#i am never gonna be able to watch the new volume at this rate

[eggtoasties]

Pairing: Eventual Osamu x Reader

Rating: E for fucking Samu in the car :-)

Word Count: 4.4k of Miya twin shenanigans, fluff, then eventual smut

Summary: A hopeful love and a blossomed love; years of wishing on candles and they’re both content.

a/n: @powderblew​ ur the hopeful love my beloved

Contrary to popular belief, Miya Atsumu does not speed. Yes, he nearly loses his mind on the interstate every other day but his road rage is completely contained to cursing in the confines of his car. Most people think Atsumu’s the reckless driver with his loud personality and penchant for pulling off risky moves on the court, but surprisingly, it’s his counterpart who fully believes that the actual speed limit is at least ten above the posted signage and weaves through lanes with one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh.

Atsumu got Osamu the car as a birthday gift—black, sleek, and quiet. He had been dropping hints for weeks but Osamu had brushed them off, figuring his brother was spewing incoherent nonsense.

It was the weekend before their birthday. They decided to take a trip to the mountains—it was rare at this point in their young adult lives to have the free time to spend with each other. Osamu was busy with the shop: serving customers, preparing food, and trying new dishes. Getting Onigiri Miya off the ground was a seven day work week with early mornings and late nights. Atsumu on the other hand, had regularly scheduled practices and travel matches with the team. Although his schedule was incredibly hectic, there was a sort of rhythmic regularity to it.

So, for the first weekend in a long time where it would be just them, Atsumu wanted it to be special. Afterall, it was their birthday. Atsumu was the one who drove them to the campsite, taking in the scenery with appreciation, going slowly on the winding roads while mindlessly tapping a beat on the steering wheel. As they got closer and closer to their destination, Osamu could tell his brother was antsy.

His eyes would flicker from the road, to Osamu, then back again. His mindless tapping to the music turned into an incessant drilling and he kept readjusting his legs and changing his hand position on the wheel, fidgeting in his seat.

“Wouldya’ quit that, yer gonna crash the fuckin’ car,” Osamu said, exaggeratingly clutching to the grab handle at the top of his window.

“Yer really gonna yell at me on ma’ birthday that’s jus’ like ya’ Samu—”

“It’s ma’ birthday too ya’ idiot!”

The sound of his brother’s bickering quelled Atsumu’s nerves and he settled in the driver’s seat, humming along to the song playing on the speakers. In response, Osamu turned up the volume, but Atsumu just grinned.  

“You will arrive at your destination in .2 miles,” the smooth voice of the GPS chimed.

Atsumu began fidgeting again and Osamu swore he was gonna punch him the moment they made it out of the death trap.

They pulled into the winding driveway and Osamu banged his head against the dashboard.

“Please tell me ya’ didn’t screw up the reservation,” he said quietly.

“What kinda idiot, do ya’ take me for, Samu?” Atsumu whined. Although Osamu couldn’t see with his forehead pressed against the polished wood interior, Atsumu was smiling.

“Then why is there another car parked in our spot?” Osamu deadpanned, turning his head to his brother, still pressed into the dash.

“Look again an’ eat yer words ya’ scrub.”

Driving slowly forward towards the car and parking next to it, Osamu realized that a bright red bow was tied to the hood. He stilled in his seat and stared dumbly out his window, slowly turning towards his brother.

“Do ya’ like it, Samu?” Atsumu nearly whispered, leaning in close to his brother, eyes wide, committing every micro reaction to memory.

Osamu blinked once. Twice. Then turned back to the car.

“Yeah, Tsumu,” he said shakily, “I really do.”

Against the burning in his throat and the tightening of his eyes, Osamu willed himself to remain composed when he heard rustling. Atsumu took out a crumpled and worn piece of notebook paper, its edges frayed and torn and began to smooth it out in his palms.

He cleared his throat and stared at the empty space across Osamu’s shoulder.

“So, uh…” he began, uncharacteristically shy and Osamu sent a prayer that this wasn’t a speech about how Tsumu had somehow accidentally razed Onigiri Miya to the ground in the short period that he wasn’t there and this was all an elaborate apology.

“I know that this year’s been tough with Onigiri Miya jus’ startin’ out an’ everythin’ but I jus’ wanted to say,” Atsumu trailed off and scratched his ear before suddenly, startling Osamu, squaring his shoulders and directing a piercing stare into his brother’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you Samu!” he nearly yelled, face flushed with embarrassment.

Osamu felt the heat prickle against his neck and all he could do was blink owlishly at his twin.

“What on Earth are ya’ goin’ on about?” he questioned incredulously.

“Okay, okay, wait I wrote it all down,” Atsumu said quickly, smoothing the worn paper once again. He cleared his throat a few times before reading.

“Osamu—”

“Oh my god is this a proposal, why is this so formal?” Osamu asked out loud.

“God, shut yer big ol’ trap wouldya I am tryin’ here,” Atsumu bit back to the amusement of his twin. “Anyways,” he grumbled. “Samu. I’ve been thinkin’ for a while and I jus’ wanted to say thank ya’ for always bein’ there for me.”

Osamu did not often feel stupid. Well, that’s a lie, he thought. It’s been a year since Onigiri Miya’s opening and he was only just beginning to feel as if he was able to call his job stable and that he had a solid understanding of how things should be ran. However, it was not often that his brother made him feel stupid, but here he was, at a loss for words at this uncharacteristic show of appreciation.

Yes, high fives and hugs had always come easily after a particularly clean hit or a perfectly executed pass, but they never sat down like this and talked about how much they appreciated each other. Osamu figured it was unsaid in the little things—how the clothes Atsumu stole in high school always ended back clean in Osamu’s closet, how Osamu usually ended up making two bentos when they still lived together, or how Atsumu had always tried to include Osamu in team bonding even when Osamu was in college.

“I think,” Atsumu said, breaking Osamu out of his thoughts. “That you were what made me work so hard at volleyball. Not because you were the only one that could challenge me,” Osamu scoffed at this. “But because you were the only one I cared to play with for a long time.”

Tears pricked at his eyes and Osamu nodded at his brother to continue.

“An’ thinkin’ back, yer probably the only reason why ma’ teammates didn’t excommunicate me like they did to Tobio-kun,” Atsumu joked and Osamu cracked a smile despite the burning of his throat.

“An’ I know we’ve talked about this before, but I am still really sorry when I went off on ya’ when ya’ told me you were quittin’ volleyball. I don’t mean to beat a dead horse or anything—”

“You sound like Baa-chan,” Samu choked out, still trying to hold back tears, hands balled into fists on his lap.

Undeterred, Atsumu continued to read. “But the fact that fer the first time, ya’ wouldn’t be by my side on the court was jus’ never a possibility I’d considered. So ‘m sorry ‘bout the fuss I made even though I know that’s all old news.” He paused and nodded at Osamu, noting his fists and drew in a shaky breath.

“’Samu, I jus’ want to let ya’ know that I am so endlessly proud to be yer brother and all the work ya’ put in in college and startin’ Miya Onigiri honestly scared me a little,” he said chuckling. “The way you really focus in on somethin’ when yer concentrating was always so intense, but I’d only really seen it with volleyball. But ever since you went to college, and especially with this past year, I can’t believe I fought you to go pro with me because I’d never seen ya’ more fired up or intense than ya’ have been this past year.”

The sides of Atsumu’s paper begin to tear with the force of his grip, and both twins are mirror images of each other. Red in the face, hands in fists, and willing the other to cry first.

“Basically,” Atsumu drawled on, hands slightly shaking, “thank ya’ for bein’ the best brother and teammate I coulda’ ever asked for and I’m so, so, proud to be the brother of the founder of Onigiri Miya.” He lowered the paper from his line of vision and accidentally crumbled it with his hand as he blurt out, “And I love you!” turning even redder in embarrassment. “Even though ya’ never respond to my texts and make fun a’ me when I bring my teammates ‘round,” he quickly added in.

Osamu undid his seatbelt and forcefully opened his door. He heard Atsumu’s confused “huh” and watched as he fumbled with his seatbelt through the windshield as he crossed to the other side. Atsumu stumbled out of the driver’s seat and Osamu captured him in a bone crushing hug. One hand wrapped around his back and the other held Atsumu’s head as he cried into his neck.

He thought back to the first semester of culinary school when he questioned himself every single day if it was the right choice to have made. Learning and practicing different techniques that felt foreign was a hurdle that had seemed impossible at the time. Then, when he graduated and he figured he knew almost everything there was to know about the food industry after hours and hours of lab, internships, and class and began preparations for opening Miya Onigiri, he realized once again that he knew nothing. Even a year after founding Miya Onigiri and he still found himself doubting his success.

But, hearing his idiot brother tell him he was proud—was all he needed. Because Miya Osamu also pushed himself to the upper limits of his physical and mental abilities because his brother was the only one he wanted to compete with. It didn’t matter who else might try and challenge them, at the end of their finish lines, the only person they wanted to see was each other.

The autumnal air was incredibly crisp and although the forest surrounding their luxury cabin was teeming with life, time around them seemed to still as they both cried.

“This is too much, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu sniffled out. “My gift ta’ ya’ was literally like, two hundred dollars.”

“It’s okay,” sniffled Atsumu. He paused. “What’d ya’ get me?”

Osamu pulled away and wiped his face with the bottom hem of his sweater.

“I got ya’ a signed copy of that book you were yappin’ on about with yer favorite author and I got her to make a video for ya’ sayin’ happy birthday and all that—”

“Oh my god,” Atsumu said excitedly, “Yer tellin’ me ya’ got Sonia Barnes to write me a handwritten message and a private video!?”

Osamu grimaced at the snot Atsumu had dripping down his chin. “First of all don’t say it like that, an’ second of all, wipe yer nose or somethin’ ya’ scrub.”

Completley ignoring his brother’s complaints, Atsumu lunged at Osamu, begging him to show him the video. Osamu tapped at his phone, opened up the email attachment, and watched the myriad expressions of surprise, admiration, love, and happiness flicker across Atsumu’s face during a 20 second video while red eyed and swollen. He mused that this was possibly the best birthday they ever had.

.

“Let’s take this baby on a test drive,” Osamu said, eagerly waiting by the door as Atsumu watched his birthday video for the umpteenth time.

That Sonia Barnes was a very pretty lady, Osamu reasoned, but if he had to hear her chirp, “Happy Birthday Tsumu!” one more time, she was going to be the cause of fratricide.

.

Settling into the leather seat, Osamu pressed the start button and nearly cooed at the soft rumble of the engine.

Throwing himself into the passenger’s seat Atsumu said, “Let’s figure out how ta’ connect to Bluetooth so I can hear ma’ angel on speaker,” fiddling with the touch screen.

Osamu grabbed Atsumu’s phone and threw it in the backseat and put the car in drive just as Atsumu started to clamber in the back for it. He peeled down the driveway as Atsumu screamed and picked up speed down the secluded road as Atsumu managed to get back in his seat and secure the seat belt.

The pretty autumn foliage was a blur of orange and reds and Osamu breathed in the smell of new leather and wood polish.

“S-slow down!” Atsumu yelled, quickly activating the lock function on the seatbelt and gripping the grab handle with both hands. “I-is this b-because I told the whole team you’d giv’ em’ free food if they said they were my teammate,” he screamed, “I’ll tell ‘em nevermind!”

Osamu rolled down the windows and the sun roof and laughed as the wind ran through his hair while his brother cried for the second time that day.

.

A year later and Osamu’s still in the driver’s seat of his car, but this time, she’s in the passenger’s seat. They have all the windows down and he’s speeding along the coast of Hyogo, sea breeze whipping through their hair and the sound of waves breaking in the distance.

She had planned a full day for his birthday: brunch at their favorite restaurant, a walk through the shopping district, and a homemade dinner with a fruit tart from his favorite bakery. Now that he had two years of experience running Onigiri Miya, he could afford to step away from the shop every so often. Unfortunately, his counterpart was on the other side of the world for a match, but they managed to squeeze in a short videocall despite the time difference.

“’Samu!” Atsumu screamed from the other line, “Happy Birthday!”

Wincing, Osamu turned the volume of his phone down as she giggled and wished his brother a Happy Birthday.

“What’d ya’ plan for Samu’s birthday,” Atsumu asked her, “good luck beatin’ ma’ gift from last year—”

“Tsumu!” Osamu berated.

“Unfortunately, my research job doesn’t pay as much as being a pro-volleyballer,” she rolled her eyes, “but I do have some fun things lined up,” she said, smiling softly at Osamu to which Atsumu gagged.

“Ya’ scrub, just ‘cause yer jealous—”

“Tsumu!” she interrupted, “did you get our gift? We were a little nervous about the international shipping but your hotel said they got it so—”

“Yes!” Atsumu exclaimed, screen blurry as he shuffled around his hotel room. He set his phone down and propped it up, showing them the neatly packaged box. “I can’t believe ya’ got me another signed copy of Sonia Barnes’s book—I couldn’t even get this one off preorder, it was so popular—”

“Did ya’ open the envelope yet?” Osamu asked impatiently.

“Of course I did! I always open the letter before the present, what do ya’ take me for, Samu?” Atsumu whined, but the duo noticed how Atusmu’s hands were off screen and they could hear quiet tearing noises in between pauses.

Rolling their eyes, they patiently waited for Atsumu to unsubtly open their envelope. They watched as Atsumu quickly scanned the contents of the letter and Osamu hit screen record as his brother’s mouth dropped open.

“T-tickets to a live reading and meet and greet?” Atsumu whispered to himself. He pulled the letter closer to his face and read it over and over again before gingerly setting the cardstock down and gently looking into the envelope to produce two ticket stubs. Carefully placing the tickets back into the envelope, Osamu failed to cover his snickers as Atsumu’s lower lip trembled.

“I know it’s no car,” she said, “but I do happen to know people who know people, so I hope you like your gift, ‘Tsumu” she said kindly.

Atsumu suddenly held the phone close to his face and Osamu could see his brother’s ears turn pink.

“Yer the best sister in law I coulda’ ever asked for, I don’t know why yer with that good fer nothin’ scrub—yer not married yet, so ya’ still have time to run away, but ‘Samu, ya’ better not mess it up,” he rambled, roughly wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

Osamu scoffed and she placed a placating hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe I get ta’ meet ma’ angel,” Atsumu mumbled to himself in disbelief, pacing in his hotel room, running his hands through his hair. “Angel, angel, angel—I gotta bring ma’ copy of her books with ma’ notes! I have so many questions for her, like how she came up with the storyline—didya know she went to school in New York City? Isn’t that the coolest? And she made a video for me for ma’ birthday last year,” he broke his monologue to gasp. “Do ya’ think she’ll remember me—”

Osamu put him on mute and groaned.

“Maybe we shoulda jus’ gotten him those fancy mugs,” he complained, leaning heavily into her side.

She rubbed the sides of his neck as she watched with amusement as Atsumu continued his ramblings, completely unaware that she and Osamu were having a side conversation.

“But look how happy he is, Samu,” she crooned, giggling as Osamu pinched his nose bridge. But she knew that Osamu was the one who spent hours scouring the web for those tickets and sent several emails to Sonia Barnes’s manager for a signed copy.

Watching his brother run his mouth with no regard to himself or his girlfriend, Osamu clicked the unmute button and nearly yelled, “We get it ya’ scrub, we get it!”

“Let me be happy why dontcha!” Atsumu retorted.

“Alright well I’m gonna spend ma’ birthday with ma’ real girlfriend,” Osamu taunted, finger hovering over the ‘end call’ button.

“Once Sonia meets me she’s gonna fall in love, just ya’ wait!”

She yelled one last, “Happy Birthday!” before Osamu disconnected the call and tackled her into the bed.

.

For the end of his birthday, Osamu requested a car ride. It was just past sunset; the sky’s vibrant pinks and oranges faded into a cool indigo and the stars were extra bright in the rural area they were driving through.

They rode in comfortable silence, listening to seagulls call their good nights and the wind beating against the car. The supple leather of the seat underneath her contrasted with the rough pads of Osamu’s fingertips on her thigh and she stared out at the horizon, perpetually in awe of the beauty of the coast line. Here, twinkling city lights were hardly discernible specks in the distance and the only tall structures were the trees dotting the cliffside.

They rose higher in altitude until they were surrounded by lush forest—rustling underbush and singing cicadas took over the sound crashing waves. He pulled into a secluded nook that overlooked a cliff and she couldn’t believe they were only a forty minute drive from the main city.

He killed the engine and unbuckled her seat belt while she was still leaning forward, face close to the windshield, taking in the scenery.

“I’m feelin’ a bit neglected over here,” Osamu said, soft grin taking over his face as he watched her, lips parted and eyes wide.

“Sorry Samu,” she said, still looking out the glass, “it’s just so incredible here.”

“I told ya’ I knew a spot,” he teased and she intertwined her hand with his.

He pulled her arm towards him as leaned over the middle console so his lips caught her neck when she lurched towards him. Her surprised chuckle turned into a content hum, fluttering her eyes closed as he kissed the pulse point of her throat, her exposed shoulder, then where her neck met her clavicle. From there, he dragged his lips slowly to her ear and grinned when he felt her clutch at his sweater.

Nipping her ear and tracing the shell with his tongue, rough palms kneaded her thighs and his fingers played with the hem of her skirt. He let out a heavy breath when she brushed against his tightening pants and he smirked when she involuntarily shivered.

“Do ya’ like this?” he asked, mouth kissing down the expanse of her chest, pulling the hem of her shirt low.

She arched her back into him and guided his hand under her shirt and he grinned when she impatiently unhooked her bra and took it and her shirt off in one swift motion.

“Does that answer your question?”

Eyes half lidded, lips slick with spit and plump from his repeated ministrations, she had one leg folded under her and the other anchored to the floor. Fully facing him, she cocked her head to the side and dragged her eyes down his body, lingering for a moment before directing her heavy gaze at him. She leaned back against the door as he leaned forward on the middle console and she ran a hand slowly from her knee, teasing a peek under her skirt, tracing a finger around her navel, then making her way upwards, rolling a nipple with two fingers while slowly rocking her hips.

Osamu’s lips parted and his eyes flickered from her hands to her face as she brought her other hand to rub at the cotton beneath her legs. Gaze hungry, he licked his lips and rolled his neck, languidly leaning back against his door, mirroring her.

“Gonna give me a birthday show?” He rasped, slowly unbuttoning his pants and palming his length through his boxers.

Skirt bunched at the waist giving him an unhindered view of the growing wet stain between her legs and Osamu felt himself tighten at the sight. He wanted to press his nose against the ruined fabric and lap at her through her pink panties, he wanted to curl a finger in her and listen to her keel for him, he wanted to—

“Take your shirt off,” she demanded.

“I thought it was ma’ birthday,” he chuckled but does as she asks, pulling the fabric from the back of his neck. He tossed the garment to the backseat and lazily looked back at her.

The tops of her cheeks are flushed and her breasts shake with each pant. She’s worked two slender fingers from the side of her underwear and Osamu watches with rapt attention as her pretty folds are presented to him.

“Touch yourself, Samu.”

“Again with the demands,” he complained but freed himself from the confines of his boxers and matches the pace she’s set on herself.

“Fuck,” she whined, moving faster. The hand teasing her nipples moved south to pinch at her clit and Osamu couldn’t wait anymore.

He nearly launched himself to her, abdomen uncomfortably resting on top of the center console and she seemed all too satisfied with the result. He buried his face between her legs and groaned with her as he sucked and lapped at her overstimulated bundle of nerves through soaked cotton.

“Itadakimasu,” he growled and she rolled her eyes at the line.

Long languid licks interspersed with quick flicks of his tongue, he took her right to the edge of her orgasm. Her thighs clenched around his head while her nails dragged through his gray hair and she rocked her hips against his mouth. Toe curling heat had her buck helplessly against his tongue, rough hands gripping her in place as she reached her peak, but at the last second, he pulled away.

Her gasp was lost with the loud bang his head made as it slammed against the car ceiling and he let out a string of curses as he tried to fit in the passenger’s seat with her. She half stands, leaning back on the glove department as he sat down and she couldn’t help but giggle when he cursed at how slowly the seat was reclining back.

But just as quick, he grabbed her by the hands and has her straddle him. The seat is narrow but neither of them mind as he slowly entered her. She gripped at the back of his head as he teased a nipple and sucked constellations across her chest while her other hand gripped the grab handle, giving her more leverage.

Osamu slowly rocked into her and he captured her moans in a kiss. He gave her a second to adjust to his length before slamming into her, head falling back into the headrest as he watched her bounce above him.

Beautiful, was all he could think. Hair wild around her shoulders, a glistening sheen of perspiration across her forehead and chest, and the incredible sound of her slick around him. He was in heaven.

He slid his thumb between her parted lips and she immediately began to suck. She bobbed her head back and forth while giving kitten licks at the tip and nipping the underside of his thumb.

“Good girl,” he cooed as he pressed his finger further back in her throat and watched as her eyes rolled back and she rocked her hips even faster against his.

Removing his thumb and making a show of putting it in his mouth, he pressed the wet digit against her clit and grinned as her moans became louder.

The sweet call of his name as she begged him to make her finish led him to snap his hips up, rubbing against the spongy bit of her inner walls and he held her close to his chest as they came undone together.

Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead on her shoulder and watched as a rivulet of sweat ran down the valley of her breasts and he shifted his hips forward, just now noticing the dull ache in his thighs. She shuddered against him and he kissed her shoulder, her cheek, then her other cheek.

“We really have to thank Tsumu for the car,” she said, chuckling.

“Yeah?” he questioned, running his blunt nails across her back, “should we tell him what we used it for?”

She scrunched her nose and Osamu’s heart clenched too. Wrapping her arms around his neck, soaking in the warmth of his warm body, her lips ghosted the side of his cheek and he shuddered at the tingles running down his back with the contact.

“Happy Birthday, ‘Samu,” she whispered sweetly.

Rocking into her again just to hear her breath tick, he nestled his head into her neck and smiled.

[imaginingsoftly]

Apartment 352 Pt. 2 - Erik Johnson

Type: strangers-lovers

Requested: no

Warnings: blood, cuts and scrapes

A/N: Hopefully this redeems Erik a little bit for you guys :)

Day two of unpacking was marginally better than the first, if only because Emma’s giant of a neighbor hadn’t been around to witness her trip on the top step yet again that morning. She was still nursing a slightly sore and bruised knee a few hours later, when the next big dangerous task came up; hanging a couple of pictures. The task itself shouldn’t have been dangerous, but the frames were big enough she was going to need to stand on a chair to hang them up high. Emma took a deep breath, hauled up the heavy frame, and took a step onto the chair.

It took seconds for things to go wrong. Her back foot caught on the arm of the chair as Emma stepped up, and she immediately slipped sideways into the shelf right next to her ribcage. The frame smashed on the wall, and Emma felt pain in her forearm as a shard of glass nicked her.

There wasn’t time to do anything except brace herself. The shelf crashed to the ground, taking the ugly-ass plates from her aunt and a framed picture of her best friend with it. Emma wobbled on the chair, but kept her balance. “Shit,” she mumbled to the wall. Shards of glass from the picture frame and pieces of the ceramic plates littered the ground around the chair, and the radius of the shards was too far to jump. There was maybe enough space for her to step around them, but in bare feet Emma wasn’t looking forward to the prospect.

A pounding at Emma’s door almost made her fall off the chair. A muffled voice came from behind the door. “You good?” She heaved a sigh. Of course Erik would be the one to find her like this.

“Door’s unlocked! Come in!” He was inside before she’d even finished talking. It took a full ten seconds, she counted, before he moved from the entryway. Emma shifted uncomfortably on the chair as he took in her appearance, from her bare feet to the disheveled mess of her hair. It was only when he looked in the direction of her legs that she realized they were bare except for where the hem of her oversized t-shirt just covered her underwear. For approximately the thousandth time since she’d met Erik, Emma cursed her clumsiness. She shifted uncomfortably as Erik continued to stand completely still. It wasn’t until she began to step down from the chair gingerly, looking for a safe space to put her bare feet, that he moved.

No giant should be able to move as quickly as he did. Erik took three long strides to reach her, glass and ceramic crunching under his sneakered feet. “Don’t you dare.” His words were a warning, and Emma froze. Huge hands, warm and strong, slid around her shoulders and behind her knees. Erik lifted her into his arms gently, and she automatically clenched her arms around his neck. “Angel, I think I’m gonna have to wrap you in bubble wrap to keep you safe.” Erik’s voice, low and gravelly as it was in the moment, rumbled through his chest and Emma could feel it against her torso where their bodies touched. She wasn’t even going to think about the way her stomach fluttered at the nickname.

Erik carried her clear of the mess on her floor, only placing her on the ground once they were several feet away. For a split second it felt like he pulled her tighter into his chest, but then her feet were on the ground and he was stepping back slightly. “You okay?” Erik’s hands settled on the tops of her arms as he spoke, and his eyes scanned her body quickly. She opened her mouth to confirm that she was fine when his gaze settled on her forearm. “Sweetheart, you’re bleeding.” Emma looked down, and sure enough the nick she’d felt was actually a sizeable cut. Blood ran down her arm at a slightly higher volume than a trickle. It probably should have been more concerning than it was, but Emma’s thoughts were more on the fact that Erik hadn’t ever actually called her by her name. It was always ‘sweetheart’ or ‘angel’. Come to think of it, maybe she hadn’t ever actually told him her name. Who does that? He had been in her apartment, for fucks’ sake.

“Where’s your bathroom?” Erik’s voice cut through her thoughts, and Emma pointed mutely. He caught the hand on her good arm in a gentle grip and pulled her across the living room. “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Emma felt like putty in Erik’s hands as he moved her around, gently lifting her onto the counter and maneuvering her arm under the faucet. The water ran pink, and Emma closed her eyes. Of all the things to defeat her, it just had to be blood. A cool hand settled on her cheek as her brain went a little fuzzy. “Hey. Stay with me sweetheart. You good?”

Emma shook her head. “Don’t like blood,” she rasped through a bone-dry throat. “I’m okay.” The cool hand slipped from her cheek to the back of her head, and Erik put gentle pressure there.

“Lean on me. Don’t look, I’ll clean you up.” Emma followed the press of Erik’s hand, leaning her forehead into his shoulder. “Atta girl. I’ve got you.” His voice rumbled through his chest, and Emma felt it where her shoulder and good arm touched his side.

Any of the lingering irritation she’d felt towards him over yesterday was gone. If anything, Emma now had a soft spot for her next-door neighbor. “It’s Emma.” Erik’s hands stilled from where they were rinsing out her arm for a split second before starting up again. “I just realized I never actually told you my name.”

The sound of a bottle opening and liquid splashing registered seconds before Emma felt a slight sting on her cut. “Emma.” She shivered at the sound of Erik’s gravelly voice saying her name. “Short and sweet. Suits you.” She felt his smile against the top of her head. “I don’t think you need stitches, but I am going to put a band-aid and some bacitracin on this. Don’t want you to get an infection or anything.”

Emma nodded into Erik’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Erik said nothing as he finished patching up her arm, but then she felt an arm come around her back and tug her torso closer into Erik’s chest. “Don’t mention it, Angel. Just promise me you won’t hang things barefoot anymore?”

That was an easy thing to agree to. Emma nodded. “You keep seeing me at my worst,” she mumbled into Erik’s chest grumpily. At this rate, he was going to see her drastically injure herself by the end of the first week. She stiffened against his chest at the thought. What was next? A grease fire? Falling down the stairs? Cutting a finger off while cooking?

Her doomsday thoughts were interrupted by a slight tug on her hair. “Hey. Your thoughts are so loud I can practically hear them. If this is your worst, I’m almost afraid to see how incredible you are at your best.”

Emma leaned back to see Erik smirking at her. “Are you flirting with me?” His smirk became a full-on grin.

“Been flirting with you the whole damn time, Angel, you just didn’t catch on.” Emma gaped at her neighbor as he stepped back, instantly lamenting the loss of his warmth. “Now that you’ve got that figured out, dinner Saturday?” She cocked her head at him choosing a day three days in advance, and he shrugged. “Figured I’d be a good guy and let you get settled before I sweep you off your feet.”

That was it. Emma barked out a laugh, and Erik looked far too proud of himself. “Yeah, Casanova, you can take me out Saturday.” Not that she’d ever let him actually get somewhere with her. She slid off the counter, and Erik was immediately there with an arm out to steady her when she stumbled slightly. As infuriating as her new neighbor was, she couldn’t help but find him adorable too.

He walked out of the bathroom, and Emma took a second to settle her legs before she tried to walk. The blood really had thrown her off, and she needed to take a couple of deep breaths. By the time Emma made it back out into her living room, Erik was already picking up the large chunks of glass littering her entryway. “You don’t have to-” Emma stopped when he held up a hand.

“I don’t mind helping you clean this up. Besides, some of this stuff has blood on it. I don’t want you to get woozy and step on glass.” His words were slightly domineering, but also sweet. “You’re still barefoot; can you grab me your vacuum without stepping near the glass?” Erik glanced backwards at her, nodding when she gestured in the direction of her bedroom. “Grab that for me, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Emma took a deep breath as she stepped into her bedroom. It had been a long time since she’d had anyone looking out for her, especially a potential romantic interest. Her last boyfriend hadn’t even cared when she spent a night in the hospital, let alone if she stepped on a piece of glass.

She stepped back out of her room with her vacuum in hand. “I can vacuum this stuff up, Erik, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Erik looked over from where he stood by her trash can and pinned her with a glare. “I said I’d help you clean this shit up, and I’m going to do what I said.” Emma opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “I know you don’t need my help and you are perfectly capable of doing it yourself, but I want to do this for you.” His face softened. “Sweetheart, in the two days I’ve known you you’ve fallen up the stairs at least once, taken out a shelf, and sliced the shit out of your arm. It seems like you’re having a rough week, and I want to make it a little easier. Can you let me do that?”

Damn him, he was saying everything right. Emma sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. He smiled gently and reached out a hand for the vacuum. “Thank you, Angel.”

She stood back and watched Erik vacuum up the area around her chair, carefully lifting the chair and the corner of the area rug to make sure he got everything. He even wrapped up the cord when he was finished. “Thank you,” Emma mumbled. Her neighbor flashed a smile in her direction before stalking towards her.

“Saturday.” He ran a thumb across her cheekbone, smiling again. “Try not to end up in a hospital or anything before then, yeah?”

Emma smacked Erik’s arm as he let out a bark of laughter. He was still laughing as he strode towards her front door, and Emma could hear him chuckling to himself even from the hallway.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

I've heard that on TV shows all the time, but hearing it with my own ears is new. I'm scared.

"Hello, hi, uhm." What do I say? How do I do this? "I'm on interstate four, right by the exit to route 408 and I just watched a car go over the side." It feels not real, feels like I'm watching an action movie or one of those dashcam tiktoks that find their way onto my for you page from time to time.

"What interstate four, northbound or south?"

I look to the sign, forgetting that I've driven on this road a million times, still reeling. "North- northbound on four."

"I've dispatched emergency services to you. Can you see the driver?"

I can't even see the car, just the chunks taken out of the concrete barrier where the car hopped it, can see the brake lights still though. "Not where I am but I'm- I pulled off to the shoulder, I can get out and go see if they're okay."

"You don't have to do that, ma'am." A million things are running through my mind, but one sticks out.

"I'm, uh, I'm first aid trained, and I took an EMT class for extra credit in college, I might be able to help?" I turn my keys in the ignition, make sure to keep my hazards on and pocket them, dig through my glove box for the bare bones first aid kit I got when I got the car last year.

"Emergency services are 5 minutes out. I can walk you through helping and give them a better picture if you go over there, but you don't have to. Help is on the way."

"I'm going to see if I can help." Opening the driver's side door seems much too scary, with cars whizzing past going well over the 65 miles per hour speed limit. It's 3 in the morning, and there are no speed traps on this stretch of the interstate. People speed, and they go way over. Instead, I opt to climb over to the passenger seat, careful not to accidentally turn off my hazards, and start over to the crumbled concrete and brake lights. I can hear the driver before I see him, yelling for help. I call out to him.

"Thank god, can you call 911?" He yells, and then I see him. He's laid up between the dash and a cracked but not shattered windshield, curled to see me through the passenger side window, which is gone.

"I'm on the phone with them now, they're, how many minutes is it, 911 lady?"

"Gigi, two minutes out. Can you see the driver? Does he have any visible injuries?"

"Two minutes out, yeah, he's got cuts on his face and his arms, and-" It registers then, that I can see the bones of his arm jutting out of his elbow, and his leg is bent at an impossible angle, and his nose is much too bloody to still be intact. "I think a couple broken bones, too." It's then that I hear the sirens, loud honking, and look to see flashing lights moving down the road. "They're almost here, dude, just keep hanging out."

There's really not all that much distance between where he went over and the ground, so it's easy to clear the wall and land on the ground. Up closer, I can see the puddle of blood he's laying in, bubbling steady out of a large cut in his leg. A flash of my EMT class comes through, it's an artery, somewhere in his leg, and you need to tourniquet it, like ASAP. The truck is still honking, backed up in the saturday night orlando traffic and people pulling to the side to let them through and while I can see and hear it, there's a good half mile wall of bumper to bumper pulling off to give space. No clear path.

"Hey, are you, how do you feel?"

"I feel like shit for crashing my buddy's car, but that's about it right now. Why?" Asking that after you hopped an embankment crashing a car seems kinda weird, but ok?

"I think I need to, like, help you with your leg? Can I?" He nods. I close the distance between me and his car door and manage to open it enough so I can get in the car. It's awkward and there's no real good footing, but I manage to wedge myself in enough to get in a stable spot. "Let's see if I can remember how to do this. I need-"

Ever the helpful phone call, Gigi reminds me. "You need to tie something just above where he's bleeding, tight as you can. A cut seatbelt, a t shirt, something like that." There is nothing like that in my immediate vicinity except for my own shirt, which, I can give up my shirt for this guy, there's another one shoved somewhere in my trunk. It gets stripped off quickly and Gigi helps with directions all the way through. My hands shake vigorously, but I manage to get it to the point where I can't visibly see volumes of blood pour out of him, so I count it as a win.

I look at the truck, still pretty stuck where it is, but the ambulance is getting through, still huge but better able to work through the gaps between the large quantity of cars.

"Am I going to die? Is that why you keep looking to see where they are? Cause I'm going to die?"

"No." I speak firmly despite the panic coursing through my veins, the fear that I might be lying right to his face. "No. The paramedics are almost here and they're gonna help you and get you to the hospital and all that. You're not gonna die." I read somewhere once that in that situation you have to reassure people. They don't fight to live if they think they might die.

The stretch of time that passes before there's an EMT in front of me feels like a lifetime, even if it's only a couple of minutes. And the first thing I notice is that his gaze travels down my body, catching at my chest and oh, yeah, I gave my shirt to the bleeding guy and should probably get out of the paramedic's way. I make to go back and get the extra shirt I know I have in my backseat but I get stopped on my way by another EMT who wants to check and make sure I'm okay.

"I wasn't in the car, I called it in." I wave my phone, which still has 911 on the line, but the paramedic insists, points to a cut on my arm I hadn't realized I'd gotten. I get led to sit on the tailgate of an ambulance, watching firefighters run past from the truck that finally got through carrying loads of stuff, heavy equipment with ease. Nimble fingers clean out the cut before deciding it's not deep enough for stitches, just using steri-strips and wrapping it in gauze with gentle hands and a reserved smile.

"Jade, we need to get going with him!" The first EMT I saw calls while running with a gurney, the guy from the accident strapped against a yellow board with my work shirt still tied around his leg. The paramedic helping me jumps into action, ushers me into the ambulance and helps the guy get the gurney in.

"Sit down, buckle up." He says, looking at me. Jade turns and gives me a bit of a sympathetic look.

"He's always like this. You have to get that checked in the ER still." Oh. Okay. I sit down, strap into the seat, and the ambulance starts moving before the doors are fully closed. They get the car guy all hooked up to all kinds of machines and fuss over him, till the monitor beeping with what I assume is his heart rate steadies, and then the EMT guy visibly relaxes, eyes landing on me again. I cross my arms over my chest, much more self conscious of my state of dress with his gaze on me. He's, unfairly attractive, wavy blonde hair and toned skin, wrapped in an unbelievably tight uniform.

"D'you- here." And then he starts unbuttoning his uniform shirt, and I'm sure my eyes go wide. There's another shirt on under, just as tight with the fire department logo emblazoned on the chest of it. He shrugs off the button down and pulls the t shirt over his head and dear lord, why the hell do men feel so called to wear wife beaters under their clothes, I wanna see how fucking hot he is. The t shirt gets tossed into my lap. He really just- gave me the shirt off his back. My gaze locks on to it, only being torn away from the offending garment when he clears his throat and I snap back up to see him, button up back on his shoulders but undone, face sheepish and what I'd guess to be a blush tinting his skin further in the half dark of the ambulance. "You looked uncomfortable."

It's my turn to go red, flush covering most of my skin and incredibly visible. "Thanks." It takes a moment of maneuvering to get the shirt on with the seatbelt, but it's warm and smells of laundry detergent and a hint of cologne.

"Dream, only fuckin' you." His head whips to the other EMT.

"Only fuckin' me what? Huh?" Jade just laughs, head shaking from side to side.

"Only fuckin' you would give the first girl your age on a call the shirt off your damn back." If he wasn't blushing before, he is now, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

"Sorry if that's weird."

"No, it's- I appreciate it." I do.

"Good work, with the tourniquet. He'd be dead by now without it." Is that really the best thing to say while the guy can hear us? Maybe not. Speaking of the guy,

"Is his leg supposed to turn blue like that?" The relaxation in his face vanishes that instant as he hauls up, moves to where he can look up close at the leg, tearing up the leg of the guy's pants.

"Jade, I need to set it so he can keep the leg, can you keep him still?" A distinct yes, and then I get to watch as his muscles flex, hands gripping tight to the broken leg of this guy, and then an audible crack resounds through the small space of the ambulance as he pushes his body forward. The car guy's closed eyes shoot open, mouth gaping in a yell of pain underneath of an oxygen mask. I'm sure that probably hurts like a bitch, and suddenly I am very grateful that I've never broken a bone.

There's not much left in the ride. The two EMTs, Jade and Dream, mainly continuing to work on keeping his monitor from making the erratic beeping it has been letting out from time to time. The ER is a blur of people bustling around the guy, but I get led from the ambulance by a doctor to check the cut on my arm before he comes to the same conclusion that no, I do not need stitches, but that I do need to change the dressing once a day and gives me some disinfectant cream to put on it when I do. While he cleans the wound out, he asks in a lilted british accent. "Did you really tourniquet the guy with your shirt?"

"Yeah, I did. The one thing I remembered from my EMT class, really came in handy." I joke, and he laughs.

"Well the guy is lucky you did. You're an EMT?" I shake my head, and wince a bit when he presses a bit too hard.

"Nah, I wait tables at the Waterfront in South Orange. Took an EMT class for a summer course cause I thought it'd be fun." He hums, turning to grab more bandages to rewrap my forearm.

"Well maybe you should look into it. Quick thinking like that would get you far there."

"I might." It's a real possibility. My accounting major proved to get me the single most boring desk job ever, and I've been looking into other career paths recently. He smiles at me when he finishes wrapping, pulls a card out of his pocket and a pen, scribbles something on the back of it.

"Put me as a reference if you decide you want to." That's, incredibly nice.

"I will, thank you, uhm," The name stitched into his coat is hard to make out. "Doctor Davidson?"

"George. You're good to go, just need to fill out a little paperwork and then you can leave." He walks over to grab a clipboard and a form, brings it back to me, and then heads over to another bed with a little girl in it, pulling a curtain closed behind him.

A week later, I find myself outside of the massive firehouse on Central Boulevard. There's a couple guys in shirts that match the one in my hand outside washing a firetruck, and one notices me and comes over. He's cute. Dark hair that's a little longer than a boys regular, scraps of facial hair on his cheeks, and brown eyes that crinkle at the edges when he smiles.

"Y'need help with something?" His voice confirms the fact that he's young, and it takes me a minute to pull my eyes away from the way his sleeves are tight around the muscle of his arms.

"Uh, yeah, I'm looking for Dream?" I hold up the shirt and the brownies I made as a last minute addition for the firehouse.

"Ahh, shirt girl. Follow me." He heads into the building through one of the massive garage doors, and it is remarkably clean inside. He heads up some stairs to a balcony that overlooks the firetrucks, and both of the paramedics who had helped me are sitting there, talking over plates of pasta. The guy leading me clears his throat and they both look up.

"Hi." I say awkwardly with a small wave. "I brought your shirt back." Dream flusters, standing up to take the shirt from my hands with a thank you and I give him the brownies, too.

"Dream, cough them up, I want one."

"Sap, shut the hell up, here." He places them gently on the table.

"Okay, what's with your guy's names? No way his name is Sap." All three of them laugh.

"They're nicknames." Dream laughs. "My real name is Clay, and his is Nick. Jade is just Jade though, haven't gotten a nickname for them yet." He looks over his shoulder back at his coworker. "Coward." I feel like there's a story here that I don't know, but I don't press for it.

"I mean, I told you my last station called me Storm, so unless you can top that you can call me Jade and nothing else." I like Jade. Jade's funny.

Clay just rolls his eyes, no real malice behind it. "It's gotta be one we give to you. I'm thinking something about you being our getaway driver."

"Dream if you make a baby driver joke right now I swear you will not live to see tomorrow." He laughs, hard and wheezing, sounding nearly painful.

"Fine, fine." He turns to me. "Thank you for returning this." There's a distinct red flush creeping up his neck, but his smile is genuine, green eyes bright with it. Shit. Why do they have to be unfairly attractive? Who's idea was it? Huh? "I'll walk you out."

He walks me all the way to my car, standing awkwardly next to the door of my car.

"Well, I'll let you get back to work. You got lives to save."

"Wait," He says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm sorry if this is too forward, but could I get your number?" Oh. Oh.

"Yeah, of course." He hands me his phone and I punch in my contact, handing his phone back to him. "You should text me so I have yours."

The smile on his face is fitting, full of white teeth and bright happiness. "I will."

I don't think I put my phone down for a week. Clay and I text nearly non stop, and I learn a lot about him in the process. He has a cat (a beautiful tabby named patches who purrs very loudly), he's from Orlando (born and raised, baby.), he wanted to be a firefighter because his dad was one, but his mom who's a nurse had him take EMT training instead (I owe her everything for that), and that he's off work this Friday and wants to head out for drinks with a couple of his fire station buddies and me. I also start getting snapchats from that cute coworker of his, Nick.

I can't tell if Nick intends to be flirting with me or is just trying to get to know the girl his "best fucking friend" is talking to, but... I am definitely feeling some type of way about both of them. It's great, the attention is nice, until Nick invites me out to drinks with them on Friday night not three hours after Clay does.

I feel like my best bet is to be honest with them. I'm not one for lying. And then a new groupchat shows up on my phone. It's got Clay and a number I don't have saved in my phone, and there's a message sent, and then another. I'm scared to open it.

I expect it to be both of them mad that I'm talking to the other and instead it's not? There's a message from Clay and it's-

Dreamie

Hey, I just talked to Nick and wanted to make this groupchat with the three of us. I'm not mad you're talking with him, and he's not mad you're talking to me. We both really like you, and are open to letting you make the decision for yourself if you end up with one of us. Just wanted to communicate that with you :)

And another from who I'm assuming is Nick that says:

Unknown Number

its up to you what happens and if your not ok with this then just tell us and we'll back off.

It's not something I've experienced before talking with two guys at once. Talking with two guys at once that know and work with each other with their consent? Never would have imagined it in a million years. But this is probably the best way to go about it.

Three more days pass before I see either of them in person, still having plans to go out for drinks with Clay on Friday. I end up sandwiched in between the two of them in a both of some firefighter bar on the south side of the city. I feel awkward tucked between them until I get a bit of alcohol flowing through my veins, and then conversation comes like second nature. It's not crazy eventful, feels like I'm hanging out with close friends rather than basically strangers, and it's nice.

The night passes quick, but it's still fun, especially when Clay drives me home and drops me at the bottom of my apartment building with a promise of more plans and a quick kiss that leaves him blushing all the way to the tips of his ears.

In the morning, I wake up to go into work and see a text from Nick, inviting me to dinner with him tonight. I shoot back with a sure, I'd love to. Getting off work at four so that's perfect. and he just sends back a :) and an "I'll pick you up at 7." that makes my shift drag on and on. True to his word, he's outside my apartment building at 7 pm sharp in a button down with his hair brushed neatly behind the wheel of a toyota corolla.

"Where are we even going for dinner?" Nick just shoots me a smile and fucking winks at me.

"You'll see. It's a surprise."

It ends up being some hole in the wall chinese restaurant with what Nick claims is "the best moo goo gai pan in the city". It's fucking amazing, that's for sure, a steaming wok full of it in front of the two of us with plates of fried rice to go with it. It's not an experience I've had at a restaurant before and it's insanely fun. Nick pokes fun at my inability to use chopsticks, tells stories about his friend making fun of him for not being able to use them and learning how at three o'clock in the morning. We're constantly laughing between bites of amazing food, and this easily makes my top three first dates of all time. He refuses to let me pay for my half, but he does let me get the tip after I insist several times that its the least I could do. 

We're halfway through a really good conversation about something that doesn't matter when he pulls up to my apartment, and, not wanting that to end, I invite him upstairs with me. 

"Oh? It's my turn to come up with you?" He teases, and I'm confused for a second before I realize, oh yeah, I'm essentially talking with him and his best friend. 

"What do you mean turn? Clay didn't come up with me, he-" It's probably not the best idea to say he kissed me, I don't want to make Nick jealous. "He dropped me off at the door and he said goodbye." It's not- a lie, per say, but the second it passes my lips I feel guilty, knowing that we need to be honest for this to even have a shot at working. "He kissed me goodbye though." Honesty. We need honesty.

I don't really know what to expect as a reaction from him, but it's not a smile, cocky as ever. 

"Does that mean if I go up with you that I get a kiss too?" Nice, easy, no drama with honesty. 

"Maybe. You'd have to come find out." The grin he's got stays plastered to his face the whole time we're in the elevator, the whole time he's talking mindlessly about the distinct lack of fire safety in the building, the whole time I'm fighting with the works half the time lock on my door. "It's probably too late for coffee, but I have tea in the fridge or coke, or water if you want it." I say, turning to close the door behind us. 

"I'm all good, thank you though." The smile's still there, crinkling his eyes and baring white teeth. "Could go for a kiss, now that I think about it." I shake my head, but still, I laugh. 

"What is it that they call it?"

"Kissing? Lip locking? Smooching?"

"One track mind." That one earns a laugh, a hearty one from deep in his throat.

"You're funny." He says, grabbing my hand and gently tugging me to come sit on the couch with him. "And cute." He sits, pulls me with him so I end up sideways in his lap. The hand he led me over with comes up to brush some of the hair out of my face. "And unbelievably pretty. How could I think about anything else?" 

Smooth. Smooth as fucking butter. Smooth enough for him to earn a quick press of my lips to his own. I can feel him smiling before I pull back, but he chases, returning with a kiss just as chaste before leaning back into the couch, looking like the cat who got the cream.

"I'm winning. I got two kisses." I roll my eyes.

"Isn't it quality over quantity?" He hums, eyes playing from my lips to my own. 

"Why not both?"

"Haha, funny." They're playful, his eyes, as we talk. His bottom lip juts out in a joking pout, and I lean in to kiss at it. He moves at the last second, though, closes the last little bit of space between us when he moves forward to kiss me, soft and slow. His lips are slightly chapped, ever so gentle as the press against mine. My hands press into his thighs to keep me up as his hands come to wrap loosely around my shoulders and he pushes further into the kiss before pulling back. 

"Quality?" 

"Need more data." I say before our lips meet again. He's sweet with it, the way he kisses me. It's nice, easy, feels familiar even though it isn't, not yet. One of his hands moves to rub soft at the nape of my neck. 

I'm just getting comfortable in it when he deepens the kiss, tongue soft against the seam of my lips. It draws a gasp, just what he needs to push further, licking into my mouth before catching my bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it. He's a good fucking kisser, hahh's into my mouth when I bring my hands up to tug at the dark strands of hair on the back of his head. 

But like all good things, it must come to an end. Unfortunately, that end is when my phone starts blaring the insanely annoying ringtone my friend set it as that I don't know how to change. 

"Nick, I gotta-" 

"Yeah." His arms drop, letting me stand so I can grab my phone and answer whoever is calling. 

"Hello?" 

"We have new information regarding student loan repayment in your area." Is loud in my ear, so I just pull back and press the red end call button.

Nick laughs a little. "Not important?"

"Spam call. Can't be assed to get put on the do not call list right now. I was doing research."

"Yeah? You happy with the results you're getting?" 

This motherfucker I swear.

"This motherfucker I swear." Is also the first thing I say in the morning when I wake up for work and there's a fat hickey on the side of my neck, dark purple and blatantly obvious. I send him a snap of it, just saying really? and he sends back a picture of himself and Clay sitting on the tailgate of a ladder truck with a :) and I am instantly worried that one, Clay saw the snap I sent him and two, that I won't be able to cover it for work. Pushing the first thought out of my mind to focus on the second, I try to get it as normal looking as I can before my shift. It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but it's good enough.

I'm riding the high of not getting comments on it at work when that first thought comes back, catalysted by a snapchat from Clay, a picture barely of his hair with the geotag from the gym down the street from the firehouse with text across it that says "purple looks good on you." I don't know how to respond to that, just send back the floor in front of me. oh come on now  pops up in the chat, and he's still typing. not mad. excited for my turn.  Right.

sorry  I shoot back. this is all pretty new to me

trying to be careful cause i dont wanna mess this up

The little bitmoji he has attached to his account pops up in the corner, lurking for a moment before he starts typing

having these chats is what makes it work. I don't go bragging to Nick about what you and I do, and he doesn't do that to me, but we don't lie about what happens. 

its alot, and none of us have done this before

but keeping communication open and honest is how it works

and that means feelings talks 

He's right. 

youre right

He is. I don't want to make them jealous of each other and that's probably the best way to combat that.

we also have to keep things fair ;) so i get a date too

That has me smiling like an idiot at my phone.

yeah? you got one planned?

not exactly. you doing anything rn though?

I was going to make a sandwich and watch She's the Man for the third time this month.

was gonna watch a movie if you wanna join?

I get a sure, would love to  and a could i trouble you for a pick up from the station?  that has me grabbing my keys and jogging to the elevator faster than I would like to admit.

When I get there, I head inside to say hi to Nick and collect Clay after both of them have assured me that I'm allowed to do so. I don't see Nick when I first walk in, but I do see Clay and jesus, mary, and joseph his hands. He's working over a slab of what seems to be silicon with those massive fingers moving with the utmost precision. When I get a little closer I can see that he's making sutures to close gashes and holes in the mat. I'm impressed with how uniform they are, each a perfect match of the one before it, and with the speed that his hands were moving, I'd say its even more impressive. I'm- not a perfect person, and the thought of what those hands could do to me has me flushing. 

He's pretty wrapped up in what he's doing so I don't want to bother him, but I'm watching so intently that I don't notice Nick come up to me until he hugs me from behind. It makes me jump.

“Shit, Nick, you scared me.”

-gg w the 911 au update

Gg I'm 😩😩😩 you are an amazing writer 🛐 teach me

[kittenwithaquirk]

right, so the new bnha OVA. i was crying, laughing hysterically, and screeching with the volume of a deranged psycopath.

these children are innocent and deserve nothing less then the world.

and now that that’s out of the way, time to start the inhuman screeching over my favorite scenes. spoilers ahead, you’ve been warned.

first of all- denki kaminari is my all time favorite character and i would literally die for him. seeing said small child grab bakugo’s arm when scared is the one thing i’ve always wanted in life, but never knew until i saw it.

peekaboo kami’s alive

kiri protecc

secondly, kaminari- panicking, in water? doesn’t sound like a good idea

a l s o, bakugo staying behind to save todoroki? character development? nani?

and then was the start of my inability to form a single coherent string of words. i chose instead to scream and make undecipherable keyboard smashes. 

why does simply seeing this makes my heart rate accelerate to unhealthy proportions. 

oops, my heart went 

someone stop me before i give my heart to these fictional characters

wait a second, holdup

👏 Todoroki  👏 is  👏 holding  👏 Izuku  👏. i’ll be right back, i have to go scream into my pillow until my voicebox inevitably departs from me and my current state of giddy hysteria

i swear to god when kaminari fell, the horror filled demonic yelling that escaped my soul was loud enough to cause a several dozen books be thrown at my paper thin skull.  

👏 tsu  👏 best  👏 girl  👏

poor traumatized child. someone hug him. he could have died.

petition to stop traumatizing these innocent children

can i make it clear that panicked todoroki hurts my soul

fuck it. take my heart. add it to the collection of never ending love for these two.

i stopped breathing oh so quickly. had i been drinking tea, it’d have been spewed halfway across the world. but i was not. nor would i have had the mental capacity to consciously do anything other than stare at my screen in utter horror. 

also can i just say- the only way bakugo could’ve gotten out of that situation is if izuku heifted that whole freaking slab of debris while todoroki dragged him out from under it? right? am- am i wrong?

breaking news: green haired broccoli child freaks out after childhood friend is crushed by debris. next up, number one school for heroics being sued for making it’s students fear their lives on a daily basis

am i the only one that saw that coming? also, i fear for the condition of izuku’s face. bakugo seems to me to be a very hard headed person and he hit izuku’s nose hard.

i worry about bakugo’s pain tolerance levels. the fact that he’s willing to w a l k despite his leg’s condition is just the slightest bit horrifying.

his ‘feet just won’t do what he’s telling them to do’. don’t you think, considering this, bakugo, that you should try not to walk and aggravate your injury more so then you already have? 

my neighbor requested the reason behind the sudden loud shattering of window panes that could be heard from across the street. my vocal chords are fucked.

watch as i spend every remaining hour of my life rewatching this scene for the sake of my mental stability

that moment when the two problem children begin to fight over bakugo’s arm-

if it’s not one thing, it’s another. bakugo clearly has an inferiority complex, but there seems two people that are able to be able to talk him into ignoring it for the sake of his health. we all know who those two are, and i sure as hell aint gonna question it. 

ah yes. be his cane. canes don’t talk. you had better be aware of that fact before attending your local cane convention.

bakugo’s facial expressions are so hilarious i constantly find myself laughing manically whenever he is on the screen. am i the only one that does this?

why were aizawa and recovery girl just watching and not h e l p i n g the bleeding child in front of them?! riddle me that, U.A.

this two part episode summed up in one photo?

[disasterfandoms]

After Action Argument, Part One|| A Trent Sawyer and Full-Metal Oneshot

Co-wrote with @bravo-four-seal-team

A/N: So this was formed while headcanoning about Full-Metal and Trent’s friendship and their crazy asses with @bravo-four-seal-team​ and it eventually became writing a fic on how we thought this would go. This is long, so I divided it up into 2 parts.

Summary: Missing scenes from 2x21 and 2x22 encasing Metal’s concern for his brother’s mental health and sanity. Aka Metal and Trent argue for eternity with some fluff at the end.

This is the first piece of work in a series I’m working on on AO3 called “The Medic and The Rambunctious Brothers.” There are two OC’s in this, but one is only explicitly in the story.

TW: Talks of death, talks of a land mine, war, deployment, blood, being in an explosion, talks of suicidal thoughts, talks of therapy, arguments

Taglist: @himbohondo, @a-kate3, @rebelwrites, @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting, @supervalcsi, @jayhalsteadfan-2417, @mrsmarvelous1995​, @chibsytelford​

Of course, of all missions, this was the mission he would step on a landmine. The mission where they were busting ass to save Ray, to get the guy who was responsible for the bombings that took out Clay. 

He stood still as soon as he felt something underneath his foot. Dammit. Jason walked a couple more steps ahead of him before realizing he was frozen. “What?” he asked, staring at Trent.

“Felt something under my right foot,” Trent paused, taking a deep breath, “I’m pretty sure it’s a landmine,” he finished, looking at Jason as his eyes grew wide. He imagined that everyone else was also feeling the dread flowing freely through their veins when he said it, but Brock and Metal was behind him. 

Of course Metal was on this mission with him. Amelia was going to kill him if he killed her brother because he stepped on a landmine. Of course, Amelia might kill him for stepping on a landmine anyways if she ever hears about it. He mentally makes a note to talk to Metal about not telling this story to her later.

“That’s no bueno, boys,” Sonny said, crouching down to see the mine below him and snapping Trent back to reality, “Landmines are the sharks of the dirt.”

Full Metal has carefully made his way to stand in front of Trent, boring his eyes into Trent’s, looking for any sign of where Trent’s head is at. He didn’t like the look he saw, though, it generally means Trent’s made a decision he was going to regret.

“Don’t have time for this, I’ll figure it out.You guys keep going.” Trent said, and Metal immediately glared at him. Like hell he was leaving his brother behind. 

Luckily, Jason read his mind. “Not gonna happen Trent,” he immediately shot down Trent’s idiocy, but god his friend was stubborn.

“Go, I’ll make it safe myself.” Trent tries again, adamant that they all needed to get out of there, to go get Ray and finish the mission. He wasn’t going to leave Ray stranded because he was the idiot who’s most likely going to get blown-up in India.

“Like hell you will, Trent. I’ve seen you open a beer bottle before. Now, letting you do surgery on a bomb, probably gonna turn us into wolf food,” Sonny stated, while both him and Jason squat down to the ground to figure out a plan.

“Don’t make me laugh Sonny, I’m literally on a mine,” Trent said quickly, with an edge in his voice. Metal glared at him, still not believing his friend would be so stupid to actually think they’d leave him behind, and angry at Sonny for making jokes about it.

“T we’re not going anywhere, don’t even think about trying it again,” Metal said with the most menancing voice he could muster, but worry seeped through with every word. Jason was working with Brock to figure out a way to save Trent, so Metal focused on Trent and whatever the hell is going on in his head.

“Metal, if I die in this fiel-”

“No. we’re not doing that,” Metal interrupted him, stopping him in his tracks,”You’re going to be fine, T. We’re gonna get you off the mine safely, go get Ray, and then go home and you can tell Mellie anything you want,” 

“You all should be going and getting Ray anyways, Metal. You have time to get him and still get the HVT.” Trent insisted, not understanding why they don’t see that Ray is going to be easier to save than him at this point. He’s made his peace, though Amelia would be pissed, with dying in this field. Metal shook his head and started to speak, but was interrupted:

“Guys we got an incoming!” Sonny yelled from his spot as security. Brock and Jason continued to work on saving Trent, while Metal got down and focused on the enemy at-hand.

“Boss I’m sticking out like a hooker in Church here,” Trent quickly stated, starting to panic about being the reason they’re gonna be spotted. Jason quietly counted down, then both him and Trent laid on the ground, keeping themselves hidden and not being blown up at the same time. 

Once the enemy had driven away, They all stood up carefully, Trent nodding a thank you to Jason and Brock. They then continued their mission to get their brother and bring him home.

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They eventually found Ray, and were rescued by Indian forces. Tension between Trent and Full-Metal was thick, and the guys had decided to go to a place to drink some beer and relax before going to bed. Full-Metal had pulled Trent to the side, to their barracks in the compound, a room one door over from where Bravo was.

Metal was pissed, but he was also worried for his friend. Once he got Trent alone, he began to tear into him about the decision he made out there. Trent stood across from him, with his arms wrapped across his own body.

 "What the fuck was that Trent?! Telling us to go? You'll make it safe?! Tell me exactly how the fuck you would make it safe" Metal loudly lashed out, his feelings his bottled up spilling over.

Trent sighed, “Metal will you shut up, it all worked out fine"

"Trent! It ain't fine! We coulda been burying you! I don't want to give a damn death notice to your family, to my sister! Because my death would be next!"

“You’re exaggerating."

Metal threw his hands up in the air, his volume growing increasingly louder with every reply, “Trent, take this seriously! Can you just stop for one minute to think about how your death would affect your damn team? Ray probably wouldn’t forgive himself because you were there for him, Jase would blame himself because he lead you into that minefield, and who the fuck are they gonna trust with their bullshit? The new medic?”

Trent chuckled a little bit, now sitting on his bunk and shook his head, “Metal I am alive with only scrapes, bruises and sore muscles. And so are the guys! We’re okay, Metal.” He attempted to reassure the Master Chief, but it only seemed to make him angrier.

"We are okay because of a slim chance of luck! Trent, luck runs out! It's scrapes, bruises and sore muscles now, but what about next time? I never want to hear that self sacrificing Bullshit again! Ok?" He tried, desperately to get his friend and one of the most talented medics he knew to understand where he was coming from.

"You’re taking this out of proportion, Metal.”

“I’m taking this out of proportion?!”

“Yes!”

“For the love of god Trent!”

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Brock, Jason, and Sonny were sitting in the common room, listening to the argument in the next room, each of them incredibly confused as to why Full-Metal is yelling at their medic, especially given the circumstances.

“You know, I didn’t even realize just how close Full-Metal and Trent were,” Jason commented, trying to converse with their team as if they were spectators of a football game.

“Who is that yelling, and what happened to Full Metal?” Sonny jokes, and they all chuckled.

“Metal called him T at the minefield. Trent doesn’t let anyone call him by anything other than Trent,” Brock piped up, and they all looked at each other, trying to figure out what that meant.

“Well, I mean, Full-Metal did give us the keys to Trent’s house so we’re able to check in on him and go there if we needed, that should have been our first clue.” Sonny commented, trying to make what they were hearing make sense.

“But who’s Mellie, and why would Trent want to tell her anything?” Jason asked, still confused as to what the hell was going on.

“Maybe his daughter? I thought he’d tell us he had a kid before Full-Metal, though.” Brock supplied, suddenly wanting popcorn as if they were watching a soap opera unfold.

“I wish we could hear Trent’s arguments back to him, though. It’s like trying to piece a puzzle together without all the pieces,” Sonny tried to make the expression work. The two other men just laughed at him, and shook their heads.

At this rate, they’ll be surprised at just about anything they learn about Trent.

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“I get this is war Trent, but there’s a difference between casualty of war and being a damn martyr. You and I have both seen it. Hell, Adam acted like a damn martyr when he tackled a guy with an S-Vest!” Metal’s pacing at this point, getting frustrated at how stubborn his best friend was.

“Adam was doing what he thought he needed to to save us, Metal. And I was doing the same, if we had all been blown up no one would have gotten to Ray.” Trent pointed out, trying to stay calm. He knows his friend is just worried about him, he’s used to his rough ways of being a good friend by now.

"Adam did the one thing he told everyone not to do! Trent, we had enough people; Jason and Sonny could have continued while Brock and I got you out that situation. That's the only other option, all stay or split off. Get it through that thick skull of yours!”

"You’re taking this too far Metal," Trent warned, getting frustrated that his friend brought up Adam.

"I have seen enough friends die, T. I don’t need to lose another.” Metal said, desperately hoping his friend understood that he was scared for him.

“Scott, you didn’t lose me! I’m fine! In that moment it was my problem to fix, the team needed to focus on Ray because he was in a lot more trouble than I was.” He felt his voice getting louder, but at this point he didn’t care that he was yelling at his friend, who just so happen to be a Master Chief, and could technically reprimand him.

“Bullshit, Trent. We go home as one or we don’t go home at all. You know that, asking any one of us to leave you behind is self-sacrificial nonsense.”

"One life is better than two, you and I both know that"

"That's bullshit! When you have the option to save someone you do that! There's no other options!" Metal was just angry now, angry at Trent for acting like this, angry at Jason for whatever he’s teaching his team, and angry at himself for not realizing Trent really thought anyone would be okay with sacrificing himself.

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

“Are they ever gonna be done fighting?” Jason asks, starting to get exhausted and incredibly sore from the op. He was cuddled up on the couch now, trying to drown out their teammates yelling at each other in the next room. He was interested earlier, but he didn’t know how long those two will argue.

“I’m gonna go see if they can shut up so we can get some shut-eye” Sonny announces, slowly trying to stand-up, making painful knows as his body protested.

“Good luck buddy, Metal’s scary when he’s angry,” Brock drowsily spoke, falling asleep with Cerberus on top of him.

Sonny goes into the next room and popped his head through the door opening, “You two done with this pissing contest you got goin’ on here? Some of us need our beauty sleep before Mandy inevitably finds a target package for us to go after the 24 hours before we leave the island from hell,”

Full-Metal turns to him and gives him the look that Sonny imagines is what Metal’s victims see when they have nightmares in the eighth circle of hell. Sonny quickly left, and briskly walked out of the line of fire.

“Get ready boys, we’re gonna sleep in here tonight,” he told them, and they groaned.

This is not how they imagined tonight going.

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

“Metal, if we had all been blown up by the mine then all 6 of Bravo, and yes I’m counting you as bravo so deal with it, would have died in that field. Sending you all away at least gave us a fighting chance. And Ray has a family back home that can’t afford to lose him.” Trent reasoned for the millionth time. Neither of them were getting anywhere, and both of them just wanted to resolve this and go to sleep. Trent was lying in his bed at this point, while Metal was still pacing.

“Newsflash, Trent, you have a family and a girlfriend who would be crushed by you dying too.”

"My family would be fine! Ray has a wife and two kids at home!"

"Trent will you listen to yourself! Go out there and ask them all if they would leave you to die! I guarantee you that they will say the same as I have. They’re your brothers, they don’t want to be here without you.”

“Metal, it was the only decision that made sense! You mean to tell me that Blackburn wouldn’t have told us to ‘work the problem’?”

“That’s a suicide mission, you idiot, not working the problem!”

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Ray and Blackburn walk by the common room, hearing the arguing still occurring through the walls. He then sees three of his operators all asleep in chairs, and decide to order, Ray to wake them, while he dealt with those two idiots inside to call it quits for the night.

He entered, and made his arrival clear by a raising his voice and saying, “Hey! Both of you, quit arguing. It’s too late for this, you need sleep before Mandy finds the HVT so you’re prepared.”

They both nodded, and everyone piled in to sleep in their beds, and Cerberus in his cage.

They sleep, hoping this is all over, but oh how wrong they were.

[oftenderweapons]

The Studio — Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 9.6k words

Genre: (lots of) smut, angst, final fluff

Rating: 18+

Hello cuties! Welcome back! I had assumed I would be done with Hobi’s piece in the studio quite soon, however it took me some extra hours. Writing it was extremely difficult! Let me remind you that this is NSFW, so minors, please do not read or interact.

PSA — If you’re interested, I was thinking of making a taglist, so you’ll receive a note on your activity feed whenever I publish a new piece (since I know sometimes app notifications do not work). Also, in the next two or three weeks I’ll be busy with university, so I don’t think I’ll be able to write full one-shots. This means I’ll be posting small drabbles that will help me lay the groundwork for all the filth I’ve been storing away from you (and that I’ve hinted in the masterlist). The polls will stay open and you’ll be able to vote for next prompt, however it will take me a while before I start writing again according to your requests.

This piece is a one shot and it takes place in some indefinite future in the official timeline, shortly after him and Giggles have moved in together (quick reminder, Giggles is the nickname he has given the reader, however if you want to know how I imagined her, you can find her headcanons here). 

Synopsis: Giggles has been a little uncomfortable after she has moved into his apartment, mostly because his job has kept him from going back home. After a week of struggle, she heads to Hoseok’s studio to grab her man with the help of special weapons.

DESCRIPTION AND TRIGGER WARNINGS: angst at the beginning, reader is upset and cries. Other than that, this is filthy. NSFW, contains several BDSM themes, such as domination (Dom!reader, Switch!Hoseok and a fluffy dose of vanilla sex because I needed to cleanse my soul), rope bondage (wrists), blindfold, sensation play and mild impact play (flogger, hinted riding crop and tickler), pretty intense edging, teasing, oral sex and masturbation (both male and female receiving), squirting, MULTIPLE ROUNDS (it’s Hoseok, come on!). Emotionally challenging: Hoseok feels guilty as hell, reader is quite angry, but they’re both lovesick puppies by the end of it. Special warning: one bratty Jimin appears at the end of the piece.

Word count: 9.6k

Here is my masterlist! Enjoy!!!

——————————————————

A lowfi mix came from behind Hoseok’s door. He was probably just chilling as he worked on something else. It wasn’t uncommon for him to listen to random stuff as he looked for inspiration, especially since he was currently trying to work with a more old school R’n’B vibe. He had a new artist he wanted to collaborate with and this new genre was becoming increasingly challenging, especially since he wanted it to have that early Two-thousand flow, reminding him of that time he had started venturing into Western hip hop, thinking about dates and girls and teenage crushes.

The bag felt a bit heavier on your shoulder now that the music showed you his mindset. This could turn into a very one-of-a-kind type of night.

You knocked at the door. The music turned down a notch, as if he wasn’t quite sure he had heard right.

Hesitantly, shutting your eyes tight, you knocked harder before pressing your hand to your chest, curling around it in fear. Hoseok could be harsh when interrupted: though he usually realised and apologised, seeing him mildly disappointed always gave you a chill down your spine, and not the good one.

His shadow appeared from behind the opaque glass door.

The door unlocked and opened. “Hey, hello there.” His expression was blank for a second before he realised you were quite neutral, as if trying to square yourself before seeing him.

Something caved in your chest. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes. “Hi.”

“Are you coming in?” He asked.

“I only wanted to ask when you’re coming back home.” You said, your lip slightly trembling.

He blinked.

“I’ve texted you and called you, but you didn’t reply.”

He blinked twice. “What time is it?”

You exhaled and made to turn around and walk away.

“Giggles.” He called, chasing after you and catching you in his arms, backhugging you. “Baby.”

“No. I’m done with baby and all of that. I’m fucking done.” Tears started falling. Your plan had gone to hell. All your mental briefings and getting yourself in the right mindset were useless by now. The bag made you feel twice as frustrated. “I am tired, Hoseok.”

That made him feel like a scolded puppy. You had never uses that tone with him, never used his full name while scolding him.

“I am tired.” Now that your first tear was spilled, all the others came out without any control. “I am exhausted.”

He pressed you harder into him. “I promise it will end soon.” He smiled as he saw you turn and hide into him.

“I am tired of your promises. You made me move in and then disappeared for a week straight. I don’t know where I can put my stuff, I had to handle transport, to talk with my landlord, to do everything by myself. And I’ve been doing double shifts all week. I am raw with exhaustion and I’ve had absolutely zero support.” You sobbed, pressing your pointer finger into his chest, before laying your punch against his breastbone, angry and tired and accusing. “You were supposed to be my certainty but you gave me fucking nothing.” He flinched when he heard you swore. You never swear at him. The fact that you’ve done it twice in the same argument spoke volumes about how angry you were. “You were supposed to give me certainties. But you don’t even answer to my texts.” You punched him weakly. “I hate you so much.”

Now he was worried. Heavily worried. Anxious. “Let’s get in the studio, ____. Come on, love.”

“I don’t want to come in.”

He shook his head, tipping your chin back. “I said, come in.”

“You don’t get to order me around, Hoseok. Not like this. I’ve been doing everything you’ve asked me. I’ve been saying ‘yes, sir’ to every single one of your requests and look where that brought me.” You shoved your face away, out of his grasp.

He cupped your face with both hands. “Look at me.” He ordered. He tried again, softening his voice, panicking as you strongly opposed. “Look at me, little bird.”

You obeyed. It was the fucking nickname’s fault.

“Come in with me. I want to talk about this, make up for my mistakes.” He dried your tears with his thumbs. “I want you to tell me how to fix this. What you want me to do.” He combed your hair back with gentle fingers. “You say I keep ordering you around, and that has made you unhappy. I want to turn the tables. Let you order me what to do.” He started taking tiny steps backwards, toward his door, waddling with you in your arms. “This is the last time I beg you to do what I’ve asked you, for tonight. After this you’re absolutely free, Giggles. It’s all up to you, but please, let’s talk it out in my studio.”

You sniffled. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He smiled weakly.

You followed him.

The studio was clad in soft lights, the bass of the song making the air in the room feel like a warm, inviting, sultry cocoon. He moved to the desk, making the music nothing but a quiet whisper. “Let’s sit on the sofa over there, yeah?” He sat down and patted the cushion beside him.

Reluctantly, you sat down, removing your jacket and placing the bag beside you, on the floor.

“I made a mistake. I didn’t support you. I am sorry. I’ve been busy with my job but that is not an excuse, nor a good reason to disappear while you’re struggling.” He admitted.

“I’ve been sleeping in that bed alone for a week. It was heartbreaking.” You said with a furrowed brow and a pout. “It hurt so much that sadness became anger.”

He combed his hair with his hands. “I fucked up.”

“You did.” You confirmed. “I can handle a bit of loneliness. I’ve been alone for a long time. But that hurts inside your house.”

“It’s our house now.” He argued, deeply unhappy.

“Is it now?” You accused.

You saw his expression turn hurtful. “Are you going to leave?” He said, afraid that that would be his punishment. He knew there would be a price to pay, he just hoped it wouldn’t cost him his whole happiness with you.

“I can’t handle it now. Plus I don’t have much choice. It’s either there or my parents but I can’t move out of the city and do double shifts at work.” You said. “I’m stuck here because I trusted you. Because I gave up all my alternatives for you. You told me to trust you, that I could count on you. What am I going to do now?”

You looked so broken. He felt his eyes well with tears. His voice came out shaky. “Tell me what to do. Anything.”

“You’re gonna do what you want anyways.” You said, a bit hostile.

“No. Please, can you tell me what to do?” He tried to hold your hand. You let him.

“I want you home tonight.” You said, naming your price.

“Okay.” He felt ready to do anything. If you asked him to fly all the way to Paris and bring a box of macarons, champagne and fresh red roses, he would simply whip his phone out and look for the next flight. Fuck, he would teach himself how to fly a plane if need be.

“I want you home every night for the next week. I want dinner together.” You said, punching your index finger into your thigh. “You can use your home studio after dinner, I don’t care, you can stay up all night, but I swear if I have to fall asleep one more night alone in that damn bed, I’m going to gut you.”

“Okay.” He hadn’t come back home because he knew that having you around would mean getting no work done, as he much preferred giving you attention and laying down with you, watching a movie or putting to good use that big bed of his.

“And I want cuddles.”

“Yes, love.”

“Daily cuddles.”

He smiled as you contested like a child. “Yes, little bird.”

“And I want sex at least once a week for the next month.” You said, knowing that you could have much better than that, but you were aiming at the bare minimum.

“Once a week?” He asked, a bit dumbfounded.

“At least.”

That had him nodding. “Can do.”

“Pinkie promise.”

He smiled wider, hooking his pinkie with yours. “Pinkie promise.” As you pressed your thumbs together, sealing the deal, he brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “What now? Can I hug you?”

“No. Go lock the door.” He looked at you dubious.

“Lock it.” You repeated.

He stood up and obeyed. “Now what?”

The negotiation had set you back into your original path. You had come for revenge and you were ready to execute it. “On your chair.” He was going to see how it feels to be powerless. Lost. Alone.

His heartbeat started increasing. He wanted to see where your plan was going to take him. He sat on his chair. “Here.”

“Close your eyes.” Your voice shook a little. You cleared it and said again: “Close your eyes, now.”

He bit his lip. He was getting turned on. A part of himself asked him how sick he must be for this, but he followed your lead, closing his eyes and laying his hands on the armrests. “Are you going to punish me?”

You shook your head before realising that he couldn’t see your movements. “I am going to do as I please.”

He snickered.

“Quiet.” You warned quietly.

He licked his lips and regained his composure. “Sorry.”

You bent and opened the bag. You found your first bundle and started unraveling it, walking back and forth in front of the sofa, stopping with your back to him.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Really?” He asked, incredulous.

“Do I look like I am joking?” You replied from over your shoulder.

“Okay.” He undressed quickly, letting his clothes fall to the floor. “Do you want me to...”

“Quiet.” You repeated. 

He closed his eyes and bent his head down. He was naked on the chair, unsurprised by his own erection.

You took a few steps towards him. As soon as you reached him, you gave him further instructions. “Do not open your eyes. I am going to touch you but if you open your eyes, you won’t like the consequences.”

“Wait.” Hoseok murmured. “How are you feeling now?”

You stopped. “What do you mean?”

“Are you angry at me?” Hoseok asked, his voice meek, hesitant, unhappy. “I’ve never seen you like this. I’m worried.”

You couldn’t do this to him. You couldn’t tie him up and torture him to tears, break him like that. Even though you really wanted to.

“I’m angry a bit, yes.” You replied. You exhaled, waiting in silence.

“I don’t think we should be doing this, then.” He suggested quietly. “I’ll be honest. You’re scaring me a little.”

You placed the rope on top of the desk, out of his angle of vision. “Open your eyes”, you said, placing your hands on his cheeks. His stare met yours. “What if I tell you my plans and you tell me if you’re okay with it?”

He pressed his face against your belly, kissing it. “I’m so sorry.” He nuzzled into your shirt. “I feel so bad.”

You moved your hands from his cheeks to his hair. “This is how I’m helping you with your guilt.” You massaged his shoulders. “I want to take care of you. You must have been so stressed here.”

“I’m the one at fault. I should be the one taking care of you.” He said with big puppy eyes. He looked up at you with his chin propped against your stomach.

“You can take care of me by letting me take the lead. Right now I need to feel like I can control something.” You traced his lips with your thumb, your index finger tracing the ridge of his nose with its lovely curve.

“Then control me.” He said, puckering his lips around your thumb.

“Are you still scared of me?” You asked.

“I’m scared of you going too far or pushing myself too far to please you.” He confessed. “But it’s something unconscious. I know I can trust you.”

“Still, I could tell you my plans.” You suggested sweetly.

“I trust you.”

“You don’t have to do stuff you don’t feel like doing just to please me.” You reminded him politely.

“That’s why we have safewords. When I don’t feel good I’ll use them.” He said, matter-of-factly. “They’re not there only for you.” He smiled.

You were quite curious about how his nakedness seemed to unfaze him. But then again, after more than a year together, at this point nakedness in front of each other felt natural.

“Don’t push yourself just to please me.” You scolded him.

“I won’t. If I don’t feel good, we stop and I’ll make love to you.” He stated plainly.

You thought about it. After all this time you knew Hoseok’s limits and insecurities. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He settled back into his chair, his hands gripping the armrests. He closed his eyes. “I’m ready.”

His chest was so skinny. It felt like staring at a hummingbird. “Are you keeping your eyes closed or would you like a blindfold?”

He smiled. “Kinky.” He breathed out. He paused. “Blindfold.”

You smirked and grabbed it from your backpocket. You already knew he would have chosen to wear it. “I will touch you now Hoseok. Let’s see if you can recognise it.” You stretched towards the rope on his table, keeping it rolled up and brushing it gently against his face.

“Oh.” He rubbed his cheek against it, pressing his lips and then parting them to use his tongue. “I’m getting tied up, aren’t I?” He asked.

“Would you like to?” You asked. Blindfolded and tied up was always a daring combination. You had first done it for his birthday, but back then you hadn’t intended to overstimulate him to tears. That time you had simply used your advantage to give him the ride of his life, physically restraining him from taking control and straining himself to please you. The bondage technique had helped you keep him still long enough to relax. After almost literally sucking him dry, you had managed to ride him, watch him come apart for the fourth time and see him fall asleep like a kid at your side, not a care in the world. It had been a wildly satisfying experience.

“Are you going to use me like last time?” He asked, eyes still closed but his hands reaching out for you.

“Not really.” You commented. “I was thinking of something… softer? So to say.” You bit your lip. He couldn’t see your devious smile anyway.

“I’m interested.” He said, blindly running his hands down your thighs. “Tell me what to do.”

Clutching the rope between your thighs, you used one hand to comb his hair and trace the lovely lines of his face. “I’ll put the blindfold on you now, Hoseok. Is that okay, handsome?”

“Yes.” He said, his cheeks twitching with a small smile.

Putting a blindfold on someone else is a lot more difficult than it seems, however you managed to press the wide silken mask against his eyes, hooking the elastic band with your fingers and slipping it behind his head. “Is it safe?”

“Yes, Giggles.” He replied, turning his head in an attempt to kiss your wrist. You noticed the gesture and offered him your hand, brushing the back of it against his cheek. He managed to press his lips to your knuckles. “I love you.”

You bent down and let your lips hover over his. “Can you feel me?”

“So close.” He whispered. Sometimes he had this sixth sense, like his body — so used to perceive himself in time and space while dancing — had this special sensibility to closeness. Depriving him of sight made it look even more supernatural. It made you feel like he could perceive you spiritually. It felt religious. Metaphysical. You had missed this connection and you had been craving it for a while.

“Can you kiss me, Hoseok?”

He licked your lips in reply, his mouth hanging open, his lower lip brushing against yours so sensually that you envelopped it in yours, sucking.

He moaned, your eyes closing as you felt your body reach another level of arousal. It felt extraordinary. It felt like you were making love to your own body through his nakedness and arousal. Feeling this wanted, exploiting this bond between the two of you, the way your body mirrored his sensations, it was stronger than anything you had ever experienced.

You let go of his lip. “I’m gonna start tying you up now. This is the right moment to stop me, bub.”

“Keep going.” He said, his voice slightly gravelly.

“Okay.” You moved around the chair, studying how to use your prop smartly.

You noticed two thin metal tubes connecting the headrest to the back of the chair. Interesting. You unravelled your bundle of rope and found the middle quickly thanks to the mark placed there.

You remembered Hoseok coming back home with a big box, placing it on top of the coffee table as you were chilling on the sofa. “I want it cut, marked and hemmed by nine o’ clock.” He had said, voice dark, as he offered you a sewing kit and a fabric meter. “You’ll find instructions in the box.” He kissed your head as you sat on the floor and opened the box, dumbfounded. “I can’t use it tonight, but I’ll reward you if you do a good job.” Inside there was one entire spool of rope: the tag read “a hundred meters - pure cotton”. You spent the rest of the evening attending to your chore. Once you were done, you went knocking at Hoseok’s door. He spent the rest of the night repaying you for your fine accomplishment.

“Can you place your hands on your nape” You asked, noticing that he did so immediately.

“Thank you.” You chirped as you started tying him up, placing two fingers between his skin and the rope to make sure you didn't tighten too much. The position was delicate since his blood circulation could be affected by his forearms being upside down, tying the knot too tight would inevitably mean worsening the situation.

Once his wrists were safely secured to the small steel tube, you checked on him. “Is it good, bubs? Too tight?”

“I'm good, thank you, Giggles.” He replied.

“I’m going to grab my bag quickly. I’ll be a few steps away for a couple seconds, bubs.” You said, making sure that he didn’t panic as you stepped away.

A sultry, suggestive song came on, a slow Nineties hip hop track. It was inspirational, especially as you picked up your bag and placed it on top of his desk, near you and his chair, making sure that you wouldn’t need to leave him alone for longer than a couple seconds. Any person with a sliver of common sense would understand it is an awfully bad idea to leave someone bound, blindfolded and unguarded.

You stood in front of him with your hands behind your back and bent to his ear. “I’m here.” You murmured before standing up and dragging your nails down his neck and chest, stopping right at his stomach without neglecting his nipples, circling around them a couple times. He looked delicious, his cock hard and leaking on his lower abs. You observed the twitching of his slim shaft, the lovely curve of it, the taunting pink of his tip glimmering with wetness.

Teasingly, biting your lip, you gathered some of his precum on your fingertip, his lips parting with a purring sound.

“Giggles, please.” He whined.

You smiled as he exhaled, his mouth hanging open, and you deviously slipped your fingertip past his lips.

“Can you taste how turned on you are, Hobi?” You murmured, pressing your digit against his tongue.

He bit down playfully before twirling the tip of his tongue around your finger.

Giggling, you removed it.

“Does it tickle?” He asked.

You licked your lip. “Maybe.”

He shook his head just as you punished his disrespect with a gentle slap on his cheek. “You’re in no position to play games, Hoseok.”

He regained his composure. “Sorry.”

You shook your head yourself, standing up and moving behind him. His sides were vulnerable with his hands tied up and behind his head. You started thinking how you could use this against him. For now you simply decided that his inner forearms were normally sensitive enough to be a good starting point. He always started from your inner forearms. Drawing lines and twirls with your nails, you saw him shiver, his mouth gaping.

“You’ve moved.” He murmured, his fingers wiggling as he searched for contact, giving up once he noticed there was no chance. Daring and playful, you tickled his palms, moving so quickly that he didn’t manage to grab you.

His inner upper arm was even more sensitive, however touching it would mean that he would probably be able to touch you back. You could use something to reach out. You stood back, circling around the chair. It was a lot more complicated now. You had thought that seeing him like this would immediately tell you what you wanted to do to him. You had packed a variety of supplies in case sudden inspiration struck you, but now your lack of planning and your excess of toys confused you even more.

You had him naked and tied up to a quite limiting armchair. You knew your goal was to stimulate him as much as possible, listen to his pretty whines and watch him grow more and more desperate. Get him turned on out of his mind. Surprise him.

Kneeling, you patted his knees with your palms. “Open up.”

He inched his hips forward, his torso slouching against the back of the chair, his thighs parting further. “More?” He asked.

“Perfect.” You said, kissing his knees.

“Oh, you’re gonna do it like the other time?” He asked, bucking his hips up and slouching further. “You wanna blow me?”

You smiled, sending a cold breath running up his inner thigh.

His moan followed like a tide, like sunlight chasing the horizon at sunset.

You mirrored the gesture on the other leg, satisfied with the effect you had just elicited. “Do you want me to?” You asked, referring to his proposition.

“Your choice, Giggles.” He murmured, his reply melting into a ‘fuck, yeah’ as you licked up his thigh.

He could imagine your bubblegum pink tongue against the pale skin of his inner leg, your eyelids fluttering closed as you brought your tongue closer to his cock.

He had the softest baby hair on his inner leg. You wondered how it could be so thin and soft. Once you reached his crotch, you parted your mouth from his skin, your hot breath fanning on the sensitive head of his cock. Making sure that your hair was out of the way, you kissed the skin of his abdomen following the shadow that his sex projected on his belly. The point was that of being that close but not touching him.

It turned a bit more difficult when his hips jerked in an attempt to connect his cock with your lips while you sucked a love bite right on top of where his tip was laying. You moved back. “Stay still, Hoseok. Don’t make me tie up your legs too.” You warned. He huffed out a strained breath and shivered as you continued your trip down the other side with small kisses, finally licking down the other thigh, sitting back on your heels and placing a sweet peck on his knee. Now that his whole crotch area, thighs and abs were wet, blowing cold air all over him was even more fun, your lips directing your breath on different parts, making him try to escape your evil attentions.

“Giggles, you’re so bad.” He mewled, a tiny, desperate laugh underlining his sentence.

Your hands reached the base of his feet, your nails dragging against the natural crease at the center of his foot.

“It tickles.” He said, his legs jumping up as he tried to escape that sensorial torture.

“No touching you there?” You asked, eyebrows curving upwards in wonder. “Okay.”

He planted his feet firmly on the base of his office chair. “Please.” He said.

“It’s okay, Hobi.” You replied sweetly. His dancer feet were too sensitive for that and you’d rather avoid him moving too much and possibly falling from the chair. “How are you feeling?” You asked, standing up. You were at a crossroad. From his answer depended the rest of the evening.

“I’m doing great. This feels incredible, Giggles.” He smiled, complimenting you.

“Are you down for a level up?” You asked.

He nodded. “I’m curious.”

“Choose a number from one to three.” You asked him, your voice bubbly.

“What is it?” He asked. He was afraid of the consequences. Was it going to be the number of times he was allowed to cum? Or maybe something else?

“Just a game, Hobi. Choose a number.” You repeated.

A bit hesitant he said: “Two.” He said. Like us, he thought. He kept the idea to himself, thinking it cheesy. Plus two was halfway. Nothing bad can happen if you stay halfway, right?

You raised your eyebrows and considered cheating. He would never know. You had really prepared three toys and numbered them, however, out of the three objects you had prepared, number two was the one that scared you the most, convincing yourself to pack it just in case he flipped and took the lead. Hoseok could be extremely powerful with that tool in hand and it was probably your favourite accessory for him to use on you.

Unfortunately — or maybe very fortunately — it was you who had to control it tonight.

With quite some courage, you pushed your hand into the bag, finding the handle and gripping it tight as you extracted the black leather device from the bag. The tails of the flogger met your skin gently, caressing it with their delicate, velvety touch. Each tail was made of suede, giving a special feel to the touch. He had never openly admitted how expensive it was, but you knew it was a lot.

As your dominant hand held the handle, the other toyed with the tails, gripping them and wrapping them around your fist; looking at Hoseok, you started thinking where to start.

Easy.

His inner arms were there, pale, slender and so sensitive. “Can you feel me?” You asked, bending down, your breath tickling the free skin of his wrists.

“Yes.” He commented. “Behind my back. You’re so close but I can’t reach you.” He whined, struggling a little against the rope.

“Are your hands okay? Is the knot too tight?” You checked.

He breathed out. “Yes, I’m okay. Thank you.” He stilled on the chair since he realised he couldn’t touch you.

“My pleasure, Hoseok.” You replied, spurring him on a little. “Would you like me to tell you what’s the number you chose?”

He thought about it, but he realised that most of the arousal he was experiencing was because of the complete unexpectedness of each sensation. “Surprise me.”

You smiled, running the butt of the handle against his upper arm, teasing the top of his armpit. He shivered adorably, the sensation making his arm tingle with goosebumps.

“How does it feel?” You asked, curious.

“Wicked. But also interesting.” He replied, shivering again as you repeated the gesture on the other side. “Very sensitive.”

“Can you guess what it is?” You asked, gripping the flogger from where the tails met the handle, leaving the underside of the shaft free to press against his lips. He sniffed it. “Leather.” He sniffed some more. “Your hand lotion. Is it the handle of something?” He asked, dragging his cheek against it.

In the meanwhile you made sure that the tails were wrapped tight around your fist so that they wouldn’t give you away. “Maybe.” You replied, removing the object from his face and unwrapping the suede straps from your other palm, keeping the toy away from him. You trapped all the tails back, leaving only one out. That’s how to start.

Hoseok, momentarily blinded, kept thinking of what the object could possibly be. “Is the number connected to what you’re using now?”

“Yes. Each number meant a toy. I’m using number two right now.” You said, letting that single string drag from the small hollow between his collarbones down to his belly button. Your small hand struggled around the instrument, however your nerves helped you keep a tight grip.

“You have more than one?” He asked, moaning as the tail tickled the base of his cock. “What the hell is it?” He said, thrusting his hips upward. “Fuck, please.” He murmured, as you teased his balls. You grinned. “It’s the riding crop, uh? You love that one.” He murmured, just as you moved your hand far from his body, letting the tails fall free before snapping your wrist, making the strings swish.

Hoseok listened to the noise attentively, however the background music kept him from properly identifying the sound. “Is it something we have used before?”

You hit your palm again, softly, knowing that the hip hop track was going to make the toy unrecognisable. As you stood in front of his face, you leaned down and snapped it once more, making sure that he would feel the air move as the tails slapped your hand. Doing it this delicately made it feel almost pleasurable against your skin.

“Yes, we’ve used it before.”

You stood up again, letting the tails hang low. Noticing his length dripping in wetness, you snapped the toy once more against your palm, still far from his skin, simply producing an air current.

“Dammit, please, I just wanna cum.” He cried out.

“Guess my toy and I’ll reward you.” You teased.

He whimpered. “Come on, we’ve tried at least twenty together.” He lamented. “And you’ve given me so little.”

“Then let me give you more.” You giggled, This time you took a deep breath. Courage. You wanted him to hear it for real, not the caressing sweeps, but the harsh, punishing ones he usually delivered. Maybe those would sound more familiar. Exhaling, you hit your clothed thigh. You moaned: it could feel so sweet in your own hand, when you could control it and with the barrier of your jeans.

“It’s leather, I’m sure.” He commented.

You snapped once more, your cunt clenching, wetness making you feel uncomfortable between your thighs as you noticed him flinch at the sound. “Are you sure it’s leather, Hoseok?”

When he heard the third smack, he went insane. It felt unreal to be there, to wait for a hit that wouldn’t come, or even worse to be deep in thought, so close to the answer, but to be brought back to reality with the swishing and clicking sound of whatever it was you were holding. “If you say it like that, I’m not sure.”

Grinning, you let the tails hover over his skin, tickling the air around them, charging his skin with goosebumps. He felt electric. “Is this helping you?” You asked, letting the suede skim his skin.

“Oh. So you’re using my weapons against me...” He wondered just as your free hand cupped his balls, squeezing them gently. He was being too cocky anyway. His following moan decisively toned down his arrogance.

“Sorry.” He whined. “Please.” He moaned while your hand pushed the flogger away, your torso bending forward as you stretched to lick the tip of his cock, collecting the hot droplet of cum he had just spilled. “____, I’m begging, please.”

“Please what?” You murmured against his abdomen.

As he began talking you sucked the smooth head of his dick into your mouth, listening to him stammering and moaning in an attempt to speak. With a sweet stutter he cried out. “Wanna cum. Please.”

You released his sex. “You know the rules. Guess the toy and I’ll let you cum. Don’t make me say it again.” You stood straight and moved the flogger back between his legs, the tails teasing his inner thighs. “How come you haven’t recognised it yet?” You teased.

“It’s a tickler.” He moaned. “The one with the feathers.” He huffed out, just as you caught once more the tails in your palm, wrapping them around your hand and moving your grip, freeing the butt of the handle.

“No, love. I’m sorry.” You said, feigning discontent, but secretly grinning.

He cried out. “Oh, come on, what is it!” He growled, his voice sliding into a whimper as you sucked one of his balls into your mouth.

“Fuck it, Giggles. Please.”

He had said ‘please’ at least four times tonight, that you remembered. Maybe even more. You sucked harder.

“Love your mouth, baby,” he rambled, his sanity long forgotten in the unpredictable events of the evening. He felt his guts tightening, his abs clenching. “So good. Shit.”

As you spotted the telltale pulsing in your mouth, you let go of him.

“No, please. Please.” He begged. It was your favourite word on your lips. When he begged. When he begged to lick you, to let him make you squirt, to slap your delicate breasts, to fuck your mouth, to change position ‘just one more time’, to let him ram into you for the third, fourth ride even if you were tired and overstimulated, your brains only capable of telling him yes because you were too fucked out, too greedy, too in love with him to ever deny him.

“You made a dumb guess, Hobi. How can a tickler make that sound? You heard the smack, before, didn’t you.” You pressed the butt of the toy against his shaft, delicately, dragging it up and down in a very upsetting imitation of a handjob.

He keened as several drops of cum bubbled up from his slit and dribbled down his cock.

“You’re so turned on, uh?” You snickered, teasing him ruthlessly. “You’re barely coherent.”

He couldn’t wrap his head around how his sweet, sparkly, submissive Giggles, the love of his life, the apple of his eye, his precious jewel could turn into such a sadistic, cruel creature.

He had probably ruined you.

He was almost glad. Proud of you.

“Giggles, love. Please, have mercy, baby. You can’t hurt me. You love me.” He murmured, trying to convince himself.

You let him breathe, moving the handle away from his sensitive sex.

“I love you. That’s why I need you to recognise the toy.” You cooed. “You’ve heard how it sounds, and felt how it feels. You can do it, bubs.” You bent to his mouth, letting your lips linger over his.

“It swishes and smashes, but it’s a dry, light smash. Not a paddle. Not a tickler, and not a riding crop either. It’s either a cat-o-nine-tales or a flogger.” He murmured.

“Good boy.” You praised him. “What is it, then Hoseok?”

He felt insane. The moment he realised it was one of the two, he started imagining you holding one, getting even more turned on at the thought. “Use it on me.” He asked. “Please.” He could almost see you, your small figure, your tiny hands wrapped around the thick leather base, the cute flinch on your face as you whipped the tails against your thigh. “Use it on me.” He wished he could see you for real. He just needed you to do it once, to be comfortable to eventually do it again, someday — possibly within the next month — to see you actually use the flogger on him. He felt like going insane.

You frowned. You weren’t skilled enough for using it like that.

Whipping yourself over your clothes was one thing, but hitting him? Naked? Tied up? No. You told him.

“I can’t, Hoseok.”

“Please.” He cried out. “I trust you.” He said, quietly reassuring you. “Place me so that the front of my thigh is free, and direct the blow across my thigh, towards the outer side.”

You breathed a couple times. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He cried out in relief.

Following his directions, you placed him correctly on the chair, his thigh hanging midair. With your back to him, you murmured quietly “Ready?”

He simply breathed out a ‘yes’.

His cry was immediate. “Oh god, Giggles. Fuck.” You had been heavy handed, still he hadn’t perceived the bite of the small silver balls that his cat-o-nine-tales sported. “Flogger.” He moaned. “Wanna cum, please.”

You immediately dropped the flogger on top of his table. “That’s right, bubs. You’ve been a very good boy.”

He pushed his hips upward. “Your mouth, please.” He begged. “Inside.” He sobbed.

You undressed quickly, your shirt coming off in a second and your jeans following right after. With only your panties on, you kneeled on the floor, not quite making yourself noticed.

“Where are you?” He cried out. “Giggles?”

“Here.” You called. “Between your legs.” You kissed his knee. “You look beautiful, Hoseok. So damn beautiful.” Your mouth climbed up towards his lap, quick and practical, your tongue drawing a line of saliva up his thigh. “I’ll give you thirty seconds. If you don’t cum at that, I’ll stand up, take off your blindfold and touch myself while your hands are tied. Got it?”

He whimpered.

“Got it?” You asked again. 

“Yes, Giggles.” He replied, as composedly as possible.

“Good.” You said, before swallowing him.

He groaned, pushing his hips up towards your face. His chair rolled back a bit, but thankfully you grabbed the armrests and managed to secure it.

With wicked intentions you pulled him out, rolling the chair away so that the back sticked to the edge of his desk, keeping it from moving. “Count to thirty for me, Hoseok.”

You didn’t give him time to reply, sinking back onto him.

“One,” he whimpered as you used your hands to stroke the parts you couldn’t take into your mouth.

“Oh, two.” He groaned, pushing some more. You pinched his thigh, reprimanding him for his thrust.

He jumped at that before he cried out a three, panting heavily. “I’m gonna cum.”

Again you pinched.

“Three.” He said with a shrill.

By the count of nine, his hips got impatient, thrusting into you some more, but — lucky him — you felt merciful and disregarded his disobedience as you started to bob your head, before hearing him breathe louder and faster. “That’s it. Giggles, fuck. Love it. So good. Love you.” He managed to babble before he came apart.

You simply stayed there, eyes rimmed with tears, holding your breath as his cum kept spilling inside you. It took him five or six shots before he stilled, empty and spent. Oxygen felt like a blessing once you pulled him out, his tip resting on your tongue. Both your and his breathing were heavy and rushed as you removed your head from his lap and tested it against his thigh.

“Wanna see you, Giggles.” He murmured, his voice hoarse after all the moaning and growling and panting. “Take off the blindfold, baby.” He asked, ready to take control. You were the one who needed attention right now.

“Just a minute.” You murmured, nuzzling your cheek against his leg and closing your eyes.

“Now, Giggles.” He ordered with some urgency.

With a deep sigh, you stood on your knees, stretching towards his face to take off the silk band from his eyes. It took a couple attempts because you couldn't reach perfectly, however you finally managed to uncover him, his eyes immediately focusing on you.

“Hello, little bird.” He said, his tone already sporting that sardonic, telltale undertone. He was going for revenge.

A fearful wave rolled down your spine.

“Hi, Hoseok.” You replied, a bit hazed.

“Can you untie me, little bird? Please?” He asked, but his plea didn't hold the previous submission. This was simply a polite request. “I know you’re tired, pretty thing. Just untie me, I’ll take care of you, I promise, angel.” He said, spotting the way you looked at him like a scared wild animal. “I can’t even cuddle you right now.” He wiggled his wrists. “It hurts like hell to see you this vulnerable and not being allowed to cuddle you, little bird.” His voice expressed affection now, his mood completely changed after he had seen you: the discomfort of your treatment was still fresh but he couldn’t bring himself to torture you back after seeing you curled up between his legs.

You kissed his thigh a little helplessly before whining as you stood up.

“That’s my good girl.” He praised you with a quiet voice.

Undoing the knot was extremely easy. You liked using knots that were simple to undo once you released the safety hook — a reasonable amount of rope strategically tucked into the knot that once tugged simply makes the rope fall to the ground. Hoseok was usually reasonable enough not to untie himself, which meant you could still untie him easily even when your body was tired and your mind felt fuzzy.

When the rope fell to the ground, Hoseok stood still, holding position. Once he jammed a knot because he moved too early and you sulked at him for a week because he made you cut the rope into three unusable lengths. “May I?” He asked.

“Yes.” You confirmed.

He immediately turned the chair so that he was facing you. His arms wrapped around your middle, hugging you tight as you stood between his legs.

“You’ve been so good, Giggles. You’ve been perfect, little bird.” He pulled you into him, making you sit on his lap. “How are you feeling, dove?”

“A bit unsettled.” You admitted. “Strange.”

“What got into you?” He asked, smiling as he stroked your cheek. “You were devilish, pretty thing.”

“I don’t know. I think I was inspired.” You admitted, sinking into his neck, nuzzling into the curve below his ear.

“How did you feel with the flogger?” He asked, caressing your spine gently. He felt soft for you. To hell with revenge, he’d much rather make love to you. Show you all his appreciation for the scene you had staged, your spirit of initiative and the courage you had displayed in taking the lead with the flogger.

“I liked it. It felt new and strange.” You admitted, your arms connecting behind his neck, your hand combing the hair at his nape. “It felt different from when you do it.”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

“It’s not just the role reversal. I felt more confident because I called the shots. I manoeuvred it, so it didn’t feel like I was waiting for it to hurt. The excitement was different.” You kissed his jaw.

Hoseok turned, using his bangs to tickle your cheek. You giggled meekly. “It’s all about having the power to do the unexpected. See how far the other person allows you to go.” He kissed your neck. “I like using it on you because you’re always so soft afterwards. You’re super needy and cuddly and I like assisting you like that.” His hand moved to your side, caressing you reassuringly before his hand ventured under the waistband of your panties, rubbing your ass. “And seeing how far you let me go with the scene makes me see how much you trust me and love me. It’s hot but also cute and affectionate.” He pulled his hand out, dragging it up, skimming your side and cupping your breast, his skilled fingers toying with your nipple. “Do you want me to take care of you?” He asked, his index finger hooking under your chin and pushing your face up, to look at him.

You looked up at him from under your lashes, pouting and giving him the best impression of puppy eyes.

He smiled at you. “What?” He said, with a small chuckle, booping your nose.

“I want your mouth.” You said, biting your lip.

“Where.” He asked, rubbing your tummy, his fingertips toying with the waistband of your panties.

You looked down at your crotch, licking your lip and rolling your eyes coquettishly. “Down there, sir?”

He laughed and bent to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. “Want me to eat you out, little bird?” He snarled and bit your round, fluffy cheek. “Eat you alive?” He asked, holding you tight as he repeatedly sunk his teeth on the fat covering your cheekbone. “Such a naughty girl!” He said, tickling your sides.

Your laugh bubbled up your throat, exploding in a fit of giggles.

“That’s it. The most beautiful sound on the face of earth.” He calmed down once he noticed your short breath. “I love you, ____.” He reminded you.

You smiled so wide your eyes closed. “I love you too.” You stretched your neck to reach his mouth. His lips parted for you, the tip of his tongue drawing the seam of your lips as you disclosed them for him. The kiss was demanding, as usual. The hard, teasing strokes he delivered with the tip of his tongue gave way to a tango of thrusts and twirls, a mind blowing game of flight and chase, small clashing of teeth and sucking bruises onto each other’s lips. You didn’t even know how much time had passed before he gripped your waist, pushing you up. “Stand, little bird.” He murmured softly.

Carefully, you rose to your feet, making sure that your knees didn’t give out below you. His fingers hooked into the sides of your panties. He immediately spotted the wet patch on your grey cotton. “Cute penguin print.” He commented. “Very cute.” He said, his finger moving to toy with the drenched fabric, exposing you. He slid down the chair, kneeling. You took half a step back, only to meet the hard edge of his desk. He had cornered you. You only managed to press your palms into the desk, making sure not to knock anything over or accidentally ruin any equipment.

“Right leg on my shoulder, little dove.” He ordered, his eyes zeroing in on you with a predatory gleam.

You obeyed. Not that you had much choice.

“You’re so wet, Giggles. You enjoyed torturing me this much?” He asked, licking the gusset of your panties. “So nasty.”

“You sounded so good.” You commented, one hand combing his hair back and subtly pushing his mouth against you. “And you tasted even better.”

“These are too cute to rip.” He said, looking at your panties. “I need them off, dove.”

He helped your leg down, immediately dragging the garment down your legs. “Fuck, you’re so drenched.” He growled, noticing the tendrils of arousal sticking your labia together as he placed your leg back on his shoulder. His right arm, free to move, immediately bent so that his hand could spread your wetness all along your slit, before his index and middle finger sank into you, immediately meeting your sweet spot.

“Oh God! Hoseok, please!” One of your hands parted from the table, grabbing his hair.

“Does it feel good?” He asked, crooking his fingers in a come-hither motion. You knew what he wanted to do.

“I’m gonna make a mess, Hobi.” You warned him before a wanton mewl left your lips, betraying you.

“So, do you like it?” He asked again, rubbing his fingers and stretching you out.

“Yes, sir.” You moaned, trying to meet his mouth with your hips. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“You’re about to like it even more, little bird. Hold on tight.” He warned before latching his mouth onto your clit and beginning to torture it with the hard flicks of his tongue. His eyes met yours and you knew he was really going for it. He had that look that meant challenge. You abandoned yourself to your fate.

“Hoseok. Dammit.” You hoped your leg would hold you up because both your hands rushed to his head, pressing it against your cunt. The arm holding your leg moved upwards, sustaining your lower back.

The shift was immediate, the inner sense of burning and the distinct sensations of your inner walls clenching out of your control warning you of what was about to happen. “Hoseok.” You called simply as that overwhelming tide took you under. Your eyes clenched tight, your lower leg quivering dangerously as your orgasm invested him. You knew you had likely squirted over him, especially for the wetness running down your leg. You just hoped there wasn’t a small pool of liquid on his floor.

“That’s it, Giggles. Fucking phenomenal.” He praised you as you gently pulled his mouth away from your clit. He kissed your mound chastely before helping your leg down.

“Did I mess up?” You asked, immediately checking for damage.

“Nothing that a few tissues can’t fix.” He said, standing in front of you, stretching behind you to grab a roll of paper, tearing some and kneeling again, drying up the small puddle. Next he dried your inner thigh. “Are you freaking out?” He asked, knowing that squirting always unsettled you a little.

“The normal amount.” You replied, combing his hair as he looked up at you, collecting all the paper towels and throwing them in the bin.

As he stood again, you felt his hard on against your tummy. “Can you do it standing or do you wanna sit?” He asked, hugging you.

“Your choice. I can handle it.” You replied, still a bit hazy with your previous orgasm.

“Turn.” He murmured, spinning you around with his hands on your waist, your hand moving to press his palm against the small of your back, bending you forward a little. “Like this?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

He bent to your ear. “No need to call me ‘sir’, dove. I’m making love to you.” He said, gently dragging the head of his cock against your folds before slipping in. Once he was halfway in, your mouth open in a silent cry, he pulled out, only to move back in all the way with one smooth stroke.

“Hobi, sweet lord.” You purred, leaning on your elbows, as he started pounding into you. He simply grabbed you under your armpits, pressing his palms against your breasts and pushing you back up, making the angle so right and so intense you thought you would explode again there and then.

However, after a few minutes he simply growled and exited you, pushing you up and turning you around, again. Facing him, you could now see the dark lines forming on his thigh from the flogger, and right on top of that the slim indentation of his abdomen, adorned by his glistening, wet, hard cock.

He let you drink him in with your hungry eyes before tipping your chin up, to make your gazes connect. With his eyes on yours, scorching and demanding, he slipped back inside you, enjoying how your eyelids fluttered at the sense of fullness you were experimenting. The hammering restarted immediately, your hand gripping his shoulders, your nails sinking in. In reply, his strong, veiny palm curled around your outer thigh, pushing your leg up and around his waist.

“Touch yourself. I need you to cum.” He said, making small effort into ordering you, keeping his focus on his ramming.

And you made an even smaller effort into obeying, the hard, filling sensation of him inside you was so satisfying that a few circles on your clit was all it took for your head to crash into his shoulder, suppressing a loud moan by biting into his neck. Still, the bite, the vibrations of your whimpers against his throat, your nails sinking into him and your kegels squeezing him brought him to a mind-blowing orgasm. And he went on, even as you called his name like a litany, a sob interrupting you every now and then as you panted.

He took himself half a minute of stillness. “Can you do another?” He asked, both his hands gripping your ass as he picked you up. “Missionary on the sofa. Just one, I promise.” He said, already walking you to his black leather couch.

You nodded, wordless and brainless, simply hissing when the cold material met your back. “Sorry. I know, cold.” He said, caressing your face. “Ready?” He asked.

Again you nodded, looking at him with a pout. He bent down to kiss your lips. “I love you.” He said.

He said it so often. It was his favourite thing to say, mostly because you would offer him your sweetest smile and your eyes would sparkle with surprise and arousal, just like the first time he had confessed to you. Just like the first time he had bound your wrists on top of your head, kissing all the way down your body, showing you how much adoration his body and his mind could muster.

As he sank into you, you cried out his name tenderly.

“I’ve got you, little dove.” He said, cradling your head in the crook of his arm. “My pretty little bird.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb, drawing the shape of your lips. “I’ll be home, in our bed tonight.” He slipped his thumb into your mouth, wetting it. “I’ll make you so happy, Giggles.” He removed it, bringing it to your clit, delicately rubbing circles into your skin. “It’s all I wanna do.” He pressed his lips restlessly to your mouth and chest, your eyes following his movements in slow motion. You were so far gone you even doubted the sensation between your legs when you felt a new tightness ready to snap.

“Close.” You mouthed somewhere on his chest or neck or shoulder. It felt like slow dancing in a dark room. Except he was inside you and the rocking motion relaxed you so completely that you simply let go, not even listening to him saying to hold on, to make it last a second more, to focus on him.

You simply smiled as pleasure took over, Hoseok himself falling on top of you as his hips lost their pattern and let go of any semblance of control and tempo. His mouth pressed into your nipple as he moaned in release.

You both felt like dead bodies afterwards, laying there empty, spent, completely lost. You could have died without a bother. You could have kept existing without a bother, your bodies resting and waking in an endless cycle, the same way day and night follow each other. You were one thing, one entity, not even one body — any relation to material substance was momentarily suspended.

“Giggles.” He checked in on you. “Baby, we should go home, uh? I don’t have stuff to spoil you here, dove.” He said with a worried note.

Your eyelids fluttered open.

“There she is. Hello, sunshine.” He said, trying to fix your hair. “Let me fix the room before we go, yes?”

You smiled. “Let me help.” You said, only half convinced.

He tutted. “No, sweetie. You lay there and I fix this.” He slipped out of you, standing up slowly, a little clumsily. He immediately went to his desk grabbing his cup of water and sinking a corner of his t-shirt, dabbing at his face and chest, then down at his crotch. Next, he walked towards you, using another wet corner to clean you up. “There.” He said, kissing your knee once he was done. Next he dressed you, manoeuvring your body to slip your clothes on. With a bottle of generic cleanser randomly laying on his drawer, he made sure that no stain remained on the floor where he had eaten you out. Standing in his boxers, he rolled the rope back in a tight coil, placing it back into the bag, together with the flogger, making a mental note to clean it once he arrived home. He didn’t even check what you had packed. He was impatient to shower and cuddle with you at home. Your shared home.

Slipping on his sweater, he looked around, checking for potential hints of what had happened. He shrugged once he saw none. He shut down his computer, checking for the other devices to be off too. Finally, he spritzed some of his cologne on himself and the room. “Okay. We’re good, Giggles. Let’s go.”

You groaned before sitting up and waiting for him to offer you his hand to help you up. “That playlist was pretty bomb.” You said. “We should keep it for our wild nights.”

“I’m using it for my next collab.” He replied, closing down the studio and slipping his shoes on. You did the same at his side. “Maybe you will enjoy my song.” He said, winking at you.

“Oh, hi guys! What are you doing here?” Jimin chirped behind you.

Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “Hi. You’re here late.”

“Just passing by.” Jimin said. “Forgot my laptop.” He shook his head. “Hello, Giggles!” He said to you.

It felt ridiculous how all the boys used the nicknames for you and the other girlfriends. Still, it didn’t bother you, since it reminded you of your bond with Hoseok, but also of that familiarity within the group. “Hi Jimin!” You chirped, a little nervous at the possibility of him knowing what had happened in Hoseok’s studio.

“Well, goodnight!” Jimin said sweetly. “I assume you won’t be at the dorms tonight.”

Hoseok tutted. “I’ll be staying with Giggles. She moved in.” He said with a happy tone.

“I’m happy for you. However I hope you won’t be walking out with that tickler hanging out of the bag.” He winked with a teasing remark. “Enjoy it.” He trotted off.

Standing beside Hoseok, you blushed all the way to the tip of your ears.

Hoseok snickered. “Brat.”

Well, he was Princess’ problem now, anyway.

[araiz-zaria]

The Fantastic Union Four™ — Road Trip AU

n+1st part 👀👀👀

.

So now three of the fantastic union four™ have to nurse Grant back into sobriety or is it lucidity?. Starting with getting some grocery (for their own meal and whatnot), they still have to figure out how to nurse him exactly. They read information about it on the ponderous volume that is known only as the internet, trying to figure it out, but the more they read, the more confused they feel about it (”...really? just feeding him is enough?” ”...but if he’s still sleeping all the time, do we have to wake him up or something?...” “...but what if he refuses to eat? Do we need to force feed him?” “No other kind of medicine needed??”). Sheridan tells Thomas and Sherman that at any rate, Grant needs to eat something(”...guys, remember that Ulyss hasn’t eaten anything since our last stop at that roadside attraction!”), so they decided to just stick to their initial plan of feeding him once he wakes up. As has also been decided, after having some breakfast they cleaned the car and, afterwards, watch by Grant’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up.

They wait, and wait,

and wait,

and wait...

...and there are a few times where Grant drifts back, almost waking up, only for him to just (sleep)talk drowsily and drifts back into sleep (”Huh, false alarm”). While waiting for him to wake up, Thomas reads the maps and rechecks their route plan again, Sherman paces around in the room, especially after sitting by the bedside for quite a bit. His pacing around is occasionally broken by him responding to messages he got. He almost always replies only when standing up, and that concludes his cycle of twiddling about while watching by the bedside. Sheridan stares worriedly at Grant, and then at Sherman (when he paces around), and then at Thomas, sitting at a small coffee table by the room’s window. He felt bad for inadvertently making things worse for Grant back in the car when they were on the ride (like holding him down just for Grant to wail and flail about), but now there is only one thing they can do...

When lunch time comes they take turn taking lunch while someone stays keeping an eye on Grant. Thomas and Sheridan eat quite a considerable amount for lunch, and after they finished they offer Sherman to have some lunch. Sherman refuses, saying that he isn’t hungry (and he doesn’t really take lunches). Sheridan and Thomas look at each other, Sheridan shrugs, and Thomas taps Sherman on the shoulder, meaning to talk to him about the route plan and other things related to it (so that Sherman could get a break of sorts anyway), while Sheridan sits by the bedside.

They keep watch on Grant until it is close to dinner time (this is around 7 pm), when finally Grant drifts back into waking up, awake enough to have a coherent enough conversation with the other three, even though he is still visibly so drowsy.

Grant: (squinting, gazing on the people sitting by his bedside) “...how come we are not hitting the road again?”

Sherman: “Are you kidding me? We are not leaving until you sober up and eat something.”

Grant: (groans queasily) “...I don’t wanna eat anything...” (turns sideways, trying to get to sleep again)

Sherman: “I say we are not leaving until you eat something!”

Sheridan: “Ulyss, please, you have to eat something. Eating will also help you sober up...”

Grant: (trying to hold off feelings of nausea, curling down) “...Phil, I am not an eater like you are...” (closes his eyes, trying to sleep again)

Thomas: “Ulyss, please, just eat something, even for a little bit. You haven’t eaten anything since we stayed here.”

Sherman: (leans toward Thomas, whispers) “...I say we force feed him some cracker and water...”

Thomas: (sighs) “I guess we have to do that.” (pulls Grant by the shoulder gently towards his own side) “Ulyss, please, you cannot keep on sleeping, it might just make you stay queasy.”

Grant: (heaves a long sigh) “...I...really...don’t...wanna, eat... anything...”

Sherman: (lifting Grant at the shoulder, moving him together with Sheridan on the other side of the bed so that Grant is on a seated position)

Thomas: “Please, Ulyss, just a bite or two, and then you can go back to sleep again...”

Grant: (dejected, sighs) “...alright...”

After seating Grant at the head of the bed, they are able to feed Grant two and a half saltine crackers and a half glass of water. Afterwards Grant goes to sleep again, and the other three feel slightly relieved. That is, until Sheridan asks this...

Sheridan: “Guys, do we need to tell Julia about this?”

Sherman glares at Sheridan for having asked about that, Thomas is slightly startled when that question is brought up (”Huh, yeah...come to think of it...”). Earlier in the afternoon Sherman messaged Ellen about how he is doing on the trip, and he messaged her about Grant’s condition (not something he intended to do, but since he had to explain why he stays at a place longer than he planned, he ended up telling her about it anyway). He also told her in the message not to tell Julia about it (he doesn’t want to cause unnecessary panic, esp. on Julia’s part, since he found out from Ellen that Julia has been fretting about Grant’s emotional wellness on the trip, so he tried to not make Julia go into full-blown panic (so that Grant wouldn’t be so panicky in return, or so he thinks...)), but now that Sheridan has broached on this topic (he planned to just keep Julia out of the loop until Grant is recovered and Grant himself can communicate with her again) and the prolonged recovery situation they are now in, they’d have to eventually tell her about it.

Thomas: “So, who wants to tell her about this?”

Sheridan: “Anybody got her contact?”

Sherman: (lies -- cuts in curtly) “No.”

Sheridan: “So I guess we’d have to get his phone then.”

Thomas: “Sure” (reaches into Grant’s pocket and pulls out his phone) “So who’s gonna call her?”

Shit, Sherman curses in his own mind, now we are really going to tell her about it?!??. Thomas checks the screen, there are notifications on so many unreplied messages from Julia. Oh dear, Thomas mutters inwardly, there are some missed calls too. Thomas is fiddling with the phone notification until it rings. It’s Julia calling.

Sherman: “You take the call!”

Thomas: (side eyes Sherman in a slightly bemused way) “...alright.” (sighs) (takes the call) “...hello?”

Julia: “Oh Ulyss I can finally reach you out... Wait, who is...”

Thomas: “...It’s me, Thomas, George Thomas.”

Julia: “...is anything the matter there? I messaged him but he didn’t reply to me at all, I tried calling him too and still no response... Is Ulyss alright??”

Thomas: “Well, you see, Julia...We had to stop longer at our current place than we planned and it is all because there is something happened to Ulyss...”

Julia: “...oh No! What happened to him??”

Thomas: “Well, he felt slightly unwell, so much so that we couldn’t go on the trip with his current condition.” (stares at Sherman) “Sherman will tell you what is his condition exactly.” (shoves the phone to Sherman)

Sherman: (receives the phone from Thomas) “...uhm hello...yes, it’s me, Sherman... Well Julia, how do I say it...it seems like Ulyss was intoxicated... no, no, not due to alcohol, we don’t drink even a drop on our trip, we are not sure what caused it...that and food poisoning too.”

Julia: “Oh dear, what a dreadful situation! Is he still feeling ill??”

Sherman: “...yes but it seems like he’s on the mend now...”

Julia: “Can I talk to him now?”

Sherman: “He’s currently sleeping, he needs his rest to recover. I’ll tell him to call you right away once he’s recovered and sober enough...”

Julia: “Oh right, sorry, I just realized that. By the way, thank you for taking care of him and to take the call...”

Sherman: “It is no bother to us all.”

Julia: (hangs up)

They all heave a sigh of relief. Now onto keeping a watch on him still, after they all have dinner. As the night goes on they plan to take turns watching by the bedside, but it doesn’t go as they planned because they all insist to keep watch on him. Sherman then realizes that Grant might just continue sleeping anyway, so he decides to go to bed first (though he first offers Thomas to hit the bed first. Thomas declines, says that Sherman can go to sleep first). Sheridan is a bit restless (since he inadvertently drank too much coffee during dinner), and he offers both Sherman and Thomas to take over watching by the bedside. Thomas says that he can still keep a watch too for a bit longer.

Thomas eventually slumps on his chair, dozing off into the dreamland. It is down to just Sheridan keeping watch on Grant. Sherman is on the other bed, lying down sleeping. Sheridan wants to get up from his chair for a bit, going out of the room for a little change of scenery, but now with him the only one left keeping watch on Grant he cannot really do it.

At 3:50 am Sheridan goes to the bathroom to relieve himself. Thinking that it might still take Grant some more time to finally wake up he decides to also go around for a bit of walk after he goes to the bathroom.

After a little walk for fresh air Sheridan goes back into the room to continue watching by Grant’s bedside. To his delight he finds out that Grant has waken up, and now he’s sitting on the coffee table eating some slices of white bread and drinking a glass of water.

Sheridan: “Ulyss, you have waken up! Finally!”

Grant: (shushes Sheridan down, half whispers) “...yeah..” (continues on munching on the white bread sheepishly)

Sheridan: “Hey have it with some jam, we got it for the bread too, you know. Here, strawberry jam.” (slides a jar of strawberry jam to Grant’s side)

Grant: “...sure, Phil.” (takes on the jam and spreads some of it on his new slice of bread) “...never thought I’d feel this hungry after some sleep.”

Sheridan: “...heh, some sleep. You’ve been sleeping for so long too, almost a full day if you really count it I think?? Anyway, this is good news, we can finally continue our trip!” (raises from the chair, walks over to Sherman’s bedside) “Sherman, wake up! We’ve got some good news!”

Grant: (slightly flustered) “Hey, don’t just wake him up like that??”

Sheridan: “So rich of you to say that after such a long slumber...” (shakes Sherman on his shoulder) “...hey Billy..”

Sherman: “...what NOW?” (winces annoyedly at Sheridan)

Sheridan: “Ulyss has just waken up!”

Sherman: “Huh...” (looks over at Grant sitting by the coffee table while still lying on the bed) “...oh there you are Ulyss, finally waking up.” (breathes a sigh of relief, looks at Sheridan again) “What time is it now?”

Sheridan: “...around 4 am I think?”

Sherman: “Hm...still some time until we start driving again.” (looks at Grant again) “Anyhow eat up, Ulyss. That should help you feel better...”

Grant: “...yeah...” (continues munching on the bread)

Sherman: “...and oh, by the way, Julia called while you were sleeping. You should call her back as soon as you can.”

Grant: (startled, gasps) “Julia??!? Oh NO! What did you tell her??”

Sherman: “I told her that you were intoxicated and we took care of you. We also told her not to worry too much. But now that you have finally sobered up, she shouldn’t worry so much anymore I think...”

Grant: (reaches for his phone hurriedly) “...I should really call her!”

Sherman: “Maybe you can just message her for now, it’s still quite early in the morning...”

Grant: “Ah right...I’ll message her first.” (types up a message for Julia quickly) “By the way, thank you Phil, Billy, for taking care of me, and Tommy...” (looks at Thomas slumping off to the side, sleeping on his chair) ”...oh Tommy is sleeping too...”

Sherman: “Don’t mention it. Well, I guess we can start getting ready for another drive now...”

After munching the bread and messaging Julia, Grant receives a call from her -- she talks to him in a frantic tone, almost verging into panic yet again, but Grant is now able to calm her down himself, he tells anything that he could remember from his situation to her (while repeating that he is now feeling completely fine, if slightly hungry). Julia is now finally feeling some relief, and they continue talking for a while. Sherman, not going back to sleep, starts packing up and loading his baggage into the car, and so does Sheridan. While the two are heading out to the car, Thomas wakes up and finds Grant talking on the phone. Thomas feels relieved, and after the call he asks Grant about how he feels (and on where Sherman and Sheridan are). Grant says to him that he feels rather fine now, and offers if he can drive again for the trip. Thomas says that he can just sit back for now -- for this leg of the trip he (Thomas) will start driving first again. Grant feels slightly bad about it (for holding them back during the trip due to him being intoxicated and for not being able to drive right away when they finally start going again). Thomas assures him that he doesn’t need to feel bad about it -- it is the safety of everyone that matters the most (besides, they need to see if he’s really feeling fine now during the car ride before they let Grant drive again). When Sherman and Sheridan enter the room they find Grant talking to Thomas and Sherman says that they can finally start getting ready for the trip again. Thomas agrees, and he tells everyone to get ready.

After an early breakfast they finally set out of the motel and hit the road again...

ー ー ー to be continued  ー ー ー

[merryfortune]

Day 15 / Hands

Clover and Violets 2021

Ship: not applicable | Miho/Rebecca

Universe: Duel Monsters

Word Count: 950

Rating: G

Tags: Artistic License, Established Relationship, Fluff

   Miho was the needy type.

   Rebecca was the more detached type.

   Logically or emotionally, either way, they were both aware of their own personalities and how they meshed and how they clashed. 

   That was okay. 

   Acceptable even. 

   But Miho still felt a little neglected.

   And Rebecca felt overwhelmed.

   All because Miho stared and stared and stared.

   Rebecca’s brow twitched as she was stared and stared and stared at.

   Miho sighed dreamily; watching from afar, wriggling around in the lounge adjacent to Rebecca and her desk; posed so lazily as though she were some languid and spoilt housecat - which, for all intents and purposes, she was.

   “Am I truly so interesting?” Rebecca asked, mildly annoyed.

   With a huff, she pushed up her spectacles which had begun to slide down her nose and she kept at pounding on the computer keys of the device in front of her, all hunched down and hunkered over it, up to her furrowed brows in work and coding.

   “Yes.” Miho swooned. “Yes, you are.”

   Rebecca harrumphed.

   Miho lifted herself up into a yoga-like cobra position on the lounge, her eyes gone wide, “It's true!”

   “It is not.” Rebecca snorted.

   “You look so cute when you're busy, you are completely fascinating, darling, even when I have no idea what it is you're up to your eyeballs in doing.” Miho gasped.

   Rebecca’s heart fluttered and yet, she rolled her eyes.

   “So, don’t mind me, I just want to watch you.” Miho offered.

   “Do you have to do it so intensely?” asked Rebecca.

   “Yes.” Miho replied with a decisive nod that made her high ponytail bob up and down with her reply.

   “Okay then.” Rebecca murmured, tempted to roll her eyes the other way but she didn’t.

   She just kept them glued to the screen in front of her.

   Akin to how Miho was keeping her eyes glued to Rebecca.

   She truly was fascinating.

   Her hands were beautiful.

   So small and dainty but with precision that Miho could never be able to imitate nor fathom.

   Rebecca’s fingers were so precise in how she struck each key without ever looking down, keeping her eyes on the prize as she wrote out line upon line of code, cross referencing it all with whatever information she kept within reach on her internet browsers.

   Oh, it was mesmerising.

   She couldn’t get enough of how elegant Rebecca was when she was so thoroughly immersed in her element like she was presently.

   Miho sighed.

   And Rebecca hunkered down again, the slightest hue of pink in her cheeks.

   She was so adorable.

   “And you’re certain you have to watch me?” Rebecca asked.

   “Yes, I am beyond certain.” Miho gushed.

   Now it was Rebecca’s turn to sigh - and she did most heartily.

   “I’m not going to get any work done like this.” she admitted, dejectedly, her hands receding back to the edge of her desk.

   “What, no? Why?” Miho exclaimed, most upset that her fabulous entertainment had been turned off.

   “I just can’t focus with you staring at me,” Rebecca said, “but, if you like, do you want me to teach you some basic coding? HTML and maybe even teach to make a Flippy Bird simulator if you can get the basics of up, down, left and right down.”

   Miho gasped again. “I would love that!” she exclaimed. “It never even occurred to me to ask you, you seem so serious, I didn’t want to distract you-”

   “You’ve distracted me either way.” Rebecca interrupted Miho’s ecstatic rambling, barely amused, but she smiled a small smile.

   She was honoured that Miho regarded her so highly - though she could be dumb and daft, the sincerity was there so Rebecca couldn’t begrudge her that.

   “I know,” Miho blushed, she spoke in a small voice, “but good intentions and all that.”

   “I know that too.” Rebecca told her in an equally quiet voice.

   “So, let’s get started.” Miho chirped, voice already rising in volume again to Rebecca’s bemusement.

   “Let’s get another chair or,” Rebecca was quiet, she poked the corner of her chin, looking away from her girlfriend with a little bit of embarrassment to her body language, “or if you would prefer, you can get up nice and close to see what I’m doing.”

   Miho squealed.

   And she did so at a volume which all made Rebecca’s eardrums bleed; she cringed but smiled since it was rather heart-warming to see Miho so enthusiastic about learning more about her own passion.

   Miho got up and Rebecca did the same.

   Standing up, chest to chest, it was hard not to become hyper-aware of just how tall Miho was, at least compared to how short Rebecca was stacked against anyone.

   Miho sat down in Rebecca’s spot and giggled at how warm her plush chair was.

   Rebecca then lowered herself down into Miho’s lap and she had a few reservations about doing so.

   Most of them were proven correct because Miho’s hands lunged forward and she clutched onto Rebecca like she was a seatbelt.

   Miho nuzzled Rebecca’s back and Rebecca groaned.

   “We’re going to get even less work done like this.” Rebecca grizzled but in a playful, even mild way. 

   “No, no, I promise, once I get the cuddles out of my system, we can put all the codes into my system.” Miho said and she laughed at her own joke and her word play.

   Rebecca exhaled from her nose, not quite a snort and it definitely wasn’t a bit of laughter but it was fondness regardless.

   She readied her hands atop the keyboard again, “If you don’t quit hugging me, you’re gonna miss your first lesson, missy.” Rebecca warned her as she picked out a new web document for Miho to learn from.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Livestream Chat Log: Hello, Dolly!

Chat log from a couple of weeks ago: Valera casually jailbreaks Alastor and Sir Pentious out of Hell to take them to Broadway in the living world.

Alastor

((Somebody Patiently Preparing Tiny Food is the exact sort of bullshit on alastor's secret Kinds Of ASMR That I Watch list))

Valera

[[ good because that's what their pre-game theatre experience. everyone has to sit on val's bed and watch videos

Alastor

well if the pregame show is videos of tiny food cooking then Alastor is gonna just. Sit on Val's bed. and 100% zone out over these tiny food videos

he is Extremely Vulnerable to asmr

Sir Pentious

If they're all on the bed, then they're all getting wrapped up in Pentious. That's the rule.

Valera

Well damn, if she's getting wrapped in Pentious then Pentious is getting wrapped in HER. Not Alastor though, that would be invasive.

Sir Pentious

"ISss IT A HOUSE OF GIANTS OR IS EVERYTHING SMALL? WHAT IS THIS ASMR's STORY?"

Valera

"It's tiny food cooking ASMR. You just watch people make tiny edible things."

Alastor

"He's cooking for a doll house." He's gonna. Like. Pull Sir Pent's tail onto his lap.

ASMR means Alastor is 90% hypnotized but not too hypnotized to claim The Tail

Sir Pentious

The eyes are gonna look at you Alastor. He is looking. Sir Pentious tilts his head to the side, "BUT WHY??? THE DOLLsss CANNOT HAVE IT, AND CERTAINLY, EATING IT WOULD TAKE SSUCH A SHORT TIME."

Alastor

Gonna take him a minute to process the question. "... Pleasure of making it, I think."

Sir Pentious

Penny turns his head like. Upsidedown backwards to look at Alastor. He's long he can do this, "OH, SSSSO, THIS IS MORE OF AN ENDEAVOR OF 'THEY SAID I COULDN'T AND SO I DID IT'???" He rights himself, "IN THAT CASE, I CAN TOTALLY GET BEHIND IT! ONE MORE!!"

Valera

"Alright."

"Just say when you see one you like."

Alastor

Video's over, Alastor's blinking like he just came out of a trance. "More or less, yes!" Blink. "... When did you get here?"

Sir Pentious

" "

Valera

"He.. He wrapped around you."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious blinks at him, "I-- IS THAT A MINIATURE RESTAURANT"

Valera

"Yes."

Alastor

"... So he did!"

Valera

"That is the weirdest pepper shaker. Lets find a better one."

Sir Pentious

"OH, I SSUPPOSE THIS ISN'T REALLY ASMR ANYMORE. THE MUSIC IS NOT OFF PUTTING, AT ANY RATE."

Alastor

Regards this mini KFC video SUSPICIOUSLY. "Oh, fast food."

"The sound design wasn't very good in that one, anyway."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious moves himself so that he's leaning on his elbow and looking at Alastor. Hi.

Valera

"The pancakes will do, this channel doesn't put obnoxious music over their videos."

Alastor

Too late, new video has started with Good Sound, he's once again lost to the world.

Valera

Val can move herself out of the way if need be?

Sir Pentious

NO!!!

Valera

She's gonna wriggle to get out of the way. She is giving them room. It's happening.

Sir Pentious

Pentious looks vaguely alarmed!!!! "WHERE ARE YOU GOING???"

Nothing like Pentious Volume during ASMR videos.

Valera

"Out of the way? You're moving around, I figured you needed some room."

"Ah, another or should we go?"

Alastor

Alastor's ears twitch a little at Pentious Volume but they also twitch at every single little click and scrape sound in the video so that's not saying a lot re: his alertness to his environment

Sir Pentious

Pentious looks at Alastor, then slithers off the bed, "I AM READY WHENEVER YOU ARE, MY DEAR."

Alastor

Oh he's awake again. "Whenever everybody else is ready to go! I suppose with time travel there's no urgency to arrive on time, is there?"

Valera

"There certainly isn't. This was all a con, I tricked you both into sitting around quietly." Well. Relatively quietly.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious stands... well. Poises. He is ready to be off, though he suspects that they were going to be transformed in some way, his hands are placed neatly behind him as he waits, "I HAVE NEVER BEEN TRANSFORMED BEFORE, OUTSIDE OF MY ARRIVAL IN HELL. LET'S SEE WHAT YOU HAVE FOR ME, VALERA."

Alastor

"Oh, are you going to be handling disguises, then?" Alastor had been prepared to handle his own, but he's kind of curious what Valera can do—is it going to end up being how he looked in life or is she just going to make something up?

Valera

"I am! Pentious and I can hardly show up looking like we do, and.. Well. You'd have an easier time blending in, but I think people would stare." A chuckle, and Val hops off the bed to come stand before Pentious. Her hands reach up to grab his shoulders, and.. In a sort of rippling, like the air got hot around them, he suddenly changes into Pentious ala Life, being supported by a fish holding his tiny human frame up.

Sir Pentious

Much alike to the conversation shared by Alastor and Pentious before, it would be easier to describe a Cobra first, and then say what was different. Pale as death, with bags under his eyes and quite the skinny frame--he's no longer towering over Valera, but at a neat and tidy 6'1". Long black hair that hangs down his mid-back, a grey and black pinstripe suit--the eye on his chest now replaced by a pendant. He was still wearing the bowtie he was given by Alastor. His eyes seemed to retain their eerie Hellish hue, but it looked more bloodshot than demonlike--even his hat was disguised! He wants to admire himself, but instead he's met with a /groan/, and finds himself slumping against Valera's much taller body, his legs totally giving out under him. Oh, this was very alarming.

Alastor

He automatically steps forward, reaching out to try to support Sir Pentious but stopping short of touching him. "You all right?" Oh, now that's a full transformation! And based on Sir Pentious's reaction, it seems to be material, not just an illusion pasted on top. (Either that, or it's just very uncomfortable.) Alastor's going to have to learn that trick.

Valera

Valera purrs, running her claws through Pentious' hair in comforting strokes. Second time this week her chest has become a cushion for a black haired human! A further conjuring, and she carefully lowers Penny into a wheelchair, blanket tucked over his lower half. And now, to approach Alastor with magic intent...

Sir Pentious

It is an incredibly strange thing to not have any feeling in one's lower body, but especially so when one used to have a different limb there ENTIRELY. He jerks his body to the left, and then remembers he actually has hips. Oh, NO! This is MUCH WORSE than he'd considered,... Sir Pentious is just going to sit in this wheelchair with a distant look in his eyes, considering the fact he is heavily vulnerable. Around people he likes, around people he likes, around people he likes... He's alright, Alastor, just shaken by the change. He hasn't had a human body, or even a humanoid body, in almost a century and a half.

Alastor

Alastor watches Sir Pentious for a moment, concerned—he seems sort of out of it—but maybe that's just the whole "no longer has a tail" thing. Alastor will let him be for a moment.

He turns to Valera, flicks a hand over one ear like he's brushing down his hair, and jokes "Just a little off the top, barber."

Valera

She snorts. "Do you want a shave with that? No no, let me surprise you. I know just the style." One hand reaches out, hesitantly, and with an abundance of signalling, to take Alastor's digits in her own cool, smooth grasp. Her other hand comes to lay on top. A gentle squeeze, another rippling, and Alastor is replaced by.. Well. Whatever he was in life, allegedly. It's a glamour based off memory.

Alastor

Oh he's being surprised. Eesh. Oh he's being touched now? EESH.

From his perspective, nothing has changed. Looking at his hands—well, same gloves, same sleeves. It takes him a moment to realize the world sounds a little different with his ears now on the side of his head—oh he hates that—and another moment longer to discover with his tongue that he's got molars again. Huh. He summons up his microphone cane. "Well, how do I look?"

It glances him up and down. "Like a geek."

"Thanks."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious is still in his own world--but it isn't until Alastor speaks and he DOESN'T SOUND LIKE A RADIO, does the Inventor turn his head to look--he has to mind his neck, it's no longer able to turn backwards. .... Oh, and he can't help the smile on his face, "WHY LOOK AT YOU! I'D ALMOST RESPECT YOU!" GEE, SUCH AFFECTION! But the tone of his voice is currently in banter... Penny has to steer his wheelchair so that he can face Alastor properly.

Valera

She drops his hand as quickly as possible, stepping back to admire her work. Yeah, that's a geek. Oh! Yes, her turn now. She changes herself in a fancy little twirl, no dramatic ripples needed. Valera? A giant fish? Nonsense, she's an endearing little 5'4" wavy haired platinum blonde with sweet brown eyes. A Very Nice Young Lady by All Accounts, modestly dressed for a showing of a new stage production. The same look she'd use for meeting someone's mother. Now back to fussing over Pentious. "How's the wheelchair? Do I need to make adjustments?"

Alastor

Alastor's a lot more mobile at the moment, he repositions himself so Sir Pentious doesn't have to do as much moving around to face him. "Only almost? Glad we haven't gone TOO far, then." He smirks down at Sir Pentious. "And look at YOU. Why, if I didn't know you, I wouldn't immediately notice you're the embodiment of evil itself."

Well, look at the three of them. Alastor has gone from the shortest to the tallest and that's even with losing—he uses his cane to guesstimate—nearly a foot and a half of height.

Sir Pentious

He can't help but laugh at that--no offense taken. Sir Pentious leans on his gloved palm, chuckling as he pats the blanket covering his legs. ... Legs. Very weird to think about, "YES, WELL, IT IS ALWAYS THE ONES YOU DON'T EXPECT, ISN'T IT?" He's still very loud. That might just be a Him thing. He turns his head to face his beloved, and look at how his pupils widen, just a touch. Oh, he is Looking at her. "Valera???" OH!! MY! GOD! He's taken, indeed. And then immediately he's looking away, clearing his throat, "It is satisfactory, I do not feel uncomfortable, mind you I can barely tell I have anything below my waist, it is entirely new sensations."

Valera

What a reaction! Watch it, Pentious, you've got her blushing. In retaliation, she dips down to plant a kiss on his cheek, giggling in place of her usual purr. "Glad to hear it! Now, I already set the box up for us ahead of time, so unless anyone has objections, I can take us straight there!"

Alastor

"It's always the ones with the most innocent-looking smiles, isn't it?" Speaking of, he probably shouldn't be SMILING, should he? That'll look weird in New York. (It looks weird in Hell too, but like, it's kind of his thing.) He'll have to... consider that.

He steps back to give the two of them their moment until Valera addresses them. "Ready whenever you are!"

Sir Pentious

"YES, THAT SOUNDS ALRIGHT TO ME." He clears his throat again, trying to dab any potential lipstick off of his cheek with a handkerchief. He is so pale that bright red or really any color would be all too noticeable. "LET US BE OFF, THEN."

Valera

Don't worry, Pentious. Valera waited until AFTER planting one on you to put her lipstick on. A moment while she checks her makeup.... Okay. "Alright! Lets be off then. One last thing. Both of you still have your physical strength and powers, just to be on the safe side. New York City can be a nasty place." Alright. Warnings done, now she takes Pentious by the hand, Alastor by the cuff of his sleeve (apologetically), and shunts the lot of them off to their prebooked box.

Alastor

He still has his WHAT? In the MORTAL realm? He's pretty sure the mortal realm cancels those abilities out—or maybe it was just having a mortal body, he hasn't exactly had a chance to experiment. Hopefully he won't need to find out.

Well, he's immediately leaning over their box's railing to see what New York City Of The 1960s looks like. From his current vantage point... New York City looks rather like the inside of a theater. Imagine that.

Sir Pentious

Pentious is never, EVER going to get used to that sudden teleportation. It makes him dizzy--as most things do. Good to know that he'd still have his strength, although most of that was in his tail. Now he's wondering if he has a mysterious ghost appendage. Hmm. His seat in the box is nonexistent, meaning it would be perfect for a wheelchair. How accomodating. Penny moves a little closer to the railing so he can peer down as well, a wide smile on his face. "AFTER THIS PERFORMANCE, I SHOULD LIKE TO SEE THE WORLD OUTSIDE--I'VE NEVER BEEN TO NEW YORK MYSELF."

Valera

She moves further into the box, taking a peek into the theatre. Yes, JUST the right view. It was worth shelling out all the money for this. Though while she's here... Pentious having hair is such a novel concept. She is going to Touch It. "Oh of course my love! This is the Earth you hail from, you know! You should see what's changed since you've last been around!" Ohoho, she thinks she's SO funny.

Alastor

Alastor beams at Sir Pentious. "I haven't been here in, oh... well, based on the current time, probably about forty years, give or take!" God, his voice sounds so WEIRD. "I oughta take you two to all the hottest spots and find out whether they're still hot!" As well as find out whether they were wheelchair accessible. Not a concern he'd had last time he was in town.

Sir Pentious

Look at all of these smilers. He flinches when he can feel his hair touched--it doesn't FLOOMP like a hood anymore, just moves as hair should. Long and shiny, beautiful hair. So well kept, he must have brushed it very often. And he did. For hours, if necessary. Sir Pent leaned back against his seat, finding it tiring to try to use his upperbody for leaning forward alone! "MY EARTH, BUT YOUR HOT SPOTS? NYA HA HA!" He still says that, "IT SHOULD BE A TREAT. I LOOK FORWARD TO IT! PERHAPS I'LL ENJOY A 'JAZZ LOUNGE'?"

Valera

Well, let it not be said that this isn't Pentious, weird laughter and all. Valera takes a seat, adjusting her dress as she readies herself. "By all means, Alastor. Wow us! Show us your old haunts. And yes, a jazz lounge. I want to see Pentious listen to jazz music."

Alastor

Oh he kinda wants to touch Sir Pentious's hair too. He'll just. watch.

He tried to remember when they'd started being called "lounges" instead of "clubs," couldn't, and decided the difference wasn't that important. "Sure—if I can figure out where they're hiding jazz these days!" And if he could figure out where all three of them could sit together without anyone stirring up a brouhaha at the sight. What was segregation in the 60s in NYC like? Probably better than the 20s, but he hadn't kept up with mortal realm politics after death. "Maybe we can pick up a secondhand trumpet somewhere and I can squeeze onto the stage, show you two what I can REALLY do."

Sir Pentious

He's probably not okay with being touched by Alastor just yet, but, give him time to settle down. He's reached for his fiance's hand, lacing fingers with her as he waits for the show to begin, "HA HA HA! YOU WOULD INTERRUPT THE SHOW HERE? OF COURSE YOU WOULD."

"OH, I WAS DEAD. HA!"

Alastor

"I meant at a jazz club! They tend to take that sort of thing more lightly than Broadway."

Valera

"Dead and.. what's the phrase? Raising Hell, my love."

Sir Pentious

"MmmmHmmmm."

Alastor

Sits by Sir Pentious. "But only a couple years dead! It's practically contemporary to you!"

Sir Pentious

"OH IT IS."

Alastor

Oh even the characters walking around are being being musical about it, Alastor's already charmed. :)

Valera

"I bet they'd let Alastor on the stage for this production as an extra."

Sir Pentious

"YOU KNOW, THEY JUST M--" Oh singing!

Valera

"I like her outfit."

Alastor

"And here's our star!" 8)

Valera

"She's pretty! Wish my matchmaker had been so charming."

Sir Pentious

He's trying to speak quietly, but he's still Pentious, "OH! She is really in your style, Valera."

Alastor

"... You met through a matchmaker?"

Sir Pentious

"HM??? OH, NO, NOT VALERA AND I."

"A woman like HER was rare in London. Perhaps in Paris."

Alastor

Well that raises more questions about why Valera was getting matchmade elsewhere.

Valera

"I was briefly engaged to a childhood friend! All Veci of fine breeding see a matchmaker when they reach adulthood."

"I was too busy for marriage though, so I just hired him to work for me instead."

Sir Pentious

Pentious is just idly nodding. This sound about right for himself, too. Well, except that part. HA!

"THIS MUSIC feels very much like your STYLE, Alastor!"

Alastor

"Really! Lucky I'm not Veci then. Although I doubt I would have been considered 'of fine breeding' anyway."

Sir Pentious

Snort.

Alastor

The brightest smile. "You know, it IS my style."

Valera

Snrk

"It's jaunty! But I'm sure your breeding was perfectly fine, my good fellow."

"This guy sucks."

Alastor

Snorts at "impractical seven-foot-tall nincompoop." He's gonna remember that the next time he needs to drag himself.

Valera

PRACTICALLY UNINTENTIONAL... Pffffffffff

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious is GIGGLING!

Alastor

"I wouldn't mind tossing out a great-grandparent or two, but aside from that I think it isn't bad."

Oh good they're having a good time already. Alastor just... llleans a little closer toward Sir Pentious's seat.

Sir Pentious

"IT'S TRUE. NYA HA HA!!"

Valera

"Oh, what a lofty title!"

Alastor

"Those two remind me of your eggs. They've got that air of... golly-gee-whiz about them."

Sir Pentious

The closer one leans to him, the more noticeable it is the little sounds he makes idly. Humming, but spotty. Audible swallowing, the like.

Valera

Nudges Penny with an elbow

Sir Pentious

"YOU KNOW, I WAS JUST THINKING THE SAME THING. HE REMINDS ME OF ME A LITTLE!"

Valera

"I was thinking the same!"

Sir Pentious

He's so glad his eggs aren't here.

Valera

"Though you ask me to do that nonsense and I'm liable to flip you like a pancake."

Alastor

"If I remember correctly, there's a rather sly reprise of this one later."

Valera

"Pentious. Saying it now, you're in charge of the plumbing."

Sir Pentious

"OH, EXCELLENT! And Valera, if I should get a stable, I'll let you know, HEE HEE HEE!"

Alastor

Right now Alastor's identifying with that long-suffering horse in the middle patiently enduring all these men singing about heterosexuality.

Sir Pentious

HE'S LAUGHING, COVERING HIS FACE. Why does this remind him of himself and Valera.

Valera

Snrk snrk.. "Alastor, was there a reason you suggested this show?"

"She's even less subtle than I am!"

Alastor

"Because the two of you like The Mikado! All the matchmaking comedy, dancing around arbitrary social rules to try to hook up a bunch of little pairs—I thought you'd appreciate this plot too."

Sir Pentious

He turns and smiles at Alastor! "Well chosen, I am having a good time, Alastor! You know me too well."

Alastor

He's beaming just about wide enough to split his face in half. "I try."

Is Alastor leaning a little bit closer? He is.

Valera

Hum... A tap at her chin as she squints at the actress. "I may have to steal this look. The lace is impeccable."

Sir Pentious

"You really Ought to, but you'd never catch me in a Bowler."

Alastor

"The costumes here are even better than the production I saw."

Sir Pentious

"IN HER UNDER--WAHA HAHA!!!"

Valera

"A card for every occasion!"

Alastor

Glances thoughtfully at Sir Pentious's hat. "... Can your hat still shapeshift like this? Or is it locked into one shape while we're disguised?"

Sir Pentious

He leans on his hand, smiling at Alastor. And he gestures up at his hat. The eye opens up, looking down at Alastor and shining a light on him, before it returns to being a normal hat!

Alastor

Oho! Alastor winks at the hat.

Sir Pentious

"OH, THAT'S GOING TO CATCH--"

Valera

"My goodness!"

Sir Pentious

"YES, my eggs indeed."

Valera

"Best not to let them near the matches, then."

Alastor

"Do you think they'd blow up your ship for a day off? I've always thought them more... slavishly devoted than that."

Sir Pentious

"THEY WOULDN'T BLOW IT UP FOR A DAY OFF. THEY WOULD JUST BLOW IT UP, BY ACCIDENT."

"I MADE THEIR LIMBS SHORT ON PURPOSE."

Alastor

"I could see THAT."

Tapping a foot to the music. Tap tap tap.

Valera

Hmmmhmhmm~ There go her fingers, wiggling to the jaunty tune.

Sir Pentious

"AHAHA!"

Alastor

It's a good thing they have a box, because they would be the most obnoxious people in the theater.

Valera

"You know, I've never actually ridden a train come to think of it."

Sir Pentious

They would be, and they'd have fun with it.

"How colorful! If this were set in London, it would be raining all the time."

SNORT,

Valera

Valera hums a few bars from Johanna....

Alastor

"I'm sure she's got a little card in her purse saying 'Clouds dispersed and rain dispelled.'"

Sir Pentious

"Look at her SLEEVES!"

Alastor

ALASTOR BITES HIS LIP valera PLEASE

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious DOES NOT CATCH ON.

Valera

"Quite the abundance of ruffles!"

Sir Pentious

Prrrr. Well he would. So instead he just drums his own throat.

Valera

She reaches... To take Pentious' hand again. Give.

Sir Pentious

And take it she does. Lacing fingers.

Alastor

Alastor is suddenly seized with a desire to wear an absurdly large floofy hat.

Valera

"The hat doesn't seem THAT provocative?"

Sir Pentious

He gestures to Alastor and Valera, and whispers, "You know, I am so glad that we do not have to worry about any 'oh but they BARELY know each other' drivel. That was unbearable before."

Alastor

Glances at. "Hm?"

Valera

"Psh, quite agreed my love."

Sir Pentious

"Oh--a picture show we watched. There was someone who kept going on and on about how everyone in the movie barely knew one another. That was the only comment they made!"

Alastor

"Sounds painfully dull."

Sir Pentious

He covers his face with his hand! Snort.

Valera

"And they hadn't even been in a relationship! Or at least nothing recent. Speaking from a truly outside perspective."

Alastor

This is an absurdly embarrassing example of flirting and it's DELIGHTFULLY amusing.

And that's when the afternoon went from good to great.

Sir Pentious

Pentious POINTS!!! "Look at that dress, Valera!"

Valera

"I'm looking!"

Sir Pentious

"Unshelled."

Valera

"Wow, suspicious!"

"The NAUGHTIEST man in New York City."

Sir Pentious

He puts his face against Alastor's shoulder, SNICKERING.

Alastor

:)

Leans against Sir Pentious.

Sir Pentious

He squeezes Valera's hand!!! "This AWKWARDNESSsss!!!" He's not even a snake anymore, but he's still dragging his S's."

Valera

"She's quite good at playing both sides of the field."

Alastor

Chokes back a giggle. Oh, the shenanigans are mounting.

Valera

"Oh no! The expensive peanuts!"

Alastor

"The unshelled ones, no less."

Sir Pentious

"HA!!!"

Alastor

"She choreographs them wonderfully, doesn't she?"

Sir Pentious

"I can guess why you wanted this show even more, Alastor."

"Oh! Are they going to fall on the floor with their enthusiasm--There it is!"

Valera

Snrk!!

"Well! They certainly handled it more gracefully than we did."

Sir Pentious

"CERTAINLY."

"Well, /I/ Was fine!"

Valera

"Were you? You wound up on the floor as often as I did!"

Alastor

... Straightens up a bit as he listens to this. Clearly the two of them are having a moment. Shouldn't lean in.

Sir Pentious

"GRACEFULLY!"

Valera

"So you say, my love!"

"Alastor, you really must try dancing with Pentious. His version of the waltz is ingenious, but damnably difficult to pick up."

Sir Pentious

He leans on his hands, grinning.

"YES, OF COURSE. TRY NOT TO TRIP YOURSELF UP, ALASTOR."

Valera

She's going to plant a peck on the corner of Penny's mouth. Then hand him her handkerchief. For the lipstick.

Alastor

"Why, Sir Pentious, I was told just a few days ago that you DON'T dance. I'd thought at the time it couldn't be true, but who was I to question it?"

Sir Pentious

He puts a few fingers to his pendent, looking offended, "What! Did you hear that from me? I simply CANNOT recall."

Alastor

"Not from you, no." Pointed glance past Sir Pentious toward Valera. What misinformation you've been feeding him.

Sir Pentious

He is dabbing his cheek with his handkerchief.

Valera

She grins! "Well

I'd

never danced with him at that point, I didn't know if he could!"

Sir Pentious

He's closing his eyes, listening.

Valera

"Dear Penny wont be doing any somersaults on stage, certainly."

Sir Pentious

A fool among fools, or a fool alone. He's gonna remember that.

Alastor

Mumble mumble "Hm, if I'd known you didn't know I could've said."

Valera

"Hm? What was that, dear fellow?"

Alastor

... Oh mumbling, he forgot that was a thing he used to be able to do. He's got a volume dial again! He can say things under his breath! Wow!

Sir Pentious

Penny looks RIGHT AT ALASTOR, "SSPEAK UP, ALASTOR, DID YOU SAY SOMETHING?"

Alastor

Ah, he's being paid attention to. "I'd thought the dancing was a difference between universes! That's all."

It's Angel Dust.

Valera

"Did your own Pentious dance?"

Alastor

"He did! Still does, I presume."

Sir Pentious

He's Listening, But He's Also Not Saying Much!

Applause! Applause!

Valera

"Marvelous! Marvelous!"

Alastor

"She has a presence, doesn't she?"

Valera

"She certainly does!"

~~~

INTERMISSION

~~~

Alastor

((i choose to believe that during intermission valera pulled out a phone to watch ASMR on and if they weren't in a box somebody would be leaning over staring at her cell phone like "what scifi star trek bullshit is this))

Valera

[[ LMAO yes

[[ it was watch ASMR on her phone or give in to the urge to sit on Pentious and start brushing his hair more

Sir Pentious

(( HE'D BE GOOGLY EYED

(( just smacking her, "GET OFF OF ME WOMAN WE ARE IN A THEATRE!!"

Valera

[[ SHE'S BEING GOOD!!!

[[ BESIDES THEY'RE IN A BOX SIR

[[ time to let the intermission music play out while everyone gets sorted

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious stretches his arms out.

Valera

Val, hastily putting her phone away.

Alastor

Gets comfortable. "Comfortable" means "already leaning toward Sir Pentious's seat like a paperclip drifting toward a magnet."

Sir Pentious

"Yeees."

Valera

"If I went through life kissing all the time I'd have a MUCH higher body count."

Alastor

"Somehow I managed to make it through my life only doing it twice!"

"And it was two times too many."

Valera

"My condolences!"

Alastor

Oh this is one of Alastor's favorite gags in the show, he hopes this production pulls it off well.

Sir Pentious

He looks over at Alastor and snickers, "DO YOU THINK SHARP TEETH MAKE IT WORSE OR BETTER? NYA HA HA."

Not that any had sharp teeth right now, but he was having a laugh.

Alastor

"Better." ZERO HESITATION.

Sir Pentious

He claps his hands. This is a great song.

Alastor

... Oh, this production left the gag out. What a pity.

Valera

Valera leans back in her seat. "She's certainly fond of earth tones."

Alastor

Leans over! "In the production I saw, they finished the song, danced off stage, and then came back on stage at the restaurant exhausted from the long walk and still trying to breathlessly sing about elegance."

Valera

"Ah, I suppose they decided to skip it. A shame!"

Alastor

And he's disappointed enough they left that out that he's GOTTA TELL THEM BOTH ABOUT THE JOKE

"It is!"

Sir Pentious

"That IS a good joke."

"HA!"

"Is that you, Alastor?"

Alastor

Side-eye. "Which one?"

Valera

Snrk

Sir Pentious

Penny doesn't say much at all, he's grinning from ear to ear.

Alastor

Props his chin in his hand. "I'd love to be in on the joke, but I don't know which character you're accusing me of being."

Valera

"That's how people talk about me in all the fine restaurants. Mostly the appetite though."

"Oh, the pig lady."

Sir Pentious

"She said DON'T TOUCH ME or something."

"It was very funny."

SNORT

Valera

"Now THAT'S service."

Alastor

LEANS AGAINST SIR PENTIOUS'S SHOULDER. "Oh, because I'm not very touchy?"

LAUGHS at the duck being shot mid-restaurant.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious bumps his shoulder right back, grinning like the snake you know him to be! "YES, EXACTLY THAT REASON!"

Valera

"I don't know, he seems pretty touchy to me." Vaguely confused squint???

Alastor

Exaggeratedly leans his head on Sir Pentious's shoulder. "Oh, you know me! Hate being touched. Can't stand it."

Sir Pentious

"Oh, me neither." He waves a hand, bouncing his shoulder and the deer's head atop it, "Dreadful! Can you imagine? Being TOUCHED." He's still got a hand laced with Valera's. Little squeeze.

Alastor

Bounce. He's gonna lean harder.

He's loving the waiters' dancing. The choreography looks even more complicated sideways.

Valera

This.. Might just be a bit she isn't getting? Best not to question it. She's just going to withdraw her hands back to fold neatly in her lap and focus on the show.

Sir Pentious

He notices that and. Turns to look at her. ??? What happened? Why did she pull away? He's not focused on the show now, just watching Valera.

Alastor

At this point Alastor is leaned over so far that his elbow is now on the wheelchair armrest instead of his own.

Valera

Val is VERY DELIBERATELY focused on the show, Pentious could do a somersault next to her and she wouldn't notice.

Sir Pentious

....... Aaand he handles this gracefully. Just kidding. He's Sir Pentious. So he shrugs Alastor off and sits back, arms folded as he scowls at the stage.

Alastor

Aw. Okay, got it, he took advantage of the bit a moment too long. He'll slouch in his own seat.

Sir Pentious

"HA, LOOK AT THAT. SHE OWNS EVERYONE THERE! WHAT A PRESENCE."

Alastor

"WHAT?!"

He's ON HIS FEET and LEANING OVER THE RAILING

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious looks wide eyed at Alastor, "WHAT?"

Alastor

He's doing a very bad job of trying to regulate his volume. "Nobody told me Louis was in this show!"

Valera

"Oh. Is that a problem?"

Alastor

"A PROB—?! He's the GREATEST— He's—!"

Alastor flops back into his seat, gleefully grinning, the happiest fanboy in the theater.

Valera

"One of the most influential figures in Jazz? I know."

"Thought you might like that."

Sir Pentious

He doesn't know, so he doesn't say much, but he is still looking sour faced, even if he is feeling Called Out By Mr Vandergelder.

Alastor

"Well you were RIGHT."

She's talking circles around him, what a performance.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious has a HEADACHE!

Valera

"You were right to suggest this show, Alastor. I always forget what a force Dolly is."

Alastor

"Isn't she, though!"

Valera

"She's quite a gal! Just the sort I'd either be or want to be friends with!"

Alastor

"You might like Rosie. This musical has always reminded me of her."

Valera

"Oh?"

Alastor

... It is beginning to dawn on Alastor that things are not all going well at the next seat over.

Sir Pentious

Oh, just an old man feeling insulted for one reason or another, reading too much into things!

Alastor

Alastor would rather he be enjoying himself during a comedy musical.

Valera

Snrk

Sir Pentious

"HA."

Alastor

Ah, good, he's recovering. Alastor doesn't need to intervene. Turns back to the show.

Valera

Grumble grumble. "Thank the gods I don't have to hear someone bitching that they barely know each other..."

Alastor

... This is a sappy song, Alastor's going to lean over the balcony again and see if he can see Louis in the orchestral pit from this angle.

Sir Pentious

This is probably the kind of song where he should hold Valera's hand, but the thought of it makes him feel frustrated at the moment because he's PRETTY SURE he did something to upset her in the first place, but he doesn't know what.

He wants to hold HANDS but it's not like they can TALK ABOUT IT.

Valera

The TINIEST sigh

Alastor

Okay, he's done trying to see Louis, he's getting back in his seat.

Valera

Snrk

Sir Pentious

"SHE IS THE MOST DIRECTLY INDIRECT WOMAN THERE IS!"

Valera

"She certainly is."

A low whistle! "Damn, get it girl."

Sir Pentious

"RIGHT ON THE STREET!"

You have no room to speak, Mr Picnic.

Valera

"Picnic, my dear."

Alastor

Slow side-eye.

Picnic???

Sir Pentious

HE IS IGNORING YOU!!!

Alastor

"... Well, this is very different from the production I saw."

Valera

"I like her outfit."

Sir Pentious

"COULD BUY A LOT BACK THEN."

Alastor

"They all got arrested after the brawl at the restaurant."

"I think I like that version better."

Sir Pentious

"HA! ARRESTED? THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER!"

Valera

"I can't tell if she's a gold digger or just a socialist."

Sir Pentious

"OH, HAHA!" He wants to cross his legs, and bounce his leg, but ALAS. No response.

Alastor

"They had Dolly staying at her seat at the restaurant while the brawl went on, switched out the set for a court room, but left Dolly at her table with her dinner—there was an extended gag where she noisily ate her dinner while everyone in the court stared at her, waiting for her to finish so they could start the next scene."

Sir Pentious

He SNICKERS, "OH, I'D RATHER LIKE TO SEE THAT."

Valera

"We'll have to see a production that takes itself less seriously, at some point."

Oh! Wiggly fingers.

Sir Pentious

He is glancing at her fingers.

Alastor

"Maybe only the production company in Hell thought up the gags this show didn't have. We can certainly find out!"

Valera

"Hah! Yes, I'd love to see Hell's take on this."

Alastor

Subtly watches this hand drama going on to his side. Nice thing about looking human: no glowing eyes to give away where he's looking when it's dark.

Valera

She glances over at Pentious, then down at her own hand, and back, cocking an eyebrow.

Sir Pentious

He is looking at that wedding outfit with big eyes.

Valera

Offers? Hand?

Alastor

Considers elbowing Sir Pentious and telling him to take it. That'll probably just annoy him.

Considers reaching across Sir Pentious and taking it himself. That'll DEFINITELY annoy him.

Sir Pentious

He unfortunately is distracted by the APPLAUSE!

ROARING APPLAUSE!

Alastor

THAT'S FAIR, so is Alastor. He's leaning over the balcony to see when the spotlights highlight the band in the orchestra for their turn at the applause.

Valera

SIGH! But it's hard to be miffed, the show was more than good enough to warrant such an uproar

Yes yes, applause for the fine musicians.

Sir Pentious

He's so used to his hood floomping out when he's startled, it's weird that it doesn't right now. Hair. He is clapping along.

Alastor

"Well that was a delight! What a show!" Flops back in his seat.

Valera

"A truly excellent performance. I greatly enjoyed myself."

Sir Pentious

"IT WAS BETTER THAN I'D ANTICIPATED, GREATLY."

Valera

"Alastor, why don't you get yourself an autograph from Louis? I know he's signing them tonight."

Alastor

"I'm delighted it met with both of your approval!" Smirks at Sir Pentious. "I think that's approval, anyway."

Starts. "Is he??"

Valera

"Yes! I checked before I brought you here."

Alastor

Hand over heart. "Well, aren't you the most thoughtful alien I've ever met!"

Valera

"Depends! How many aliens have you met, my dear fellow?"

Sir Pentious

"YOU BETTER ACT FAST-- IT ALMOST SOUNDS LIKE THEY'RE GOING TO EAT THE FOOLS DOWN THERE WITH ALL THIS EXCITEMENT."

Alastor

"One. So I guess that makes you the most inconsiderate, too!"

"Oh, you're right. Do pardon me! If I don't find you back here, I'll meet you out on the sidewalk." A farewell nod, and he melts into the shadows.

Valera

Oh good, he's gone. Now she can start staring Pentious down.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pent had about the same idea! He turns to face her, squinting with irritation, "DO YOU MIND TELLING ME WHAT

THAT

WAS ALL ABOUT???"

Valera

"I could ask you the same! What had you so grouchy?"

Sir Pentious

"YOU PULLED YOUR HAND AWAY WHILE I WAS HOLDING IT! AND YOU WOULD NOT LOOK AT ME AFTER!" He scowls, "DO I LOOK DISGUSTING TO YOU OR SOMETHING?"

Valera

"I--" She stops. Squints. "Wait. You think you look disgusting?"

Sir Pentious

His eyes widen, and he GLARES, turning his head away, "DO NOT TRY TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT! WE ARE TALKING ABOUT YOU! AND NO, I AM NOT DISGUSTING! BUT CLEARLY, YOU DID NOT WANT TO

TOUCH

ME, SO YOU HAVE SOME SORT OF PROBLEM WITH MY PRESENCE!"

Valera

"I do not want to stop touching you, Pentious. I can't believe that's a thing I have to say to my fiance. I withdrew because I didn't know how to proceed with the.. bit? You and Alastor were having. It wasn't disgust."

Sir Pentious

Penny's arms fold tighter, and his shoulders raise as he continues to frown. His tail would be flicking irritably, had it been present. "THAT IS NO REASON TO PULL AWAY, AND TO IGNORE ME. I AM NOT

STUPID

, VALERA. I SAW YOU REFUSING TO LOOK AT ME."

Valera

"I promised that I wouldn't ignore you, remember? I was focusing on the show. You know. The stage production we came to see. Did you try to get my attention?"

Sir Pentious

He realizes that she's trying to put the onus on him! When he CLEARLY did nothing wrong--Sir Pentious takes in a deep, GRUMPY breath, exhaling just as grumpy! "PUTTING IT ALL ON ME? SO WHAT IF TWO MEN HAVE A BIT OF A JOKE TOGETHER. IT WAS NOT THAT 'DEEP', YOU COULD HAVE SIMPLY ASKED ME WHAT WAS GOING ON!"

Valera

An irritated little huff!!! "Pentious. I am not angry about you and Alastor having a joke. I want you two to get along. Why did you immediately go straight to that as the source of the problem?"

Sir Pentious

"BECAUSE HE WAS UPON MY ARM, AND YOU LET GO OF ME. I DO NOT KNOW HOW YOU THINK! IT SEEMED THE MOST LIKE CAUSE AND EFFECT!"

Valera

"Then ask? Don't just assume and get mad at me over it?"

Sir Pentious

"/YOU/ COULD HAVE ASKED, TOO!" Eye twitch. "BUT NOW WE ARE HERE, HAVING THIS RIDICULOUS ARGUMENT OVER A NONSENSICAL SITUATION THAT DOES NOT MATTER AT ALL, AND I FEEL AS THOUGH I AM ONCE AGAIN THE SOURCE OF ALL OF YOUR AGONY." Oh, that's some insecurity right there. He shifts, grabbing at the blanket to squeeze the fabric between his fingers.

Valera

Ah. Okay. Alright. Well that wont do. She's just going to bend down to put her face RIGHT in his and put one of her hands over his. "Pentious. If I were in agony as you put it, I'd have said something. Minor anxiety over not understanding a joke is hardly grounds for interrupting an otherwise good time. I moved my hand away because I was distressed, I don't know what else you read into it. But I will be clear. You are my fiance, I love you, and I'm still attracted to you no matter what form you take."

Sir Pentious

He is not Looking. Eye contact is not happening at this moment, but he is listening. At least, his face is inclined towards hers. Pentious is at the very least looking down at her hand, placed on one of his. There's that constant drumming to FIGHT inside of his mind, it makes his throat dry and his heart race with fury. But what sort of fight would this be? Uneven, unsatisfying, and not a very happy day at all. So he just nods his head, though his expression is still strained.

Valera

She glances around, making sure Alastor didn't meander his way back while they were distracted, and she leans in, nose bumping affectionately against Pentious' cheek. "Penny. We both could have asked, neither of us did. I offered my hand again at the end when I finally saw you looking, but you were distracted staring at the wedding. Now hold my hand before Alastor gets back and you clamp up tighter than a rusted hinge."

Sir Pentious

Penny's breath catches in his throat, and now his heart is pounding for a different reason. He's so pale and thin that Valera can likely hear, if not feel, his pulse. Red eyes look towards her, and he rigidly takes her hand, squeezing it tight, a deep breath filling his lungs.

Valera

"Good. Now remember. You're my fiance. I love you. I want to be with you." She pauses, nuzzling his face

more

. "This whole show I've wanted to sit in your lap and play with your hair. Terrible, I know. But I've behaved!"

Sir Pentious

OH. He swallows HARD, staring up at her. "I..." Would not be opposed. NO, YOU DEFINITELY WOULD BE, PENTIOUS. STRAIGHTEN UP, MAN. He coughs, clearing his throat and correcting his posture,, "WELL, THANK YOU FOR REMAINING BEHAVED. YOU'D TRAUMATIZE THAT OLD FOOL WITH BEHAVIOR LIKE THAT."

Valera

"Old fool? Dear, you're older than him by a fair bit, unless my ability to gauge human ages is way off base."

Sir Pentious

LET HIM HAVE THIS, VALERA

Valera

Never.

Alastor

Speaking of the old fool, guess who melts out of the shadows right then! "You know, I didn't actually expect you to wait for me!"

Oh, they're holding hands again. good to know whatever THAT was has been resolved.

Sir Pentious

Pentious' head whips around to look at Alastor, and he PULLS HIS HAND AWAY, as if the sight of them holding each other would allow the Radio Demon to see the EXTREMELY IMPURE THOUGHTS running through Pentious' mind. Also he hurt his neck turning that fast, and is now cradling it.

Valera

Val is all prepared to greet Alastor with a friendly hello, but then Pentious acts like Alastor caught them in bed together and she just. Stares at her beau with the most BAFFLED expression. "Wh..??" Ahem. "Welcome back, Alastor. Did you get your autograph?"

Alastor

... Huh. Oh. HE'S the problem.

"I certainly did!" He waves a record of the song Louis sang with an autograph on the record sleeve; and then offers over a SECOND one. "I thought you two might like a souvenir as well."

Sir Pentious

DON'T LOOK AT HIM, HE CANNOT ESCAPE!!! He cannot hide in his hood like before!!! So he just sits there, red faced. It's so very noticeable with how pale he is.

Alastor

"But don't let me"—make things awkward with his very presence, as per the Radio Demon's usual modus operandi?—"interrupt your conversation! I can wait outside the theater."

Valera

Val gives Pentious a little pat on the shoulder, and stands upright. "No, we were done. Penny's just embarrassed because I'm being terrible and improper. It's my fault. Don't worry about it. And thank you for thinking of us, you're so sweet." Pent is out of commission, so she'll take the record.

Sir Pentious

Don't mind him, he's just screaming inside of his head. Valera may also have to wheel him out of there, since all of his thoughts are on trying to think of aNYTHING ELSE. He's biting on the cuff of his leather glove. Everything is fine, he'll be fine. Having some air would be grand!

Alastor

And Sir Pentious isn't even talking to Alastor now. Yep. Should have waited outside. Duly noted.

Nothing he can do about it now, though. He pulls the curtain of their box open. "Then shall we?"

Valera

So! They! Shall!!!

[galadrieljones]

As You Were (Chapter 3)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret. While there, they meet a mother and son who, after a recent, tragic event on their family farm, are fighting tirelessly for survival. In an effort to find hope for the future, the two groups set out west together, growing closer over time, making choices and altering paths that will change the course of their lives forever.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second. Joel lives.

Chapter 3: The Driftless

“When you’re lost in the darkness, look to the light.”

After dinner, Joel insisted on cleaning up. Cici said she'd show him around the kitchen, the downstairs. The food had been really good, like way too good. Ellie had never had lamb before, ended up eating almost as much as Noah. At some point, though, while everybody was making small talk, she became dreamy. She was looking out the window, pressing her thumb lightly to the blade of her knife, finding shapes in the stars. Noah came over after everybody was finished with the meal and asked her if she wanted to come with him, out to the Crow's Nest, to help him with something.

"What are we doing?" said Ellie. It was probably about ten o'clock and full dark outside.

"It's a mess out there," he said, throwing the shotgun strap over his shoulder. "I just have to go haul some stuff out. You can come, if you want."

"Yeah, sure," she said. She smiled and closed up her blade. "Let's go."

But then, Joel said, "Ellie."

His voice was big, and deep, like space. Whenever he said her name like that, she immediately found his eyes. Something about choosing to stick together like they had. You can't really unstick.

"What's wrong?" she said.

He was standing with his hands in a basin, which was full of soapy water. The faucets didn't work anymore, said Noah. Nowhere in the whole house, or on the whole property. The running water was completely unusable. Ellie thought it was a little funny, seeing Joel do dishes. She'd never thought of him like that before. He wiped his soapy hands on his jeans, and then he looked down at them and seemed to reassess what it was he was about to say. She was listening. "Just be careful," he said, looking at her in a way that meant compromise.

"Sure," she said. "I will."

"Thanks, Ellie."

"She really listens to you," said Cici, once the kids were gone. She was taking the vacuum out of a broom closet by the front door. "Or is that just when other people are around?"

Joel stopped what he was doing, his hands back in the soapy water. Admittedly, he felt like a stranger in a kitchen like this. It had been too many years. "You mean Ellie?"

"Yeah," she said. "It can't be easy, with just her dad."

"Ellie ain't—she ain't my daughter," said Joel, remembering, suddenly, that Cici did not know. Noah knew, but the particulars of their relationship at large had not come up yet. It just wasn't important. "I'm just looking after her. For the time being."

"Oh," said Cici. She was surprised. "I'm sorry. I just figured."

"It's okay," said Joel. He started washing the plates with a sponge. "Back in Boston, there was a lot of...violence. A small group of us were trying to get out of the QZ," he said, scrubbing. "My brother lives out west, got some sort of set-up there, so that's been our plan, to find him. Some of us got as far as Pittsburgh. But me and Ellie, we're the only two made it this far." He looked down at the plate. It was like a coral color, porcelain.

Cici was quiet. When he turned around, she was just holding the cord to the vacuum cleaner, staring at it like she had forgotten what it did. "Well, we're glad you found us," she said. “Despite the circumstances.”

"Us, too," said Joel. "Y'all said you were in need of some real help. I've been wondering what kind."

She went to plug in the vacuum, but she didn't turn it on yet. Instead, she just stood, like she was piecing something together in her mind. "Infected,” she said. Then she was examining her fingernails. She had her hair braided about halfway down her back. She didn’t seem to want to look him in the eye. “They been tearing up our land,” she went on. “More keep coming, from up the river. And every time they do, they blow the mines on the perimeter. Yesterday, they brought down a tree. Noah had to rewire the entire valley and dig a whole new trench. I help as much as I can, which is usually enough, but given the volume of work, there’s only so much I can contribute these days, reasonably. I just—you coming along, it’s like happenstance.”

Joel took a deep breath, looked down at his watch. He had his sleeves rolled up above his forearms. “How many mines you got down there.”

“Over a hundred,” she said. “There’s IEDs, too. Some can be detonated remotely.”

”Who’s building IEDs?” said Joel.

“I am,” she said. She offered zero explanation. “All the maintenance, everything, it’s getting to be fucking impossible.”

“Well,” he said. “Like I said earlier, I’ll help in any way I can.”

”Thank you,” said Cici.

"Do you have any idea what's bringing them down, the hordes?"

"We got some idea," she said. She bit off a hangnail. She told him he needed to talk to Noah.

"Okay," said Joel. It was a little like she had given up. He didn’t like that. He knew she was keeping something from him, but he didn't press. "You know I thought we might be able to get to all this over dinner,” he went on, “but then the food turned out to be a little too good. I forgot to ask."

She started loosening the plaits of her braid, smiled to herself. "Thanks," she said. She was a subdued woman, at least for the time being. "I mean, I don't think I've ever seen a girl eat as much as Ellie."

"It's mostly canned rations in the QZs," said Joel. "I ain't surprised. Other than squirrels and rabbits, we ain't had real meat in some time. Ellie's certainly never had lamb."

"Was she born in the Boston QZ?"

"I guess so," said Joel, realizing he didn't really know. "The woman who raised her, more or less, she was a Firefly. You know that group?"

"Yeah," said Cici, leaning on the vacuum. "I do, actually. A couple Fireflies came through here, maybe five years ago. They were looking to recruit."

"Anybody go with them?"

"No," she said. "They were spouting off all sorts of plans. Said there was gonna be a cure. But they were focused up in Minneapolis. We had a whole community here, going strong for a while. It was safe. Nobody wanted to risk leaving, not on a lark like that."

“Well, that makes sense," said Joel. He finished the coral plate, set it on the drying rack, then set forth on a plate that was more of a custard yellow. He didn't ask what had happened, with their community, and why it was she and Noah were out here all alone. He washed the dishes.

Cici turned on the vacuum, cleaned up under the table, and around Joel's feet. When she finished, she put it away and started wiping down the surfaces with a damp towel. When the dishes were all clean and drying, and Joel was drying his hands on a linen towel, she brought out the rest of the wine from dinner and poured it into two small mason jars, one for each of them. They sat down at the kitchen table, trying to undo a little bit of their strife as they stared down at their wine, their hands, their knees. As two adults, they were somewhat unaccustomed to small talk. It was easier to hide things, for both of them. They were trying very hard though. Joel could tell that Cici was, not uncomfortable, but a little awkward. She just didn't know what to say to him.

"So," he said, after a little while. "Noah. He's what, eighteen, nineteen years old?"

"He's seventeen," she said, drinking. "He'll be eighteen in a couple weeks though."

"He's big for a seventeen-year-old," said Joel, drinking. "Pretty tall."

"His dad played football at Madison," she said. "He was a tight end. It runs in the family."

"You don't say."

She got a little red in the cheeks, and sipped her wine. "Noah is a good son. He does right by me, and by this farm."

"I can tell." Joel drank some of his wine, too. It was a little thin, made from cabernet grapes they had grown in a vineyard out back. That’s what Noah had said. Grapes don't grow in Wisconsin like they do in California, he'd said. But they do grow. "I will admit that I was a little surprised,” said Joel. “You look kind of young to have such a grown-up son. That's a compliment, by the way."

It was like she was trying to smile, but she hid it. "I'm thirty-six," she said. "I had Noah very young."

"I get it," said Joel. "You don't have to explain anything to me."

They sat for a little while, drinking their fruity wine and listening to the nature sounds coming in the open windows. The river rushing, snaking through the property like a silvery ribbon, the crickets big and deep. The clock on the wall.

"You know, I noticed, on the drive in, this place don't look like what I thought Wisconsin was supposed to look like."

"How so?"

"It's so hilly," he said. "With the stone ridges and the outcroppings, the rivers and the terrace farms. I thought Wisconsin was supposed to be pretty flat."

Cici got up then. She went to the record player, on a shelf by the TV, and she was rifling through a stack of vinyls. "Most of it is," she said. "But where we are, it's different. You ever heard of the Driftless Area?"

"No," said Joel. "What the hell's that?"

She chose one vinyl from the stack, slid the record from the envelope. "It's this small area around the upper-Mississippi, in the floodplain of southwestern Wisconsin mostly, some parts of Minnesota and Iowa. During the Ice Age, you know, the glaciers came down, flattened out everything. That's why Wisconsin is the way it is, but down here, in this tiny little corner, it escaped glaciation, somehow. It just missed us. There are no leftovers from the glaciers, or glacial deposits I guess, and so that's why the terrain looks the way it does, like the waterfalls and the cold streams, all the tributaries and big ridges and everything, the high forests. There's no drift. It's driftless." She was centering the record on the spindle.

Joel was looking down into his wine, feeling dumbfounded. "You're telling me the geography around here ain't changed in a hundred thousand years?"

"More or less," she said, setting down the needle. "It's some of the best trout fishing in the world, where we live."

"Y'all must fish a lot then. Does Noah get out there much with his line?"

"Not anymore," she said. Something about the sound of her voice, he knew that was the end of their talk on the Driftless.

The record player crackled and clicked. A song came on. The music filled the house. It was almost joyful. Joel had been daydreaming at first, but then he realized that he recognized the voice. "Is this Ryan Adams?" he said.

”Yeah," said Cici. “You know his stuff?”

“I do,” said Joel. “I saw him live in Dallas, all the way back in, what was it now, 2004?"

”Really?" she said.

”Really.”

”That's amazing. But you’re so old.”

He laughed. This surprised him, the sudden levity between them. “Well, I was a teenager.”

”What are you now, like forty-five?”

He gave her a look. "You gonna guess my age, Miss Cici?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm sorry. Is that weird?"

”Not really," said Joel. "I'm just messing with you. If you must know. I'll be forty-eight at the end of the month.”

"How old is Ellie?" said Cici.

"She's fourteen," said Joel.

"What does she like?" said Cici. “I mean, what are her interests?”

Joel wrapped his hands all the way around the mason jar, as if to heat the wine within. "She likes comic books," he said. "I try to pick them up for her, whenever I find some. I've heard her sing, too, whenever we're on the road. She ain't half bad, and she tries to whistle every now and then so I think she likes music. But the place she grew up, it was basically a military prep school. Real stifling. She ain’t really used to having the liberty of interests."

"I thought you said she was raised by Fireflies?"

"It's complicated," said Joel. He swallowed some of the wine.

"I see," said Cici. "How long have you two been traveling together?"

"A couple months," said Joel, right away. "Seems like forever."

"I'm sorry about your people, from Boston," said Cici. "The people you said you lost. I don't know what to say."

Joel saw the shape of Tess, darkening the doorway. It seemed to drop a shadow, over the room, his insides, just for a second. He blinked. “You don't have to worry about me,” he said. Then he looked at Cici. Her face was pretty. Anybody would have noticed as much. "I'm fine."

Her eyes were dark, her braid undone over her shoulder. She drank her wine and said softly, "Okay."

Once they got outside, Ellie looked up. The sky swam darkly. The stars here were like nothing else, she thought. Maybe a million ribbons, maybe fishes in a black pool. It seemed to breathe up there, to teem. Teem. That was the word. She wanted to tell Joel. She thought it was a neat word, he might appreciate. She was used to feeling desperate, warm floods—of emotions, which she would then bury deep inside of herself.

She followed Noah, trailing slightly behind. They spoke little. He did ask her how she felt about it, out there. The farm.

"I love it," she said. "You're so lucky."

They walked back down to the gate where they’d first met. When they finally got to the crow’s nest, Ellie needed a boost up to the ladder, and then he followed up behind her. When she got to the top, she dusted her hands off on her jeans and looked around.

It really was like a little nest, she thought. It was totally his. There was an oil lamp glowing on a low table, and stacked up beside it were dozens of paperback novels. Names like Ernest Hemingway, Cormac McCarthy, Jim Harrison. Noah started cleaning up, right away. Tidying things, sweeping the floor with an old straw broom. There were a couple bean bag chairs with neat, psychedelic patterns, and a battery-powered hot plate, and some dirty plates, bottles and mugs. She could tell he spent a lot of time in the crow’s nest, alone. She could tell that maybe he liked it to be neat and clean up there at the start of each new day.

As he stacked up the plates and things and swept the floor, she flipped through some of the novels on the table. There was one book that was open, conspicuously, on top of the rest. That one, she did not touch, for fear of losing his place. “You like to read?” she said, stupidly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you ever read comics?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “I have a bunch inside.”

“Sweet,” said Ellie, looking around. There were some posters on the wall, nothing she recognized. One was for a band called Pearl Jam. “I was reading this one series. It’s called Savage Starlight. I mean, it’s stupid. You heard of it?”

“No,” said Noah. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about this chick,” she said. There was a quilt, draped over one of the bean bags. The craftsmanship was very lovely. Ellie ran her hand over the soft knitting. “Her name is Dr. Daniella Star. She’s like a scientist. She invented some kind of crazy time travel, and it’s just like, her adventures in space, I guess.”

“Sounds pretty intense,” said Noah. He dumped the dirty plates into a canvas rucksack. He set the broom against the door jamb. “There’s a comic store in Viroqua. We could go pillage it, maybe tomorrow night? I bet you’d find some of them there. They have a lot of super obscure stuff. And the town isn’t too badly looted. There’s a lot left.”

“Really?” said Ellie. “Are there any people there?”

“No,” said Noah. “Not anymore.”

“Right,” she said.

They climbed back down the ladder. Noah said, "You wanna see the river?"

Ellie said yes. Hell yes. She did want to see the river. She'd never really seen a river, not a real one, not up close. Or at least she didn't feel like she had. They went along a little grass path. Ellie looked up some more, up at the stars, the Milky Way, listening to the nighttime birds and the crickets. Then they came to a river. Noah stopped, and she stopped. It was just this small thing, smaller than she had expected, maybe ten feet across, cutting through the grassy field, snaking around like a ribbon. It was enchanted, almost haunted, how it rippled. Little rapids, here and there. It was so beautiful.

“What's this river called?” she said.

"Technically it’s a creek,” he said, surveying, real pensive. “It flows out of the Kickapoo River, which is a tributary of the Mississippi.”

“Man,” she said."This whole place. It's like, perfect. Like a dream. In the QZ, we couldn't leave. We couldn't go outside the gates. If we did, and we got caught, they wouldn't let us come back. But here it’s like, you're free. Do you love it?"

“I guess,” said Noah. He’d set down the rucksack, his shotgun. “I mean, I don’t know anything else. You didn’t like living in Boston?”

“Not really,” said Ellie. “But I guess—I guess I didn’t really know that until I left with Joel.”

"Why'd you guys leave."

"Too dangerous, I guess. Some...bad stuff happened. In Boston it was pretty bad, but then in Pittsburgh...It’s a long story."

Noah waited, like maybe to see if she was going to keep talking. When she didn’t, he just said, “So he’s really not your dad, huh?”

“No,” said Ellie. “No. He’s just—Joel.”

“He seemed to get kind of worried when you left the house.”

“That’s how he is,” she said. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Like back in Pittsburgh?” he said.

She was watching the dark river in the moonlight, all unfolding, the tall grasses on the other side, blinking with fireflies. “Pretty much,” she said.

He took a deep breath then, which made her nervous. He got down to one knee, opened up the rucksack, and from inside, he took out a clear empty bottle from up in the Crow's Nest.

"What are you doing?" she said.

He didn't answer. He just blew the inside of the bottle dry, and then he dipped it into the river, filled it up with water. "It's not perfect here, Ellie," he said. “I know it seems perfect to you, and free, but it’s not.” He fashioned a lighter from his pocket, let it illuminate the bottle.

Ellie crouched down beside him, curious, but confused. She looked at the water in the bottle. She sensed a darkness, all around them. In Noah’s voice, hidden in the moonlight and the greenery of the terrain. But she didn't understand. "What do you mean?" she said. "Is this about what you said upstairs, how we shouldn't drink the water? What's wrong with it?"

"All the water, flowing out of the Mississippi, down from the north, is poisoned," he said.

"Poisoned,” she said, gazing into the light. “With what?”

He pocketed the lighter, tossed the bottle into the river. They watched it sink. “Spores.”

[dawnrider]

One shot fluff prompt, I would love to see your take on this. Inuyasha as a single parent taking his adopted son, Shippo (they have more of a big brother/little brother bond) out to the book store to buy manga as he is starting to get into reading them. Spots the very beautiful Kagome (who works there)but is way too shy to go talk to her. After seeing her, he starts taking shippo there every weekend. Observant shippo notices this and encourages inuyasha to ask kagome out.

Ok Anon, I apologize for this taking so long to finish.  Side effect of having too many WIPs and this one-shot inspiring a second more than fluffy part that has yet to be written. SOOO…  I tweaked it a bit but it will fit your prompt more as the second part develops.  I hope you like it!

Watching the red ponytail in front of him bob, Inuyasha tried to breathe shallowly while keeping track of his charge.  There were so many people, so many smells, it was hard for him to focus.  But he was responsible for Shippou and if he lost him in this crowd, they would probably arrest him… or something.  This is all Miroku’s doing anyway, he thought with a scowl.  He didn’t mind the kit, really, but the outings on a weekly basis were tough.  Inuyasha didn’t deal with people well and Shippou was absolutely a people person.  Everyone he met was practically his new best friend!  The inuhanyou, on the other hand, often felt like a rock was sitting on his chest when he was in situations where he had to “chat” with people he didn’t know.

“Big Brothers and Big Sisters would be perfect!” Miroku had told him with the enthusiasm of someone knowing their idea would be denied out of hand.  He was persistent though, keeping after his friend of over a decade until he finally caved and applied.  Inuyasha was honestly a bit surprised they had accepted him.  He was a business analyst who spent most of his time in a cubicle avoiding actual direct communication with his coworkers.  That’s what email was for!  He was stable, no record (surprisingly), and was successful on paper.  But he was also boring and a hanyou.  Not much to promote him as a child mentor.

Here he was, following a very animated nine-year-old kitsune through the congested streets of the city on “Comic Book Day” to go to the “best bookstore in town.”  Not his favorite thing to do, especially on a weekend when it was bound to be busy.  On top of it, people kept saying “May the Fourth be with you” and he was starting to feel like an idiot for not understanding why everyone thought the date today was so funny.

Squeezing between a tall man in a costume covered in brown fur and the door frame, Inuyasha scowled as he caught the back of Shippou’s shirt.  “Hang on, Runt!  I gotta be able to keep track of you.”

“I know, I know!  But looook!” he sighed as his green eyes took in all of the books around them.  There were large cardboard cutouts everywhere, and people in various levels of costume dress to rival the cutouts.  Inuyasha let out a breath and tried to use his calmest tone.

“I know you’re excited, but if I lose you, your foster mom is gonna string me up by my toes.”  Shippou snickered, but did settle himself enough to stick close by.  Inuyasha felt his heart rate infinitesimally slow.  With a close eye on the kid, he navigated the crowd with the goal of bumping into as few people as possible.

Then a scent caught his nose, a sweet and faintly floral note over a heavier one.  Inuyasha and Shippou both started following their sense of smell without realizing it, meandering toward what they eventually recognized as the cafe.  It was less crowded there for the moment, and the inuhanyou felt like his lungs could finally fill completely.  Something about the combination of scents was soothing in a way he didn’t expect to find in such a crowded place.

~~~~~~

“May the fourth be with you!”  The man startled, turning to find her behind the counter of the cafe.  He stared blankly at her, struggling with what the appropriate response should be.  “You know. Star Wars?  The Force?”  After a short moment his eyes widened and his mouth formed an oh of understanding.  It was probably one of the most adorable things she’d ever seen.  He wasn’t much into this stuff, but he was making such an obvious effort for the boy with him.  It was sweet, even if he was a bit awkward.  “Nathan had to remind me yesterday,” she whispered conspiratorially, nodding in the direction of her manager.  He was dressed, not very well, as one of the big superheroes from a more recent movie.  The man blinked his strangely colored eyes at her, then let a tiny smirk lift his lips.

“What is that smell?” the boy asked, coming up to the counter, red ponytail quivering as he openly sniffed in her direction.  Kagome grinned and pointed to the glass case.

“Just took the almond croissants from the oven. The almond is pretty strong, huh?”  The boy nodded emphatically.

“Butter.  That was the other smell.”

Kagome blinked, not sure how to reply to the older man’s somewhat random statement.  “Um.  Yes!  There’s quite a bit of butter in them.” She watched him pale, then the tiniest smile on his lips.  That’s even cuter than before! she squealed internally.  “You can try a sample…”

“I’m Shippou, and that’s my Big Brother, Inuyasha.”  The boy paused.  “But not like… my real brother, the program, you know?”  She grinned in response, giving Inuyasha a quick glance before returning her full attention to the enthusiastic boy directly in front of her.  He was eyeing the pastries expectantly, a glitter of hunger in his green eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Shippou and… Inuyasha, was it?”  Kagome bit her lip at the adorable blush that rose on his cheeks at having her full attention on him.  “You’re both welcome to try some, if you want.”  Shippou showed no qualms in accepting the small piece of the sweet, Inuyasha hesitating a moment before stepping forward to let her put some in his palm.  “Your cosplay is awesome, by the way,” she said with a glance at his hair and ears.  He startled at her words, golden eyes widening and the previous flush returning with a vengeance.

“Oh.  He’s not in costume.  Inuyasha is a hanyou,” Shippou commented around a mouthful of croissant.

It was Kagome’s turn to pale. “Oh my… I’m sorry, that was so rude of me to assume!”

“Keh.  S’alright.” His eyes dropped to the floor and she felt the loss of his gaze like the sun going behind a cloud.  The guilt at hurting him like that stuck in her throat and her eyes watered.  “Hey, it’s ok, really!  D-Don’t cry!” he begged her, stepping up to the counter and waving his empty hand in a stunted attempt to calm her down.  “Not many of us around, ya know?” he muttered, giving her a strained smile when she took a calming breath and blew it out slowly.

“Is it ok if I go look at that table?” Shippou asked, breaking them from their staring contest.  Inuyasha followed his pointing finger to the table of children’s comic books just on the edge of the tiled floor that outlined the cafe’s space.  He nodded, giving the boy a stern look that spoke volumes before leaning back against the counter. “Thanks!”

“He’s very exuberant.”

“You got no idea.  He’s all over the place.”  His voice turned sad.  “Not surprising.  Only kitsune in a foster home full of human kids.  None of them can keep up with him.”

“That’s great that he’s got you then, isn’t it?” she said softly.  Inuyasha glanced over his shoulder at her, a thoughtful look lowering his brows slightly.

“‘Spose so.”

~~~~~~

Her smile brightening after the previous near meltdown was a balm on his nerves.  He did not deal with crying.  Not at all.  If she had started, he probably would have bolted and the kid would have been called in as abandoned…  Stop spiraling, he scolded himself.  “How long have you been part of the program?” she asked, moving around behind the counter to clean up little messes here, imaginary spots there.  Inuyasha understood the need for movement when one felt uncomfortable.

“A few months.  It was my friend’s idea.”  He heard her pause.  He realized that it might sound like he wasn’t all that interested in this very big responsibility. “I-I wanted to do it. It’s important.”

A beep perked his ears and he glanced back to see Kagome put a pan of something into the small oven on the back counter.  “It is very important.  Especially for kids who don’t have a lot of positive role models.”  There was a repeat clicking sound as she set the timer.  “My younger brother was part of the program as a Little Brother when he was in middle school.”

“O-Oh yea?”  Inuyasha turned his body a bit so he could catch her gaze while still keeping an eye and ear on the kid.  “Are you… are your… Um.”

“My father died when we were pretty young.  Souta is six years younger than I am, so he never even knew him.”

“I’m sorry,” he responded a little awkwardly.  She shrugged.  “Did he feel like it was a good experience?”

“Yea.  He’s still in contact with his Big Brother.  He was even part of his wedding when he got married a few years ago.”  Inuyasha nodded appreciatively.  That’s the kind of experience he hoped he could give Shippou.  To be someone he could rely on.  Just need to figure out how to rely on myself.  “It looks like you’re a good fit.  He looks up to you, you know?”

Inuyasha blinked, staring at the young boy pouring over a colorful comic book with what looked like dragons on the cover.  “You think so?”  Shippou must have felt their attention, looking up before holding the paperback up for him to see the cover more clearly, grinning from ear to ear.  Inuyasha tossed him a thumbs up and a slight smile.

“Pretty sure,” she giggled.

“Kagome!  Are the sugar cookies ready for the decorating event?”  The pair startled from their comfortable lean on the counter at the male voice that sliced through the murmur of voices inside the shop.

“Oh!  Yes.  They’re all cooled, Nathan.”  Kagome pointed to the short rack of large cookie trays with nearly two dozen square cookies on them.  He could smell the vanilla and sugar from where he stood.  “I’m sorry, I have to get the tables set up.”  Inuyasha nodded, but felt a bit deflated at the lost chance to keep talking with her.  He actually liked talking with her.  It was honestly the first time he’d had that thought during conversation with a stranger.  A girl, at that!

“Keh.”  He paused.  “D-Do you need help?”

Kagome looked a little surprised, then smiled.  “That would actually be great.”  He checked in with Shippou, who was still flipping through comics, and got a waved hand and a sly grin in response.  Inuyasha chose not to rise to the bait in that grin, jumping back in to keep Kagome from dropping a very large folding table on her foot.

The pair of them continued to chat as he deftly unfolded the table, helping Kagome move the cafe tables around so they could fit more chairs into the small space.  It was easy talking with her, he noted, much more so than he ever would have imagined.  She was patient with his hesitations, never laughed when he said something slightly off.  Inuyasha barely felt the time fly by.  When children started gathering at the tables, most younger than Shippou, he almost wanted to shoo them away.  “Inuyasha…”

“Yea, I know.  I should get the kid home.”

“No.  Well… If you have to.”  He took in her scent, surprised by the disappointment coloring it.  Did she… not want him to leave?  “There’s another event for young readers next week, if you have another outing with Shippou.”

“I… Yea, I’ll bring it up to him.”  Inuyasha leveled her with a serious look for a moment.  “You’ll be here then too?”  The smile she gave him nearly stopped his heart.  She was so beautiful… and kind and sweet and… and…  “G-Good.  Maybe we’ll see you then.”  She nodded.  “Save a couple of those almond things for us, alright?  I’ll remember to bring cash next time.”  He turned to look for Shippou again, taking a breath to settle his heart.

“Inuyasha, wait!”  He stopped, spinning on his heel at her urgent call.  She nearly collided with his chest in an effort to catch him.  Inuyasha reached out to capture her elbows, not wanting her to tip backward.  “Take one for the road?” she breathed, her dark eyes drawing him in.  Her scent overpowered anything else in the cafe, even the previously overwhelming almond. Inuyasha found himself studying the way her personal fragrance tickled his senses, the feel of her soft skin against his fingertips. They both took a slightly shuddering breath, frozen in their half-embrace.

“Cool!  You gonna split that with me, Inuyasha?”  Shippou’s voice shocked them apart so fast, Kagome almost did stumble.  The hanyou finally noticed the partially wrapped almond croissant in her hands between them, which had been at severe risk of being squashed a moment before.  He smiled awkwardly, then accepted the pastry and softly thanked her.  He moved off with Shippou bouncing beside him in anticipation of his half.  “We’re so coming back here, aren’t we?” he asked when he finally had his piece and they were making their way back toward the public parking garage.  Inuyasha shrugged, trying - and failing - to be nonchalant.  “Yea, I thought so.  You toooootally love her,” he cackled.

“W-What?!  No!” Inuyasha balked at the bold statement.  The kitsune kit was absolutely in his element, giggling and taunting him as he skipped down the sidewalk.  “Hey Runt, that’s not funny.  Grown ups don’t just…” He hesitated, not because he wasn’t sure of the right explanation, but because it was hitting him that it was not an entirely off accusation.

“Fall in love at first sight?” Shippou crowed with glee.  Inuyasha snarled and snatched him up into a light headlock.  Shippou only delighted in the playful back and forth, Inuyasha unable to sternly refute the kit’s words.  What he did know was that they would be visiting the bookstore the following weekend. And likely the one after that, as long as Kagome was working again.  Might pick up a reading habit, he thought as they got into his car, half the pastry stuck in his mouth as he put on his seat belt.  There are worse things.

@lemonlushff, @fantastiqueparfait, @heavenin--hell, @clearwillow, @bearpluscat, @thunderpo, @keichanz, @meggz0rz, @disgruntledbeast, @sarah-writes-stories, @zelink-inukag, @rikareena, @cammysansstuff, @mcornilliac, @redflamesofpassion

I posted without tags the first and had to edit from memory!

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 10

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit/18+ warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark 

Penny never had difficulty sleeping. She was exhausted 90% of the time, between three jobs and everything that went into raising Peter, and could take a nap whenever the opportunity arose. It was a joke amongst all of her coworkers, that if you gave Penny an idle 10 minutes, she'd find a place to curl up and nap. She could sleep 16 hours straight happily if given the chance. 

Insomnia wasn't a part of her life. It was why finding herself unable to sleep was shocking to her entire system. The day of her punishment she took a nap and that was the last time she slept more than an hour at a time for the next three days. She wasn't sure if it was the fear and anxiety or the stress or any other combination of things, but she simply couldn't sleep. 

She didn't know if her kidnappers had noticed, strangely enough. They watched her constantly, tracking her movements and making notes of her habits, but never mentioned her sleep patterns. Or her eating patterns, for that matter. 

When Steve got up in the mornings, she waited about half an hour before getting out of bed herself. While he went for a workout, she pulled all of the curtains back from the floor to ceiling windows in the living room and laid on the floor in the sunshine. It was the only time she really slept soundly for longer than 20 or 30 minutes. By the third day, when she got up and went into the living room, the curtains had already been pulled back and the couch cushions were arranged like a pallet on the floor where she usually lay. An apple, which she had a tendency to grab in the mornings to hold her over until breakfast because half the time the only kosher food in the kitchen was fruit or vegetables, was already washed and cut and set on the coffee table. 

They never said anything about what she ate, even when Bucky made large, intricate meals and she avoided most of it. The first night he made spaghetti and meatballs with a side salad and she'd only eaten the salad. The second night had been pork chops and pasta salad— she'd dug out the last of the salad from the previous meal and a bit of the pasta before realizing there was bacon in it. Honestly she was starving, there was hardly anything kosher in the apartment and she was living off vegetables. 

Her captors were strange dudes. Sometimes they seemed chivalrous to a fault, set in some sort of bizarre gender stereotype; they would never sit before she did or start eating until she took her first bite. But Steve didn't like when she cursed or rolled her eyes and Bucky told her smoking wasn't ladylike when she asked for cigarettes. There was a weird dichotomy where they desperately wanted her to be happy in her imprisonment but simultaneously wanted to micromanage her behavior. 

After the fourth near sleepless night, she’d once again retreated to the living room once she was sure Steve had left. The spot in front of the windows was comforting for some reason, the warmth of the sun was encompassing like a hug but didn’t require touch. It felt safer than anywhere else in the apartment. 

She slept for at least an hour and only woke up to the sound of JARVIS playing a chime every few seconds, the noise slowly increasing in volume. As she blinked, slightly disoriented by the sound, and realized she was no longer laying on the cushions. At some point while she was asleep Bucky had managed to wedge his way beneath her, leaving her to lie on his chest. His arms were raised on either side of her head like he was holding something over her and the top of her head brushed his chin. 

At that point, her body didn’t even bother to instinctually tense. Even after such a short period of time, the panic response had lost its grip in the face of resentful acceptance. 

“Good morning, doll,” Bucky’s voice was a rumble beneath her more than a sound and she heard a page turning above her, “I can see why you like to lay here.” 

Penny didn’t bother answering, tired eyes tracking his movements as he lowered his arms and put a book on the floor. He didn’t look tired at all with his hair carefully pulled back into an artfully messy bun, fully dressed despite the fact that it couldn’t have been past 7 am. It was unfair how attractive they were, considering the position they had put her in. She’d never even considered a man bun atttractive before for fucks’ sake. After a short moment, his hands came back up to cup her face. 

Knowing the kiss was coming didn’t make it any easier to process or mentally prepare for. She didn’t want him to, it was disgusting, how dare he kiss her— but it was also so nice. Bucky was a really good kisser, both of the soldiers were, and it sent tingles down her sprine every time. The warmth from the sunshine was amplified by the feeling until it seeped into her veins and rendered her boneless against him. 

“Really good morning,” Bucky smiled against her lips, brushing his nose against hers as he pulled away enough to look at her, “Steve’s gonna be out of the shower in a few and we’ll head up to breakfast. Go get dressed.” 

Penny nodded in response, dazed, and let him pick her up and set her to the side of the pallet where it was easier to stand. The bedroom was still mostly dark, the heavy curtains drawn and the only light coming from the partially open bathroom door. The shower was running and she could hear Steve moving around as she walked to the dresser. 

There was a drawer dedicated to the softest clothing they’d purchased for Penny and she was especially taken with the shirts in it. They felt like ultra thin, soft cotton but were actually rather thick and warm. She pulled out a black one with long sleeves and traded it for the t-shirt she’d slept in. The same pair of jeans she’d worn the previous day followed and she tugged off her socks, prefering to go barefoot just because she could tell it bothered Steve. 

She stepped past the blond in question just as he came out of the bathroom, pretending not to notice the once over he gave her. The assholes weren’t exactly subtle, probably didn’t see the need to be. Bucky was waiting by the elevators when she walked into the living room, motioning over with the metal hand.

It had been days but she still hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask about the arm. Steve and Bucky both treated it like a completely normal arm, as if it wasn’t a super strong and incredibly high tech prosthetic, and she was afraid to mention it. Instead she tried to make sure she didn’t look at it for too long, or hesitate when he touched her with it just in case it made him angry. 

“Ready for breakfast baby?” He wrapped the arm around her shoulders and tugged her into his chest, ducking his head down to kiss her cheek. 

“Yeah,” Penny murmured, eyes tracking Steve as he also left the bedroom and crossed the room, kissing them each soundly before calling JARVIS to bring the elevator.

Penny had forced herself to become comfortable with any display of affection that came directly before getting to see Peter, just in case they decided to throw a hissy fit at her rejection and refuse to take her to breakfast. Despite the fact that she'd been promised she could see her brother multiple times a day, it had been limited to breakfast. She asked at least 20 times a day, can I see Peter now? I want to see Peter. I want to see my brother. They brushed her off every time, made some sort of excuse. 

It was part of their plan to make the siblings 'adapt' to their new lives. Penny could read between the lines and knew they didn't want them together too often to avoid any plotting. If they couldn't communicate enough to make an escape plan, they probably wouldn't try. It made sense, the clever bastards, but not being able to see her brother was wearing her down. Combined with the lack of sleep, she was beginning to feel more and more distraught. 

JARVIS was a small, unexpected saving grace. She wasn't sure why, but the AI would give her updates on Peter if she asked. Is Peter okay? Yes, Ms. Parker, he is currently in the lab. Is Peter okay? Yes, Ms. Parker, he is taking a nap at the moment. Is Peter okay? Yes, Ms. Parker, he is watching the original Star Wars trilogy. 

As they rode in the elevator up a few levels to what she'd come to realize was Stark's floor, she could see a very small red light in the upper corner. JARVIS was always watching, monitoring things like heart rate and temperature. He understood Hebrew if she spoke in it and would answer in kind, giving her a sort of privacy from the men boxing in her. The AI wasn't on her side per say, but the little things he did helped keep her from going crazy. 

When the doors opened, Penny didn't wait for the men to move before she began on her way to the kitchen. She would sit in a chair, despite the incredible amounts of pain it caused after her punishment, but would be transferred to someone's lap almost immediately. Likely Bucky, since they seemed to take turns and Steve had held her yesterday. They wanted to hold her and feed her. It restricted her movements, kept her farther from Peter, and drove her batshit insane. 

She quickly sat in the chair closest to her brother, forcing herself not to wince in pain and reached out for his hand. Peter was coping much better than she was, it was plain on his face and otherwise in his appearance. He didn't look happy necessarily, but he was sleeping and eating regularly. There was no visible cringe when Stark touched him, which she assumed meant the man hadn't hurt him. 

Penny had been considering for days what she would do if she walked into the kitchen one morning and found Peter injured. She was about .02 seconds from losing it at any second as it was, if she ever suspected Peter was hurt she would go ape shit. The goal would be to take Stark out as efficiently as possible— she'd likely only have one chance. She was pretty sure shoving a fork through his eye would be as effective as anything else. 

"You know, you get a very particular look on your face when you're considering killing me." 

Penny looked away from Peter just in time to see Stark before he swept her up out of her chair and sat down with her in his lap. Being as small as she was, it made manhandling her pretty easy in comparison to say, Peter, who despite being skinny was tall and ungainly to lift and carry around.

"Tony," Bucky sounded displeased but Stark waved him off. 

"My turn Winter Wizard," the older man snarked, tugging her snugly back against the line of his chest, "I love Penny too." 

Love. Stark didn't love Penny. She was half convinced he didn't even understand the concept, had it so thoroughly confused with obsession that he couldn't comprehend what love was. Love was selfless and unconditional, it was supposed to bring joy and comfort. Nothing about Stark's actions were any of those things, didn't provide a feeling of happiness and safety. Sitting in his lap was like sitting on a live landmine.

"What're your plans for today sweetheart? Peter wants to spend some time in the lab with Bruce— honestly I think he likes biology more than engineering, can you believe that?" 

Penny didn't answer, watching from the corner of her eye as Steve and Bucky sat down in the chairs around them. Steve sat opposite of Peter at the head of the table while Bucky took a seat to the teenager’s right, across from Penny and Stark. There was another comprehensive breakfast spread across the table, a quiche, pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese and ham, fresh fruit, sausage and bacon.

Every time they loaded plates for her, Penny found herself turning her nose up at at least half of it. She was pretty sure they were unaware that the siblings were Jewish, either that or they were too stupid to realize there were dietary restrictions involved in the religion. Peter was more lax than Penny, he didn't remember their parents as much and aunt May and uncle Ben hadn't been religious, but she still ate kosher about 75% of the time. Plus, most kosher foods just felt more ethical and humane. 

Not that the mother fuckers who'd kidnapped them had any idea what it meant to be ethical. Or humane for that matter. 

"Penny, words," it wasn’t an order necessarily but she'd come to realize over the few days she had been in the tower that Steve's tone left no room for disobedience. 

"I don’t have any plans," she tried not to overtly grit her teeth in irritation. 

Any other day she'd be at the daycare until 1ish, taking care of the babies. After that she'd go to her barista job and after that, she went to the grocery store to stock shelves over night. Penny didn't have downtime, she didn't have hobbies, she didn't do anything during the day other than work. Maybe that's why she wasn't sleeping at all; she wasn't doing anything. Certainly not half as much as usual. 

"Well, what would you like to do? What do you do for fun?" 

Simmering anger began to build under Penny's skin but before she could answer (and potentially get herself into trouble), Peter jumped in, "Penny used to knit. And you liked gardening, right? When we lived in the house you had all those plants and the garden out back." 

"Ma's garden," Penny twitched her nose, the movement preventing a facial expression from settling and giving away her emotions— she tried not to think of the garden, or the house they'd lived in before the accident, it made her too sad. 

"Bite, sweetheart," Tony directed when she went quiet, refusing to elaborate. 

The food on the fork was a piece of the quiche, something with spinach and cheese and bacon, and Penny shook her head. The bacon was bad enough, but putting dairy with it as well was too much for her to stomach. Stark hesitated for a moment before sighing heavily and putting the fork down, forcing Penny to turn slightly in his lap to face him.

"You have to eat, sweetheart," he looked just a shade short of irritated and a thrill ran through her, a mix of fear that he might hurt her if he got mad enough combined with dark satisfaction that her actions were having an effect on him even if unintentionally, "you're too skinny as it is and you can't keep refusing food."

"I won't eat it," she stated quietly, resolution in her tone.

The only things on the table she would truly be willing to eat were the fruits and the pancakes. The quiche had cheese and bacon, the eggs had cheese and ham, and the individual meats were pork. For some reason, the bites of food she wanted were few and far between compared to the dishes she couldn't eat. 

"It's not an option baby," Bucky's voice was soft and imploring. 

Irritation climbed up her throat. She wasn’t on a hunger strike, she wasn’t being difficult. They were the ones who'd snatched her up against her will without considering her needs and wants. They were the ones at fault and fuck if she was going to— 

"That's not kosher," Peter quickly pointed to the quiche, followed by the scramble,  "that's not either. The pancakes might not be either depending on the eggs. Penny will eat the fruit." 

"You guys eat kosher?" Bucky and Steve both looked startled and she'd bet Tony did too. 

She didn't realise they were all considering what they knew about Peter; Tony had taken the boy out to eat multiple times in the months before bringing the siblings to the tower and there'd never been any sign of a special diet. They were Jewish, yes, but Tony could clearly remember the teenager eating bacon cheeseburgers and shrimp alfredo. 

"I don't but Penny does."

Since they'd brought her into the apartment, the soldiers hadn't paid too much attention to what she ate. Salads mostly, pasta. They hadn't focused on what she was eating, just the quantity of what she ate. 

"Ms. Parker regularly checks with me before consuming anything," JARVIS announced to the silent room. 

Maybe part of the reason Penny wasn't sleeping was because she was hungry. Honestly she was always sort of hungry, Peter having plenty to eat was more important than her eating regularly, but she'd been really hungry over the past few days.

"Penny why didn't you say anything?" Steve looked stricken and Bucky's face was ashen; he'd even talked to Wanda about kosher foods before they'd assumed the Parker's didn't eat a specific diet. 

"Why didn't I tell my kidnappers that I follow a religious diet? I wonder."

The words were scathing and spoken with a hiss of disdain that had their shoulders raising automatically. Bucky and Steve both shrunk back slightly and Stark went still behind her. She even managed to get out of his arms without a fight, standing up and heading for the elevator without hesitation. 

"...Penny?" 

"I'm going to take a shower, leave me alone!" 

She was so angry and fucking exhausted and hungry. Irrationally, it felt like storming off after having an argument with family instead of the true life villains she was surrounded by. She felt like a teenager storming off after fighting with her parents. Shockingly, they really let her go. The elevator doors opened and closed for her, even though she was alone. 

"Shall I bring you to your apartment Ms. Parker?" 

"It's not like I can go anywhere else," her voice was tearful and she bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to cry. 

But instead of moving, the elevator stayed still for an abnormal amount of time. She assumed JARVIS was waiting for the soldiers to arrive. 

"Perhaps you would like to go to the kitchens, miss?" 

"The kitchens?"

"Yes miss, I've spoken to one of the chefs who is more than happy to make all necessary adjustments to the kitchen to facilitate a kosher diet. New equipment is being brought in to prevent cross contamination and an order was sent to the runners for kosher foods which should arrive in less than an hour. In the meantime, Chef Cohen is gathering the necessities to make a kosher breakfast from what is currently on hand." 

Penny immediately burst into tears against her will, entirely overwhelmed. The tower was a goddamn nightmare, she was trapped and more often than not separated from her brother, but JARVIS was slowly becoming one of her favourite people (even if he wasn't really a person) in the world. Because JARVIS talked to her in Hebrew and told her about Peter when she asked and helped her figure out what she could eat and played movies on the wall all night while she was stuck in bed. 

He couldn't help her escape, he was a computer program at the mercy of his protocols, but he did more for her than anyone else. 

"Yes please JARVIS," Penny managed to get out through her tears, pressing her palms against her eyes gently, "thank you JARVIS." 

"You are most welcome Ms. Parker, your happiness is my priority." 

"It is?"

"My protocol is to make sure Mr. Parker and Master Stark are happy. In order to do so, I must make sure you are happy miss." 

Penny wasn't smart. She didn't have a high IQ, never finished college, would never qualify for anything more than a dead end job. But she was good at reading between the lines. Finding unconventional solutions to problems was a skill of hers. JARVIS might not be able to intentionally help her escape, but he might help her on accident without even realizing it.

It wasn't a plan, not yet, but it was a tool in her arsenal she never expected to have. And she would use it to her advantage as soon as possible. 

"Sir, Ms. Parker is currently on her way down to the kitchens were Chef Cohen is preparing a kosher meal. He has also compiled a comprehensive list of kosher foods to be kept in the kitchen at all times." 

"He made a list? Why didn't you do it J?"

"He's Jewish," Peter answered before JARVIS had a chance, shrinking back slightly when three pairs of eyes leveled on him suddenly. 

"Have you met him? He shouldn't have come up to this floor."

Sometimes Peter forgot that gentiles didn't recognize Jewish surnames, "he… didn't. His last name is Cohen. That's one of the most Jewish names I can think of." 

He couldn't be sure, there was a high chance that Peter was hallucinating, but it was possible that Tony Stark was blushing. Like, it was possible but Peter was pretty sure his eyes must've been playing tricks on him. Tony made him blush a million times a day, it was never the other way around. A small thrill ran through him, had he made Tony turn red? 

"Peter, is there anything else like this that we should know?" 

Steve's voice drew him out of his reverie and Peter directed his attention at the blond, "like what?" 

"Like things Penny doesn't like, or will upset her?" 

Peter nodded in understanding, "like abducting her and keeping her against her will?" 

"Peter!" Tony was trying to admonish him but his tone was full of laughter.

Bucky leveled the teenager with a vaguely amused expression, "Tony was the one who kidnapped her."

"Yeah but she hated him on principle before that, you guys she learned to hate." 

"Okay, moving on," Tony waved his hand dismissively before the soldier could respond, "J, let Cohen know he's officially Penny's personal chef. I want him available any time she's hungry, any time she wants a snack. I'll up his pay, but if Penny gets up at 3am and wants some ridiculously complicated meal, he'll be dragging his ass out of bed to make it." 

"Understood sir."

Bucky absently stared towards the doorway Penny had disappeared through, "I could figure out kosher cooking." 

"Let the professionals handle it, Bucky Bear," Tony snorted slightly before turning his attention to Peter, "is she allergic to anything?"

"I'm not sure, we think she had an allergic reaction to something a while back she never went to the doctor or anything," Peter took a huge bite of his pancakes.

"She hasn't been to the doctor in a long time has she?" Bucky frowned, considering the implications. 

"Or the dentist," Peter nodded. 

"We'll have Bruce do a complete work up, just to be safe. We’ll get dentist in here too. J?" 

"Dr. Banner would be happy to see Penny anytime today and I am sending a request to your own dentist sir."

"Tell Bruce we'll head his way once Penny finishes eating," Steve had a tendency to look up at the ceiling occasionally when speaking to JARVIS despite knowing he wasn't up there, "will you let us know once she's done? I want to give her some time to calm down."

"Once she has finished her meal I will direct her Dr. Banner's lab—" 

"J, you'll tell them when," Tony ordered, quickly noticing the way his AI tried to steer his words, "the soldiers will accompany her. Going down to the kitchen by herself was a stretch, she can't be wandering around unattended this soon."

"She was hungry, sir." 

Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance; the AI sounded defensive but there was a derisive tone to him as well, aimed at the soldiers. They were the ones supposed to be taking care of Penny and yet she was hungry. JARVIS was unimpressed with them and had a surprisingly strong attachment to Penny after such a short time. 

"Yeah, yeah, J, just let them know a few minutes before she's done eating," Tony turned his attention to Peter, "baby, why don't you go take a shower before we head to the lab?" 

Peter felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion. Usually, showering before going to the lab was sort of a waste. They'd get sweaty and gross by the end of it and need another shower anyway. He hoped he wasn't blushing— usually Tony took a long bath with him when they were done in the lab. 

"We're still gonna take a bath together baby, don't look so sad," the salacious look on the older man's face had Peter quickly darting to his feet, face on fire as he ran off. 

Tony waited until the teenager was out of earshot to turn a very dark look on the soldiers, "wanna explain how the fuck you haven't known for two full fucking days that Penny won't eat anything that's not kosher?"

"Tony—" 

"No, actually," he waved his hand before Steve could finish speaking, "I don't care what you have to say. You're going to listen." 

He wasn't older in literal years, but Tony's consciousness was older than the soldiers' and in that moment he felt those years. He stood from the table, coffee mug in hand and took a few steps towards the counter. In general, Tony considered his friend’s to be his family. They were important to him, he wanted them to be happy and healthy and cared for. But Peter was his world and because of that, Penny was too. Her happiness usurped theirs. 

“I gave you both the opportunity to take Penny, the way I took Peter,” he took a sip of coffee, tapping his fingers against the expensive marble countertop, “I knew from the way you talked about her, that you loved her the way I love Peter. But I didn’t want to. Honestly, I wanted to keep her tucked away where I can keep her safe and happy. I knew I could do a better job than you, but I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.” 

Tony dumped his coffee into the sink, setting the mug in after and running some water into it. Around 10am a housekeeper would come in a clean up after breakfast, leaving the dishes that lived in the house and taking the rest down to the kitchens. He liked to keep everything as spotless as possible because his brain was a pretty big disaster at the best of times and clutter didn’t help. 

“You’re very quickly losing it,” he held his hand up when Steve went to speak, “shut up, I don’t want to hear it. Right now you’re listening. This is strike one. Penny is upset and she’s been hungry for the last two full days. Somehow, despite being around her constantly, you didn’t realize that. You better figure out what else you’re not realizing because if I feel like Penny isn’t thriving, I’m going to take her back whether you like it or not.” 

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [3]: Bearers Of

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“It is much, much worse to receive bad news through the written word than by somebody simply telling you, and I’m sure you understand why. When somebody simply tells you bad news, you hear it once, and that’s the end of it. But when bad news is written down, whether in a letter or a newspaper or on your arm in felt tip pen, each time you read it, you feel as if you are receiving the bad news again and again.” — Lemony Snicket

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Sure, I know her.” The waitress pops her gum, handing the grainy photograph back to Lir. “Comes in every Friday like clockwork, doesn’t tip, takes a new man home with her when she goes. She in some sort of trouble?”

Dante smiles charmingly. “You could say that. She wouldn’t have happened to pay by card, would she?”

“You’ll have to ask Joan. The bartender? She handles the tabs.” After a moment, the waitress bats her lashes, reaching out to place a hand on Dante’s arm, and Lir resists the desire to throttle one or both of them. “I can keep you company while your partner talks to her.”

“Who am I to say no to a pretty lady?”

He cuts his eyes to Lir. With a snort, she turns sharply on her heel, trying to keep her irritation from showing on her face, adding lady’s man to the list of ways she’d describe him. It’s far from the worst, but the bright giggles that follow her to the bar have her wondering if pig would be better. A woman emerges from the back as she claims a stool, pretty with her dark eyes and darker hair, and if she weren’t on duty, Lir might have considered leaving her number. Which probably only makes her slightly better than Dante, a fact that has her reaching into her pocket for her badge to buy herself a bit of time to settle.

“What can I get ya, sugar?” the woman asks.

“Are you Joan?” With a raised brow, the woman nods, and Lir holds out her badge. “I’m Detective Thorne with the Red Grave Police Department. I was hoping you’d be able to answer some questions for me?”

Joan studies her badge. “Detective, huh? Sounds like your questions are gonna be heavy enough to warrant a drink. What’s your poison?”

Against her better judgement, Lir replies, “Vodka sour, with Chopin if you’ve got it.”

With a smile that seems a little more than flirtatious, Joan gets to work. Lir watches her deft, slender hands scoop ice into a strainer before adding the vodka and sour mix and shaking, and that coy expression is still on Joan’s face when she sets it in front of her. “On the house for the city’s finest.”

“Thank you.” Lir takes a long drink, closing her eyes as her tongue comes alive under the bittersweet flavor. Then she slides the photograph of Jane Doe across the bar. “Your friend said that you might know her?”

Joan studies it, bracing her arms on the bar and giving Lir a very good glimpse of her cleavage. “Mm-hm. That’s Sophie. Pays with her Amex, likes a frozen margarita with sugar instead of salt on the rim. She the body they pulled from the alley yesterday?” Lir shrugs, and she sighs. “Shame. She was a sweetheart.”

“I heard the opposite.”

“I’m sure you did. She tips for the service she gets, and Lacey’s usually too busy flirting to pay attention to her tables. Never did me wrong, though, and most of the girls here will tell you the same.”

“I have to say,” Lir watches her sharply, “you seem awfully calm for someone who just found out there was a murder next door.”

Joan looks back at her steadily for a long time, not saying anything. When she finally does speak, her voice is quiet, “Don’t get me wrong, Detective. I’m pissed as hell about what happened to her. I read the papers, y’know? So I know that she was . . . If I could find the bastard, I’d wring his neck myself. But I’ve got to trust you to do it, and me crying won’t get you any answers. I’ll do it after you’ve left.”

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

Just like that, the tension is gone, the warm smile sliding back onto Joan’s pretty face. “No hard feelings. You can make it up to me later, if you want.”

“Maybe. Anything else you can tell me?”

The way she catches her plump lower lip between her teeth has Lir vividly imagining what it would be like to do that herself, and she breathes deeply to push the thought away. “Nothing unusual happened last night, not that I noticed. Sophie came in, sat at her table, ordered her drink. She was with some friends, but they split up to dance for a while, and I didn’t see her again until she paid her tab. We get pretty busy on Fridays,” she adds apologetically. “It’s easy to lose track of people.”

Lir takes another sip of her drink. “Did she leave with anyone?”

“If she did, I didn’t get a look at him. But it wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing against her, people can do what they want, but she knew the effect she had on others.” Lir thinks of the face on the slab, beauty made sorrowful by death. “Give me a moment, and I’ll get her last name for you.”

“That would be great, thanks.” As Joan moves to the register on the back counter, Dante slides onto the stool next to her, and Lir eyes him irritably. “Get anything from your witness?”

“Nah, she was too busy cryin’ to talk,” he replies. “Drinkin’ on the job?”

Before she can reply, Joan is back, and she hands a folded piece of paper to Lir. To her pleasure and amusement, not once does she look at Dante. “Here you go. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, Detective.”

Downing the rest of her drink, Lir gives a little salute and heads out of the club, Dante at her side. She ignores him for the moment to unfold the note, a small grin breaking tugging at her lips as she reads over it; there’s a name on the top half, which she tears off to give to him, but on the bottom is a phone number and Call Me written in an elegant, looping script. “Sophie Marons,” Dante recites. “Wonder if there’s a connection to Simon Marons.”

“The lawyer?” Dante exhales slowly, and she curses. “Shit. Draw straws to see who makes the call?”

“Nope,” he drawls. “Your lead, your visit. Let’s go.”

Lir frowns at him, an expression that’s becoming more and more common the longer she works with her frustrating new partner. Her mother used to warn her that her face would get stuck eventually, and she’s starting to wonder if that’s true; at least he’s not sending her off alone, which she wouldn’t really blame him for but would still be angry over. And he turns the volume on the radio down once they're in the car when he notices her pulling out her bottle of aspirin and popping one into her mouth. It looks like he wants to say something and thinks the better of it. Good. The less she has to talk to him, the better. The drive to Marson & Co. passes with only the harsh strumming of rock and the quiet purring of the engine, and their silence persists into the lobby, where Lir speaks briefly to a receptionist, and in the elevator ride up to the seventh floor.

Dante whistles when they step off into an office that sprawls over the entire floor. Glass windows that stretch from floor to ceiling on three of the walls give a stunning view of the city, allowing plenty of sunlight in, and it glows over the interior decorations: a large oak desk, numerous shelves full of books, a sitting area, a bar set next to the elevator. It’s the office of a man who wound up rich and, as the figure behind the desk stands, Lir takes a look at him and decides it was probably inherited. Simon Marsons is as immaculate as the space he occupies, his suit pressed and his salted hair pressed back from a hairline that’s only starting to thin, a lavender handkerchief folded into his coat pocket and diamond cufflinks glittering at his wrists. Lir walks towards him, her boots thudding dully on the polished tile floor; up close, she can see the vibrant green of his eyes and that his teeth, when he smiles, are too even and straight to be anything but bought.

“My apologies, but I’m afraid I’m not open for visitors today,” he says, his voice pleasant yet oily somehow. “If you leave your name with Mary, I’ll try to—”

“Simon Marsons?” Lir cuts him off curtly. “I’m Detective Thorne. This is my partner, Detective Redgrave. Are you related to Sophie Marsons?”

His tanned face goes ashy. “Sophie? She’s my daughter. Has something happened to her?”

“You might want to sit,” Dante advises him, not unkindly.

Marson’s legs go out from under him, and Lir watches with embers of sympathy as he collapses into his grand chair. “Please,” he says, his voice shaking. “Where is she? Was she hurt? I knew I should have called when she didn’t show up for work yesterday, but I assumed she was sleeping off a hangover . . . Which hospital do I need to go to?”

Lir takes a deep breath. “Is your office always open on Sunday?”

“What? Yes, yes, I have a number of clients, and Saturday and Sunday are when I go over all of my notes. Please, Detective, Sophie . . .”

That ember sparks to a dull blaze. Speaking quietly, Lir says, “I’m sorry. We found her yesterday morning.”

A low keening erupts from Marson’s throat. It’s not unlike the cry of a wounded animal, caught in a trap from which it cannot escape and too weak to continue struggling, and Lir thinks of the fox her father had snared one year after it killed their chickens and her mouth fills with the heavy taste of iron. Dante steps around her, his own face displaying a hint of discomfort. It’s oddly reassuring to realize that he probably hates these visits as much as she does, the transformation from detective to confidante and terrible messenger that is a cruel necessity of their job. “When was the last time you saw your daughter, Mr. Marson?”

The man mumbles something incoherent, and the two of them share a look. “Sir?” Lir presses.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice choked. “You’ll have to . . . Mary will know. I’m sorry. Excuse me, I can’t . . .”

Lir exhales slowly. “Okay. Thank you. I’m going to leave my card. Please call us if you think of anything.”

He buries his face in his hands, and she slides her card onto the desk before heading back to the elevator. Once inside, she leans against the wall, and even Dante looks tired, the hollows under his eyes dark and deep. “Never gets easier, does it?” he mutters.

She shakes her head. Outside, she turns to him, her mouth dry and her limbs heavy. “I’m goin’ home. I need sleep. You?”

“Can’t argue that. Want a ride?”

The idea of him knowing where she lives makes her skin prickle uncomfortably, which is strange, given that they work together. Still, she points to the road. “I’ll catch a cab. See you in a bit.”

“Mm-hm.”

Lir leaves him there, feeling his eyes boring into her back as she hails a taxi and slides inside, nearly slurring with exhaustion as she gives the driver her address. She dozes on the ride, woken by the cabbie tapping the glass partition between them, and she fumbles to pay and tip before heading into her building. It’s quiet inside, warm in a stuffy sort of way, which makes her more drowsy. Another short trip in an elevator, and she’s at her door, which she unlocks with trembling fingers and kicks shut. Too tired to bother showering, Lir strips as she walks to her bedroom in the back, where she manages to pull the curtains closed and set an alarm on her phone before collapsing into bed. Behind her closed eyes, visions of Sophie Marson’s body linger, chasing her into her dreams.

In them, she is once again in the morgue. The lights overhead flicker as she stares at the slab in the middle, upon which rests a form covered by a white sheet, and her breath frosts in the air around her and chills her lips. As she stands frozen, the thing under the sheet moves, pallid fingers poking from beneath to curl over its edge and push it slowly down, and a low whine locks in her throat, the remnants of a scream she cannot voice. Creeping, unhurried, the corpse of Sophie Marson sits up, her pale hair spilling limply over her shoulders; when milky eyes focus on her, Lir twitches. But she’s paralyzed, her legs unresponsive no matter how desperately she pleads with them to work.

A low rasp falls from the corpse’s mouth, which forms soundless words. With every attempt it makes to speak, air whistles from it, barely audible over the thrum of the air conditioning, until, at last, it stands on trembling legs, bracing itself on the slabs as it clambers towards her. As it draws closer, the whispers take form: “You saw . . . you saw . . . you saw . . .”

No, Lir tries to shout, no, no, I didn’t see a damn thing. There was nothing to see! Just you, dead on the ground, and if something else was there I had to ignore it because things like that don’t exist!

Grasping fingers reach for her. The murmurs take on a fevered rhythm, rising in pitch and volume until they devolve into a shrill ringing, those dead eyes bulging as its hands land on her face—

Lir snaps up with a strangled scream, reaching to grab and shove and fight. Yet there’s nothing there; just her room with unpacked boxes cluttered around, and she hunches over and presses her palms to her cheeks, fighting to get her panicked breathing under control. The ringing cuts off, then starts again. Cursing, she fumbles for her phone, finding it buried under the covers, and jabs to answer it, fear making her bark into it. “What?”

Dante’s voice comes through the receiver. “Sorry to wake you, sleepin’ beauty, but Marson’s at the station to make a statement and Morrison is liable to rip you a new one if you aren’t there soon.”

“Fine, just . . . Wait, there?”

“Yeah. I’m outside.” Startled, she darts to the window and peers out, seeing Dante parked on the street below, leaning on his car, looking back up at her. He waves as he says, “Better get your ass in gear, Thorne.”

Furious with him, she hangs up and stalks to her bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Then she grabs a fresh change of clothes, tugging them on as she follows the trail of dirty ones she’d left earlier to her boots, which she slams her feet into. Keys, wallet, badge, gun, Lir grabs all of them from the table next to the door, then she leaves, choosing the quicker option of the stairs at the end of the building hall. Dante straightens as she emerges, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh, and she glares at him as she yanks open the door and slides into his car, vindicated by his, “Hey!” when she slams it fiercely. It’s his turn to scowl, climbing behind the wheel, and he cranks the volume up to near painful levels before putting the car in drive and pulling away from the curb. 

Tired of his dickish behavior, she turns the knob back down and snaps, “How the fuck did you find my apartment?”

He scoffs. “We’ve got personnel files.”

“For emergencies!” Lir shouts. “You don’t just go into them whenever you feel like it!”

“If you’d just told me—”

“I don’t have to tell you shit,” she seethes.

Dante slams on the brakes, yanking the car into a parking spot and turning to glower at her. “You’ve had a fuckin’ chip on your shoulder since we met. Like it or not, we’re partners, and that means I need to know where the hell you live in case somethin’ comes up, like it did tonight.”

“I could have gotten there on my own!”

“Yeah, sure, and Morrison would’ve reamed your ass out for takin’ so long. Shit, I had to call you four times before you answered your goddamn phone. You think he’d have stood for that?” Lir merely shakes her head, and he throws his hands up in frustration. “What the hell is your problem? Jesus fuckin’ wept, you’d think I’m the biggest prick you’ve ever met—”

“Because you are,” she says curtly. “You’ve been ridin’ me since yesterday, havin’ me run your errands—”

“Oh, so you’re above goin’ to the morgue—”

“—acting like I don’t know my head from my ass—”

“—or dealin’ with reporters—”

“What is with you?” she cries, exasperated. “I get it, you idolize Sam Spade, but do you need his fucking sexism along with the outfit?”

Dante closes his mouth, staring at her intently for a moment, and she realizes that, in their arguing, they had each leaned in, as if to intimidate the other. Then he grins, slowly, and this one reaches his eyes, melting the glaciers there. “You like Humphrey Boggart?”

Thrown by the question, Lir can only blink at him. “Uh . . . I guess? I watched his films a lot as a kid, so . . . What does that have to do with anything?”

“Got a favorite?”

“What?” He’s still watching her. With a groan, Lir slumps back into her seat. “I dunno. Marked Woman, probably.”

Dante nods solemnly. “Bette Davis was a babe.” He continues speaking as he eases them back into traffic. “Look, Thorne—”

She huffs. “Can you just call me Lir like a normal person, for the love of God?”

“Lir,” he amends without batting an eye. “Me ridin’ you? Sorry to break it to you, but Red Grave is a beast of its own. Maybe you were good in Fortuna. Hell, your record says you were. Here? You’ll get eaten alive if you aren’t careful.”

“What a load of shit,” she mumbles.

Dante sighs. “You know somethin’ else? It’s been buggin’ me since yesterday, and the only reason I haven’t suggested Morrison take you off the case is because I’m worried you’d get yourself killed if I couldn’t keep an eye on you. You’re too eager to prove yourself.” Lir bristles, but his next statement, spoken flatly with no hint of emotion at all, has a faint prickle of fear creeping up her spine. “You look an awful lot like our victim. If this guy’s gonna go serial . . . Well, you’d fit his profile nicely.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 248: Internships II: THE MENTORING

Previously on BnHA: Endeavor asked Deku and Kacchan to give him the rundown on their character arcs, and Izuku said that he was trying to master his new definitely-not-a-second-quirk quirk, while Katsuki explained that he was trying to find “what he lacks” because he is going for 100% completion in his redemption arc and will accept nothing less! Gotta finish all those sidequests! Anyway so Endeavor was surprisingly into the whole mentoring thing for both of them, but then his own son was all “dad I’ve got something to say too” and Endeavor was like “oh shit” and Shouto was like “I still don’t like you as a person or a father and I only came here to learn flashfire from you!” and fandom was like “HOLY SHIT RIP THAT MAN HAD A FAMILY” and Shouto was like “YEAH I KNOW THAT’S THE WHOLE PROBLEM.” Anyways then they went on a walk, and Endeavor told the boys to try and take down a villain faster than him before the end of the winter break.

Today on BnHA: Endeavor and the Rowdyruff Boys take to the streets and fight some crime. Endeavor spends a lot of time giving the youths advice about how not to be so fucking slow, and even though he’s a bit of an ass about it, he makes some strong points about how a split second can mean the difference between life and death in a hero’s line of work. Anyway so he tells Shouto and Kacchan to work on storing up their power and releasing it all at once, and he tells Deku to work on making his Air Force as automatic as his Full Cowl is. They all sit around and munch on some bread, Deku does a bit of monologuing, and then we cut to ONE WEEK LATER and FUYUMI WANTS TO INVITE ALL THREE OF THE BOYS TO A FAMILY DINNER!? Motherfucker why does the last fucking panel have more exciting content than the rest of the chapter combined. Well anyways, at least we’ve got that to look forward to.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

YESSSS IT’S MY GIRLS

is this a new dragon form for Ryuukyuu? it seems like something in between her big ol’ Smaug form and her human form? or maybe this is just forced perspective making her seem smaller than she actually is here. anyways she kicks ass as always and still want to see her breathe some fire

I just realized everyone on this team can fly? except maybe Hadou? but I seem to recall her hovering over some bad guys when using her powers a while back though. I really don’t remember much about her quirk; I’m glad the anime will be getting up to that soon, because actually seeing it in motion will probably help it to stick more in my memory

(ETA: she can release her shockwaves from her feet to levitate! everyone on this team can fly confirmed! well Tsuyu can’t, but her quirk is basically an offshoot Spider-Man brand so it’s close enough.)

moving on! looks like we’re getting some DEKU INNER MONOLOGUE

okay, several things that I like about this before we continue:

look how fucking comic-booky this is. the main character parkouring through the city streets, thinking Deep Thoughts in square boxes? pretty sure this is the first page of every single comic book ever made and I LOVE IT

that metaphor about learning to walk when everyone else was already focused on where they were going to run. god I love me a good metaphor. though Deku, you were technically 15 when All Might actually gave you the quirk. that’s not on you though, that’s on Horikoshi who I’m sure has already realized the error by this point and is probably kicking himself and will write a 10,000 word apology in the volume omake

the fact that SIXQUIRKS!! IS FINALLY BEING ACKNOWLEDGED AS A THING AGAIN OMG. I’ve only waited like 5 million years for more of this, so pardon me if I lose my fucking shit depending on where this is all headed. omg. this stupid manga

anyway!

they seem to have stumbled upon a game of Mario Kart in progress. at least I’m pretty sure this is a Mario Kart character. actually it might be Knuckles from Sonic the Hedgehog

so now Endeavor is MERCILESSLY CUTTING OFF HIS PATH WITH A WALL OF FLAME forcing him to abandon his bike if he doesn’t want to die a fiery death!

Endeavor truly does not give a fuck! not that All Might was any better, punching huge dents in the hoods of cars and shit. the moral of this story is, don’t be a villain. just don’t. because the number one heroes will fuck you uuuuuuup

now Endeavor is yawning and looking over his shoulder at Kacchan and Deku all, “oh you guys were there too?” but not really but basically though

(ETA: oh my god I just noticed the “hit-and-runner” part. have the people in this town never heard of brakes? do they know that red means stop?? also does Endeavor really spend the majority of his day just flying around dealing with traffic violations. I guess technically it’s still New Year’s, so it’s probably a slow day and also everyone is probably drunk.)

god you kids are so slow. it’s because you’re on that social media all the time! and watching all that MTV. kids these days don’t play outside in the fresh air anymore! back in my day!! anyways tough luck you young whippersnappers

Kacchan is grumping that he’s at a disadvantage because of the temperature. I forgot all about that

hey Kacchan I think your best friend has something he wants to tell you there

loool

OF COURSE HE REALIZED but uh, go ahead and spill it anyway if you want. but he definitely did realize. whatever it is that you’re about to tell him

so Shouto says that Endeavor is propelling himself by shooting flames from his feet, and that it’s probably a compressed version of the “jet burn” technique he used in Kyushu. you know, the one he used to fly, and Hawks was all “Endeavor you can fly!?” and Endeavor was all “this isn’t flying, this is falling with style” and we all rolled our eyes

anyway guys. if this is the beginning of Shouto finally learning to fly as well, I will get up and do some kind of happy dance, I don’t even know. do you even know how long I’ve wanted this. PLEASE

lol so Kacchan is all “okay I actually did know that, are you telling me you only just figured that out now” aaaaand yeah. I wasn’t gonna say it, but. Shouto how many times did you sit there and watch Endeavor blast off before you finally said “oh my GOD he’s BLASTING OFF!” sob. IT’S ALL THAT MTV AND AVOCADO TOAST! that noise isn’t even real music! get off your phone and have an actual conversation!

Shouto is so handsome and so good at accepting criticism. what an all-star. please start flying around soon my little Canadian flag

so now Endeavor is blasting off again and sassily hinting at which direction he’s flying off to next. “there’s a major street in that direction”

so now they’re taking off after him

that’s an interesting way of saying that he’s setting the whole town on fire. how do the people in Endeavor’s territory all manage with their daily commute? “almost there boss be there in five... oh hold up... Main Street’s blocked off by a raging inferno, I’ll call you back”

Endeavor says that heroes must be able to do “anything and everything” on their own, which is a curious thing to say in this manga which has time and time again made a point of demonstrating how teamwork gets the job done! I’m not sure I agree with this, Endeavor!

though I guess he just means they need to be able to handle it all if necessary. but I mean, sometimes that’s just not possible. using his own example of Kyushu, there’s no way he would have been able to handle the Hijinks Noumu while protecting all the citizens and fighting off all the other cannon fodder noumus all at the same time. I’m not even sure All Might would have been able to do that. maybe this is an example of how Endeavor still doesn’t have all of this hero stuff figured out yet

lol oh my god

Endeavor that was like four chapters ago, why are you only now bringing this up. act your age

OH SNAP GUYS HE’S MENTORING BAKUGOU. AND BY MENTORING I MEAN PICKING A FIGHT OH MY GOD

DON’T MIND ME I’M JUST WATCHING THIS OLD GRUMP TEACH THIS NEW YOUNG UPSTART JUST LIKE TOMMY LEE JONES IN MEN IN BLACK OMGGGG

so Kacchan is again saying that he needs more time in the winter, but like. Kacchan that’s not like you to make excuses. are you just going to hibernate for three months out of every year and only save people when it’s warm out?? or what

and Endeavor’s saying the same thing

oh shit y’all he’s getting real with them now

oh shit

by the way how fucking dangerous is this town, jesus. supposing that Endeavor wasn’t out here on patrol, what would be the daily casualty rate? first we had that glass guy rampaging downtown earlier, then that motorcyle guy who probably hit a dozen people, and now Tommy and Gina here nearly get run over by a speeding truck. what is this, Gotham City

anyway now Endeavor is saying TodoBaku rights so I’ll shut up

BECAUSE SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME KACCHAN THAT’S WHY! now hush!!

Shouto’s asking if this is related to him learning flashfire, because lest we forget, he’s here for ONE REASON and ONE REASON ONLY lol

so Endeavor says the two of them have to learn how to store up their energy and release it, and how to “condense” their power

you guys I am super hyped about this. not only because BEST FRIENDS PART TWO: THE FRIENDENING!!, but also because this will be the first time Kacchan has gotten a physical power-up in like, ever. (well, AP Shot I guess, but shh.) if he and Shouto are not both flying by the end of this arc then what even is the point!

anyway so Endeavor’s telling them all this technical shit about what to do, blah blah blah, but the short version is they need to be able to go from zero to sixty instantaneously, and release all the stored-up firepower focused into one single point, and to practice doing that until it’s second nature to them

omfg Deku’s so excited

BECAUSE HE HEARTS YOU KACCHAN lol this isn’t anything new, don’t be so shocked. ACCEPT HIS LOVE

though come to think, that really is impressive even for Deku that he knows about that particular technique, because Kacchan created AP Shot back when Deku was supposed to be developing his own ENTIRELY NEW FIGHTING STYLE, which you would think wouldn’t have left him with much time to spare to also keep tabs on his rival and write down his every move. so is his Big Hero Brain just that good, or is this chapter also promoting BakuDeku rights in addition to TodoBaku rights? you decide! but you already know which one I think it is lol

so now Endeavor is giving some bonus mentoring to Shouto

(ETA: why is Kacchan the only one who actually eats his lunch sitting down. these weirdos.)

you guys I love Shouto so much but does he really need it broken down for him to this degree? “son, you know all the things you do to control your right side? try doing those things to control your left.” Shouto: “!!!!” all those video games and participation trophies have fried his brain! too much Instagram! this new generation is going to the dogs

now Endeavor is turning his attention to Deku! but I’m more focused on the fact that they’re eating lunch, because my priorities are just like that

like lol, check out this panel of Deku talking with his mouth full

whole chapter was worth it just for this. boy you’re gonna get crumbs all over your super suit

Endeavor’s asking if Deku can raise his power level subconsciously, and he says he can for Full Cowl, but not for Air Force

so he says the first thing Deku should do is learn to control Air Force subconsciously, and forget about the Bloop for now

and Deku is all “what about parallel thinking” but more importantly, LOOK AT THIS

CAN I JUST GET A WHOLE CHAPTER OF EVERYONE EATING BREAD. LOOK AT THOSE CHUBBY CHEEKS. THIS IS AMAZING

Endeavor says a big part of parallel thinking is being able to do it without consciously thinking about it, and damn he’s right

IT’S ALL ABOUT THAT INSTINCT! also how does he know the man is yawning? you can see him from up there?? DOES HE JUST KNOW EVERYTHING

and he says that once Deku can do two things at once subconsciously, he just needs to add one more thing. damn, he really managed to break it down so that even this chronic overanalyzer can understand the concept

practice, practice, practice until it’s second nature. solid fucking advice

hey everyone Kacchan is still eating. just a PSA

that’s one for the family album. my handsome boy

okay like. it’s a nice speech, but we get it already dude. you can stop talking now and we can move on to something new

so then there’s some more Deku monologuing, pretty much the same stuff he was saying at the start of the chapter, and then Endeavor hits us with this little bait and switch gem

like, the first part sounded almost comforting, and then PSYCH!!!! but I guess he’s just trying to get them all fired up

(ETA: and like, just a few chapters ago we established how the success of these three kids is actually CRITICAL TO THE FATE OF THE ENTIRE WORLD, APPARENTLY. so yeah this is a total bluff. deep down he’s actually sweating and thinking “holy shit they better not fail.”)

and Deku’s finishing up his monologue by saying his maximum speed is doing things one by one. well that’s fine. so now will there finally be a segue?

YAYYYY

OH SHIT YOU GUYS!!!

are we gonna finally get into that TODODRAMA I have my popcorn ready to go!

lmao “and he’s even got friends with him, right?!” ah Fuyu you are the best. she’s so happy Shouto has finally found himself some good pals

OH MY GODDDDDD

HEY WHAT THE FUCK!!!

YOU SON OF A BITCH!! TWO THIRTEEN PAGE CHAPTERS IN A ROW, AND YOU FUCKING END WITH “NEXT TIME, IT’S A TODOBAKUDEKU DINNER AT THE HOUSE OF DRAMA!” AND THEN YOU HIT US WITH THIS. NEXT TIME I’LL JUST HAND YOU A KNIFE AND YOU CAN JUST STAB ME DIRECTLY IN THE CHEST TO MAKE IT EASIER FOR YOU, YOU BASTARD. WHAT AM I GONNA DO FOR THESE NEXT TWO WEEKS WHILE I WAIT FOR THIS CHAPTER OF EVERYONE SITTING AROUND AND EATING BREAD WHILE FUYU PRESUMABLY TELLS THEM THE STORY OF “THERE ACTUALLY USED TO BE A FOURTH KID BUT WE DON’T TALK ABOUT HIM ANYMORE BUT WE WILL NOW!” BECAUSE THEY GODDAMN BETTER

sob. this chapter was basically just a thirteen page trailer for the real meat of this arc. some nice mentoring did occur, I’ll give them that, and I very much enjoyed it. but I’m tired of feeling like we’re just treading water waiting to get to the next big thing! surely all of the set-up is finally done now, right? everyone has their goals established now, we’ve had a mini-time-jump and school is about to start again, and we’ve done our preliminary testing of all of the TodoBakuDeku dynamics and confirmed that all components are firing on all cylinders. basically what I’m saying is we are good to go! ready to get off of this bench! GO AHEAD AND PUT US IN, COACH

anyway guys so here’s a list of what I want to happen at this dinner:

Shouto being all “this is my sister Fuyumi” and Kacchan and Deku being all “COME AGAIN?” because they legitimately thought he was an only child

Fuyu chuckling about how Kacchan reminds her of her dad, and both Kacchan and Endeavor being grossly offended by this

Deku and Kacchan spotting a family photo on the mantel, and Shouto explaining “yeah, that’s my mom, and my brother Natsuo... AND... MY OTHER BROTHER, TOUYA” and then the camera rapid-fire pans to Fuyu and Endeavor and Shouto’s SUPER AWKWARD EXPRESSIONS, before ZOOMING IN ON THE PHOTO OF TOUYA, AND BOY DOES HE LOOK FAMILIAR OH MY GOODNESS

Deku and Kacchan eyeing each other all “holy shit wtf did we get ourselves into” as it begins to dawn on them that they wouldn’t have enough time to unpack all of this even if they had an entire crew of movers on the job. not even Marie Kondo could clean all this shit up. GOOD FUCKING LUCK BOYS

so yeah! lots to look forward to! so I’ll try and be patient. at least we’ve got the anime to keep us all occupied. who’d’ve thought the Basement arc would one day be our salvation. life sure is funny

[dvp95]

is that as good as it gets?

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: teen & up

warnings: none

tags: memory loss, amnesia, fluff, introspection, established relationship, some gender-y discussion

word count: 9,101

sequel to still the best, more or less (which you can read on ao3 or here on tumblr) and so easy to come back into you (on ao3 and tumblr) and written for the lovely @intoapuddle�� <33333 happy belated birthday pal!

read on ao3 or here!

Phil loves his parents. He always has, even in the worst of the puberty-fuelled rebellion. Well, alright, 'rebellion'. There were a lot of long nights spent with a book and torch or his GameBoy under the covers, heart pounding in his ears as he listened for any sign of his parents coming to check on him, but he doesn't think that counts.

Even when things were at their hardest, he still loved his parents. He loved them when his dad kept asking after girls with absolutely no inclination that there were other things he could be asking in order to know his son better. He loved them when his mum pulled him aside and said his new hairstyle made him look 'a little girly, love'. He loved them when he was grieving for a friend and they didn't know what to say, how to help.

Right now, he loves them. Beneath the fear and the guilt and the anxiety and the frustration that's been his whole weekend, there is a solid bedrock of love and trust that will never crack.

"They keep treating me like I'm twenty," Phil complains, quiet because he isn't sure how thin the walls are in this new house.

"You kind of are. Like, in a way."

Dan's voice is so comforting, even with the swirling mix of emotions that Phil is dealing with right now. It helps to ground him, that soft, posh, sleepy voice.

"Yeah," Phil says. He rolls over, stretches out, because even a double bed feels too big without a second set of too-long limbs. "But it's like, they're not even acting like I'm an adult. Mum's been asking how I'm feeling every twenty minutes and dad called me 'kiddo' at dinner."

"They're doing their best," says Dan. He's five hundred kilometers away, on a different island entirely, but if Phil closes his eyes he can pretend they're just murmuring across the distance between their pillows.

"I know they're doing their best, babe," Phil sighs. "It's just that this was so easy for you."

Dan laughs. He doesn't have to be quiet the same way Phil does, nobody trying to sleep on the other side of his headboard, but he matches Phil's volume anyway.

"I'm sorry," says Dan. "Did you just say this has been easy for me? I'll have to refer you to my therapist."

Somehow, Phil smiles. He doesn't feel like smiling at all, so exhausted by the role he's been playing with his family, but Dan always seems to have that effect on him. "I mean, you just treated me like a regular person right out the gate. They're acting like I'm gonna break."

"Maybe you will. I've seen how you stumble on those cliffs."

Phil chuckles, low, and then sighs into the phone. He's getting more comfortable with having the flat rectangle between his ear and shoulder. "I miss you."

"Mm," Dan hums. It sounds like he's smiling. Phil has never wanted to be somewhere so desperately. "Miss you, stupid."

"Are we always this bad when one of us is away?" Phil asks. He wishes he was talking on an old landline, wants to twirl the cord through his fingers while he and Dan whisper to each other. It's better than what his fingers are doing now, which is reaching out on reflex for a warm, citrus-and-mint body that isn't there.

"Yeah," Dan says with unabashed simplicity.

"I'm glad," says Phil. He feels a slight itch under his skin, unsettling him, but he fights it down by repeating, "I'm really glad. Like... I'm glad I'll still feel this way about you ten years from now."

"You're such a sap," Dan says, fondness seeping out of every word. "Normally you just call me a rat and ask if I'm eating."

"Are you eating, rat?"

The loud bark of laughter down the line makes Phil's toes curl with happiness. He loves that sound, loves making Dan laugh in such an unrestrained way. "Yes, Phil, I'm eating. Probably not as good as you are, I'm sure mum's got you eating like a king."

It's still so strange to hear someone else call Phil's parents 'mum' and 'dad' - someone who isn't Martyn, obviously. From everything that Phil has learned about Dan over the past two and a half months and every tiny detail he's remembered, Phil is certain that the titles were something his parents insisted on. He doubts Dan would have just started saying them on his own, even with all the social grace he sometimes lacks.

That makes him feel warm, too. He's never exactly thought his parents would hate him for who he is, but. He hasn't been a hundred percent sure.

Phil doesn't think that anybody is a hundred percent sure that their parents will love them the exact same way if they bring home someone who's the same gender. He loves his parents, he trusts them, and he's still been terrified about letting them in on the life he was living at uni.

They know Dan, though. They ask after him every time they talk to Phil, call him whenever Phil doesn't answer his phone, tell him to think of them as 'mum' and 'dad'. Like he's part of the family. Like it's all the same to them what Dan is, as long as he's making Phil happy.

"You're sure you don't want to come up?" Phil asks, fully aware of how needy he sounds.

"Positive. It's important for you and your parents to get to know each other, like, as you are now. I'm afraid I'd just distract all of you with my wit and charm."

That's probably true. Phil huffs another sigh, anyway. He pulls a pillow closer to him, wraps an arm around it. "But I miss you."

"Christ, Phil," Dan says lightly. "You been drinking or something?"

"Am I not allowed to miss you?" Phil grumbles.

"Course you can miss me," says Dan. "I miss you when you're in another fucking room of the apartment, sometimes. I just haven't heard you say it so much since we first started dating."

Phil thinks that's a little unfair. It still feels like they are in that honeymoon stage of their relationship, to him.

He wonders how long it's going to take before his slow trickle of memories and natural progression of time team up to make him as settled in their relationship as Dan is. It's almost disheartening, knowing that Dan doesn't want him as desperately as he wants Dan. It's a different kind of want, of affection, and it's a kind that Phil has never experienced before. He's almost afraid to reach that point.

"I'll be quieter about it, then."

"Don't you dare," Dan says, and Phil laughs. The knot in his chest starts to ease.

"Should sleep," says Phil. "Mum wants to go for a walk before we eat breakfast, what the hell. Who walks?"

Dan laughs. "Be grateful Martyn isn't there, or the walk would turn into a hike before you could say," he makes a dramatic wheezing noise instead of finishing with a word, and Phil has to cover his mouth with a hand to contain giggles.

"You're so annoying," he whispers. He wonders if Dan can hear the emotion behind the words, the same way Phil has figured out that when Dan calls him stupid, it means 'I love you'.

"Yeah," Dan agrees warmly. Phil thinks, yeah. He can hear it. "Go to sleep, Lester."

--

"Oh, honey, you remember Mrs. Oliver, down the street?" his mum asks, bustling around the kitchen and waving Phil away anytime he tries to jump in and help. It's starting to get to him, a bit. He's not an invalid.

"No, mum," says Phil. He wonders if he sounds as annoyed as he feels. "I don't know any of your neighbours. I don't even know mine."

If he does sound annoyed, his mum breezes past it. "Right, of course. That's probably a good thing, to be honest with you, love - she's a right witch. Just last week..."

Phil zones out almost immediately. He loves his parents so, so much, but they have no idea how to act around him. His mum has been plying him with cakes and giving him neighbourhood gossip, doting like he's sick, and his dad has been watching him like he's a ticking time bomb.

That might actually be true. Phil had only clung to his composure by a thread when they decided to tell him, conversationally, about his dad's health issues. Just dropped the C word with no hesitation.

Being with his parents is nice, but he wishes he had Dan at his side. Even Martyn would be better than nothing. He needs something to dilute the smothering worry and death bombshells they've been putting in Phil's lap all weekend.

Phil has been counting down the hours until he can be back in the noise and bustle of London, far away from all this anxiety. He has never exactly been outdoorsy, and as much as he appreciates the beautiful views here, as much as he appreciates his lovely parents, he just wants to go home.

It's strange. By all intents and purposes, he should feel more comfortable around his parents than he does around Dan. He's known them his whole life, and twelve years isn't nearly enough to erase everything they know and love about each other. He hadn't known a single thing about Dan when he woke up in their shared kitchen, but. That doesn't seem to matter.

London isn't the only thing that feels like home to Phil. It isn't just the rolling hills and the sound of the sea making him unsettled, it's the lack of a big hand on the small of his back, guiding him away from a tripping hazard.

The itch hasn't gone away. Phil keeps expecting it to fade, the more he and Dan get to know each other as they are now, but it's still there. Persistent.

Growing up, Phil never expected to be someone that was scared of commitment. He'd always wanted what his parents had, after all, even after he came to terms with the fact that he might never be able to be married the way they were. Then, he actually started to try and date boys.

Phil doesn't fancy himself an expert on gay culture. He didn't join the society at uni or anything, has never read a queer theory book in his life. So he has no idea if this is, like, typical, but it turned out that gay boys - at Phil's university, in any case - weren't interested in dates. They only really cared about hooking up.

Honestly, Phil has never wanted anything more than he wanted to go on a proper date with someone he wasn't pretending to be attracted to, but it's always been easier to just act like those desires aren't there.

The idea of getting married, now, is terrifying instead of a pipe dream. He isn't sure when that happened.

Somehow, he'd become one of those boys who'd hurt him in the beginning, who called him the wrong name unapologetically or reminded him not to wake up their flatmates on his way out. He'd finally understood the appeal - he couldn't get hurt again if he didn't care again.

He doesn't want to hurt Dan, though. This self-built fear is his to deal with, something he's positive that 2019 Phil has long since gotten over.

"Mum," he says, cutting into whatever she's been saying about her neighbour while he sulks.

She doesn't seem very bothered by the interruption. She gives him a quizzical sort of smile as she mixes flour and eggs together. As if they need more bloody cakes in this house. "Yes, dear?"

"You like Dan, right?" he asks.

It feels like a pointless question. He knows the answer already.

Still, his mum doesn't laugh at him for asking. She smiles, more warmly, and leans her hip against the breakfast bar he's sat at. Phil's damaged brain supplies him with a hundred moments just like this one, watching his mum bake up a storm for no reason besides keeping her boys fed and happy.

"We love Dan," she assures him. Phil notices the 'we' statement, so caught up in the way Dan uses them as he's been. "He's a lovely boy."

"Even though he swears a lot?" Phil jokes weakly. He can't bring himself to ask the question he really wants to.

His mum gives him a look, like she knows exactly what he isn't saying. It's uncanny, how she's always been able to see through him. She'd had a blind spot, sure, but Phil can't put that on her shoulders when he'd done all he could to keep it under wraps.

"Daniel is lovely," she repeats, turning back to her mixing bowl. "He's a good man who takes care of you, dear, what else could we ask for? Besides, he's no worse than your brother."

Phil doesn't think that's true, exactly, as he's heard Dan come out with curses that Martyn probably doesn't know exist, but he isn't about to argue the point with her. Not when he hears the words she isn't saying.

They really don't mind. His mum and dad are happy for him, they have Dan calling them 'mum' and 'dad', after all. His brother doesn't bat an eye when his partner kisses him at the dinner table. They don't just tolerate this part of Phil's life - they embrace it. They embrace Dan, the man Phil had fallen in love with.

He doesn't think he's quite there. Not yet. He's never been in love before, so he's sure he'll notice when his feelings tumble into that.

"I miss him," he tells his mum's back, because he can say things like that to her now. That's not something he's going to take for granted, no matter how stressed they've been making him.

"You'll be home soon, love," she hums.

Home. Also known as the space where he slots his knees into the backs of Dan's and buries his nose against Dan's soft curls. He'll be there soon.

--

"How are you feeling, actually?"

Phil's dad looks up from the malfunctioning radiator and gives Phil a thin smile. "How are you feeling, actually?"

"Touché," Phil mumbles. He's not helping with the repairs so much as he's sitting on the cold cement floor and passing tools to his dad when he asks for them. He wonders who's going to do this sort of thing when he and Dan buy a home.

Great, now that itch is back. All he wanted was to know if this is something he should be learning how to do. They've probably got enough money to pay someone else to do it, Phil supposes.

Dan still hasn't let him look at his bank account or their joint account, which would bother Phil if he had any idea of how to handle money at all. His parents have taught him the basics of budgeting and investing, sure, but he doubts that they've properly prepared him at this scale. He's happy to leave all that to Dan for now.

"I'm feeling good, actually," his dad says. "Still kicking, and all."

"Same," says Phil. Neither of them laugh.

A quiet falls over them again as his dad works. Phil leans against the wall and tries not to get frustrated by the little glances his dad keeps sending his way.

He understands that they're worried. He'd be going out of his mind if this had happened to someone he loves. It's really starting to get to him, though, the undivided attention on his health when he is already so anxious about it to begin with. Don't they know that he's doing the best he can?

"Does it bother you that I don't know how to do this?" Phil asks. He wonders if he will ever be able to say what he means to the people he loves the most, to ask what is on his mind instead of layering it under something innocuous.

Being with Dan has been helping him with that, he thinks, but something about being around his parents always makes him revert back to a shy, uncertain teenager.

His dad hums thoughtfully and shakes his head. "No, you were never much into this sort of thing."

"And that doesn't... I dunno, disappoint you?"

"I could never be disappointed with you, kid," his dad says, almost incredulous with it. Like this is something Phil should already know. Like he's said it a million times. Phil can't speak for the past twelve years, but he knows damn well that he hadn't heard that enough, growing up.

"I'm just not," says Phil, scuffing at the floor with his socked foot. "Dunno. Not much of a man, I guess. I'm in my thirties, aren't I? I should be a man by now."

"You are a man, Philip," his dad says. "There's no right way to be a man."

It takes a lot to make him cry, but this conversation is getting to Phil in a spot he forgot was sore.

"Yeah," he says instead. "Need the torch?"

His dad lets the topic drop almost gratefully. Phil isn't sure if he's happy for that or not.

The frustration has been climbing up his spine all weekend. It's not exactly fair of him to be getting mildly annoyed by everything they've said, not when they're only trying to help. He takes a few deep breaths - in for four, hold for seven, out for eight, just like Dan taught him - and tries to pull a good mood back around him. For his dad's sake, if nothing else.

--

Phil has to get out of the house for a bit on his own, despite the chilly winds coming in like the waves and the lack of good cell signal.

He walks the same path he'd gone down with his parents that morning, pulling the fleece jacket tighter around his body. It's one of Dan's, something he'd smuggled into his bag and hoped Dan wouldn't miss.

The view here is unparalleled, really. Phil finds his breath catching several times, and only some of those are from exertion. He takes photos with his phone, because he's still clumsy with most of the controls, but he's figured out this one easily enough.

His phone doesn't have any social media apps on it, which he's not about to try and correct. Dan deleted them for a reason. So Phil opens his texts and sends a couple of the better photos to Dan.

The signal fails. The pictures don't go through. Phil wants to go home.

--

"This feels familiar," Phil says, grinning at his shoddy laptop camera.

"Does it?" Dan's voice is a bit distorted, his face more pixelated than Phil would like, but he's smiling so wide that Phil can't find it in himself to mind.

"Yeah," Phil says simply.

The sofa isn't very comfortable compared to the bed upstairs, but Phil had figured this would be better to not wake his parents up. He folds one leg under himself to try and find a position that doesn't make him feel hunched over his laptop like he's still a student.

Even through the mediocre quality of the webcam and internet connection, Dan looks good. He's wearing a wide-necked jumper and his curls are still soft and pushed off his face, like he hasn't bothered to do anything with them today. Phil wants to reach through the screen and run his fingers through them.

"Wonder why," Dan says in that teasing way he does when he knows something Phil doesn't.

Some days, that tone gets to Phil. When he's feeling anxious and frustrated with himself about all the things he can't remember, the last thing he needs is that tone.

Today, though, it makes him grin. He fiddles with the wireless earphones he's still getting the hang of and murmurs, "Tell me why."

"We used to do this for hours when I lived with my parents," says Dan. He messes with his curls to make them fall with more purpose, probably looking at himself in the screen instead of at Phil. "For, like, almost the whole first year we knew each other."

"You look fine, you dork," Phil says. He's watching Dan with an absent smile that, when he glimpses it in the corner of his screen, makes his breath catch. He's never seen that look on his own face before, doesn't even know what he'd label it as. Dan huffs a laugh, and Phil turns his attention back to him instead.

The lighting is low in Dan's room - in their room - but Phil can make out the warm colour of his eyes.

"You always think I look fine," says Dan, which doesn't exactly sound like a complaint. He leaves his hair alone, though. "Which is useless, since I know you have no taste."

"Is this about the carpet again?" Phil asks, exasperated.

"I just don't understand why you don't see the value of a good rug anymore," Dan whines. "It took me four years to convince you."

"Hardwood is cold on your feet in the morning and - you know what," says Phil, fighting back a laugh, "I'm not having this conversation again. We can duke it out when it's relevant, we aren't buying a house right now."

Dan grins at him. "I'll win."

Probably. Phil is stubborn, though, and he's not about to take everything Dan says about his changed tastes as fact when he could easily use that to win arguments.

"It's not relevant," Phil repeats. "You know what is relevant? I kind of remember Skyping you."

Dan is still and quiet for so long that Phil thinks he's frozen at first. Then he blinks. "You do?" he asks, voice careful.

"Kind of," Phil says, not wanting to get Dan's hopes up. He pulls a face, scratches at his jaw. "It's hard to explain. I don't remember doing it, I just remember that I have done it. Does that make sense?"

"No," says Dan, blunt as always. He smiles weakly. "Explain it to me?"

It's hard for Dan, Phil knows it is, but he makes such an effort all the time that Phil has, tentatively, attempted to do the same. He's not always comfortable talking about his innermost thoughts, since giving voice to things makes them more real. For Dan, he'll try.

"It's not like a flashback or anything," Phil says slowly. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, but he also doesn't want to make Dan think he's still holding back. "That's not the way this has worked for me."

"I know," says Dan.

Phil traces shapes on his own knee, wishing he could be touching Dan instead. "It's more like... I just know."

"Right," Dan says, and Phil can hear the way he's holding something back. Disappointment? Excitement? "Kinda like déjà vu?"

"I guess so, except it isn't, like, disorienting. I just saw you on my screen and I was like, yeah, I've done this before." Phil feels like he's explaining this badly, like it's all coming out wrong. "I dunno, babe. I'm sorry it isn't more."

"You're," is all Dan says. He looks offscreen, takes a couple of deep breaths.

Maybe it's the familiarity of this whole thing, or the sound of Dan's shaky breathing in his ears, but Phil has the sudden certainty that he's looking at a Dan who is about to start crying. A Dan who has cried on Skype with him before, Phil knows that, too, somewhere deep in his gut.

"Hey," Phil says softly. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to apologise for," Dan tells him, rather more sharply than Phil thinks it intends to come out. Dan grimaces. "Fuck. Sorry. I'm not - I'm not upset with you, Phil."

"You look upset," says Phil. The physical ache he's been carrying around all weekend has intensified, makes him think he could swim back to Dan if it would shorten the distance quicker. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dan considers it for a moment. That on its own is a step in the right direction, Dan no longer brushing everything he's feeling off with a joke and a kiss. Phil taps an erratic rhythm against his knee while he waits for Dan to make up his mind. Eventually, he shakes his pretty head. "Not tonight. Can we talk about it when you're home, maybe?"

That's progress. Phil has to remind himself of that every time they make a point to communicate, every time he says or does something that makes Dan freeze up for a moment.

"Of course," Phil says. "Talk to me about hardwood floors some more. You're still wrong, but I'll hear you out."

Dan looks relieved, and Phil doesn't let that get to him. Neither of them are avoiding emotional conversations outright. Phil can remember the way Dan likes his eggs cooked, even though he can't remember learning that. Dan hasn't even eaten eggs in the past couple months, on a vegan kick that Phil doesn't understand, but Phil knows exactly how to cook them to make Dan grin at him across a breakfast bar.

Slow progress is still progress, Dan's therapist says. Phil is inclined to agree with her.

--

Leaving his parents is bittersweet. Phil always wants to spend more time with them, knows he'll never quite grow out of the momma's boy phase, but they've been getting under his skin all weekend.

Phil does wonder if that's a regular part of being a proper adult, the desire to cling to gained independence, or if it's just him feeling smothered and wistful for Dan.

He gives them tight, lingering hugs anyway, makes them promise to come visit him before Christmas. He'll feel better about that, he thinks. Having Dan around makes it all so much easier that he can't imagine living a life without him, now. He fits into the places where the rest of Phil should be, allows Phil to settle into shape around him.

It's early when Phil gets on the plane, early enough that he gets to watch the sun rise until he's dropped back under the line of clouds that seem to permanently hover over England. The sun still hasn't peeked out by the time Phil unlocks his front door and lets himself in, juggling his bag and keys and wallet and proceeding to drop them all on the floor of the entryway. There aren't any echoing noises from deeper into the flat, so Phil thinks it's safe to assume that Dan is still dead to the world.

Sure enough, he finds Dan spread out in the middle of their bed, his bare back rising and falling steadily with sleep. The blankets are in disarray, half underneath him and half wrapped around his legs.

Phil smiles. It feels like something settles into place inside of him just looking at the expanse of Dan's skin. He undresses to his pants and doesn't bother digging around for something else to wear, not when there's some necessary snuggling to be done. The cool air makes Phil shiver, but only until he's set his glasses aside and crawled into bed, pressing himself along Dan's back with a kiss to his lightly-freckled shoulder.

London is chilly in November, but Dan carries a warmth with him that emanates from his very core, and it drags Phil into sleep easily.

He's home now. He can breathe again.

--

Phil stirs from hazy dreams when his heat source disappears, and he makes a little whine of a noise to express his deep displeasure. He gets a throaty laugh in response.

"Fucking drama queen," Dan's voice breaks into his half-asleep state. It's soft, just like the kiss that's pressed to Phil's hair. "I'll be right back, I gotta piss."

"Wait," Phil yawns, stretching out his arms in search of Dan. He doesn't want to open his eyes. "Coffee?"

"You little - fuck, fine, yes, I'll make you some fucking coffee. Unbelievable."

Phil must fall back to sleep, because the next time he's coaxed into awareness, it's by the smell of coffee and the feel of a mouth on his jaw.

"Mm," Phil hums, reaching out to blindly pull Dan closer and tilt his head for a kiss.

Dan chuckles, a gust of breath against Phil's face before soft lips find his. Phil runs a hand over Dan's back, sleepy and hesitant, because that's not something he's always allowed to do. This time, Dan makes a pleased sort of noise against Phil's mouth before he pulls back with a low, "Mm, yourself. Good morning."

"Hey," Phil murmurs. He squints up at Dan and grins, loose with the contented feeling of being home. "Missed you, pretty boy."

The laugh he gets in response is more of a honk. Phil is so endeared. "You can't even see me," Dan points out. He's not wrong, but Phil doesn't have to have his glasses on to know how pretty Dan is.

"It's not like I forgot what you look like," Phil says dryly. He lets his hand continue to trace shapes on Dan's bare back, since Dan doesn't seem to mind the contact.

"Maybe I grew a beard."

"Yeah. Because you can totally grow an entire beard overnight."

"Probably couldn't grow a beard if you gave me a month," says Dan. "I missed you, too, stupid."

It feels like Phil has been away for weeks rather than a handful of days. He can't get enough of the bumps and grooves of Dan's back, like he's never touched it before, and his whole being aches to be impossibly closer.

He kisses Dan's temple - at least, he thinks he does, it's a bit of a blur but at least Dan doesn't make a noise as though Phil has accidentally connected with his eyeball - and runs his thumb slowly along the ridges of Dan's spine.

"We don't spend a lot of time apart, do we," says Phil. It isn't a question, really. He knows they don't.

"No," Dan says, simply. "Why should we?"

Phil supposes that there isn't a reason. In the back of his mind there are always niggling fears, worst case scenarios chasing each other around until he's worked himself up, and right now those fears are trying to make themselves known. The codependency of it crawls over Phil's skin, making him itch.

He doesn't want to spend more time away from Dan, that isn't it at all. It just worries him that he doesn't know if he'd even be able to.

The weight of Dan on him is solid, the skin under his fingers so soft and warm, and that helps Phil feel grounded.

"Let me up, baby," says Phil. He needs coffee and maybe some food before he feels fully functional, even though this is his third time waking up this morning. He might have a problem.

Dan huffs - at the pet name or at Phil himself, it's unclear - but flops onto his side next to Phil anyway. He keeps his hand on Phil's thigh through their blanket and gives him a lazy grin. "You're less grumpy today. Happy to be home?"

"You've no idea," Phil says, sitting up against the headboard so he can cradle his mug to his chest and breathe in the aroma. "I love them so much, but it's not the same."

"I've got some idea," Dan says on a yawn. "You bring any cakes home?"

"Of course. What do you take me for?" Phil scoffs. He shoves his glasses unceremoniously onto his face with one hand so he can actually see more than the vague shapes that make up his boyfriend.

Fiancé, he guesses. Technically.

The smile that Dan shoots up at him is sleepy. His eyes are half-lidded and a little red, lashes clumped together by the moisture that wells up every time he yawns. He's just in his pants, like Phil, and he's not self conscious about it in the slightest. Once again, Phil is struck dumb by how beautiful he is.

"What?" Dan asks after a long moment of Phil just looking at him. Hints of dimples are showing around his mouth, like he's holding back a bigger grin.

"Nothing, you're just," says Phil. Adjectives bump against each other at the forefront of his mind, competing to be the most truthful without being ridiculously sappy. He can call Dan pretty or hot without issue, but a flush creeps its way up Phil's neck the moment he wants to say something like 'gorgeous', 'perfect'.

"Just the best thing that's ever happened to you, right?" Dan says, all performative sarcasm.

Yeah, Phil thinks. He doesn't say it. He doesn't think he can.

"Totally," he says instead, dripping his voice in the same irony as Dan's. He refocuses on his coffee, and Dan starts to scroll through his phone.

He leaves his hand on Phil's thigh, though. He's not usually the one initiating contact, always complains jokingly when Phil reaches for him too much, but Phil guesses that Dan has missed him almost as much as Phil has missed Dan.

Phil drinks his coffee and watches Dan's screen scroll through photos of people he doesn't recognise, places he's never been.

The scrolling stops on a face Phil does recognise with a jolt, just long enough for Dan to tap it twice with his thumb and move on. It's so strange to see Anthony Padilla look... old. He's not old, not really - Phil can't remember for sure, but he's fairly certain the Smosh guys are the same age as him - but Phil is so used to seeing him look a specific way. He's got an image in his mind of the way Smosh looks, of the way he looks, and it's like the screens and mirrors are lying to him.

It doesn't help that Phil sees a bit of Dan in the pose, the curly hair, the big sweater. He wonders what came first, wonders which of them looked at the other and saw something they wanted in themselves, or if they even did it consciously. By the time Phil thinks to ask if they know each other or just know of each other, Dan has opened a different application.

--

Being with Dan is too much, sometimes.

Phil has been very lucky in his life. He knows what it feels like to be loved unconditionally by his parents, his brother, a handful of friends, and how it feels to love them the same. The way that Dan loves him, though, is different. New. Something Phil didn't know could ever be directed at him.

Most days it isn't an issue. Dan loves him, and he's very fond of Dan, and they do all they can to meet each other in the middle of the gaping chasm where a decade used to be.

But there are moments when the itch gets so bad, when Dan's big hands and brown eyes get so intense, that Phil doesn't know how to handle it. Dan loves him so much that he projects it like an aura, enveloping Phil in the gentle warmth he manages to carry with him even when he's shouting obscenities at Phil over a game, and sometimes.

Sometimes, it's overwhelming. When it gets like that, the smallest things can make Phil feel like he's missed a step or five on a staircase he can't see the bottom of. It's not stifling, suffocating, upsetting. It's simply too much.

He doesn't know how to convey that to Dan. How to explain the itch. So he doesn't.

In the days following his return from the Isle, Phil feels it more than he ever has. Something about being apart, even if it was only for three nights, has Dan clinging in a way that Phil hasn't experienced yet. Sure, Dan is cuddly enough, especially when they're curled up together in bed or on the sofa, but this is another level.

Dan has currently plastered himself to Phil's back while he washes the dishes, an arm slung over Phil's shoulder, lips pressed to Phil's jaw, and he's stayed there for nearly fifteen minutes while he chatters on about whatever's on his mind.

It's not the casual brushes of lips and fingers that Phil expects, that they both initiate every day; it's Dan planting his feet and staying in Phil's space like he never wants to leave it again.

That's scary. Never is a scary, overwhelming, too much word.

"Love you," Dan reminds him on his way out of the room, taking the overwhelming warmth of his aura with him. He no longer qualifies the statement with a 'you don't have to say it back'. Phil doesn't know if that's because he wants Phil to say it or because he thinks Phil has probably understood that by now.

The words get choked in Phil's throat the way they do every time. It's reflex, instinct, to say he loves someone when they say it to him. That wouldn't be a fair thing for Phil to slip up with at all.

Phil breathes deeply in the sudden quiet of their big kitchen and tries to calm himself from that missed-step panic.

--

"What are you doing?"

There's a note to Dan's voice that Phil doesn't recognise, not without turning around to see his face. It's sleepy confusion, mostly, and Phil doesn't think he needs to know what else it is.

"I'm snooping," says Phil. His hands pause in their rifling. "Or organizing, I guess, but snooping makes it sound more fun."

"It's five in the morning," Dan tells him.

Oh. That is a bit startling. Phil doesn't know what time it was when he gave up on sleep and got out of bed, but he's made it through a dresser and a half. He wonders if he's sorting things wrong, if Dan's got a system for the drawers like he does for their hangers.

Phil stares down at his hands, tangled with the loose socks in one of their top drawers. He feels weirdly disconnected from the physical sensation.

"You didn't come to bed," Phil says, the reason behind his earlier restlessness coming back to him.

"No, sorry," says Dan. He doesn't actually sound sorry, but Phil still can't figure out how he does sound. "I got caught up in this thread, I know I've read it before but I, like, forgot enough about it that it still fucked me up? There was this guy and he kept seeing these, I dunno, sticky notes, I fucking guess, in his own writing, and he didn't remember writing them, right, so he -"

"Cool," Phil says, probably too sharp. He isn't sure where that story is going, but he knows that it's hitting a bit too close to home as it is.

There's a beat. "Sorry," Dan says again. This time it seems like he means it.

Phil shrugs. "I'm not upset."

"No, you're not. Will you look at me?"

Honestly, Phil had forgotten about his physical form entirely. He blinks. After a moment, he takes his hands out of the drawer to turn and face Dan.

Dan smiles. He looks exhausted, sitting at the foot of their bed in just an oversized jumper. Probably some pants, as well, but the way his top hangs makes it impossible to tell for sure. His long legs are bare and crossed at the ankles.

"Are you wearing pants?" Phil blurts out, like his thought process is connected directly to his tongue.

He is reminded, ridiculously, of Cordelia Chase, and the way her speech and thoughts mirrored perfectly. Sure, he can't remember the PIN to his own bank card, but he can get a flashback to Earshot like he watched it last week. He wonders if Charisma is happy in 2019.

Phil's thoughts are ping-ponging so much that he almost misses it when Dan laughs and nods, rucking up the front of his jumper to show them off. "Yeah, you fucking pervert, I'm wearing pants."

The sound of Dan's laugh relaxes some of the tension that Phil didn't even realise he was holding in his body, and he gives Dan a tired grin.

"Oh, I'm the pervert?" he teases. He gestures behind himself, indicating the dresser he's half done organizing. "I'm not the one who's got a collection of women's underwear. Unless I am? Am I? You'd tell me if I wore women's underwear, wouldn't you?"

Dan's lips twitch, but he gives Phil a surprisingly stern look. "They're not 'women's underwear'," he says with little air quotes. "They're just underwear."

This seems like one of those things Dan can rant about for hours that Phil doesn't completely understand and has to make discreet Google searches to keep up with, but he's always willing to listen. Or, well, any time but five in the morning, he'd be willing to listen. He's sure Dan can rant about gender roles and normativity when they're both properly awake.

He's curious about this, though. He does his best to make sure that the curiosity is all that comes through, doesn't want to accidentally sound like he's being judgemental when he says, "So they're yours, then."

"Yeah," says Dan, simple.

"Is it a sex thing?" Phil asks, because apparently a distinct lack of sleep makes him tactless. He thinks of Cordelia again.

Dan doesn't seem bothered by the question. He shrugs, pulling idly at the collar of his jumper. "Sometimes. Not always. I dunno, Phil, not everything I own is from the men's section. I just buy things I like and wear them when I want to."

He says it like it isn't a big deal, but Phil isn't stupid. Dan doesn't do anything without overthinking it. Neither of them do, really, although they overthink in different ways - Phil's anxiety is what makes his thoughts race and his palms sweat at any decision he makes, while Dan will sit down in a quiet place and let all his thoughts tumble forward so he can try to sort through them.

It's so easy to picture. Dan in one of those stores Phil is always afraid to touch anything in, flipping through hangers with a bored look on his face. Getting his attention caught by something black and glittery on the opposite wall. Hesitating. Turning to Phil and saying, "Sometimes I wish I was a girl."

Phil realises with a little jolt that it isn't imagination alone. He knows in his gut that the exchange, or something like it, has happened before. He remembers the nervous look on Dan's face all too well.

"It's not weird," Phil says, to the Dan in front of him and the younger Dan in his mind's eye. "I don't fully get it, but that's okay. I shouldn't have said it was weird."

Something flashes across Dan's face, too quick for Phil to decipher.

"I know it isn't," says Dan. "But thanks."

He doesn't think that Dan has always known that. He thinks that there must have been a lot of bravery in the simple action of crossing a store. But it's five in the morning and they're both tired, rough around the edges with it, so Phil holds his tongue.

"In any case, your underwear's been sorted and folded," Phil informs him.

Dan rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "Folded, sure. I've seen you try to fold shit that's a hell of a lot easier than some of the pants I have."

"There's just not a lot of fabric to some of them," Phil admits. The material hadn't helped, since Phil doesn't think he's ever touched lace that isn't attached to a tablecloth at his grandparents' house. "I did my best."

"I'm sure you did," says Dan. He dimples up at Phil and reaches his hands out in invitation. The missed-step swoop in Phil's stomach doesn't come, so he just smiles back and steps closer, settles himself comfortably on Dan's bare thighs. "So, I was thinking about when you Skyped me."

It takes Phil a moment to try and figure out Dan's train of thought, see where the statement has come from, but he decides that it's useless. Dan could have been waiting to bring it up for days now and a tired Phil with no filter was exactly the opener he needed.

"Yeah," Phil says, tracing the bags under Dan's sleepy eyes with his thumbs. "What about it?"

"I don't think I'm being very fair to you," says Dan. "When you remember things, I mean. It's a good thing, and I was happy, I just."

He pauses, bites his lower lip.

"You just wish it was more," Phil finishes for him. A small pang hits him in the stomach when Dan grimaces and nods. "That's okay, you know. You're allowed to wish I was... him, again."

"You're not separate people," Dan says again, quiet.

"I kind of am," says Phil. "I hope you know that I - I want to be him. For you, and for me, because he seems like he's got a really good handle on this life thing and I've got no bloody idea what I'm doing, but I can't just. I can't make myself him. I can't even, like, guarantee he'll ever fully be here again."

Dan's inhale is shaky. He runs his hands up and down Phil's thighs in a show of comfort, although Phil can't tell which of them it's for.

"That's scary," Dan murmurs. His eyes are so big and warm and vulnerable, Phil almost feels like he shouldn't be seeing him like this. "That's really fucking scary, Phil."

"It's scary for me, too," Phil reminds him. He's got a bit of a tightness in his chest, anxious from the lack of sleep and too-serious conversation, and he tucks his face into Dan's neck to break from the eye contact. "I don't want this to be happening, you know? I kind of hate it. You're so - you're really good, Dan, you like. Deserve to have him back."

The room is quiet for a little while. It's dark in the safety of Dan's neck, and only the feeling of Dan's hands on his thighs keeps Phil grounded to reality.

Eventually, Dan says, "Thanks for saying that, but also, like. We've gotten through a lot together. I'm sure we can handle this if it's permanent. It's just one of those things that... we aren't going to know what we're doing right away."

You're home for me, Phil thinks. You're home, and that's overwhelming sometimes.

"You can tell me what we've all gotten through tomorrow," is what Phil says. He pulls back and presses his lips to Dan's cheek, because he can. "I think we should get some sleep."

"Alright, stupid," Dan hums, squeezing Phil's thighs and dimpling up at him. He's so beautiful that it makes something ache in Phil's chest, some weird combination of pride and want. "You'll have to get off me, first."

"Okay," says Phil.

It takes him another few minutes to actually leave Dan's lap. Luckily, Dan doesn't seem to mind.

--

Dan still doesn't think that having social media on his phone is a good idea for Phil, too easy to get overwhelmed by, but he's happy to sit back against Phil's chest while they watch tv and scroll through his own feeds. He shows Phil a lot of things that Phil doesn't understand, and most of it is just perplexing.

Some of it is viscerally upsetting, but Phil knows that Dan doesn't mean for it to be. Advances in technology are only cool to hear about until the wheel of worst case scenarios in Phil's head starts to spin. Maybe self-driving cars and robots that talk back are neat to think about in theory, but the reality of them makes Phil so, so anxious.

He hears Dan murmur, "God, she's getting so big."

So he looks. Then, suddenly, he feels like he is going to pass out. All the blood in his body rushes to his head and his eyes start to water, because. What the hell.

The girl in the photo isn't one Phil recognises. She looks younger than twelve - he isn't good at guessing ages, he'd place her between six and nine - so he guesses that's not very surprising. What's making his head spin is the man with her.

"Is that Ian?" Phil asks, blinking a bunch like it'll change the fact right in front of him.

Dan locks his phone immediately and winces, turning in Phil's arms to hold him close. "Yeah, that's Ian and his daughter. Are you okay? I should have warned you, I didn't even think."

"Ian has a daughter?" Repeating it doesn't make it sound any more true. Phil shakes his head. "I just watched him throw up in a girl's purse. Like, he just gave himself a concussion trying to climb out of a ground floor window. He doesn't have a daughter."

"Are you okay?" Dan asks again, softer.

No, Phil isn't okay. The reality is, of course Ian has a daughter. All of Phil's friends and family have lived a life that he no longer has access to. Every memory he has of Ian is so much clearer than the memories Ian must have of him, clouded by time and nostalgia. He wonders if Ian remembers the concussion and then thinks, don't be silly, how could he forget? How could he forget anything about Phil? How could Phil have forgotten anything about him?

"No," he says out loud, because Dan deserves to know the truth. "No, I fucking hate this. I hate it, Dan."

The laugh that's startled out of Dan is wobbly and wet, and Phil really wishes he wouldn't cry. If Dan cries again, Phil will desperately want to comfort him, and he wants this selfish moment of anger for himself.

Dan's voice isn't shaky when he speaks, though, his arms tightening around Phil and their legs all tangled. "Yeah, it really sucks, huh? She's a good kid, if that helps. She likes you."

"I don't know if that helps," Phil says, "but thank you for saying it."

He wonders what Ian thinks of Dan. How does his best friend feel about Phil settling down like this? Was it surprising to him or did it seem organic if you'd lived it?

It doesn't feel organic to Phil. He's getting there, he is, because Dan is wonderful and he wants to be around him all the time, but. Dan feels like home in a way that Phil doesn't think he's earned.

Slow progress is still progress, Phil reminds himself. He knows how to cook Dan eggs he doesn't even eat anymore, knows what Dan looks like when he's about to start crying on Skype, knows a thousand things that he's learned ever since he woke up on the kitchen floor.

It's progress. He has to keep telling himself that or he's going to lose his entire mind.

Dan's voice, quiet and empathetc, breaks into Phil's spiralling frustration. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No, Phil doesn't want to talk about it. He isn't okay and he doesn't want to make a big deal out of it in case everything comes tumbling out at once.

The itch isn't there right this second, but Phil knows how easily it comes on. He wonders if there's a way to get rid of it without Dan ever knowing its existence, wonders how his brother and parents and probably Ian are all so chill about this relationship when Phil himself feels like it's all-consuming.

He can't exactly get frustrated with Dan for not talking about his feelings if he just turns around and does the same thing, though. So.

"No," he says, "but I will anyway."

Despite his worries, Phil's words don't come tumbling out the moment he gives them permission. Instead he has to force them, stammering and avoiding Dan's big brown eyes as he talks about the way it feels to be thrust into a life he doesn't remember making, a life he doesn't feel like he deserves. He talks about the itch under his skin that he'd thought would go away if he just embraced the reality of being in a committed relationship and how it hasn't, really, and sometimes it feels even worse than it had when he first woke up.

Dan lets him talk. He's good at that, Phil thinks. He doesn't try to interject in any of the pauses where Phil forces himself to say things that have been on his mind for almost two entire months.

It isn't until Phil apologises that Dan's large hand is covering his own and squeezing.

"What on earth are you sorry for, stupid?" Dan murmurs. "I'm glad you told me you feel this way, because, like, it isn't the first time."

Phil blinks. He meets Dan's gaze, his heart pounding a bit at the sheer amount of affection behind those eyes. He turns his hand over to link their fingers together, holds tight like Dan is an anchor. "What?"

"I told you," Dan says with a sad little smile. "I know everything about you. Do you really think you never panicked when we first moved in together and a dozen times after that? Do you think I didn't? You're not the only one who was in love for the first time, Lester. I know it's been a few years, but I remember how it feels to be thrown in the deep end of feelings you can't get a fucking grip on."

The sheer relief at being understood washes over Phil, and he laughs.

"Ten years," he says, the same awe as always washing over him as he does. Right in this moment, it doesn't scare him the way it has been.

Dan's smile is still sad, but his eyes are twinkling. "Ten years. There's no part of your bullshit I can't handle by now."

"You're so annoying," Phil says. He knows that Dan can hear the emotion behind it, the same way Phil has figured out that being called stupid means 'I love you', but voicing his other feelings has made him brave and stupid with it. "I think - no, I don't think, I'm pretty fucking sure - that I, like, love you."

He's not sure what he expects. His heart is pounding and he waits for Dan to beam at him or cry or something else ridiculous, but Dan just gives him a little shrug.

"I know," he says, grinning. "I know you." He doesn't say it back this time, but that's okay.

Phil knows him, too.

[inksmellsnice]

Warnings: Major Spoilers for Avengers: Endgame Title: On Relativity Rating: T (Mild language, alcohol mention.) Words: 1900 Pairing: StarMora is mentioned but is really not the point. Summary: Set after Avengers: Endgame in a theoretical first act for Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3. Quill loves his family and would do anything to protect them. Rocket loves his family and would do anything to protect them. So, naturally, they have a fight over it. External Reading: FFN, AO3

“Guys… I’ve got her.”

Everything froze. Drax’s epic story to Mantis about his arena days. Mantis’ giddy yammering as she absorbed her friend’s excitement. Nebula grunting as she failed to get the high score in Arcade Defender. Groot’s backseat gaming. Thor’s never-ending questions about space. Rocket’s never-ending answers as he tinkered with something explosive.

It took a moment for the (As)Guardians of the Galaxy to process that they’d actually heard Quill say what they thought he’d said before the six nearly trampled each other to get a better view of Quill’s monitor and the odd life signal flickering in and out next to an old mugshot of Gamora.

“Are you certain?” Drax asked.

“That’s her,” Quill replied, his hands trembling and one slowly reaching towards his long-missing girlfriend’s photo on the screen. “Exact DNA scan. It took forever but this could only be her.” Quill shot back down into his seat and started working the Benatar’s controls. “Setting course now. Get ready for 3 jumps.”

“I am Groot?”

“I don’t know. Some mudball in the Helgentar System called Vormir.”

Nebula, Thor, and Rocket shared a look that Mantis didn’t have a chance to ask about before Quill continued. “Jumping in 5, 4-”

“Wait.” Quill stopped with his finger an inch from the jump button. He didn’t move it when he looked over at Rocket, perplexed. “What? What’s the problem?”

“That ain’t just some mudball; it’s where the Soul Stone is.”

“...What?”

Thor glanced between Rocket and Quill, debating if he should speak but knowing he could not keep such important information from his new team… and also knowing who else might yet be alive if his hunch was correct. “That would make sense. Maybe.”

Strange for this group, nobody interjected, so Thor continued. “There is a legend about the Soul Stone among my people, in which it can not only control souls but also house them. There is said to be an entire alternate world inside of that stone. If such a place does exist, it’s possible that’s where your friend has found herself.”

“So you’re saying that if we want to find Gamora, we need to go for Vormir,” Quill’s hand was now a centimeter from the jump button, “get inside the Soul Stone, and bring her out?”

“Assuming the legend is true, yes.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to Vormir to find ou-”

“Quill, would you slow down for a second, please?” Rocket pleaded.

Quill blinked at Rocket actually displaying manners. His finger was now close enough to the jump button that an accidental twitch could fling them across the Galaxy.

“This is an Infinity Stone we’re talking about. Remember? We all held one on Xandar and would have died if your mom hadn’t gotten knocked up by an all-powerful planet? One of those things that Thanos used to cause pretty much the worst day ever? The one that specifically got Gamora killed in the first place? Maybe you weren’t listening when we filled you guys in on how we saved your sorry butts, but the Soul Stone deals in lives. You have to off someone to even get your hands on it much less figure out how to get in and out of it. We could go there to pick up one person only to have to leave someone else there. Add some whole other world we know nothing about except for Thor’s fairy tale into the mix and we could all wind up dead.”

“...So you’re saying,” Quill glared, “ we shouldn’t try to rescue Gamora.”

“Oh for-” Rocket rolled his eyes. “I’m saying we shouldn’t mess with a crazy powerful cosmic object that could easily kill us all! Again!”

“Yeah, except that’s the only way to rescue Gamora,” Quill’s volume started increasing and he finally moved his finger away from the console to ball both his hands into fists, “so you’re saying we shouldn’t rescue Gamora!”

“We don’t even know if she’s actually there or if your stupid ‘upgrade’ of a ship is glitching out!”

“Yeah, but if it isn’t a glitch, you’re saying we shouldn’t rescue Gamora!”

“Fine! I’m saying we shouldn’t rescue Gamora! You happy now?!”  

Rocket didn’t recognize the next expression on Quill’s face, but Mantis, Nebula, and Drax did. They’d seen it on Titan.

“...Are…” Quill chuckled in disbelief. “Are you for real right now? First you run with your tail between your legs from Thanos and now you’re afraid of one of his rocks?!”

Thor took a step forward, his eyes starting to glow faintly. Groot extended his arm as a barricade. “I am Groot.” No, let this happen.

“Watch it, Quill,” Rocket said through his teeth.

“You watch it!” He took a step towards Rocket, but he didn’t expect Rocket to actually take a step back in response. Quill paused for a moment at this but it only seemed to make him more angry.

“Gamora’s our friend! Our family! How could you not even care what happens to your family?!”

Silence.

Absolute and instant silence. Quill realized his mistake before his last sentence had finished echoing across the bridge. Rocket stared at him with an expressionof complete betrayal and his eyes started to water.

Surely, Rocket - of all people - would start yelling back before any actual tears could fall.

He didn’t.

“...Rocket,” Quill reached a hand out towards his friend. Rocket had never looked so small before. “I’m s-”

“It’s fine.” Rocket said with a cracking, quiet voice as he stared at the floor. “I’m sorry. Of course I want to save her, I just… Just… keep working on the rescue plan without me, okay? I’m gonna go make sure our gear’s ready.”

Nobody said a word as Rocket left the bridge, and Quill was fully prepared for someone to all but murder him as soon as their friend was out of earshot.

He deserved it. He was ready for it.

He did not expect “someone” to be Gamora’s sister.

Nebula was on Quill the moment Rocket had left, punching him square in the jaw with a metal fist. Drax and Groot both stepped forward, ready to hold her back if she swung again. Mantis’ antennae glowed and she reached a hand towards her. Thor did absolutely nothing.

“Do not touch me,” Nebula warned Mantis. “I do not wish to be calm about this.” Mantis realized Nebula was going to stop at a single punch and complied; the fact that Quill was getting back up and was still able to talk was sign enough that she’d held back a little.

“Ow,” Quill said, groaning as he stood. “What the hell, Nebula? I thought you of all people would be with me on th-”

“Five years.”

Quill’s eyes widened. Mantis, Drax, and Groot all looked between each other with varying levels of surprise.

Before that moment, there had been a silent agreement among the Guardians that the victims of The Snap didn’t need to know and didn’t want to know exactly how much time they’d lost. Measurable time in Space was barely a thing to begin with, seeing how every culture had its own system and trying to keep everything on a single calendar was a fruitless chore they’d long since abandoned in favor of pretending it was somebody’s birthday whenever the team felt like it’d been long enough and wanted something to get merrily plastered over. Quantifying just how long most of the Guardians had been “sleeping” seemed so pointless and depressing.

Until Nebula, with wisdom she usually kept under a cloak of violence, realized it meant absolutely everything.

“For five years,” Nebula continued, “he played your same paltry collection of music every day. Like clockwork. He’d tell me which song was each of your favorites whenever it started playing as if he’d never mentioned it before. For five years, in every free moment, he shared stories about every little thing all of you did together from idiotic space adventures to the tree learning how to walk to pointless verbal exchanges he found amusing. For five years, he complained about how hard such a large vessel was to maintain but protested violently at the mere suggestion of trading it for something befitting two people. For five years I pretended I didn’t hear him crying himself to sleep on the occasional night he tried to rest and for five years I pretended I believed him when he insisted he wasn’t having horrific nightmares.”

“He never got over it, not even once, and when he realized there was the smallest hope that he might regain even a fraction of what he lost he was ready to die, not because of any sort of altruism but because dying for the only people who ever loved him sounded better than spending another second alone with his thoughts and single companion who never had the words to help him with his grief in the slightest.”

She grabbed Peter by the collar. Nobody, including Quill, moved to stop her.

“Five. Years. And you have the absolute unshackled insolence to ask him if he cares about his family?”

She put him down and returned to her seat on the bridge without another word but kept an aura of animosity. He’d rather she just punched him again.

It took Quill several minutes to break out of his guilt-driven daze. When he did, Thor seemed to be examining Stormbreaker in a new light. Drax and Mantis has resumed their earlier conversation with less vigor and much more whispering. Sometime during Nebula’s tirade, Groot had left the bridge altogether. Quill wanted out of the crushing silence and hesitantly started the Zune back up.

“Southern Nights, have you ever felt a-”

He shut the Zune back off.