#he humored me and made it look super easy because he could actually straighten his leg in that position

[ninethecat]

After about 8 months of trying to figure out what is going on with my legs, I finally had my first physical therapy appointment today. I'm so thankful I managed to get a therapist that clearly listens to me about the things I've been dealing with and actually takes it seriously.

Also this was the most thorough exam I've had this entire time. He pointed out things I've never noticed that really put this into perspective for me.

On one hand, I don't think it's ever a great thing for a physical therapist to tell you that you have the tightest hamstrings they've seen in years..

But on the bright side I definitely feel like we have a much better understanding of what's actually going on, and a plan to help things going forward.

[lightupmyass]

Pairing: Professor! Namjoon x College Student! Reader

Genre: smut, slight angst, comedy and some fluff I think?

Warnings: unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, mentions of masturbation, slight soft dom Joonie, semi public sex, cream pie

Summary: Being the class clown is all fun and games, until you take things a little too far...

Word Count: 4218

You’ve been waiting for this for months. After a boring summer back home, you finally get to come back to school. Most people dread going back, but you loved it. Your hometown was so boring. You loved being at school, seeing your friends, meeting new people. It was exhilarating to you. You fix your hair one more time before grabbing your bag and heading to your very first class of the semester.

As you walk in, you smile wide when you notice a familiar face, and when you catch his eyes, he does the very same. “Yooo, no fucking waaaay.” You laugh, going up to your friend and high fiving him. “That’s my bitch! You didn’t tell me you had this class.” Taehyung laughs, pulling the chair next to him out for you. “Well you didn’t tell me either, man. Bro this is gonna be fucking great.” You smile. Taehyung has been one of your best friends since you started uni, sharing your sense of humor. He was the class clown everywhere he went, and you thrived together. You looked around, seeing a few other familiar faces, but no one you really talked to.

As you and Taehyung caught up, telling each other all about your summers, something else caught your eye. A man walked into the room, his blonde hair slicked back with a small strand falling onto his forehead, round glasses perched perfectly on his nose, and a dark blue button up shirt tucked into black slacks. He looked young, older than any other student, but too young to be the professor. You Tried to ignore him, but watched him out of the corner of your eye, seeing him set his things on the teacher’s desk and grab a marker from the white board.

“Alright, good morning everybody.” He turned to face the class, a small smile on his face, his dimples prominent, giving him an even more youthful look. “My name is Mr. Kim.” He says, writing it on the board. “I am your professor for English 3. Are their any questions before we get started?” He asks. One of the girls raises her hand, and he points at her. “Sorry if I’m being too forward, Professor, but how old are you?”  She asks, smiling at him. “Ah,” he chuckles, “I’m actually 27. I just graduated last year actually so this is my first year teaching.” He explains. Damn, he’s pretty young. “Any other questions?” When he asks that, you get an idea. You nudge Taehyung, smiling as you raise your hand. “Yes?” Mr. Kim asks, pointing at you. “Um yes, I have a question. Do you think busses in medieval times were just very long carriages, Sir?” You ask, Taehyung bursting with laughter the second you stopped talking, a few of the other students chuckling as well. Mr. Kim raised an eyebrow at you, putting his hands behind his back. “Do we have anymore questions about this class?” “Ooh, I have one Sir!” Taehyung raises his hand, a big, wicked smile on his face. “Can we do magic tricks in here?” Mr. Kim looked at him, a small part of his soul leaving his body as he realized what he had gotten himself into. Why did he become a professor? He may never know the truth. “Yes, you can absolutely do magic. In fact, if you keep asking me questions that waste my time and the class's, I’ll do one myself and make you disappear.” A round of ooohs echoed off the walls, Taehyung slumping down in his seat. For once in his life, Taehyung might’ve met his match. This made the young, handsome teacher all the more intriguing to you.

Over the next month you and Taehyung had stuck your claim as the class clowns, as you’ve been doing since the two of my met. You were a chaotic duo that made the best out of any boring lecture. You did ask a few more stupid questions in Mr. Kim's class, but he never acted upon that little “threat" he made on the first day. In all honesty, he didn’t seem like a bad guy. He was funny, sweet, and still super attractive. He was also very philosophical, always bringing up discussions in the classroom that were open for debate, which you gladly joined with complete seriousness. His face when you first spoke without making some joke for comic relief was one of shock, to say the least.

You enjoyed his class very much, but it wasn’t until one night that you really saw Mr. Kim for who he was. It was a night where you and Tae had decided to go out to a little bar that was off campus you two found during your second semester of school. It was quiet, relaxing, and intimate. Not many people from your school come in, so you don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of fellow classmates (which you never worry about anyway but, you know). Tae had left you alone in favor of going home with a girl he had met, meaning that you were sitting at the bar, alone and bored. As you wave the bartender over to ask for another drink, you see a familiar, tall figure slouched on the bar, a big difference from his usual perfect posture, his normally slick blonde hair falling onto his forehead, looking as soft as a cloud.

Curious, you get down from your stool, making your way over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Kim?” You ask, grabbing his attention. He turns on his stool, his cheeks slightly pink as he straightens himself up. “Ah, Y/N. Didn’t expect I’d see anyone from school here.” He mumbles a bit, a slight slur in his voice. He must’ve been here for a while. “Yeah, uh, Tae and I come here a lot. Mind if I sit?” You ask, Mr. Kim nodding. Taking the seat next to him, the bartender brings you your drink. “Are you alright, Mr. Kim? You don’t look like yourself.” You ask. He stiffens up a bit, running his fingers through his hair, the action making his button up shirt tighten around his biceps and back. “Yes, I’m fine. Just kinda, drowning away the work week, you know?” He answers. “I’m sure being a professor isn’t easy. Especially with idiots like Tae and I.” You chuckle, Mr. Kim doing the same. “Nah, you guys aren’t that bad. I actually enjoy some of the things you two come up with. I mean, ‘who would win in a fight between a manatee and a praying mantis?’ like what?” He laughs loudly, making you feel good at the question you asked him just last week.

“I thought we annoyed you. You’re always so serious in class.” You admitted. “On the contrary, you guys brighten my day. Since this is my first year of teaching, I have to try and maintain a strict classroom in order to feel as if I’m actually doing a good job, but its always good to have a laugh every now and then.” He smiles at you, his dimples making your heart flutter. “Why did you become a teacher so early?” The question sneaks up on you, and you’re not sure if it was a good one or not, but you’re curious. “Honestly, I just needed something that would give me money while I wrote my book.” He answers. “Book? You’re writing a book?” He chuckles a bit, taking another sip of his drink. “Of course I’m writing a book. I’m an English major, its not like I can go get a CEO position in a big business with a paper that says ‘I know how to read and write good'.” He jokes, putting a smile on your face. “Well, Mr. Kim, I never expected you to be such a jokester.” You chuckle. “Please, we’re off campus. Call me Namjoon.”

For the rest of the night you both sat there, talking about his book, your childhood, pretty much anything that came up until the bartender called last round and you realized it was almost 4 am. “Oh, wow, I guess we should be heading out.” You giggle, the alcohol definitely running rampant through your system. You take your card out to pay your tab when Namjoon pushes your hand away. “Its okay. I got it.” You thank him, smiling warmly at him. “Are you okay to go home? Do you want me to walk you? Or call you an Uber?” He asks. “Well, we’re going back to campus, so I feel that an Uber would be better. Don’t want anyone to see us and get the wrong impression.” You point out, him nodding in agreement. He walks you outside, waiting with you. “You know, I have always wondered something about you, Y/N.” He says, catching you a bit off guard. “What’s that?” He stiffens a bit, putting his hands in his pockets as he props himself up against the brick wall. “You’re an amazing student, always turn in exceptional work, so why do you act out? Why not just go through school like normal and be great? Let your work and your character match?” The question actually surprises you a bit. “Well, I assume it could be related to the constant need for attention due to the lack of it from my parents, growing up as a middle child in a family of five kids.” You give him your honest answer. “That makes sense.” There’s a bit of a silence for a moment before he speaks again. “Tonight turned out a lot better than I expected. I normally drink alone, but having company was nice.” He smiles. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Kim. I had a lot of fun too. I saw you as an actual person for once.” You respond. There’s a moment when you turn to face him, his cheeks still tinged pink from the alcohol and his eyes hazy, his body leaning lazily against the wall. There’s a moment when your eyes meet, and the sounds of the last few people leaving the bar fades away, where its just the two of you, and you can’t help the way your heart races, an urge so strong you want to act upon. However, you don’t even need to, because before you know it, his lips are on yours, heat radiating between you in this moment, this moment of passion, where you forget who he is, what he is to you, where all you can think about is how soft his lips are, how his strong hands grip your waist, and how his chest feels pressed against yours. Before you know it, the moment is over, he pulls away with heavy breaths, leaving you cold with his taste still on your lips. “I-I'm so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. God I’m such a fucking idiot.” He steps back, putting his hand on his forehead as he leans back against the wall. “No, no its okay. I didn’t mind-" You stop when you see him looking behind you, the light from headlights flooding where you were standing. “That’s the Uber.” He clears his throat, straightening himself up again. “Have a good night, Y/N. I’ll see you in class on Monday.” He says, and just like that, he’s gone, walking alone in the shadows in the opposite direction.

Another month passes by. You have to admit, there’s a lot of tension between the two of you ever since that night. However, the kiss has somehow made you even more dangerous to him. Not that he was afraid you’d tell someone, because for someone who was a loud mouth in class, you assured him you knew how to keep a secret. Yet the knowledge that he was attracted to you gave you more power in other ways. You started to dress a little different in class, hoping to tease him a little bit, the kiss making you crave more from him. Short skirts and sundresses were now your typical outfit, and you could tell that he enjoyed seeing them without him needing to tell you anything. Even after your chat that night though, you never slowed down with your stupid questions or remarks, keeping your title in the class. You liked pushing him a bit, trying to see where he’d draw the line. No matter how hard you pushed, he didn’t seem to waver at all.

Class started normally, just like any other day, Mr. Kim calling roll call and Taehyung answering with something stupid. It all changed when Mr. Kim asked “Does anyone have any questions before we start?” and oh boy did you have a great one for today. You raise your hand, the look of false annoyance already washing over his face. You know he loves your jokes, he just has to act like he doesn’t. “Yes, Miss Y/N?” Now is your time to shine. Maybe this’ll be his limit. “Ah yes, Sir, I would like to know, where do babies come from?” You ask, Taehyung immediately erupting with laughter as a few other student giggle, a few others groaning, sick of your bullshit. Mr. Kim nods a bit before responding. “Y/N, I need you to stay after so we can discuss your behavior in my class.” The seriousness in his voice scares you, the only thing able to come out of your mouth is a small “Yes Sir".

The rest of class drags on, the fear of what will happen after class making your stomach hurt. You wonder if you really did it this time, if you pushed him past his breaking point. The moment he dismisses everyone is the moment your heart drops into your stomach, Taehyung patting you on the back before leaving the classroom, leaving you and Mr. Kim alone. “Mr. Kim, I-" “Namjoon. Call me Namjoon now, Y/N. Its just us.” He corrects you, a bit of your worry fading away at the calm tone of his voice. “Namjoon, I’m sorry if I took it too far. I really am.” You apologize, and for once in your life its genuine. “Its alright, Y/N. Come up here.” He says, coaxing you to the front of the room with two fingers. You move quickly, something about the dominance he radiates right now overwhelming you. He gets up out of his chair, walking slowly to the door. “You know how much I enjoy your jokes,” he starts, locking the door, “but there is a limit. However, I do strive to be the best teacher I can be, Miss Y/N, and if one of my students needs help in a certain area of learning, I am willing to teach them.” He says, making his way towards you, the bottom of your ass already resting on his desk. “W-What do you mean?” You stutter, hoping that you understood him right. “Well, you asked me a question, darling. Do you want me to teach you?” He asks, his body now right in front of yours, towering over you as he presses himself against you. You can’t believe this is actually happening. All the tension between you two is at an all time high. You feel dizzy, the need for him to touch you in any way growing with every inhale of his scent, his cologne overpowering your senses. “Yes. Please, Sir.” You whisper.

Without hesitation, his lips find yours, the passion and hunger greater than that night, a newfound ferocity taking over as you wrap your arms around his neck, his hands gripping your thighs to lift you onto the desk. His hips nuzzle their way between your legs, your sundress riding up, making it easier for him to press against your core, your thin panties doing very little to conceal it. Small moans leave your throat, instantly swallowed by him, the kiss growing deeper and deeper by the second. Its not until he places his hands on your lower back, pulling you towards him to grind you against his growing bulge that you gasp loudly, tipping your head back and giving him access to your neck, which he gladly accepts, leaving wet, sloppy kisses all over he expanse of soft skin. You whine, moving your hips on your own in hopes of getting his attention. He hums against your neck, his hand moving from your back to your front moving your dress to cup your heat and rubbing you through your already slick panties. You’re speechless, the only response you’re capable of being whines and moans as he uses his knuckle to trace over your slit, pressing against your clit every now and then. Finally, you manage to form words, a small “please" escaping your lips. He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours as he looks down at your legs, slowly moving your dress up your thighs, your panties on full display for him. “And you’re absolutely sure this is okay?” He asks softly, tilting your head up by your chin to look him in the eyes, his other hand still rubbing your thigh gently. “Please, Namjoon. I need you. I’ve been craving you ever since you kissed me. I need you so bad.” You beg him.

“I know, baby. Me too. Seeing you in class every day dressed like this, wanting to taste your lips again, feel you on me, wanting to hold you and touch you and please you. Do you know what I’ve imagined? Hm?” His whispers in your ear, his fingers gently moving your panties to the side. “I've sat in this chair, teaching you and your classmates, just imagining how you feel. How you taste. Been dying to feel you around my cock, beautiful.” You gasp at his words, pure sin dripping from his lips. You can’t deny that you’ve thought about him too, your hand deep in your panties late at night as his name fumbled from your lips, imagining how nicely he’d stretch you out, how his soft lips would feel on your dripping cunt. Yet, as he slowly slide a finger inside of you, nibbling on your earlobe as he does, nothing could’ve prepared you for the feeling of intimacy you felt from him, the way he carefully pumps his finger in and out of you, twirling it around to make you feel all of it as he kisses your neck softly. This wasn’t the normal fucking you were used to. Even though it wasn’t the most ideal setting, you could tell there was something more. He leaned forward a bit, pushing you down to lay on the empty desk, your back arching as his finger reaches a new depth inside of you. His free hand roams your body, pulling the top of your dress down to expose your breasts, the lack of a bra delighting him. Another finger slips inside of you, his pace quickening as he grabs your breast, occasionally pinching your nipple, earning a needy mewl from you.

The way he curls his fingers in you has you losing your mind, your toes curling as your hips squirm, the slick sound of his movements making your cheeks red. His touch is driving you crazy, but you still crave more, the need to be stretched out even more unbearable. “Namjoon.” You moan, reaching down to grip his wrist. He stops, pulling his hand away from as he leans over your body, his clean hand ousting the strands of your hair out of your face. “What is it, baby?” He asks, concern laced in his voice. You sit up, running your hands over his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt under your fingertips, the rigid lines of muscles hidden underneath tempting you. Curiosity takes over, your fingers moving to unbutton his shirt, his torso being revealed to you with every button. He stays silent, watching your movements as he rubs your thigh again, eager to figure out your next move. As you reach the last button, you pull the hem of his shirt out of his pants, now seeing the bulge in them properly, your mouth watering in anticipation. You’d love to have it in your mouth, but at the moment, you’re not sure if you have the patience for that. There’s always next time, right? “Need you.” You mumble, unbuckling his belt. A groan rumbles in his throat as you cup him through his trousers, his package a lot bigger than you had anticipated. “Well, I did promise to teach you where babies came from, didn’t I? What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t follow through?” He chuckles, moving your hand away so he could pull his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, the large appendage bouncing as its released from its tight confines. You gulp, wondering if it’ll actually fit inside of you. You’re glad that you’ve been on birth control since you were 15, because right now you need to feel him inside of you.

He kisses you again as he grips himself, positioning himself at your entrance. “Are you ready, beautiful?” He asks, you nodding in response. The second he pushes into you is nothing like you’ve ever experienced. He moves slowly, the burn of your walls stretching around him making you lightheaded, but for him it was completely worth it. You wanted to be consumed by him, happy to let him claim you as his and not caring who knew. He groaned loudly into your ear, gripping the side of the desk as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. You’ve never felt like this before, never been so full in your life, and when he moves to pull back out, you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from moaning loudly. “Ah fuck, you feel so good baby. Better than I ever imagined. Fuck.” He almost growled, pushing back into you as you gripped his shoulders, trying to steady yourself. As he starts to set a steady pace, you can already feel yourself losing control. He wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you as he pistons in and out of you, his gentle demeanor now gone as he fucks into you hard, leaving marks from his nails into your skin as you bite his shoulder, trying not to scream. “Fuck. So fucking tight and perfect. So fucking beautiful. Like you were -mmph- fucking made for me.” He groans in your ear, your whole body jolting with each  hard thrust of his hips. “Mm, fuck Namjoon. Feel so fucking good. Fucking me so good.” You moan into his ear, each sinful word giving him more bravado to give you exactly what you two have been craving since the bar. “Yeah? You like how I fuck you? What do you want, baby? Want me fuck you so hard you stumble out of this class room, huh? Want me to cum inside you so everyone can see the little trail of my cum dripping out of your dirty little pussy?” Holy fuck. You have never imagined that your uptight teacher was capable of such words, yet here he was, moaning them in your ear as if you were the only girl in the world as he fucked you senseless. “Oh, shit, please. I want it so bad. Wanna feel your cum. Fuck, Joonie.’ You whimper, your fingernails scrapping against his back. He lets out a loud moan, the nickname not going unnoticed as he grips your hips, pulling you onto his cock as he continues to destroy your insides. You can feel the heat building inside of you, his cock hitting your sweet spot perfectly. All you need is the small push over the edge. You lean back, reaching down between your bodies to feel your clit, rubbing it as he thrusts into you, the contact making you absolutely lose it. “Ah, shit, ah fuuuuck!” You whine, coming undone. It was powerful, washing over and making you see white. “Shit shit shit shit!” Namjoon grunted, pushing into you once more as you felt a warmth spread through you, his hips stuttering as he released into you. There was so much that with every slow thrust, small drips spilled out of you, leaving you a creamy, sticky mess.

You laid back on the desk, putting your hands above your head as you smiled, chuckling a bit at how good you felt. He leaned over you, resting his upper half on top of you as his cock softened inside of you. You wrap your arms around him, placing a kiss on the top of his head as he uses your breasts as a pillow, completely worn out. “Oh my god. That was, holy fuck.” He said between deep breaths, earning a giggle from you. “I know. Fucking amazing. Can’t believe I ever thought my own fingers could compare to that.” You joke, but he straightens up a bit, leaning on his hands, hovering above you. “Miss Y/N, did you touch yourself to the thought of me?” He asks, a cocky smirk on his face. “Maybe.” You tease, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Well then, I think next time you’ll have to show me how you did it so I can guide you properly on how to do it correctly.”

“Yes Sir.”

[athenagc94]

Fighting Off Feelings

Hello! Gods, it’s been a week, hasn’t it?

Here is a little one-shot of my builder Piper and Gust! This takes place in the middle of my story Gust of the Heart, which you can read on AO3 here. I decided to post some smaller blurbs of scenes I cut or silly little moments that didn’t necessarily pertain to the overarching story I was trying to tell. I also have things in Piper’s POV (because it was originally in hers and not Gust’s) - Hope you enjoy!

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

Piper straightened in her seat as a familiar head of blonde hair crested the ramp leading up to the top tier of town. Gust wore a pensive expression. One of her favorites. His lower lip jutted out in a small pout and his head lolled off to one side. She cradled her cheek in the palm of her hand and sighed. “Why does he have to be so pretty?”

Sam rolled her eyes and picked at the dirt under her nails with the tip of her knife. “Gross.”

She elbowed her in the side. “Shut up, I endured while you pined after Phyllis for months. You get to suffer with me now.”

“I didn’t pine.”

She ignored her and turned back to Gust. “Hey!” He paused and glanced around curiously. She smiled and leaned a little farther over the edge. “We’re up here.” He glanced up and his expression fell as she waved at him. “Hey there!”

Gust stopped just under the awning of the Civil Corps building, his brow pitched in mild concern as he peered between the two of them seated atop it. “Piper,” he greeted with a slight nod, “Samantha.” Sam casually flipped him off and turned her attention back to her nails. “What in the world are you two doing up there?”

“It’s called having fun,” Sam drawled, “have you heard of it?”

Piper snorted and swung her legs over the side of the awning. “The view from up here is almost as good as the view from the church of Light,” she said with a teasing wink, “you should consider climbing up here to paint sometime. The sunsets are beautiful.”

Gust scoffed and crossed his arms. “That sounds cumbersome and dangerous.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never climbed somewhere dangerous to find the perfect landscape setting?” A blush blossomed across his cheeks and that was all the answer she needed. She really wanted to hear that story, but she’d pry it from him later ー when it was just the two of them. His stories were always more genuine that way. Her grin turned feline as she kicked her legs thoughtfully. “Why don’t you climb up here and join us?”

“Why don’t you climb down here and join me?” he countered with a huff, “if you fall and sprain your ankle again, it would have been your own fault and I refuse to help you at the workshop this time.”

He held out his arms towards her and Piper blinked down at him in surprise. Was he offering to catch her? That sounded like a terrible idea. They’d both end up at the clinic with sprained ankles if she jumped. She shook her head at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Just come down, you’re probably giving Xu a heart attack.”

Piper chuckled and glanced over at the clinic across the way. She didn’t doubt that. Xu always looked concerned whenever he saw them hanging out on the roof of the Civil Corp building. She only felt slightly bad for making him worry. “Alright, alright, I’ll come down.” she said as she shimmied down the drainpipe bolted to the wall. When her feet were safely on the ground, she turned to Gust and beamed.

“Happy?”

“Very.” And he did look happier. The tension in his shoulders seemed a little less and he almost smiled, though it looked more like a pained grimace. He let his arms fall back to his side and sniffed. “Do you scale buildings often?”

“Do you judge people for scaling buildings often?”

He picked an invisible fleck of dust off the front of his coat. “I do when I don’t want to see them hurt.” Piper tried and failed to hide her surprise. He said it so casually, like he didn’t just admit that he didn’t want her hurt. That he cared about her safety. She tried to ignore what that did to her heart.

Tried and failed.

She pressed her palm flat against her chest and willed it to stop hammering so loud, but it refused to listen. Fuck. “So,” she said as she took a tentative step closer. He made no move to step away and she tried not to read too much into it. But again, she failed miserably. Light, this whole crush thing was annoying. “What brings you to the top tier of town?”

Gust nodded towards the clinic. “I have to pick up some medicine for Ginger,” he said simply, “but I didn’t expect to run into two daredevils on my way up here.”

“Are you heading home after that?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head, “I was going to drop off Ginger’s birthday present this evening, but I can just head back with you when you’re done at the clinic.”

“But Pipes,” Sam peered over the edge of the awning and pouted, “it’s Tuesday.”

Gust arched an eyebrow up at her. “So?”

“Sam and I spar on Tuesdays, remember?” She held up her fists and jabbed at the air between them a couple of times. “To keep me sane and blow off a little steam. How else am I supposed to stay a level-headed ray of sunshine all the time?” Sam snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like bullshit. Piper shot a glare over her shoulder.

“And it also keeps me in shape. I can’t afford to get soft when I’m constantly being thrown in dangerous situations.” She laughed, but it quickly died when she noticed the frown toying on his lips. He traced where the cut along her hairline had been a few weeks prior with his finger and almost trailed down to where her lip had been split, but hesitated. She suppressed the shudder that tingled at the base of her spine and pulled away. “Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”

Gust wrinkled his nose and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I-I wasn’t worried.”

She had never seen someone lie so blatantly through their teeth before.

“Good, because she’s super capable.” Sam swung her legs over the awning and jumped. She landed heavily on the ground a few short paces away and Piper’s ankles ached for her. She approached the pair and draped an arm around Gust’s shoulders. He sneered and tried to wriggle out of her grasp, but Sam held firm. “Care for a personal demonstration?”

He blinked. “What?”

“What?”

Piper glared pointedly at Sam, but she was already dragging a reluctant Gust towards the Civil Corps building. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ll throw down your sister at the drop of a hat,” Sam continued with a sing-songy tone, “let’s see what you got to offer, pretty boy.”

She hurried after them. What was Sam thinking? She couldn’t spar against Gust. She’d snap him like a twig. Sure, she had a few sinful scenarios that sometimes wormed their way into her head where the idea of absolutely breaking him sounded divine, but those involved a lot less clothing and hardly any punching. She had to put a stop to this.

“I’m not going to spar with Piper.”

Piper paused just inside the doors. Gust looked positively harried as he glared down at Sam, who looked so damn proud of herself. “Why?” Her grip tightened around his shoulders. “Are you afraid she’s going to kick your ass? Because she will… kick your ass, I mean.”

Light, she wanted to throttle Sam.

“No,” he said with an indignant huff, “it’s just…”

He trailed off and glanced back at Piper. A silent plea simmered in his eye ー begging her to intervene, but Piper stared back helplessly. Two parts of her brain were currently at odds. One the one hand, getting Gust pinned to the ground and staring longingly into those soft green eyes of his sounded delightful. But on the other hand, Gust wasn’t a skilled fighter and she’d probably hurt him.

Difficult choices.

“She’s wearing a skirt.”

Piper blinked at him, then down at the flowy skirt she’d thrown over her leggings, then back at him. “That’s never stopped me before,” she deadpanned, “I wear this into the Collapsed Wastelands all the time. Is that really the best excuse you could come up with?”

“Well, you’re being absolutely no help.”

“You thought a skirt would stop me from sparring?”

“It’s the first thing that came to mind, okay?” His blush bled into his ears, turning them beet red. "Leave me alone."

Piper rolled her eyes and took him gently by the arm. Sam let go and stepped back against the wall, still looking entirely too entertained by this. She shot her a dirty look as she led Gust towards the sparring ring. “Let’s just humor her,” she hissed under her breath, “it won’t take too long. I’ll have you pinned to the ground in no time and we can move on.”

“Confident, aren’t we?”

Piper started and glanced up at him. A teasing smile played on his lips. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he maintained that smug look. Something inside her flared. The part of herself that thrived on the adrenaline that came with a good fight. Did he really think he was a match against her? Her uncle had her start boxing the moment she could swing a fist. She won competitions back in Barnarock, even a few in Atara while she studied there for a time. He had no idea what kind of trouble he was getting himself into.

“Yeah, actually, I am,” she said with a matching smile, “and I’ll show you why.”

She shrugged her coat off her shoulders and tossed it to the side. Sam whopped loudly and pumped at the air. “Oh yeah, she’s taking off the coat,” she cheered, “you’re in trouble now.”

Gust rolled his eyes and shrugged off his own jacket. He wore a lovely coral sweater underneath. It was a shame she was going to wipe the floor with it when she tackled him to the ground. Piper cracked her knuckles and raised her fists in front of herself. Gust did the same and the look of stubborn determination on his face was almost endearing. This would certainly knock him down a peg or two.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked with an innocent tilt of her head.

“I’ll go easy on you.”

Her smile turned saccharine. “I won’t.”

Piper lunged forward with a left hook. Gust sidestepped to swivel out of the way, but he was too slow. She clipped his shoulder with the edge of her fist. He grunted in surprise and staggered back, grasping his shoulder with a look of mild surprise. “You actually hit me?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, welcome to the sparring ring, that’s kind of the point.” She lunged forward with another swing that Gust managed to narrowly avoid. “Don’t worry, I won’t bruise that pretty face of yours.” She winked and threw another punch. This one connected with his forearm.

She could faintly hear Sam narrating her moves on the sidelines, but it sounded distant. Her blood rushed around her ears as the thrill of a fight coursed through her veins. She didn’t even have to think. Her body just moved. Jab. Jab. Uppercut. Right hook. It all came naturally after years of rigorous training. She consciously pulled the punches, but they still had a bit of power behind them.

They skirted around each other, much like a dance. A dance that Piper was leading and Gust didn’t know the steps to. He stumbled over himself in a desperate attempt to stay out of range of her swings. Several emotions played on his face, shuffling back and forth like a deck of cards. Panic, fear, admiration, and something she couldn’t quite place. Something that left his cheeks flushed and his eyes heavily lidded as he danced around her. Something that looked a lot like… arousal?

It stirred the monster called desire that she kept tucked away deep in the pit of her stomach. It awoke, snarling and begging that she let him make the face while he loomed over her in the privacy of her home. Preferably splayed out on her rickety kitchen table amidst the remnants of one of their meals. Where his fingers would dance along her sides as he peppered her body with kisses until he reached...

Wait. No. What?

She clamped down on the primal beast and shoved it down and out of sight. She faltered and swung a little too wide, just narrowly missing Gust’s face. The cut of air rustled the curls around his shoulders and he balked at her.

“You said you’d avoid the face?”

“Sorry.” Her voice crackled and popped like flames on a fire. Fuck. She needed to end this.

She shifted her weight forward to go for another hit, but feinted at the last moment. She swiped at his feet with her leg and Gust went crashing to the ground. She scrambled on top of him and pinned his arms over his head, chest heaving. He stared up at her, wearing that same flushed look that got her in trouble in the first place. His hair fanned out around his head like a halo of light one would only see in ancient pieces of relic art.

Light, it wasn’t fair how pretty he was.

Her grip tightened around his wrists and around the neck of the beast that clawed desperately in her gut. “Told you it wouldn’t take long.”

“You’re better than I anticipated,” he conceded, “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“Well, now you’ll think twice before you doubt me again.” she said with another wink, “I told you I can handle myself. There’s no need to worry.”

His expression softened and he smiled. “I can see that now.” He wriggled a little underneath of her and she bit back the whimper that threatened to bubble up in her throat. She released her grip on him and slipped off his lap. He sat up and massaged the skin on his wrist. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t worry.” It sounded so genuine and soft. It never used to be that way with him, but now…

She wasn’t sure when things had changed between them. Was it the time they spent together while she was hurt? Or maybe the fact that she wanted to help him get those flowers for his mother’s grave? Regardless, she liked this development. It gave her hope that maybe…

“That was so entertaining,” Sam exclaimed as she plopped down between them, “thank you for that. Truly, I needed something to make me laugh today.” Gust and Piper exchanged wary looks before turning to glare at her. She threw up her hands defensively. “What?”

Piper ignored her and pushed herself off the ground. She would have a long chat with Sam later, probably using their fists. But for now, she needed to get Gust out of here before Sam pulled him into anymore shenanigans. “I’ll go with you to the clinic,” she said as she offered Gust a hand, “then we can head back to your place so I can give Ginger her present.”

Gust smiled and took her hand. She hoisted him to his feet and held onto her hand a few seconds longer than he needed to. She tried not to think about it and she masked her disappointment when he did let go. “Then let’s get going, being around Sam nauseates me.”

“Yeah, she has that effect on people.”

Sam flipped them off and they returned it without missing a beat. She waved to Sam and, together, she and Gust left the Civil Corps. As they walked, she tried not to think about how close they were, or how often their shoulders brushed against each other, or how he smelled like apricots and fresh paper.

Light, she was in deep.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Lame

Tony hurts his back in the lamest possible way. Tony is in denial, Peter is amused and Bruce just wants to do his job... oh and Rhodey? He thinks it's hilarious.

Tags: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Hurt Tony Stark, Worried Peter Parker, Humor, Medical Doctor Bruce Banner... ...

Warnings: None   Rated: G

Word Count: 3441

Link to AO3 Lame-happyaspie

Peter had been in the lab for less than an hour when he hears a sneeze followed by a distinct 'Ow' coming from his mentor's mouth, across the room.  "Are you okay, Mr. Stark?" he asked with concern.  He couldn't remember ever hearing the man make any sort of noise of pain or discomfort before.  Not around him anyway.  It was worrisome at best.

Tony looked across the room at his mentee, rolled his eyes, and plastered a fake smile on his face.  "Yeah.  Of course. Why wouldn't I be?  I just sneezed. I'm fine." he rapidly defended as he tried to pull himself up a little taller in his chair.

Bringing his brows together in doubt, Peter stood up so that he could get a better look at his mentor.  "You said 'ow', Mr. Stark" he pointed out before bringing his bottom lip between his teeth in a nervous manner.

"I'm fine, kid," Tony replied and that time it sounded almost believe able.  The initial discomfort had faded and the last thing he wanted to do was to scare his favorite spider-child.  He was fine.  Just... tweaked his back a little.  The kid didn't need to know that tough and he was glad to see that the boy was slowly sitting back down with his school books.  That meant he had a moment to try to reach behind himself and rub out the lingering ache.

As Peter worked his way through his maths exercises and finished up the last of his American Civics essay he heard his mentor occasionally grunting or straining in obvious pain.  He tried to let it go because it was obvious that his mentor was trying to be quiet about it.  However, Peter had super-hearing and could hear every small noise that Tony made as he worked.  He could no longer stay quiet when the man hissed as he leaned down to pick up a dropped tool and suddenly he couldn't keep quiet anymore.  "Are you sure your okay?" he pressed hoping that Tony just tell him what was wrong because he was starting to grow a little anxious about it.

"Don't you have some homework to do or something?" Tony mildly bit back with a groan.  Not that he didn't appreciate the concern so much as he wanted to ignore the entire episode into nonexistence.  As long as he pretended he was fine.  He would be fine.  He'd faked 'just peachy' under worst conditions.

Peter smiled, not taking even a little bit of offense from his mentor's clipped response. "Nope.  I'm done," he said with a shrug of his shoulder while dramatically slamming his history book shut.

Sighing deeply, Tony waved a hand towards the holo-table that Peter often worked at when he came over and tried to smirk.  "Well.  Go do something else then," he said, making a point of staying as still as possible as he did so.  He wasn't going to be able to keep a straight face otherwise.  Every small movement caused a jolt of pain to radiate through his lower back and down into his left hip.

The concern didn't leave Peter as he acquiesced and sat down to work on an AI code he'd been messing with for a while. It wasn't much but every time he added some, Tony would go over it with him and help him add things here and there.  It was mostly just an excuse to practice programming language syntax. Eventually, he grew tired of that task and moved on to another, then as the hour grew late his stomach started to growl and he sighed.  "It's almost eight?  Can we go upstairs and eat.  I'm starving," he said as he saved his work and wandered over towards where Tony was still sitting in the same spot he'd been in all afternoon.

"Sure, kiddo," Tony said with a half-hearted smile.  He was sort of dreading standing up.  Especially with the kid standing right there but he didn't have much of a choice.  "Ow, ow, ow... shoot.  Ow." he spat out through gritted teeth as he slowly brought himself to his feet.  The pain was so intense that he couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut no matter how much he wished he could.  He could practically taste the uneasiness radiating off of his kid and it was making him feel that much worse.  Because of that, he tried to bite his lip in order to stop the painful rambling but that wasn't enough to prevent the one last hiss that came through his teeth as he finally straightened himself out.

Peter swallowed hard and shuffled his feet.  "Mr. Stark?" he finally asked when the man didn't make any further movements or complaints.

"It's nothing!" Tony grunted before giving up and falling back into his chair.  Walking seemed like a lot of effort at the moment. He'd have to take something and try again in a few minutes.  No big deal.  He's had worse.  This too shall pass and all that jazz.

"It doesn't look like nothing.  Maybe I should call Dr. Banner or something," Peter said with trepidation.

"No! Absolutely not," Tony firmly stated.  There was no way he was going to the doctor for this.  All he needed was some over the counter medication and a few minutes for it to kick it. Then he sighed.  "Just... just get me some aspirin," he dejectedly added.  Despite the fact that he didn't want the kid to see him as he was, he was actually thankful he was there to go get it for him.  It was a small grace, really.

More than happy to hear that his mentor was willing to ask for a pain reliever, Peter let out a deep breath.  "Ah.  So you admit you're not fine then, huh Mr. Stark?" he teased with a relieved grin.  

Tony tried to smile back but as he did so he shifted a little in his seat causing the smile to turn into a grimace.  "Just go get the Aspirin, kid," he whined without censor but at that point, he was pretty sure he'd somehow managed to break his spine doing literally nothing.  This was how Tony Stark died, slumped pathetically over his desk waiting for a fifteen-year-old to bring him pain medicine from the bathroom than was no more than ten steps from where he sat.

A few short minutes later, Peter obediently handed Tony the tablets along with a bottle of water and the two of them sat there for a while waiting for it to kick in.  During that time, they ordered a large dinner and discussed what show they were going to binge while they ate.  Then, after twenty minutes or so, the food was delivered to the penthouse and Tony sighed. "Okay.  One more time," he grunted as he strained to get up and then grunted again as he sat back down on the penthouse couch.

Being the considerate person that he was, Peter happily fixed his mentor a plate and delivered to him where he sat in the living room.  Tony grumbled his thanks and Peter turned on the newest episode of some sci-fi series they'd been watching together for the last few weeks.

After the second episode had ended and the food wrappers had been cleared, Tony suggested that they go back to the lab.  However, as he moved to stand back up, it seemed that this stationary position had caused his spine to lock up and he ended up slowly lowering himself back down before he even made it halfway up.  He growled a little in frustration as he did so.  

Having watched his mentor all but collapse back onto the cushions, Peter frowned.   "Can we please call Dr. Banner now?" he pleaded because clearly, the one dose of aspirin wasn't doing anything for whatever it was.

Tony nodded his head, closed his eyes, and forced himself to stand back up. It hurt but it wasn't nearly as painful once he was actually on his feet.  He couldn't deny that the upward movement hadn't been nearly excruciating.  Maybe he did need a little bit more than an aspirin.  Not that he was going to say that though.   "Fine but only because it'll make you feel better," he said with a sly smile because he knew it actually would make the kid feel better.  That made for a good excuse should it end up being something really mundane like a muscle cramp or something.  

Once in the med bay, Tony sat at the edge of the white paper-lined table while Peter took up a rolling swivel chair in the corner.  Bruce was quick to enter and started to ask a few questions while taking some vitals and once that was done he cut right to the chase.  "So, what happened Tony?" he asked without judgment.  It was a miracle the man had called him at all.  He'd been know to walk around with fractured bones for days without getting checked out.

"I hurt my back." Tony blandly replied as he pulled his t-shirt over his head to give the other man access to his injury.  

Bruce rubbed his hands together to warm them up a little, asking for more details as he did so.  "Did you fall?  Crash?  Something along those lines?" he asked.  When Tony shrugged his shoulders he proceeded to probe and palpate gently down Tony's spine.  As he made his way towards his lower back he stopped when Tony flinched violently at the touch. "Sorry,"  he said with sympathy and then sighed in contemplation.  "No numbness, tingling, pain in your legs?" Tony shook his head in the negative.  "...and you're sure nothing happened?"

"Nope.  It just... hurts," Tony replied matter-of-factly but he meant it.  Nothing that should have caused a back injury had happened.  They hadn't been on a mission in a month, he'd been taking it easy in the gym in favor of lab time and he'd not slipped or fallen since, well, since he'd stopped drinking over a year ago.

Bruce shook his head and furrowed his brow.  "Something had to have happened.  You don't sprain your lumbar without some kind of trauma," he dubiously pointed out because all signs were pointing solidly towards a sprain.

When Tony shook his head again, Peter pipped up from across the room. "He sneezed," he helpfully suggested because the man had seemed perfectly fine up until that moment and he didn't want his mentor to leave out any important details.  However, by the way, Tony was glaring at him he wondered if maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.  

"You sneezed?", Bruce asked with less amusement than he was feeling but he was glad to have been giving something to go on.  It wasn't completely uncommon for a particularly jarring sneeze to put enough pressure on the back to cause muscle strain but it was humorous.  Mostly because it was Tony that it had happened too.  "Okay, well was it painful prior to that?" he asked in order to be thorough.  

Resigning himself to his fate, Tony sighed. "Nothing happened but I suppose it's been bothering me for about two weeks.  It was fine until today.  Nothing a few aspirins and some topical analgesics couldn't manage," he admitted and watched as his friend glanced down at the tablet in his hands to make some notes.  Probably trying to hide the smile that he was failing to conceal.

"...and then you sneezed..." Bruce managed to ask while still sounding somewhat professional.  

"Yes," Tony replied without humor, and Bruce could no longer hold back his laughter.  Peter was quick to join him, making Tony feel slightly more annoyed than he probably should have been.  "Oh shut up and give me some medicine or something-" he said with an indignant roll of his eyes before pointing towards his giggling mentee, "-and you stop laughing.  I'm injured."

"I'm sorry Mr. Stark-"  Peter cried out, trying his hardest to pause the bubbling laughter, "-but that has to be the lamest injury ever.  The great Tony Stark...  Iron Man sprained his back... sneezing."

Choosing to ignore his overly amused kid, Tony turned his attention back to Bruce who was digging through a nearby cabinet.  "So what's the plan?" he wearily inquired.

Bruce hummed in acknowledgment, not answering until he had two vials and two syringes in hand.  "Two injections.  A steroid and an anti-inflammatory then you'll continue on orals for a few days," he explained, pausing to calculate and draw up the doses.  "You need to work some more stretching into your work out routine and make sure you're not sitting in a chair for longer than thirty to forty minutes without a break."

"You do know who you're talking to, right?" Tony incredulously asked.  Not sit in a chair for longer than thirty minutes? What was he supposed to do?  Stand up to work?  Okay, that was fair, he probably could but come on!  He was in that lab twenty out of twenty-four hours a day, he wasn't going to stand up every thirty minutes... that was ridiculous.  

"I do. Your name is on the chart and everything," Bruce returned with a cocky smile and then look over to where the teenager in the room had finally managed to get himself together.  "Peter, you and FRIDAY are in charge of making sure he's stretching, taking his meds, and getting off his butt while he's in the lab, okay?"

"Yes, sir" Peter replied with a genuine smile and a mock salute.  

Tony once again rolled his eyes.  He didn't need a baby-sitter.  Even if he did, it wasn't like a teenaged boy or an AI could force him into doing anything.  Though honestly, it hurt like hell and he was likely to comply without their insistence. Again he wasn't going to say that.  Instead, he scoffed.  "Like they-" he began, only to be ignored.

"-Alright.  I have your injections.  I need you to lower your pants and lean over the table so that I can get to your buttocks," Bruce said with factitious vigor.  

"I'm sorry, you want me to what now?" Tony quipped, snapping his head towards Bruce with wide eyes while Peter cackled in the background.

"I need to inject these into your buttocks.  This isn't a thrill for me either.  Trust me," Bruce blandly replied.  "Just pull your pants down a little so we can get this over with."

Tony looked over at Peter who left the room on his own accord, though he did snigger a little at the curses that were making their way through the solid wooden door.  Then not even ten minutes later, his mentor was walking towards him, still rubbing his backside.  By some miracle, he managed to not start laughing again before Bruce followed him out and started issuing some instructions.

"Alright, here are your prescriptions," Bruce said and then proceeded to read the labels.  When Tony looked less than impressed he sighed and once again turned towards Peter.  "I need you to please make sure he-" he started.

"-I can handle my own medication, thanks." Tony snipped, grabbing the bottle of tablets and pack of steroids from the other man's hands as he did so.

Not at all surprised by Tony's response, Bruce nodded his head and smiled.  "Well, I hope you feel better.  Remember no horsing around or sitting around for at least a week.  If it gets worse call me."

"Yup.  Got it," Tony returned and then wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder, that being a fairly common enough occurrence that no one was likely to figure out hat he was actually trying to get some of his own weight off of his back.  The kid had super-strength, he probably didn't even notice.  "Come on kiddo, let's get out of here," he said with only a slight pitch to his voice.  Then he realized the boy was too busy with his phone to actually start walking.  "Who are you texting?"

Peter looked up with a mildly sheepish look.  "No one?" he questioned even though it was obvious enough to have been a statement.

"Right," Tony sighed before the reality of the situation set it.  "Oh my God.  Who did you tell!" he snapped with absolute horror.  The last thing he needed was for anyone to find out he's hurt his back in such an utterly ridiculous manner.  

"Um... just May," Peter replied and then swallowed as he prepared to extend his list.  It wasn't like he was a good liar or anything.  "... and Ned and MJ,"  he added before taking a deep breath and hurriedly tagging on his most recent message recipient. "... and, um. Mr. Rhodes."

"That's it.  Get out of my house!" Tony said, feigning shock and annoyance.  Though to be fair, he was annoyed.  He just wasn't shocked.  Actually he was relieved the list was as short as it was.  It could have been far worse. The kid had Happy and Steve on speed dial as well.

"Mr. Stark!  No..." Peter laughed while simultaneously whining for emphasis.  

Tony was just about to banish the kid further when his pocket buzzed.  He was nearly positive that it was going to be from Rhodey. A glance at his screen confirmed it.   'Hey old man, I heard you sneezed you back out of commission,' the message read, followed up by several laughing emojis.  Tony was not impressed.

'I would like to take a moment to remind you that you're older than me,' he messaged back without hesitation.  The man was nearly two and a half years older than him.  He wasn't going to let that slide. He wasn't old.  

It didn't take long for a second message to pop up.  'I'm still in my prime.  You, on the other hand, threw your back out in the lamest way possible,' he read but rather than reply he glared at his mentee.  

"You're the worst.  You know that?" Tony said before playfully grabbing at the device that the teenager was still clutching.  "In fact, I'm taking away your Rhodey privileges.  Give me your phone."

"No!" Peter half-shouted as he slung Tony's arm off of his shoulders and took off down the hall.

Tony attempted to follow but was immediately halted in his actions when a sharp pain dug into his lower back.  He had to grit his teeth as he waited for it to pass.

Feeling guilty for having prompted the man into trying to run, Peter sighed and returned to Tony's side, silently helping him towards the elevator.  Then, the moment they were back in the penthouse, he left his mentor on the couch while he went to collect a few supportive pillows and a bottle of water.  He also took a moment to helpfully dole out the first dose of anti-inflammatories and carefully read the instructions on the steroid packet before taking those out as well.

Feeling tired, sore, and decidedly defeated, Tony allowed the kid to continue to dote on him for a while.  They watched his favorite movie for once and Peter was eager to jump up and get them snacks and drinks as they watched it.  It also didn't go unnoticed that even as Peter leaned into his side, he made a point of being exceptionally careful not to jostle him too much.  He wasn't sure how he ended up with such a thoughtful and caring kid but he certainly appreciated it.  He smiled to himself and just as he was about to lean his own head onto Peter's when the boy looked up at him.

"Am I forgive yet, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked with a smile.

Tony gave the teenager a scrutinizing look before squinting his eyes.  "That depends.  Who else did you tell?" he questioned, wondering if the kid had since managed messaged anyone else without his knowledge.  Though he assumed not seeing as he hadn't received any more fun messages.

"No one else, I swear!" Peter laughed, sitting up so he could hold his hands out in defense.

After taking a few seconds to pretend like he was mulling it over, Tony eventually nodded his head.  "Fine.  You're forgiven," he said and then pointed towards the hall closet.  "Now, go get me another pillow."

As he watched Peter happily take off down the hall, he smiled.  Then he remembered Pepper and seeing as she lived with him, he was going to have to tell her what happened.   He groaned at the thought and begrudgingly pulled out his phone.  Between, Bruce, Peter, Rhodey, and her... he was never going to live this down.  Ever.

Notes:

Hey! Guess who sprained their back this week by sneezing!

Yeah. So the shots in the butt? The oral steroids and anti-inflammatories? You guessed it. I got those. Only my experience with the doctor was far less amusing.

... but let's face it... hurting your already slightly sore back while sneezing is lame

[aconitemare]

[jaydick] Before That, And Colder

Chapter Four

AO3

Previous Chapter

Dick kicks his foot in the air repeatedly, inspecting the pink flowers on his white Oxfords. He’s pretending to ignore the people around him — possibly, he is actually ignoring them, as the outlines of their bodies blur around his fancy footwear. He leans farther back on Jason’s desk, conjuring the picture of ease. To his left rests Jason’s Red Hood helmet in a gargoyle-fashion. Everyone here knows Jason Todd is the Red Hood, but Dick is just Richie Grayson, D-list celebrity. The sleeves of his pretentiously silk bomber jacket, embroidered with colorful roosters, slip slightly down his shoulder. 

“Is this really the best time to be hiring people? Specifically this person?” This question comes from James — or “Wingman,” as Jason earlier informed him of. James is up-and-coming, bat-themed, Gotham-based vigilante who believes the Red Hood is absolutely critical to public safety. Dick has not yet shared this detail with Batman, having only received it an hour before this current meeting, but he’s hoping they’ll share a good laugh over that.

“No time like the present,” Jason says without much concern. He stands beside the desk, a few feet from Dick. 

Dick catches James crossing his arms from the corner of his eyes. The defensive body language convinces him to focus more on the arrangement of people. Suzie Su still sits on the recliner, seemingly indifferent. Her sisters, one of which Dick recognizes as the waitress who intercepted him and Miguel earlier, flock around Su either on the couch or near her armrest; all except for Night, Dick’s blackjack dealer yesterday, who now occupies a distant corner of the room by herself. Miguel sits in the recliner opposite Suzie Su, playing with his tie. James stands the closest to Dick and Jason and busies himself with looking like he eats nails for breakfast. 

“The son of Bruce Wayne is hardly a sound addition to the Outlaws,” James points out. 

Suzie Su’s head swivels towards Jason. “Oh, no,” she says, suddenly invested, “Whatever ‘the outlaws’ is, count me out of it. I’m going legit, you promised!”

Jason takes a page from Dick’s book and seats himself on the corner of his desk. He grips the edge, knees spread, so that he looks like he’s riding a horse. For an unstably diverse crowd, he’s rather at ease at the head of it, Dick notes. Jason holds up a silencing finger and begins his address, “Firstly, the Outlaws are too legit for any mere mortal to handle, that includes you, Su, so stuff it. Secondly, James, you can also stuff it because no one’s inviting Richie Rich onto the team except you, it would seem.”

So, does that mean I don’t get to see the Super Secret Clubhouse and make friendship bracelets? Dick almost says. Instead, he receives a text alert and checks his phone to see Bruce left him a message. 

What is your plan of action? it reads.

Dick quickly shoots back a non-committal text, wary of Jason sensing Batman’s concern through the phone. Luckily, Jason doesn’t pay Dick’s texting any mind, preoccupied with his stand-off against Wingman. 

James persists, undeterred by Jason’s skilled dismissal. “Batman isn’t exactly in your corner, Todd. He is, however, in Wayne’s pocket. As is Richie Grayson.”

Dick frowns; his current persona is apparently no longer a good fit. He will need to adjust accordingly. Dick sits up straighter on the desk and tucks his legs. “I have my own funds, as a matter of fact,” he speaks up. Jason’s eyes slice into him — oh, right, Dick’s not supposed to talk while meeting the in-laws. Oh, well. He continues, “I work for the Bludhaven Police Department.” 

Dick touches his jacket collar and inspects the interior fabrice. “I try to dress nice when there might be cameras so I don’t make Bruce look bad, but most of it’s bought off-price at Marshalls.” This last part is a lie as he rarely buys his own photo op clothes. Bruce has a personal stylist who keeps everyone’s wardrobe at the Manor stocked. Dick hit up his old bedroom on the way to the hotel. 

“You’re a cop,” James repeats. 

Dick holds back a wince. So much for Agent 37’s kick-ass undercover portfolio. “Every cop’s a little dirty in the ‘Haven,” he says, hopefully smoothly.

Unfortunately, James does not find this comforting. “So not only are you a cop who knows about the Iceberg’s business, but you’re not even a good cop?”

Dick points at Jason. “He murders people,” he deflects. 

Jason sighs obnoxiously loud. “Richie has information and contacts,” Jason increases his volume when James looks like he wants to say something else, “neither of which are anyone’s business at the moment but mine. Believe it or not, but I’m pretty attached to my life, in both a literal and figurative sense, and so if I say the guy from that one lady-service Pantene commercial is going to keep my organs safely inside my body, rest assured, I have done my research.”

This standing ovation inspires Dick to wonder whether Jason saw that commercial on cable or some other venue. He tries and fails to imagine Jason watching Friends reruns. Maybe he caught it off some gun review video on Youtube. This is the kind of media Dick assumes Jason consumes. 

“Great to know,” says Suzie Su flatly. “So, Richie, who’s trying to whack our boss?”

“No one yet. There have been no attempts on his life thus far,” Dick responds. Then, “Also, you can just call me Dick.”

“Shouldn’t be too tough,” Suzie Su remarks.

“The situation will escalate, though,” James states,  “There is no doubt that Red Hood is the final target.”

“Correct. Which is why it’s important that we trust each other,” Dick says. He levels a gaze at everyone in the room except for James, which should indicate to him that he’s the object of criticism without presenting Dick as outwardly hostile. “If we are too busy suspecting each other without any evidence, we allow for outside threats to slip past our radar.” Dick can only hope they will take this to heart; it will be harder for him to investigate Jason’s people if they’re also investigating him.  

“Truth,” Miguel agrees as he stands to his feet and walks towards Dick. “Although it kind of worked out for us this time, right? You following me, us following you?” As he approaches, he extends a hand and Dick dismounts from the desk. “Welcome to the team, Dick,” Miguel says, clapping Dick on the shoulder as they shake. His smile is warm and sincere. Dick feels an equally genuine grin spread across his face. 

“Alright, alright,” Jason says, leaning from his spot on the desk to bat an arm at them. “What did I just say about teams, dude,” he gripes. Miguel shrugs rather blithely before he returns to his chair. Dick appreciates what he hopes will be the one easy-going personality in this tense bunch. 

Jason claps his hands together and stands. “Okay, here’s the deal: I want someone always watching my vehicle for the next, fuck, two weeks, I guess? One week?” He looks to Dick for confirmation. Dick mouths, ‘longer.’ “One week to start, cool,” Jason locks in his answer. “I don’t mean from the cameras, as I really am hoping to catch this person ASAP and get back to my regularly scheduled gangbanging.”

Dick watches the crowd: Miguel gives a whoop, Suzie Su rolls her eyes, one of the sisters not standing in the corner laughs. 

“So, that means I need you,” Jason flourishes his arm in the air and brings it dramatically down like a hammer, finger pointing sharply at Miguel, “to physically be in the parking lot.”

Miguel looks around in bafflement. “I’m the owner. That would look weird,” he says, gesturing towards himself.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure everyone is lining up for your autograph, too, now come off it. No one here is instantly recognizable except for me, and that’s mostly to do with the helmet,” Jason pats the helmet beside him emphatically, “giving me serious red Darth Vader vibes.”

Dick suppresses a laugh. Jason hears him anyway, but that turns out to be not so bad. Jason’s eyes flicker towards him but they’re absent of reproach, which is how Dick realizes he had expected to be growled at for his humor. But Jason made the joke, didn’t he? He goes so far as to smile, not threateningly, but pleasantly. Dick wants to call it soft even. 

Jason’s eyes are back on the ragtag team within the second. He explains properly his reasoning to Miguel. “The subject’s abilities and target range are unknown to us. You’re our safest bet for handling whatever he might be capable of. And you can wear whatever you want.” Dick assumes that last bit is weighted with the implication of a supersuit, although Miguel’s secret identity may very well be known considering the lack of visible confusion on anyone’s face. Of course, that could just be indifference; no one in this room seems particularly interested in each other. 

“If you see someone snooping, wait it out. If you see someone put something on my bike, apprehend them and bring them to me where I can then proceed to shoot their brains out,” Jason instructs. Dick tries to say something, but Jason says over his attempt, “If they’re guilty.”

“Not really the problem,” Dick mutters. 

“The Su Brigade can, I don’t know, keep doing what you’re doing, I guess? Keep an eye on suspicious figures.”

Dick chimes in, “This time, however, immediately report to Jason or myself. Don’t rush in unless the threat is urgent. Don’t,” he motions to James, “text James, or whatever it is you guys did. That was sloppy and uncoordinated.”

James shifts his weight more evenly. Dick instantly recognizes the implicit challenge and straightens his back. “Text you, huh? What, you the boss now?”

Dick files through his possible responses, weighs the best tone to take, the stance to adopt. Should he pick up the gauntlet and try to assert dominance, or go for diplomacy? He doubts this will come to blows, but the direction he takes this could have later consequences, could affect Jason’s safety even in the long-run. 

Dick almost misses the change in Jason’s posture, but it’s instantaneous. “He’s close enough,” Jason has already spoken, no longer leaning against the desk but standing with his hands deceptively plunged into his jeans pockets and his searing green eyes locked on James. “More the boss than you are, at any rate, so yeah, I’d text him.” He sounds almost casual, accent set in a lazy Gotham drawl, yet there’s an angered click to how he sets his teeth. He’s intimidating, alright, the sharp cut of his cheeks complementing his strong jaw. He’s quite Hollwood-esque actually, Dick thinks — at least before he realizes Jason is looking right back at him. Jason raises his eyebrows and spins his fingers in a prompting manner. “Well? Anything else you’d like to derail the meeting with, Dick?”

And just like that, Jason manages to personally undermine the power he just gave him. Dick is bordering on impressed, restrained only by his sudden irritation. Dick simply smiles and says, “You’re the boss.”

“Fantastic. James! How do you feel about interrogating people you can’t beat up?” Jason proposes to the next member of the non-team. 

Dick thinks James could question people without beating them up just fine, especially after the practice he got in while interrogating Dick. James doesn’t comment on whether he’s up to the task, however, but replies, “Who am I interrogating?”

Jason grins and quickly bows his body. “A witness. Exciting, right? Unfortunately, no, not exciting. This will suck for you. Daniel Garcia, the second victim, should be at Gotham General Hospital — fingers crossed he has insurance, because otherwise you’ll have to find out where he lives and talk to him there.”

Dick could be projecting, but he thinks James puffs up his chest at this. “I can find anyone anywhere,” vows James.

“I’ve no doubt, buddy. I just would prefer he not have to relive everything the second he gets home because a stranger wants to hear the gory details,” Jason explains. His tone is slightly scolding. There might be some decency in him yet. Dick immediately feels guilty for being surprised. Jason is a good guy. A good guy. He’s said as much to Bruce. Did he forget to tell himself the same thing?

“Bring some flowers to soften things,” Dick suggests.

“Flowers don’t soften a crowbar, Dick,” Jason disagrees. Still, he adds for James, “But yeah, bring flowers. The family won’t like you for it, but they’ll hate you even more if you don’t.”

“Do we have to do anything?” Suzie Su asks, a little unhappily, it would seem. Dick doesn’t trust her. Then again, would she be so openly disloyal if she was double-crossing? The only person in this room Dick trusts is Miguel — and even then, if there’s one thing Batman has been trying to drill into him for half his life, it’s that trust is a liability. Anyone here could logically be a mole. Anyone here could be loyal, too. 

“No, Suzie Su, I expect absolutely nothing from you and that’s why I dragged you to a staff meeting, so you could sit on your ass and pick at your nails,” Jason intones. Suzie Su drops her manicured nails to her lap and glares at him. Jason sticks his tongue out in response. “You and your lovely sisters of questionable bloodline are my ears to the ground.”

“So, same as before?”

Jason cocks his head, shakes it up and down as if weighing the question, and says, “K-i-i-i-i-nd of? It’s like what you were doing before, but not complete garbage. Need I remind you that you let this idiot into my office.” Jason jabs his thumb in Dick’s direction.

Miguel raises his finger. He’s properly relaxed in his cushiony recliner, legs crossed and arms spilling over the back. “Ah, but you let the idiot stay,” he reminds Jason. 

Dick twists his lips. “Thanks, Miguel. Or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Jason decides. “Alright, everyone out of my office and onto the things I demand of you. Dick, you’re coming with me.”

The crowd is already dispersing. Dick hops off the desk and pats the wrinkles from his pants. “Why’s that? I thought you didn’t want me breathing down your neck.”

Jason’s back is to Dick as he fastens his Red Hood helmet over his head, which tips Dick off that some of his people outside the office might still not know who’s under the mask. Jason’s response is rougher than before. “You saw the tapes, didn’t you?” The energy from only a minute ago has melted from his voice. The helmet lights up then and Jason’s next words are modulated, shrouded in static. “That makes you the expert.”

Dick does not miss the irony of this statement. 

  ___________

  Dick has Jason drive him to Bludhaven. Jason has many cars and not a single one is worth less than $80,000. “How do you blend in?” Dick asked on the way to his shitty apartment across the pond, Jason looking absolutely put-upon by the half-hour drive.  His Red Hood helmet has been stowed away in a personally customized, hidden compartment. “I don’t,” Jason simply replied. Dead guys, according to Jason, don’t need to feign poverty. Especially if those dead guys are better known for their underground empires and resort casinos. However, two rich men in a luxury vehicle don’t have much business commiserating with the family of boys like Terry Weind. So, the two stop by Bludhaven to pick up Dick’s Saturn and allow him to change into less flamboyant clothes. 

Dick chooses a threadbare BPD t-shirt and jeans. Jason stays in his signature ensemble of leather jacket and combat boots. He raises his brows at Dick’s outfit, but Dick insists it’s a good choice. Even if they don’t like the police, he’s still out of uniform and unarmed, and they’ll know this isn’t his territory. He’ll seem like a commuter, which might even win him some subconscious sympathy; many people in downtown Gotham have to commute to Bludhaven, albeit usually for a fishery job and not the police department. 

Jason waits in the car for Dick to come out. Dick invites him in, but secretly he’s relieved. The place is a mess. If how he keeps his office is a hint, Jason’s habits are immaculate. They would put Dick to shame. Dick taps Jason’s window to signal they’re switching to the Saturn. Jason takes an excessively long time to part with his car, all but cooing at it, but does eventually make it over. He settles into the passenger seat, looking Dick up and down.

“What?” Dick asks, perhaps defensively. He should’ve said something like, “Like what you see?” but it’s too late for that. 

Jason shrugs casually, but his eyes flicker to Dick’s hair. “Nothing. You just look normal now.” 

Dick jams his keys into the ignition, because he has to be rough for the car to start, and rolls his eyes. “You mean my hair’s not gay?”

“Eh. Less gay.” And then Jason is reaching out and ruffling his hair, fingers curling through the still-damp waves. Dick stuck his hair under the bathroom sink’s faucet before putting his shirt on. He got water everywhere, but he needed to get the product out. He weirdly hopes Jason doesn’t feel any lingering stickiness, that his hair is soft to touch. 

Jason’s face abruptly screws up in confusion as if he isn’t sure how he got here. Slowly, he retracts his hand and sits straight in his seat. Dick didn’t notice how open Jason’s body language was just a moment ago, but he notices how it closes. His knees no longer point towards Dick but to the windshield; his arms, once extended towards him, now fold across his chest. Dick stares at him for a moment, trying to piece together the puzzle he suspects they almost had. 

Jason’s presence always has that mystifying effect on him, however, like he’s a monument to all the almosts they’ve been. When Jason was Robin, they were almost friends. When he was the Red Hood, they were almost enemies. Then they might have been brothers, could have been, maybe. There had been that night on the rooftop when Dick had managed to slip through Spyral’s many fingers — when Barbara had run away and Damian had embraced him and Tim demanded why, why — Jason had drawn blood as his voice broke because you don’t do that to your. Almost.

They are always on the verge of some new meaning. 

“Well?” asks Jason. “Are you waiting for me to set up the GPS? You know the address, let’s go.”

Dick quickly recovers and begins edging out from his spot between two other parked cars on the street. “What are we, drag racing? Jeesh.” They avoid traffic for the drive over but do swing into a corner store once they’re in Gotham again. Jason buys the most expensive bouquet available while Dick fiddles with a rack of playing cards. Pokémon? Magic? Would Terry care about either of those games? He sees Jason head to the counter and grabs a random card pack to check out. His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he finishes counting off the dollar bills. He hands the cashier $16 and unlocks his phone. It’s from Bruce.

Any progress?

Dick begins typing out an answer when he remembers the boundaries he agreed on with Jason. He said he wouldn’t share any details with Bruce unless Jason okay’d it. He could let Jason know Bruce is asking, but even mentioning Bruce tends to sour him. Dick would rather get through this meeting with Terry Weind first. He makes a mental note to inform Jason later and give Bruce a non-answer if he says no. 

Ten minutes later and they’re standing on narrow porch steps. The wooden planks are dark and splintery and covered in cigarette butts where an ash tray has been knocked down. Dick squats down and picks it up; ceramic, woodsy-green and leaf-shaped. He sets it atop the paint-chipped banister while Jason knocks on the door. The walls are thin enough that Dick can trace the sound of someone walking down the stairs. It’s summery outside today, the earth baked through by the sun, but he’s thinking of winters down here. Even with a good furnace, these walls must let the chill in. 

A woman opens the door in her nightgown, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame. Her eyes are red and the skin beneath them sags. Her skin is almost ashen. She looks tired. She is tired, she’s exhausted, Dick can feel it when he looks at her. Her exhaustion is a heavy substance that spreads out and sinks into his flesh. 

“Are you Terry’s mom?” Jason asks. He has the flowers already at his chest. His voice is stiff with emotion. Dick recalls his comment about Daniel reliving trauma and wonders if that’s what Jason is doing right now. 

The woman nods and says that, yes, she is, but little changes in her expression. Dick had been expecting confusion, but she accepts the flowers without hesitation. Evidently, they are not remotely the first ones to share condolences. “My name’s Laura,” she says, touching the waxy petal of a calla lily. Her voice is soft and deep as if it’s been anchored to the bottom of the ocean.

“I’m Jason.”

“Dick,” Dick says after him. 

Laura opens her mouth silently for a few seconds before carefully telling them, “I appreciate you boys coming here and wishing us well. It’s been hard, but we’re grateful to the community’s response, it’s been wonderful. I hope you don’t mind me not inviting you in, it’s just that I work grave and don’t get much sleep, and Terry’s resting.”

“We understand. But actually, we’re not just here to offer our sympathy — though you do have it, of course,” Dick conveys. He rushes the words of each clause so his speech comes out in quick, nervous chunks. He’s dipping head, taking up as little room as possible while moving closer to her. Jason takes a step back to accommodate him. He wants to represent himself as sincere, perhaps too sincere to the point of being clumsy. People often think inept and trustworthy are the same thing; the logic goes, you can’t be hiding any tricks up your sleeve if you’re more likely to spill them on the floor. 

“If you turn us away, we get it, don’t worry,” assures Dick, “but this is our city and our kids are getting snatched.”

Laura begins shaking her head. “Oh, no, he’s not answering any questions — ”

“We won’t ask as many questions as the police,” Dick hurries to say. “We don’t need to. We,” here, Dick breaks off his speech and looks uncertainly at Jason, feigning hesitance. Then he takes a galvanizing breath, readying for his big leap, this information he’s sharing only with Laura. “I work part-time at the Park Row Memorial. I’m a guard, similar work to what I do with the Bludhaven Police. We have it monitored 24/7 so it doesn’t become a high-crime area again.” Dick sighs in frustration and bites his lips. “Laura,” he says firmly, staring into her eyes. Her pupils have dilated along his story. Good. “I saw Terry that night. The police haven’t even asked Park staff yet, they don’t care. But I saw it happen and I think I can do something about it.”

The best cover story is always based in reality. The best lies are true. 

Laura’s eyes drop the ground as she thinks. She’s also biting her lip. Dick ponders over whether she does that often and Dick got lucky, or if she’s mirroring him. Either way, he’s won her over. She shuffles to the side and waves them in, her movements less languid than before. 

She leads them to the stairwell and says, “If he doesn’t want to answer questions, he doesn’t have to. I’m not going to force him, you got it? Get what you can and hope it’s useful.” With this, she climbs the steps to the second floor, Jason and Dick following at an appropriate distance. They pause at the top step while she enters Terry’s room and explains in hushed tones his guests. She relates Dick’s reason for being here and then there’s a long pause before Dick detects a faint, “Sure.” 

Dick and Jason share a look that confirms: they’re in. Laura places a light hand on Jason’s bicep and guides them to the door. “I’ll stand right here,” she says firmly and waves them forward. Dick looks around for a chair, sees none, and settles on the windowsill facing Terry’s bed. He’s faired better than the next two kids, all injuries considered. He was out of the hospital in a month. He lies in his twin-sized mattress beneath a crisp sheet, a blue comforter shoved to the foot of his bed. A square bandage covers his right cheek, there’s stitching over his right eyebrow, and there’s more stitches on the right side of his skull. His right arm and knee have been set in casts. Dick remembers him curling onto his side at one point in the video. 

In the wake of the other victims’ hospital records (courtesy of Oracle), Terry’s assault had been carried out with perfunctory brutality. Dick recollects the scene but recalls no hesitation in the attacker’s swings, yet their violence has clearly increased. Perhaps they are doing someone else’s dirty work and the job has just now awakened a taste for pain in them. Or maybe it’s one guy after all and they’re adjusting to the role. 

“So, you know the fucker who did this?” Terry speaks up first. His voice is a little rough and definitely fatigued. Despite his current infirmity, Dick can tell he’s a sturdy kid. He’s got the same build Jason had at that age, youthfully broad with natural muscle in the absence of training. A body with room to grow in. 

Dick shrugs. “Not personally. But we hold out hope. What did his face look like? Any defining features?” he attempts, even knowing that Terry’s report claimed to make out nothing from the night of the attack.

Terry was looking at Jason beforehand, which Dick can’t blame him for. Jason takes up most of the room as he stands by Terry’s feet, stock straight with his massive arms folded. Dick has a habit of downsizing Jason in his head. In general, Dick’s guilty of subconsciously diminishing certain people’s threat levels, letting his familiarity with them obscure the danger they still pose. He does his best to put himself in Terry’s shoes and see what he might see; he accomplishes this by summoning the first night he encountered the Red Hood before he was also Jason Todd, fallen boy wonder. Even without the vigilante get-up, the man’s intimidating. 

Now that Dick has asked a question, however, Terry’s eyes appraise him. Dick once again folds in on himself, tucking his arms closer to his sides and leaning back so he’s as out of Terry’s space as he can be. Then Terry’s eyes stray to the floor and he mumbles, “Looked like nothing. It was dark.” But he doesn’t say it like it was nothing. 

“You saw something,” Dick contests. He’s not going to wheedle or coax, he decides, because that would just leave Terry room to equivocate. “You don’t know what you saw, but you saw something, and whatever that is will help us more than pretending there weren’t streetlamps.”

Terry grimaces. The twitch of his battered face reminds Dick of his age and his heart aches. There should be a grace period for children, an exception made for those still new to this earth. He hates that pain is one of the first things they learn. “He was white, I guess,” Terry supplies. His good fingers have found a loose thread on the hem of his pushed-down sheets. He picks at it. “He never said a word the whole time. It was quiet. He — I saw his hands. I thought, I thought the police would find his thumbprints or whatever, on me, but that’s not how it works, they said. They were all fucked up.”

“The hands or the police?” Jason interjects.

Terry doesn’t look up from his loose thread, but one half of his mouth pulls up into a faint, flickering smile. It manages to be bright even so. “The hands. There were old scars all over the knuckles. Dry, too, like he never heard of lotion.”

Dick supposes the attacker could work in manual labor, but it’s unlikely if there were truly that many scars and all old. “Just the knuckles?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Dick guesses he’s experienced with combat. The ugly, close-up kind. Still, just the knuckles, that sounds more like punishment than accident. And the dry skin? That could easily be eczema, although wouldn’t a seasoned killer think to cover up, prevent skin follicles from falling into a lab tech’s hands? It is summer, but Gotham runs more humid than dry, so perhaps they’re dealing with a foreigner. “And the face?” he prompts. 

Terry abruptly drops his hand from the nervous thread and sighs raggedly. “Nothing, man. I couldn’t see anything, okay, it was,” Terry falters, “confusing.”

“Confusing how?” Jason asks.

“I don’t know!” Terry’s voice pitches in frustration. “It was weird, all swirly and shit.”

Dick can hear the criticism leak into Jason’s tone when he curtly repeats, “Swirly.” 

Terry backpedals. “I said I don’t know,” he mutters. 

Swirly voices sound familiar to Dick. He used to have one for a time when he played James Bond for Spyral. “I think we might have a contact, Jay,” Dick muses. 

“Really?” Jason says with noticeable surprise. “Swirly’s our big break?”

“Emphasis on the might and ixnay on the big.” To Terry, he says, “Tell me, does tsuchigumo ring any bells?”

Terry’s face scrunches up. “Does what huh?”

Dick will take that as a no. “Oh, well. Still worth looking into,” he says. Dick stands and retrieves the card pack from his plastic bag. He holds it up for Terry to see before setting it down on the bed. Terry takes it immediately and brings it up to his face for inspection. “Your mom has the flowers. I wasn’t sure what to get you, but let me know if you need or want anything. Oh.” Dick swivels his head around the room. There’s not much to it aside from a bed, a dresser, and a box T.V. collecting dust. “Do you have something I can write my number on?”

Jason chooses that moment to step forward, sliding between Dick and where Terry lies. He leans across, a crisp, laminated paper balanced between his index and middle finger. “Here’s my card. Let me know if you have any more information or if either of you need help,” he explains. Terry sets Dick’s gift down and gingerly accepts the card. He flips it over: no logo, just a phone number.

“That’s it?” says Terry. “What contact? Who did this?”

“It’s too soon to tell. I wish I had more to give you two,” Dick says sympathetically to Terry and Laura, the latter of whom hasn’t left her post by the door. She rests her cheek on the frame and watches on.

Terry has more questions though and he’s edging on excited. “Are you P.I.’s? Why do you even care? I bet you fucking did this, or one of your boys — ”

“I understand your distrust,” Dick says over him. He glances nervously at Laura to gauge what she thinks of the accusation and if she’s about to step in. She’s a little straighter, body no longer depending on the wall, but her face is still impassive if alert. Dick hurries to smooth this over. “You don’t know us well enough to understand why we care. We have to prove ourselves, I get that. And we will. Until then, you’ve got nothing to lose, right? All we know is you didn’t see anything.”

Terry stares at him silently, suspicion darkening his eyes. There is risk in coming here, of course, depending on how well Terry’s attacker can trace Jason’s footsteps. But Dick has already weighed the risks and he’s betting that Terry’s part is done here insofar as the criminal is concerned. Luckily, Terry can’t identify what he’s got to lose or how much he has told them between the lines, so the charges drop like that. 

There’s a few beats of silence before Jason starts fidgeting. “Yea-a-a-h, we’re going to go now,” he announces, pointing over his shoulder towards the window. Dick could cringe, he’s so awkward. 

“Thanks to both of you,” Dick says and smiles as warmly as he can. He trails closely behind Jason who shuffles towards the door, his body too tall and too broad to fit comfortably in the modest room. Unthinking, the pads of Dick’s fingers feather over Jason’s back as if to guide him forward. As Jason moves, Dick lets his fingers linger in the air, covering up the touch with empty space. He curls his fingers in and tucks them behind his back. Laura follows them out. 

“Thank you again,” Dick says at the door. “We’ll be in touch if anything develops,” he promises. And he will be; if not as Dick then certainly as Nightwing. 

Laura thanks them half-heartedly. Dick suddenly feels self-conscious about the Pokémon cards. He may as well have given them a box with nothing inside it or a flashlight without a bulb. He heads back to the car, feeling Laura’s heavy gaze on his shoulders the whole way. 

Dick is buckling himself in when Jason opens the passenger door. “Mind sharing with the class what information was so decisive you had no further questions?” he asks as he climbs into the car. 

“No questions Terry could answer. This is the best we can do for a lead,” Dick explains. He needs to make a call, but that will have to wait until they’re on the road and not idling outside a victim’s house. Maybe he can take them to a restaurant, buy Jason a drink, a friendly gesture. Would Jason want to drink with him though?

“Yeah, about that,” Jason says as the car shoots off, “what lead?”

Scratch the drink; neither of them are lightweights, but on principle, they shouldn’t drink during an ongoing investigation. Still, he could buy them some sub sandwiches. He used to buy food for Tim all the time back in the day, as a reprieve from the typical Batman and Robin style of accidentally fasting until the case is resolved.

They reach a redlight almost immediately. Dick drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Spyral uses this tech called ‘Hypnos 2.0.’ They slide in kind of like contacts? They’re eye implants basically, but they transmit information between your brain and the brain of whoever’s looking at you. Their most common application was hiding your identity. If someone looked at you, they’d just see a scrambled mess instead of a face.”

Jason’s face scrunches up as he stares out the windshield. He scratches his head. “Scrambled like Picasso or.”

The light turns green. “More like a spiral,” Dick says lightly, nodding conversationally. 

“Thematic,” Jason comments. 

“Very. And the uniforms weren’t too shabby either.” He adds the joke more to test the waters than anything, gauge how delicate a topic Spyral is between them. Everyone in their family has a slightly different relationship with Dick’s double life. Bruce and Damian’s have been the easiest, marked by faint curiosity about his activities and begrudging acceptance of help from associated colleagues. The others have been noticeably more dodgy and uncomfortable regarding for Spyral. Dick’s stint as as Agent 37 has made everyone evasive, even for bats. 

If Jason would normally have an emotional reaction to Spyral, he’s too preoccupied for one now. Dick can practically see the gears in his mind turning as his eyes narrow and his chin falls to rest on his hand. Dick feels simultaneously relief and shame; of course, Spyral is just a lead. Spyral may have been Dick’s life at one point, but to Jason, it’s just an organization. At best, contacting Spyral could save his life. At worst, well, Dick’s not expecting Jason to unpack whatever baggage Dick left in Gotham. 

Dick resists the urge to grimace at his own thoughts. He’s overthinking. Can one overthink a ruthless spy agency that up until a year ago controlled his every movement? 

Jason’s voice, slow and thick with the sound of a city that’s always been his, reels Dick back to shore. “Dare I ask what the uniform entailed?”

“Cargo pants,” Dick answers simply. He’s watching the road ahead, but he can hear Jason make a pleasantly surprised noise. They pass a fire hydrant painted to look like a sunflower. Dick thinks it’d be nice for Bludhaven to do that and makes a note to push the idea at city hall after the case. 

“So, you think that this guy is from Spyral?” Jason asks. 

Dick shrugs. “That, or he’s connected enough to snag some tech. We should check first with the other two victims, see if their descriptions match up with Terry’s. If they do, it’s probably Spyral and not some low-grade black market street vendor. Nine of out ten optometrists do not recommend mind control contact lenses.”

Jason slams his hand down on the middle compartment. “Mind control?” he exclaims. When Dick glances at him, Jason’s expression is mostly shock with a sliver of what might be plain rage. But that would be an overreaction considering all the other crimes Spyral is guilty of. All the crimes they’re guilty of, especially Red Hood, although making that argument would be more trouble than it’s worth. 

Dick tries not to let Jason’s sheer judgment weigh on him. Dick has far more pressing guilt elsewhere to torture himself over. Still, it’s hard not to feel righteous rage on Jason’s behalf. He often forgets this part of Jason’s character, this abrupt sense of justice that powers him, but it’s no less prominent than it is in Bruce or himself. It might actually be stronger in Jason, a little left of center, but bleeding red nonetheless. Unfortunately, car safety dictates Dick not be on the receiving end of justice, so he replies as casually as possible, “Well, that’s what Hypnos is, essentially.”

“No way.” Jason points an accusatory finger that Dick sees from his peripheral. A street corner features a hot dog stand. Dick nearly pulls over, but the finger might kill whatever buzz a chili dog can offer. “Don’t ‘that’s-what-Hypnos-is-Jason- obviously ’ me. You just said it transmits info.”

Dick did not think his tone had come off condescending in the least. But if that’s what Jason got from it, then perhaps he missed casual and landed on dismissive. Bludhaven must be eroding his tact already. “Sorry. When I said it transmits information, I meant it as a blanket statement for everything it does. Hypnos can alter memories, which is more-or-less how the identity protection works, by modifying one’s memory of a face. It can send someone a location address or really anything you have stored in your own memory, which is helpful. It can also send orders.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s helpful, too,” Jason derides. He looks like he smelled something bad. Was Dick this perturbed by Hypnos when he first joined Spyral? He doesn’t think so. He had been so quickly embroiled in so many terrible things. What was a little crowd control in the face of cold, efficient, and constant murder? 

The guns. The feel of one is his hand like death itself, how they loomed in his bedroom and among his gear, beckoning him closer to an edge everyone wanted to push him off of. The guns had overshadowed all else for him. 

“Either way,” Dick carries on, “it’s unlikely this guy has his hands on Spyral tech without Spyral knowing something about him. They keep close enough watch over people that have nothing to do with them, let alone people that have access to their technology. He could be anywhere from an engineer to a passing contact, but he’s no ghost.”

“Terrific. Exactly what I need, a mind-controlling stalker from an quasi-omniscient spy organization hellbent running around on the streets of Gotham.”

Dick shrugs. “Gotham’s had it worse.”

“Have I?”

“I don’t know. Have you?” Dick retorts. 

Jason scowls. “Wouldn’t be my first assassination attempt, I suppose,” he concedes.

Dick perks up and offers him a grin. “And it won’t be your last!” he crows. 

Jason just stares at him, utterly perplexed. His brows are furrowed and his mouth is curled above his teeth in bewilderment. 

“Because you’ll be alive,” Dick hurriedly explains. “You know, like, woohoo!” He takes one hand off the wheel to pump the air triumphantly. 

“Woohoo,” Jason repeats hollowly. “Insanity.”

“What?” asks Dick. They will be coming up on the grinder shop soon. Should he suggest lunch to Jason or just drag him in? He’s leaning towards dragging. That seems more effective.

“That we’re all just living to hopefully get killed a day that’s not tomorrow,” Jason observes. 

It’s not more cynical than funny, but something in Jason’s tone — the utter resignation, perhaps — makes Dick laugh anyway. “Everyone on earth’s on borrowed time, really,” he says, not unhappily. Death hasn’t frightened him since he was young. Exposure therapy, he called it once during some Titans mission that feels a lot farther in the past than it is. “The reckless and foolhardy like us, we’re just more aware of it.”

Jason blows air out from his nose in a mix between a snort and a laugh. “And here I thought vigilante-types were less aware of their own mortality.”

“Are you kidding? You have to know you’re walking towards death to find that exact path each night. Snatched purses, drug rings, elitist assassins dressed as owls, fear gas and escaped convicts and murderous clowns — and we run right towards them with open arms,” Dick says, irony guiding his grin as Jason smirks back at him. 

“And open chest cavities, half the the time,” Jason tacks on. 

Dick nods fervently. “Yes, let’s not forget that,” he tries to say seriously, but laughter trips him on the last word. “I don’t know. I think it’s all very sane, actually, to see what’s going on and get involved, do what you can to make everything a little bit better. But too much sanity can look like insanity, for sure.”

Jason does snort this time. “Keep moralizing like that and you’ll sound straight out of a conversation between the Joker and B.”

Dick wrinkles his nose. “Ew. I hope not.”

“‘We’re the same, you and I,’” Jason croons in a wispy, sing-song voice. “‘Sane and in-sane.’”

Dick can make out the small, white-background-red-letters sign of Hester’s Grinders a few yards down the road. There’s just enough room before the fire hydrant — this one plain, chipped red — to safely park. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll keep my philosophies to myself. And so long as we’re changing the subject — hungry?”

Previous Chapter

[ktrivia]

All Men Dream

Bucky x Reader

Summary:

Reader is enhanced with the powers to enter dreams. She originally entered Captain America's dreams just to see if she could, but kept returning to them because she loved spending time in the 1940s ease of life in his idyllic versions of the time. But what happens when the good Captain figures out something is amiss?

Author’s Notes:

If you would like to be tagged in this story (I’m so excited that people actually want to read this) please send me a message!

Also let me know what you think of this chapter! I always love getting comments, questions, and theories!

I will be trying to post an update this week but I have to have a quick surgery done and may not be able to post!

Chapter 4

               If you had asked me yesterday what I would be doing today, I would have told you that I’d go to work and then binge Netflix with Meatball at my side. Instead, I sat in the middle of a large, state of the art lab with electrodes attached to my head and chest and leather binds around my wrists. After Bucky’s brilliant idea to have me enter his and another Avenger’s dreams, or in this case their subconsciousness, I had been dragged through the compound, blindfolded, until we reached the lab. Throughout the march I could hear Steve interjecting with protests against Bucky’s plan, but the darker haired man just ignored his friend’s concerns.

               Now that I sat in the chair, and more people gathered in the lab, my already frayed nerves became further taxed. I had never even thought of entering two consciousnesses at once and the thought of it terrified me. What if I couldn’t do it? What happens if I do?

               When a red-headed woman walked in, Bucky immediately made his way over to her and pulled her aside to speak with her. After a few moments of hushed whispers, they then approached a man with dark blonde hair. The expressions on the three faces were grim and I could only assume that was because of me. After five more tense minutes, the trio approached where I was sitting. Bucky began his explanation.

               “This is Wanda and Clint,” he introduced.

               “Well I’d shake your hands, but this kinky fucker has strapped me down once again.”

               Wanda’s shoulders shook as she tried to contain her laughter at my sarcasm, but the man named Clint remained silent. Ignoring my comment, except for an eye roll, Bucky continued.

               “You’re going to go into Clint and I’s dreams. Both of us have experience with mind control and are the best candidates to do this.” He paused for a second. “Wanda reads minds. While you’re in our heads, she’s going into yours.” He waited quietly for my reaction. Rather than address him, I spoke to Wanda.

               “Have you gone into someone’s head before?” I asked solemnly. Bucky looked shocked by the question and even stone-faced Clint seemed a little surprised. Rather than scold me for what apparently was a stupid question, Wanda responded seriously.

               “Yes. Many times. I know the risks of entering one’s mind and how to avoid them as best as possible.” At here statement, and with another moment of visual assessment from me, I nodded and turned back to Bucky, so he could continue his explanation.

               “While you’re in our heads, Bruce and Tony are going to observe our vitals and make sure nothing is going wrong health wise,” He told me with a nod to the two men who had hooked me up to the electrodes. Bruce was a new face to me, but I had been in one of Tony Stark’s dreams, without his knowledge of course, and seen his face plastered in the news countless times.

               “Don’t worry Dream Weaver,” Tony said with a smirk, “we’ll keep an eye om everything from out here in case it goes wonky.”

               “I’m so reassured,” I muttered back as I turned to face the trio in front of me again.

               “We also want to see how your powers work, so you’re going to show us what you can do in our heads when you’ve connected us both. Got it?” Bucky asked. I nodded in affirmation as a bead of sweat formed on my forehead out of nervousness.

               The doors to the lab opened and Steve walked in with who I could only assume was Sam Wilson. Like Tony, but on a lesser scale, I had seen Sam on TV doing the whole superhero thing before. The men were wheeling in two gurneys. This is where I assumed Clint and Bucky would lay, while I was strapped to another stupid chair. After they moved the portable beds into position, Steve signaled Sam to step outside for a moment to speak about something. I noticed Bucky Watching this, and the second the doors closed, he walked over to me and made a show of adjusting an electrode on my head.

               “When we’re in there, don’t mention being in my dreams last night. It won’t end well for you if you do. Clint also doesn’t take well to mental manipulation of any kind and will end the test before Wanda gets a chance to see your intentions. If you really are innocent, then you want this test to last so Wanda can see that.” Bucky explained quietly. It dawned on me that he had waited for Steve to leave the room because he would have been able to hear Bucky speaking to me even in hushed tones. All I could do was give another nod of agreement as the weight of this test weighed on me further. If I couldn’t do this properly, then the Avengers would probably assume it as a sign of guilt, rather than an inability to perform the task they asked for.

               When Sam and Steve returned to the room, Bucky straightened and walked over to one of the gurneys. Clint took this as a signal for him to do the same and both men laid down on the portable beds. Bruce and Tony made their way over to the two men and added electrodes, similar to mine, to their heads and chests. Bruce reached over to a desk next to the gurneys and pulled a box from it.

               “I’m going to inject them with a sedative,” He explained while removing two syringes from the case. “I will let you know when they are completely unconscious.” I gave an affirmation as he handed Tony one of the syringes. Tony’s syringe seemed much smaller than Bruce’s, and I figured Bucky’s body required more sedative because of the whole super soldier deal. Without preamble both men stuck the needles into Bucky and Clint’s arms. The liquid was depressed and then the entire room waited.

               Clint’s eyes closed first. I could see his heart rate monitor begin to slow as he slipped off into the world of sleep. Bucky was struggling to keep his eyes open, but finally they fluttered shut. At an unspoken command, Wanda moved to stand behind me.

               “You may now enter Bucky’s mind. Once you do, I will enter yours.” She stated. I could see the stares of everyone in the room were on me. The only way to avoid them was to go into someone else’s head. As my eyes shut, I heard Captain America mutter something about killing me if I hurt his friends. Ah, how I loved threats before going to sleep.

                               Blackness surrounded me. The void was endless, and nothing was around me. The world was empty. Which meant I was in a mind with limited thought, or in this case, a sedated mind.

               “Y/n,” Bucky called from behind me. I turned to face him and analyzed his facial expression.  His face was blank as he instructed me to enter Clint’s mind. I shut my eyes and tried to quiet my mind. After using this power for so much of my life, I didn’t normally need to focus too hard on the mind I was entering, but this was an entirely different situation. One part of my mind was holding on to the tether I had with Bucky’s consciousness, while the other searched for Clint’s. At first, separating the two tasks seemed impossible, but after a few minutes of effort, I was able to vaguely feel Clint’s mind. I opened my eyes to check Bucky was still in front of me, and then closed them again to continue my process. Slowly, but surely, Clint’s mind became less of a blurry outline but a clear image that I could see. I pictured the two separate minds as strings which I could weave together slowly. When I opened my eyes again, a faded image of Clint, who seemed to be becoming less blurry, was in front of me too.

               With a sigh of relief, I let a small smile appear on my lips before a grimace overcame it. A sharp stab of pain filled my head but was quickly gone. When I glanced at Bucky, I could see the space between his brows furrowed, potentially in worry I’d normally guess, but this wasn’t exactly a normal situation.

               “Ok Y/N,” Clint called to get my attention. “Let’s see what this power of yours does.” I considered what to do first and decided to start with something easy. I changed the world around us to something relatively simple. The world now was an endless field of green grass with a shining sun and bright blue sky looking down on us. The two men seemed confused as the scenery probably looked familiar. The reason for that was that it was literally the windows default screen background. The screensaver was something I’d seen a thousand times and didn’t have too many intricate pieces within it. Clint made a grunt of approval and asked what else was possible.

               After a moment of thought, another man appeared next to our group. A loud guffaw escaped Bucky as he took in the image of Captain America in his original suit, smiling broadly with his hands on his hips. In the style of the school PSA’s he did, he said:

               “So, you’ve found yourself trapped in the middle of a field in a dream. That is a real pickle boys and girls, but with some hard work, and lots of fruits and vegetables, I think we can make it through.” The image paused and went still after he finished talking. Bucky was still grinning and after a minute, Clint finally gave in and started laughing hysterically.

               “Alright kid,” He said with a smile, “if your sense of humor is good even in this situation, then you may be just be ok. Really fucked up, but ok.” I smiled softly at his statement, but my smile didn’t last very long. Even though the temperature in this dreamworld was probably a comfortable seventy degrees, I could feel myself begin to sweat. As Clint decided to start poking the fake Steve Rogers, and move his arm to make it look like he was picking his nose, Bucky made his way over to me.

               “You doing ok?” He questioned with concern on his face.

               “I’m fine,” I grunted out. I didn’t want to show weakness in front of these men or Wanda, who I knew was present even if I couldn’t see her.

               “Alright Clint,” I stated getting his attention. “Shall we continue with this little tour of dreamland?” Clint stopped his poking around and agreed.

               “I can remember any dream I’ve been in perfectly. So, I can also go to any setting from past dreams that I want. Like this.” With a snap of my fingers, the scenery changed and we were in the middle of the ice cream shop from Steve’s dreams. Clint seemed confused at the change but Bucky immediately realized where we were.

               “Holy shit,” he muttered. “This is from Steve’s dream. It has to be. We came here all the time as kids.” Bucky walked over to the counter with a look of awe on his face as he took in the familiar surroundings further. When he sat down, I froze the world around us. Clocks stopped ticking, people stood frozen in place, drops of melted ice cream stayed suspended in mid air instead of hitting the floor. The only thing that still occurred was the soft music playing from the record player in the corner. Clint raised a questioning eyebrow at my choice.

               “I don’t like silence. Being in a dream with no sound is absolutely silent and it can be a bit maddening.” I explained, recalling walking around in other dreams with nothing around me but a deafening silence.

               “Here,” I said and with a wave of my hand, a scoop of ice cream appeared in front of both men. Bucky began digging into the frozen treat immediately while Clint seemed hesitant.

               “It’s fine Clint,” I said. “It’s not like fairy world where eating the food there kills you. I’m just showing you that all of your senses work here.” With a hesitant expression, Clint took a tiny taste of his ice cream. His eyes shut, and a small moan escaped his mouth.

               “Shit that is the best ice cream I’ve ever had.”

               “Told you the forties were great,” Bucky mumbled through a full mouth. I let out a little laugh at his speaking with his mouth full, and at that sound Bucky seemed to grow concerned again.

               “Are you sure you’re ok doll?” He asked. “You’re starting to get a bit pale.” I glanced at the mirrored back of the bar and saw what he meant. The color had mostly drained from my face and all that was left was an ashen appearance.

               “I’m fine. Let’s just move on,” I said as I stood from the chair. When I got to my feet, a rush of dizziness swept over me and I began to sway. Strong arms grabbed my shoulders to steady me and I felt the cool hold of a metal one grip my chin to lift my head.

               “Y/n!,” Bucky said sternly. I hadn’t realized it, but my eyes were beginning to close. I tried to keep them open as he spoke.

               “You need to wake up now.” At his instruction my eyes flashed open. I couldn’t wake up yet. I didn’t know what would happen if I didn’t separate Clint and Bucky’s consciousnesses from one another.

               “No,” I mumbled. “Clint needs to wake up.” The world around us faded into endless black again as I focused on Clint. I froze him in place and began trying to unwind the threads of consciousness between his and Bucky. Slowly, the strings began to disentangle themselves, but I could feel myself fading fast. Pushing my mind harder, I focused solely on the separation and finally was able to command Clint to wake up. With only Bucky left in the dreamworld with me, and the feeling of his arms holding me upright, everything went dark.

Tag list (Please message me if you would like to be added to it):

@paradisiacalsparks @cals-cigarette @searchingforbucky @mavelfanatic @some-person-somewhere @marvel-th @unfortunately-im-awake @jessicakimba @fandom-addict-aesthetics @simplysaying @spnsquirrel @bxrnsfeyson @magnolialikes @buckyinantarctica @fluffymadamina @willowtree42095 @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @pieofawkwardness @mirajanestrauss987 @nerdypisces160

[tommyparkerr]

Promises BONUS II | Peter Parker x Reader

I’m back with a second bonus y’all! Some of you have been asking for it, so here it is! I want to thank @laureharrier for being both my hype woman and the one keeping me sane when Tumblr decides to throw all kinds of sh*t at me like the little sh*t it is.

Anyways, sorry about that (I still have some residual anger leftover from my *situation*, so...yeah)! There’ll only be one more bonus left after this (at least, from what I have planned), but thank you to all of you who are sticking with me after all this time! This is for you!:)

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Tears (but happy ones), Peter being a little sh*t, Irondad, fluff, and basically everything soft that doesn’t constitute a warning

-Masterlist-

P R O M I S E S  -  B O N U S  T W O :

Tony wasn’t sure what’d woken him at first. His heart wasn’t racing and he wasn’t sweating, so it wasn’t from a nightmare; his mind was strangely quiet along with the rest of the Tower, so it wasn’t because of the noise; Pepper was sleeping peacefully next to him, a soft smile on her face, so it wasn’t because of his wife’s missing presence.

He didn’t know why he’d woken up. But he did know that he wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon.

As quiet as possible, Tony carefully rolled out of bed and exited the bedroom, headed toward the kitchen where he could make himself some coffee at—he glanced at the clock—two-thirty in the morning. However, his plans changed when he went to pass through what was supposed to be an empty living room. 

The faint sound of a turning page caused him to stop in his tracks, looking toward the noise. 

A figure sat curled up on the couch (well, as curled up as she could be with a pregnant belly), glasses on her face and hair in a half-hearted bun as she intently read whatever book was in her hands. Tony’s chest went warm at the sight of his daughter-in-law wearing his son’s baggy MIT sweatshirt and old gym shorts.

After a couple moments’ of debating whether he should tiptoe back to his room and leave her be, he decided there was never a better time than 2:30am to get some bonding time in with his adopted daughter.

God, Rhodey was right—he had gone soft.

“You do realize it’s 2:30 in the morning, right?” he asked, keeping his voice low enough not to disturb the others on the floor but loud enough for Y/N to hear. She startled, whipping her head around and straightening up to peek over the back of the couch. She looked relieved to see it was him (versus Peter, he was guessing, who was more than overprotective of his wife and child-to-be at this point in the pregnancy) and relaxed immediately, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

“I do.”

“Then why are you still up?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t being nine months pregnant supposed to make you tired all the time or something?”

Y/N smirked. “I’m pretty sure the same applies to being old, Grandpa Pops.”

Tony raised his hands in surrender, chuckling as he went on his original route to the kitchen. “Touché, Ms. Parker.”

Other than a small laugh from her, the soft sounds of Tony getting the tea kettle out, and the turning of pages, the room went quiet again. Though his daughter was hiding the dark circles under her eyes far too expertly for him to be comfortable with, Tony was used to the technique of using humor to cover up whatever he was facing—whether that be sleep deprivation, a constant state of anxiety, or visions of being thrown into his worst nightmares over and over again, he knew the tactic well, and he wasn’t about to let someone else get away with it.

He wondered if maybe this was why he’d woken up.

When the tea was finished (no coffee since Tony knew Y/N couldn’t have much caffeine), he traipsed over to the couch and offered one of the steaming mugs to the obviously exhausted woman across from him. She laid her book down and took it with a grateful smile, muttering a small, “Thank you,” and taking a sip. They drank in silence for awhile, looking out the window at the nightscape of New York City. Tony saw it every night, but rarely did he take the time to appreciate it; now, with nothing else to do, he could. As he turned to look at the girl beside him, looking unusually small in Peter’s clothes (where he remembered the MIT sweatshirt had once been his, but Peter had stolen it years ago before he went to school and had now seemingly made its way down to the next person), he couldn’t help but open his mouth.

“Sometimes I forget that you married into this family,” Tony said softly, seeing her confused look out of the corner of his eye. “You have so much Parker in you that it’s like you’ve been here all along. I can barely remember the days you and Peter weren’t glued to the other’s hip.”

A mischievous smile adorned her lips. “Are you sure that isn’t because of old age, too?” Tony finally looked at her with a knowing look, his eyebrows raised as he took another sip of his tea. The smile didn’t drop, but rather morphed into something softer as she looked back toward the city. “May told me that, too. But you’re leaving out one important thing.”

“Oh?” Tony said with a amused glint in his eye, fully expecting another round of sarcasm to break through. “And what is that, may I ask?”

“That by marrying Peter, I’m not just a Parker; I’m a Stark, too. I think both of the Parkers made that pretty clear to me from day one,” she said, her tone soft and loving. “You did, too, though it was never verbal.”

Tony’s smile had dropped, a sudden burning in his eyes replacing it. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and said, a crack in his voice, “Come here, kiddo.”

Y/N turned to see his arm raised and smiled before scooting closer and ducking underneath it, resting her head on his shoulder. “If I spill any of my scalding hot tea on your cashmere robe, it’s your fault.”

Tony snorted, his tears crawling back into their holding places. “I wouldn’t dream it any other way.”

This time it was quiet until they had both finished their tea, setting the empty mugs on the empty table in front of them. He’d clean that up later, but for now he was perfectly content. He let the silence go on a little longer before he squeezed Y/N’s arm and spoke up again.

“I’m guessing Peter has no idea you haven’t been sleeping?”

She pursed her lips. “How do you know I haven’t been sleeping?”

“I think the raccoon look speaks for itself, kiddo,” Tony said, pointing under his own eyes for reference. “That is if I didn’t already know what sleep deprivation looked like.”

A small sigh. “No. No, he doesn’t. And you’re not going to tell him, either.”

“Woah now, tiger,” Tony said defensively. “No one said I was going to.” She looked down at her now empty hands, picking at her nails in order to keep them busy. Tony frowned and nudged her arm again. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and her hands flew up to try to keep them from overflowing. “I’m sorry—God, I’m such a mess. I’m sorry.” Tony, who once would have been freaked out by even the slight glistening of one’s eye, didn’t bat a lash at the influx of tears. Only worry rose from it. 

“Honey-”

“I’m okay,” she interrupted. At his look of disbelief she shook her head with a wobbly smile. “Really, I am. I just—I’m super emotional right now and my hormones are dialed up to, like, eleven, or twelve, maybe possibly thirteen and a half. Any little thing can set me off already, but being sleep deprived probably doesn’t help. And you’ve never called me ‘honey’ before, just ‘kiddo’ or ‘Ms. Parker’ or other little nicknames—not that I mind, of course, because I really do feel like I’m just as important to this family as anyone else when you give me nicknames—and I guess it just kinda struck the sentimental part of me. I’m sorry.”

Tony couldn’t help but chuckle, adjusting them so he could get both arms around her. When he thought about it, he couldn’t remember any other time he’d called Y/N ‘honey’, which seemed crazy to him since he’d referred to her as that particular endearment many times in his own head. “No need to apologize, kiddo. I’ve seen hormones in action and know of way less that’s made a girl cry. In fact, I’d say you’re keeping everything contained pretty well; you haven’t even screamed at me once when I manage to burn the omelets every morning.”

A watery laugh escaped her, muffled by his chest. “I do in my head.”

It was Tony’s turn to laugh now, holding her a little tighter as he placed a kiss on her head. “And for that, I applaud you. Pepper’s not even pregnant and she yells at me—not in her head, may I add—every day.” A giggle, then just periodic sniffles. Tony gave her a little bit of time before pushing again. “Now, do you wanna tell me why you aren’t sleeping at night?”

It was quiet for a long while—long enough that Tony thought she either hadn’t heard him or had chosen to ignore the question—before she answered. “I don’t know. I just...I lay down and I’m so completely exhausted that it should be easy, and Peter falls asleep easy enough and I’m just stuck inside my own head thinking about the next month and how we could become parents at any minute, and even though we already have a name picked out for her and we talk to her every night, it’s going to be so much different when she’s actually born, right? And then-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony interrupted, pulling back to look at Y/N with a sparkle in his eye. She frowned, her eyes widening a moment later as she realized her mistake. “She?”

“Um…” She swallowed, her cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. “Yes?”

A wide grin spread across Tony’s lips, struggling to contain the burst of happiness at the news. “I thought you said you were going to wait until the baby was born to find out the gender,” he said, his entire face lit up. It made Y/N smile, and suddenly she didn’t feel so guilty that she’d let that piece of information slip.

“We were,” she answered. “But then we decided we didn’t want to wait and didn’t tell anyone else in order to keep it a surprise for them.”

“So it’s a girl?” he asked, and Y/N laughed at his giddy excitement. 

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “You’re going to have a granddaughter.”

Tony pulled her in for another hug. Then, as the rest of her confession rolled back through his brain, he realized that wasn’t the only important information she’d let slip. “Can I tell you something, kiddo?” A soft hum was the only confirmation he needed to continue. “I know you’re nervous about this whole parenting thing, and God, I don’t think there’ll ever be a day where parenting isn’t nerve wracking, but as long as you love that little girl with all your heart and show that love to her every day, I think you’re going to be just fine.” 

Y/N looked up at him, her lips wobbling. “I’m afraid I’m going to be a bad mom.”

“You won’t be,” Tony said without hesitation.

“But how do you know?”

A soft smile graced Tony’s lips. “Because what I said about loving her with all your heart and showing that every day? You’re already doing that, which kind of makes you the best mom in the whole world, and that little girl is so lucky to have you.”

Now Y/N broke down, quickly shoving her face back into Tony’s shoulder to stifle her cries and (hopefully) keep from waking anyone else. Tony closed his eyes and gently rocked her, rubbing her back in small circles. 

“Thank you,” she later said, tears still clogging up her voice. “For everything. For taking me in and loving me like you would your own and making me tea at two in the morning and letting us all move in so you can help out with the baby and keep an eye on me while Peter can’t and for walking me down the aisle because my dad and mom couldn’t be there to do that or to see their grandchild be born and—I just...thank you,” she finished breathlessly. 

Tony lovingly placed another kiss on her head. “What else are dads for?”

“You know,” Y/N laughed, sniffling as she did, “if you didn’t know this baby was a girl, I’d say you were buttering me up to name her after you.”

“Who says I’m not?” Tony joked. “I think Anthony Parker has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Taking Tony by surprise, Y/N pulled out of his hold and grabbed his hand, moving it to rest on her stomach. Tony blinked in awe as he felt his granddaughter kick, mesmerized by the life just inches away from him. 

“How does Mary-Jane Virginia Parker sound?” Y/N quietly asked, watching her father-in-law carefully to gauge his reaction. He didn’t speak for a few moments, tears gathering in his eyes at all of his granddaughter’s namesakes—Peter’s mother, one of the couple’s best and lifelong friends, and Pepper—Pepper-

This time, he didn’t even try to fight it when a tear slipped down his cheek. “It sounds perfect.”

“I never thought I’d see the day my wife made the almighty Tony Stark cry,” came a voice from the hallway. They both startled, whipping their heads around to see Peter casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed and hair mussed from sleep, wearing a small, amused smile. “Though, if anyone were to do it, I suppose she would be the one to.”

Instead of responding, Tony simply rolled his eyes and scooted over, patting the newfound space between him and Y/N. “Get over here, you twit.”

Peter chuckled but made his way over anyway, plopping on the cushions and putting a protective arm around his wife. Y/N leaned into him, looking sheepish at being caught but not all too apologetic. 

“So much for that secret, huh?” Peter said teasingly, kissing her forehead to assure her he wasn’t really mad. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” Tony said, his eyes still lit up in joy, “I’m an excellent secret keeper.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah, to everyone but May and Pepper.”

Tony faked outrage. “Hey now! That’s no way to talk to your old man!” Peter gave him a look that said, ‘Am I wrong?’ while Y/N giggled, and Tony huffed. “I only tell them my secrets when they know I’m keeping one.”

“Oh, and that’s the only time you ever let a secret spill, huh?” 

“Listen here, smartass-“ Cutting himself off, Tony grabbed Peter away from Y/N and wrestled him into a headlock. Peter simultaneously was laughing and trying to push him away as Tony gave him a noogie, messing up his hair even more.  

Once Peter finally shoved him away, all three of them were laughing and it was the greatest sound Tony had ever heard, especially after the recent hardship his son and daughter-in-law had gone through. He and several others were worried when it didn’t resolve within the first few days and even more so when they heard that the word ‘divorce’ was thrown around once—once, and only once, but that was enough. And he had hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because he knew he’d stand by Peter’s side no matter what, but leaving the girl he’d practically adopted as his own behind would take its own toll on him. 

Sometimes Tony still worried. With every little fight and every raised voice, his anxiety rose. But seeing Peter and Y/N now, the former kissing Y/N’s cheek with a smile while the latter continued to giggle, Tony knew everything would be okay. 

With no warning the man swept both of them into a hug, kissing the tops of their heads. “I love you, kiddos,” he said quietly.

“I love you, too,” they both replied, Peter wrapping his arms around his father figure. Y/N followed close behind, though she couldn’t squeeze him as tight due to her protruding belly. 

“Mary-Jane loves you, too, Grandpa Pops,” Y/N said quietly, making all three pairs of eyes in the room water. And for once, Tony was actually looking forward to what life handed him next, because Mary-Jane Virginia Parker was loved, and she was perfect.

---

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[marquis1305]

Silk and Steel Ch 4

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 

AO3 Link

Rating: Mature

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader

Additional Tags:

Slow Burn, Reader-Insert, Florists, Reader is an Enhanced Individual, Nick Fury Knows All, SHIELD, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Bucky Barnes Feels, Protective Steve Rogers, Hydra (Marvel), enhanced!reader, Reader’s Brother works for SHIELD, POV Female Character, James “Rhodey” Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Rhodey is skeptical, Vision is curious, Tony feeds good behavior with blueberries, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Blueberries, backstory incoming, The Winter Soldiers - Freeform, Fragmented Teamwork, You like making quips as much as the next person, Tony Stark’s Nickames, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, That whirring sound it makes

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Chapter 4: The Plan

Time to figure out what you are doing next, but with two super soldiers, an ex spy, and a billionaire play boy philanthropist all looking to you for answers... what happens when the only one you have is something you hadn't wanted to consider in the first place.

There are several moments where everything has gone deathly silent. Your gaze meeting icy blue, enough tension to ensure that the other’s did not dare interfere. This was not their battle. 

Setting your coffee mug to one side, and pushing yourself up from your seat. Forcing the former Winter Soldier to make space for you or risk having your face be pressed to his, surprise rising at an alarming rate across his features. Not that you allowed him to back up too far. Following as he half stumbled against the table. Refusing to back down. “He would have done what was necessary for the mission. Are you saying you would have done anything less?”

“I wouldn’t have gone to a known Hydra double agent.” He finally straightened, towering over you once more. Not that it made you back down. The rest of the team circling about you, watching carefully. 

“Babushka is the one who got us out. She’s kept an eye on us since we were kids, made sure we didn’t get into any trouble or bring down any spotlights. She’s helped keep us hidden for years.” You respond more softly. Asking for understanding. Your gaze searching his for any sign of it, for any break in his sudden defensiveness. Trying to piece it together.

Letting out an irritated sigh, he shakes his head, lifting his hands and taking a clear step back. “So, we trust the crazy old lady. Not like it can get any worse.”

You chuckle at that, almost caught by surprise at his easy sarcasm. “Well, now that you’ve said that the worst is definitely going to happen.”

And with that, the tension breaks once more. The rest of the team trying to subtly retake their seats, bringing mugs of coffee closer, loosening up with shared smiles. 

Stark snorts a laugh. “Right, so bunny can face down a rogue assassin without flinching, add that to the report Friday.”

“Of course, Mr Stark. Shall I include the time it took to diffuse a potentially disastrous situation?”

“Why not? Maybe she can talk Hydra into submission, bat those pretty eyes at them.” Tony smirks, winking to you and causing a soft blush to rise to your cheeks. 

“I dunno Tony, if it was that easy they would have fallen for your charms years ago.” Natasha replies with a dry humor. Though her gaze hasn’t stopped switching between you and Bucky, cause you to blush further still. It had been a situation, you understood his concern. Now it was handled, nothing more. Right?

“Well, if this Babu- Baba-” Steve frowns slightly over the word. Only to be met with a resounding chorus of “Babushka,” from every single other person at the table. “That… Is our best lead, then how do we find her?”

Barnes glances to you, then settles his gaze back on Steve. “Hate to make this sound cliche, but you don’t find her. She finds you… And right now, we have exactly one person she might be willing to speak to.” 

It took only a moment before you felt the weight of all their gazes once more. 

“So… Does this mean I should tell the shop not to open for the next week?” You offer almost weakly, huffing a soft laugh. 

“I think this means that you need to return to your life, but start making yourself a little more available.” James said, his tone almost apologetic. As if he hated that you had to be dragged further away from normalcy. Further into schemes. 

“Mop head is right- Oh don’t look at me like that, I know you own a comb, use it- we need you.” Tony reached over, taking your hand between both of his. Suddenly coming off as more fatherly than you thought was possible of a playboy philanthropist. “We aren’t going to let you do this blind, but you seem to be our best bet of finding your brother. If she can lead you to where he went, we can track you the entire way. You won’t be out of our sight.”

“But what no one is saying is that we are all a little too well known. If we get too close, it will blow your cover, make it more obvious that we’re trying to find him.” Natasha chimed in. 

“And that means that they’ll be more likely to make him disappear.” Steve finished her thought. Stating what had been becoming increasingly more obvious. 

Swallowing softly, you looked between each of them. Having to wet your lips before you could force yourself to nod. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

Steve offered a bright smile, warm and welcoming you to the team. Natasha a quirk of her lips and approving nod. Tony patted your hand before leaning back in his chair once more, as though it had never been in question. 

Only one person didn’t look happy about your decision, or the decision of this plan at all. His brow furrowed, and those brilliant blue eyes settled on you. Trying to convey some message you weren’t able to decode. 

Not yet. 

“You had Friday send for me, sir? This better be important, I was in the middle of some securty debriefings.” Happy strode up to the table, glancing over the crowd with a huff. “I thought we had stopped trading with criminals.” “Right, Happy, meet Energizer Bunny.” Stark pointed you out to the former body guard. “This is your new assignment, same as the kid. Just keep her from fighting anything bigger than her and we should be okay.”

“You want me to babysit another one of your projects, that’s why you pulled me off my assignment?” Happy was obviously anything but. You really didn’t want to deal with this if you were going to be working with the team long term. 

“No.” Your eyes widened, head popping up as you turned to face the source of the voice. “He’s a liability.” Barnes spoke once more, arms crossing over his chest. 

The whirring of his metal arm was only slightly distracting and you refused to acknowledge that line of thought. 

“What, are you gonna do it then?” Tony rolled his eyes. Picking up the previously forgotten bag of blueberries. 

“Actually, I am. Because I’m the only one here who actually knows what she is about to be put through. Unless you want to argue that Fury’s files give you enough intel to know how Hydra is going to react to the possibility of a fresh super soldier.” Sitting up a little straighter, you can’t help but notice that Barnes seemed to be flexing. Could super soldiers flex? Was that a thing with how bulky they were already? “Bucky…” Steve started softly. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yeah, can’t help but worry that those magic words might rub your lamp the wrong way again.” Tony offered the blueberries to you even as he snarked. 

“I want… Wait, do I call you Barnes, or?” Turning your gaze to him. Ignoring the looks passed between the rest of the team. “I want you to check in on me. You know the risks the best. You know their methods. I barely remember anything about them. I want you.”

Barnes seemed just as surprised as you had felt by your decision. His mouth falling slightly open before offering you a crooked grin. “Haven’t been called Barnes since I was in the army, my friends call me Bucky, doll.”

You can’t help the soft flutter in your stomach at the sight of his smile. Matching it a little more slowly, a little more hesitantly. “Bucky…”

“So does this mean I can get back to what I was doing?” Happy broke the moment, jerking his thumb to point over his shoulder.

“Suppose so. Alright Bunny, let’s get you settled in then.” Standing, Tony offered you a somehow more strained smile. Though you could tell he was doing his best to still be kind. Turning your gaze away from the Sergeant to follow Tony. “It’s going to be a long weekend, so you can stay here. We have a room open. Cap, you still have your room, same with you Tasha. Sergeant, you’ll have to double up or take the room across from our Bunny here.”

“I’d rather have my own room. Suppose I’ll follow you then.” 

“No no, Cap can show you the way.” Tony said with more than a little force, despite the supposed humor. “I want to talk details of some of the tech I intend to use for the mission.”

You look between them a moment before offering Tony a gentler smile. “I’d like to hear about it, thank you. But I also need to call in to let my employees know I won’t be in this weekend then. I can tell them I caught a flu or something.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

[bunnyravit]

VIXX's reaction when they go to a blind date (at first they didn't want to) but they are just mesmerized by "you" ? Thanks very much

Ok, I super enjoyed thisone, so thank you! Hongbin in particular is such a freaking brat about it. OMG, they’re all so long. I hope you enjoy them! As usual, thank you so much for waiting, babe!

N

Even though he doesn’twant to go, Hakyeon still approaches the date with graciousness and civility.It’s not your fault that your mutualfriend decided to meddle in your lives, so he’s not about to take out hisfrustration on you. His mama raised him better than that. He makes reservationsat a nice, romantic restaurant, puts extra effort into how he dresses, and preparesquestions and topics of conversation. He’ll make sure the night is worth it foryou, so when he lets you down easy, you and your friend can’t accuse him of notgiving it a chance. He shows up to the restaurant early, primping himself inhis selfie camera out of restlessness more than nerves. Then, he sees you walk throughthe door. Immediately, you catch his eye. The way you walk, the slow smile thatilluminates your face when you see him—he’s hypnotized. So hypnotized he almostforgets to respond when you say hello. He stands too fast and stutters“nice to meet you.” But then he straightens his jacket, regains hiscomposure, and leads you to the table. You speak eloquently and passionatelyabout what you do, that it makes him wish he’d studied it more. In the middle oftelling you about something that happened at rehearsal, he catches yourexpression, listening so attentively, and it makes his heart flutter. Maybeyour friend was right to meddle in your lives.

Leo

It’s impossible to describethe intense indignation he feels about going on this date. He doesn’t enjoysmall talk with strangers, let alone trying to get to know them—and flirting wasworst of all. You sound nice enough from what your friend says, but Taekwoondoesn’t think set-ups are any way to find true love. Tonight will be 80%awkward silence and 20% awkward conversation. He’d rather get a rootcanal. He begrudgingly gets dressed up and goes to the coffee shop,tapping his foot anxiously while he waits. He chose a coffee shop hoping for aspeedy end to the date, but right now he’s stuck dreading the beginning. Herefolds his scarf around his neck, wondering how soon he can leave withoutbeing rude. Then someone catches his eye as they walk past the window—someonebeautiful. To his surprise, they enter the coffee shop. They see him, and witha quiet resolution, keep walking his way. You introduce yourself. He softly echoesyour name, but then clears his throat and greets you. You ask him a question,and then he asks you another, and the conversation flows so naturally it’sanother fifteen minutes before you even get a chance to order. About halfwaythrough the date, he realizes how calm he feels with you, and a broad, dumbsmile spreads over his face as he watches you raise your mug to your lips.

 Ken

Jaehwan always likesmeeting new people, so he knows it will at the very least be a fun evening—helives to flirt and show people a good time. He knows he’ll make you laugh, andthe night might even end with a kiss. But…he doesn’t expect anything deeper.It’s not because of you. He just hasn’t had real, deep feelings about anyonesince he was a teenager, and he’s starting to think he just can’t anymore. Heplans on giving you a date to remember, because he’s certain it will be theonly one you share. When Jaehwan gets to the noraebang and gives the host hisname, the host tells him his date is already in the room. Jaehwan opens thedoor and sees you from behind, humming and dancing by yourself as you scrollthrough the song catalog. You’re…adorable. How could such a little moment beso captivating? Then you turn around and see him. Surprise freezes him on thespot. “Is this your first time using a door?” you ask, smirking.“It’s easy, you just open it, come through, and then close it behindyou.” He laughs bashfully, and finally comes inside. You sing your firstsong together, and then you have drinks, and sing another song. Your laughradiates warmth, and you look at him in a way that makes him want to becompletely honest with you. The night passes without him even knowing it.

Ravi

Wonsik has so muchanxiety about tonight. He’s already awkward when it comes to flirting—ablind date only makes it worse. He doesn’t know why he even agreed to this. Ok,yes he does. He really, really wantsto meet someone outside work. Then, when he told your mutual friend he wantedto see this exhibit, she told him you should go together. He paces in the lobbyof the museum, wondering if his clothes are appropriate, and what he should saywhen he meets you, and his palms start to sweat. What if there’s a longsilence? What if there’s no chemistry? You probably won’t get his humor, andthen things will be so uncomfortable. “Hello?” you ask, and startle him.He spins your way, and stops, paralyzed. “You’re Wonsik, right?” you ask. Hiseyes sweep your face, and his lips part, but he can’t remember anything he’dplanned to say. There’s something familiar in your expression, like he’s knownyou a long time. You purse your lips. “Did she tell you I was prettier orsomething?” He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and says, “That’snot possible.” You laugh, and it strikes him right in the heart. You walk aroundthe gallery together, talking about the how long you’ve both been fans of theartist. At some point, he stops looking at the pieces, and watches yourreaction to them instead. Your gaze is so genuine and thoughtful. You notice,and look back at him knowingly, and he realizes there’s nowhere he’d rather bethan right here in this moment with you.

Hongbin

Hongbin is only goingbecause your mutual friend beat him at Overwatch—a freak accident that he neversaw coming when he agreed to the terms of the bet. Your friend insists that herintentions are pure and that he’ll really like you, but he doesn’t buy it. Somany people have wanted to date him, and it’s always been because of his looks orfame. If he has to sit through a night of insincere flirtation, he’s not goingto make it easy for you. He’s taking you on a cheap date to an arcade. Hethrows on a t-shirt and jeans, musses his hair to try to look like he put inzero effort—but he can’t stand his hair like that, and ends up fixing it. Totop everything off, he shows up thirty minutes late. When he gets there, hedoesn’t see anyone waiting, but he does see someone killing it at a zombieshooting game. He watches them play, enraptured by their focus, and cheers whenthe console says New High Score—then beside the score, he sees yourname. You turn around, coolly, clearly annoyed with him for being so late, andhis heart drops into his stomach. Flustered, he tries to come up with anexcuse. You interrupt him, “I’m sure you’re used to everyone kowtowing toyou, but we non-idols try to respect others’ time.” “I-I’m so sorry.Let me make it up to you. There’s a nice restaurant down the block—” Youlook him over. “I don’t think you’re dressed for that.” “Please,I feel bad. What can I do?” he asks, surprising himself with how much he actuallycares. With a coy head tilt that makes his heart beat faster, you tell him ifhe wants to take you to dinner, he’s going to have to beat you at DDR first.

Hyuk

Your friend had been tryingto set you two up for months, so Hyuk finally made her a deal: he’d see you,but if it didn’t go well, she could never set him up with anyone again. Determinedto never suffer through another blind date, Hyuk picks a bad movie and apoorly-reviewed restaurant for after. He texts you when he’s on his way to thetheatre, but you don’t respond. He grins, assuming you looked up his choicesand decided to bail. However, when he arrives at the theatre, he sees someone,looking effortlessly chic in jeans and a fashion sweatshirt, adamantly playinga game on their phone. They look kind of like your friend described you, so on ahunch, he texts you “look up.” You pause, slowly raise your eyes, and jump whenyou see him looming over you. “Oh! I didn’t respond to your messages earlier!”you say bluntly. “Yeah. I thought maybe you weren’t coming.” “Oh, no,” youlaugh in embarrassment, and the blush in your cheeks is so charming he has tosit down. “It’s just that I was nervous—my friend told me about the stakestonight,” you go on, “so I was playing this game to relax, and I just got…completelyabsorbed in it. This is a terrible apology.” He laughs out loud, and forgivesyou. He still takes you to see the movie, but it isn’t as bad as you think it’sgoing to be, and instead of the restaurant, you walk around for a while, justtalking, and then hit up a convenience store for a late night snack. There’ssomething about you he can’t put into words, but he realizes he likes it somuch he doesn’t want the night to end.  

[shockwrites]

Starstruck

Author’s Note: I forget that I write sfw stuff sometimes

Series: League of Legends

Pairing: Luxanna Crownguard/Ezreal

Length: 2042

Rating: Safe

Lux was setting a bad example for the others.

Prim and proper Luxanna, leader of the Star Guardians, sneaking out past curfew? And on a school night??

She could already feel herself rolling her eyes at Jinx’s sarcasm, probably using Lux’s little felony as a get-out-of-jail-free card for when next she’ll no doubt do something…Jinx-like.

Lux sighed, nervously straightening her hair. She didn’t know what she was expecting when she asked Ezreal to meet her out in the woods that night. For whatever reason, she didn’t expect him to say yes. Why was she so surprised that he said yes? He was a Star Guardian like her. He’s expressed some interest in her too…hasn’t he? The occasional wave whenever he saw her, the corny jokes he’d tell her (that she would never admit to Jinx that she found funny), the way he’d listen to her attentively as she talked, not once taking her eyes off of her.

Maybe she was blowing this out of proportion…

He’s on a different team for stars’ sake! Ahri’s platoon wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with Lux’s. How did she know Ezreal wasn’t playing her for a fool? How did she know he wasn’t-“

“-running late!”

Exhausted panting and mild chuckles snapped Lux’s rambling brain back to reality. “Ez!” She yelled a bit too eagerly. “Y-You made it! Cool!” Question: what kind of numbskull talks like that?

“Yeah sorry,” Ezreal huffed, bent over in exasperation. His light blonde hair was disheveled slightly and his clothes were a mess, probably haphazardly thrown on last minute. That is absolutely illegal. His hair has zero permission to be that perfect. I call blasphemy. “Getting past Sarah’s not the easiest task.”

Lux’s mind raced back to Sarah Fortune’s intense, and quite frankly terrifying, glare. The standoffish Star Guardian must have been a real barrel of fun to room with. “I can imagine.”

Much to the dismay of her brain, Lux’s eyes couldn’t help but trace over the ruffled teenager before her. She recognized his sleeveless white and blue jersey that he usually wore. Probably one of his favorites. His ripped jeans were worn from misuse as if he traveled everywhere in them. He had that sort of explorer vibe to him. Ezreal always seemed to have a daring gleam in his eyes, like he was constantly ready to let his curiosity take the wheel and set him on a path to adventure.

Adventure…

Perhaps that’s what set him on the path of being a Star Guardian. Adventure was certainly one term one could use to describe their roles in the universe. Lux, on the other hand, had different terms: a burden, a duty, a trial even to name a few. Ezreal stood out from the rest of his team. He wasn’t hot-headed like Miss Fortune, or aloof like Syndra. He had a boyish charm about him. Something that reminded her that she was still a dumb teenager doing dumb teenage things. Things like texting, going to the mall, talking about boys…looking at boys…talking to boys…kissing boys…

Fu-

“Lux?”

It took the pink haired galaxy heroine a disturbing amount of time to realize she spent some odd minutes wordlessly ogling at Ezreal’s face like she was trying to win the world’s most uncomfortable staring contest.

“Wuhuh?” By the stars, could you stop being embarrassing for 2 minutes? Please?? “Oh-Oh sorry! Just a little, uhh…distracted! Just y’know, you look really…cute tonight.”

Ezreal’s cheeks reddened at her comment. He scratched the back of his head, visibly embarrassed. Lux wasn’t expecting that.

Oh stars, Ez, all of that handsome is going to kill me before the void even comes close.

“So, uh, Lux…you said you wanted to show me something?” He scratched the back of his neck casually. His eyes ran around the quiet atmosphere of the forest. “At night? In the middle of the woods?”

“Right! Yeah, I absolutely did want to show you something!”

Beat

I’m doing the finger pistols, aren’t I? “Follow me.”

The walk through the forest was quiet yet thankfully less awkward than before. Ez seemed more preoccupied with his surroundings. His inquisitive force of habit. Lux thanked the benevolent deities in the galaxy that he didn’t ditch her for a rock.

He wouldn’t ditch her for a rock, right?

Surely Lux wasn’t that uninteresting. She did fun things! Thinks like reading! And doing homework!

…

…………

I’m gonna die alone in a ditch, I swe-EEEARHH!!

A leader of planet protecting super soldiers must always be ready for the unexpected, a rule that Lux learned early on in her career.

A shame that rule never mentioned anything about vicious foot tripping branches.

As poor Lux planted face first into the dirt, Jinx’s distinct snorting laughter rang in her ears. Forget dying in a ditch, she was going to be the only one in the cemetery at this point. Lux could already read her tombstone; “Here lies Luxanna: A Forgotten Embarrassment. May the Stars have mercy on her poorly led team.”

She wanted to be surprised when Ezreal extended a hand to her. She would’ve been absolutely floored if any the rest of his team did anything of the sort if they had witnessed such a shameful display from a Star Guardian. How thankful was she that Ezreal wasn’t anything like them.

“You alright?” He asked. Lux didn’t know why such a little detail such as his genuine concern for her would leave a warm feeling in her chest.

“Yeah, dandy.” She replied, wiping the dirt from her shirt. “It only hurt my face…and pride.”

“It should, that was pathetic.”

Her face dropped faster than a comet. “W-what?”

Ez went down on to a knee while her brain was still processing what was said. “You wanna talk about falls, lemme show you one of mine.” He bunched up the leg of his jeans, directing her attention to a faded mark on his knee. Lux breathed in sharply once she saw the size of it; angled just above his kneecap. Instinctively, Lux rubbed her own knee in response, almost feeling the phantom pain from the wound herself. “Tripped down a flight of stairs a while back. You should’ve seen it, my teeth couldn’t stop chattering for a whole minute because my chin got decked so many times.” Ez chuckled like he was reminiscing a fond memory. “You know, I could still hear Syndra laughing at me.”

“Oh no!” Lux gasped in sympathy. “Were you ok?”

Ezreal’s finger lightly brushed along the scar. “Walking was a bit of a challenge. Nothing a cast couldn’t fix. Hope I’ll never be that bored sitting on my thumbs ever again.” Lux was blessed to see that relaxed smile of his. “The point is if you ever get embarrassed tripping on a branch or something, always remember the mental image of my face getting body-checked by like a million steps.”

Lux couldn’t stop herself from snickering. Something about that jovial sense of humor relaxed her. “C’mon, it’s just a little farther.”

Lux led them to a wide clearing within the forest overlooking a cliff. The far-off lights of the city shined from the distance, illuminating the clearing along with the glow of the moonlight and beautiful stars watching over them. Lux smiled. The sight of the inky night sky decorated with the reddish tint of the gorgeous nebulae entranced her, more than it should for someone such as her. It was nothing new to the Star Guardians.

“This,” Lux said, glancing back at Ezreal. “I uhh…wanted to show you this spot.” It was difficult for her to read his face. He analyzed the scenery intently, his eyes almost searching for something in the galactic abyss of stars. Lux’s heart dropped for the umpteenth time. A lump formed in her throat when he didn’t respond right away. Was he expecting something different? She must have been boring him for sure! What was she thinking? He was sure to have seen a million sights better than this! “U-umm…I just thought that uhh,” Come on Lux, use your words. “I thought it was…pretty.” I MEANT BETTER WORDS.

“I think it’s-”

“I know! It’s lame!” Lux blurted. “I wasn’t thinking!” She rambled. “We spend like 80 percent of our time in space! I just wanted to show you this little spot because I come here a lot and-and-”

“Actually, I think it’s pretty too.”

Ez didn’t stop marveling at the sight. He took a few steps forward, stopping just at the edge of the cliff before sitting down. Lux, still in disbelief, slowly joined him. “You know what’s weird?” He asked. “It’s amazingly easy to forget the Star in Star Guardians.”

Lux blinked. “What do you mean?”

Still mesmerized, he looked back at her. “We never take a minute to really experience what we…you know, guard.” Ez rubbed the back of his head. “Not sure if I’m making sense…”

His words buzzed in her mind. In her short time defending the planet, her team hadn’t stopped once to take in the fact that they were spacefaring superheroes. It would be easy to think that staring at a starry night sky after flying through it effortlessly would be underwhelming. Why stop and look when they’re already part of your job? Not Lux, however. And thankfully, not Ez.

“No, I get it.” Lux approached him, seating herself next to him atop the cliff. She felt her cheeks heat up when it dawned on her that she hadn’t been this close to his face before.

Seeing his blonde and teal colored locks this up close sent a certain heat to her cheeks. She really hadn’t been this up close before. Was she being weird? He wasn’t paying attention anything other than the stars.

“They say that we’re protectors.” He continued. “I think maybe I wanna get a little taste of what we’re protecting.”

Lux’s arm acted out of its own free will, looking to take advantage of Ezreal’s unsuspecting hand. She was unable to tell if he had registered her fingers wrapping around his palm. He seemed so…relaxed. The tranquil air reached her as well. Moments passed. Time passed the two teenagers by as the wordlessly enjoyed the peaceful shine of the moon.

The unthinkable occurred. Lux’s eyes widened in response to the sudden weight falling on her shoulder. Her thoughts were abuzz attempting to concoct a myriad of outlandish explanations as to why something soft and comfortable had taken up residence on her arm. Star’s forbid that a certain blonde demigod space warrior knight was legitimately pulling a romance novel cliché on her, less her face swell with the amount of blood flowing to her cheeks.

“Ez?”

There was no response. Only slow, light breathing, followed by a sound Lux was quite familiar with after sharing a room with Jinx.

Leave it to Star Guardian, Ez, to make even snoring attractive.

Ezreal slumped onto Lux’s shoulder, all but completely knocked out. He seemed so upbeat and attentive not seconds ago. Lux glanced at her phone, seeing that it was already quarter-to-one in the morning. They both had their respective dorms to go back to, especially considering the two guardians had a full day of school to look forward to, running on – what? Five hours of sleep?

Lux wanted to find the power to wake him up so they could awkwardly ignore the fact that they were a stone’s throw away from essentially cuddling themselves to sleep. Yet, unsurprisingly, she couldn’t. She could kill malicious void monstrosities from other planets but Luxana Crownguard was unable to resist the tempting enticements of a romantic embrace under the stars with a boy.

So she didn’t.

It wasn’t long before the drowsiness made Lux’s eyelids ten times heavier. She let herself plop onto the now pillowy soft grass, leaving Ezreal to comfortably use her an impromptu pillow. Lux thought to set the alarm on her phone, to not turn the next a.m. into a stress-addled mad dash of a morning rush. Her (soon to be un)conscious mind decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. They were both still Star Guardians. Surely the measly morning rush couldn’t be that much of a challenge.

…

……………..

Eyes cracking open in a cold sweat, Lux set her alarm to full volume.

[akaiikowrites]

to build a home pt 3

Summary: “I’m just… Fucking… Look, my heart burns for you.” Katara’s the most terrifying girl in the world. Zuko’s kind of in love with her.

Notes: It took almost ten months but we're back at it again with more High School AU. Light on the "high school" in this chapter. But for a good cause? There's going to be one more chapter after this, so we're in the home (ahahahaha bad puns) stretch. Thank you again for all the kind feedback on my trash.

Rating: PG-13/T for cussing, sexual(ish) content, and pure old fashioned Wisconsin cheese.

Part: One and Two

Uncle doesn’t complain that he spends a lot of their remaining vacation taking pictures and texting. Actually, once Uncle catches on that it’s Katara on the other end, he makes a game out of finding things for Zuko to tell Katara about. It’s both obnoxious and endearing. Because he feels generous, Zuko decides it’s more endearing than obnoxious, and humors his Uncle.

(It helps that Uncle found the weird statue of a crab in hula gear that had Katara laughing so hard that Sokka was able to steal her phone and get a picture of her mid-cackle.)

But their last night in Ember Cove, Zuko leaves the phone in their room and goes out onto the porch. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to Katara it’s just that he’s realized soon they’re going to have to actually talk about things that matter again instead of whatever dumb thing they just snapped a picture of. Uncle is out on the porch with a cup of tea. When Zuko takes a seat on the porch steps, Uncle says, “It is a beautiful night. Very peaceful.”

With a sigh, Zuko lets his head thump back against the railing and wonders how he’s supposed to explain any of this. Part of him had hoped Uncle would pry. Instead, it seems that his Uncle is feeling philosophical enough to let Zuko come to him. Fuck.

It takes almost a half hour for Zuko to figure out what he needs to say. During that time Uncle finishes his first cup of tea in slow, deliberate sips. Then rises and disappears back into their rented cabin to make himself another cup. Zuko finds the exact words as Uncle emerges back into the humid night and takes a seat in the well-worn rocking chair he favors. There’s a creak from the chair and a satisfied hum from Uncle as he takes the first sip of his fresh cup. Zuko breathes in deep and says:

“Katara knows about Mom. I didn’t tell her but she knew. That’s why she became my friend. Because she felt bad for me and wanted to fix me. Help me. I don’t know.” The old frustration surges up. Fresh and raw as it had been the first time. He can feel his hands curling into fists but he doesn’t try to stop it. Just lets the feeling rush through him because he needs to do this. Bleed the poison out of this wound. He just doesn’t want to hurt her again. “That’s why I didn’t talk to her. Because it’s fucked up. Making someone your friend so you can fix them. But she called. Christmas morning. Told me that her mom died and she blames herself and that’s why she does it. Fixes people. Helps them. Whatever it is she does. I don’t want to be a fucking project to her but she needs me and I don’t know how to forgive her but I can’t—”

There are no more words and he’s honestly amazed he made it this far. It feels like the inside of his mouth has been all cut up with razor blades, like he needs to punch something to focus the pain, like he’s exactly the kind of wounded creature who needs a beautiful girl to save him. Zuko knows his eyes are pleading as he looks at his Uncle.

“Katara is?” Uncle says. Philosophically.

Zuko launches to his feet and begins to pace across the width of the porch. “I don’t know. Katara’s…Katara.” Pacing isn’t helping but he knows he can’t vent his anger by hitting something. So he growls, and tangles his fingers in his hair, and clenches his eyes shut. “Katara is someone gentle, and smart, and fierce. She sees all the worst things about life and then decides she can somehow change it. She takes in people because they need it, not because they deserve it. She stays kind even though nothing else is kind. She demands a better world.” Without meaning to his feet come to a stop. He opens his eyes. His hands slide from his hair to fall to his sides. “She makes me want to demand a better world.”

Out here the light is pretty shitty. Reliant on the small lamps that light the pathways between cabins and the heavy moon above them. But Zuko’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the faint gleam to Uncle’s eyes. Or the hoarse edge as he says, “Then the question is, nephew, if your pride is worth more than all that Katara is.”

No. It’s not.

Zuko Himura 11:48PM we need to talk when i get back

Katara Foster 11:49PM i know

It takes them all day to get back to Republic City. They nearly die once because Uncle sees a tea shop and whips their car across five lanes of traffic to get at it. When they pull into the driveway there’s a good six inches of fresh snow that’ll need to be cleared tomorrow. Zuko goes straight upstairs because a week and a half solid of socializing with Uncle is exhausting. (It’s good, too, in a way that he can’t articulate.) After kicking the door shut and dropping his bags, he collapses face first onto his bed, ready to take the world’s longest nap.

The world’s longest nap is only about three hours long.

Zuko wakes up blearily to the faint whine of the tea kettle. It stops but he’s awake, now, so he half rolls onto his side. For a while he just lays there. Cocooned in the warm dark, looking out the window, at fresh snow that swirls backlit against streetlights. Somehow the room feels safe, and cozy, and less like a place he just goes to fall asleep or do homework. The therapist would call that progress if he still went to them every Tuesday.

Falling snow reminds him of Katara. Of that day when they went to the coffee shop. With a groan that sounds more like a growl he rolls onto his back and puts an arm behind his head. The hand resting on his stomach taps out a rhythm.

Even a month later his body remembers her—warm and small and laughing—cuddled against him. It had seemed like too much to handle at the time. What kind of loser jerks off to the memory of giving a girl a piggy back ride? But now he wonders what would’ve happened if he’d pulled her into an alley that day and kissed her. Maybe everything would’ve been different if he’d been braver. Probably not.

Reaching into the front pocket of his jeans, he fishes out his phone and turns it on. Light flares brilliant and white and makes him squint. It’s almost eight. He ignores the next texts from Sokka, the Ultimate Frisbee group chat, and an unknown number to pull up Katara’s conversation.

Katara Foster 2:49PM text me when you get home k?

Feeling a little like a jerk, he taps in, got home a couple hours ago but needed a nap. Then he erases that and sends home instead. That makes him feel more like a jerk but he’s barely had time to feel the full weight of his jerkish behavior when the three little dots that signal an incoming response pop up.

Katara Foster 7:53PM good

Katara Foster 7:54PM are you like super tired?

Even with the nap he feels kind of worn at the edges. But he dutifully says not really why? She reads the message immediately but it takes a full six minutes for her to reply. Zuko imagines it might be because Sokka started doing something obnoxious or GranGran needed help with something. That doesn’t help the nerves. Especially when the three dots pop up and just. Stay there. Taunting him.

Katara Foster 8:02PM meet me at the coffee shop

Katara Foster 8:02PM please

Of course she’s beaten him there. She’s hunched over a steaming cup of coffee that’s cradled in her hands. When the bell above the doorway goes off she looks up, instinctively but not hopefully, like she’s already done this a few times. Except this time it’s actually him. Or at least he assumes that’s why her entire face lights up and she straightens her shoulders and the coffee cup is left forgotten on the table. Zuko barely has time to brace himself and open his arms before she’s in them, face pressed tight into his chest, fingers digging deep into his leather jacket.

“Hey,” he says. It feels like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs and it’s not just because she slammed into him. One arm’s curled around her waist reflexively but he tries to smooth the other over the back of her skull because he’s fairly certain she’s shaking. “Hey, are you okay?”

Katara pulls back very carefully but stays in his arms. It’s okay. Now that he’s touching her, he’s not sure he could let her go, even with everyone in the coffee shop eyeing them. He can’t remember if she’s always felt this delicate or if maybe he only thinks she feels that way because he knows she’s not invincible now. Zuko wants to pull her closer and wrap her up in his jacket. Keep her safe for once.

“I’m okay, I’m just so glad you’re here,” she says. There’s a very soft lilt to her voice that makes him think she’s holding back tears.

Not thinking about the consequences, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, lets himself stay there for a moment as he breathes in the scent of her. He pulls back. Katara’s got her eyes closed. The lines of her face are still and easy in a way they hadn’t been before and he realizes suddenly how tense she’d actually been. Slowly, like someone coming up from a deep dive, she opens her eyes.

“I’m here,” he says. Their eyes lock. It occurs to him that she is steel and glass layered together so firmly that he’s not sure if he’s glimpsing the vulnerability beneath her strength or the courage beneath her fragility. “I’m here,” he promises.

Somehow they manage to completely avoid talking about it.

At first, in those hazy moments in the coffee shop in the hour before closing, Zuko thinks maybe it’s because they’re still too raw. Or because the coffee shop is too public. Or even because they’re too enamored of being around each other again, their knees bumping under the table, her hand eventually settling on his bare forearm like an anchor.

But the last three days of winter break go by and they’re around each other constantly. They have the opportunity. It’s just that they don’t want to, maybe. So it’s like:

One day, they’re sledding in the park with everyone from the Foster’s neighborhood, including one boy with a shaved head who watches Zuko with intense suspicion. Another day, they’re walking through the mall with Sokka and Suki, playing with the Christmas decorations that haven’t been stripped down yet. That last day, they’re going to the indoor pool at the local YMCA so Katara can do some back to school thing for underprivileged elementary students, and Zuko can’t even remember how he got dragged into this when he hates the pool but it’s worth it for the way Katara smiles at him over the heads of thirteen shrieking eight year olds.

After the YMCA, Katara offers to drive him home but Zuko says he’ll walk. It’s only a mile and a half. It’s not even snowing now. What he doesn’t say is he needs time to think because it finally occurred to him as she ruffled her towel over his chlorine damp hair that she’s waiting on him.

Walking is a bad idea. He wakes up the next morning with a sore throat, a stuffy nose, and the kind of vague headache that feels like being underwater. Uncle takes one look at him and says to text Katara for the homework.

The door to his bedroom creaks open. Uncle left him alone after lunch to nap. He’s not sure if he actually slept. It feels like maybe he has.

“No more tea,” he groans. Uncle force fed him an entire pot, he’s pretty sure, and his throat feels better but if he never has to drink another cup it’ll be too soon.

Someone laughs and says, “You sound terrible.” Dread, or mucus, clogs his airways as he turns over to face the doorway. Hazy winter sunlight softens her edges. Zuko watches, feeling bemused and enchanted, as she pushes up the sleeves of her loose cable knit sweater to her elbows and puts her hands on her hips. Purposeful. Amused. Fond. Home improvement stores don’t have paint that can match the blue of her eyes. Zuko can’t breathe and he’s pretty sure it’s not just because he’s needed to blow his nose for the last nine minutes. “You look terrible.”

“You’re awful,” he says. Rolling away from her, he fishes around in the covers for his little packet of Kleenex. Nothing immediately meets his fingers. So he tries to sniffle without it being loud just to get the worst of the snot controlled. Which of course means it seems to echo off every available surface.

Another laugh, muffled this time. “Wait, I need a picture for Sokka.” Floorboards creak beneath her weight and he hears a heavy bag dropping to the floor. The bed dips beneath her as she puts a knee on the edge.

“No,” Zuko says. With great feeling.

“Aw, c’mon,” she says. One day he’s going to figure out how she can sound teasing and worried at the same time. Leaning over him, she grabs the packet of Kleenex and puts it into his hand. “A picture for me then?”

“No,” he says. With even greater feeling.

Katara’s lower lip juts out just a bit. If she’s trying for a convincing pout then she’s failing because he knows what he genuine pouts look like. They involve a slight crinkle at the corners of her eyes, like she’s trying not to cry. It’s a manipulative pout and he’s on to her. “But…” she says. “I need it.”

“Why?”

One of her shoulders lifts in a shrug. “To prove a point. Mostly to Song and Jin. This would prove that you are not handsome and brooding at all times.” Arguably, he’s not handsome at any times. He can’t say much about the brooding. Why Katara would care about any of this in the first place he can’t imagine. “None of the girls at school would think you were some mysterious bad boy if they could see you with a runny nose.”

Since he clearly has no fucking dignity left as she looms over him and confirms that he looks exactly as pathetic as he feels, and that she plans on letting everyone relevant in his age group know as much, he makes deliberate eye contact and blows his nose in a fresh Kleenex. Being herself, Katara maintains eye contact, and then once he’s done goes, “Feel better?” It’s a challenge. Like he’s ridiculously gross and she knows they’re both acknowledging that fact. But also like she wants him to know she saw that petty display of pissiness and she’s above it. Zuko could tell her she doesn’t have to bother. Everyone already knows she’s the most terrifying girl in school. Reaching toward his nightstand, she grabs an entire box of Kleenex, probably one that Uncle left during one of Zuko’s many naps. Handing it to him, she says, “I think you need these.”

“I might hate you,” he says, batting the box away so it thumps onto the floor.

There’s a flicker behind her expression. Fleeting helplessness writ large in the way her eyebrows nudge toward one another and her teeth catch her lower lip. Gone before most people would really catch it. But he caught it and now he’s reminded that she’s not the most terrifying girl in school when it comes to him.

Feeling like a jerk, again, he reaches out and wraps a hand around her wrist. It’s cool to the touch because of his fever. Rubbing a thumb over the soft skin of her inner arm, he says, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Don’t be,” she says. “I shouldn’t have pushed. You don’t…” It kills him a little, how she pauses, her eyes settled on some loose thread in his comforter. Even though he knows she won’t say it he knows what she’s thinking. You don’t let yourself be vulnerable. Disappointment clings to those unspoken words. Because Katara’s waiting on him. After giving him all the rawest parts of herself on a silver platter. Katara’s waiting on him. Or maybe not, because her eyes are shuttered and her smile now is strained, and she’s saying, “I’m sorry,” like it’s an absolution.

Panic claws at him and he fumbles for explanations. Zuko’s never been good with words and sick muddled as he is they refuse to come at all. In his mind there are the memories—of being sick after his mother left and burning his hand on the stove while he made chicken noodle soup because his father would not feed him if he was weak and he hadn’t eaten for two days—that he needs to share with her so she’ll understand but he can’t figure out how and she’s standing up with that same strained smile as she murmurs goodbyes about letting him rest.

If he lets her go now, he thinks, there will never be another chance.

Zuko uses his grip on her wrist to tug her hand to his face. Most of the skin of his scar is dead, nothing to feel there but pressure and the occasional pain that comes with sudden weather front, but he swears he can feel the rasp of her fingertips as they settle over the ruined skin. Katara doesn’t look like she’s breathing. “Stay.”

Now she sucks in a shaky breath. Her free arm wraps around her own waist like she’s trying to hold herself together. “Why?” she asks. “You haven’t forgiven me. You haven’t even asked if I still—”

Focusing on her glassy eyes, he says, “It doesn’t matter.”

Katara lets out a choked sound and pulls her hand free of his grasp. Wraps her other arm around herself. “The hell it doesn’t,” she says.

Later, he thinks he’ll try to figure out how things went this bad this fast. How they got from gentle teasing to restrained tears. How they even managed to reach this point in the first place instead of exploding or fizzling out so much earlier.

But this, at least, he has words for. Zuko’s voice is hoarse and awful and steady and he tries to gentle it for her but he has to say it, whether she wants it or not, because he can’t lose her like this. “I realized I’m going to choose you being in my life because I can’t imagine not choosing you.” In the hazy winter sunlight, she’s still soft at the edges and so beautiful it aches, and he’s willing to beg. “Please,” he whispers, “Stay.”

Tears build like a flash flood in her eyes and go spilling down her cheeks. One of her knees bumps his ribs as she scrambles onto the bed and tumbles into him. Ignoring that he’s sick and gross and wearing a sweat stained tee she crawls under the covers and presses against him full length. All their limbs are tangled up together. It feels natural to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer. Anchor her into him so that maybe the world will stop tilting wildly on its axis or maybe that’s just his inner eardrums protesting. But when she touches his scar again it’s achingly gentle and she’s saying “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Out of the Frying Pan (9/?)

“I told you why Henry stayed with you last night,” Emma said pointedly, narrowing her eyes. David didn’t budge, one side of his mouth tilted up in a smile.

“And I believe that as much as you believe me,” he answered, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Is this about a guy?” Emma’s eyes actually hurt with how wide they got and her stomach was probably on the kitchen floor at this point – she couldn’t quite bring herself to look. “It’s totally about a guy isn’t it?” David continued, face a mix of curiosity and big brother and that did something else entirely to the state of Emma’s stomach.

“It’s not about a guy,” Emma said quickly. Her voice kept steady during the sentence though and she got a feeling it was because Killian Jones wasn’t a guy – he was, well, she wasn’t entirely sure what he was, but she was just as curious as ever to figure it out.

AN: First off, I’m sorry for missing Friday - the real world is the absolute worst. I’m still kind of ugggggh post-Sunday, but this fic is monstrous and my CSBB is monstrous and I’ve got a lot of feelings left to feel about CS, so I’m still here. As always, @laurnorder is a gift for always reading all of my writing. 

Living it up on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr. 

She woke up with a headache, but Emma wasn’t certain if that was from the rum or the conversation or the seemingly incessant pounding on her front door.

God, she needed to get out more.

And she promised she would.

Her phone was on the other side of the room – dropped haphazardly on a pile of clothes the night before – but Emma could practically feel the weight of it in her hand anyway, Killian Jones’ phone number almost screaming at her. As if phone numbers were sentient now.

Emma ignored the still-knocking front door, pushing the noise to the back of her brain as she tried to think back on the last 24 hours of her life.

He was going to kiss her. Or she was going to kiss him. She wasn’t positive. The only thing she knew, for certain, was that she wanted to and as soon as she’d realized that she’d nearly run out the door.

Nearly, of course, being the operative word.

She hadn’t run – she’d practically leapt out of her chair and the surprise on Killian’s face would have almost been funny, if not ridiculously attractive, if it weren’t for all the reasons Emma had stopped herself from kissing him in the first place.

She couldn’t.

Or shouldn’t.

Or both at the same time.

And she wanted to. Badly.

Emma hadn’t had a conversation like that in, well, not since before Henry was born and the last time she’d had a conversation like that it had led to Henry, so she panicked. As she was apt to do.

And, yet, he didn’t seem to mind. At least not a lot. He’d shot her that infuriatingly supportive smile and run his hand through his hair and tried to walk her home and Emma made him give her his phone number, the promise of bringing Henry back to his restaurant on her lips like it wasn’t the most important sentence she’d uttered in nearly thirteen years.

It was all Roland’s fault.

That six-year-old kid had woken up and called him Uncle Killian and, suddenly, all bets were off.

And now she was blaming a six-year-old for her emotional shortcomings. Emma had completely lost control of her life in the span of twenty-four hours.

The knocking was back, only now it was more like banging and she could hear someone yelling from the hallway. “I know you’re in there! Don’t make me knock the door down because you’ll have to explain it to your super and I know that’s something you don’t want to do!” Emma sighed, falling back on her pillows with a small humph – David.

Stupid, overprotective and concerned David. He’d probably tried to call, let her know that Henry got to school alright – which was something she’d normally have been interested in if she wasn’t too busy having an existential crisis in her bedroom – and when she hadn’t answered, decided to take it upon himself to come check on her.

She hoped the crime downtown didn’t hit an upswing because her brother couldn’t wait a few hours for Emma to call him back.

“I’m more than capable of knocking down this door, Emma!” he yelled and it sounded like his shoulder had actually collided with the wood. “And you’re being absurdly stubborn. Even for you.”

Emma sighed again, but pushed herself off the bed, glancing towards the window to try and get some idea of what time it was. She left her phone where it was, jogging towards the front door and swinging it open just as David was about to yell again. His mouth snapped shut at the sight of her and he narrowed his eyes threateningly, crossing his arms and shaking his head at her.

“You should do some meditation or something,” Emma said, leaning against the now-open door frame. “Keep your heartrate down.” “You’re a doctor now, huh?”

“I am the one with more kid experience. I’m just saying you’re going to wear yourself out before tiny-Nolan is even born. Can’t have you collapsing while on baby duty, Detective.”

David groaned, pushing on Emma’s shoulder and walking her back into the small hallway just inside her apartment. “No one is collapsing,” he said seriously, dropping his hand only long enough to recross his arms. “Except maybe you. But now I have confirmation that you’re alive and well, so I suppose I can cross that off my list of worries.” “Why would you think I was collapsing somewhere?” Emma asked, turning towards the kitchen to start the coffee maker and maybe figure out what was in her fridge. Aside from the compliment-seeking french toast, she hadn’t actually made anything in awhile and the mom/chef combo inside her was feeling particularly unproductive.  

“You have any idea what time it is?”

Emma shrugged, glancing over her shoulder to stare at David. He, on the other hand, did not seem overly amused. In fact, he was the picture of frustrated older brother , a statue just on the edge of her kitchen floor, arms crossed so tightly Emma was worried he’d do something detrimental to his circulation.

“It’s almost 12:30,” David continued, finally taking a step into the kitchen and leaning against the counter.

“What?” “12:30, Em,” he repeated. “It is almost 12:30 in the afternoon. You know what time I texted you to tell you Henry got to school? 8:30. That’s almost four hours ago. Four hours of waiting for you to respond and wondering why you pushed your kid off on me last night without so much as a reasonable explanation.” “I had a reasonable explanation,” Emma argued, but her voice sounded defeated even to her. “I told you. I was just tired. I wanted to catch up on some sleep and, you know, I did. Apparently.”

She failed to add that the reason she’d managed to sleep until 12:30 in the afternoon, or at least almost 12:30 in the afternoon, was because she hadn’t fallen asleep until nearly three in the morning – mind racing with thoughts of Killian and how easy it had been to talk to him.

Her brother didn’t want to know that.

Or need to know that.

“You’re an enormous liar,” David said simply, hopping up onto her counter. He looked like an enormous kid – legs kicking out in front of him slightly while he straightened his department-mandated tie. He shifted a few times, trying to find a comfortable way of sitting with a gun holster strapped to his waist and finally gave up, yanking the thing out of the holder and putting it down on the counter next to him.

“You did not just put a gun on my kitchen counter like it was no big deal,” Emma sighed, crossing her own arms.

“Where else would you like me to put it?” “Anywhere but my counter.”

David groaned, but did as instructed – it never too much to get him to cave to Emma – and reholstered his gun, shifting his body again on the counter. “You really going to tell me what’s going on now?” he asked. “Or you want to keep pretending like you normally sleep until the middle of the afternoon?” “Almost 12:30 is hardly the middle of the afternoon,” Emma argued, pulling out a loaf of bread she didn’t actually remember buying and four eggs. “That’s, like, early afternoon at best.” “What are you doing?” David asked, ignoring her point completely.

“I am making you food. It is your lunch break isn’t it? One you’ve given up because you’re a ridiculous, overprotective idiot who worries too much?”

“Yuh huh.” “It is your lunch break, is it not?”

“It is.” “Then let me pay you back by feeding you. It’s the only talent I’ve got.” David hopped off the counter and stared at her, the disbelief written on his face. “You don’t actually think that do you?” Emma hummed in the back of her throat, flicking one of the knobs on the stove and bending down to pull a pan out of the cabinet close to the floor. “Emma,” David said seriously, pulling her short and forcing her to turn around and look at him, the hand on her shoulder tightening slightly. “C’mon I’m serious. You don’t really think that do you?” “Pleading the fifth?” she asked, trying to add a bit of humor to the otherwise depressing direction this conversation had taken. David didn’t look pleased.

“You are a hell of a lot more than the food, Em. Although the food isn't anything to scoff at either.” “Yeah?” she said, cracking the eggs over the pan and stuffing a few slices of bread on the other end of the counter.

“Yeah,” David repeated, nearly barking the word at her. “For one thing, you’re the greatest mother in the history of the world.” “Don’t let M’s hear you say that,” Emma laughed, tossing a handful of cheese into the eggs and shaking some pepper on top. “She’s liable to just burst into tears at the thought. Those hormones and everything.” “Well, one of two at least,” David corrected, grinning at her. “And she can’t keep using that excuse for the next six months. I think she’s just doing it to mess with me now.” “The same way you’re worried about her exerting herself?” Emma countered, flicking a fork through the the eggs quickly, moving her wrist without even having to think about it. “Because that excuse is getting a little old too.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Sure,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “Hand me two plates from that cabinet next to your head, will you?”

David nodded, twisting his arm behind him to pull open the cabinet door and only grunting slightly at the completely unnatural position. “There was definitely an easier way to do that,” Emma laughed, holding her hand out. David handed her the plates, but something in his eye caught Emma’s and she lowered her eyebrows questioningly. “What?” “You know there’s a reason for it,” he said, as if she was supposed to understand that.

“Cryptic,” Emma answered. “A reason for what?” “The worry.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but she did her best to keep her face even, turning back towards the stove to pile scrambled eggs on David’s plate. “And that reason is?” “They’re going to open up the sergeant's exam in a couple of weeks, like right before Thanksgiving and, uh, I’m going to take it.” Emma nodded slowly – she wasn’t completely surprised by the news. David was an absurdly good police officer – his arrest record was consistently one of the best in the precinct – and he’d only gotten better once he got promoted to detective. He had an eye for things – those kind of things regularly being major crime busts – but he was good at what he did and he deserved to be a sergeant.

Even if it terrified Emma just a little bit.

“That’s good though,” she said, pushing the plate towards him. “Isn’t it?” He made a noise in the back of his throat, fork toying with the eggs in front of him and rolled his head back and forth. “It would be,” he said softly, eyes refusing to meet Emma’s. “If I told Mary Margaret.” “What?”

She was screeching. She knew it because the sound of her voice actually hurt her head. But Emma didn’t know how else to react. David told Mary Margaret everything and, most of the time, Mary Margaret told David everything right back – except, Emma thought belatedly, about Killian. She hoped Mary Margaret hadn’t told David about Killian.

“Don’t yell,” David muttered, smiling at her and, finally, glancing up at her from underneath his eyelashes.

And suddenly Emma felt like she was sixteen and freaking out because David was considering moving to New York after college. He’d told her not to yell then too.

So she didn’t yell – then or now – she just followed his lead, always.

“I”m not yelling,” Emma sighed and David’s smile got even more pronounced. “I’m just trying to understand. You tell M’s everything.”

“I’m not sure how.” “How?”

“She’ll get worried. She’s already terrified something’s going to happen now. What happens when I’m in charge of other officers and I’ve got to put them before me?”

“That’s not any different than what you’d do now,” Emma pointed out.

If nothing else, David Nolan was, possibly, the bravest man she’d ever met – always determined to do the right thing, protecting everyone else, even when they couldn’t. Especially when they couldn’t.

It was how she’d ended up in the spare bedroom of his house in the first place.

“Yeah, but in six months I’ll have a kid,” David sighed, stuffing a forkful of eggs into his mouth with all the grace of someone who was slightly terrified at the prospect of being responsible for another human being.

“I didn’t think you were nervous about tiny-Nolan,” Emma said, hopping up onto the counter next to him and nudging his arm. “Weren’t you the one who wanted eight hundred kids?” “Not eight hundred.” “But at least like six, right?” “Maybe a solid three.” “Does M’s know that?” David rolled his eyes, climbing back on the counter and bumping his head against her shoulder with so much drama Emma was curious if they’d suddenly time-travelled back a decade and a half. “Of course Mary Margaret knows that. She’s the one who came up with the three number.” “But not about the officer’s exam?” “Exactly.” “You still haven’t really explained why.” “I just told you,” David mumbled, sighing again dramatically. Emma tried not to laugh. That would have been inappropriate. He gave up her lunch break for this. She couldn’t laugh at him on his lunch break. “Because of the kid.” “And, what, you’re going to have a kid and suddenly this is going to get more dangerous?” “No, I’m going to have a kid and try and take this exam and have approximately a thousand things to deal with at once.” “Yeah, well, welcome to the club.” “Is that why you pushed Henry off on us last night?” David was smiling again – plate of eggs almost empty – and Emma shook her head at him, punching him softly in the side. He threw his body back dramatically and she groaned loudly at the dramatics of it all. He was ridiculous and worried and so overprotective, but he might also be Emma’s best friend and, aside from Henry, the single most important person in her life.

Not like she’d ever tell him that.

He’d probably laugh at her and then do that thing where he hugged her tightly and cupped the back of her head like she was still thirteen and made her forget everything she’d ever been worried about in the history of her entire life.

And that was, absolutely, the worst.

“I told you why Henry stayed with you last night,” Emma said pointedly, narrowing her eyes. David didn’t budge, one side of his mouth tilted up in a smile.

“And I believe that as much as you believe me,” he answered, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Is this about a guy?” Emma’s eyes actually hurt with how wide they got and her stomach was probably on the kitchen floor at this point – she couldn’t quite bring herself to look. “It’s totally about a guy isn’t it?” David continued, face a mix of curiosity and big brother and that did something else entirely to the state of Emma’s stomach.

“It’s not about a guy,” Emma said quickly. Her voice kept steady during the sentence though and she got a feeling it was because Killian Jones wasn’t a guy – he was, well, she wasn’t entirely sure what he was, but she was just as curious as ever to figure it out.

David’s mouth twisted into something that resembled disbelief and Emma jumped back off the counter, holding her hand out again for his empty plate. He gave it to, seemingly waiting for her to continue and Emma shook her head as she put the dishes in the sink. “When would I even have the time, anyway?” she continued, turning back around to stare at him.

He shrugged. “I have no idea, but maybe it’s not the worst idea in the history of the world.” “What?”

Emma was screeching again and David glared at her, sliding back onto the floor and readjusting his holster as he moved. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging again for good measure. “But you know, if this were about a guy, it might not be the worst thing that’s ever happened. Could be good actually. If you were happy.” “I’m already happy.” “And I’m not arguing that, but you deserve something more than making me eggs on my lunch break, Em.” “You’re the one who showed up at my door.” “Because I’m worried about you. You didn’t answer your phone.” “I was asleep.” David sighed and shook his head, but he didn’t press her anymore. He knew when it was enough, knew when Emma had enough, knew when to back off. He always had.

She briefly considered apologizing and telling him about Killian and how much she wanted and how much that terrified her, but then her phone rang loudly from her bedroom and Emma held up one finger, silently asking David to wait as she sprinted down the hallway.

The phone was on its fourth ring and Emma knew she was dangerously close to voicemail territory when she grabbed the stupid thing from the pile of clothes at her feet, swiping her thumb across the screen without even looking at the ID.

“Hello?” Emma said, voice a bit breathless after her run across the apartment. “I need you to come in.”

“Ruby?” “Who else would tell you they need you to come in?” “I don’t know,” Emma brushed off. “What do you need?” “Henry left his textbook at Granny’s last night and I have it. Unless you want him to fail out of middle school, you should probably come get it.” “You can’t bring it here? It’s like my one day off for the rest of the year. I was kind of hoping I’d be able to avoid going uptown.” “I can’t bring it,” Ruby snapped back. “I have meetings all day. To deal with your show and this stupid all-star thing” “That was your idea.” “No, that was Zelena’s idea. I just told you about it.” “Fine,” Emma sighed. “Fine. I’ll come by later. Henry gets out of school at 2:30, we’ll be there by three o’clock. Does that work for you?” “I’ll be in a meeting, but you can break into my office if you’re interested.” “Leave the door unlocked.” “And risk someone just walking in there? Nope. Use those skills I know you have and break in. Trust me, you’ll earn some cool-mom bonus points with your kid when you do.”

“I’m not breaking locks in front of my kid.” “Yeah, well,” Ruby said, voice thick with sarcasm. “That’s your call, I guess. But that seems like your best option.” Emma rolled her eyes as she walked back into the living room and mouthed Ruby at her brother. He answered her face with an eye roll of his own and chuckled slightly as he swung open the refrigerator door, undoubtedly looking for something to drink.

There wasn’t anything in there.

She was the worst at-home chef on the planet.

“I will be there at three o’clock with my kid and we will ask security to open up your office like responsible human beings,” Emma said pointedly, falling into mom tone quickly. Ruby, of course, picked up on that immediately.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re the best and so rule-abiding and boring,” Ruby mumbled. “I’ll talk to you later.” “Bye.” Emma yanked her hair out of the ponytail it had been in while she’d sort-of-slept and met David’s gaze from the other side of the kitchen. “You’ve got to go in don’t you?” he asked.

“How’d you figure that out.” “You’ve got a look on your face.” “I do not!” “You do and you should probably shower in case you run into this guy you’re totally not worried about when you walk into the office.” “He won’t be there,” Emma mumbled before she could think better of it. David’s answering laugh was nothing short of triumphant.

“I knew there was a guy.” “Get out.” “You’re just mad because I know you.” “And after I made you eggs.” “And I appreciated the eggs, but I know you, kid, and I know when you’re nervous about something and you’re nervous about this guy.” Emma sighed and rolled her head back and forth, trying to get rid of some of the tension that had taken control of her entire spine. “How’d you know he’d be at the network?” “Emma, please,” David laughed. “You know three people outside of the network – me, Mary Margaret and Henry. And we don’t even really count. He was always going to work at the network. So what is he? Camera guy? Post-production? He’s obviously not a chef, you wouldn’t want to mix things like that.” “Mix things like what?”

She kept asking questions. She needed to stop doing that. It was just prolonging the conversation. And she really needed to take a shower.

“Someone else cooking the food,” David said, like it was obvious. “You always have to be the one cooking the food, Em. It’s a control thing.” “Get out,” she repeated, walking forward to grab hold of his sleeve and yank him towards her. He laughed again.

And then he hugged her and he cupped the back of her head like he always did and kissed the top of her hair and, God, if Emma didn’t nearly start crying in the middle of her kitchen. “Now you’re just not playing fair,” she mumbled against his tie.

She could feel his chest move when he chuckled softly underneath her and he kissed her again. “What would Henry call it? Operation: Happy-Emma?” “Nah, he’d come up with a better name.” “I’m kind of partial to this one.” “I am happy.” “There’s not a limit on happiness, Em. You don’t reach a quota. It’s unlimited and no one deserves it more than you do.” “You and your wife are the biggest saps on the entire planet.” “Lucky you’re stuck with us,” he said, leaning back and practically beaming at her. “I gotta get back to work. Go take a shower, you look like someone who slept until nearly 12:30 in the afternoon.” “Ass,” Emma muttered, punching his side again.

David hugged her again, squeezing her tightly against him before smiling at her and walking towards the door. She stayed rooted to the spot as he moved, waiting for the sound of the door slamming shut before turning back towards the bathroom and, finally, getting in the shower.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. They’d be in and out of the building in five minutes, tops. He wouldn’t be there. And even if he was, it wouldn’t matter. She didn’t need to worry about that. It’s not like anything had happened the night before.

It even sounded like a lie in her head.

“What are you doing here?” Henry asked, walking down the steps his middle school with a slightly mystified look on his face.

Emma tried to ignore the stab of guilt at the question – she rarely picked Henry up from school, usually meeting him at the apartment or at David and Mary Margaret’s or Granny’s back-corner booth.

“I figured I’d come get you instead of schlepping you back to David and M’s this afternoon. Plus, someone left a textbook at Granny’s last night and Ruby brought it with her to the office so we’ve got to go to the studio to pick it up.” “We’re going into the studio?” “I’m pretty certain you’ll need to do homework at some point, so, yeah, we’re going to get the book. But just the book, ok? No wandering around or poking in on sets. Deal?” Henry’s shoulders sagged and he made a noise that was a mix of a groan and an overly dramatic sigh – he absolutely got that from David. “I guess,” he mumbled.

“We can break into Ruby’s office if you want.” “Yeah?” His eyes lit back up at that and, suddenly, he was standing straight and Emma was silently cursing Ruby for getting in her head.

“Ruby’s in a meeting and I was going to ask security, but this seems kind of fun, right?” “Super fun.” “Alright kid, come on, let’s go commit a misdemeanor.” Emma had no intention of getting back on the train for the 10-block trip to the network – particularly when they had to go crosstown and would have actually needed to go 20 blocks out of their way to transfer – so she let Henry hail a cab and made it to 6th Avenue in nearly record time.

The same security guard was sitting behind the desk in the lobby and he nearly dropped the magazine he was reading when Emma and Henry walked in. “Ms. Swan,” he yelled and Henry nearly choked on the air he was breathing. “It’s so nice to see you again!” “I thought we decided on Emma before, Doc,” she said, flashing her ID badge.

He nodded quickly, spinning in his chair as Emma directed Henry towards the bank of elevators at the back of the room. “Yeah, yeah, we did,” he agreed. “It’s nice to see you. Are you filming again today?” “Nah, just here to pick something up. We’ll probably be back down in five minutes.” “And who do you have with you today?”

Emma tried not to sigh loudly and felt her hand clench around Henry’s shoulder out of instinct. He tried to brush her off, but he was still 12 and Emma still had the distinct strength advantage in this relationship. “I’m Henry,” he said, throwing her a vaguely defiant look. “I’m her son.” “Son?” Doc repeated. “I didn’t know you had a son.” “Yeah, I tend to keep my personal life personal,” Emma said shortly, words falling out of her mouth with a hint of frustration. “We’ll be back down in a few minutes.” Henry was skulking in the corner of the elevator lobby when Emma walked in and he refused to meet her eyes as they moved up towards Ruby’s office. And she felt guilty all over again. Killian had asked her about it the night before, the very specific line between her on TV and her in the rest of her life and why she was so determined to make sure that line stayed in tact – no matter what.

She hadn’t really been able to answer him before – certain the truth was liable to scare him off.

Henry was hers and only hers, had been since the day he’d been born and, deep down, Emma was nothing short of selfish and possessive and she didn’t really want to share. She didn’t want to use Henry as some sort of prop to up her ratings, but she especially didn’t want people to start pitying her for what they were – a single mom with a rap sheet and a 12-year-old kid who didn’t really know anything about his dad.

So Emma kept her life in compartments and made sure that her defenses were strongest around Henry. In the end, he was the only thing that mattered.

The elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open and Henry was practically half way down the hallway by the time Emma had even started moving. “Hey,” she shouted at his back. “Wait two seconds kid. The door’s going to be locked anyway.” Henry groaned and Emma jogged down the hallway, pulling a bobby pin out of her hair as she moved. She caught up with him a few seconds later, wrapping an arm around him like he hadn’t just been moping for an entire elevator ride and tugged him towards Ruby’s door.

“You ready to learn how to pick a lock?” Emma asked.

“What? You’re actually going to show me how to do it?” He’d been begging for years – ever since David had mentioned that Emma was pretty good at sneaking into the ice cream shop in Storybrooke when they were growing up – but she’d always put it off, trying to tread that good mom road. Now, she just wanted to share something with her kid.

And she really was good at this.

Emma nodded, crouching in front of the door handle and holding up the bobby pin pinched between her fingers. “You don’t need a ton,” she said, sticking the device into the lock and straining her ears to hear the tell-tale click. “You just need to work the lines. So you push this in and try and get the lines to move up like it’s an actual key. It usually takes some finagling because it’s, obviously, not an actual key, but if you get it just right…”

She twisted her wrist quickly and the lock clicked open. Henry looked overjoyed. “That was awesome!” He sprinted into the office, pushing the door open quickly and Emma’s grin was starting to hurt the muscles in her face.

“Are you breaking and entering, Swan?” Emma nearly fell over. She put her hand down on the floor, trying to steady herself – still crouching in front of the doorframe – and looked up to find a very amused Killian Jones staring at her. He held his hand out, nodding towards it and it only took half a second for Emma to take it – the warmth of him radiating into her almost immediately. Killian tugged her up and Emma was only a few inches away from him, that now-familiar smirk on his face doing something very specific to her thought process.

Henry.

Henry was in the office.

“Killian?” he asked, walking back out with his textbook balanced in the crook of his elbow.

“Hey Henry,” Killian answered, not missing a beat and Emma wondered when she’d stop standing like an open-mouthed fool in the middle of the hallway. “What are you guys doing here?”

“He forgot a book at Granny’s last night,” Emma answered. Killian’s head snapped back towards hers and he raised his eyebrows at her, some sort of unspoken question Emma wasn’t positive she had an answer to – at least not with her son standing a few feet away.

“History,” Henry mumbled, drawing a laugh out of Killian.

“I take it that’s not your favorite?” “The worst.” “Getting him to do history homework is like pulling teeth,” Emma sighed. “He won’t even do it when M’s tells him to and she’s teaches at his school.” Killian and Henry stared at her for a moment, surprised at the information she’d just offered up without any sort of question or prompt. If Emma were being honest, she was just as surprised. But then Killian smiled at her and Henry moved closer to her side and it all almost felt normal .

“You know I majored in history,” Killian said, glancing back at Henry’s textbook.

“What?” He nodded, hand reaching back to tug on that piece of hair behind his ear. “I didn’t think they had majors at the Academy. Just taught you how to tie knots or something like that.” “Your understanding of the inner-workings of this nation’s military are sorely lacking, Swan.” “Wait, wait,” Henry cut in. “You were in the military too? Do you know how to shoot a gun?” “Henry!” Emma hissed.

“No, it’s alright, love,” Killian muttered and Henry’s eyes got wider at that . He looked back down at the 12-year-old next to him and smiled. “I do, but, more importantly, I also know just about every date in that book of yours. I could probably help you study – if that’s cool with your mom.”

God damnit.

God fucking damnit.

This was not fair.

He wasn’t supposed to be this – smart and talented and so god damn attractive Emma wasn’t certain how he could possibly be real. But there he was, smiling at her kid and offering up time she was fairly positive he didn’t have and Emma’s phone suddenly felt very heavy again, the weight of his number practically dragging her back down to the floor.

“Can he mom? I’ve got this huge test next week.” Emma rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “These are the kinds of things you’re supposed to tell me,” she sighed.

“You’re busy.” “Not too busy to know about big tests next week.” “But maybe Killian could help.”

She wasn’t going to win – Emma knew it and the smile on Killian’s face proved he knew it too. This was supposed to be a five-minute trip. In and out of the office without any complications. And now her kid was setting up study dates with a guy she maybe went on a date with the night before.

Emma needed to cook something.

“I’d be happy to, Swan,” Killian said softly, eyes meeting hers quickly.

“What about the new fall menu?” “Finished this morning, actually.” “Yeah?”

“With sweet potato skins as our brand-new featured appetizer.” Emma laughed, the sound of it shaking her body and pushing away any of the lingering nerves she had about this cocky, sure-of-himself Iron Chef.

“You are impossible,” she said softly.

Killian shrugged. “What do you say, Henry?” he asked. “Next week? We’ll get you an A, I promise.” “Is that cool, mom?” Henry asked, spinning to stare at her. Emma glanced at Killian over the top of Henry’s head, heart stuttering just a bit at the way he looked at her.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” she said. “We could maybe come by the restaurant?” She’d asked the question into the ground mostly, but pulled her head up once her lips had stopped moving to find Killian beaming at her. “That sounds good,” he said softly and Emma was positive the sound of his voice would play on loop in her head for the rest of the night. “When’s your test, Henry?” “Thursday.” “Tuesday work?” “Sure.” “You good with Tuesday, Swan?” Emma nodded. She had to do a promotional spot for the show – a brand-new fall themed commercial that she wasn’t entirely certain was necessary – but she’d be done by 5:30. Or she’d run out of the studio.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” she said. “Come on kid, we should get going. Make sure you relock Ruby’s door, ok?” Henry nodded, sprinting back towards the office to shut off the lights and lock the door – leaving Emma alone with Killian for all of five seconds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For?” “For offering to help him like that. You didn’t have to do that.” “I wanted to.” “You don’t even know him.” “I almost know you though,” Killian argued. “And, technically speaking, he’s kind of like some biological extension of you, right?” Emma nodded, nervous laughter bubbling out of her mouth. “So then, it’s really not a big deal.” “Won’t you have to cook? I mean it’s a restaurant right, you have to make the food?” “I’ve got a fairly intelligent staff, Swan. I think they can handle one night. I’ll make your food though.” Emma bit her lip – heartbeat betraying her completely at the statement. “Cheeseburgers?”

“Rol will be thrilled.”

“You never said what you were doing here,” Emma said, realization dawning on her quickly. “I thought you hated being here.” “I never said I hated it, just that I tried not to be here if I didn’t have to. And I had to. We were filming IC today.” “Yeah? What was your secret ingredient?” “Apples,” he groaned. “Some stupid fall theme that I think was probably Regina’s idea.”

“Did you win?”

His eyes flashed up towards her, a slice of blue that was full of confidence and talent and something that Emma couldn’t quite place – almost like he wanted to impress her. “Always, Swan.” She bit her lip again.

“Ready, mom?” Henry asked and Emma got the impression he spent a few extra moments in Ruby’s office on purpose. She loved that kid a ridiculous amount.

“Yeah,” she answered, wrapping her arm around Henry’s shoulder and tugging him against her side as she looked back up towards Killian. “We’ll see you later.” “Tuesday.” “And Friday too,” Henry added. “On TV at least.” “That too.”

He was grinning at her again when she walked by and Emma couldn’t stop biting her lip. David had been absolutely right – this was totally about a guy.

[zetsubourealitybreak]

Begin at the Beginning (Prologue Part 01)

They say Hope’s Peak Academy is the future of this world. The youth who attend that school contain more potential than is measurable. To excel in a field at such a young age… I suppose we’re considered geniuses.

I stand outside the school, its hardwood front doors larger than life. In fact, everything about this school seems too good to be true. But so are we, the students. I, too, am among them. One girl too incredible to seem real.

Though maybe I’m being arrogant. I’m only the Super High School Level Pianist, Subaru Shiina. Just a pianist. There have been some before me, and there will be some after. But for now I’m the only student with this talent. 

Subaru Shiina, Super High School Level Pianist.

They call them ‘talents,’ which makes sense. Even someone who’s incredibly dedicated, who works hard every day to be the best in their field, will never match up to anyone with raw talent. That’s what sets me and the others apart.

I place my hand on the door handle, then pull it open. It swings open easier than I expected. And similar to how I didn’t expect that, I also didn’t expect to be met with a blinding light.

Subaru Shiina: “Tch!”

I raise a hand to shield my eyes from a light I expect to fade. Yet it doesn’t; instead the light gets warmer, brighter. I freeze, squeezing my eyes shut. It seems to seep through even with them shut. In the distance I hear a woman’s laugh, though really it’s more of a cackle. But I don’t have time to locate the source of the sound, nor even think about locating the source, because someone immediately pushes me forward.

Subaru Shiina: “H-huh? Watch it!”

I stumble forward into the foyer of the school and fall to my knees. I open my eyes slightly, squinting, but still can’t see. The light is everywhere. The same laugh echoes throughout the room. My heart is racing. 

Subaru Shiina: “What’s the meaning of this?”

The room begins to spin, faster and faster. I’m thrown off-balance, falling from my knees onto my side. It’s getting hard to breathe and I’m not sure if it’s because of fear or something more sinister. My vision’s getting spotty, black marring the white light.

Is this what it feels like to die? I wonder.

Throughout all this, the woman’s cackles continues to echo through my mind. And as the laughter and darkness overwhelm me, I hear someone whisper in my ear.

???: “It’s time.”

Zetsubou: Reality Break.

…In the distance I hear rain. My eyes open slowly, afraid I’ll be assaulted by another blinding light -- or worse, absolute darkness. Though after blinking a few times, I realize everything is normal.

My joints crack as I sit up. My vision is blurry even as I rub my eyes, but slowly the world comes into focus. Nevertheless it still takes me a moment to take in my surroundings. I’ve been lying unconscious on worn-out wooden floorboards. How gross.

The wood-paneled walls surrounding me are made of equally dated panels. They’re a stark contrast to what you would have expected of an elite school. The lighting is dim, the only source of it being a shadeless light bulb. I have absolutely no idea where I am. But based on the smell of cleaning products and how cramped the room is, I’d say I’m in…

Subaru Shiina: “Ugh, is this a supply closet?”

I finally spot the door, adjacent to shelves lined with cleaning supplies. I stand up. The world begins to spin again, and I’m half-worried I’ll hear another laugh. Instead, there’s only rain. I take a deep breath in to calm my nerves, before stepping towards the door. If this is Hope’s Peak, it’s a sick joke to put one of their students in a closet. I take another step. However, instead of feeling the floor beneath me, I step on something uncharacteristically soft.

Subaru Shiina: “Eek!”

Only after I slip do I realize it was just a mop. I stumble backwards, knocking into the brooms leaning against the wall. They fall like dominoes, causing me to lurch forward. I latch onto the doorknob. It turns, the door creaking open and taking me with it.

Several brooms and mops spill out into the hallway, myself among them. Some prodigy I am, I think as I just barely stop myself from landing face-first on the ground. My hands scrape against the coarse floors of the hallway, which are made of equally old wood. Ugh. I grit my teeth and sit up, just in time to see a looming shadow approaching me.

Naturally, I scream.

???: “Ah! Oh dear, are you okay?”

The soft voice sounds husky, much different from the voice I heard earlier. A boy comes into view a moment later, having rounded the corner. And said boy seems to mean no harm, if his outstretched hand is anything to go off of. When I look up to meet his gaze, I find sleepy green eyes staring back at me. He smiles. I offer a blank stare in return. Is there something he wants with me? I wonder.

And though I don’t particularly want his help, it’d be rude not to accept an act of kindness. I slowly grab it, letting him pull me to my feet. As soon as he’s done, I let go. His hand wasn’t uncomfortable to hold in the slightest, but that doesn’t stop me from brushing my hand off against my skirt as I bow. I can only hope he doesn’t notice.

Subaru Shiina: “I’m fine. Thank you for helping me up, I guess.”

He waves his hand dismissively. Now that I’m on my feet, I notice just how tall the boy is. He’s even taller than my father, his hair messier than his as well. It’s tied back in a low, short ponytail.

Boy: “Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you’re okay? That’s quite the spill you took there...”

Is he trying to make fun of me? ...No, his timid grin seems apologetic. He looks more worried for my sake than anything else. It’s eerily kind. If anything, it makes waking up in an unfamiliar supply closet even more unsettling. Is he a kidnapper, trying to get on my good side? He doesn’t look like the type to do anything cruel, but one can never be sure. There’s a reason why there’s a term for that.

I’m about to ask him what he’s doing here when I hear a loud stomping noise. Another shadow passes across the wall and a moment later a girl enters the scene. She’s dressed in a red and white floral yukata. Her geta seem to be the source of the clomping. She grins brightly, hurrying over to the scene.

Girl: “Hm hm! So you found someone, did you, Hazuki-kun?”

She stops next to the boy and makes no effort to hide her curiosity. She looks me over a couple times, eyes narrowed. I shift uncomfortably, staring her down. The girl seems not to mind, instead taking her time examining me. Eventually she takes a step back, nodding.

Girl: “I’d say she’s with the rest of us, mhm. She at least has the aura of a Hope’s Peak student! Though… what kind of exemplary student makes such a mess, I wonder?”

She giggles. I scowl, knowing she’s referring to the brooms and cleaning products all over the floor. I surely would have come up with a scathing retort, but something the girl says catches my attention. I’ll have to get back at her later.

Subaru Shiina: “Wait, did you just say Hope’s Peak Academy?”

The girl nods. The boy, who has been quietly watching our exchange, bobs his head up and down as well.

Boy: “She did. We’re both students from there. And if Kagami-san’s right, then you’re a student as well, yes?”

Subaru Shiina: “So what if I am? Do you have any idea what’s going on? You’re not kidnappers, are you?”

The questions tumble out of my mouth in rapid succession. As I speak, I wrack my brain to see if I recognize them as being from Hope’s Peak Academy. They certainly don’t look like older students, so they must be in my grade.

Think, Subaru, think, I tell myself. This could be the difference between life or death. If they’re lying, then they’re obviously malicious. But as much as I concentrate, I can’t figure out who the boy is. At least the girl looks somewhat familiar.

And when she laughs again, it clicks.

Girl: “That’s a good one, hehe! Unfortunately, even I have no indication of what’s going on. But we’re certainly not--”

Subaru Shiina: “You’re that girl from TV!”

My cheeks turn red. I interrupted her, didn’t I? But instead of looking offended, she looks flattered. I had recognized that sickeningly cute giggle from that reality show my grandmother loves. The girl is the host of it, her name being Ryorin or something. Now, what was the name of that show… Ugh, I’m so forgetful today.

Girl: “Who, me? Hm hm, I suppose you’re referencing Dating Developments? Because yes, I’m the star of that. Ryorin at your service!”

She bows, making a peace sign with her fingers after straightening up. Well, that answers that question. I stare at her, suddenly feeling nervous. Though I’m famous in the jazz world, being around a mainstream celebrity suddenly feels unnerving.

Her smile softens, as if she can sense how worried I am. Am I really that easy to read? I try to harden my stare, but I still feel intimidated.

Girl: “Ryorin is my stage name, by the way. I’m actually Kagami Ryoko. You can call me Ryoko-chan if you want, or Kagami-san if you’re as formal as you look, hehe!”

I instinctively bristle, though in the back of my mind I figure she must’ve meant that as a compliment. Well, it’s her fault she wasn’t clear enough! The boy, whom I may or may not have forgotten was with us, clears his throat.

Boy: “Kagami-san doesn’t mean any harm by that, I’m sure. Right, Kagami-san?”

It’s clear he wants to keep the peace. I decide to humor him, content with seeing Ryoko’s smile waver. She seems just as taken aback now as I was a moment ago. Hah, so I got the upper hand, didn’t I?

Ryoko Kagami: “Mhm, I didn’t mean anything negative by it. My apologies… ah, what’s your name?”

Right. I have yet to introduce myself. Since the boy and Ryorin-- er, Ryoko -- now seem harmless, I decide to comply.

Subaru Shiina: “I’m Shiina Subaru.”

Short and sweet. A look of recognition flashes across the boy’s face, but Ryoko just continues to smile cluelessly. Ah, so she really is dense...

Boy: “Oh! In that case, may I ask if you’re the pianist? I heard a pianist would be in our class, so it makes sense it’d be the Shiina Subaru.”

He twirls a strand of hair around his finger as he talks. Meanwhile, I try not to appear panicked. I never thought my reputation would precede me. Instead of feeling excited I’ve reached that level of fame, I only fear for the worst. Hopefully he hasn’t heard anything bad about me.

Subaru Shiina: “Oh. Ah, yes. I’m the… yes.”

Idiot.

Subaru Shiina: “As in, I’m the Super High School Level Pianist.”

Their blank expressions change into smiles at the same time, both of them nodding in understanding. The boy looks like he wants to say something, but Ryoko quickly interjects.

Ryoko Kagami: “Hm, that reminds me! I haven’t told you my talent. I wonder… can you guess what it is, Subaru-chan? Since you know of my show and all, hehe.”

I give her a deadpan stare as I wonder if I’m allowed to say I don’t want to guess. The casual use of honorifics is off-putting enough, plus she totally steered conversation back to herself. I feel bad for the boy, who still hasn’t shared his name. However, her question sounds like an interesting challenge, so I decide to bite.

I think for a minute. The show my grandmother watches -- the one Ryorin stars in -- is called Dating Developments. It follows the lives of couples who have been paired together by a mysterious matchmaker. The whole gimmick is to see if the relationships work out. So far the matchmaker has only had six couples break up, which is an amazing track record for a show that’s been airing for a few years, having featured countless pairings.

Recently there’s been a lot of speculation lately on who the matchmaker could be. All the celebrity gossip columns (not that I read any of those) say the season finale will include the big reveal. My grandmother says they say that every season, and up until now I believed her.

But now with Ryoko attending Hope’s Peak Academy, I’m willing to bet this will be the last season. She’ll probably be too busy with schoolwork to continue hosting that frivolous reality show, so the producers might as well share the details.

Subaru Shiina: “Hmph, okay. Are you a TV personality, Kagami-san?”

Ryoko Kagami: “Hehe! Nope. But you’re close. It definitely has something to do with the show.”

Oh. Well, that narrows it down. She gives off a celebrity vibe, and though I doubt she could keep a secret to save her life...

Subaru Shiina: “So then you have to be the mysterious matchmaker. Is that your talent?”

She claps her hands together, which causes the boy with us to squeak. Even I’m a bit startled; the sudden sound is incredibly loud compared to the drumming of rain and our hushed conversation.

Ryoko Kagami: “Ding ding ding, that’s right! I’m the Super High School Level Matchmaker. Hm, you’re more intuitive than you let on, Subaru-chan.”

Ryoko Kagami, Super High School Level Matchmaker.

I wrinkle my nose at her back-handed compliment. I also make a mental note to tell her she should call me ‘Shiina-san’ until we get to know each other better. And that’s not just because I’m a bit scared that she’s incredibly famous.

I’m more concerned with the boy. Compared to Ryoko, he seems very reserved. He’s been quiet this whole time… what a doormat. But I’m pleased he knows who I am (even if it’s weird), so I still have to ask…

Subaru Shiina: “So what’s your name anyway? And since you’re from the same school, you should share your talent while you’re at it. I don’t really feel like playing any more guessing games.”

Ryoko giggles at this, which is starting to get annoying. If she’s hurt I insulted her playful nature, she doesn’t let on.

The boy stiffens, now looking more awake than he has this whole time. Maybe it’s because his eyes are so wide. Is he really that nervous to introduce himself?

Boy: “I’m Hazuki Iehisa, Super High School Level Architect. It’s nice to meet you, Shiina-san.”

Iehisa Hazuki, Super High School Level Architect.

Iehisa Hazuki: “Ah, and of course I mean it! I’ve never met someone as gifted as--”

Ryoko coughs loudly, cutting Iehisa off mid-sentence. This time I’m grateful for her wanting to take center stage. Even though I enjoy being talented as much as the next prodigy, I don’t particularly like direct compliments. They just seem like a way to cozy up to people, especially if it’s a stranger doing the flattering. If you’re complimenting me, I should have done something to earn it.

And since I haven’t done anything yet, I’m sure this Iehisa boy is faking it. He’s way too timid! If he wants my autograph, he should just ask for it outright.

However, it’d be rude to reject his compliment. He’s obviously a fan. I dip my head, trying not to look unhinged by his unbearable kindness.

Subaru Shiina: “Likewise, Hazuki-san.”

Iehisa gives me another smile, this one less frightened. I can’t help but smile back, even if it probably looks more like a grimace. He seems so pleased that I’m giving him the time of day that it’s sort of endearing.

...Wait a second, maybe I’m being held captive after all. No way would someone my age recognize my prowess as a star pianist, no matter how dorky he looked. They might just be trying to win me over. I should be more cautious.

Subaru Shiina: “Hold on, are you sure neither of you have any idea what’s going on?”

Ryoko tilts her head to the side and Iehisa stops smiling. They look unsettled, as if they’re now even doubting themselves. I feel like it’s too genuine a reaction for liars to have. That being said…

Subaru Shiina: “You’re both from Hope’s Peak Academy, but how’d you find that out about each other? And why did you assume I was going to be from Hope’s Peak too? It doesn’t really make sense.”

???: “There you are!”

Before I can continue deducing what’s going on here, someone else rounds the corner. The floor shakes as a brightly dressed, white-haired girl comes dashing towards us. It probably would’ve been a much more impressive entrance if she didn’t have to slow down to pick her way through the cleaning supplies.

White-Haired Girl: “Ugh, we’ve been waiting for you guys forever! Fujimori-kun thought you got lost, so I had to go find you… But hey, who’s this?”

She turns her attention to me just as I give her a curious look. As we stare at each other, I realize something: there are other people here. And based on how unsurprised Ryoko and Iehisa look, they’ve known that all along.

I study the girl, similiar to how Ryoko studied me when she first saw me. She looks to be the same age as us. Huh, weird.

Subaru Shiina: “No, first I have a question for you. Do you go to Hope’s Peak Academy too?”

The girl smiles and gives a thumbs up.

White-Haired Girl: “Sure do! Hey, Hazuki-kun, does this mean she confirmed your theory?”

Iehisa nods, remaining quiet. I glare at them. What theory is she referring to? Did I answer a question without realizing it? When he notices my mean look, he pales and speaks up.

Iehisa Hazuki: “Mhm. You see, Shiina-san, everyone here is a student at Hope’s Peak. Before Kagami-san and I found you, we were talking with all the other kids here. We’re all starting our first year this Spring, so we must be in the same class. In fact…”

Ryoko raises a hand, as if she’s a student eager to be called on in class. Of course she wants to interject during a crucial moment like this. And of course Iehisa lets her.

Ryoko Kagami: “Please hold! I want to tell her the scary part! When we were all comparing stories, everyone’s had something in common, mhm. Subaru-chan, what was the last thing you remember before entering the closet?”

I furrow my brow, worried about where this is headed.

Subaru Shiina: “Hmph, I didn’t go in the closet on purpose! I just woke up there after… Tch, I’m not actually sure. The last thing I remember is entering the school, and then there was a bright light. I was pushed to the ground, and things got brighter until… hmm. I guess I fell unconscious.”

A wave of dizziness washes over me as I recall what happened. I stumble, nearly tripping over a fallen broom. The white-haired girl grabs me by the arm to steady me. I nod at her as thanks and try to ignore the world spinning around me. It’ll probably pass.

Ryoko Kagami: “Ah, there you have it! Everyone here has the exact same story -- passing out on their first day and waking up somewhere in this building. But the strangest part is… We all heard the same thing. Did you hear it too?”

Oh my god. I’m relieved the girl is still holding onto me, because suddenly everything seems far away. Did they really all hear that laugh too? And the whisper?

This is all fake, right?

But… I feel I have to be honest.

Subaru Shiina: “I think so.”

My voice sounds distant. Ryoko adopts a triumphant look, seemingly proud she guessed correctly. Lucky her. I’m just trying to remain standing. She’s staring to look far away, as do the others. The world around me is starting to grow hazy as it turns a grayish hue. Everything feels like it’s slowing down.

I wonder if I’m about to pass out again, when I see something out of the corner of my eye. In the midst of all the gray is something a deep blue. I look closer and spot a blue notebook amongst the cleaning products I had knocked over earlier. It’s plain aside from something written in the corner on the cover. Yet I can’t make out what it says.

Even as I bend down to pick it up, nobody around me reacts. I feel strangely calm though, figuring time has stopped or something. The thought doesn’t feel unnatural. Plus this notebook is infinite times more important than the people I’m with. I know I have to read it. It’s imperative I read it! Because if I don’t, everything will--

Just as my fingers brush the cover, I hear a voice.

???: “No do-overs…!”

The world turns bright, and in the distance I hear rain.

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