#it’ll probably be easier to keep weight on her at the very least

[highqueenofelfhame]

a/n: ciwyw is next, i promise lmao. i'm very excited for the feedback on this one. <3

rowaelin // 5.7k words // skoh masterlist // masterlist

Considering how they had always slept twined together, Aelin wasn’t particularly surprised when she woke up with her back against Rowan’s chest. She tried not to move while her eyes adjusted to the sunlight coming through the curtains. Curtains were at the top of her list of things to buy when she went shopping later.

His arm was a warm, steadying weight over her side and she could feel his breath tickling the back of her neck. In sleep, her fingers had tangled with his over her stomach. Now, she had no idea what to do with any extension of her body. It had been a long time since she had been so hyper-aware of anyone touching her. Even longer than that, she hadn’t woken up with another person like this since the last time Rowan left all those years ago. 

And then there was the hardness pressing against her ass that had a giggle threatening to bubble out of her lips. 

Aelin bit her bottom lip to suppress the smile that would surely spiral into a fit of laughter as her hips began wiggling against him like she was trying to get comfortable. Rowan’s breathing changed slightly, a sharper inhale indicating he was at least a little awake now. She paused her movements just long enough to make the whole thing seem innocent before starting up again. The solid length of him grew harder against her. With the nightgown she slept in bunched up around her waist, their underwear was the only thing between them. 

It was the bare skin of her hip that his hand clamped down on to still her, his breath hot against her ear as he growled, “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Trying to get out from under your arm.” It was an effort to keep her voice level with any amount of sass lacing the letters together. Rowan’s morning voice was truly a work of art, slightly deeper than normal and raspy from sleep. If he listened closely, he could probably hear her heart pounding away in her chest. 

“That isn’t what it felt like,” he murmured, pushing his hips flush against her ass. One shaky inhale later, she was rolling out of bed. Rowan’s hand fisted the sheets where she had just been, eyes sleepy and squinting against the morning sun. 

“We can go back to shouting then.” With a coy flip of her hair over her shoulder, she slipped into the bathroom as he flopped onto his back, hand running down his face. 

The shower was so cold she was shivering by the end, her skin pink from the failed attempt to scrub away the feeling of his body pressed too tightly against hers.

~*~ 

“This is the most depressing thing I have ever had to do,” Aelin mumbled, fingers working black hair color into Fenrys’s roots. The shitty box dye was going to wreck the stunning threads of gold and she hated that she had any part in it. When she went down for breakfast her heart had nearly fallen out of her ass at the sight of Fenrys and Connall with close-cropped cuts. Thankfully there was some length remaining on top where their curls were able to thrive, but it wasn’t enough. It could barely be tucked behind their ears. It felt like a crime. 

Aelin had already dyed, washed, and styled her hair into soft waves. She even took to snipping at the ends until her burgundy strands grazed the tops of her breasts. It had taken up the first two hours of the morning— the last thirty of it spent frowning at her reflection. Ever since she was little, her golden waves had been a source of pride. When she put in the green contacts, all of her remarkable features would vanish down the drain. 

“It’ll wash out,” Fen reminded her. “And it’s just hair.” 

“It’s going to take forever to grow back and probably just as long for the dye to wash out. This shit is hard to come back from.” It would be easier for her, but not for him. Evidently, Fenrys didn’t know that. A frown took over his entire face as he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. While being identical, there were subtle differences between the twin’s faces that those close to them could point out. He was still beautiful, but his naturally golden blonde hair had made him look like the sun to Connall’s moon. Now they were both night-kissed with darkness. 

There was no chance in hell that they could swap places without anyone catching it. As soon as Fenrys opened his mouth anyone would be able to tell that they most definitely were not the same person. Where his brother was calm and subdued, Fen was a raging storm of chaos and Aelin loved that about him. 

“Now we let it cook,” she sighed, plopping a processing cap over the top to keep the hair from slipping over his forehead and staining his skin. 

With a pat on his shoulder, she headed for the kitchen with Fenrys trailing behind her. Aelin grabbed a bag of grapes from the fridge and slid onto one of the barstools while she skimmed the file of her temporary identity. Having read through it several times already, the facts about her fake life were cemented into her mind. 

Her name was Lillian Gordaina, and she was the Duchess of a small territory south of Bellhaven in Fenharrow. They received their titles and territory a year ago as a wedding gift when she married her husband, Asher Gordaina, the Duke. Both of them came from royal bloodlines, and their pairing and the work they did together is what had their Lord and Lady titles. While they didn’t have any children, they loved their dogs and were very involved with animal rights charities and the arts. According to the king and queen, they represented what the future could and should be like. Their attendance at the ball alongside Fenharrow nobles was to properly introduce them to royals from other countries. 

Terrasen had a quite strong allegiance with Fenharrow, partially because her uncle was good friends with their king and queen. It was likely that he spoke with them to loop them in without giving away too much detail of the mission. Aelin wasn’t sure a real Duke and Duchess even existed for that little cluster of villages, or if they were taking an imaginary workload from the ones that oversaw Bellhaven. Not that it mattered, but she still wondered.

“Aelin?” Rowan’s voice carried down the hall from their bedroom and caused her heart to lurch beneath her ribs. Aelin’s eyes slipped shut as she dropped her forehead against Fen’s shoulder harder than she meant to. A dull throb pulsed between her eyebrows and he patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. 

“Say I’ve died,” she whispered with pleading eyes as she lifted her head. 

“Considering how little I want to experience his raw panic at that phrase, I’m going to offer a piping hot fuck no to that little request of yours.” And to think she thought she’d won everyone but Lorcan in the divorce. 

Aelin tsked as she rose to her feet, back arching in a feline stretch. She savored another grape, eyes unfocused and staring out the window and wondering how long it would take for him to come looking for her. Fenrys swiveled in his seat and guided her with a hand on her waist until she was forced to take the first damning steps toward her ex-boyfriend. Fenrys was a traitorous bastard.

Shoulders rolling to loosen her arms, she steeled herself for a fight. Rowan hadn’t sounded angry when he called for her, but it was odd that he was seeking her out for anything to begin with. The uncertainty had her on high alert as her toes crossed the threshold into their room. Rowan was found sitting on a stool in the bathroom, running his hand over the back of his neck. 

No evidence of his silver hair remained on his head, nor in the bits of hair on the floor around him. It was now a dirty blonde that toed the line of being light brown. They both looked equally surprised at the other’s makeovers and neither said anything for a moment. Their eyes remained locked through the mirror as she leaned against the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he said finally, reaching up to scratch his jaw. 

“Hi?” It came out as perplexed as she felt. Even her nose was wrinkled a bit as he turned to look at her directly. 

“I was uh– I was wondering if you’d help me cut the longer bit.” Rowan motioned to the pair of scissors that lay beside the clippers he’d used for the parts he wanted shorter. “I don’t trust any of the guys with scissors near my head, and you always did a good job.” 

There were times when Rowan shaved his head in the early days of their relationship for ease of things while deployed. Once he started letting it grow back in, Aelin had watched a thousand tutorials on how to cut men’s hair. Eventually, she was pretty good at it. Not enough to quit her job and start a new business, but well enough that Rowan asked her for haircuts and trims when he was home. 

“Of course.” She pushed off the door and reached for the scissors, Rowan’s hand darting out to stop her from picking them up. Her raised eyebrows asked the question her lips didn’t have to say.

“Without fucking it up.” The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile, her fingers closing around the cool metal. She grabbed the comb with her other hand and began running it through his hair. Because she had the excuse, her fingers slipped through the silky strands as she debated on how to cut it. Rowan took the moment to shake his arms out, loosening the muscles that seemed to stay too tight when she was around. 

“Relax,” she mused, slipping into the space between his thighs. Using her fingertips, she tilted his head from one side to the other.  “I’m cutting your hair, not getting ready to kick your ass in a sparring match.”

Rowan snorted but seemed to ease up if only a little. His hands were resting flat against his thigh, one leg bouncing to dispel anxious energy. When he bumped into her she shot him a warning glare, snipping the scissors in his face as a reminder of what might happen if he didn’t take a breath and chill out. 

Aelin began cutting, taking her time to ensure it was even. Rowan alternated from sitting with his eyes closed to gazing up at her face. The only other place for him to look was at her chest, and he seemed to be doing an okay job of avoiding that. She was pretty sure she caught him a few times, though. 

“Your hair was so pretty,” she sighed, moving to stand beside him while she cut the sides and around to the back. “Now it’s ruined.”

“You don’t like me like this, Princess?” Aelin’s tongue ran over her teeth as she glanced at him briefly in the mirror. 

“I always liked you however you happened to be.” It felt like too vulnerable a thing to say, especially when he turned his head to look at her. Ignoring his eyes, Aelin turned his head forward. “Be still. I’m almost done.”

A few minutes later she was back between his legs and working a pomade through his freshly dyed locks. Considering how long it had been since she’d readied him for any sort of occasion, it took her longer than it used to. She was probably being a little nit-picky, but they had a photoshoot in two hours where they had to look royal for crying out loud. If there was a time to be precise, it was now. 

“There. Perfect.” Aelin smiled a little and turned,  reaching for the faucet to wash her hands. Halfway his fingers caught hers and tugged. Ever so slowly, she turned back to look at him. The calluses of his free palm scratched against her skin as they slowly wrapped around the back of her thigh just above her knee. 

A suppressed shiver broke free as it dragged up her side and finally reached hesitantly toward her face. The other spread her fingertips until he could weave their fingers together. If he noticed the residue of the pomade on her hands, he didn’t seem to care. She knew she should stop this– that she should pull away from him and haul ass to the kitchen to wash her hands to put distance between them. Instead, she leaned into the first brush of his hand against her cheek. 

Their eyes were locked, his pupils blown wide with what could only be desire. The heat of his body so close had her taking another small step toward him without needing to be guided. Her legs were trapped between his and in this secret moment, she didn’t want to be anywhere else. 

The pad of his thumb brushed over her jaw while his hand slid around, fingers nestling perfectly into the dip at the base of her skull. All of the air in the room must have been sucked out because she was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. Each breath was measured and it seemed like he was doing the same thing as he gently guided her face closer to his. 

Rowan untangled his hand from hers and guided her hand to the side of his neck where her fingers immediately twined into the hair at his nape. Almost involuntarily, she traced over the cupid’s bow of his lips with her free hand. In a moment of aching defeat, she rested her forehead against his and allowed her eyes to close. For a long moment, they just breathed each other in. It was a breathtaking intimacy that only two people that loved each other deeply could share. 

The grief that steeped in her mind like a long-forgotten cup of tea washed over her. It became abundantly clear that she had never worked through it. Their relationship had always been more about their romantic feelings. He was her very best friend as much as her lover, sometimes more so. This moment didn’t poke and prod at the wounds that still felt so fresh most days. It soothed them. 

Never stilling the movements of his hand that ran up and down her side, he pulled back just enough to look at her. The tips of their noses brushed as he whispered her name like it was the most reverent prayer he could offer to any god. Aelin shivered, lips parting on a shallow breath. Rowan’s mouth grazed the corner of her’s and he looked at her one more time like he was asking permission. There was a desperation in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in ages. 

It was a man begging the god he worshiped. For what, she didn’t know. If it was forgiveness he sought it would be a long time coming. Or was it just the taste of her lips that he needed? Was he begging to brand her skin with the touch of his hands, his lips, his tongue? The crumbling self-control she grasped for was slipping like sand through her fingers. At the soft whisper of her name, it blew away with the wind. 

Whatever expression lay on her face must have been good enough because the next moment his lips were on hers and she was unraveling at the taste of him. Nothing mattered but the feeling of his hands on her body, of his lips taking little breaks to press sweet kisses to her cheeks before claiming her mouth again. At the first brush of his tongue her knees nearly gave out, the grip she had on his hair tightening until he groaned low in his throat. It wasn’t the sound of pain, but one of pleasure.

The fingerprints she left on his neck and jaw were sticky from the pomade, but neither of them cared enough to stop. The strokes of his tongue were exploratory like he wanted to relearn every part of her. His lips were starving to memorize every inch, every dip, curve, and angle of her body until it was scorched into his memory. Aelin needed it, she realized. She needed to taste him, feel him beneath her fingertips. Every atom in her body was aching to be touched and felt and explored by only him. Only ever Rowan.

The nip of his teeth against her bottom lip didn’t hold the bite of their words. This kiss felt like that first deep breath on a snowy morning. It awoke all of her senses and sent shivers down her spine and heat blazing across her skin. The warmth of his body grounded her as his hand pressed against the small of her back and pressed her chest flush against his. Rowan’s lips seared trails of fire down her jaw and neck, then back up to capture her mouth again and she wanted to burn right here in this spot forever. Desire and need flooded her body and pooled in her core. The moan that slipped through her lips was caught with his teeth and tongue. Shaking hands contracted against her sides, fingertips digging into her skin roughly as he pulled her toward him and—

And then he pushed her back, ripping his mouth from hers. The heat of his body vanished as he leaned back to put space more between them. A thousand emotions flashed through his eyes before he managed to pull any kind of mask together by clearing his throat. 

“There.” Spare bravado was pulled from his pockets as he smirked, dropping his hands from her waist. She hated how much she missed the contact.  “Now we’re even from this morning.”

It would be a bald-faced lie to say the words didn’t burn worse than flames licking at her skin. But she also knew Rowan Whitethorn better than she knew anyone. As good as he was at hiding his emotions from everyone around him, there was no point in even trying when it came to Aelin. She looked into his eyes and could see that it was about more than just this morning. There was no possible way that those kisses had meant nothing more than settling an imaginary score. Not when his chest was heaving and his cheeks were stained a rosy red. Words said one thing, but the intent way his eyes remained focused on her said something else entirely. He was a predator hunting his prey and she would let him devour her. 

Unless that was all it had been: a game. The thought cut deep and she had no one to blame but herself. A stupid game she accidentally started this morning because being a pain in his ass was easier than being civil. 

Her lips pressed together in a thin line and she had to ball her hands into fists to hide their tremors. Fresh heat crept over her cheeks and down her neck as she nodded once and stepped out of his reach lest he try and touch her again. It wasn’t a luxury she could afford to indulge in. That one would wreck her and everything she was entirely. 

“Next time I’m fucking up your hair,” she quipped, pockets empty of her usual swagger. Aelin didn’t look at him again as she walked out and grabbed what she needed to finish getting ready for the afternoon. 

The bathroom she chose to get ready in wasn’t nearly far enough from Rowan. Close was too close but far was too far. Every cell in her body needed to be touched by him, to feel his muscles flex and relax beneath her fingertips. It was a slow descent into madness that she wasn’t sure would ever be able to crawl out of if she kept going down that forgotten, overgrown path. 

Even though he was currently winning the game with no rules between them, one thing was for certain: Aelin would be the one to secure victory over the whole damn thing. 

~*~

“The gods are playing a cosmic joke on me,” Aelin said to Fenrys, staring at the gown she was expected to wear for the photoshoot in half an hour. Even her friend was gobsmacked over the miles and miles of tulle and lace that seemed to take up half the room. 

Simply put, it was the dress for a royal that couldn’t show too much but gave just enough. The monstrosity of a dress would turn her into a walking cupcake and she was already imagining how itchy the lace sleeves would be that ran down to her wrists. It was a far cry from what she would have worn for her wedding, but she supposed that didn’t matter. Not anymore, not ever. 

“At least it couldn’t be further from what you would actually wear,” Fen offered, carefully pulling it off the hanger. The comfort was lost as she sighed heavily and undressed to her undergarments. allowed him to zip her into the dress. Fen zipped her into it, careful to avoid getting the excess fabric caught in the teeth. The skirts were so long that she would have to carry them to avoid getting tripped up on the short walk to the living area. 

“If Rowan says a single smarmy thing, I will throttle him while wearing this dress.” 

“I’ll take videos and send them to everyone I know. It’ll travel quickly through the entire military and he’ll never live it down.” Aelin chuckled darkly, heaving the skirts up as the funeral procession to her twisted fate began. 

Over the last hour, the sitting room was carefully staged for the photos. They were only doing a handful of poses and she was thankful for it. With that kiss still haunting every corner and crevice of her mind, she was uncertain how long she could be near him without combusting. 

Rowan may have made it about a game, yet she wasn’t entirely sure it was. Games were far more reckless, but maybe he was aiming to destroy her like she thought she was trying to do to him. At the thought of those slow, exploratory kisses she stumbled. The combination of her sock and the tulle made the floor much more slippery than it should have been. Fenrys caught her elbow to keep her from falling outright and she murmured a quiet thank you. 

If it wasn’t for the swishing of the gown, she would have been able to sneak up on the rest of the Cadre. Rowan and Lorcan were discussing something with their backs to her, while Vaughan and Connall shared a bowl of popcorn. When Rowan turned around she pointed a finger at him and then every other man in the room. 

“I don’t want to hear a single word.” Her voice was hard, eyes slightly narrowed. Rowan’s mouth opened but she swung her finger back around to him. “Not. One. Word.” 

In a shocking display of self-control, his jaws clamped shut. For once, his expression was unreadable as he scanned her from head to toe. The feeling of not being able to read his thoughts on his face was foreign. Aelin did not like it. 

Rowan didn’t look like a dessert the way she did. Well, he did, but she shoved those thoughts far out of her mind as she looked at him. Aelin had always loved him in a tux and this was no exception. It was a simple black with a bow tie hugging his neck. A few medals and pins signified he was of some military ranking for Fenharrow like most of the royal men were. Aelin didn’t bother looking too closely, it would just wind her even tighter than she already was. 

“Are we ready?” The photographer asked. It was a young man she had met a few times over the years named Luca. While she had the strongest desire to say that no, she wasn’t and would likely never be, she nodded. As she came to a stop at Rowan’s side, a woman she hadn’t noticed and was unfamiliar with adjusted her skirts around them. “Where is Aelin’s ring?” 

“I have it,” Rowan said, lifting her hand and sliding it into place. His lips were pressed so tightly together that they had disappeared entirely. This was going to be harder than she thought, much like the rest of her current job requirements. 

“Relax. It’s a fake ring, not your death sentence,” she hissed, yanking her hand away and adjusting the fake diamond ring on her finger. Like the dress, she supposed it was pretty but wasn’t her style at all. It was a large stone surrounded by a dozen or so smaller ones. Where she preferred true yellow gold, it was silver. Not that her thoughts on the fake wedding ring she wore mattered. 

The pair of soldiers were painfully stiff during the shoot. Halfway through Fenrys marched over and grabbed Aelin by the hands, shaking her arms around until she was loose and laughing. Though Rowan didn’t dissolve into a fit of laughter as she did, Fen did the same thing to him. It took some time but they were eventually able to lean into each other without looking like they were trying to escape their own skin. 

“Can you look at each other and like, I don’t know, pretend you’re looking at someone you love?” Luca asked halfway through. The poor kid was completely unaware of their volatile history. Their peanut gallery groaned, anticipating violence to be brewing in their eyes. 

“That would take an entire bottle of whiskey each,” Connall murmured, popcorn crunching between syllables. It took Aelin longer than she would have liked to get the courage to look up into Rowan’s face.

Neither of them were up to par because Luca sighed so hard with epic frustration. Aelin looked at the ground and closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. Large hands flexed at her sides like he was doing the same. Years of unresolved feelings and pain settled heavily between them. 

Look at each other and pretend you’re looking at someone you love. 

The worst part was that for her, it wasn’t a stretch. She hated it, grinding that irritation to dust between her teeth until they squeaked. It was like nails on a chalkboard and she shivered violently in Rowan’s arms. 

“Much better, Rowan. Aelin, this isn’t a battle. Can you like? I don’t know? Relax?” Each staccato phrase flipped up at the ends like a question. With a dry look at Luca, she took a moment to open her mouth as wide as she could to stretch out her jaw. She practiced smiling at Fenrys who gave her an encouraging thumbs up. It took a few extra wiggles to loosen her limbs, but she looked back up at Rowan. 

Just like this morning, his features had softened around the edges. He brought one hand up to rest along her jaw and gazed down at her with a familiarity that made her stomach flip. With her heart taking off in her chest, she found it harder to breathe when he was looking at her like that. Aelin lightly held onto his wrist, the other on his waist, and let out a long breath. 

“If it’ll help,” Rowan murmured, his thumb idly stroking along her jaw, “We can go outside and you can kick my ass after this.”

As much as she didn’t want to, she laughed. At the sound that came barrelling out of her, Rowan grinned widely. Click click click. Luca fired away, a few of the shots while they were in light motion. Aelin shaking her head at Rowan, him leaning his face a little closer to hers. 

“We can do the garden shots and be done. I’m sure they can work with what we have.” Their young photographer announced. Relief flooded her body in cooling waves. The gown was unzipped before she made it to their room, heaps of fabric falling into a pile on the floor just inside the room. 

It helped that she didn’t feel like herself at all. The hair, the contacts, and the clothing style were so at odds with her own. None of it was her. It was a character she was playing. Not being able to recognize herself had her wondering if it made things easier for Rowan, too. 

~*~

Seeing Aelin in a wedding gown, however ridiculous it may have been, was nearly enough to send him to his knees. 

Trying to reign in his emotions and school his features into a bored mask had been difficult. While he knew it was nothing like her, Aelin in a white gown implying that she was wholly his for the rest of his life was soul-crushing. It took everything in him to pretend he was as irritated about the whole thing as she was. Sure, he hated the whole thing. It was a constant struggle to keep his emotions in check through all of it. He just didn’t hate it because he hated her the way she did him. 

Rowan’s violent dislike of the situation was because it was a window into their past. It was a glimpse at how things were meant to be years ago when he had dropped the ball time and time again. The distaste that overcame his features while putting the ring on her finger had nothing to do with the act itself, and everything to do with it being the wrong ring. The cheap silver with a CZ stone was not the one that he should have been sliding into place. The dress that made her look like a pastry was not the one she was supposed to be wearing. 

It was all just fucking wrong, and every single piece of him was vividly aware of it.

Voicing that wasn’t an option. What good would it do anyway? She was better off without him, always had been, and he wasn’t going to start dragging her down that road now. Rowan could deal with her anger. They could fight it out and have once-in-a-blue-moon moments together when they were alone and it would sustain him. It had to be enough because it was all he could give her. 

The only future for them would be a working relationship full of barbed comments and wicked words slung like gunfire. Aelin would keep being mad at him and he would let her because it was easier than the alternative. Even asking, begging for forgiveness as he should, was too much to put her through. She bore enough wounds on her heart and soul to him. There was no reason to add any more. 

And he damn sure wouldn’t be kissing her like that again. Not when the feeling of her soft lips and the taste of her tongue had undone him so thoroughly his hands still shook. All of the walls he had erected over the last several years where she was concerned were crumbling at an alarming rate. Calling it a game had been a shitty attempt at self-preservation in the moment, one he hoped she didn’t see through like glass. 

“You good?” She asked him as they walked through the garden. Aelin had changed into a long-sleeved, brown turtleneck. Her pants were a few shades darker and wide-legged with cream-colored shoes peeking out as they walked. Rowan was wearing a simple navy blue suit with the collar of his shirt undone. 

“Yep,” he replied, adjusting his hand until their fingers laced together. These photos were just meant to look candid like they had been caught on a stroll. In a few, Aelin had the smart idea to smile and wave toward the camera like she had spotted paparazzi. Though he knew she would be good at this, it was still a little surprising that she had thought of something to make it that much more tangibly believable.

“We’re almost done. Then you can go back to hating my guts.” She looked up at him and smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Rowan hated those contacts. It was like a wall between them and he felt like he couldn’t see her anymore. 

“I don’t hate you, Aelin.” Rowan sighed at the truth and immediately wanted to shove it back down his throat. Waterboarding was less painful than giving her pieces of him that were real these days. “I do, however, hate the contacts.”

“Do you know how weird it is that your eyes are brown right now?” 

“Probably as weird it is for me that yours are green,” he murmured just as Luca announced the ending of their session. 

Aelin groaned a thank you to the gods and dropped his hand so abruptly it was like he’d been burning her the entire time. The heels came off and were carried back to the house, both of them quiet. The heartbeats of silence were heavy and he couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than the chaos of their arguments. At least with the arguments, he knew what she was thinking. 

“I might take you up on training later,” she finally said as they walked through the back door. 

“Oh?”

“I’m going to do some shopping for civilian attire, but maybe when I get back?” Aelin paused and turned to look at him, her eyebrows slightly raised. It felt stupid, but Rowan thought he might be able to read her better if she just took out those stupid lenses.

“You don’t want to train with Fenrys instead?” 

Aelin’s eyes rolled and then crossed as she stuck her tongue out at him and replied, “Are you still making me promises you don’t intend to keep?”

It was a cheap shot meant to get under his skin, and Mala fucking flay him, it did. For the first time all day, something almost playful flashed in her eyes while waiting for an answer. This woman was going to be the death of him.

“I’m not— No. Find me when you get back.” 

“I won’t be pulling my punches,” she said as she turned to walk away. A warning or a promise, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know which option he preferred, either. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” His words were said to nothing and no one because, by the time he finally found something to say, she was already gone. 

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[casitafallz]

LTRL AU | Birthday repairs

Agustín didn’t linger too far at the table and easily followed up to his wife’s back, his hand coming to catch her hips.

“Mi Vida…”

“You were right.” Julieta hissed, “Stupid idea…”

Agustín inhaled deeply but shook his head, gently tugging her weight back into his chest. “It wasn’t a stupid idea, My Vida. Just…the wrong person.”

It had been a long discussion the last few days on what sort of party they were doing and in all honestly, Agustín hadn’t liked the argument he had gotten into with Julieta last night; he had stepped by to keep the peace. He had wanted to throw a small party, the family, his parents and sister, maybe his Sobrina as well from his sister’s side. Isabela had barely interacted with her younger cousin and Tia that… he thought she might benefit from opening up to the other’s of their family.

Abuela had stepped in and pressed for something even smaller; to keep the celebration private to avoid any incidents that could arise and had reasoned that Julieta’s health would benefit for something more mundane. He had caved, in most part Julieta had been getting bad headaches the last few weeks and…he didn’t want to keep adding stress onto her shoulders. It wasn’t work stress—not anymore— that much he knew but she was a worrier by nature and probably the build up to this day had been the cause.

“We shouldn’t have put off the birthday talks.” Julieta grumbled, “we…we might have had more time to get….decorations.” She inhaled shallowly, her eyes prickling with tears. Agustín’s hands moved to rub soft circles into her back. “I feel terrible.”

“Juli, we made a mistake. It happens.” Relief settled as she turned and hugged herself into his chest,  arms snaking around his waist. “We just…need to apologize.” At the very least here because… well he should have seen a bad reaction the moment he saw her look around… and he should have wished her a happy birthday this morning but both he and Julieta were still recovering a little from last night. He thought the others would at least, he certainly heard Mirabel. “and we need to make it up to her.”

Julieta’s breath wavered a little but her bun bobbed as she nodded. “I know.”

“what do we do now?” Mirabel’s voice echoed behind them.

Agustín jumped a little, Julieta stiffened in his arms before stepping back but kept a hand resting on his arm, unwilling to let go. Julieta looked a little lost for words, uncertain.

“Let Isa have a minute,” Agustín gave his daughter a soft look, even as Mirabel pouted a little. “I’ll go talk to her first.”

“Okay, Papa.” Mirabel moved forwards abruptly and sunk into Julieta’s arms to comfort her mother.

Agustín patted her shoulder softly though he turned his gaze to his mother-in-law who had remained seated with a perplexed expression, her meal untouched as most now aside from Camilo who had no issues eating through such an uproar that even Antonio was giving him a confused look. Bruno still ate but with more awareness and care to not chew too loudly.

“Don’t get upset at Isabela,” he requested directly to her, “We are at fault for this.”

Abuela’s head rose, lips pursing a fraction. “There is little way to salvage such an incident, Agustín. Let’s eat and clear up. We can talk to Isabela tomorrow on this.”

“No.”

Abuela took at him sharply.

Camilo’s crunch loudly echoed in the dining room, earning the kid a soft budge from his father but Agustín wasn’t for back out because of an audience.

“The meal may be ruined but the evening is not. It’s only six-thirty after all.” He intended to do more than just let Isa drown in her upset when they needed to address this. “You don’t have to be down here, but it’d be nice to try and salvage what we can. Isabela thinks she still being punished, I don’t intend to validate that.” He straightened up. “Pepa, Felix, I think it’d be best if—“

“Don’t worry, I think it’ll be easier with fewer people.” Felix waved off casually, his hand coming to his wife who begrudgingly nodded. “I do want to give her my gift personally, however.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Agustín promised.

Taking their plates, or what was left, the yellow family opted to finish their meal to the privacy of their rooms, or Antonio’s room is the 5-year-old’s suggestion had any weight. A flash of red showed Dolores hurrying with them as well.

Which left Abuela and Bruno at the table with Luisa looking like she was stuck in the middle, fiddling with her cutlery.

“Mama, let’s take a walk first.” Mirabel encouraged behind him but, a loud knocking against Casita’s door pulled any attempts to digress.

“Casita,” Abuela rose to her feet at that before leading the way out to the door, Agustín followed though he already had a hunch on who it was long before they got to the door that swung open with some level of hesitancy from Casita and both his parents came in, blissfully unaware.

It was no secret that he had inherited both his style and looks from his parents and even to their greying years, they hadn’t tried to keep to Encanto’s fashion and he did enjoy the unique look they had. It showed their family profession quite well.

His father was suited into a bottle-green suit with a complementary brown coat, his grey-almost white hair slicked back and had a familiar warmth in the lines of his face. His mother’s features were much sharper but with softer brown eyes; her grey hair was up into a typical bun and in her hands was a large, wrapped gift with ‘Isabela’ written onto its tag.

“Abuelita!” Mirabel darted forwards and immediately hugged her.

“Ay, Mirabel.” His mother smiled, her arm juggling the gift to free one up, and gently hugged Mirabel back. “I’m glad to see you… and that you’re hugging again.”

Mirabel pulled back, lips wavering for a moment but nodded softly, “I’m getting there.”

Her mother didn’t press much more than to a simple nod of acknowledgment and touched Mirabel’s cheek affectionately before dumping the gift for Isa into her husband’s arms. “Luisa, come hug your Abuelita…”

Luisa rose without a second of doubt and easily pulled her grandparents into a hug with a more relaxed smile, her tall frame easily towering over the two as she straightened up nerviously.

“Mijo,” Abuelita wandered away from Luisa, her eyes touching over Abuela and Bruno though her eyes became much more fixed as she realised who was missing. He could already feel the unease in his gut now because… she was not going to be happy. “Where’s the birthday girl?” Her tone was calm and warm and laced with a casual question but he internally winced like there was a threat to her words.

His mother was sharp and clearly, she was reading the entire room in the space of three seconds to know something was wrong. He knew better than to lie to her- late sixties or not, she was intimidating.

“She’s… in her room, Mama.” Agustín admitted though he gave her his best assuring look, “Dinner’s gone a bit sidewards. I was about to go up to her.”

His mother’s smile vanished though it was uncanny of how the look of displeasure was something she and Isabela had shared.

“It’s a minor miscommunication,” Abuela spoke up, “nothing that can’t be taken care of but…perhaps you should return tomorrow when Isabela’s in a better mood.”

“No, I came to see my eldest granddaughter and give her her present, which will not change.” Abuelita’s polite answer though she turned her attention to Mirabel, “Mira, what happened?”

Mirabel flushed a little, “Well… there was a suggestion of doing a little surprise party and….Isa may have thought that the family forgot about her birthday and—“ Mira stopped as Abuelita raised her hand.

“I see.” She inhaled deeply though her gaze became stern, “Agustín, Julieta, would you mind if I spoke to Isabela first?”

Agustín felt his wife’s hand snake into his, her eyes baring unto his uncertainly but nodded after a moment. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

“Here, I brought this from home.” From his coat, he pulled out a large bottle of wine and Julieta led him towards the kitchen, their voiced quiet and carrying but Agustín was glad that his father was probably the best to distract Julieta.

“Why don’t you two go and set up a comfy spot by the corner,” Agustín suggested to both his remaining daughters. “Bring the cake and presents and make it look pretty, okay?”

“Okay, Papa.”

-

Vera was quietly fuming by the time she reached Isabela’s door, momentarily taken aback by the change of her door’s entire placement and the little hallway steps up that hadn’t been there before. It ruffled her feathers, so to speak. Vera did know it had been a good few months since she had been down here… since Mirabel’s Quinceañera at least and Isa’s door hadn’t been like this… something was wrong.

Her knuckles thumped lightly across the glowing, wooden door before silence echoed, no reply or inclination of permission to enter.

“Can I go in?” She felt odd to talk to the house but the tiles by her feet shifted in a way she hoped was a yes before she touched the handle and poked her head in. Inside, she had expected to see the fields of pink but she felt her jaw drop at such a new room and color.

A huge tree was what pulled her attention first, massive and looming above it all and…stunning if that was one of her granddaughter’s creations. Clearly, there had been a lot she was unaware of… why hadn’t Agustín had told her this when they had last spoken?

Carefully treading, Vera felt so small in such a jungle of colors and plants. A pitcher plant with bird feathers sticking out its bowl had her step a little quicker. Cavernous plants, trees, brightly colors pods….was that an herb farm? Were all those her creations too?

Against the canvas of colour, her eyes caught sight of Isabela sitting in a ball beside a tall, slim waterfall that thundered a cool mist across the large space and surrounded by a multitude of random flowers and plants; all sharp and prickly which…felt symbolic at the least.

“Nieta?” her voice carried as she settled the gift to her feet.

Isabela stiffened a little more but turned to face her swiftly, her hair like a curtain and seemed to hide her face away

“Abuelita?” Her voice was so soft and surprised.

Vera sighed softly though happily moved forward a few steps as Isabela struggled to her feet and sunk into her held out arms, her body shaking with soft sobs. “It’s okay,” She rubbed her back, “You’re okay.”

It took a few minutes and slowly getting to the bench a few meters away before she felt Isabela relax a little, staying leaned into her side like a child.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Vera encouraged, hoping to get her side of the story out as well.

Isabela sniffled, her eyes looking straight to her lap. “I…I knew I wasn’t…going to get a big party like-like last year.” She took a shallow breath, “But…. they didn’t even bother with decorations!”

It sounded like a very small thing and not something to throw a fit about but Vera was a big-picture woman. Isa had clearly drawn a comparison between her last birthday to this. She did recall Mirabel telling her they had a surprise planned, she could see why Isabela would be so much more affected.

“Ay, that’s something I agree with. They should have had decorations and they certainly should have made it look so much more important. You’re only twenty-two once.” Vera rubbed her back, “Anything else?”

“No one wished me a happy birthday this morning. Only Mirabel… and she gave me this as well.” Her hand patted the damp blue shirt she wore. “Mama only just told be before dinner but…it felt cheap…why wait all day to tell me?”

It was stunning, Vera noted and she could see it was certainly a work of art. Mirabel had come to her shop once for some help but that was before things had been added. The fact the girl gave Isabela that showed that she had forgiven her for sure for what she had done.

Vera was not the one to condone violence and she had offered to take either Mirabel or Isa in after it had happened but Agustín had assured them has it handled. She didn’t know the full story but she was glad there had been punishment given and that Isabela was mature to take it with a high head.

But, she could now plainly see why Isabela would be so upset. No inclination of a surprise on top of no well-wishes of a special day… it must have built throughout the day for her to react like this. It felt a little familiar.

“Happy birthday, niñita” Vera brushed some of her hair back behind her ear. “I’m sorry that happened. I think…they were planning on surprising you after dinner so they were probably trying to save it.”

Isabela scoffed, wiping her eyes on her wrist, “I don’t care for surprises, Abuelita. It…doesn’t feel like that they wanted to put the effort in for me. It…it was my special day today” Isabela looked so deflated, her eyes welling up.

“Ay, it is your special day for sure… and in all honesty, I thought your Papi knew better than to go for a surprise party.”

“What do you mean?”

Vera hummed softly for a moment; a story Agustín must not have told her. “When your Tia Sofia was turning 14 when we thought of doing a surprise party. Doing everything in secret, hiding the decorating, even the ones we ordered….” She trailed off, “Agustín accidentally set a fire and destroyed the decorations so we had to put in a late order again on the day…”

She could feel Isa’s curious gaze now. “Wh-what happened?”

“Well, your Tia was on some medication when she was a child to help with some pain, your mother was unavailable at the time but… it wasn’t brewed correctly. That’s my mistake there. We were so frantic on the day, she left early to see her school friends but… the medication also made her paranoid.”

Isa’s lip twitched.

“So, she did come home early and nearly caught us putting stuff up but, your Abuelito was picking up the new order at the time while I had a neighbor help around at the same time. As soon as I heard her, I had the neighbor grab the boxes and shoved him into the nearest room…which just happened to be my bedroom.”

“What?”

“Yes, I know.” Vera smiled, shaking her head. “So, the evening comes around when we have Agustín bring her home—I had her go to play with her friends—but I didn’t know that…she had peeked into my room through the outside shutters and saw the neighbor when she had left, not the decorations and had…assumed I was having an affair on her birthday.”

Isa’s jaw dropped a little. “What?!”

“It gets worse…”

“How?”

“Because when she came in, we all shouted ‘surprise’ and she burst into tears…. She had thought the party was me announcing to her that I was leaving her father for the neighbour. She had built an entire narrative in her head throughout the day on what could have happened; all the hush-hush, the secret talks me and the adults had…” Vera shook her head, “she thought that the party wasn’t about her special day and more about a divorce.”

Isabela gaped at for a moment, but now had entirely relaxed like Vera had hoped the story would do “Is…is that why we’ve never had that sort of party before?”

“Si, and one of the reasons I would have thought your Padre would have been against it. It’s the worse day for misunderstandings.”

Isabela looked down, “This wasn’t a misunderstanding.”

“Perhaps it’s more of a…lack of communication. I’ve heard things haven’t been easy for you and it’s….easy to think the worst. You do have presents and a lovely cake waiting for you, if you’d like to come down?”

Isabela shook her head. “No… no dinner’s ruined.”

“But not this evening,” Vera tried, “Why don’t you come down with me? Come and see your Abuelito? He’d love to watch you open your gift.” Which she had now realized was on the grass, the paper getting soaked with waterfall mist.

“Go down? After what happened?” Isa’s voice wavered, “I… I can’t face them.”

“Why not?”

Isabela shook her head. “I ruined dinner…it’ll be too awkward. They’ll want apologies and—“

“Well, they’ll have to apologize first, niñita” Vera hoped Dolores would pass that along, “You’re allowed to be upset for them not giving you happy birthdays or decorations. I don’t know who insisted on a surprise but…lets not waste this evening when it’s young. You deserve a good evening so why not try?”

Isa’s face still looked conflicted but Vera gave her hand a soft squeeze.        

“If it’s still too much, then you can come back. I won’t stop you.” Vera reasoned

Isabela exhaled but thankfully nodded, “Okay, Abuelita.”

Isabela knew her Abuelita was trying and she was glad it was her. Someone not…so into this whole mess to judge her on why she was here. Like her Papa, she knew she was far paient; at least she knew where he had gotten it from.

Together, they walked from her room, Abuelita grabbing her present on the way out though thankfully began to talk.

“So, what presents did you receive?”

“One of my friends gave me some…bookmarks,” Isabela spoke softly, glad to focus on that. “My other friend, Fran; she actually set up lessons for me in town.”

“Oh?”

“Well… I finished a project with her and… well I had nothing else happening. Fran thought it could be useful for me to learn other things. Pottery sounds good; I have a lot of plants that’ll need pots… but…I’m curious about…textiles.” Isabela watched as her Abuelieta looked at her in delighted surprise.

“Textiles? Like sewing?”

“No, now…sewing.” Isabela winced, “I don’t have skill in that regard.”

“Pray tell.”

“Making threads and material, that sort of thing.” Isa knew it sounded very out of context but…she wasn’t quite ready to admit she could make cotton or fabric plants… not yet. Only Fran and Mateo really knew and… well Dolores by her gift but she hadn’t really approached Dolores and didn’t plan to.

“Ah,” Abuelita nodded. “It’s a laborious art, Isabela. Me and your Abuelito only tend to work with the finished sheets. I hope you’re…prepared to endure the long tasks it brings.”

Isabela shrugged, “Well, I suppose I’ll either learn or drop it but either way, I’ve tried it out.” It would be far easier to at least learn how to spindle, at the least, even if she never got further than that because at least then things were half-processed.

Abuelita smiled at her, though still keeping an eye as they reached the bottom of the balcony steps, “I suppose that is all that should matter.”

Isabela smiled softly though she could see the back of Luisa seated in at the other end of the courtyard which made her uneasy that…now she was out of her room. Out to see her family and… whatever they had pitifully pulled together to make this…work.

“Come,” Abuelita encouraged her onwards, and begrudgingly, Isabela forced herself forwards and tried to ignore the increasing beat against her ribs.

“Ah, Isabela.” Abuelito was the first to swoop in, drawing the rest of the family’s attention to her but Isa strictly focused as Abuelito pulled her into a hug, noting the distant smell of tobacco on his suit before she patted his back, allowing her to be released. “I’m happy you’ve come down, you look stunning. You always did look good in blue.”

“Thank you, Abuelito.” Isabela straightened out the creases that had formed in her new shirt, internally wincing because she knew she had probably splodged her tears into it. “Mirabel did a wonderful job.”

“Si, Si.” She kept her gaze down a little as she felt the eyes on her, though she could see the…cake her mother had made now. Two tiers, a light blue, base that was decorated with shaped and crafted sugar flower petals of lilacs, blues, and pinks as if it was a bouquet. Icing complimented and eased the flow and décor. It was beautiful and she appreciated the work her mother put in to create such art.

But… on top of the day, it felt like it lacked…heart. Isa could reason she had perhaps her mother had worked all day onto it which did spring from warmth back into her chest but the doubt remained like it’s shadowed companion.

“Mija…” Julieta appeared next, her face melded in concern and…somewhat apologetic, though Isa couldn’t help but notice the slight dark circles under her eyes as her mother reached for her arm. Mama was tired…. Guilt wiggled a little in her gut but she lightly smiled back, not genuine but enough she hoped to appease her mother.

It did, if a little. “Lo siento, Isa” Her mother spoke. “This…day should have been better for you and… we want to make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to,” Isa replied because she didn’t want that; all she had wanted was a birthday, something proper. Not something to make up for their lack of consideration on an important day; it made the action feel… guilt-riddled. They weren’t necessarily doing it for her and for the most part, to make themselves feel better for this. She didn’t want to hold it against them… but she didn’t feel the enjoyment as she should have.

She wanted something real.

“How about we cut the cake?” Abuelita suggested, guiding them both to the spare seats. Isa kept her posture relaxed as her papa pulled out a knife.

“Where are the others?”  Isa asked; it hadn’t escaped her notice her Tia, Tio and cousins weren’t a part of this… her Abuela for that matter. Tio Bruno though, she could see the edge of his ruana from a hammock, rats running up and down the string and disappearing to snuggle or play against him.

“They’ll come by later. Tio Felix wants to give you his gift a little later personally.” Luisa spoke next, fiddling a little. “Happy birthday.” She added a little awkwardly.

Isabela nodded, her shoulders relaxing. Leaning into her mother’s side a little as she lent forwards and took the knife from her father’s hand, gently cutting through the first layer and then handing it off for him to continue himself. Soon enough the cake was shared but the slight reservation in the air didn’t break until Abuelita shoved a particular covered piece of cake straight into Abuelito’s face than his mouth.

A moment’s silence lisps before Mirabel began to snigger. Luisa’s lip twitched a little though isa couldn’t help but fall into giggles as Abuelito shoved his straight back, coating the front of his wife’s shirt in blue frosting and icing as if they were teenagers.

Their antics did calm before anything could be thrown and Isa was sure it could have easily gone that way if Camilo or Antonio had been a part of it. Isa held back on her tia and Tio’s present when they had gotten to unwrapping, the air now feeling far more pleasant to move on.

“Present time!” Mirabel hopped up excitedly and took the lead on the wrapped boxes, her enthusiasm making Isa smile as she began to unwrap them.

From Luisa, she had simply gotten new gardening tools, nothing from Camilo unless you counted the single, terracotta pot that clearly had been a last-second buy—probably for his sake than hers— and from her parents, she had received a new set of shirt and a skirt; much thicker material which meant it was sturdy.  Dolores had given her a knitting set, which felt odd but she opted not to question it.

But what was the prize of her gifts was what her Abuelita and Abuelo had made.

A leather bag. Was big, large enough for her to store gardening tools, books, and had a lot of pockets, probably good for holding seeds. Its décor was tanned-brown, but was beautifully made with meticulous designs of flowers and herbs and had a beautiful brass latch. She could even smell the leather polish.

“Woah.” Agustín lent forwards, “Mama, that’s stunning.”

Isa touched along the designs, her eyes welling up happily before she jumped up and threw her arms around her. “Thank you! It’s so beautiful!”

Abuelita’s chest rumbled, her chuckles soft in her ear. “Ay, you’re welcome, little one.”

“I almost don’t want to put anything in it! I’d hate to ruin it by accident.”

“Ay, you worry too much.” Abuelito chuckled, his hips curling into his mustache. “Like I said to your father, our home is always open.”

Isa’s head cocked to the side, her eyes turning to Agustín curiously. What did that mean?

[keefwho]

October 11 - 2022

12:32 PM

I am EXTREMELY stressed but I have work to do before writing a book about it here. 

2:55 PM

I have some time now. 

This morning I woke up and the water pressure for my sink was low. I told my mom about it but she assured me it’s just because we share a pump with our neighbors except I have NEVER noticed a dip in pressure during the years I’ve lived here. Turns out a pipe burst and has been flooding the yard and the space beneath my floor. So right now I don’t have water. 

My first concern was if the water coming out of my sink was even safe to use. All I did with it was wash my hands and make coffee I barely drink but I was still worried about it. It didn’t look or smell funny so all I can do is assume it was okay. Mom said it was fine but I trust her hygienic/safety opinions less and less as time goes on. Im a little concerned about my parents water too since I have to use that right now. Its PROBABLY fine but I don’t know anything about plumbing issues. So I’d rather be safe than sorry. In this case it means waiting to use their shower until the problem is identified and described. 

Other than that, the weight of potentially losing a friendship has been on my mind but I don’t know what can be done about it. 

Overall a very stressful day but I’m feeling a bit better already. All thanks to my bestie. 

10:59 PM

Today was ass. I calmed down by the afternoon but it was all still so stressful. I dont even wanna talk about it. It just SUCKED. There’s so many problems and SHIT to look forward to. I don’t wanna do commissions tomorrow while I wait for usable water. But I will. It’s stressing me out how I won’t be able to clean myself properly when I need to. I’ll have to wash my hands with baby wipes and use as few dishes as possible. I’ll PRAY they can fix it tomorrow so I can get a shower if my dad is still adamant about keeping the water off even though we could just turn it on for a couple hours for people to shower and do dishes. 

I didn’t do any kind of mental work today, aside from being forced to deal with this spontaneous adversity. Tomorrow I’ll crack open my book and look into some of the exercises again. 

Straight up I’m HORNY but I only want one thing. :( I’m not conventionally horny often but I get in a special mood for people I like. Someone said something about possibly being demisexual and I might be in that field as well. I know I’ve long since abandoned being just horny. I greatly favor the setup to a sexual encounter and the scenario being played out. The raw pleasure is only the second most important part. So a good scene will get me GOING and so will a good bestie. But that makes it hard to get off sometimes because besties aren’t always around and sometimes I can’t find just the right kind of setup/mood I’m looking for. OH THE PAIN

11:28 PM

I haven’t been very compassionate towards myself about my problems lately. I dont know why, maybe because I feel like if I ignore/diminish them then it’ll be easier to make them go away. But in reality it’s been stopping me from addressing them appropriately. I’ve been treating them like I imagine other people would see them, as ridiculous. Down right silly even. But I shouldn’t care about what others hypothetically think. Inside myself I understand the magnitude of my fears and their origins. They are valid to me. I understand them. But that also makes me feel alone knowing how hard it is to find someone else that doesn’t necessarily understand them, but at least respects them as valid feelings. I get it. It’s extremely common for people to have issues I don’t understand because I’ve never had them/have overcome them already. But everyone is on a different level with different things. 

I’m ashamed it gets in the way of my life so much and my relationships with others. I think it’s one of the leading causes of my current failing friendships. I really feel responsible for the whole thing. But I also know it’s in part his inability to understand/respect my struggles. But that doesn’t change the fact that somewhere along the way in my life, I got fucked up bad enough to be where I am today. Kinda makes it feel like my fault. 

11:42 PM

I feel guilty because here I am safe in my room all the time but I have such a hard time relaxing and being happy. Meanwhile I know people that TRULY deserve the kind of time I have, but I’m here squandering it. It makes me feel pathetic. 

In reality I’m aware that everyone adapts to their circumstances including myself. I’ve adapted to this environment that is more controlled and relaxed than average so to me it’s normal. 

[restinthewest]

I tried tapering Hallow off of wet food and her chicken and rice mixture because I was worried about how complicated it was becoming just to get her to eat and lo and behold I can see her whole ass rib cage again.

She will only eat kibble without additions if I throw it in grass for her to forage, but this isn’t workable for me to do for every meal. She won’t take kibble as training rewards. I feel badly that she’s so thin but I may have to do this every so often so that she stays motivated to eat kibble with her food additions because she will start getting picky about those over time as well.

[tumbledfreckles]

Ooohh! What about Jily/Marauders drunken shenanigans? *wiggles eyebrows mischievously* 😏😏😏😝

Max I don't even know how long ago you sent me this, I know it's been too long. But I was waiting for inspiration, and this isn't quite drunken, but it is a party and they've had some drinks so I'm hoping it's close enough, because I love it and it rounds out my three drabbles this weekend and uses my trope of the moment - names. I hope you enjoy it.

“He’s just so oblivious.”

“I know.”

“He’s infuriating.”

“I know.”

“It’s like he doesn’t even have a fucking clue.”

“Lily, I know.”

Lily cast a sidelong glance at Sirius, who sat next to her on the windowsill, on the edge of one of the wildest parties that the Gryffindor Common Room had seen in her seven years there. To say they’d gone nuts after winning the House Cup was an understatement of epic proportions.

“Sorry,” she huffed with a sigh. “I know you’ve heard this before.”

“From both sides,” SIrius shook his head darkly. “You two are driving me crazy.”

“It’s him!” Lily protested. “You say he feels the same, but why won’t he do anything about it?”

“After you turned him down all those times?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you do something about it?”

“After I turned him down all those times?” She met his pointed gaze with one of her own.

“Fair enough.” Sirius thought for a second. His face lit with a grin. “Wait, I know.”

Lily felt afraid.

Very, very afraid.

“I feel like I shouldn’t ask.”

Sirius tutted, “Now, now, don’t act like you're not desperate for my mate there.”

They both turned toward the bloke in question, clear across the common room, who was currently high fiving Remus as they won their third game of beer pong against the Prewett twins. His smile lit up his face, his eyes danced and there was just the slightest flash of toned abdominals as he ran his hand through his hair, pushing the silky locks out of his face. He caught Lily’s eye across the room and winked.

Her head ducked, cheeks flushing even as heat pooled in areas much lower down.

“Evans?” Sirius was watching her, daring her to contradict him. “Still waiting.”

Lily slumped gloomily back against the window. “Yeah, alright, fine, have at it.”

When Sirius was finished with his idea, Lily had an eyebrow of her own to raise.

“You think that will work?”

He shook his head at her uncertainty. “He’ll lose his shit.”

“He probably won’t even notice.”

“Oh, he’ll notice. I give him three minutes before he pounces.”

Lily was unconvinced. “It’ll take at least five.”

“Place a wager?”

“What are your terms?”

“You get Marlene to go on a date with me.”

Lily scoffed openly, “Why do you think I can get her to do that?”

“Because she’s your best friend.” Sirius said it like it was obvious.

“Ask her yourself.”

“Is that your terms?”

Lily crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. Sure. Those are my terms. If it works, I’ll get her to go out with you. If it doesn’t, you have to ask Marlene out. Seriously.” She pointed a finger, stabbing his chest as his mouth opened. “Don’t say it.”

“Fine,” Sirius rubbed his sternum. “Ruin all my fun. Do we have an agreement?”

She took his outstretched hand, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise. Now, off you go.”

She was subtle about it. At least, she hoped she was. Lily moved slowly across the room towards the beer pong table. She took her time. Chatted to various fellow students and friends. Got herself a new drink, smirking to herself as she allowed Peter to spike her butterbeer. Liquid courage and all that.

“Who’s winning?” she asked as she sidled up to Mary, along the edge of the table.

“Our boys,” Mary inclined her head toward Remus and James.

Our boys. She liked the sound of that. Mary only meant it as in their fellow Gryffindors, compared to the Hufflepuffs of Gideon and Fabian, but Lily liked it all the same.

“Insulted you even have to ask, Evans,” James chidded her, as he watched Remus scull a full cup of butterbeer.

“Apologies, James, I should have known,” Lily felt her breath catch in her throat, making her words quiet.

He heard them anyway.

James barely seemed to register that the ball he’d just thrown had bounced off the rim of the cup he’d aimed for. He definitely didn’t notice the Prewetts crowing across the table as Gideon lined up his next shot. Nor did he spare Remus a glance as his friend sighed and shot him a pained look.

“What did you just say?” James spun to face Lily, heedless to the game, the people around them.

“I said I was sorry for doubting you,” Lily fought hard to keep the smile off her face.

“That wasn’t what you said.” He took the beer that Remus forced into his hand, Fabian’s turn having been a success. It stayed in his hand as he took several steps toward her.

“Well, no, not word for word,” Lily shifted her weight back, her heart rate increasing as she saw the flash in his eyes, the smirk on his face.

“James, it’s your -” Remus was cut off as James thrust the cup back at him.

“Get Peter.”

“We’ll lose, we’re on a streak, you can’t -”

“I don’t care. Get Peter,” James didn’t even look to see how his friend reacted, his eyes fixed on hers.

Lily swallowed, trying to force her heart back into her chest as she took more steps back, away from Mary, away from the table, away from the throng of beer pong enthusiasts.

“Not like you to give up a game so easily,” she tried to jest, but the words came out soft, too soft.

James’ lips twitched, just slightly, just enough to relax her shoulders. “Depends on the reason.”

“What was the reason?”

“Better game started.”

Lily stopped in her retreat, not moving even as his toes lined up with hers. Her head tilted to the side as she looked up at him. “This a game, is it?”

James shook his head, “Not really. Not to me.”

“Neither,” she was reduced to a whisper as his hand curved around her jaw, fingers spanning her neck, thumb brushing across her cheek.

“Say it again,” he whispered, forehead almost on hers.

“I’m sorry for-”

“Not that,” he cut her off harshly, his other hand squeezing at her hip where she hadn’t even realised he held her. “The part where you said my name.”

Lily looked at him, at the hazel that danced with gold, at the earnestness, the longing in his expression, mixed with hope and light and lust. She looked at him and realised everything else had faded away.

“James.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond, pushing straight up into his arms, threading her hands into the soft silky hair she’d admired to bring him down to her. He needed no such encouragement, meeting her exhale on his inhale, taking the breath from her lungs their mouths sealed, a perfect fit. It was hot and damp, and her skin tingled everywhere it met with his. James sighed into her mouth, his tongue tracing the edge of her inner lip before finding hers to play with.

“Shit,” she whispered, when they finally pulled apart, though neither moved very far.

“That bad, huh?” James leant back toward her. “I can try again.”

“No,” Lily shook her head, pressing another three kisses at least to his lips before she could pull away again. “No, not you.”

“Then what?” James’ hand had found it’s way under her top, and began traced to skin along the edge of her trousers, raising goosebumps along it’s path.

It made it difficult to focus, to say the least. She let her fingers trail down his neck to squeeze the defined muscles of his shoulder, was gratified by the groan that escaped him, that she wasn’t the only one feeling so much right then. It made it easier to think.

“I’ve got to figure out how to get Marlene to go on a date with Sirius, that’s all.” Lily looked up at James, smiling invitingly. “How do you feel about double dating?”

[sage-nebula]

Major Neo: The World Ends With You spoilers:

[[MORE]]

I was thinking about the fact that Neku has been dead for three years as of Neo while driving into work today, and I just—

Neku has been dead for three years.

I know the Secret Reports in the original game tried to solve the “how do they just return to life like nothing ever happened” issue by saying that Players in the UG weren’t actually dead, but rather their frequencies were just tuned into the UG while they played the Game, but given that everything else in the game states that the Players are dead (and that the “you died and are dead, dummies” comes up again in Neo), I’m going to go ahead and say that the Players are (usually) dead, that they died, that they’re not just in comas, that they are dead and that the memories of those left behind (who didn’t have prior experience with the UG) are just altered to forget that the death ever happened (along with funeral markers and such being erased, etc). The fact that the Reapers’ Game usually only lasts one week would make this a lot easier to do, I think, for those who were given the chance to come back to life at the end of their Game.

With all of that said . . . Neku has been dead for three years.

I’m thinking, mainly, about how Shiki and Beat (and Rhyme, to a lesser extent) handled this. Like, okay, Neku gets shot (again). Beat is there to witness it, he sees it happen. Neku is rushed to the hospital, he doesn’t make it. Of course this is horrible, but for Beat, Shiki, and Rhyme, they figure, okay. This is horrible, but it’ll be okay. Neku died, but he’ll be able to play the Game again, and he’ll win, and he’ll come back. They’ll just have to wait a week, but then he’ll be back.

A week passes. Then two weeks. Then a month. Then three months, and he’s still not back.

There would be a funeral service. We know nothing about Neku’s family, but assuming that his parents know his friends, they would have been invited to the funeral. And they’re not going to look like they don’t care that he died, but they go even though they know that Neku has to be playing the Game and that he’ll have to be able to make it back. Right? Because he’s Neku. He’s the strongest psych user there is. He won the Game three times in a row, there’s no way that he wouldn’t be able to win it again. The Reapers wouldn’t be able to erase him. Joshua wouldn’t deny him the chance to come back. And Neku wouldn’t choose to become a Reaper instead, would he? Why would he choose that? He wouldn’t. Would he?

Neku’s family would mourn him, because he was shot in the middle of the street (and his murderer never found), and they wouldn’t know about the Game so they would just assume that he was dead and never coming back, because the dead generally don’t do that. But Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme, who know about the Game, would have their certainty about Neku’s return shaken and broken down with each passing week that there’s no sign of him. They wouldn’t know that Joshua had locked Neku in Shinjuku with Coco, that he wasn’t able to play the Game again to get another chance at life. They wouldn’t know that he was okay, that he was working on a way back. They spent three entire years not knowing if Neku had been erased or not, or if he’d somehow been turned into a Reaper or not. And what that means is that while Neku’s family had a chance to mourn him and move on, Shiki and Beat were stuck in limbo, missing him so badly it felt like they had bleeding wounds in their chest that just couldn’t heal. 

And I think we see this in the ways both of them handled the situation.

Shiki had the benefit of working on Gatto Nero with Eri. Since I’m pretty sure they started it up as soon as she returned from the Game, we can assume that they already had its preliminary stages going when Neku was killed again. That would have helped her keep her mind off things, at least a little, but we know still that she continued waiting for three years until he came back. Given what she says in the end, about how she kept waiting by Hachiko for him day after day even though each day passed without him coming back, I think we can deduce that she spent at least a few hours each day standing by Hachiko, hoping that he would come back. Obviously she didn’t put her life entirely on hold—Gatto Nero wouldn’t be where it is if she had—but she still did what she felt she could do, which was hang onto faith that he would find his way back to them somehow, no matter how long it took, and her standing by Hachiko with Mr Mew was her way of doing that. But while she managed to keep the faith, I think that doesn’t change the emotional toll that it must have taken on her . . . or how it must have worried Eri, who wouldn’t know about the Game and thus wouldn’t exactly understand why Shiki was waiting for Neku to come back when Eri probably attended the funeral service with her, to lend moral support. Shiki might have tried to explain, but how can you explain the Reapers’ Game? How could she explain that she was killed and came back to life when Eri never remembered that happening? She would sound insane. Eri was probably fine with just letting Shiki do her own thing for a while, but overtime she probably grew more and more worried. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Shiki was gone away on a business trip partly because Eri encouraged her to go, all but pushed her out the door, to get her away from Shibuya in hopes that she could help Shiki move on from her apparent grief. And Shiki probably agreed to go not just because it was her job, but because the emotional weight of not knowing what was going on with Neku, when (or if, but she didn’t want to think if) he was coming back, was taking a toll on her that, at times, felt unbearable.

And then there’s Beat. Beat, who flat out tells Neku that he has looked literally everywhere for him. Beat, who has taken to wearing headphones everywhere just like Neku used to, and who has styled his hair similarly to how Neku used to wear it. Beat isn’t one who can stand idly by and hold onto faith that things will work out. He’s calmed down a lot over the past three years, but he is still very much a man of action, especially when it comes to people he loves. He misses Neku, he sees that Shiki is hurting, he’s not going to just sit around twiddling his thumbs waiting to find out what’s going on. He’s going to see for himself. In Neo, Beat says that he figured Neku would be in the UG, if anywhere, but he makes it sound as if going to the UG was a last ditch attempt at finding him. I think that it might’ve been, if only because Beat was in denial that it really was taking Neku that long to win the Game / he didn’t want to see that Neku had chosen to become a Reaper instead, had Neku chosen that. (And again, obviously he wouldn’t, but three years is such a long time to still be playing the Game.) Beat looked everywhere for Neku, flat out refused to believe that Neku could have been erased, and went so far as to get himself involved in the Game again because he couldn’t rest until he knew what happened to his best friend. And that’s heart-wrenching enough, but when you remember that he had been waiting and searching for three years . . . man.

Of course, Neku comes back. He finally gets returned to the RG. Records of his death are likely erased and those who haven’t had any experience with the UG (such as his parents / family) probably have no recollection of him ever dying. But Shiki and Beat remember. They were without him for three years and they remember every second. And while my heart aches for them (and for Neku, too, who was locked in the ruins of Shinjuku with Coco for those three years), I can only imagine that if anyone dares try to take him from them again, they honestly might just rip the UG apart with their bare hands themselves.

[1kook]

commercial break ; NINE

this is part of my netflix & chill series!

SUMMARY “I think that, like— me and you? We’re like, totally destined,” you ramble, “you should, like, take my number! And maybe we can, like— Netflix and chill one of these days?” WARNING angst with implied smut at the end!!, flashbacks, low self esteem, alcohol consumption, jk is (implied) a virgin in this, there’s a lil fondling by oc u know the usual  MISC they r soulmates <3, our queen doyeon returns, i tried to use symbolism👁 in the dialogue so yes everything drunk oc says has a meaning hehe RATING m bc alcohol WC 2.2k

NOTES i said once a long time ago that n&c couple were prolly at the same party once but didn't realize so hERE WE GO ! its not proofread bc um. yeah<3

Homecoming week. 

Jungkook doesn’t even think his university’s football team is good, but he had read somewhere that part of the college experience is obnoxiously supporting this team all four years. And well. Jungkook wants to fit in. Frankly, Jungkook feels a little dumb having accepted this invitation from Kim Taehyung from his first-year writing class. He’s only known the man a solid four weeks, probably won’t know him this well once Taehyung finds real friends, ones who suit his outgoing personality, and decides Jungkook is too boring, but Jungkook will make the best of it while he can because, again, he wants to fit in. Badly. It’ll be different this time, he had told himself while getting ready. You won’t be awkward anymore. You’ll make friends. 

And then it’s nearing midnight and Jungkook has spoken to a whopping two people at this party of over a hundred. Not including Taehyung, it’s down to one. Even that had only been to ask where the bathroom was. He feels severely out of place, like he’s both too large and too small to be in this area, to be at this party, so he shuffles into the kitchen when he hears them call for another match of beer pong. He’s actually pretty good at the game, has refined his skills at get togethers with his older cousins. But it’s not like anyone here wants to be Jungkook’s partner anyway. Or even knows who he is for that matter. 

Taehyung had bumped into him a little past ten, had had two girls clinging to his sides when he had greeted Jungkook. One of them had almost looked tempted, Jungkook wanted to believe, brushing her hand against his arm. But he didn’t act quick enough— what would he even have done? what did he even want? —and Taehyung disappeared with both girls soon after, leaving Jungkook by himself once more. 

The kitchen is empty, the drinks long since having migrated to the living area of this huge frat. With a defeated sigh, Jungkook sinks back against one of the counters, setting his lukewarm cup of beer down beside him. He’s buzzed, drank in a feeble attempt to ‘lose himself’ as all the movies claimed. But now all he can feel is a pounding headache threatening to consume him. He doesn’t even like drinking— why did he drink this much? 

He should go home. 

Events like this, parties like this— they weren’t meant for someone like Jungkook. He was too quiet, too shy to let loose like everyone else. He doesn’t do well in social situations, or at least not as well as his therapist had told him he would. He hesitates too much, never speaks when he needs to. Haerim from his freshman basics class had even said so. “You’re quiet, huh,” she had smiled, and when her notebook had touched his elbow, he flinched. She didn’t take it to heart. Just like Taehyung wouldn’t if he left right now. They know how he is. He doesn’t belong here. These types of parties were made for outgoing people, people who lived on the edge, people who weren’t trapped in their own thoughts all the time, people like—

Like the girl who stumbles through the doorway now. “Woooo,” she slurs, and then promptly faceplants into the dirty tile of the kitchen, the same tile littered with sticky footprints and random debris. He can’t even imagine what else is on the floor of a frat house mid-party. Jungkook flinches at the sound of her knee hitting the ground, before rushing over to help her up. 

She’s a giggling mess, eyes half shut by the time Jungkook gets her into a seated position. “Are you okay?” he flounders, hand on her shoulder when she wobbles again, nearly falls back down. 

“Just peachy,” she sings, flashing him a sloppy thumbs up. Her neck isn’t doing a particularly good job of holding her head up and when Jungkook places a hand on the back of her head, she leans into it, blissful smile on her face. She’s really pretty, it makes Jungkook’s cheeks burn when she aims it at him next. “Pucca loves Garu,” she lets him know, eyes finally fluttering open. “He’s a pretty boy.”

Jungkook blinks. He has no idea what you’re talking about. “Huh?” he stutters, glancing back at the bar stool by the counter instead. It’s probably infinitely times better than the sticky tile beneath your bare legs. “I’m gonna stand you up,” he tells you, taking your loud cackle as a sign that you’re okay with it. Jungkook’s been working out all summer, so you’re not heavy in the slightest, arms thrown around his shoulders while he slips his own around your back. Your proximity leaves him drowning in your scent. 

The giggles don’t subside when he sits you down, not even when he begins opening random cabinets in search of a glass to get you some water. He’s had his fair share of experiences looking after drunk people, so he has a pretty good idea of what to do now. However, your sudden bout of commentary certainly doesn’t make it easier. “Isn’t it, like, super cool how the sun and the moon are, like—“ a hiccup, Jungkook settles on tap water “tooootally different beings, but, like— they, like, both maintain the earth?” Your hand reaches for his forearm when he returns, gives him this little squeeze in your excitement. “Like— Like they both have to, like— work together? To keep it perfect, y’know?” 

Jungkook pushes the water into your hands. You’ve got this sparkly sheen to your eyes, the one that most people get after one too many drinks, but it’s accompanied by this childlike wonder that leaves Jungkook breathless when you meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he says quietly. You beam. It’s blinding. So blinding that Jungkook promptly looks away, nudging the cup in your hands. “You need to drink this.”

You frown. “Boooo, so boring,” you huff. It’s nothing Jungkook hasn’t heard before, but it is a little disheartening to hear it from a stranger. He stamps the feeling down, pursing his lips as he gives up on letting you drink yourself. The cup is swiped from your hand and Jungkook tasks himself with making you drink it instead. And of course, like all wasted young adults, you put up a fight. “Ew, what is that?” you spit. 

Jungkook sighs. “Water.” 

At his defeated tone, the exaggerated grimace slips off your face, replaced with a rather solemn expression instead. Jungkook tries to take advantage of it and pushes the cup against your lip again, but all he really accomplishes is sloshing it down the front of your dress. You don’t yelp, but he does. “I’m so sorry,” he panics, sliding the sleeve of his shirt down around his thumb to wipe your chin. 

You let him, head tilted curiously to the side. Jungkook tries to ignore your analytical gaze until: “you’re cute,” you announce, and abruptly send him into shock. 

He recoils, face a blazing mess. “I’m—“ he chokes, swallowing when you wipe your hand down your own chest, leave a glistening layer of water over your sternum and down between your breasts. 

“Cute,” you repeat, downing the glass he had been trying to coax into you like it’s nothing now. With it gone, you don’t waste any time, throwing your hands around his shoulders, fingers brushing through the hair at the base of his neck. You pull him close, so close in fact, that he ends up having to hold the back of your chair to keep from accidentally crushing you with his weight. “Your name, pretty boy?” 

He can’t think. You’re so drunk and smell so good and are just so pretty— his brain short circuits. “Um I’m, uh, Jeon J—“

“Jeon,” you repeat, silly smile back on your face. You’re not technically wrong, so he nods along with a blush high on his cheeks. “Well, Jeon,” you purr, but you’re still so drunk, eyelids fluttering in a rather funny way. “I think that, like— me and you? We’re like, totally destined,” you ramble, “you should, like, take my number! And maybe we can, like— Netflix and chill one of these days?”

Jungkook doesn’t even know what that means, and honestly, he doesn’t really hear you over the thundering of his own heart and the bass in the other room. “Um, but you’re really…” he stammers, leaning back but a finger loops around one of his curls and he gasps when you pull at it. “You’re drunk,” he rushes out, lower lip trembling when your nose knocks against his. 

A soft hum, the sound sending electricity down his spine when you cup his cheek. “But don’t you think I’m pretty?” you murmur, eyes flickering to his mouth. 

“Yes,“ he chokes out, “you’re a very, very pretty girl. But I really shouldn’t—“

“Hey,” you shush, tilting his head just the slightest. Jungkook has never had a girl touch him like this, has never even touched a girl before either, but, well. He really wants to kiss you. And that’s saying a lot considering Jungkook has never kissed anyone before. 

Despite how good it feels, he knows you’re still really drunk. It’s with a decisive huff that he pushes away, hands on your waist to keep you from touching up on him any further. You’re not that strong anyway. And then he’s met with the biggest pout he’s ever seen, an absolutely distraught look on your face. 

Something in him says you’ll cry if he doesn’t explain himself soon, so he launches into it right away. “You’re very pretty,” he says, almost laughing at the way your entire face lights up immediately. “But you’re very drunk.” You huff. “You deserve to be treated like a queen.” Mostly regurgitating something he heard in a motivational video. 

It works. Eventually, you stop being fussy in his arms and settle with a frown. “You’re too nice,” you grumble, forehead on the countertop. He doesn’t see how it’s much better than the floor but he lets you be. “You got a girlfriend, don’t you?” 

At that, Jungkook laughs. “No,” he reassures you, hesitates, and then gently pats your back. Jungkook actually feels you melt under his touch. That sultry look is gone, replaced with this rather tranquil look that he doesn’t quite understand. 

“That was pretty,” you murmur, but Jungkook doesn’t quite hear. 

“What was that?” he asks.

“I said your smile was pre—“

“There you are!” someone hollers from the kitchen doorway, the shrill tone of their voice making both you and Jungkook jump. When he turns around, he’s met with the sight of a rather tall girl angrily stomping your way, eyes a blazing fire, fists clenched by her side. Jungkook realizes only a second too late that she’s looking at him. “Get off of her, you sweaty city-owned dumpster,” she hisses, using the strength of three football players to push Jungkook away. “You make me sick—“

“Doyeonie,” you beam, launching yourself into the angry girl’s arms. Ah. The Help had arrived. 

Said angry girl (Doyeonie?) is still using every mash-up of words possible to degrade Jungkook as she hauls you into her arms, shooting daggers every step of the way. “I can’t believe you would try to take advantage of a poor girl when she’s this drunk,” she spits. 

“What?” Jungkook coughs, cheeks warm. “I wasn’t—“

“Tell it to Campus Safety when I report you, you wannabe, dollar store Rain.” Jungkook clutches his chest at the acidity of her tongue, surprised anyone could be so mean. 

All things considered, this was actually good. Someone who knew you had come to take you to safety, meaning Jungkook didn’t have to look after you anymore. When this Doyeonie turns around, he’s met with your smiley face smushed against her shoulder. 

(It’s weird. He’s a little sad to see you go.) 

“Bye, Jeon,” you giggle, hand brushing down his arm, squeezing his hand, before you’re abruptly yanked away. Jungkook manages one weak wave, cheeks lit ablaze once more when you send him a silly air kiss from the doorway, urging him to catch it. He does, and he feels really silly when he puts it in his pocket, but he can hear your laughter for a second more before he loses you. 

The last few minutes being so hectic, he decides to go home. Parties weren’t really his thing. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever go to one again. 

Until a few years later. 

“You’re, like, really pretty,” you slur, lips against his throat. Another invitation, this time, Taehyung’s birthday. His friend had practically begged him to come, knowing how Jungkook was. In the end, it had been you who had accepted on his behalf. 

“Baby, not here,” he laughs, hand on your shoulder when you try to shove your hand down his pants for the third time that night. 

Taehyung had been ecstatic to see Jungkook here. And then had quickly become annoyed when he caught the two of you making out in his storage closet an hour later. “Bro, don’t be that couple at parties,” he had groaned, locking the door behind him. 

Jungkook had laughed. “I wouldn’t know what ‘that couple’ is at parties,” he reminded him. 

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m sure your girlfriend can fill you in.”

Apparently not. You’ve been trying to kiss him for the past three minutes but keep missing because you’re so drunk. “Just one,” you beg, so pretty but so drunk. The fake lashes you’d worn today make you look like a doll, batting them his way until he’s giving in, slotting his lips against yours. You’re probably going to throw up in his bathroom when you get home, so he should make the best of your kisses now. Jungkook pushes that thought aside as he reaches a hand out to wipe at the sweat accumulating on your chest. There’s something weird about the gesture, like he’s done it before at another party. But that doesn’t make sense; he couldn't have— this is his first party with you. 

“We should, like, leave,” you whisper against his ear, fingers burying themselves in his hair; when you pull on a strand, he nearly moans. “Go home. Maybe netflix and—“ a hiccup that makes him smile “—chill?”

Jungkook kisses your temple. “Sounds good to me, pretty girl.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Future

A/N: Yikes. I cried several times writing this. I'm very proud of how it turned out - I think it's one of my strongest pieces on the entire blog - but be warned: bring tissues. Also, Mozzie's quote is originally from Abraham Lincoln. Requested by @ladykeqing

Summary: In the wake of Neal's death, a regret haunts you.

Word Count: 1,964

Peter sat you down and told you in his home. Well… just June’s home, now. The way Mozzie had trailed behind him, for once wordless… His face looking ashen… A part of you had known even before Peter asked you to sit down.

“He told me to say he’s sorry,” Peter said, barely more than a whisper that somehow felt deafening to your brain. “And that he loves you more than you know.”

The room was suddenly stifling. It was more than just the emotions in the air, layering over each other into a thick, caustic fog. It was the darkening of shadows that stretched in from the glass doors, and the silence of the record player that drove deep into their eardrums to muffle the little sounds of life coming from each other. The penthouse was, in an instant, so tiny and deathly empty, and you wished so dearly that you’d been at your own apartment. Staying the weekend had seemed like such a great idea before you abruptly became the only resident.

For a few seconds, you had a mind to just stay put and let the shadows come and take over. To let the agonizing ache of loss engulf your entire heart and continue expanding until it was bigger than your body and you disappeared forever. All so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the records Neal would never again play and the table he would never again sit at. So you would never have to spend a last moment in the home of your lover before turning your back on it and, by extension, him.

Without him, there was nowhere to turn. The prospect of your remaining lifetime without your partner made your chest and throat tighten with another round of sobs. It all felt so dim. You tried to hold it back, but couldn’t last long before your hands were to your mouth and a strangled whimper was breaking from your lips.

Mozzie could have fooled you into thinking he hadn’t heard, so resolute he was in boring a hole into the rug with his stare. Peter looked towards you with deep brown eyes, solicitous and pleading at the same time. He was as stunned as you were – but where you were being crushed under the weight of isolation, at least Peter got to go home to El. You didn’t have anyone to go home to anymore. Hell, without Neal, did you even have a home at all?

You envied Mozzie. Really, you did. His Buddhist leanings might be a comfort to him, able to think of Neal’s absence as temporary, or his spirit as remaining around them in some way or form. But when you tried to imagine you could feel him still there, the encroaching shadows and silent record player and empty bed all drew together at once until you were drowning in the lack. It was as if your haywire senses were punishing you for thinking even for a moment that you could feel your loss as anything less than absolute. He was gone and the world was permanently less wonderful.

A gunshot. Neal hated guns so much. Maybe this was why.

Wait. No. Time didn’t work like that. Right? He couldn’t hate something for a reason that hadn’t happened yet.

Laughter that bordered on hysterical bubbled out of your throat as you anxiously covered your face, waiting for the mania to pass. Laughter was easier than sobs. It physically hurt less. Emotionally it was so much worse. You could feel the concerned eyes on you while you waited until your desperate giggles died, just like your partner.

“I never said,” you said, wresting the words out before cries – or worse, more laughs – forced themselves out instead. You looked down with shame and guilt. His last words to you were almost cruel. Tender in their meaning, but cruel in consequence – he would never know how deeply you cared for him. You hoped he did. Didn’t you show it all the time? But that was different from hearing the words out loud, and now not only were you going on without Neal, but you were going on carrying the burden of knowing you hadn’t been able to offer him the comfort of certainty in knowing he had been loved in life and would be grieved in death. “I never got to tell him I love him.”

The mere look that Peter gave you in response would have broken your heart if it hadn’t already been lying shattered somewhere between your stomach and the floor. It was as if he were imagining for himself not getting to tell Elizabeth how he felt, or worse, imagining how alone or afraid she might feel if she didn’t know there were somebody fighting for her and remembering her every day.

Sobs would come any moment now. Your throat was tighter than a string on a violin, and any minute you’d stop being able to breathe. In, out, you reminded yourself. Keep it together just a moment more. And then another moment after that. You couldn’t break down until you were alone. You didn’t know why you couldn’t break in front of Neal’s family, but didn’t have the energy to question it, either, not when you barely had the energy not to scream and weep into your hands.

“He knew.” Mozzie’s words were quiet but startling and said with all the confidence of Neal himself. “You didn’t have to say it.”

“But he deserved to hear.” Knowing it and hearing it were different games and Neal, for all his faults, deserved to hear it, too. “He deserved to come home. I don’t…” You lost your train of thought. Why were you talking about yourself when you weren’t the one whose brilliant life had been stolen? After a small shake of your head, you sniffed and shakily breathed out. “We had an entire future. And now there’s nothing left.”

You could see it passing in your imagination, all the little milestones that you’d come to anticipate. Content days at home, interspersed with adventures to his favorite places around the world, marked by marriage and birthdays and achievements and anniversaries. You’d never articulated them out loud, never even realized fully that you’d started to await those days, but now you saw them vanishing and you realized not only were you having to grieve for the best man you’d ever known, but you’d also have to grieve for the missed experiences and joys that he had lost, and the shared life that you had to give up on, as well.

Mozzie finally looked up to you and you noticed that his eyes were puffy and red behind his glasses. You didn’t even know someone could cry that silently. “The best thing about the future,” he quoted, slow and weighty, probably to keep his own voice level. “Is that it comes one day at a time.”

The comfort was meaningless to you. One day at a time was worthwhile when it was endless days of love and companionship. When that was gone, it was just day after day of being adrift with nothing to hold onto.

You sniffed again and replied in a surprisingly even voice, “My future is laying in the morgue.”

~Future~

Leaving Y/N was one of the hardest things Mozzie had ever done, and he had a lot of challenges and dubious decisions in his past. Leaving her to wallow and suffer rubbed him in every wrong way possible, except for the one where it meant – at least for now – that she would be safe. He didn’t think, if he stayed, that he would be able to hold back from blurting out the truth. He couldn’t even look at her for fear of spilling. Not once her tears started. He couldn’t watch his friend, and his best friend’s love at that, weep with agony she didn’t need to feel.

Neal begged to differ, though Mozzie knew that it tore his heart in two to hear her voice over the long-distance connection. When Mozzie was sure the suit was out of earshot, and that Y/N and June had both stayed inside, he lifted his phone from his pocket and breathed heavily in the cold December air that seemed to burn his lungs.

“Did you hear all that?” He asked, impressively steady and managing to get his criticism and support across with his tone simultaneously.

He took off his glasses, thankful Neal couldn’t see that he, too, needed to wipe his eyes dry. Alive was good. Alive but far away and unreachable – at least for the foreseeable future – was still painful.

“I did,” Neal confirmed, voice and heart both heavy somewhere at least a thousand miles away. “I wish…” Neal trailed off, and Mozzie wholly believed that he also needed a moment to compose himself. Why either of them bothered pretending not to cry, he didn’t understand, but they had already dedicated themselves to the farce. “She’s safer this way. If she looks for me, we’re all in danger.”

“If you let this go on, she will never forgive you.” Mozzie warned, thinking about the broken look on your face. It had been like watching a dropped plate shatter in slow motion to see the cracks begin to appear before your very spirit seemed to splinter. Then he thought about how desperately you wished Neal knew you loved him, and he thought maybe there was a chance that desperate love would override the anger. He amended, “Or, if she does, it’ll never be the same.”

“I know.” Neal agreed readily but with a quiver to his voice. “I want to come home, but not if it means visiting her grave.”

“The cautious way it is.” Mozzie put his glasses back on his face, bravely shoring up his willpower. “I can’t know where you are, and she can’t know you’re out there.”

“Keep an eye on her for me.”His voice was full of sorrow and longing.

“Of course.” Neal didn’t even need to ask. If there came a time when the Panthers were dealt with and Neal could – well, if not return home, at least be reunited with Y/N somewhere without an extradition treaty, Mozzie would be the first to set it in motion. “Be well, mon frére.”

“You, too, Moz.”

The line went dead.

~Future~

Approximately four thousand miles away, on a windy beach, Neal stood barefoot in the dark, watching the light from the moon reflect off the choppy, shallow surf. The breeze drifted through his hair and bit across his face with the sting of northern weather.

He looked down at the open phone in his hand, fighting every feeling in him to turn it back on and beg Mozzie to take the phone back up to his former penthouse. Or, worse, to turn his whole body around and get on a ferry to the mainland, and fly back to New York as fast as possible to hold you in his arms. The heartbreak in your voice had been almost too much for him to bear. It would have been, if not for his terror of being reckless and selfish and letting you pay the price.

He had known you loved him, and because he loved you so unbelievably much in return, he couldn’t go home. Not yet. He would work on it from afar, where no one knew he was breathing, much less could trace him back to his darling. One day, if he were incredibly lucky, he could come home and you would still have space for him in your heart and mind. For now, he would have to settle on replaying your words in his head.

I love you, too.

Neal hurled the phone out into the ocean.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

A Little Bit Stabbed

Jake Gets Stabbed Miniseries: First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth

CW: Discussion of past child abuse/domestic violence, description of stab wound, painkillers/drugged but in a good way, brief IV needle reference, some short references to Jake’s religious trauma, some trauma response stuff

“Took four of us to get you onto the couch, you know,” Kauri says, fingers moving gently to brush Jake’s short hair back off his forehead. There’s a hint of humor to his deep voice, but Jake catches the tremor in it, too. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“Must be… pretty fucking heavy, then,” Jake manages, voice slightly thin. They gave him something - Nat’s EMT friend showed up with IV supplies while refusing to tell anyone where they’d gotten ahold of everything from, except to repeatedly reassure all of them I know someone, it’s taken care of, I probably won’t go to jail for this. Besides, I’ve been in jail before.

Jake might not have found it very reassuring if he wasn’t halfway to unconscious from the pain alone at the time.

Now, though, there’s a needle feeding a steady supply of something wonderful into his bloodstream, holding the worst of the pain at bay. All he can feel now is maybe a little bit of an itch he knows better than to scratch, and a heaviness to his limbs that keeps them limp and relaxed. 

“We had to turn the stupid thing into the pull-out bed just to make sure your feet wouldn’t be higher than your head.” Kauri smiles at him, but there’s worry in those warm blue eyes, and Jake uses every ounce of strength to lift his good hand, the one on the uninjured side, and take Kauri’s, pulling his knuckles to his lips to brush against them. 

“I’m okay,” Jake says softly. “I am, Kaur. It’s not so bad.”

“It’s not-... you got fucking stabbed in your own kitchen, Jake.” Kauri’s lips thin and he looks away, over towards the TV, playing Clue.

Funny, Jake thinks, woozy and untethered to any kind of focus. My mom used to play Clue when we were alone, after. Made her feel better for a while.

“Just a… a flesh wound,” Jake manages in a terrible approximation of a British accent.

Kauri just looks at him, expression serious, and leans over until their foreheads touch. He’s warm, and Jake’s eyes close, basking in the body heat that comes off of him, surrounds them both. “Don’t,” Kauri whispers. “Please don’t make jokes. I thought-”

“It’s okay,” Jake murmurs. 

Eventually, he should probably tell someone he can only sort of feel the hand on the injured side. But not now. 

“It’s okay. It’s not s’bad. I got the good drugs, right?”

“Antibiotics and…” Kauri squints at the label on the bag attached to the IV, then winces and shakes his head. “Sorry. Can’t read today. It, uh. It kind of comes and goes when I’m worried, and today-”

“I get it. But… you don’t have to worry about me, Kaur. It’s over, it happened… I’ll feel better pretty fast. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Kauri says softly, but he relaxes beside Jake, keeping a hold of his hand. His fingers are slightly chilled, but they warm against Jake’s. The two of them settle into silence for a while, a woman in black on the TV with eyes blown wide in comic exaggeration of anger speaking in a blur of sound Jake knows by heart but can’t really pick apart from anything else, not just yet, not right now. 

He knows this movie by heart. He and his mom used to curl up under a blanket while she closed her eyes and prayed for things to get better and Jake prayed for his dad to die in a car accident or some other terrible way, and make it slow, and then pray with terror not to go to hell for thinking like that.

If men like his father go to heaven, Jake would rather burn in hell.

At least my favorite bands would be there, he thinks, and laughs to himself, shoulders shaking a little, sending a ripple of pain down his arm and spiking into his skull. He winces, but the thought still strikes him as too funny to quit circling woozily around his mind, and he keeps laughing a little.

Kauri turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. “What are you laughing at?”

Jake blinks over at him, those wide blue eyes. It had been hell not to be able to hold him for so long, with eyes like that. Real hell, the kind where you spend your days wishing for a connection that seems too hard to make. “Nothing, just… thinking about shit with my dad,” He says, finally. “My mom and I used to watch Clue all the time. It’s her favorite movie.”

“Yeah?” Kauri looks over his shoulder, back at the television, and Jake’s eyes move lazily over the slight bump in his nose where it was broken by someone years ago, the dip of his lips, the roundness of his chin, angling a little with age. The way his neck would feel to trace with just one fingertip, how he smiles when Jake does it, asks him what the fuck he’s looking at when there’s way more to Kauri that needs attention right now than just his face.

There’s a lazy wave of warmth in Jake, a steady thrum of something that goes much deeper than arousal, at the memory.

Adoration.

“Yeah,” He says, softly. “She’d put it on when he left the house, we’d make popcorn and watch it. Saturday night special, popcorn and a movie, Mom and Jake.”

“Where’d your dad go?” Kauri asks, then the answer catches up with him, and he winces. “Wait, sorry. I think I know where he went.”

“Church.”

That is clearly not what Kauri expected to hear. “I-... what?” He turns back to Jake, eyebrows furrowing. “I thought-”

“Nope. He went to church. Fish fry on Saturdays, he volunteered.” Jake is dimly aware that this might be more than he’s ever told Kauri about his father, at least more than he’s ever said that wasn’t laser-focused on the hurts, the bruises, the concussion, the ER visits where Jake learned to lie. “He was a magician with a deep fryer. Best fucking fish I ever ate.” He laughs, then coughs a little against the new round of ache in his shoulder. 

Kauri is quiet for a moment, his eyes searching Jake’s face, maybe looking for an idea of how to respond the right way. Jake knows that look - he’s seen it less and less over the years, but it never fully stops.

Kauri never stops looking for the safe answer, the one that won’t get him hurt. Jake never stops being ready to fight his way out if it happens again. Kauri is still ready to say what the abuser needs to hear, placate and please and keep himself alive.

Jake is still ready to pick up a weapon and use it if his father ever comes near he or his mother again. Not that he ever will. Not that he even wants to, sixteen years after Jake last saw his face. 

But he’s still built, deep within, to fight the threat. And so is Kauri, in his own way. 

“I love you so much,” Jake says softly. “I hope you didn’t pull anything dragging my ass around.”

“Mmmn, guess I’ll find out,” Kauri says softly, snuggling back up to him, then. “Should we change the movie? If it’s, like, a thing for you-”

“Nah.” Jake smiles, slightly. He feels pleasantly drunk, on whatever the painkiller slowly drip-feeding into his arm is. A little woozy, a little bit in love with it. “It’s like a comfort thing, really. I should call my mom-”

“I already did,” Kauri says, gently pushing him back down as Jake tries to make himself sit up. “She’s driving up. She said she’ll get here in the morning, she had to find someone to watch her dog.”

Jake blinks twice. “Mom has a dog?”

“I think it’s new. But, um. You can’t exactly meet her at her hotel, Jake. She’s gonna have to come here.”

Jake feels a rush of old nerves prickling along his arms, the hair of his neck trying to stand up. He closes his eyes, tries to push it back down. “I’ve never given her my address. It’s not safe for us. What if-... I don’t know. I’ve just never… I’ve always worried that if he found her, you know, that he’d… convince her to tell him where I live. He’d turn us all in just to feel like the big righteous moral hero all over again. Probably hard to feel that way when you’re hitting a teenager. Easier when you’re turning in vigilantes with stolen property.” He spits the words, and Kauri flinches a little. “Shit. Sorry, Kaur.”

“No, it’s. It’s okay. I get what you mean. But I don’t think your mom would do that. She loves you.”

“She does.” Jake exhales, closes his eyes. Inside him there is still an angry child that wants to point out that it hasn’t always been enough. But there’s a grown man, and a decade of fucking therapy, telling him there’s a whole lot more to it than that. “And she’s finally come around to understanding why I do this. Yeah… yeah, we’ll tell her where I am. It’ll be fine. Honestly, it’s not so bad. Jameson really did a great job on the stabbing.” Jake tries to laugh again. “Fucking surgeon with a butcher knife. He managed to miss every fucking bit of me that would have killed me.”

“Except for if you bled out,” Kauri points out, voice small. 

“Yeah… but I didn’t.” Jake thinks of Antoni’s face, the focus in his dark eyes, the quick movement of his hands, the blinding agony of the cloth being forced into the wound to soak up the blood, the way Antoni had leaned all his weight forwards to put enough pressure to staunch the bleeding. Jake had never felt pain like that before, and he’s not sure he could handle feeling it again. “Ant was there. It’ll be okay. Where is he?”

“In his room.” Picking at the heavy thick blanket laid over Jake, not quite looking at him now, Kauri asks, “How are you so calm about this?”

“Drugs,” Jake answers right away. “Like ninety percent drugs.” He groans as a throbbing ache travels from the stab wound, up into his skull, all the way down to his toes. “Fuck. The… whatever’s in there helps. But also…” Jake sighs, letting his eyes drift to the ceiling, over the popcorn-texture there. He’d meant to scrape it clean and smooth, when he bought the house, but other stuff kept taking priority, and he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. “This isn’t th’ first time, you know?”

Kauri frowns. “Jake, I have licked just about everything on your body, I’ve never seen a scar from-”

“Not… not stabbed. But… stuck here, on a couch-bed, tryin’... tryin’ to heal from shit. That’s not new.” Jake exhales. Above him, the blades of the ceiling fan circle lazily, and his eyes follow the movement of the shadows. 

“No, I guess not.”

“In any case… I haven’t s-seen… Jameson’s upstairs, right? Can you get him down here?”

Something passes over Kauri’s face, a shadow, a discomfort and darkness that Jake can’t quite read. “Jameson’s not in the house, Jake.”

“What? Why?” Jake starts trying to sit up again, and this time Kauri’s gentle push isn’t enough to get him back down. He grinds his teeth against the pain and forces himself upright, trying to shift his legs over the side of the bed. The room spins around him, dizzy-sick flip in his stomach, but he ignores it. He’s felt worse than this and kept moving before. “Shit, fuck, I should’ve made sure he didn’t leave-”

“He didn’t. I made him go.”

The look Jake turns on Kauri is baffled, but there’s anger, too, welling up inside him. “You what?”

“I told him he can’t stay here if he’s a danger to you and the others,” Kauri says, but he cringes back from Jake’s expression, instinctive fear. Jake hates how he looks like his dad - huge and muscular, a threat inherent in his existence that he might not give off if he were smaller. But his bulk and his strength is also the thing that makes him capable of withstanding the danger he puts himself in for them. It’s the reason he could come home and pick Chris up with a broken rib and carry him after they raided the last safehouse he’d lived in. It’s the reason he could finally fight back with his dad. It’s the reason the kids at his new schools, one after another after another as he and his mom moved constantly to try not to be found, left him alone. 

“Kauri, he can’t-... Jameson’s not. He can’t live on his own.”

“That’s a lie,” Kauri says, lips barely moving. “That’s a lie they tell us-”

“No, that’s not what I-... Jameson’s like Chris,” Jake says, softly. “Like Chris used to be. He was treated like an animal, Kauri. He didn’t get to use fucking utensils to eat in the last two places he was held, he told me himself. He can’t live on his own yet. If you kicked him out… Jesus Christ, Kauri, do you not remember how it felt when you were kicked out?”

Kauri looks like he’s been slapped. “Wait, Jake-... I didn’t mean-”

“We found you half-dead under a goddamn bush, Kauri, you can’t do that to someone else just because I got a little bit stabbed! Shit. Fuck. I gave him a burner phone, if he’s still got it on him, maybe I can call-”

“Jakob fucking Stanton!” Kauri yells so rarely, and Jake goes still, turning to look at him, seeing the anger written across Kauri’s face. Kauri angry is electric, and immensely sexy, and something Jake had gone so long thinking he would never see unless Vincent Shield showed up with a new idea for how to make up for all his failures by forcing himself around someone who hated him. “Will you fucking listen to me?!”

Jake just sits there, staring at him. He can’t even find the words. Eventually, he just nods.

“I didn’t kick him out on the street, I’m not that awful, and fuck you for thinking I am and we’re going to talk about that later when you aren’t half off your head from painkillers. I don’t want him here until you’re feeling better in case it happens again, so I-... so I sent him home with Nat. She doesn’t have anyone living with her right now, and she said okay, so he’s going to stay with her.” Kauri swallows, reaching slowly out to lay his hand on Jake’s leg. “He and I talked. He said it’s always been men, Jake. All of the ones who hurt him were men, one of them was... was really big like you, I guess. So I thought-... if he’s with Nat, maybe it won’t happen again for long enough for him to, to work it through in therapy and Dr. Berger maybe can give him, give him s-something to help. So maybe he won’t, um, hallucinate or… or w-whatever the next time.” Kauri’s eyes well up, glimmer with tears that don’t fall. “I was trying to help. I thought he’d feel safer with only a woman, maybe, and I sent him alone so that he’d know he can’t hurt Allyn, he was really scared of that, and…”

Jake’s mouth hangs open.

Kauri slumps over, his forehead slowly resting against Jake’s back where he sits slightly behind him now that Jake is nearly off the bed. “I had to make sure everyone’s safe. I didn’t know what else to do. I sent Chris to stay with Laken overnight but he’ll be back tomorrow, Antoni’s fucked up but he’s in his room and he’s safe, and all the rescues promised to stay in their rooms and Allyn tried to go with Jameson and I think they hate me now because I said no, but I didn’t-... I tried to think of what you would do, if it had been Chris or me he’d hurt. I was trying to be like you. I’m s-sorry if I fucked it up, I’m sorry, please, I thought you were going to die, please don’t be mad at me-”

“Kauri.” Jake turns, and uses his good hand to lift Kauri’s chin, meeting his eyes. 

Blue on blue, always. 

“I’m not mad,” He says, gently. “Not… not now. You’re right, I shouldn’t have… just been a shit deciding what you did without asking. I’m sorry. So, let me just… you spent the last couple of hours really fucking busy, huh?”

Kauri nods, kissing Jake’s fingertips, one by one. “I’m sorry,” He whispers. “I’m not… I’m not good at this, I’m not... not... I was so scared. I didn’t know what you would do, Jake, and Nat said she thought it was a good idea, so-”

“It is. It is a good idea.” Kauri blinks, surprised, and the tears that have been threatening finally run, clear as crystal, down his flushed cheeks. He looks like a fucking sculpture, Jake thinks to himself, like some artist’s idea of the perfect beautiful person. “Kauri, just. Now that I get what you were trying to do… Shit. That’s really smart.”

Kauri huffs a laugh, a kind of half-sobbing sound, and shakes his head. “It’s just, I was just guessing-”

“That’s all we ever do, too,” Jake says, voice soft. “We guess, at what we can do to help. Nat always says we make the hard choices when nobody else can. Kauri, that’s the smartest fucking idea. I’m… that’s some grace under fire shit. That’s amazing.”

“It… it is?”

“Yeah.” Jake kisses him, and Kauri tastes like mouthwash, like mint, kisses back with desperate intensity. “Yeah, Kaur. That’s even better than what I would have done. You’re so fucking smart. What made you decide to slum it with me?”

“You have a really good d-dick and I don’t w-w-want to lose access,” Kauri says, and he’s crying or laughing or maybe both. “You’re my eye candy.”

“You’re my Einstein.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself,” Jake says softly. 

“Heal a little first.” Kauri sighs, half-smiling, pulling Jake back into the bed to lay down again. “Everyone’s safe, Jake. At least for now. Everyone’s okay. You need to rest, and everyone’s going to be okay.”

Jake lets his head be maneuvered back onto the pillow, feels Kauri settle back down next to him, pulling the blankets back up over them both. He’s silent for a while, lets the soft sound of the end of the movie wash over him, showing the different endings.

“I love you,” He whispers. The way the adrenaline is fading makes him sleepy, drifting in a new drowsy haze, ready to dose off again. “So much.”

“Love you, too,” Kauri murmurs. 

He knows this - the couch-bed pulled out, watching movies and stand-up comedy at a low volume, a throb of pain somewhere that will heal only with time - by heart.

With Kauri’s weight and warmth beside him, it feels entirely, completely new.

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump

[vvideonasties]

clear-cut

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance. 

word count: 2k

pairing: jonmartin

warnings: discussion of canon related trauma, thoughts about body autonomy

While rifling through the kitchen drawers, Jon is unsurprised by the plethora of blades Daisy owns. There’s every kind of knife you could fathom and, thankfully, a few pairs of scissors. Grabbing what appears to be the sharpest pair (though they all look pretty damn sharp), he heads to the bathroom. He clutches the white of the porcelain sink and stares into the mirror impassively. 

He used to actually quite like his long hair. He’d play with it while he was working, twirling the thick locks around his fingers and untangling knots absentmindedly. When he’d get frustrated he’d pull it out of its tie and tug at it. It was a strange way to ground himself. 

Now, though. It’s been used too much for other people’s gain, has been in too many people’s hands for it to truly belong to him. The gravity it provided began to dissipate when Daisy attacked him - she’d grabbed a chunk of it and used it to yank back his head to expose the vulnerable expanse of his neck. As he’d stood there under the mercy of her blade, shaking and pleading, the stinging in his scalp lingered the entire time. It only got worse from there - the awful attempt at tenderness displayed by the Stranger as Nikola brushed aside a few strands to gain access to more flesh, to paste moisturiser onto it with her stiff fingers. The dirt he couldn’t quite scrub out of it after he left the Buried, even when he sat in the tub for hours on end. Even when the water began to run clear, he could still feel the clumps weighing him down, making his head loll to the side with it.

After all that, it wasn’t much to him. He’d wash it, dry it, tie it up. Try not to think of it. 

Jon stares down at the gleaming scissors in the sink determinedly. Cutting it off won’t solve much, if anything at all, but it would make him feel a little more comfortable. It’s one of the only things he can control about himself at the moment. If he doesn’t like the way it looks, then fine. It’ll grow back. 

His hand flexes and clenches into a fist. Tighten, relax, tighten, relax. 

He reaches for the scissors and holds a piece of hair in front of his face, the blades open, hungry, ready to receive. 

Then there comes a short, polite cough. He turns to see Martin standing just outside the bathroom, eyes a little wider than normal. 

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance. 

“I’m cutting my hair,” he clarifies, and Martin seems to relax at that. 

“Okay.” A pause. “Why?”

He puts down the scissors and shrugs, suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

“Just felt like it,” he says, which is kind of true. “Not particularly attached to it anymore.”

Martin hums, taking him at his word. He walks over on socked feet, close enough that Jon can feel the heat radiating from him. There’s a brief moment where his hands pass over the scissors.

“I could help?”

Jon turns to face him completely, brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, it’s just that I have experience? Kind of? I cut my own, and I used to cut my mum’s as well...” Martin’s mouth twists downwards at that, and Jon just frowns harder. “I won’t give you my mum’s style, I promise!” He jokes weakly. It falls flat, and the whole atmosphere feels stilted. 

“Okay. Why not.”

“...Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your whole-”

“It’s fine. I could use some help reaching the back anyway.” As much as he just wants to lop all of it off, he doesn’t want it to look messy. 

Martin seems to brighten, probably at the relief of having something to focus on, and he walks off to grab a chair from the small dining table as Jon hovers awkwardly. He positions it in the living room, close to the small TV they’ve been using sporadically. They’ve been steadily working their way through the small cabinet full of DVDs underneath it. However, Jon isn’t exactly sure how long they’re going to be staying, so they might have to...ration them. The week they’ve been here hasn’t exactly been the most vibrant when it comes to entertainment. Maybe one day they’ll relent and open up the dusty box of Monopoly. That could very well be a major test of their relationship, though. 

At least, Jon thinks this is a relationship. They haven’t talked about it all that much. All that mattered in the beginning was escaping the Lonely, leaving London, then getting settled here. They’re fumbling around blindly in the dark, and all Jon knows is he wants to hold onto Martin as tightly as possible. 

That little train of thought is interrupted by the small clink of Martin taking the scissors off of the sink and grabbing a towel from the rack. He gestures to the chair, inviting Jon to sit, and when he does so he feels the towel being gently wrapped around his shoulders. 

There’s the brief sensation of Jon’s hair being pulled at, only slightly, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Okay?” Martin whispers. He understands without knowing, somehow, and Jon is glad that he can’t see the way his face is taut with apprehension, tinged with pain. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, trying to emulate Martin’s tone. 

“Can I use your tie?” His voice is still soft, and Jon should feel patronised, but he mostly feels soothed. “Just so it’s easier to cut through.”

Jon wordlessly removes the tie from his wrist and hands it over. He tries to hide the little shiver that passes over him when their fingers brush. Martin begins to hum a tune as he gathers the hair up into one handful (not like they did, he would never, it’s Martin, always so good to him), then creates a loose ponytail that falls to his shoulders. 

“Fine so far?” Jon nods tentatively. “Alright then.” 

There’s the distinct sound of the blades opening, and in one fluid motion Jon feels the weight he’d been carrying leave him. 

“There.” Martin comes into view, holding the thick, dark ponytail aloft, smiling crookedly. 

“Oh,” he croaks. “That’s...a lot.” His hand comes up to brush his the side of his head, then travels down and grasps at thin air where hair was a second ago. The cut seems to stop at his jaw, the small strands remaining ghosting over his skin. 

“It is. Can I keep going?”

Jon, hand still close to his head, makes a noise of assent. Martin takes a second to throw away what’s been cut then returns. He sinks his hands into Jon's scalp, massaging the tension out of it, and Jon makes an unbidden noise of satisfaction that causes his motions to still.

"God, sorry, did I hurt-"

"No! No, it's okay. It felt nice." It felt really nice. 

Martin clicks his tongue and continues for a while longer, fingers digging into Jon’s scalp over and over in a wonderful, rhythmic motion until Jon is practically boneless and falling asleep in the chair. He wonders if there’s a not-weird way to ask for this again outside of a hair cutting context. 

“So how short are we going here? You kind of have a bob right now,” Martin laughs. 

Jon hadn’t really thought about that. He just wanted it off, away, binned and out of his face. He shrugs. “I don’t know, short? Whatever you think will suit me.”

“Any hairstyle would suit you,” Martin points out, like it’s nothing. Jon smiles. “But I’ll do my best.” 

A few moments of Martin muttering to himself and circling around the chair is followed by the coolness of the dual blades against the curve of Jon’s ear, the shhk of them pressing together giving him goosebumps. He clearly has done this many times before, given the confident way he navigates the scissors. Jon certainly couldn’t have done this alone, at least not without making a fool out of himself. Martin brushes some hair away from the nape of his neck. His hands are very warm. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with short hair.”

Jon turns to him, puzzled. “Really?”

The thing with Jon is, when he cares about someone a lot, he tends to insert them in all of his memories, assuming that they’ve always been around (he also has the memory of a goldfish, but he’s sure that’s a whole other thing). Martin has become such an integral part of his life, standing neatly by his side like it’s nothing. Like he was meant to be there and always has. 

“It has been quite a few years now, I suppose. Last I remember it was this short I was still in research.” When he goes to touch his head again he notes that he can feel for his ears without having to move a mountain of hair aside.

“Better late than never, I guess! I’m gonna move to the front now.”

Martin has to position himself at an awkward angle to use the scissors properly, his back practically curved into a C shape. His gaze is focused and intense, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Hair falls on Jon’s face as he snips, making him wrinkle his nose and grimace.

“Sorry. You can wash it off soon.”

Jon nods minutely. Then he sneezes. Martin just smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, then continues. 

He remembers why he rarely went to get a professional haircut now. That strange intimacy that comes with someone being so close to you - a stranger - it always disturbed him. The idle chatter that made him grit his teeth, how they’d act like they knew him. Then he didn’t have the time or energy to cut it himself after...everything. 

Now he’s looking at Martin, though. It’s odd, yes. Intimate? Definitely. He doesn’t know whether to close his eyes or keep them open. But he’s always found it very hard to turn his gaze away from Martin regardless.

His eyes are a lovely shade of deep blue, and he has far too many scars alongside the smattering of freckles on his face. He looks tired. Very much so. There’s crows feet at the corners of his eyes and lines on his forehead. He notes absently that he actually has a thick beard, too. Of course he noticed it beforehand - he’s felt it scratching the back of his neck when he wakes in the morning with Martin’s arms around him - but it’s worth pointing out. It makes him look much older, especially since the grey in it seems to be overtaking the red. 

Martin stands up straight and runs his hands through Jon’s hair a few times before standing back, head tilted to the side. 

“I think we’re done. It’s not amazing, but.”

Jon is already shrugging off the towel and heading to the bathroom mirror, feeling weirdly nervous. 

He certainly looks different. Unfortunately, though he searched high and low for them, Daisy doesn’t own any clippers. Martin did the best he could with what he had - he’s kept it a bit longer towards the front, some strands grazing his forehead, but the rest is cropped closely to his scalp. Jon tentatively touches it and leans forward. He tries to grasp a chunk of it, see if it’s long enough to pull. He fails. 

“It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Jon says firmly. “It’s just what I needed.” He walks back over to Martin and wraps his arms around him instinctively, sighing with contentment when he responds in kind. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Martin’s t-shirt. 

“Of course.” Martin is stroking the back of his neck gently. “You look very handsome.”

Jon’s face burns at the compliment, and he chooses to hide it further rather than reply. They stand there for a while, hair scattered around the floor like autumn leaves, and it feels like a new beginning. 

[fatiguing-thoughts]

“Victoria’s Game” - Embry Call

Request: It’s so nice to find another Embry lover lmao um, maybe a Embry x reader where Victoria is after the reader for some reason and Embry and the pack are all very protective??

********Should I make a part two to this? I’m thinking about it.********

Part One  / Part Two  / Part Three  / Part Four

Embry’s POV

“No I will not tell you where I’m taking you.” I laugh, still covering her eyes with my hands. 

“Em, we’ve been walking for like ever. I haven’t been able to see for like fifteen minutes!” Her beautiful laugh echoes the woods around us. 

“I know we’re almost there. Just be patient, babe. Step higher up, we’re going up!” 

“Easy for you to say. You try being blind on a hike for as long as me, wolf boy!” She says, slightly stumbling into me where the step up was. 

“Okay, okay. We’re here, I’ll let you see now, I guess.” I remove my hands from covering her eyes. 

“Thank god, I’ve been stressing out over here.” She begins but then looks at where I brought her. 

(Y/N)’s eyes gleaming with excitement, smiling ear to ear, turning around to me. The weight of her hands gripping mine before her slight excited jumping and pulling me to the meadow of flowers I found on last night’s patrol. 

“Oh my god, Embry it’s… it’s so beautiful.” She trailed off, running her fingers through the high flowers surrounding her. 

“I think you look beautiful. These flowers got nothing on you, babe.” I snake my arms around her waist, pulling her into my chest. 

“Emmmmm.” She whines, giggling at my cheesiness. 

“But it’s true babe. I knew you’d love it here, though. This could be a new spot of ours, if you want. None of the others found it, I was by myself last night.” 

“Yes, we can add it to our list of spots.” Her voice blissfully filling my ears. 

She pulls me into the middle of the meadow, the scent of hers mixing with all the flowers made me feel like I was in heaven. We sat down on a large rock, just enjoying each other’s company, her head on my shoulder, eyes closed. I could hear her inhaling my scent, the teakwood scented cologne I know she loved. 

(Y/N) was slightly drifting in and out of her slumber on my shoulder, her breath and heartbeat slowing. How did I ever get so lucky?

I look down at her, admiring her beautiful face, stroking her soft hair. 

That familiar, rancid smell hit my nostrils. Sending me into a panic. Where was she? 

My eyes widened, I frantically scanned the treeline without moving, attempting to not wake (Y/N) up and scare her. 

I then saw the fiery red hair in the treeline. 

She turned her attention over to (Y/N) and staring for a moment, before looking back at me and smiling crooked. She waved goodbye before running off into the distance, out of my scent range. 

This was a game to her, now. As we hunted Victoria for months, she was going to hunt (Y/N), my source of light, source of happiness. I had to let the pack know, (Y/N) too, but it was vital to start a new regime up to make sure (Y/N) stays safe, not just Bella anymore. 

“Babe, wake up. We gotta go to Sam’s.” I gently shook my shoulder, grabbing her waist with my arm to keep her balanced. 

“Okay, how late is it? Is everything okay? Was I asleep long? I’m sorry.” She yawns. 

“No, don’t apologize. Not long. We just have to go, now.” I urge her. 

Her heartbeat sped up realizing how serious I was about leaving immediately. 

I make the walk back to the car quickly paced, knowing she would keep up or that I would carry her in her sleepy state, either worked for me. We just had to get out of here ASAP.

I call Sam on our walk back. 

“We need to have a meeting, I’m on my way to your house now. I’ll be there in a half an hour, get everyone ready.” I hang the phone up, putting it into my pocket.

“Embry, please tell me what’s going on.” Looking up at me with pleading eyes. 

“In the car, okay?” I say, giving her hand a slight squeeze.

She nods and we make our way to the car, walking in silence for another fifteen minutes. 

I start the car and drive off immediately, she looks at me once again with a worried face, killing me slowly to see her afraid. 

“Okay, well I smelt something out there. It was her, and she saw you. I think she’s going to be coming after you. So no more being out in the woods, especially without at least a few of us. We’re going to need to patrol by you, too. You’re going to get protection, okay? I would never let anything happen to you, (Y/N). I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” I look into her eyes as I make my promise, but quickly turn my attention back to the road. 

She nods and looks out her window, trying to take it all in I suppose. 

I feel her heartbeat thumping in the car, breathing uneven. My poor girl. 

We pull up to Sam’s and I walk inside with her, my hand on the small of her back. 

We sit down at Sam’s kitchen table, joining everyone else who awaited our arrival. 

I sat down and explained what happened out in the meadow, everyone growing uneasy as the story progressed. 

“And then she ran out of my range of scent, this is a game to her, now.” I finish it off. 

We all grew up best friends with (Y/N), I just was the lucky one who imprinted on the girl I loved my entire life. So to say we all were protective of her was an understatement, she was family to everyone here. 

“Well, we’re gonna have to patrol more, and she can’t go anywhere alone anymore. We’ll have to watch her house, too.” Sam announces. 

Jacob seems to grow a little uneasy, probably at the thought that this meant less protection for Bella. I tried to contain myself from getting angry with him, but I knew he didn’t mean any malice behind it. Still, I couldn’t help but shoot him a glare. (Y/N) was my imprint for god’s sake, not just a girl stringing me along while her boyfriend skipped town. 

“Bella will still be okay. Maybe we can try to keep them together sometimes, making it a little easier on us.” Seth offers up, picking up on some of the tension. 

“We can do that, it’ll ease things up quite a bit, sometimes.” Sam affirms the idea. 

I look over at (Y/N) and she nods at me, letting me know she trusts us. 

“Don’t worry, (Y/N). The redhead won’t lay a finger on you with us around.” Paul chimes in, giving her shoulder a light nudge for comfort. 

“Thank you.” She smiles at him. 

We sit and chat for a bit, before deciding it was time to go check on Bella and tell her about the whole situation and new plan. 

We got into the truck and drove over to Bella’s to pick her up, seeing as Jacob was going to do that anyway so they could work on their bikes. 

Jacob goes to the door, being greeted by Charlie who waves to (Y/N) and I in the truck, earning a smile and wave back from us. 

“Embry, I’m scared.” Her small, sweet voice mutters next to me. 

I wrap my arm around her waist in the back seat of the truck, and pull her closer. 

“(Y/N), I will never let her hurt you. I’ll keep you safe. Even if it’s the last thing I ever do, until my dying breath.” I say, looking into her sweet eyes. 

“Em, don’t say that. It’s too… real.” She chokes out. 

“I mean it, (Y/N). We all will. You’re everything to me.” I kiss her forehead, feeling the tears falling from her eyes and onto my shirt. 

I held her tighter, the silence in the truck engulfing us as we awaited Jacob and Bella’s entry to the truck. 

______________ Part One  / Part Two  / Part Three  / Part Four

Word Count: 1340

SHOULD I DO A PART TWO? Lemme know everyone!

I hope you enjoyed it, anon! Thank you for the request!

[shihalyfie]

So here’s a thing: If the 02 digimon had to work with another of the children for a while (maybe they got split up?) which of the other kids would they get along with the best, and how would they work and interact with any of them in general? Tbh, since Wormmon and Ken are so attached to each other, it’s hard to imagine Wormmon being separated from him for too long (in a dangerous situation) without both of them becoming really anxious about the other in the process

Well, I do think with Wormmon and Ken, it also depends on when we're talking about (during 02 or post-02, and, in the case of the latter, how long after 02). Wormmon was well on his way to developing other friendships -- he got along quite well with V-mon as Ken's relationship to Daisuke likewise developed, and Kizuna implies that he's engaging quite well with the other Digimon in the group (drama CD puts emphasis on Hawkmon). So while of course they're the most devoted to each other, a lot of them seeming so single-mindedly attached to each other is likely just context; at the time, both of them were still shy about opening up to the others and just working off the high of the abusive relationship they had back during Ken's time as the Kaiser, and if we're purely talking near the end of or right after 02 there might be that sense of anxiety, but as we get further away from its finale, it's easier to imagine that while there might be a certain degree of uncertainty when separated, they'll know and trust the others to take care of them in their absence.

V-mon is known to be very much like Daisuke in temperament, so I think he could work with pretty much any of Daisuke's friends without problem, in a way akin to how Daisuke would interact with the respective person (there might be a lot of hijinks, but they'd get it done). Also, while V-mon's crush on Tailmon might mirror Daisuke's for Hikari's, I don't think V-mon has that particular baggage with Hikari herself, so they'd be able to work together smoothly in a recreation of what Daisuke can do with Hikari during moments he's capable of getting over himself. That said, because V-mon himself can be a loose cannon at times, you need someone pretty grounded, so more extreme personalities like Miyako or Iori might be better to avoid.

With Wormmon, as said above, I think it'll depend heavily on the respective person's relationship with Ken at what time (obviously it seems he got very close to everyone by the time of Kizuna, but the degree of which is going to depend); basically, he'll trust anyone Ken-chan trusts, so I think he's friendly enough to work with anyone reasonably well. His lack of physical range when unevolved may prove to be a bit of an issue at times, but he's also one of the most emotionally insightful of the group in general (he's actually really good at calling people out when they need it), so he might be reasonably okay with Daisuke, Miyako, or Iori in certain respects, despite them having more extreme personalities.

If they were in a situation where they were accidentally or forcibly separated, I think Hawkmon would inevitably keep fussing over Miyako, not necessarily because of separation anxiety but because he's terrified of what she's going to do without him keeping an eye on her! If it were out of a more organized plan, I think he'd be able to work with anyone else reasonably well, but because he's a bit guarded with everything, he might be a bit of a loss as to how to deal with someone not Miyako in certain situations. I feel like his experiences in trying to prevent Miyako from going nuts would also help in keeping a hold on Daisuke, but he'd also work reasonably well with someone methodical like Ken or Iori.

Armadimon would naturally be too friendly to get in personality clashes with anyone, but he's heavily on the laid-back side, and the reason he works so well with Iori is that Iori's the one with sharp-minded focus and initiative, often too much to the point Armadimon needs to tell him to chill. Working with someone else, someone with a lot of initiative like Ken or Hikari would be good, but someone like Daisuke or Miyako would be really bad because he'd be likely to just go along with anything they do and not really be able to put a lid on them. At least V-mon's able to argue back against Daisuke!

Patamon's ability to work with someone would scale inversely with how fun they are to troll. Daisuke is an absolute no because Patamon would love to drive him absolutely nuts, and while Ken might have more patience, I'm not sure it'd be an optimal combo. Miyako might actually be okay since she's a bit more thick-skinned, but I don't know if Patamon has what it takes to yank her back on some of her dumber decisions. Hikari or Iori might be optimal.

Tailmon's level-headed and to-the-point, but also very blunt, so it's more of a question of who can work with her than vice versa. Ironically, Daisuke might be the most liable to crumble under her! She's also probably up there in terms of people who can keep a hold on Miyako (although I imagine she herself is much more likely to lose patience than Hawkmon is). She's fairly patient with people as long as they don't cause trouble, so she'd probably work reasonably well with Takeru or Ken.

As I was writing this, one thing I noticed was that while Digimon relationships roughly mirror their human ones, it's not as clear-cut as it initially seems (for instance, the Jogress partners don't really feel like they're shoe-ins as much as you'd think). I do think a lot of it really is influenced by the social conditions surrounding their human partners' ages (that Iori is the youngest of the group and therefore puts extra weight on respecting his elders regardless of their antics is a huge deal), but I also think that, like with the discussion of Ken and Wormmon above, a lot of it is going to really depend on the development of their relationships after 02, all the way up to Kizuna and then thereafter up until the epilogue and beyond. The finale of 02 was really more of the "start" of many things more than it was the definitive clincher of anything, and as the kids start to develop deeper bonds of trust and familiarity with each other, their partners' respective relationships are likely to likewise do the same, to the point a lot of it may well override what you'd think "intuitively" for their personalities. Trust and communication is a huge thing!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1

- Chapter 2 -

The sayings of Wen Mao were not exactly what Nie Mingjue would consider to be entertaining reading, but he put in the effort to learn them in the hope that it would explain something about the people around him. They were always speaking in significant tones and looking at each other, finding meaning in the spaces between words, and he felt as though he was falling further and further behind in understanding what they meant.

“- be beheaded for tens of thousands to revile,” he murmured, staring down at the words with a frown. It seemed straightforward enough at first glance, but surely it couldn’t mean what it said, not with how Wen Ruohan regularly behaved. “Wen-da-gongzi?”

Wen Xu twisted to look at him.

“This particular saying – the one about people who oppress others and do evil using the power of their clan –”

“You’re still reading that old thing?” Wen Xu asked, sounding exasperated. “Why? Haven’t you memorized it yet?”

“I can recite it,” Nie Mingjue said. “But I don’t think I understand it. Aren’t these sayings supposed to serve as a guide for behavior for the Wen sect? Take this saying. It can’t be right. I mean, your father is always going around doing things on the basis of his sect and clan having the most power. So is the nuance in the definition of ‘oppress others using the power of your clan’, maybe, or possibly in the interpretation of what’s being defined as ‘evil’? Or is there some other –”

“No one listens to those sayings,” Wen Xu said. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? There’s the rules on paper and then there’s the rules in reality, and only the latter matter.”

“But then why have the rules on paper at all?” Nie Mingjue asked, utterly baffled. The Nie sect didn’t have sayings, like the Qishan Wen sect, nor rules, like Gusu Lan; it had principles, basic ones, and everything else in the world could be debated based on how those principles interacted with reality. It was simple and straightforward, yet allowed for a certain degree of independent thinking and flexibility: as long as you could account for your behavior with one of the principles, the action was generally considered acceptable; if you couldn’t, you knew you had done wrong. “If they’re not being used, then they’re hardly worth the paper they’re written on. Just replace them with new ones!”

“Knowing the sayings of Wen Mao is our tradition.”

Nie Mingjue frowned, turning the words over in his mind and trying to understand what he was missing. “So the tradition is to know the sayings but not follow them?” he hazarded. It seemed utterly bizarre to him. “That’s very complex. Is the idea to teach people to think for themselves?”

Wen Xu laughed – the first instance of that that Nie Mingjue had heard, and it didn’t sound quite right, sounding less like a laugh and more like a strangled noise that echoed in the ear in a manner not unlike the yelp of an injured dog. “You’re getting further away, not closer,” he told him. “Just – do as you’re told, all right?”

Nie Mingjue was trying.

He attended the classes and did his best to excel in them. He maintained his training even when the Wen sect techniques didn’t work quite as well for the saber as Nie sect techniques. He took care of Nie Huaisang, ensuring as much as possible that he did the best he could in both classes and training.

He didn’t grieve for his father out in public where people could see, keeping his pain to the late hours of the night, when his weakness could not be used to hurt his family and sect.

It would all be so much easier if they just told him what they wanted.

-

It was another few weeks after the Wen cousins joined them that Wen Ruohan finally decided to attend one of the dinners himself, sweeping in unexpectedly to seat himself at the head of the room.

The start of the meal was as silent as a Gusu Lan banquet. Everyone had recently started talking a little more during meals, probably as a courtesy to the two of them since Nie Huaisang couldn’t stop running his mouth about everything and mealtime was the ideal place to catch Nie Mingjue up on everything he’d done that day, but now it was as if that had never happened, everyone reverting to the silent and gloomy atmosphere the meals had all had at the beginning.

At first, Nie Mingjue thought it was silence out of respect for the food, like it was for the Gusu Lan, or maybe just the quelling presence of an elder, but after a while Wen Ruohan finished serving himself, and then he looked down at them and began asking questions.

Nie Mingjue’s father had done the same, sometimes, but where he’d asked questions about their studies and training and general well-being, about their friends or their hobbies, wanting to know more about what interested them, Wen Ruohan seemed instead to take vicious pleasure in quizzing them all on various hypotheticals, testing their intelligence and retention and ability to deliver an answer on the spot.

Nie Mingjue was able to answer the questions directed at him, and Nie Huaisang lucked out in the first round – it was a question about poetry, moderately obscure but at least something Nie Huaisang actually knew – and the others were able to answer theirs as well, but in the second round Nie Huaisang was not so lucky and he got a question on sword forms.

“I – don’t know?” he said, sinking down a little in his chair.

All the other Wen children averted their eyes, except for Wen Xu whose eyes went vacant as if he were deliberately forcing himself not to really watch even as he did not turn his head away. A cruel smile played around Wen Ruohan’s lips. “How – disappointing,” he said, though his tone was far from disappointed. More like anticipatory. “You will need to be punished, of course.”

“For what?” Nie Mingjue interjected, forcing his voice to remain level and disinterested. “Not knowing the answer, or missing the logical fallacy in the question?”

Dead silence.

He looked up and met Wen Ruohan’s eyes.

-

“When you said I could practice on you, I didn’t think you meant that you’d be throwing yourself into trouble,” Wen Qing scolded. Her hands were shaking as she wrapped bandages around his chest and back, but that was fine – he didn’t actually think he needed bandages, since the bleeding had stopped, but it was, in fact, good practice for her so he didn’t say anything about it.

“If I didn’t interfere, he would have punished Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said instead. Wen Ruohan had actually given him a choice: three strikes with the whip for Nie Huaisang, for failure to answer, and two for himself, for insolence, or else ten for himself alone.

He’d chosen the latter, of course.

“He knows he’s your weakness now, you know,” Wen Xu said, standing by the door watching. Wen Chao, Nie Huaisang, and Wen Ning were all behind him, Nie Huaisang sniffling and Wen Ning biting his nails and Wen Chao’s tense shoulders up high by his ears. “He’ll use him against you.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged, then stopped when Wen Qing poked at him. “It’s not like it would be hard to guess,” he said. “And our teachers would have told him that we were close anyway. If he was always going to know, what does it matter to tell him?”

“Aren’t you worried about him knowing?” Wen Chao burst out. “Not that you care about Huaisang, but that you’re stupid over it – he’ll think less of you because of it. It’ll make it harder to avoid disappointing him in the future.”

The way he looked at Nie Mingjue’s back made clear what being ‘disappointing’ would entail.

“If it’s a choice between suffering pain and having to hold myself distant, I’d pick pain every time,” Nie Mingjue said, then smiled ruefully. “I’m not smart enough to play the mind games of Qishan, A-Chao; I’d only ever trip myself up even trying. I’ll find my own way to survive.”

Wen Chao turned away from him.

“You’d better,” Wen Ning suddenly said, his reedy little voice unexpectedly fierce. “You’d better survive.”

“He will,” Nie Huaisang said, and he was a little fierce, too. “He will.”

-

The cultivation styles of Qishan Wen and Qinghe Nie were not that different, even if the Nie used the saber and the Wen the sword, and Nie Mingjue had always had something of a genius for cultivating. Although he had suffered a setback at the death of his father, he was young and unwillingly resilient; once he was properly settled in at the Nightless City, he began to progress quickly once more, earning the praise of his tutors and teachers alike.

It drove Wen Xu up the wall.

“What’s the use of having extra years or height,” he snarled, viciously kicking a practice dummy, “if you match up to me so quickly? If we spar and I lose and he sees…”

It was not necessary for him to identify who ‘he’ was.

Nie Mingjue looked at Wen Xu, feeling helpless. “If I pulled my strikes, he would know,” he said, and Wen Xu jerked as if he’d been struck by lightning.

“You can’t say something like that!” he hissed. “That was almost an offer!”

Nie Mingjue was out of his depth again. “No, it wasn’t,” he said, and Wen Xu relaxed a little. “I was explaining why it wouldn’t make sense for me to offer –”

“You’re hopeless,” Wen Xu declared, scowling. “Don’t you have enough trouble, without drawing more on your head?”

“My shoulders can bear the weight of a little trouble,” Nie Mingjue said with a shrug. “Besides, you have the harder hill to climb. I’m only his ward, not his son, after all, and anyway I only want him to leave me alone, while you want to impress him. If it costs me nothing, why shouldn’t I help you?”

Wen Xu was silent for a moment. “Some things will never be more than dreams,” he finally said, shaking his head, and Nie Mingjue wasn’t sure of what part of his statement he was reacting to. “Do you train outside of the regular hours?”

Nie Mingjue blinked at the abrupt subject change. “Yes,” he said. “I like to train in the mornings, before breakfast, and I meditate with Nie Huaisang in the afternoons. Would you like to join in?”

“I don’t see that I have much choice,” Wen Xu said, although for once he didn’t seem especially resentful about it. “It’s one thing not to have as much talent, that’s the disposition of the heavens, but not putting as much effort? Now that would be beneath me.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, understanding. “I’d be happy to have your company.”

“I don’t understand how you just say things like that,” Wen Xu muttered nonsensically, and stalked off before Nie Mingjue could tell him that he probably didn’t need to bother with coming to the afternoon sessions, since those weren’t really about his cultivation.

Instead, he put Nie Huaisang on his lap and helped guide his brother’s feeble qi through a full rotation, meridian by meridian. The doctors of Qinghe had helped put together this routine to strengthen Nie Huaisang, to empower his too-weak musculature and help build his foundation piece by piece so that he could one day create the golden core with his own efforts, even if they were weaker than most. It was time-consuming and exhausting for Nie Mingjue, who had to deal with trying to direct spiritual energy that wasn’t his own through an exceedingly complex sequence, and Nie Huaisang had complained about it being boring when they were back in Qinghe.

He didn’t complain now, though Nie Mingjue sometimes wished he would. It would make things feel more normal.

Nie Mingjue explained what he was doing to Wen Xu when he showed up, and to Wen Chao and Wen Ning and even Wen Qing when they unexpectedly appeared as well, but they all decided to sit in the little garden he’d found and meditate alongside him anyway.

“It’s a nice place,” Wen Chao mumbled, not looking at him. “And you don’t own it.”

Wen Qing shoved him. He shoved back.

“Of course not,” Nie Mingjue said, breaking them up with his hands, a little puzzled. “You and your cousins do. But if you find it peaceful and conductive to your meditation, you are welcome to stay.”

He wasn’t sure how quiet they really found it – he’d been born with his nose stuck in other people’s business and couldn’t help but offer unsolicited advice whenever he saw something that he thought could be improved, telling Wen Ning to prioritize finding his calm over any specific technique, walking Wen Chao through breathing exercises he thought would suit him better, showing Wen Qing the pressure points that could be pressed to help induce relaxation, even making small suggestions to improve Wen Xu’s form that mostly got glares and eye-rolls – but they came back every day.

-

Wen Ruohan attended dinner with them again only a week after the previous time, asking new questions and letting his eyes linger on Nie Mingjue and the way his actions were slower than usual, a smile curling his lips at the involuntary flinch Nie Mingjue gave when he twisted to respond to a question with a demonstration.

Wen Xu had advised Nie Mingjue to play up the injury, rather than try to deny or suppress it, in order to give the impression that he was nearer to his limits than he really was, a stratagem designed to reduce future injury, but Nie Mingjue had never really known how to dissemble.

He answered the questions directed at him with his tone a little short but carefully near to neutral, keeping his eyes down in what could be seen as respect. Perhaps Wen Ruohan found his little rebelliousness entertaining, but the questions didn’t seem that bad this time, and everyone was able to come up with something to satisfy him, even Nie Huaisang who grimaced and strained himself to recall the most basic concepts and Wen Ning who knew the answers but stuttered so badly in Wen Ruohan’s presence that he could barely utter them aloud.

When dinner was done, Wen Ruohan asked Nie Mingjue to touch his toes and laughed at him when he couldn’t, pushing his head down to ‘help’ his inferior flexibility and tearing the few marks the whip had torn into his skin open again as he did.

“Do better, next time,” he said, and left without demanding any other exhibition of talent.

“There’s a discussion conference coming up soon,” Wen Xu said, looking down at his mostly unfinished plate. Noodles, as always, with pork and vegetables in a sauce, pungent but not as spicy as Yunmeng, served alongside a too-thick lambs’ blood soup and delicate side dishes that were more appearance than taste; it was the usual food they got, and most of the time they all ate it quite happily. “He’ll be busy for a while, preparing for that.”

“Could you show me where the kitchens are?” Nie Mingjue asked instead of anything else. “I have the sudden desire for barbecue.”

Qinghe used more salt than Qishan and applied spices in a different fashion, focusing more on the savory meat and evoking sour flavors using vinegar; it took them the three incense sticks to teach the cooks how to prepare it, but that meant that by the time the food was ready they’d all regained their appetites.

“Aren’t there medical cuisines, too?” Wen Ning asked Wen Qing, slurping up the thick noodles that Qishan people apparently couldn’t do without but which at least were swimming in a proper soup for once. “To strengthen the muscles, replenish the blood, that sort of thing.”

“There are,” she said, looking thoughtful. “I’ll ask my teachers about it.”

“Can I come?” Nie Huaisang asked, and it was so unexpected for him to ask to take more classes that Nie Mingjue dropped the piece of meat he’d been dipping right into the sauce. “Hey, food is good! How boring can a class on food be?”

“I’m always willing to encourage your interest in things,” Nie Mingjue said, and everyone laughed at him even though he was being sincere. “I’m sure you’ll be an excellent chef someday, Huaisang, if that’s what you like.”

“You’re just calculating whether wielding a kitchen knife still counts as cultivating,” Wen Xu said with a smirk, which of course meant that Nie Mingjue held out his hands and pointed out that the Nie were butchers, after all, and that in turn made Nie Huaisang start complaining that cooking and butchering weren’t the same thing in the slightest. Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Wen Chao laughed at each of them equally, adding unhelpful comments all the while.

By the time they went to their afternoon lessons, it was as if Wen Ruohan hadn’t been there at all.

[anika-ann]

State Your Name (for the Record) - S.R.

Type: One-shot, Reader Insert, emotional H/C

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader       Word count: 5560

Summary:  For a man haunted by nightmares, waking up was an ambivalent process.

For a man in love, the pros outweighed the cons. And make no mistake, Steve Rogers was a man in love. 

In which Steve feels blue, but he can count on his girl to raise his spirits – especially since she can convince his whole team to do something nice for him.

Warnings: implied mission going not so well, angst, crying, self-doubts,  swearing ,fluff and cheesiness of the highest order

Waking up was an everyday process most people considered unpleasant.

For a man haunted by nightmares, either made up by his traumatised mind or simply by pressing re-play on one from the stack of torturous memories, the action was both relieving and exhausting.

Waking up meant the nightmares were over; waking up meant he had to pick himself up and, despite all odds, face another day, even when his body ached and his soul seemed too tired, yet determined to continue to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

For a man in love, the pros outweighed the cons. And make no mistake, Steve Rogers was a man in love.

A woman he proudly called his girlfriend was nothing less than everything he could wish for; she carried beauty in features she considered imperfect, she never failed to make him smile for at least a fraction, her laughter filled his chest with delight as it lit up the room and she was gentle and dorky to a fault. And for he was willing to give her the world, she reciprocated his feelings to full extend.

Waking up next to the woman he loved was what always won over the desire to bury his face under the covers and tell the world to let him fucking rest.

He even cherished waking up with you. Hell, if he could squeeze in a morning run between the time he got up and you did, the better. He loved pulling you from your dreamland, even when you had clearly been dreaming a sweet dream, your lips gently curled up in a smile; because every time he tenderly welcomed you in a new day, your smile would turn brighter.

Which was exactly the reason why, when he opened his eyes today and found your side of the bed – how bold of him to call it that, when you usually slept in his embrace anyway, keeping his heart warm while he did the same for your body – empty, he knew that day would downright suck.

Steve muttered a curse under his breath, running his hand down his face as he forced himself to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

You weren’t exactly a proclaimed early riser, so not only that your absence was unnerving and painful, because today more than at any other day Steve would beg for you to be there when he entered the reality, but it was also slightly disconcerting.

He tried not to read more into it and as he glanced at the clock, he knew shouldn’t – after all, he had been informed you would be gone at that time.

Still though, dark thoughts were sometimes hard to chase away. Thoughts regarding you avoiding him. He hated when he was pulling your bright spirit down, dragging you into the shadows of his world, bloody and violent, fearsome and traumatising, offering nothing but bruises, cuts, stab-wounds and shot-wounds, broken bones and broken minds.

Whenever he came back to you from a mission – a bad one, in particular – and you offered him comfort, kindness and understanding that rationally didn’t have any base since you weren’t a soldier of any kind, he questioned whether this was the last time. Whether this was the last drop into the metaphorical goblet of your patience with which it would overflow and you would finally break things off with him after a year being together, living with him for half of that time.

Steve closed his eyes, recalling your words from yesterday, ones that, at the time, fell to deaf ears.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you soothed him when he told you what had happened, how he had messed up and nearly got Natasha killed, which had resulted in Clint yelling at him for being incompetent for leading the team. “From what I hear, anyone would have made the same decision on their best conscience if they received the same intel – hell, this was the best option, they could have decided worse. You’re a great leader. And an amazing friend. The fact you’re beating yourself over something that was beyond anyone’s control only proves it. Let the guilt go.”

He had basked in your embrace and soothing voice, but the message you had been trying to send was not quite getting through, leaving him restless and feeling uneasy, drowning in self-doubt and pain.

Of course, being a bioengineer, having been the one to help developing actual painkillers and anaesthetics for him, you had also basically shoved the former down his throat because of his healing broken ribs, which caused him to sleep through your alarm and wake up at shamefully late hour.

Which meant he missed you and you had already must be on your way to France for symposium of biogenetics.

As if it wasn’t enough that he was questioning his yesterday’s decisions, his position in the team as a leader and a person to be begin with, and his life choices overall you weren’t here.

Maybe Clint was right; he might have been a captain, but in a name only. He fucked up royally and it could have cost his dear friend her life. He wasn’t what he had used to be. This century offered people much stronger, smarter and more capable than him, easily being able to replace him in the position.

His gut twisted at that idea, but perhaps this could be the time he should make space for someone else and just follow orders. Hell, he never wanted to lead in the first place! Not when he had first joined the army nearly a hundred years ago.

His sigh was the only sound in the screaming silence of the bedroom and Steve pushed himself to his feet, not surprised at all that his ribs only echoed the previous pain, and shuffled to the bathroom to have a shower.

Too sleepy and cranky to notice it earlier, he only found a sticky note – possibly having been on the mirror but peeling off because of the steam from the shower – in the bathroom sink.

Unwittingly, his lips curled up in a small smile when he recognized your messy handwriting.

Morning, Stevie. Find a little thing in our kitchen :)

Not bothering to wear more than his boxers, he obediently walked to your private kitchen. You both enjoyed breakfast with the team in the communal kitchen, but there were times you wanted some privacy, revelling in the moments you could have only for yourselves.

Kitchen? Had you managed to make him breakfast? Steve wasn’t hungry, his insides too tight for that, his mind too heavy, but he appreciated the gesture anyw-

He frowned when he found his laptop on the counter instead, a flash drive lying on top of it with another note. He wondered how could he not wake up with you moving around the apartment.

Please, play ‘PLAY ME’ video. I think it’ll be worth it. xxx

Steve found himself tilting his head to side, curious and confused. He couldn’t imagine you leaving something of a-- dirty nature for him, knowing the mood he had been in last night and yesterday in general. Sex was usually not the best way of cheering him up in such situation. As embarrassing as it might seem, he was more of a cuddler at times like these.

Not bothering with fixing himself breakfast, debating Natasha was probably still asleep in her bed in the med bay, he seated himself on the bar stool and heard out your plea.

He was not by any means ready for what was waiting for him after pressing play.

Whoever was filming was apparently not very good at it as the screen appeared to be shaking, but in the end, the device must have been placed on a steady surface and actually zoomed onto something concrete instead of showing a blur.

What surprised him more though was that it was Clint’s voice sounding from the speakers of his laptop, even before the screen showed his face.

“You for real? Do you realize what time it is…? --Oh, not as late as I thought actually. Ugh, okay. I guess that’s fair. You’re actually making this easier for me, you know that?”

Steve frowned, gulping as the voice of his teammate turned from annoyed to surprised to grateful. All of the emotions were far from what Steve had been met with yesterday’s afternoon after the mission.

The archer was seated on an empty bed in med bay, probably alone in the room (unless Steve counted the person who was filming), because there were no intrusive sounds. Steve wasn’t taken aback by the environment he found him in – after all, Clint probably spent a lot of time there, watching over his partner in both work and personal life. He fidgeted before looking directly to the camera.

“Okay. Here we go. Hey, Cap. Steve. I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have yelled at you yesterday. I was being an ass,” he admitted, the annoyance back – this time though, it looked as if the source of his indignation was Clint himself. “You know… you know Tasha’s my whole world and seeing her almost blown up… it got the best of me. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. In fact, I think I’d give the same order. So… I’m sorry.”

Steve gulped, not entirely convinced. If he was being honest, the seeds of doubts had been planted and while Clint’s apology did lift some of the weight from Steve’s shoulders, genuinely appreciated, his mood remained rather sour and gloomy.

Confusion never left him either. He was 95% percent sure you had been the one to film the apology, but the reason behind such action was escaping him. Had Clint left with you, hence apologizing like this instead of in person? That wasn’t right. Why would he go with you?

Turned out, expecting that that was it, the end of the recording, was a mistake. The recording went on and Steve only now noticed what length the timer actually showed. It would go for… several minutes, actually.

That was strange.

Clint on the screen fidgeted and took a deep breath, exchanging a look with of whom Steve assumed was you.

“The truth is, I wouldn’t trade places with you. Like, ever. The pressure we put on you must be unbearable. I think we forget about that sometimes, what a toll it has to take on you. The responsibility on your shoulders has to weigh a fucking ton. We don’t say thank you enough and when we do, you shrug it off, because that’s what you do. Because you think that’s what’s expected of you.”

Steve blinked in surprise, the words striking him right in his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. What… why would Clint say that?

“And it is, but I want to tell you we appreciate it. We do. To actually fulfil my assignment, I should phrase it differently. I appreciate your modesty, your determination and the fact I can always rely on you. Except when your lady’s around. Then you kinda get lost in-”

A terribly aimed slipper hit the archer in his shoulder and the corners of Steve’s lips automatically twitched in amusement. Oh yeah, it was definitely you behind the camera, now he was sure. Familiar warmth spread around his heart when he realized you wanted to prove him that Clint not only didn’t blame him, but appreciated him even.

What had Steve even done to deserve you?

“-ouch!” the man in the recording complained, pretending to be wounded. “What? It’s the truth—fine. You’re just- you’re great, man, alright? That’s it.”

Steve nearly went for his phone that very second, wanting to let you know how much he loved you, even though his doubts didn’t go away.

The picture changing in a sharp cut made him stop as he spotted a flash of red hair.

Natasha. She was awake. It was undoubtedly her and in a recent footage, because Steve recognized that wound on her head – and she was lying in a hospital bed.

What in the world even…?

The tension in his shoulders eased despite his heart racing. She was smirking even.

“Hey there, you righteous guilty-driven ass!” she greeted him, only to be scolded by your voice from behind the camera.

“Nat!“

“I swear I’m about to make a point!” the spy protested, raising her uninjured hand in a gesture of surrender. “So from what I understand, you’ll get this video only in the morning and by that time, you’ll have already checked up on me for three times – or four, unless you bothered to find this recording first thing after waking up – despite doctors telling you I’d be fine every time you do.”

That-- was unsurprisingly accurate. What Natasha said was true – Steve had checked up on her three times before you had talked him into finally going to bed to get some sleep and he had been thinking about stopping by first thing after finishing this video.

It was almost infuriating how much Natasha knew him, but Steve was too relieved she was awake, speaking and calling him out on his bullshit to care.

“‘cause you’re fussing, Rogers. You’re a mother hen.”

Steve sighed. She was right once more. He had been said such, multiple times. But he felt responsible for his team, for his friends and you and he had seen too many deaths in both the past and the modern times to not to fuss.

“But you know what? We bitch about it, but we love it,” Natasha announced, her smirk softening into a smile. “Let’s be honest; our team needs a babysitter. Clint and Tony are giant children with dangerous weapons, not to mention oh so mighty Thor, I admit I can get cocky just to prove myself in the sea of testosterone from all of you and Bruce… you always try to get him in, showing him that he’s worthy as both the Hulk and his human self. You’re a mother hen with giant heart and you’re baring it for us, carrying it on your sleeve and putting in into everything you do. So… keep rolling. And for god’s sake, do not visit me again.”

Terrible wink followed, very unsubtle, as if she was telling him she was only kidding, but at the same time not quite, because he was overdoing it with his mother-henning.

And Steve found himself laughing at the glint in her eyes, feeling tears forming in his own. His limbs felt strangely floaty, as did his head. He couldn’t remember receiving so much compliments and support in a very long time, certainly not from the former assassin duo.

The sensation was pleasant, but oh so unusual, he couldn’t even describe it.

Of course, the fact you had orchestrated this whole this was not helping his lovesickness. It was hard to tell whether it was day or night from the footage, when exactly you did this, but he was aware of how nervous you were about the symposium. You should have been going through your notes for your presentation (for like… the tenth time, because for all your brilliance, you were a very nervous speaker, a bit like Bruce); instead, you spent your spare time doing this, only to make Steve feel better.

And the video was far from being over.

Surely enough, the scenery changed again, the camera aimed at a computer screen this time. Steve didn’t understand until he recognized Thor, who was currently spending his time with Jane Foster in New Mexico, video-conferencing with you.

“Unbelievable,” Steve muttered under his breath, amazed.  

“What is it, lady of Captain’s?” the alien demigod asked, frowning at the screen of his own computer. “This way of communication is still confusing, why are you writing when we can talk together? …Oh.”

The blond was silent for a moment, appearing in deep thought, before smiling broadly.

“Very well. What is of the Captain’s qualities. He’s a mighty warrior. A brave man I would always follow into battle without question. Excellent leader, always having his garrison’s safety in mind-“

A sting of guilt burned at Steve’s consciousness at that.

Did he? He always tried, sure… but was it enough? Yesterday’s incident was proving the opposite, yet he had been acting in utter belief that what he had decided was for the best, confident that the risk for his teammate was minimal. That was the problem with bad intel; they never knew it was bad until something blew up in their faces, sometimes literally. He could never predict what had happened.

And with each minute of this video, Steve felt he was letting a piece of the guilt go, along with doubt.

He wasn’t stupid; he knew that precisely that was the point of this thing, but… yeah, that realization did nothing against the fact that it was working.

“Steven radiates strength, both bodily and mentally and he is a great friend of all,” Thor on the screen continued in his loud voice. “I feel blessed by the Allfather and all Gods above for I encountered him and fought side-by-side with him as well celebrated victories. I look forward for more to come, always delighted by reconnecting with him.”

By the time Bruce in his lab coat appeared (seriously, how did you manage to get a hold of everyone? Steve wasn’t sleeping for that long, though it probably helped that half of his team, if not all, were insomniacs), Steve was breathless with anticipation, greedy for hearing what others had to say, no matter how selfish it made him.

He craved comfort and since you weren’t there… you obtained a different kind of comfort for him and shit, was it working.

“Uh. I’m not good at this-”

“Try? Please?” you asked the scientist softly and Steve could imagine your soothing smile, the gentle hope and plea in your eyes. Steve could never deny you when you asked something of him like that and when you stooped even lower and used your puppy eyes, he stood no chance.

“He’s lucky to have you, you know,” Bruce noted and Steve’s smile widened when you sounded flustered at that remark.

“Bruce…”

“What? You’re an important part of him we appreciate. But I understand complimenting you isn’t the point of this. Just let me… eh. Alright. I think I got it. I’m not good at talking, but I’m gonna try,” he exclaimed, clearly determined. He wasn’t looking directly into the camera, but that didn’t steal any significance from his words.

“Steve, I hope you don’t beat yourself over what happened yesterday. I mean… I know you do, but my point is – don’t. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. You do what you believe is right and we know you long enough to know that that moral compass of yours is as important as your quick decisions in the field – right ones. But what is even more important and why I appreciate you is that… you try to see that piece of goodness in everyone. You see it in Nat, who sure made some questionable things in the past. You see through Tony’s façade and… you see good in me. You look and you see good in people – and every creature – and that’s the best thing about you. Ugh… yeah, I don’t think I can do more.”

He smiled awkwardly, fiddling with his fingers then and lowering his gaze.

It was easy to imagine what – or rather who – was coming next. Steve wasn’t confident he could take it. He had felt an uncomfortable stinging in his eyes two people back, few tears at bay, but he wanted to watch the rest.

The floating sensation overwhelmed his brain and he was honestly surprised he was still breathing, because he felt too stunned to do so. And he felt… moved. Appreciated. Cherished. Hell, he even felt the confidence he needed in the field to the exact quick decisions Bruce had mentioned slowly returning.

His team, his friends… they trusted him. They doubted him less than he doubted himself.

The picture got blurry once more, Tony’s incredulous voice crystal clear.

“So you want me to make a video equivalent of a love letter to him,” the billionaire stated sceptically and despite himself, Steve grinned.

Tony was a complicated person, but leave it to him to be sarcastic and lift the spirit in his own very specific way.

“No! That’s not- Tony. Please?”

“You know, this puppy eyes shit only works on Rogers, not-“ he wavered and Steve laughed as the recording cleared and focused on Tony’s torn expression. Oh, he was going to give in to Steve’s amazing girl, Steve could tell. “-shit. I can’t believe you’re making me do this. You’re infuriating.”

“I know,” you sing-sang as Tony sunk further into the chair in his workshop. “And thanks.”

“Fine. Hey, Capsicle.”

Steve could practically hear your eyeroll at the nickname and for a good measure, he rolled his eyes too. Capsicle. It used to irritate him more, the word Stark used the first time they met. Now it was-- Steve was only mildly annoyed when Tony called him that. There were worse names he had been called.

“Steve. I bet you know, unlike like Miss America over here, that I only give nicknames to people I like,” Tony made a point, looking at you with a smirk and Steve was sure a light-bulb appeared above his own head as he realized that… it actually made sense.

“There aren’t many of those and even less of them realize that they are part of that exclusive club. Look, I do stupid shit. I built robots for fun and to cover for the fact I couldn’t exactly fight without them, and I’m terrible with people. Fury didn’t even want me on the Avengers initiative, because I’m known for being a selfish bastard and not a team player, which you recognized within five minutes of meeting me.”

Steve felt rather bad for such an early assumption. Admittedly, he had been harsh on the man, letting the information he had received cloud his judgement and became a willing victim of prejudice. Hearing Tony self-reflecting his faults, eating the humble pie, it only proved how wrong Steve had been. Hell, Tony had turned out to be the man to make the sacrifice the very same day Steve had accused him of his inability to do so.

Which was why Tony’s next words knocked the air out of Steve’s lungs very effectively, striking his heart with deadly precision. He honestly had no idea what to do with the knowledge he obtained now.

“The thing is, your stupid blond ass is making me want to change that. I hate saying this, because I’m aware it can be used against me, but you’re my friend. I respect you and I admire you. You inspire people. I will always brag about the time I carried a nuke into a wormhole, but the truth is, as much as I liked Coulson and his death was something that brought us together, without you, I don’t think I would have done it. I will bitch about you, I will call you names, I will be an arrogant ass, because that’s who I am, but it won’t change the fact I look up to you. …‘kay. I think that I did ok-- are you crying?”

Steve shook himself, for a moment swearing Tony could see him and spoke directly to him. He quickly blinked away the few tears, shocked to his very core.

Tony… was claiming to take the risk of dying during the battle of New York, because… Steve had inspired him? What the actual-

“Shut up,” you murmured at Tony’s accusation and Steve couldn’t blame you one bit for the tears he couldn’t see. He was such a mess himself. This was too much.

What Tony had said, what you had done for him, what everyone shared through this recording--

He wanted to close the laptop shut and deal with the raging sea of emotions, the silly laugh and tears threatening to spill in waterfalls, the feeling of his heart swelling and nearly bursting in his chest, making it difficult to breathe, his head spinning-

But the video was still not over.

The scenery didn’t quite change, except the chair Tony had been sitting in was empty now, his voice sounding as he spoke from a different angle to the device.

“Come on, doc, you have to do this too, otherwise it won’t count. Do it for the old man. Should I leave so my virgin ears don’t bleed on the dirty things you-“

“Tony… shut up.”

Steve could hear your sigh and heavy hesitant steps and then you appeared in the frame, seating into the chair with a discontent frown, fidgeting nervously.

Steve thought his mouth might actually tear with how widely he was smiling now. You were adorable as the camera revealed you in all your glory – Steve’s long t-shirt you usually slept in and a pair of baggy sweatpants you wore when you were cold, as well as a light sweater thrown over your shoulders. Which, given how tired you looked, made sense, because you were always cold when you didn’t get enough sleep.

Steve hadn’t thought he could get any more touched by what you did, but seeing you now, he assessed the sacrifice you had made just to make him feel better all over again, the severity of your actions hitting him.

What you had done must have been a spontaneous action; you had actually filmed all of those things in the late night and early morning. Tired, with no make-up on yet, but smiling that nervous sweet smile, you tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. You were not looking to the camera, worrying your teeth over your lip.

“Okay, okay…. Please, look directly to the camera and state your name and date of birth for the record,” Tony encouraged you, indulging the moment your roles reversed.

“I’m not doing that,” you hissed, but then you raised your gaze and Steve’s heart stopped. Despite the exhaustion on your face, your eyes radiated warmth and tenderness. “Hey, Stevie. I guess Tony has a point for once-“

“Hey-!“

“-and since I came up with this, I should contribute. But where do I even start?” you wondered as if you truly had to wonder, as if there were too many things to point out. Steve craved having you in his arms to hug you profusely and kiss the living daylight of you for being so sweet and precious.

“And they all gave names to your qualities so well! Uhm… now, I don’t have a first-hand experience with your Avenging, so I can leave out this part of you, but there is still so much to love about you. First of all, you’re kind. Such a gentle soul, such a giver. You’ve been kicked down so many times and yet here you are, not yelling at me when I eat too much chocolate and then complain about stomach-ache and my belly being too soft-“ Steve chuckled at that, recalling way too many times that situation occurred. “I bet that watching this video, you’re still thinking I look cute instead of acknowledging I look like shit. Because you seek the beauty in everything and you love the world. It was one of the first things I noticed about you-“

“Right after his ass and muscles, no doubt mesmerized by his sky-blue eyes,“ Tony hummed from the background, effectively startling Steve who had honestly let the fact that Tony was even there slip from his mind, too lost in your love declarations.

“Fuck you, Tony. And his eyes are not sky-blue, they have a little green in them.“

“Really? Jarvis, show me a good picture…”

“Anyway. You give so much and don’t ask anything in return. Sometimes I can see how much you want to, but you never do. It’s like you don’t expect to get it anyway, not even the little things. As if you didn’t deserve it. Newsflash, Stevie, you do. You deserve the world. I wish I could give it to you…”

Oh, you’re doing that, sweetheart, Steve wished to tell you, but even if he had you on the phone at the moment, he wouldn’t be able to say a word with his throat constricted with the overwhelming emotions.

“And the world itself won’t come crushing down over a mistake that wasn’t even in your power to avoid and it won’t break down if you take a breath and relax. I always think I’m on the right way to convince you about that, but then you shy away from it. You matter, Stevie. You, Steven Grant Rogers, matter so much. Everyone pointed out at least one thing about you and not the Captain and that’s not a coincidence. Despite everything, you’re only human, we remember that and we all love you for it.”

“Some more than others…” Tony interrupted again, his voice carrying a hoarseness as if he was affected by your speech as well. You pointedly ignored him.

“Don’t forget that. I have it from a good source that a guy once told you that everything special about you came from a bottle. We both know that’s a load of bullshit. Even Doctor Erskine recognized how special you were and decided to choose you. Good becomes great, you told me he said. Well, sure. It just needed an opportunity to show. Let’s be honest, I have no doubt that your stubbornness and other tiny flaws amplified too, because you’re unbelievable sometimes, but that’s okay. In the end, you’re the best man I have ever met and I am lucky and feel proud to be called yours. I love you, Stevie. So much,” your voice lowered to a whisper and with a tight smile, you lightly kissed your fingers and nearly touched the lens of the camera.

Steve choked on a watery laugh. You really were too cute for words. A brilliant scientist, one of the most intelligent women the world knew, and here you were being adorable and utterly devoted to him.

Christ, he didn’t deserve you.

“Stupid allergies…” Tony complained, fooling no one as his voice came out scratchy from the lump that no doubt formed in his throat. “You done?”

To Steve’s utter surprise, you shook your head, drying a stray tear that escaped your eyes as well, but the corners of your lips twitched in attempted smile.

“Just a sec. I’m sorry, I want to edit this video more, cut some parts out, but I’ll probably run out of time and I want you to have it in the morning. It’s a bit messy, but I hope with all my heart that you received the message loud and clear.” You have no idea. “Also, sorry for the killer dose of painkillers and sneaking out without a goodbye. I’d be pissed if you did that to me, so… you know, sorry. I promise to make it up to you when I’m back-”

“Ouch, ouch! That’s what I was talking about, I did not want to hear that! I’m scarred for life!” Tony howled dramatically and Steve didn’t even had energy to roll his eyes. He was a complete mess.

“Tony? You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re too good to be true, doc. I think you gotta get on the plane in like thirty minutes, so-“

A look of utter shock and horror appeared on your face and you jumped from the chair with admirable energy for such an early hour and the all-nighter you pulled. “Shit, shit shit-- I’m not gonna edit it at all then, dammit-“

“Nah, I bet it’s better without it, more authentic. Go write a note or something equally sickeningly sweet that you romantics do-”

“Turn it off, you goof!” you giggled, reaching for the camera and the screen went black as if on command.

Steve sat on the bar stool for several minutes, staring on the screen absently, grinning and feeling… so indescribably loved he couldn’t quite contain it.

What you had done-

Feeling like an idiot for not doing it earlier, he sprang towards the bedroom to get his phone, typing a message to you. If he remembered correctly, you might still be on your way, but sometimes it was hard to tell with Tony’s inventions.

S: Have a safe flight and nice stay, sweetheart. You’ll rock. x

S: And thank you for what you’ve done. I don’t deserve you.

His heart skipped a beat when the phone chimed in response almost instantly.

♥: Clearly, you weren’t paying enough attention when watching. Go play it again, Stevie.

He grinned. Apparently, despite the lack of sleep and the nerves he had seen every time you had thought of your presentation, you were fine.

His heart felt too big for his ribcage, squishing his lungs as it grew in size, barely being able to let out a laugh.

S: I did!

S: Correction then: thank you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ll always be grateful for you and I love you more than anything.

This time, he expected the early comeback.

♥: Love you too. Miss you already! xxx

Steve set the phone down with a goofy smile plastered over his face and went to watch the video again – the part with you anyway.

He could go and check on Natasha later. After all, she told him not to do that again anyway.

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

S.R. masterlist

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

I should be posting Errare Humanum Est and Attached, but I was feeling a bit down and overwhelmed with schoolwork, so I dusted off this baby for you. I hope you enjoyed :-*

Steve deserves some love from his girl and from his teammates. I actually considered writing this with few alternations so it was Peter doing the video (as a non-relationship kind of thing), but I guess this is even sweeter... in a romantic way anyway.

Thank you for reading!

[hasishtardoneanythingwrong]

I Could Take Ishtar

"Urgh....Val? What time is it..."

"You don't want to know. Come on, you said you wanted to come to the gym with me next time I went, didn't you?"

Ishtar rolled out of bed, looking almost dead on her feet. Her disheveled look only enhanced the dead-eyed stare at the clock she picked up from her nightstand.

"...It's 3am. You're kidding. This is a joke, you're going to laugh at me, and then we're crawling back in my bed, right?"

"Nope. This is prime time for the gym if you don't want to deal with the Beef Squad."

"...Beef...?"

"Yeah. Look, Napoleon's a great dude, but he's a bit too inspirational? 'Nothing is impossible' is great for missions, not so great about insisting on giving me more weight. Leonidas isn't much better, Spartan Way and all that. Bloodaxe and Fergus try to rein them in, but he can only do so much, y'know? Easier to just work out when nobody is around."

"...So you get up early just to get the gym to yourself?"

"Well, only if you're not coming. Though it's more that I just haven't gone to sleep yet."

"...Val, you are insane. You need to sleep or you'll hurt yourself."

"It'll be a quick one, okay? It's not like this is every night or something, it'll be fine!"

"...Fine, I'm coming, but just to make sure you don't pass out and crush yourself or something."

---

Blinking, Val was at a loss for words.

"What, is there something on my face?"

"Uhh..."

Val had not expected Ishtar to dress for the occasion, and found herself more than a bit stunned. Technically it was less revealing than her typical outfit, but something about sports bras and yoga pants just worked, highlighting her beautifully toned body.

"...So where are you starting?"

"...Right, uh... Stretching! Need to warm up!"

Ishtar quirked an eye.

"Okay, sure. Let's do that then."

Guiding Ishtar through stretching was objectively the correct start to the workout. Unfortunately, it also meant that Val quickly found herself very distracted, focusing more on watching Ishtar than focusing on her form. That set the tone for the workout, with each prompt from her partner left her stumbling to remember what she should be doing next, only to pick something that would keep leaving her distracted.

Eventually, enough was enough. Even if she would have liked to do more, Val could tell she wasn't going to actually accomplish much. She was probably just too damn tired to focus on why she was here in the first place. She walked back to Ishtar's room, and was about to wish her a good night when she was yanked inside by her wrist.

"Nu-uh, you're not just walking away now. You think I didn't see you?"

Val felt her face heat up, and was intensely glad that the room was still dark.

"Now, I understand. My divine beauty is just too much to ignore at times. So here's what you're going to do. Instead of sneaking a look at me like you're afraid I'm going to find out, you are going to worship me properly."

Ishtar silenced Val with a finger on the lips before she could even begin to respond, a hungry look in her eye. Val felt like cornered prey. She stepped in close enough to whisper, hoping to earn herself some mercy.

"As you wish, my goddess."

Though the room was still dark, Val could practically feel Ishtar blushing. Oh, that wasn't what she expected.

"Y-yes, that's right!" But I, uh, I won't accept a poor performance, so you need to, um, make sure you're in top form! Right! So..."

With that, Ishtar stopped fumbling around and dragged Val into her bed. With a soft, sweet whisper, Ishtar curled in close.

"Rest up, dear, you're going to have a Very. Busy. Morning♡."

...Small blessings, at least.

---

A/N: @hasereshdoneanythingwrong wanted more Ishtar gym fluff. Hopefully this suffices!

tagging @hasquetzdoneanythingwrong, @hasabbydoneanythingwrong @hasbbdoneanythingwrong @hasjalterdoneanythingwrong @hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong aaaa i’m forgetting who all wants tagging.

[literaltrashforeverything]

m. osamu | good enough

》 miya osamu x fem!reader

↠ warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), soft sex, mentions of insecurity, slight blood warning

↠ word count: 6,519

↠ a/n: Putting some of my works from Ao3 onto Tumblr so if you see this on Archive don’t be alarmed lmao.  This is one of my personal favorite things I’ve written so I really hope it gets some attention :)

           “They’d make such a perfect couple.”

           “They’re both in love with volleyball and athletics, how could they not be in love?”

           “He’d be perfect for her.”

           “They’re like a match made in heaven.”

           Osamu almost agreed to every word the people around him spoke.  He listened with a forced smile as they babbled on about how perfect of a couple they’d make.  He wasn’t really a part of the conversation, but they spoke so loudly that he could hear every word.

           He wished he could suddenly go deaf the more and more they babbled on.

           “What about the other one?”

           “You mean his twin?  Oh, no, that’d never work out.”

           “Why not?”

           “Well. . . he just opened that restaurant and that’s just not the type of guy that would be good for her.”

           Osamu clenched his fists.  They must not know he’s here, or at least that he’s able to hear them.  Their families had always gossiped, even when they were three young children barely able to walk.

           Why wasn’t he good enough for you?  What made him any worse than Atsumu?

           He didn’t really want an answer, but he still got one.

           “You know. . . she needs to stay fit for volleyball. Besides, it’ll look better for her career if she’s with another volleyball player.”

           “Osamu is pretty fit.  He used to play volleyball.”

           “I know but he’s just. . . well, with that new restaurant opened it’s only a matter of time before he’ll start gaining weight.  Don’t you know how much that boy eats? He can’t keep all that weight away now that he’s out of volleyball.”

           “I guess that’s true. . .”

           Their words played on repeat in his head over and over every time he found himself in the gym, lifting weights.  He panted, arms trembling a bit as he worked on bench presses.  He was determined, and he refused to let himself gain the weight they said he would.

           Atsumu stared down at his counterpart, one brow raised.  He was spotting for him, but Osamu looked angry and he was paranoid it was his fault.

           “What’s with that look, ‘Samu?” he asked.

           “Nothin’.  I don’t have a look,” snapped Osamu.

           He knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on his brother. Atsumu never made any moves on you, not anything beyond the realm of being best friends.  Atsumu was an idiot, sure, but he knew when his brother was in love with someone.  He never mentioned it to Osamu, but they both knew.  You were off limits to ‘Tsumu, and neither of them were sure if ‘Samu was ever going to gather the courage to make a move on the girl he’d loved since childhood.

           Osamu’s biceps flexed as he pushed the weight up again. Atsumu was quick to recognize the signs of exhaustion.  Osamu had been at it for a while, pushing himself more than he usually did.

           Atsumu grabbed the weight from him and set it on the holder. Osamu’s grey eyes snapped up to him.

           “What the hell, ‘Tsumu?!” he sat up and glared at his twin.

           “One more press and you’d have dropped it on yer head,” Atsumu scoffed, “what the hell is yer problem?”

           Osamu clenched his fists.  He got up and grabbed his towel and water bottle.  To his annoyance, his brother followed him.  He completely disregarded his question and wiped some of the sweat from his face.  He took a glance down at his stomach, then flexed a little to check his arms.

           “Someone call ya fat or somethin’?” Atsumu questioned.

           “Shut up,” Osamu grumbled, “I’m not fat.”

           Atsumu didn’t like how quickly his brother defended himself. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Osamu move to another machine.  He trailed after his twin and continued pushing.

           “Seriously, tell me what yer problem is—”

           “You’re my problem, Atsumu!” Osamu snapped.

           Instantly, Atsumu stopped pressing it.  They hardly ever called each other by their actual names unless it was something serious.  Clearly, his brother was really, genuinely upset.

           “Me?  What the hell did I do?”

           “Yer just so friggin’ perfect!  Mister fuckin’ perfect over here can get any girl he wants! What the hell to you got that I don’t?! We look exactly the same!  I exercise!  I ain’t fat and I don’t overeat jus’ cause I opened my own goddamn restaurant!  Why the hell am I the ‘other twin’?!  Why is it Atsumu an’ the other one?  Why ain’t it just Atsumu and Osamu?!  What the hell do I got that makes me inferior to ya?!”

           Osamu panted as he finished his rant, grey eyes glaring daggers into his shocked blond counterpart.  Atsumu didn’t know what to say.  Had people really been convincing his brother that he wasn’t good enough? That Atsumu was the better twin?

           Atsumu made plenty of jokes about being better, but he never actually believed them.  To him, Osamu was the better of the two.  Osamu knew it too.  He knew that if Atsumu had actually heard what people said, then he’d be the first one to stand up for him.  Atsumu would beat the hell outta someone talking shit about his twin brother, and Osamu knew it.

           And he still snapped it him. . .

           “Who told ya all that shit?” Atsumu muttered.

           “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” Osamu got up, shoving past his brother and heading to the locker room.  He could barely stand the sight of Atsumu.

           “You know that shit isn’t true!” Atsumu grabbed the back of Osamu’s black t-shirt.

           Osamu instantly recoiled.  He shoved Atsumu off him with as much strength as he could muster up, which, frankly, was a lot.  He glared at his twin and adjusted his shirt.  Atsumu glared back with the same amount of anger and his fists clenched.

           “Guys?  What happened?”

           Both boys whirled around to face you.  You stood not far from them, dressed in shorts and a tank top. Osamu couldn’t help but stare.  No matter how many times he saw you, even after all these years, you were still so beautiful to him.

           “’Samu’s being a fuckin’ prick is what happened,” Atsumu scoffed. “Said somethin’ about—”

           Osamu has never punched his brother so hard in his life. It was an impulse move, a bad one.  It wasn’t even the type of thing Atsumu would do, which made the dark-haired twin feel absolutely ashamed.

           He flicked his wrist, heaving as he stared at Atsumu who was on the ground covering his face.  You were kneeled beside him, panicking.  Other people in the gym noticed the commotion and came running over. Osamu clenched his fists, then stormed to the locker room without glancing back.

           He felt like the scum of the earth.

           He’d never changed so fast in his life.  He didn’t even bother to shower.  Osamu just grabbed his things and left.  He fumbled with his keys, grumbling under his breath.  He unlocked the door and pulled it open.

           Only for a hand to slam it closed.

           Osamu looked at you, who stood beside him looking furious. He gulped a little.

           “(Y/n)—”

           “What the hell was that, Osamu!?”

           Uh oh.  No nickname. He really was in trouble, and he deserved it, he knows he does.  You didn’t wait for an answer before you were continuing.  He just watched you pace.

           “You almost broke ‘Tsumu’s nose!  What the hell was your fight about that you punched him out of the blue like that and in public!  You and him have an image to uphold, ‘Samu!  Not only that, but you’ve been acting so weird lately!  It’s like you’re distancing yourself!  You’re always at the gym working out, you barely eat anymore, and now you’re beating Atsumu up in the middle of a gym!  And I don’t want any excuses!  I want the truth, Osamu!  Did something happen when we went back to Hyogo last week to see our families?  Don’t lie to me!”

           You were breathless when you finished talking, and staring up at his face with narrowed eyes.

           You knew the Miya twins better than anyone.  You’d been with them since the three of you were kids. You were their next door neighbor, and when your mother and theirs had become friends, so did you and the two boys.

           You were by their side through it all.  From the day they fell in love with volleyball (thus dragging you into it), to when you three attended Inarizaki, up to now with you and Atsumu being pro volleyball players and Osamu owning his own restaurant.  

           You were so proud of them both, and it was obvious that Osamu wasn’t proud of himself.

           Now that you called him out on all his bullshit, Osamu was completely embarrassed.  Luckily for him, he was really good at hiding his embarrassment.  Still, he felt stupid.  He didn’t think you’d notice.  You were busy with volleyball, just like Atsumu, so he never expected you to see that part of him.

           “You noticed all that?” he asked, gulping.

           “Of course I did, you idiot!” you smacked him on the side of the head.

           Osamu rubbed the side of his head, sighing.  He leaned back against his car and crossed his arms over his chest.  You stared at him, waiting for an answer.  He had to hold himself back from laughing, both at himself and you.

           You were probably the only person who had the guts to yell at him and his brother.  It’s not like girls commonly yelled at two 6’3 and very muscular guys.

           “I just. . .” Osamu sighed. “Well. . . yer mom said some things.”

           “My mom?  What the hell did she say?”

           Osamu felt stupider with every word he said.  He was walking a fine line.  He was on a tightrope of whether or not to confess his long-time feelings for you.  It would be easier to lie and say your mom thought volleyball was better than the food business.  Besides, you’d see right through it.  He’s not a good liar, he knows it, and he especially can’t lie to you when all you’d asked for was his honesty.

           Osamu averted his eyes.  He rubbed the back of his neck.

           “Well, uh, she said I wasn’t good enough for ya.  She said you and ‘Tsumu would be better because ya both play volleyball,” he confessed.

           It pissed him off just to say it out loud.  It made that insecurity bubble up again in his chest.

           “’Tsumu and I would be. . . better?  For what?”

           Osamu sometimes hated how clueless you could be.

           “She’s been wantin’ you and him to get together fer a long time, (Y/n),” he sighed, “she doesn’t want a guy like me steppin’ between you and my brother getting in a relationship.”

           Before he knew it, he was babbling.

           “Can’t even blame her.  Who’d want to date a guy like me?  Yer a volleyball player, yer athletic, ya need to stay healthy.  I’m not even playin’ sports anymore.  All I do is cook food and stuff my mouth full. I just. . . I didn’t wanna get fat like she said.  I didn’t wanna embarrass ya just in case I—”

           He stopped and shut his mouth.  You stepped forward, placing your hand on his arm.

           “. . . in case you what, ‘Samu?”

           Osamu turned to look at you.  You were close to him now, looking like the prettiest damn thing he’s ever laid eyes on.  You have always been so pretty to him and he’s so in love with every aspect of you that it hurts.

           He mustered up his courage and swallowed the lump of nervousness that’d built up in his throat.  He reached up to cup your cheek.

           “In case I ever got the courage to tell ya I’m in love with ya. . .” he muttered.

           Osamu loved the way your breath hitched.  He wanted to kiss you, he wanted to pull you against his body and taste you.  He wanted to do all the things he’d been afraid of doing, the things he was still afraid of doing.

           “’Samu, I-“

           “HEY DIPSHIT!”

           Osamu lurched his whole body away from yours.  He looked up to see his twin brother running at him. He choked on air, turning to dodge but ‘Tsumu was faster.  His foot collided with the back of his head and sent Osamu down to the ground.  He groaned loudly, gripping his head.

           “Fuuuck.”

           “That’s fer bein’ a fuckin’ asshole and almost breaking my nose!” Atsumu kicked him in the rib, and for once, Osamu took it because he knew he deserved it. “Next time I’ll break YOUR nose, ya fat prick!”

           “I am not fat!” Osamu snapped, glaring at Atsumu.

           No kidding about his nose.  It was bruised and he had two bloody wads of paper stuffed up in his nostrils.  His eyes were red and he was obviously in pain.  Osamu felt extremely guilty.  Atsumu gave him another solid kick to the ribs, before stubbornly holding out his hand for his twin.  He hesitantly accepted and let the blond pull him to his feet.

           You watched them, tiredly rubbing your temple.  It’s hard to believe that these two are actual adults.

           “Are you two done making each other ugly?” you asked, rubbing your temple.

           Atsumu scoffed.  He threw an arm around your neck and ruffled your hair.  You whined, punching his stomach to force him to let go.

           “Knock it off, ‘Tsumu!”

           “Not until a admit we’re not ugly.”

           “Never!”

           “Admit it, brat!”

           Osamu ran a hand through his tangled, dark hair.  He watched you and Atsumu, jealousy tugging at him to the core.  Like he always did, he put on a fake smile and leaned on his car.

           “I should go,” he said.

           You and Atsumu turned to him.

           “Wait, ‘Samu—”

           “Don’t worry ‘bout it.  I’ll see ya later, (Y/n).  And uh. . . ‘Tsumu,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m sorry.”

           Osamu didn’t wait for an answer before he got into his car and left.  You and Atsumu watched him go.  The blond released you with a long, annoyed sigh.  He ran a hand through his hair.

           “What’a scrub.  I can’t believe he thinks he’s not good enough. . .” he muttered.

           You looked down at your feet, fists clenched at your sides. Osamu looked sad, distant.  He looked like he wasn’t content with his life and now you knew why.  He felt like he was inferior to his twin.  You felt like you should have recognized it, but you always loved him for just being. . . Osamu.  You didn’t compare him to Atsumu, not ever.  To you they were separate.  They weren’t just the twins.  They were Atsumu and Osamu, separate.  Because of your own view on them, you didn’t even recognize Osamu’s insecurity.

           You wondered how long it’d been there.

           “Atsumu. . . he. . . Osamu said he loves me,” you muttered to your best friend, “and I love him back but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for me.”

           “Wait, he finally told ya?”

           You looked up at him. “W-What do you mean ‘finally’?  How long has he felt like that?”

           Like a vice, Atsumu zipped his trap.  He raised his hand in mock surrender and turned away to make his way back to the gym.  You went after him.  You grabbed the back of his t-shirt and tugged.

           “’Tsumu, tell me!”

           “Just go ask ‘im yerself!” he protested, dragging you along as he continued walking.

           “What if he won’t answer me!?”

           Atsumu stopped.  He turned around and looked you dead in the eyes.

           “He will.  He won’t lie to you.”

           Osamu sighed as he entered his apartment.  It was down the block from his restaurant and honestly, he was wishing he went there instead.  It felt more like home sometimes.  He tossed his keys lazily on the coffee table, then kicked off his shoes and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.

           He couldn’t believe he actually told you he loved you then left you there with the guy who’d been his competition for his whole life. What if you liked ‘Tsumu?  What if you were like your mom and you thought the same way?

           He grumbled, standing beneath the hot water of the shower as his thoughts ran rampant.  He felt like a lovesick idiot.  He was a grown ass adult and here he was acting like a lovesick teenager.

           Osamu got out of the shower and got dressed.  He didn’t even bother to dry his hair.  He just glanced at it in the mirror, remembering back to a time when he used to dye it grey.  Now it’d grown out to it’s natural dark brown color.

           With a sigh, he headed to the kitchen to get started on his dinner.  He’d barely pulled out the ingredients before he heard loud knocking at the door.

           “I swear, if it’s Tsumu. . .” he grumbled, wiping his hands on his pants, before going to answer.

           He was not expecting to see you standing on the other side of the door when he opened it.  You jumped forward, practically leaping onto him and wrapping your arms around his neck.  He quickly caught you in his arms, stumbling back a little.

           “W-What the hell are ya doin’ here?” he sputtered.

           You clung onto him like a koala, legs wrapping around his waist while your hands clung onto the back of his Onigiri Miya t-shirt.  He kicked the door shut and brought you to his couch.  You didn’t let go of him until he sat down with you planted right on his lap.

           Your arms released him in favor of cupping both his chubby, red cheeks.  He stared at you with confused grey eyes.

           “How long?” you asked.

           His face went blank. “Huh?”

           “How long have you been in love with me?  ‘Tsumu said you ‘finally confessed’ like you’ve known for a while.” you explained.

           Osamu decided that the next time he saw his twin, he really was going to break his nose.  That damn bastard can never keep his mouth shut. . . He cleared his throat and awkwardly averted his gaze.

           “Ya seriously came all the way to my place to ask me how long I’ve been in love with ya?”

           “Well. . . yes. . .”

           He sighed and chuckled a little. “Wow.”

           “Shut up and tell me.”

           Osamu knew there was no getting out of this one.  He laid his arms over the back of the couch and looked at you.  You looked. . . hopeful?  Excited? He wasn’t even sure what emotion could be used to describe the expression on your face.

           “Probably since middle school,” he confessed.

           He sounded a lot more relaxed than he really felt.  Finally saying it out loud made his heart hammer in his ears, but it also lifted a weight off his shoulders that he didn’t even realize was there.  He didn’t realize the impact of hiding his feelings for all these years and regretted not saying something sooner.

           “M-Middle school?” your eyes were wide. “’Samu, why didn’t you—”

           “Say something?” he sighed. “Because you and ‘Tsumu would have made a better couple.”

           Your eyes widened even more.  Osamu ran a hand through his hair.

           “Ya guys both love volleyball way more than me.  Plus yer both just. . . well, fuckin’ perfect.  I never fit in that equation so I kept my trap shut.”

           Osamu winced when your hands slapped both of his cheeks. He grabbed your wrists lightly.

           “Hey, would ya quit slappin’ me?”

           “No, because you’re an idiot!” you snapped.

           “. . . huh. . .?”

           “You’re perfect, Osamu!  You’re amazing and you’re perfect to me!” you stared him dead in the eyes as you ranted. “You’re not inferior to Atsumu.  Just because you didn’t stick with volleyball doesn’t make you less than us! You love making food, you love it! We would never blame you for doing what you love to do!”

           Osamu was stunned, watching tears pool in your eyes as you continued.  Your arms went slack in his hands where he was holding your wrists.  You hunched forward, laying your head on his chest.

           “I’m in love with you too, ‘Samu.  You’re amazing in every way and you’re so handsome. . . I love you—I’ve loved you for years. . .”

           You fell a silent, letting your words hang in the air for him to process.  He could barely breathe.  His heart was hammering and he felt like he was floating.  You. . . love him?  You’ve been in love with him for years?

           Osamu let go of your wrists and grabbed your jaw, making you look at him.  He was acting entirely on impulse as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You were stunned for a moment, before returning the kiss.  His lips were warm and made your head spin as they moved against yours with a passion.

           One arm wrapped around his neck to bring him closer against you.  He caught your other hand with his and entwined your fingers.  His hand was big in yours and you were reminded how much bigger and stronger Osamu was, and yet he still managed to be the softest person you knew.

           His tongue swept across your bottom lip, begging for entrance. He wanted to taste all of you.  He didn’t want this to end.

           You parted your lips.  His hand squeezed yours as your tongues danced in a fight for dominance. Naturally, he won, and took his prize by pulling you closer against him.  You could feel his growing bulge press against your crotch.  A small moan left your lips.  You grinded against him, throwing your head back and exposing your neck to his hungry eyes.  Instantly, he was on you, lips attacking the soft skin of your neck.  He was soft with each kiss he placed on your flesh.  He didn’t leave any marks, no matter how much he wanted to.

           “S-Samu,” you moaned, tangling your fingers in his dark hair and tugging lightly.

           He’d be lying if he said he never imagined hearing you moan his name.  Hearing it now sent his heart soaring.

           Osamu grabbed you, holding you under your thighs as he stood up and began making his way to his bedroom.  You clung to his broad shoulders, peppering kisses along his neck as he walked.

           He laid you back on his bed.  You reached to him to pull him back to you.  He slipped off his shirt, before joining you in bed.  You let your hands trail down his chest and stomach.  He was muscular, built from years of volleyball and now from constant exercise. You loved the way he looked, but you felt bad that he’d been pushing himself so far just because he was worried he wasn’t good enough for you. . .

           The pads of your fingers brushed over the dark patch of hair that trailed into his pants.  Your cheeks instantly flushed and you pulled your hand back like he’d burned you.

           Osamu just chuckled a little.  He crawled over you, pressing his lips against yours and holding his weight up on his arms.  You held his cheeks, savoring the taste of him while he all but stole the air from your lungs.

           His lips parted from yours and began peppering kisses down your neck.  You tangled your fingers in his dark hair.  It’s so soft compared to the dyed version back in high school.  He left soft kisses over your clothes chest all the way down to your waist where his hands slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt. You lifted your back off the bed as he began slipping it off your body.

           It’s funny. . . you can’t remember the last time you were embarrassed in front of Osamu.  But now, with him staring down at your body, you could feel embarrassment seeping in. It’s hard to believe someone as attractive as him, best friend or not, would ever be in love with you.  He didn’t even know how amazing he was.

           “Fuck. . .” he muttered, running his hands over your sides. “Yer so damn pretty.”

           You sat up, pressing your lips to his.  You didn’t let the embarrassment set in, and before you knew it, you were pulling off your bra.  Osamu watched your breasts spill from the undergarment, his eyes shining.

           He felt like a virgin all over again when his hands snapped up to cup them.  You were on another level, so perfect and pretty and all for him.  A possessive side he didn’t know he had kicked in and he imagined being the last man on earth to see this.  He wanted to be with you forever.

           Osamu groaned when he felt your hand brush over his bulge.  He was grateful when you unzipped his pants.  He helped you shimmy them off his long legs, kicking them aside somewhere with the rest of your clothing.  He wasn’t satisfied.  He wanted you naked.  He wanted to see all of you.  He wanted it all and for once he was content with being greedy like his brother.

           His hands fervently tugged the shorts off your legs and threw them aside with more strength than he intended.  He ran his hands along your soft legs, admiring them. He had plenty of chances to admire them when you were in shorts on the court, and he couldn’t help but get a little possessive.

           “Osamu,” you murmured, snapping him from his daze.

           You held his jaw and turned his head toward you.  It felt like a dream when your lips were against his again.  He savored the way your hands ran over his chest.  You pushed him down on his back and shifted yourself so you were straddling him.

           His big hands naturally found themselves on your hips. He gulped, watching you pepper kisses down his chest and abs.  You looked anxious as your fingers delicately hooked on the waistband of his boxers. He lifted his hips off the bed as you tugged them off his legs.  He squeezed your lips and let out a small sigh of relief, no longer feeling constricted.

           Still, he was embarrassed to have you seeing him so exposed.

           You cautiously wrapped your hand around the base of his cock. His fingers dug into your skin as you pumped his length.  He couldn’t help but smirk a little because he could tell you were nervous.  At least he wasn’t self-conscious about that department.

           “(Y/n),” he spoke. “Don’t feel pressured.”

           You could practically melt at the sound of his voice in that moment.  It was deepy, raspy.  It was beautiful, just like everything about him.  You wanted to do this.  You wanted to prove that he was good enough for you.  Too good for you, even.

           Instead of answering, you leaned down.  You peppered soft kisses along his shaft.  His breath hitched.  He watched your lips wrap around his tip.  You bobbed your head slowly, savoring the taste and weight of him in your mouth.  Osamu groaned with each pump, throwing his head back into the pillows.  Even so, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.  You were so goddamn pretty.  So fucking perfect and he was on top of the world.

           And, for the first time in almost his whole life, he felt worthy.

           You were so soft.  Everything about you was soft.  Your lips, your words, your skin, your mind.  He wanted to take it all for himself and never share it with anyone. He wanted to be the last guy in your life because he wanted you with him forever.

           He sucked in a breath as he watched you go down on him. Just watching you made it difficult for him to hold himself back.  He would come too soon if you kept on, and that was the last thing he wanted.

           Osamu sat up, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you off him.  You looked at him with flushed cheeks.  He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, brushing away the saliva.  You were breathtaking, even now, and Osamu Miya was so entirely in love.

           He pushed you back on the bed, resisting the urge to kiss you so he could pull off your last article of clothing.  Even such a small piece made all the difference to him.  He couldn’t believe this was you.  This was the same girl he’d known since his childhood.  The same one who used to bathe with him and Atsumu when they were almost too young to remember.

           “Fuck,” he breathed, “yer the prettiest goddamn thing.”

           Warmth swelled in your chest.  You couldn’t resist reaching up to wrap your arms around him.  Your lips were against his in a haste, moving and tongues entwining.  His hands roamed the expanse of your thighs, pushing them apart enough for his hips to fit between them.

           He brushed his hand over your folds, swiping a finger through them to gather up your fluid.  You moaned into his open mouth, and he drank it in like you were the last drop of water in a desert.  The sounds you made were equally as pretty as you are.  He slipped a finger into you, pumping slowly.  Your back arched off the bed from the minor stretch. You threw your head back and bit your swollen bottom lip.

           “’Samu,” you moaned.

           Fuck, if he wasn’t in love with the sound of his name on your lips.

           “Say my name,” he mumbled, leaning down to press kisses into your jawline, “say it.”

           He needed to hear it.  He wanted to hear it.  If he had a choice, he’d want you to be the only person who ever got to say his name from this moment forward.

           “Osamu, please,” you begged. “I need you.”

           He pulled his hand away.  You breathed heavily, chest heaving as his hips fit easily between your open thighs.  He fit perfectly, like a puzzle piece you always needed.  He lined the tip of his cock with your soaked entrance, gathering up your essence, before beginning to press in.

           You back arched off the bed as he stretched you. He groaned deeply, lips crashing onto yours while his hands shot down to hold onto yours.  He pressed them into the mattress at either side of your head, fingers entwining with yours and you’ve never felt so safe.  Osamu was the definition of safe, you had no doubt.

           You kissed him sloppily as his hips finally pressed against yours and he was fully inside you.  He was warm, big.  He felt so perfect.  To him, you were perfect. You took him so well and he could feel the way his chest swelled with pride.

           “Osamu, more,” you begged, squeezing his hands.

           He pulled his hips back, before bringing them back to yours.  Every thrust was slow, but hard.  He loved the way you sang his name.  Normally, he was quiet during sex but for you he supposed he could sing a little.  It was hard not to.

           “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned, “yer so fucking perfect.  I’m so in love with ya.  I want more, I want all of ya.”

           “Y-Yours, ‘Samu!  I’m yours!” you cried for him, clinging onto his every move.

           He wanted to kiss you so bad but he wanted to hear your sounds more.  He wanted to keep admiring the beautiful faces you made for him as you moaned his name and let him fuck you like a man driven wild by love.

           “Yer my pretty girl—fuck—I’m so fuckin’ lucky. How’d I get so goddamn lucky?” he panted.

           One of his hands released yours and moved to hold your jaw.  The temptation became too much.  His lips were pressed into yours while his hips snapped into yours.  He kept the same pace, wanting to drag this moment out for as long as possible because part of him was terrified it would never happen again.  Part of him still wasn’t sure if this was a dream or reality.

           He’d savor it no matter what.

           Osamu groaned at the feeling of your nails scraping down his back.  His hips snapped forward harshly, resulting in a squeak from you that he quickly swallowed as he pulled you into another kiss.  His other hand released yours to move down between your legs and rub your clit. You were screaming for him, begging for more and he wasn’t the type of man to ignore what you want.

           He picked up his pace, breathing heavily. You were close, he could feel it with the way your walls squeezed around his cock.  He was close too.

           “Shit, shit, shit!” he panted.

           “Fuck!  ‘Samu, I’m so close!” your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging rather harshly that resulted in another harsh snap of his hips.

           “Come on, fucking let go for me, baby girl,” he groaned.

           Your whole body trembled when he brought you over the edge.  He hissed a little, continuing to snap his hips at a faster pace than before.  He was chasing his own high as you screamed in euphoria for Osamu.

           The arms holding up his weight flexed and wobbled as he finally reached his high.  Your legs were tight around his hips, not letting him slip out as he came.  He breathed heavily, giving slow thrusts as he came down. You whimpered a little with oversensitivity.  He stopped, now just staring down at your face.

           You and him just stared at one another, breathing heavily.  A droplet of sweat slid down the bridge of his nose and dropped down onto your collarbone. You reached up, arms wobbly, and pushed his dark hair from his face.  You could feel his own arms wobbling as he struggled to hold up his weight.  He was exhausted, both from the gym and from this.

           “It’s okay, ‘Samu,” you murmured.

           He let out a long breath, before falling on top of you.  You giggled a little despite his weight crushing you a bit.  He rolled over before he could suffocate you.  You rolled over, resting your head on his bicep as his fingers played with your hair.  You ran your hands over his chest, still breathless but this time it was because of how totally in love with Osamu Miya you are.

           “I love you,” he spoke first.

           You smiled, looking at his face. “I love you too.”

           A soft silence settled in the room.  You shut your eyes, cuddling up against Osamu’s side.  No official question was asked, even though it was itching at the tip of his tongue, but you both knew who you belonged to.  He took pride in being yours, but had even more pride in the fact that you were his.

           “Are ya hungry?” he blurted suddenly, feeling a weird need to make sure you were fed and hydrated.

           You yawned a little. “Yeah, I’m pretty hungry and your cooking is always the best, Samu.”

           He chuckled a little.  He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.  He came back with a washcloth and got you and himself cleaned up.  He lazily tossed it aside into the far corner of his room. You grumbled and got out of his bed. With wobbly legs, you slipped on your panties along with the Onigiri Miya shirt he’d been wearing earlier.  He threw on some sweats and a different t-shirt.

           Once dressed, the two of you walked to the kitchen hand-in-hand.

           “Hey.  Have fun?”

           You and Osamu froze in the doorway, staring at the obnoxious blond twink who was sitting on Osamu’s counter eating his cereal straight from the box.  Atsumu’s eyes narrowed.  He had bandages over his nose now and honestly looked like a whole mess.  His blond hair stuck up in every direction and he didn’t even bother to change out of his bloodied t-shirt from earlier.

           Osamu’s brow twitched.  Embarrassment and anger flowed through him.  He wanted nothing more than to punch Atsumu’s lights out but he’d already done that earlier so he decided against it—

           “I expected to come over and find ya guys wholesomely cooking food together,” Atsumu huffed. “Naturally, I had to come steal some but instead I hear ya dipshits goin’ at it like rabbits and now I have’ta eat ceral for dinner.”

           “WHY DON’T YOU EAT YER OWN DAMN FOOD, ‘TSUMU!?” Osamu threw the nearest object at his brother, which happened to be a magnet from the fridge.

           “Because ya owe me for breakin’ my fucking nose!”

           “Can I not have some fuckin’ privacy!?” Osamu hissed.

           You sighed, rubbing your temple tiredly.  You walked to Osamu’s fridge and dug through for something simple to make some food while the twins continued arguing. Eventually Osamu got Atsumu out of the kitchen by bribing him with a clean, non-bloodied shirt.  Now a shirtless Osamu was making you and him sandwiches.

           You leaned your front against his broad back, wrapping your arms around his middle and watching him make the sandwiches.

           Atsumu peeked his head around the doorway, eyes narrowing a little.

           “Ya dumbasses are finally official, right?” he asked.

           Osamu’s brow twitched.  You grabbed his hand to keep him from throwing the butter knife at his brother.

           “Yeah, we are,” you answered.

           “Fuckin’ about time.  I was getting real sick of watchin’ ya fawn over each other for years,” he waved his hand then left the apartment.

           You and Osamu stood there in silent embarrassment for a few minutes.  Atsumu’s words sank in.

           “This whole time. . .” you trailed off.

           “He knew it the whole time and didn’t say a word. . .” Osamu let out a long sigh. “I hate him.”

           You laughed.  You and Osamu sat at the dining table.  He tugged you onto his lap while the two of you happily enjoyed your sandwiches. He was content, more content than he’d ever been in his whole life.  He kept an arm wrapped loosely around your waist just to keep himself grounded because this wasn’t a dream.

           This wasn’t a dream.  You were here.  You were with him, his girlfriend, and you were just as in love with him as he was with you.  He was good enough all along and he felt stupid for never seeing it.

           . . .

           “What will yer mom say when she finds out?” he asked.

           “She can suck my dick,” you huffed, “I love you and that won’t change.”

           “Hm. . . Well, ya know, my mom will be happy that yer finally dating one of us.  She’s been begging us to marry ya since middle school.”

           “Seriously?” you turned to him with a stunned expression. “What did you say?”

           Even more surprising was the fact that Osamu was grinning.  He propped his elbow up on the table and rested his chin in his open palm.  He stared at you with all the love in the world.

           “I told ‘er I was gonna be the one to marry ya.”