#life’s too short when you’re a half foot to waste it arguing with the ones you love and I think he’s learned that

[vistarya]

May I have this dance, Mrs Tims?

[skywarpie]

Reflected Memories

Hey, did you ask for an angsty Trans Copia fic? No? Too bad. Here’s one.

1,544k words. AO3 Link

tw: just lots of angst and body dysmorphia

For as long as he can remember he’s hated the reflection that stares back at him from the mirror. It makes him feel nauseous. The person that stares back at him has never felt like it matches the person that’s inside him. He can remember standing in-front of a mirror when he was a child, no more than ten, and just staring. Yet no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t twist that reflection to actually reflect him.

There was a brief while where he considered this a normal occurrence. That it was something that everyone had to deal with. Either that or he was being punished for some unknown reason (which seeing as how his life has played out so far, that really wouldn’t surprise him too much).

He remembers how for the longest time he was addressed as such a “fine young sister.” It leaves an acidic taste in his mouth and Copia finds himself, not for the first time that morning, thinking he’s going to lose what little breakfast he’s consumed. 

As he got older things only seemed to get progressively worse. The long hair wasn’t too much of an issue. For a while he had just tucked it into the tightest bun possible, until finally he had asked Primo to help him cut it. His eldest brother was more than happy to oblige.

“You’re sure?” Primo had bent to look him in the eyes. It was almost comical. His nearly six foot figure nearly bent in half to acknowledge his younger sibling. 

Copia noded. 

“Very well.” And there had been no argument. No trying to talk him out of it. It was arguably the most freeing moment of his short life. 

Copia finds himself grimacing as he recalls how Sister Imperator had responded. She hadn’t been angry per-say, but he had received a stern talking to.

“Honestly, I don’t understand why you didn’t bring it to my attention. I would have ensured it was done properly. That someone who knew what they were doing was the one slicing off your hair.”

Someone who did know what they were doing had done just that, Copia had wanted to argue, but like every other time in his life when confronted with issues he had remained silent. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Sister waved a hand through the air. “Just make sure that next time you come to me when you want this done. Do I make myself clear, Copola?”

He freezes like he’s just been struck. That name hasn’t entered his mind in decades and the thought of it suddenly makes him feel like the room is spinning. He rubs at his eyes, smearing the black makeup that circles them. He needs to do something, anything to get his mind off of this. 

Copia turns on his heel and practically runs from his room, only stopping once he’s in his office where he can lock himself away and focus on mind numbing paperwork. It works – for the most part. But several hours in he finds his body aching from the cramped position and needing a stretch. The growling of his stomach reminds him that he should probably get something to eat as well. He’s still undecided on that one yet.

It’s only once he’s made his way around the ministry gardens a solid three times, does he wind back up in his own room. Some rest. That will help. 

Copia wastes no time in stripping himself of his black cassock and exchanging it for a comfortable pair of sweatpants. Carefully he lays the cassock over the back of one of his few chairs. He doesn’t want it to get wrinkled. He makes his way to his closet to find a more comfortable shirt, only he stops dead in his tracks.

He swallows thickly as his reflection once more stares back at him. Stupid. Idiot. Fucking idiot. In his haste earlier Copia forgot to replace the sheet back over the glass. Only this time it’s worse. Last time it was just his lanky form in his cassock. Now it’s him with only his sweats and a bare chest.

Copia isn’t ashamed of the scars that adorn his chest, quite the opposite actually. He’s glad to have them. It shows what he’s been through and how he’s fought tooth and nail to get to where he is today. To be who he is today. It’s just — his body over all. He’s never liked it. Even now, it just doesn’t appeal to him. There’s little to no definition in his arms and there’s the slight pudge to his gut. For more than once in his life he finds himself wishing he looked more like his brothers. Although he knows they’d tell him he’s perfectly fine the way he is, Copia can’t help but feel like they’re taking pity on him.

“Ah, there you are.” Secondo’s deep voice echoed in his ears. “We were beginning to think you’d never leave that room of your’s.” He laughed at his own joke as he straightened his paperwork on his desk. He’d recently been appointed to Cardinal, working directly under Primo. “I know you’d rather spend your time cramped up in there, but honestly —” Whatever he had intended to say had died on his tongue as a gut wrenching sob cut through the air. 

Copia sat on the other side of his brother’s desk, head in his hands as he practically curled in on himself. He had wanted to say something sarcastic, play into the typical banter they shared but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. His mouth had opened and a wail had taken the place of words.

Secondo sat rooted to the spot. His brows furrowed and eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. “Sorella.” It’d been said softly but instead of comfort it had only brought more heartache as the man before him tried to curl in on himself even more. He stood, hurrying over to kneel beside him. “I did not intend to upset you. I was only joking.” He placed a comforting hand on Copia’s shoulder.

The younger man had jerked away, his sobbing only growing. For a long moment they both stayed that way until finally Copia had managed to pull himself together just enough to speak. He wiped at his nose, not even bothering to wipe at his eyes. The black makeup there was already tear stained and ruined. 

“What is it? You can tell your fratello.” 

He had hiccuped so hard that his body jerked. “I can’t do this anymore.” His voice was hardly above a whisper and Secondo had to strain to hear it. 

“Do what?” 

Copia knew it was meant as enduring. His brother only wanted to help. That didn’t alleviate his mind in the least. His bottom lip trembled. “Do you ever feel like –” a violent hiccup shook his body. “Like something’s wrong.” He looked down at his hands. “Like you don’t fit.”

His brother’s eyes had softened as did his voice. “I can’t say that I personally have ever felt that way, but I think I know what you’re speaking of.”

And that had been the end of it. Secondo, along with his other two brothers, even his mother, had settled into the change far easier than he had ever imagined they would. Almost immediately he had changed out his wardrobe for far more fitting clothes and changed his name. 

“Copia? But that means –”

He interrupted Terzo. “Copy. Si.”

Terzo had scrunched his nose up. “But why that?”

Copia shrugged. “It is not so different sounding from –” he stumbled over his words and swallowed thickly. “From the other name and because I would like to learn to be more like the three of you.” It seemed like the most obvious answer. However his brother’s expression began to slowly make him worried. 

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to model yourself after us. You’re your own person.” 

“Si. If I don’t like it, I will change it again, no?” He shrugged.

Defeatedly Terzo had sighed. “Si.”

Instinctively Copia snatches his cassock from the chair and flings it over the mirror. He settles for just yanking one of his old shirts from a drawer in his dresser and flinging it over himself. From there he shuts off the lights and buries himself in his bed under the heavy quilts. He isn’t tired and more than likely won’t be sleeping tonight. But he feels overwhelmed. Not just by his memories but also from the fact that he can’t even speak about his issues to his brothers anymore. Because they’re gone. Dead. Because of him. If he had just kept his mouth shut and continued living the hell he was in, would they still be here? No, more than likely not. Sister would have simply found another gullible idiot to take his place and they would still be cold in glass coffins. It’s funny really, to think that there’s someone more gullible than him out there.

Copia chokes on a sob as he covers his head with the blankets. He’s not tired but that doesn’t mean he can’t dream of a better time. One where he was who he is today and his brothers still breathed.

[bangtaninborderland]

Hey I love your writing!! Can I request a toxic niragi situation where the reader tries to run away from the beach and he’s PISSED but is still obsessed with her. When hatter finds out he calls a group meeting to discuss it, he refers to her as a “traitor” and demands the militants kill reader but niragi goes crazy and says that if they touch her he’ll blow the whole place up. No clue how to end it off but I really don’t want reader to die😭. You can choose whether you want NSFW or not!

Thankyou so much for your sweet comment. Sorry this took me so long! I was trying to figure out how to end it I hope you enjoy it ! ❤️

I have decided to do this in 2 parts!!

There will be smut in the next chapter.

Niragi X Reader - Traitor p1.

Part 2 ❤️

Your short legs run, moving on the adrenaline rushing through you.

You curse yourself or choosing a construction site to hide in, of course he would find you here. It was a stupid attempt at salvation. One you regretted.

The beach had become a place of death and Misery. There was only one way out, the cards. Giving them all to Hatter seemed stupid. Especially because there was no guarantee he would have helped or even remembered once he escaped. The only choice you had was to run and take your cards with you.

You didn’t risk your life to provide someone else with freedom.

Your clammy hands wrapped around the small wooden stick you had attached your broken glass to, forming a long knife.

His voice taunted you. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. I’ll find you. You might as well make it easier for me or do you like the way I chase you?”

You tried to focus on your breathing, preparing yourself to attack him.

“Come on. Play nice. We was friends right?” He chuckled.

You shivered remembering your last encounter with Niragi. He had cornered you after a game, it was a spades game and you had helped him clear it. You had to climb the sides of buildings to reach a certain height. You two were the only survivors. You cringe remembering the way his hands had tried to invade your body.

He was repulsive.

You froze when you noticed his footsteps had stopped. You didn’t have time to act as a hand pulled you up by your hair, setting your scalp on fire as it did.

He threw you against one of the half broken walls. “I found you.”

You try to push him away, your makeshift knife useless on the floor far in the corner. Your strength doesn’t even compare to his.

He pulls away, his eyes filled with both hatred and hunger. You took the chance and swung at hun, your hand colliding with his face allowing you a second to run.

You managed to get outside before he one again captured you. This time he wrapped his hands around you, trapping your arms at your side as he forced you to the ground. No amount of fighting mattered. He had you.

You laid there, struggling against him as your body wore itself out.

“Just stop. I’m taking you back to the beach at least if you’re alive you can argue your point. Or I could kill you right here and drag your lifeless pathetic body through the streets. Your choice.” He kicks you, placing his foot on top of your lungs. the weight of his boot crushing you.

All you can do is nod. There’s no second option.

You feel disgusted as he smirks, his hand wrapping itself around your slender arms. Pulling you closer to him. Your chest still feeling heavy from the weight Niragi pressed down on it.

“Why are you doing this?” You mumble. He could leave the beach too.

He laughed, opening the militant car door, forcing you inside with the barrel of his gun.

Despite the fact the back doors weren’t locked and you could have a chance of escape running would be futile, his long legs made it much easier for him to catch up to you and all you would be doing is wasting necessary energy.

“If you try to run I will break your legs.” Niragi looks at you through the mirror, his eyes cold.

You don’t respond to him instead turning your attention towards the window. The best thing you could do was try to come up with an argument, a plausible one.

Maybe you could say you was following a lead? Finding a game? Looking for clothes or a gift?

You scoffed shaking your head. That wouldn’t work, although Hatter was somewhat insane he wasn’t stupid.

Niragi turns to corner quickly, forcing your body to slam against the door. A ringing pierced through your ears as your head hits the glass.

“WATCH IT!” You shout kicking the back of his chair as hard as you can.

He snarled at you as he pressed the gas, the car speeding up way over the limit.

You held on to the armrest at the side of you, preparing yourself for any more hits. Surely enough at every corner Niragi came to he turned faster, making every jolt to your body hurt more than the last, the rocky streets didnt help either.

You felt a nauseating pit grow in your stomach as you arrived at the beaches back entrance, you knew running was pointless but it didn’t stop you. Before Niragi could completely park the car you jumped out, stumbling as you find your balance.

Your legs moved faster than they ever have before, you don’t look back afraid it will only calm you down. Your throat burns and your heart pounds but you don’t stop.

Entering the beach a traitor meant death, no matter what the reason and although the boderlands wasn’t the best place to live you didn’t want to die.

Niragis taunting voice rattles you. “Stop running. Theres no where for you to go.”

You don’t respond, not wanting to give away your location. You hide behind a broke wall, pulling your legs towards your chest hoping to make yourself as small as possible.

You managed to hide again for a few moments before he found you.

He didn’t have to touch you, his dark laugh alerted you of his presence. “I found you little mouse.”

You didn’t move you didn’t fight you sat there putting all of you weight onto the ground hoping it would prevent him from moving you.

His hand wrapped much more gently around you arm as he tried to pull you. When that didn’t work he threw his gun over his shoulder and picked you up.

“You know both times you’ve tried to run you haven’t tried very hard, I think you wanted me to catch you. Don’t worry little traitor, I won’t let them kill you.. I’m not done playing with you yet.” His words were dark, his tone terrifying.

When you reached the door of the beach Niragi set you down pushing you inside. A few other militants including Aguni and Last Boss were there.

No matter what you did you was trapped, Niragi wouldn’t be able to stop your prosecution.

“You found her.” Aguni grunts as Niragi holds his gun into your back.

Niragi smirks towards Aguni, clearly proud of your capture.

The walk to the conference room was silent, the only sound being that of Niragis hun moving occasionally to different parts of your body. Your feet dragged along the floor, afraid of the fate you would now meet.

Aguni budged past you, pushing you to the floor as he enters the room first. Hatters smiling face grew angry at the sight of you and for a split second you wished that what Niragi had said was true or at least true enough to keep you alive.

“Did I not explain the rules properly?” Hatter spat at you.

You went to stand but Niragis hands on your shoulders forced you to remain on your knees.

“You did.” You sigh, your voice weak.

Hatter strides towards you, his hand delivers a painful blow to your face before he sits himself in a chair across from you.

“Then why the fuck did you steal my cards! Do you not understand! DEATH TO TRAITORS!”

Your throat is dry and your voice sounds hoarse. “I was just afraid..”

You wasn’t lying, not completely. You had hoped that Hatter would have some minor pity on you and at least allow you to live.

“A king must always treat his community fairly. So I say we hold a trial.” He stands turning towards the other executives.

They all murmur in agreement. Despite the dark tone of the situation you wanted to laugh, no one would go against Hatter. It was pathetic. Although in this moment so was you.

Hatter turned towards you, a blank look on his face as he asked the final question. “All those in favour of death!”

You watched in silence as every executive raised their hands.

Hatter looks around the room, pleased at the sight of all his loyal pets agreeing with him.

“Well then.. it looks like we have our answer. Get rid of her.” Hatter walks away as if you was just discarded trash.

Aguni looks towards Niragi who still had both of his hands firmly pressed against your shoulders. “I found her.”

Fear set in at your unfortunate fate and your desperation to live took over “I didn’t do anything bad. I was only gone for a day! I was just afraid I’m s“

Before you could finish your sentence Niragis hand came over your mouth, preventing any words escaping.

Hatter turned back around, he seemed unhappy at both yours and Niragis comment. After all, how dare anyone disobey the self proclaimed beach king.

Aguni stepped towards Niragi. “Just get rid of her.”

This seemed to piss Niragi off as his hand tightened around your mouth, causing your jaw to ache.

“I found her. I will keep her. She doesn’t need to die besides I’m not done with her yet.” He states, unbothered about the higher ranking members being displeased with him.

Of course he had authority issues.

You roll your eyes discreetly as they continue to discuss your situation as if you wasn’t even in the same room as them.

Aguni once again stepped forward. His attention turning to the only person above him. “Hatter.”

Hatter turned. His face seemingly confused as well as shocked.

“Death to traitors Niragi. Dispose of her or I will do it myself.” He muttered, his eyes fixate on yours.

You felt small as if you was a child with parents discussing your punishment. A lump in your throat formed, you wanted to cry. You just wanted to be free you didn’t take your cards back to hurt anyone it was just because you had to get home to your brother. They would never understand this, why would they?

“I’ll keep her with me. I’ll make sure she doesn’t cause any more trouble. Im not done with her yet, it won’t hurt anyone to let me have my fun with her.” His voice is stoic.

He sounds as if he is a child himself, begging for a new toy.

Aguni walked towards you, his hands ready to drag you from underneath Niragi hold.

“IF ANYONE TOUCHES HER I WILL BLOW THIS FUCKING PLACE TO THE GROUND AND THOSE GOD DAMN CARDS ALONG WITH IT!”

Niragis voice filled the room, everyone in a similar state of shock at his words. You didn’t know whether to be thankful or to cry.

Aguni trembled with anger, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

You’re so focused on Aguni that you don’t see Last Boss come beside you, his katana shining just centimetres away from your face.

You don’t dare to breathe, any moment and it would be over for you.

“Stop!” Hatter shouts, once again the room freezes, Agunis head whips round to face him.

“Let her live with Niragi. The same room, the same games, she goes everywhere he goes. I won’t ever trust a traitor but she will be a useful asset to play games for me. She will attend double and she won’t be allowed out on her own. Niragi if you want her to live you take full responsibility for her.” Your heart sinks at his words, you wanted to live but for yourself. Not for a gun welding maniacal bastard.

Niragi strip around your mouth loosens, his hand falling back to your shoulder, his weight growing heavy on your knees. It didn’t help that Last Boss still had his Katana angled towards you.

“That sounds even more interesting than I had imagined.” Niragi nods in agreement. A shiver runs down your spine as he leans in towards your ear.

“Your all mine now. You probably should stay on your knees.”

You want to scream as every executive begins to leave the room, all giving you disgusting glares as they go.

“Have fun.” Hatter chuckled deeply. Niragi scoffs as he closes the door behind him.

You let out a deep breath as he releases his grip on your shoulders, placing himself on a chair in front of you gesturing your you too come closer.

You hesitantly do until you’re sitting in front of him.

His hands grip the back of your head before pulling you closer as he whispers words that make you wish you had been killed.

“Now let’s see how worth it that was”

[icyowl]

Quiet Eyes

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader (single bed trope)

Request: none

Synopsis: Gojo saves your life, there’s only one bed, the sexual tension is real

A/N: Hi! Things get kinda spicy in this, nothing too graphic, some nibbling, suggestive positions. Let me know what you think!

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

   Gojo’s voice was strong in both mirth and sarcasm when he opened the door numbered 413. “Oh, there’s only one bed, whatever will we do?”

   Because of course there was. As if the colossal mishap just hours earlier wasn’t enough to sour your mood, now you had to deal with Gojo’s personality in a space that frankly wasn’t big enough for half of his ego. Under normal circumstances, the idea of sharing a bed with Gojo would have had you reacting in a more substantial manner, but you’d hardly had the strength to make it to the room, let alone enough to waste it worrying over the sleeping arrangements. The room could have been rotten, the bed infested, and you’d still take it with gratitude.

   It wasn’t, however. Gojo must have paid handsomely for accommodations as nice as this on such short notice. The room was petite but outfitted with a couch at the foot of the bed and even a small fireplace.

   “You can sleep on the bed, Gojo. I’ll take the couch.” You said. The couch didn’t even look that bad anyway, but certainly too small for the likes of him. It was only right he got the bed with a stature like his.

   “Need I remind you of the hole in your chest?”

   “No, no need. I can feel it plenty well.” You replied too casually. The truth was, every minor twist or bend made the burning ache flare to a raging pain. Had the opioids and blood loss not taken away most of your strength, you were confident the woozy and unsteady feelings would only be worse. After everything Gojo had already done for you? You weren’t about to tell him any of it.

   “My reputation as a Gojo would be tarnished if I let a lady have anything but the bed.” He argued while helping himself to the snack tray on the end table near the couch. Considering how quickly he left you stranded at the softly closing door behind you, you thought you did a decent job at hiding the fact your knees almost buckled under the weight of your swiftly sagging near-carcass.

   “It’s really not that big of a deal, Gojo, the couch is plenty nice. You’re just too tall for it.” Bed, couch, floor, ceiling, for Christ’s sake it didn’t matter. All you wanted to do was get off your weak feet and finally get some rest. Sleep would be far better than dealing with the pain of both your various wounds and demonizing thoughts; after what you’d done (maybe, rather, what you failed to do) you wanted to kiss consciousness goodbye before the mental enemies took hold.

   “You’re absolutely right. That’s why we’ll both be using the bed.”

   Now that pushed back the rising exhaustion. “What? No.”

   “What, afraid you won’t be able to control yourself?” He smiled around a bite of chocolate. “How scandalous.”

   “No!”

   “So you’re afraid I won’t be able to keep my composure?”

   “Also no–”

   “Then what’s the problem? We’re both grown adults, we can share a bed without acting like a couple of teenagers… that is, unless you want to.”

   Of course, he had to play this like a game of flirt; of course, he had to give you that mischievous smile; and of course, he had to be so infuriating with that blasé attitude. You’d almost died just a couple of hours ago and here he was, so completely relaxed that not even sharing a bed with someone was worth a second thought. You huffed at his antics and promptly doubled over the pain it caused. “Stop saying things like that!” You gritted out. After the day you had, Gojo’s Gojoness was not helping your condition. In fact, it was maybe Gojo’s fault that your stress and annoyance had spiked enough to pull the last reserves of strength from your disheveled body. In its absence, nausea and weakness had the opportunity to gain a foothold in you. Perhaps it was because he had such a handle on cursed energy and could assess your condition in real-time, or perhaps it was to be expected after so much time spent around one another. Regardless, it surprised you just how quickly he knew to close the gap and steady you before you hit the ground.

   You did what you could to mitigate the dizziness. It helped to feel the hard floor beneath your shoes and the steady touch of his hand on your back while he offered the other for you to take hold of.

   “You need rest,” Gojo spoke softly. He had no right to sound so sincere.

   “Yeah, and I promise you sleep will be just as good on the couch as it’ll be on the bed. If you help me over there like a reputable Gojo would, then I swear I’ll promptly go to sleep without being any more of a burden. Sound good?”

   The longer the silence bore on, the more you realized your poor choice of words. It sounded so depressing and now Gojo had plenty of ammo to scrutinize you even more than before. He wasn’t an idiot; you could blame it on the awesome medication the medics gave you earlier, but he knew better… a lot better.

   “You think you’re a burden?”

   “Jesus – Gojo, can I just go to sleep?”

   As carefully as he could Gojo lifted your hunching shoulders until you would look at him directly. Really it was impressive how emotive he was despite the blindfold. You could tell how genuine he was when he spoke. “I need to be close to you in case the wound opens up. I’m not like Ieri, I can’t heal anyone besides myself.”

   Your resolve swayed. “You can’t just check on me a couple times throughout the night?”

   “Well, one, if the wound or a broken rib causes bleeding in your lungs, then in a matter of minutes I’d be too late. Two, you underestimate how hard I can sleep.”

   You glared right into that stupid eye cover. “Fine, fine! I’m so tired I couldn’t care less how I sleep.”

   “Alright! I hope you don’t mind – I tend to starfish.”

   You regretted this already. Thankfully though, Gojo was slow and steady as he carefully led you to the bed. Sitting proved to be a challenge with the skin getting pulled in new and uncomfortable directions and the large height discrepancy between the two of you proved awkward at best. A few winces and hisses later and you were soundly deposited on the bed while Gojo made for the bathroom. The man was kind enough to offer to get you a toothbrush, toothpaste, whatever you needed to feel at least a modicum of comfort. It was arguably even nice… that is until his hands began pulling the hem of his shirt up and the beginnings of his torso were on display.

   “Wh-what are you doing?”

   “It’s warm. I don’t intend to sweat through the sheets tonight.”

   You tried to make your next word at least try to sound normal. “Oh.”

   “Besides, this shirt’s covered in a fair amount of your blood.” He said far too frankly before looking over to find you fidgeting, restless, eyes carefully looking at the sheets, the floor, your bandaged hand, anywhere but at him. Gojo smirked and stopped his undressing with the shirt still caught up in his arms. It was practiced, casual, a devil’s sort of grin. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

   “No!” You snapped all too quickly. “You can sleep with however many clothes you want.”

   Step step step step step. Gojo stopped right in front of you and still, you refused to look at him. Pride? Perhaps. Nerves? Absolutely. Maybe he’d show you mercy if he saw how unamused you were with him. Your hopes fell away when warm, soft fingers neatly found their way under your chin and pulled your eyes up until you had no choice but to look past his exposed upper body and into his covered eyes. It felt like the blindfold wasn’t even there. When Gojo spoke it was sweet… sickly sweet.

   “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me without a shirt on.”

   You all but yanked your face from his soft hold. “That was an accident!”

   “You looked at me for a lot longer then, too.”

   “I thought you were gone!”

   “Then what were you doing in my room?”

   “Principle Yaga needed a report you forgot to drop off, that wasn’t my fault.”

   Gojo scrutinized you–at least, that’s what it felt like. You wouldn’t look at his face long enough to find out. After a long second or two, he seemed satisfied with whatever it was he saw and left for the bathroom. Now that the human-sized headache had gone and given you some peace and privacy, you had plenty of time to feel every ache and twinge and cut and bruise making itself at home in your skin. People always said the soreness would get worse before it got better and you dreaded what it would feel like in the coming days. Then you had to remember: your condition would have been worse – much worse – had Gojo not made it in time. True to form, he really did come from nowhere, but at that point in the battle you were too incapacitated to feel either gratitude or shame.

   You vaguely heard the shower turn on in the bathroom.

   Fantastic. Knowing him, he’d come out naked with a simple ‘ready for bed?’ or something just as stupid. Godforsaken megalomaniac. Who even ends up that way?

   Who even cared. Nothing would change him and you weren’t going to use what minimal energy you had left to worry about it. You weren’t going to dissect the thoughts of your own inadequacy, you weren’t going to worry about being a burden to anyone, especially Gojo, and you most certainly weren’t going to think about how concerned Gojo looked when he found you, how relieved you felt to see him, how quickly he rushed to you, how he used his own jacket to try and stem the blood flowing so easily from the wound in your chest. How he said your name and how he lifted your hair from your face to see you better and how he told you everything was going to be alright and that he’d take care of it from here.

   No, no more thinking. You were going to sleep.

   That is if your body could find a way to loosen. The shaking hadn’t stopped since your rescue several hours earlier, and after being used constantly for so long, the muscle aches had made their way into your bones until it felt like your body forgot how to relax. There was no way you were still worried for your life — Gojo was literally on the other side of the wall. You were alive, and fine, and safe. Certainly this hotel room was far less dangerous than the battlefield you were pulled from. So why couldn’t you keep from glancing at the darkest parts of the room, scanning again and again and again for the foe you knew wasn’t there? Why couldn’t you find it in yourself to relax even as you carefully forced yourself to lay flat and ready for sleep? How could you be so tired and groggy yet so far away from any real feeling of being on the precipice of unconsciousness? Why did this night have to continue not going the way you wished it had?

   The shock of light from the bathroom lasted only a moment before Gojo flipped the switch and joined you in the dim room. Again you wouldn’t look at him. Honestly, you were afraid he really would be naked. Though, with a body like that, you’d strut around in the nude too.

   “Man, America did something right when it came to beds – so squishy!”

   You were all but catapulted off the bed when Gojo crash-landed on the mattress in a mess of chaotic energy and enormous limbs. Such vigorous jostling sent terrible pain lighting up your system and it was all you could do to keep the shout behind your tense jaw.

   “Sorry,” Gojo said as he leaned into your line of sight. “You okay?”

   Now you had little choice but to look at him in his entirety. He made it impossible not to with his apparent lack of personal space. Several things became very apparent in the short moment it took you to register the state of the man on top of you.

   Shirt: off.

   Sweatpants: on.

   Blindfold: off.

   There was very little of your vision that wasn’t occupied by his overwhelming eyes or obvious muscles. You wanted to turn over but then your palms and fingers would no doubt touch his bare skin – his physique – and so you held them in each other against your tight chest and all but turned your head to the side to look at the sheets.

   “Oh my, you’ve suddenly gone flush. Are you coming down with a fever?”

   You tore yourself away from him, tired of his antics. It was a bad move. Spears of pain dug deeply into your chest and were powerful enough to render breathing all but impossible. A sucking sort of wheeze was all you could produce while you sat up to try and make it easier but getting air was a futile endeavor. You tried again yet still the spasms in your chest rendered the effort mute. Just as panic began to rise, you coughed in an attempt to kickstart some kind of breathing and it seemed to do the trick. The discomfort moved from terrible to excruciating and you could only groan and fist the sheets as some kind of outlet.

   Gojo appeared at your shoulder and gently supported you while you tried to calm your erratic heartbeat. If only you had the strength to push his infuriating face clear off the bed and onto the floor.

   “Please,” you managed through a sad wheeze, all remaining fight and spunk gone. What Gojo heard was the small sound of someone too tired and weak to put any bite to her words. Someone who’d given up entirely. “Can you just leave me alone?”

   You sat in surprise when he actually got up from the bed and went back to the bathroom. Had he actually listened to you? Given his propensity for trickery, it didn’t seem possible. In his absence came a cool breeze that sent your chilled body ever closer to a constant and pronounced shiver. The sink in the bathroom turned on while you took the time to try and relax the tense soreness in your chest and wounds. Jesus fuck it hurt now that the adrenaline had vanished. Damn it, you couldn’t even go to bed properly without Gojo’s insufferable teasing! The water in your eyes had just begun to burn hot when a glass of water was thrust in your line of sight. Your hand shook terribly and you feared you’d drop it until Gojo helped bring it to your lips. He didn’t seem satisfied when you thought you were done; you went to pull away only for his other hand to weave into the hair at the back of your head and tip the glass until you had to swallow the rest lest you spill it down your shirt. After you finished it he went back to fill it up again and place it on the bedside table.

   “Now riddle me this: why are you so embarrassed about what happened tonight?”

   “What, you want me to talk about being a burden, or how I was supposed to show you and everyone that I could take care of high-level curses on my own? Or the general stress that comes from – I don’t know – almost dying? How you had to stop whatever disaster you were preventing to help someone who was supposed to do this for a living? How about the ridicule and backlash I’ll face when I get back to the school, from both the principal and the elders? Go ahead and take your pick, Gojo.”

   “Firstly,” he said, squatting low to force your downturned eyes to look at him, “if fighting curses were easy, everyone would do it. But they don’t. You did what you could in the time you had with the available tools. Those curses were no cakewalk – at least, for anyone besides me–”

   Your eyes couldn’t roll any farther.

   “But,” he continued, “you kept them away from people. Those kids and their families get to live long, peaceful lives because of you.”

   “Gojo,” you started.

   “Secondly, after tonight, I think it's time to drop the formalities.”

   The blood loss was making you stupid. “Huh?”

   “I saved your life, I carried you out of there and got you the help you needed. I dropped Infinity and got your blood all over me so I could hold you and don’t think I forgot how you clung to me.”

   “I was barely conscious, how could I have clung to you?”

   “All of that to say you can drop the walls and treat me like a friend. I’m at least that, aren’t I?”

   You didn’t reply. Frankly, you may have zoned out halfway through the sentence. He picked up on the hazy look and stood. “The medics cleaned you up and helped you change into fresh clothes; do you want to keep that on or change?” He sang the next part. “I could help.”

   “‘M good.”

   The bed creaked behind you under his weight. You thought he’d finally gone to bed only for his arms to slip under your own and make themselves comfortable against your stomach so he could pull you back to the bed covers. The pain roared under the neat bandages but Gojo (Satoru) was steady and careful in supporting your weight until you could relax against the mattress.

   “Lift your hips.” He said.

   “Why?”

   “You’re on top of the covers.”

   “Seriously?”

   You looked over your shoulder at him to find a pout staring back at you. “Let me tuck you in.”

   “Gojo–”

   “Satoru–”

   “I don’t care–”

   “You’ve been shaking since you regained consciousness, and don’t think I missed how cold your skin is. You need to stay warm tonight after what happened.”

   You groaned and cursed and griped but nonetheless eventually gathered the strength to push your hips off the bed. The pain made you dizzy and you could only hold the position for a moment but thankfully it was enough for him to get the covers from under you and lift them up to your chin. Almost as soon as they settled over you the chill began to lessen and for a change you thanked Gojo’s incessant prodding. Your eyes closed without any conscious command. Yes, the day had been pretty terrible, yes, you were still scared, but now you could take comfort in the fact that you were finally warm and safe. The strongest was literally right next to you. Sure, you could worry about sharing a bed with someone as overwhelming and attractive as him, with his ice-colored eyes and bare upper body, but for a change you thanked the exhaustion because it pushed away all the typical things you’d worry over. Inhale. Exhale. Decompress. Disassociate. Drift far away.

   Satoru’s weight closed in on your side and an arm and a leg made themselves at home across your body. The fact he was above the covers and you below didn’t make the situation any better. His warm, minty exhale invaded your space and your eyes opened against their wishes. “What are you doing?”

   “Going to bed.”

   “Gojo–”

   “Satoru–”

   “You don’t need to hold me, I’m fine–”

   “You're shaking.”

   “It’s cold.”

   “It’s blazing.”

   “It’s literally snowing.” You weren’t lying: fat flakes poured onto the ground outside and allowed a faint gray light into the room despite it being the middle of the night.

   “Not under the covers. Look, after what happened, there’s a chance you could go into shock – the blood loss and damage is one thing, but a near-death experience, especially someone’s first, is not exactly a walk in the park. Your cursed energy has been wavering for hours and you nearly collapsed not twenty minutes ago.”

   You moved to sit up. “Look, I’m not–”

   Damn you and your mortal body. A wave of nausea nearly sent you teetering off the bed onto the floor and the sudden shifts brought the pain of your various injuries to the surface. One of your hands shot up to hold your head on your shoulders while the other gripped onto the bandages of your torso like your organs might spill out. Your eyes opened to try and get your bearings through the spinning only for you to be greeted with black shapes drifting around your eyes. You’d have fallen unceremoniously off the side of the bed had his hands not guided you back into the pillows.

   “I have to look you over.” He said gently, quietly. Frankly, you were too out of it to register or care that the covers were being pushed down to your legs, nor that he was moving to support himself over top of you. But now that the blood was steadily moving back to your head, you were beginning to feel much more alert. Certainly conscious enough to understand what he was doing. His fingers winding through your own and pressing your intertwined hands into the bedsheets next to your head was what put your pulse into overdrive.

   “Look me over? I’ll be okay, you don’t have to–”

   One of his legs settled between your own. “I won’t undress you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

   “I–well you–can’t–”

   “I don’t need to–”

   “What?!” You said an octave higher than you wanted. Your free hand went up to try and push him off you.

   “Just hold still, you’re pulling your stitches.”

   “I got patched up; they said I was fine!”

   “Was being the keyword. Plus, do you really trust those goons? The dizzy spells could mean they missed a punctured organ. Listen, it won’t even hurt, it’ll just take a second–”

   “Please!”

   The struggling came to a rapid halt when Gojo felt your whole body tighten and you wrenched your hand from his grip so strongly that he knew it must have hurt. He observed the cursed energy rippling off you and wavering in the air in time with the quivering thuds of your heart. It wasn’t from the wounds or the pain, either. This was an emotional kind of turmoil.

   “You’re really nervous about this, aren’t you?”

   “Well I–you…” the honesty crept in on you like a whisper. You didn’t have to speak the truth, yet you did anyway. It was an automatic kind of choice and whether Gojo was an influencing factor or not wasn’t something you wanted to think about. “I’m not nervous, it’s just… vulnerable.” Shame and a good deal of self-pity made you try to become even smaller under your large friend’s lumbering body. “I know. Get it over with; go ahead and laugh.”

   The silence that took over the room was telling. You couldn’t, wouldn’t look at those electric eyes of his. So taught and bound up was your body that when he dropped his forehead against your own, your flesh was too tight to tense any further. All you could do was try and process the intimate contact over the incoherent screams in your head and the rapid squeezing of your heart. He didn't move from the embrace even while he spoke. “I need to make sure you’re okay. I’m just gonna look for internal bleeding, nothing else.”

   Jesus Christ, he was close. Satoru Gojo was all your senses could take in right now. His smell, his touch, the white of his eyelashes. There wasn’t a single cell of yours that wasn’t focused on him. It was enviable, how formidable his very presence was. The touch of his bangs to your eyelashes must have been a hidden and previously undisclosed superpower because as long as they were there, tickling your eyes in the slightest way, you couldn’t solidify a single thought. You didn’t know you nuzzled up into his forehead, but he knew. He felt it in the way your energy wound around him like ropes around a captive.

   “Okay.” You managed. He was looking at you, you could feel it without even knowing it, but you refused to do the same. As if you needed to feel any more exposed. Gojo’s eyes finally moved on from yours and down to the steadily healing stab wound in your ribcage just under your breast. Your skin gave a small jolt when his hand moved to press on the skin there like it helped him get a better idea of your condition where it was obstructed by the numerous wraps. His eyes focused intently right on the spot where the worst wound was. When he found you, it had been covered by your clothing. There was no way for him to know where to look at the bandages covering the entirety of your torso unless he really could see through it all.

   The blues of his eyes swirled as he got to work. Past the clothing, flesh, and sinew. Past all barriers and deep into the tissue there. He observed everything down to the way your cells tried diligently to put you back together. Frankly, he was thankful for the little workers. Very thankful. When he found you, your cursed energy was weak enough to literally be taken away with the breeze; it was so weak he had a hard time finding you. You were as cold as the frost settling on your body, your lips a sickening blue-gray, and there was more color in the reddening snow than there was in your skin. Maybe that was true – maybe you had given more blood to the ground than you kept for yourself.

Broken. Bloody. Unresponsive. You were limp enough when he pulled you from the white powder to consider you dead, but the faint undulations of your heartbeat could be picked up in your cursed energy and you possessed the miraculous strength to cling to his jacket -- he could still feel the exact spot on his stomach where your fingers feebly grabbed -- and you held on even when he placed you on the gurney.

It was cruel how easily your blood seeped into his clothes. Now that he could do nothing but watch the healers try to bring you back, an omnipotent fury poured into his skin. BOOM! Crash! A fully grown oak tree got blasted in half when his cursed energy needed a rapid outlet for the rising anger. He couldn't help it. . . and he loathed himself for it.

   “What, you got x-ray vision?” Your minor bickering brought him back to you. He knew after today he’d never take your quips for granted. He almost never got them back.

   “Mmm, something like that.”

   A pause ensued before you found more small talk. Anything was better than the silence. “What can you see, exactly?”

   “I read cursed energy – physical and psychological well-being, internal processes happening in the body, stuff like that. By reading the subtle changes I can piece together a picture of how your body is feeling and operating. Pulse, blood pressure, the healing of injuries, airflow, tension in the muscles, equilibrium, things like that. Think of it kind of like… aura reading, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

   “And it's on all the time?”

   “24/7, 365.”

   “That must wear you out.”

   “Why do you think I wear the glasses and the blindfold? It’s not perfect, but every little bit helps. Truthfully I can’t even remember the days when I was ‘normal’. This is all I've known.”

   Gojo picked up on your frown, but he didn’t want you to be sad. He’d had enough of your misfortune for one night. What he said next was coming from a spot in his chest that hurt. “I’m sorry I was late. There was a meeting–of course–and it was only there that I found out what they’d sent you to do, and where they shipped you off to. It took a few jumps–and a bit of searching even after I arrived. Once I found all the cursed energy, I knew I was in the right place.”

   “You came all the way from Tokyo?”

   “I knew they had you in over your head as soon as they told me about the mission. I think they gave me the run-around on purpose!” Gojo added humorously. Neither of you wanted to face the alternative… that it might have been intentional. It wasn’t hard to understand that Gojo had some enemies in high places, people who might go to incredible lengths to gain leverage on him. You had little to offer all things considered and your absence wouldn’t do much to affect the bigger picture. So, if it was intentional, then why? Why send you on what may have been a suicide mission?

   You paused again, thinking hard about what to say to him. What could you say that properly conveyed everything you wanted to? He didn’t have to work so hard to find you. Sure, he certainly wasn’t evil enough to leave you to die, he wasn’t that cruel, but you saw him not only when he got to you, but even now – pale skin, more so than usual, and a little darkness around the eyes on an otherwise pristine landscape. How much energy did it take to teleport across the world? How long did he search the area? It wasn’t like the people back home gave him much to work with. They may have narrowed it down to an entire state at best. Then he had to battle the curses. Sure it was probably a cakewalk for him, but he had to keep you alive until he got you to some medics. Even after you were safe, he stayed. He could have been in his own bed back at the school right now, but he had stayed because you were too weak for him to safely teleport back home. How easily he could have let the medics do their thing and take care of you from there. He didn’t, though. He bickered with the healers when they jostled you too much, he stood patiently aside until you were done, in the dark and cold, and organized this room for both of you. The only thing you could think to say seemed so minimal and trite. “Thank you. For trying so hard to find me.”

   Gojo (Satoru) rolled a bit of your hair in and amongst his slender fingers. His grin was small but very much genuine. “The blood loss is making you sappier than usual, I think it's time you get some sleep.”

   “Finally.”

   You didn’t dare move when he splayed over top of you to reach for the clock on the nightstand and turn the face around so no one could see it. You were left with nothing but the weight of Satoru’s body and the gentle huff of his breath into the air between you. To your surprise there was no quip or joke; he wordlessly moved to his side of the bed and moved the covers back over both of you to settle down for the night. You didn’t see how he decided to sleep facing you nor how his hand came to rest just skimming your arm. Both of you finally felt the last reserves of stress disappear.

   A dull, hollow, repetitive thud, thud, thud, thud came down from the floor above you. You’d have thought something was wrong with the building itself had some very pitching moans not followed soon after.

   You nearly blanched.

   Gojo chimed in far too casually. “Someone had a less eventful day than us. Reverse cowgirl, if I had to guess.”

   “Gojo!”

   “Satoru.”

   You barked a moan of frustration. So fierce was the spike of anger that you nearly slammed your hands over your eyes. If you could push hard enough on your skull then maybe it would collapse and finally grant you some reprieve.

   “What?” Satoru said, somehow not at all irritated. “It’s just sex. We won’t catch anything from here.”

   “That’s not what I care about! They’re in a hotel and making enough noise to wake up the people down the street. Who’s like that?”

   “Why are you so flustered?”

   “I’m not!”

   “You forget I can see your heartbeat. Very flustered.”

   “Why do you care so much?” You replied.

   “Is it because I’m here?” Gojo — Satoru — continued.

   A tiny stumble made its way into your dry throat. “No. Why would you think that?”

   Instantly, like water, he was on you, over you, invading your head and body and everything else you tried to barricade. His desire was aggressive, he caged you in and without care lowered himself until your bodies were barely separate entities anymore and his nose touched the side of yours. “I see everything,” Satoru said with a sinister air. “I’ve been nice, I’ve given you time to admit the truth yourself but you still deny it even after today.”

   Closer. Somehow he got even closer.

   “I’ve not once mentioned the way your body temperature rises when I get close enough.”

   His leg slipped so easily between your own.

   “Or how your vocal cords shake ever so slightly when I make you upset.”

   His voice moved until it was hot in your ear.

   “Not even when you flinch as if I’ve burned you when we touch.”

   A warm hand pitched the back of your neck, keeping you from turning away.

   “You can lie to me all you want… but your body betrays you.”

   Crystalline eyes rose to pin down your gaze. He thumbed your bottom lip. Caught up in the currents of emotions ricocheting between and through the both of you, you did nothing but balk and flounder like a schoolgirl. He was your only anchor, the one way you could stay afloat, the one thing you trusted when everything else felt so uncontrollable.

   You hardly heard your own voice. “I don’t know what to do.”

   His eyes flicked down to your mouth before he wrangled them back up.

   “Do you want me to stop?”

   You should stop – you needed to.

   You shook your head. No.

   Satoru’s lips descended strongly. Hungry, needy, searching, yet controlled. His lithe body hunkered down closer to cover yours, his back hunching to compensate for the height difference. So as not to overwhelm you, Satoru was already lifting his lips, but not before gently tugging on one of yours. Such a move made you wriggle; something, anything to release the feeling quickly cresting within you. One of your hands rose into the minute space between your bodies to somehow stem the intensity mounting under both parties’ muscles. The hand Satoru had behind your head moved to hold him up while the other snatched up the one of yours that dared to put space between your bodies. He brought it tenderly to his face. You could do nothing but watch the fascinating creature close his eyes to savor the smell of your skin and the touch of it on his nose before his lips kissed the pulse on the inside. Just hours before, he almost lost the pulse pushing so gently back against his mouth. When his eyes opened again they were very different from seconds ago. The brightness turned darker and his pupils had grown substantially.

   “Your body. It’s scared, scared of what to do or what will happen.” Satoru easily discerned from the brisk tempo of the blood in your wrist. It assaulted his senses. He needed to get you to relax – it was keying him up and a tiny bit of him was getting nervous at what you were doing to him. Mostly, though, he was simply addicted to your presence and your closeness. The more you pushed back the desire bleeding from you, the more he wanted to assure you it was okay. “Haven’t I proved after today that I won’t hurt you? That I want you?”

   The tiny sound you let escape made his other hand fist the sheets. The one holding your wrist released its grip only to move up and invade the space between your fingers, weaving deftly, carefully, to push it back into the sheets next to your head. He did the same thing just minutes before, but this time the atmosphere had changed entirely. Without your pesky hands to keep him from you, now he could zero in on the soft eyes looking back at him, and on the sweet spot at your throat. Such a space was too much to pass up and he nestled his head into the side of your neck. He couldn’t help his wet tongue leaving the hot confines of his mouth and laving at the vein. Satoru was pleased when your body shivered strongly under his expert touch.

   “I almost lost it when they told me where they sent you to – you have no idea how quickly I left.” His voice was intense in your ear. “Not because I needed to find you but because if I didn’t leave I would have hurt someone. Your cursed energy was so weak tonight, you lost so much blood. I’ve lost others but why is it that when it comes to you, it means so much more – god, you smell good,” he broke off, distracted, “and why do I want to help you train so I don’t have to worry so much about you? Why would I pick on how the nurses treated you tonight, even when they were helping you? And why did I never want to leave you alone with those damn elders?”

   The hand that he wasn’t pinning to the bed lifted to the warm skin of his abdominals. They flexed involuntarily at your touch. This time, you didn’t do it to create distance. This time, you did it to meet his passion with some of your own. His next words were gruff, rushed: “That’s it, feel me, don’t be shy.” Then his mouth latched onto your throat. Some kind of whimper made its way out of your mouth and the sound sent Satoru into overdrive. First one, then the other, he raised your arms until they rested on his shoulders; immediately they found their way up his neck and into the fine hair at the back.

   Now that Satoru was satisfied with the fingers gripping at his hairline, he could start to get to work. Slowly, softly, carefully so as not to startle you, his hand made its way under your shirt. God was your skin warm to the touch.

   “Satoru.” You breathed out desperately. The effect of your voice speaking his name had him nipping at a tender spot just under your jaw. Higher, higher, his hand slid over your waist, taking its sweet time to acclimate to the feel of your flesh. Just as he grazed the fresh bandages enclosing your ribcage you jolted away from his touch and did your best to subdue a quiet yelp of discomfort.

   The trance you had him under faded somewhat. His lips lifted from your jawline, his hand retreated from under your shirt, and when you met his eyes, the familiar brightness had returned.

   “I’m sorry.” You spoke, trying to catch your breath.

   “Don’t be sorry.” Satoru quietly replied. It wasn’t fair how composed he looked while you laid there, frazzled and a bit disheveled. “You okay?” He asked on the back of a brisk exhale.

   “Mhmm, just sore.”

   Satoru took the time to check in on your physical state. Dilated pupils, elevated heart rate, increased endorphin levels, all the usual signs of romantic attraction and the intensity from before. Beyond the adrenaline, however, your energy was nearly nonexistent. Your body did what it could to use its last reserves of energy to keep up with his ministrations. It wasn’t fair to you. You needed rest and here he was stringing you out on dopamine and serotonin. He’d hurt you just now too.

   The kiss on your forehead was surprising, given the intensity just moments before. “You need to sleep.”

   “Are you saying that to me or you?” You said cheekily. It made him smile to see you in good spirits.

   “Don’t toy with me. I can lay down right here and crush you.”

   More reluctantly than he’d like, he separated from you and resumed the previous position of laying at your side. The mark he’d managed to inflict on your neck had begun to darken and he almost told you but decided to keep it to himself. He saw your heart rate steadily normalize and the occasional fidget ebbed to stillness. Your eyes remained looking at the ceiling, but he didn’t mind. The silence was calm, peaceful, and minutes passed, thankfully without any more noise from the neighbors upstairs. Satoru’s eyes could still be seen in your periphery so you knew he hadn’t gone to sleep yet. He seemed perfectly content to brush his fingers along the curve of your shoulder, but you were ready to combust. His glowing gaze taking you in made it impossible to sleep.

   Finally, you relented. “Can I ask you something personal?”

   “Yes, it is natural.”

   “What?”

   “Nothing.”

   You didn’t stop to think about what he might have been referring to. “Do your eyes ever bother you?”

   “How do you mean?” Satoru replied, propping his head up in his palm.

   “Do they get tired or overwhelmed? Do you hate them sometimes? What they can do?” You could only imagine what it must be like to confine your vision behind glasses or cloth because the sheer influx of information would be impossible to manage otherwise. If you had to guess, what he told you earlier was only a shadow of the full extent of his powers. You’d heard from numerous people just what that gaze was capable of, what it had done both to enemies but also to their wielder.

   “I found you with them, didn’t I?” He replied after a short pause.

   Imagine sensing more than you could ever hope to process. The feedback he’s had to acclimate to every second of every day is not something you or I should ever wish to discover. That was what Nanami had once said to you.

   You floundered around for the right words. “I’ve heard that… sometimes they can kind of…”

   “Make me insane?”

   Then there was that. The paradigm shift he experienced any time he got serious. You’d seen some of it in action over the years: a blatant disregard for self-preservation, flashes of psychosis, the sheer lack of emotion normally present in him. It conflicted severely with the carefree jokester laying next to you right now. He spoke so calmly, even though his words made you worry. “Is that why you’re nervous?” Satoru said with a voice that was far too normal. Like he’d been told as such before.

   You couldn’t let him believe it, not for a second, not when he’d done so much to find and save you. The way his touch had never once been rough even when his anger made him nearly feral. It was your turn to face him and pin him down with your eyes. The move was unexpected and Satoru couldn’t stop the slight surprise on his face. His heart did something funny, too.

   “I’m not scared of you.” You said confidently. Satoru couldn’t pick up one ounce of hesitation in your entire body. “You saved me.”

   You paused, then, “I’m glad we had to share a bed.”

   Satoru didn’t move an inch even when you curled into his chest and came to rest your heavy head right under his chin. For all his eyes could do, they hadn’t predicted this. If they had then maybe he wouldn’t be sitting there like a robot while you finally closed your eyes and got the rest he so desperately wanted you to have. Like so many other nights, he probably wouldn’t get as lucky to catch up on his sleep. As his hand lifted to caress the back of your head and his lips nestled into your hairline for a comforting kiss, he thought maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Not as long as you were with him under the same set of sheets when the sun came up.

[jeontaeil-archived]

Turn Right Onto Oh Shit Avenue //

~ for @renhyucks "The First" collab ~

Pairing: Haechan x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Crack, Non-Idol AU

Words: 2.27+

Warnings: 18+ content, Read at your own discretion

Your first road trip with your boyfriend Haechan was simply unforgettable.

~

You were out on a journey with no destination and that decision was proving to be worse than you thought. After getting on the path that you were on for four hours straight, Haechan suggested that you get off the highway and detour to a small little off-road lane. At first, the daring exit seemed promising. But before you knew it, you had driven over a sharp stone, thereby puncturing not only your front tire but also the back tire adjacent to it. Having only one spare, there was no way you could make the repair. To add to your misery, when Haechan attempted to call roadside assistance, he was unable to do so as there was no cell service. The only way you’d be able to get some help was if you went back to the main road. However, neither of you were willing to leave the car behind - even though you knew that no one would try and steal a broken down car - and so, after a competitive round of rock-paper-scissors, it was decided that Haechan would make the trip back to the highway on foot underneath the blistering midday sun while you sat in the car, chilling peacefully in the ac.

It took him quite a while to return. He came bearing good news. A tow truck would arrive at your location in about two to three hours. Until then, all you both needed to do was sit tight and try not to panic in the lifeless location that you were stranded in. That was easier said than done.

There wasn’t much of a view beyond the windows. Just miles and miles of dull, dead grass. Not having much to do other than sit idle, Haechan grew bored quickly. He turned to you with a stoic expression. “Wanna fuck?”

You scoffed at his ridiculous suggestion. “In the middle of nowhere? Umm, absolutely not,” you answered, earning a whine from him. “The fact that there’s no one here makes it like ten times more ideal. There’s no chance of us getting caught,” he urged. You rolled your eyes even though he had a point. “Still, I didn’t bring any condoms.”

Haechan narrowed his eyes at you. “When I suggested that we go on a road trip you should’ve known that car sex was included. I shouldn’t have had to explicitly state it.”

Was he being serious? If you guys hadn’t made this stupid detour and were still driving along the highway, was he going to pull over and bone you while unsuspecting civilians drove past you both? Or worse, would he book a room at some cheap hotel for twenty-something minutes of undeniable pleasure?

“Well too bad for you then,” you chided, crossing your arms. “If it was a part of your plan, you should’ve prepared better.”

Haechan threw his hands up. You were unbelievable. He never thought he’d see the day when you refused sex simply because you had no protection. “I can always pull out you know.”

You laughed sarcastically, though you actually found his words genuinely humorous. “I didn’t wanna be the one to tell you this, but your pull out game sucks ass Hyuck.”

Haechan gasped dramatically at your accusation, taking full offence. “Aren’t you the one who likes it messy? How can I not be messy if half-ass my pull out game?”

You raised your brows in a false sense of surprise. “So you’re telling me that you fake it then?”

“I don’t fake it. I just do it on purpose,” he corrects. You nodded, not believing him. “Oh really?”

“I could always prove it to you,” he presented triumphantly. You smirked. “Okay fine. Let’s fuck. but you can’t pull out and jerk yourself off. Otherwise, it won’t count.”

Haechan smiled and crashed his lips onto yours, pushing your seat back so that he could hover on top of you. He spread your legs apart, settling in between them and slipped his hand under your shirt, drawing small circles into your side. You tugged at his shirt, urging him to take it off. He was quick to do so, throwing the material in the back seat. Haechan peeled your shorts down your legs, bringing his hands to your clothed clit. You bucked your hips against his fingers, gasping into his mouth. Haechan took this as a chance to let his tongue run over yours. He squeezed your breast over your bra and pushed the flimsy fabric up to your neck. You fumbled with his pants, managing to grab his partially hardened cock. Haechan hummed and pushed his pants down all the way, letting his member spring free. You licked your lips in anticipation, playing with his tip. Haechan pushed your panties to the side and rubbed his tip along your plump folds. You held onto his arms when he finally pushed into you. He set a steady pace, rocking his hips into you comfortably. Your head fell back against the cool leather of the seat, legs spreading wider for him to go deeper. With one hand on your shoulder and the other on your thigh, Haechan kept his eyes glued to your cunt. He bit his lip, seething at how warm and tight your walls were. You began rubbing your clit, impatient to reach your climax. Haechan didn’t mind. In fact, he fucked you faster, pulling your body down the seat and throwing your legs over his shoulder. He held onto the headrest to maintain his momentum. Loud moans left your gaping mouth. The usually talkative Haechan said nothing, concentrating solely on his approaching high. You were the first to cum, walls clenching around his member. Haechan groaned as he felt your arousal gush down your walls, slicking up his cock. Gripping your thighs, he started rutting himself into you, ignoring your cries when the sensitivity started to settle into. Keeping your condition in mind, he hissed and kept going, right until he was about to nut.

An amused chuckle left you as he pulled out and haphazardly emptied himself over your pussy. You wrapped your fingers around him and stroked his length, milking him dry of every last drop.

“Does that count,” he asked, pulling his pants back up. He handed you a tissue to clean yourself up. “It barely makes the cut,” you replied, straightening yourself up again. Haechan snickered. “Just admit that you like it messy and we both win.”

~

About an hour into your wait for the tow truck, another disaster took place. The car’s battery gave out, leaving you to slow bake in the intense heat. Haechan had it easier, leisurely, splaying in his seat with his shirt off. You figured you could do the same, but there was no way of knowing when the towers would show up. Not wanting to waste the little amount of cool air in the car, Haechan forbade you from cracking the windows open. All you could do was sit and fan your face with the car’s insurance papers.

Almost a century later, a loud horn sounded from behind you on the road, startling you both. With a glance in the rearview mirror, you realised it was the towing people. Haechan scrambled to pull his shirt on and got out of the car, wincing as he shielded his eyes from the sun.

You watched Haechan talk to them from the window. He turned to you, motioning you to sit tight. After a while, They pulled your car up into the back of their truck and offered to take you back to their garage from where you both could book a cab and return to the city.

Since there was no space up front, they let you sit in your car, popping the windows open so that you wouldn’t die of suffocation. When the truck began moving, you were finally able to let out a breath of relief. It was still considerably hot out. But the sharp wind that hit your face was incredibly refreshing. Haechan’s once sweat matted hair was now fluffy and dry. Both of you were at ease, feeling grateful to have escaped that dreaded off-road where not a single soul was present. It was nice to be around life again.

It took some time but you eventually reached the garage in one piece. After collecting all your essentials from the car, you both headed out to a small diner nearby to recharge yourselves with some food and beverages. It was quiet between you, for the most part, both of you were equally exhausted from all the long and tedious travelling. It was safe to say that you’d lived out enough of your road trip fantasies for now.

After paying for your food, Haechan took out his phone, ready to book a cab. That’s the exact moment he realised that his phone was out of battery. A look of horror struck on his face. You cursed in frustration and pulled out your own phone. Luckily, it still had some charge, though barely surviving. Much to your dismay, however, you didn’t have a cab booking app and you knew downloading one would take ages. Still, you had to try.

As you had assumed, your phone ended up dying during your wait. Haechan was going to cry. Knowing that you both would be in the car for the majority of your trip, neither of you had brought your chargers. There was one back in the car but you couldn’t use it. Haechan was on the verge of tears. He had no idea what to do and neither did you.

“Should we just hitchhike?” Haechan stared at you blankly and shrugged. “Do we have any other choice?” You traced the rim of your cup, letting out a tired sigh. “Maybe we can spend the night at some motel and wait for our car to get fixed. We’ll have to come back to pick it up anyway so why not just stay till it’s ready?”

Haechan couldn’t argue with that. A waitress informed you of a cheap motel around the block. You both set out on foot, reaching it in no time. The building wasn’t too impressive. But it wasn’t like either of you were expecting much out of it anyways. You just wanted to lay on a soft bed and take a shower. You couldn’t stand how sticky and dewy your skin had gotten.

After booking a room, you both burst in through the door and headed straight for the bathroom. “Are we going in together,” Haechan asked when he saw you peeling your shirt off? You slipped behind the shower curtain and turned on the water without answering him. He got the memo and mimicked your actions before joining you in the small space. Leaning against his chest, you closed your eyes, letting the cool water cascade down your body. Haechan wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I can’t believe this is what our trip led to,” you spoke, snickering to yourself. Haechan scoffed. “At least we’ll never forget it.” You turned around, throwing your arms around his neck. “Never in a million years.” Haechan smiled at you, leaning forward to press a quick kiss on your lips. Pulling him closer, you kept his lips on yours a bit longer, not wanting it to end just quite yet. Haechan stumbled back towards the wall, smirking as things started to escalate. You could feel his member beginning to harden up. Haechan let out a choked moan when you took a hold of his length, pumping it with vigour. His fingers found your clit, rubbing quick circles into it. “Fuck, turn around,” Haechan voiced, switching places with you. He pulled your hips back, bringing his tip to your entrance. Pressing your face to the cool bathroom wall, you moaned as he stretched you out with his cock. Haechan gradually brought himself to a steady pace, grunting in delight. Your head fell back, breathy moans filling the expanse of the small bathroom. This was the perfect way to destress after your terrible day.

~

You guys had quite a lot of fun in that motel room. Two times in the shower and once on the bed. Now, you two laid next to each other, naked and completely drained. Haechan giggled at the ticklish sensation of your fingers drawing shapes on his chest. You were cuddled up into his side, leg thrown over his lap underneath the covers. Both of you were seconds away from falling asleep.

“You know what y/n,” Haechan whispered, not wanting to disturb the peaceful ambience of the room. You hummed, looking up at him. “I think we should go trekking.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous idea. “After today I don’t think we should ever leave the house unsupervised,” you retorted. Haechan shook his head. “Just think about it. We get lost in the mountains and get a chance to see life through Tarzan’s eyes.” He sounded fascinated by the thought. You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and go to sleep. You’re going crazy.” Haechan groaned. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s sleep.”

He turned on his side, facing you. Snuggling deeper into him, you wrapped your arm around his hip, sighing into his neck while closing your eyes. His gentle and calm breaths were like a silent lullaby, helping you drift off. Just before you blanked out, Haechan gasped. “What is it now,” you asked, ready to kick him if he said something stupid? “I think I left our keys at home.”

tagging: @chwe-yeeun | @jayvoir | @jisungismymom | @lqsience | @jakesavocado | @giveortake | @choijwiss | @treasuretaeil | @bts-txt-ateez | @heeslily | @sunoosi | @dong-hyuc | @borrovvedyoongi | @uwusforateez | @haechanswhore

send an ask or message if you would like to be added to the tag list!

[andypantsx3]

if i could keep cool | 4

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

There was no other word for it. Todoroki was a menace.

Though his schedule seemed to return to something approximating normal, he was still in the apartment often enough that you began to anticipate him being there. Even when he wasn’t, however, he made life difficult enough for you by leaving behind gifts, with progressively more disappointed notes if you didn’t take them. You didn’t know how it was possible to convey that flat tone in the shape of his letters, but you could practically hear it as you read them over.

Worse, he seemed to know exactly which of your weak points to exploit to get you to want the gifts--leaving you several more books, a bag of the really nice coffee beans from the coffee shop you’d told him about, and a sinfully soft scarf as the weather turned colder. When you continued to ignore the insane amount of money he seemed to think passed for a tip, fresh vegetables started cropping up on the countertops with notes that said things like I’m not going to eat these, if you don’t take them they will be wasted to guilt you into compliance.

A month into it, an entire grocery order started showing up every Thursday shift. My refrigerator is full so don’t try to stuff any of this in there, his note commanded.

He was a master of manipulation, it seemed, and to what end you didn’t know. You made mental notes to not mention any further likes during your conversations, but when he was there, Todoroki’s conversation was so easy and so natural, he continued to pull all the details out of you with ease.

So things you really, really liked kept turning up. And as you talked to him, Todoroki was turning into a thing that you really, really liked as well.

It was overwhelming.

The final straw was a Friday afternoon when you hit up the fancy coffee shop just outside campus. You walked in with the extra money you’d saved up not buying your own groceries, and the vague idea that you would get a head start on an upcoming paper. And then, the barista very obviously glanced between you and a sheet of paper taped to a corner of the register, and refused to let you pay for your order.

“Your order is free!” she chirped cheerfully.

You stared. “What?”

“It’s already taken care of!” she said, and immediately, a cloud of suspicion settled over you.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked.

She smiled. “The occasion is someone already paid for you!”

You glanced around the coffee shop, but you could find nothing but a few unfamiliar students purusing books or churning out work on their respective laptops. You turned back to her.

“And if I were to walk into this coffee shop tomorrow, would the occasion also be that someone already paid for me?”

She nodded. “Yes! All your future orders are paid for, please come as often as you like!”

You gaped at her, and she cheerfully stuffed your coffee into your hands. Then you glared down at the white paper cup accusingly, and it stared back at you, looking like one half of a certain menace’s hair color.

Oh, he was in for it.

You stalked over to a table and whipped out your cell phone, shooting off a message so fast your fingers practically burned.

todoroki what the hell

To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.

It’s Shouto.

Like hell it was.

first names are for friends, not psychopaths. did you really pay for all of my future orders at the coffee shop?

Is this your first time there this month? he answered. Where do you usually go?

You stared at your phone. He’d done this a month ago? Also, no way you were telling him your budget spot where you picked up lukewarm bean water when you couldn’t afford four dollar americanos. The last thing you needed was for him to buy them out, too.

You got to your feet, marching back over to the barista.

She smiled. “Back for something else?”

“Yeah, how do I cancel the all my orders are paid for thing?” you asked. “Can you just delete whatever info he left you and charge me from now on?”

She looked you up and down. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She stared, then leaned in to whisper. “You do know who paid for all your orders, right? Are you actually sure you want to cancel?”

A migraine started in your temples. Had Todoroki actually come in here himself to give his information? Was he trying to get you caught up in the secret lover bullshit that was still swirling in the media?

“I’m extra sure,” you smiled, then went back to your table, satisfied.

No sooner than you had dug out your laptop, though, when your phone buzzed. You looked down at the name on the screen and paled. Todoroki was way easier to deal with via text when you couldn’t hear that low, smooth tone directly in your ear. His face and his voice were absolutely fucking mind-melting, and it would be hard to maintain your stubborn stance even in the face of just one.

Still, though, this was the last straw.

“How many times do I have to tell you that friendship is free?” you hissed quietly as you picked up.

“They told me you tried to cancel,” he said flatly, and your head whipped up to glare at the barista accusingly. She smiled.

“Todoroki--”

“Shouto,” he said.

“Fine, Shouto,” you said, “It’s been a month and maybe I let you get the wrong idea by accepting all of the vegetables and everything, but this ends here. I told you that it doesn’t cost anything to be friends with me, and you had better stop apologizing. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but--”

“Then do,” he said simply.

“What?”

“Then just appreciate it,” he answered. His voice was somehow even lower on the phone and a shiver went down your spine, despite your frustration with him. “Just accept them. Why is it so bad if a friend gives you things?”

God, he was such a rich boy, wasn’t he?

“Shouto, I do appreciate it,” you said. “But I don’t need any of that. And I know that you know this isn’t necessary--I highly doubt that you are buying Midoriya all of his weekly coffees or draping Bakugou in soft scarves. All you need to be friends with me is to just hang out, the same way you do them.”

Shouto was quiet a moment. “Hang out,” he finally said, slowly, like he was tasting the words in his mouth. Then, “Are you free right now?”

“W-what?” you managed.

“You don’t have class right now, right? Your last lecture just let out.”

You were surprised that he remembered your class schedule. Just how much had you told him?

“Uh, yeah?” you asked.

“Good, stay where you are. We’re hanging out,” he pronounced the words like they were foreign on his tongue, then hung up.

You stared down at your phone in shock. He wanted to hang out with you? Like, outside of his apartment?

There was no arguing the two of you got along relatively well, now that the threat of your crazy fandom and the weight of his mistake no longer hung over your relationship. You talked easily enough the one or two times you saw him during any given week. But so far your interactions had been somewhat limited, confined to the familiar space of his apartment and limited to the time that you had to be there. You texted a little outside of that, but you’d never just casually hung out.

Then the weight of his words really hit you. He was coming here? To the coffee shop? In full view of your entire campus? Was he insane?

You ran through a mental checklist of things in your bag that could be used to disguise him but came up short. You didn’t know exactly what he planned to look like when he put in an appearance here, but you were not interested in fanning the flames of the secret lover garbage that was still all over twitter and splashed across the glossy pages of the magazines at the grocery store.

You shot to your feet and threw your bag over your shoulder, then ran out the door, dashing for the campus shop that sat just outside the student center. You blew through the door and dove straight for the apparel section, grabbing the least heinous hat that looked like it would cover most of Shouto’s distinctive hairstyle while also drawing the least amount of attention to its wearer. You also helped yourself to a plain pair of sunglasses that would probably be kind of inappropriate in the fall weather, but would go a long way in hiding his eyes and that scar.

Why did he insist on having so many distinguishing features? Would it kill him to have dark hair and dark eyes like most of the rest of the earth’s population?

You threw the items and a wad of bills down on the register counter, then paused. A few small, slightly-wilted looking bouquets of flowers sprouted from buckets just beside the register in the colors of your university. You didn’t know what the colors or type of the flowers were supposed to mean, and they probably didn’t give off exactly the message you wanted to send, but Shouto had gotten you flowers as the first gift he’d ever given you…

You grabbed the least wilted looking bunch and threw them on top of the other items.

The cashier rang you up with all the urgency of a sloth, and you tapped your foot nervously as you waited. How was Shouto getting here? How long would it take him? Would he be at the coffee shop already?

You stuffed the flowers into your bag, then launched yourself out of the campus shop like a rocket, catching that mop of red and white hair just outside the entrance to the coffee shop. You put on a burst of speed and managed to jam the baseball cap down over his head before he pulled open the door. He turned to you in surprise.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Yes, hi, hello,” you managed while also trying to ram the sunglasses onto his face.

He let out a small huff of amusement. “What are you doing?”

“What you should have done before coming here, you absolute wackjob,” you said, finally managing to slip the shades over his high-bridged nose without poking his eyes out.

Shouto let you manhandle him to your liking, until his face and hair were mostly hidden under your university merchandise.

“Okay, you should be good now,” you said, looking him over. He still stood out, honestly, too tall and outrageously handsome, even covered up as he was. The sweater and well-fitting jeans he’d chosen would still draw anyone’s gaze straight to his trim figure, but it would have to do.

“We can’t go inside, though, you’ll look too shady with the cap and glasses,” you said. “We need to go somewhere outdoors.”

He stared down at you, one eyebrow lifted over the top of his sunglasses. “It’s fall.”

You thought for a moment.

“How do you feel about izakaya?” you asked. “There’s a street-side one not far from here that’s mostly outdoors. They’re good, and I think they’re still open.”

He nodded. “Do you go there often?”

You eyed him. “Oh no. If I tell you places I go, you apparently buy them out. The whole point of you being here is to prove that buying me things is stupid when we can just hang out.”

The corner of his mouth twitched like he was being told a joke you couldn’t hear. “Lead the way, then,” he said evenly.

You pulled him down a few blocks, expertly navigating your way through the winding city streets. You would never admit as much to him, but this place was one of your faves for good beer and cheap yakitori, and you could probably easily find your way both blindfolded and drunk. Shouto followed you easily, a tall, silent warmth at your back.

There were few people at the izakaya when you arrived, considering it was still a little early for dinner, and no one gave the two of you a second glance when you pulled back the curtains and helped yourselves to pair of stools in the corner of the stall.

“Okay, you have to get a beer and yakitori first," you said. "You can do whatever you want after, but the first round has to be that. Just trust me.”

“No vegetables?” Shouto asked.

You laughed. “I know that’s my brand. And there are good veggie side dishes. But there is nothing like fresh, warm, cheap yakitori and a really good beer, especially on a cool fall day like this. I know what I’m talking about.”

A soft smile pulled at his mouth. “So you do come here often.”

You stared up at him accusingly. “If you dare throw a single dollar at them, you’re in huge trouble. I know where you live.”

He smiled down at you. It was easier to notice how boyish his grin was when the rest of his face was hidden by his sunglasses, and heat flared in your cheeks. He was just so damn good looking.

It suddenly dawned on you how forward you’d been with him, sending him sassy texts and putting your hands all over him when you were attempting to stuff him into your university swag. Your relationship had progressed somewhat since that first book he’d bribed you with, but honestly, this was completely new ground for you.

Your face burned hotter. You’d been so, so inexcusably forward. Had you lost your mind?

Shouto seemed to be thinking about the hat as well. “So, do I look like a student at your university?”

You looked him up and down. Aside from your school’s name emblazoned across his baseball cap, he looked nothing like a student, too put together in his dark sweater and jeans that probably cost more than your monthly rent. You wondered if he’d even been within ten feet of an instant ramen cup in his entire life.

“Uh, no,” you said. “You look like someone forced you to wear a hat they panic purchased and it just so happened to be the least horrible one available.”

A smile played about his mouth again. “What were the other options?”

You grinned. “It was this one or a proud dad of a college grad cap.”

He let out a small huff of amusement. You smiled, then leaned forward as the man at the counter came over to take your order, making sure to cut Shouto off before he could attempt any rich boy tricks. You put in an order for two beers and what was probably a concerning amount of yakitori, then turned back to Shouto and almost fell off your stool when he was much closer than you’d expected.

“Do you have a teleportation quirk I don’t know about?” you asked, internally panicking at his proximity. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of him and catch the scent of his cologne, light and fresh and disturbingly good.

He smiled that boyish smile again and your heart suddenly forgot how to do its job, freezing in your chest. “It’s cold.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have a fire quirk.”

You felt the air grow a little warmer around the two of you. “I meant for you,” he said.

You were torn between relaxing into the sudden warmth and freezing up in embarrassment. It was beginning to dawn on you just how attentive and thoughtful he always was, and you wondered vaguely if the gift giving was actually just a really extreme manifestation of that personality trait. Maybe being an awkward rich boy with a weird way of making friends was just part of the issue.

Your heartbeat suddenly kicked into overdrive. He was already so overwhelming to look at, incredibly brave, such a good listener, and way too easy to talk to. You did not need to pile on other endearing qualities to the frankly alarming number of things feeding into what was quickly becoming the fattest crush of your lifetime. Did he have to be so good all the time?

A hand suddenly reached out, pulling you closer so that you were practically fused to his left side. You stiffened, resisting the urge to curl into the warmth pouring off of him in thick waves.

Not good, this was so not good.

“Uh, you don’t have to do that,” you said, tongue thick, like you were speaking through a mouthful of applesauce. “I’m wearing the scarf you got me.”

Shouto tilted his head, and though you couldn’t see his expression behind the sunglasses, something like satisfaction curled the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he said in his deep tone, “but this will help too.”

“Really, you’re my friend not my personal space heater,” you insisted, trying to squirm away from him. “You don’t need to do this.”

He flared hotter, and a strong arm went around the back of your chair, halting your escape. “I don’t mind,” he said.

God it was like he didn’t even know what effect he had on people. People, of course, being cleaning ladies with twitters full of zoomed in pictures of his abs. It was not good for your health to be this close to him, couldn’t he just let you sit ten thousand miles away from him where both of you would be a little safer?

The izakaya owner interrupted this train of thought, pushing two beers and a plateful of yakitori between the two of you.

You instantly seized on the distraction, bringing a beer to your mouth to give you a couple moments for your brain to turn on again. It was refreshingly cold, and the flavor was nostalgic, tasting like breaks after class with friends and late nights stumbling back after several rounds of karaoke and drinking. You wondered now if, in the future, you would taste it and think back to the one time you’d hung out with Shouto Todoroki.

“It’s good,” Shouto said, looking at you over the rim of his own beer.

You smiled. “I told you.”

Then you shoved a stick of yakitori at him. “Now eat this and tell me I was right about it too.”

His fingers slid along yours as he took the stick from you, calloused and warm. “...You were right about this too,” he said after managing a bite.

You felt yourself puff up. “Of course I was.”

He smiled and helped himself to the rest. With the food and drink absorbing some of your attention, you were able to calm down somewhat, and the conversation returned to normal, you doing your best to forget about the sinfully warm arm curled around your back.

Here, too, Shouto was absurdly easy to talk to, the new venue doing nothing to dull his charm or the easy way that he pulled information out of you with a few, short, well-placed questions. Over the course of a few hours, you worked your way through a few beers and several more side dishes, the conversation never letting up. Shouto was just as intelligent and thoughtful as ever, and he made you laugh with a couple of unexpectedly short tempered comments. Even the discovery that he was not as princely as he usually seemed just fanned the flames of your crush.

It was only when the people around you began to shuffle off of their stools and pack up that you realized how late it had grown, and that you’d spent the entire evening hanging out and talking.

Shouto helped you off your stool when you stumbled a little, the number of beers you’d consumed suddenly making themselves known. “You’re more of a lightweight than I would have guessed by the conversation,” he teased.

You looked up into his face, realizing that he’d shed the sunglasses at some point during your conversation and you hadn’t noticed. Had anyone else noticed? No one had come over asking for an autograph. Maybe he was so unexpected at a place like this that the hat had been enough of a disguise.

You blinked, realized you’d been staring. “Nonsense, I’m a pro. I’ve put in many more beers at this place.”

Then your eyes narrowed at the slow movement his hand was making along the counter, what looked suspiciously like a stack of bills underneath. That little shit.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you demanded, grabbing his hand and stuffing the money back into it. “This is on me. I haven’t paid for groceries in weeks, thanks to somebody.”

Shouto smirked, looking strangely pleased with himself. His hand curled around yours, and his other came up to take your free hand. It was only when he’d transferred both of your wrists into one large palm that you realized what he was doing, plopping down a handful of bills on the counter quickly with his free hand, then pulling your backpack over your shoulder and tugging you away from the izakaya before you could make a scene. You’d been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, steering you back out into the street. “Give me your address.”

“Shouto,” you whined, “this whole evening was supposed to be about proving you don’t need to spend money to be my friend. We were supposed to hang out.”

“We did hang out,” he pointed out, looking down at you from under the rim of that ridiculous baseball cap. “Your point was very much made.”

It was a testament to how tipsy you were, probably, that this warmed you. You forgot your annoyance with him almost immediately. “Really?”

He huffed a laugh. “Really. Now give me your address so I can take you home.”

You did and he plugged it into his phone. Then he led you along with one hand curled around yours. You spent the whole walk musing on how warm his fingers were in yours, how much larger his hands seemed than yours. Why was even his stupid hand so nice?

It was only as Shouto walked you to the door of your apartment that you remembered the last thing you’d gotten for him in the campus store. You quickly unzipped your backpack, shoving the bouquet of flowers at him.

“For you,” you said, pressing them into his chest. “You got me those flowers. These ones aren’t as nice, but I thought that you should have some too.”

He stared down at you, something strange glinting in his eyes. “You got me flowers.”

“Do you not like them?” you asked nervously. Was it weird to give a guy flowers? It was probably weird…

“I like them,” he declared, and a genuine smile flickered across his mouth. His eyes looked a little brighter, and his gaze was growing more intent by the second. “Now, you should probably get inside before I forget my manners.”

Forget his manners? You stared up at him in confusion.

He looked down at you for a long moment, and then he was suddenly very close, his face dipping down to yours.

“Get inside,” he said quietly, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “Please.”

You nodded, swallowing. You had just enough presence of mind to turn and unlock your door. Shouto guided you gently inside with a hand on your back, and then stepped back outside, smiling.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he said.

You waved. “See you on Tuesday.”

You watched him make his way back down the street, only closing your door when you saw him turn the corner and disappear out of sight. Then you sank down against the door frame, heart feeling like it was going to beat straight out of your chest.

Shouto was the most overwhelming man on this earth. You were in such big trouble.

[zevlors-tail]

Retail Therapy

A/N: If you work retail like I do and get frustrated with your job on a weekly/daily basis, if you’re just fed up of all the crazy at work, this one’s for you! Covid has made it extra garbagey to work retail so here’s a little vent. Also, me writing soft Bakugou content? Yes.

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Shouto Todoroki

Warnings: Mentions of Covid in Bakugou’s part. Cursing. Customer invading your personal space (also in Bakugou’s part), tiny mention of anxiety in Todoroki’s scenario.

Summary: You’ve had the most infuriating day at work. Lucky for you, he knows just how to fix it.

Izuku Midoriya

Oh my god this gif is so bright i love it

“Hi baby!” Izuku greets you as you haphazardly toss your shoes on the floor, not caring where they land. One ends up under the dining room table and the other ends up somewhere among the chairs, but you could care less.

You’re pissed. More pissed than you’ve ever been, but specifically with work. You constantly feel like you’re babysitting your coworkers, and they never listen to anything you have to say, even when you’re put in charge of your department- if only for the night. Every time you turn your back, they’re pulling some sort of dumb stunt; how are you supposed to get work done like that? You can hardly focus on your own task when you’re trying to clean up after everyone else. Picking up slack is something you’re used to by now (unfortunately), but it shouldn’t have to be. You shouldn’t have to do your work and everyone else’s work too. Not to mention, you were tired of being the middle man whenever there was drama. Why did everyone feel the need to tell you everything?

“Ughhhh!” You just groan in response, half a smile on your face while a wild look enters your eyes. Izuku knows that look. He can tell you’re frustrated after a long day of work, that you’re at your wits end with your job. “I swear, Izu, I came this close to rage quitting. I mean I wouldn’t, because I’ve got bills to pay and stuff, but, just- this close.”

“Oh yeah?” He gives you a trademark smile despite your woes and invites you to follow him to the dining table where he sits down with you, taking your hand in his. “Tell me all about it.”

And you do. He listens diligently, nodding and getting into the gossip playfully, asking about certain coworkers and making silly comments to get you to laugh. Things like, “But they would never!” and “Oh my god, no they didn’t!” along with your personal favorite, a very dramatic “No!” He even makes over the top facial expressions to go with his comedic comments, and he has you laughing with him in no time, the stress of the day melting away under his electric green gaze. Your vent turns into more of a fun story than it does a bad experience. Izuku is a good listener and he’ll always be there for you.

“It was just ridiculous! Man, I can only take so much in one day. Usually I don’t let them get to me, but I couldn’t take both of them coming up to me every five minutes and complaining about each other. You know, as much as they like to talk about each other not doing their jobs, maybe they would get more work done if they just stopped talking and got back to work in the first place!” As you tell him your story, he hums a response, nods, and gets up from the table. He pats your head as he passes by you on the way to the kitchen, and you follow him with your gaze, questioning him silently.

“I’m still listening, love. I can hear you from here, promise! Do go on.”

You continue, not paying much mind to what he’s doing since you’re so engrossed in your tale of idiocy and annoyance turned silly. And he is listening to you, still making eye contact as he moves about the kitchen, still putting his two cents every once in a while. But before you know it, a savory smell hits your nose, and you realize he’s not only started dinner but that he’s practically finished with it by the time you’re done talking. He wastes no time in making two plates and bringing them over, setting one in front of you and the other in front of his usual spot.

You’re extremely grateful to him for taking the initiative to make dinner while you de-stressed after the day’s events, and you make sure to tell him that as you both dig in to his cooking. He learned from the best (bless mama Midoriya). You’re reminded that no matter how bad your day has been, you get to come home to your favorite human being on the whole planet and love him, and be loved by him in return.

“Thanks for making dinner, Izuku. You’re truly the love of my life.” You say it in such a manner that makes your partner laugh, bits of food falling from his mouth as he struggles to swallow properly. “That’s attractive,” you tease, but you’re laughing too. It’s a happy moment for the both of you.

“Good to know you only love me for my cooking!” He jokes. He eyes your plate before not so subtly reaching over and stealing a piece of food. You gasp in mock surprise, but save your revenge for later. There are plenty of ways to get even with him. But for now...

Izuku: 1

Y/N: 0

Katsuki Bakugou

soft bb

“Shit, fuck! God, I hate today!” you exclaim as you slam the car door shut. Bakugou had been kind enough to pick you up from work, and you were glad that it was him driving and not you behind the wheel. You were shaking in your seat, your hands trembling in anger and teeth grinding in frustration as you glared out of the window silently for a moment.

“Bad day?” Bakugou asked gruffly, foot gently pressing against the gas peddle as you took off on the drive home.

“Yeah, you would not fucking believe people. You’d think everyone would listen to directions and stay home since it’s like, oh, I don’t know- the middle of a fucking pandemic?”

“Oh, believe me, I know. People are stupid. Don’t let them get to you, baby.” 

Maybe those words were odd coming from him considering he used to be so angry all the time himself, but Bakugou had really mellowed out since his days at UA, and he knew how to hold his tongue. Unbeknownst to him, however, this was more than a bad day for you. Bad days you could let go of, but this- this was something else. Not quite the worst time you’d ever had at work, but much more than a bad day. Today had been somewhere in between the two, and you weren’t sure what to call it. You’d been yelled at, berated, understaffed, and blamed for pretty much all the problems going on in your specific area even though you were trying your best. There was only so much you could do yourself, and even though you knew it was better to just let it go, you couldn’t. Especially not after what that wretched customer had done to you.

“I’m trying not to, but it’s really god damned hard not to fucking smack a bitch when they invade your personal space and tap on your shoulder. In a fucking pandemic. Actually, I don’t even think she was wearing a mask now that I think about it. How considerate of her.” The words are like venom spitting from your mouth, your fists clenching as you vent to your partner in confidence.

“They did what?” Normally he’s good about keeping his anger in check. Normally, he could handle you venting to him about anything. But someone else touching his Y/N? No way in hell. And during a period of time where touching people was especially rude and inconsiderate? Fucking no way in hell.

“Yeah! Tapped me right on the damn shoulder and didn’t even say excuse me. Words exist! Just tell me you need something and I’ll get it for you! I hate people who do that shit, it’s so unnecessary and rude! And it violates my personal space and creeps me out. I feel disgusting. If you touch me at work, then I’m not liable for anything that happens to you! You get slapped? Then that’s on you, bitch! Don’t fucking touch me!” You finish up your speech with a wild hand gesture, your head shaking in disbelief while you try not to think about too much.

It takes Bakugou everything he has not to just slam on the breaks right then and there and put the car in reverse to drive back to the store and find that piece of trash. If he could give them a piece of his mind, he would. But he can’t, so he settles for the next best thing: comforting you and making sure you’re okay. You did just have your personal space violated after all, so it’s understandable you’re pretty shaken up and angry about the whole thing. He would be too, honestly. 

The rest of the short drive home is mostly silent, save for the small talk you make with each other and the quiet background noise of the radio station that he let you pick. His general rule of thumb is that the driver picks the music, but he knows you’ve had a hard day, so he doesn’t argue when you change it to your preferred station and start drumming your fingers to the beat. He’d rather you wind down this way than keeping it all bottled up. When the two of you finally arrive to your shared home, you let your shoulders fall a bit and sigh as you trudge to the couch, not even bothering to take your shoes off before plopping down and face planting into the soft cushions. You listen as Bakugou wanders off to the bedroom and returns a moment later with a shirt in his hands.

“You said you felt disgusting earlier, so I brought you a new shirt to change into. Figured you probably didn’t want to stay in your work clothes.” His tone is softer, a little more careful since you’re home now and he knows you don’t like to fall apart in public. Home is where your true heart is, with him. If you’re feeling any sort of negative emotion, it’s more likely to come out here. And he wants to offer his help, but... “Do you want some help with it?”

You shift so that you’re sitting up on the couch and raise your arms slightly for him. “That would be nice, since I’m utterly exhausted and worn out. I’d really appreciate it,” you reply honestly.

He hesitates a bit, unsure of something before he asks you a question. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Your response is immediate. “Of course it is; I trust you. I never mind your touch.”

He smiles at that.

He helps you get changed into the ultra comfy shirt he brought you, and after that the two of you heat up some leftovers before cuddling up in bed together, the worst of the day washed away by Bakugou’s soft fingers running along your side as you lay your head on his chest.

“Thanks for always taking care of me. You do an amazing job at it.” You yawn into his shirt and snuggle your face against it, the soft cotton making you feel safe and secure.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Shouto Todoroki

I’m feeling extra soft for Todoroki recently

“Hi, Y/N. How was your day at-” 

Before Shouto can even finish his sentence, you’re flying into a vent about work, passing right by him on your way to the bathroom as you start to pull of your work uniform angrily.

“Oh my god, it was an absolute disaster!” You’re still breathing heavy from all the stress, eyes darting around wildly and face flushed from being mad and under pressure all night.

“What happened, love?” Todoroki coaxes gently. He comes to stand in the door frame of the bathroom and leans against it, his hands in his pockets and hip cocked out to the side. He has a sympathetic look on his face as you explain all your troubles of the day.

“Everything, Shouto. Everything happened. I mean, not everything, but it sure felt like it! Our delivery showed up late, and we didn’t have product all afternoon, so our customers were really angry and I kept getting yelled at! It’s not my fault it showed up late! If I had the product to put out I would! It’s complete and utter bullshit!” You make your way to the bedroom to pick out pajamas, not really caring about the pair you take out of the drawer or anything else for that matter. Your mind was focused on one thing and one thing only: your day at work.

Sometimes you had a hard time winding down from work, especially on days like these, and Shouto knew that. You usually were able to separate work from home fairly well, but occasionally you just needed a little reminder that it didn’t have to follow you home to bed, and he knew how to help with that. He’d seen you like this before, had witnessed your break downs and freak outs over your job and the stress that came with it. Retail was not for everyone. Todoroki always told you that you had the patience of a saint, though everyone had their own limits, and you must have hit yours tonight.

“I don’t appreciate being called names and told that I’m practically useless. Customers can be real fucking snobs all the time. And I was trying so hard too, but even after the delivery showed up, it was busy as hell, and every time I put something up on the shelf they just kept taking it down! I think I sold through at least three boxes of something I normally have to throw away at the end of the week. Seriously! It was a mess, and we didn’t have enough staff because one of us was still suspended, and our normal person who works the backroom doesn’t work weekends, and even our supervisor called off, so it was just me and this other girl. It was awful. I can’t even- ugh! It’s not fair!”

You started to work yourself up, your anxiety skyrocketing as you thought of everything that went wrong earlier. Rationally you knew there wasn’t much you could do about the situation, but that didn’t mean you felt the same way. You should have done more, pushed yourself harder, but you also didn’t want to stay and work overtime on an empty stomach and not a lot of sleep the night before. Shouto must have seen the guilt in your eyes, because the next thing you knew you were being moved to the bed where he wrapped you in the softest blanket he could find, and then he was telling you he’d be right back as he slipped out of the room.

You sat there, a little confused for a while, before you heard a beeping noise from the kitchen and the door to the microwave open and close. Todoroki returned with a steaming mug in one hand and a book in the other, and he said nothing as he set the book and cup down on the nightstand before working around you, positioning a few pillows against the headboard of the bed. He fluffed them up a few times and grabbed the giant comforter, pulling it up over your lap and practically swaddling you. Finally he sat down behind you on the bed and pulled you into his lap, and you rested your head against his chest as he petted your hair softly. Slowly, you felt all the tension from earlier on in the day ebb away into drowsiness and exhaustion.

“Alright, blanket burrito,” he said, referring to your form all wrapped up in soft cotton, “I warmed up a cup of your favorite drink and brought us a book. Do you want me to read to you, or would you prefer to play a video game or movie?” He gazed down at you with a brow raised in question, a look of amusement on his face at the sight of your head just barely peeking out from the blankets.

“If you don’t mind, could you read to me? I like your voice...it’s soothing.” You melted into his touch, work already forgotten about and a wave of calm washing over you. 

“Of course, dear.” He gave you a precious smile and kiss on the top of your head.

Todoroki always knew how to fix your bad days, and he always did so without hesitation and without you having to ask. He handed you the warm mug first which you took gratefully, and then picked up the book and began reading to you.

How did you get this lucky?

[mourntheantagonist]

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!! It’s Finally the Day to share my piece for the @harringroveheart-on !! (If you didn’t already see it posted on ao3 yesterday)I went with the prompt: secret admirer!! enjoy some flangst and have a wonderful day whether you celebrate the holiday or not!! ❤️

Fortunately

read on ao3

***

Billy needs a job.

He’s two months fresh out of the hospital but that doesn’t matter. The local pool was closed for the winter and Neil was adamant that he get out and find work as soon as he was able to walk, despite the fact that he could only do so for only short periods at a time.

And he’s forced to take what he can get. January wasn’t the best time of year to be looking for work in Hawkins. He told himself he’d apply at any place with a help wanted sign displayed in their window. And he did. Application after application. Stellar fucking resume. The only problem was that not many people were looking to hire on the guy who looked just minutes away from death each time they saw him. Didn’t want to put the guy with the hideous scars and the sickly frame in front of customers. Though, they’d usually let him off with the same similar speech about how he “just wasn’t what they were looking for.”

Luckily for Billy, there was one place that was just as desperate as he was. Li’s Kitchen. The local Chinese restaurant that had just needed to make several layoffs to keep themselves from closing. They quickly hired him on to wash dishes in the back because he was ready and willing to work for minimum wage. Making just $3.35 an hour, it was enough and at least it got Neil off of his back.

So he’d haul his ass into work every day on the dot. Walking the full half-mile distance through snowy paths to the restaurant since the Camaro was still out of commission. Trudging along, praying he didn’t slip because his ribs were still fragile and just a simple impact of a good fall could break them again. The walk was simply exhausting. By the time he’d enter through those double doors and set off the bell hung above, he’d be completely out of breath and exhausted and his shift hadn’t even started yet. But fortunately it was just washing dishes. How hard could it be?

Apparently. Pretty fucking hard for a guy who could hardly stand up straight. The heat radiating from the hot steam of the water making him lightheaded almost instantaneously. The boiling hot water against his arms and hands sending him back to those days flayed out in the sun as the ultraviolet rays burned through the skin. The liquid dripping from his face that he couldn’t differentiate from steam or sweat taking him back to the sauna. Feeling his insides heat up and burn like fire inside his gut. Trapped in a prison that was his own body. He just wanted to crawl into a bucket of ice.

His only saving grace was that this time it was winter, and he wasn’t actually flayed. Just overheated and weak. He'd take his breaks behind the restaurant digging his feet into deep snow and letting the chill breeze cool him down. Lighting up a cigarette to get his body to an equilibrium of hot and cold. But the good feeling only lasted as long as he stood outside, immediately getting the same sick to his stomach feeling as soon as he walked back in. Hunched over the sink in the kitchen just trying to move fast enough and stay standing.

He figured he was lucky enough to get the job, that he couldn’t afford to disappoint, because then he’d be entirely out of options. Unemployed and still stuck under his father’s roof on Cherry Lane, this time accompanied by a deeper rage. If Billy didn’t have a job to get to, Neil would have no reason to hold back anything. No reason not to leave bruises or cuts. But it was getting harder and harder as the days progressed. Never enough time in the day to rest and recover enough to brave the next one. He was running on borrowed energy and excessive amounts of caffeine.

There came a moment when he nearly passed out into the sink full of porcelain plates. His breathing became shallow as his vision got blurry and dark. His head spun and his balance faltered and he needed a fucking drink of water.

One of the servers caught him just before he was about to go down. A man older than him but not by much. Same build as him before the accident but easily with an additional five inches on him. Billy was probably at least ten pounds lighter now that a bulk of his muscle had wasted away in that hospital bed. Making him easy to catch.

“You look like shit hargrove.” is what the man says, but Billy barely registers it because everything is muffled. The sounds of running water into the metal sink being the loudest noise he can hear. The man tosses one of Billy's arms over his shoulder and hauls him into the break room. Billy’s doing exactly zero of the work. Letting his legs fall limp and his feet drag against the tile floor. He sits him down in one of the metal chairs and hands him a small cup of water from the jug. “Drink you’re dehydrated” he says, tilting the bottom of the cup upwards so that it’s forced into Billy's mouth and down his throat. “The dinner rush is almost out, I’ll take care of the rest of the dishes, you just stay in here and try not to pass out again, sound like a plan?”

Billy nods his head and drinks the rest of the water in the cup before letting his head fall into his hands and his eyes fall shut as he tries to regain his composure. Cool himself down and slow his heart rate.

By the time his coworker — Zachary, he remembers — comes back into the break room he’s better. Not quite ready to get back to the sink and the hot steam cloud that comes with his job, but better.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten kid?” Kid. Sounds really odd coming from someone who could be no older than thirty.

“I had toast this morning.” Billy hadn’t actually been eating much lately. Not finding the time in the day to sit down to have a meal in between work and recovering from said work. His hours conflicted with family dinner so he was left to fend for himself. Neil made it very clear that what was in the cupboards did not belong to him. So all he had to his name was a single loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter.

“Well guess what. It’s closing time and you’re not leaving here without a meal. So go sit down at one of the tables and pick anything you want from the menu.” Does Billy have pride? Yes. But is his stomach turning and his mouth watering at just the thought of some orange chicken? Also yes. So instead of arguing with him about how he can take care of himself, which is debatable at this point, he just says thank you and finds himself a table in the corner. He doesn’t expect Zachary to follow him all the way there and sit down right across from him.

“Don’t worry about paying. My dad will cook it up for free.”

Oh right. Zachary Li... The owner’s son.

And suddenly things went from awkward to outright uncomfortable for Billy. Because he was sitting here eating dinner with another man who would be footing the bill. Sure, Zachary was just his coworker and in his mind the exchange had absolutely no weight to it, but to billy it was so fucking heavy. The thought of Neil barging in to see the display and not giving two seconds to read the situation before he started throwing punches. Because it didn’t matter if it was a date or just dinner with a coworker. If it looked a certain way, then that’s how it was.

But the other thing was he couldn’t just get up now. Not without an explanation. So he sucked it up and said he’d have the orange chicken, earning a scowl followed by a laugh and a nod because of course he’d order that and none of the authentic chinese food dishes. But then he ordered the same thing because they both have fallen victim to american colonization.

And chef Li made a damn good orange chicken.

And this one did not disappoint. But it’s not like he really had the chance to taste it since he was too busy inhaling it. Finishing his entire plate before Zachary had even made a dent. And Billy was slightly embarrassed by it. But zachary said nothing. Just continued with his own meal without acknowledging that Billy had scarfed his own down in no time at all. Making other dry conversation with Billy and constantly refilling his water glass with the pitcher every time it got below half full.

When he’s just about finished is when chef Li brings out a small plate with fortune cookies sitting on top, one for each of them. They each take their own and crack them open.

“What’s it say? I got an inch of time is an inch of gold for the thousandth time. I swear elizabeth is getting lazy with these”

Billy looks down at his, and can’t help but laugh.

“A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life.”

Hahaha. Hilarious.

“Well then we better hope that these things come true. Though I have a lot of time and have not seen any gold fall into my lap yet.” he laughs and pops the cookie into his mouth, Billy does the same. “Hey dad, you gonna open one?”

“Sure.” he says. Pulling one from the container in the back and breaking it open quite aggressively. “Allow compassion to guide your decisions. Boring.”

They both just laugh. But then Zachary gets this weird look in his eyes. “Hey dad? What if Billy made the fortune cookies instead?”

“Who would wash the dishes?”

Zachary just shot him a look. Yeah, Billy's medical condition and clear exhaustion didn’t go unnoticed by the staff. That must have been what that look meant.

“Read that fortune again, Dad.”

He looks down at the slip of the paper in his hand and almost instantly tosses it to the floor.

“You’re a pain in my ass Zach. alright then Billy, you available in the mornings? I can have Elizabeth show you the ropes tomorrow and if you’re any good you won’t have to wash dishes anymore. That will be my ungrateful son's job.”

“Hey-“

“No ‘hey’ nothing. Have compassion, remember?” he swats Zach with the towel that hung over his shoulder.

Billy just stayed silent for the whole exchange. Only nodding his head when asked if he was free in the mornings. He wanted to tell them to fuck off. To tell them he could do his job perfectly fine. A bold faced lie, but still. However, he also recognized that he couldn’t continue the way he was going. He was three shifts away from an ambulance ride to the emergency room, and that would just piss off Neil further.

So instead of speaking up, he silently agreed, and suddenly found himself walking the same distance he did every day, this time at seven in the morning when the rest of his house was still asleep. Another bonus. Less he had to see Neil, the better. And he’d be home in time for family dinner, the only meal he was welcome to join. And as much as he hated sitting across the table from his Dad, Susan's cooking served as a pleasant enough distraction.

Liz gladly showed him how to make the cookies. Constantly expressing how much she hated making them and is happily giving up the job to billy. That didn’t make him feel too great about it.

But then it really wasn’t bad. Just tedious. Slightly boring and mindless. Made his hands ache after a couple hours of folding the fortunes and squeezing out the batter, but it was ten times less painful than doing the dishes. He got to make them while sitting down at a table before the place even opened. No crowded kitchen or hot running water. The only heat he experienced came from opening and closing the oven, and that only happened for seconds at a time.

And the best part.

He got to make the fortunes.

Typing out several sheets of sample fortunes on a typewriter, cutting them into slips using the paper guillotine. It was definitely strange they never bothered to check his work. They had way too much trust in a guy like Billy to write fortunes. Free will to throw anything in there.

Did he ever veer away from the script posted to the wall? No. But the fact that he could was so funny to him.

He never once considered he would actually want to throw something else into those fortune cookies, until that first tuesday in the middle of his shift right as they opened for lunch and he saw a familiar figure enter through the glass doors into the restaurant. Bell chiming behind him. Craning his head upwards so he could get a closer look he recognizes Steve, picking up a to-go order still wearing the dark green family video vest. Steve didn’t even notice him. Just grabbed his white paper bag, dropped the bill on the counter, and walked out the door. Flashing a smile at Liz who was up running the counter.

But Billy, he saw Steve. He stared at Steve for the duration of his time in the store because he was totally and completely whipped. Totally entranced for long enough that the cookies he was folding had already hardened, and Zach was giving him a weird look when Billy visibly shook at the sound of the bell chiming for the second time, pulling him from the trance.

“So harrington, huh? He’s your fortune?”

Billy got all wide eyed and jerked his head to the right to look at him. Completely zoned out and unprepared to defend himself, instead just stuttering out a string of nonsensical “I”s and “no”s and “it’s not”s. Failing miserably to get the lies past his tongue.

“Relax dude. I don’t really give a shit. Elizabeth, however, might. Girl doesn’t stop talking my ear off about you.”

But that just goes in one ear and out the other. Billy still continues to stutter out as best of a denial he can but his heart is racing, his stomach is churning, his palms are sweating, and the cookies are burning!

“Shit.” it’s the first full sentence he’s been able to get out. Rushing over to the oven and pulling out the hot pan of nearly completely blackened circles.

And Zach is just standing there laughing. Waving the smoke out of his face as Billy tries to blow out the miniature fire he caused on one of the cookies.

“Still gonna try and deny it?” he says.

“Fuck off. Seriously.”

Zach just backs away. Hands in the air. “Okay, okay. I’ll mind my own business. Lover boy.”

Billy promptly tosses one of the finished cookies at his face. “Whatever you think you saw. Keep it to your fucking self, alright?”

“Got it. Loud and clear.” But he’s still fucking giggling and Billy is currently contemplating murder. Eyes darting to the array of knives in close reach. Shakes the feeling. Killing the boss's son probably wouldn’t look good on evaluation.

Did he tell anyone? No. Did he tease billy relentlessly about it every fucking day. Of course he fucking did. Especially on days Steve walked into the restaurant for a to-go order. Nudging him in the arm with a little “Guess who’s here?” in a sing-songy voice.

And to think Billy thought having someone know and not crucify him would be a good thing. He'd rather he just hate crime him behind the restaurant instead of the constant, and I mean constant, ribbing.

Eventually moving on from teasing behind the wall of the kitchen to suggesting he go out and take the payment to actually pushing him out the swinging doors to do it. “Talk him up Hargrove. Put on the moves.”

There were no moves. But there was a conversation. A good one. A nice one. They just talked about themselves and caught up. Not really seeing much of each other once he was out of the hospital. Only having seen Steve in passing on days he’d bring max by for visiting hours. But they never actually talked much during that time. He’d come up to the room with her saying “Thought it’d be nice to see another familiar face.”

And it was.

Billy was not paying much attention to this conversation. Answering Steve's questions and asking his own, but he was definitely distracted by how close their hands were to each other, both rested on the counter, supporting themselves. If you asked Billy after the conversation what they talked about, he could only recall two things. One; he works at family video, not really substantial. And two; he said he looked good.

“You look good Billy.”

Yup, Billy was completely gone.

So maybe the constant teasing wasn’t completely terrible. Especially now that he’s given him such a stupid stupid stupid idea that he’s one hundred percent going to go through with because it’s about fucking time he wrote some fortunes of his own. He had several typed out and ready to be placed into a cookie whenever they received another call for an order for ‘Harrington.’ The first one was innocent enough. Pulled straight off the list of sample fortunes.

“You always bring others happiness.”

Just something simple. He just saw it on the list and it made him smile. Thought it would be nice to see Steve smile too.

The next few were similar to that one. Pulled straight off of the list but tailored specifically toward Steve.

“You are working hard.”

“Have a beautiful day.”

“You look pretty.”

But that last one was different. Because on the back of the last one he wrote in ballpoint pen.

- The cookie maker ♡

And that’s when it became a thing that they were both aware of. Now it was a romantic gesture and not just an act of kindness or a series of coincidental fortunes. Now steve was on the lookout for who made the fortunes at Li’s kitchen, but at the same time trying to keep the mystery alive so that the fortunes would keep coming.

Billy started writing out his own.

“I like your hair.”

“You have a terrific ass.”

“Somebody’s got a crush on you.”

Zach wrote that last one.

Then they got deeper.

“You make me happy when I don’t think that’s possible.”

“You make the pain go away.”

Steve never failed to blush at each and every fortune with the signature heart on the back.

But it was dragging on. And Steve was getting impatient. Started to ask around, eventually learning that robin had seen Elizabeth Li making them one time.

Elizabeth Li is sixteen. Absolutely not.

And now he feels bad for letting it drag on this long. Taking himself to the restaurant to let her down gently. When he walks through, Billy is standing behind the counter. Confused because he didn’t usually order on Wednesdays, and especially not this late in the day.

Was that a weird thing to know?

“Do you have an order to pick up?” Billy asks.

“No. Not today. I was actually hoping I could talk to Elizabeth, is she around?”

And Billy's heart just sinks to the floor. The slight smile that was on his face now completely gone and shattered to pieces.

“Yeah. I’ll go get her.” he says, with a heavy heart, disappointment clear in his voice.

He sends her out to the front and lingers in the back, ear pressed to the door trying to listen in like some creep.

“Look, elizabeth. I’m really flattered and I appreciate the fortune cookies, but you’re way too young for me. I’m sorry.”

Shit.

Is Billy supposed to be worried or relieved?

He can’t even see her face but he knows she’d be giving him her death stare right about now.

He can hear her say it through clenched teeth and he shouldn’t find it so funny but it is.

“Yeah. Okay, sorry about that. I’ll definitely stop doing that. Have a good day Steve.” And she just walks away from the counter and Billy barely jumps backwards in time to not get a door slammed in his face.

“You better fucking fix this Hargrove. I am not going to go down for this for you.”

Zach had just walked into the kitchen from the break room. Chef Li and the rest of the staff are just minding their own business.

“What did I miss?”

Elizabeth is all up in Billy’s personal space. Inches away from his chest looking up at him from her height of just five feet and three inches.

“Steve fucking Harrington thinks I’m his little secret admirer.”

Her face is red in anger but Zach’s is red from laughing so hard.

“Now that’s fucking funny.”

“If you don’t tell Steve, I will. I covered for you out of the kindness of my heart, but I’m not that kind.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

“Shut up Zach!”

Zach was laughing. Billy however, was suddenly not. Head now bowed, sighing heavily.

“I can’t do that.” It was a quiet and sudden change of tone that altered the mood of the situation entirely. The only people who could hear were just the three of them because the sound couldn’t overpower the noises of chopping vegetables and the clanking of pots and pans and the sizzle of cooking meat.

“Why not?”

“Fuck you. You know why.”

“Well what was your plan Romeo?! Were you just never going to tell him?” she threw her hands in the air like he was being ridiculous. The only thing that was ridiculous was that he ever went through with it in the first place.

“I don’t know. Okay? I don’t fucking know.”

Zach came up from behind him and offered a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Look dude, my little sister is a bitch but she’s right. You have to tell him. I’ll have your back when you do.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?” Billy jerks his head back down to look at Liz.

“Tell him. Tomorrow.” Her arms were crossed and she clearly wasn’t taking a no for an answer.

“Fuck the both of you. My shift is over.” Billy pushed past her and out of the restaurant. Leaving his jacket behind and walking home through the cold weather. His converse getting wet from the slushy snow, soaking through to his socks making him even colder all over. He’s internally freaking out and his heart would be beating out of his chest if his nervous system wasn’t operating at a decreased rate due to potential hypothermia.

He can’t even think. Just kicking his feet against the wet pavement letting the breeze take him over. If he dies, he doesn’t have to tell him.

Headlights pass him by as he slowly walks the distance home, nobody caring about the guy who cheated death just months ago inching closer back to that point instead of further away. Nobody stops to offer him a ride or even check to see if he’s okay, and he’s not even sure if he even wants to make it home. It would be preferable to just fall asleep in one of the bushes outside than having to make his day even worse by introducing Neil into it. Sitting at a dinner table, making nice and pretending like everything that was going well for him won’t come to an end twenty four hours from now. All the joy of making those little fortune cookies and just imagining the look on Steve’s face every time. The look he knew for sure was one of happiness despite never seeing it because it wasn’t a coincidence Steve’s lunch orders became more and more frequent.

But in his peripheral a set of headlights did seem to slow. That was either a sign he was meeting his savior, or potentially his kidnapper. Honestly at this point they are the same thing.

“Billy?”

You have got to be kidding me.

“Hey Harrington.” His teeth are chattering and his voice is shaky as he says it. Is it the cold? Or are his nerves finally beginning to work at the worst time possible?

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Walking home.”

“You’ll die out here.”

“If only.” He says it under his breath but Steve still hears it. Letting the car come to a complete stop rather than the slow pacing he was doing before.

“Get in. I’ll take you home.”

Billy just waves him off. “I’ll be fine on my own.” And he continues walking at his slow pace.

“I wasn’t fucking asking. Get the hell in Hargrove. Before I drag you in here.”

Billy stops and sighs. Kicking more slush into the air. “Fine.”

He walks around to the passenger side and lowers himself into the seat. Groaning as his body aches from the motion. Steve doesn’t acknowledge it. Just puts the car back into drive and heads towards Cherry Lane. Silence in the car as Billy breathes into his hands trying to warm them up. He’s pale. Looks like he’s never seen the sun before. His face is flushed. Even in the state like this Steve carries the same sentiment from that first conversation at the restaurant.

“You look good, Billy.”

He doesn’t say that. But he’s thinking it.

They eventually pull up to the white house with the screened in porch, and Billy grows visibly tense in his seat. He’s not moving. Just darting his eyes from the clock in the car and back to the house with the lights on.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks. But Billy’s eyes continue to move back and forth as his breathing quickens slightly more as each second ticks by. Showing no sign that he heard the words that came out of Steve’s mouth. He reaches over the center console and grabs his hand. “Hey.”

Billy looks over like a deer in the headlights. Eyes ever so slightly glossy. Clearing his throat he tries to speak.

“Can you take me somewhere else?” He asks.

He doesn’t want to go home. Can’t begin to even think about seeing his Dad today. He just wants to crawl under his covers and go to sleep. Dream of a reality that isn’t his own. Not this fucked up shit show he’s stupidly gotten himself into.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here?”

Neither of them realize Steve is still holding his hand. Not until he squeezes it tighter, recognizing the pain in Billy’s voice. Not for what it meant but just that it was there. He didn’t need to nor want to know why Billy didn’t want to go home. Just wanted to make it so he didn’t have to.

“Is my house okay?”

Billy hesitates, but nods.

And they turn the car around.

- : -

Billy wakes up the next morning on Steve’s couch to the sound of a microwave’s hum followed by a loud ‘ding’ that echoes off the walls. He just remembers walking through the door of Steve’s house and immediately laying down on the first soft surface he could find. Remembers Steve saying he’d be upstairs if he needed anything before quickly drifting off into sleep without a care in the world.

He went to sleep without a pillow and a blanket, and woke up with both.

Billy rubs away at his eyes while Steve enters the living room from the kitchen with two plates in his hands.

“I made you a hot pocket if you want one.” He sets the plate onto the coffee table before he takes a seat in the chair beside the couch. Billy sits himself up and takes the plate, cooling it off with a quick blow of his breath before biting into it. “You have work today?”

“Yeah, at eight. What time is it?”

“Only seven fifteen. I have to be in at eight thirty so I can drop you off if you want.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s seriously not a problem man, and no offense but you don’t look like you’d make the walk from here to there.”

Billy laughs.

“I thought you said I looked good.”

Shit. It’s weird that he remembers that.

But Steve blushes. “Well yeah, just not ‘two mile hike’ good. But you’ll get there.”

“Thanks.”

“Why are you working anyway? Shouldn’t you still be recovering?”

Billy frowns. “My Dad is making me.”

Oh. That’s why he doesn’t want to go home.

The situation is awkward now. Silent as they finish their breakfasts and drive off in the Beemer. Pulling up outside the restaurant fifteen minutes before his shift starts. Billy suddenly reminded of what he’s supposed to do today as soon as he looks at the sign out front.

“Uh, hey. Listen. Come by the restaurant for to-go. On me y’know, as a thank you.”

“You don’t have to-“

Billy cuts him off.

“Yes. I do.”

- : -

When Billy walks into the kitchen in the same clothes as yesterday nobody says anything. Nothing about his undone hair or his or his early arrival to work. Instead he’s met with apologies exiting the mouths of the two Li children as they corner him in the break room.

“We’re sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t fair for us to do that to you. Elizabeth said she won’t tell Steve.”

They were waiting for him to yell, or at the very least get his anger out some way.

But instead Billy smiled. Barely there with just the slight upturn at the corners of his mouth but it was there, so distinct from his natural grimace. “It’s fine.” He says.

Zachary and Elizabeth are entirely confused. Looking in between each other like ‘did you just see what I just saw?’

“What has you so chipper?”

His smile just grew slightly wider.

“Spent the night at Steve’s last night.”

The two’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

“You what!?” They both said in unison.

“Jesus! Not like that. I just slept on his couch.”

Billy could see the cogs turning in each of their heads. Trying to figure everything out like it was some complicated math problem. “I think I’m going to tell him. Today.”

“Really?”

Billy nodded, threw on his skull cap, and left the dumbfounded siblings where they stood. He had a fortune to write, and cookies to bake.

He was so meticulous this time. Making sure they were perfectly round circles, folded exactly in half. Throwing nonsense fortunes into each one. Avoiding the one sitting by itself on the table beside him. Too afraid to throw it into a cookie, each time he tossed in another basic off the list fortune was just Billy trying to talk himself out of it.

But he inches closer and closer to reaching the point of no return. First by putting in Steve’s lunch order. Next by finally slipping the fortune into a cookie. Next by slipping the cookie into Steve’s bag, and finally at the strike of noon, handing the bag to Steve, insisting he pay for it while Billy continuously denies him. Telling him to go enjoy his meal and stop arguing with him.

When Steve walked out the door Billy thought he could stop holding his breath. But he couldn’t let it out. Thought the anticipation lied with handing the meal to Steve, now feeling his breath caught even more now that he had. It was the anticipation of not knowing. He had to know.

But Steve left with the cookie still intact.

So he had to wait.

- : -

Steve brought his lunch into Family Video. The same thing he always ordered. Feeling a warm sensation in his chest at the knowledge that Billy knew his order. Fried rice and soup dumplings. Robin was there, waiting to mooch off of his food since she never bothered to bring her own lunch, but would also refuse to let Steve buy her anything.

If he didn’t know any better he’d think she liked him.

But he did know better not even to entertain that idea. She was just the girl who liked to eat Steve’s food because that’s just what she did. She’s standing there with her grabby hands, ready to start digging into his rice. She peruses through the contents of the bag and pulls out the plastic containers and the one fortune cookie that he always got.

“Did you let her down easy?” Robin asks, waving the cookie in his face.

“Yes. She was weird about it. But I guess she took it well.”

“Well that’s good. Can I have this one then?”

“Sure. Go for it. I don’t like them all that much anyway. I just like them for the fortunes.”

“Well then let’s see what Steve Harrington’s fortune is today, shall we?”

Robin cracks it open and gently pulls the slip of paper out from inside. Popping the cookie into her mouth as she pulls it taut so she can read it.

Her eyes squint. She pulls it closer to her face, just inches away like she can’t see what she’s reading. Like she’s confused.

“What’s it say?”

“Umm.” She just shakes her head. Mouth still full with the fortune cookie as she passes it along to Steve.

He takes it from her hesitantly, and a look of confusion washes over his face as he reads the words.

“I’m not Elizabeth Li.”

“What?” He says it mostly to himself, because what the fuck?

He turns it over and is expecting to see the same little signature. The vague ‘the cookie maker’ with the tiny heart.

Well the heart is still there.

But it says something else.

- Billy ♡

“Holy shit.”

- : -

It’s a painstakingly long rest of his shift. Doing the same old boring jobs like cleaning up, manning the front counter, and bussing tables when he’d finished the daily batch of cookies. It usually felt like a long five hours, but today it was excruciating. He could feel Zach and Liz’s eyes on him the whole time. Like they were watching intently so they didn’t miss the moment where he inevitably exploded from all the anxiety in his chest.

Billy’s constantly playing out different scenarios in his head. Steve barging into the store and punching him in the face being the one that’s the most prevalent. Occasionally letting himself get slightly hopeful and imagining the opposite.

But there was a third scenario he considered. That Steve just wouldn’t come back at all. Let him down by not even bringing him up. Robbing him of the closure he needs. He’d rather Steve just punch him in the face. That was a kind of rejection he could handle. One that gave him a reason to let go. Not one that left him hanging on by a single thread.

His shift is quickly coming to an end and he’s debating on how desperate he is to wait and linger around the restaurant with his small shred of hope that he comes back. His neck hurts from jerking his head towards the door every time the bell chimed. Hoping to see the boy with the chestnut hair walk through only to be greeted by another local he refused to learn the name of.

He’s losing his goddamn mind and he needs a fucking cigarette.

His shift comes to an end and he clocks out. Escaping to the back of the restaurant behind the dumpsters, lighting up a Marlboro Red and sinking his weight against the brick siding of the building. Feeling himself shiver when the heat of the flame warms the tip of his nose. Breathing in the smoke trying to regain some sense of calm that completely left his body as soon as he handed the bag to Steve. Too many hours on this high alert feeling that he can’t even recall what relaxation feels like anymore. Just accepts the burning in his lungs in the cold outside weather with just the hum of low traffic and the sound dripping gutters as the closest thing he’s going to get to that for the time being.

Finishing his cigarette, he tosses the bud into a puddle. Dragging a hand over his face as he prepares to walk back into the crowded restaurant that would feel completely empty because it was lacking the one fucking person he wanted to see.

He could go see him.

No he couldn’t. The ball already was in Steve’s court.

He opens the door and Zach is standing right there like he was waiting for him.

“What the fuck dude?”

“No. Shut up. Someone is in the break room waiting for you.”

Billy doesn’t get the chance to register his words before he’s being grabbed by the collar of his shirt and dragged and pushed into the room, where Steve is sitting at the table.

Just looking at him. Studying him.

“Look, Steve –“

“Stop.” He cuts him off. Continues to stare before hesitantly reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out what looks to be a ziplock plastic bag. Opening it and dumping the contents of it out on the table all while Billy is left standing there unable to speak, couldn’t even if Steve would let him. The ability to get words out being entirely suppressed by the sight of about ten slips of paper spread out on the table in front of Steve. Steve just looking back down at them and not looking back at Billy. Lost in another trance. He starts moving them around on the table. Moving them away from each other so that none are touching each other and they are all completely exposed. Steve smiles. Gets up from the chair.

Walks over to where Billy stands with his back pressed against the door, holding tightly to the handle for a quick escape. Steve moves so slowly, like he’s forging his plan with each step until their chests are just inches away from each other. Steve’s looking down, away from Billy’s gaze. Taking Billy’s hand in his, causing him to shudder. “You know I rushed over as soon as I could. Thanks for the lunch Billy.” Billy’s just silent and completely still against the door. Steve’s hold on him is loose yet he feels entirely restrained. “I can’t believe it was you.”

“I’m sorry.” Billy practically chokes on the words, prompting Steve to finally turn his eyes up toward him. Seeing how his eyes have grown glossy and his face has turned a pinkish color.

“What for?”

“That it was me.”

Steve squeezes his hand tighter, brings another to Billy’s cheek gently and Billy feels like he’s being suffocated under the touch. Like instead the hand is wrapped around his throat and pushing against his airway. But he leans into it. Steve’s touch is so soft and he lets his eyes fall shut to burn the sensation into his memory.

“Don’t apologize for that.”

His eyes are still closed when Steve moves forward and kisses him. Shooting open as soon as lips make contact and he suddenly stiffens like a board. It’s quick and chaste and he doesn’t get the opportunity to kiss back before it’s over.

“You can’t… you don’t –“

“But I do.”

“This isn’t a joke, Steve.”

“I agree.”

Billy’s left standing there. Rubbing at his lips that were just touching Steve with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Steve smirks, moves back into Billy’s space so his breath is hot against his mouth.

“You could kiss me, asshole.”

Billy doesn’t need to be asked twice.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Mistake Part 2

40 - “You can’t take her, please! I’ll do anything, I swear!” 41 - “She was nothing to you, was she? Then prove it.”

People wanted a part 2 and I live to please so here ya go.

Warnings: Kidnap, Implied Torture, Blood, Death, Language

Word Count: 1,594

******

Sweat clings to your skin, body heaving as you jog to a stop by a tree. 

The incessant buzzing in your pocket makes you sigh and you pull your phone out.

‘I’ll be there in five. Stop worrying.’ 

You send the message and continue your run. 

Weird gazes are sent in the direction of Wanda. She smiles back politely, her foot nervously tapping as she stands in the buildings lobby. 

You said five minutes. It’s been thirty. And you haven’t text or called. 

She pulls her phone out and dials your number, waiting as it rings then goes to voicemail. 

Becoming more and more worried, she leaves, heading to the park down the street from your apartment building.

After your break up with Natasha you’d moved out of the compound. It was one thing to know she didn’t want you, to then have to live with her as she is with Carol instead was too much. 

Surprisingly Wanda Maximoff was the first person to reach out to you after you left. The younger woman made sure you knew that she’d always be around if you needed anything, despite the fact that you two hadn’t had the strongest relationship.

That had changed after you left. She indeed made herself available for you and you even found yourself going on more missions together, and less with Natasha.

It was no secret that the two of you broke up. Everyone picked up on it the first few days after it happened, what with Natasha not being sickeningly sweet with you or vice versa. And then you left.

Steve wasn’t pleased with Natasha afterwards. The man had grown fond of you, you becoming one of his closest friends. Natasha had received the silent treatment from him, outside of missions. 

Even though the team knows about the break up, the world didn’t. To her enemies, you still proved to be her weakness. Resulting in your sudden abduction.

Wanda had immediately panicked when she arrived at the park to find police officers questioning a number of clearly shaken up people. 

Listening closely revealed to Wanda that you had been snatched up while leaving the park. Masked men pulled you into an unmarked van and sped away. Doing so in broad daylight meant being seen and a number of people had called the police. 

While Wanda is just now finding out about your abduction, Natasha is at the compound. Her hand clutches the phone as she listens to the threats on the other end.

“You can’t take her,” she starts off aggressive, but the thought of them getting you scares her,“ please! I’ll do anything, I swear!”

A deep, heavily accented voice replies,“ it’s too late for that Miss Romanova.” It’s quiet until she hears your screams in the back.“ you know where to find me Little Spider, come alone and no harm will be done to your little play thing.” 

Natasha had recognized the voice the second she heard it. It’s how she knows exactly where to go. And she goes alone, not wanting anything to happen to you.

Having done things like this a million times before, she makes her way through the building with ease. She only engages the scattered groups of armed men when necessary. And it doesn’t take long for her to find the room you’re being held in.

She enters, gun in hand, and widow’s bites at the ready. Only to freeze the second she sees you.

Cuts litter your exposed arms and legs, more obviously hidden underneath your tank top and shorts. Bruises are forming on your face and blood leaks from your head.

From the shadows behind you comes the woman that caused all of this. 

The other Russian woman watches Natasha, gaging her expression for any signs of weakness. Signs of love. For you. 

Natasha keeps her eyes on the woman. She knows how she thinks. If she didn’t believe you were Natasha’s weakness you never would’ve been snatched. If she shows it now, the woman won’t hesitate to kill you.

“Let her go. She has nothing to do with us.” Natasha speaks calmly, even though her heart is pounding.

“Oh, Natalia. If that were true you wouldn’t have come rushing here.” The woman’s head tilts.“ Tell me Natasha, what does she mean to you?” 

Her jaw clenches. She sees your head rolling as you struggle with consciousness.“ Nothing.”

The woman’s voice drips with pride, as if she’s won something,“ she was nothing to you was she?” Natasha’s eyes flicker to your body and back to the Russian in front of her, now holding a gun out.“ Then prove it.” 

Natasha stares at the weapon, reaching up to grip it in her hand. The metal presses into her hand and she squeezes it. 

“Ta- Tash,” you sigh the words, slipping in and out of consciousness,“ please.” 

Hearing your voice for the first time since being here shakes her to her core. She feels her heart break just a little bit more at the sound of your pleading.

“Prove it.” The woman demands. 

Bang!

The woman’s body slumps to the ground and Natasha rushes to your side. Producing a knife, she slices through the ropes tying you to the chair, and wastes no time pulling you into her arms. 

Under incredibly different circumstances you would’ve pulled away, but you’d just had the worst experience of your life and admittedly you’d missed the warmth of her body around yours.

Natasha’s sultry voice cried out apologies the second after she’d called for evac. You weren’t aware that she meant sorry for this and everything before.

After evac arrived Natasha watched helplessly as they wheeled you into the jet, but not once had she left your side. 

Her thoughts raced, heart pounding in regret. 

The whole situation had been a mistake. She was scared. Your relationship had progressed so smoothly. She would see the look in your eyes when you went to visit Clint and spent time with the kids, she saw how happy and natural you looked helping Laura in the kitchen.

No, you hadn’t ever said or even hinted at wanting a domesticated life with Natasha. In fact you always made it very clear that all you wanted was her. The few talks you’d had about the future revolved around traveling possibly and just being with the woman. 

But she thought too much. She knew she couldn’t give you half of what Clint had with Laura and she let her insecurities run wild. She suddenly found herself thinking that’s what you wanted.

The three months she spent away from you she had talked herself into sabotaging her own damn relationship. Despite Carol telling her not to do so. 

She’d seen how happy you made Natasha and how happy Natasha made you. She couldn’t have found a better couple if she tried. 

Her attempts at convincing Natasha didn’t work obviously. And apparently the Russian woman had gone as far as to lie about cheating on you with her. Carol was less than pleased with Natasha, the two had argued and have yet to speak since. 

But none of that mattered to Natasha right now. 

As she sits beside your unconscious form she regrets it all. Her heartbreaks all over again and she hates herself for it. And she knows there’s a chance you won’t forgive her. 

“Wipe those tears Romanoff, I’m not worth them.” 

Your voice had barely come out as whisper but she heard it and it made even more tears fall from her eyes. 

Her hand squeezes yours,“ you are. You’re worth it and so much more. You are worth the moon and the stars and I’m sorry for ever making you think otherwise.” 

“I’m not dying Natasha, so please don’t.” 

She shakes her head,“ it was a mistake Y/n. Ruining what we had it was a mistake. I don’t want Carol. After I met you there was no one else in the world I ever could’ve wanted.”

You frown, hand twitching in hers as you look over at her. 

Green eyes meet yours for the first time in months. Unlike when you’d last seen them, emotions swim through them like the tears she’s shed. 

In that emerald you see every ounce of love you use to see. Mixed in them you also see regret. 

“That’s not what you said before.” 

“I lied. I was scared and I lied.” Through her tears she explains it all to you. She tells you everything she’d been feeling and all her thoughts.

By the time she’s done you feel better. No it wasn’t okay that she’d lied. Not by a long shot. But she still loves you. 

Taking a deep breath in, you release it and say,“ we have a lot to talk about. Like you lying to me and your lack of communication. But maybe we should do that when I’m not in a hospital bed.”

Natasha nods frantically, leaning down to kiss your hand,“ I’m sorry,” she apologizes again,“ I love you and I never should’ve told you other wise.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You let a pause of silence go by.“ I love you too.” 

The red head’s heart soars. 

She knows that things between you two aren’t perfect, far far from it. She knows there are a million and one issues that needs to be addressed. But right now she just focuses on you.

Whatever future awaits you both, she’s ready for it, as long as it’s with you. And she’s never going to make the mistake of hurting you again.

******

[myfearless-love]

The Wildest Place You Run (8/?) - A Nice Trip

The next chapter is up with a little more insight into Killian's past, hopefully answering some of the questions (or maybe creating more?).

Huge thank you to everyone who commented, reblogged, liked the previous chapters! Also thank you to my beta and artist @thejollyroger-writer for helping with correcting my mistakes and making this amazing art!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 8/? - A Nice Trip

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~5.5k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2 II Ch 3 II Ch 4 II Ch 5 II Ch 6 II Ch 7

.

It took a while for the dreams to cloud her mind as she slipped into unconsciousness. Her shoulder was still throbbing and the events of the day played a loop in her brain. A few hours later, she woke up surprisingly relaxed and relatively refreshed. She allowed herself an hour to just lie motionless on the bed, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what was waiting for her that day. The usual languid calm was gone.

She climbed out of bed and decided to find a bathroom and then the kitchen. She wasn’t ready to face the day’s problem until she’d a cup of coffee. But no sooner had she set foot on the floor, the door suddenly slid open. Ruby wasted no time knocking, she simply barged into the room as if she’d owned the place.

“Good, you’re awake! We’re leaving.” Her words came quickly as she gestured urgently towards the door.

“Where are we going?” Emma asked, getting up from the bed slower than usual with her shoulder still aching.

“To your house,” Ruby nodded, smiling at her. “Get your stuff and pack some things for David too. You can change at your apartment if you want, but you’ll have to hurry because we’re going to Leo’s funeral after that. And then back here. It would be best if you took everything you wanted from home, because you won’t be returning anytime soon.”

“Great.”

-/-

“Why am I the one going with him?” Emma stared blankly at Ruby’s smiling face. It was a mystery to her why the brunette was in such a good mood. Emma didn’t feel like grinning at all, especially now that it turned out she was going to be alone with Killian again. Of course, David had no idea. If he did know, he’d surely have an aneurysm.

“It was pure fate,” Ruby said with a shrug, but Emma could see she was hiding something.

She didn’t want to argue with her, so she left it at that. But Ruby couldn’t seem to let the subject go. “Why are you so against him?” she inquired cautiously as they climbed the stairs to the first floor that led to the crumbling wooden house.

“I’m not, I just don’t understand. I thought David’s drama queen behavior yesterday would have kept him from having anything to do with me.”

“The decision on matters like this isn’t up to Killian, or even David. It’s all the Council,” Ruby explained.

“Oh, how I’d love to meet them one day,” Emma remarked, grudgingly, multiplying her steps as she followed Ruby, who was still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

It was terribly cold upstairs. Emma was only wearing her sweater from yesterday and was already chattering her teeth as she rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself up a bit.

When they reached the clearing, she noticed at least a dozen motorcycles and twice that many cars parked there. She had no idea if they’d all been brought here under the cover of the night, or if they’d been hiding around here all along. Looking around, she immediately spotted the black Porsche. It actually wasn’t hard to spot, nor was the talk, dark figure lurking beside the vehicle.

Killian seemed unaffected by the cold. His hair was ruffled by the light breeze (or by his fingers running through it), and he was also forgoing his usual eyeliner today, which made his face look younger. He was wearing a simple black shirt and his favorite leather jacket.

“Be at the cemetery by two in the afternoon, and get back here by four at the latest. Don’t wait until it gets dark, for everyone’s sake.”

“Will do,” Killian nodded, stubbing out his cigarette, which Emma just noticed, on the outside mirror without hesitation.

“Have a nice trip!” Ruby waved at them, then walked after Robin and Mary Margaret.

“Ready to go?” Killian hid his hands carelessly in his pockets and stared at her expectantly. Was he seriously going to wait for her approval now?

“Yeah,” she sighed.

This is not going to be fun.

-/-

To her surprise, they made their way to the apartment in not-so-uncomfortable silence. She didn’t know what to say as she stuffed her ham sandwich into her mouth and Killian remained stubbornly silent. She was sure his mind was on their “conversation” from yesterday, too. Which, well, let’s face it, had been pretty interesting.

“Be ready no later than half-past two,” was his first sentence after they got out of the car.

“You’re going to help, too,” she announced. “We’ll be done quicker if you help with packing up David’s stuff.”

“As you wish.” He didn’t comment on her instruction, so Emma showed him David’s room and the bathroom, loaded her brother’s suitcases and bags onto his bed, and left Killian to his task.

She made her way upstairs and began packing up everything she might need with heavy movements. Of course, she had a hard time packing all her things into her bags, she didn’t want to leave anything in her room. She really wanted to take her favorite books, her ancient boombox she’d gotten from David, and every trinket that held precious memories for her. However, she had to realize that was pretty much overkill. She probably wouldn’t even have enough room for her things, let alone time to actually read books.

Eventually, she felt compelled to put a few things back on the shelves, including the boombox, of course. It was already quarter past two when she finally finished packing and headed to the bathroom. She only wanted to take a look at her reflection, but the sight that greeted her made her pause.

Her face was paler than usual, the remnants of her black eyeshadow around her eyes complemented by dark circles under them didn’t look particularly attractive. Her hair almost resembled a crow’s nest, her clothes were dirty, bloody, and torn in places. Honestly, she looked like a survivor of a zombie apocalypse. Which, when she thought about it, wasn’t that far from the truth.

Grimacing, she turned away from the mirror, quickly ridding herself of her clothes, and climbing into the shower with boundless relief as the warm water hit her tired skin. Carefully, she peeled the bandage from her shoulder and was glad to see that she didn’t need stitches. Only five smaller, circular, red wounds adorned her collarbone and shoulder. At first glance, they didn’t look like serious injuries, but she knew — and felt — that they were deep.

She quickly washed her hair as well and finished as quickly as she could, not wanting to test Killian’s patience. As soon as she was done, she wrapped a towel around her body and hurried to her room to get the hairdryer she had already packed in one of her gym bags. It would do her good to think ahead sometimes…

She rummaged in the bag that was next to the door, but of course, the damned device was hidden away well. She cursed under her breath and ripped open the zipper of her last bag as the door slammed open, connecting with her hip head-on.

She yelped more in surprise than pain. She had just enough presence of mind to reach for the towel slipping off her body, but she lost her balance and landed on her ass.

“Did no one teach you to knock?” she growled in annoyance.

“Apologies, but I didn’t think I’d find you dressed only in a towel,” he retorted, glancing impatiently at his watch.

But then he walked over to her and reached for her hand to help her up. She considered refusing him for a few seconds, but then she deemed it unnecessary to continue being hostile and grabbed his offered hand.

This time, there was no unbearable headache to warn her as she glided through space and time. She simply found herself under the open sky without any of the uncomfortable transitions a vision usually entails.

The sun burned bright and hot; it was a sultry summer day. The air was stuffy, not even a slight breeze was blowing through the air. At first, it seemed to Emma that she was standing in a playground, but in the background, the image of a school with at least hundreds of students unfolded before her. She turned her head in wonder, for the children’s clothing was clearly reminiscent of the late nineties.

No one noticed her, so she was sure she had just stumbled into another vision. A girl in a towel appearing out of nowhere would have been quite the sensation, but they were not just looking through her, they were walking right over her body too.

She didn’t understand any of this, she had no idea what to look for. She whirled around the courtyard, trying to figure out why she had gotten here. Soon, a calling of a name broke through the dull fog of shock.

“Hey, Killian! What’re you doing?”

Emma immediately spun around and turned in the direction of the voice, but saw only a completely unfamiliar, short, and dark blonde boy. He couldn’t have been older than twelve. His flashy red leotard stretched over his stomach with dark spots down the front. His jeans were already worn and a little too short for his legs, with patches of green grass staining the knees.

He scurried toward a sullen, skinny boy sitting alone on the back of one of the benches, staring off into the distance. Panting, the blond came to a halt in front of the other and braced his hands on his hips. His bloated, freckled, but lovely face glistened with drops of sweat.

“Killian, why don’t you come play?”

Emma stared wide-eyed at the boy skulking on the bench. Was this Killian? He didn’t look any older than fourteen or fifteen, either, but his gaze was almost as unsetting as it would be twenty years later.

His hair was longer than it was now in the present, tied behind his head with a rubber ring. His slightly worn Pearl Jam t-shirt was much larger than his torso, his jeans were worn and torn — but not for the sake of fashion. The soles of his sneakers were about to come off the dirty shoes.

“Aren’t you coming?” the blonde repeated.

Killian didn’t answer, just stared unflinchingly at the school’s iron gate. “No, Kristoff. Not now,” he shook his head, and his voice, unusually deep for a kid of his age (and size), caused Emma another surprise.

“You’re waiting for Milah, right?” Kristoff looked at Killian sympathetically, and Emma’s ears perked up at the name.

Maybe now she could figure out who Milah was to him.

Killian turned his head to Kristoff with an impatient sigh. “If you already know, why even ask?”

The other boy just shrugged, leaving Killian’s question unanswered. He settled down next to him on the bench. “Killian, come on! You can’t sit here all day! You know she’s not coming anyway.” Kristoff shook his head and glanced sadly at Killian with his big, piercing blue eyes.

“She will!” Killian’s hand clenched into a fist, his eyes flashed. “She promised,” he added a little more quietly, and Emma moved closer to the two of them, so as not to miss a word.

“It doesn’t matter. Her father won’t let her anyway. Our last class is about to begin, Killian! I’m sure…”

Before he could finish the sentence, the school bell started to ring. Kristoff immediately jumped up from the bench as the sea of students moved towards the main entrance of the building.

“We’re going to be late!” Kristoff shifted his weight impatiently, but Killian didn’t even move, staring fixedly at the school gate.

“We are,” Killian finally nodded, picking up his bag that had been lying next to the bench.

It was a dark green, awkwardly patched, worn backpack. It was quite dirty with dust and sand, but Killian didn’t seem to care.

“My mother will kill me if I’m late…” Kristoff turned pale, blinking more and more nervously across the slowly emptying courtyard.

“Go to class, Kris,” Killian smiled, then picked up his bag on his shoulder and hurried to the school gate.

“Killian! Stop! What are you doing?” Scared out of his wits, Kristoff ran after Killian.

He grabbed him by the arm and turned the older boy to face him with a forceful jerk.

“I’m going to Milah’s,” Killian shook Kristoff’s’ arm off.

“No! You’ve gone mad! Your parents will… oh, there’ll be nothing left of you if Milah’s father sees you there! I thought that scar on your arm would have been a good reminder of that.”

“I’m not afraid of her father,” Killian laughed. His voice was husky and mocking. Emma knew very well where his confidence came from.

Elven blood.

He could easily handle a grown man, no matter how big or muscular he was.

“You can’t go there! Even Milah told you that!” insisted Kristoff.

“I don’t care.” Killian shook his head and headed for the gate again.

Kristoff stared after him for a while, panting, apparently unable to decide what to do. “Killian, wait! I’ll get my bag…”

The little blond boy slipped off in the direction of the school building. Killian, meanwhile, settled himself at the entrance and, to Emma’s small shock, lit a cigarette. If she could’ve, she’d have flicked it out of his fingers. He was too young for that sort of thing.

However, when she took a closer look, she saw that his hands were shaking, he seemed quite nervous, and his appearance, as well as his manners, made him seem much older.

“Uh… Humph! We can go!” Kristoff gasped as he finally reached Killian, more specifically through her spirit body.

She’d never get used to that.

“You really don’t have to come. It won’t be...without risk,” Killian admitted, and Emma believed that only she understood what he meant.

He could defend himself, but he couldn’t split himself in half and be there with Kristoff all the way. And if the boy wasn’t in his immediate vicinity, Killian couldn’t guarantee his safety.

“Come on!” Kristoff waved. “I want to come!”

“Suit yourself,” Killian nodded, rising from the parched ground. He dusted off his jeans, which Emma thought was completely unnecessary, and walked with quick steps to the side of the road.

“You really have a crush on her, don’t you?” Kristoff seemed to have quickly gotten over the trauma and aftermath of missing school. He stared at Killian with a grin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Killian shook his head and blew out the smoke with relish.

“Well, about Milah, who else?” Kristoff waited anxiously for Killian’s answer, but it didn’t come.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Killian glared at the younger boy.

“You don’t have to deny it! I saw you both out in the meadow by the bunker yesterday,” he reported with a triumphant smile, and to Emma’s surprise, he achieved the desired effect; Killian’s cheeks and the tips of his ears turned the color of tomatoes.

“What the bloody hell were you doing there?” His eyes widened in shock, and he quickened his steps almost unconsciously.

“Well, I was just going to the bunker because I left my sweater somewhere and I thought it was there.” Kristoff shrugged, his mouth still twisting into a smile. “But in the end, I found something completely different there,” he chuckled.

Killian narrowed his eyes.

“But I was far enough away, I didn’t see everything!” Kristoff added hastily.

“Wonderful,” Killian growled, scowling at his friend. “What did you see?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” Kristoff clasped his hands behind his back and whistled softly as he stared up at the completely cloudless sky.

Emma had to admit, she was starting to like this kid, Kristoff. The little rascal knew how to get a rise out of Killian, and it was strange to see such strong emotion on his face.

“You’re starting to get on my nerves, lad,” Killian hissed.

Kristoff grinned wickedly at him and just shrugged. “Did you kiss her properly? Like in the movies?” He eagerly watched Killian’s every move.

“Aye,” Killian coughed, then watched with a forgiving smile as Kristoff punched the air with a loud cheer.

“And what else did you do?” Kristoff almost climbed into Killian’s face.

“Never mind that, you’re too young for that,” Killian grinned, blowing the smoke in Kristoff’s face who leaned away from him, coughing.

“Stinking shit-face!” he groaned, gasping for air.

“Vouyer rat!” snarled Killian back playfully

They walked along the road in silence for a few minutes and then soon turned onto a narrow, weedy dirt road. They were in a small rural town that Emma was unfamiliar with.

“I’d never dare kiss Anna,” Kristoff confessed shyly.

“Well, I wouldn’t either,” Killian laughed hoarsely, and hearing his voice, Emma wondered how long he’d been smoking.

“Are you making fun of me?” Kristoff raised an eyebrow in offense, but Killian just shook his head.

“Anna would talk your ear off before you could even reach her lips. Don’t you think she’s a little hyperactive?”

“Maybe... But she’s still the prettiest one in the class.”

“That’s one thing,” Killian waved it off, then tossed the cigarette away and stomped on it carefully.

“But still beautiful!”

“And a chatterbox,” Killian said, shaking his head.

“Does it matter? At least there’s no awkward silence.”

“Then it really doesn’t matter,” Killian laughed again.

It was weird to Emma to listen to this conversation as she slipped invisibly behind the two of them. Killian... There was just no way he was only like fourteen. She had no idea what could have happened to him, but a normal boy his age wasn’t like him.

After a good twenty-minute walk, the hundred-degree weather made it almost impossible to wring the sweat from Kristoff’s and Killian’s t-shirts.

“Do you really go out here every day?” Kristoff growled as he wiped his brow. “At least slow down a little!”

“I don’t come out here every day, her father would really kill me. Besides, we’re not far away, their house is just around the corner,” Killian replied.

Nearby, the grass was yellow from the drought, and the road was pure dust beneath their feet.

“And what’re you going to tell her?” Kristoff asked.

“I don’t know,” Killian lowered his head. “We’ll see.”

“Is it really true that her father is crazy? I’ve heard all kinds of things about him, but I couldn’t decide if it was true.”

“He is,” Killian said in a lowered voice. “One minute he was completely calm and quite friendly, and then suddenly he got angry, howling and lashing out at the things closest to him. He’s already been treated in a mental hospital, and he has also been in prison several times…”

-/-

The large but rather old-fashioned residential building included an old barracks. Several dogs were roaming around in the company of a few cats around the porch. The platform of the rusty van in the backyard was already packed, and a burly, shirtless man was in the process of dumping the rest of the suitcases onto the others.

He watched the boys’ arrival with keen eyes. He brushed his graying hair out of his forehead and stared expectantly at Killian and Kristoff with his hands on his hips. Sweat glistened in droplets on his exposed skin, his large beer belly covered in dirt.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled unkindly. It was obvious from his expression that he was already on the verge of strangling the boys with his bare hands, but for some reason he controlled himself.

“I came to see Milah,” Killian replied confidently.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have time for you, she’s packing right now. You’re in the way, we want to leave today!”

“Where are you going?” The confidence left Killian’s voice and was replaced by horror.

“We’re moving. We’re going back to England. It’ll be a better place for the girl!”

Emma could clearly see Killian’s face turning pale despite the blistering heat. His lips opened slightly and he stared at the man with widened eyes.

“Where… where’s Milah?” Killian’s hands clenched into fists again, trembling with rage, and at that moment Emma no longer feared for Killian’s safety, but rather for the man’s. If he couldn’t restrain himself, there would be trouble…

“I thought I told you to fuck off—”

“Killian!”

A girl’s stunned voice came from the direction of the barracks. She had long, dark brown hair that ended in wild curls, and her eyes were almost the same bluish-green shade as Emma’s. Emma immediately knew she was Milah.

The girl blinked at her father in alarm, then looked back at Killian.

“We’re leaving in half an hour. I don’t want to have to look for you, you know what we agreed on,” her father growled at her and set about securing the bags on the platform.

Milah sighed in relief and signaled for the two boys to follow her.

She led them into the kitchen. It was an immaculate room, but the cleanliness in no way made up for the deplorable sight of junk, old furniture, and weathered paint on the walls.

“Are you...really moving?” Killian didn’t sit down, and neither did Kristoff.

The blond preferred to slip quietly into the backyard, but Emma stayed in the kitchen, not feeling guilty for eavesdropping.

“Yes.” Milah didn’t look up at Killian.

He blinked in horror. “But why?” he snapped.

Milah flinched in fright and raised her eyes to him, almost pleadingly. “Stop yelling!” It wasn’t long before she began to cry.

“Apologies,” Killian soothingly walked up to the girl, wrapping his arms around her.

“I don’t want to leave, but Papa says nothing would become of me here. We’re moving to London and I’m going to attend an all girls school. Killian, I don’t want to leave!” she blurted out, desperately holding onto Killian’s worn t-shirt.

“You’re not going then,” he said firmly.

Milah laughed softly and leaned her head against his shoulder, smiling. “What’ve you got planned?”

“We’ll run away!”

Milah laughed even louder at his answer. “We can’t possibly! He would find us, and if he did…” she shuddered at the thought. “He would beat you up like never before…”

“He wouldn’t catch us, and you know it,” Killian grumbled heatedly, casting a startled glance outside, but Kristoff continued to pet every single animal outside and seemed to hear nothing of their conversation.

“We can’t run forever! Sooner or later we’ll get tired, especially if I’m there to slow you down.”

So Milah probably knew what Killian really was. That was interesting. Maybe she wasn’t a simple human either, that was why they were so close…

“I’ll hold out as long as it takes! He would never find us and…”

“And then what? What would we do after that? This is all foolish. When you think about it, maybe it’s best to walk away...”

“Pardon?” Killian froze at her words.

“Yesterday... He found out what we were doing in the meadow! Why do you think I’m wearing a sweater in this heat?”

“So you don’t want to see me anymore.” Killian let her go and took a step back.

“It’s not that! You’re more important to me than anything, but that’s not good. I’ve had enough, don’t you understand? I can’t take this anymore,” she raised her voice.

“Milah…” Killian’s gaze was desperate, almost pleading, watching her every move.

“What the hell is going on?” Milah’s father entered the kitchen, apparently having heard his daughter’s screaming.

“Nothing, Papa!” she replied immediately, perhaps a little too quickly.

“I let you say goodbye to my daughter, and this is how you thank me? You’re—”

“No!” Milah cried out, but her father was already marching toward Killian.

Emma couldn’t decide if she or Milah was more scared. The man didn’t care about Killian’s satisfied grin, he didn’t really know what it meant.

“He begged for hours to say goodbye to you today, I let him because we won’t be here by tomorrow. And he has the audacity to…”

“Papa, no!”

She wasn’t worried about Killian, she was worried about her father.

The man’s fist swung for Killian’s face, but a thin arm knocked the fist aside with unobtrusive speed, then Killian pushed the man back. Milah’s father fell onto the kitchen table, shattering two of its legs. The vase on the table hit the back of his head, making him even angrier, washing away his momentary shock. He jumped up, glaring at Killian, and gasped as Milah screamed deafeningly. She was already standing next to Killian, tugging at his arm in horror.

“Killian, no! Please, don’t do it! Calm down, don’t do it!”

But Killian paid her no mind. His vision seemed to be clouded, his arms tense.

“What the…?” Milah’s father blinked in confusion at the little boy, who’d just flung him away with one hand.

But nothing registered in Killian’s mind anymore, he was on the verge of losing his temper.

He pushed Milah away from him, and she hit the floor at the other end of the kitchen, knocking three chairs aside.

“You little shit! I’ll teach you a lesson!”

Milah’s father rummaged blindly in one of the boxes that stood next to the kitchen entrance. He managed to grab a knife with a blade at least twelve inches long.

Milah was lying dazed on the floor, Kristoff was about to run off into the woods, scared out of his wits as he witnessed what was going on in the house. Milah’s father scurried to Killian, and now for the first time, Emma recognized the terror in Killian’s eyes. She couldn’t really place it, because it was only a knife, and it wasn’t as if this mammoth of a man could inflict a wound on him that wouldn’t heal in ten minutes or so anyway.

Killian tried to back away, but his back hit the wall and his gaze searched for Milah. That much inattention was all the man needed. He grabbed Killian’s arm and jammed the blade into his stomach. Killian cried out and slid along the wall to the floor. Milah’s father didn’t seem to care. He scooped his only daughter into his arms and stormed out of the house. The van’s engine roared to life not long after.

Terrified, Emma knelt beside Killian, though she knew he would soon be healed and survive the ordeal. It was a horrible sight. He leaned to the side, not knowing if it was the pain or Milah’s departure that had brought tears to his blue eyes. He reached for the handle of the knife and yanked it out with a quick jerk. He groaned loudly and winced.

The knife fell from his grip and he bowed his head to the floor, his cheek resting on the cold tiles.

He had a hard time getting out of his loose t-shirt, but when he did, he pressed the garment to the wound. His chest and abdomen were snow-white, but his arms were tanned. All of his ribs were visible…

The bleeding wouldn’t subside, however, and the wound contracted. Killian soon lost consciousness, and the journey was over for Emma.

“Swan! Emma, answer me! Do you hear me? Bloody fuck!”

At first, she didn’t understand the words, they only gradually made sense and formed complete sentences. But it didn’t matter that she managed to comprehend what she was hearing, she couldn’t give an answer yet. Her head was pounding and she was having a hard time getting air into her lungs,

Something — or someone — was caressing her face, but she felt terribly cold. Goosebumps covered her body from head to toe, and then she was finally able to slowly open her eyes, and the first thing that flashed before her was Killian’s blurry face. She was still in her room, her open bags lying to her left.

Her head rested on his shoulder. He sat on the floor and she lay on his lap as he hugged her tightly.

“Are you okay, lass?” His concerned gaze searched her face, and he immediately pulled his fingers away from her cheek.

“I think so.” She nodded cautiously, then her head immediately flushed as she realized that she was still only wearing a towel.

“You’ve been unconscious for more than half an hour,” he said softly.

“Figures,” she mumbled with a nod, unable to take her eyes off his face.

She tried to recognize the sweet, broken little boy, but it was very hard to do so.

“A vision?” He still wouldn’t let go of her.

“Yeah, I think so,” she nodded again, unsure and still a bit disoriented.

She was ashamed to admit it to herself, but it felt good to be in Killian’s embrace. His anxious gaze and the reassurance of his arms around her filled her with a warmth she couldn’t explain.

“What did you see? You’ve gone pale,” Killian searched her face curiously, but she averted her eyes.

She wanted to know what had happened to him, what made him...what he was now. She was unable to put it into words.

Strange.

Special.

Kind of an old young person.

But she was afraid to ask, to dig into the past. She was scared it would open up wounds too deep and painful.

“Are you sure you want to know?” She sighed in resignation, knowing in advance what his answer would be. Reluctantly, she disentangled herself from his hold and rose from the floor, careful that the towel wouldn’t fall off her body. “Think about it.”

With that, she left him alone and marched into the bathroom. She rubbed her half-wet hair with another clean towel, no longer needing a hairdryer. As she dressed, she suddenly remembered why they’d been in such a hurry earlier.

“Killian! The funeral!” The door was nearly ripped out of its frame as she stormed out of the bathroom.

“We already missed it, Swan,” he sighed. “I talked to David, they know what happened. When they’re done, they’ll come straight here.”

“Oh…” She’d wanted to be there for Leo and she’d blown it with her stupid ability to see visions.

Killian was still cross-legged on the floor. He watched her, curiosity shining in his aquamarine eyes. “We still have some time before then, so why don’t you tell me what you saw?”

“All right,” she said, sitting down beside him. “But first, I want to ask you a few questions.”

“So my suspicions were correct. The vision was about me,” he said, frowning.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Tell me, who exactly Milah is?

Killian’s eyes widened in shock and she could see he wanted to jump up and leave, but she held his arm before he could do so. He almost pulled her up with him, but finally relented and sat back down.

Killian glared at her with his familiar, expressionless poker face. He tried to barricade himself away.

“Killian, don’t do this…”

“This is none of your business,” he said sharply.

His voice trembled with suppressed anger. But Emma could also see confusion and terror. “Tell me who she is. You always clam up when I want to talk to you about...well, you.”

“Swan, don’t, please.”

“See? You’re doing it right now!” she poked him in the chest with her finger.

“I hate talking about my past," he shook his head.

“Have you actually tried?” she raised an eyebrow.

He grimaced and shook his head again.

“Killian, I want to understand you. And I want to know what happened to you.”

“Why would you care about a repulsive beast like me?”

She knew it was inappropriate, but she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of her. Killian, repulsive, and beast? Those three words were completely different things in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but none of those apply to you,” she chuckled, feeling a tear leave her eye.

“No? Because that’s what people usually call me,” he hissed angrily.

“At first glance, your appearance and manners don’t exactly scream trustworthiness,” she remarked, still smiling. “But you only pretend not to be.

“Maybe because that’s how it is, and you’re the one who’s wrong. Have you ever thought about that?”

“No. And you’re wrong. Now answer my question,” she’s starting to feel like an interrogator.

“You don’t know me, Swan. You know nothing about me, and that’s the only reason you dare to be alone in a room with me.”

Then he jumped up from the floor and marched out the door.

Perhaps she’d succeeded in opening a more painful wound than she’d first intended. At that moment, she felt like a pathetic fool. Because let’s face it, tact wasn’t exactly her strong suit.

[renjunfromthestars]

one last time

Pairing: Haechan + Reader

Genre: Angst, smut? suggestive, fluff, established relationship

Song recs: Lose by Niki,Pluto Projector by Rex Orange County, Sofia by Clario

Warnings: 

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary:

Sometimes, just loving each other isn’t a reason to continue being together.

or

Life consists of moments, and some people are only meant to stay in your life for a moment.

___

September (Now)

When you wake up, it’s breaking dawn. Despite the layers you’re tangled in, it’s still cold in the little one bedroom apartment you share with Haechan downtown. There’s an obscene amount of blankets for the sheer size of the bed; the air condition has been blasting too low for weeks, and neither of you have bothered trying to turn it off. 

The kitchen sink has clogged up a couple days ago, from the buildup of grease or a stray utensil you don’t know—just that the dishes have piled up, and much like the thin balance that holds you and Haechan together, are on the verge of collapsing. 

You question if he still lives with you out of fear of being alone, but you know the answer has always lied in the thin white sheets of the empty two sized bed when you wake up.

Even so, during the rare moments you wake up early enough to see him next to you, there’s an unspoken wall split down the white sheets, and you haven’t really kissed each other in weeks.

As your eyes dart around the room, what should really be considered evidence of your relationship seems old, like artifacts, untouched for centuries. The picture frame that once graced the nightstand, trapped in the crevice between the wall, the 70-millimeter projector Haechan bought you for christmas, back in the box, collecting dust and untouched. 

It’s another day, another changing of the seasons, and you’re still looking for someone to blame, but it's hard to point fingers at someone who isn’t there. 

It’s hard for Haechan to do wrong when he hasn’t been doing anything. So maybe it’s you that make the moments alone feel so long, as you find yourself waiting for just the click of the door opening, a call, a note, a kiss, anything. And maybe one day, if you try hard enough, you’ll find something out of nothing.

But right now, as you hear shuffling and the click of a door, you know he’s only leaving the apartment again. 

September (Before)

It’s bittersweet when the last hints of summer fade into fall, but when you make your way up the stairs and finally drop the boxes on the floor, you don’t mind it as much as you thought you would. 

“It’s so spacious.”

“You don’t have to lie, Channie.”

“No I’m serious.”

“First of all, you’re never serious, and second of all, it’s only because it’s empty and we haven’t unpacked.”

He seems so excited and you can’t blame him, you’re excited too. A place to finally call your own, even if it was the size fit for a Keebler elf. 

As you work on opening each cardboard box, Haechan digs in, taking your things out of the box, organizing them. When you’re finally done, you plop on the couch, resting. When you look over at Haechan he’s focused, with a little drop of sweat traveling down his face as he puts up the curtains. 

Christmas (Before)

“Well, it has character.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

The thing in question, being the little Christmas tree Haechan dragged in despite your insistence that one wasn’t necessary. It’s frail, evidenced by the way the weight of the star bends the tip of the tree, and the firs that branch out from the trunk are discolored. It’s so dry, you think, if you snap the tree in half and start rubbing the sticks together, you could start a fire. You rather not be arrested for arson, so you just sigh. It is kind of endearing, but you’d never admit it. 

“And now we wait for Midnight,” he declares, wrapping his arm around you. “so I can kiss you in celebration.” 

“I think you’re confusing Christmas with New Years.”

 “I figured you’d be difficult,” he shrugs.  “You’re always worried about something,”  he begins, rummaging in his pocket. “Loosen up it’s Christmas, our second one.” When his hand finally leaves his pocket, there’s a small bunch of mistletoe haphazardly attached to a string. He lifts his arm, and it dangles just above your heads. 

“You have to kiss me now.”

“I’d kiss you regardless-” 

“Shut up.” With the swift movement of his head, he presses his lips against you. 

It’s Christmas, and you don’t have a lot of money. It’s Christmas, but you have Haechan, and that’s all that matters. 

…

“Where did you get this, anyways?” 

Haechan scratches the back of his head. “I dunno.”

“Don’t even try lying to me, I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

“It’s not lying if I withhold the truth,” he says stubbornly, and you roll your eyes as you adjust the focus of the screen. 

“No seriously, this is a really nice projector. I don’t think we could’ve afforded something like this if we only ate rice and beans for a month.” 

“I don’t understand why it matters.” he says nonchalantly, chewing on the last of the popcorn

“It matters because rent is due next week, and we’re almost short because of the heating bill.”

“You worry too much.”

“And you worry too little” you interject.

“Not when it’s about you.” he responds, and your face softens. 

He opens his arms, and you crawl into them. You’ve been stressed with work lately, he knows.

You’ve always talked about getting a projector, and how cool it would be (“We could have movie nights!”) but knowing you, you wouldn’t ever drop money on one to buy it for yourself. 

It’s the last of his graduation money well spent, just to make you happy. 

New Years (Before)

You don’t know if it’s the twinkling lights, or the atmosphere (or the champagne) that has you feeling this way, but you’re feeling quite warm and fuzzy.

You trip and nearly kiss the floor on the way to the snack table when Jaemin catches you.

“Woah woah woah there, easy. Looks like someone’s had too much to drink.” he teases, reaching across the table to grab a napkin. Some of the champagne from his flute spilled onto your dress, and Jaemin dabs a napkin apologetically. 

Renjun glances to his side and gives Haechan a little tap, pointing to your hunched figure. Haechan sighs, and makes his way to you.

To the average bystander, it's an innocent display of chivalry as Jaemin links his arm around yours and you lean on him, searching for a place to put you so you won’t cause anymore trouble, but Haechan can’t help but feel a little, pissed off? Peeved, jealous even. 

“My dress,” you grumble, and Jaemin only laughs. “It’s okay, you still look pretty y/n. You’ve always been.

Yes, you do look pretty tonight, Haechan knows, and when you’re back in his arms, he whispers to you that you’re going home. 

...

You’re breathless when Haechan scoops your legs from right under you, disregarding the heel on your left foot you still haven’t taken off.

“Too slow.” he huffs, and you can only wrap your arms around your neck in support when he impatiently shakes your body slightly so that your shoe falls to the floor. 

When he finally makes his way to the bedroom, he plops you front first. The bed feels so comfy, but you snap back into focus when you hear some rustling, then the familiar clank of the metal of a belt hit the floor. 

When you turn around, he wastes no time kissing you, and you almost forget what you wanted to say.

“We didn’t even-” Haechan begins to slide his hand under your dress, interrupting you. “Even see the ball drop” you manage to gasp out. 

“Does it matter?” he hums. Your strapless bra is yanked right out from under you, and any resolve you had to press the topic any further goes with it.   

“It is so bad that I want to spend some quality alone time with you on New Years?”

He’s so worked up it’s almost comical, and he makes it a point to fuck you so that you’ll be feeling it for the next week, but you’re not complaining. It’s quality alone time after all. 

Spring (Before)

If  they say March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, then your sanity must have left with it. You get a job promotion, and Haechan well, finally finds a job after months of searching. Haechan’s excited, you’re excited, money isn’t as much of an issue anymore, and you couldn’t be happier.

With your newfound responsibilities, you find that it’s hectic at work, so you’re hardly home when he is. When you are, you find yourselves  too tired to do anything but stick a frozen dinner in the microwave, and call it a night. But when you can, you try to set aside a day to eat together, to do something.

It’s difficult at first, but it’s okay, because change is arduous, and it’s okay, because  you have each other.

You try your best to call during lunch breaks, but even then, the calls get shorter, and spending time together becomes an afterthought. The time you do spend together is awkward, with strained silences in between that make you think, was it always like this before? You would almost prefer arguing- then you would at least be talking to each other.

Maybe the riff between you two goes deeper than that, then just work on the surface. It’s riddled with doubt, uncertainty. Doubt, when he says he has extra hours he needs to do at the company, uncertainty when you don’t know when you’ll see him next. You don’t need to lose your mind every time he doesn’t call, because he certainly doesn’t. He doesn’t, so you won’t. You shouldn’t have to win his love, right? because you have it. You’ve always had it.

You don’t know when it occurred to you that his laugh began to mean something more to you--but right now, you’re not so sure when you started evolving into strangers.

Summer (Before)

Spring bleeds into summer, and work lets down a little. Haechan has the day off. You let him know you’ll be coming home a little early, and you do, right before the sun sets, groceries in hand.

When you slip off your shoes and hang your jacket on the coat rack, you make your way to the kitchen. As you make your way to the kitchen, you notice the pans on the stove, and the single empty set aside in the sink.

When you make your way to the bedroom, you find him on his back, scrolling aimlessly through his phone.

“Does this even matter to you, if we eat together?”

“Not really,” he shrugs.

You drop the subject.

September (Now)

Maybe at a time you felt free here, but right now, everything about the apartment is suffocating, the blankets, the air, the silence. You bring out the duffel bag you haven’t used since you’ve moved in, and begin to fill it with your belongings. You need to be somewhere, anywhere. Anywhere but here.

Dusk is transforming into evening when you finally see him. He’s leaning against the door frame, with the light of the sunset illuminating the thin wisps of hair that frame his face. In baggy sweats, and your favorite white tee of his, with the tiny hole on the sleeve from wearing it so much (because you liked it, he once said), in the rose tinted light, he’s the spitting image of the boy you fell in love with, the boy you’ve always loved, for the past year, months, weeks. But when you take the time to look closer, he looks tired, with his eyes sunken and hollow. At the edge of the room is as close as he gets, but he feels miles away

“Where did you go today?”

“I was out with a friend,” you lie. You’re always there when he comes home, and that hasn’t changed. But how else are you going to explain the traces of makeup that linger on your face, and the fact that you’re dressed? You didn’t think he’d care enough notice, let alone point it out. You look up at him, but his gaze remains on the floor, shoe digging in the peeling carpet.

When you see his jaw tense and lips begin to part, you see a glimpse of the man who used to hold on to you like you were the last person on earth; he’s lost the right a long time ago, to be overprotective, to ask about your day, like it would make any difference now. It’s when his gaze travels from the carpet, to the closet, the empty hangers, the sweater in your hands, the bag, he stops; it��s finally sinking in. 

Baggy sweats, in a white t-shirt with his heart on his sleeve. Messy hair, he looks like the man you’ve always known, always loved, last year, last month. Today, and even tomorrow when you’re on that train going far far away. If you get on that train.

Because you’ve been thinking: Is this what love is? They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but all you’ve been feeling these days is empty. Even so, after all this time apart, you still feel the urge to kiss him. 

“Where are you going?” he looks at you, the closet, the bag.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t need to lie to me.”

The answer is in your silence, and wordlessly, he walks past you and lays on the bed. 

“Come here,” he says, and his body forms a crevice on the bed that hasn’t been there for months. 

“I don’t think I should.”

“Please,” his voice breaks, and you feel your plans begin to tear apart at the seams. “Just one last time.”

He knows he can’t stop you from leaving, it’s inevitable, an unspoken end. He can only delay it.

There's a soft crinkle as he wraps his arms around you in your jacket, tightly, almost painfully. 

“The truth is, I- I still, I-”

“I know,” you say softly, interrupting him. “Me too.”

…

When you wake up it’s breaking dawn, and you’re tangled in the arms of the only thing you’ve ever known love to be. He looks so peaceful, with the light of dawn shining on his bare face like drops of morning dew catching the sun. He’s still Haechan and you’re still you, but you know things are different now, and somewhere along the way you forgot to tell each other about it.

You hastily get your bag, leaving no room for second thoughts.

As you head out the door, you see a bag of groceries carelessly dropped on the counter, the bag broken. You see oranges, cereal, a carton of eggs all for two. You see your favorite brand of instant coffee, the one Haechan hates, but always buys for you anyway.

It’s bittersweet as the last hints of summer fade into fall, and you mind it. You mind it a lot. You know there will be a time again when everything will fit right in, but right now, everything is falling apart and you can’t look back. Maybe in a different life you both fight all day, but kiss all night. In another universe, things could still be changing too. You could be leaving this little apartment together, on a train maybe to somewhere bigger. 

September (Before)

“y/n?”

“Yes Hyuck?” you say absentmindedly, fiddling with his silver necklace as you lay on his chest. You’re both tired from unpacking, and you might be just a little late for work. It doesn’t matter, you can spare the subway fare instead of walking. 

“Where do you want to live eventually?”

“I have no idea, but I’m open to anything. I think it would be really cool to live in the city,” you ponder. “but I wouldn’t be able to live there my whole life, you know? What about you?” 

“I kinda wanna live in Utah.”

“Utah is really pretty.” you agree. “Airplane tickets are kinda expensive though, trains are cheaper, but it might take a little longer, and I don’t know if I can be in confined space with you for that long.” you tease.

“Don’t lie you love me,” he grumbles. “It just seems so great,” Haechan continues. “It’s rural and the houses are so big and-” he suddenly pauses. “What if we can’t find jobs in the same location?”

“Hyuck why are you so worried about all this? ” You can only laugh at the little frown he makes in response. “We just moved in, and all of this is so far ahead in the future.”

“I want to make your life amazing,” he announces, “I want the best for us so figured I might as well start planning now.”

You’re ready to tease him for his sudden onset of seriousness, for being so out of character. The Haechan you know doesn’t plan; he scarfs down cereal each day in the morning, and throws on the first item he sees-but when you look up at him, his eyes are filled with sincerity—He’s dead serious. 

As you sit up you kiss his forehead, cupping his face in your hands. Feeling his cheeks contract as you pull away, he purses his lips.

“Kiss me?”

“Okay, just one last time,” you laugh. “I really need to go now though.”

______________________________________________________________

a/n: I don’t know why but I’ve been writing a lot of sad stuff lately, I hope this one makes sense lmao. Let me know what you think, feedback is always appreciated

[bluenet13]

It's All In Your Head (Chapter 2/2)

Written for @badthingshappenbingo​

Fandom: Chicago Fire

Characters: Matthew Casey, Sylvie Brett, Kelly Severide, Stella Kidd, Wallace Boden, Firehouse 51.

Prompt: It’s All my Fault.

Story Summary: Post-ep to S09E09 "Double Red." Casey's life continues to spiral as his friends worry around him; or what happens when no one notices Casey is struggling and our captain is too stubborn to ask for help. AKA, I enjoyed the ep but needed more angst, h/c, and Brettsey, so I'm fixing it.

Ch2 Summary: After the events of chapter one, Casey is not doing so well but Brett, Severide and the rest of his 51 family are there to help.

Links: ff.net - AO3

Chapter 1 Link

As the call ends, and the five vehicles return to Firehouse 51, Severide and Sylvie feel like they're getting their wish. Because Casey is standing in the apparatus bay, waving at them.

But then they get closer. And they see Casey stumble, what looks suspiciously like blood standing out on the left side of his head. He doesn't seem to be waving, but calling to them. He takes a tentative step forward, then wobbles, and his face scrunches in pain and something more. And then Casey is no longer walking towards them but collapsing towards them.

And before most everyone else has a chance to react, or even process what they're seeing, both Sylvie and Severide are out of their vehicles and running towards their friend. Severide is faster so he reaches Casey first. The squad lieutenant extends his arms and catches his best friend just before he hits the ground. Then Brett is right there, kneeling beside them.

"Matt, Matt! What's wrong? Are you okay?" Brett is practically shouting, then mentally berates herself for asking dumb questions. He's obviously not okay. And it's her fault.

But Casey doesn't respond. Can't respond. His eyes are shut tightly, his breathing coming in slow gasps.

Before anyone has a chance to say anything else, the paralysis that had seemed to overtake the rest of the house gets broken and everyone is moving and becoming part of the action.

Mackey gets out of the passenger seat, leaving Ambo 61 awkwardly parked in between the street and the apparatus bay. Moving to the back she grabs their med bag, ECG monitor, and oxygen, while Cruz gets the backboard.

"Severide, step aside," Brett directs as soon as she sees Mackey and Cruz standing next to them. "Now," she shouts after Severide hesitates.

Letting his weight fall backwards, Severide sits down and slowly backs away. Eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. He's been a firefighter for a long time so he has ample experience with rescues, fires and emergency treatment, but it never gets any easier when said treatment is done on a coworker and friend.

For their part, Brett and Mackey waste no time in checking Casey's pulse, breathing and pupils. Getting their first warning sign as soon as Casey grunts when Brett shines a light into his eyes. "Mackey, check him over," Brett instructs, while she connects her patient to a monitor, sets him on oxygen and starts an IV, just in case. The patient, she inwardly chuckles at the thought. Knowing Casey is so much more than that. But trying to see him as just another patient is the only way she can think of not to be paralyzed with fear and instead be the PIC he needs right now.

"He has a cut here… but it's starting to scar so it didn't happen now," Mackey says, pointing to a cut and small lump on the side of Casey's head. "He probably just reopened the old wound."

"So this is because of that call," Stella says slowly, joining the scene for the first time. She kneels next to Brett, and grabs some gauze, setting it carefully over the newly bleeding wound on Casey's head. The crimson color taunting her, as Stella wishes she had called him out on his lie this morning.

"What call?" Severide asks, turning to his girlfriend.

"I told you about it, Casey tried to stop a drunk driver from fleeing the scene and he was thrown out of the moving car," Stella explains, not sounding defensive, just regretful and apologetic.

"You didn't make it sound as if it was serious," Severide continues, not sounding accusatory, just worried.

"It wasn't. He got right back up and started doing his job." Stella whispers, deep down knowing she had missed something and this was partially her fault.

Severide nods and turns back to his best friend. Brett is just finishing getting Casey strapped to a stretcher with Cruz and Herrmann's help. And that is what seems to bring him back from wherever his mind had gone to while everyone freaked out around him.

"I don't need to go to the hospital," Casey tries to argue. "I just lost my footing."

"Shut up," Brett says, no longer able to treat him just like any other patient. "You're going to get checked out and that's the end of this discussion. Cruz, Herrmann help me get him into the ambulance!"

"But really, I'm okay," Casey tries to say, but Brett's glare silences him up. Then he seems to realize there won't be a way out once Cruz and Herrmann finish loading him up into the ambulance. "Come on, hear me out. I just got up too quickly and got a little dizzy."

"How long have you been dizzy? What other symptoms do you have?" Brett starts questioning, not missing a beat.

Casey shuts his mouth, knowing he already said too much.

"Matt, please. Help us out here. What other symptoms do you have?" Brett more like pleads this time. "It's my fault this is happening. I missed it on our last shift. I don't want to miss anything now. So please, don't play tough right now and tell me everything."

Seeing the desperation in her eyes and pleading in her tone, Casey sighs and closes his eyes. "I have had a headache since our last shift… Also nausea, dizziness and ringing in my ears." Seeing everyone's eyes go wide, he opens his, trying to give them his best apologetic look. "But symptoms came and went, it wasn't always so bad," he finishes weakly.

"You're an idiot, do you know that? And an even bigger idiot than I thought," Severide says through gritted teeth, his voice raising with every word. "How could you not say something after what happened the last time?" He asks dejectedly, remembering the time a beam crashed into Casey's head and almost ended his career. "But I guess all this just makes me an idiot too, cause I'm your roommate and I missed it."

"You weren't even there," Stella adds sadly. "I was right there, so if anything, I'm more to blame than you."

Brett cuts everyone off with a humorless chuckle. "I'm the PIC in charge of the firehouse and I saw everything happen, so it's all my fault."

"You were taking care of the crash victims," Stella says, ready to defend her friend and stop her from blaming herself.

"Hmm, I think this is really Casey's fault. We wouldn't be here if he had just said something." Severide interjects, while he helps load all the equipment back into the ambulance. Not wanting either Brett or Stella to get down on themselves, and feeling the need to add some lightness to this moment. Because if they can joke about it, then everything will be okay in the end. Or so he tells himself.

"We shouldn't be blaming the guy in the stretcher," Casey mumbles from inside. "Besides, I'm really okay. I don't need to go to the hos…"

"Everyone please be quiet," Boden's voice booms from behind, successfully silencing everyone. "Casey, we will have a serious talk about what happened here, but now you're going to Chicago Med and getting checked out. Brett, Stella, Severide, this is no one's fault."

Everyone nods, as Mackey runs to the driver's side of the ambulance, and Brett gets in the back, next to Casey. The decision not even spoken out loud, both knowing that's just the way this needs to go.

"And… I missed it too." Boden adds to himself in a much quieter voice. If anything this is all my fault, Chief Boden thinks before his thoughts are drawn back to the present by the sound of Severide closing the double doors of the ambulance.

"Severide, you're in charge of the firehouse until I am back," Boden directs, then runs to his SUV so he can follow the ambulance to Chicago Med.

"I still think this is Casey's fault," Severide says quietly, trying again to add some levity to the situation, for his and his teammates' sake. "Everyone, time to get back to work. Tony, Stella get squad and truck parked properly. Gallo, Ritter get started on lunch. Herrmann, come with me so we can locate Casey's sister's phone number," Severide directs, even as he stays rooted in place, staring at the disappearing Ambo 61 and Battalion 25.

-x-x-x-

"This can't happen again," Brett says, as she sits inside Ambo 61, on the bench next to the stretcher.

Casey turns to Brett, but says nothing. They haven't been alone, together since that fateful night and his brain seems to be short-circuiting, and not because of the head injury. Because even if Brett's words and tone say that she's angry, her hand is still clutching tight to his and her eyes can't help but show the concern she's really feeling.

"I'm serious, Matt. This can't happen again. Whatever happened… or didn't happen, can't interfere with our jobs again. If you're hurt, you need to tell me."

Drawing the oxygen mask down, Casey sighs before he bravely, or dumbly (it could be argued either way), intertwines their fingers together. "I could have told Mackey, this has nothing to do with us," he explains, doing his best to sound like he believes his own words.

"Then why didn't you?" Brett challenges.

Casey opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. And repeats the same pattern a few times until he finally whispers, "I was scared." He settles on a half-truth, cause he's in fact scared, but decides not to mention how he purposely hadn't asked Brett for help, even when Chief Boden suggested it.

Brett's first instinct is to respond that Matt Casey isn't scared of anything, but the still rational part of her brain realizes that won't help the situation, so she just raises her eyebrows in a silent question.

"I'm not supposed to have another head injury," Casey says softly.

"Do you think avoiding the issue will just simply make it go away?" Brett asks, the first of her barely suppressed anger and frustration beginning to filter into her words. "Because let me tell you, Casey, it won't. In life we can't just run from our problems. We can't just say things and then avoid the issue completely. We can do things that hurt people, then try to move on with our lives and hope time solves everything. Because, again, it won't! We have to fight for what we want and be brave enough not only to walk into a fire, but to handle the consequences of what happens next."

After the last word leaves her lips, Brett seems to deflate. The void left open by her departing anger and frustration now occupied by the concern and love she feels for this man. Because she can no longer deny what she's feeling is so much more than simple infatuation.

Staring at Brett with wide eyes, Casey almost bares his soul to the woman he knows he's in love with, instead he just breathes out a simple question. "Are we still talking about head injuries?"

Now it's Brett's time to open her mouth, then promptly close it again. They both know this is about everything but head injuries, even if they're both still worried about that, but Brett knows this is not the right time to get into it. But Casey's expectant, and slightly hopeful, eyes still stare at her, seemingly looking directly into her soul, so Brett parts her lips but before she's able to say anything, the double doors of ambo 61 open and just like that they're parked in front of Gaffney Chicago Medical Center, a group of doctors and nurses surrounding them.

Without even thinking of what she's doing, Brett jumps out of the ambulance, and starts to recite Casey's stats and everything she knows about this injury. Then he's gone. Wheeled inside the hospital, while she's left standing alone, not only to worry about his physical condition, but to think about the words she just spoke. She thought, or hoped, if only for the sake of her broken heart, that she was moving on with Grainger, but evidently her heart is still stuck on one Matthew Casey.

-x-x-x-

By the time Boden returns to firehouse 51 it's almost midnight, but he's not surprised to find the entire house sitting in various places in the common room as they wait for news. Usually they would have all been waiting in Chicago Med but protocols still limit the number of people in the waiting room so they had been ordered to stay home.

"How's Casey doing?" Severide asks as soon as he sees his chief walking in.

Boden sighs and lifts his hands in a placating gesture as soon as he's instantly surrounded by the expectant faces of the men and women of Firehouse 51. "Casey's stable. They did an initial CT, then just in case also an MRI since this is his second head injury and because he didn't go to the hospital right away after the hit to his head."

"Another epidural hematoma?" Stella interrupts anxiously. Remembering Severide telling her the story once, and not wanting Casey and the house to go through that again. Because when one of them is hurt, it feels as if they all are.

Boden shakes his head, but still looks troubled. "Not this time, no. But the MRI did reveal a very small bleed. That's why he seemed to be okay after the injury. But without any sort of treatment, it was always going to get worse with time. However small, a brain bleed can't be trusted to resolve on its own without medical supervision, especially given Casey's history. Dr. Halstead said if we hadn't taken him to the hospital when we did, his intracranial pressure could have continued to rise and we could have been sharing a much different conversation."

"So, what's the prognosis? Is he having surgery again?" Severide asks worriedly, thinking not only of his friend's life but also his career as a firefighter. They had once dreamed of ruling the firehouse together along with Darden, and even if their friend had been gone for a long time, Severide still hopes to someday retire alongside his best friend. But only after many years of Chief Casey and Captain Severide in command of 51. The thought making Severide chuckle inwardly. Because at one point in time, he would have imagined himself as Chief in that little scenario, but nowadays, he's just content with the idea of being to Matt what he's to Boden now.

"Hopefully not. Doctors are already giving him medication and they're hopeful this time it will be enough to reduce inflammation and pressure. They're leaving surgery as a very last resort, but Dr. Halstead doesn't think they will get there. They also did a neurological exam and cognitive testing as precaution, and these didn't raise any red flags. He has the typical symptoms of a bad concussion but nothing that won't go away with time and no memory or strength issues. Dr. Halstead did put in some stitches to the wound on his head as he kept reopening it." Boden explains, grateful the news he has are mostly good, or at least not as bad as they could have been. "He should have been okay. If he had gotten checked out and given treatment right away. The hit wasn't too strong, so there was no reason for his symptoms to get so bad. They think that's also what made him collapse. He had probably been experiencing the headaches, nausea and dizziness since he got injured and without treatment it was all bound to get worse."

Sighing, Severide closes his eyes, still not able to shake the feeling that he should have noticed and knocked some sense into Casey before his situation got this bad. What help would he be to a future Chief Casey if he can't even help ensure he lives long enough to make it to chief? But then he opens his eyes and turns to Stella, finding her hands closed into fits, a scowl on her face. And looking to his sides, he sees similar expressions all around him, every member of 51 feeling this way in some way their fault.

"I missed it too," Boden says, recognizing the guilt in the faces of all the men and women he sees as family, and wanting to draw their attention back to him and away from any self-deprecating thoughts. "We all did. But really, this is no one's fault. But it should be a lesson for all. I will speak to Casey about this once he's on his feet again, but since I have you all here with me, I might as well use this experience as a reminder. Regardless of how simple an injury seems, we have paramedics for a reason. Regardless of any worries you might have about time off or your careers, you can't help anyone if you first don't help yourself. You all know I trust you, and don't like to micromanage. But I will have to start, if something like this ever happens again."

A chorus of yes, Chief follows Boden's words as everyone nods their agreement. Shoulders sagging as everyone seems to deflate, because even if they understand this wasn't their fault, still no one can shake the feeling that they could have done more.

"Now, everyone go to bed, you all deserve to rest, too. Casey is okay and being taken care of," Boden finally adds with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Just then, both Severide and Stella realize Brett isn't with Boden. Mackey had returned after dropping Casey off but they hadn't seen Brett since she climbed into the ambulance next to their roommate.

Bumping their shoulders against each other, Severide and Stella share a relieved smile, before walking together to the officer's quarters. Both, happy their captain will be okay and silently promising to keep a better eye on him, God knows he needs it. But both also hoping they won't have to and wishing this is the push their respective best friends need to finally give in to their very obvious feelings for each other and give their relationship a real try.

-x-x-x-

Casey opens his eyes to the telltale signs of a hospital room... antiseptic smell, incessant beeping, colorless walls and ceiling… All things he hates, together in one room.

Closing his eyes again, he releases a sigh in frustration. Having enough presence of mind to admit to himself that he has no one to blame for single handedly landing himself in this situation. Well, okay, the drunk driver landed him on the ground, but as Halstead told him, what happened later could have been avoided if he had just gotten checked out quickly. Now he should just be grateful his stupidity didn't end his career as a firefighter, and trust his doctors' words that medication will be enough and he will make a full recovery.

Finding himself alone in the room, Casey also wonders if protocols are to blame or if maybe everyone is pissed off at him, and makes a mental note to apologize not only to Boden, Brett, Severide and Stella, but to the rest of the firehouse as well. He's supposed to be their captain, second in command, and needs to set the right example. Not only for doing the right thing, but also apologizing afterwards for a momentary lack in judgement.

Be brave enough not only to walk into a fire, but to handle the consequences of what happens next, Brett's words then replay on his head, and a treacherous smile escapes his lips as he remembers her worried blue eyes and the feel of her hand in his.

And just like that, the power of his mind seemingly conjures the one thing he wants most in the world at this moment. Because one second he's alone in his room, and the next, the door is creaking open and Sylvie is standing next to his bed.

"You came," Casey breathes out.

"Who said I ever left?" Brett shrugs but asks sincerely. And looking at her tired eyes and paramedic uniform, Casey takes her words for nothing but the truth.

"I thought you were angry at me," Casey says, wincing as he remembers her demeanor and words in the ambulance.

"I'm not mad, I'm just…" Brett begins but cuts herself off.

"Disappointed?" Casey provides helpfully, a childish grin on his face.

Brett has the sudden need to kiss the smile off his face, but instead seems to deflate as she decides to go for honesty. "Yeah, I guess that's the right word. I'm disappointed you didn't feel like you could trust me on this. I know I should have noticed something was wrong, and even more, I should have checked you out right after the injury, but that's my mistake and I will do better next time. But Matt, promise me you will never knowingly hide an injury or illness again."

"This is not your fault, Brett."

"Promise me," Brett interrupts before Casey can say anything else. "I can't lose you too, Matt. Even if we can't be more than friends, I still can't lose my best friend."

Casey wants to say he wants to be more than friends, that they still can, but he just sighs, knowing it's not the right time. "I promise, Sylvie," he says softly. "I can't promise nothing will happen, because that's just the nature of our jobs, but I can promise not to hide things again."

"Okay." Brett whispers, relief evident in the way her shoulders slump. Still her eyes look worried as she searches Casey's eyes and body for any signs that he's struggling or in pain. Eventually, her eyes settle on the bandage covering the left side of his head.

For the next few minutes no one speaks, as Brett and Casey just look at each other. Both their minds, lost in the sad memories of what happened last fall, worry for what could have happened today, and a small seed of hope for what they hope will happen in the future.

"Did you really believe I wouldn't come?" Brett asks eventually, when the silence stretches for too long.

Casey ponders the question for a moment, before a sad smile reaches his lips. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Brett smiles sadly in return, her eyes losing some of their spark. "I will always be here for you, Matt. Like you're always here for me. Regardless of our relationship status."

There's no regardless, Casey wants to say, remembering Brett's comment about Gabby, but he doesn't. They're here because of his inability to let go of the past, and commit to fighting for the future he wants, and Brett doesn't deserve him taking advantage of the situation to win himself a second chance. He still wants it, he just needs to stop being scared and find the right time and way to do it. Because Casey can't deny that he's in love with Brett, and God knows his feelings for her are not going away anytime soon.

"Besides, I'm not going anywhere. Dr. Halstead says you will need some help. You need rest to recover, and light and sound will still bother you for a few days, but you still need to eat and take care of yourself. I already told Severide and Stella I'm sleeping on the couch until you're back on your feet." Brett continues after Casey's silence, the words rushing out of her as soon as the first one leaves her parted lips, not wanting to give herself any chance to back down now.

"You can't just up and leave your apartment. You're a pet owner now," Casey teases in response.

"You heard about that?" Brett asks, blushing as she remembers how she ended up with Veronicat.

"There's a lot of gossip around the house," Casey says with a shrug, "it's hard not to listen."

Brett mentally wonders what other things has Casey heard, her blush deepening when she remembers her night with Grainger. Not surprised at the feeling of shame and regret the memory brings. Choosing not to say anything else she makes two mental notes, one to text Severide to find out if the Loft accepts pets, then to call Grainger and respectfully end what they have. He might be a great guy but her heart belongs to another.

"I won't be alone. Severide and Stella are almost always there. You really don't need to disrupt your life for me," Casey explains seriously this time, mistaking her silence for agreement, and still determined not to take advantage of Brett's good nature, even if he wants nothing more than to take her home with him.

"This happened on Severide's watch," Brett reminds him softly. Knowing there's no way she will leave Casey out of her sight so soon after this little incident.

"Don't you trust Stella?" Casey tries instead.

"I do, but she will be outnumbered. We need even numbers to fight the likes of you."

"Who says I want to fight you?" Casey asks, his treacherous eyes going from Brett's eyes directly to her lips.

Brett notices, and bites her own. "I don't want to fight you either, but I will, if you don't start taking better care of yourself." She answers, forcing herself to be professional and her mind to stop remembering the taste of Casey's kiss and the feeling of his hands on her.

"Do you go home with all your patients, PIC Brett?" Casey challenges, suddenly less interested in not taking advantage of the situation, and more into beginning to win his second chance.

"Don't be unprofessional, Captain Casey," Brett tries to admonish, but her tone makes it sound less like a reproach, and more like an invitation.

"I'm high on painkillers," Casey says innocently. "What's your excuse?"

His comment only makes Sylvie smile. And Matt does too. Their eyes locked as an intangible something passes between them.

And the moment they share is not a guarantee for the future and their relationship working out. But a promise, that they will talk, and give what they have a real chance. Because they can no longer ignore they're in love, but they can learn from the past. Last fall, they kissed and tried to talk later. This time, they will reverse the order and make a different outcome. They owe it to themselves, their love, their friendship, and one another.

So this moment, more than anything else, is just that. A vow to fight, but only for each other.

[ronsenburg]

Since you mentioned you were looking for drabble requests, if you haven't moved on from AA already, could I request something where Apollo or Klavier is struggling against pride/feeling that his problem isn't a big deal/some kind of internal roadblock to seek comfort from the other? Maybe they lost a case they don't think they should have lost, or it's the anniversary of something sad, or they just feel crappy physically or emotionally. Any reason is fine. Thanks for considering my request ^^

vorher:

It’s nearly six pm by the time Franziska finds him, tucked into a chair in the corner of some pretentious and probably ephemeral bar downtown.

It isn’t one of his usual haunts, but the staff seem to know who he is well enough, anyway. Though he is just barely twenty-three and his tab has been approaching the four figure mark for the past hour and a half, no one has bothered to card him or attempt cutting him off yet. Of course, that may have had more to do with the sizable tips slid to whatever staff member is closest in proximity rather than his rather notorious celebrity status, but Klavier’s ego has been rapidly ceasing to care about such things in recent months. What matters to him at this very moment is less the thrill of universal adoration and more the ability to nurse his wounded pride in pseudo-solitude with a vastly overpriced drink.

That solitude is shattered, however, by the arrival of Prosecutor Franziska Von Karma. The sound of her heels clicking firmly against the highly lacquered floors crescendos over whatever smooth jazz cover they’re piping through the hidden speakers as she makes her way directly over to him.

“Are you finished with your tantrum yet?” she asks, removing her dark sunglasses and placing them onto the surface of the bar beside him without any sort of invitation.

It takes a moment for the words to process; Klavier has spent so long playing the role of the ostentatious expat that his alcohol muddled brain can barely grasp the crisp and nearly foreign sounding syllables of her German.

By then, she has already removed her long leather gloves and cape, handing them off to an employee that floats near her elbow like a well trained dog on a leash. When she slides into the chair beside him and signals for the bartender, the scotch she orders for herself is nearly as expensive as Klavier’s own. If he weren’t so chagrined by her sudden interruption, he would likely be impressed.

“Since when is enjoying a drink after work considered a tantrum?” Klavier returns, finally, and also in German. He attempts to fire off one of his charming smiles as he speaks, but the words feel so clumsy and out of practice on his lips that the gesture falls short and sounds far more like the kind of sulk that directly proves the point she has made.

Franziska raises a perfectly arched eyebrow in reaction, though whether it is a response meant specifically for his faltering pronunciations or juvenile tone, Klavier can’t be at all sure. “Since someone recently made a complete fool of himself in a court of law.”

The words strike out like the lash of a whip; Klavier winces despite himself. Franziska is only two years older than him, but when she glances away with an air of disinterested disdain to take a sip from the tumbler placed in front of her, the gap seems far wider.

“You heard?”

“I saw,” she replies, glancing over to him again just long enough to offer a small, disparaging smirk. “It was quite the performance. Do people actually pay you money to see such foolishness on stage?”

The shame he’d been attempting to shove away for the past five hours flares up just below the surface of his thoughts then, hot and bright enough that he suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

“You are just as charming as they say, Fraulein,” Klavier smiles; the sarcasm tastes false and bitter on his tongue.

In truth, he had made a fool of himself.

Klavier has always prided himself on being meticulous in his pursuit of the truth, in perfectly balancing the demands of both his prosecutorial career and his life as a musician. And, most of the time, he’d succeeded so brilliantly that it had blinded him to the subtly advancing and yet still discreet signs that he might have been slipping.

There had been issues with the band’s latest album.

With the ink long since dried on the studio’s contract and their chosen title already heavily marketed, the pressure to produce something of value had been mounting. Every song he’d written since then had seemed increasingly vapid, words that fit a theme but lacked any sort of meaning, chords that sounded deliberately catchy but were devoid of anything new and surprising. They were going through the motions, but those motions were long since stale. There was nothing of the artistic fire that had skyrocketed them to success in their early years and that alone drained any last bit of excitement he might have derived from the process.

It was driving a neat wedge through the center of the band; Daryan called him a diva, so used to having things his own way that he fell to pieces at the idea of ever being told what to do. Take the money, release an album that was shallow but on brand. They could always switch it up next time when time was on their side. You’re the lawyer, he'd mocked, you should know exactly how much of our asses are on the line here.

Their arguments on the subject had become more and more frequent as the days passed, spilling from band practice to crime scenes and, finally, to the kitchen of Klavier’s apartment. This time, it was Daryan who had packed what few belongings he’d scattered throughout Klavier’s various shelves and drawers into an old duffle bag and left, slamming the door shut behind him with finality as he’d gone.

As Klavier’s luck would dictate, Daryan had been the lead detective on this last case. While they were both professional enough not to ignore each other completely during the proceedings, the type of communication necessary for a successful indictment had been… difficult, to say the least.

And so he’d been distracted in his investigation, enough that he’d overlooked a piece of evidence so decisive in the opposition’s favor that when it had been presented, he’d been left gaping in uncharacteristic surprise from his place at the bench.

Yes, he’d been slipping, unable to see the progression of his descent until he had been standing firmly at the bottom of a tall slope.

He was only lucky, he supposed, that this was not a murder trial.

Back at the bar, Klavier rolls his eyes softly, more an aversion of his gaze than a gesture for dramatic display. Franziska doesn’t seem to be paying him enough attention to notice such things, anyway.

“Well, you can consider me scolded. Your work is done.”

“And yet, that’s not why I’m here,” Franziska returns. Ignoring the eyebrow he raises toward her in obvious question, she instead tilts the tumbler back, swallowing the last centimeter of the amber drink. “I would not waste my time and energy searching the city to scold a fool who seems to be doing an admirable job of berating himself. No, despite your recent failures, there are people in this city who seem to care about your well being. It would be a shame if you were to drown in a pool of your own vomit.”

He cannot help his rather obvious flinch at her words, no matter how quickly he endeavors to mask it. “How very touching, ja? I was expecting more anger.”

Franziska pauses in the midst of extracting a matte black card from the small handbag she carries. When her steel grey eyes meet his, Klavier suddenly understands the fear the von Karma name had once inspired in courtrooms across the world.

“Oh, I am angry,” she smiles, wagging her finger in such a way that it is clear she is mocking him. “You allowed a criminal to walk free today. But he is guilty, I am certain of that. And now he will be cocky.”

Klavier is so stunned by her words that he barely registers that she has slid her card across the surface of the wooden bar, let alone has the presence of mind to argue.

“There will be more evidence to find and new charges to file,” she continues, unperturbed by his gaping. “I will assume that next time you will have your priorities in the correct order.”

With that, she stands and turns to the attendant who is still waiting nearby, ready to help her back into the dark, cashmere folds of her cloak. When the complex ritual of donning her long gloves and sunglasses is complete, she turns once again to face him.

“I will be driving you home. You may choose, now, whether you would like to accompany me willingly or if you will require Detective Gumshoe’s escort. You have until I reach the door to decide.”

It feels as though a whirlwind has swept through the room, appearing out of nowhere to disrupt his wallowing completely before disappearing as suddenly as she had come. Klavier is not stupid enough to doubt Franziska’s words, despite the fact that he is twenty-three and more than a bit inebriated. He wavers only slightly as he finds his own feet and follows her out onto the sun soaked sidewalk beyond the bar.

If she is smiling when she looks back towards him, it is the small, private smirk of victory. Klavier finds that he is too preoccupied with the act of placing one foot in front of the other along the uneven slabs of concrete to care. He stumbles gracelessly into the backseat of the car Franziska indicates, through a door held open by a man that Klavier can only assume is the Detective she had mentioned inside.

“Huh,” he comments before closing the door. “Somehow I thought you’d be taller, pal.”

A sharp stab of pain somewhere behind his left temple resonates brightly in response.

This is something he will certainly regret tomorrow.

nachher:

“Okay, spill,” Apollo demands, crossing his arms in a visible display of stubborn obstination that, at any other time, Klavier might find endlessly adorable.

Tonight, however, he has reached a new level of exhaustion, one that leaves him blinking back at Apollo in baffled surprise as he attempts to pivot his thoughts from their previous trajectory in order to make sense of the other’s sudden words. “Spill was?”

As his words indicate, the intended course adjustment doesn’t go very well at all.

“Whatever’s going on with you,” Apollo replies, huffing out a sigh of what sounds nearly like frustration. “You’ve been working late, you don’t eat, you haven’t been sleeping. Something’s up; I think you should tell me what it is.”

Though Apollo’s words and posture are combative, it is all for show. There is an uncertainty in his eyes and concern exposed in the way he bites at the inside of his lip in silence, waiting for Klavier to speak. The fact that Klavier has learned to recognize this expression through repeatedly causing it is a painful enough thing to shoulder; to admit to the reason behind his behavior when it will only bring them both all the more strife, however, would be far worse. Not because he doubts the limits of Apollo’s strength; it is his own resilience that is threatened by the thought of divulging the extent of his insecurities.

Klavier runs a hand through the strands of hair that have escaped the hasty braid he had tied earlier that evening and attempts an apologetic smile. “Ach, Liebling, there is nothing to tell. It is just work.”

“You’re lying.”

It is stated as a fact, nothing more. But while there is nothing accusatory in Apollo’s tone and his face is perfectly even as he says it, Klavier still feels the words as though they are the sting of an attack.

“Ja?” he responds. “And you promised there would be no bracelet inside the house, did you not?”

What he intends is for the words to sound facetious, a nod to the same kind of fond banter they had indulged in long before the intimacy of a romantic relationship. But Klavier is lying; it is not an offense often committed between them and certainly not one he has reveled in or perpetuated out of malice, now. Still, to be seen through so shifted his smile without meaning to. Klavier can feel it teetering on the edge of a sneer that feels both unfamiliar and familiar all at once.

What follows, then, is a long pause.

A lifted arm, a proffered bare wrist, is Apollo’s only response.

That gesture feels more devastating than the aftermath of an actual, physical fight. Klavier can feel the air exit his lungs in a sharp hiss of remorse, his posture on the plush sofa of their study crumbling as he leans forward to place his head into his waiting hands.

“That was uncalled for,” Klavier begins, though his voice is muffled by the skin of his palms pressed firmly against his speaking mouth. “I am sorry, Schatz, I—“

But his words are interrupted by the sudden creak of sofa springs, the cushions on either side of Klavier dipping under the newly applied weight of Apollo’s knees. There is the feeling of Apollo’s warm fingers wrapping around the skin of his wrists, gently pulling his hands away from his face.

“I know you, Klavier,” Apollo says softly; his voice is so uncharacteristically gentle that the words sound less like a statement and more the sweetest declaration of love. Maybe they are. After all, Klavier has been loved before. But being actually, truly known? He glances up into Apollo’s brown eyes, warm with determination and affection. “I don’t need the bracelet to see when you’re upset. If you don’t want to talk about it right now, I understand, but you don’t have to go around pretending everything is okay when it isn’t.”

“Bold words for someone who insists upon always being fine, ja?” Klavier murmurs, another half hearted attempt at humor that falls flat in what little space exists between them. 

Apollo still lifts the edge of his lips in a small, humored smile of concession. “In court, maybe. But not with you. We all need to be vulnerable, sometimes.”

The breath that Klavier exhales wavers under the strain of unspoken emotions, his eyes fluttering closed just as Apollo leans forward to place a featherlight kiss against the center of his forehead, against his cheekbone, against the corner of his downturned mouth. 

“You can trust me, Klavier,” he concludes. “I’ll always be here, whenever you’re ready, okay?” 

Klavier finds he does not have the words to respond, then, even as the sound of fabric rustling against fabric fills the air and the hands holding Klavier’s wrists retreat. Their absence is felt immediately in the lack of warmth as Apollo slides back off the couch and onto his feet. 

“Apollo?”

Apollo’s footsteps stall halfway through the door.

Klavier still finds he needs to clear his throat before he can continue to speak, swallowing back the sentiments that have collected there that he is otherwise unable to express. “Could you stay? Bitte. Just for a moment.”

This is a weakness Klavier should not afford himself. It is selfish to ask Apollo to comfort him when Klavier cannot even bring himself to explain precisely why he requires it. But Apollo’s eyes are soft when they find Klavier’s gaze once again, inexplicably fully of acceptance and, beyond that, what Klavier knows is love.

“Yeah,” he nods, “of course.”

Apollo stays far longer than a moment, his fingers combing through the strands of Klavier’s loose hair under the fading light that filters in though the slightly open window. They don’t speak, but the steady rhythm of Apollo’s breath in the otherwise silent room, the gentle pressure of his fingers, is enough to distract him from the tumultuous cascade of his own thoughts.

[skeeter-110]

I Dreamt About You Every Night

Tony Stark has been dead for seventeen years due to a mission gone wrong. He’s survived getting blown up, palladium poisoning, terrorist attacks, and even Thanos himself, and he gets killed by - what was supposed to be - a simple day-to-day mission. Or, so everyone thought.

|| Chapter One || || Chapter Two || || Chapter Three || || Chapter Four || || Chapter Five ||

Chapter Six

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

"Okay, so what's the game plan?" Peter asks three hours later when they finally were able to find the old base. When Tony said he had a rough estimate, he really meant a rough estimate. "Tony?" Peter calls out again when the scientist didn't answer him.

Glancing over next to him, Peter saw Tony blankly staring at the base. Very hesitantly, Peter shook Tony's shoulder, not wanting to startle him out of what - Peter was assuming - was a PTSD episode, but also wanting him to come back down to Earth.

"Hey, Tony, snap out of it. It's okay, you're safe. You're not going back here so they can continue to do what they were doing to you." Peter tries to calm, confusion washing over when when Tony began walking towards the base.

"Tony. Hey, Tony, what are you doing?" Peter harshly whispers, trying to get the older man to stop walking away. Making sure his guard was still firmly up, Peter followed Tony into the base, coming to the conclusion that this was no longer PTSD induced and something else was causing this.

Peter soon found him and Tony standing in a wide open room, the door slamming closed behind them. There was only one singular light hanging above them, making it difficult for Peter to look around and see what was around him. The only thing Peter knew for sure was that his spidey-sense were going off the charts, making him feel like they had just fallen into a trap.

"Even after all of these years, it still surprises me how easy it is to control his mind." A man's voice echoes all around them, making Peter turn around in circles in attempt to get even a small glance of who was speaking.

"It also still surprises me how strong your loyalty remained, even with Stark gone." The voice continues. "Maybe the loyalty runs so deep and that's why it was so easy to get into your children's minds. Or it could just be because they're simply that; children."

"Where are they? What have you done with them?" Peter growls, hating the fact that all that seemed to do was amuse whoever the voice belonged to.

"Nothing too life altering, yet. They're mainly just pawns needed for this exchange." The voice says.

"What exchange?" Peter questions, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer to this question.

"Your children's lives, for Starks."

"Show yourself!" Peter shouts, wanting to know who it was exactly that was black mailing him.

Slowly a man began walking out of the shadows, revealing himself. It was the same man from the videos, and even though Peter has seen him a million times before, it was still jarring to see him in person. If Tony wasn't standing there completely blank, Peter was sure he would make another comment about how much this guy truly looked like a vampire.

His skin was a shade of grey that you only saw on the living dead, his eyes glowed red, and his teeth were almost as sharp as a shark's.

"Who are you?" Peter questions, his confusion growing more when all the man - creature? - in front of him scoffed in disbelief. "Doctor Morbius at your service." The man greets, rolling his eyes and continuing when Peter didn't show any kind of recognition. "What, my good pal Doctor Octavius didn't tell you about me? God knows he wouldn't shut up about bringing you down. But, then again, I guess he wasn't around for too long before I got rid of him; he really was useless wasn't he?" The man - Morbius - rambled. "What do you want from us?" Peter asks, hoping to stop Morbius from continuing down whatever messed up trip down memory lane that he was going down. "Isn't it obvious? Look at me! I wasn't supposed to end up like this! I was supposed to be curing the rare blood disease I had, but Octavius had other plans. He made me into this and I want it fixed. I've seen what Stark can do - how he was able to build a new element to save himself - and I will stop at nothing to make sure he does the same for me. Even if that means having  experiments on your son to figure out a cure." Morbius threatens, instantly making Peter see red and blast him to the other side of the room with his taser webs; Peter secretly thanking whatever gave him the idea to make webs strong enough to hold even Steve against a wall.

Apparently, blasting Morbius to the other side of the room broke whatever mind control he had on Tony because the man quickly snapped out of the trance he was in and began frantically looking around the building.

Unfortunate, at the same time, Morbius whistled and called in a bunch of his goons for reinforcement.

"Wha- Pete, what's happening?" Tony asks, instantly fighting the people surrounding him along side Peter.

"Long story short, scary vampire man wants you to stay with him for all of eternity - or at least until you're able to cure him - and we need to figure out a game plan to make sure that doesn't happen." Peter explains, rolling his eyes when he caught a glimpse of the bewildered look Tony was giving him. "Yeah, you kind of missed the whole monologue villains like to give."

"Okay, game plan." Tony huffs, continuing to fight off what felt like hundreds of HYDRA soldiers. "I think I've got an idea." Tony shouts, Peter moving towards Tony as best as he could while simultaneously fighting off all the soldiers.

"You better tell me the plan quick; it feels like they're multiplying by the second." Peter pants as he kicks one of the soldiers clear across the room.

"Right, well, I remember when those vampire movies began coming out, Pepper made me watch them with her, and they said that the best way to kill a vampire was with fire." Tony says, making Peter scoff.

"You can not seriously be comparing this situation to Twilight." Peter snarks, grunting in frustration as they continued to fight.

"You got a better idea?" Tony snaps back.

"Okay and how do you supposed we go through with your plan?" Peter asks on lieu of an answer, shooting another string of webs at Morbius when it looked like he was beginning to break free from the first round of webs.

"I'll distract the cult and their leader while you go out and find the kids. Once you do, get the hell out of here because I'm going to blow it up." Tony tells Peter, making him shake his head in return.

"No, not happening." Peter quickly disagrees.

"Peter, Kid, I need you to work with me on this one." Tony pleads.

"No! Come up with a plan that doesn't involve us splitting up." Peter says, making Tony realize the real reason Peter was being so stubborn about all of this.

"Pete, I know you're worried about what happened the last time happening again but you've got to trust me on this." Tony pleads, although it didn't do much to persuade Peter like he wanted.

"I-I won't. I won't leave you again- I can't leave you again. Tony I can't lose you again, I just can't." Peter practically cries, and in that moment, Peter felt like he was eighteen-years-old again. All of a sudden he was back there, back to the night where he saw his father-figure for the very last time.

"Pete, I understand that us splitting up failed miserably the last time, but I promise it's going to be okay now. You've just got to trust me." Tony says, Peter's breathing picking up as he began to look around the room, realizing how screwed they were currently.

Making a quick split decision, Peter threw his last three taser webs at Morbius, sticking him further against the wall and zapping him. Just like with Tony, Morbius' control on all of the soldiers released, causing all of them to fall down to the ground.

"That'll give you about ten minutes. If you're not outside within that time, I'm coming back in and dragging your ass out myself." Peter sternly says while Tony just pants and stares at him in disbelief and a bit of annoyance.

"You couldn't have done that a bit sooner?" Tony huffs, making Peter roll his eyes.

"Well I couldn't have just wasted all of them. We needed to figure out a plan first." Peter defends. "Now, go!" Peter says before running down a random hall.

He made sure to get far away from the previous room, trying to find a quiet spot so he could use his super hearing and figure out where in the world his kids were.

Peter could faintly hear their voices coming down from one of the halls, booking it as fast as he could down it; only stopping every now and then to see if he could hear their voices again.

Peter soon found himself lost, turning around in circles when he found himself in a hall filled with rooms, half tempted to just start busting through them when he heard a crash coming a bit further down the hall.

Taking that as his hint, Peter began running towards where he heard the crash, quickly coming up to a crossroads. Closing his eyes, Peter tried to block out all the rest of his senses to try and hear better where the kids were.

"Out of all the times for you two to quit being chatterboxes, now is not the time." Peter whispers to himself, smiling when he heard the familiar whines of Ben and Annie arguing.

Peter ran towards the closed door he heard their voices behind, fully ready to scoop both of them up into his arms and never let them go again. Just as Peter was reaching the door, the whole building began to shake beneath him, practically making him fall to his knees.

"Damn, Tony, you couldn't have found a subtler way to tell me to hurry up?" Peter grouses as he regains his footing. Figuring he needed to be as quick as possible, Peter slammed open the door, instantly ducking the limp that came swinging at him.

"Woah, hey, woah! It's me, it's me!" Peter shouts, grabbing Ben's arms which were basically just flailing in Peter's general direction rather than actually throwing punches in defense.

"Dad?" Ben asks in surprise once he gained awareness.

"Yeah, it's me, now we need to go and we need to go fast. So be quick, hop on my back. Annie-May, you can come out now and come here." Peter rapidly says, wrangle his two kids together and making sure he was able to carry both of them out of the building.

"What's happening?" Annie asks once Peter starts booking it down the hall.

"Long story short, the bad guys that took Grandpa Tony wanted him back and so now Grandpa Tony is going to blow up the building." Peter shortly answers, more focused on making sure Annie continued to hold onto his neck since he had to hold onto Ben.

"He's going to blow up the whole building? Why?" Ben questions, shivering slightly once they exited the building and the cold night air hit him.

"Kid, I'm going to teach you a very important life lesson." Peter braces, running a bit further into the filed, really making sure there was a bunch of distance between them and the building. "Never, ever, question your grandfather." Peter says, flopping down on the ground and protectively pulling both of his kids to his chest.

"Really? That's the important life lesson?" Ben chuckles as Annie lets out a bunch of giggles.

"Trust me, it took me a really long time to learn that sometimes you're just better off letting him do whatever it is he's going to do." Peter says before sitting up and looking his children all over.

"Dad, Dad. Dad," Ben stops, continuously pulling away from Peter's curious touches "we're fine." Ben reassures once he manages push Peter away slightly.

"Well I just want to make sure you both-" Peter began to defend himself, the rest of his defense getting cut off by a giant explosion going off in the building. Peter rushed to pull each kid behind him, shielding them from the heat and debris flying everywhere with his body.

Once he was sure the kids were again, Peter whipped around, expecting to see the Iron Man suit flying out of the flames. But instead, he saw nothing. There was nothing but building anxiety and all Peter could do at that moment was scream.

"Tony!"

Tag List: @spideyspeaches​ @lost-lunar-wolf​ @joyful-soul-collector​ @hatakehikari​ @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm​

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 20

An arranged-marriage story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13  Part 2: 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 … HOME

It’s complete on AO3 here.

Notes: Check the tags if you’re concerned about the pairings ;)

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 20 Now

Xichen could not have guessed that the Ikarahu would throw a festival in an army encampment in the middle of a war. It seems so dangerous for so much of the army to be distracted. And yet here he is in the transformed sparring arena, surrounded by hundreds of people eating spicy meat grilled in huge open pits, drinking the sweet Ikarahu ale, dancing in pairs and circles, and singing boisterous, noisy songs. Any watching scout could see that there are brightly striped flags, strands of bells, and colorful lanterns looped over ropes suspended between posts around the outside of the arena. Xichen suspects the lanterns mean this festival will extend long into the night, and he tries to squelch the nagging concern.

After all, it is a party. It’s supposed to be fun.

Xichen had helped Huaisang hang lanterns for what felt like years, and Huaisang had explained that the festival was called Hatapi, a celebration of the ahuti’s birthday. The ahuti was considered a valued ruler as well, and the Hatapi was a chance to thank them.

“But really, it’s just an excuse to eat and drink,” he’d said, completely seriously. “Who doesn’t love that?”

When Xichen had asked how he had time to plan a festival, Huaisang had just laughed and said it was a yearly event, which gave him plenty of time.

“Right now Hatapi celebrates my mother’s birthday, but it used to be my grandfather’s birthday. And before that, my great-grandmother. It’s always celebrated on the birthday of the ahukau’s spouse,” Huaisang had winked. “Eventually, Hatapi will be on the eighth of…”

Xichen had slapped a hand over Huaisang’s mouth and refused to let him finish that sentence.

Even after Huaisang’s descriptions, Xichen hadn’t fully expected the sheer chaos of the day. It’s riotous and loud and full of surprises. There have been strength and skill contests all day: sword fights, hurling giant logs, foot races, even a surprisingly early drinking contest. Every winner gets a trophy and an enthusiastic clap on the back from Mingjue, and it pleases Xichen that it’s hard to tell which the winners prefer.

At the moment, Xichen, Qingyang, and Guangyao are watching the last contest of the day, the mounted archery competition, which Xichen has to admit is spectacular. More than fifty of the finest archers in the Ikarahu cavalry are riding without saddles or bridles in a tight circle, bows drawn, shooting arrow after arrow into bales spaced around the outside of the circuit. The judges, including Huaisang and Mingjue, are on the other side of the arena, both standing on horses, presumably for the vantage, which raises questions Xichen has never thought he would ask.

Guangyao sniffs. “It hardly seems like a challenge. They’re just riding in a circle.”

“Huaisang says the second half is more impressive.” Qingyang shrugs. “There are bonus points for style, but I don’t know what that means.”

They know immediately when the real competition begins. One by one, the riders take a circuit of the arena, making impossible shots as they stand on their horses or cling to the bellies of their horses or drop to the ground and bounce lightly off their toes to turn backward or dangle across the side of their horses to shoot from under their necks, hidden from view, all while galloping full speed. Xichen has simply never seen anything like it. He’s not sure there even is anything like it.

“My mother would have loved this,” Qingyang sighs, softly enough that Xichen almost doesn’t hear her above the din around them. “She missed the galio of her homeland more than anything else, I think. I’m sorry she never went back to Ikara before she died, but I’m glad I had as many years with her as I did.”

His own mother’s death is still a sharp pain in his side, but Qingyang doesn’t seem as unhappy as Xichen would expect. She looks at him with a wistful smile, one that seems to want to share this memory, so he ventures to ask, “When did she die?”

“Two years ago, before the Ikarahu came,” she answers, and Xichen squeezes her shoulder. So recently. He is amazed that she’s willing to talk about it.

She smiles at him, a bravely crooked tilt, and Xichen suddenly wants to tell her. To tell someone. Maybe sharing the pain will release it. Holding it tightly certainly has not.

“My mother died when I was twelve. Of a wasting sickness,” he says, and Qingyang makes a sympathetic noise. “I have always wished I had more time.”

Qingyang nods. “There is never enough, is there? I will always want to see her face again or hear her call me a-Yang. She was an artist too, and I was fortunate to work with her for years, until her fingers were no longer agile enough for fine details. The only comfort is that she didn’t have to…” Qingyang exhales sadly. “She didn’t have to know why I left Lanling.”

Guangyao is quiet and seems to be caught up in watching the last rider, a slim, short man who rides the circuit in constant motion. He is nearly a blur, bouncing off the ground, sliding under the horse’s belly to pop up on its other side, slinging under the horse’s neck, flipping backward, and somehow still shooting arrows. The crowd roars when he takes top honors and Mingjue bounds over to present him with the prize, a huge gold bowl filled with water that the man shares with his horse.

“My mother is dead too,” he announces, the words slicing cleanly through the noise of the crowd.

For once, Guangyao doesn’t seem to be trying to hide the emotion in his voice. He sounds as though he has been brutally stabbed in a wound that had not yet healed. When Xichen looks at him, there is such animosity on his face, his eyes narrowed to slits and his jaw clenched so tightly, Xichen can almost hear his teeth grinding together.

“Since you didn’t ask,” he says, his lips flattening into a tense slash. “I was seven when I found her. She wrote that she was sorry, as though she had something to apologize for.”

Xichen reaches out instinctively to slide his fingers around Guangyao’s tense hand, wanting to erase this terrible tragedy, this horror that still haunts his friend.

“Aitapaho, Qingyang, Yao-ti!” Mingjue’s booming voice interrupts, and Xichen jumps as though he’s been caught peeking at something forbidden, as though he’s been caught doing something forbidden.

Mingjue kisses Xichen firmly, with all the enthusiasm of a man thoroughly enjoying his life, but not before Xichen sees the quick, appraising look Huaisang gives him and Guangyao.

Guangyao sees it too, and laughs, the sound higher and more strident than usual. “We were only bonding, Oringa’anhu Ikira. Over stories of our dead mothers.”

He takes a deep, bracing breath as though he will say something else, something even worse, and Xichen is suddenly afraid of what it might be. Guangyao seems like a mirror about to shatter and slash whatever might be near it.

Huaisang grabs Guangyao’s wrist and interrupts him with a teasing grin. “Guangyao, you were wrong about the winner, so I am claiming your forfeit. You are required to learn the next dance. Ani?”

Guangyao frowns. “You didn’t tell me his horse was a galau, so I think you should forfeit,” he argues, but he lets Huaisang pull him toward the dancers.

Mingjue laughs and kisses Xichen again. He tastes like winter mint and joy, and Xichen lets it distract him. Mingjue can always distract him.

“Come, aitapaho. We will eat and drink and dance!”

Only part of that sounds enjoyable, and Xichen shoots Qingyang a pleading look, but she laughs at him too, shooing him away cheerfully as Titakau joins her. Friendship is not what it used to be, he thinks. He will have to get revenge later.

There is no reason he should not be able to learn this foot kicking, jumping, spinning dance, Xichen thinks crossly, but he is growing increasingly irritated with the frequency his feet get caught together, and he trips, falling against Mingjue, who only catches him with curious, roving hands. Finally, Xichen throws up his hands in exasperation.

“Ahoraho, I am going to watch,” he yells over the music, singing, and shouts of laughter.

In answer, Mingjue grabs Qingyang’s hand and drags her into the circle where she, Xichen notes enviously, picks up the steps almost immediately. Titakau silently hands Xichen a bottle of ale and he takes a drink.

“Roka iko auha em koni,” she tells him sympathetically, “Pia ei sakona auha em ga. Et taka ti eta engati hako.”

She’s right about that much. It is fun to watch. There are two lines of dancers, one on the inside, one on the outside. The two circles turn, flicking their heels in the air, kicking forward and backward, spinning from the inside line to the outside line, changing partners and changing back. It seems random and reminds Xichen of spinning maple seeds that flutter from the tops of trees in gusts of autumn wind.

Xichen catches sight of Huaisang, whose face is alight with mirth, and Guangyao, who looks—not quite angry anymore. Begrudging, perhaps. Huaisang leans in to say something and Guangyao rolls his eyes, but his expression softens. Huaisang tips his head back and laughs, suddenly spinning Guangyao toward Mingjue who catches his hand smoothly, exchanging it for Qingyang’s. Mingjue’s grin is impossible to resist, and a smile, one with dimples that reaches his eyes, settles on Guangyao’s face, and he shakes his head with a reluctant laugh. Mingjue’s face, which Xichen knows so well, shifts just slightly, from watchful hawk to satisfied cat, and he ruffles Guangyao’s hair as the song seems to finally end.

Xichen wonders. He wonders if Huaisang and Mingjue worked together to coax Guangyao out of his bleak mood. He wonders why. He wonders if there is something else here, a more complicated set of steps here than Xichen can comprehend.

As the night wears on, the crowd grows ever larger, including nearly every member of the Ikarahu encampment. Ale flows freely, the food tastes even more delicious grilled over huge open fires, and Mingjue convinces Xichen to try dancing again. It does not go any better than his first try, and in retaliation, Xichen trods on Mingjue’s toes. This is also unsuccessful, as Mingjue merely stops dancing and wraps his arms around Xichen, kissing him until his knees are weak and he forgets the whirling, swirling tumult around him.

“I’m ready for bed,” Xichen whispers to Mingjue.

Mingjue tightens his embrace and rests his forehead against Xichen’s. “After fireworks?” he asks hopefully.

Xichen nods, unable to resist the sweet, boyish grin. He traces one dimple with his thumb and Mingjue inhales, turning his face to Xichen’s palm. Xichen slips his fingers over Mingjue’s ear, into his hair, down the strong line of neck, and Mingjue sighs.

“Or now,” he says, voice husky, and Xichen chuckles.

“Now,” he agrees, taking Mingjue’s hand and leading him back through the crush of people where they run directly into Huaisang and Guangyao.

“Anakau! Xichen!” Huaisang hands Mingjue a bottle. “You have not toasted our mother with me! It’s tradition!”

Thwarted, Xichen can do nothing but take the bottle Guangyao offers him and raise it.

“Di ika gati,” Huaisang and Mingjue say the obviously familiar words together. “Sika galio, em inga oduna!”

Shaking his bottle at Guangyao and Xichen, Huaisang repeats the whole thing again, to long life, swift horses, and blue skies, until they join in.

Huaisang and Guangyao finish their bottles, and Xichen hands Mingjue the rest of his. He already feels lightheaded, and he doesn’t want to be drunk.

“What is your mother like?” Guangyao asks, surprising everyone. He looks like he regrets his words, though, and tenses as if preparing to run. “Does she enjoy this festival?”

Huaisang furrows his brow and answers the second question first.

“She endures it because my father loves it. Truly, she is the most generous person I know and the most terrifying.” An unconscious smile tilts his mouth. “She’s clever and stubborn and ambitious. She is not a soft mother, but she is wonderful. She would have been an exceptional ahukau, but she doesn’t like…” he looks at Mingjue for confirmation, “Being in the front of the room?”

“She is called Kiri’anata,” Mingjue offers. “It means…” He wiggles one hand and uses his other hand to move it around.

Huaisang laughs. “It means Shadow Hand,” he fills in, and Mingjue nods agreement.

Guangyao looks unusually confused. “It is known that she rules from behind your father?”

Huaisang shrugs. “They rule together, as partners. It’s not one or the other. They’re necessary to each other.”

Xichen can’t imagine what it must be like to have parents who love and respect each other. Who value each other.

He looks at Guangyao, who is staring at the ground, his expression a wholly neutral, blank mask Xichen recognizes from wearing it so often himself. Like now, when he is trying not to think of the treaty that forced Mingjue into this relationship or now, when he is trying not to think about what it means that Mingjue is the crown prince of his country and he is only Xichen.

“She is loved for who she is,” Mingjue adds, threading his fingers through Xichen’s.

“She is,” Huaisang agrees. “All the good and the difficult. Sometimes so difficult.” Huaisang’s eyes dance, and he laughs lightly, but he is watching Guangyao’s pensive, unchanging expression.

Huaisang is always watching everyone, Xichen thinks. Whatever he’s looking for, whatever it means to him, it’s too great a mystery for Xichen to puzzle out today. There is something else he would rather be doing.

“We’re leaving,” Xichen announces and turns, pulling Mingjue behind him. He looks back once to see Guangyao finally look up and meet Huaisang’s eyes without flinching.

The fireworks begin just before they reach Xichen’s tent, and the explosions reverberate through him, numbing his fingers and toes. Mingjue slows, intending to watch, but Xichen pulls him on, tugging off his coat before they’re even in the tent.

“Xichen,” Mingjue murmurs, cupping Xichen’s face in his hands, gentle as always. “What was your mother like?”

It isn’t what Xichen expected, but he says the first thing, the easiest, truest thing.

“She was beautiful.”

Xichen pauses and thinks. He seldom talks about his family. He rarely even talks about his former home. It has seemed like a necessary separation of the two halves of his life. And until now, Mingjue has never asked.

Xichen chooses this, too. He can not have a future without sharing his past.

“She told us stories of monsters and heroes. Stories of carp who became dragons, tigers who granted wishes,” Xichen says, smiling at the memories. “We played the guqin together. She was a healer. When we were boys, she taught my brother and I how to befriend the rabbits in the woods, although my brother was always more patient than me. Only the bravest rabbits would let me feed them.”

Mingjue laughs. “Ani, you are very fearsome, my bright heart.” He kisses Xichen’s forehead softly, lingering in the embrace. “Huan, will you tell me one of these stories?”

What can he do but agree? Xichen undresses Mingjue, and Mingjue undresses him, and they lay together in bed, legs tangled, Mingjue’s head on Xichen’s shoulder. Xichen tells him a story of a magical carp who granted bigger and more magnificent wishes to a man and his wife until the last wish was too greedy, too selfish, and the carp took everything away again.

“Tiras mau, Ahora’ipa,” Mingjue says drowsily, and Xichen smooths a hand over his hair and down his shoulder, listening to the sound of his breathing even out into sleep.

Love is such a surprise, he muses before he, too, falls asleep. It is a wonderful and perplexing surprise. Whatever their future holds, if he were to repeat the past, he would gladly pledge his heart and life, his honor and obedience to this man again, even if only in a treaty and not a true marriage contract. It is enough. Xichen curls deeper into the safety of Mingjue’s arms feeling lucky to have this much of him, his love and affection, and he will not wish for more, in case there comes a day he wants too much, and it is all taken away again.

Notes: Ahuti = The ahuti is the consort of the ahukau. It's gender neutral (as is ahukau). Roka iko auha em koni. Pia ei sakona auha em ga. Et taka ti eta engati hako. = I don't dance either, and I grew up with it. It's fun to watch, though.

[atreegrowsinnorthnywrites]

A little v-day love story

I was on my second helping of Dad’s infamous enchiladas when my older brother, Sam, clapped his hands together and declared, “We’re going out!”

My fork clattered to the half-eaten plate and I gave him a stern shake of my head.

“Come onnn, Em,” Sam whined, precariously tipping back his chair so it hovered on two legs. “You can’t sit around and mope forever. Silas and Sean will come too.”

I looked to my two other older brothers with a challenging raise of my eyebrow as Dad leaned forward and cuffed Sam over the head. 

“Hell no I’m not,” Sean said without hesitation. All four legs of Sam’s chair returned to the ground with a disappointed thud. “I love you and I’m here for you, Em, but no.”

I chuckled at my eldest brother’s immediate reaction. With a family of his own, and an hour and a half drive back to Tucson, I was not surprised in the least. Silas’s lips were pursed and he actually appeared to be considering. 

“Just say no,” I muttered as Sam egged him on. 

“I have to text Paige,” Silas said slowly, “but if she doesn’t mind.”

“YES!” Sam pumped his fist triumphantly. “Dad?”

I looked to our patriarch, mid-lift of his beer to his lips, who snorted. “I’ll pass, but so thoughtful of you.” I stifled laughter at Sam’s disappointed face. 

“Alright, Em. Go get ready.” 

“I’m not done eating?”

My plate disappeared with a quick swipe of Sam’s hand and he waved me away with the other. “You are now.” 

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

An hour later we were pulling out of the long driveway that led to Dad’s ranch. I was wedged in the back seat of Silas’s truck between his work boots and tools, Chattahoochee blaring through the speakers, Sam and Silas arguing about the best bar in Bisbee on a Friday night, and it hit me this was the first time I had ever gone out with my brothers. 

If I thought about it more, it wasn’t that surprising. After the divorce-court mandated summers in Arizona with my dad and brothers had ended my senior year, I never came back for an extended period again. My mom, my friends, and college were all back in Michigan. Once I met Thomas my sophomore year at Michigan State, I had spent my holiday weekends with his family in Chicago instead of visiting my own. 

“You need more air, Em?” Silas asked from the front seat, smiling at me in the rear view. 

“I’m good,” I murmured back, a wave of guilt flooding me. 

Guilt that reminded me the five years of my life I had spent on Thomas had been a waste, and when the engagement and subsequent wedding had been called off, it had been my dad and three older brothers who had welcomed me home. It was my dad and brothers who had no judgement or questions. 

“You better not sulk all night,” Sam warned, whipping around and eyeing me warily. 

“I won’t.” I crossed my arms and scowled. 

“Good.” 

It had been three months since I had broken down in sobs at a dinner with Thomas and proclaimed I couldn’t marry him. Though I would die before admitting aloud any of my brothers were right, it was indeed time to get out of the house.  

After Silas parked the truck in downtown Bisbee, we made our way down the string-light filled main street toward a packed bar with live music. Wafts of cigarette smoke, and definitely weed, greeted us outside the door. Silas and Sam shuffled me inside, pushing passed bodies to inch our way towards the bar. The crowd was far more eclectic than I would have guessed for my western brothers, with a band that sounded more like folk rock than country. 

“What’ll it be?” Sam shouted over the music.

“A margarita,” I yelled back. “Spicy, if they can.”

He gave me a thumbs up and approached the bar while Silas waved to a group of guys from across the bar that had recognized him. During my summers on dad’s ranch, the only friends I ever really made were friends of my brothers, but I had not seen any of these guys since high school. The band played the final notes of their song and the crowd cheered enthusiastically as they announced a short intermission. Then I heard a high-pitched whistle.

“Ho-ly shit.”

I turned at the curse and came face-to-face with a brown haired, short-bearded, six-foot-or-so man wearing a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and vans. I squinted, and then he said my name.

“Emmeline Collins.”

There was only one person I had ever heard drag the “i” in my name that way.

“Lane?”

My stomach was in my throat. I remembered, very clearly, the last time I had ever spoken to Lane Diaz. He was smiling despite my memory, his right hand wrapped around a bottle of Corona and his left in the pocket of his jeans.

“Didn’t recognize me?” He asked with a laugh, and I debated admitting the truth. He looked great. Better, actually. But his southern accent had faded, and his cowboy look from all the years romping around the ranch with Sam was gone.

“Diaz!” Sam cried as he approached with two bottles in one hand and my cocktail in the other. He distributed the drinks for Silas and me, and then gave Lane a hug. “What’s up, man?”

“Just getting reacquainted with Em.” I frowned. Were we though? “Y’all didn’t mention your little sister was back in town.”

Sam looked down at me and then back to Lane. “Oh, right! You two haven’t…since…oh...right.” Sam took a long pull of his beer, and I stared him down the entire drink.

“Weekend visit to see the family?” Lane asked politely.

“Uhm,” I sipped my margarita for courage. A bite of jalapeño, just the way I liked it. “No. I’m uh, here for the summer.”

“Just like when we were kids,” Lane observed. I took another drink.

“Oh, hey!” Silas announced loudly, moving towards the crowd, “I see uhm...yeah I’ll be over here.” 

Silas hurried out of sight, but when Sam went to follow, I dug the heel of my sandal down into his foot.

“What’s it been? Six years?” I asked Lane, taking a third sip and willing the alcohol to hit quickly.

“Seven in August, actually.”

Oh, he remembered.

“I’m going to let you two catch up,” Sam declared bluntly, extracting his foot from under my heel through gritted teeth and patting my shoulder as he walked by. The band was returning to the stage. Lane nodded to a pair of empty seats that had just vacated next to a window, on the far side of the bar from the band. I was trapped and agreed with a jerky, awkward nod.

“You look as surprised to see me as I am to see you,” He noted as we sat down.

“My brothers didn’t mention you were still around,” I replied. I was not entirely surprised he was, considering the rate of people who never leave a small town, but Lane had always seemed different. It was what had attracted me to him all those years ago.

“I moved back last summer,” He shared as the band started up again.

“Where were you before?” I asked over the growing sound.

“Army.”

Now, that, I did not expect. We had talked about going to college together on the west coast before everything happened.

“And you?” He asked, “What are you doing here?”

The question was edged with a coolness I deserved. His face was serious, his warm, brown eyes watching me intently. I did not want to rehash my screwed up, disappointing life with my ex-boyfriend, of all people.

“Another drink, hon?” A waitress asked from behind and I realized I had drained the cocktail in my hand.

“Yes,” I agreed quickly, “Margarita with jalapeño.”

Lane chuckled as the waitress walked away.

“What?” I asked him defensively.

“Why am I not surprised Em Collins’ drink of choice is tequila and spice?”

Ouch.

“The same reason I’m not surprised yours is Corona. What are you on vacation in Rocky Point?” I scoffed.

“You know I asked for a Pina Colada, but they gave me this instead.”

I laughed, and his stoic expression split into the friendly grin I had seen when he first caught sight of me in the bar.

“How long were you in the Army?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me. He had a knowing look on his face, aware that I had dodged his question, but polite enough not to call me out. Yet.

“Four years.”

The waitress returned with my drink, and I made sure to put it on Sam’s tab.

“Good for you,” I replied, “Thanks for your uh…service.”

Lane cringed and took a sip of beer while I briefly contemplated throwing back my entire drink so I could at least claim my awkwardness was from blacking out.

“So, where’s your fiancé?” He asked. 

I froze mid sip of my drink and looked up at him. We had not been friends on social media since my freshman year of college when a few months into dating Thomas I did an inventory of old photos and took down all of those with Lane and removed him as a friend. A little dramatic, thinking back on it. 

“How did you…”

“Sam and I are still friends, Em.”

Duh. My stupid brother had probably told him ages ago. The alcohol was starting to go to my head, making me light and loose-lipped. I didn’t even know why I was skirting around this. I had nothing to prove to Lane Diaz. 

“I broke off the engagement a couple months ago. We’re not together.”

It was the most abrupt way I had said it yet. It felt painfully final. Despite my boldness, I could not look at Lane’s face and so I followed it with a shrug and stared out the window.

“Damn. I’m sorry.” Lane said gently. 

“It was for the best,” I said quickly, glancing at him and seeing furrowed eyebrows, “Trust me.” 

“Doesn’t make it any less hard,” He noted. No, no it did not.

“It sucks, but what do you do,” I replied pitifully, taking yet another drink.

“Is that why you’re back?” He pressed. Lane was never scared to push me. I remember that about our two summers together. He always asked the questions I did not want to answer. Challenged the things I thought and believed. 

“Part of it,” I admitted, “Honestly, uhm...I’m having a bit of a quarter-life crisis.”

“I see.”

“I knew my dad would be more understanding...”

A look of recognition crossed Lane’s face and he winced for me. I had almost forgotten our daily phone calls nearly every night of my junior year.

“How’d your mom take it?” He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re a jackass,” I said with a flourish of my straw, flicking droplets of my drink in his direction. “Because you know exactly how well she took it.”

He coughed on his drink of beer and we both broke into laughter.

“Still a little high strung then?”

“A little?”

“Worse?” Lane gaped.

“After I told her we broke up, she called me back and said I needed to beg for Thomas’s forgiveness. Tell him I was having mental health issues or I would fracture my future.”

“Jesus.”

I finished the rest of my second margarita at the memory of my mother’s shrill voice on the phone. We had spoken once since, and that conversation had been even worse.

“How’s your ma?” I asked, desperate to change the topic.

“She’s good. She was sick last year, but she’s feeling better.” He paused at the look of my face, and I bit my lip to keep from asking more. I had my assumptions with the smoking habit his mom, Eileen, had back then. “She would love to see you.”

He placed emphasized on the word love, and I looked away, uncomfortable at the very thought of going back to Lane’s childhood home where we used to hang out alone when his mom was working nights. Lane seemed to regret the statement and drained the rest of his beer. Regardless of my discomfort, I was not heartless.

“I’d love to see her too,” I added, and Lane relaxed. When his tense shoulders fell, I noticed how much more muscular he was than when we were kids. His brown skin wasn’t as tan anymore though, so he must work indoors. My eyes subtly trailed down to his hand, where I noted no ring on any fingers.

“Another round?” The waitress asked and Lane opened his mouth to answer, but instead gestured to me to decide.

“Sure,” I agreed, and she winked at me, obviously assuming we were on an early date. 

“You don’t have to,” Lane said. “I understand if you rather go find your brothers.”

Maybe it was the tequila, or maybe it was pure curiosity, but I shook my head. “No, this is…nice.”

He gave me his iconic frown smile I remembered well. “Well, alright then.”

The waitress returned with our drinks and when he offered up his credit card, I placed my hand over his and smiled sweetly at her, “Put them both on Sam Collins’ tab. That’s S-A-M.” 

When the waitress walked away to do just that, I realized my hand was still on top of Lane’s, my body angled close enough to his I could smell his minty aftershave. He smiled softly and I dropped his hand, quickly reaching for my third drink. The most sour margarita they had made me yet. My mouth puckered and I shivered as it went down.

“There’s the girl I remember.” I tilted my head with curiosity at his comment and Lane laughed, taking a drink instead of elaborating.

“I’m nothing like that girl anymore,” I declared defiantly. 

“Good,” Lane said, his smiling fading as he set down his beer. His eyes softened, and his voice dropped. “Because that girl broke my heart.”