a conversation with Mama Suh, Johnny unintentionally found out that his childhood friend was planning a move to Seoul. Upon further probing, it seemed that she had left a difficult relationship two years ago and really needed a change of scenery. While she’s only three years younger than him, Johnny has always felt protective over the shy girl who likes to read and who used to live two houses down from his, and had reached out to her without qualms. A month later, a place and a position was ready for Haewon.

What Johnny wasn’t ready for, was seeing the look on her face when Doyoung dropped off some food from Mama Kim at their house – that expression that revealed that she had fallen too deep and too fast, before Johnny had told her anything personal about Doyoung.

“What would you do if you were me?”

“I wouldn’t go. You don’t have to do this to yourself, Haewon.” Johnny clucks his tongue, signaling a left turn to the driver behind. “He’s just your boss, you don’t owe it to him. Just make something up.”

That’s true, she thinks. After all, he’s just my boss.

And in a couple of months, maybe even something less.

Finding Doyoung in a sea of dark-haired, frustrated travelers isn’t easy, so Haewon is thankful when she hears his voice saying her name. She swivels around, and Doyoung is standing in front of her, hair down in a natural center parting with the biggest, silliest grin on his face. Haewon thinks he’s most breathtaking like this; his striking brown eyes and the slope of his cheek catching the light in the airport as he smiles handsomely, and Haewon can’t help but smile back. She doesn’t usually get to see him like this, in a green shirt tucked under blue ripped jeans and a white denim jacket pulled onto him, complementing his wide shoulders.

“I knew you’ll be lost,” he teases smugly, “you hate crowds as much as I do.”

She laughs, unzipping her bag to hand the file over to him. He looks through the documents quickly, humming as he counts the papers in his hand before stashing it in his Valentino crossbody.

“Will there be someone waiting for you at JFK?”

He nods, “yeah, the company is sending a representative. Don’t worry about me! I’ll see you next week…”

A familiar face catches her eye and Haewon thinks she sees Doyoung’s fiancée standing a few feet away from them, smiling radiantly at the person next to her. She’s surprised, finding something strange about seeing Inhee here but being unable to put her finger to it. It doesn’t register in her brain that Inhee was only supposed to be back the following Sunday until another figure steps into her line of vision and wraps his arm tightly around her shoulders.

Haewon’s feels her blood run cold. She vaguely hears Doyoung saying her name, but is unable to respond as she all but drags him towards the departure hall without a second thought.

He’s frantically asking her what is wrong, but Haewon can’t seem to hear him against the thumping of her own heart. She doesn’t want to believe what she had just seen, but the scene flashes in her mind repeatedly, each time clearer than the last.

“You can’t be late for your flight, boss!” She fakes a laugh, “I’ll see you when you’re back!”

Doyoung still looks befuddled and unconvinced, but he gives her a smile and wave as he enters the departure hall obediently, checking the time on his watch.

She watches his silhouette become smaller and smaller before he completely disappears into the crowd, her mind whirling with images. She doesn’t forget the way crippling fear had flashed in Inhee’s eyes as she watched Haewon pull Doyoung towards the departure hall, her lover’s lips still in her ear.

Doyoung hadn’t been interested in dating in high school, until he met Inhee in his last year. According to Johnny, Doyoung’s mindset towards high school had been different from many others. He saw high school as a transitional phase, a time to try out as many things as possible and fill up his portfolio with accolades before university. He was student body vice president, chief editor of the school magazine and a short distance runner on the track and field team. He was far too busy dealing with entrance exams and early college applications, until Inhee came into his life.

Inhee was the president of the dance club and obnoxiously popular, acknowledged for her good looks and good heart. And unlike his schoolmates, perhaps Doyoung would never have even given her a second glance at that point in his life, if she hadn’t slipped him her number after his event on their school’s sports day.

The first time Haewon formally met Inhee was three years ago on Valentines’ Day, a month after she joined Dam-il. Johnny had already informed her of Doyoung’s attached status, but she couldn’t put a face to the name – until Inhee walked by her desk with a big beautiful smile, all red Lancôme lipstick and smelling like Chanel, into Doyoung’s office and encircled her arms around his neck, planting a generous kiss on his mouth.

(“She kind of looks familiar,” Haewon had whispered to Yuta on the phone that day after Inhee had lowered the blinds around Doyoung’s office and locked his door. “I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere…”

Yuta had scoffed into his phone. “Like, on every, single, Korean Air poster?”)

Inhee is difficult to hate – this is something Haewon had quickly gleaned after a short interaction with her. Her beauty is dizzying, her confidence making her even more charming without making her appear conceited, and she takes care of Doyoung so well. She is constantly showering the office with late afternoon snacks, visiting Doyoung for lunch on days she doesn’t have to fly. And while she hates books and anything to do with writing, and they don’t arguably have that much in common, she has always supported Doyoung in his career to a fault.

Haewon wishes she could hate Inhee, but she makes him so happy.

(Sometimes, on nights she feels particularly petty, Haewon counts the number of compatible traits she has with Doyoung, comparing it to that of him with Inhee. Truthfully, she does this to comfort herself, wistfully hoping to feel less pathetic given the knowledge that these things don’t matter when they all know who has Doyoung’s heart.)

“You have to tell him.”

Haewon looks up from her plate in surprise, meeting Johnny’s eyes. After Haewon had blurted out what she had seen at the airport, Johnny had fallen awfully silent, concentrating on the road ahead of them and only asking factual questions. Haewon had never seen him so serious before, watching his expression morph from disbelieving to crestfallen as the news gradually sunk in.

It had taken four hours and a whole pot of fettuccini for Johnny to say something.

She looks at him for a moment, twirling the pasta with her fork and making endless bolognese sauce circle patterns.

“Don’t get me wrong – I think he should know. But you don’t think that would be overstepping? It’s not really any of my business.”

“I’m over it.” Johnny comments abruptly, until he catches Haewon’s judgmental look. “I meant the betrayal. I’m over it. She’s not my fiancée, I’m not going to invest any more of my emotions in this.

“But practically, have you thought about this? If she can cheat so close to the wedding, do you think she’ll stop even after?” Johnny’s voice is low and measured. “God, I’m so glad I RSVP’d no. I don’t think I’d have been able to stomach it, especially now knowing this.”

Unlike Haewon, it had only taken Johnny two days to respond to Doyoung’s wedding invitation, citing an emergency company conference happening in London. This hadn’t sat well with Doyoung, at least not according to what Haewon had overheard when she had reached home a little earlier that day.

(“Look, why on earth would I want to miss your wedding, Dons?” Johnny had been facing the living room window, his grip firm on the windowsill. “You’re- No, you don’t need me there, Doyoung, I am one person. You’ll have your whole wedding party there, all your high school friends and your entire family. You won’t even realize I’m not there.”)

Johnny has never been the biggest fan of Inhee – an opinion he has never hid from Doyoung since day one. While likening Inhee’s personality to an annoying yellow cartoon character, Johnny had been frank with Haewon about his inability to hold back from cringing at how extraneous, overblown and unnecessarily exuberant she is. To top it off, her fiancé happens to be practically Mensa level intelligent, while Inhee…

(“I was telling Doyoung about a new accounting system the company had decided to adopt, how I had thought that it was offered to us at a price that was too good to be true,” Johnny had recounted to Haewon at dinner one night, “and he told me maybe we needed to kick the tires on that offer first.”

“And she went,” Johnny had started to imitate her voice and gone up to a vocal inflection that was uncalled for, “oh, maybe you should kick the trunk too!’”

Haewon had almost choked on her dinner.

“I thought to myself, ‘what about kicking the bucket?’”)

The hilarity of his condescension aside, Johnny has always been at least respectful to Inhee, an implicit understanding of their respectful roles in Doyoung’s life at the forefront of his interactions. From her understanding of Johnny, she had been pretty sure that the reason he had given was legitimate, that he wouldn’t intentionally miss Doyoung’s wedding for any reason, but now there seems to be room for second guessing.  

“I don’t know, maybe I misjudged the situation-”

Then she saw the look on Johnny’s face.

“Okay fine,” she picked at her food, “but I can’t ruin their relationship.”

“You’re not ruining their relationship; the relationship was ruined the moment she decided to cheat! You’re doing him a favor, you’re-” Then he realizes. “You’re projecting.”

“What?”

Johnny gnaws at his bottom lip, turning ideas over in his head. “You know what I’m thinking?” He continues when she doesn’t reply. “I think you want to tell him, but you think that the part of you who wants to tell him is the same part of you who’s in love with Doyoung.” He sighs. “That’s the real reason you can’t tell him, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s not just that.” She takes his empty plate, scooping more pasta for him.

“The whole time we were in the car, and then back home, I’ve gone over so many scenarios in my head, of how this situation may turn out. The conclusion is always the same – he needs to know.

“I don’t need to be the person who tells him, but if I were in his position, I would want someone to tell me. Even if she ends it – which I really hope she does – it’s unfair to him if he doesn’t know that there was a time her heart didn’t belong to him. It is definitely cruel, but far less cruel than the idea of living in an illusion.

“It’s just that… I can’t think of a way to tell him without hurting him.”

Her phone rings, saving her from the conversation with Johnny, but his eyes are steady when he mouths to her “we’re not done” as she picks up her phone.

“It’s me.” The voice on the phone is quieter, gentler and wearier than ever, but undoubtedly belonging to Doyoung’s fiancée.

“Hi Inhee.” Johnny’s head whips up, his eyes widened.

“Can we talk?” She asks for them to meet later in the afternoon, then tells her that she would text her the details. Johnny has a resigned smile on his face when she puts down the phone.

“So it was her you saw at the airport.” He says lamely.

“Seems like it.”

“At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I’m just going to say what we’re both thinking – that if Doyoung had met you before he’d met her, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. If he’d met you a bit earlier, she wouldn’t even have been an option.”  

Johnny’s loyalty is touching, but not especially helpful in light of the present situation, when she’s faced with the quandary of meeting Doyoung’s fiancée at a café two hours later. Even across the street, she can see her perched against the window of the café, wringing her hands nervously. Her hair is brought up into a high ponytail today, and she looks stunning in a baby pink tweed dress and short white boots.

Inhee’s gaze meets hers as she crosses the road towards the café, pursing her lips together as Haewon smiles casually back.

“I got Americanos for both of us,” she blurts immediately when Haewon pushes the door and the wind chime tinkles brightly.

She takes a deep breath. “I’ve seen you drink cups of them every day.”

“Thanks.” Haewon pulls out the chair and takes a seat.

It’s close to a minute later before Haewon speaks again. Clearly Inhee isn’t going to broach the subject, but she refuses to either. “Cool nails.”

This brings a small smile to Inhee’s lips. “Thank you.”

The waitress arrives, placing hexagonal marble coasters down onto the table and then the drinks onto the coasters. Haewon sips on her coffee, looking at the way the patterns converge on the coaster.

“I won’t make this long, I have a flight to catch…” Inhee gestures towards the luggage sitting next to her, pressing her lips together. It doesn’t take a genius to know that she was meeting her thick-lipped lover.

“Did you… Did you tell him?” Inhee’s voice is softer this time.

Haewon looks up at her, watching flecks of fear dance in her eyes, and shakes her head.

Inhee nods her head and inhales, as if expecting this response.

“Are you… going to?”

She licks her lips and places the coffee back down onto the coaster. “I don’t want to, but yes if I have to.”

Inhee let out a laugh with an edge. “Of course you would.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She scoffs quietly, lifting her gaze slowly, her lips pulling back to resemble a scowl and her jaw tightening. Haewon had never seen her like that.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at my fiancé?”

Haewon swallows, unable to reply.

“Kang Haewon, I know that you’re in love with Doyoung.”

Haewon concentrates on her breathing, falling silent in favor of Inhee’s calculated monologue.

“You're not fooling anyone. You are constantly around him, you’re close to Johnny-”

“I’ve never tried to do anything.” It’s like a dam has broken, and the words rush out of her mouth before she can stop them. They’re not the wrong words, they just seem self-centered, like she’s attempting to justify herself when there’s a relationship independent of her that’s at stake.

“I’m just saying, don’t factor me into the equation. It’s always been professional. It’s my job to be around him, and when it’s not, when he wants to be around Johnny, I always excuse myself.”

There’s something cruel about being so self-righteous as the lips and hands of her boss’ fiancée tremble uncontrollably, but Haewon lets her words cut through. It feels like with every word, she’s slowly regaining the breaths that had been stolen from her all these years. She watches as something hard darts around in Inhee’s eyes, the same eyes that reflect her own rigid posture.

“He was attached even before I knew him, and passionately in love. I could never take that away from him-”

“You don’t think I know that you’re the reason Johnny isn’t coming to the-”

“You flatter me too much.” Haewon chuckles humorlessly, tucking strands of hair behind both her ears. “So is this why you asked to meet? Because if this is it, I would like to leave.”

She gets up from her seat, placing way too many bills that the coffee could be worth on the table before turning to leave, but stops short at Inhee’s next statement.

“Things haven’t been okay for a while now.”

Even as she sits herself back down, Inhee’s gaze remains far away from her.

“Doyoung works late every night. We hardly spend much time in the same room anymore. We don’t even talk anymore, about our lives and our work.” Something occurs to her, and she lets out a laugh somewhat verging on hysterical, “do you know we haven’t had sex in four months?!”

She looks at Haewon, like she’s searching for an answer she knows she can’t give her. And Haewon, she tells herself not to avert her eyes as Inhee squeezes her hands together. The whole scene feels vaguely invasive, bearing witness to the chipping of a stranger’s carefully polished veneer.

“You don’t need to tell me this-”

“I kept telling myself it’s wedding jitters, but…” Inhee bites back a cry, “I think he doesn’t love me anymore.”

She bursts into tears, shaking and crying into her hands. It’s like the glossy, rosy façade of the airline poster girl is slowly being lifted off, the remains of an embittered, desperate shell of a person sitting in front of her.

Haewon doesn’t know what to do, but can’t find it in herself to completely retract from the situation, so she pulls her chair towards Inhee, not even blinking when Inhee throws her arms around her and sobs even more mournfully.

“I know I don’t deserve to say this… but I just love him so much. I don’t want to lose him, Haewon, I’m so scared.”

“He’s my whole world, he has always been…”

It feels like hours later when she leaves the café, hailing a cab for a broken-hearted Inhee to take her to wherever she might want to go. She feels the tell-tale buzz of her phone in her pocket, knowing instantly that Johnny must have grown impatient of waiting for her update on this meeting.

But as she checks the notification banner on her phone, as her brain wraps around the curves of the letters forming the name of the email sender, her heart almost skips a beat.

Nothing, however, can prepare her for the first line she reads on her locked screen.

Congratulations! I am delighted to inform you…

xx

w/n: last week’s update was intentionally postponed to this week; there will be regular posting (shifted to Saturday, 11pm KST) from now on.

also, I’m sorry for my long and sometimes convoluted sentences. i try my best, but we all know fic!doyoung would never give any of my work a second glance tbh. unlike the young author, however, i willingly apologize for my tenses.

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (8/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

Rated explicit. This chapter 3.3k words. So you know how my summary has always referred to a “terrible tragedy”? Ummm... here we go.   (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

_____________________________________

Chapter 8

Spring arrived in New York on muddy, wet feet, pouring down from the sky in day after day of rain. As David dragged himself from his empty apartment to his empty gallery and back (when he bothered opening the gallery at all), he found the rain to be perversely appropriate. The grayness, the lack of sunshine for days at a time fit his mood perfectly.

He knew he needed to stop hibernating alone, that he needed to put himself out there — go to a bar or at least open Tinder and swipe right on someone. But it felt like more than he could possibly handle, and so he stayed in his solitary cocoon. Friends would call or text sometimes, telling him to get his ass down to this or that party, but that too felt like it would require more energy than he could muster.

He rewatched Downton Abbey during those weeks, starting over with the first series as soon as he came to the end, and when he didn’t have the TV on, he wrote and wrote in his journals, filling two full books in February and March. He wrote about the way he was feeling, the heaviness on his heart that he couldn’t explain, and the way the thought of resuming his old dating habits, with its revolving door of shallow people, made him feel like crying. He wrote about the fact that his entire professional life had been a lie, propped up by his deceitful parents. And he wrote about Patrick.

There was a part of David that wished he and Patrick had never met. It was unfair that a person who’d been in his life for not even 36 hours could have made such an impression, could have left him feeling so abandoned when he had absolutely no right to feel abandoned. Patrick didn’t owe him anything, and what else was he supposed to do other than go back to his small-town Canadian life? But David couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop unlocking his phone and looking at the few texts they’d exchanged, couldn’t help wondering what would happen if he texted Patrick now. He was too afraid to find out.

~*~

“Patrick, would you like some eggs?” his mother asked as he descended the stairs.

“Mom, I’ve told you that you don’t need to cook for me. I’m trying not to be an imposition,” he said, sitting down at the kitchen table to put on his shoes.

“You’re our son, not an imposition. And I’m making eggs anyway.” She gave him an exasperated but fond smile. “Where are you headed so early on a Saturday?”

“I’ve got more apartments to look at.” He’d been staying with his parents for several weeks and trying to find a more permanent place when he had the time and energy. So far the apartments he’d seen had been nice, but out of his price range, since he was still paying half the rent at the apartment where Rachel was living.

Marcy shot him a sad look. “You don’t have to run out and get another apartment; you can stay here for as long as you need to, until you and Rachel have a chance to work through everything.”

“I’ve told you that’s not going to happen.” When he’d shown up on their doorstep, teary-eyed and exhausted, his parents seemed to have resolved to let him figure things out on his own without commenting on his personal life. Apparently that resolve was crumbling as the weeks stretched out and he wasn’t reconciling with his wife.

“What’s not going to happen?” his dad asked as he came in from the back door, where he’d no doubt been up early trying to get a jump on preparing the yard for spring.

Marcy pulled an egg carton from the fridge and cracked two more eggs into a bowl. “I was just saying that Patrick doesn’t need to rush out and get another apartment. He has an apartment with his wife.”

“Which I’m going to be moving out of permanently once I get my own place,” Patrick said, picking up the newspaper to give his hands something to do. Every article on the front page detailed another horror. The rise of a new extremist sect in Syria that even ISIS was afraid of. Drought in California that threatened the world’s food supply. A mass suicide in China by some group called the Acolytes of King Yan. Bushfires in Australia. Patrick pushed the paper away.

He could see his parents exchange a look in his peripheral vision. “Patrick, I’ve spoken to Rachel a few times,” his mother said, and Patrick’s heart began to race. Had she told them what he’d done?

“What did she say?” he asked, terrified of the answer.

“She won’t say what happened, but I’ve never heard her so convinced that things aren’t going to work out between you two.” His mother abandoned the eggs she was whisking and sat down at the table next to him. “But for as long as you’ve been together, I can’t imagine that there’s no way to work things out. Whatever happened—”

“We aren’t going to work things out because I never should have been with her in the first place. Because I’m gay,” he blurted, his hands clutching together. Patrick sat there in the moment that hung silently after those words had left his mouth, in utter shock at himself.

“What makes you say that?” his father said and then chuckled uncomfortably.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Patrick thought. “There was a guy I met in February, and if love at first sight were a real thing, then I swear that’s what I experienced. I cheated on Rachel. And I realized the reason things have never felt right with her. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure this out, but I’ve spent a lot of time soul-searching the past few weeks, and thinking about my past and some of the… some of the other men I’ve known, and… this is who I am.”

His parents were looking at each other, having a silent conversation with their eyes. The other thing Patrick had thought a lot about over the past few weeks was whether his parents were homophobic. He didn’t think so — he knew they were good people — but the fear of rejection clawed at his throat as he sat and waited for them to react.

The first thing that happened was that his mother reached for his hand. “Oh, sweetheart. First of all, know that we love you.” She looked up at Clint, who nodded. “And second of all, this must be very difficult and very confusing, so know that we’re here for you.”

“This man you mentioned, are you… still seeing him?” Clint asked.

Patrick looked down at the table. “No.” He wished he could say yes. He still thought about David every day.

“Rachel knows?” Marcy asked.

He nodded. “I told her everything.”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry you’ve been struggling with this alone. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been pushing you to patch things up.”

“Yeah, you did that a lot over the years,” Patrick said, and then immediately regretted it as Marcy’s face fell. “But you didn’t know. How could you? I didn’t even know.” He stood up, anxious to put an end to this conversation. The best thing he could probably do at this point was to give his parents a little while to process. “I’m going to be late for my first appointment, but I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Oh!” Marcy looked at the clock. “What about breakfast?”

“Sorry, I’ll grab something later,” Patrick said, and then found himself pulled into a hug by his mother before he quite knew what was happening.

“We love you so much, sweet boy,” she said. “That will never change, you hear me?”

Patrick nodded. He felt his father’s hand, a comforting weight on his shoulder, and Patrick sagged with relief. He’d told them. He’d come out, and his parents had taken it pretty well.

Once he was sitting in his car, he pulled out his phone and sent Rachel a text.

I came out to my parents. You don’t have to keep it a secret anymore if you don’t want to.

The receipt appeared, indicating she’d read the text, but she didn’t respond. Not that he deserved a response from Rachel — it was enough to know that the message was delivered.

He then switched over to a text chain with Stevie. Her deadpan jokes and the occasional stupid meme she’d send him had been getting him through the last few weeks.

I told my parents I’m gay, he wrote. It was getting a little easier each time he said it. She didn’t respond immediately, so Patrick put his phone in the cup holder and started his car, backing out of the driveway to drive to a block of apartments on the other side of town. When he arrived, there was a message waiting from Stevie.

how’d it go?

[Patrick] Not bad, considering.

[Stevie] i’m proud of u 🌈

Smiling for the first time days, Patrick got out of the car and walked up to the apartment building with a bit of a spring in his step.

~*~

David winced as he walked into the club, the thumping techno beat and strobing lights already giving him a headache before the night had even started. Attractive men and women filled the dancefloor and clustered around the bar, an orgy of attempted human connection. Immediately regretting his decision to leave his apartment, David made his way to the bar and ordered a martini, the most efficient vehicle for feeding alcohol into his bloodstream short of an IV. While he waited, he looked around the room, automatically cataloging the designer clothes on display. Seeing a few interesting pieces that he didn’t recognize, David made a mental note to do some serious shopping soon. His hibernation meant he’d fallen out of the loop on a number of fronts, and fashion was foremost among them. He nodded to himself; a day of shopping on Fifth Avenue was perhaps just what he needed to shake himself out of this funk. His drink arrived, and he handed over his credit card, telling the bartender to open a tab, before he set off toward the back of the club.

“David, darling!” A tall woman in a black jumpsuit was waving him over to one of the large roped-off booths. “I told you I could get him to emerge at last.”

He went where he was being summoned, giving her a tiny wave. “I can never pass up an invitation from you, Diana.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve passed up a few, David, but I suppose I’ll forgive you. What have you been up to this season?”

“Just taking some time for me, you know?” He didn’t have to tell her that ‘me’ time was bingeing on Netflix and junk food and sleeping ten hours a day.

David fell into the rhythm of meaningless patter that this crowd of people required: name drops and salacious gossip and loudly proclaimed, buzzword-filled opinions about art or books or film. He bought rounds of drinks for the group, more rounds than anyone else paid for, because he was David Rose and that’s what David Rose did. That was why he was invited to things, he suspected. Not because any of these people gave a damn whether he lived or died.

“David!”

He knew the voice before he even turned around, the raspy scrape of it was like a sharp stick between his shoulder blades.

“Sebastian,” he said, trying to keep his own voice even and unaffected by the presence of his ex. “I didn’t know you were in New York.”

“I wasn’t until recently. Vanity Fair hired me to photograph Jack Dorsey’s spiritual awakening in Tibet, so I was out there for a while. Really beautiful, haunting stuff,” Sebastian said as he plucked an olive out of David’s drink and put it in his own mouth.

David narrowed his eyes. “Can a person have a spiritual awakening when it’s being documented for Vanity Fair, though?”

“How are you? People are saying you might close the gallery.”

David’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not closing the gallery,” he said. Surely the fact that his father’s business manager had advised him to do exactly that couldn’t be public knowledge.

“Okay, good.” Sebastian put an arm around him in a possessive move that made David cringe. “You know how these rumors get started. Must be because it’s been closed a lot lately? That’s what I heard. And that you haven’t hosted an opening in a while.”

Sebastian Raine may have only been back in town for a short time, but apparently it was enough time to collect a whole set of sharp darts for him to throw straight and true into the heart of David’s insecurities.

“Can I get you another drink? Sebastian asked.

David looked down at his mostly-full glass. “No, I’m good.”

He thought about Patrick suddenly, and how refreshing it had been to talk to someone whose every remark wasn’t calculated to cut him down and play on his weaknesses, or to just get him wasted. The gnawing empty hole in his heart that he’d been living with for weeks widened a tiny fraction.

“I spent a lot of my time in Tibet just, feeding my soul, you know?”

“Mm hmm,” David said.

“It made me see a lot of the things that happened in the past in a new light. Us, for example. I want you to know that I care about what happened between you and me. And while my therapist said I should never feel sorrow, I do appreciate your pain.”

“I’m not feeling any pain about the past, Sebastian,” David said. “Not anymore.” Not about you.

“That’s good, David, that’s so good.” He felt Sebastian’s hand slide down his back. “It really frees you to… pursue your desires without baggage.”

David almost laughed. Sebastian’s attempt at seduction was so obvious, and it made him wonder if he had always been this stupidly transparent. What exactly had he seen in this self-important douchebag?

Nodding, David took a large step away from Sebastian, shaking off his arm. “It really does. It makes a lot of things very clear.” Looking around at the other people whose drinks he’d been buying all night, David frowned. What am I doing here?

“Diana? I’m gonna head out,” he called.

“Oh, David, the night is so young!” she said with a fake pout, but then someone else lured her attention and she appeared to immediately forget he existed.

“Can I walk you home?” Sebastian asked.

“Nope.” David said as he pulled on his leather jacket. “I’m good.”

The look of confused disappointment on Sebastian’s face would keep David warm for weeks, he thought as he went over to the bar to close out his tab, a half-smile on his face. Traversing the few blocks back to his apartment, David held his head higher than he had in months.

As he unlocked his apartment door, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. Dad, it said on the screen. Why on earth would his father be calling him at midnight, he thought with annoyance, answering the phone.

“Hi, what?” David dropped his keys into a bowl on the table in the foyer and began shrugging out of his jacket.

There was a pause. “David, are you at your apartment?”

His father’s voice sounded weird. “Yeah, I just got home, why?” He could hear what he thought was his mother in the background, but it was almost like a whimpering, keening noise. Then it faded, like his father was moving farther away from her. “What’s wrong with Mom now?” David asked, figuring she’d failed to get cast in a role she wanted, or that the cleaners had ruined one of her favorite outfits.

“David, can you sit down? I need you to be… I need you to sit down.”

David stood in the middle of the living room, looking out the dark windows of his apartment. “I am sitting down,” he lied. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s Alexis.” He swallowed so loudly that the phone picked up the sound. “David, she…”

“Oh my God, spit it out!” David’s pulse had started to race. Surely she was fine, though, right? She was fine. She was always fine.

“She was on a yacht with some friends, and… they don’t know how it happened, but she fell overboard and no one realized it. It was dark, I guess, and people were drunk…”

David’s vision started to narrow, whiteness filling his periphery. “Is she…?”

“She drowned, David. Alexis… she drowned.”

His body was breaking out in a cold sweat. It felt like a sudden onset of the flu. Or like he’d felt when he was thirteen and had broken his nose, the blood pouring down onto his white T-shirt.

“David, did you hear what I said?” His father’s voice sounded like it was coming to him from the bottom of a well.

“What do you mean, she drowned? Are they sure, or can they just not find her?”

“They found her.”

Her body, that’s what he wasn’t saying. They found her body.

David sagged, catching himself with a hand gripping the back of the sofa. His eyes followed the zig zagging pattern on the rug under his feet. back and forth and back and forth and....

“David?” Johnny said softly. “Are you there?”

“I think I might be sick,” David whispered.

“Okay. That’s okay, son.”

Still holding the phone to his ear, David stumbled into the bathroom and leaned over the sink. He knew it would be better to kneel down next to the toilet, but he felt like if he got down on the floor he might just never get up again. “What do we do?” he asked his father.

“We have to arrange to have her…” Johnny paused and cleared his throat. “We have to have her body flown back to the States, so I’ve been on the phone with the U.S. consulate in Mexico, and also with the airline—” Johnny seemed to lose his voice on the last word, like he’d suddenly been sealed under a bell jar. David looked up at his face in the mirror. His stubble stood out harshly against his over-pale face, the mole on his chin that he’d nicked shaving dozens of times even more noticeable than usual.

“Is Mom…?” David asked.

“She’s taken a sleeping pill.”

“I’ll come up there… now. I’ll come up there now.”

“I can send a limo to get you,” Johnny said.

David considered refusing that offer, but he imagined getting on a train and just the thought brought him closer to vomiting. “Okay.”

He hung up the phone without saying goodbye, setting it carefully on the vanity before finally sliding to the floor.

~*~

“Stevie?” Patrick said into the phone. “I’ve literally never seen you use a phone as a phone, what’s wrong?”

“Remember when you told me to google that guy? David Rose, right?”

Patrick’s eyebrows shot up, and he paused midway through pouring himself a cup of coffee from the office coffee pot. “Yeah?”

“To be honest, I forgot immediately and never did it. But I just saw something online, and… this is the David Rose whose sister is Alexis Rose, right? The socialite?”

She said that like he should have heard of Alexis outside of meeting her, but he never had. “Yeah, his sister is named Alexis.”

“It’s all over twitter. Patrick, she died in a boating accident.”

Chapter 9

.......

I know, guys. I know. Just repeat to yourself that this universe is wrong, and please don't yell at me too much!

[whitewolfbumble]

Needed Touch (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: They needed you, and he needed you most of all. You became his addiction until it was taken away, and then you were something else to him entirely.

Anon Request: Can you do a platonic!avengers x wolf!reader, maybe a specific ship like bucky x reader would be fine as well! Since the reader can turn into a big wolf, she often cuddles with the avengers to help them relieve stress, and they all really like her, and once they sent her onto a mission something really bad happens and really angsty stuff?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Wolf!Reader

Warnings: Angst and fluff!, things get intimate for a hot minute

Word Count: About 6k

A/N: Thanks for the request darling! One of my favourite Bucky lines I’ve written is in here, and it makes me weak my dudes. Still a lil wrecked from surgery/pain meds so sorry for any typos, I’ll come back a fix this sometime

MY MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

Tony had an anxiety disorder. Bruce had, let’s say, explosive anger issues. Steve struggled, however valiantly, with depression. Natasha was obsessively striving to undo a past that couldn’t be undone, losing her identity and life in the process. Thor- when he was here- was in denial of the brutal grief he had suffered. Sam had a crippling case of survivor’s guilt that would strike hard without warning and stop him dead in his tracks. That was just scratching the surface of your team members, and there were more damaged people where that came from.

And then they added Bucky. You couldn’t even begin to get into the near century of trauma there.

But at least they all had you.

However much love and loyalty there was among you, you were what was holding this team together. Mentally and emotionally they needed you as much as they needed oxygen, being the balm and breath of air to them, outweighing their combined trauma.

You were human and wolf in one, each side of you forming one whole. A mutation, curse, and gift wrapped together, much like the various parts of the others on the team. And quickly from week one you had found you belonged among them.

Maybe it was the protective wolf in you. Or the feeling of companionship you exuded with every encouraging word or soft smile. Or the loving brightly, happy feeling those around you felt when you laughed and played, young and free like those cute little puppies in those cute little videos. Or maybe it was the ferocity and barred teeth you showed on the battlefield, unwavering in your aggressive defense of your team. Or maybe it was your other ability that did it.

Whatever the combination, it had made you a perfect- and necessary- fit to this team.

Tucking back your hair, you absently brushed fingers passed your subtly pointed ears. Settling into to a grey afternoon and a cushy couch had been easy enough, with a half decent book in one hand and the other placed on Clint’s head.

He was lying down on the couch, head on a thin pillow in your lap, feeling the calm of your other distinct ability seeping into him like custard into bread pudding.

Your legs crossed, Tony pressed a pleasant pressure against your knees, his anxiety held at bay by both you and the focused energy of tinkering with a delicate piece of paper-thin metal and razor-thin wires in his hands.

The people changed, the positions changed, but the constant presence of your team- your pack- around you was constant and most welcome.

As the slow afternoon silence stretched, you flipped to the next page in your book but didn’t continue reading. Head shifting slightly you paused, brow raising up ever so little before settling back into place as you understood what your senses had zeroed in on.

“Wonder when they’ll be back,” Clint said lazily, eyes closed and breath easy in his chest.

“They just pulled up,” you said absently back, eyes back on the text in front of you.

“Hmm,” he replied. “Hope it went okay.”

“Yeah, seems like it went just fine,” you said, shrugging a little. “No blood anyway.”

But in the back of your mind and in your ears you felt a nagging. Something off. Something not exactly quite right.

The wolf in you wasn’t separate like Bruce was to the Hulk. Your appearance may shift as you directed it to something akin to a large and black apex predator, a wolf in body and eyes and fangs. But that didn’t mean you were any less you in that state. Even now, human form with only little touches of something slightly “other” marking you like your ears, you still heard and smelt and saw with the enhanced senses of the shadowy beast you formed into. Not exactly as enhanced as in your other form, but still there nonetheless.

And sitting on the couch, listening intently to the sounds of Steve and Bucky return from their mission while your eyes were down in your book, you thought you could hear someone... limping maybe? The metallic, distinct smell of blood was absent though at least. Or maybe there were just too far away for you to smell it yet.

“And how would you know that?” Clint said, stretching and leaning up a bit to lock those hazel eyes to yours.

You wiggled your nose at him from behind your novel in teasing exaggeration.

“I can smell them,” you said, though Clint well knew that by now, though he loved to hear it. He was endlessly fascinated by who you were. That or he had taken a knock to the head too many times and really was that forgetful. “Sweat and quinjet exhaust, but nothing else really.”

Sitting in wait while Clint moved off you, you heard one set of footfalls approach nearer.

Now, however terrible it sounded, you hoped it was Steve that broke his leg and had sent Bucky to find you to help him. That would make this easier.

So, so much easier.

But when the blonde walked in your lips ticked down with a bit of a frown for a split second. Steve sat down beside you, limpless stride firm and precise though clearly a bit exhausted. He grabbed your hand as he sat and the both of you broke out into a smile.

“How’s our resident second super soldier?” you asked, subtly squeezing and moving your hand in his, caressing his palms and fingers. Comfort visibly eased into the lines of his friendly face and liquid light blue eyes.

“Hurt, but not much help there,” he admitted. “Unless you want to try again…?”

“Try again” made it sound like you had only attempted to corral Bucky once to indulge in that other specific ability you had. The man was unwavering like a marble statue, though you’d find a way to whittle him down. Or maybe he would do that himself.

“You know I will, Steve,” you said, standing up with a last pat to his hand and pat to Tony’s head as you shimmied passed him. “He’s one of us, even if he doesn’t yet think it.”

Because Bucky wasn’t the only one who could be considered unwavering and stubborn.

______

The door was open slightly like he was expecting you. He always expected you because let’s face it, he was smart enough to know persistence when he saw it. They others saw it as caring, but you didn’t think Bucky was quite ready to use that word just yet.

His room was somewhat clean, low lamps on instead of the main overhead lights, exuding a softer glow and casting darker shadows. It was small and comfy and how Bucky liked it, despite those descriptors being the opposite of the man himself.

He was peeling off his thick leather coat, arriving just before you did for one glaringly obvious reason. He had been slowed down to a snail’s pace by the broken leg that had somehow managed to make his whole body scrunch up tight and coiled. It was supporting no weight as he stood, held at just slightly an odd angle. Not to mention what you knew to be a pale and pain-hardened face if he were to turn around.

You leaned against the door frame, arms crossed with a bit of a huff you weren’t sure was from sympathy or exasperation.

“I could help with that, you know,” you commented, nodding to his limp as he glanced behind his shoulder to you, though his eyes remained low and didn’t yet meet yours.

You were tired of playing this game with him, but you knew by the weary lines and stiff way Bucky held himself that he was always far more weary of it. He had the ability to end that weariness and strain, if only he would reach out and simply touch you.

“I’ll heal,” he said, short and gruff.

Not because he was mad which you knew, though a flash of something- maybe guilt- sprung up through the pained look, and he took the time and effort to swivel on his good leg to face you more.

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he said, trying again and sounding a little more like himself. Seemed to take effort though. “You don’t need to keep checking on me.”

“I’ll stop checking on you,” you said. “When you stop leaving the door open for me.”

You stepped in silently under his watchful eyes, moving and sitting on the bed, back resting against the backboard. You didn’t snuggle down or sprawl out, wanting to be just a little respectful of his space you were invading, but clasped your hands in your lap and crossed your ankles neatly.

Bucky waited for a time before, with a bit of pain crumpled look on his face, turned to the bathroom and closed the door. You closed your eyes as you heard the shower, tried not to listen to him struggle and groan under his breath. When the streaming sound of the water stopped, you flicked the switch beside you and the lights went off, leaving you in semi-darkness with blinds closed tight.

The tiny amounts of grey light that came in was like that of the moon, beaming in cool and gentle. That was his kind of comfort. Bucky still enjoyed the darkness, able to move and stay shielded by the black murky shadows. To hide away from enemies and people and pain.

When he emerged from the bathroom, the light from it shone bright before he clicked it off, his frame clad in a black shirt and grey sweats turning shadowy. Though it was the afternoon, the room itself looked like it was the dead of night, with just those soft beams pooling on the ground at his feet.

“Are you going to wolf out on me?” he muttered through the space between you, though it was good-natured in tone. As much for him as for you.

You snorted quietly under your breath, a smirk on your lips.

“I’m not the Hulk, I have some control over myself.”

There was some hesitation after that from him, wavering there with weight on the one leg. It heavied the air that had been briefly lightened with jokes and teasing a second before.

You didn’t push or pry more than you already had by simply being here, but just waited. After another few moments the pain of standing seemed to outweigh the emotions keeping him from you.

Very slowly, he walked to the bed as you moved up your feet, giving him space to sit awkwardly but firmly on the edge.

He faced out for a few moments before placing his hand in the small space on the sheets between you, eyes refusing to turn to your own. Gently you placed your hand on top of his, ever so carefully entwining your fingers in with his. A minute passed before your other hand moved slowly and measuredly to the middle of his thigh and was held still.

He tensed as you did, but for much different reasons. He flinched at the contact of your fingers brushing his thigh. You at the familiar feeling of this process as it hit you, stark and bare and shook a little bit of your soul as your ability begin to work within him.

“Why do you do it?” he said quietly, face hidden in the darkness. “Why care?”

Everyone here knew what your ability was, even Bucky, though he refused to speak it.

It wasn’t healing, exactly. It was just taking the pain, giving them time to rest for their muscles to ease, for their teeth to stop grinding as they gritted through the pain. They could rest and their bodies would better heal themselves.

They sensed it when they were close to you. Felt it when they touched you. Relief and comfort and freedom from torment.

But the pain had to go somewhere. It couldn’t just evaporate and you couldn’t push it out, you could only pull it into your own body. So you took on their stabs and wounds, feeling the invisible injuries on your skin and in your muscles. At least with you, the second the connection was broken, it was gone. So you just breathed and you bore it.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Bucky,” you started softly, taking a moment as you felt like your femur was snapped in half inside your leg. “It’s not “why care”, but because I care. I know that’s foreign to you. Uncomfortable. And that’s okay for now.”

Your words were met with silence as there was no real answer for it, and none needed. It was truth and that caring he would call persistence. Because you weren’t going to let him live a pained life. Not when you could take it away from him and even if at a cost.

But for now, this was was okay. You could go one step at a time and nudge him along with you.

You stayed long beyond that, until the troubled man unclenched his muscles and his eyes drooped where he sat. Until his breathing became slow and deep and his head lulled. Until you gently laid him down when deep sleep took him over, painless and free.

_______

From there on, things started to change. Bucky had a hard time with your ability at first, clearly. He wasn’t particularly touchy or trusting to begin with, however cordial, which was pretty essential for your ability to work.

The next time it was a broken arm. How a super soldier could keep breaking bones like this, you didn’t know.

You went to his room and waited in the doorway just like before but you didn’t fully enter, leaving him alone instead. He was probably confused as he clutched his lifeless looking flesh arm, probably wondering and hoping you’d be your usual persistence self and silently insist again. But you hadn’t been.

You had gotten through a little to Bucky, even if only once. He had felt it and accepted it. Felt and accepted you, in that moment, finally. It was his turn now, to make the next step and you weren’t sure he would do it. But later that next night you heard a knock at your door.

“Can you help me?” he had asked, quietly, still holding his arm which close up looked almost shattered.

After the next mission and the next injury, he asked when you came to his room as you always did, almost steely look like he was fighting himself on saying something so vulnerable again. But the second he spoke that melted from his face, as though the words would have killed him to say but he survived, relief flooding him once uttered.

“I’m in pain, Y/N,” he had said, gruff and almost desperate. As though through all the years of pain he had reached his limit now that he knew what real comfort felt like. “Can you take it away?”

Soon enough as the weeks rolled by, he was coming to you for everything.

You expected this really, it had happened to everyone for a time.

Everyone hit a point where they clung to you at first, however subtly or not, until they realized both consciously and subconsciously that you weren’t going anywhere. That you were here to stay and this feeling was too. That you could be a reprieve to their pain and demons.

Bucky was different though. He had had no comfort, innumerable demons, and exclusively pain for much of the life he could remember. Now to be able to have physical hurts relieved and not inflicted, and with a simple touch feel comfort in his soul not anguish? It was massive for him.

He was addicted to you now. You were like the sweetest of drugs without overdose or side effects. Though you were beginning to wonder about withdrawal...

“This is really why you need me right now?” you said, in his bright bathroom on one late evening, months after that broken leg.

Bucky found quiet, intimate moments alone with you when he needed you close, always away from the eyes of the team. Pain he could admit to you now, but not them just yet, if ever.

But now whenever you walked into a room you saw the way he twitched, as though his automatic physical reaction was to reach out for you and it took his conscious mind a moment to stop himself.

But in moments alone with you he didn’t hesitate anymore. He let himself touch you and be touched, like a craving filled and peaceful contentment enjoyed.

“Yes,” he said simply, pleasant sigh on his lips as he sat on the bathtub ledge, head leaned up to you, standing in front of him. His eyes were still waters, glassy and serene, framed by those long lashes that matched his deep chestnut hair.

Your hand was placed on his neck, thumb moving across the line of his jaw. Just above your stroking was a small cut from shaving of all things, almost unnoticeable. You were surprised he had even felt himself do it.

This was a man who had been tortured. Shot. Stabbed. Forced to fight. Forced to kill. You would think one little nick would hardly be enough to call on you so late at night.

But a smug unheard purr settled somewhere in your soul, finally and truly having him trust you. The others could sit down beside you and hold your hand or give you warm smiles as your presence eased their soul. But from Bucky you had needed more. You had needed this.

And obtaining it was that same kind of hit Bucky got off of you.

“I think I’m just spoiling you now,” you smirked, his slow blink matching pace with your slow, caressing fingers.

“Then please keep spoiling me,” he whispered, leaning into you.

He rested his head on your stomach, nose and breath and lips pushing gently into the thin fabric draping your soft skin.

Steve had always ran hot, made into a super soldier in the warm New York summer heat. Bucky you thought was always deliciously cool, like the chill of Russian snow where he was made, clinging to him still. It reminded you of clean ice, fragrant pines, and a cloudless moon.

You could feel it all on his breath now, the cool air he sighed into your stomach making your skin tingle underneath. Without thinking your hands found their way into his hair, moving through the thick chestnut strands. Absently his hands moved up your calves to behind your thighs, hooking you lightly into him.

A slow sigh released from him into you, and you slipped one hand under shirt collar at the base of his neck, hand and nails lightly trailing down his spine. He clung to you all the more, a groan caught in his throat as you felt the delicate quiver of his skin under your fingertips. An arm wrapped around the small of your back, the other at the top of your thigh, constricting and binding you in.

You and he practically hummed in sheer contentment at this connection, a shivering pleasure between you both. Countless minutes rolled by, and also no time at all it seemed.

It was only when you pulled away that you saw his blissed and beautiful face, his hand moving up and bunching his shirt above his heart as he stared back at you. Those serene eyes were bright now, with a bright and beautiful smile to match.

“G’night Buck,” you murmured as you stepped back, voice with a bit of a wobble.

You turned, a little off kilter and touched down on the bathroom counter to steady yourself. As you walked out you caught a glance of yourself in the mirror above the sink, eyes half-lidded, a lopsided smile on your face. And it wasn’t from sleep-drunkenness.

It was from comfort.

It was from him.

“Then please keep spoiling me.”

The words ran in your mind like cool water lapping at a shore or warm fingertips trancing delicate lines on soft skin. That was what you dream of that night. It was only when you woke up, room filled with darkness and that comforting feeling gone did you respond to them.

Okay, you thought in silent response, I’ll keep spoiling you.

_______

“Good, we’re just about to start the new mission briefing,” Clint said to you as you walked into the small group by the couches.

When you entered the lounge the next day, several of the team had already gathered.

You expected that telltale flinch from Bucky where he said, wanting but stopping himself from reaching out to you. You had wondered after the closeness of last night if it would be worse. If your junkie would be craving you all the more now.

But he didn’t. He saw you, blue eyes behind brown hair sitting to himself on the side. But didn’t acknowledge you beyond those glassy ocean eyes connecting to yours. Not a flinch. Not a hello. Not a nod.

A frown fell on your face as your heart fell in your chest, and head filled with confusion.

Had last night gone too far? Should you have stopped it?

Well the answer to both of those was probably yes, but he had wanted it and you had wanted to give it, so why would have have been bad?

“We’re moving in on the Serpent Society tonight,” Steve said, looking out to everyone.

You achingly turned from Bucky, a shame and heat on your face now, looking instead to Rogers. Your eyes were intense and trying to hide it, focused on the blonde before you, but you weren’t seeing him.

You weren’t hearing the shuffles or sways of the team as they listened into the briefing. Didn’t smell the gunpowder coming off of Natasha, the steaming coffee in Tony’s novelty mug, or the clean crisp lemon of the freshly scrubbed floor. You didn’t notice anything outside of your focus: Bucky Barnes.

Steve talked on, background noise to you as you focused your senses to a sharp, steel point. Your body altered in response, the wolf in you showing in slight form little by little as you balanced walking the lines to stay on the right side of human-looking so as not to give yourself away.

A golden hue to your eyes began to shine, that liquid gold bright and deep. Nails grew and pointed, turning ever so like claws. You could hear and feel your body change just enough for your sense to enhance enough to zero in on the man you held last night. The one who had held you.

Then you heard it, a deep bass sound vibrating in your ear. A beating, low and rhythmic and pulsing.

A heartbeat, sped up and beating loud. In that moment you heard nothing else.

But you couldn’t feel eyes on you so you cleared your throat, and Bucky flinched, eyes snapping to you as you kept yours dead ahead on Steve, looking down and slightly away to hide the telltale glimmers of the something “other” always under your skin that was starting to show.

The moment his eyes were on you, the sound of his blood pumping and heart beating became thunderous, like the pounding beat of the drum. You heard him swallow, could almost hear his skin tighten, and lungs expand and deflate at a rapid speed.

All because he was looking at you.

You could feel his eyes detached from you, reluctant and pained like dropping a weapon in a fight. His breathing rightened, muscles unclenched just a touch in his shoulders, That modicum of calm was shot to hell when Steve spoke.

“Y/N,” he said, the shift in Bucky palpable to you, practically make you clenched your own muscles. “You’ll be on the west side with Bucky and Clint. They’ll sharp shoot if needed, you’ll watch their backs.”

At your name Bucky’s eyes were transfixed again, thunderclap heart beats almost filling the room and drowning out the sound of the others. You felt him swallow again, heard the creak of his chair as his hands gripped it tighter, felt the heat radiating off him like a heavy summer sun.

All because he heard your name.

You turned and left immediately once the briefing was over, under the excuse of prepping for tonight, but once out in the hall you rested against the cool wall. Again you eyes glinted gold, sense focused on the man inside that room.

He had walked closer to the door- perhaps following after you?- but had stopped. You heard a sigh, the wisps of fingers through chestnut hair as he stood on the spot, stopped by some thought or feeling.

You could hear the downturn to his voice as he answered a question, hear the shuffle of his feet where he stood. You could almost see his expression now, a miserable look, one trying to hide under a blank stare.

You walked down the hall, for the first time not knowing exactly what to do with feelings someone had about you.

This wasn’t about seeking your touch for ease. This wasn’t about comfort or calm. It wasn’t about a physical reaction to you at all, this was about you.

You could sense it, feel it, hear it, see it.

Bucky had feelings for you.

_______

“Are you going to stay like that the whole night?” Bucky said, peering to his side.

The woods were quiet, and most likely through decades of practice, Bucky’s voice lowered and morphed into a tone and volume that matched his surroundings. The forest was old and dark, with near-black greens from the tree mixing with near-black ground and sky.

In this space both you and he found the familiar darkness reassuring, both battle tested and trained to the bone on nights just like these ones.

Right now this wasn’t training, but a mission. You were a sentry and guard for Bucky and Clint, either positioned a distance apart with a gun or arrow pointed towards their targets base.

Bucky had found a bit of a cliff to set up on, body on the ground with sniper rifle pointed diligently and ready.

“Not that I don’t like it,” he continued quietly. “But I did want to talk with you.”

You made no movement or even acknowledgement that you heard him, though there was no way you wouldn’t have.

Tonight you were the wolf in full form, changing into a black beast of the night as soon as was possible. The rest of the Team had barely stepped off the quinjet when you were feet into the woods, shifting with ease like the shedding of clothes.

Black fur, long and silken, lined your frame and blended like a shadow into the half mooned night. Only golden, glowing eyes could be seen now, some feet away from Bucky, half watching his back and half watching for an enemy to emerge.

“I had the distinct impression…” he started after a minute of silence followed, pausing briefly before continuing, turning from his position to look behind himself at you. “That you ran from me this morning, and have been avoiding me since.”

The shift was silent, the darkness still hiding you. A human form, still hidden, save those golden eyes, was your form to answer him. Claws were still out and extended, ears at a point, senses picking up everything.

“What makes you think that?” you said, low and quieter than the wind.

Bucky’s jerked back to you in surprise, trying to find your golden eyes in the black.

“Well, usually you at least acknowledge me.” At that your eyes narrowed a little, and he caught their gleam.

Was he upset like you had been that he didn’t even say a simple hello or give a nod to you this morning? Not communicating had not been you forte, as guards tended to come down around you, making speaking and opening up easier. So this may was just a small thing, but it didn’t feel like it. And that explanation didn’t seem like it was the whole picture…

Bucky’s finger went to his ear piece as he stood, eyes locked on yours. “Clint, I’m moving positions. I won’t have eyes on this for minute. Will confirm when I’m back in ready position.”

“I’m not… I know when…” Your sigh came out almost as a hiss, struggling with the words. You focused back up at him, his shadowy frame in the darkness just an arm’s length away. “I’m not exactly clueless about what… feelings and attraction are. I can sense when someone has them for someone else.”

“And?” Bucky said. You went sure if he said that cluelessly or brazenly.

“And,” you said, quiet and firm. “You have feelings for me. I felt it this morning- I feel it now as you look at me- your heart catching and beating like thunder in your chest when you hear me or sense me. Your breath quickens, your skin flushes, you can’t stop blinking, you can’t help but move to get closer to me… I can practically smell the rush or hormones and chemicals racing through you when I’m close. It’s- it’s overwhelming.”

“You can sense all of that?” he said, before stepping closer. “What about now?”

You swallowed, brows pulling together, confused. “I… well, yes.”

“And now?” he asked softly, taking another step. This time it set his body right against you, his framed pressed to yours.

You had touched him before. Held him. Felt his skin to yours in quiet moments together. But this was much different.

You didn’t respond, just watched with throat tight and eyes wide as Bucky gazed down, nose brushing ever so lightly against yours. You felt his hand move up, slowly and deliberately up your arm, across your shoulder until it rest on the pulse point just under your jaw.

“Your heart’s racing too,” he whispered, fingertips pressing into your skin.

Silently he dragged them down, slow and smooth, stopping in the middle of you chest.

“And so is your breath,” he whispered.

You almost had a mind to huff and roll your eyes at him, your once distant Bucky long gone. But that reaction was quite lost to the one that was overwhelming you. It burned and tingled you skin and in your soul, it poured out of you in hot breaths and every pounding heartbeat, it rattled your soul as much as his touch did to you now.

Moving back up, his hand held your face, feeling the heat there that was threatening to boil you over now. 

“Your skin is flushed too,” he said, voice smooth and soft compared to the intensity of those blue eyes he had.

“You can stop there,” you managed to say, not exceptionally wanting him to go through the rest of the checklist.

A small smile escaped from him then, forehead leaning down to yours. You closed your eyes as he did, soaking in the feeling of him and the smell of him which somehow seemed more intoxicating than you remembered.

“So what if I have feelings for you,” he said eventually, so whisper quiet you could have dreamt it. “You have feelings for me too, Y/N.”

You could have said this wasn’t real, that this was Bucky just being addicted to a comfort he was deprived of. But someone like Bucky wouldn’t admit to feelings unless they were real.

You could have said you were just reacting to someone being this close or happy with how much he was opening to you, and accidently maybe took things too far. But that also wasn’t true.

All you could do was nod your head up in agreement, your lips brushing delicately against his as you did so. You heard almost a sighing growl as you did, and before you could decide if it was coming for you or him, his lips connect with yours.

In that dark woods you were sure the spark that erupted inside you at his kiss could have been seen for miles. It was like a slow burning fire, bright and intense and eternally warm. The pressure and feel of him against you, his lips moving and sealing against yours heating your soul enough for this lifetime and the next. It was a bliss and comfort you had not yet known in another person and it made you see stars that his connection to you conjured up.

“I’m spotting movement, north west of my position.” The voice over your comm came, breaking the two of you part if only your lips. “Y/N, is that you?”

“No,” you said, sounding as breathless as you felt and hoped Clint would chalk it up to trying to be quiet. Your eyes remained on Bucky though, seeing the same burning fire and pleasant heat in his blue eyes that you felt. “But I’ll check it out.”

Wordlessly you broke away, the cold air seeping across your body where Bucky had just been. But the cold couldn’t penetrate into your soul. That remained a cozy, toasty wash of heat. Taking several steps back, you kept your eyes on him until it was time to go. He gave you a nod by way of goodbye, unable to keep the lightest of smiles on his lips. You reciprocated it quickly before you were off.

You vanished into the dark in a shadowy blur, the change from human to wolf happening in less than it took to take a step. A moment after, you were running.

The pines and trunks of tree whooshed passed you, your paws hitting ground for only the briefest of touches before bounding for the next step. You wove and maneuvered through the forest as though you had made this trek a thousand times, your senses focused and guiding you to where you needed to go.

But a gun shot in the dark, far away from where Bucky was or where Clint should be stopped you mid-sprint. Claws dug into the ground, trying desperately to slow yourself down, until slamming side first into a tree did the job, bruising ribs and jostling your head as pine needles fell down around you.

Ignoring the shots of pain and careening to your right, you took off again, paws stumbling to get traction for several paces until you were back up to speed.

Voices rang out in the comms, all teams checking it. They came concerned, questioning, all converging on the various shots they heard around their respective positions.

You heard it first. It was a snap and then scream that turned to a thunderous roar.

You could feel it in the ground, feel the vibrations in the air. Bruce was gone, and the Hulk had come out. In the distance that roar sounded again, furious and unhinged.

“Pull back!” Steve said in the comm. “No one move towards the gunfire!”

But it was too late.

You didn’t have time to slow down before you heard that snap again, this time at your own feet.

It was like a crack of metallic lightning, and you felt the exploding of your eardrums before you felt the exploding of anguish. The sudden assault stopped you dead again, sending your body rolling and tumbling out of control through the woods then down a short hill.

You slid to a stop on your side, unable to speak or move or scream. Wrapped from your stomach up to your back was a metal set of jaws, like a lethal bear trap with jagged, biting teeth as wide as you palm and as sharp as you teeth. The death trap practically encircled around your whole body.

The pain doubled, then doubled again, poisoned tips of the metal releasing into your bloodstream. That was when you shrieked louder and more torment-laced than you had ever heard. Unable with this trap around you to change back into your human form, the shriek came out as a howl, reverberating through the air loud, unbridled, and broken beyond what you thought you could stand.

The pieces stabbing into you made you howl til you felt you felt you could no longer survive it, the poison made you convulse until you thought every venom-burned piece of you would melt away, the anguish of it was beyond your capacity to understand or function.

But then you felt steps moving closer to you. You heard voices. And why set a trap if you weren’t going to come back for your prey?

Your eyes glowed bright, edged on by the pain and fighting instinct. Your jaw snapped and growled mingled into your whimpers and howls, a pitiful warning at best.

You heard voices you thought you knew, but you couldn’t make them out enough above your own pain. It overtook everything. You thought you saw through the blinding haze of torment a hand reach towards you in the darkness, a slow and soft thing, trying to reach out to you and connect. Maybe to help and comfort, or maybe to hurt you all the more.

Instantly a feral part of you lashed out in ferocity, trying with mad snaps of your brutally strong jaw and sharpened fangs to cut off the hand offering you the unknown. The basic, primal part of you needed to keep hands and touches away from you, terrified and railing against any more danger.

There would be no comfort from someone else, even through your pain you wouldn’t allow it.

But at some point sharp stabs took your breath away yet again before you felt a telltale sign of release. Someway and somehow once you were released, you were like a bat out of hell, running under some hell-driven necessity to try and out run this all-encompassing anguish.

It clung to you as you went. The faster your tormented steps went, the even worse it became. Eventually you were breathless, whimpering and howling all over again, collapsing onto the ground in a blacken, blood-matted mess on the ground.

Digging claws into the ground you tried to move forward, tried to get more distance between you and pain, but you just couldn’t. You whimpered and begged for the pain to end, but it didn’t. Relief didn’t come until the pain overwhelmed every single ounce of your body and soul, and unconsciousness overtook you.

_______

That primal part of you, that frantic and brutal part of your mind that refused to let in any possibility of danger, clung to you like a vice. It gripped you as fast and unrelenting as the pain that would not leave your body.

“Y/N, please,” Tony pleaded, coming up from behind Bruce, one of several in audience on the other side of the glass from you. “Let us help you.”

But you could still feel it. Even curled up on the floor in a small med bay room, you couldn’t escape it.

The feel of metal locking you in, poisoning your body and mind, stabbing so deep into you that it felt like it split you apart. It left you open and exposed and vulnerable, the jaws of the trap sinking down into intimate places that should never have been touched.

You had the feeling of waking up on the quinjet, restrained and furious and unable to fight it. You were locked down and unable to move or run. You were powerless to know what was happening, too out of your mind to put anything together. All you felt was pain and voices and hands touching you, digging into the intimate places all over again.

You felt it when they tried to get you to shift back to human form at the med bay, hands and metal holding you down while you struggled. You felt pressure on your open, bleeding body, hurting you all over again in attempts to heal you. But you didn’t know healing or rational thought, the poison and your instincts taking over and blaring a red alarm of warning and danger and the need to get away.

You felt trapped. You felt locked in. You felt any touch, any subtle brush of feel against your skin would snap and instead you would feel the cutting, stabbing pain all over again.

Your breath came short and hard and shallow, trying desperately to get in enough oxygen to push out the pain, but it never did. You heart still raced, your blood still boiled under your skin, sweat dripping down it. Your claws, fully extended in your human form, matched your sharp teeth, with golden eyes swirled with blood red now.

Those eyes saw through the glass, protecting the others from you and you from escaping. You saw the massive needle with unknown liquid in Bruce’s hand, the braces and shackles in Steve’s hand, Tony suited up in his Iron Man suit. The pleading in their eyes you didn’t see. The pain in their eyes you couldn’t acknowledge.

You used to notice it before. You used to hold their hand when they looked like that. You used to comfort them.

When the door open your body shook with the simultaneous need to break free from this room and them, and recoiling back at the presence of someone approaching.

It was Bucky, hands up, feigning calm and submission, edging closer. He squatted down a few feet from the door while you growled and strained, claws shrieking out a high pitched sound as they scratched along the tile.

“You’re in pain, Y/N,” he whispered to you. “Let me help you… Please.”

There was second of giving in. A second where you would have agreed. But the pain inside you reared its head again, sending out shooting pains that spanned your whole body. Your eyes went red and deadly, snarling at the man.

“No,” you snarled, this time finding your voice, low and venomous, before the pain threatening to pull you into unconsciousness again. “I’m the family pet… and you should... you should just put me down like one.”

You felt the tears falling and the shaking sprouting out from somewhere deep, taking over you. You breathed faster as snarls turned to sobs, feeling him move closer. The darkness creeping on the edge of your vision kept you from moving or fighting him back.

You could feel him beside you, body so close he was almost pressed up against you. But before unconsciousness took you, all he did was place one hand over yours, and the other on your knee.

When you woke, it was more of the same torment.

And again, after that.

Soon you were functioning, but only just. The pain wouldn’t release you, not fully and perhaps not ever. You cringed when people came close. You yelled and snapped at them, you screamed for death sometimes and space from all of them other times.

The whole team was at a loss without you really, giving you the space you snarled and demanded out of pain.

Tony had more panic attacks. Bruce had a harder time reigning in the Hulk. Steve smiled less and frowned more. Natasha threw herself into more missions. Thor plastered on a fake smile and talked as though everything was fine. Sam was more withdrawn.

But Bucky stayed with you.

Once you were on the bathroom floor, claws scratching the side of the bathtub and teeth sunk into your lip to keep from screaming in pain. Bucky found you though, arms wrapping around you as you were hunched and crumpled. You fought him for a moment, struggling and twisting with your tears splashing over the bathroom floor and walls at the effort. But soon enough you gave into him and his gentle touch. In that moment he held you together while you broke apart.

Sometimes he couldn’t though. Sometimes you pushed him away, yelling at him and shutting him out, pain lashing bitingly and bitterly against every cell in you.

But you always left your door open. And he always came back.

To place a hand on yours. To whisper something soft and gentle in your ear. To gather you up off the ground and hold you close. To ease your trauma bit by bit in hopes it would eventually dissipate, just as you had once eased his.

_______

A/N: So if that ended too angsty for you, just reread the “Then keep spoiling me” part up until they kiss then just stop there lol. Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know??

Permanent Tag List: @dontpanc @smodvocate @bunsterjonez @buckybonky @marveloustrashpanda @hangirl93 @captainrogerrsbeard @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @thisgirllikeme @jjsoccer11 @innerpandablizzard-blog @fanatic-fanfic @mdgrdians @christinky @universal-death-of-a-fangirl @cauraphernelia @ailynalonso15 @cassiopeia-barrow @1elboomdemsechevarria @cameronskywalker @rogrsnbarnes @verygraphicink @onlyanothersocialcasualty @lisalisa007

Bucky Barnes Tag List: @bexboo616 @kaaatniss @lost-in-translating @emabookcookie @crazybutconfidentaf @jitterbuck

Join my tag list

[txnysheart]

let’s get on with living (while we can) [7]

chapter 7: i intend to hold you for the longest time

word count: 6815

warnings: chemo, chemo side effects, homophobia

summary: the press start speculating about steve and tony’s absence from the public, peter goes through his second round of chemo, and there’s a press conference

read on ao3: x

playlist: x

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9

series masterlist | masterlist

━━━━━━━━

ARE THE SUPERHERO HUSBANDS RETIRING? - Originally Posted on 29 Oct 2017, at 19:57

Sierra Nelson BuzzFeed Staff - Tony and Steve Stark-Rogers not making any public appearances for the past three and a half weeks has, understandably, started a flow of rumors. Avid fans have theorized everything from holidays to assassinations. However, the most popular theory is that this is the end of their careers as superheroes and the beginning of a comfortable retirement.

Tony is over halfway through his forties - I know, we can’t believe it either - and Steve will be an entire century old next year. The superhero business is a very dangerous and taxing one, so it would be understandable that they’d want to quit now, after all these years of risking their lives to keep civilians safe.

As much as they’ve earned a it, saving the world and whatnot, there are a few things that just don’t add up with the retirement theory.

First of all, they haven’t made any public statements about it. They were not part of the fight that took place right outside New York City two days ago. Only Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, James Rhodes and Sam Wilson were present. People were, and still are, expecting an explanation as to why neither Tony or Steve Stark-Rogers were on the scene, but so far; nothing.

Another point that has been made is that their teenage son, Peter Stark-Rogers, has also been absent from the public for just as long as his parents. While not much is known about the boy, we all know seeing him out with his dads, or other Avengers, is a common occurrence, as well as seeing him outside the tower as he heads to and returns from school. This has led some to believe that they could have moved to a more remote city no one has figured out where is yet, since Peter would obviously have to attend school somewhere.

Something many have suggested is that this is nothing more than a successful attempt at a secret vacation. After the incident two years ago where the paparazzi figured out the address of their holiday home in Malibu, it would make perfect sense for them to do their best to keep their travel plans private. No one will ever forget the iconic video of the couple telling the paparazzi off rather aggressively. Rightfully so, as they had snuck into the backyard, spooking their then 14-year old son who had been out there by himself.

So, the questions are many. Have we seen the last of Iron Man and Captain America in action? Are they on vacation? Are they just keeping a low profile? Or is something else going on?

Peter had just been scrolling on his phone, but handed it over to Tony when he saw the article. Tony held the phone in his left hand - he’d finally gotten the cast off the previous day.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asked suspiciously as she eyed Tony’s skeptical expression.

“Press is speculating about why Steve and I haven’t been seen in public for a while,” he sighed, handing the phone over to Steve.

“What’s it say?” Sam asked, leaning forward. Everyone else was listening now too.

Bucky, Natasha, Sam, Pepper, Rhodey and Happy were all spending the day with Peter, Tony and Steve, seeing as the second round of chemo would begin the next day. They often popped in for short visits, but Steve had invited everyone over for dinner to take Peter’s mind off of things. By things, he really meant chemo.

“Just theories about why no one’s seen us. Looks like it’s tied between retirement and secret vacation,” Tony told them.

“Secret vacation would make sense, though. I mean, after what happened in Malibu,” Rhodey commented.

“A repeat of that, and I might actually kill the paparazzi this time,” Tony muttered, not forgetting how much they’d scared Peter anytime soon.

“That makes two of us,” Steve agreed with raised eyebrows and slightly tense body language.

“Yeah, that was… not fun,” the boy agreed, a tad bit uncomfortable thinking back to the event, and adjusted his beanie. He was rarely seen without it now.

“Quite the understatement, kid,” Steve commented when he gave him his phone back.

“Can I see that, Peter?” Pepper asked, already planning out an approach to this in her head. “Thanks,” she smiled when he gave her the phone. Reading over the article swiftly, she soon handed it back, and straightened up, suddenly looking very professional.

“Alright, what we need to do is to make some sort of public announcement, or they’ll just keep on speculating. I’m thinking a small press conference where I choose who get to be there so we know that whoever’s there are serious reporters. No tabloids, no people who’ve written or spoken negatively about you before, etcetera,” she suggested, but knew everyone would agree.

“You’re the expert when it comes to this. Sounds very good, Pep,” Tony approved.

“But what do we tell them? How specific are we?” Steve asked to clarify.

“We don’t lie, but they don’t need all the details,” she continued, and then made eye contact with Peter. “And you’re old enough to be part of deciding how much you want the press knowing. If you want them to know what’s going on with you, that’s okay, but we could also just tell them that there’s a personal emergency. They don’t need to know everything right now.”

“Yeah… Yeah, that last option sounds good,” Peter decided hesitantly. Pepper knew that they’d eventually have to come clean about what was happening, but didn’t say it out loud.

“Who’s gonna be holding the press conference?” Bucky asked. He was leaning back in the couch, arms crossed. Natasha was sitting next to him, cross legged, one knee resting on his thigh.

“Would you two do it?” Pepper asked Tony and Steve, who both nodded.

“Definitely,” Steve confirmed, then looking down at a tense Peter next to him. “You don’t have to be there,” he assured him.

“Good,” he breathed out, not at all fond of crowds. Especially not ones where he would be the center of attention.

“I’ll arrange it for Tuesday,” Pepper said, looking around the room to see if anyone disagreed. Tony shook his head.

“That would be great, but… chemo’s Monday through Wednesday. We can’t leave Peter.” The boy squirmed at his Dad’s words, feeling like a bother.

“Oh, god. Sorry. I- Sorry, it completely slipped my mind for a second,” Pepper apologized, realizing she’d gone full work mode and forgotten about the actual nature of the situation.

“Thursday could work,” Steve suggested. “If someone could look after Pete while we’re gone.”

“I’m not a baby,” Peter protested lazily.

“No, but you’re not gonna be feeling well,” Tony told him, even though he knew Peter knew.

“Right.” He looked uncomfortable at the thought. He’d rather forget about it for as long as he could.

“We’re watching the press conference together, obviously, so we’ll all be here with him,” Natasha said, as if stating the obvious.

Peter was relieved, but also a bit reluctant to let them see him at his worst. Even if it would only be for an hour or so, it could turn out to be just when he’s puking his insides out. He wasn’t keen on anyone having to be there for that.

“Good. Good, thank you,” Tony smiled. How he’d ended up with such great friends, he’d never understand. Natasha sent him a half smile, a little put off by the way he was acting. The snarky, sarcastic Tony had faded away rapidly the past few weeks, and the change was kind of unnerving. She’d kill for a ‘thank you’ packed into a joke at her expense. There’d never been any doubt that Tony cared about his family and friends more than anything. But he’d always shown it in his own distinct way. Not like this.

“Sure. Anytime.”

────────

“You’ve lost some weight, Peter,” Doctor Anne Reynolds said, her face expressing gentle concern when he stepped off the scale. Before each round of chemotherapy, he had to go through a few standard tests; a scan of his lungs, a physical examination, and a weighing.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Peter said sheepishly.

“It’s alright, I know it’s difficult to eat. What kind of foods have you had?”

“Uhm, it- it hasn’t been very varied,” he chuckled. “I’ve had a lot of smoothies and milkshakes. And pancakes and, uh… soggy corn flakes.”

“You’d be surprised how many people’s go-to food is soggy cereal,” Anne smiled reassuringly, writing down what he told her. “Well, everything is set. I’ll give you more antinausea drugs this time, that sound good?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

After a last minute trip to the toilet, he settled in the same comfortable chair he sat in last time. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like this part,” Anne apologized when she saw Peter squeezing his eyes shut at the sight of the IV. “You’re lucky you’ve got good veins, so I don’t have to stab you five times to get it right.” That got a slight laugh out of the boy. “There. All done!”

He relaxed his tense body, leaning back in the chair. “Bring on the drugs,” he smirked playfully, trying to hide how nervous he was. The first time he’d been scared because it was all new. He didn’t know what to expect, other than it being not nice. This time he was scared because he knew what it’d be like: very not nice. Maybe even less nice than last time.

With even more antinausea medication than the first time, he became really drowsy, curling up into a ball. Steve and Tony spoke softly to him, and by the time he was switched over to the chemo drugs, he was half asleep. He fell asleep shortly after, and was only really awake to drink water. When awake, he recognized the warm sensation murmuring in his body that Anne had explained was completely normal, and nothing to worry about. It was constant, almost buzzing, and even though he’d describe it as warm, he still felt cold. He was wrapped up in a thick duvet, and was, as always nowadays, wearing his beanie.

It was Steve who woke him up when it was time to move to the bedroom. He blinked tiredly up at him. God, he looked so young. “We’re just gonna move to bed, and then you can go back to sleep,” he explained, putting an arm behind his back to gently push him to sit up properly. “And Dad has pills for you that’s gonna help even more with the nausea later.”

“Mhm,” Peter acknowledged, stretching his legs out; they were pretty stiff after being curled up for hours.

“You good to walk?” Steve asked just to be sure.

“Mhm. Yeah, I’m good,” he yawned as he planted his sock-clad feet on the ground. “Where’s Dad?”

“In the bedroom,” Steve told him with a smile. Peter was adorable when he was tired. Shuffling his feet, he eventually made it there, Tony ready by the bed to tuck him in.

“You just go back to sleep,” Tony whispered, making sure the boy was comfortable, and kissed his forehead. With closed eyes, Peter reached one hand up to pull his beanie off, dropping it next to his pillow before dozing off.

Biting his cheek, Tony held back tears with a slight grimace on his face. It was so obvious - too obvious - now how sick Peter was, and he hated thinking about it so much. He absolutely despised it. Still, he couldn’t stop looking at him. His son. His only son. Probably the only child he’d ever have. And that was more than enough - he didn’t need anyone else. Peter was all he wanted. All he could ever wish for, and so much more.

I won’t ask why, he reminded himself.

“You okay?” Steve asked quietly, observing his husband. Tony shook his head.

“No.”

“Me neither.” Steve tugged at his hand, making him turn around so he could see his face properly. He didn’t like the hazy look in his eyes. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, voice so full of emotion, yet so quiet. His fingers danced over Tony’s cheekbone.

“I won’t. I’m right here.” Even though he was whispering, it was clear that he was sincere. And determined not to dissociate again. Steve was too, and brought him to their bed in the same room. None of them planned on sleeping - Peter could wake up at any given time - but Steve just wanted to hold him. To keep him firmly grounded. Tony let him; letting his husband dominate his senses. They breathed.

Steve hummed a melody Tony only recognized because he’d hummed it to him before. A part of him wanted to ask him what song it was, but he didn’t. If he did, it wouldn’t be special anymore.

The lights were dimmed - dark enough for Peter to sleep undisturbed, but bright enough for his dads to be able to see him. They were both faced towards him, Steve spooning Tony, holding him tightly.

“When he was little, I used to just watch him sleep. I… I didn’t sleep much, so I’d just sit and watch him,” Tony mumbled, eyes never leaving Peter. The way he let his sentence hang in the air told Steve that he wasn’t done talking. He just needed to organize his thoughts. “Always made him look even younger than he is,” he settled on.

“Mhm. Looks like a baby when he sleeps. Even now.” His voice was slightly muffled by Tony’s hair, and he used the opportunity to place a couple of kisses to the back of his husband’s head. Tony reciprocated by bringing Steve’s hand that was resting on his stomach to his lips, leaving feathery kisses on his knuckles, then cradling said hand to his chest.

How much time had passed when a noise from Peter caught their attention, they weren’t sure of, but they were up right away to see if something was wrong. By the time they reached his bedside, he was sitting up.

“Are you gonna be sick?” Steve asked, a hand on his shoulder. The boy’s face scrunched up.

“Not sure. Probably,” he mumbled. His face paled. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Tony grabbed the plastic bucket from right next to the bed, bringing it up to hold under Peter’s chin just in time. As he threw up, tears rolled down his face, and he sobbed whenever he got a break, which in turn had him panicking because he couldn’t catch his breath.

“You gotta breathe, sweetheart,” Steve coaxed when Peter’s throwing up paused for a little while. His breath hitched, making him cough, but he got a good, albeit shaky, deep breath, and it calmed him down a little; stopped his crying. Another deep breath, and then he was heaving into the bucket again, his stomach nearly empty, and then there was only bile coming up. It burned in Peter’s throat.

When nothing was left, Peter was still dry heaving, unable to stop his stomach from spasming, and he was crying again. He absolutely despised that part. It went on for at least a minute, and then he was breathing heavily, feeling exhausted. “I’m done,” he sighed, letting himself be pulled into Steve’s side while Tony went to clean the bucket.

“Honey, will you get him his toothbrush?” Steve called out.

“Sure thing,” Tony confirmed, flushing the contents of the bucket down the toilet.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asked Peter, voice low and comforting.

“‘m okay. Really tired,” Peter mumbled into his chest, and it was just something about the way that he was slumped against him that made him tighten his grip around the boy and take hold of his legs to carefully hoist him into his lap. “Not a baby,” Peter attempted to protest, but the way he relaxed in his Pops’ arms betrayed his words. His face was pressed into Steve’s shoulder, and Steve was drawing slow circles on his back.

The endearing scene made Tony swoon when he came back into the room with the - now clean - bucket and Peter’s toothbrush.

Not even two minutes later, Peter was tucked back in, having brushed the acidic taste in his mouth away, and he’d swallowed an antinausea pill which he was begging would work.

When he’d dozed off again, the dads were still at his bedside, and Tony lifted his hand up hesitantly. He drew it back, letting it linger in the air. He almost put it back down in his lap, but decided against it, bringing it to Peter’s head.

Ever since they’d shaved his head, Peter hadn’t let anyone touch it, and always wore a beanie in the day. But the way he leaned into the touch even in his sleep, had Tony and Steve smiling. Tony lightly drew figures with his fingers, consumed by the way his son reacted to it; the same way he always had.

The usual feel of his soft curls was gone, and it felt a little strange to caress his son’s bald head, but he still adored it. Anything that’d make Peter feel better, Tony would do, and that was no secret. Steve would too, and was just as captivated at the scene in front of him as his husband.

Quietly scooching his chair closer to Tony’s, he latched onto the arm that wasn’t occupied with Peter, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Tired, honey?” Tony whispered, turning his head to look down at his husband.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled with a smile, meeting Tony’s eyes for a couple of seconds before looking back down at Peter, content to just sit there watching him. “Love you, Tony,” he whispered.

“Sap,” Tony smirked, but still placed a kiss to the side of his head.

“Sure,” Steve laughed softly, tightening his grip on Tony’s arm a little.

────────

There was a knock on their bedroom door fairly early in the morning. Being the least groggy of the three, Steve got up and opened the door.

“Morning, Doctor. Everything alright?” he smiled politely at Anne who was holding a plastic bag.

“Oh, yeah, all good. I brought something for Peter. Is it okay if I come in for a bit?” she asked cheerily.

“Sure, of course. Pete just woke up.” Steve stepped aside, opening the door wider to let Anne into their room. She always had a smile on her face, and it was contagious.

“Good morning,” Tony greeted her from the chair next to Peter’s bed.

“Hey, Anne,” sounded the boy, giving her a wave. He was sitting up in bed, messing around with his phone.

“Sleep well?” she asked, sitting down in a chair on the other side of the bed. Steve sat down next to Tony.

“Yeah, pretty well. Only woke up a couple times, and fell right back to sleep,” Peter confirmed, pleased with at least feeling rested.

“Threw up?”

“Yeah,” Peter grimaced, “but it’s fine. Less than last time.”

“Well, good. ‘Cause I brought you something.

“Oh?”

“Mhm. You said you hadn’t been eating very varied, right?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, curious as to what she’d brought.

“So, I brought some other foods I think you might like.” The plastic bag she had put down by her feet rustled as she picked it up to put on her lap. “Get that overbed table, would you?” she asked Tony. It was right next to him, against the wall, so he was able to grab it without getting up, wheeling it so it was over Peter’s lap. “Thank you, Tony.” Both men had insisted on being called by their first name, just as Anne had.

First thing she put on the table was a small lidded plastic bowl of fruit salad. “I just brought small samples of everything, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you won’t like even half of it,” she chuckled. “But I think this is a great way to figure out more things you can eat so you don’t grow tired of the same things over and over again.

“Soggy corn flakes is getting a little boring,” Peter admitted.

“Good! Means you’re open to trying some new foods. This fruit salad doesn’t have anything with really strong flavors. Just bananas, pears, watermelon, honeydew and, uh, dragon fruit actually! Looks really exciting, but doesn’t taste much.”

“That sounds good, actually,” the boy smiled, taking the lid off the bowl to taste.

“You don’t have to taste it all now, I’ve got a few more options I’m gonna leave here for you, so no rush,” she explained, receiving a nod from Peter who took an experimental bite of watermelon. All three adults were very pleased when he gave a thumbs up.

“Next up is chicken,” Anne announced, pulling up a rectangle plastic box. “Skinless and boneless, and,” she pulled up another box, “you can have mashed potatoes with it.”

Peter nodded fairly enthusiastically, not even noticing the fact that he’d eaten five entire pieces of fruit. Steve and Tony looked excited at their son eating, and were so very grateful to have a doctor who truly cared about Peter.

“And then the less exciting counterpart to what you’re eating right now.” Another box was placed on the overbed table. “Normal salad. But, you might be surprised, this treatment can change up your tastebuds, so maybe you’ll love it!”

She proceeded to pull up a plain sandwich, applesauce, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, and even some mints and hard candy. “It can help with nausea,” she explained, sending a sneaky wink in Peter’s direction.

“You’ve got an entire buffet here, kid,” Tony chuckled, looking at all the different foods on the table. “Thank you so much, Anne,” he said sincerely, gratefulness gleaming in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she waved away, getting up from the chair. “I’ll get going, but I’ll see you guys in a few hours. Don’t eat it all at once, Peter,” she joked, and walked to the door. Peter laughed, waving at her before she closed the door behind her.

“You really liked that fruit salad, huh?” Steve asked, surprised, but happy to see that there was only one piece of fruit left. It wasn’t a big portion by any means, but Peter evidently enjoyed it.

“Yeah, guess I did,” Peter agreed, just as surprised as Steve when he realized the piece of dragon fruit he just picked up was the last one. He popped it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before speaking again. “Don’t think I wanna try anything more right now, though. Can we put it away for later?”

“Sure, I’ll go put it in the fridge,” Tony said, stacking up the boxes so they’d be easy to carry.

While Tony was out of the room, Steve noticed the way Peter kept wringing his hands together quite harshly. “You okay, Petey?” he asked, and Peter looked confused when he met his eyes.

“What?” Steve gestured to his hands. “Oh, my hands just hurt a little.”

“Want me to massage them?”

“Could you?” Peter almost sounded desperate, and Steve furrowed his brows.

“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And, to him, it was. Peter held out his hands, and Steve took hold of his right one first, kneading it gently. The boy sighed with relief at the feeling, visibly relaxing back into the bed that kept him sitting up. His eyes were closed, and the corner of his lips were curled upwards in a barely-there smile.

Getting back from his trip to the nearby kitchen, Tony looked on from the door for a few seconds, a little lost in how content Peter looked before Steve beckoned him over. “Sit on the other side of him,” he told his husband, and Tony did so. “His hands hurt,” he explained, lifting Peter’s hand up to show Tony he was massaging it.

“Mhm,” Peter confirmed sleepily, and Tony laughed fondly as he reached for his son’s other hand. Both men were happy to keep massaging his hands until they had to get ready for the chemo session of the day.

They’d do anything for him.

────────

Come Wednesday evening, and Peter was back to being absolutely worn out. Him feeling so well at the beginning of the second round on chemo had only been false hope. He’d barely been able to sleep, his bones and muscles had ached, and he’d thrown up a lot. But, he’d become quite fond of fruit, and ate quite a bit of that, to everyone’s relief.

When Tony had gotten the wheelchair from the corner of the bedroom, Peter hadn’t even protested. He just slumped down in it, feeling faint. Tony pushed him about ten feet before Peter shifted uncomfortably. “Wait. Wait, I’m gonna be sick,” he warned, sitting up straighter, and Steve was thankfully able to get the plastic bucket in time. Bags forgotten on the floor, Steve kneeled in front of Peter, while Tony tried soothing him with soft words and comforting touches to the back of his neck.

Leaning back, Peter was out of breath. “Done,” he sighed. “Sorry.”

“I’m about to ban that word, Pete,” Tony smirked, a hand on Peter’s cheek, and was delighted to be rewarded with a laugh. He dried away the tears on Peter’s face, and kissed his forehead.

“That was quick,” Tony commented when Steve was back by his side. He’d gone to rinse the bucket and put it back.

“Met one of the really nice nurses, uh… what’s his name? Tall, with that tattoo.”

“Oh! Uhm, Leonard?”

“That’s it! Yeah, he insisted on taking care of it so I could get back to you guys.”

“Well, that’s very nice of him,” Tony smiled as Steve picked their bags up from the floor. “You know, I could take one of them,” he offered, pushing Peter along, who was half asleep.

“Nonsense. What’s the point of having super strength if I can’t carry all the bags?”

“You’re right. That’s the sole purpose of the serum, obviously.”

“Yeah, you dum-dum.”

“My favorite insult,” Tony snickered. “So clever, babe.”

“You’re the brains. I’m just here for brawn.” Steve was barely containing his laughter, and Tony shook his head as he chuckled.

“So you’re saying you’re the dum-dum?”

“I’ll take it; that’s my own fault for making it too easy.”

“You’re both dum-dums,” Peter mumbled, eliciting surprised laughter from his dads, and earning himself a playful flick to the ear from Tony.

“I suppose we are,” Steve sighed, big smile on his face.

────────

With Tony and Steve having just left for the press conference, Peter was sitting on the couch next to Rhodey, leaning his head on his shoulder. One look at the tired the boy had Rhodey lifting his arm to let Peter rest against his side instead. It was a familiar feeling. Peter had always been a cuddle-bug with the people closest to him, and Rhodey had always been one of those people.

Natasha sat down on the other side of Peter, a bowl full of pieces of fruit in her hand for Peter. He hadn’t had much to eat that day, so Steve and Tony had encouraged them to feed him while they were gone. They even left a list of foods Peter liked, which now consisted of soggy cornflakes, smoothies, milkshakes, pancakes, fruit without too much taste, scrambled eggs, and chicken.

“If you need anything, or if you don’t feel good, you let us know, okay?” Rhodey said, lightly squeezing Peter’s upper arm.

“I’m good for now. But, uh… I should probably have a bucket here in case I need to throw up,” Peter told him, a little embarrassed at the last part, but no one else minded. “There’s one in my room.”

“I’ll go get it,” Bucky offered, getting up from next to Natasha, discreetly caressing her hair as he walked past her. The corners of her mouth lifted at the gesture, and she let her eyes follow him until he was out of the room.

Sam emerged from the kitchen with two smoothies; one for Peter and one for himself. “Here you go, kiddo,” he said, holding one out for Peter, but Rhodey reached out and got it instead. “You better not steal it from him,” Sam teased, and Rhodey put his hands up in a show of innocence when he’d passed it to Peter. He sat down in a lounge chair close to the couch.

When Bucky got back, he put the bucket next to couch, within reach from his place next to Natasha. She mumbled something in Russian that made him smile, and his response had her rolling her eyes fondly.

────────

“And you’re sure you’ve got this?” Pepper asked Tony for the third time.

“Yes, Pep, I’m sure. Don’t worry. Really.”

“Can’t help it. You’ve got quite the history with press conferences,” Pepper smirked, and got a small chuckle from Steve who was adjusting his tie.

“True, but this is about Peter.”

“I know. You two are gonna do great,” she smiled. “I’ll go and introduce you.”

Just as Pepper had said, it was a pretty exclusive press conference, with no more than twenty reporters in the room. Some were with newspapers, while others were with TV channels, so there were a few cameras there ready to capture the event. It was being held in a room in the compound that’d been used for press conferences on several occasions; perfect for it with a stage for everyone to be able to see them.

“Do I look okay?” Steve asked, wanting his husband’s approval before they went on national television.

“Perfect,” he smiled, running one hand down Steve’s chest to straighten his tie. And also just because he could. “Do I?”

“‘Course you do.”

A short kiss was shared before they turned their attention to Pepper, who soon waved them out on stage. “Good luck,” she whispered when she passed them.

They’d planned for Tony to open, so he stood in front of the microphone, leaning his forearms on the podium.

“Thank you, Pepper. Well, as you all know, we’ve been out of the public for a few weeks now. And, no, we haven’t been on holiday. Nor have we been abducted by aliens, or assassinated by the Illuminati,” he joked to set the mood to a light one. “And we’re not retiring either.” When he said that, his breath caught in his throat just a little. He hadn’t given it any thought. The world just might’ve seen the last of Iron Man and Captain America. For them to come back after all this, there’d have to be a miracle.

“But, as of right now, because of a personal emergency, it’s not possible for us to take part in usual Avengers business, or leave the Compound.” Tony took a step to the side to let Steve take over.

“While we’re dealing with this, we can assure you that the safety of the public is in good hands. As you all saw last week, they can manage better than fine without us.” He looked to Tony, wondering if he should say anything more, but he just shrugged. Steve nodded towards the reporters, a silent question of whether they should just open for questions now. Tony approved with his own nod, so Steve addressed them again.

“Any questions?”

A bunch of hands shot up, and Tony picked one out randomly. “You, with the blue and white tie. On the left.”

The man stood up. “Can you tell us who this emergency is about?” he asked.

“Not at the moment, no, just that it’s someone close to us” Steve answered. Short and to the point.

The next reporter was chosen. “How much longer will you be confined to the Compound?”

“We’re not sure. It’ll probably be a good while.”

Another reporter. "Is there a reason you've specifically chosen the Compound?"

"This place has its perks. We also thought it was best to get out of the city."

They kept asking questions, politely attempting to get more information out of them, but with Steve in charge of answering their questions, they got nothing else than the exact amount of information they’d agreed on sharing for now.

In a very out-of-character way - at least to the press - Tony stood to the side in courteous silence. However, one particular question had him taking over the microphone without hesitation.

“There have been rumors that you’ve put your son into the foster care system, is this true?”

“Absolutely not,” he denied firmly, but didn’t want to let him keep the attention, so he looked through the room to pick out the next one, but the same reporter kept talking.

“Wouldn’t that be for the best, though? I mean, with your lifestyles…” he trailed off, gesturing to them, and the room started murmuring.

From the tone of the question, Tony and Steve both had a feeling that he wasn’t talking about them risking their lives on the job, and the smaller man swallowed thickly before speaking into the microphone again. “Because we‘re Avengers?” he still asked, with a disapproving frown and tight jaw, hands clenching down on the podium until his knuckles turned white.

“No, no, it’s just,” he chuckled, but no one else at all were amused, “don’t you think he should get to grow up in a proper family?”

With ice cold eyes, Tony stared at him, doing his best to stay calm. “We are a proper family. I’m not gonna waste my time trying to get through your thick homophobic skull, so just get out.”

“What? Oh, come on-”

“I’m not joking. Leave of your own volition or I’ll have someone remove you.”

He muttered something to himself, a certain slur starting with an ‘f’, as he turned to pack his stuff up, but didn’t take Steve’s enhanced senses into account which were laser-focused on him. The soldier’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief of what he’d just heard that man refer to his husband as.

“Hey!” he called out, away from the microphone, but voice loud enough to carry across the room, catching his attention again. “Don’t you dare call my husband that. Don’t call anyone that,” he warned. "I don't think you understand how offensive that word is." He had a protective hand on Tony’s back who looked slightly confused. Steve cleared his throat, pulling himself together before calmly speaking to the crowd through the microphone. “I think we’ve answered enough questions for today. Thank you all for coming and being so polite. I apologize. Please respect our privacy and don’t speculate any further about our public absence.” He led Tony off the stage to where Pepper was anxiously waiting for them.

“Did he call him… you know-” she began, but refused to say the actual word.

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed, disgust clear in his voice.

“I’m really sorry. This is my fault, I let them send him instead of the person I requested, I’m so sorry-” she rambled, distraught at what had just happened.

“You couldn’t have known,” Tony cut her off, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The only one here who’s done anything wrong is that nimrod. Not you.”

She sighed, sending them a smile that didn’t really reach her eyes before excusing herself when someone called her over.

Tony held Steve’s hand and looked up at him. “You didn’t have to do that, babe. I didn't even hear it. And I’ve been called worse,” he mumbled, just loud enough for Steve to hear. The look he had in his eyes was one reserved for his husband and no one else.

The words Tony thought would make the situation better only made Steve’s face crumple in disapproval. Not of Tony, but of anyone who’d ever made him feel like that. “That doesn’t make it better. It just makes me feel sure that calling him out was the right thing to do.” He made circles on the back of Tony’s hand with his thumb, lost in his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time. “I’ll always stand up for you.”

“I love you,” Tony whispered, squeezing his hand.

“I love you too.” Steve kissed his forehead.

With them in the room were a few people working, hurrying around, directed by Pepper; none of them really having time to notice the pair’s intimate moment at the edge of the room.

“Let’s get back to Peter,” Steve smiled, pulling Tony by his hand with him to the elevator.

Once the doors closed and they were by themselves, Tony placed his hands on Steve’s chest, and lifted himself up on his toes to whisper into his ear. “That was really hot.” A kiss to his neck and he got back down to his regular height, smirking up at Steve who was sporting an open-mouthed, lopsided smile along with wide, delighted eyes.

He collected himself, walking forward until Tony was trapped between him and the elevator wall. “Yeah?” he asked, voice low and gravelly, pressed up against him; now he was the smug one. Tony might pretend to be offended whenever Steve pointed out how much smaller he was than him, but Steve was very well aware of the fact that Tony actually enjoyed the size difference. A lot.

“Mhm. Now kiss me, we’re only going a few floors up,” a flustered Tony spluttered out, pulling him down before he could say anything more. They fit together as perfectly as ever, and the kissing grew heated within seconds. Hands exploring known territory, soft sounds of approval being swallowed by each other, and then they were startled apart by the ding announcing that they’d reached their floor.

Composing themselves, they felt like teenagers as they walked out of the elevator, heading for their apartment where they knew Peter was waiting along with everyone else. Except Pepper who was still working on getting everything back to normal at the compound after the press conference, and Happy who was doing his job as head of security. Just outside the front door, Steve pulled him in for another kiss, cradling his neck, one arm around his waist. Tony melted into him, and stayed glued to his side even after they pulled away.

Upon opening the door, they could hear everyone talking, and when Peter laughed, it was like nothing else mattered. They just wanted to see him happy.

And he was. His back leaning against Rhodey’s side, the man’s arm resting across his chest, and feet on Natasha’s lap, he was tiredly grinning. Everyone was happy.

Peter noticed that they’d gotten back and his smile got impossibly more radiant.

“Hey, Petey-pie,” Tony laughed softly as he walked over to Peter to place a kiss on the top of his head - well, the beanie.

“Hi, Dad. You guys were great.” He paused as if he suddenly remembered something. “But that guy was such a dick-”

“Oi!”

“-like what does he think this is? The nineteenth century? I’m so tired of people like him spewing bullshit like that. Like what- what does he even get out of it? It's not like-”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Pete,” Steve cut him off, kneeling in front of him, before he could work himself up about it. He always did when someone insulted his dads purely based on the fact that they happened to be not straight. “There’s always gonna be people like him. And that’s okay, because we know that he’s wrong. The only reason I got so mad was because of what he called Dad. You're smart, so I assume you’ve figured out what it was?”

“Yeah,” the boy whispered.

“You gotta pick your battles. And, for me, this was one of the ones worth picking. That word just… It stings a lot more than other words. Okay?”

Peter nodded, feeling a little bummed out thanks to that reporter, but Rhodey was there and he was ready to make it better.

“One thing’s for certain, Pete; you sure do have two badass dads,” Rhodey smiled. He looked up at Tony from where he was still confined to the couch by Peter resting against him. They shared a look, one with decades of friendship contained in it. Just a slight lift of one eyebrow, and Tony knew Rhodey was asking him if he was okay. He answered with a crooked smirk.

Peter ended up being carried to bed by Tony after he’d fallen asleep on Rhodey. Making sure he was comfortable, Tony then pulled his beanie off, having gathered that he liked sleeping without it. Steve looked on from where he was sitting on the end of the bed, hand protectively resting over Peter’s legs.

“We need sleep too, you know,” Steve whispered when it looked like Tony was about to grab Peter’s desk chair to settle down in it for the night. Tony paused.

“Yeah,” he admitted, slouching a little, not caring about keeping up appearances for his husband.

He followed Steve voluntarily to their bedroom, intertwining their hands on the way.

Once tucked into bed, Steve stayed awake, humming songs and stroking Tony’s back to help him fall asleep. It took a while, but Steve didn’t mind. He was just happy when his husband started snoring.

Small victories.

[strange-where-the-birds-go]

Lights At The Top Of The Stairs

Part 1.

I lived until I was 7 years old with my Nan. My nan and granddad were like my mum and dad and I loved them dearly. I frequently had strange dreams and occurrences happen to me as a child and they have only got stronger and stranger the older I got particularly the past few years. This recurring dream involved an old film camera and strangely enough an immense feeling of euphoric pleasure, fantastic experiences and visitors at weird times and in funny circumstances. The dream was one of three that I had all the time the first one happened when I was young and involved me taking photographs of lampposts, (I know I still don’t get it even now, maybe one day I may understand it’s strange. But it gets even stranger I assure you as you will no doubt find out if you follow the story. So strange you will probably find it all very hard to believe. But on my nans life and grave god bless her it’s all true. The lampposts featured in the dream was on the street where I lived as a child. The other two dreams and all the events in my life I want to explain, I will get to as I post these episodes each day. The synchronicity events and strangeness of it all should eventually become clear and leave you questioning things in your own life and what they may mean. Maybe you have had similair experiences as myself I am almost certain there will be people out there. Get in touch and comment I will be happy to reply.

Thinking from the present as I am writing this, I felt that my childhood dreams couldn’t be ignored but now looking back maybe they shouldn't have been followed considering what happened when I followed my dreams thinking it would be nothing but all good turned into something entirely different. Hopefully eventually I will understand why, what the dream meant, if anything at all. I hope it all becomes a happy positive event and not regretting my choices as I started to after the nightmare that entered my life.

It was a warm, hopeful summer, many years after the events I explain to you here that I remembered the childhood dreams. It was a summer where dreams seemed real and obtainable. I didn't want to be just another faceless nobody, with no real reason or meaning in my life. The idea of not doing anything worth while scared me, and that's all there was to it. The dream I had as a child was going to be followed with all my will, I just didn’t expect it to lead me where it eventually did. I just wanted to do well for my family. I can’t travel back and change things. I can now only hope for the best.

My mum gave birth to me at a young age and I went to live with my grandma. I called my grandma mum and always used to get my mum and nan’s names mixed up when I talked to them so this was the appropriate solution to me as a child. When I was living with my nan-mum I had a very strange dream whilst lying on my bed upstairs. I always until this day remember the dream. It’s what I influenced me me greatly to start my photographic journey.

I was settling down in the living room waiting for my Nan to come home. Strange visions and flashbacks in daydreams. knowledge I always wondered how I knew at a young age. My mum lived in a flat and felt it would be better on that I stayed with my nan while she worked to get money and a stable life for us. I was young anyway and loved my Nan and grandad and tonight I was looking forward to spending time with my them.

My Nan had been longer than usual this evening and I was getting worried. We were going to watch a spooky film together because it was Halloween. “Where’s nan gone Grandad” My 5 year old self said “ She’s ran off with the milk man” came the reply. I never really understood what this meant, just a funny remark at the time knowing my grandads humour.

The key turned in the front door and I felt better glad his Nan was home and safe. My grandad shouted “ be back later Mary there’s some money on top of the television if you need anything I wont be too long, going to speak to a man about some work tomorow” and with that my grandad went out on foot to the local for a few pints.

Nan took off her head scarf, quickly hung it up and threw her anorak over the back of the chair. She walked slowly towards the roaring coal fire to warm up her hands, carefully avoiding the tin bath prepared for the school bath earlier. She lit up a cigarette and sat in the chair opposite the brown veneered square TV set with the 50p box on the side slowly winding its way down ready for another hexagonal queens head. The air was stale, thick with smoke and the smell of cigarettes as she inhaled twice slowly blowing the smoke towards the ceiling and away from me. Feeling satisfied She turned to me. Ive got some jacket potatoes in the oven and treacle toffee, oh and toffee apples as well your favourite. I know its early but we can treat ourselves while we watch the movie, and why not”. “Thanks mum... nan”. I regularly stuttered and got names mixed up. “Thanks nan, are you looking forward to the scary move?” I can only remember seeing a large black Alsatian but having ominous feelings about this dog and the music in the film was eerie, more scary than the actual film at the time. We didn’t get to watch much of it. The tv went black and the 50p meter clicked loudly asking for another coin. Mary got up and went to the top of the tv looking for that big silver piece, inverted triangles that meet in the centre, in the pile of coins Grandad had left for nan “ I’m afraid we haven’t got any 50ps. We will have to wait until your grandad gets back now, isn’t that a shame I was enjoying that, Just when it was getting good as well”

I felt slightly fed up and walked into the kitchen to get a toffee apple. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway I peered up to the bedroom landing. More scared now than after watching the actual film. I was thinking of the lights that came. I didn’t understand what they were but they made me feel anxious and scared. I wouldn’t look straight up tothe top of the stairs as it was too scary I had to peer out from the corner of my eye to check everything was ok up there and when I realised it was I hurriedly half jumped half ran across the front door hallway into the kitchen not once looking behind until I was at the toffee apples in the cupboard. Then peeling the yellow plastic wrapper off the sticky apple I took a bite as quickly as possible making sure to get as much of that red toffee in my mouth as possible and avoid the sour apple. I started hopping on the spot needing the toilet. The dread filled me as I knew I couldn’t go on my own up those stairs towards where the light came from. The light might get me. “ NANN, MUMM, NANN. I need the toilet will you sit on the stairs whilst I go please I’m bursting. “OK, But you should be able to go yourself”. I stood at the gas iron cooker and waited until nanmum appeared at the bottom of the stairs so I could approach the crooked steps, the lights formed in my sub conscious worried that very real and strange wisp of light might make another appearance. WHAT WAS IT. I ran to the bathroom at the top of the crooked stairs, terrified of the light appearing. I knew how it felt, never threatening at all the last time in fact quite the opposite but I was young and the not knowing scared me. “Nan don’t move, stay sat there please, I’m watching, if you go I wont be able to have a wee”, “ I wont move an inch you know that I wont” “I knew she wouldn’t let me down and trusted her more than anything” I ran up the stairs as quickly as possible looking back every two steps to make sure she hadn’t gone. When reaching the top step I kept my head and eyes straight forward not daring to look right or left and quickly went to the toilet pushing outwards as fast as possible always keeping the door open and making a backward glance towards Her for reassurance. No quicker was I finished and I was halfway back down those stairs again breathing heavily with the exertion and back with his nan. “ Why do you do that”, she said “The light comes nan it scares me” “What light?” “ I cant tell you, I want to, but I cant tell you”. Nan rolled her eyes and said, “You’ve been watching too many horror movies at aunty carols your imagination is wild”. I didn’t even hear Marys remark I was just so relieved to be back beside his nan and safe again.

Nan eventually found a 50p and walked over to the meter fumbling to find the right angle, the perfect spot so it would wind and drop, it clicked and fell into the empty box readily, having been emptied the day before. The TV came to life and Mary switched over to coronation street. Hilda was sat with Stan underneath the triple flying ducks in the living room and it reminded Stefan of his nan and grandad, Gail was also my other mum. I always made these comparisons with everyone in the tv and read their names backwards. “thats enough scary movies for tonight said nan. I think its best don’t you” “Aww Nan I wanted to watch till the end”.

My nan didn’t answer. She just gave me that look. She always knew the answer it was a sort of instinct she had. A knowing. We connected like that. We rarely had to speak we both knew the other like the inside of a well read secret book. I always felt content around her, it was like she could read my mind and the looks she gave me spoke a thousand words resonating on a much deeper level. When you feel the answer with your subconscious voice, those continuous thoughts, in your mind you don’t have to speak but your heart knows.

I was getting sleepy now but my stress levels were rising with the thought of bedtime, they always did especially on a Sunday night, a school night brought depression. It wasn’t school though that scared me, a small part maybe, but it was knowing I had to go to bed early on my own and face the light and the vastness of open space. The people in my dreams. The place between awake and falling asleep where the strange existed. The light outside the door on the landing, so bright and beautiful it would fill my room when I shut my eyes. When it touched my mind I was taken away to an immense blackness of what seemed like outer space. Where feelings crossed over and smells mixed with colours in ultraviolet strings that wrapped around my arms and merged with needles that pierced the tips of my fingers in moments of pleasure accompanied by a peculiar watering of the mouth, a sickly feeling. Floating around in what seemed like an endless universe of random screen images. Pixelated people and smooth two dimensional places wrapped up in tubes of light. It made no sense at all but felt strange and infinite, never endingly good at the same instant. Chattering noises and a great feeling of love wrapped in greater love and surrounded by humanoid like shapes manipulating it like a Rubin’s cube in an instance where all time stood still. silence for what felt like an eternity of singular moments posed inside each other, but was only a second in reality. Not past, present or future but only “is”. The light was so bright and perfect it became transparent emotion to the pit of my soul. To me it was normal I thought everyone must get visits by the light people. I find it hard to explain the happenings now I’ve grown up, but as a child I just couldn’t comprehend what was happening and that night was the start of something strange and beautiful that led to the worst and best time of my life all wrapped into one. If only I understood it as I understand things now as I walked towards the crooked stairs.

[bastardsonofday]

Burn

heyo so im kinda new to the fandom (ive written one drabble about lucien and a therapy dog but this was like the first real fic i wrote for the fandom idk)

Warnings: Abuse/Confronting Abusers, and coercive rape mention

Basically Lucien doesn’t understand he’s part of the inner circle now whether he likes it or not

betaed by the wonderful @ilovebeingintroverted 

ffn    ao3

“This is impossible!” Rhys whined as he flopped back into his chair dramatically.

“It’s not impossible.” Feyre argued. She rubbed her eyes wearily and looks back over the seating chart. “Okay, now let’s try this again. If Kallias and Viviane are here-”

“Then Mor has to be next to them.” Cassian said as he looked over the chart. “But if Mor’s there, then Helion has to be…” Cassian glared at the seating chart as if that would help (it didn’t).

“Hmm...” Azriel said as he took a peek at the chart.

Rhys raised an eyebrow and glared at him. “Good hmm or bad hmm?” He asked as if he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“You forgot Tarquin.”

“No, Tarquin’s right here.” Feyre said, pointing to his place on the chart.

“No, his Ambassadors.”

It took the three other Fae a whole minute and a half before they understand what Azriel was referring to. “How could we forget!” Rhys groaned. “We were the ones who suggested he add the Ambassadors of his Lesser Fae subjects to his party so that we could formally introduce them into High Fae society!”

“I can’t believe we forgot them! Where the hell are we going to put them? We’d have to add a whole new table!” Feyre said in a similar tone to the one Rhys used.

Azriel shrugged. “Not my problem.” He said and he walked over to the couch area where Lucien sat, reading a book.

“They still at it?” Lucien asked.

Azriel nodded. “They forgot half of Tarquin’s party.” He explained.

A traitorous chuckle escaped Lucien before he could stop it. Azriel raised an eyebrow. “You think you can do better?” He asked.

Lucien rolled his eyes. He closed his book with a snap and stood up. He snapped his fingers at Azriel, beckoning him to follow him, and he walked over to the table where Cassian, Feyre, and Rhysand sat defeatedly.

Rhysand moved out of the way as Lucien bent over the table, Azriel standing behind him with crossed arms and an unimpressed look. Lucien frowned and turned to the Shadowsinger. “What do you know about her?” He asked, pointing to one of Kallias’s party.

“Sleeping with Helion’s Third. Why?”

Lucien turned to Rhysand. “What are you going for? Controlling and omniscient, or kind and welcoming?”

“Uh… kind and welcoming?”

“Huh, well that’s different. Tamlin always wanted to exert power.” Lucien mumbled. He cracked his knuckles and swept everyone off the board except Feyre and Rhysand’s nameplates. “Move.” He said to Rhysand, who stood and gave his chair to Lucien. Lucien then, over the course of fifteen minutes, replaced everyone, sometimes switching a few people after he asked Azriel for information. Finally he admired his work for a few seconds and then stood up from his chair.

Cassian bent over, scanning the board, a look of confusion marking his face. “This works!” He said surprised.

“Of course it works.” Lucien scoffed.

“How did you do that?” Feyre asked.

“I was an Emissary, Feyre, it was my job to know who got along and who didn’t. People didn’t call me fox boy for no reason.”

“Then how come you didn’t help with my wedding planning to Tamlin?”

“First, Ianthe was there, second, you never asked. And neither did Tamlin.” Lucien stretched. “Now, if that’s all I’ll be returning to my book.”

“Um, yeah.” Rhys said, “that’s all.”

“Good.” Lucien said, and then he went back over to the couches and sat back down, letting the rest of the world fall away as he read.

“-And so,” Rhysand said grandly, “we, the Inner Circle of the Night Court, invite you, our friends and allies and peers, to Starfall Weekend. To introduce Velaris we’ll have an evening on the House of Wind grounds, then tomorrow night we’ll be inviting you into the streets of Velaris to celebrate Starfall with the masses, and afterward since you’ll need a recovery day,” there were some chuckles, “the House of Wind will gladly be your refuge. But for now, we have nice weather, incorrigible company, and a beautiful night, and so, let’s eat!”

There was a rousing round of applause from most everyone (Beron was still too conflicted to do anything politely, but that was expected). Rhysand waved a hand and servants appeared, bringing food with them.

Lucien noticed as one of Tarquin’s Ambassadors put an arm on the servant serving them… Lucien silently chided himself for forgetting something as simple as this. Lucien stood and walked over to Feyre, he leaned down to her ear. “Tarquin is about to have a problem, either you or Rhysand should go over to him and his party and tell them that they’re employees who you pay fairly, or one of you should help bring in food to show it isn’t about status.” As Lucien finished his comment Tarquin stood and shot a warning look at his ambassadors, as if to say he would deal with the issue.

Feyre’s eyes widened and she stood suddenly, almost slamming into Lucien who dodged just in time. She hurried over to Tarquin to explain the situation and Rhys tried really hard not to slam his head repeatedly into the table out of embarrassment.

Lucien went back to his seat. He tried to relax but he couldn’t. Tamlin kept looking at him… with this glare that made Lucien want to punch him (but then again, Lucien wanted to punch Tamlin a lot, even when he was his friend at the time and that would be considered not friendly, but more recently the urge had become stronger and without platonic obligation he had nothing but himself to stop him). He had Elain and Azriel on one side (unavoidable with the seating, plus Lucien generally didn’t care who he sat next to) and Thesan’s Peregryn guards sat on his other side and both made him slightly uncomfortable.

But other than a few snags (like the fact that Peregryns apparently didn’t eat fish which no one but Thesan knew and neglected to tell the Inner Circle) everything went well for the first hour or so.

Then things started to go wrong.

Lucien knew that adding booze and music to the mix would be bad, but Rhys had wanted to lighten things up. He’d worried that just dinner would show that he wasn’t any fun, wouldn’t work with the theme of the invitation. So, booze and music it was.

Helion was the first drunk and the first on the dance floor, to no one’s surprise. But soon he was joined by more than half of the guests, those not dancing were sitting at empty chairs, talking with friends of theirs. Lucien lounged and watched, as that was what he did best. He sipped water from a champagne flute.

“Lucien! Long time, no see!” A Fae from Winter called. Lucien talked with him for a little while, watching Feyre and Rhysand giddily on the floor out of the corner of his eye. The Fae was swept away by a handsome Peregryn to dance and in his seat fell a delightfully flushed Elain.

Elain smiled at Lucien and held out a hand for his glass. Lucien gave it, and Elain drank deeply, little droplets of water dribbling from her mouth. She finished and sat the flute down, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “Thanks.” She said through heavy breathing.

Lucien tried very hard not to stare at her. She looked… happy. She smiled at him again, flushed and sweaty from dancing and booze. Lucien felt a trickle of happiness through the bond, like a sparkle of light in a dark night. Lucien would have to thank Azriel, he made her happy when Lucien couldn’t.

“You should dance.” She said.

Lucien shrugged. “It’s okay. I like sitting here.”

“I can feel it, you know, the calm… from you...”

“This...” Lucien waved a hand across the dinner tent. He had suggested outside so that they could have a good earthy feel, plus he knew that they all loved the feel of outside, the smell of wind… Plus, it wouldn’t be a night in the Night Court if you weren’t outside to enjoy it. “This keeps me calm.”

“You like being an emissary. You like knowing people’s business.” Elain said, as if she was just figuring this out.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Lucien snorted. “I’m a fox, and what’s a fox without some playthings, huh?”

“That’s what I was going to say.” Tamlin slurred from behind him. Lucien jumped to his feet, standing between Elain and Tamlin.

Tamlin was flushed from drinking, his buttons on his top undone, his sleeves flowed as they’d been loosened. His eyes looked bloodshot and his breath stank, like it did after a hunt. Lucien took a step back, trying to be a big as possible as if the larger he thought of himself the more there would be of him between Tamlin and Elain.

He couldn’t let Tamlin corrupt her, not like he had Feyre.

“Go away.” Lucien hissed.

Tamlin took a swig from a bottle of booze he had a hand around the neck of. “First Feyre… now Elain… you have a thing for Archerons, don’t you?”

Lucien lunged and Tamlin winnowed away, to the other side of the table. The dance floor was between the oblong shape the tables made. Tamlin was now standing on the side of the tables that was the dance floor. But this meant that only a table separated Elain from the monster. So when he made the slightest move forward, a sneer on his face, Lucien winnowed straight into him, knocking him backwards. “You stay away from her.” Lucien snarled.

Tamlin dropped the bottle he’d been holding when he stumbled. It made a loud crash as it hit the ground, wine seeping from it. “Funny how you show allegiance, considering what a traitor you are.” Tamlin growled, fingers morphing into claws. “What do I have to have to get, huh? A vagina?” Tamlin spit the word. “Or is it bought with-”

Lucien lunged again, dodging as Tamlin roared, swiping at his head. Lucien grabbed Tamlin by the collar. He could feel the way he burned inside, as the smoke engulfed his senses and he could taste the flames that licked his insides. “Don’t you talk about either of them like that again.”

Tamlin scoffed. “Or what? You’ll snarl at me a little more?” Tamlin lunged forward again, and Lucien was done. He was angry and he was hurt and he wouldn’t let Tamlin ruin Starfall or the day before. Lucien collided with him in the air and Tamlin was the one to be pushed back. Lucien glared at him, hands curling.

Tamlin stumbled and glared back. “After all I did for you, this is how you treat me?”

“After all you did for me? After all you did for me?” Lucien couldn’t believe that Tamlin had the audacity to say that. “What exactly did you do for me, Tamlin? Are you talking about when you gave up your right for the Blood Rite? Or are you talking about when you let me be lashed, without chance of healing all to save your ass?”

People were staring at them, Lucien had a sense about it. He didn’t need to see them to know that they stared, Feyre and Rhysand and Morrigan and Cassian and...

They were all staring at them.

The fire that brimmed and shook within Lucien only rose in intensity.

Tamlin looked betrayed. “You said you didn’t mind! You-You lied to me! What else have you lied to me about? What else-?”

“Shut up!”

“Are you even mated? Or was that too a lie? You just saw a way out, a way away from your responsibilities and you just left? Let Spring die! I’ve seen the way your mate is followed by that Illyrian.”

“What Elain does with her private life is neither my business nor yours.” Lucien snarled. “Unlike you, I don’t have an abusive and obsessive need to control the people in my life.”

“What did you just call me?” Tamlin took a step forward, but Lucien didn’t step back.

The fire roared within him, he couldn’t back down now if he tried.

“That bitch-” Tamlin flung a hand at Feyre and that was all it took. Lucien slammed into Tamlin, hands clutching at his collar. Lucien let the heat burn through him. He felt it like two burning points on his back, his hands engulfed in flames, shaped like gauntlets to pummel Tamlin with.

“You will not speak like that about her, at her, or to her. Do you understand?”

Tamlin opened his mouth to say something and Lucien let the fire burn Tamlin’s shirt. Smoke curling from his body, the smell of singed hair and skin and thread permeated his nostrils. He could taste it.

“If you ever speak to Feyre or Elain like that or about them like that again, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

Tamlin stared at Lucien like he’d never seen him before, and in the reflection of his eyes Lucien saw the flicker of flames and the teensist amount of fear. Good, he should be afraid. But... what scared him so?

Lucien glanced to the side, catching his reflection in a brass pitcher. There on his back were two enormous wings of flame. They spread out like those of a hawk about to attack. As he breathed heaving breaths from his anger he watched as they moved with him, well that explained the burning sensation on his back. His shirt had gone up in smoke when the wings had appeared, which explained the slight cold that he felt whenever there was a breeze.

He looked back at Tamlin, whose jaw was set and whose eyes were determined not to be afraid.

“I’m more powerful than you. In a fight, I’d win.” Tamlin said stonily, with the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed nervously Lucien would have been surprised if Tamlin believed any of that statement, despite that both of them knew it was true.

Lucien dropped Tamlin, who fell to the floor, still staring at Lucien, just like everyone else. Lucien looked Tamlin up and down, his eyes traveling over every crevice and bend in Tamlin’s body. He let himself calm down, he let the wings dissipate and the gauntlets blow away until they were all extinguished completely. He looked at Elain and then at Feyre, both of whom watched him with wide eyes. He looked back at Tamlin, one last, condescendingly pitiful look and then he walked out.

He looked straight and walked purposefully. He walked past the dance floor and the music which had stopped at some point. He walked past the High Lords and Ladies and their Ambassadors. He walked straight out and into the House of Wind. He didn’t stop walking until he’d entered his room, and closed the door. He took one look at the bed and then he fell against the door and sobbed.

“...Lucien?”

“How badly did I fuck up?” Lucien moaned defeatedly. As an ex-emissary he should have been hard-wired against making an unscripted scene.

Feyre sat next to him on the bed, a hand rubbing his back comfortingly. Lucien flinched, he still sometimes had a problem with people touching his back, especially the scars. Feyre, understandably, moved her hand to his head, brushing the fingers through his hair. “Not badly at all.” Feyre promised.

Lucien turned over so that he was facing her. “What happened after…?”

“Tamlin left pretty red-faced. Your exit was rather...”

“Dramatic? Uncalled for? Utterly problematic?”

“I was going to say stunning.”

“Oh.”

“Lucien… about what happened… what you said and d-”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Okay. But put me on the record saying you should talk about it.”

“Noted.” Lucien grumbled.

“… Are you okay?” Feyre asked.

Lucien sighed. “I’m just tired. And I don’t want to be around Tamlin.”

“I know.”

“I’m so tired of him, Feyre. I just… I don’t want him anywhere near me. Or you. Or Rhysand or Elain or...”

“I know.” Feyre’s voice was a whisper.

Lucien shifted and took Feyre’s hand into his own. “I used to be his best friend, Feyre. His best friend. And now I don’t want to be around him.” Feyre squeezed Lucien’s hand comfortingly. “Am I a bad person?”

“No. You’re nothing of the kind. You stood up for yourself, Elain, me, and Rhysand and the rest of the Night Court.”

Lucien said nothing.

“We will stand behind you, no matter what comes from this, we will all stand behind you.”

“Why? I’m not part of the Night Court.” Lucien said, frowning.

Feyre raised an eyebrow. She squeezed his hand once more. “Are you sure about that?” She asked.

She stood, pressed a kiss to Lucien’s hair, and turned toward the door. “Sleep tight, Lucien. We’ll deal with everything tomorrow.”

“For better or for worse.” Lucien mumbled. He gave Feyre a smile, she deserved it after all she did for him.“Good night, Feyre.”

Rhysand stood when Lucien walked into the room. Cassian and Azriel were camped out on his and Feyre’s bed. Amren lounged in a chair, flipping through a book lazily. Feyre and Mor had went down to breakfast, so not to seem like the entirety of the Night Court were avoiding their guests.  “Why do I need to be here?” Amren asked boredly. She licked her finger and brushed it across the next page and flipped it.

“You got my note.” Rhysand said, ignoring Amren.

Lucien looked skeptical. He was fully dressed at least, his burning-off-of-his-shirt had been slightly unprofessional and well… not something Rhysand had been particularly excited to see. Also, Nuala and Cerridwen had given him an earful about how hard it was to find the type of silk that Lucien’s shirt had been made out of, and he didn’t want to deal with that again.

“Yes. And I am confused… are we hiding from someone?” Lucien asked.

“We’re hiding from everyone.” Cassian explained.

“Ah.” Lucien still looked confused.

“We came up with a plan.” Rhysand explained.

“A plan.” Lucien repeated.

“Can I leave?” Amren asked.

“No. Lucien, after what you did last night we needed to come up with a plan to make it socially acceptable… sort of, kind of.”

“Okay...”

“I’m not explaining this well...”

“No. You’re not.” Azriel agreed.

“Why can’t I leave? You don’t need me here. And I’m hungry. I want breakfast.”

“We want you here, so you’re staying.” Rhysand answered.

“We want to hire you.” Azriel explained.

“What?” Lucien asked.

“Fine.” Amren sniffed. She snapped the book closed loudly, then reopening it before snapping it shut again. She continued repeating this motion, staring Rhysand down. Rhys glared at her, irritatedly.

“We want to hire you.” Azriel repeated.

“As what?”

“Fine, Amren! Go downstairs!”

Amren stood and tossed the book onto Rhysand and Feyre’s bed. She flashed Rhysand an innocent smile, before striding out.

“As our Burning Star of the Night Court.”

“As what?”

Rhysand chewed on his lip. “As our Burning Star.”

“What the fuck is a ‘Burning Star’?”

“Nothing. We just made it up.” Cassian said.

“I’m confused.”

“We need a way to explain what happened last night in a socially acceptable light.” Rhysand explained. “So we’re making up a job for you that gives you the right to threaten to kill another High Lord without consequences.”

“Burning Star?” Lucien asked, horrified.

“Well… because the whole… y’know…” Cassian waved a hand vaguely at Lucien, “…fire thing.”

“You’re insane.” Lucien said. “As a non-affiliate with the Night Court what I do and say is not a responsibility of the Night Court, nor should any of you feel obligated to be responsible for me.” Rhysand looked confused. He glanced at Cassian and Azriel and then back at Lucien. “However, I would completely understand if the Night Court felt compelled to punish me for threatening and offending an associate of theirs. Now that that’s all in the open, I’m going to go to breakfast.” Lucien said. “You can decide whatever you want.”

Lucien turned to walk out and Rhysand called out, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Lucien.”

“Yeah?”

“Why the wings?”

Lucien debated lying, but he didn’t know if he could. “I don’t know.” He answered.

“Lucien!” Rhysand called.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “What?” He asked.

“Why are you pushing us away?” Rhysand asked.

“I’m not pushing you away.” Lucien said. “I’m protecting you, and this Court by non-affiliating.”

“But what if we want you to affiliate?” Lucien rolled his eyes, didn’t answer, and kept walking. “Lucien, why won’t you accept the job? Is it because you don’t want to affiliate with us? Not the other way around?”

Lucien whipped around, glaring at Rhysand. “Stay. Out. Of my. Head.” He hissed.

Rhysand crossed his arms. “I wasn’t in it. I didn’t need to be. I know you’ve never really liked us… or me, but-”

“It has nothing to do with you or our history.”

“Then why? How did we offend you so badly that you won’t let us protect you?”

“Why do you have the constant need to dominate everything around you, Rhysand? Why must you stamp your stupid little-?”

“Dominate? What in Cauldron’s name do you mean?”

“That-that title! That stupid-!”

“This is about the title? So we won’t call you the ‘Burning Star’! We’ll find something else, it was just a suggestion-”

“Not-that. Though it is a stupid name. I’m talking about the… other part.”

“What? The ‘of the Night Court’ part?”

“I can’t-I can’t belong to another Court, Rhys. Not to another High Lord or Lady, for that matter. Not again. Not ever again.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know, and if that’s your decision then fine. But, Lucien, unlike the other Courts you’ve been in, I don’t ask my Inner Circle to belong to me. I ask them to belong to our people, to keep them safe.”

“Then you’re a far better man than anyone would have thought, Rhysand.” Lucien said softly.

“Please Lucien, don’t leave us. Let us help you. You’re part of the family now. Don’t belong to me, belong to the people.”

“What could I possibly do for them? I’m-I’m useless here. You literally made up a job for me.”

“And a mighty fine one it is at that, Az and Cass worked really hard on it.” Lucien rolled his eyes again. “Just humor me, okay?”

“Fine. What would be my duties?”

“You’d be our… emissary or ambassador of a sort. Also a sort of warrior.”

“I’m confused.”

“So are we… this… we made this up, like I said, it must fit your exact qualifications. So you’ll be a… protector of sorts. You keep our people safe by learning about others in other Courts, however because of the… warrior aspect-”

“Which explains my attacking of Tamlin?” Lucien asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Exactly. But you’re a little… inadequate in that area. No offense.”

“None taken.” Lucien said, a little coldly.

“So, Azriel and Cassian have volunteered to help you… become adequate.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. If you accept this job, you will be required to train with both of them.”

“To uphold this… image?”

“Exactly. You’re a fox, Lucien, you know how this game works.”

“I’ll think about it.” Lucien said.

Rhysand nodded. “Don’t think too long.”

Lucien stared at the uniform. He was insane for doing this. Insane. And the uniform… the uniform didn’t really help. Lucien threw the uniform over his shoulder and stalked over to Rhysand’s room. He rapped on the door and waited a whole five seconds before rapping on the door again. Lucien was about to raise his hand again when Rhysand’s head stuck out of the door.

“Am I… interrupting something?”

“Yeah. My pre-Starfall nap. Why?” Rhysand asked. His eyelids were droopy and his hair was messy.

Lucien shoved his new uniform at Rhysand. “Why this?”

“You don’t like it?” Rhysand looked tired, yet offended.

“What, did you make it yourself?” Rhysand flushed and Lucien raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on it. “It’s just… it’s a little...”

“Gaudy? Sparkly?”

“Yeah. Not exactly my style.”

“It’s just an official uniform, not something you have to wear every day. Only for like… holidays or whatever.”

“Just like what you wear?”

“And Cass, and Amren, and-”

“Azriel, yeah. I get it.”

“If it’s really a problem then I’ll try and alter it...”

“It’s okay.” Lucien said with a sigh. “I’m just… nervous.”

“You should be before a big show.” Lucien rolled his eyes. “Play the game, Fox Boy, play the game.”

“See you tonight, Rhys.”

“See you tonight.”

Rhysand took a deep breath and felt an encouraging hum from the bond. He gave Feyre a grateful smile. Rhysand took a step forward and the guests quieted. “In light of last night’s… theatrics,” Tamlin shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “we of the Night Court believe that it is only appropriate to explain this by revealing yet another secret of ours. So tonight, we introduce formally, for the first time, Lucien Vanserra, the Burning Star of the Night Court.”

Mor opened the doors to the dining room on cue, and in walked Lucien, head held high. He strode into the room, the High Lords and Ladies watching as he walked. He reached where Feyre and Rhysand sat, gave them a short nod.

His uniform, Night Court style with a dark fabric that had small stones giving light, like stars in the night. Then on his shirt, a star of flames which burned like the wings that had blazed on his back.

Lucien joined Cassian and Azriel, watching with a cool gaze as Tamlin sneered at him. However, the expression did nothing to affect Lucien. Rhysand held back a small smirk. Lucien stood tall and proud, fiery and shining, like the star he represented.

[theoriginalkidwithapen]

Principia – De Motu Corporum III

CW:  Death, disaster

“The alteration of motion is ever proportional to the motive force impressed; and is made in the direction of the right line in which that force is impressed.”

– Sir Isaac Newton, “Philosophae Naturalis Principia Mathematica”

Thirty-two minutes and fifty-seven seconds into her brachistochrone maneuver, Peregrine’s main engine shut down as scheduled, and with a sustained burst from her reaction control thrusters, she flipped around to face the opposite direction, beads of molten tin rolling off the face of her cooling whiskers as the force of rotation drew them away.

Once transposition was completed, Peregrine’s starbulb lit up once more, a jet of incandescent star-stuff erupting from the engine bell.  Her whiskers began to glow a dull red as the streams of molten metal started to flow along their surfaces, cooling off as they radiated away their heat into the vacuum of space, and through exploiting the properties of liquid metal, flowed back to the roots.

In her control compartment, the situation was just as lively.  The stress from 17,150 kilonewtons of thrust caused the entire room to rattle violently.  Misty was unconscious, Jon was fighting his hardest to stay awake, and even mighty Tallen strained under this irresistible force.  Peregrine had long since switched back to hands-off flight control, not that Jon had noticed.

“Contact detected, bearing 160 by 27, range 153,000 kilometers and closing,” Peregrine reported, “IFF reads as a CETU destroyer.  Time to intercept:  58 minutes, 31 seconds.”

Jon tried to respond, but he had trouble focusing on the words.  It didn’t help that his eyeballs were being squeezed into the backs of their sockets by seven gravities of accelerative force, or that it felt as if a couple large sacks of rice had been laid on top of his chest.

“Keep tracking and identify,” Tallen slurred, “How are the others doing?”

“Misty’s unconscious,” Peregrine replied, “I’ve got her on an intravenous steroid and oxygenation drip, and I’m closely monitoring her vital signs.  Jon is still conscious, but I have another IV standing by just in case he blacks out, too.”

“Great.  Time to destination?”

“32 minutes, 21 seconds.”

“Swell,” Tallen groaned.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

As predicted, Peregrine completed her deceleration burn precisely 32 minutes and 21 seconds later.  The coronal plume from her tail was extinguished, and the crew could all breathe a sigh of relief.

Perhaps not a sigh so much as violent, gasping, sputtering coughs as the pressure lifted.

“OK, everything hurts,” Jon winced.

“Would someone please be so kind as to stop that disagreeable ringing?” Misty implored, her eyes squeezed shut.

Tallen, fearing that Misty had a concussion, freed himself from his restraints and made his way to the emergency medical kit.  “Misty,” he said as he checked her pupils, “do you know who I am?”

“Of course, Tallen,” she replied, “Jon is behind me in the flight control seat, and Peregrine is the ship.”

“Lucky guess,” Tallen joked as he finished inspecting her, “The good news is that you don’t have a concussion.  Here, take this.”  He gave her a condiment-packet-sized pouch, which she tore open and, with practiced grace from a lifetime in microgravity, she squirted the floating globules of liquid painkillers into her mouth and dutifully swallowed them.

Tallen went to help Jon get out of his restraints, but Jon waved him away.  “I’m not concussed,” Jon groaned.

“Let’s leave the diagnosis to the ship’s medic, shall we?” Tallen self-referred as he checked Jon out as well.

“I know exactly who you are, Tallen,” Jon moaned, “I just feel like I’ve got a hangover the size of Saturn – I half-expect to see rings form around my head.”

“Well, the bad news is that you won’t be getting medical leave for this,” Tallen joked, “No concussion for you.”

“Damn,” Jon exclaimed before gulping down the painkiller sachet Tallen gave him, “I could really use a couple dozen sols at the Delphic Ablutoria…”

“I thought you didn’t go for the whole… sex thing,” Tallen commented.

“I don’t,” Jon replied as lucidity returned to him, “but I do find Europan hydrothermal massages very…  relaxing.”

“They really are,” Misty sighed in agreement.

“Peregrine, what’s our status?” Jon asked.

“We’re less than 5 kilometers from the remains of EML-1 Colony 7,” Peregrine reported, “The station is only rotating at 2.11 degrees per second.  There’s a lot of debris in the direction of the spacedock, but it’s moving so slowly relative to the colony that it shouldn’t pose a hazard to navigation.”

“Give me a visual,” Jon ordered.  What appeared on the monitor drew surprised gasps from everyone on the control deck.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The absolute devastation in the scene before them evoked the profoundly morbid eerieness of an ancient battlefield.  Drifting detritus littered the space around the catatonic colony – while most of it was structure, goods, and equipment, there were many corpses among the rubble; bruised, bloated, and broken.  They had to be those with the misfortune to be close to the spacedock when it exploded – those within would have been incinerated by the blast, while those on the colony side would have been blown into space when the bulkhead ruptured from the explosion.

The walls of the colony cylinder were left deformed from the blast, lending it the appearance of a deflated steel balloon.  Twisted, melted steel cables wound about the void, making entry into the colony difficult.  Peregrine swept aside the smaller debris with her navigational sweep – ablating them with a broom of coherent light.

She was able to negotiate her way into the remains of the colony’s spacedock.  The hulks of sundered spacecraft stood silently secured in great gantries, waiting for launch orders that would never come.  Scorched shells and shattered structure left a host of haunted hulls – a macabre mess of death and destruction.

“Could you come look at this, please?” Misty asked.  What she had discovered perturbed them all.  A gaping tunnel had been bored tangentially into the spacedock’s structure, penetrating through to open space beyond, illuminated by the faint orange glow of still-incandescent metal along its interior.

“Aperture diameter is approximately 21 meters,” Peregrine reported, “It looks like whatever did this cauterized its way through the spacedock’s hull on the way out.”

“Regardless, we’re here to see if there’s anyone who needs our help,” Jon declared, “Peri, can you get us any closer to one of those service airlocks?”

“Sorry, love,” Peregrine replied, “There’s not enough room to maneuver in here.”

“We could try the longshoreman’s gantry,” Tallen recommended, “Maybe the dockmaster’s computer will have something on what happened.”

“The dockmaster’s office might also be a good place to tap into station comms and internal sensors,” Misty suggested, “It would make it easier to locate survivors.”

“We’ll start there,” Jon decided, “Peregrine, what are the conditions like out there?”

“Ambient radiation level is 0.23 sieverts per hour,” Peregrine reported, “Radiation protocol level 4 is warranted.”

“All right, let’s do this one by the numbers,” Jon ordered, “Tallen, Misty, we’re going outside.  Bring HSFH scrubs and dosimeters.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The Ying-Zheng-class destroyer VSCE Ekaladerhan was ugly as sin and twice as graceless.  Cursed with large, blocky construction, she would undoubtedly be less aerodynamic than the box she came in, if 5,500-ton warships were delivered from their shipyards in enormous crates.

As she cantankerously lumbered towards EML-1, decelerating on a lambent plume of incandescent deuterium, the ship’s Combat Information Center was abuzz with activity as the crew tried to make sense of the events of the past hour.

The Chief Intelligence Officer of Ekaladerhan was cloistered away from the bustle of the command center outside in his office, analyzing reports on the situation.  The biggest stumbling block to getting a cohesive picture was the lack of useful information. Actually, that was the second biggest stumbling block.  The actual biggest obstacle was that the captain expected a situation report in ten minutes to prepare for operations as soon as they arrived on site, and he didn’t have any new intelligence to give her.

A sharp knock on the door erupted from the cacophony on the other side of the bulkhead – the buzzer for that door hadn’t worked right since the Kala’s last refit 20 years ago.  According to the Chief Engineer, fixing the buzzer meant removing the entire door mount and tearing up a meter and a half of conduit in order to splice in new wiring – because door buzzers were neither primary systems nor essential for combat operations, and as the only way in or out was through the adequately secure CIC, it would have to wait until the next refit or the CIC got trashed by hostile weapons fire.

“Come,” he projected.  The percussive prattling of the outside flooded the room as the door slid open, and an Earth Forces officer in espatier gray fatigues stepped through.

“Crewman, shut that damn door!” the intelligence officer barked. “Sorry, INTO,” the interloper apologized, and then pulled the door shut.  The noise quieted to merely distracting.

“Report, leftenant,” the INTO ordered.  The interloper stood to attention.

“Sir!” the lieutenant said with military sharpness, “I’ve brought the report you asked for.”  He handed a small tablet to his superior.

“Put it on the desk.”

“Yes sir,” the lieutenant answered and did what he was told.

“Well?” the INTO asked impatiently, “If you’re just going to stand there, make yourself useful and get me some coffee!”

“Yes sir,” the lieutenant answered again, “Sorry, sir.”  He turned about-face and began to slide the door open again.

“Leftenant,” the INTO sighed, “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

The lieutenant closed the door again and turned back to face the INTO.

“May I ask what’s on your mind, sir?” the lieutenant asked.

“No,” the INTO began, “Yes.  What do you know about EML-1 Colony 7?”

“Number 7 was an agricultural colony,” the lieutenant summarized professionally, “its sole export was bulk soybeans, no different than any of the eleven other colonies at EML-1, or a dozen others at EML-4.”

“My sister was a biologist there, monitoring the soybean crop,” the INTO admitted, “She was going to be married next month, to a water management system engineer on the colony.”

“And you’re worried that she’s dead, sir?”

“I’d like to believe that she was able to get to an emergency shelter, but I doubt it very much, given how quickly things happened.”

The lieutenant sat down across from his superior.  “If you like, sir, I could say a prayer for her.”

“If you’re looking for something to do, you might help me make sense of these reports,” the INTO suggested as he dropped another tablet onto the desk in frustration, “I just don’t understand it – a nuclear shaped charge explodes in the dock of an agricultural colony, a civilian freighter under Martian registry disregards space traffic control orders and races to Colony 7 under the guise of rendering humanitarian aid, and no one seems to know anything!”

“Why EML-1 #7?” the lieutenant asked, “Why not the new space city at EML-5?  Destroying Colony 7 couldn’t have killed more than a million people, while attacking Cockaigne could have increased fatalities by an entire order of magnitude.  Colony 7 doesn’t make sense as a target for a terrorist attack.”

“It wouldn’t even have affected food production much,” the INTO agreed, “Apart from decompression and the structural damage, that colony is virtually intact.  The Department of Space Construction could have it back in productive operation in six months.  I fail to understand why anyone would have–” he paused as something on the tablet the lieutenant brought him caught his eye.  Glancing at its contents, he came to a disturbing realization.

“Leftenant,” he said as he showed him the tablet, “what do you make of this?”

The lieutenant took the tablet.  The INTO watched as the more he read, the more things began to click into place, and the more his realization grew.  “Mars?” the lieutenant asked.

“Mars.”

“We’d better inform the captain.”

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter 10

Since I finally got my other WIP all caught up here on Tumblr, I figured I’d better take a look at this one too which fell two chapters behind those I had up on AO3 and FF.net.  I apologize to anyone who’s been following my stories here for the Tumblr delays and I’m going to try my best not to get so far behind again.

From the beginning on Tumblr:  Prologue/One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine

This next chapter is definitely a little fluffier than the previous ones but not without it's surprises...

Wednesday Morning, Portland Medical Center

When Killian's regular day nurse, Jackie, came on shift at 7AM, she was pleased to find that his appetite was returning although she was still mildly concerned about his lingering low-grade fever. She'd read the evening nurse's notes that he'd been given permission to try a cup of broth and if he managed to keep that down, they'd try something a little more solid in a few hours. He'd pleaded his case for a shower but the request had to be put on hold until Jackie could speak to Dr. Wallace - needing to be certain that it was safe to disconnect him from all of the machines and monitors - but she promised to bring him the broth while he awaited the doctor's response. He'd hoped to be free of the tubes and wires before Henry returned from the parking garage, but that wouldn't be happening.

His wait did end up being shorter than the nurse had expected though and only minutes after she'd brought him the cup of steaming chicken broth, she returned with a basket of supplies and a stack of towels. In the time she was gone, he'd managed to drink about a third of the liquid – determining quickly that it was much easier to sip it directly from the rim of the bowl rather than to attempt using the spoon. He really wanted to drink it all, but his stomach wasn't on the same page as his head so the rest would have to wait. The nurse didn't appear at all surprised that he hadn't finished it, not even commenting as she set the bowl off to the side so it wouldn't get spilled while she got him ready to bathe.

Figuring the fifteen year-old really didn't want to witness whatever weirdness and hilarity would likely result from his mother's attempt to help his stepfather shower for the first time in days, Emma had sent Henry to the cafeteria for breakfast with instructions not to return for at least half an hour. He eagerly snagged a ten dollar bill from her wallet, promising to bring her back coffee and a cinnamon roll, then hurried out the door. Once the teen was on his way, Jackie drew the privacy curtain and began talking them through everything she was doing as she untethered her patient from the equipment.

"It'll take me just a few minutes to disconnect all of these leads and then I'll remove the old dressings from each of the incisions. The IV has to stay in place, but it's portable. You'll just need to be very careful not to dislodge it," she stated as she went to work peeling away adhesives that held various wires in place – most of which Emma didn't even have the foggiest idea what they'd been for. A few alarms and buzzers sounded as the connections were severed, but the nurse was unfazed, switching off each machine that was no longer in use.

"Now," she continued, "I need you to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, Mr. Jones. You may experience a little discomfort…" Killian knew precisely what she meant, instinctively holding his breath as the nurse pulled the catheter free. "Okay – you're all set there…"

"That's it?" he exhaled heavily as he asked for confirmation that she was done, not having felt much of anything despite the sensitive nature of the area in question.

"You're free of the catheter," Jackie laughed. "Wasn't so bad now, was it?" Even Emma had to chuckle at the relief evident on Killian's face, quite thankful that this step had actually been quick and painless or he'd likely still be complaining. "Okay – now let's get those bandages off…" Lowering the pale green gown to his waist to access the gauze patch on his chest, she swiftly pulled the tape loose from the edges and removed the entire covering, taking a visual inspection of his sutures to ensure that nothing looked out of the ordinary. "Sutures look great – no seepage or discoloration. Why don't you lean forward a bit so I can get to the dressing on your back now?" He shifted his center of gravity forward so Jackie could reach the entry wound and as he lowered his head, he was able to get his own first look at the surgical incision that stretched across the lower portion of his chest and a portion of his upper abdomen. Considering the narrow blade that had pierced his body, he was surprised at the length of the opening the surgeons had cut into him to reach and repair the internal damage but what had him scrunching his nose in disgust wasn't the wound itself but rather the fact that the medical team had shaved a broad patch of his dark chest hair in order to make that incision. His eyes darted from his shaven chest to his wife's face, glaring at her as she mouthed the words: It will grow back.

"It's not going to be a problem for him to get the stitches wet?" Emma wondered, ignoring his pining over missing chest hairs.

"Not at all. As long as you don't try to scrub over them, it should be perfectly fine. Best advice is just be gentle for the first day or two," Jackie replied as she disposed of the used gauze in the hazardous waste receptacle before going over the rest of her instructions. "Alright, Mr. Jones – now comes my question for you – do you want to attempt to walk to the bathroom or would you prefer if I brought in a transport chair?" His gaze immediately met his wife's, seeking her approval as she'd likely be the one tasked with catching him should he fall on his face.

"I can help get you there if you want to try walking…," Emma answered, already knowing what his intent would be.

"I'd like to attempt using my own two feet then," he insisted.

"Okay then, I'm going to have you get out on this side so you're less likely to get the IV tubing tangled," Jackie responded as she moved around to his right side, reaching over his head to remove the two transparent bags of fluid that hung above him, placing them onto a hook atop a tall metal pole with wheels attached to the bottom. This was apparently what she meant by the IV being portable. "Swing your legs toward me now," she instructed as she tugged away the bedcovers. Eager to be out of the bed for sure this time, he shifted around to let his bare feet drop to the cool tile floor. He grasped the bedside rail tightly, intending to use it for support while Emma positioned herself at his left, her fingers wrapping around his bicep ready to help him take that first tentative step.

"Easy now…," Jackie said as she stood in front of him. "Let's see if you can stand up and hold your balance…"

He quickly realized that standing and remaining that way was a bit more difficult than he'd thought, but damn, it felt good to be standing on his own accord – well, mostly on his own accord. He felt a bit like a fool but after spending three full days in that bed, but he was thoroughly enjoying this freedom – finding himself somewhat amused that this petite little ginger-haired woman was so confidently standing before him as though she'd be fully capable of breaking his fall. He wasn't even certain if his lovely wife – strong as she was – could accomplish that task if he were to lose his balance right now. It also wasn't lost on him that the flimsy gown the hospital provided was covering very little of his person right now, leaving his derriere in full view of anyone who should walk into the room.

"Think you can handle him from here, Mrs. Jones?" Jackie asked.

"I think so. It's not the first time I've had to shoulder his weight," Emma responded with a side-eyed glance toward her husband.

"Just remember to take it slow," the amber-headed nurse reminded them. "Once you get in there, you'll find that there's a flip down shower seat and a handheld showerhead. Make use of them – trust me. Your lungs aren't fully recovered from nearly drowning and you've been inactive for several days so this is going to feel like a lot of exertion. I'll bring a chair when I come back because you'll probably want to use it. Last note – keep the water temperature on the lukewarm side if you can stand it. Don't want the water to be too warm or too cold when fighting off a fever. Now, any questions for me or is there anything you need?"

"I think we're good. I've got soap and shampoo with me and you're already brought us the towels. I brought some of his clothes with me – would it be okay for him to put those on instead of the gowns?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with – just nothing with any metal on it. Dr. Wallace wants to get some new images of his lungs so it'll be off to Radiology when I return so, try not to get too carried away."

What he'd thought would be a simple process – just a simple shower – quickly proved to be anything but. He'd initially foolishly thought that he'd be able to stand but any hope of that happening vanished the moment Emma turned on the water and a sudden panic washed over him – the all-too-recent memories of waves pummeling him flooding back the moment the spray struck his head. Emma had to turn off the faucet and coax him to sit down, eventually climbing into the shower stall with him – clothes and all. With the handheld shower head, she gradually helped him wash off, working her way from his feet back up to his head while he pushed away that momentary fear. By the time she reached his hair, it took three rounds of shampooing and rinsing to remove all of the grime and restore the normal luster and texture of his dark locks.

He apologized to her repeatedly as she helped him to dry off and get dressed first while she stood there dripping wet. She took it in stride, shaking her head and snickering at how ridiculous they looked. As if on cue, they heard a rap on the door and then the voice of nurse Jackie asking if they needed any help – which of course caused both of them to break out in rolling laughter.

"I think we could definitely use a hand," Emma managed to say in between giggles. "Did you bring that chair you mentioned?"

"Have it right here," Jackie replied as the bathroom door opened toward her and the very first thing the nurse saw was a very drenched Emma standing inside the doorway, tee shirt and jeans plastered to her body – well, mostly the front of her body.

"I'd really appreciate it if you could help us get him into that chair so I can dry off and change," Emma said with a chuckle. "This ended up being a lot more complicated than we'd thought and we both ended up getting a shower…"

"Of course. Hang on…," the nurse smiled as Emma stepped out of the way and Jackie brought the wheelchair into the close confines of the bathroom finding her patient much drier than his wife and partially clothed in a pair of navy blue pajama pants. All of his effort to take his simple shower had left him exhausted, his lungs burning as much as if he'd just run the entire length of Main Street and he was struggling to catch his breath. "Let's get you standing for a moment and I'll bring the chair to you…" It took her no time at all to get him situated and once seated, she wheeled him back into the main room while Emma made her way over to the chair by the bed where she'd left her duffel bag, leaving a trail of water droplets in her wake. She pulled out some clean clothes and ducked back into the bathroom to change while Jackie turned her attention to her patient. "How about we get those sutures covered back up while your wife is changing?" the nurse suggested, a notion that Killian was smart enough to realize wasn't actually a choice.

By the time Emma stepped out of the bathroom now clad in black twill pants and an oversized burgundy long sleeved tee shirt, Jackie had replaced the bandages on both of Killian's incisions and was helping him don the heathered dove grey tee shirt that he'd chosen earlier. Were he in Storybrooke, he likely would have selected the long-sleeved button up shirt instead as it fully covered his stumped arm but since everyone here, including Deputy McCallen, had already viewed his deformity and weren't horrified by it, he decided on simplicity.

Emma glanced over at the clock on the wall as she towel-dried her damp hair. It was just after 8:00AM so Regina would be on her way to pick up Henry soon, having promised to be there by 10AM. She hadn't yet heard anything from McCallen although that wasn't entirely surprising considering the number of people he needed to get in contact with this morning regarding the latest revelation in the case. She was certain that he'd let her know as soon as he could, but now that they had a suspect to pursue, Emma found herself growing impatient. She knew who had nearly killed her husband and now all she could think about was how they could catch him.

Killian had decided to stay seated in the wheelchair, not wanting to make the extra effort required to get back into bed before the nurse took him to this Radiology place. He wasn't really certain what that meant and he wasn't about to ask until the nurse stepped out of the room to see if they were ready for him. Once they were alone again, Emma tossed the damp towel onto the foot of the bed and strolled up behind her husband, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck and nuzzling her face into his nearly dry hair before he tilted his head back to gaze up at her.

"I missed this," she smiled as she kissed the center of his forehead.

"Aye, Love," he replied. "I promise, once I am healed, we shall make up for lost time…"

"Let's just focus on that healing part first, okay?" she laughed. "Hopefully, the images will come back clear enough that they'll let you go home."

"About that – what are these Radiology images everyone keeps talking about?"

"Radiology is the name of the science and the department. Basically, they use special machines that are capable of taking pictures of your insides so they can see things like broken bones and in your case, the amount of fluid still affecting your lungs. Don't you remember the X-rays they took of your broken ribs when you were hit by Greg's car during your stand-off with Gold?"

"Swan, there's much I remember about that evening, but alas, I don't recall anyone taking strange X-rated photographs of my innards…"

"X-rays, not X-rated. Very different things and I suppose you probably wouldn't remember. Pretty sure they had you pumped full of pain killers – assuming you were even conscious…"

"So, just how do they manage to take these images?" he wondered, uncertain as to whether he should be expecting invasive poking and prodding or should prepare himself for additional pain.

"It depends. Usually, you lie on a table and they position a special camera above you. I don't exactly know how it works, but it just takes a few minutes and its pretty much painless." She heard his audible sigh of relief at the painless part of her explanation. "If they end up doing an MRI, that's slightly different. It takes a lot longer because they take hundreds of pictures from different angles to get a more detailed image. Maybe Jackie can explain it to you on the way?"

"I'll be certain to ask…," he replied snidely as he heard the door creak open behind them.

"Everybody decent?" Henry called out, unwilling to even take a peek around the curtain until he was sure it was okay to do so.

"Yes – it's okay to come in," Emma responded with a snicker. "I guess we can put this curtain back now too." She gave the fabric a tug and walked it back to its place by the head of the bed but in retracting the curtain, her son threw her a quizzical glance as he noticed her long blonde hair hanging in damp, scraggly strands against her shoulders.

"Guess you decided to shower too?" the teen asked as he extended his hand toward her with an offering of a steaming hot cup of black coffee that Emma immediately snatched up.

"It wasn't exactly planned…," she replied with a mock scowl before breaking into a wide smile, "…but we managed anyway."

"I don't even want to know…," Henry said with an I've already heard too much expression on his face. "Forget I asked."

"We'll spare you all the gory details," she laughed. "But thank you for the coffee."

"No problem," Henry said. "I was going to bring you a cinnamon roll but they were all out and I wasn't sure what else to bring. I knew I wouldn't go wrong with coffee though."

"Absolutely! I'll find something later after I've heard back from Deputy McCallen."

"I wish you'd let me stay and help you out," the teen pleaded.

"I know, but honestly, I want you safely back in Storybrooke," Emma replied firmly. "Now that we have a suspect, the investigation could get a lot more intense and I do not want you to get caught in the middle. As soon as Killian is released from here, he'll be heading back to Storybrooke too."

"But how are you going to get the Jolly Roger back home?" Henry wondered. "She still needs the sail repaired and I don't think Killian will be able to climb the rigging himself right now…"

"The lad has a point…," Killian interrupted. "He does know how to replace the line. I made sure to teach him properly…"

"Let's just deal with catching the man who tried to kill you first. We'll worry about how to get the Jolly Roger back home later. I'm sure we can find some help with that once the rest of this crisis is over."

"Okay, Mom," Henry sighed, still dejected but understanding her point as well.

"Why don't you gather up your stuff?" Emma suggested. "Regina should be here soon and hopefully she won't be in a huge hurry to head back. I've got a favor to ask of her…" Emma started to say something else but was interrupted by a chime from her cell phone on the nightstand. "Hang on a sec…" She scooped up her phone and tapped on the screen to see her notifications, spotting an important message. "That's from McCallen," she read off. "He said Sgt. Haviland from Portland PD is going to meet us here around 9:30AM." That was only a little over an hour from now and roughly the same time that Regina was due to arrive. "You might have to stall your other mom, Kid."

"I can probably manage that," the teen assured her. "As long as Killian is up for a visitor?"

Just before 9AM, the nurse returned to let them know that the Radiology team was ready for Killian and before whisking him away, she advised Emma that they'd be gone for about an hour. Her pirate was still rather bewildered as to what he was about to experience and just a bit displeased that he wouldn't be present when his wife and the young deputy met with Sgt. Haviland so that he could learn more about this Donleavy person. Emma repeatedly assured him that she would fill him in on all details later but he still wasn't satisfied. He wanted to be privy to the investigation – after all, he was the one most afflicted.

Not long after the nurse departed with her griping husband, she received yet another text from McCallen with a request to meet him downstairs in the hospital lobby. She wasn't really sure why the deputy wouldn't just come up to the room so her inclination was to believe that he must have learned something that couldn't be shared in front of Killian - or possibly Henry – so she replied with an agreement to meet him in five minutes. Hopefully it meant he'd found something that would corroborate Killian's account, not further upset him.

She couldn't immediately locate McCallen in the busy lobby but she finally managed to spot him seated on a bench by the floor to ceiling windows to the right of the hospital entrance. He'd changed into jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt that looked as though it could have been proffered from her father's closet but she noted that his demeanor certainly didn't appear as casual as his attire. She zig-zagged her way toward him, dodging people as she drew her still soggy blonde locks back into a ponytail and wrapped a hair tie around them hoping McCallen wouldn't decide to question why she looked as though someone had tried to drown her.

"Sheriff," he greeted her as she rounded the reception desk. "Glad you got my message and were able to come down here a little early."

"No problem. Killian's down in Radiology having X-rays done and my son is getting his things together before going home so I had a few minutes free. Are we still meeting with Sgt. Haviland this morning?"

"Yes, he'll be here in a couple of minutes but I really wanted to go over a few things with you before our colleague gets here."

"Okay… is there something going on that you didn't want my husband to hear?" she wondered.

"No, no – nothing like that. I just have a feeling that Portland PD might insist on taking over this case and since Sheriff Lassiter said to let Haviland take the lead if they want it, I can't promise that they'll include you any longer. I explained how valuable you've been to my investigation, but it'll be up to him. He also might not want my help anymore so I felt I should take a moment to thank you. This case turned out to be a lot more complex than I'd expected and I was really in over my head. I appreciate everything you've done to help me boost my confidence…"

"Aaron…," she started to say that it wasn't necessary, finding herself slightly unnerved by his rambling and even a little bit worried.

"Please, let me finish… I might not get enough nerve to say this again…," McCallen looked more nervous in this moment than he had been since Emma had met the young deputy yesterday. She was concerned that she might have made him a little self-conscious by suddenly using his first name, but he drew in a deep breath and continued. "There was a reason that Sheriff Lassiter originally assigned this case to me – I was originally just tasked with finding out the identity of the John Doe amputee and how he'd ended up on the beach, but that was only because he thought I'd be a kindred spirit or something… I don't know…"

Emma had no idea where McCallen was going with his rambling, but clearly, whatever he was trying to say was important to him so she withheld judgement and allowed him to continue his tale.

"Anyway, the Sheriff thought I'd have more empathy toward your husband because I could relate to his disability…"

"Why would that matter?" Emma asked him, still not certain of the meaning behind his story so far.

"Because even though I spend most of my time sitting behind a desk, Sheriff Lassiter thought I should get a little experience in the field. He thought this would be an easy case for me – identify John Doe, find his family and hopefully learn who wounded him…"

"Okay, McCallen," she sighed. "You've completely lost me here." Her confusion had finally overwhelmed her and she had to know… "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry… I know I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm so bad at this…"

"Bad at what?"

"Talking about myself," he sighed.

"Yourself? I'm definitely missing something here…"

"Yes, I'm afraid… There's something I've been trying to hide from you," he lamented. "I didn't want you to think of me as any less of an investigator if you learned they'd assigned a disabled deputy to your husband's case…"

"Disabled?"

McCallen slowly bent over and tugged at the denim of his right pant leg, raising it to reveal a silicone cuff fitted around his ankle and most of his calf. She could see that the bottom of that cuff was fitted to a metal joint which extended into the black leather high-topped combat-style boot he wore.

"I've gotten pretty good at disguising it so I look almost normal walking but just don't ask me to run," he gave her a shy, slightly embarrassed laugh after revealing his secret prosthetic foot and managing to make a joke about it.

"I honestly had no idea…," she replied, surprised by his revelation, but certainly not that he'd still be capable of doing his job. "Actually, I take that back… Yesterday when we drove over to meet with Jean Scott, I thought there was something different but I was honestly so distracted by everything that was going on with Killian that I figured it was just me that was off. Now that I think about it, it's because you were driving with your left foot!"

"Sheriff had that old Taurus modified especially for me – gas pedal on the left instead of the right. He's made sure to find ways to keep me on the job since I lost my foot. Maybe part of it is guilt because it happened while I was on the job, but I'm still grateful he kept me on as a deputy. He was just so certain that this would be a simple case to get me out of the office for a while but look how that turned out…"

"You lost your foot on the job? What happened – if you don't mind me asking?"

"No crocodiles involved here," he chuckled nervously, again wary of making light of his own situation. "I was out on a call one night and it was the beginning of winter and snowing like crazy. I don't remember much but I had my lights and siren on heading through an intersection when I was struck head on by a car driving on the wrong side of the road. The impact pushed the engine block and dashboard forward and while the airbag protected my upper body, my right foot got pinned under there somehow. By the time rescuers were able to cut me out of what was left of the car, I'd lost all feeling and circulation in that foot. Doctors at this same hospital tried to get blood flow back, but ended up having to amputate. It's been about two and a half years now, so in some ways, I'm still adapting, but I was determined that it wasn't going to beat me. I know it plays a huge part in my insecurities, but I try not to let it define me…"

"You know what's funny – for a long time, Killian did define himself by his disability. He used it to his advantage by showing people that he wasn't going to let it stop him and even turned his prosthetic into a weapon of sorts." She had to stop herself there before she accidentally divulged that her husband's preferred prosthetic actually was a weapon. "Now he's trying to just be Killian Jones – husband and deputy Sheriff. His prosthetic hand just an extension of him – nothing more, nothing less." It truly was the way she felt about his hook when he was wearing it and how she looked at his stump when he didn't have it on. It was always still just Killian.

"So, you don't feel like I'm not capable of continuing the investigation? That's part of what Sheriff Lassiter was worried about. He was concerned that I wouldn't be able to handle the case if things got too physical."

"Why would I be worried that you were incapable of seeing this case through to the end? I wouldn't think my husband would be incapable of doing his job with one hand, so why would I think that about your prosthetic foot? If we get into a chase situation, you let me do the running."

"You don't want me off the case then?"

"Of course not. Unless we absolutely have to turn everything over to Sgt. Haviland, I'd prefer we keep working together. You deserve to see this out too."

"Then I won't offer to give up the case – not without a fight. Thank you for trusting me with this, Sheriff."

"You don't need to thank me. Just help me put Donleavy and his cohorts behind bars and that'll be thanks enough."

"Alright then. Let's go see if Haviland is here. He's going to meet us in the parking garage across the street."

"Lead the way." She was more than ready to get this case moving forward.

[true-halloween-tales]

2017: #8-STRANGE MONSTERS FROM ART

Pandora’s Box issues forth a tale each year about monsters in different mediums.  We have previously examined monsters in everything from books, to comics, to even songs (see 2016: #6-STRANGE AND DANGEROUS MONSTERS FROM BOOKS, 2013: #3-STRANGE COMIC BOOK MONSTERS, and 2014: #4-STRANGE MONSTERS FROM SONGS).  Art, specifically paintings, woodcuts, and statues, offer a wealth of monstrous possibilities.  Horror specifically about art is best seen with Rod Serling’s The Night Gallery tv series which was about spooky paintings which each told a tale.  Ray Bradbury’s book and film, The Illustrated Man, was about tattoos that each depicted a future event.  Many horror films have paintings with false peek eye holes.  Sometimes monsters in paintings come alive such as in the recently released It and the evil nun in The Conjuring 2.  The Dark Shadows tv series often featured paintings, from old paintings of unaging vampires to Dorian Gray inspired paintings (see 2016: #7-GUIDE TO DARK SHADOWS).  Jack Nicholson as The Joker in 1989’s Batman walked through an art gallery and said, “I don’t know about art, but I know what I like (see 2017: #10-SUPERHEROES).

There is a lot of spooky art perfect for Halloween.  The Greeks had artwork of mythological figures, and the Middle Ages presented paintings of Death personified.  In 1505, Hieronymous Bosch completed the triptyche, The Garden of Earthly Delights, which features three panels representing the Garden of Eden, the garden of earthly delights, and Hell (see above image).  I particularly like the Hell panel, and it is perhaps my favorite painting.  There are many monsters and horrors that inhabit Bosch’s landscape of Hell.  There are giants rats tearing apart knights, and creeping about are bird-men, fish-men, and even crocodile-men.  One particular marching crocodile-man is my favorite figure in the painting, and I would love to know what Bosch would say his story would be (see below).  

The painting also includes armies, descending moons, fiery pits, and giant human bodily organs converted into objects including rooms.  Similar hellish work to Bosch’s was released in the 1600’s by Jacob Isaacsz. van Swanenburg as seen with his The Harrowing of Hell (see below).

Henry Fuseli’s The Nightmare from 1793 produced a perturbed imp and a demonic horse (see below).  Freud kept a reproduction of that painting in his apartment in Vienna.  

Perhaps the most recognizable horror-related painting is Edvard Munch’s The Scream (see below).  The Scream is a series of four paintings Munch painted between 1893 and 1910.  They were inspired by a red sunset that Munch felt like was a scream of nature.  

In 1915 the interesting artistic movement of Dadaism developed, and Dadaists created all sorts of odd art demonstrating the absurdity of life.  Max Ernst produced a forest of woodcuts and paintings that include chairs entirely made out of human bones, flying god-heads, half-human absurd abominations, and an ominous elephant-like monster in his The Elephant Celebes from 1922 (see below).  Ernst spent time as a child with fevers staring at patterns in wood grain, similar to Salvador Dali’s paranoiac-critical method (see 2016: #10-MONSTERS ON THE LOOSE 7).  

Dadaism formed into Surrealism, and Dali’s work has all sorts of melting monstrosities, flaming giraffes, and the like.  Dali’s Paint-Maker’s Plight from 1941 shows an eyeball humanoid similar to costume’s worn by The Residents (see below and 2012: #1-SPOOKY MUSIC).

In 1954 Francis Bacon painted the dark, Figure with Meat, which features a grotesque pope seated between a grossly bisected cow (see below).  In 1989’s Batman, Nicholson’s Joker sees Figure with Meat in the art gallery scene and stops to comment that he likes that one.  

In 1967 Picasso’s untitled Chicago statue was dedicated, and it is a monster that most resembles an Afghan Hound (see below).  I frequently walk past it, but it sure does not bark or growl; too bad it doesn’t.

Surely the cherry, or bloody bit, on the horror cake is Otto Rapp’s Deterioration of Mind Over Matter from 1973 which features a rotting human head melded with a bird cage (see below).

In the last fifty years there have been many artists that have specialized in painting or drawing monsters.  Frank Frazetta created scores of fantasy paintings especially Conan the Barbarian related artwork (see below).  

Boris Vallejo still releases sword and sorcery artwork as well artwork depicting superheroes (see below and 2017: #10-SUPERHEROES).  

Bob Eggleton, Larry Elmore, and Erol Otus release artwork that is oriented towards Dungeons & Dragons (see below for Erol Otus artwork).  Wayne Barlowe has released paintings of aliens, monsters, and even devils.  There is so much available art of monsters, that we must mix them all up in the churning cauldron of creepiness and watch the three best monsters crawl out.

Salvador Dali certainly is an artist who can contribute one of the three strangest monsters appearing in art, but which one?  He produced artwork more surreal than the world had ever seen.  Dali had so many monsters appearing in paintings, it is hard to decide which is his best.  His work contains quite a few stretched out or melting people, often just huge heads held up by supports.  But those are not monsters.  He featured a titan bursting out of our planet in one painting and an elongated black ghost of  Vermeer in another.  His 1936 painting, Soft Construction with Boiled Beans (Premonition of Civil War) features a large monster that is the definitely the first to bubble out of the cauldron of creepiness (see below).  The unnamed monster represents civil war.  It is a weird collection of limbs, and seeing it travel through the desert landscape it is painted in would be fascinating.  It appears to be dismantling itself or removing its own limbs, and it represents self-destruction.

The second painter identified by the cauldron of creepiness is Ivan Albright.  Ivan Albright is a painter who used a very distinctive type of magical realism in his work.  His dark paintings show wrinkles upon luminescent wrinkles, cracks, scratches, edges, and the effects of entropy.  His work is both disturbing and mesmerizing (see 2016: #3-BLOODY MESMERISM).  His incredibly detailed painting, The Door, is almost as large as a full sized door, and it looks like a door to the Outer Limits (see 2017: #3-GUIDE TO THE OUTER LIMITS).  But that isn’t a monster.  Surely his best artistic contribution to the imagery of monsters is from his 1943 painting, The Picture of Dorian Gray (see below).  This painting was commissioned for the The Picture of Dorian Gray film with Angela Lansbury from 1945.  The black and white film switches to color when the painting is shown.  If you ever have the opportunity to see this painting, do so; it is located at Chicago’s Art Institute.  It is a large painting, with blood dripping off of Dorian Gray’s hands and psychedelic, magical colors dripping all over the place like 1969 Haight Asbury.  The animistic depth and detail of the painting are incredible.  Dorian Gray looks like he could turn you to stone like a medusa if you met his gaze (see 2013: #2-MEDUSAS).

The third artist suggested by the cauldron of creepiness is that of H.R. Giger.  His work is dark, often grey, and with sexual and cyborg themes.  His 1976 painting, Necronim IV is definitely his most influential work and contains his greatest and famous monster (see below).  The monster is what inspired the design for the Xenomorph alien species in the popular science-fiction horror series, Alien.  There were four original Alien films, two recently made interesting prequel films, and two Alien vs Predator films.  I doubt Giger knew when he painted Necronim IV that it would have the greatest name recognition for the word, alien.  

If the cauldron of creepiness issued forth these three monsters from art in the flesh, and they fought to the death, which would win?  Boiled Beans, Dorian Gray, or Necronim?  It would be hard to find a suitable arena that Dali’s Boiled Beans monster could fit into.  Perhaps a large Greek arena would suffice.  I expect Boiled Beans would stand there – barely – hopefully cognizant of the proceedings and demonstrating some form of sensory awareness.  Dorian Gray would very slowly saunter forward, and each step he took would age the place rapidly like it was being contaminated as in the film, Silent Hill.  The Necronim would move faster than the other two, and would swiftly scamper to the center of the arena, releasing a cold alien hiss.  That would get Boiled Beans attention who would start to shake and move.  The Necronim would attack Boiled Beans since it is a larger perceived threat than Dorian Gray.  The Necronim would attach itself to the mammoth leg of Boiled Beans and start madly scratching and tearing like a rabid black cat.  Blood would gush, possibly not normal blood – but blood made of boiled beans!  Boiled Beans would get in one powerful punch on the Necronim sending it across the arena crashing into the stone stands, sending rock splinters scattering.  Dorian would still be slowly sauntering to the center, very detached.  Boiled Beans vicious blow to the Necronim would cause himself to collapse, with his limbs appearing as a mass of trees falling down simultaneously.  Due to Boiled Beans self-destructive nature, as the dust settled it would be revealed that the large monster died upon collapsing to the ground by being crushed by its own hefty limbs.  The Necronim would inspect Boiled Beans confirming its death before proceeding to Dorian Gray who was still approaching.  The Necronim would be all over Dorian Gray, tearing him to pieces in a bloody blur!  Dorian Gray was already going to pieces, and a Xenomorph would wipe him out, with his arms and legs flying off all over the place.  But the Necronim would not strut away from the battle as a survivor.  The glowing energies of Dorian Gray would have touched the Necronim… entropic energies.  The Necronim would rapidly rot like it had been aged many decades, and it would burst with its alien acid blood spraying and sizzling.  As the acid fumes filled the air, Dorian Gray’s limbs would reattach and he would stand back up.  The power that kept Oscar Wilde’s Dorian Gray going was a wish that very much behaved as if he had sold his soul to the devil.  Dorian Gray would walk away from the mass of Boiled Beans and the fuming Necronim and smile… then his lips would fall off.

[bazzaya]

a demon’s plight - part two

A multichapter series regarding Minerva’s healing/redemption Post-Tartaros.

A/N: I’m beginning to realize I have no idea what I’m doing.

Word Count: ~2.9k

[Ao3 Link/FFNet Link]

Part One

Enjoy!

Her mind wound up replaying the events of the past few months through her head, from the moment Erza met Minerva to where they were now. Erza had sensed darkness in Minerva from the second they met at the Grand Magic Games, but she had brushed it off, instead attributing it to an extreme case of pride for Sabertooth. However, that darkness had grown by the time Erza reencountered Minerva at Sun Village, and Erza started to notice how perhaps that darkness ran deeper, perhaps to Minerva's very core. It was during Tartaros that the darkness reached its fever pitch, though Erza was still able to bring out some light from Minerva's heart. Seeing Minerva as she was now made Erza ponder the possibilities of what could have happened if she had only done something when that darkness inside Minerva was building. She wondered if she could have prevented Minerva's downfall and her transformation into a demon. Part of her hated how she didn't act, though another half knew it was pointless to think over what could have been. She supposed it was a good thing that she at least managed to act before Minerva was irreversible in her ways, because this way Minerva can still be good, even if the demon aspect might be irreversible…

Erza was torn from her thoughts by Porlyusica's voice, and she had to blink a few times to try and process what Porlyusica had said, "I'm sorry… What was that?"

"Come here. There's something I must ask you." Surprisingly, Porlyusica did not snap at having to repeat herself.

Counting her blessings, Erza stood up and walked to Porlyusica's side, standing over Minerva alongside her, "What is it?"

With a cautious air, Porlyusica placed a hand to her chin, "Have you noticed any differences between Miss Orland before and after the demonification?"

"Well…" Erza had to pause and think it over, "There is a stronger darkness inside of her than before, if that's what you mean."

"I mean regarding her emotions." Porlyusica clarified, "Has anything changed with how she processes them, or perhaps in how intense they are?"

Erza blinked a few times, "Now that you mention it… Minerva's emotions grew to be highly volatile and unstable after… this happened. She's more aggressive… She switches between emotions quickly… It's like her emotions are exaggerated in this new form. Why do you ask?"

"I know her outwardly appearance says otherwise, but the most affected area of her body from this demonification is her head, from what I'm sensing. More specifically, her brain." Porlyusica explained.

"So you think whatever they did to her affected her emotions?" Erza asked further.

Porlyusica nodded, "It makes sense that becoming a demon would bring out her aggressiveness and irritability. They are 'demonic' traits, after all. The mood swings might be a side-effect from the strain placed on her mind from the form itself. I would say it is a safe bet to say that becoming a demon heightened and dramaticized her emotions and impeded her rationality."

"Explains why she tried to punch you." Erza commented to herself, eyes trained on Minerva.

"Yes, and about that… Should our resident Miss Orland try anything like that again, I will require you to step in and protect me. I now understand that perhaps she isn't willingly acting so abrasive and volatile, but I would greatly appreciate not dying."

Erza smiled nervously, "Of course… A-Anyway… Do you think you can change her back?"

"Perhaps." Porlyusica mused, "I've told you this before, but I have never treated anything like this. Part of me wonders where I should start."

That wasn't exactly the answer Erza was hoping for, but she eventually let out a sigh and nodded her head. Wishful thinking wasn't going to get her anywhere. "Right… Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Any knowledge you have on what this demonification process entails of would be of great help to try and find a way to reverse it." Porlyusica explained as she walked away from Erza's side to continue to gather supplies.

Erza pursed her lips in thought, stepping closer to Minerva's medical bed as she did so, "I may not know what specifically happened to Minerva, but a friend of mine went through a similar process as well, but it didn't work on her." Erza began, "She was put in a tube-like machine and had these strange scaly appendages wrapped around her, attaching to her skin. They injected Demon Particles into her body through those appendages. Minerva was most likely subjected to something similar."

Porlyusica nodded to herself, "Demon Particles… I see. Perhaps we can try to flush her system of those particles, and see how she reacts."

"You're the doctor here, not me." Erza sighed. She brought her hand to Minerva's face, and she brushed more hair behind Minerva's ear, "She may not look it or let it show, but deep down… I think Minerva is scared. I'm sure she's desperate to return back to normal. She would do whatever it takes, so it's worth trying."

In that moment, while Erza had her fingertips ghosting over Minerva's skin, Minerva jolted awake and grabbed Erza's wrist tightly within her grasp. She sat up, and she pulled a fist back that was engulfed with Territory Magic and threw it at Erza. Erza reacted quickly, and relying purely on instinct, Erza grabbed Minerva's fist before it could hit her face. She winced from the pain as well as the magic, and she certainly did not enjoy the sensation from the rebound of such a blow. "Minerva, enough! It's me, Erza! You're safe!"

Breathing heavily from adrenaline, Minerva blinked a few times and stabilized her vision, seeing that it was in fact Erza in front of her. Slowly Minerva loosened her grasp on Erza and pulled her hands away once she realized what had happened, "Erza…" She shook her head to gather herself, "Sorry. I thought you were… someone else."

Erza let out a heavy breath to level herself, and she shook her hand with a grimace, flexing it to try and work out the pain, "Don't worry about it…"

Minerva pressed her lips together in a tight line at the sight of Erza's pain, ashamed of what she had done, "...Tch."

"Anyways…" Erza tried to forget about what happened, "We were talking as you were asleep. We may have a plan to turn you back."

Minerva had swung her legs over the side of the bed and crossed them, resting an elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, "I'm listening."

"What all do you remember of the demonification process?" Porlyusica joined in, putting together some treatments.

Rolling her eyes, Minerva let out a sharp exhale, "Not much. I'm afraid my mind did wonders in repressing the incident. Although… I do remember trying to wrangle myself free of some… wires? They were transmitting something strange into me that made my body convulse. That certainly was not pleasant."

"So, it was like Erza said…" Porlyusica nodded, "Then it's decided. If we flush the Demon Particles out of your system, then you should be able to return back to normal."

"'Demon Particles?'" Minerva repeated with narrowed eyes. She glanced back at Erza, "Do you two know something I don't?"

"Yes, but you can trust us on it. Mirajane went through something similar as you did, so that's what we're basing our assumptions on." Erza explained, sitting down next to Minerva, "Can we try it to see if it works?"

Minerva glanced off to the side with a huff to avoid Erza's gaze, "Might as well…"

Porlyusica walked over to the medical bed with a needle and some other pieces for an IV, "Your arm, please."

"Oh, yeah. That's not going to work." Minerva stated with a dry voice as she turned her arm over. The scales didn't carry over onto her inner forearm, but the skin was still dark and blackened.

Porlyusica paid that no heed as she took Minerva's arm and tried to insert the needle for the IV, but the second she put pressure against Minerva's skin with the needle, the needle snapped and broke instead of puncturing the skin at all.

"Told you." Minerva said with a sigh.

"No matter…" Porlyusica muttered, getting a different needle, "What parts of your body aren't as heavily affected?"

Minerva pulled her legs up onto the bed and pulled some of her dress aside, "I suppose my legs got the better end of the deal… My back is fairly clean as well, though I'm not prone to stripping on the first date– ouch!"

As Minerva was talking, Porlyusica had taken the other needle and inserted it in a vein on top of Minerva's foot, which wasn't as scaly. Minerva was caught off-guard by that, though she did her best to not seem so affected by it.

Erza smiled to herself, "I don't think I've ever heard such an undignified sound out of you before." She teased with a laugh.

"Let me stab you in the foot." Minerva growled, creating a knife of sorts in her hand out of Territory Magic, "Let's see what sound you make."

"I'll pass." Erza frowned at that sort of response, though she soon figured it was due to the heightened emotional reactions that the demon form gave Minerva.

With a shrug, Minerva caused the magic in her hands to dissipate, and she simply shook her head, "Suit yourself…"

"You may want to lay down, Miss Orland." Porlyusica stated, putting the drip system together, "There's no saying how you will react to this treatment."

"Perfect…" Minerva sighed, though she did as she was asked and she laid down on the bed. Erza didn't stand up as Minerva did so, so Minerva curiously looked at Erza still seated beside her, "Are you the injured one here, Titania? This bed is mine."

Rolling her eyes and smiling, Erza only crossed her legs and made herself more situated, "I'm here for moral support, obviously." Erza flipped her hand over, holding it out for Minerva, "Look, you can even hold my hand if you want if it starts getting painful."

"In your dreams…" Minerva scoffed, shaking her head and closing her eyes.

After the treatment started, eventually Erza did stand up to give Minerva her space. Vocally, Minerva wasn't making any objections to the treatment, though physically, Erza could see the beads of sweat forming on Minerva's forehead and how her fists would grab handfuls of fabric of the bed every once in awhile.

"How are you feeling?" Erza asked after a few minutes, after watching Minerva grit her teeth, "We can stop if it's hurting you."

"No- don't…" Minerva said weakly, "I won't lie, it's not the best sensation in the world, but… God, for the first time since I became this way, it feels like I can actually think clearly…"

Erza smiled at that, "That's good. Is there anything we can do to make this easier for you?"

"Actually…" Minerva sat up slightly, glancing over at Porlyusica, "Would it be too much to ask if you could knock me out again? It was quite relaxing the last time, even if it was under some extreme circumstances."

Porlyusica raised an eyebrow but didn't seem too fazed by the request, and she walked over to Minerva's bedside with her fingertips starting to sparkle a faint pink.

"Wait, before I'm out for the count…" Minerva cut Porlyusica off, "Did I really try and punch you before?"

"Yes." Porlyusica said dryly.

Minerva smiled and let out a laugh, "I can assure you that I normally do not lead with that kind of behavior. Surely you understand."

With a roll of her eyes, Porlyusica waved her hand over Minerva's head to make her fall under a sleeping spell. She looked to Erza once she was finished and shook her head, "Her apologies need work."

Erza flashed a faint smile, "It's a process… At least she knows better now? And it seems as if your theory with her mind being affected by the Demon Particles the most is right. She can think clearer now."

"I suppose." Porlyusica sighed, "All that's left is to see if the treatment has any visible improvements on her condition."

Falling silent after that, Erza glanced towards the ground and inhaled sharply, "Right… Well, I have to step away for a little while. I need to go take care of a few things on my end, so I'm going to trust her in your care for now. She's asleep, so I doubt you'll need me to protect you."

"Leaving your friend so soon?" Porlyusica asked, interest in her voice.

"I… wouldn't say she's a friend." Erza admitted, "Minerva would be the first person to shoot that down. She's just someone who needs my help, that's all." She let out a sigh, "I won't be gone for long. I'll see if I can return tomorrow. Hopefully there's some more progress to be made for then."

Porlyusica nodded and waved her hand dismissively, "Fine, fine. I'll watch over her while you're gone."

"Thank you." Erza's gaze drifted to Minerva for a moment as she made her leave, "I'll try and return as soon as possible."

Once she was outside, Erza sighed and placed a hand to her face. This was going to be a long process, she could already tell. Even if she was shrinking in the face of exasperation down the line though, Erza still wanted to see it through to the end at least. Minerva deserved to get better. Erza could admit that much.

She could see the sun through her eyelids, and it made her groan as she stirred awake. She was quite enjoying her time asleep, but the sun had other plans for her, apparently. Minerva blinked a few times as she sat up, and as she did so, she realized that it wasn't just her one eye that was blinking, but she could open and shut both.

Turning her head towards a mirror, Minerva saw how the black markings had retreated from over her eye and allowed her to use it again. They were still on her face, but they were lighter and more scarce than before. She looked down at her hands as well, and while her wrists and below were still scaly, her forearms were considerably lighter and humanlike.

"Heh, would you look at that, Titania? Your friend isn't as much of an eyesore as she was before." Minerva smirked to herself, glancing herself over a few more times. When she didn't receive an answer, Minerva started to look around for the redheaded mage, "Titania?"

"She's gone." Porlyusica cut in, "She left shortly after you fell asleep."

"She really trusted me alone with you?" Minerva asked in disbelief, raising an eyebrow.

"Apparently." There was a beat of pause, "Are you going to betray that trust of hers?"

Minerva shook her head, "Heavens no. Your treatment is working. Why would I need to lash out?"

Porlyusica pulled up a stool at Minerva's bedside, "How's your head feel?"

"Lighter." Minerva ran a hand through her loose hair, "My mind doesn't feel as cloudy as it did before. Why?"

"We believe that the majority of the Demon Particles that were injected into you targeted your brain. It brought out an ugly side to you, metaphorically speaking." Porlyusica explained.

Quirking a brow, Minerva simply laughed dryly to that, "Physically too, but that's besides the point." She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, "...Did Titania happen to mention if she was planning on returning?"

"Tomorrow, hopefully." Porlyusica said, "She wasn't sure if that was much of a possibility, however."

Minerva let out a sigh in response and laid back down, "Right, right. Well, let's just see if we can fully reverse this before she arrives…" She trailed off, glancing at her clenched hand.

Nodding to that, Porlyusica went to renew the treatment solution that was in Minerva's IV as it was running low, "The sooner you can get out of here, the better."

Minerva only grunted at the remark, placing her hands behind her head. She glanced out the window and narrowed her eyes, letting her mind wander to her thoughts. While the pressure on her mind was easing and she wasn't automatically reacting with anger anymore, the news of Erza vanishing like that did leave Minerva bothered. Eventually, she did consider that Erza never promised to stay by her side during the whole ordeal. She only promised to show Minerva to Porlyusica. Why would Erza want to stay with her, anyways? Erza had a guild to run back to. She wouldn't stay for Minerva, especially after everything Minerva did to hurt both Erza and her friends.

Minerva was already lucky enough to have been spared. The last thing she needed was to press her luck otherwise.

[secret---stories]

The Unexpected (Part *2nd half of* 12; Revamp)

As the movie continues, I look at Dan. His eyes concentrated solely on the movie he has seen several times. I can’t believe I’m sitting next to the man I’ve watched for years. It’s still so surreal. I can’t believe he is by my side while I deal with everything. I can’t know him at all.

 “What are you thinking about?” Dan says, still facing the screen. I see a slight smile on his face as if he knows what I’ll say.

 I laugh a little at myself, slightly embarrassed, “Honestly?”

 He laughs, reaching for the remote to pause the movie. He looks toward me. His eyes gaze into mine, and then move toward my hands, then back to my eyes. He continues smiling, responding with a simple, “Honestly.”

 “Everything is so surreal. I can’t believe I’m here, with you. I don’t know. I’m trying to take it all in. I’m trying to take you in, your presence. It’s just bizarre,” I say. I feel my ears get warm, I know I’m probably blushing. 

 “I’m glad I’m here. With you, next to you,” He says. Still smiling. He reaches for my hand, grabbing it and squeezing it slightly. The warmth of his hand being absorbed by mine, “I really am.”

  “I haven’t said thank you enough,” I mumble. I take my eyes away from his and I put them on our hands, “You and Phil have done so much for me since we’ve known each other, before we knew each other. Really, thank you.”

  “You don’t need to,” Dan says, “You don’t have to thank us.”

  “I know. I want to,” I smile. Everything becomes peaceful for a minute. I stop thinking about the chaotic nature of everything outside of this moment. 

   Dan continues holding my hand, using the other to play the movie again. I yawn, my eyes closing slower. I force my eyes open, not allowing myself to go asleep after this tiring day. Dan eventually notices, “Y/n, you sleep, you know. Don’t feel like you have to stay awake.”

   I yawn once more, “No, it’s fine.”

  “Here,” Dan let’s go of my hand to grab a small blanket. He throws it over me, “Now, feel free to sleep.”

  “Thanks,” I smile. After a few minutes of watching the movie reach it’s end, the noises drown out. I lean on Dan’s shoulder, now using it as a pillow. My eyes grow heavy and eventually close. 

   “Hey, hey,” Dan shakes my shoulder, “Y/n, wake up.”

   “Oh my god,” I mumble as I rub my eyes, “Did I fall asleep?”

  “Yeah,” Dan laughs, “Pretty hard too.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, “I tried to stay awake.”

  “No worries,” Dan says. He looks at me, “I was just going to tell you that you can stay in my room if you’d like. I can stay on the couch. My bed’s a lot more comfortable.”

  I inhale, “That’s really nice but I’d feel bad. Staying here is enough I don’t need to steal your room too.”

  “No, really it’s oka-,” Dan gets cut off my a quiet hum alongside a quiet ringing. We both look at each other before looking around the room before realizing it isn’t coming from either of our phones. Suddenly, Phil walks into the room.

  “Uh, can you hold on for second? Thank you,” Phil speaks into the phone before holding it down and whispering to Dan and I, “It’s the hospital.”

  “Why’d they call you and not me?” I ask, confused.

   “When you didn’t want to go to the hospital they asked who they should call in case of an emergency. I had to put three numbers down and I don’t know your parents numbers so I just put down the three of ours. I guess your phone isn’t working...” Phil trails off.

   I check my phone, confused, “It’s dead. Well, uh, what’s going on?”

   “I don’t know yet,” Phil says, bringing the phone back up to his ear, “Hi, uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. Okay. I’m sorry? No, that can’t be right. Are you certain? Uh, wow, okay. Bye.”

   Phil hangs up, putting the phone into his pocket right after. Immediately, his face turns a pure white as he looks at the floor. My hands begin shaking and I feel a pressure on my chest. The news isn’t good, and I’m too afraid to ask what is happening. So, Dan does for me, “Phil, what’s up?”

 “Um,” Phil swallows, afraid of his own response, “We need to go to the hospital. Like, now.”

 Dan looks at me, his mouth slightly open. He stands and walks toward Phil, directing him into a room away from me. I hear their faint whispers. Not the words their saying but the mood. Down, sorrowful. Eventually, they both come back into the room, pale. I look at them, emptily, “It’s not good is it?”

  Dan shakes his head. They both grab their coats, Dan grabs mine. He looks at me, “We should go.”

  I nod. I should be mad, afraid, sad. Honestly, I’m confused.I don’t ask what’s happening because if I know, I won’t want to see her. So we go, quietly but quickly. Dan stays close, rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand to show that he’s here. Why am I not crying? Why do I feel empty? 

  As we arrive to the hospital, I get chills. I feel a lump in my throat, and a hollowness in my stomach. I’m the first to get out of the car and walk toward the cold, dark building. Dan and Phil walk behind me, whispering. I feel weightless. We sign in and walk down the white halls that are painted with sadness. Then I find the room, that encases my sister. IV’s and cords surround her pale, nearly transparent body. I hear the constant, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. I try to ignore it, as it only makes me more anxious. I walk into the room, and I stare at Jill. Her eyes still closed, still pale white. I turn toward Dan and Phil, they both stand in the doorway, afraid to go in.

   I sit next to her, and grab her hand once more. Still, it remains cold. I speak to her, nearly forgetting the two guys who stand in the door frame, “I don’t if you can hear me. They never said if you could or not. If I can be honest with you, I don’t why I am here. I’m afraid, I’m sorry. I just wish you were okay. I wish could hold you and tell you I love you and know that you heard me.”

  I hear a slight whimper, I turn and see Phil wiping his eyes and walking away from the room, making the pit in my stomach grow larger. I let go of Jill’s hand and turn the chair I’m sitting in toward Dan, “Why are we here?”

  “Y/n,” Dan leans against the door frame, “I can’t get myself to tell you.”

  “Please,” I say, “I have to know.”

   “Jill only has a few minutes left to live,” Dan whispers slowly, “I’m so sorry.”

  Suddenly, I’m reminded of the feeling I felt when I found her on the side of the road. I hear my heart beat in my ears, and a numbness in my fingers. However, I still can’t get myself to cry. Instead, I turn my chair back to Jill, grabbing her hand and whispering, “Jesus, Jill. Our family has the worst luck, don’t they? First, mom and then dad. I can’t bring myself to say that I’m going to be alone. I can’t believe you’re leaving me too. It’s not your fault, I know. I just wish we could switch places.”

 “Hey,” Dan’s voice cracks. I look at him, his eyes filled with glossy tears, “Don’t say that.” 

  I shake my head, disregarding his comment, “It’s true. I don’t believe we’re here. I don’t believe I have to say.. goodbye.”

  Suddenly, the heart monitor begins to slow. My heart beat gets faster and my eyes grow wider. I look at Jill, “Jill, please don’t go. I can’t let you go. Please. Stay. I don’t want to be alone. Please.”

   “We need to go,” Dan gets closer, softly grabbing my arm and pulling me toward him.

   “I can’t. I can’t leave her. She can’t leave me,” I don’t take my eyes off of Jill, even though I know that she’s already gone. Nurses begin to flood in, telling both Dan and I we need to leave. They cover Jill up and I no longer see her. 

   “We have to go,” Dan says, “We have to.”

   I breathe loudly, fast. Everything blurs and we leave. Dan and I find Phil and we leave in a near silence. I talk to no one, and I think of nothing. I’m empty and alone, but I don’t cry. I look at both Dan and Phil, half way home, “I’m really sorry.”

   “Stop saying you’re sorry,” Dan says. 

   I don’t respond. I just sit, looking out the foggy window at the street as we move faster. We get to the apartments. I stare at the door that leads into mine one more time, this time I don’t consider walking in. My head pounds as I follow Dan and Phil into their apartment. Dan follows Phil into another room where I hear them talking. I try to not listen but I can’t help but eavesdrop.

   “Phil, there is so much more to her that we didn’t know. You should’ve heard the things she said in that room. She didn’t cry either.”

   “What’d she say?”

   “I don’t think she has any family... left.”

   “What?”

   “I don’t know. She just said that their family had some kind of bad luck and that she was all alone and that her mom and dad left her and now her sister. I don’t know.”

    “Oh my god. And she hasn’t cried?”

    “Not since the beginning of today... no.”

     After a while of them talking, it grows silent and I remain sitting on the couch just like before. The room appears darker and less happy. The room is quiet, but still sounds so loud in my head. I can’t get myself to move, to cry, to talk. I just breathe. Alone, all alone.