#in the absent place (listening to silence on the radio)

[pizzee]

[momotonescreaming]

Teenage Dream - Part 4

AKA - the Jeff and Eddie have crushes on jocks series Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Jeff let his body sag as soon as he shut his bedroom door behind him, relaxing against the wood, hard and smooth behind his back. Tossing his bag in the general direction of his desk, not caring where it lands, and flopping over his bed. Still in his jeans and leather jacket, not caring in the moment.

He was finally alone.

No one watching him, no one judging him, he was finally free to relax. To think, and to feel, and to let his wandering mind loop back to Chrissy. She had talked to him. Had borrowed a pen and learnt his name. It felt impossible, a meet-cute from one of those rom-coms his mom watches. She was cute, and was right there. It felt like the start. A change. Something new. It only took until his senior year.

Even if it didn’t lead to anything — Chrissy talking to him — it still happened. The head cheerleader acknowledged him, talked to him, and was kind. She didn’t sneer, or call him a freak, or call him the wrong name. Chrissy wouldn’t, she would never — but the fear was there. Of course it was. They came from very different worlds.

Sighing, sounding entirely too wistful about it, Jeff is tempted to just continue laying there. Melt into his mattress, denim and leather digging into his skin, mind wandering. Let all the energy seep out of his body. But he knows that if he doesn’t get up now, he never will, and wearing his leather jacket to bed is going to kill his muscles. The buckles digging into his skin in the most uncomfortable places.

So he gets up, grunting at the effort, taking off his jacket and swinging it over the back of his desk chair. Lets the momentum carry him to the pile of semi-clean washing he has dumped on the floor by his laundry basket, kicks off his jeans and changes into a pair of grey sweatpants.

Absently wonders if Chrissy would let him drape his jacket over her shoulders, to keep her warm. Smelling of leather and cologne and very faintly of weed. Of Jeff. Like a distorted letterman jacket.

And then Jeff’s standing in the centre of his room, alone, sighing into the stagnant air. There’s no way that’ll ever happen. Dust swirling through the room like little cyclones, twisting and floating around him like thoughts of Chrissy.

He wanted to keep it to himself, his meeting with her, but now it all feels a little too much. The silence ringing in his ears. Buzzing under his skin. Itching and clawing its way out.  Sighing, breaking the silence, Jeff goes to sort through his tapes. If he’s going to lose his shit thinking of Chrissy, at least he won’t do it in silence.

Flips through them, focusing on the sound of the plastic cases clicking together as he decides. Eventually settles on a Dio tape — one he had bought on a trip to Bloomington with Eddie. Puts the tape in his stereo, listening to the familiar sounds of the machine, as it clicks the tape on.

Lets the sound of Stand Up and Shout wash over him, as he flops back onto his bed. Laying askew, feet hanging off the edge and his head resting below his pillow. Whatever. Good enough.

The music is familiar, easy, washes through him and scratching that itch in his brain in a way that other music didn’t quite achieve. The guitar, the drums, the speed, the energy. The slow shit, modern ballads and all that was just noise. Didn’t hit quite the same. Didn’t fill the empty spaces in his brain. Each to their own, but metal was something else.

What does Chrissy listen to, Jeff wonders. Does she listen to pop, new wave, does she venture in to rock? Does she have favourite bands, sounds she can’t get enough of? Or does she listen to whatever’s on the radio? Does music move her the way it does Jeff? Or is it just something to kill the silence. What does she listen to when she works out? Does she strap on a walkman as she goes for a run?

If Jeff made her a mixtape, would she listen to it? Would she try and see what Jeff sees? Would it make her think of him?

He’d include a lot of the more chill metal songs, he thinks, ease her into it. Songs with melodic instrumental sections. A sick guitar riff so he could brag that he learnt how to play it by ear. Songs about community, and of finding yourself. Songs that hit Jeff to his very core. Songs about love.

He hasn’t wanted to admit that to himself, say that word — love. It feels strong, too much, but the emotions swirling in Jeff’s chest feel too strong for just like. It wasn’t just a passing fancy, thinking she was cute, or hot, or nice to look at. She was kind, and sweet, and Jeff was falling into infatuation. He wanted to date her, to hold her, to give her flowers and watch her cheer. He wanted to make her a mix tape and introduce her to metal.

Gareth once said that if your crush got an ugly haircut, and you still liked them — it was love. If your crush got an ugly haircut and the feelings faded away — it was just a a crush. Just like.

If Chrissy dyed her hair green and shaved half of it off he’d still think she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. It wasn’t just her looks (hot as she was), but her personality too. In the library she was nice to him. She smiles and waves at people. Compliments them. She was like no other.

So yes, Jeff thought she was hot, but he was trying so hard to be normal about it. Trying not to drool over her like those skeezy jocks from the wrestling team. Trying not to let his thoughts stray into territory it couldn’t come back from. She was taken. She had a boyfriend, who she loved — if their interactions around Hawkins High were anything to go by.

She blows Jason kisses from across the hall, she holds his hand as they walk through the parking lot, he holds open doors for him and she giggles.

The perfect couple. Couldn’t be Jeff, as much as Eddie tries to hype him up about it. High School is only the start, yes. Teenage relationships don’t always last, yes. But cheerleaders don’t dump their popular jock boyfriends for DnD nerds in metal bands.

He’d go to college, meet some jock girl there who doesn’t look past him, and that’s when his life would start. Him and Eddie, getting out of Hawkins. Finding people who liked them back. Because who was Jeff kidding, his type wasn’t nerds. It was jocks, and preps, and girls who were everything he wasn’t. At least Eddie was in the same boat. Made it better, knowing he wasn’t alone.

That while he was sighing over Chrissy in her cheerleading skirt, Eddie was drooling over Steve Harrington in his basketball uniform. That while he was daydreaming about holding doors open for Chrissy, about walking through Hawkins hand in hand — Eddie was dreaming about being wined and dined by Harrington, about flowers, and being swept up into his arms.

The pair of them, absolutely pathetic. Sighing, Jeff gets up to turn the tape over. Flops back down on his bed, continuing to ignore bis bag thrown onto the floor, on the homework he needs to do. He really can’t be bothered. He’s got time, he rationalises, he’s fine. He can do it in his free period tomorrow. Chrissy won’t sit with him again, he’s not that lucky. He can sit down at his same table, and work. Churn through his worksheets, draft his English essay.

So now what. He could listen to more of his tapes, try not to think about the songs he’d pick out for a mixtape. He could pick up his guitar, practice, run through songs to clear his mind of thoughts of her.

Or, he considers. He could call Eddie. See if he’s home.

He thought he wanted to keep this to himself, something special, just for him — but Jeff feels like he’s loosing his mind a little bit. He can’t stop thinking about her and he feels ridiculous. Like a hopeless romantic. A horny teen. A pathetic nerd.

Maybe talking about it will help. Quiet his mind, clear his thoughts.

He does have his own phone in his room. He’s an adult now, he said, and his dad had agreed. He needed that little bit of privacy. Security. Space just for him to talk with his friends without being interrupted. And thankfully his mom had agreed with his dad, in the end. Considering how much both his parents used the phone — and how annoying his shithead younger brothers were about it — the private line was needed.

Jeff did not want to talk about crushes, and sex, and Eddie’s big gay crush where his family could hear.

Fuck, he’s calling Eddie, isn’t he. Dialling the Munson’s number entirely on instinct, Jeff picks the phone off his bedside table and adjusts his position on his bed so he’s not tangled in the cord. He listens to the phone ringing in his ear, and tries not to fidget with the cable, stretching it out.

“Munson,” A gruff voice answers, cutting off the ringing of the phone.

“Hey Uncle Wayne,” Jeff greets the older man, hearing him scoff a laugh down the phone. He’d been calling him for as long as he’s known Eddie. The man didn’t seem to mind, and Eddie himself thought it was hilarious, so Jeff kept doing it.  Calling him just Wayne felt weird. Mr Munson even weirder. So Uncle Wayne it was. “Is Eddie in?”

“Sure is,” Wayne replies, voice deep but humour evident even through the tinny phone speakers. “I’ll grab ‘im for ya.”

He assumes Wayne puts the phone down, or holds it away from his face as Jeff can faintly hear Wayne call out for Eddie. It sounds like he’s yelling through the trailer. Or over Eddie’s loud music. Probably is. Speaking of — Jeff leans off his bed to turn the volume down on his stereo. “Boy! Jeff’s on the phone.”

A rustling, a mumbling noise, and then Eddie is breathing into the phone. “Now what can I do for you, my dear Jeffrey.”

“Role reversal,” He replies, manoeuvring himself back down onto his bed. “I’m the one losing my shit today.”

“Damn,” Eddie replies, and Jeff can tell he’s smiling, even through the phone. Eddie has always been expressive — physically, verbally, emotionally — and Jeff had known him long enough that he was confident in his ability to read his best friend. “Already? Let me get comfy then.”

He huffs a laugh, an exhale of air directly down the speaker, and listens to the sounds of Eddie getting comfy, rustling papers, the screech of a chair against lino floor. He’s sat right at the trailer’s little dining table, right across from the kitchen. Always piled high with coupons and letters and other odds and ends the Munson’s hadn’t sorted through yet. It was nice, knowing exactly where he was, knowing that he knew him that well.

Eddie lets out a noise of satisfaction as he sits down, like he’s just taken a drink of ice cold water on a hot day. Jeff snorts as Eddie continues. “Now lay it on me, Jeffster, why are you losing your shit?”

“So you know how I go to the library in my free period?” He starts, laying the scene. Rustling his sheets as he props himself up on his bed.

“Like a total nerd, yes,” Eddie says immediately, although Jeff can tell he’s joking. Can hear it in his voice.

“Says the guy on his third senior year,” Jeff jokes back, entirely without malice. He hears Eddie bark a laugh, as he continues. “But anyway, it was crazy busy for whatever reason and I heard someone ask if they could sit with me because I was at the only empty table, and…”

Jeff lets the words drag off. Plays up the drama, the suspense. He wouldn’t consider himself a dramatic person, not all that outgoing, but Eddie brought it out in him. Made him braver. More willing to put on the act. Fake it ‘til you make it.

“And?” Eddie prompts, dragging out the word.

“And it was Chrissy Cunningham.” Jeff finishes, and he can feel himself smiling. Cheeks flushing, lips pulling back over his braces.

Eddie fucking shouts down the phone, not moving it away from his face to muffle the sound any, and Jeff just laughs. Absently wonders if Wayne is listening in. Can hear Eddie shouting. He probably can. He’s probably used to it.

“No fucking way dude,” Eddie replies, practically giddy with it. Jeff can hear the squeak of the chair underneath him. Can easily picture Eddie rocking in place, smiling like a demon, perched with one leg up on the chair, leaning on the table. "You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“No shit!” Jeff replies, laughing along with Eddie. “She sat at my table the whole period. Right across from me.”

“I told you! I fucking told you!” He replies. “Did I not fucking tell you?”

“You did in fact tell me.” Jeff sighs, knowing he was going to admit that Eddie was right and he was going to be so insufferable about it. He quickly continues before Eddie could say anything else. “But it’s not going anywhere, so calm down. She’s taken.”

“I will not calm down.” Eddie adds, still giddy. “This is a big moment for freaks like us. Was she nice? Did she know your name? Come on man, enjoy it. Embrace it.”

A pause, silence, as Jeff breathes down the phone before continuing. “She was super nice. She was kind, and looked cute when she giggled. Didn’t know my name though, I had to introduce myself.”

“Well they can’t all be winners,” Eddie comments, grunting as he shifted position. “Five bucks says Harrington doesn’t know my name either.”

“You know what,” Jeff replies, thinking it over. “I’ll take that bet. Henderson has absolutely mentioned you to Harrington before. If they really are as close as he says they are. He’s gotta have told him he was going to Hellfire with you.”

“Oh it’s on, Jeffward.” Eddie says. “Money on the table, shake hands, it’s on.”

Part Five

Tag List @goosesister @scarlet-malfoy @mavernanche @manda-panda-monium @yoriposts @grtwdsmwhr @panicatthediaz @m-owo-n

[vodika-vibes]

Round 8 *ding ding ding*

(Final one, I promise)

Fives and "I'm not jealous. I just know the intentions of someone like that has for you, even if you claim not to see them yourself."

Please and thank you, my love 💚💚💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Not Jealous

Summary: Fives doesn't like the businessman you're meeting with.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x Reader

Word Count: 1248

Warnings: Hints of spice near the end

Tagging: @trixie2023

A/N: Notes about this AU. Reader's family owns a company that is intricately twined with the GAR, to the point where injured clones are "traded" to the company in exchange for their technology. The Clones traded to the company are offered top-notch medical care, full time jobs, paychecks, as well as their own fully furnished apartments. And Echo, after being recovered, was sent to the company for the better medical care as well as better prosthetics.

Divider by Saradika

You absently twirl your pen between your fingers as the heavy silence in your workshop becomes deafening. You keep your gaze locked on Fives, clad in all of his armor, and standing stock still against the wall.

He’s in a foul mood. You don’t need to be a jedi to see that. Though you can’t quite figure out why.

Your Fives is usually so good about communicating with you, so his foul temper is concerning, to say the least. 

It’s been a year now, since Fives joined your family's company as your personal bodyguard. Your older brother found him, drugged and rambling, on the lower levels and immediately brought Fives home to receive medical attention. 

Once Fives was sober, he spilled the whole story to your father and the rest of the family, and since then the whole company has been doing everything in their power to undermine Palpatine.

It’s not a lot, Palpatine is Emperor in all but name at this point, but death by one thousand papercuts is still death.

Maybe that is what’s bothering him? You muse silently as you flicker your gaze back to your datapad, where you’re currently designing new prosthetics for Echo. It has been a year since his ‘death’ and he hasn’t been able to talk to any of the brothers he was closest to since then.

You feel for him, you do. But he still has a price on his head.

You turn your gaze back to the man you’re in a meeting with. He’s still talking. He didn’t even notice your lapse of attention. Honestly, you don’t even need this man’s business. Your company is wealthy enough without it, but father said you had to play nice, so here you are. Listening to a man crow about his achievements, as though you actually care.

He smiles at you, a grin that he probably thinks is charming but just comes off as smarmy, “Perhaps, my dear, we can continue this conversation without your bodyguard present? Perhaps at dinner?”

“I’m afraid my bodyguard will go where I go.” You reply evenly, your gaze drifting back to your schematics. Maybe Echo would like a radio in his prosthetic arm?

“Of course, giving the state of the galaxy that makes total sense,” The businessman replies with a booming laugh, as though he just told a hilarious joke.

“Just so. If there’s nothing else I do have another appointment I need to get to.”

“Ah, look at me, wasting your time.” He stands, and so do you, and he offers his hand. You take it in a firm grip and he wraps both of his hands around yours, “It was so nice to meet with you. We simply must do this again at some point.”

You flash a closemouthed smile, and, as soon as he’s gone from your workshop you drop back into your seat.

You look up when Fives places his helmet on the table next to you, a scowl on his handsome features, “He’s a pig.”

“Father acts much the same when he’s meeting with other businessmen,” You reply as you turn your chair to look up at him.

“No. He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat.”

You raise your eyebrows, “I didn’t know you were the jealous type, Fives.”

"I'm not jealous. I just know the intentions someone like that has for you, even if you claim not to see them yourself." Fives counters with a frown.

You sigh, “If you say so then you’re probably right. You’re so much better at reading people than I am.” 

“He wants you.” Fives says bluntly, irritation laced through his voice. “He wants you and he wants all of your money and power, and he seems like the type who wouldn’t care how he went about getting it.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I have no interest in meeting up with him anywhere.” You counter, “Especially not alone.” You reach out your arms to him, “Come here, darling.”

Fives chuckles and walks over to you. He sets his hands on the back of your chair and leans in so he’s looming over you, “You know you could have just stood up and walked over to me.” He says, his voice warm.

You lean up and press a kiss against his jaw, “Why would I do that?”

“Spoiled.” Fives chides with a small grin. He releases the back of your chair, and effortlessly lifts you from the chair to sit on the table, “There. Now I don’t have to lean down so much.”

“Now who’s spoiled?” You tease.

“Hey, you try leaning over like that while wearing 36 kilos (80 lbs) of armor.” He taps the inside of your knee with a light finger, and you spread your legs so he can stand between them.

“So what you’re saying is that you want me to design lighter armor for you?” You ask, already eyeing his chest piece speculatively.

He taps your nose, twice, “You need to stay in your lane, cyare. You design prosthetics. Leave the armor design to your twin.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, “I could so design armor if I wanted to.”

“Of course you could,” Fives soothes as he drapes his arms over your shoulders, “But you’re in the process of designing prosthetics for my twin, and I’d like you to continue focusing on that.”

“Oh, yeah.” You grab your datapad and flip it so he can look at it, “Ta-dah! Echo’s arm prosthetic. I left a scomp in the arm, because it’s useful.”

“Matte materials?”

“No reflecting light.” You say cheerfully, “I’m considering adding a radio into his arm, so he can listen to music.”

“He wouldn’t want that.” Fives replies dryly.

“...how about a small comm?”

“That would be useful.” He leans in and kisses the tip of your nose, “What about his legs?”

“I’m still working on them. But they’ll be the same material as his arm.” You reply as you set the datapad aside, “Once he’s out of surgery, you’ll be able to talk to him.”

Something warm and wistful crosses his face, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t keep you from your twin brother anymore than you would keep me from my twin sister.” You kiss him quickly, “I know you missed him.”

“...I left him-”

“Maybe so,” You say gently, “But Fives, he’s alive. Focus on that for the moment.”

“You’re terrible at comforting.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He chuckles and bumps his forehead against yours, his eyes closing, “Do you have another meeting today, cyare?”

“I’m meeting with you.”

He laughs, and kisses you gently, “You’re impossible.”

“I was worried because you seemed grumpy.” You mumble, “So I cleared my schedule to spend time with you.” Embarrassment heats your face.

Fives blinks, and then he crashes his lips against yours, “I love you so much.” He breathes against your lips.

“Love you too.” You reply with a happy sigh.

“Is the office door locked?” Fives asks as his hand slides under the sides of your shirt.

You reach behind you and press a button on your desk that allows the door to lock, “It is now.”

“My good cyar’ika, always so obedient.” Fives purrs against your lips. “That deserves a reward, don’t you think?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the look on his face, “Yes, please.” you whisper.

Fives laughs just before his lips catch yours and he leans you back over the desk.

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

So I saw this post and well you know how it goes…

 Now I’m thinking about Entomologist Ganondorf and traveler Link

 Link in one of the rare times he is home for a few days and finds himself without plans turning on the old television that came with the place. Flipping through the channels absently and finding nothing of interest until he sees this giant of a man with butterflies clinging to him as he talks about them. Link recognizes the butterflies, he tasted on a few years back when he was traveling death mountain. Spiciest bug he ever tastes and the effects were great, he could barely feel the heat of the lava as he climbed higher and higher.

 Ganondorf calls them Smotherwings and talks about all their benefits and how the locals use them in potions they sell to visitors to help them stand the heat of the volcano. From there he moves onto another region and another bug Link’s eaten while visiting. He watches entrance and fascinated as the man interacts with both live and mounted specimens talking about all of their benefits Link had unknowingly been taking advantage of.

 Link posts about the show as he watches it. How attractive he finds the butterfly man how he wants to eat bugs with him and listen to him talk about them for hours. How he wants to marry the butterfly man.

Once the show is over Link is immediately trying to find the episode so he can track the butterfly man down. Unfortunately other than using the one social media app to post pictures from his travels he’s no very good with the internet. He texts Zelda in frustration. She laughs as his continued ineptitude with technology that isn’t the one app he bothered to learn. She does manage to find his name and then Link is able to find him too.

 Link starts following the man looking forward to more bug related content from him in the future.

 He wakes up the next morning to find that Ganondorf has followed him and gone through all of his stuff likening all of his bug eating posts. On the post where Link expressed wanting to marry the man, sure it would never be seen by more than a few friends Ganondorf has replied with - I’m flattered 💍-

 Zelda being the little shit she shared it with her own massive following with – You’re going to say yes right? -  She is not the only one commenting on it, hundreds of people Link does not know have opinions on their supposed upcoming nuptials. It is a little unsettling and he promises himself to get revenge on Zelda for unleashing her followers on him. He has a massive uptick in followers since last night because of all of this.

 He doesn’t respond publicly instead sliding into Ganondorf’s dms - Do you want to go on a date? – Nervous and hopeful, stomach feeling like he has tried swallowing a live butterfly again. It tickles too much he will not make that mistake again.

He is not left waiting long, phone pinging near immediately with a response - Will there be bugs? -

 That is an easy question to answer – Yes – and he hopes it will be well received. He is pretty sure it will be but there is still a nerve racking second before he gets his answer.

 - I’d love to – Link is giddy with excitement.

 They both go radio silence for a while, no bug facts from Ganondorf, no pictures of Link’s travels. When they do finally show up online again they both post the same picture. The two of them smiling and feeding each other bugs in some remote location.

 Zelda once again has her followers in a frenzy when she replies to their pictures with – There better not be any bugs in the wedding cake. – They laugh when they read it and go back to enjoying traveling together, ignoring their growing follower count.

[mandiemegatron]

•]••´º´•» 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ; «•´º´••[•

Afab & Named Reader x Shachi

Rated: 18+, porn with minor plot, first time sex, pussy eating, whimpering needy Shachi, smut smut smut ♡

A birthday fic for my bestie Venus [@buggyandthebartoclub ]!! She asked for something Shachi and I was more than happy to deliver 🤭🤭🤭💖💖💖 I am so blessed and overjoyed to have one of the world's most amazing people as a bestie, I am so happy you exist my lovely Venus. Thank you for coming into my life and fueling my selfship craziness and for supporting my life's journey. You are such a wonderful person and I'm so happy I get to be a part of your life. I hope you enjoy this little treat, my love!!

HAPPY MUDDAFUCKIN BIRTHDAY !!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊

A HUGE thank you to my beta @moss-woods , I am nothing without you, thank you for everything 😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖

Songs to listen to while reading ; one , two

You'd been living on the Polar Tang for nearly a year when your birthday came round, almost missing it if it weren't for Ikkaku saying something as you two were getting dressed for a boiler room shift.

“Is it February already?” You murmured absent-mindedly, zipping up your suit and turning to face her. Your best friend shook her head with a laugh of disbelief, nearly shocked that you'd forget what day it was.

“Your birthday is literally tomorrow, dude.”

You frowned slightly, giving a soft hum before slipping into your boots, tying them tight. While you knew Christmas had already passed, it did not feel like it was already February.

“Time passes so weird on the sub,” you commented as you both left your shared room, closing the door behind you.

“You get used to it,” She replied, tugging you down the hallways towards the kitchen area. You both waved and said your good mornings to Uni and Penguin, who sat at the bartop eating breakfast.

“There's coffee brewed if you want it,” Penguin commented to you, nodding his head at you in a form of acknowledgement. You grinned in response and poured yourself a cup, giving a soft, delighted hum as you took a long sip.

“Well, if it isn't the most gorgeous thing to ever grace this little ship!”

You raised an eyebrow in jest at Shachi who rounded the corner, a grin of his own already cracking his face as he closed in towards you. He leaned down slightly to smack a loud kiss to your cheek, ignoring your grunt of protest before gently snatching your coffee from your hands.

You gawked at him as he chugged it back, giving a loud, content sigh as he placed the mug down. There was a moment of bewildered silence before all four of you jumped him, shouting swears and beating the redhead into a lump in the corner.

Cradling a new cup of Joe in your hands, you followed Ikkaku down to the boiler room, giving a cranky groan as you sat at the table containing the ship's blueprints. Ikkaku sat across from you, picking up one of the sheets from the table and giving a groan of her own as she did her morning checklist.

“You wanna check gauges for me when you're ready?”

You gave a tired grunt in response, taking another few sips before making your way to the first boiler tank. Picking up the clipboard hanging on the side, you checked the gauges and wrote down the numbers, just like you'd done hundreds of times. After documenting them all and signing off with your initials, you moved onto the second and did the exact same, humming along to the snail-radio that sat off to the side of the room.

“Hey Vee, so uh,”

You glanced over your shoulder at Ikkaku, a questioning look on your face as you waited for her to continue. She opened her mouth and you both jumped as the boilers turned on with loud groans and clanks, the heat coming off them immediately causing you both to begin sweating.

You both groaned at the same time, knowing they only did that when it got too cold outside the sub, which could freeze the mechanics inside the ship if the temperature dropped too low.

“We must be getting close to a winter island,” You commented as you unzipped the top half of your suit, tying it around your waist comfortably, glad you had put on a proper tank top underneath. Ikkaku followed suit, giving a slight cough as she finally continued,

“So… you uh, you and Shachi, huh?”

Your face burst into bright reds at her question, your answer catching in your throat as you sign off on the second boiler.

“You got me fucked up, what are you going on about?”

Your bestie gave a loud laugh in reply, reaching closer and whacking your shoulder with a friendly punch.

“You can't hide shit from me, you dumb bitch. Try again.”

An anxious groan escaped you as you moved onto the third boiler, picking up the clipboard before giving your best friend a long sigh. You stared at the ceiling for a second before finally admitting,

“Yeah, okay, me and Shachi are um, interested in each other?”

Ikkaku gave a cackle of triumph, clinging to you and shaking you by your shoulders.

“Oh, I fuckin’ knew it! The way you didn't immediately punch him when he smooched your cheek and stole your coffee earlier-”

You quickly shushed her, looking around nervously before looking back to her with an anxious reply of,

“We just don't want to get in trouble. We don't even know if we're allowed to date, so we're just… trying to keep it on the down low, you know?”

Ikkaku gave you a pointed stare, crossing her arms over her chest as she questioned,

“You guys really think the Captain wouldn't let you guys be happy together? I don't think he'd be like that, especially with it being your birthday tomorrow.”

You sighed heavily and tapped the clipboard against your forehead a few times before explaining,

“It's not that, it's just, you know, a professionalism thing. We live together, we work together, it's a bit of a dangerous thing, honestly.” you chewed your bottom lip for a moment before continuing softly, “At least, to me it feels like that.”

Ikkaku thought over your words for a second before giving you a solid nod, her expression understanding as she patted your shoulder.

“Alright … I get it. I won't say anything.”

Feeling like a weight was lifted from you, you gave her a nod of your own, a small smile on your face as you thanked her. As she walked away to do her own work, you finished up your readings and initialed off, going back to the table and finishing off your now lukewarm coffee.

“Venus-ya.”

You turned and gave Law a wave, to which he returned with a nod of his hatted head.

“Are you done here?”

You looked to Ikkaku who gave a nod, sipping her own coffee as she waved you both off.

“I can handle it from here, thanks for your help!”

Your Captain looked down to you and quietly asked,

“A moment of your time?”

Anxious gnawing ate away at your stomach at his words, giving him a wide eyed look before nodding slowly. You asked in the same tone,

“... am I in trouble?”

Your Captain gave you a cheeky, raised eyebrow in return, not verbally replying as he turned and began walking out of the boiler room. You and Ikkaku shared a look before you took off after him.

You caught up quickly, grateful that he slowed slightly as you walked side by side. Worry washed over your skin at the silence, wanting to ask him literally anything to rid the buzz that rang in your ears, but nothing came out.

You followed behind as he led you into his office, though you froze at the doorway as you take in Shachi sitting in one of the chairs in front of Law's desk. Both your faces turned white as you made eye contact, slowly finding your way to your chair and sitting down.

There was a heavy silence in the office as Law sat down, rubbing at his face for a few moments before giving a sigh, leaning back in his chair as he stared at the two of you.

“So.”

You clasped your hands together tightly in your lap, your nails digging into the backs of your hands as you waited for him to continue, unable to look over and see if Shachi was just as nervous.

“Is there something you two want to tell me?”

There was another heavy silence that weighed over the three of you until Shachi finally spoke up, his voice quiet but honest.

“... I'm in love with her.”

You whipped your head to the side, staring at him with wide, teary eyes as your heart leapt into your throat. He only stared at Law, his gaze dark and serious behind his shades which his Captain could almost physically feel.

“And you?”

You turned back to Law as a few tears slipped down your cheeks, causing your Captain to stiffen at seeing them. He went to say something when you cut him off, your voice shaky as you replied,

“I love him.”

Shachi reached over and gripped your clasped hands in one of his, his touch warm and grounding though his palm was slightly sweaty. You flashed him a quick, watery grin before you both looked back to Law.

The Heart Pirate Captain was silent, watching you both with a hawk eyed expression, mulling over his words as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“... I'm happy for you two.”

Excitement washed over the both of you as you visibly relaxed, your hands peeling apart to cling to Shachi's. Law watched you two for a moment more before continuing,

“While I can accept this, I expect you both to be respectful of those around you and also of each other. I don't want my ship falling apart due to you having a fight or anything. I expect work to be completed as usual, I expect nothing but the best from either of you, am I understood?”

You and Shachi nodded eagerly at his words, grins washing over both your faces as Law continued,

“You have my blessing. All I ask is that you be safe with this decision,” he made a point to look at you, causing your face to burn red. “I know you're on birth control but things can happen. I expect you both to be incredibly careful about this.”

You sniffled softly and wiped at your face with one hand, the other still clinging to Shachi's as you murmured out gratefully,

“Thank you, Captain.”

Law simply nods in response before going back to his books on his desk.

“You're dismissed. Back to work, both of you.”

You and Shachi rise from your chairs and make quick work of leaving his office, only getting a few steps away from his door before Shachi scoops you up into his arms, pressing hot kisses to your face as he holds you close. You cling to him in response, catching his lips against yours a few times as a delighted laugh leaves you.

“I'm so in love with you, Venus,” he barely gets out, his fingers digging into the suit wrapped around your waist. “You have seriously made me the happiest guy on the Grand Line.”

You can't help but grin up at him, an ecstatic and loving look spread across your face as you replied,

“I feel the same, Shachi. I love you so much.”

You both spend a few more moments holding each other, not wanting to separate just yet and a desperate thought comes to Shachi as he asks in a soft purr,

“Can I have you before we go back? I can't wait, I need you-”

You cut him off with a heavy kiss, one hand clinging to the back of his head, fingers tangled into his fiery locks. He accepts that as your answer and picks you up, his strong hands under your ass as your legs wrap around his waist.

“Our room is closer, go there,” you whisper breathlessly, holding tight to him as he walks around the corner and opens the door to you and Ikkaku's room. He locks the door behind him and lays you on the bed, your legs untangling from him.

There's nothing but the sounds of you both breathing, your gazes locked as Shachi slowly rips his suit from his body, his black tank top clinging to his skin. You watch with loving eyes as he rips his shades and hat from his head, setting them on your dresser before removing the rest of his clothes.

You begin removing the rest of your suit and in a flash, you're both naked, his body covering yours as your tongues fight for dominance. Your hands scratched over his back, angry red lines covering his gorgeous skin as his sharp teeth grazed over your throat, desperate to sink into your skin.

“Please let me eat that pussy, babe, I need to taste you so bad.”

You clenched around nothing, already soaked and wanting as he whines and pants in your ear. You give a shaky nod, unable to reply in anything other than gasps and soft moans as he slowly makes his way down. He gives a needy groan at the sight of your cunt, already glistening and ready for him as he descends down.

Your eyes fall shut as his mouth meets your clit, immediately sucking on the small bud for a bit before his long tongue swipes over and into your entrance, licking up all your slick with a delighted moan. You cover your face with a heavy hand, huffing and whimpering as he devours you inside and out. His tongue dances over your clit again, moving up and down as he slides two of his fingers into you.

You can't bite back the groan that leaves you, the pads of his fingers pressing up and into the soft spot that makes you see stars. He's muttering every once in a while, his hips grinding the tip of his strained cock against the bed as he fucks his fingers into you, his tongue licking and pressing roughly against your tender and swollen bud.

You feel it rush through you, creeping up like a tingling flame over your skin as you moan out,

“Shachi, o-oh Shachi please, I'm so close, I'm so close,” and that's when you finally hear it, what he's been begging the whole time.

“Cum on my face, please cum on my face, I need to taste you, I need you to cum all over me, God, please Venus, please cum on my face-”

His words send you over the edge, a gasping moan catching in your throat as you go blind for a second, your body shaking and twitching as he continues to finger fuck you. He gives a delighted gasp and whine as you squirt a bit, coating his hand, forearm, and face with your essence.

When he finally relents, you catch your breath and let your hand fall away from your face, your eyes catching his as he sucks every drop of you from his hand, making sure to keep your gaze as he does it.

“I'm glad I thought of this,” he quips, his tone cheery as he moves to cover your body with his once more. You tiredly pull him to you and he's quick to lift your already aching legs to your chest, the tip of his fat cock pressing against your still throbbing entrance. He gives you a pointed look, which you wave off with a lightheaded grin, running a lazy hand through his hair.

“I love you, Shachi,” you moan out breathlessly, causing the redhead to stutter slightly before he begins to press into you, pulling a ragged gasp from your already sore throat.

“I love you,” he returns, his own voice catching in his chest as he thrusts gently once, twice and finally fills you with a third, a whining gasp leaving him as he barely gets out,

“You feel like heaven, your pussy is paradise, I love you, I love you-”

You whimper as he finally begins moving, your cunt pulsing around his cock as his tip presses against the tip of your cervix, the pain washing away as pleasure quickly overtakes your senses. His hands on your hips are tight, bruising as he leans down to clamp his teeth around the space between your neck and shoulder, a low groan rumbling in his chest at the way you clench around his cock.

“You feel so good, you're so good, oh fuck, fuck, fuck,”

His hips are relentless, pounding his cock into you over and over, not stopping even as your second orgasm slams into you from nowhere, your cunt fluttering and milking him for everything he has. His eyes rolled back as he lost his pace for a moment, the feeling of being inside you making him lose all sense of logic.

“Please let me cum inside you, I need to fill you, I want to fill you so badly, I want everyone to know you're mine, please let me cum inside you, please babe please,” Shachi begs, his voice climbing higher and higher as he nears his end. You simply nod, moving your legs to wrap around his waist and keeping him to you as you barely get out,

“Please fill me, Shachi,”

At those words, Shachi loses it, a guttural moan leaving him as he presses into you a few more times, thrusting one last time and filling you with his hot seed. You whimper at the feeling, the heat and slick slipping out of your cunt and staining your bedsheets.

You cling to each other, both of your highs seeming to never end as you take in each other. It feels like forever when he finally pulls away, picking his weight off you and staring down at you with the softest, most loving expression you'd ever seen on his beautiful face.

“... I love you,” he whispers. Your heart overflows with love for him, your hands moving to cup his cheeks as you reply, “I love you so much.”

He grins weakly down at you before catching your lips with his, his love for you pouring into this one kiss. After a few more moments, he finally moves away from you and gathers his clothes, quickly getting dressed and helping you into your own. You wince as your shoulder aches, his bite mark throbbing though you touch it with prideful fingertips, your cheeks burning as just thinking about it.

“Now everyone will know you're my hot, sexy girlfriend,” he teases, pinching your buttcheek and laughing when you whack the back of your hand against his chest.

Gathering a change of underwear, a different tank top, sports bra and your bath towel, you sigh and groan out,

“Well, I'm going to shower before I head to the kitchen. Lunch prep, yay,” you waved a hand in pretend excitement, your dull tone causing Shachi to burst into laughter.

“I think you need to simmer down there babe, you are way too excited for this,” he jokes, following you out of the room while sliding his hat back on.

“Sorry, let me just,” you give him a deadpan expression and in the most boring tone you could pull, you bit out,

“Woo. Hoo.”

Peels of laughter left your boyfriend, his arms slinging around your shoulder as he led you down to the showers.

“I love you,” he murmurs again, pressing a quick kiss to your temple as Penguin and Bepo come around the corner.

“There you are! Dude, you've been missing for almost two hours!”

Shachi gives a shrug at Penguins complaining, lowering his shades just enough to throw you a wink before he walks on with his fellow men.

“Ah, sorry guys, I just had to help Venus with something, that's all.”

You shake your head, face burning bright as you walk into the showers, ready to let the hot water wash away the remnants of your moment with your lover.

As the water scalds your skin, you let your head fall back and rest against the cool wall of the shower, a wide grin in your face as the spray washed over your body.

You felt like you were on cloud nine. Truly, there was nothing better than getting a boyfriend for your birthday.

[junjiie]

해찬  ##  🗯️ ⠀ &THEAFTERPARTY..

eight took you long enough. ⠀ wc 1.9k. ⠀ warnings none.

the first day on the job hadn’t been as unbearably awful as donghyuck had expected it to be.

there were still some parts he would’ve rather never have happened—those largely being the appearance of his closest friends one by one, each going out of their way to be ‘supportive’ (read: mark and jake) but only succeededing in being irritating, or coming in only to order the most complicated drink they could think of for the sole purpose of annoying him (read: jiung and renjun), and the drink he’d fucked up for a kid that didn’t look a day over sixteen. 

he was on his second night now, the time on the only slightly scary-looking garfield clock mounted on the wall ticking just past one in the morning as he wiped down tabletops and hummed absently to a song mark had been playing in his apartment that morning. his thoughts were wandering while he cleaned, and when he caught sight of you cracking up at something a now put-out looking soobin had said they took a turn in your direction.

things with you hadn’t been unbearably awful, not in the slightest—it was more that they hadn’t been at all. you’d granted him a “hey, hyuck” accompanied by a small wave on his first night before a boy called junhyeon had shown him the ropes despite looking like he didn’t particularly want to, while simultaneously bickering with another boy named gyuvin about the proper place the mugs were supposed to go, but apart from that it’d been radio silence. he supposed making eye contact occasionally and acknowledging each other’s presence didn’t really count as being on amicable terms again.

a voice yelled at him from the back of his mind, sounding suspiciously like renjun as it told him to just get over himself and apologise. he scowled down at the smooth wooden surface of the table he must’ve wiped over at least five times by now, about to discard the idea for the nth time, but then he stopped. stopped and considered.

it would make things less awkward between you. his friends would stop complaining. soobin might stop giving him eyes that, if looks could kill, would’ve put him far deeper than just six feet under. it would make shifts at the coffee shop a better experience on the whole if he had two people of his own age to talk to, instead of standing and either lying witness to junhyeon and gyuvin’s arguing or having to try and make conversation with shota—who, if he was being honest, hyuck didn’t understand all that much. the first question he asked him in person was if he knew that much about aliens, and all hyuck could do was shake his head and stand there helpless as he listened to the subsequent full account of every theory and apparent sighting there had ever been, in chronological order. it was like the kid had been at every one of them.

so, on the whole, getting his shit together and apologising had more pros than cons. haechan took a breath and looked over his shoulder to where you were currently taking advantage of the lull in activity to make yourself a drink, before making the split-second decision to get it over and done with right there and then. better tonight than never.

he put on his best mark lee accent in his head to give himself a very last second pep talk, but misjudged the amount of time it would take him to abandon the cloth he was using to clean and walk over behind the counter to reach you. he was only halfway through the sentence if it goes wrong you can just quit before he was staring at where your back was currently turned to him and wondering how the hell to start up a conversation without sounding like someone was holding a gun to the back of his head.

thankfully you noticed his presence (that he hoped didn’t seem too ominous, or eerie, or just straight up strange) and did the hard work for him after one long sip from your self-made coffee.

“uh. hi? you good, hyuck?”

you only looked mildly curious instead of something more along the lines of wanting him to die, and that put haechan at ease a little—heavy emphasis on a little—for a moment. but that blissful moment didn’t last long, because he panicked at the question you asked him and came out with the first thing that sprang to mind.

“i’m fine, yeah, it’s just—what time does this place close in the morning? it’s completely slipped my mind, sorry. i think renjun said something about finally getting us all over to have brunch.”

renjun had not, in fact, said anything of the sort. the few times all five of them had been crowded into his small flat renjun had nearly had an aneurysm, and had sworn never to let them within five feet of his door again. still—what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

you started to open your mouth as if to say something, but then stopped and slowly pointed at a sign behind you. that very clearly said NIGHT SHIFT: 10PM — 6AM, with the chart of all of your shift schedules underneath it (which donghyuck’s name had been hastily added to the night before by gyuvin, while doyoung either drafted up another version with him included on it or moved him to another slot in the day. personally, he thought that the crudely-written DONGHYUCK in bright pink biro gave it a fun pop of colour, and had proudly sent a picture of it to the group chat afterwards. jiung said he hated it more than the guy that sat behind him in economics). suddenly haechan felt very stupid.

“oh. right. yeah.”

you waved him off, appearing completely unbothered, and turned back to your cup. after a few more moments of silence, you began to turn on your heel—presumably to escape to the back, or take your break, or maybe just run from hyuck in general—but before you could disappear donghyuck rushed to stop you.

“ah, yn, wait.”

you hesitantly turned fully to face him, draining the last of your drink in one go and giving him what he felt was your full attention. donghyuck shifted from one foot to the other as he tried to figure out the best way to just talk to you, like he’d been perfectly able to a year and two months ago.

he cast a conspiratorial glance over his shoulder, cautious of anyone listening in, but when he looked he only saw gyuvin and junhyeon standing either side of one of the tables, arguing over the correct way to stack chairs atop it while they cleaned the floor, and shota hunched over the counter with his head in his arms looking about two minutes from falling asleep. he assumed soobin was in the back, on break or something else of the like. heeseung and his duo of slightly-strange looking friends he had been accompanied by the night before were nowhere to be seen either, so hyuck figured he should say it now or not say it at all. 

“i just—wanted to say sorry.”

the look on your face morphed into one of confusion, an eyebrow raising slightly as you put down the now-empty to-go cup in your hands.

“for what?”

it was donghyuck’s turn to feel confused, mouth opening but any words that could’ve been there failing to come out for a moment until the feeling of your eyes staring straight into him jolted him into answering, the words all coming out in a rush.

“for the whole ghosting thing, you know? completely blanking you wasn’t cool, even if by then we’d stopped—yeah.”

he didn’t quite know what he was expecting from you in response, but a blank shrug and the expression on your face changing from its confusion to a plain not-quite-but-nearly complete disinterest in his apology was most definitely not it. you picked the cup back up and turned it over in your hands for something to do.

“it’s fine, hyuck, really. yeah, i hated it for a bit, but i’m over it now.”

he practically breathed a sigh of relief, the worry leaving his body. but still, he had to really make sure—“so we’re good, now, right?”

“we’re good.”

a smile flitted over your face after the affirmation, and he thought that then—just for a moment, at some stupid time in the morning (he’d never liked your night shifts), with the shitty led lights above you and compulsory uniform apron tied loosely around your waist—that you looked.. pretty. 

what?

the thought was so sudden it left him without words, shocked still for a few long moments behind the wooden counter while you mumbled something about needing more straws and then disappeared off to the back, leaving the plastic cup abandoned on the counter. pretty? you were obviously attractive—anyone with eyes could see that—but to have that thought out of the blue after a year and two months and a smile felt.. strange. 

and strange was the last thing donghyuck wanted right now. he still felt like he was partly reeling from the whole aliens conversation with shota the night before as it was, he didn’t need weird thoughts about your smile and your face and you in general to add into the mix. he shook his head hard to get rid himself of the thought and retrieved his phone from his pocket instead, seeing as the rest would probably want to know the good news.

he was right: not a minute after he’d sent the simple text ‘i fixed things with yn’ he was being spammed with celebratory messages from jake, all in capitals with too many exclamation marks to count. mark had also joined in on the fun, albeit with less capitals and exclamation marks. renjun only said it took you long enough, and jiung left them all on read. and so it goes.

hyuck stayed staring at the messages (or lack of, in jiung’s case) long after he’d replied, scrolling up and then down and then back up again, more times than he could count. i fixed things with yn. he read it until his eyes went blurry. he exited out of the group chat and found your contact again. ynnie. the profile picture, of you in his room. have fun. there were only a few walls between you now, compared to the thousands of miles that it had been little more than a couple weeks ago, but he still felt distant. like it was only a temporary fix, masking tape plastered over a knife to the chest.

i’m over it now. it felt true, and it looked it as well—but donghyuck didn’t feel any better.

he tried to ignore the steadily sinking feeling growing in his chest by shoving his phone back into his pocket, returning to the cloth he’d abandoned on the table and getting back to cleaning, rubbing harder than he necessarily needed to. over it. all was forgiven, even if it hadn’t really been forgotten. you were over it. that should’ve been the end of things.

except hyuck was now coming to the realisation that he wasn’t sure if he was over it. not half as much as he’d thought himself to be, anyway. maybe the distance had tricked him into thinking he was fine. but now he felt a lot like the rug had been pulled from underneath his feet, leaving him lost in unfamiliar territory, stumbling through the dark on unstable feet.

i’m over it now. it came to him then, at something-past-one in the morning—garfield clock ticking steadily on from its place on the wall, standing and gazing down listlessly at his own reflection in the dark wood table—that he didn’t want you to be.

(･o･;) 💣 ⠀ previous mlist next

JJ ₊ ⠀ HI!!!!! ngl this was fun.. still kinda ?? ab my writing but i still like it ^ ^ last update for a while bc i need to stock up on chapters lol. ty karma for reading this over ily and GNNN!!!

taglist ## @wave2love @so2uv @mins-fins @kimgyuuu @wtfhyuck (perm) &&& @deafeningtyrantmilkshake @kosmicbomb @222brainrot @haohyo @dinonuguaegi

[monsterlovinghours]

Aftermath

A/N: hey hi so i'm not dead. sorry about the radio silence, life has been kinda batshit. i'm still around and i even still write on occasion!

so i binged Lucifer and uhhh i have some feelings. i couldn't give a shit about the copaganda aspect but listen LISTEN i have a weakness for two smart people who are so dumb that it takes them YEARS to realize they love each other. anyway this lil ficlet takes place immediately after S5E16 of Lucifer, so major spoiler alert. y'know, if there's anyone who gives a shit about Lucifer spoilers at this point lmao. comfort, grief, and smut ahead!

It had been Lucifer’s idea not to drive back to the penthouse. He, Amenadiel, and all the surviving angels had stood around talking, discussing next steps, purposefully shutting their humbled brother out, winged backs turned. Chloe had watched as Michael had gotten shakily to his feet, glaring first at his siblings, then at her, and she was not surprised to see his loathing melt into an expression of great sorrow as he turned away, limping out of the arena. She wasn't quite sure where he intended to go, and part of her was apprehensive about letting him wander the streets of her beloved Los Angeles when he had proven to be dangerous, cunning, and untrustworthy. But he was harmless now, hobbled by the loss of his wings, just as human as anyone else. Dealing with that would be punishment enough, she supposed. 

At last the sun had set, the white floodlights bathing the field in an artificial glow. Mazikeen had retreated long ago, pausing to take Chloe's hand and express her joy that she wasn't dead. "Not anymore," she had less-than-tactfully added before grinning and draping her arm around Eve's shoulder, the two of them sauntering off into the night in much better spirits than Chloe herself could manage. Her hand absently drifted down to her stomach, where she could still feel the faint echoes of the broken staff, shoved and twisted into her vital organs. There had been no pain, just the draining of air from her lungs and the terrible sensation of wrongness, of something inside her that was not meant to be. The blood on her shirt was dry now, the fabric stiff and ragged. There was no salvaging it. At least  the sun was down, taking the worst of the day's heat with it, and she could zip up her jacket to hide the worst of it and still remain relatively comfortable. 

When at last the huddle of angels (absently, Chloe what one would call a group of angels-a blessing, perhaps?) began to disperse and the empty arena echoed back the sound of flapping wings, Lucifer returned to her. She half expected him to be smug, walking with a peacock strut at his victory. For once, however, it seemed he was serious, greeting her with only a ghost of his usual smirk. It didn't escape her attention that his eyes flickered to her midsection before they made it up to her face. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Detective." He was back to calling her "detective," and that felt oddly comforting. "Lots of things in motion at the moment. God business, you understand." There was a flash of teeth as his smile attempted its usual charming brilliance, and though it fell short, Chloe returned it nonetheless. 

"It's alright," she assured him, taking a deep breath. "You ready to get out of here?"

"More than." In one smooth motion, his wings unfurled, his arms lifting toward her. "Hop on, Detective."

Chloe didn't move. "Aren't we…? I mean, shouldn't we take the car?"

He shrugged. "This will be faster. Someone can fetch the car tomorrow. Now," he insisted, crooking his fingers in a beckoning gesture, "come, come."

Sighing to herself, she looped her arms around his neck and let her body be lifted against him. As they rose into the hazy Los Angeles sky, his grip on her tightened, and though it was most likely her imagination, she thought she could feel his hands trembling. 

She had to admit, soaring through an empty sky unimpeded by traffic did return them to the penthouse much faster than the jostling city streets would have. The night air whipped cool against her face, bringing a sort of clarity to the mental fog that had clouded her thoughts since she had taken that first, gasping breath, and she could finally allow the thought that had been beckoning to her through the mist to come forth. 

She had died.

She had died, and her soul had gone to Heaven. Tears stung her eyes as she remembered her father, his face drenched in glorious sunlight and laughter, smiling at her with such love in his eyes. As heartbreaking as it was to leave him again, she at least had the comfort of knowing he was safe, he was happy, and that she would see him again. 

But. She had died. One moment of carelessness, and Trixie was an orphan. Her fingers locked tighter together as she buried her face against Lucifer's neck. She had been about to leave her daughter alone in the world; at least when her father had been killed, Chloe still had her mother. How could she, even for a moment, have considered abandoning her child?

Lost in her thoughts, her chest somehow feeling both heavy and hollow at the same time, she barely noticed when they came to a landing on the balcony, almost startled by the sensation of her feet hitting the ground. For a few seconds, Lucifer's arms remained close around her, his eyes searching hers, lips trembling slightly as unspoken words pressed against them. Instead of speaking, he abruptly smiled, letting his arms drop from around her and leading her inside. "Well, Detective, I think after today, we've both earned a drink. Or twenty."

Chloe let herself be led inside the open room, unlike its occupants unchanged by the day's events. She sat heavily on the sofa, the creak of the leather a quiet welcome back to the normalcy of their very abnormal relationship. "So," she finally said, the lightness in her tone not fooling either of them, "you're God now."

"Not quite. Heaven needs some time to adjust to the shift, and to hopefully unbanish me so I can actually sit on my own throne." Like hers, his voice was falsely light, still carrying the sardonic cast that tinged every word he spoke, but it was thin and sharp, like bits of shale at the edge of a steep cliff. "But in as little as a week or two, you'll be on the arm of a shiny new God."

He crossed to her, two glasses half full of scotch in one hand and the bottle he had poured from in the other. The bottle he set on the table, the first glass he pressed into her hand. Chloe expected him to sit down beside her with the second already up to his lips, tossing his arm around her and filling her in on all the plans he had now that he would be taking over for his Father. She wanted him to; if he could continue on like everything was fine, that he hadn't gone on a suicide mission to Heaven to retrieve her soul, that his own brother hadn't murdered her right before his eyes, then perhaps she could too. It would be easier, at least.

Instead, he walked past her, taking his drink out on the balcony, into the open air. She couldn't begrudge him that; he had a considerable amount to process, to ponder over. What were her small human troubles compared to the task of being the new I Am That I Am?

The penthouse resonated with silent tension, Chloe sitting torn; half of her was dying to go to him, to wrap her arms around him and ground herself in the familiar smells of silk and cologne and whiskey. The other half wanted to give him his space, to let him come to her in his own time, to be gracious and considerate. More than the impaling force of a broken staff, this split inside her ached and stung. The glass of scotch still sat cradled in her hands, undrunk and forgotten as she chewed at her lip, one leg bouncing nervously. Before she could fully come to a decision, her thoughts were brought screeching to a halt by the sound of shattering crystal. 

Chloe bolted to her feet to see Lucifer gripping the thick glass railing in both hands, the broken shards of his glass glimmering in a puddle of expensive liquor. She came toward him, her steps light, as if afraid she'd spook him. "Lucifer? Are you okay?"

As she neared, she noticed with a cold squeeze in the pit of her stomach that his shoulders were hunched and trembling, his hands dropping from the railing as he turned to her. They shook so badly that he appeared to have a tremor, as if suddenly struck by some wicked sort of palsy. His eyes, dark as pitch, were rimmed with red, tears streaking down his face as his mouth worked. 

"Chloe."

Her name came out strangled and ragged, as if pulled through a throat lined with broken glass. 

"Oh god, Chloe…"

His chest heaved with swallowed, silent sobs, and she ran to him, unmindful of the sharp bits of crystal that littered the ground around him. Her hands lifted to cradle his face, his stubble rasping against her palms, his skin fever-hot. As if mirroring her, his hands, still shaking, cupped her face between them, his touch oddly light, as though afraid she would break. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice small, too small. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't…I-I wasn't fast enough. I'm-"

Chloe hushed him, pressing her thumb over his lips as she stretched up on her toes to press little fluttering kisses to his brow, her hands stroking soothingly through his hair, the nape of his neck. "It's okay," she murmured, and her reassurance snapped the bands holding back his horror and his grief. He wept, his arms finally wrapping tight around her waist and crushing her against him. "I'm okay," she added, her own eyes beginning to sting as she felt his tears slide down her neck. "I'm okay, Lucifer. You brought me back, I'm okay now."

A strangled noise left him, painful and sharp, as if ripped straight from his chest. Lucifer sagged against her, burdened by the weight of his almost-loss, the trauma of seeing her killed, the panic and terror, the pain of her final words. He fell to his knees, hardly wincing at the broken glass, and pressed his cheek against the leather of her jacket, his body heaving as he clung to her. "I'm sorry," he muttered again, his usual acerbic eloquence lost in the tidal rush of emotion let loose by her embrace. How could he ever convey to her what it meant for him to have lost her, even for those few, aching moments? To watch the light in her eyes fading, bleeding away? Would he ever be able to look into her eyes again without seeing their emptiness, their dull finality? Would he be able to touch her skin without seeing the torn and bloody hole his fucking brother had left in her?

His fingers feeling numb and useless, Lucifer reached up to tug at the zipper of her jacket, opening it and choking out a fresh sob when he saw the blood-soaked remains of her shirt. Shaking, he lifted it, and was momentarily relieved to see her skin as smooth as ever, not so much as a scar to speak of. He kissed her, kissed the place where she had been pierced, as if trying to erase the memory of it from her skin. "Does it hurt," he said lowly, his voice still thick and broken.

Chloe shook her head, fingers still carding back through his hair, tears staining her cheeks though her lips curved gently in an understanding smile. "No. No, it doesn't hurt. It's like it never even happened."

"But it did." Lucifer’s forehead pressed to her stomach, nearly burying his face in her midsection, as if desperate to be as close as possible to her. "It did, Chloe. Oh, darling…"

She stood unmoving, her fingers curling through his hair as he held her fast, hands sinking deep and desperate into her skin. It didn't hurt, but Chloe was still certain there would be bruises where he gripped her; that was alright, she could handle a few more bruises. Lucifer wept, pressing both kisses and broken apologies against her stomach, long enough for the cool night breeze to make her shiver. Gently, with the patience of a saint, Chloe guided him back to his feet, following him up enough to press a kiss to his still-trembling lips. "Let's get cleaned up a little," she suggested, unable to keep a mothering tone from her voice, but Lucifer didn't seem to mind, rubbing a hand down his face and nodding. Taking his hand, she led him back inside the penthouse, back inside their home.

The first thing she did was sit him down on the bed; here, she could see that while the broken crystal shards hadn't drawn blood, it had shredded the knees of his trousers quite badly. Quickly, she tossed her jacket aside and peeled off the ruined shirt. There was blood on her bra, so that went too. His eyes never left her as she stripped off her jeans and underwear-might as well be rid of the whole outfit-but for once, his stare was not one of lust, but of anxiety. As if she would be ripped from him again if he looked away for only an instant.

With as much methodical detachment as she'd removed her own, Chloe then began to divest Lucifer of his; first came his dusty jacket, then his slightly singed waistcoat and shirt, her fingers sure and steady as they slipped each button from its loop. A hundred different quips flickered to his mind as she unbuckled his belt and knelt to tug his ruined trousers off of him, but he couldn't give them voice. There was something so pure about her actions, an act he had only ever experienced in lust now performed only in love, in duty, in care and compassion. He could hardly bear it, the tender look in her eyes and the gentle way she handled him, the heart he once thought dead and loveless now full to the seams, nearly bursting in his chest.

"Chloe," he started, wanting to remind her of what he'd told her in Heaven; that he loved her, that he would choose her over everything, that there was nothing and no one he had ever cherished so deeply, but she put a finger to his lips and hushed him softly.

"Later," she whispered. "For now, just lie still and feel me." Her knee pressed into the bed beside him, her hands pushing on his shoulders to lay him down on his bed. He went willingly, his hands sliding into the familiar curve of her waist as she went with him, the weight of her lithe body pressing into him, pinning him to the Egyptian cotton sheets. Her legs wound around his, her hair spilling golden around her face as she finally leaned up to kiss him, her lips as soft and sweet as always. He cradled the back of her head in his cupped hand, holding her fast, feeling surrounded by her. The scent in the air around them, the pressure, the warmth, the sounds of quickened breath; in this moment, everything he knew was her, his entire world shrunk down to one indescribable woman. 

She had commanded him to lie still, and he tried, he actually tried, but as the blossom of her mouth opened and her tongue slipped against his, he couldn't help the slide of his hand down the curve of her back, couldn't stop himself from gripping her thigh to hold her still as his hips arched beneath her. He breathed her name, a prayer and a plea, as her lips peppered his face with little kisses like raindrops. Was it his imagination, or were her hips moving too? 

A breath of a moan betrayed her, and knowing she was caught, Chloe circled her hips more deliberately, dropping her mouth to his neck when his head fell back against the bed, the sound of mounting pleasure he gave an echo of her own. One broad hand slipped up her side, her skin tingling in its wake as he cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple to aching hardness. Her back arched, both dropping her hips more firmly against his and pushing her breasts forward. When his lips closed over her nipple, for a moment, she considered surrender, to fold into the strength of his embrace and let him take the lead. It would be all too easy, so familiar and safe. But he needed her, now-needed to feel the comfort of her arms, the living pulse of her. He needed her to love him, and she could worry about herself later. 

With a flash of regret in her eyes, she pulled back, sitting straddled over his hips with her hands braced on his chest. Lucifer looked confused, then worried, as if he had upset her, and she reassured him with a smile. "For once," she murmured, "just for this once, forget about everything else and be with me. Let me take care of you."

A soft exhalation and a guarded smile was her only answer, but she didn't pry for more, lifting his hand to her mouth and kissing each of his fingertips in turn before pressing her lips to the cup of his palm. Slowly, efficiently, she positioned them both, her lower half aligning with his, before guiding him inside of her with a patient steadiness that made them both stiffen and ache. He breathed her name, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure and immediately snapping open again, unwilling to miss a single moment. She held him fully seated for a few beats, nearly breathless with anticipation and want before her hips began to rock. Lucifer cried out and clutched at her, fingers sinking deep into the warm yield of her thighs as she built up her pace. Her hands in turn spanned the soft plane of his chest, mapping out the dips and curves of his musculature with the care and precision of an expert cartographer. It was quiet in the penthouse, aside from their hurried breathing and the rustle and creak of the bed beneath them, until Chloe cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry," she finally murmured, her grey-blue eyes avoiding his dark ones. "I should have been more careful." A breath of mirthless laughter left her. "You'd think a seasoned detective would be better at checking her six."

His brows knitted together in confusion, shaking his head as he lifted a hand to cup the side of her neck. His thumb pressed gently beneath her jaw, tilting her face up so he could better see her eyes. "You don't have a thing to be sorry for, Chloe." His voice was low, steady, and sincere. "Michael is no common miscreant, he's not like any threat the LAPD normally faces." His expression gentled, then grew mournful. "I let my guard down. We were winning, everything was going to plan, and I..." Lucifer trailed off, his eyes searching hers, though for what, she couldn't tell. "I'm so sorry, Chloe."

Again, she hushed him, brushing the backs of her fingers down his cheeks to erase any tears that might have spilt, to soothe and comfort even if they hadn't. "It's okay." She smiled, the soft curves of her face outlined in silver starlight. "I love you, Lucifer." Her hips rolled, swiveled, her body demonstrating the depth of her words as she echoed his earlier sentiment. "I choose you."

Oh, he was helpless then, powerless beneath the crushing responsibility of her love, weak against the iron fortitude of her will, and he, the Devil, Guardian of the Damned, surrendered completely. His arms wrapped tight around her, anchoring himself to her as if he feared he would be swept away by the sheer force of his love for her. Chloe sat back as he surged upward, her arms looping around his neck as he began to rock more desperately beneath her, little whimpers and moans punctuating the steady stream of adoration and affection she poured into him. His lips trailed down her neck, whispered words of devotion woven between each tender kiss, as if he intended to etch them into her skin so she could never again doubt his sincerity. Their bodies rolled, crashed, receded, then swelled toward the other, like opposing tides on clashing shores, and Lucifer grasped her tighter, burying his face in his shoulder when he felt tears sting his eyes once more. He felt as though he could fly apart at any moment; for years beyond human measure, he had been so empty that now, the concept of being whole, of being full, was new and strangely frightening. Blunt nails raked down the delicate plane of her back, teeth bared against her collarbone. 

Mercy, darling, I cannot endure this!

He was close, the lightening stripe of dove grey on the horizon heralding the end of both the night and him. When he trusted himself to do so, when he was sure he wouldn't frighten her, Lucifer looked up into her eyes, as vast as oceans, and took her cheek in his hand. He spoke her name, a benediction in each syllable, and she nodded, lips parted and chest heaving. It was a small comfort to see that she seemed to be coming undone as well. Taking her hips in his hands, he pulled her closer, pushed deeper, her body bending forward to clutch helplessly at the headboard. The urge to close his eyes, not dissimilar to the urge one feels when confronted with a light that borders on painfully bright, washed over him; Lucifer ignored it, knowing that he must witness this fully, must carve these few cataclysmic moments into his memory. Chloe bore down on him, her soft mouth open as her head fell back, the sting of her fingernails digging into his shoulders barely noticeable as she cried out his name. 

It was too much, the pleasure granted by her orgasm and the overwhelming love brimming the edges of his atrophied heart, and as that glimmering ascent reached its peak, as the cracks in his soul began to widen, he breathed again those words he'd thought beyond him. 

"I love you, Chloe."

Like a collision of galaxies that flung droplets of molten stars to the furthest corners of creation, they came together, flew apart, their gravity pulling them back to each other as the supernova faded, and the two of them collapsed back into the sea of rumpled sheets, shaking with exertion and tremulous emotion. It was silent, save for panting breaths, for a long while, until Chloe's hand, small and calloused and so strong, found his and held it tight. Her voice was hushed, reverent, the voice of a repentant sinner alone in a chapel.

"You okay?"

It took Lucifer a moment to answer, his throat obscured by a sudden lump and unable to form a thought around the screaming, unabashed joy and fear he felt at the brink of their new life together. He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed kisses over her knuckles, ending with a kiss to the ring he had slipped on her finger to save her life. "More than okay." The bed creaked as he lifted himself onto an elbow so he could get a better look at her; she seemed to be faintly glowing, luminous with the first light of dawn, and his heart gave an aching lurch in his chest at the sight of her, at the weight of her eyes meeting his. "I am so-"

Shock diffused the blissful afterglow of sex as she slapped her hand over his mouth, her smile gone; for a moment he felt a cold fissure of doubt and fear spill through his gut, but then he saw the gleam in her eyes, the teasing arch of her brow, and relaxed.

"If you say you're sorry one more time, Lucifer, I'm gonna have no choice but to shoot you."

Against the warmth of her palm, he grinned, and she dropped her hand to his chest as he lowered his head, the tips of their noses almost brushing. "Again, you mean?"

Her faux severity was cracked in half by a smile, and she gave a surprisingly girlish giggle. "Yes, again."

"I love you, Chloe Decker. My brilliant detective." Lucifer dropped his forehead against hers, allowing himself to once more feel the living warmth of her body beside him, the gentle whispers of breath against his lips like phantom kisses. "Don't ever do that to me again," he whispered. "There is nothing more precious to me now than you."

"I won't." Her answering whisper was void of any playfulness, as strong a vow as those performed in churches or courtrooms. "I'm not going anywhere, Lucifer." With such gentleness it nearly broke his heart all over again, she kissed the corner of his mouth. "I love you too. So much."

By the time the sun was fully above the horizon, shining like a coin on a vast expanse of faded silk, they were asleep, limbs tangled, her head nestled into the crook of his neck. For now, there was peace. For now, there was love.

[pokimoko]

summer winter reading/writing/arting tag

Thank you so much for tagging me @thealterscrolls in your post, you know I love an excuse to overshare about things I like and/or are working on. Though, I'll be nice and keep each list to a maximum of 8 cause otherwise I would go overboard and that would make this already long post longer than necessary. Alright, let's get into it:

Describe one creative WIP project you're planning to work on over the summer: No summer for me for a while but hey, winter for me personally is a great time to work on stuff cause excursions outside the house are at a minimum, and I don't have to feel bad about being inside all day when the sun's already going down at 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Anyway, I'm hoping to work on my In the Absent Place prequel slash companion fic focusing on Jake and the events that lead into that story. It's been an idea I've wanted to do for months and I have indeed started on it but I keep getting distracted from it by other ideas and fandoms (and also working on zine fics). But I do want to finish it. I also have a fic for The Owl House and one for Wolf 359 that I keep coming back to (aka the fics that have been distracting me), so we'll see if I ever get round to finishing those.

Recommend a book: When it comes to reading books, I am both very easily entertained (I rarely give out 1 or 2 stars) and extremely reserved with what I consider a great book, to me at least. I have given only a few books 5 stars. These are those few books: • 'Project Hail Mary' by Andy Weir • 'Piranesi' by Susanna Clarke • 'Loveless' by Alice Oseman • 'Radio Silence' by Alice Oseman • 'Elatsoe' by Darcie Little Badger • 'Good Omens' by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett • 'The Witch's Heart' by Genevieve Gornichec • 'His Dark Materials' series by Philip Pullman

Recommend a fic: There are so many great fics I've read that are lost to time because I'm stupid and rarely bookmark stuff (it's that same 5 star problem, y'see). But here's some I have bookmarked or remember really liking: • 'Mens Rea' by yellow_caballero (Moon Knight) • 'the dotted line' by zippe (Moon Knight) • 'An Evolving Situation' by whiskyrunner (Moon Knight, ongoing) • 'Puddlejumping' by Davechicken (Moon Knight) • 'Misguided Ghosts' by petrichorishly (Lucifer) • 'Thermotemporal Equations' by blinkytreefrog (Captain America) • 'No Echo' by sh0rtwave (Wolf 359) • 'you were the song that i'd always sing, you were the light that fire would bring' by rnelody (The Owl House)

Recommend Music: I like listening to a lot of genres, but I think indie pop is probably my go-to, so pretty much all of these will fall under that. Here are some of the songs I've really been enjoying lately: • 'Word to the Trees' by whatever mike • 'Christmas in June' by AJR • 'Kelly Time' by Owl City • 'Bite Down (Bastille vs. HAIM)' by Bastille • 'Jigsaw' by Conan Gray • 'Bloody! Bloody!' by Junie & TheHutFriends • 'Serotonin' by girl in red • 'Talking to Myself' by Will Jay

Share one piece of advice: Nothing you learn is a waste of time. Nothing. Doesn't matter how obscure or pointless it feels like it is, everything comes in handy some way or another eventually (and, hey, even if it doesn't, it can still be fun to have that knowledge). So learn! Learn whatever you want, however big or small. Learn that fictional language or lore from your favourite story. Learn about a show you've never watched from an hour long video essay. Learn about that obscure historical event you found in a Wikipedia rabbit hole at 2AM. Learn not because you have to but because you want to and because you're interested. Because no time is ever wasted when you've gained something new.

That's it for me. I'll tag @pizzee, @yellowocaballero, @theophagism, and @mockspector. Consider it my not-so-sneaky way to learn about your projects and/or favourite books/fics. ;)

[skzhocomments]

I can read your smile - Choi Minho SHINee Fanfic - Chapter 8 - We are the sea and the sky

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

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Chapter 8 - We are the sea and the sky

word count: 2.4k words

~third person POV~

"Psst. Wake up."

"What happened?" Crystal opened her eyes and saw Minho hover above her, his face mere millimetres away. How did he get in here? She went to sleep with Jude and Lydia.

"Shh. Don't be loud, you're gonna wake up the others." He whispered.

It was still dark, so Crystal couldn't understand what Minho was doing. She actually couldn't understand anything, because she just woke up, and she was tired as fuck. What time was it?

"Go freshen up and get changed in your swimsuit. 5 minutes, my car. I'll wait for you. Don't be late, we have to hurry up." He spoke quickly, then left the room in a hurry, and Crystal was confused as heck.

Still, she followed his instructions as in a trance, brushed her teeth, put on her swimsuit and some clothes, brushed her hair in a rush and was out in the 5-minute time frame Minho gave her.

It was very chilly, and she noticed it was just shy of 6 AM. He was waiting for her in the car, and to her pleasant surprise, the seats were heated, and it was warm inside.

"Morning." He smiled. "You made it."

"Of course. What's up? Why did you wake me up so early?" Crystal smiled back lazily. The sleep still hasn't worn off her face, but her heart was beating fast. Too fast for her liking. Remembering last night's events didn't help too much either.

"I promised you something." He said. "A long while ago. And I'm gonna make that happen right now."

He started driving. The streets were empty and slow tunes were playing on the radio.

"This place is beautiful." Crystal said absent-mindedly, and he hummed.

"The city?"

"Yea... looks cute, with all these perfect white picket fence houses. I wonder who lives in them."

"I think most are vacation homes."

"Oh. It's a shame though, to have such a nice house and not live in it..." She yawned.

After about 20 minutes, they reached their destination, and Crystal was excited to see the outline of waves crashing against the rocks far away, and the sea kissing the sand and retreating.

"We're here." Minho smiled, and helped her out of the car, grabbing a small basket from the trunk.

"Oh my God! The sea!" She spoke excitedly, then pointed to the basket. "What is that for?"

"You'll see in a second." He grabbed her hand and dragged her on the beach through the sand, motioning her to take off her shoes.

The sand was cold against her feet, but it was pleasant, and Minho's hand was warm in hers.

The beach was otherwise empty, which was not surprising, considering the early hour. Minho was probably the only crazy enough person who would wake up so early after drinking the whole night.

A few metres away from the water, Minho finally stopped walking and removed his hand from Crystal's, taking two blankets out of the basket. The first one, he placed on the sand, and he made Crystal sit down.

He sat down next to her as well and covered both of them with the second blanket.

"The sun should rise in about 15 minutes." He spoke, and Crystal leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I can already see the outline." She pointed to the horizon, where a thin orange line was beginning to form just where the sky met the water.

Crystal found it so heartbreaking. From far away, it looked like the sea could kiss the sky. They seemed so close, barely distinguishable from the other, as if they became one. But they are actually thousands of kilometres apart. They can never be close. They can only love the other from a distance, yearning for the other's touch. What a tragic fate for a pair of lovers who would meet every day but would never get close enough to understand each other.

Minho and Crystal sat in silence and listened to the waves crashing on the shore, and saw the night become morning, the sky once dark blue starting to be a burning orange.

Soon enough, a ball of fire emerged from the sea, and the whole sight was probably the most beautiful thing Crystal has ever seen.

"I love it." She spoke quietly, and Minho simply nodded, pressing the arm that was holding the blanket tightly against her back.

"We have one more thing we must do, since we're here." He said. "When you're ready."

"Which is?" She raised a brow.

"Take off your clothes."

He glanced directly in her eyes as he said this, leaving Crystal dumbfounded.

"You're so straight forward!" She joked. Of course, she knew he was talking about being left in the swimsuit, but the way he phrased it was... questionable, to say the least.

He winked in response and stood up, taking off his T-shirt and trousers.

Yesterday at the pool, she tried not to focus too much on how his body looked, but it was hard not to do so now, when he was the only person around her – and also the only one she cared to see. Not even the sea seemed interesting enough now, with Minho almost naked in front of her.

She tried to stop herself from being a creep and staring, and she followed suit and took off her clothes.

"It's so cold!" She whined.

"I know." He laughed in response. "Are you ready, though?"

"Don't tell me you want us to swim." She chuckled.

"Why else would've I asked you to put on your swimsuit?"

"But Minho, it's freezing."

"Oh, stop complaining! Let's go." He handed her his hand, and she took it once more, and they started running together towards the water.

It was cold. So cold, that as soon as her feet made contact with it, Crystal stopped and protested that she couldn't go any further.

Minho laughed at her and turned around, grabbing her waist and scooping her up so she didn't have a choice but to go in the water with him.

She held on tight to his body and both laughed and laughed when a wave would come high enough to brush on their abdomens, and once they were far enough from the shore, Minho suddenly squatted, so that the water engulfed both of them completely.

"Fuckkk, it's so cold! I'm gonna get sick!" Crystal laughed.

"We're gonna drink tea when we get out. Now show me what you've learnt yesterday." Minho encouraged her and watched as she tried to swim.

"How is this?" The girl boasted while swimming around sloppily.

"Not bad."

"Not bad?! I'm literally a pro?!"

"Yea, yea, sure you are!" Minho teased her. "At least your head's above water."

"Don't make me splash you, Ming!"

"Are you threatening me?!" He gasped, and Crystal splashed him with a laugh.

He started running towards her in water and she tried to swim away, but he caught her quite quickly. He grabbed her waist and threw her underwater, then helped her up again.

"I can't believe you did that!" She laughed. "You're taking advantage of the fact that you're taller!"

"I mean, it's a good advantage to have." He shrugged with a laugh, so she jumped on him, trying to bring him underwater as well.

Of course, she was unsuccessful, so she ended up being held by him above water, her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

~Crystal's POV~

We looked into each other's eyes for what felt like forever, and everything around us disappeared. It didn't matter that I was seeing the sea for the first time, or that the sun just began to shine over us in its beautiful orange tones, or that night became day. All that mattered was Minho, and the fact that he was looking at me the same way I was looking at him. Seeing that he might just have the same feelings as I do gave me courage, and I was captivated by him, so a logical thought came to mind. I had to lean in and kiss him.

And I did it.

I leaned in, but the outcome wasn't as I expected, for Minho didn't seem to be on the same page. His expression contorted with an emotion I couldn't quite read – guilt, perhaps? – and he cleared his throat and moved his head away, averting his gaze.

He rejected me.

Why?

I couldn't understand.

Did I read the room wrong? Tonight, and today as well.

I apparently did.

Otherwise, why wouldn't he kiss me?

It was all in my head.

Fuck.

I felt tears pricking the corners of my eyes as overthinking got the better of me, but I couldn't show this to Minho. Instead, I detached myself from him, and he spoke after clearing his throat once more.

"We should probably get out. We're gonna catch a cold."

Oh, so now you're worried about catching a cold?

I wanted to laugh.

"Yea, it's cold as fuck." Was all I said, and I was trying my hardest to keep my composure and not break down in front of him.

I couldn't believe I was so stupid to mistake friendship for something more.

All he did last night, keeping me in his arms, coming here with me holding my hand – everything was out of friendship.

I am so fucking stupid.

That's what you get for getting carried away, Crystal.

We headed back to the basket and he pulled out two big towels for us to wipe the water off and a thermos full of boiling hot tea. It did nothing to warm me up, though.

Afterwards, we headed to the car. Before leaving the beach, I glanced at the horizon one more time, and it now reminded me of me and Minho.

I am the sea, and he is the sky, and we could only appear this close, but we are actually miles apart, and we're never going to be together.

What a devastating thought.

~

We stayed silent the whole way home, listening to music. It seemed way longer than when we came. It was like it was not ending, while all I wanted to do was to get out of the damn car and run away from him and from my feelings that were eating me inside out.

I started to feel a weird atmosphere settling down between us, and I cursed myself once again for being so stupid and thinking he actually had feelings for me.

When we reached the house, we said goodbye and headed to our rooms to fall back asleep, since everyone else was still sleeping and probably wouldn't wake up until noon.

Of course, I couldn't fall back asleep. Instead, I headed to the bathroom and let myself cry as quietly as possible, so as to not wake up Lydia and Jude, and tried my hardest to forget that I let my heart be swayed away by Minho. 

I fell in love, but I didn't look back to see if he was looking back at me, and now I'm paying the price at almost 8AM on the bathroom floor.

Why the fuck am I so sensitive?

We are just roommates, or maybe friends.

We've always been just that.

I simply have to forget the way his hands felt on my waist, on my thigh, or on my cheeks.

Easy enough to do.

~

"Woah, Taemin! So many gifts!" Kai exclaimed as the birthday boy started opening up his presents, going thoroughly through each of the bags and boxes and thanking whoever bought him the gift properly.

"Right! I'll invite y'all to my birthday too! I want to open this many gifts!" Jude spoke and watched Taemin fondly.

"Dude, you literally always get more gifts than this, because you invite the whole damn university." Lydia side-eyed her. "Like, remember your birthday last year?"

"Shut up!" Jude crossed her hands over her chest.

"What, is it not true?" Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Whatever." Jude rolled her eyes as well, and I started laughing.

"Which reminds me." Lydia started up. "I've been to Taemin's birthday, and to Jude's. Crystal, when is your birthday?"

"My birthday?" I chuckled nervously. "Why?"

"What do you mean why? We have to know, as your friends."

"It really doesn't matter that much." I tried to shrug it off, but Lydia wouldn't back down.

"Yes, it does. We have to celebrate, and give you gifts. I bet you'd be more grateful than this piece of work here." She pointed to Jude, who scoffed.

"I've never celebrated it or received gifts. It's not that important to me."

"What?! That's- no way!" Jude stood up and came in front of me. It seems like I really had no way out. "What do you mean you've never received gifts?!"

"I just didn't. It's not a big deal." I laughed it off.

"Tell me when's your birthday- now!"

"What's up girls?" Key and Minho approached us, bringing us some of Taemin's cake. We took the plates from their hands and tasted it – it was chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream.

"Crystal just told us she's never celebrated her birthday or gotten any gifts!"

"Never?!" Key gasped.

"Oh my God, it's really not such a big deal!" I replied, this time annoyed, my mouth full of cake. We all started to laugh at that.

Minho's presence made me feel bad. It felt like he was staring at me, and my emotions were all over the place because of him, so I would've appreciated it if he gave me some space to mourn my feelings at least.

"So, when's your birthday? Just tell us!" Lydia started again, and I sighed. Since there's no way out, I might just as well tell them.

"It was last month, on the 15th. Happy?" I asked annoyed, but still smiled.

"It was?!" Jude exclaimed and I rolled my eyes. I really wasn't in the mood for this.

Everything annoyed me. Jude's exaggerated remarks, Lydia's insistence, Minho being here, even the fucking songs in the background were annoying. They all just made me feel worse and worse, and the worse I felt, the more I had to smile to cover it up. Having to pretend to be happy was getting tiring.

'I wish you roses' by Kali Uchis started playing, and that just made everything more painful.

'Never thought I would be without you, I wish you love, I wish you well, I wish you roses while you can still smell them.'

Why the fuck did it have to be a break-up song?

Fucking Jimin and his sad ass playlists. I cursed inside my head.

I smiled and assured Jude that we're going to celebrate next year and that I'm looking forward to it, now that I know that she wants us to meet up on my birthday, and both she and Lydia seemed satisfied by the outcome. Key and Minho didn't say anything, and I also didn't include them in any way, because why would I?

I tried to celebrate with Minho. He didn't want that either.

And he didn't want to kiss me, which still hurt.

---

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

[daphnemontagu]

For: @leon-blachedone

Location: The Shipyard - Daphne & Calista’s home

Time period: Present day

Daphne carried out her usual routine while Calista was away. She did yoga, listened absently to the radio, watered the plants, reorganised their cupboard contents for the umpteenth time, all in order to keep her mind busy. If she allowed herself to sit in the silence, it reminded her too greatly of her numerous years trapped inside of the laboratories. She hated these times when Calista was away, spending every moment wondering if she would come back. She hated how skittish she had become, how wary of every single little sound.

She found herself jumping as an alarm went off to notify her of somebody in the general vicinity of their home, a magical ward they’d had put in place when they’d arrived. Daphne peered out of the window, wondering if it was truly Leon Blachedone stood outside of her door. Daphne considered ignoring it until he went away, but eventually went downstairs to unlatch the door. Calista was not going to be happy when she found out somebody else how found out where they were somehow.

“What do you want, Leon?” Daphne asked through the fraction she had opened the door.

[sakuramoussy]

It’s Over, Isn’t It?

Vin finds himself stuck. He still hasn't managed to hold a conversation with Luis. Every time they see each other, Luis looks disheveled and clearly in a bad place mentally, always finding an excuse to slip away without much conversation with Vin. Is this because of the pregnancy? Or is it because Sin still refuses to sign the divorce papers? Vin tries for the third time this month to visit Luis at home for a conversation. This time, Vin sees his car in the driveway and knows he's home. He won't leave until he sees Luis. When he knocks on the door, he's met with silence, and eventually, Luis opens the door, standing awkwardly in the doorway, not making eye contact with Vin. He looks like a disaster, unbrushed and unwashed hair, oversize hoodie and sweatpants.. Actually, it's a bit hot for a hoodie, isn't it? Is he hiding something? 

"So.. I know you keep pushing me away, but.. I still wanted to check up on you. You haven't been texting me back, and you won't answer my calls.. but you seem like you aren't doing so great, so I want to talk to you. I'm not taking no for an answer." 

"... You're persistent. Look, friends or not, isn't it a bit inappropriate for a pregnant, married person to visit their side-guy so frequently? You really shouldn't waste your time on me." 

"Side guy? No.. No, you're wrong. Listen, please. If I could get Sin to just-" 

"It's not about that. You can't seriously be planning to take his baby and just.. leave, right? Even if you are, why bother coming back to me? The tension between Sin and I will only cause you more stress and heartache, especially if you finalize the divorce." 

"What are you talking about? That's not true at all. Plus, I'm miserable with Sin, I'm certainly not staying with him. I'd rather be with you." 

"... We shouldn't see each other anymore, Vin. We can't. When you have this baby.. You won't have much of a choice in seeing Sin, so you'll be stuck in a bad situation regardless, but it'll be much easier for you to just pretend I don't exist. Trying to stay friends with me will only make your relationship with Sin worse, and it'll make things that much worse for your baby at the same time." 

"Luis! I'm not giving up on this. I'm not giving up on you! Whatever happened to staying friends, even if we couldn't be together? We should at least be friends! Please." 

"... Just please leave. I'm sorry, but I can't." 

"Luis.." 

"Just leave." 

"... Fine. Fine! But Luis. Nothing's changed. I love you, Luis. Forever and always. Please don't forget that." 

Vin somehow expected to hear some sort of reply back from Luis, a returned 'I love you, too' or some sort of statement, but instead, Luis gave him an apologetic look, and turned away. He didn't close the door, just stood in the doorway, not looking at Vin. Just as he's always done, he didn't close the door until he saw Vin walk back down the drive away and get into his car. When Vin started the car, he saw Luis still standing there, waiting for Vin to pull off and drive away, and Vin found himself staring absently at Luis from the driveway. What should he do? Without warning, Vin feels the tears well up in his eyes. He sits in the driver's seat of his car and starts to bawl, lying on the steering wheel as he finds himself unable to stop sobbing. He doesn't know how long he sits there like that, but when he finally calms down, wiping the tears from his eyes, Luis is already back inside the house, nowhere to be seen. Vin is forced to make the hour-long drive back home, driving in an unusual silence as he neglects to turn on the radio or sync his phone's bluetooth. He knew he should've just teleported to his house instead of driving. He knew this would happen, and the drive home just gives him too much time to think and dwell on Luis' reaction. Vin feels brokenhearted, but there isn't anything he can do about it. Is it really over?

[aarghhaaaarrrghhh]

A Summer in a Pioneer's Neckerchief/Лето в пионерском галстуке - Chapter Six

Chapter Six - Conversations about the Personal and the Indecent

The carousels by the children’s dorms had become the unspoken meeting place. Yurka went there after lunch, or dropped by when he had an hour free, or in the evenings before the disco, and after a little time had passed, Volodya also appeared there. Yurka liked to sit on the carousels, rocking back and forth, looking off into the emptiness in front of him and think about anything. He liked it when Volodya sat beside him and also looked silently into space. Sitting like that, together, while watching the kids and listening for their shouts, there was something at the same time essential, unusual, simple and natural in it. Yurka felt comfortable, like when with his grandma at the playground in his childhood.

But more than anything else, he like the last few evenings, when, after rehearsals, having given the fifth troop over to Lena’s hands, for her to spend time with them until lights out, Volodya and Yurka would make up horror stories for the kids. Once they even missed the time for lights out, when they were meant to go tell these very horror stories.

The first week at camp had come to an end announced Mitka’s voice over the morning radio broadcast, as though the pioneers did not know that themselves. Yurka remembered that day very well. They were sitting on the carousel and Volodya asked him, indicating on his face:

“Where did you get that scar?”

Silence reigned on the playground; it was quiet hour for the whole camp. Yurka, as usual, ran away from it, to which the responsible counsellor merely reminded him should dive into the bushes should he see anyone on the path leading to the dorms. The thing was that sometimes, some counsellors checked that children were not left alone. But there was nothing for which to fault Volodya, he and Lena had switched so that she was on duty during quiet hours, while it was him during discos. It was thus at that moment.

Yurka instinctively touched his chin and felt around with the pads of his fingers for the old scar beneath his lower lip.

“It was some hooligans who harassed me. There were three of them, and, as it happened, only one of me! So, uh…” he faltered. Yurka had told everyone this version the story of how he had gotten his scar. In it, he was a courageous little boy, who, at the cost of his own broken, bloody lip, fought the bullies off the street. But for some reason, he wanted to tell Volodya the truth. “You know, in reality, I took a tumble off a swing when I was eleven. I was swinging really high, I wanted to show off in front of the girls who lived nearby, they were walking nearby at the time, I let go and… To sum up, I did a wonderful somersault, flew off the swings, scraped my nose two metres through the dirt and smashed face-first into the sandbox. I split my lip so badly that it took fifteen minutes to stop the bleeding. My dad even had to give me stitches! So, there you go.”

Yurka was sure that Volodya would think him a fool and a braggart, and laugh at him, but he simply smiled kindly:

“So, you have a memory of a brief, free flight. A Karlsson.”[1]

Yurka could not hold his smile back: This Volodya is rather strange on the whole, too kind and understanding. Even Yurka himself would have taken some kind of schadenfreude from the situation, but Volodya did not.

“We have a Karlsson, Sanya, while I’m–”

“Gagarin?”

“Chkalov,[2] at most. I didn’t fly that far, after all,” replied Yurka and looked searchingly at the counsellor. “Well? Now that I’ve shared my secret with you, share yours!”

Volodya bent his eyebrow in surprise and nodded:

“Alright, ask.”

“Why did you really join the counsellors? It’s clear that you don’t particularly like looking after children.”

“Hm…” while he thought about his answer, Volodya absent-mindedly poked at the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses. He sighed and blurted out, as though learnt by heart, the sentence, “It’s a good way of gaining useful experience and – Yura, don’t argue – getting a character reference for the Party.”

Yurka snorted. A week ago, at the first line-up, he would have believed that the ideal Volodya – his whole self a proper Komsomolets – would need nothing but his good name, but now…

“Twenty-five – that’s a reference![3] And if you’re telling the truth, surely that can’t be all? Just a good reputation?”

Volodya faltered and sorted his glasses out again, despite that they were already in the right place.

“Well… not quite. To be honest, I’ve always been very shy, it’s difficult enough for me to get along with people, to communicate, to make friends. But with children… My mum works as a preschool teacher, she recommended me to become a counsellor. She said that if I want to learn to find a common language with people, it’s best to start with children – they don’t have inhibitions.” He fell silent again, and Yurka thought that if he went to adjust his glasses again, then he would have to slap his hand. You’re actually more useful. I mean, you’re better at finding common ground with them.”

Yurka proudly squared his shoulders, but immediately lowered them:

“It’s our shared service,” he said. “I also don’t like playing around with the really small ones, that’s to say, I don’t know how. But to help you, well… Anyway, remember! Yesterday after dinner, I stomped over to the troop and saw Olezhka. He was sitting on the square all alone, crying, I approached him and asked what was going on. It turns out that all this time, the kids have been teasing him for his lisp, and now that he has almost the main role, the teasing has become… he says he can’t cope with it. The poor wretch is already embarrassed and then on top of that he hears from the other kids stuff like ‘How on earth do you mean to perform when you lisp so badly!’”

“Is that a direct quote? Who from?”

“I don’t know who. I only understand every other word from Olezhka and then he was sobbing as well, I couldn’t make out half of it. To the point, Volod, I’ve thought about it, and it’s true, he really does pronounce all these words badly, like ‘partisans’, ‘battle’[4] and so on…”

“A lisper in the main role…” repeated Volodya moodily. “Of course, it’s not the main role, there’s just a lot of lines… But he asked for it himself and I thought, on the contrary, that it would give him self-confidence. We need to come up with something, but we can’t take the role away from him, Olezhka would get so upset, so we should try, uh… Got any ideas?”

“I do, that’s what I wanted to talk about! What about, before he learns all the words, we rewrite his script so that words with the letter ‘r’ are as few as possible?”

And they began their rewrite, swapping words with ‘r’ for synonyms. The work was not much, but it turned out to be so complicated for them that over just one day they had not got very far at all, and they understood that they would need more time. Then, Volodya asked Yurka whether he would not mind if he tried to get him out of quiet hours, but on one condition – that during these times, Yurka would not move even one step away from Volodya.

Yurka was so delighted that he jumped up on the carousel:

“Of course! Of course I want to!”

Not only would he no longer spend two hours wandering around the place, not knowing what to entertain himself with, but this time would be just him and Volodya, privately! Why would he even ask – the answer was obvious. But his joy was quickly extinguished as he recalled Olga Leonidovna’s stern voice and her reprimands: “A child must always be occupied with something, and a counsellor must always know where and what he’s doing.” But his counsellor was Ira, not Volodya. Yurka wilted. Giving the blockhead Yurka leave to get out of quiet hour? As if! It was completely impossible, why would Volodya tease him with it?

“We don’t have much script to go through,” Volodya was thinking aloud the whole while, “but it is very complex and responsible, an important role on the whole. There’s no time at all for an imaginative reworking, we need to hand it in to him as quickly as possible! Think about it yourself, how many hours do we need? Six to eight as a guess, but where to take them from? Not from rehearsal times, nor from my work time with the fifth troop either.”

“Yes but a script is a script. Even if they give the go-ahead on the rewrite, giving me leave to go is another story entirely,” Yurka soured completely.

“I shall reveal what to you is probably a secret, but in our camp, there are children who are let free during quiet hour. An incredible business. In my camp no-one was ever let free, but, clearly, times are changing. The, you were given to me not as an actor, but as a helper, and here, help really is needed now. They can’t bar you from competitions, communal work or the disco, they also can’t stop you from writing during rehearsal – I need you.”

“I feel like, all the same, it won’t work out.”

“I’ll have a little chat with the older counsellor, and ask Lena to support me; she works with me, she sees and knows everything,” Volodya, of course, noticed the shift in his mood and patted him cheerfully on the shoulder. “It can’t hurt to try. We’ll see what kind of diplomat I am.”

By the next morning, at the staff meeting, Volodya asked Olga Leonidovna for permission to take Yurka out of quiet hour. But getting it turned out to be oh so complicated.

Later in the day, as he walked towards the playground after lights out, Volodya, accustomed to speaking quietly beneath the windows of the fifth troop, almost shouted:

“Picture it, Yur, for a half hour this question was discussed by the whole staff of counsellors, I just barely persuaded them. Olga Leonidovna did not agree right away, but it was actually clear that she wasn’t particularly against it – when she’s against something, thunder rolls across a clear sky – but she asked for an opinion from the elder counsellor, and from the rest as a formality. They nodded, they also agreed, and it’s not surprising – is it not all the same to them, who helps me rewrite the script” At that point, Irina jumped in with some rubbish about how, on the contrary, public speaking will benefit Olezhka, supposedly it will prompt him to try harder with the speech therapist, she says! I almost fell out my chair – it’s rubbish and rubbish is dangerous for Olezhka! And she very well may actually think that and go on worrying about it, but it’s not like that. She’s throwing a spanner in the works!”

Up until then, Volodya had not been able to make peace with her. He had tried to apologise several times, but Ira, would put an end to the conversation without letting him say his piece. Volodya was confused and more than once confessed sadly to Yurka that this discord with Ira upset him greatly. But at the meeting, no matter what Irina might have said, Olga Leonidovna turned out to be more sympathetic to Olezhka’s problem and gave Volodya permission.

“For real?! I can officially stay up?!” Yurka could not believe it.

They sat at the playground as normal. Yurka kicked along the ground in joy and spun the carousel. The dandelion blossoms had been gliding along the ground up to then, only rarely raising higher than the knee and floating into his nose. Now, disturbed by the wind, they rushed about the air in a mad swarm.

The same time, as though a team, the guys kicked off and stopped. The blossom caught in Yurka’s throat, he fell into a coughing fit and, blinded by the tears welling up, blinked stupidly and began to take a look around and was awestruck by the beauty of the place. It was as though he had seen it for the first time. On the ground, dandelions circled about like broken white umbrellas and lazily settled on the grass. Umbrellas on the ground, and in the sky there also floated umbrellas - not far from the camp was an aerodrome. White aeroplanes flew over Lastochka every day and from them sprung paratroopers, opening their parachutes and descending, as they learnt to land. To watch that was unreally beautiful. And how had Yurka not noticed it earlier?

Having looked around, he understood that everything in this place was beautiful and Volodya was very beautiful. Especially today, now, when he told him this wonderful news and suddenly, gleeful, ruffled and ruddy, bgean to laugh so contagiously that Yurka also began to giggle. He had never seen Volodya so happy. Yurka, most likely, had never himself been so unaccountably happy – they had given him permission to leave quiet hour and that meant that now they could be together for as long as they pleased. And from that time, every free minute, they spent on the script rewrite – it needed to be finished quickly and given to Olezhka to learn.

But something always got in their way. Almost the whole day fell through because of that Yulya from the fifth troop, who desperately wanted to go back to her parents. It was a shame about the time, but Yurka tried to treat her problem with understanding. After all, he himself very much disliked camp on his first season. Yurka truly did not know what he was doing there and why he had been sent there; he thought that he was being punished, and he too had blubbered as he changed his opinion on the camp to the diametric opposite only at the end of the season. But Volodya’s Yulya was struck by such hysteria that it took both counsellors, the pedagogue Olga Leonidovna and a nurse to calm her down. By the evening, Volodya was worn out so badly that Yurka let him go to sleep rather than have their sit-around.

The second lost day was Parents’ Day. It was doubly offensive that it passed by so quickly a confusingly. After all, to tell the truth, Yurka looked forward to it no less than all the other kids. It was like as soon as his mum gave him a hug, the troop concert had already begun. No sooner had they gone walking around the camp than it was lunchtime. No sooner had they played that game where you run through a tunnel formed from two rows of people joining their hands over an aisle than they were being fed again. No sooner had his mum, in a team along with the other mums, got into a Chinese skipping rope competition – adults against girls, than it was time to say goodbye.

It seemed to everybody, adults and children alike, that they hardly managed to exchange two words with their relatives, and Yurka was no exception; he only discussed the theatre. He wanted to share his happiness that he had got to know this wonderful guy Volodya and forged such a strong friendship that he did not now know how he could get through a day without him. His mum would, most likely, be glad at such news – finally her son was coming to his senses and getting along, not with some little punk, but with a proper Komsomolets. But Yurka kept his mouth shut, abashed, not knowing how to properly convey his feelings, or in general how to characterise them.

But what else to talk to his mum about? How the food was filling, but not very tasty? As though she did not know herself what it was like at camp.

Before taking a seat on the bus, his mum gave Yurka a peck on the cheek and cautiously asked:

“Have you made friends with any of the girls yet? I’ve not been acquainted with any of them…”

“There’s Ksyusha, I asked her to danse,” replied Yurka, awkwardly pointing at Zmeyevskaya. He began to feel very uncomfortable. His mum had never spoken with him about girls before.

Towards the evening, it was now him who was burnt out. Yurka, of course, did not go to sleep, but he had neither the desire nor the energy to pore over the script. He and Volodya simply sat on the carousel and rambled on together about everything and nothing.

However, over the course of the time spent together, they had managed to truly befriend one another and sometimes even shared private things. But often they did not ramble and instead laid out the notebook and some paper across a knee, bent over them and began a brainstorm. At least, they tried to begin one.

“So… ‘war’, ‘war’…” Volodya thoughtfully gnawed at his pen, enunciating each sound and almost savouring the ‘r’, “’war-r-r…”

“’Battle’, ‘conflict’,”[5] Yura gave out a couple of synonyms and yawned monstrously.

They sat around for a long time that day. The sun beat down particularly hard; Volodya hid himself in the shade of the bird-cherries growing next to the carousel and would not even stick out his – as Yurka was convinced from time to time – good-looking nose. Yurka himself kept his favourite imported red cap on the whole day. His forehead got sweaty, the strap pressed uncomfortably into the back of his neck, but Yurka stubbornly persisted through the discomfort, afraid that he would sunburnt even in the shade.

Despite the heat, the work went well: in that quiet hour they got more done than in the previous two days put together. But there was a lot left. Yurka was tired, his neck and arms were numb – he had been sitting for half an hour almost without moving. But he did not regret it: this work felt more important for him than some horror stories. Cracking his neck, he stood up from the carousel and began to walk around it, stretching his aching back.

“Yes, ‘battle’, that’s good,” muttered Volodya without taking his gaze away from his notebook. “’With the aggressor’…”

“A battle with the aggressor, with the Nazis, with the adversary… Sounds a bit strange.”

“And they all have an ‘r’ or an ‘s’ sound,” agreed Volodya.

“The occupation!”[6] it dawned upon Yurka. He paused and pointed his finger dramatically upward.

“Precisely!” Volodya looked up from the papers, glasses sparkling, and smiled. “Ah… no, wait. An adjacent sentence has ‘the occupation’, we can’t take it from there.”

“Why not? Come on, let me have a look.” Yura flopped into a seat next to him and snatched up the notebook.

Volodya moved closer to him and tried to take a look at the pages. He reached out with his pen, meaning to use it to point at the text, but Yurka, not thinking, kicked off and the carousel began to rotate. Volodya lost his balance and fell onto Yurka so hard that the hard brim of his red cap painfully jabbed Volodya in the forehead.

The pages slowly fell to the ground and scattered apart on the light breeze. His gaze following them, the counsellor looked down at his feet and blushed.

“Oh,” he whispered. Just as he cast his gaze downwards, Volodya understood that for almost a minute he had been holding Yurka by the knee and he sharply withdrew his hand.

“S-sorry.” Yurka also began to feel uncomfortable for some reason. He coughed, embarrassed, and casually turned the cap backwards.

“How strangely you wear it.” This remark, as well as the airy tone put on by Volodya, sounded silly.

“I don’t wear it like that. Well, that is, I am wearing it like that, but it’s hot today and now I had to, so that you… well so that you don’t bump… well…” he completely faltered and then abruptly changed the subject: “And what, you don’t like it?”

“Not at all, it looks good on you. Your fringe is sticking out so funnily. It’s a cool hat, really! And those jeans you have are cool too, and the polo shirt. I remember, you were dressed amazingly for the disco… that you didn’t go to.”

“Oh yeah, it’s all imported.” Yurka was so proud of himself – he never doubted that his clothes weren’t outstanding.

“Where are you getting this wealth from?”

“I have relatives who live in the GDR, where they bring them from. But this hat here isn’t German, by the way, it’s American.”

“Awesome!” exclaimed Volodya.

Flattered and pleased with himself, Yura started to tell him in detail about the origins of his favourite imported things. True, his jeans were not technically American, but rather Indian, but he was not going to specify that.

“You know, it’s not just the clothes that are rad over there in Germany.”

“Yeah, I know, the technology and the cars as well. Somewhere in a magazine I saw such a cool motorbike!” Volodya’s eyes widened.

“In a magazine… Yeah, they have magazines there like there’ll never be in the USSR.”

“Oh, be for real! I tell him about a motorbike and he’s going on about magazines. We’re not very alike.”

“You just haven’t seen them and don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re so-o-o great!” Yurka conspiratorially raised and lowered his eyebrows.

“What then, huh?”

“I won’t say.”

“Yura! What’s with the preschool antics? Say it.”

“Ok, alright, I’ll say, but it’s a secret, alright?”

“Komsomolets’s honour.”

Yurka narrowed his eyes at him:

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“In spring, my uncle came to stay with us and brought some stuff: clothes, naturally, make-up for my mum, something for my dad and magazines. Well, normal magazines, only they were in German, with clothes and household stuff. So it went. In the evening, I was sent off to sleep, while they stayed in the kitchen. Mum left soon after, and my uncle stayed together with my father. My room, as it happens, is close to the kitchen, you can hear conversations there very well… And by that point they were, ah, hammered, and they began to talk really loudly, so that I could make out every word. I just lay there, listening. It turned out that my uncle also brought my dad some magazines, just, ahem… of another kind. And then, when I was home alone, I found these magazines.”

“What was written in them? Something anti-Soviet? In that case, it’s dangerous to keep magazines like that at home.”

“Not at all! I don’t yet know German well enough to read fluently. Besides, there wasn’t any text, just pictures. Photographs.” Yurka leaned in so close to Volodya that his lips almost touched his ear and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Of women!”

“A-a-ah… Um… Well yea, I know that such magazines exist…” Volodya withdrew an arm’s length away from Yurka, but Yurka practically nestled up to him and spoke hoarsely right into his ear:

“They were with men… You know, with men! They were–”

“Yur, don’t, I understand,” Volodya moved away again.

“Just picture it!” pronounced Yurka in a rapturous whisper.

“I can picture it. Can we change the topic? This isn’t appropriate for pioneer camp.”

“Surely it interests you?” Yurka was thrown into confusion.

“I’d be lying if I said it was of no interest at all, but… it’s not for nothing that it’s banned, it’s very, very indecent!” Volodya stood up and walked a couple of steps away.

“Listen, there was something I didn’t understand there, Volod.” Yurka became animated again. “I saw something unusual… Hey, you’re older and must know. I just want to know whether that stuff there really was photographed or whether it’s, I don’t know, some kind of drawing–”

“Yur,” Volodya darted up to him and whispered in his ear, “it’s called ‘pornography’. You’re at camp, I’m a counsellor, and the counsellor has told you that you must not look at that stuff, it’s a depravity!”

“So you don’t look at it and I don’t look at it, I just wanted to tell you what was there. Explain, is it just not right, or impossible, or is it maybe not real?”

“For crying out loud, Yura!”

“Hey, Volod… are you my friend or what?”

“Your friend, of course,” Volodya blushed and turned away.

“Then tell me… There’s how it normally is – that’s all clear.” Yurka began to ramble anxiously. “But a few of the photographs there showed him– with her– not there, but– you know, in that place– you know, what you sit on!”

“A chair?” Volodya might have been joking but his face was not merely serious, but angry.

“Quit it! I just want to know, is that possible to do or not?”

“’Quit it’?” Volodya venomously mimicked him. “Yura, you’ve crossed the line. That’s all, we’re changing the topic! Another word and I’ll leave and Olezhka will have to ‘entew into waw with the aggwethor’, and I’ll tell him it’s all because of you!”

The conversation was cut off by a klaxon, signifying that quiet hour had ended.

“You need to go anyway…” mumbled Yurka resentfully.

***

At the afternoon snack, as he half-listened to the excited gossiping about the upcoming game of capture the flag, Yurka was focussed on just one thing – regretting how he had asked Volodya about that. Volodya would not even look in his direction and if his gaze fell by chance on Yurka’s corner of the canteen, the counsellor’s facial expression alternated from serious to repulsed. Or was Yurka imagining it? Everything seemed to be something imaginary to him – for example, that he and Volodya had become real, truly close friends. But now, his reaction, the ice in his normally warm voice proved that between them might be whatever they pleased, only not friendship. A strange sorrow gripped Yurka. They did not even seem to be fighting. So they had an argument, what nonsense. It was nonsense, but now Yurka felt hurt and ashamed.

Sad and lost in thought, he headed to rehearsal, stoking the cinders of his shame along the way: It’s my fault. What an idiot I was! Asking a Komsomolets those kinds of questions. And not just any Komsomolets, but one as sheltered as him. And what for? It would have been better to ask the kids from the street. Maybe they would have laughed too, but they would also have found it interesting! Even if Yurka had spoken about that, in the first place, it was a very personal topic, which meant he had shared something personal with Volodya, or, more accurately, tried to share. What did he, Konev, a regular blockhead who hung out with any old hooligans, have to do with an elite like Volodya? And now he pushed him away and shamed him, and then, just to make sure, hit him with that look. He was not aiming for it but struck upon it; Yurka trembled.

He recollected all this and stopped halfway: Why did I ask him about that in particular? What for? So that he’d roll his eyes or so that he’d explain? And he even says he’s my friend! Uh-huh, as if! A liar, he is, not a friend! Friends don’t like that!

In the open area by the stage, it was busy as always. Girls from the second troop were drawing some kind of map on the asphalt with chalk, while the big-eared Alyoshka Matveyev hung around them, giving them some advice and slipping them chalks.

“What’s that you’re making?” Yurka hailed him.

“What do you mean? We’re preparing for capture the flag. Look, we’re drawing a map for the main headquarters. Olka had this great idea – in the main headquarters will be our intelligence operation, and we’ll mark on the map what we find out about where each troop is.”

“The disco is tonight; the map will get rubbed out under everyone’s feet.”

“It’s nothing, tomorrow we’ll just go over it in outline. It’s faster doing it like that than starting from nothing,” rambled Alyoshka. “Don’t you want to join our intelligence gatherers?”

“No, I don’t.”

As soon as Yurka turned away and took a couple of steps towards the theatre, Alyoshka suddenly appeared behind him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Konev, give it a think.”

“Alyosh, no-one in the main headquarters will take me, I’ll be with my own people. Now let me– go, mind your own business…”

“Why wouldn’t they take you? They’ll take you, if you ask. Aks them, Yur! You have such long legs, you run so fast…”

Alyoshka obstinately minced along behind him, intending to either trip him up or grab him by the elbow. Out of breath, stamping and wheezing, he was in general trying to draw attention to himself by any means possible.

“Alyosha, you’re too much!” groaned Yurka. “Alright, I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah? And what else?”

“Give me some chalk.”

“Here,” Alyoshka offered him the box and Yurka took one.

“Thank you. I won’t go. I’ll be with my own people.”

“Then why the chalk?”

“I don’t have much calcium in my system, I’m going to eat it. Oh, they’re calling you, do you hear?”

“Yeah? Who? Oh, Olya. Well, I’ll be off, and you’ll give it some more thought.”

Could he have been mistaken to refuse the intelligence gatherers? If he were running around the field the next day, he might find a way of staying with Volodka. After all, he would be nervous that some plump little Sashka would slip into a ditch and break his arms, legs, and the ditch itself. Of course, the second counsellor would not leave Volodya alone, but it was perfectly accurate that he would also need Yurka, perfectly accurate, perfectly!

I don’t need him! protested Yurka’s pride. You run around fussing like Alyoshka, and it’s all the same to him. I didn’t try with those stupid horror stories and with the theatre for myself, and he just grouses and lectures. That does it! I’m not going anywhere any more. Not a-ny-where! Rehearsal least of all. He shouldn’t have glared like that, let him deal with his own stupid play himself, I’m not going anywhere! and he did not go. He turned around on the porch and stomped back through the dancefloor to the tennis courts, where according to the timetable, the first troop was getting ready to play.

There were all of two courts, plus tables for table-tennis. The first troop, headed by Ira Petrovna, was present in almost its full capacity – apart from Masha and the PUK girls. Some were playing badminton, some were rooting for them and some were simply hanging out in the chain-link box of the court. Yurka loved to lean back on the fence, rocking about the wire rhombi and watch the others play. But that day he did not plan to cheer others on, he was planning to beat everyone and take out his anger on the shuttlecocks.

Having spotted him from far off, Vanka and Mikha waved in synchronisation, inviting him to join their team. Yurka was a top player, while those two could neither play nor fight back properly; only those who liked losing joined their team. Yurka was not one of them, but he did not ask the other kids if he could join them, he silent grabbed a racquet and served. The shuttlecock flew over to his opponents and struck Ira Petrovna on the forehead.

“Sorry!” cried out Yurka.

Expecting Ira Petrovna to start having a go at him, he cautiously made another, ‘clean’ serve, but the counsellor cheerfully winked and turned away.

After that scene in Volodya’s room, Ira had been avoiding Yurka, and when they happened to be doing something together, she became quieter than water and lower than grass. Yurka, naturally, was not going to tell anybody about what he had seen, but, judging by her angelic behaviour, Ira thought that he was capable of chicanery and blackmail.

Yurka sulked to himself, Who does she take me for? but he gave no audible hint of this. Ultimately, this state of affairs suited him: the counsellor had stopped baselessly making him out to be a culprit and a scapegoat, and in all, a fragile and awkward peace, but peace all the same, had been established between Yurka and Ira Petrovna. The same could not be said for her relationship with Volodya.

No sooner had Yurka remembered that that into his imagination burst and blossomed in all its colour that repulsive scene at the theatre – Ira’s white face, shaking hands, tears of rage in her eyes and Volodya glaring angrily opposite. Oh, Ira Petrovna won’t forgive him, not something like that… sympathised Yurka and spat right there with annoyance – again he was thinking about Volodya!

Volodya was everywhere, even where he could not be. At that moment he was definitely occupied with the actors in the theatre, but it seemed to Yurka as though he caught a glimpse of his figure over in those bushes.

Ira continued. Yurka waved his racquet around, not to return the shuttlecock, but as though chopping the sunbeams up into pieces. The beams remained safe and sound, but Yurka, sweaty and dishevelled, satisfactorily killed the midges.

Their team kept score. For almost the whole game, Vanka and Mikha stood on the spot, while Yurka jumped around like a madman, and before sending the shuttlecock off on its game-winning volley – perhaps into Ira Petrovna’s forehead again – he turned and once again saw Volodya amongst the bushes.

This time it really was him. Pensive, with a timid smile upon his lips, Volodya drew up to the cage around the court, but, stopping a meter away from the entrance, did not decide to go in. Instead, stepping up behind Yurka, he stopped by the wire mesh and put his fingers in between the metal rhombi.

“Yur, why didn’t you come?” he asked quietly, but Yurka caught it.

Without looking, he sent the shuttlecock back and pressed up close to the cage and looked Volodya in the eye with a challenge.

“It’s not like I have a role anyway, what would I do there?”

“What do you mean, what would you do?” Volodya looked at him sadly, but, after shaking his head, gathered himself and explained in his accustomed ‘counsellor’ tone, “Olga Leonidovna gave an order – whether you have a role or not, you have to come to each rehearsal. You help me and I put in a good report for you.”

“Go and give a report, what does that have to do with me?”

“Do you want to go home already? They’ll kick you out in the blink of an eye, you know.”

“Kick me out for what? I’m playing with my troop and, by the way, with my counsellor. Ira Petrovna’s got my back.”

 Whilst waiting for a response that didn’t come, Yurka tapped on the toe of his tennis shoe with his racquet, looked off to the sides and stomped over to the bench to take a glass of boiled water. Volodya headed after him.

“You’re upset with me,” he guessed and lowered his gaze guiltily.

“As if!” snorted Yurka. “I’m not upset. I just understand that with you I can talk about far from anything.”

“That’s not true! Say what you want!”

“Uh-huh, of course,” Yurka turned around and started to drink his water.

“Oh, what’s with you? I… you know what, Yur?” Volodya pensively laid a palm against the wire, which quietly rattled. “I’ve also seen those kinds of magazines.”

“Oh yeah? Where did you get them?” Yurka turned back around and stared unconvincedly at him.

“I study at MGIMO,[7] there’s guys there whose parents are diplomats, sometimes they manage to get a hold of–”

“Where?!” Yurka practically shouted. “AT MGIMO?!”

“Yes. Only, I’m begging you: not a word about the magazine to anybody! Yura, this is very serious. If even the single stupidest rumour about such a thing comes out, I’ll be booted out.”

“Come off it, there’s no way!”

“There very much is a way. A classmate who was carrying that magazine around with him fell victim to it. He was expelled within a month.”

“But if it’s so easy to get kicked out, how did you get in? Are you a cheater, huh?”

“As if! You think you couldn’t do it yourself?”

“It’s not something on my mind, breaking in there is almost impossible: the competition is large, and it’s enough pain as it is having to be ‘ideological’. There’s the approvals you need to gather: from the Komsomol council at school, from the Komsomol district committee, from the district committee for the Party, you need to go to all the interviews…”

Volodya nodded as he listened, while Yurka continued to enumerate, ticking off on his fingers, how much he would need to do, where he would need to be a member, how many times and in which ways he would need to participate, where he would need to go. He suddenly stopped short – who, besides Volodya, could get in there?”

“Well… To be honest, I only got in by the skin of my teeth,” he smiled modestly, once Yurka deigned to finish. “The medical board turned me down, get this, because of my sight. I argued with them – the military commissariat accepted me, I’m good enough for the army, but here you won’t take me on to study? Really, the story is quite long and uninteresting.”

“And how is it – studying there, is it hard?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s easy, the main thing is that it’s interesting. Almost every day I drop by the guys in the dorm, they organise such fun gatherings.”

“Do you all drink tea?” Yurka recalled Volodya’s outrage and frowned.

“There’s everything at these gatherings,” replied Volodya, whispering.

“Including depravity?” Yurka squinted.

“How dare you, we’re Komsomoltsy!” Volodya gave a stern look but immediately smiled, “Okay, alright, I’m joking. There’s everything: Préférence,[8] girls, port wine, uncensored literature.”

“Hang on, port? You have alcohol as well?” Yurka whispered now too. “Where do you get it? When my neighbour got married, they couldn’t even get a bottle of vodka for the wedding, they drank spirits that my dad stole from work.”

“It’s me that calls it port,” Volodya began to explain. “My coursemate brings it. He lives in a village in the oblast and they distil an outstanding moonshine there. For some, the taste reminds them of cognac, for me, it’s port. This prohibition can’t end soon enough. It’s scary for Mishka, he’s putting everything on the line.”

During this dialogue, Yurka’s offense disappeared. He forgot about it so quickly that it was as though neither it, nor the discord, nor even the cause of their arguing had never happened. It was like they, candid as always, were now talking about the same things as always, and at the same behaved and looked as they usually did: Yurka was unkempt and enraptured, Volodya was tidy and a bit haughty. There was only one difference: the fence, almost as tall as the sky, drawn up between them.

“Shall we go to the rehearsal, Yur? Afterwards, I’ll tell you anything you want,” suggested Volodya. His face lit up and the furrows in his forehead smoothened out. “Just let Irina know you’re going with me.”

Yurka nodded. He ran over to Ira, excused himself while giving the side-eye to the gym instructor hanging around nearby, placed his racquet on the bench and exited the court.

“Does this mean you abandoned everyone there to come look for me?” he inquired when they turned off from the main plaza towards the dance floor.

“I left Masha in charge of the main stuff. She’s of course great, but she won’t be able to do the rehearsal, and we need to work really hard today. There won’t be any activities tomorrow.”

“Right. It’s capture the flag tomorrow,” Yurka was upset. After all, that meant that today, because of the preparations for the game, they would not get to be together, just the two of them: after rehearsals, Yurka would be occupied with sewing his shoulder strap[9] and in the evening, an inspection of the first troop’s formation and songs was planned. The next day, all the staff and children of the camp would be wholly and entirely swallowed up from early morning until well into the night by the vast game. Nevertheless, Yurka was mistaken not to go be an intelligence gatherer in the headquarters.

[1] Karlsson-on-the-Roof, a children’s book character invented by Astrid Lindgren, the author of the Pippi Longstocking books, who has a propeller on his back that lets him fly.

[2] Valery Chkalov, 2.2.1904–15.12.1938, a famous pilot, somewhat similar to Amelia Earhart, whose most famous feat was a non-stop, 63-hour and 5475-mile long flight from Moscow to Vancouver via the North Pole in 1937. He died in a plane crash the next year.

[3] I believe this is a reference to grades; in the Soviet Union and Russia, students are graded by numbers rather than letters, with 5 being the best and 1 being the worst – I would need to check how many subjects a student Volodya’s age would be expected to have grades in, but I imagine a sum score of 25 is equivalent to straight-As. That said, I’m also not sure that all of a student’s grades get “summed up” in this way, but if he’s not talking about grades, then I have no idea.

[4] In Russian, bor’ba

[5] In the original Russian, Volodya is reflecting on the word bor’ba ‘struggle, conflict, combat’ and Yura suggests boj ‘fighting’ or bitva ‘battle’

[6] This time, the word in contention is vrag ‘enemy’, for which Yurka suggests nedrug ‘foe’, neprijatel’ ‘adversary’ and finally, zakhvatchik ‘invader’

[7] Moskovskij Gosudarstvennyj Institut Meždunarodnyj Otnošenij ‘Moscow State Institute of International Relations’, the most prestigious university in Russia for studying politics.

[8] An apparently very complicated card game popular in Russia

[9] Capture the flag was a more intense game at pioneer camp, called Zarnitsa ‘Heat lightning’, where everyone would wear two shoulder straps, which represented a kind of health bar for each player.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Ok so Ik this has already been done with ej, but I’m a toby simp, and I wanted to ask. Reader finding out toby is cheating on them? Maximum of 1k words, a scenario idk, smth. Ty!

-👾

It's Dangerous, To Love the Sun

[Ticci Toby X F!Reader]

[Warnings: angst in general, physical and emotional cheating, violence, language]

[AN: I listened to Brooksie - Not Into You slowed + reverbed while writing this, I hope you enjoyed! Also went a lil over,,, the word count because I kinda liked this,,,,,,,,,,,]

You love Toby. Ever since he came into your life, you’ve been happier with him at your side. He makes you smile, he makes your heart sing. You’ve never felt so complete.

The way he looks at you is akin to gazing at a masterpiece. His eyes are so full of love when he gazes at you from across the room, wondering when you’ll finally break away from your conversation with Jeff to be at his side again.

His touch is gentle, never harsh. Toby’s fingers trace up and down your forearms and back, ghosts, whisper-like kisses of physical affection in an attempt to show you what he verbally cannot express. He’s always so warm, so loving, so whole.

He completes you, is what you’re trying to get at.

The two of you like to sit on rooftops late at night because neither Masky nor Hoodie can stand the two of you giggling at odd hours of the day in their presence. Kate’s not around long enough to actually care. When it’s just the two of you sitting up here, quiet, against each other and breathing in the sweet night air, you feel more complete than you’ve ever felt before.

You hum out, watching the stars twinkle in the sky, a dreamy expression on your face as Toby momentarily stops playing with your hair.

“What’s o-o-on your mind, b-baby?” He asks, a brow raised. Toby shifts on the shingles, his arms wrapping around you like an octopus, bringing you closer and closer into his warmth.

You find yourself blanketed in him and relax. “You’re so good to me, y’know that?” You say.

Toby scoffs and rolls his eyes. “O-Other way around,” he corrects.

You tilt your head and shake it slightly, telling him he’s wrong. “You’ve always been so good to me,” you continue, brushing off his attempts to play down your saccharine words.

He knows you’re not fibbing, but at the same time, he refuses to admit to your claims. “I d-d-did what w-was expected o-of me, you know t-that,” he states plainly.

You take in another deep breath before resting your head on his shoulder, melting into him. You pick up his scent: oak and burning winter, before retorting against him again in a voice a hair above a whisper. “You’re wrong.”

Toby laughs, his lips pressing to the side of your head. “If y-y-you say so,” he murmurs, pressing more kisses to your head and eventually your face. He revels in the sound of your laughter as he does so, leaving no inch of you unkissed.

“I know so.”

The two of you fall back into a pleasant silence.

You’ve always viewed Toby like he has power over the sun, because, as far as being a proxy goes? He does. When you were first plucked from your life and called for something ‘greater’, it was Toby who had taken pity on you, trained you, taught you all you needed to know and the ins and outs of this life. He was the one who shielded you from Masky, Hoodie and even Kate at times.

It was by his hand that you survived, and it is still by his hand that you thrive.

It was such a blinding adoration for a man you believed held dominion over the sun that kept you veiled from the truth of what he had been doing behind closed doors, yet could be seen through the windows.

Naturally, you didn’t want to believe it. Who would? The person you love’s heart has fled the place it used to live with you and taken up residence with someone else. That’s not an easy thing to admit, not when you realize that love truly is not all it takes.

Toby doesn’t want to admit it either. It started out as some strange infatuation, a fleeting crush - someone he would forget.

But her eyes? Her darling eyes? One of them the most beautiful shade of peridot he’d ever seen and the other a literal clock? They say the eyes (in her case, eye) are the window to the soul, and she had absolutely snared his. She was beautiful in a way Toby couldn’t describe, beautiful in a way that had him seeing a sky full of stars in the middle of the day, and beautiful in the sense she was timeless.

Toby knows he should be ashamed, that she’s his little secret, that what he has with Natalie can’t be compared with you, but he knows he can’t let you find out lest you go too far you can’t come back.

That blinding sun made you shrug off the bruises that were too keenly placed to be a victim’s sorry attempt at freeing themself. You shrugged off the scent of roses and wine. You shrugged off how his eyes saw past you, no longer at you. You shrugged it all off, choosing to stay blinded than face the truth.

And you would’ve happily lived in that ignorance if Toby didn’t grow cocky and arrogant and so fucking careless.

You’ve never really felt your world crash and burn until today. You've never been burned by the sun until this moment.

You’re looking into the eyes of a man you think owns the sun and see nothing but fear, regret, and pleading. Pleading for what? That you won’t leave him? That you’ll stay with him? You feel tears well in your eyes as you see him laying in your bed with her. The woman who had been naught but a shadow until now.

“R-Reader,” Toby begins, quickly wrestling up in the sheets, watching as your soul leaves your body in the doorway. “B-Baby, it’s n-no-”

You’re at a loss for words, and frankly, you don’t think he even deserves the right to your thoughts at this moment. Instead, you hold your hand up, silencing him, and turn to leave the temp house. You were out doing work for your fucking boss and get rewarded like this? The man you loved in bed with another woman, looking at her like she owned the moon. You take in a sharp breath and then begin to beeline to the front door when Toby finally gets out of the bed, ignoring the cries of confusion pouring from Natalie’s mouth.

Your heart races when you realize Toby is gaining on you. Your vision blurs through your tears.

He’s calling out for you, his stutter even stronger than before, bones popping louder and louder as he gets hit with the weight of what he’s done to you. “Stop! S-Stop fucking m-m-moving!” He hisses, his calloused hand reaching out for your wrist, successfully grabbing you.

You snarl like a caged, wounded animal, flesh burning at the contact. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you sneer as you attempt to rip your wrist from his iron grasp. In your other hand, you already have the car keys ready. You just want to be anywhere but here.

“I-I’m so s-s-sorry,” Toby says, attempting to pull you into a hug.

You struggle against him harder, hissing to be let go. The keys in your free hand are getting threaded in your fingertips. Your tears feel warm and boil your cheeks as they roll down like waterfalls. The harder he grips you, the more you feel you’ve been burned to a point of no return. “God fucking damn it, let me go!” You shout, not even noticing how Natalie has come out of the room to get Toby off of you. She’s quickly gaining in the hallway, confused on if she should step in or not.

Toby tries harder and harder to pull you into his embrace, and that’s when you strike.

You take your car key filled fingers and punch as hard as you can, the teeth of the keys dragging across Toby’s cheek, successfully shocking him into letting you go. You don’t even consider how badly you’ve hurt him and take the opportunity of his shock to flee the temp house, quickly hopping into the car.

“Reader!” Toby shouts, hand on his right cheek, not even caring about the claw marks you’ve left. “B-Baby, let’s t-talk about t-this-”

You start honking the horn to drown his voice out. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a scowl on your face, glare holding nothing but bullets towards Toby and Natalie as she attempts to wrangle him back into the house.

You watch as her arms wrap around his waist - she’s surprisingly gentle for dealing with such a belligerent man - before peeling out of the driveway, hand still honking the horn and practically waking up the neighborhood while you’re at it.

Your mind overloads as you drive, thoughts of the sun getting eclipsed by the other celestial body that overtakes it in full, swallowing it whole. You mutter angrily to yourself, turning on the radio for just noise as you finally get onto the expressway. And you drive. You drive until your head feels clear again, and when it does, you’re finally able to focus on something other than what’s in front of you on the endless stretch of road.

Autumn is making its way in, that much is apparent. Every now and then, specks of orange and red zip past your high beams. It’s cooler, and you swear you’ve passed a few flowering pumpkin patches.

You look to your left, gazing out the window for a moment or so.

The moon is decidedly absent this night.

You sigh as the fires extinguish in your heart, loneliness, sadness and any other emotion draining alongside it leaving a pit in your chest.

The emptiness quickly takes its place, haunting you like the ghost it is.

[theysayitscrazy]

Birthday Suits || NSFW

Clay Spenser x Jax Teller x Thor Odison x Reader

This one is for @rebelwrites. Happy Birthday darlin! There might have been a couple anonymous asks sent your way.

AN: This might be the filthiest thing I've ever written...

TW: Mind the warnings here... daddy kink, choking kink, size kink, breeding kink, foursome, anal, double penetration, oral, triple penetration, BDSM, dom/sub, established relationship, off screen negotiations, spanking, punishment. I almost want to send this anonymously. It's not edited... I couldn't read it again. LOL

Clay watches as Y/N comes into view on the small laptop screen. Her hair was pulled back away from her face while glasses perched on her nose. She looked exhausted, and considering it was going on 1 am where she was, she had every right to be.

This latest deployment was hitting her hard. Taking a toll on both of them. He should have been home three weeks ago. And now they weren’t sure when he’d be home. Her birthday was coming up in a couple days and there wasn’t too much he could do about it being deployed halfway across the world.

Y/N sighed and gave him a tired smile. “Hey baby,” y/n murmured.

Clay gives her a dazzling grin and says, “Hey beautiful.”

“Hey,” Y/N mumbles.

“What’s wrong?” Clay asks, sensing her pain, even though there’s a smile on her face.

She shakes her head.

“Y/N,” Clay demands lowly.

Y/N caves immediately. “I just… I’m feeling selfish. You’re gone, Thor’s off world dealing with Loki, Jax left yesterday for a run and said he wasn’t sure he’d be back in time for my birthday. And I’m just… alone,” she admits softly, tears leaking from her eyes.

Clay’s heart breaks watching Y/N cry. “I know baby. I know it’s hard. We’ll be back soon. I promise. Look, I want you to got take a hot bath. Throw on some music. Try and relax.”

Y/N nods absently.

Clay knows she probably won’t listen, it’s late there and she needs to get to sleep. “Get some rest babe.”

~*~

Clay jumps in the group text, making sure it’s the one for the boys and not the one that also included Y/N. When he was confident that he had the right one, he started texting. Houston, we have a problem.

Thor: Who’s Houston?

Jax: Who we killin?

Clay: Us apparently. Or Thor.

Thor: What’d I do? And who’s Houston?

Clay: Focus buddy. Our girl is upset. She’s all alone and feeling unwanted. Her birthday is a couple days away.

Jax: I know. I’m trying to get home as soon as I can.

Clay: Same. We’re about done out here, but no clue on flight plan yet.

Thor: I’m in the middle of it… I’ll try to get back in time.

Clay: Keep us updated.

~*~

You frown at your phone. You’d sent several messages to the group chat with your boys but hadn’t gotten a response from any of them. You knew they were all extremely busy. Busy jobs, busy lives, not always able to answer their phones right away, but it was rare that not one of them at least, answered you.

It was your birthday, and it wasn’t like them to not be celebrate with you.

You knew Thor was off world, but Tony had managed to create the impossible as usual, and gave you guys intergalactic cellphones, capable of reaching Asgard. So theoretically, Thor could receive your text, but again if he was busy, he wouldn’t be checking it… or if he broke his phone again.

Jax was probably riding his bike, and Clay was probably not in cell service or if you were lucky, he was 1400 feet above earth, flying home… but he usually texted when he was leaving a place, so you at least knew when to expect him.

The radio silence from the three of them was killing you.

You grabbed your keys and locked up the house. You couldn’t sit around doing nothing on your birthday. You could at least take a drive, blare some music, and try to relax. It was one of your favorite pass times, after all.

~*~

It was late when you got home. Past dark, almost midnight. You were exhausted. You spent half the day driving around before you met up with friends for dinner. Thankfully that after a couple of drinks you managed to have a good time. Your friends knew you were feeling down about the boys, so they had cheered you up.

After a couple drinks you cut it off, knowing you still had to drive.

After you parked in the driveway at home, you shut your car off and glanced at your phone.

No messages. Not even a Happy Birthday text from your boys.

You sigh and slip the phone into the pocket of your hoody, staring at the dark house in front of you. There were no other cars in the driveway. No motorcycle parked under on the front walk. Thor didn’t drive… so there was no way of seeing if he was inside from outside the house, but it didn’t look promising.

You head inside and flip on the light, half hoping for your boys to jump out and yell, “Surprise.”

You’re disappointed when it doesn’t happen and lock up behind you. You toss your keys in the bowl by the front door and set your bag on the stairs and kick off your shoes. You head into the kitchen to make another drink when you find something that has you stopped misstep.

There’s a vase on the island filled with daisies and sunflowers, your favorite.

But the vase hadn’t been there when you left several hours ago. You glance around for any other indicators on who might be home but find nothing. You walk the first floor searching and find no one. You head upstairs and search everywhere, but again, no one is home. “What the fuck?” you grumble and head back downstairs.

In front of the flowers is a takeout container. You open it to find your favorite. Chicken nuggets and fries. “Alright fuckers, where are you?” you ask as you stuff a chicken nugget in your mouth.

The backdoor opens and you about die when you see what your three blonds are wearing… all three of them are in crisp black suits. Black shirts, black ties, and black shoes.

Your mouth drops open in shock.

Thor, who usually was in his Asgardian fighting gear, looked almost human with his tailored suit and haircut. “What the fuccckkkk,” you breathe, reaching up to run your fingers through his short locks.

The grin he gives you is heart stopping. “Happy Birthday, love,” he greets.

You’re speechless as Clay walks over, looking cleaner than you’d ever seen him. There was usually a layer of dust and sweat covering him post deployment. He was still looking scruffy, his hair and beard grown out from deployment. “Happy Birthday, beautiful.”

You reach out and run your fingers through his beard as tears start to well up in your eyes.

Jax moves over, boxing you between Thor and Clay. “Happy Birthday, darlin’,” he murmurs, smirk on his lips. He doesn’t even give you a moment to respond before he’s gripping your chin, tilting your head and kissing you with a dominance that was all him.

He pulls away abruptly, gripping your face roughly. “You’ve been drinking,” he glares at you.

“And driving,” Clay snaps, his own glare on his face.

“I only had a couple,” you try to explain, but you know how the three of them feel about your safety.

“I can taste the whiskey on you,” Jax grumbles.

Heavy hands land on your shoulders and you startle, forgetting that Thor was behind you. His grip is tight as he maneuvers you out of the kitchen and into the living room. “On your knees pet,” he says, when you’re standing in the middle of the carpeted living room, not giving you much of a choice as he pushes down on your shoulders.

You gulp but slide to your knees gracefully. You knew better than to ignore an order from a God. It wouldn’t do you any good anyways, you were outnumbered, and they were upset.

“You’ve been told about drinking and driving, pet,” Clay sighs, taking a step away from you.

You nod, knowing at this point they don’t want to hear any excuses. Resigned to your fate, you assume the position and settled into a relaxed kneel, your hands on your thighs, palms up. At the last moment you glance between the three of them, before you lower your eyes to the floor.

All three of them had a hungry look in their blue eyes.

God damn, why did you have to have a type?

“I think we’ll teach you a lesson, so you won’t do it again,” Jax murmurs, circling you.

You gulp silently, knowing your night was just beginning.

“Take your clothes off,” Clay orders as he walks over to an armchair and sprawls in it like a throne, one leg draped over the side.

You’re quick about pulling your shirt and bra off. Easy and efficient. Pulling your pants off… is a little trickier. Thor had told you to kneel. The three of them really didn’t like it when you disregarded one of the other’s orders.

You rise up from sitting on your feet while kneeling, so you’re fully on your knees. You can see Jax’s smirk out of the corner of your eye and feel the flush rise up your chest. You move quickly, unbuttoning your jeans and pull them and your undies down as much as you can while still kneeling, before you lower back to sitting on your feet. In a quick move, you shift down onto your hip, slide the jeans and undies passed your knees, and then resume your kneel, able to slide your clothes off your legs.

You toss them behind you and settle into a relaxed kneel, sitting on your feet, your arms folded behind your back. You straighten your back and shoulders, keep your head up and eyes down. You knew what they wanted.

“Well, well, well, looks who decided to follow the rules,” Jax drawls as he sprawls out on the love seat before you, taking up the entire couch with an arm across the back and a leg up on the cushion.

You stay quiet and don’t move, knowing it was better in long run.

They hated when you broke their rules, and they didn’t have too many for you. Your safety was their number one concern though. They all had dangerous jobs, that put you in danger on a regular basis just for being associated to them. Doing anything that would add to that danger, or draw unwanted attention from law enforcement, well, you understood why they were upset.

Thor circles around in front of you, a booted foot nudges in between your closed knees and pushes them apart. You follow his silent order and spread your thighs wide, shifting your weight back onto your heels. A gravely chuckle escapes his lips. “Look at you, pet. What a mess you made.”

You’re leaking, dripping down your thighs.

Cool air hits your exposed cunt, and a shiver runs down your spine. The anticipation is killing you. “Speak,” Thor’s voice is rough and deep.

“Please Daddy,” you immediately begin. “I’m sorry,” you look up at him, meeting his steely blue gaze.

There isn’t an ounce of amusement on his face, not even a quirk of his lips.

“You can do better than that,” Clay intones, almost mockingly, tilting his head and looking almost bored.

“Please sir, please Daddy, my liege,” you lay it on thick, glancing at both Clay and Jax as you continue. “Please, I beg your forgiveness. I was lonely. I missed all of you. I haven’t been by myself like this in years,” you keep going. “It brought up too many memories,” you choke up as the emotions overwhelm you.

Tears well in your eyes and the mood of the room immediately changes.

You see Clay and Jax share a look before they both sit up and sit forward, but Thor is already before you. He reaches out and cradles the sides of your face with his large hands. His fingers brush away tears and he coos down you. He pulls your head up so you’re fully on your knees and you burry your face into his abdomen.

He cards his fingers through your hair while you sniffle into his rock-hard abs. The silk of his suit, soft against your face. “Now, now, pet,” he murmurs lowly. “Maybe that’s our fault for leaving you alone too long,” he drawls, petting you. “Maybe it’s our fault for not having someone for you to take care of.”

“Is that what you need, pet?” Jax drawls. “Someone to take care of?”

“Yes,” you whine into Thor’s abs.

“Perhaps we should fuck a baby into this sweet girl, so she always has someone to take care of,” Thor’s voice is deep as it rumbles across the room.

You still immediately, freezing against him.

“Ohhh, I think she likes that,” Jax chuckles. You hear him stand from the couch, and you pull back. “You like that pet? Want us to breed you? Fuck a baby into you? Make you ours forever?”

A low whine escapes your throat as you watch him circle behind you.

“Answer him, pet,” Clay says. He’s right next to you. When did he get up? “Should we take our turns fucking you until you’re swollen with our cum? Plug you up until it takes?” Clay goads.

You let out a breathy whimper. “Yes. Yes please.”

“Is that what our pet wants for her birthday? To be bred?” Thor asks.

“Yes Daddy, yes,” you agree instantly. “Please, please put a baby in me. I promise I’ll be good.”

Jax chuckles darkly and wraps a hand around your throat from behind. He squeezes it as he pulls you back against him, tilting your head back. “The little whore promises she can be good, when she can barely follow simple safety guidelines.” His voice is sardonic, a hard glint in his eye. His hand squeezes tighter around your throat, cutting off your air supply.

You don’t even sputter, you trust him explicitly. You vision starts to dim before he finally lets go, and a rush of air fills your lungs. You gasp softly, as oxygen rushes to your brain. Your lightheaded and floaty, and you haven’t even begun playing.

He can see it too. His eyes roaming over your face, taking in every breath and shudder that racks your body. Another reason they didn’t like you drinking before they played. It made things more dangerous, and they didn’t like the added risk.

“Punishment first,” Thor growls, his hands in your hair pulling you forward, roughly.

You fall forward, hands coming out to brace for impact. Thor’s moved out of the way, so they end up on the floor. Another push and you’re up on your hands and knees, prone and naked before the three fully dresses and gorgeous men in your living room. They’re so much larger than you. So much more a threat.

You’re panting roughly as your juices coat your thighs and run down your legs.

“What a wanton little slut,” Clay smirks, and shoves two fingers into your cunts without warning.

You yelp, as his thick fingers glide easily into your aching cunt. “Such a mess.”

“Please,” you moan as he pumps in his fingers deep, in agonizingly slow strokes.

His removes his fingers and a quick hard smack to your ass has you almost falling forward.

You let out a yelp in surprise and try to turn to face him, but hands are gripping your face. You look up to see Jax there now. “Be a good pet, and take your punishment quietly,” he orders.

You nodded slowly, brain in a haze. Still find it odd to see him in a suit.

You have to grit your teeth as another hard smack lands on your ass cheek, but you keep quiet. Jax smirks down at you and his fingers slide across your face. He forces two fingers into your mouth, pressing your jaw down and open. You try to suck, but it’s almost painful the way he’s pressing your mouth open. Salvia is filling your mouth and you groan.

He smirks again and pulls out his fingers, leaving a mess of salvia behind as you try to swallow quickly. Another hard smack lands on your ass cheek with just a bit of fire behind it to tell you it was Thor that hit you, purposely heating his hand with lightening before striking you.

You groan as Jax works open his belt buckle. A moment later with little preamble, he’s shoving his hard length past your lips. You let out as gasp as he grips your face between both hands, holding his cock in your mouth, just past the point of comfortable.

He gives you a moment to breathe through it as two hard slaps to your ass hit on both cheeks. Both Thor and Clay, reminding you they’re still back there. You moan loudly around Jax’s cock. He takes advantage of your distraction to work his cock in deeper. His hands hold your face steady as he eases back and then thrusts forwards, going even deeper.

You focus on relaxing your jaw as he hits the back of your throat. You have to breathe through your nose as he holds himself there. Your throat contracts. You force yourself to relax.

Breathe.

Another double hit to your ass cheeks has you jolting forward. You swallow more of Jax’s length. He in your throat now. Your hands reach up to grip his hips and he smacks them away. “Hands behind your back,” he orders, his voice thick.

Your cunt clenches at nothing. You’re achy and throbbing.

A hand smooths over your bruised and battered ass, rubbing softly. You whimper as fingers plunge into your sopping cunt. You whine. “Look at this swollen, messy cunt,” Clay murmurs. “Just begging to be filled and bred.”

You’re so close. So close. If they’d just touch your clit, you’d be over.

You whimper around Jax’s cock, his steady rhythm as he fucks your face, your throat. You barely manage a sucking motion as he pulls out. You’re feeling lightheaded again. Floating on the edge of climax.

Clay’s fingers in your cunt twist and turn, before they curl and slide out, pulling out as much of your juices as he can. His fingers circle your puckered hole, using your bodies natural lubricant to ease the passage. A thick finger pushes in as a hand reaches around to circle your clit.

“There’s a good pet,” Thor’s voice is raspy. “Come for us pet.”

Another flick of your clit and you’re over the edge. You moan loudly around Jax’s cock, your mouth slack as your orgasm rips through you.

A second finger slides into your back passage, all while the fingers on your clit keep rubbing and circling. You shudder and would have lost of balance if Jax wasn’t holding your face as he continued to fuck your throat though your orgasm.

Jax pulls out of your mouth, and you pant loudly as the fingers in your ass scissor back and forth. The fingers circling your cunt slide into your cunt and then there’s the wet hot heat of a mouth lapping at your folds.

You barely get a reprieve before Jax is pushing his cock past your lips again, go deep in one thrust.

When three fingers enter your cunt and three in your ass, your body spasms so violently rough hands have hold you in place. “Don’t you dare bite me,” Jax groans as your throat constricts around his cock.

You don’t even register what he says. Your lifted off your knees, Jax’s cock yanked out of your mouth as you’re manhandled around. You look down as you’re placed above Thor. He’s laying on the living room floor, naked. You barely get to take in his sculped plane of his chest and abs.

Two sets of hands grip your hips, holding you above a very erect and very large cock.

Thor grips the base of his erection, holding it steady as him and Clay lower you down onto him. He rubs his head along your folds, using your slick to get himself ready for you. “No, no,” you murmur, out of breath. “I can’t-”

Your protests fall on deaf ears.

“Yes, you can pet,” Clay whispers into your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’m not ready,” you try again.

“Shh,” Thor murmurs as he eases the thick head into your body.

You groan, throwing your head back against Clay’s shoulder. Thor was so much larger than most men. Jax and Clay were both large for regular men, but Thor was a God. An Asgardian. He wasn’t human. He was larger than life and his cock matched his titled.

Your boys usually worked their way up to him. Got you warmed up and soaking, compliant, before he ploughed into you. “Daddy,” you whimper as your body is slowly eased down onto his massive cock. You’re halfway there when Clay and Thor pull you back up, and slowly lower you down even more.

“That’s it, pet,” Thor’s voice rumbles out. “Such a good girl for Daddy. Gonna fuck you so good. Breed you for Daddy. Put a baby in you.”

You groan and pant, feeling a hot rush of fluids leak out and coat his cock.

He chuckles darkly. “Such a needy little cock whore,” he pants as he finally pulls you all the way down on his rock-hard length. You groan as your body is split open around him. His large hand settles on your belly, the damn thing the size of a dinner plate, covering your whole abdomen. He presses against you, feeling himself through your layers of skin.

You moan loudly and grind yourself down on him, getting your clit just right. A strong hand is on your back, between your shoulder blades, pushing you forward.

Thor reaches up and palms both your breast as you fall against his chest. There’s a cold sensation as Clay squeezes lube onto your ass. Jax smirks and moves forward, kneeling just to the right of Thor’s chest. He captures your mouth in a filthy kiss. You’ve barely kissed him back before he’s shoving your face down and onto his cock again.

You let out a high pitch whine as fingers enter your back entrance again. Two, then three, quickly working you open, all while Thor is seated deep in your cunt.

You pant around Jax’s cock, wrapping a hand around the base and take the rest of him deep. His hand cards through your hair, holding your head in place.

“Look at you,” Thor chuckles lowly. “Being such a good cock whore for your daddies.”

You whimper as a shiver runs down your spine.

Clay fingers pull out of your ass and soon his cock is replacing them. Jax and Thor hold still as Clay slide in, balls deep. Your body is straining, trembling. Tears run down your face as all at once a orgasm spreads fire across your body.

Your boys groan, their breaths coming out in labored pants as your body squeezes around them.

“There’s a good girl,” Thor murmurs. “Gonna fill you up now. Breed you with our cum. Pump you so full of our babies. You’ll never be alone again.” Thor’s rambling now. Him and Clay start to move, develop a rhythm. Jax follows them.

You’re a mindless, sobbing mess by the time the next orgasm rolls over you. Crying around Jax’s cock.

Your boneless by the time your boys come. Jax first, spurting down your throat in deep rivulets that you swallow eagerly.

Then Clay, his hand reaching around to wrap around your throat again. The sudden pressure on your throat sends you over as Thor thrust right again that spot inside you.

Your scream is muffled by Clay’s hand around your throat. Your vision darkens as your orgasm tears out of you.

The last thing you remember before you pass out is Thor’s roar as he climax’s deep in your cunt, your pussy milking him dry.

~*~

You startle a wake, feeling a cock slip out of you as you’re lifted in the air. “Shh,” Jax murmurs softly, cradling you against his chest.

You settle against him and rest your head on his shoulder, drifting off to sleep as he carries you upstairs to your shared bedroom. You wake again as your lowered into the middle of the bed, pillows pulled up under your hips to tilt them up. “Gonna make sure it takes,” Jax murmurs and presses a kiss o your lips. “Happy Birthday, darling.”

He’s replaced by another blond. “Happy Birthday, baby,” Clay murmurs. “We’ll make sure you’re bred thoroughly.” He presses his own kiss to your lips.

You mumble incoherently, a smile on your face.

Thor leans over you and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry baby girl, we’re gonna take care of you. Happy Birthday.”

[whelvenwings]

who will fall beside you, if you fall

Dean Winchester's been loved in a lot of different ways throughout his life. He was shaped by that love, changed by the expectations and hopes and hurts of the people he cared about. He learned fear and silence and caution. But Castiel's confession, free of expectation, might undo those lessons.

Tags: Fix-It Fic, Endgame Castiel/Dean, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Lisa/Dean Snippet and Minor Cassie/Dean Snippet, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Fallen Angel Castiel Word Count: ~4k

“If you’re angry, you could just tell me,” Dean said. “God knows I’d get it.”

He glanced to his left and right before crossing a road, his eyes lingering on the faces nearest him, as though he were looking for someone.

“Cas, just talk to me.” The words were so quiet that no human but Dean himself heard them. He was still watching around him, waiting, but nothing happened.

He put his hands into his pockets again. Walked with his shoulders set a little lower.

“It’s not…” Dean muttered, a broken-off answer to a thought inside his head. “Just – I don’t know what you want me to do. Can you hear me thinking about you? ‘Cause it’s all the time, man. I don’t know what to do. Last time I saw you, you told me… but now you aren’t even…”

He rounded a corner and began to cross a small parking lot.

“If you’d just come here. You could tell me what I’m supposed to do. All I want is…” Dean’s eyes searched the backs of the cars he passed as if their number plates were esoteric texts with all the answers, all the things he needed to say. He breathed out. “I don’t know how, man, I don’t know what to do.”

Read the whole thing below the cut!

Dean was three years old and not quite steady on his feet, still, when his father took him outside to help shovel the snow. In his coat and hat he was a little duffled-up sweetheart, to whom nothing particularly bad had ever happened.

Red-cheeked and grinning, he left small bootprints in the snow.

“Come over here, Dean.” John stood behind Dean and lowered the shovel down to Dean’s height, so that they could hold it and move the snow together. Dean pressed his lips together and frowned as he followed his father’s movements. John’s coat smelled like smoke and the outdoors. They moved one, two, three, four, five big shovel-fulls.

“That’s enough for one day,” said a voice from the porch – Mary, smiling down at the two of them. John carefully lifted the shovel out of Dean’s reach, standing up to his full height. They’d managed to clear just a short stretch of the path that led up to the house.

“But Mom, there’s loads more!” Dean said, pointing to the rest of the pathway.

“Your dad can clear that. You need to come in and have some lunch,” Mary said. “Come on.”

Dean looked up to his father with wide eyes, but John put his hand on the top of Dean’s head and ruffled it so that his hat almost came off.

“Listen to your mom, Dean. In you go.”

Dean’s eyes travelled from his father’s face to his mother’s.

“There’s your favourite for dessert,” Mary said, coaxing him with a little smile.

“Yes!”

Dean made a sudden break for it towards her, running down the path he’d just helped to clear. After the crunch-crunch-crunch of the snow, the cleared pathway was hard under Dean's feet. Hard, and unexpectedly slippery.

“Whoa, there,” said John, as Dean felt his balance go, his feet skidding out from under him – and suddenly he was being lifted, one hand on either side of him. John pulled him up out of the fall, and set him back down in thick snow.

Dean blinked. It had all happened very fast.

“Next time,” John said, giving Dean a little push indoors, “I won’t catch you. You’ve got to learn, Dean.”

–––––

And now Dean was eleven years old and trailing after his father down a quiet midnight street, with a sleepy little brother in tow.

“Dad… are we nearly at the motel?”

“Nearly.”

He’d pay for that question later somehow, and Dean knew it, but because he’d asked there was a new purpose in John’s step. They didn’t stop at the liquor store that Dean knew John had been weighing going into. Walking past it, Dean felt a little break of relief in his chest. They’d get out of the cold sooner, and Sam could get to bed.

“Dean?”

Dean turned his head to look at his brother, keeping walking. Sam was wearing Dean’s coat, swimming in it, the hood pulled up and the elastic tight so only the round circle of his face was visible. It was nearly funny, but they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the humour was shaved off everything.

“Come on,” Dean said.

“I’m cold.”

“I know.” Dean cast a glance forwards at his father’s back. He lowered his voice. “It’s okay. Just a little bit longer.”

Sam made a miserable face. Their breaths were puffs of air between them. Underfoot was the hiss and crunch of melting, slushy snow.

“Can I have soup when we get there?”

“It’s late, Sammy. We’ll have something in the morning.”

“But I can’t sleep when I’m hungry…”

“Okay.” Dean cast another worried look towards his father, and then made a meaningful face at Sam when he looked back around. “I’ll find something. I think we have some of that apple juice left over.”

“That’s cold,” Sam said, but he’d quietened his voice, too. “And a drink.”

“You didn’t know?” Dean said, making sure his face was completely straight.

“Know what?”

“That’s the best part,” Dean said. “Cold drinks make you warm up faster.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, and Dean cursed internally. Every day Sam got a little smarter and a little harder to keep happy.

“That’s not true,” Sam said.

“It is,” Dean promised. “You’ll see.” He thought for a few seconds, and then said, "Maybe we can heat up the apple juice."

“Keep up, boys,” said John’s voice, from too far away. Dean realised he must have slowed down as he’d talked to Sam, even though he’d been trying to hold a steady pace. He reached for Sam’s hand, turning his head at the same time to call back to his father – and as he did so, he felt his balance betray him. His feet slipped in the slush, and in a rush he was a jumble of elbows and knees hitting the ground in all the wrong places.

For a second he sat still, assessing the damage. Nothing broken.

“Are you okay?” Sam said, the dish of his face looking pale and worried above Dean.

“I’m fine… ugh.”

“Get up,” John called, and when Dean turned his head to look, he saw that his father was turning away to keep walking. Dean scrambled to his feet, hands out for balance. His hip ached – he’d landed on it.

“I’m alright,” Dean said to Sam, pulling on a smile. “Let’s go.”

He hurried after John, making sure Sam was beside him, going as fast as he dared until they were right behind their father. His knee was starting to throb, too, and he kept it off his face carefully, because Sam was still glancing up at him.

“Saw you reach for your brother when you were falling,” John grunted. “Don’t do that. If you two’re on your own and both of you go down, you’re both dead. If Sam’s still up, he can go for help.”

“I wasn’t –” Dean tried to say.

“Don’t do it,” John repeated, more forcefully.

They walked on in silence.

––––-

And now Dean was twenty-one years old and stepping out into the brisk air of a winter evening, with his head a little light from the drinks he’d had in the bar at his back.

“Come on,” Cassie said from beside him, her eyes bright with laughter. “You can tell me.”

“Hey, we’ve been through this,” Dean said, as they began to make their way down the street, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“As if you could,” Cassie said.

Dean glanced over at her smile, and thought about the way the shifter he’d taken out earlier that day had looked at him, right before he’d swung the blade through her neck. He swallowed hard.

“I might,” he said, and held his arms a little out from his body. “How long can I contain this much raw aggression, you know?”

“Stop," Cassie said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Seriously, okay, just tell me what your job is.”

“Is it really worth your life?” Dean asked, putting on his most serious face.

“You’re really trying to tell me you’re, what – a spy? A fed?” Cassie asked. “C’mon, you can’t expect me to believe that. With that face?”

“Hey,” Dean said, mock-offended, as they passed closed-up stores and parking bays. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“Nothing,” Cassie said, “that’s literally the problem. The FBI don’t hire people who look like you, do they? This is real life, not HBO.”

“Okay,” Dean said, his face working not to look too pleased. Underfoot, the pavement was shiny with ice. Dean started to walk a little slower. “So, if this isn’t the face of a fed, what is it the face of?”

“Mmm. Radio show host?” Cassie laughed when Dean threw her a look. “Well, c’mon, how am I supposed to know? Third date and you still won’t tell me?”

“Just trying to keep the mystery alive,” Dean said, faking an absent kind of tone in the hope that Cassie would drop the subject. The sidewalk was getting more and more treacherous, each of his steps sliding just a little.

“The mystery is too alive,” Cassie said. “It could die a bit. I’d be okay with that.”

“Whoa… careful.” Dean’s foot slipped out from under him, and he only managed to keep his balance by grabbing onto a parking meter that happened to be close by.

“Easy, big shot.” Cassie watched him start to move again, even more tentatively. “Wouldn’t wanna lose the deal with HBO if you fall on that perfect face.”

There was an edge of hurt to her tone of voice, and Dean jaw tightened. Was he ever going to tell her, he wondered. Surely not. She’d hate it. Spending time with Cassie was like visiting a parallel universe. That world didn’t have room for monsters under the bed.

And so Dean kicked them back underneath as hard as he could, and smiled at Cassie, and held out his hand.

Cassie looked down at it, and then back up at him.

“Really?” she said, a smile waiting at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s slippery,” Dean said, and wiggled his fingers temptingly.

“Yeah,” Cassie said with a laugh, pushing his hand away, “it is, asshole. That’s why I’m not letting you take me down with you.”

––––-

And now Dean was thirty-one years old and watching a soccer game, gloves on, hat on, clapping along with the dark-haired woman next to him.

“Come on, Ben!” called Lisa.

“Like we practised, okay, kid?” Dean added, and watched Ben’s face relax into concentration as he placed the ball for his free kick, just a yard outside the penalty box.

“You practised free kicks with him?” Lisa said to Dean, sounding like she was holding back a laugh. Dean glanced down at her; she had her eyes on her son, but there was a little smile on her face.

“A couple times,” Dean said. “He asked.”

“That’s sweet. And I thought you two just watched TV and ate too much pizza together.”

“We do that too,” Dean said. “When I have a say in it.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. On either side of Lisa and Dean, also at the edge of the soccer pitch, were other parents all waiting on Ben to take his kick. They were standing on wet grass, a few of them stamping their feet to keep them from going numb.

Ben took a short run up, swung his leg, made contact. The ball sailed high, dipped – and the goalie caught it neatly.

“Next time,” Dean called out when Ben’s face fell, and gave him a clap. The game played on.

“God, it’s cold,” Lisa said.

“You want my coat?”

Lisa looked up at him, her big brown eyes soft.

“You’re cute, you know that?”

“... Right.” Dean smiled awkwardly. Lisa’s would-be compliment hung in the air, sounding more incongruous the longer Dean stood tense and unmoving.

Lisa reached out, and put her hand on his folded arms.

“You wanna order in, tonight?” she said lightly. “Or I could make fajitas.”

“I can cook,” Dean said. “I’ll make burgers.”

“Mmm. Twist my arm.”

Some small burst of relief, there. Dean’s expression eased. He put his hands in his pockets, lifted his chin, as though remembering the role he was playing. Who he was, now.

He shifted his feet – and felt his right foot slide, almost right out from under him. He steadied himself, hands out to the sides, looking down at the grass.

“Careful,” Lisa said.

“Jesus,” Dean said at the same time.

“Come here,” Lisa said, holding out her hand.

Dean smiled.

“It’s all good,” he said, reaching out and giving the hand a squeeze, and then letting go quickly.

“Can’t have the head chef breaking his arm,” Lisa said, her hand still out.

“It’s fine, really.”

“Dean, would you hold my hand?”

“We’ll both go over,” Dean said.

“Mm-mm. I’ll hold you up.”

Her expression allowed no argument. Unwillingly, Dean allowed her to loop their arms together, Lisa pinning Dean to her side and turning back to the game, calling out to support Ben as he went for a tackle. Dean stood quietly. He was having to lean down ever so slightly so that Lisa could keep his arm tucked under hers.

He tried very hard not to move. Just the smallest slide of his feet and he’d be over and he’d take her with him. Every muscle in his legs was clenched, forcing himself not to slip.

After just a minute or so of stiff silence, Lisa sighed.

“Okay,” she said, “you win.”

She let go.

––––-

And now Dean was forty-one years old and walking down a street in Lebanon, Kansas, on legs that still felt a little new. The cold air was harsh; he took in a deep breath.

He went to cross the road, and a car gave a screech as it swerved suddenly to avoid him. The driver made a few different gestures at him through the window, and Dean held up a hand in apology.

It was easy to forget that things didn’t part and make way on Earth like they had done in Heaven.

“Couldn’t fix that for me, could you?” Dean said aloud. “Not that I’m not grateful for the ticket home, Cas, but Heaven had its perks.”

Silence. Dean kept walking, with only the slightest slump to his shoulders and crease on his brow. Lebanon was wearing snow like a big white coat. Dean’s boots crunched in it when he stepped off the gritted path to let a mother with a stroller go by.

“I should probably stop expecting to see you round every corner, huh,” he said. “Been a week now. And I keep wandering around thinking you might show up just ‘cause I’m looking.” Someone passing gave him a slightly frightened look and a wide berth as he walked by, talking to himself. Just another thing no one had much noticed in Heaven: the prayers. Dean frowned, and ducked his head. Tucked his hands in his pockets.

He walked quietly for some time.

Long enough for his hands to come back out of his pockets, and his shoulders to lose their self-conscious hunch. Long enough for the hurt in his eyes to seem nearer the surface.

“Might not even have been you that got me out of Heaven,” Dean said, his tone quiet, as though picking up the thread of a half-finished conversation.

A pause, in which he walked. Passed by other people, made no eye contact. Dean meandered a little as he went, as though his mind were elsewhere.

“If you’re angry, you could just tell me,” he said. “God knows I’d get it.”

He glanced to his left and right before crossing a road, his eyes lingering on the faces nearest him, as though he were looking for someone.

“Cas, just talk to me,” he said. The words were so quiet that no human but Dean himself heard them. He was still watching around him, waiting, but nothing happened.

He put his hands into his pockets again. Walked with his shoulders set a little lower.

“It’s not…” Dean muttered, a broken-off answer to a thought inside his head. “Just – I don’t know what you want me to do. Can you hear me thinking about you? ‘Cause it’s all the time, man. I don’t know what to do. Last time I saw you, you told me… but now you aren’t even…”

He rounded a corner and began to cross a small parking lot.

“If you’d just come here. You could tell me what I’m supposed to do. All I want is…” Dean’s eyes searched the backs of the cars he passed as if their number plates were esoteric texts with all the answers, all the things he needed to say. He breathed out. “I don’t know how, man, I don’t know what to do.”

He swallowed.

“It feels like I have to do something, though.”

He kept walking.

“Or, I don’t know. Maybe I just want to.”

He breathed out.

Emotions were crossing his face, too fast to catch one alone, too swift to parse. He looked down at his feet, watching where he stepped.

“If I had what I wanted,” he said, “you’d be here.” After a pause, he rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that’s news to you. Like, wow, right? Not as though I’ve ever asked, after all.” Another silence, and then he said, “But you know, I – it’s not that I just want to… fix it, or… finish things off. It’s not… I’m not…” He pressed his lips together, smiled wryly. “Jesus. I hope you can’t hear this. I’m not making any sense. I’m just trying to say, I want you here, man. I want you here to stay.”

A little flicker of light seemed to touch Dean’s eyes.

“You could stay now,” he said, “right? You could actually stay. If you wanted to. And we could…” He stopped. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

A car drove by, and the child in the backseat stared out the window at him. Dean blinked back to reality.

“We didn’t have time to think about what we wanted,” he said into the quiet of the parking lot, when the car had passed and he was walking again. “All this time. Or maybe you did. But I didn’t.” He looked upwards, towards the iron sky. “And now there’s time, Cas, and all I’m thinking about is you.” He looked down. “I said that already.”

He moved on, stepping out the other side of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk.

“I remember you said that the… the thing you want, you can’t have.” Dean took in a breath and let it go. “I don’t know why you thought you couldn’t. Whatever it is, man, you deserve it.”

His feet carried him onward.

“You gotta be sick of hearing me talk at this point. But I just…” Dean’s eyes glanced over the snowy Lebanon street in front of him, and he crossed the road. “I just want you here. Maybe I should take a damn hint.” His voice strained, hurt betraying the attempt at levity in his tone. “But you said… I keep thinking back on what you said. About how you feel. And I, uh. You know. If you’d just let me…”

Dean lifted his hands, a little helplessly, into the air as he walked, as though wanting to give something invisible to someone who wasn’t there. He dropped them awkwardly, his expression creasing.

He was circling back around towards the mall, his footsteps pointing him towards home. He looked heavy, weary. The lines on his face were deep, and his eyes were unfocused, lost in thought.

The people around him paid him no attention. He was just part of the crowd. They swirled across his path and around him, irrelevant to him, not seeing him. Except –

Dean came to a sudden stop. His gaze sharpened.

Twenty feet away from him, standing completely still, was a figure. Not struggling with carrier bags or strollers or wallets and keys like the other shoppers going into and out of the mall. Utterly stone still.

Tall, almost as tall as Dean. Wearing a long coat. Brown-haired. Impassive.

Watching Dean as though waiting for him.

And Dean visibly blossomed. His mouth fell slightly open, his shoulders loosened, one hand reached out unconsciously.

“Cas?” he said, disbelieving – and Dean saw a slight smile appear on Castiel’s face, and the angel slightly raised one hand in greeting.

Warmth touched Dean’s eyes, rising up as though from a great depth. He began to move, at first taking care on the slippery sidewalk. But his feet hurried him, and he was walking fast and then he was almost running, caution forgotten, eyes on Castiel’s.

It was when he was only a few steps away that his foot hit a patch of black ice. His arms went out, struggling to balance him – Castiel moved forward, one hand out – Dean reached for him on instinct, grasping his arm, his body relaxing in obvious expectation of Castiel being able to pull him upright –

But Castiel’s weight tilted along with Dean’s, and the ground gave them both a hard and cold welcome. There were some muttered ooohs from people passing by, and a few of them came to awkward stops nearby.

Dean landed hard on his back, head hitting the cement. He stared for a moment up at the sky. It had all happened very fast.

He sat up, and saw Castiel kneeling beside him, inspecting his own hands.

“Fuck,” Dean said. He put a hand to the back of his head. No blood.

“Are you okay?” said someone behind Dean, and he waved them off.

“All good,” he said, seeing in his peripheral vision that the people who’d stopped to look were moving on. He looked at Castiel. “Are you… you’re…”

Castiel stopped staring down at his hands, and looked at Dean instead. His blue eyes searched Dean’s face. Under his gaze, Dean smiled – a smile that grew on his face from a tiny brightness in his eyes until his whole face was alight with it.

“It’s you,” he said. "Damn, Cas, it's really you."

“It’s me,” Castiel confirmed. His voice held a recognition of Dean’s smile, a reciprocal warmth.

“You’re here.”

“I heard you,” Castiel said.

“You heard me? Just now?”

“Yes.”

Dean nodded. He was breathing a little fast. His gaze searched Castiel’s face, partly seeming to be looking for something, partly seeming already to have found it. People were stepping around them to get inside the mall.

“It’s good to see you,” Dean said.

Castiel smiled too, at last.

“But you know,” Dean added, “you could’ve just appeared right next to me instead of a whole freaking mile away on a slippery sidewalk. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Ah.” Castiel, still on his knees beside where Dean was sitting, dropped his gaze. “That was, in fact, not under my control. Jack sent me down here. After I asked him to do something for me.”

Castiel looked down at his hands again, and this time Dean looked too. His expression broke into slight surprise when he saw red on Castiel’s palms, at the sight of the blood – and then the surprise came in a second, deeper wave, as realisation hit.

“Cas,” he said.

“Just a graze,” Castiel said calmly.

“But you – you’re – that’s not supposed to happen,” Dean said. He reached out, and took Castiel’s hands in his own, inspecting the little scrapes on the skin. “You can’t get hurt like this.”

“Well,” Castiel said, “I can, now.”

“But you’re…” Dean stared at Castiel, seeming suddenly caught in consternation.

“Staying,” Castiel finished for him.

Wide-eyed, still sitting on the sidewalk, Dean took this in. Something light crossed his face, then anger, then confusion.

“I heard you,” Castiel reminded him. Dean stared at him.

“What I said?”

“Yes.”

“About staying?”

“Yes.”

“And you… you want that?”

Despite the hustle of people around them, the crunch-crunch of their boots in the snow and the harshness of their voices, Dean and Castiel might have been the only two people in the world when Castiel said,

“Yes, Dean.”

“So, but – before, in the bunker, with the Empty, when you said – the thing – the thing you said you wanted –”

Castiel looked down at their hands. Dean’s holding Castiel’s.

Dean tightened his grip.

“Just that?” he said, his voice sounding thick.

Castiel said nothing, words seeming to fail him.

They stared at each other. Hands in hands, touching, Castiel bleeding. Dean didn’t let go.

“It’s yours,” Dean said roughly.

“You mean…” Castiel’s eyes were suddenly wide. “You mean that you…”

“Since pretty much day one. I just never thought you’d want that from me.”

The world moved past and around them. They didn’t notice. Castiel was radiating happiness in every body line, though he was unmoving. Dean was watching him as though afraid he might disappear in the space of a blink.

"Is this real?" he said. "My head hurts enough for it to be real."

Castiel nodded.

“You’re really staying,” Dean said.

“As long as you’ll let me.”

After enough time under the steadiness of Castiel’s gaze, it seemed finally to sink in for Dean – the truth of it, the reality of it. Dean breathed out.

He swallowed. He looked down.

He smiled.

“We should get home, then,” he said.

Castiel didn’t say anything, but he gave a nod made small by emotion.

“Oh. I’m sorry, though,” Dean said, his eyes catching on Castiel’s small injuries now that he was looking down again. His thumb lightly touched the place where blood was drying on Castiel’s palm. “If I’d known I wouldn’t have run at you.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel said, getting to his feet and pulling Dean up with him, their hands not letting go.

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Don’t be,” Castiel said, his blood on Dean’s hands, and still holding them. “Don’t be.”

[radioduo]

rescue him || dsmp become human

word count: ~1,300

notes: am i technically late? yeah.. am i going to count it as being late? nope! anyway i have no idea how this one is, so feedback is appreciated! enjoy :]

first // prev // next

X Rescue him

“He’s coming with us, Tommy,” Tubbo said firmly, lifting the young boy into his arms. “I can’t leave him,”

Tommy stared at the scrappy android boy crossly but said nothing. As the newly formed trio wandered to the bus stop, the brown-haired child gripped Tubbo’s shirt, fiddling with the buttons. He was strangely silent, Tubbo noted, save for a few staticky noises he made now and then. A part of him wondered if that was the result of whatever had happened to his face and eye. He got the feeling he already knew the answer to that question but didn't dare to think about it too hard. “I wonder if he has a name,” Tubbo murmured to himself.

The small boy brightened at the mention of a name, smiling up at the white-haired teen.

“I doubt it. Should you give it one?” Tommy suggested. He was tracing circles on the bus stop bench in boredom. “Seems like the best thing to do.”

Tubbo looked at the android thoughtfully. The boy stared back at him with chocolate brown eyes that reminded Tubbo vaguely of a puppy. “What about Michael? Do you like Michael?” He asked brightly, moving strands of hair from the kid's one good eye.

Michel beamed and nodded at him, hauling himself onto the bench between the two teenagers. He made a noise that sounded similar to ‘yes,’ though Tubbo wasn't one hundred percent sure. “Good!” he grinned, watching with unmistakable fondness as Michael turned to Tommy and tugged on his jacket sleeve. “So that’s settled, I guess.” His gaze wandered to the bus schedule. The next one would be arriving in a few minutes, thankfully. He wasn’t sure how much longer they would be able to wait without being spotted.

“What are we gonna say if someone asks us who he is?” Tommy questioned, shrugging Michael’s hand off his coat. “Someone’s gonna be suspicious of us at some point, so we need to have an answer,” he said. His leg bounced up and down nervously. “Our brother or something?”

There was a moment of silence before Tubbo replied at last, “He’s my son!” He grinned as he felt Michael lean into his side, and he ruffled his wavy locks of brown hair.

Tommy stared at him dumbfoundedly. “What d’you mean he’s your son?” He demanded, volume rising slowly. “You don’t even look old enough to drive, let alone have a fuckin’ kid! He’s what, like five or so? You’re only 17, Tubs, what are you talking about?”

Tubbo rolled his eyes. “I’ll just say he’s my son and hope for the best. Doesn’t matter what people say, y’know? I rescued him from death, Tommy, I’m already treating him better than whoever his previous family was.” As he put an arm around Michael, the familiar sound of tires on asphalt grew louder as the bus pulled up to the stop. The three hopped up from the bench, both Tommy and Tubbo gripping Michael’s hands.

“Let’s go.” Tommy flung his bag over his arm. “We need to find somewhere safer than here.”

The three boarded the bus, sighing in relief when they saw there was nobody else on board besides a sleeping man in the back. The trio chose a seat in the middle, settling down as the doors closed and the bus lurched back into movement.

“This route is taking us to Ferndale, I guess,” Tubbo murmured. “That’s what the schedule said, at least. Is there a train station up there?” He brushed a few snow-white strands of hair out of his eyes and peered over Michael's head to where Tommy sat.

Tommy shrugged, not seeming in the mood to talk. He stared moodily out the window, watching the tall buildings roll past the glass. Tubbo could tell the blond was upset about something, but he decided to leave the topic alone. Tommy would talk if he wanted to.

Tubbo listened to the news from the bus's radio absently as the vehicle traveled north. It was hard to catch everything the reporter was saying, but he managed to catch every other word.

“Hard… believe… another deviant… last night... home… CyberLife’s founder… attacked… Devon… killed…”

Tubbo froze as a shiver ran down his spine. They were talking about him.

“...suspect… fourth case… past week… begs the question… androids dangerous… tensions… sales plummet… recalls…”

The deviant’s stomach turned as he listened to the news report. Androids were getting recalled from CyberLife, and android owners had begun returning their robots out of fear they might get hurt. He felt dizzy as he realized that leaving the state was his only option if he wanted to make it through this alive. Police were still searching for him, and if he was thinking about it, he felt as though civil war was inevitable. Enmity was brewing between man and his creations, and Tubbo felt sick just thinking about it. Tubbo gripped his son's hand and glanced sideways at Tommy. He didn't want to think about what would happen if someone found him.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind and decided to tune out the radio for the rest of the trip. It was dark when the three of them finally came to their stop, and Tommy, Tubbo, and Michael filed off the bus one by one. The electronic bus stop's faint glow was the only light source around other than an ominously flickering streetlight. Tommy grimaced. “Where now? We’re far enough away, surely,” he said, eyeing the different cars that passed by. The taller boy grabbed Michael's hand absent-mindedly as the kid hugged his pant leg.

Tubbo scanned the area silently. There didn’t seem to be anything of interest around besides some graffiti and street signs. The city seemed a little rundown and abandoned, and Tubbo would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little unsettled. “Let’s head… that way.” Tubbo flung a finger in a random direction, hoping that he was making a good decision. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

----------

Tubbo and Tommy walked down the darkened sidewalk, looking around nervously for anyone who might be watching. “I feel as though we’ve been walking for ages and getting nowhere,” Tommy grumbled. “Do even you know where the fuck you’re going?”

“Nope!” Tubbo chirped, adjusting a sleepy Michael on his hip. “I hope you know I just pointed in a random direction,” he admitted, snickering a little at Tommy’s annoyed expression.

“We’re fucked, you know,” Tommy mumbled. “We’re walking in a random direction, in the dark, all alone. I can’t imagine that anything could go well for us right now.”

The three slowed their pace when they came to the end of the street. The air smelled vaguely like the Detroit docks, and Tubbo felt his heart pounding as he squinted into the darkness. He could see the outline of a large, mostly abandoned freighter in the distance, but if he looked close enough, he could see a faint light flickering inside.

“You can’t seriously be thinking about going in there,” Tommy whispered cautiously. “You have no idea what the hell is in there, do you want to risk our lives? And more importantly, my life?”

“It’ll be okay, Tommy,” Tubbo promised. “If anything shady starts going on, we’ll get the fuck out, but I gotta know what’s in there first,” he said, already making his way towards the boat and onto the docks.

“What even is this place?” Tommy wondered aloud, trailing after the white-haired android. He stepped onto the docks and looked up at the large, hulking ship beside him. Despite the beat-up and rusty metal, a word was visible on the side in chipped white paint. "Something's written on the side... Jericho?"

Tubbo raised an eyebrow. “Huh,” he replied eloquently. “Well then, what’re we waiting for? Let’s check inside, shall we?”