#listen house immediately looking at chase and clocking him as a bottom

[bougiebutchbitch]

They are both so obvious.

Made House a brat and Chase a princess.

thou speaketh the truth

[truglori]

Homebody (Ch.6)

Summary: Amiyah is the younger sister of local drug dealer (Durkio). Shy and reserved she keeps to herself and stays out the way. But lately she began to find interest in his right hand man/ best friend (Erik Stevens). Wanting to get him to notice her she discovers that he already had her wrapped around his finger without even trying! There was only a few problems that kept her away from her fantasies , her brother that controlled almost every single breath she took and would kill anyone who looked at her that way and lastly Eriks girlfriend, Alexis , who they called the queen of the hood according to her lavish lifestyle as well as being with the next newest top boy in the making. While Alexis was his girl to the streets all Amiyah wanted to do was be his Homebody...

Sidenote: I’ve been hooked on this song and feel like it fits the vibe for this chapter but it is optional to listen to...enjoy!

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick OC

Warning: Language, smoking, freaky thangs..

Erik glanced at the digital clock in his car. It was almost four in the morning. The job was done and with the help of Cane they were able to get out of there in one piece. Shaking his head he laughed to himself. He still couldn’t believe it when he saw Alexis with Shawn.

It wasn’t hard to believe but it did fuck him up a bit. In reality Erik didn’t know why he was surprised. After getting to know about Alexis he knew she was always chasing the next bag. Even if it meant coming up off of another nigga.

Out of the nine months they messed around she was always the one pressing him to take their relationship to the next step. She was the one that tried to tie their names together in the streets. It was always her putting forth the effort. Then it was shit like what he saw tonight that had cause Erik to have trust issues.

But was that something he could even judge her for? Of course not. He didn’t put a title on her and vice versa. All this did was make him come to the realization that she was never down for him. Only what he could do for her.

With all of these ideas going through his head the last thing Erik wanted to do was be alone. His mind was filling up with negative thoughts. Mainly about how the situation could’ve went bad if he would have acted on his feelings. Erik’s mood switched and he wanted to see the one person who he knew could change that.

Hoping she picked up,Erik sat nervously as the other end of the phone began to ring. If she didn’t answer he would have no other choice but to drown himself in a few blunts and a fifth of Hennessy.

She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello.” Her soft voice came through the speaker. It sounded like she was wide awake.

He relaxed in his seat feeling a relief. “What you still doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. What about you? Everything okay?”

Erik could hear the worry in her tone. He half smiled. That was something she always did, she cared about him.

“Yeah I’m good.” He paused. “Listen I know this might be a stretch but do you think you could sneak out pass your brother and come meet me. I know it sounds-“ Erik was rambling. Something he never did.

Amiyah cut him off with a light giggle. “Erik I could meet up with you. I’m not at my apartment I’m staying with a friend.”

Erik’s brows drew together with a slight look of confusion. It was four in the morning and she wasn’t home. That was the first Erik ever heard of knowing how his friend is about his sister. But he didn’t ponder over the thought.

“Okay well send me the address and I’ll pull up.” He put her on speaker waiting for her to reply as he pulled up the gps on his phone.

“65 Lafayette Ave.” Amiyah answered with a controlled smile. Not wanting to seem eager to see him.

It was a fifteen minute drive from where Erik was.

“Alright I’ll call you when I’m there.”

“Okay, see you Erik.”

“Aight mamas.”

Amiyah jumped off the couch and crept to her friends bathroom. Turning on the light she saw her appearance and immediately cringed. Her eyes were still red and puffy from her tears. Face covered in faint runny eye liner. Her hair was fuzzy and wild. She was in no condition to go see Erik the way she looked.

Grabbing a face cloth from her friends cabinet she ran it under warm water before sitting it on her face and letting it rest against her skin. Amiyah sighed at the sensation. Wiping her face she made sure she got every inch of coverage before she checked other areas of her body to make sure she smelled fresh.

She gave her hair a few pass overs with a brush to make it at least somewhat presentable. Glancing over herself in the mirror she felt satisfied and exited the bathroom. Going back to the couch she was crashing on she put on a white tank top and paired it with a pair of grey sweats. Throwing a jean jacket on she slipped on her UGG slippers and waited silently.

When her phone rung this early in the morning she thought it would be her brother calling to apologize but instead it was Erik. She knew for sure it was her mind playing tricks on her but when she answered and heard his voice butterflies filled her stomach. After the date Amiyah figured she had to wait until she seen him in person again to make contact with him but when he called asking her to hangout this later she couldn’t decline.

It wasn’t too long before her phone lit up with a text notification. Erik was letting her know that he was waiting for her outside. Getting up and checking her face one last time by the mirror Kelley had next to the front door she flipped her hair over her shoulder and snuck out the front door. When she got on the porch she seen his Infinity waiting in the middle of the street unbothered with any traffic coming through.

She watched as he got out but stayed by his vehicle. Doing a quick glance over at his face Amiyah noticed the stress in his eyes. It was as if they were filled with the emotion of hurt. No wonder he called asking to see her this late. He needed comfort. Walking up to him she went straight for a hug. The way he taught her. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he did her waist.

Amiyah felt him breathe out an air of ease. His body slouching over on hers and she would let him as long as he wanted just to take away his troubles. She closed her eyes as they quietly embraced each other’s body. It was a comfortable silence. From the way they held on to each other it was obvious that they very much missed one another.

“Why you so good to me ma?” Erik whispered in her ear not letting her out of his hold yet.

Speaking truthfully in their current position of vulnerability she replied. “Because I care about you. I want you to be happy.”

Erik closed his eyes hearing the words escape from her mouth. She was making it hard for him to keep up with his ‘not trusting women’ demeanor. The way she was holding onto his body had him rethinking himself. Her nails grazing lightly on the back of his neck was driving him insane. She knew all the right things to say and do to him without even trying.

Amiyah had him open whenever they were together and she didn’t even know it. Erik finally released her body. Now staring down at her soft round face he couldn’t help himself. Dragging his hands over her love handles he pulled her towards him as bent down giving her two pecks on her lips softly. Her arms still wrapped around his neck. When Erik pulled away he seen that her eyes were still shut. Biting his bottom lip he went back in giving her a full kiss this time with a slight pull on her lower lip every now and then.

Feeling himself in the moment his hands traveled resting above her ass. Not wanting to disrespect her he asked in between indulging in her lips and taking breaks to get air for her permission.

“Can..I..touch..it?” His voice spoke lowly between pecks.

Amiyah nodded while she brought her left hand down to his cheek. She was getting better since their last kiss and her body was becoming more comfortable with his.

Seeing that she didn’t deny him access his hands continued their adventure further south. When his hands finally reached the bottom of her soft flesh he cuffed and squeezed each cheek firmly before caressing it to soothe the slight pain he may have caused.

Amiyah moaned in his mouth from the feeling. It was the first time she was ever been touched like that by a man down there. His hands felt rough but soft at the same time. The way he would grip each ass cheek and pulling on them she felt her second pair of lips separate from the action. But it was the way he rubbed it after he squeezed them that made her drip with anticipation.

Pulling away from each other they were able to get some air. By this time Erik was ready to devour her and make her body shake beneath his but he knew she wasn’t ready for that yet. She wouldn’t know how to act or what to do if he gave her what his body was craving to do to her. Feeling his dick on semi-hard he shifted himself. All of this just from kissing and touching on her. Erik wanted her bad.

“Let’s go get out of here?” His voice broke the sexual tension.

Timid and nervously looking back at her friends house she turned to face him.” To go where?”

Erik shrugged his shoulders.” I don’t know I’ll find something. Just ride with me.” He spoke before he could think finding himself doing something he thought he would never do.” Please.” He begged.

Biting her lip to hold back her smile she nodded as her hands fell from around his neck but not before getting a feel of his sturdy hard abs through his shirt. Erik felt the slick action and smirked.

“Aight let’s go.” He kissed her one last time and then patted her butt and walked her to the passenger side. He opened her door and watched as she got in safely.

Inside the car they rode around with nothing but Erik’s playlist playing lowly in the background. Amiyah’s hand rested in his right hand as his left hand gripped the steering wheel driving. Every other minute Erik would bring the back of her hand up his lips and kiss it while still paying attention to the road. No matter how many times he done it Amiyah would blush every single time. If she was lighter you would definitely see the redness in her face.

It was about twenty minutes later when Erik found a secluded area underneath the highway bridge . Around them was nothing but empty parked construction trucks and signs to let people know that work was getting done. Nearby that was a small basketball court where some of the city kids would play on. Then there was the lights from the bridge above that gave them somewhat of a illumination in the car.

Shutting the car off Erik leaned his seat back with his electric lever before resting against it. His fingers still intertwined with Amiyah’s. He watched as she did everything but look in his direction. Erik could read her body language and see that she was nervous. His thumb stroke the back of her hand to give her some reassurance.

“You okay?” He asked softly.

“Yeah. I’m good.” She gazed down in her lap before making eye contact.

Amiyah was nervous. How could she not be with her being in a closed off area with a man as fine as Erik sitting next to her holding her hand. He was touching her so tenderly. Her body reacted to each stroke of his fingers.

“Miyah if you not comfortable don’t ever hesitate to tell me. I care more about your security in your safety than me wanting to chill with you.” His unselfish nature was revealing itself with every word.

She smiled at his kindness. “I feel safe with you. It’s just some times you make me nervous.” She replied picking at the imaginary cotton lint on her sweats.

His lips curled into a smile. “Why I make you nervous?” He asked as his free hand swiped down his waves repeatedly.

Rolling her eyes Amiyah knew this question was coming next. He knew exactly how he made her nervous. The evidence clear in how her body react to him.

“I don’t know maybe it’s the way you look at me.”

There was something about being alone in this car with him that made Amiyah real honest.

His eyes danced up and down her body. Amiyah caught the gesture.

Smacking her lips. “See it’s you doing stuff like that.” She blurted out with a straight face.

He gripped her hand lightly when she made him laugh. To Erik most of the women he been with in the past was either too serious or boring but with Amiyah she was always able to get a smile out of him. From any tiny thing she did naturally it made him laugh or at least get him to smile.

“I mean I could think of something that might have you relaxed a little bit but I’m not sure you even mess with that type of shit.”

She looked at him confused.” What you mean?”

“You smoke?” He asked bluntly.

She laughed. “I’ve done it a few times when Durk wasn’t around but I’m no pro.”

Erik nodded his head head releasing her hand as he went to his middle compartment pulling out his stash. He needed a blunt after today and the one that he already had rolled up wasn’t going to do him enough justice. Taking out the one that was pre-rolled he handed it to her.

“Hold that.”

She grabbed it bringing it to her nose smell the rolled plant. Amiyah liked the way this weed smell. It wasn’t overpowering like the one Durk usually had. She observed the blunt giggling about how fat it was.

“Why is it so big?” She asked laughing.

“What the blunt or something else?” His lips smirked.

Amiyah figured she walked herself into that one. She rolled her eyes.

“No I’m just messing with you that’s just how I like mine. Can’t be fucking with no skimpy blunts now.” He smiled. Over in his seat he was rolling up two more.

After getting them rolled he grabbed his lighter from his cup holder and sparked it up. Taking a deep pull with his lips he allowed the smoke to invade his lungs for five slow seconds before exhaling. His body leaned back becoming relaxed.

Amiyah watched as he took another. He looked so good right now in his most laidback state. One hand behind his head and the other holding the blunt to his lips. She bit her lip as the smoke filled up the car. She was already feeling a contact high.

He handed over the lit blunt and watch her grasp it with the end of her nails. Erik smiled as he sat quietly watching her switch the blunt between both hands trying to get comfortable with it.

“Don’t burn my weed out.” He joked.

“Shut up Erik.” Amiyah giggled taking her first hit.

Coughing she realized she hit it too hard. Turning towards her window her balled up fist went up to her mouth as she coughed her lungs out before smacking on her chest. She handed the blunt back to Erik who was laughing.

“You good?”

She shook her head and cough one last time. Her eyes watering a bit from all of the straining.

“Damn I should’ve warned you first. My bad baby.” His hand went to her back and rubbed it.

Amiyah was already feeling high. If it wasn’t from the huge hit she took than it definitely had to be from the gas that filled the car. Her baby lungs not used to the intoxicating aroma easily gave in. She expected that to happen but she didn’t expect for her pussy to become wet. The last few times she smoked alone it just gave her a quick high and the munchies. This was different. She could feel her pussy drip and become sticky as she squirmed around in her seat trying to hide it.

The blunt found its way back to Erik’s lips. His eyes began to get lower with every hit that he took from it. He wasn’t his highest but he felt his body getting comfortable. His leg slightly rocking from side to side. He watched her body respond to the weed. She was already gone and he knew it. Erik seen her squirm in the seat and watch her thighs clenched together.

“This shit make you wanna fuck, don’t it?” No longer responsible for the words coming out of his mouth he let the burning ashes fall into the ashtray. He started up the second blunt.

Amiyah surprised from his statement but turned on at the same time giggled as her boldness level went up the more intoxicated she became.

“Something like that.” She stared in his low eyes with hers.

She was becoming brave. Her mouth was definitely trying to write a check she couldn’t cash. Even though she never had sex before Amiyah still knew what it felt like to be horny. Her body was craving for him touch her and hold her the way he did a while ago when they were outside. Amiyah wanted his big hands rubbing on her booty the way they did before.

Erik sucked in his bottom lip. His deep dimples showed from the action. She was testing him. Erik was definitely pressed from the way she was looking at him. He knew that there was no way he could fuck her in his car. But he wanted to badly. He wanted to have her dripping cum right on his leather seats. He wanted to watch her tremble and moan as he stretched her tight pussy out pinning her down by her thick thighs giving her what she thought she could handle. Erik longed to dig deep in the pussy as he hit the spots that’ll make her cry and gave her no choice but to come back to him every time she desired for them to be touched.

Taking a pull from the second blunt he returned the gaze. The smoke leaving his lips going into the direction of her face. He watched her bite her lip.

“You lookin like you wanna do something now.” He had to start applying some pressure to put her back in her place.

Shyly looking out the windshield Amiyah laughed. The weed was making her extra giggly for no reason. But she couldn’t deny that how she was feeling was from her own lust as well. She felt a warm hand grab her by the chin turning her head back in her previous direction. Erik was looking at her waiting for to respond.

“Maybe I do.” She replied with her eyes shifting down to the bulge in his black joggers she noticed a while ago. She was no longer playing it safe.

Erik’s hooded eyes followed hers. He smirked. The hand that was holding her chin swiftly went to her throat. He massaged the flesh delicately. He couldn’t help it, grabbing a woman’s neck became a kink of his not to long ago. The way that they would instantly get wet and go into submissive mode turned him on and Erik could easily tell that she was one of those that got turned on by it as well.

Amiyah felt her pussy throbbing. His hand around her like that made her panties moist. She loved it most when he gripped giving her a light squeeze. Her nipples hardening poking through her shirt as she moaned.

“Get in the backseat then.” He released her.

Her eyes gave a quick glance towards the back before looking at him.

“Now?” She breathed out heavily.

“You scared mama?” He teased her softly.

Sending him a ‘yeah right’ look she climbed to the back. Taking off her jean jacket she sat it in the front before she folded her arms resting her back against the chair.

Erik watched through the rear view mirror. He was actually surprised that she had the courage to go back there. Taking the last blunt and lighter he got out the car and opened the back door slipping inside. Putting the objects in his hand in the pouch behind the driver seat he took off his hoodie revealing a black wifebeater shirt.

Amiyah sitting on the opposite side calmed her nerves. She mentally thank God that she shaved down there two nights before. She did not want the first time she allowed a man to see her down there to be met with a bush. There was nothing wrong with having hair but she would have been insecure about it.

After getting settled Erik turned his body sideways. He reached behind him locking the door as he leaned against it.

“C’mere.”

Nervous but eager Amiyah shimmied her way to his side. His hands helping her out guiding her to sit down on his lap facing him. He gripped on her thigh throwing it over his legs so she can straddling him and had the other hanging off the seat. Not wanting to put all of her weight on him Amiyah put the pressure on her legs.

Erik sensed this. He opened her legs wider which caused her to sit on him fully. An inward growl went through his lips as he felt the weight from her ass sitting on his heavy member.

“Erik I’m too heavy.” She complained.

“You think I’m worried about that?” His voice dripping with lust as he attacked her neck.

Erik’s hands went to groping her body. He kissed and sucked until he discovered the spot that made her body shudder. It was under her jaw line. He stayed there sucking on the area leaving a mark not giving a damn about her brother being able to see it later.

Amiyah’s wide hips wiggle around on top of him as she threw her head back giving him better access. Hormones going out of control she couldn’t stop her hands from traveling to his print as she gripped it firmly.

Erik’s body jumped as he grabbed her hand taking it off his dick. He pulled his lips from her neck to observe her. The way she tried to put her hand back on him she looked anxious for some way to release the sexual adrenaline taking over her body. Erik chuckled as he held her wrists strongly.

“Damn baby you can’t be gripping my dick like you tryna snatch that shit off my body.” His voice now raspy from the smoke session.

Embarrassed, Amiyah bent her head down hiding it in his neck. Of course she would grip him too hard. She didn’t know what she was doing. Trying to not seem like the amateur she was ended up having her looking stupid. The moment was ruined.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled.

“Here I got an idea. Turn around.” He rubbed her back waiting on her to move.

Following his command she changed her body to go the other way. She was now sitting between his legs with her back against his chest. Thankfully his seats were big enough to hold the both of them comfortably in that position.

Amiyah felt his fingers tug at the hem of her sweats. Questionably glancing at him she wondered what he was about to do to her next.

“You trust me?” Erik asked with his face next to hers.

“Yeah.”

“Then lift up and take these off.” He tugged again.

Hesitant Amiyah allowed him to pull the clothing down with her help kicking them off her ankles. Now she was exposed. In nothing but her tank top and black cotton hipster panties she felt the air brush over her thighs. Feeling her high start to come down she requested to start a new rotation.

“Can we light the last one?”

“It’s in there.” Erik pointed to the pouch where he put the lighter and the blunt in.

Reaching inside she felt around before she retrieved it. As she lit the blunt she felt Erik kiss on her neck and rub on her thighs. His full lips making her moan and rest her body on his. Taking a hit from the weed with ease this time she was able to inhale it much smoother. Her lungs filled up as it brought her back to cloud nine.

“Here you go.” She passed it to him but he didn’t take it with his hands. Erik leaned forward and let her place it in his mouth. Holding it for him as he took a few pulls she studied the way he did it and then proceeded to copy him when it was her turn. The rotation went like that before it was finished.

Erik fondled her thick thighs. Starting on the outside and working his way to the inner where her warmth resided. She laid her hands on top of his to have some sort of control but Erik didn’t like that. He knew what he was doing and didn’t need any help.

“Move ya hand.” His voice barked.

Her hands left as quickly as they met his.

“Don’t touch anything unless I tell you to. You hear me?”

“Okay.” Shakiness in her voice as her breathing picked up.

“Okay what?” He gripped underneath her knees pulling her thighs apart roughly.

“Okay Erik.”

“Un uh. It’s daddy when it’s just me and you from now on.” His lips tickled her ears as he spoke giving her future reference.

“Kay, daddy.” She moaned.

Amiyah closed her eyes. Her body kept squirming around. She was waiting and anticipated on getting her body played with. When her legs opened she felt the cool air reach her damp underwear.

Looking down between her legs he bit his lip seeing her phat pussy showing through her panties. The lower lips spilling out on the sides as the damp wet stain sat from her natural essence. His hands gripped and rubbed the inner thigh area that was closest to her treasure as he asked for her permission once again.

“Can daddy play in this pussy?”

Her wet lips parted. Amiyah nodded her head that was leaning back in his shoulder. Yearning his touch and super horny out of her mind she’d allow him to do whatever he wanted to her.

“Yes daddy.” Her voice was as soft as angel.

Hearing her words of confirmation Erik’s hand introduced itself to her pussy for the first time. He cupped the area. Her covered mound was giving off a heat that let him know that she was ready. His fingers grazed up and down the thick slit which caused her body to jerk. He did this repeatedly to make her aroused.

“Phat ass pussy.” We’re the only words that escaped his lips as it left him mesmerized. She was the first female he been with that had one so full and healthy. It felt amazing on his hand even if he wasn’t touching it quite yet.

Pulling the black piece of cloth to the side Erik revealed her vulva that was covered in her natural juices. Taking his fingers he used her lubricant swiping up and down the slit feeling her body tense up.

“Relax mama.” He kissed behind her ear as he held her in place with his left arm.

Bringing his other arm around her he reached down spreading the thick lips as a clear string of liquid appeared when the flesh pulled apart. This was a different type of wetness he was experiencing at the moment. Taking the pad of his middle finger of his free hand he patted on the bud that was now hardened.

Amiyah’s hips jerk from the sensation. Her hand clutched his forearm to stop him, keeping the foreign feeling from over taking her body. Her legs moving around as she scooted into his chest.

“Don’t you play with this pussy when you alone?” He asked as his finger tips teased the areas around her clit.

“Yes.” Eyes still closed with her hands gripping his arms as she felt every stroke of his hand.

“Yes, what?” He corrected her.

Sucking in her bottom lip. “Yes, daddy.”

“Then let me have a turn.” One of his hands grasped her fupa affectionately pulling her body into his to make her relax.

Whe she laid back Erik was able to get a better view. He spread the lips open once more. Massaging her clit lightly in a circular motion with his pointy and middle fingers. He watch her thrust her hips on his hand to feel more. Keeping up with his movements he pressed down firmly stimulating the bud before he let a finger enter her tight wet opening. Giving a low groan he drew in his top lip when he felt her grip him him from the intrusion. The pussy was too tight.

“Damn you ain’t been letting nobody up in this huh?” He cooed in her ear pushing further with a single finger going deeper.

“Unh Uh.” Amiyah whimpered out snapping her thighs closed when she felt him slip inside her.

He took the hand that wasn’t trapped between her legs and opened them. Bringing it up to her chin he made her look him in the eye. “Ima go slow..ight.”

Amiyah nervously agreed. There was plenty of times where she masturbated but she never fingered herself only clitorial stimulation. So when she felt Erik push his finger inside her, her body reacted by closing her legs. It was strange feeling but it made her wetter.

Erik didn’t waste no time as he warmed her up by playing with her clit. He wanted to make sure she was as wet as possible before she experienced any penetration so he continued to rub her there. Bringing his fingers up to her breast he flicked her nipples with his thumb through her tank top to help her climax.

The combination had Amiyah’s chest heaving up and down. She was close and ready to cum. The pressure he applied on her clit felt so good. Her hand reached for the seat clawing the material as she let him make her body come undone. Her mouth opened as her pants and whimpers became audible.

“Daddyy...I’m cumin.” She whimpered softly backing away from the stimulation.

Erik followed not letting up on her. “Lemme see you cum then. Pretty ass.” He kissed her blocking out her moans.

Amiyah’s body shook as she felt his lips. She came right there. Essence dripping down on the seat in front of her. It was like a domino effect. He controlled her body. Her clit was now sensitive but Erik continued to knead the button. Whenever she played with herself she able to get one and that’s it. She never tried to do more than that but Erik was pushing her for another.

“I want another one and then I’m done.”

His eyes were still red and low from the weed. When she came on his fingers Erik was captivated from the sight. The way her lips parted. How she grasped onto the seats searching for something to hold on to. It made his body heat up with excitement knowing that he did that. Every little thing he observed had him becoming fascinated with her.

This time he wanted to make her cum a different way. His middle finger danced around her hole making sure it was coated from her wetness before he pushed inside her tight puss. Erik felt her clench on his finger as he gently massaged her walls. Every time he would pull out she would suck him back in. He watched her face contort no longer able to control herself.

“Mm this shit tight.” He groaned affirmations in her ear as his finger stroked her at a steady pace.

When the words left his mouth Amiyah glanced down to witness his assault on her pussy. Her body was aching for more. The in and out motion with just a single digit wasn’t enough. Her pussy wanted to be stretched.

“More.” She pleaded spreading her legs wider.

“You sure?” Erik asked wanting her to be certain.

“Yess.” Amiyah stuttered.

Drawing his fingers up to lips he opened his mouth tasting her sweet juices. Erik bit his lip feeling a strong urge to bend her over and eat her from behind. But right now it was about her. He had her body feeling good and he wanted to keep it that way.

After getting his fingers soaked he placed them back in front of her pussy. Taking his time he slowly thrusted both his middle and ring finger in stretching her creamy hole.She was so wet a sloshing sound came from her opening. Her jaw dropped as he filled her up. His thick fingers moving in and out. When he felt the spongy area at the top he swiped back and forth against it using the ‘ come here’ motion.

Her hips doing the same as before began to scoot back away from the sensation. Erik holding her by her waist kept her still.

“Stop runnin and put that pussy on me.” Lips sucking on her neck creating another passion mark as his deep voice muttered.

She was running. From the minute Amiyah felt him tapping on that spot that she didn’t know was there she wanted to escape his hold. His strong hand kept her spread eagle by her knee making her take the pleasure he was giving to her. Feeling her legs shake from his repeated tender abuse she grabbed his hand. Her belly began to tighten and cramp. Soon the vibrations she felt on her lower half traveled throughout her whole body. She was convulsing on his fingers.

“Fuckk.” The profanity spewed out her mouth for the first time as she squirted on the seat.

Erik continued attacking her g-spot before she aggressively pushed his hand away. Laughing he saw her shaking her head while her hands went to her thighs to try and stop them from trembling. Her breast moving up and down from her rough breathing as she finally spoke.

“No more.” Her voice quivered.

Erik’s low chuckled filled the vehicle . “You done mama?”

Quickly nodded her head she cover her pussy with her panties and moved to the other side of the car. She was sensitive and overstimulated. Her body couldn’t endure anymore.

“I can’t Erik. It’s too much.” Sitting on her knees she slapped her hand on her thighs that were still shaking.

“Ight fine I’m done. But come give me a kiss.” His lips smirk satisfied with how the night was ending.

Amiyah complied with his orders. Straddling him again this time not feeling insecure she leaned and gave him a kiss. His mouth dominating hers lips. Erik slapped her left ass cheek leaving a sting. She moaned into his mouth.

“Ouch daddy.” She whined softly as she sucked on his bottom lip lightly before releasing it.

Erik’s dick jumped. “I’ma give you something for that mouth if you keep using it like that.” His eyes studying her lips.

Blushing she laid on top of him. Her head in the crook of his neck. Amiyah closed her eyes when she felt his fingers making traces on her back. They both held each other enjoying the peaceful silence. Wiping the condensation off the window Amiyah peered out noticed that it was dawn. The sky began to turn blue as the sun slowly crept up. She sighed when she realized that she had to work later on that day. Thankfully Kelley agreed to switch shifts with her but she wanted to be with Erik all day.

“I don’t wanna go to work today.” She stressed blowing out air of frustration.

“So don’t. Call out.” Erik rubbing circles on the small of her back.

“I can’t. I switched with Kelley already so I don’t think she would want to do both of our shifts. This is so annoying.” Her nails outlining shapes on his neck.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He bent down kissing her forehead.

She smiled lifting her head to kiss his lips.

The question she had been meaning to ask him since they first saw each other tonight came to her mind.

“Why’d you call me so late? Is everything okay.”

Erik completely forgot about the previous events that happened hours before. The moment she was in his arms nothing else mattered anymore.

“Yeah, I just found out about some shit and I wanted to take my mind off of it and you helped with that.” He sent her a half smile pinching her chin gently.

Amiyah gleamed knowing she could be his peace whenever he wanted to get away.

“Well I’m here for you always.” Her eyes giving a sparkle as she spoke.

Meditating for a moment before he replied Erik thought carefully. He wanted to make sure that he wasn’t doing this to make her some type of rebound but because genuinely cared about her. He didn’t want to take a second longer as the words blurted out of his lips.

“Amiyah I want you to be mines...”

___________________________________________

Please excuse any mistakes.

SN: It’s been years since I wrote a smut scene and all of this was written in an hour and a half so please don’t judge lol.

Tag-list

@supersizemeplz @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @hearteyes-for-killmonger @curls-and-crosses @killmonger-dolan @killmongerkink @migosis @raysunshine78 @alookintohersoul @popcorn803 @just-juicee @mllover260 @kimmyblckswan2 @koriiii @tchallasbabymama @toniilaney @marvelmaree @mia-faith @adreamsublime @queen-b1 @mcdesij @vintage-pvssy @viewsfromrose @ceeverse @smuttywriter @harleycativy @callmemckenzieee @theblulife @bvssmob @everything-is-awesomesauce @xoxomyaah @19jammmy @tchallas-ikumkani-wam @suburbanblackhoe @allhailqueennel @admirehermind @themeirajay @asaani @bellanay @skylahb @toni9

[madmilkboi]

⌕ 𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗹𝗲: cuddle me, please?

ִֶָ ◠ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: y/n asks wakatoshi for cuddles late at night

ִֶָ ◠ 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: fluff fluff fluff

ִֶָ ◠ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝘀: none

a/n: lmao canon ushijima wouldn't even pick up the phone if u called him late at night 😔👍🏽

₍ ♡ ₎ ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

You tossed and turned, counted from one to a hundred, imagined scenarios that were a moon's reach yet you still can't fall asleep.

You sighed, sitting up and readjusting your pillow, flipping it so that you could lay on the cold side. You lied back down and closed your eyes.

"Ugh" you groaned sitting back up. "The universe really doesn't want me to sleep huh?" You scoffed, grabbing your phone looking for contacts that could at least accompany you late at night.

"Tendou...no he must be reading manga at this hour" you scrolled through your contacts. "Semi...nah he's asleep" you scrolled a bit more and saw his name, you smiled.

"Toshi..." you muttered, without a second thought you pressed the call button. After a few rings he picked up. You expected for him to be asleep but here you are greeted by his drowsy voice.

"Y/n? Is there something wrong?" He asked, tiredness visible from his town. "I can't sleep" you admitted, fiddling with your fingers. "Did you try closing your eyes?" He asked a low chuckle from him then followed.

"Toshi...I'm serious" you whined. "Alright, how can i help?" He asked. You thought of him singing on the phone but a much better idea came in mind, something that you and him haven't done yet.

"Can you come here and cuddle me?"

"We'll get in trouble, Y/n...you know that boys are not allowed in the girl's dorm" he reasoned, he could tell by the silence that you were frowning.

"Please? Just this once? Wanna cuddle with you" you pleaded. his lips curved into a small smile.

"Alright, wait for a while okay?" You hummed in response. You quickly ended the call and waited for him to knock on the door.

—

Wakatoshi sat up from his bed and looked at the digital clocked that was placed on his desk. "2 am" he muttered to himself.

He grabbed his jacket that was draped on his chair and slipped on a pair of slippers. He quietly opened the door and checked if someone was patrolling the building late at night.

To his luck, not a single soul was seen outside the halls. He stepped outside and slowly closed the door making sure that nobody heard.

He put on his jacket's hoodie and walked to the stairs. He took a step amd his slipper made a loud sound echoing from the top to the very bottom.

He sighed and decided to take them off putting it on his hands. The cold floor welcomed his feet, making him shiver from the contact.

He then walked downstairs with no encounters from the school guard.

He put on his slippers and walked to the building where the girl's dormitory was located. He walked under the shadows, avoiding the lights. Taking extra precautions if ever someone were to see him.

He then looked at the building's door; closed. He looked to his left then to his right, he slowly turned the knob and to his surprise it wasn't locked.

He immediately went inside and closed the door, locking it to ensure everybody's safety.

He walked to your dorm room that was conveniently located on the ground floor. He took of his jacket and smiled.

—

While scrolling through your phone, a soft knock echoed from your door. You smiled knowing it was him. You stood up and walked to the door.

You opened it, the door emitting a soft creak. "Hi" you said in a low voice. "May i enter?" He asked, you let out a small nod and let him in.

Luckily your roommate was at her parent's house which means you and him have the room all to yourselves.

He laid down the bed and tapped on the space next to him. You happily layed right next to him. "Why can't you sleep?" He asked while fidgeting with your fingers.

"I don't really know why..." you mumbled, a low chuckle escaped from his mouth "You're cute" he grazed his thumb on your left cheek. You let out a soft smile and buried your head on his chest.

He gently caressed your head and hummed a tune. The vibrations from his voice slowly lulling you to sleep.

The atmosphere was perfect, Wakatoshi's gentle voice, the crickets playing their orchestra and the occasional hoots from the owls outside occupied your ears.

"Toshi..." you called his name. "Hmm?" he stopped humming, his hands slowly rubbing your back. "What is it, love?" You smiled at the name he called you.

"I love you" you placed a soft kiss on his neck.

"I love you more, i can list many reasons why" he answered, he tucked the strands of your hair to the back of your ear.

"Can you tell me some of the reasons?" You asked, he hummed in response.

"When you greet me with a big smile in the morning, it makes me happy" he smiled, picturing your usual wide smile, the one that radiates sunshine and flowers all over you. "When you watch my games and scream my name, it makes me play even much better" his smile grew wider remembering the time when you almost lost your voice while cheering for him.

"When you ramble about your day, listening to your voice and stories make my heart thump abnormally" he claimed, the stories that you've told him are still etched in his mind, knowing every little detail of each ramble. "When you hug and kiss me without warning" he loves it when you do it in the most randomest of times and places.

"And of course you, everything about you is lovable that i get chased by hearts because of the very thought. I love you so much to the point where all of the stars in the known universe are considered a small amount" he lets out a happy sigh, your quiet breathes and snores now occupied the room.

"Sleep well, love" he gave your lips a soft kiss and closed his eyes. Tiredness slowly occupying his systems. After a few minutes of listening to your soft snores—he too went asleep with a smile on his face.

— the next day —

"Ushijima!" Coach Washijo yelled, he smiled knowing what he did. "The security guard showed me the cctv footage of you going inside the girl's dorm!" Everybody glued their gazes on Ushijima who was surprisingly still smiling after being yelled at by the coach.

"I was visiting my girlfriend, sorry about that" he bowed, the coach sighed and grinned. "You're lucky that me and the guard are close friends" he spoke and gave him a soft pat on the back.

He bowed again and went back to practice, his teammates quickly bombarding him with questions.

"Wakatoshi-kun! What did you and Y/n do?"

"How did you get inside?!"

"Can i come with you next time, Ushijima-san?"

"Does their bathroom smell nice?"

The thought of you and him hugging made him smile, he went back to practice after that leaving everyone with unanswered questions.

"Did he just smile? In front of us?" Semi asked, rubbing his hair in disbelief baffled by the scene that took infront of him.

Everybody went back to practice with a smile after witnessing heir stoic ace smile.

©️ madmilkboi 2020 do not copy or repost

🏷: @angrylittleriri @leronddesorciere @fleurdedyo @owlnymph (shoot an ask or dm if u wanna be added on my taglist! ^v^)

[opaldraws]

Dandelion

Billy never thought that he would become a dad. Besides believing that it wouldn’t be possible for a person like him, he also was scared shitless. He’d seen first hand what happens when the wrong kind of person became a parent, he knew how screwed up things could get. He had this huge fear that he would ruin a kid’s life. And even though Steve had assured him countless times that Billy would be a fantastic dad if they were to have a kid, he also accepted that Billy wasn’t ready for fatherhood and he may never be. So Steve never pushed the idea.

Then Max had a baby.

Out of the pair, no one expected Billy would be the one hit with baby fever.

Max was only able to get three weeks of leave from her work, so Billy volunteered to help out with little Julien. Julien was precious: He slept for long hours and rarely cried, he loved playing peek-a-boo and was easily entertained by crinkly paper, and when he got especially fussy, all Billy had to do was put him in his swing and Julien would knock right out.

Billy would come home from Max and Lucas’ and gush to Steve about whatever him and Julien got up to that day. It was usually the same sort of stuff, babies don’t really do that much, but Steve would listen fondly to Billy’s report while they cooked dinner together. Eventually Max found a sitter and changed her work hours, so Billy didn’t spend as much time with the runt.

A few years passed and Billy mentioned having kids of their own. Steve and him were in bed, the light on the nightstand casting enough light for Billy to read but not too much that Steve couldn’t doze off.

“Steve.” Billy ruffled Steve’s hair gently, letting his hand wander down to rub his back. Steve blinked over at him sleepily, his eyes a little unfocused without his glasses.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, frowning.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I just… I’ve been thinking lately, maybe we could look into adoption?” Billy wrung his hands together nervously. When Steve didn’t answer immediately, Billy interjected, “Only if you want to, of course! Fuck, nevermind. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

Billy picked his book up, not able to look back at his partner. Steve hadn’t seen him this nervous since Billy had asked him to marry him. This conversation caught Steve off guard- and not only because he was half asleep. They’d talked about kids before when they were freshly married (technically unofficially, but whatever), Billy said he didn’t think he’d ever want to go down that path. And now, Billy was bringing it up.

“Babe, it’s not stupid.” Steve said seriously. “I want to do that with you.”

...

Adoption for two gay men in 2000 wasn’t easy. They were basically at the bottom of the ‘list’ of candidates and they’d been through multiple near adoptions that eventually fell through in just the past two years. Steve was beginning to lose hope, but Billy stayed determined. He called the adoption agency every week and he stopped by in person once a month. Steve told him he was probably bothering the agency, he said that they had their application and when the right kid came along, everything would work out. Billy’s perspective wasn’t quite as rose-colored as Steve’s: He realized that the agency didn’t want a same-sex couple adopting a baby. They may not outright say it, but he could tell. Billy wanted to show them that they were just as serious as any other couple.

In November of 2001, they got the call from the agency. The weekend before they brought their daughter home, Billy and Steve prepared the second bedroom for their new addition. Steve excitedly put up a fresh coat of paint while Billy struggled through assembling furniture for the bedroom. When they finished, they stood side by side in the doorway, misty eyed and excited for their daughter’s homecoming.

“We’re going to be parents.” Steve sighed, he let his head fall to Billy’s shoulder.

“Fuck, I’m so scared.” Billy admitted. He took a deep breath and tried to ease the panic creeping in. Steve gently wrapped his arms around him, pulling Billy in to hold him. Billy sagged into the hug.

“I am too, but I know it’s gonna be okay.” Steve said.

“How could you know that though?” Billy asked fearfully. So many things could go wrong, what if this was a mistake? Steve tightened his arms around Billy and leaned them against the doorframe.

“Because I know you. I’ve seen you grow into the man you are today and I know you’re going to be an amazing dad.”

...

Billy knew that for every developmental milestone that Abby passed, he should be excited. Don’t get him wrong, he was beyond happy to see his daughter growing and becoming a little person… but he also got sad? Abby was growing up so fast, one day she was crawling around on the carpet and the next she was racing around the apartment wreaking havoc. It felt like only a few days ago she drooled and needed to be spoon fed, now she was talking in barely formed sentences. Sometimes Billy would just curl up next to Steve in bed at night and have to cry about how big Abby was getting. Steve would rub his back, comforting his partner as best as he could. These breakdowns started happening more frequently as Abby’s 2nd birthday got nearer and nearer. Billy was aware that he was being dramatic, but his little girl was growing up way too fast. He felt like he was going to blink and then she’d be gone, old enough not to need her dads anymore.

“Billy, stop worrying about the future, Abby’s barely two! You have got to just live for today.” Max scolded him during one of Abby’s and Julien’s playdates after he had opened up to her. It was a sunny June day and Julien was happily keeping Abby occupied on a blanket in Lucas and Max’s yard. Lucas had been called out of town for a work emergency and Steve had gotten stuck covering a late shift. The step-siblings watched the kids from the porch, periodically bringing out new toys and snacks.

“Yeah, that’s what Steve keeps telling me. That’s what everyone keeps telling me, shitbird.” Billy huffed, rolling his eyes. “I can’t help it!”

“Listen to me, I felt the same way. Every time I had to go into work, every time I left Julien with you or Lucas, or the babysitter, I was so afraid that I was missing out on his childhood. Even when I was with him, all I could think about was how I could never get this moment back. But it’s useless to think that way! I realized that I couldn’t stop time from passing so I needed to enjoy it while it lasted!” Max insisted. She grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Billy squeezed back. Even though Max was younger than him, he appreciated the wisdom she occasionally provided. He was happy that their days of fighting and heated arguing were left behind at the house on Cherry Lane.

Billy looked out at the yard, he watched the way Abby would giggle when Julien ran circles around her with his toy airplane. She made grabby hands at him and squealed, “My turn!” Julien passed the toy plane to her and she zoomed it around. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat and announced that she was going to get food ready. Billy walked over to the rainbow blanket and sat down beside the duo.

“Daddy attack!” Abby jumped up, discarding the airplane to wrap her arms around his shoulders and climb onto his back. He held onto her chubby little legs and she laughed into his ear. He tried not to dwell on the future, let himself enjoy the moment. “Down.” Abby instructed him and he helped her back to the ground. She plucked a nearby dandelion from the ground and held it to Billy triumphantly. “Present for you.”

“Thank you baby, I love it.” He smiled at her, taking the dandelion. She beamed at him, clearly happy that her gift was well received. He tucked the yellow flower into the breast pocket of his shirt. Julien came bounding up to them excitedly, hiding something behind his back.

“I have a present for you too, Uncle Billy!” Julien grinned and offered him a wiggling pink worm clasped between his fingers. Billy chuckled and took the worm and Julien bounded off - probably to find more worms.

Abby went back to playing with the airplane and some of Julien’s matchbox cars. She pretended that Billy’s arm was the road and rolled the cars over it, back and forth. Every so often, she would show Billy a new car, telling him which color it was or if she liked it or not. Steve had been working on colors with her a lot recently, and Abby had gotten into the habit of pointing out the colors of things frequently. It was really adorable and she always looked proud when she got the color right. And when Billy would catch those intrusive thoughts about the future, he gave it his all not to dwell on them and instead focus on Abby rolling her car over his arm. Max rejoined them with a big plate of fruit and sandwiches to share for an early dinner, calling Julien over to eat.

Before Billy knew it, a few hours had passed and the sun was beginning to set. He helped Max bring all the toys back in the house and the kids savored the last few minutes of light while they cleaned up. Billy caught a glimpse of the clock on his trip inside; It was nearing 7pm and Steve would be arriving soon to pick them up. Billy and Max tried to coax the kids inside with the promise of a movie, but Julien had other ideas.

“Five more minutes? Please? Momma, I wanna see the fireflies!” Julien tugged at Max’s pant legs, giving her his best puppy dog eyes. “I promise I’ll be good for bedtime!” For a five year old, Julien was quite the negotiator. Of course Max caved which meant that Abby also got to chase the growing number of fireflies blinking around the yard. Billy couldn’t help but grin watching the cousins running around- and periodically jumping up- to try and catch the glowing bugs. After struggling to jump high enough to reach any of the fireflies, Abby pouted at Billy.

“Hold me?” She asked and how could Billy say no? He lifted her up in the air and she swung her little hands around, attempting to catch at least one bug. Billy could tell that she was getting frustrated when each time she came back fruitless. Abby got distracted by Julien showing Max all of the bugs he had captured, a faint green-ish yellow glow coming from his closed fists. “Daddy! Want one.” Abby’s chin wobbled - one of her tell tale signs that a meltdown was coming.

“Okay honey, I’ll get you one.” He smiled and moved her so that she was propped on his hip. They walked slowly around the yard together and Billy caught one for her. He helped her get it in her hand and her eyes widened. “Now you’ve got to be real careful, you don’t want to squish it right?” Abby shook her head no, wanting to keep her new friend forever. Billy watched the way she would peek into her fist to catch a glimpse of the small bug, finding it sweet how gentle she treated it. She kissed the top of her hand and said “I love you” to the tiny insect hidden within. Billy was so transfixed with her that he didn’t notice Steve’s arrival; It startled him when a hand met the small of his back. Abby lit up even more once she saw Steve.

“Papa look! Bug!” She opened up her hand to show Steve the bug, but the firefly took the opportunity to make its escape and flew off into the night sky before Abby could close her hand. She gasped and tried to reach for it in a futile attempt. Here comes the meltdown... or so Billy thought.

“Oh Abby, it was such a beautiful firefly! Looked like it was a really good flyer too huh?” Steve smiled and Abby only pouted a little. “Now it’s going to go home and tell all of its friends about you. And we gotta go home too sweetheart, it’s getting pretty late. Let’s say bye to Julien and Aunt Max, okay?” Steve was great at de-escalating a situation, he always knew exactly the right thing to say to stop Abby’s tears. Billy put Abby back down on her feet so that she could go over to Max and Julian to say goodbye. Steve turned to Billy and gave him a quick peck on the lips before taking his hand and walking them over to the trio waiting for them.

“Seems like you were able to get out of your head today, I’m glad.” Max said to Billy during their hug.

Once their farewells were said and done and they were all loaded up into Steve’s car, the small family made the short drive back home. Steve’s hand rested over Billy’s atop his thigh, periodically giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.

Back home, Steve carried a sleepy Abby in from the car and straight to her bed (he hated for her to miss brushing her teeth, but made an exception because of the long day she had had). While Steve helped Abby get settled in, Billy headed into their bedroom. He picked one of the heavier hardcover books off the bookshelf and pulled the dandelion out of his pocket. He tucked the wilting flower between the pages, saving it so that he could remember the day. Steve came into the bedroom as he was reshelving the book, he walked straight to Billy and wrapped his arms around him.

“Had a good day?” Steve asked. Billy twisted in his grip, turning to face Steve. They shared a few slow kisses, with no intention to escalate, only to be in each other’s space after being apart for the day. Billy pulled back, hands still holding onto Steve’s waist securely.

“Yeah, it was really good.” He smiled. Sure Abby was growing up, but they had so many years ahead of them, so many warm summer days just like this one. Although Billy didn’t expect he could completely quell his anxieties about the future, he was ready to start enjoying the moments as they happened.

[yugyummygot7reactions]

Into the Night - 7 - END

Prelude | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

FIANLE!!!!!

Pairing: Mark x You

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 1819

Warnings: none?

“Mark Tuan,” He said like this man was the most famous human on earth. “There is always a price to pay for his help, but if you need to catch all of them by tomorrow night without any hiccups or brushes with death, you go to Mark.”

“Who is he?” You ask, curious about how Youngjae might know of someone in the land of the living.

“The seventh monster…and your only hope.”

The day with Youngjae was the last mellow day you would have for quite some time. It was spent watching movies, listening to music, and occasionally being possessed to play the piano or taste a food Youngjae hadn’t tried in years. While you were happy for the change of pace, you knew that you should have been working instead. Your family had believed that everything was going smoothly here, but you knew it was far from smooth. You had allowed a breakout from the portal, let 5 monsters get away, and you were enjoying a day of relaxation with the 6th. You had to get this taken care of by tomorrow or the monsters would be left on earth for a year to bring whatever havoc they wanted. Right before midnight, when Youngjae would go back to 364 days of solitude, he explained how you had to contact Mark. He helped you set up the summoning circle in the living room and made sure you knew the incantation by heart. He reminded you that he could only be summoned between 10pm and midnight on Halloween. At midnight, Youngjae disappeared, but you knew he was lingering around for a while to watch the big event unfold. You spend the day preparing. You raided the armory in the basement, made sure to put all security measures into place so that Mark couldn’t escape, and you made sure to have your request carefully worded so that no loopholes could be found. That was the only thing about Mark that Youngjae warned you about. He was the king of loopholes and deception. It was his job as a demon after all. Right as the clock struck 10:00 you took a deep breath, lit the black candles, and repeated the incantation 3 times. Suddenly there was a trembling in the room and Mark is standing in front of you now and the first thing you notice is that his smell is overpowering. The cologne invades your senses, but underneath it you can just make out other scents. Fire and blood. You don’t realize what you’re doing until you feel fabric under your fingertips. You’re tugging him forward by his suit jacket before you can stop yourself. His arms slide around your waist, nose brushing yours as he leans in. “How can I help such an eager young hunter?” He asked deeply, his smile making you question everything. “I want to make a deal” You said, still intoxicated by his presence. “And what is it that you want?” He asked, his lips brushing your ear. You understood why Youngjae warned you he was dangerous. “Two things.” You took a deep breath and stepped back from Mark, making sure to clear your head. “I need you to give Youngjae his human life back. He needs to be given the chance to live the human life that was taken from him in his fully restored body. He also needs to be given this restoration in this house, in front of me, so I can make sure there is no funny business. He needs to return to his human form before he was given vampire venom.” Mark nodded and looked over at the other side of the room, you assumed he sensed Youngjae’s presence there. “Two, I need the other monsters that escaped, ALL of them, to be sent back to through the portal before 11:59pm tonight and anything they destroyed in this town needs to be fully restored to how it was before the breach of the portal.” Mark nodded and paced around, thinking about the terms of the agreement. “I can do that, but it will cost you two things.” He stopped in front of you and leaned closely to your face. “One, you will entertain me tonight in a way of my choosing, no questions asked, and you will give me from 10pm to midnight every Halloween for the rest of your life for me to do what I want with you.” “I’ll do it.” You said firmly, forgetting in the moment there was a second thing he would need from you. “Do whatever you want with me tonight.” Mark doesn't need to be told twice. With one hand tangling into your hair, he yanks you forward, his mouth covering yours hungrily. The warmth spreads to consume all of you. You react instinctively and push Mark hard across the room until he hits the wall. He looks positively pleased with the turn of events. "Like it rough, do you?" he enquires, "It's been a long time since I've been with someone so willing to be rough." Mark's grin widens and his eyes turn completely black, sending a thrill of excitement through you. He seizes your upper arms and spins, slamming you into the wall instead. It knocks some wind out of you, Mark taking the rest when he swoops in for another kiss. Almost instantly, your shirt is torn off, your breasts spilling out for him to admire. The tingling sensation travels down to settle between your legs. You gasp at the feeling, your chest heaving as your breath comes out on short pants. Your eyes were raking over Mark's perfectly cut suit that he had yet to remove. You reach for him and the red-haired demon begins to protest. "No, wait, this is Gucci-" You don't stop, tearing his suit jacket off as easily as he ripped your shirt. You pull his white button-up off next, exposing his toned chest and abs. With a growl he yanks you forward into another kiss, this one is all teeth. He bites your bottom lip, sliding one hand into your hair while the other claws at your chest. Mark grabs your wrists and pins them to the wall above your head. His pelvis presses to yours and you can feel the hard outline of his erection through his tailored pants. "How are you feeling now?" he asks, his breath mingling with yours as he draws his face back slightly. "Hot, tight, eager," you list, arching into him. "I need more." He was having such a strong effect on you, it was terrifying. Mark cocks an eyebrow before dropping to his knees, nimble fingers undoing your pants quickly. He yanks them down, chuckling when he sees you aren't wearing underwear. "Forget something, darling?" he teases, helping you slide your pants off one leg. "Don't see the point when I might have to fight," you scoff. Mark chuckles, hands spreading your legs. As you watch with curiosity, he leans in and runs his tongue along your slit, immediately making your knees buckle. Both your hands tangle into Mark's hair and you grip him tightly to keep him in place. Mark sucks your small nub between his lips and you cry out, hips jerking along with his mouth. He draws back, blowing softly on the hot flesh, making you shiver under his touch. He hoists your free leg over his shoulder. "Keep going," you urge. Mark runs his thumb through your folds, spreading the wetness that has gathered there. “Oh babygirl, I’m in charge here. You don’t tell me what to do.” Suddenly he bites deeply into your thigh and he slides a finger inside of you. You clamp down the intrusion, jerking and twitching from both acts. Mark groans as he tastes you, dark eyes opening to glint up at you mischievously. You can feel something building inside, forcing you to move with Mark urgently. You chase the feeling, grinding on Mark's face until... It's like something snaps inside of you. Your senses are overwhelmed as shocks of pure pleasure shoot through every nerve until you're left panting and limp. Mark hums and withdraws, face glistening as he stands once more. The orgasm ripped through you like nothing before. You thought some of the monsters had brought you to your limit of pleasure, but this was a whole new level. "That, babygirl, is only the beginning," he assures you, sliding off his ruined suit jacket and shirt. You step out of your pants completely. "You're not leaving until you show me the rest…are you?” You ask him as he backs away for a moment. “Of course not.” Mark says, unbuckling his belt. A second later he stands before you, naked and smiling. His body is utter perfection, not that you would expect anything else. His cock is thick, jutting out from a carefully groomed patch of dark hair. He drags you into your bedroom and barely crosses the threshold before he throws you across the room and onto the bed. He joined you on the bed in the blink of an eye and he pulls you onto him, straddling his waist and trapping him underneath you. His cock slides along your wetness, setting your body on fire. Your carefully manicured nails were digging into his pale chest, you drag them down, making him arch his back and moan as you leave a trail of deep, red scratches. Mark clutches your thighs and then rolls, flipping you onto your back so that he’s over you. You lift yourself to kiss him, trying to wrestle him onto his back once more. He resists, wanting the upper hand. “I’m in charge baby girl, or do you want the deal to fall through?” His arm slides around your waist, bringing your hips up to meet his. He thrusts his cock through your folds and you moan loudly. Mark grins and slowly presses his cock further into you, filling you inch-by-inch. Your body accepts him hungrily, stretching to accommodate his girth. The stretch only turns you on more. You tense at the sensation, waiting for more. “Bloody hell,” he swears, falling forward and bracing his hand on the bed. “You need to relax a bit or this is going to end much sooner than either of us desire.” Mark slowly withdraws and thrusts back in, stretching you more and rocking your body. You gasp, practically melting into the mattress. You can feel him slide further in, until his entire length is buried in you. This time when he withdraws, you whimper, fingers digging into his arms. He kisses you, beginning a steady pace as he thrusts deeply. Your tongue plunges into his mouth. He tastes like all of your favorite things in one and it is overwhelming in the best way. The bed creaks as you and Mark rock together, heat and electricity shooting through your body each time he thrusts. His skin feels twice as hot as any humans and when he moves harder, your nerves practically explode with pleasure. Mark growls and fucks you hard, forcing your legs around his waist. You're as close as you can possibly be and yet you want to be closer. It’s still not fast enough for your liking, so you flip him onto his back without warning. Mark doesn’t seem to mind this time, smirking up at you as you start to bounce on his lap. There’s a cracking sound and the bed shudders at it hits the floor, the legs breaking under the strength of the movements. Mark grips your hips and thrusts into you roughly. Your hands fall to his chest for leverage, riding him as hard as you can. The demon swears, jerking and convulsing beneath you. “Is this all you’ve got?” you growl. “Since when does a demon play nice?” Mark narrows his eyes and his face switches, and for a brief moment you’re staring at the demon he truly was. You had to admit you liked his human form a bit more than the demon form, but both were breathtaking in their own way. He was terrifyingly beautiful, and that flash of his other side was the first time you had felt scared you might not make it out of this alive. The air is knocked out of you when he springs to his feet suddenly, crossing the room and slamming you into the wall. It cracks, but you barely notice as Mark takes you, hands digging into your thighs. You cling to him tightly, crying out as his cock hits this spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “You question me?” Mark snarls. The wall cracks further and you feel yourself sink into the plaster, body drenched in sweat, scratches, and blood. You start to shake, the burning in your core returning but way more intense. Mark sinks his teeth into your neck just below your ear and that’s all it takes. The waves of pleasure consume you and you scream out his name. His cock pulses within you and something abnormally warm coats your insides, soaking out to cover your thighs. Then everything goes black once again. You drag your eyes open to find you’ve been moved to the broken bed. Mark hovers over you, smiling. “Maybe now you'll think twice before questioning me,” he says, a sharpness to his voice that makes you shudder. “I'll fix the bed and the wall before I go,” he says. “I’ll get you a bed that is sturdier for next year.” He snapped his fingers and everything was almost as it was before. “Now, that is payment for sending everyone back, what was your other request again?” He tapped his chin as he began to mend his suit you tore earlier. “You only have 3 minutes to remind me.” “Youngjae, being human.” You firmly said, knowing damn well Mark knew what you wanted. “Ahh yes…The ghost boy hiding in the corner. Quite a fun spectator that one. That can be arranged,” Mark says. “For a second price. I will restore his life here and leave you and him in peace, but you’ll owe me a favor since there is nothing else I need at this time.” “Deal,” you say. Before your eyes, Youngjae appears in the flesh and runs into your arms. “I CAN TOUCH YOU!!” He was so excited, and much louder in person than he was as a ghost. Something about Youngjae was different from the others and he pulled you in in a softer way than Mark had. You knew you couldn’t leave him like that for all of eternity. Youngjae jumped up and hugged Mark as well, excited for his new freedom. You stand up gently and approach Mark. “The monsters?” “Gone, back into the other world, I also fixed this shitty town and brought everyone they killed back to life. It’s like this never happened.” “You ruin either deal,” your had went to his now flaccid dick, “Next year, I rip this off.” Mark smirks. “Oooh, how naughty,” he purrs, lips brushing yours. “Deal.” His voice echoed in the air as he disappeared and it was just you and Youngjae left in the room to figure out what to do now.

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING BLUE III

—

PART ONE

PART TWO

“Now, you need to make your eyes really wide-” Jo’s ears perked hearing the false whisper from somewhere behind her as she worked at the stove. Biting down on the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling, the blonde continued to work on the pancakes for breakfast - using her squeeze bottle to pour the batter out into the shape of a batarang before spelling out her boy’s name inside before flooding the middle as she listened to the talk. “Nice and big like that, yeah. And then what do we say to Mommy?”

“Mommy, can we have blueberries too?”

“That’a boy.” Jack’s whisper disappeared in favor of the warmth in his tone as he smiled down at the boy. Jo glanced over her shoulder, catching the amusement in those blue eyes for a moment before looking back at her pancake. “Let’s go, huh?”

“Yes!” Billy’s voice was high and excited, and Jo schooled her face into a look of surprise as she flipped over the current pancake and then looked down at her son when he tugged on the hem of her sleep shirt. “Moooommy!”

Blinking a few times, Jo smiled down at her sweet boy before answering. “Yeah babyboy?”

“Mommy, I… Umm..” Jo fought down a laugh watching the sudden look of confusion swallowing the young boy’s face, Billy’s eyes blown wide and worried before he held a hand to his lips in thought. Glancing up, she could see Jack’s shoulders shuddering with concealed laughter, before the tug of Billy’s hand caught her attention again. “Mommy, can… can we have blueberries too?”

The way his finger tapped against his bottom lip and his green eyes were big and open and pleading, Jo knew immediately that she was absolutely screwed dealing with him going forward ever saying no. Puppy dog eyes added to that soft pleading tone was just too potent and she let out a small whine of frustration realising just how screwed she was.

“Oh darling boy, of course you can.” Kneeling down as she turned the temperature of the pan down lower in her off hand on the way, Jo leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead with a loud ‘mwah’ noise. “You get Jack to help you grab them out and wash them proper, alright?”

“Yes Mommy!”

Sending a tiny, pretend scowl over her son’s head towards the smirking man, Jo turned back to the pan and checked the base of the current pancake before sliding it out and onto the boy’s black and red plate before starting on the next pancake for the other adult. Slowly drawing out a spider followed by its web, she flooded the gaps between as she kept one ear out for any trouble from her men as she carefully made Jack’s pancake, and then a cutesy looking mallet for her own pancake design; Jo bit down on a chuckle hearing her love explaining carefully how to rinse and then dry the blueberries and pile them into a little bowl to share on the table. Looking over her shoulder as she flipped her pancake, she looked on fondly as she watched the little blond boy carry his bounty of blueberries onto the table like they were something special.

“Alrighty boys, who’s ready for pancakes?” She chirped happily as she flipped her pancake out onto her own plate and turned off the burner for now, picking up all three plates carefully before carrying them to the table herself. “I know I am.”

“Me me me!” Billy cried happily, clambering into his seat and kicking his feet joyfully, before letting out an excited squeal seeing his little batarang pancake. “Batcake! It’s a Batcake!”

“Now, is that what Batman eats for breakfast?” Jack replied curiously, pressing a kiss to the little boy’s head as he sat a sippy cup of juice in front of Billy before placing a glass of the same down for himself and another for Jo with another kiss to the crown of her head that made her tingle all over with how right this all felt. “Oh!” The surprised noise made her smile as she looked over to the look of pleased surprise on his face at seeing his own pancake design. “Jo…”

“What? Only the best for my boys!”

The chuckle she got in response was cut through by the shrill sound of a ringtone from the end of the table where their mobiles were kept in a basket, keeping technology out of family meal times at a suggestion from Jack’s that made Jo feel so special and focused on when that was first suggested. The sound cut off pretty quickly, and both adults rolled their eyes, whoever it was would be called back later. As soon as it stopped though, it started again. And then the other phone was going off as well. And then the duller sound of the singular landline from the front hall chimed in as well.

“What the fu-” Jo cut off her swear with a glance at her son, the need to cut down on her swearing around the last year really having become prominent after a few too many comments from his daycare teacher, but found it hard not to finish as all three phones quieted and then started ringing again. “Okay, rule break?”

“You help Billy with his bluebs, I’ll check what’s up.”

“Thanks, hun.”

Jo let out a soft sigh as Jack set his utensils down and stood up to fish his ringing phone out of the basket and answer it, as well as taking her distractingly ringing phone, out to the hall while she refocused on breakfast.

Billy ate not only his first batarang, but another two full pancakes and almost the whole bowl of blueberries through the meal, sipping his juice and asking with those big green puppy-eyes to go to the playground that afternoon; and Jo got through another pancake all her own as well as her juice and a cup of matcha before their missing member finally reemerged. Followed unexpectedly by Ellen and Bobby, still in their shoes and holding Billy’s overnight bag.

“Nanny! Bobby!” Billy screeched happily, flinging himself away from where Jo had been getting him to help her with unstacking the dishwasher while they’d awaited Jack’s return. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Billyboy, we thought you might like a weekend sleep over?” Ellen said happily as Bobby had bent down to scoop up the excited, wiggly boy. “We missed you so much, and you haven’t been over in ages.”

“Mom, you babysat last week-” Jo started with a frown at the unexpected arrival, glancing at the clock and fully surprised to even see her step-dad so awake and focused at such an early hour, let alone dressed and at her own house. “What’s-”

“Jobug,” her mother spoke softly, as Bobby turned towards Jack to double check on any extra toys to pack for Billy’s weekend, as she’d come up to wrap Jo up into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you didn’t mean this to happen-”

“What to happen?”

“You just talk to Jack, okay Jojo? You take the whole weekend, my darlin’ girl, you take the love you deserve okay?”

“Mom?” Jo was beyond confused, wide eyed and uncertain as she received a kiss to the forehead from both her parents in a whirlwind of quietly spoken words between the other three adults that made no sense to her before her son was whisked off to his grandparent’s place amid happy cries of adventure leaving her bewildered and confused as to what just happened. “What-”

There wasn’t even time for her to vocalise her questions - what happened, what was going on, what was wrong, was everyone okay - before she was pulled into and wrapped up in loving arms and felt a strong hand gently soothing over her hair and down her back.

“Jo, love, I’m so sorry.” Jack’s voice was rough and hoarse, and as she looked up at him she could see something swirling in his eyes that troubled her. “I’m sorry. I should’ve protected you, I should’ve known, I’m sorry.”

“Wha- what is going on, Jack?” She asked firmly that time, staring up at him and feeling her face twisting into a scowl at the sympathetic sadness flashing across his face chased along by some guilty look. “Jack fuckin’ Grey, you tell me right fuckin’ now what’s goin’ on!”

The quiet that followed on from her growled words echoed in the quiet space of their home, and Jo felt uneasy at how cautiously the other looked at her - his hand still gently rubbing at her back as the other held her steady - as he chewed his lip before saying softly. “The article came out… And I think you should read it with me.”

—

THE FUTURE MRS. GREY?

The Modern Fairy Tale Inside The Wedding Of The Year

By Chuck Shurley

Just off the main shopping district of the West Side there is a place where fairytales begin. Inside a deceptively worn building there was the start of many stories that are shaping the news of tomorrow - and I was fortunate enough to uncover the true Cinderella story that was unfolding in secret behind all the cameras and spotlights on the wedding of one French aristocrat-turned-investor Ian Essaim and socialite Shada Grey.

As all good fairy tales must start - this story started once upon a time…

Once upon a time, there was a new American Sweetheart in the form of the beautiful so called Shada Grey. She portrayed a version of herself to the cameras that was viewed as bubbly and perky, with a love for eclectic fashion. Those who knew the woman that would become this girl would say her acting skills were wanting for all she did was play herself on the silver screen - just with a wardrobe founded by and crafted by a studio and their stylists rather than the money from her brother’s pockets. The sister of famed and elusive artist, Jack Grey, who has shied away from the spot light after what was described as a ‘manic depressive episode’ by some - Shada Grey has captured the imagination of those who strive for the women of Golden Era Hollywood wrapped up in a pair of Louboutins and Prada. The Darling of America and the fairy tale princess having a fairy tale wedding.

However, there was another woman who has the capability of capturing the hearts of the country who will be standing five steps back from the princess on her wedding day.

…There was once another young woman with a wedding on the horizon. Joanna Beth Harvelle was getting married to the love of her life, an idealistic captain in the Marine’s called William Mark Reynolds. A pivotal moment in any woman’s life, and the same type of event that I have been lucky enough to be covering for the aforementioned Essaim/Grey wedding this year. But this story could not be further removed than that story - this story is of loss and love instead.

Miss Harvelle and Captain Reynolds were married from the court house, the only photo of their day a Polaroid taken by the bride’s mother on the steps outside. The bride wore a white dress from the bargain bins, and the pair spent their wedding night bidding one another farewell in preparation for the groom’s deployment two months later. In contrast, Miss Grey and Mr Essaim’s wedding is being held at an undisclosed location costing seven-figures, the bride will be wearing a custom Vera Wang and the whole wedding is being documented by not only print media such as myself but covered in depth by Miss Grey’s television show in a ten-episode special season and by most other media outlets.

But as fairy tales go - there must always be an early loss. Hansel & Gretel their abandonment, Rapunzel the pricking of a finger upon the spinning needle, and for our Cinderella was the loss of her love. Captain Reynolds was killed in action six months after his wedding, leaving a pregnant widow behind to receive his Purple Heart and put the pieces of her life back together. When speaking with Joanna, known affectionately by most as Jo, about that point in her life - the clear sorrow is still evident in her voice and the listing of her husband’s achievement. However those clouds passed quickly with the birth of their son, William Dean Harvelle who is nearly five at the moment of writing and has a love for frosting sugar cookies, and her “other baby” as the blonde would say.

Metallicake has become an icon in the city over the four years of operation from the old warehouse building just off the beaten track. According to it’s owner, many souls have found their way to her door through word of mouth and the scent of baked goods on the air. One particular soul was, indeed, drawn there out of the rain and drawn back time and time again as anyone who has tried the baked goods from this modern day Cinderella’s kitchen would attest - coming back is inevitable. According to Ms Harvelle, her ties to the Wedding of the Year began almost three years ago when Jack Grey returned to her bakery and subsequently fell in love with the flour-coated princess.

Entering the building you will see exactly the impact of this diamond in the rough woman who carry’s a purple, bruised heart for the loss of a national hero. Ms Harvelle has drawn not only the eye but the artistry out of the most elusive and most revered artist of his time in the country to her walls among other things. Those who visit Metallicake are greeted with an ever changing mural designed, refined and painted painstakingly by the famed Mr Grey. From the photos provided by the baker herself, and a subsequent valuation by several esteemed art buyers - the walls of the bakery itself are worth more than the cost of the elaborate wedding the bakery will be producing a mammoth cake for and then some. The tattoo parlour next door, owned by a man known as the ‘Doctor Badass of Tattooing’ Ash Miles, shares equally in Ms Harvelle’s fortune with not only signed art work on display but also the unique privilege of being the only authorised tattoo artist of such artwork. This work, as well as his own, is on display not only in INKED magazine and this publication, but upon the very body of Ms Harvelle so far.

Being a muse and accomplished baker does not appear to be the extent of this Cinderella’s ambitions though. Listening to the way Ms Harvelle would speak of love and marriage - a self-proclaimed realist who expects little more from her life, supposedly - and her joy for both bride and groom to be, one cannot believe to suspects she’ll long be a widow rather than to take up the name almost as soon as American Sweetheart Shada Grey surrenders it.

When sent to the small converted warehouse to cover the baking and artistry connected to the creation of what will be an extravagance on-top of the already fantastically over designed and over quaffed wedding, the preparation was to hear about the difference between genoise and chiffon sponges, the merits of fondant and buttercream, and inevitable discussion about the endless creation of edible flowers. And that is what was covered, and yet so much more.

Ms Harvelle has a skill with words and with applying them to the work she does. She is an artist in her own right, but with shaping the perceptions of those around her. She can talk at length and display great skill with the multiple display cakes that were crafted and recorded in a special behind the scenes look hosted on Rolling Stones website at time of publication. However she can also draw others into her theology on the connection between her work and the world around her.

“People are like cakes,” Ms Harvelle said. “And everyone pairs with someone else perfectly. Take Shada for example - she’s so sunny and bright and vivacious. Full of spirit and life and carefree. She also has a little bite to her when protecting those she loves, but is simply so versatile and beloved it’s hard to remember she can be sweet and sour.” In this journalists time spent with the bride and bridal party so far, this interpretation appears to be true, though perhaps only just from the magic weaved by Ms Harvelle rather than any truth. “And Ian is so grounded and down to earth despite how he may appear, he too is versatile and always there for people. He’s a genuinely kind man, and they both work so well together. Sunshine and earthiness, but altogether sweet.” Ms Harvelle weaved her story together in her cake baking, and the slice of lemon chiffon cake with a blueberry and basil frosting that was served up as a demonstration of the couple was phenomenal not only in tasting, but in the craftsmanship of the story telling.

When asked about herself, the widow is far less vocal and considered. “Me? I’m just flour!” The lack of concern or thought evident, but the nature of her choice showing how pivotal her role in the creation of not only the physical cakes to be loved and adored, but the metaphorical cake of life and her underappreciated value is.

Watching Ms Harvelle work and seeing the creations coming out of her small kitchen, one would believe there was an army of bakers behind the scenes crafting the wide array of baked goods and speciality items which fill the counter of not only the storefront but several other establishments around the city. But instead, there is a one-woman powerhouse working diligently, day in and day out.

On the week I followed Ms Harvelle through her daily routine as she developed, trialed and presented the socialite couple with their wedding cake options, the true meaning of hard work was on display.

The days started before the sun rose three days out of five, and Ms Harvelle was always wide awake as we met at her bakery. From there I witnessed the whirlwind that was something out of a movie scene itself. Her world feels like a montage of beeping alarms, constant tray movements, and endlessly creaming butter and sugar. The tireless Cinderella toiling away that has no time for anything but baking, cleaning and yet sings as she works without a single mouse around to lend a hand, before closing shop as the sun would go down and she would head home before doing it all again.

One would be mistaken to think she had time for nothing else but the extravagant cake that would need to be presented at the end of the week, but life goes on.

A lengthy photoshoot for INKED magazine on one day, and a day’s shopping for dresses with the rest of the specifically chosen bridal party to reflect that ‘down to earth’ narrative of the wedding couple were somehow sandwiched in between the tireless work to create fondant ruffles, edible floral arrangements and all sorts in between for the discerning eye of America’s Sweetheart to dissect by week’s end.

And yet on top of these inconveniences - of which Ms Harvelle never had anything less than a smile and a warmth when speaking of completing these tasks for her friends and loved ones - she still has a life.

Her Prince Charming in the form of the aloof Mr Grey would visit the bakery each day to bid her well wishes, steal a kiss and perhaps walk her home to the brick townhouse Mr Grey bought twelve years ago and according to sources moved his soon-to-be fiancé and son into two years prior. Her role as a mother is still needing to be completed each day, and watching mother and son interact - there is no question that this Cinderella finds time to be both baker and mother to her fullest. And her role as bridesmaid and friend seems to be never ending either, with the beauty taking the bride out for lunches and always having time to fend off frenzied, worried phone calls and provide the soothing voice of reason among the socialite crowd on display regularly throughout the week.

Perhaps it is naïve to believe in fairy tales and magic in today’s age where romance is a fabricated story pumped out through television and movies, where women compete against one another for the so called Bachelor, and a woman playing herself had caught the imagination of the country.

And yet, in this story where the bride and groom met over a coffee in the small kitchen of a tiny bakery, perhaps the true Cinderella story does exist and the real Cinderella doesn’t need any saving by a prince - she’s happy with the flour, cocoa and soot on her face - but instead will bring her prince back to the fire with her.

---

Hollow. That was the word to describe how she’d felt with every word of that reading. Absolutely hollow.

What she’d expected after the confusing appearance of her parents to whisk away her boy and the unreservedly supportive hold that she’d been wrapped up in as Jack’d guided her through to the lounge and onto the couch to read the beautifully presented and laid out article on his laptop. The cover photo was beautiful - the gorgeous three layered mock up with the gentle sunlight catching the glimmering gold specks on the fondant photographed so beautifully - and as he’d brought the article up Jo hadn’t even read the title as she’d initially excitedly pointed at the embedded video at the top and focused on wanting to watch that before reading any silly words. Jack hadn’t stopped her, and had rubbed her shoulder and quietly reiterated how lovely her work looked and how amazing a baker she was and how lucky his sister was for her to work on the masterpiece for her and how well she discussed the techniques and design choices as they’d watched the video. That she had finally registered the title of the article halfway through the video below it changed the sweet taste of maple syrup still lingering in her mouth to something bitter tasting like bile as she smiled and nodded through the remaining minutes of the video before she couldn’t stop herself reading the article.

Hollow, and wide open. As if she was a pumpkin carved out and put on display. A cream puff full of air and such a flimsy shell of existence without the filling to stablise her if left in this condition. Like a meringue - fragile and likely to collapse in on herself if the oven door was opened too early.

That photo - her pregnant and haunted in the illfitting black dress shaking hands with the man who’d sent the other to war and brought him back to her in a coffin - was in there. The one she’d asked not to. Right beside a picture of her tugging on her new love’s scarf and their smiling and in love in her sacred kitchen space.

She’d felt torn open and like her skin had been peeled off and displayed for anyone and everyone with each cut into the private bubble she’d been living in broken open within the writer’s words. She hated it.

And worst of all, Jack’s hands had rubbed at her comfortingly, and he’d spoken gently that it wasn’t her fault for being trusting, and that he was sorry she had this happen to her, and that he loved her and supported her just made her feel all filled up with love and support all over again even as she was left open and empty he was there to comfort and helped to fill the void left behind by those black and white words. And she’d broken down in a way she hadn’t for years - she’d actually found herself crying at the fresh loss of that protective scab that had kept her intact all along now she had someone to let her deflate like a forgotten souffle.

Once she’d finally stopped crying - babbled words between the gasps as she’d tried to explain what she was crying over of ‘sorry’ and ‘so long ago’ and ‘not like that’ - Jo was surprised to see the love and concern pouring out of the other’s blue eyes as he watched her carefully, not at all guarded the way she’d expected at finding out about her hiding yet another big secret from him. Hiding her history yet again.

“Here,” His voice was soothing as he’d held out a tissue to her, the box moved to his knee as he continued to rub her back gently with his other hand. “It’s okay, Jo, it’s alright.”

“How can you say that?” She gasped the words out hoarsely, voice rough and tired from her crying. “I-”

“You did nothing, Jo, you didn’t do anything.”

“I lied-”

“Did I ever ask?” He asked gently as she was getting worked up again, hands fidgeting and picking at each other and brown eyes wide and panicked. Jack’s hands covered hers, holding her gently like she was something to be handled carefully. “I didn’t ask, you didn’t have to tell until you were ready. And I’m sorry that the choice was taken from you.”

“I shouldn’t’ve-”

“You’re an open heart, trusting person - it’s what’s so sweet and endearing about you and something I love so dearly, Jo. Don’t apologise for being you.”

“I...would’ve told you. Eventually.” She mumbled the words out, hands shaking even despite the comforting squeeze of his over hers. She would have. One day. Probably that mythical moment she’d thought about when they’d be curled up in bed and he’d have said something about their future and wanting life together and asking if she’d wanted to get married some day eventually, and she’d have told him the truth then and in much simpler words than the bullshit that the journalist had flourished her story with. She had felt that day approaching, but they hadn’t quite gotten to talking about the future further than plans for a vacation next year before Billy started school. “I… I can’t believe this- Oh fuck! What about Shada?!”

There was a second before Jo noticed the look on his face shift from concern into something closer to surprise for a moment, before his mouth twitched into that soft loving smile that made her stomach flip. “Shada’s okay. She was the one who was calling - she is… not happy with that asshole journalist.”

“Oh… Oh, should I step down?”

“What?”

“I’m ruinin’ the weddin’ - a distraction - should I step out-”

“Jo!” The smile she got then was practically blinding, tugging her in for a tight hug as Jack laughed gently. “Shada’s worried about you! She’s upset for you, not because of you. She’s already screaming about getting a new writer in and getting lawyers to sue or something if you want to. I mean, she’s thinking to for defamation for herself-”

“As she should!” Jo cried back, letting out an awkward giggle as she curled into the warmth of his chest. “That was so mean and wrong for what was said about her. That asshole-” Jo’s eyes blew wide as she thought about how nice and friendly the reporter had seemed, how he’d seemed to care what she had to say - that she’d been tricked and manipulated into telling her story when all she’d wanted was to make a good cake and share her love for her dark haired friend. She felt the sharp stab of betrayal in that, and shivered slightly to think that she’d have to meet with the reporter again sometime soon. He was due back to write about the flowers, and Shada’s dress, and so much more - the idea of facing him after such a humiliating manipulation made her stomach twist. “-oh I hope he’s fired! He should be! What is her manager doing? Does Bobby know? Oh, what about-”

“Jo, my love, it’s fine.” His voice was calming and soft as she’d started to work herself up again, breaths sharp and short and caught up on the edge of panic and mania filling her mind as she thought about just how much she’d misjudged and maybe ruined the whole of her dear friend’s special days. “Bobby’s already got the shows lawyers onto it, and Shada said her manager is already demanding a retraction of the article and it to be suppressed online until they can determine the legal ways forward-”

“Good!” She seethed quietly, feeling queasy and responsible and guilty all in one at how much the words written must had hurt the other woman to read. Every other sentence was a backhand compliment, a knife designed to dig and cut and hurt the poor girl, and that Jo’d been used to do that to her hurt too much to consider. She’d have to bake something as an apology as soon as her legs felt strong enough to support her weight. And something for Bobby. And the show team. And Ian and Ombre. And for Jack. The thought of her boyfriend brought her mind whirling into how nasty the reporter’s words, the focus on who Jack was and what he had been that had to have hurt too brought her into herself with a gasp; brown eyes wide and focused onto her boyfriend’s face with a distraught look. “Oh and you! You should sue too! For what he said ‘bout you-”

“Nothing written in there was wrong when it came to me, Jo.” Jack’s eyes were that darker blue, the shadowed look that always showed up when he was serious about whatever he was talking about. “I’ve got no issues with it about me.”

Jo shook her head, tucking into his chest with a sigh as she felt a shiver run down her spine. “It wasn’t- It said that we… that you were- that we’re going ta be-”

“I mean, I was hoping to ask on our anniversary next month, so if you can wait until then…”

She froze at his words - the warm, bemused tone rumbling in his chest she was pressed up against - and felt like that hollow feeling was suddenly gone as quick as it had arrived. Replaced with a stomach-flipping surge of happiness she hadn’t even felt the first time around, her whole body felt like it was on fire and her heart felt like it couldn’t be held in by her chest it was so full and light. Her head was spinning, and pulling back a little, she blinked in confusion as she looked back into the flushed but openly smiling face of the other. How could he be so open, so honest, especially to her when all she had ever done was hide things from him?

“Wh-what?”

His eyes lit up and the edges of his lips pulled up into an amused grin as his hands moved from her back to hold her cheeks, thumbs stroking over the top of her cheekbones gently. “Do you not want to wait til then?” His voice was quiet and she strained to hear him over the thudding of her heart filling her ears. Jack’s smile got softer as he shifted one hand back over her ear and into her hair gently. “Do you want me to ask now? Because I will. I’d ask in a heartbeat if you wanted me to, Jo. I’d ask it every day if that’s what you want or what it took.”

“You… Wait-” She paused a second, heart beating out of her chest and her eyes drinking him in as if she’d never really seen him before. Like she could finally see all the colors that made him whole - the blue of his eyes brighter, the pink of his lips more soft and kissable than ever, even the dark purple under his eyes from their late night movies and early morning starts - after having lived with some filter on. Living in a glass box to protect her from hurt again, and him from being cursed like all the others that had had her heart so far. Swallowing thickly, Jo blinked repeated a few times before shifting closer into his lap, prompting his other hand to drop around her waist and support her gently instead. Support her like he had ever since they’d become an us not two separate entities. There was a pause that he just looked at her, before Jo found herself leaning in closely and that thudding in her ears entirely disappearing into the background as she heard herself speak from her heart before her brain could stop her. “Will you marry me?”

That pause drew out longer - every tiny noise from the ticking of the clock on the wall to the buzz of the muted television to the muffled sound of the world moving outside without them was like thunder as they stayed in their quiet, frozen bubble - before there was a surge between them. Like a bolt of lightening sending energy into both of them had her lips smashed against his, and his hands gripping her tightly as she pulled him into her all the harsher.

That she’d asked and that he hadn’t answered didn’t matter, the fact was this was right in a way that it’d never been right for her before. This was what she’d been waiting for. This was who she’d been waiting for. She might not be a blushing bride like his sister, but she was who he’d been waiting for, and he was who she’d always meant to find. The safety and feeling of home and support she’d been missing even before she’d been left alone before, before she’d said her vows to a man she loved but more as idea than a man, before she’d thrown her roses on the coffin as a child. This was the support she’d been craving and needed - the love she’d searched everywhere for and then glassed herself off from when it didn’t show up when she wanted it. Even if it was a few years late.

---

Her hands were steady and forceful as she continued to roll the fondant thinner and thinner, to the longest roll it could before fluting it gently as she cut the thin strip in half and laid the ruffle down across the nearest baking tray with all the rest. These ruffles were the thinnest she'd ever made, and there was only six more to make before she'd have to start assembly. Or start the gentle paintwork of dusting the edges like an ancient book with gold dust. Or maybe she would do a third crumb coat on the cakes. Just to make sure.

Jo's mind was working seven steps ahead of herself and she had to pause at the trembling in her fingers. This was the most important cake she'd ever made. It had to be perfect.

Nervously working on the next set of ruffles, she felt herself having to pause and try the deep breathing exercises her therapist had taught her months ago. The exercises to calm her down from spiralling into an absolute destructive frenzy. She'd been struggling with keeping herself balanced for months now, ever since that article shook her core, and she was so thankful she had the support around her to work her way through it.

The weeks following that article had been some of the hardest of her life but nothing except for her seemed to be changed. Nobody except for her few newest friends had learned anything they didn't already know. And aside from a bone crushing hug from Shada every time they met for a month, and the gentle coaxing from Jack to remember everything was fine, nothing changed aside from her. Her whole world had tilted the wrong way but no one else seemed to notice it.

It had taken up until the week of crafting the extravagant and beautiful wedding cake for how hard she was struggling to really hit her. The only time she felt in control of herself and happy that week being the long hours she spent in the bakery - perfecting batches upon batches of buttercream and the fillings for the cake, the sheets upon sheets of cake baked and cut to an unusual and beautiful geometric diamond rather than the traditional circle, the hours after hours of sugar work in vibrant purples bad shimmering golds and silvers along with the delicate edible flowers to match the bride's overflowing bouquet. That week she'd devoted more time than ever to her work and it was the only times she felt happy and normal and like herself didn't really sink in until the night before the wedding.

Jack had been waiting up when she'd finally decided it was done and got home at two in the morning despite having to be up in three hours to start the bridal party work. He'd held her close and been all things supportive, and that she'd cried all three remaining hours and somehow functioned and floated happily beside her future sister-in-law the whole day through was probably more to do with running on fumes than her genuine excitement she had for the beautiful bride and her husband. It was probably more to do with the appointment booked for the following week for her to finally talk to someone and start working through her issues instead of hiding from them.

It was how she'd found herself reflecting on how important that cake had been for her - it had represented all of her guilt over her life becoming something new all again, her desire to please and her want to be part of something bigger than just her and her boy again - and the unexpected amount of stress that had come along with the entire process that was how she’d been convinced to speak to someone. Seeing her work splashed over news sites for weeks, and the months leading up to her sister-in-law’s wedding from that horrible article all the way through that while not always a focused part of the story, that her life was splashed across the media and her motives dissected as much as her work was had sent her spiralling in need of help. That her fiance was beside her the whole time - praising her work, encouraging her and protecting her and her son from the worst of it - helped soften the blow that she wasn’t as strong as she’d always made out to be. And that despite pouring every bit of love she had into that beautiful purple wedding cake had been enough to keep her solid until it had been delivered.

Placing the last of the delicate ruffles she’d made to the side, Jo pulled a ball of sunshine yellow fondant towards herself to work on instead. The next crumb coat could wait. Instead, she rolled that fondant out into thin strips again - however rather than rolling the edges thinner and thinner until they fluted into soft ribbons, the baker collected the delicate piece of lace she’d collected from the trimming of her dress and pressed it flush against the fondant. Rolling over the fabric and then peeling it gently off each strip of fondant, the beautiful lace design embossed into the yellow sugar confection to mimic what she would be wearing the next day, before moving each stripe of fondant onto another baking tray to be stored away until they were needed later. It was a rhythm, one she was used to, and working slowly she kept up her calming breaths as she tried to sink into the pattern. It was just any other cake, after all.

Where she’d poured so much thought and weeks of consideration into balancing the meaning of ingredients, the personalities of the bride and groom, and the early summer vibes of the wedding into the beautifully tiered cake she eventually crafted for Shada and Ian’s wedding - the creation she was making now was somehow so much less thoughtful in her mind. She didn’t spend hours testing different cake types and deciding on the main flavors before deciding on something that perfectly matched like berries and lemons - she knew it would be a chocolate cake from the moment she’d even tried to consider what to make, and she’d known that there would be a hazelnut filling based off of the brownies her love begged her to make the most. She didn’t spend her time crafting different decorations trying to balance the extravagance of the event, the importance of those getting married and to make something both timeless, classic and modern and fashion forward - she knew that it would be a simple white cake with minimal color but the buttercup yellow and gold to balance the classic, stark white elements. She didn’t worry about trying again and again to push the extremes of what she could achieve, even as that had excited and thrilled her to surprise everyone with such a decadent and beautiful creation unlike any other - she knew the small single tiered cake would be more than enough for her loved ones, and there was no one she needed to impress or thrill more.

The sound of an alarm brought her out of her thinking as she finished the last few yellow fondant decorations, turning to pull the brownies out of the oven and replace them with the waiting tray of cupcakes. The baking of all the other treats that she intended to fill the small trestle table for desserts with the next day was in itself another thing entirely - delicate tiny pastries with perfectly presented lemon tarts and tiny chocolate brownies, cream puffs and mille-feuille, chocolate eclairs and marzipan treats, treacle tarts and miniature cherry pies - each carefully selected and decided upon based on their family and friends favorite treats.

But when she pictured the table in her mind it was with the simple white cake on it’s pedestal surrounded by a bounty of treats and the tiny bouquets of baby's breath that would tie into her bridal bouquet and the flowers that Billy would throw before her and would be tucked into the lapel of her love’s jacket as they said vows she believed in again now. It was full circle and fully ready - the image of a day unfolding as she moved onto the final little dessert decorating, that she’d never had before. The day she’d dreamed about that never happened the last time, that she didn’t fantasise about before like she was now, the way she wanted every little step to be just so where before she’d never pictured herself walking down an aisle, and exchanging vows, and wearing white, and holding flowers, and staring into loving eyes, and making promises she fully intended to keep, and exchanging rings that she wouldn’t then take off, and celebrating with everyone she cared about not sharing a pepperoni pizza and counting down days on a calendar, and knowing that Sunday morning she’d wake up happy and fulfilled and the person she’d not yet become the last time, the person she hadn’t realised she was meant to be. It was her dreams coming true for once. And her being her own dream.

---

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

'Slow dancing in the living room surrounded by all the lights' with whoever strikes your fancy! This honestly sounds like the best thing tbh

December 20, 2019

There’s alcohol and cursing in this one

It had been a rough day, the last day before break always was. Everyone was anxious for the holiday party and not having school for two glorious weeks. 

Slamming the door behind him, he sighed, leaning against it, listening to the faint Christmas music that was playing in the kitchen. A tired smile crossed his lips as he toed off his shoes and dropped his bag and box full of goodies from his students on the bench. 

Walking the short distance from the door to the kitchen, he gasped seeing his husband standing at the stove, a wine glass in his hand and a Santa hat on his head. “Welcome home love. And happy last day of school for the year.” 

Chuckling, he all but fell into Spot’s warm embrace. “Thank goodness I’m done teaching for the year. I may have nightmares about today for a while.” 

“Good thing I’ll be there to chase them away.” Spot grinned, pouring another glass of wine and handing it over. “Bad day?” 

Race shook his head. “Not bad per say, just really busy. The kids were excited and hyper. You know I love them but I’m really glad for the two week break.” 

“I’m sure. It was a ghost town at the office today ‘cause everyone was at the kids programs and parties.” Spot nodded, sipping his wine. 

Race paused, looking at the clock as a thought occurred to him. “Not that I’m thrilled you’re home but what the hell are you doing here? You said it would be a later night.”

“That’s what I thought.” Spot chuckled. “The bosses threw us out at 1:30 so I’ve been home for a bit. Wanted to surprise you with dinner.” 

Sniffling the air, Race grinned. “And what’s for dinner?” 

“Your favorite.” Spot said, stepping in front of the oven, cracking open the oven door, a succulent smell escaping from inside. 

Race groaned as his stomach followed suited. “You’re amazing, thank God I actually married you.” 

“Think I was the one that asked you.” Spot chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “But you’re welcome. What do you want to do tonight?” 

Race took a sip, looking over at his husband. “Is it too much to ask that we sit around in our boxers and watch all the Christmas movies?” 

“If that’s what you want to do, you’ll hear no complaints from me.” Spot grinned, amused by his husband. “Should we start one now while dinner finishes cooking?” 

Race cheered, looking at Spot’s casualness of sweats and a hoodie. “Let me go change, since you’re two steps ahead of me.” 

Several minutes later, with the tree as the only light in their house, Race joined Spot on the couch, cuddling his head between Spot’s shoulder and chest as Spot played “How The Grinch Stole Christmas”. 

After Dinner 

They made quick work of cleaning up the kitchen, Race trying to hip check Spot every chance he got.

“Don’t make me use this.” Spot had grabbed the sink sprayer, aiming it in Race’s direction as his eyes went wide. “I won’t hesitate to spray you, Antonio.” 

Race’s hands went up in surrender. “Put down the sprayer. I will behave.” 

Cocking an eyebrow at him, Spot pursed his lips. “Uh huh … that’ll be the day.” 

“Oh ye of little faith.” Race stuck his tongue at Spot, dodging Spot’s aim. 

Spot’s tongue was wedged between his teeth and bottom lip, his finger dangerously close to pulling the nozzle. In the moment, his finger slipped, a stream of water heading in Race’s direction. The water barely hit his chest when Race held the spot dramatically. “I’ve been shot, Spottie . . .”

Falling to the floor, Race gasped for breath as he sprawled out on the kitchen floor. With a final sigh, he dramatically closed his eyes and laid perfectly still. 

Spot couldn’t help but chuckle at him, dropping to his knees, running a hand through Race’s hair. “You’re going to be alright, Racer. It’s just a small cut.” 

His eyes popped open. “SPOTTIE!!! You can’t play along for once in your life?” 

“Nope. Besides, there’s something I want to do. Come on.” Offering him a hand, Race immediately clasped his hand in Spot’s, allowing himself to be pulled up from the floor. 

Grabbing the mini speaker, Spot walked into the living room, pulling his phone out of his sweats’ pocket.  Tapping a few things on the screen, Spot nodded before slipping the phone back into his pocket, facing Race, before dipping into a bow. “May I have this dance, dear sir?” 

Race’s eyes went wide as he slipped his hand into Spot’s. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?” 

“We haven’t done in this in a while and I thought with just the tree illuminating the room, it would be utterly romantic and you’d love it.” Spot grinned, pulling Race close to him as they started slow dancing. 

Spot looked up at Race, the colorful lights of the tree reflecting off his glasses and tousled hair. Titling his head up slightly, he welcomed the kiss from Race as they continued to dance. “Wait . . . is this?” 

“I was wondering when you’d notice.” Spot grinned. The song that was playing was “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by Ingrid Michaelson, the song they first danced to as husbands. “I was feeling sentimental today, especially when this played at work.” 

Race grinned, kissing him once more. “You’re a sap, Sean, but you’re my sap and I wouldn’t change that for the world. I love you Spottie.” 

“Love you too Racer.” Spot said, leaning forward so that his head rested on Race’s chest, letting him lead. 

They continued to sway slowly around the living room, even as the song changed to “Love Me Tender” by Norah Jones. Race sighed, pressing a kiss to the side of Spot’s head. “This was the song that was playing when I knew I wanted to marry you.” 

Spot picked up his head, raising an eyebrow in Spot’s direction. “You realized you wanted to marry me while watching Princess Diaries 2?” 

“I’ll have you know that it’s a very romantic movie.” Race defended, grinning. “We were curled up on the couch and alI I could think about was if this is my life for the rest of time, then I’d be okay with that.” 

Spot grinned. “So why didn’t you ask me?” 

“Because you beat me to the punch.” Race argued. “Actually, I had the ring and everything . . . just had it planned a week later than you.” 

Spot titled his head, accepting the kiss from Race. “Awww, I’m actually not sorry that I stole your thunder. My proposal was amazing.” 

Race nodded, grinning. “It really was. And I’m actually glad you proposed . . . I was a nervous wreck whether you were going to say yes. But when you asked, I didn’t even have to think.” 

“I was the nervous wreck.” Spot argued, his eyes lit up at the thought. “But as soon as I saw you, I knew I didn’t have to worry about you saying no.” 

The song changed again, Spot moving his arms to rest on Race’s shoulders as they continued their slow dancing. They both fell quiet, just enjoying the soft music and the ambience surrounding them. “Love you, Spottie.” 

“Love you too Racer.” Putting his head on Race’s chest, he listened to his heartbeat and sighed happily. 

As they twirled around, Spot smiled. There was no other place he’d rather be, cozied up to Race, slow dancing the night away. 

Thank you @deliciouspeachpirate for sending the request in. Feedback would be absolutely wonderful and amazing and much appreciated!!! 

[hrina]

Gone Cold

PAIRING: Harry/Y/N RATING: M for Maybe don’t read this if ur under 18 :-) WORD COUNT: 6.4k REQUESTED: nope, i was just inspired for once

hi everyone. this one-shot is angsty, smutty, and fluffy, and is loosely based on the following prompt from this list:

listen i know i can’t just show up at your apartment at six in the morning but i need coffee and no one makes it like you do

i worked really hard on this piece and i’m pretty happy with how it turned out. with that being said, sending in any feedback and/or reactions you have would mean the absolute world to me, and it provides significant motivation in terms of continuing to write. i know people usually skip over the little author’s note at the beginning, but if you’ve taken the time to read this, i really appreciate you. 

special thanks to @gucciwoodnymph for agreeing to beta and for being so supportive. i love you tans 💕💕

enjoy :-)

[masterlist] [let me know your thoughts]

~*~

Harry’s in the middle of a very exciting, albeit incongruous, dream. He’s in a car chase, hounded by a frighteningly large black SUV, and for some odd reason, he hasn’t been caught despite the measly little golf cart that he’s driving. He’s not quite sure why he’s being pursued, or why the sky is a shade of hot pink, or why he’s only wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else. He whips his head to the side when he feels a tap on his shoulder and comes face-to-face with his sister. She grins at him and opens her mouth to say something, but the only thing that escapes is a noise eerily similar to the ringing of a doorbell.

Harry furrows his brows, and Gemma mimics his expression, utterly confused. Her lips part as she tries to speak again, but that same sound blares out. Her eyes widen in terror and her hands fly to grip her throat. Her mouth opens in what Harry presumes to be a scream, but all he hears is a frantic ringing, the noises blurring together in a steady crescendo.

And then his eyes snap open, and—as though pulled by an invisible string—he sits upright in his bed. He places a palm over his heaving chest, his gaze flitting around his bedroom; there’s a faint grey light spilling in from the window, making it a bit easier to see. Harry chances a glance at the clock on his bedside table; it’s six in the morning.

The sound of the doorbell startles him, and for a moment, he’s afraid that he’s still trapped in that peculiar dream. But then he realizes that the noise is real, and there’s actually someone standing outside on his porch.

Who the fuck would need him at this time?

Rubbing his eyes, Harry stumbles out of bed. He doesn’t bother looking for a pair of pants, opting instead to pull on a plain white t-shirt and tug his briefs down so that they cover a bit more of his thighs. He curses when his shoulder bumps against the wall, not yet awake enough to maintain his balance.

He staggers down the hall, his feet carrying him in choppy, haphazard movements. His sleepy eyes wander to the side, and he stops in his tracks when they land on the door standing slightly ajar a few feet away. He must’ve forgotten to close it properly last night.

Harry approaches the room carefully, as though afraid that it’s haunted. He grips the doorknob with white knuckles, his throat suddenly extremely dry. His eyelids flutter as he tries his best to look everywhere except inside, but the effort proves to be fruitless. The pastel green of the walls draws his gaze almost automatically; from there, he’s a goner.

Through the small opening of the door, he studies the emptiness of the room. Soft, patterned curtains still hang from the window, speckled with a print of stars and teddy bears and crescent moons. A small dresser is shoved off to the side, half-assembled (or rather, disassembled—he’d been working on taking it apart last night). Pressed against the far wall stands a crib, still fully set up. A mobile hovers overtop, tiny stuffed elephants and giraffes and lions hanging from the clips.  Harry hasn’t yet found the strength to even touch it. He thinks that he’d rather set his house aflame.

Swallowing heavily, he closes the door. A beat of silence passes as he stares up at the ceiling, exhaling softly and blinking furiously against the threat of tears.

The doorbell rings again, twice in a row, and the moment is gone. Harry groans, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I’m comin’, for fuck’s sake!”

Once he reaches the front entrance, he grumbles as he undoes the lock and wraps his fist around the knob. He pulls the door open, squinting his eyes when the first dim rays of the sun pierce his face. The blood running through his veins suddenly goes cold.

“Hi.” You’re chewing nervously on your bottom lip and wringing your hands at your sides, like you’re not quite sure what to do with them. Your hair is pinned up in a professional-looking bun, though a single strand seems to have escaped the strict style and has fallen down along the side of your face.

You’re wearing a pair of black dress pants and a baby blue blouse tucked beneath a navy cardigan. The straps of your purse are nestled in the crook of your elbow, and a pair of matching sapphire flats adorn your feet.

And even though you aren’t pregnant anymore, you’re glowing.

Harry watches as your eyes fall from his face and scan over his body for a quick moment. You look away immediately when you register that he’s only in a t-shirt and underwear.

“Good morning,” he replies, the surprise evident in his voice. You shoot him an uneasy smile, trying to mask your anxiety.

“I’m sorry it’s so early,” you say, shaking your head. “I—I was going to head into work an hour ahead of schedule, but I couldn’t get my coffee to taste good, so I kind of just skipped out on it. And then I was about to fall asleep at the wheel because I didn’t have any caffeine in me, and your place was on the way, so I just…”

You’re flustered, Harry can tell. He looks at you with piercing eyes, watching the way you curl up into yourself as each word leaves your mouth. You’re regretting your decision now, it would appear.

“You…,” Harry begins, his brows knitting together. “You want me to make you a cup of coffee?”

You refuse to meet his eyes, and your shoulders vibrate with a weak shrug.

“Nobody makes it like you,” you say meekly, your lips warping into an embarrassed grimace. A warm feeling erupts in Harry’s chest, fanning out and saturating his body with more efficiency than that of the sunbeams peeking over the horizon. He clears his throat, trying to find his voice.

“Come on in.”

~*~

With you sat at the island in his kitchen, Harry bustles around the room, reaching for mugs and a pot and spoons. He’s awake now, anyway; he might as well make enough coffee for two.

He plugs in the machine and rips open a packet of coffee grounds, pouring the entirety of it into a simple white filter. Out of the corner of his eye, he chances a glance at you.

You’re sitting on one of the higher stools, your purse resting on the seat to your left. Your elbows are against the counter, forearms hidden by the cardigan that you’d refused to take off. You’re staring at your clasped hands, thumbs twiddling apprehensively as you fiddle with the rings circling around your fingers. Everything about your position is tense, from the tautness of your shoulders to the rigidity of your neck and the rigor of your spine.

It’s a massive difference from how you used to be when you’d sat in that exact same spot months ago. Then, your smile was infectious, and you would flop all over his kitchen without a care in the world. Harry’s eyes fall to the smooth surface of the counter; despite his best efforts, the memory of him fucking you over the marble emerges in screaming colour. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the image out of his mind.

“So,” Harry starts, his voice still painfully scratchy from sleep. “How’ve you been?”

You sit up straight. “Good. I, um…I ended up getting the promotion.”

“No way.” Harry looks at you as he finishes preparing the coffee; his grin is nothing but genuine. “That’s great. Congratulations.”

Your lips curl up into a small smile. “Thank you. How about you?”

“I’m alright,” he replies, shrugging. “Same shit, different day, right?”

“Right.”

The conversation tapers off into silence. Harry’s eyes are drawn to how you bite your bottom lip, and though he knows that he’s been staring for far too long, he can’t help it. He eventually tears his gaze away, focussing on the steady drip of coffee into the pot and clenching his jaw at the sight. Why the fuck is it still empty?

“My mum came by the other day,” he says suddenly. He’s fully aware that talking about his mother may not be the best tactic out there, but he can’t stand the awkward quiet hanging in the air. “She asked about you.”

You swallow heavily, trying to keep your voice level. “Oh…what did you say?”

“Said you were doing well,” Harry hums, playing idly with the spoons lying on the counter. The metal clangs when they bump against each other, ringing out loudly in the stillness of the room. “She misses you.”

Your smile is sad. “I miss her, too.”

“Think she likes you more than she likes me, to be honest.” Harry chuckles softly. “Always asks me how I was able to let you go.”

You don’t reply.

Harry peeks over at you, studying your pursed lips and hard eyes. He’s crossed a line, and he knows it. Your fingers begin to fidget again, and your expression gives nothing away. It’s the same countenance you’d worn when the two of you had agreed to end things. Tears had fallen and lips had been kissed. Hands had been grasped and shoulders had trembled with the ugliest sobs imaginable. But still—Harry had watched you walk out of his life, and you’d both turned away without witnessing how the other had looked back.

“Sorry,” Harry says quietly, itching at his nose with two fingers. “I shouldn’t’ve—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He thinks that that’s the end of it, but then you sigh softly and push back from the counter. The legs of the stool creak faintly against the kitchen tiles. “I should go.”

“What?” he blurts, his eyes widening. He watches in bewilderment as you reach for your purse and shoulder it without a second thought. Your gaze is fixated on the floor as you begin to make your way to the front entrance, but Harry’s legs seem to move of their own accord, and then he’s suddenly in front of you, blocking your way.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, breathless. “I—I’m making coffee.”

You press your mouth into a line, but the way your chin wobbles doesn’t go unnoticed.

“H,” you murmur, unable to muster a stronger tone. “Let me go.”

The intimate nickname catches him by surprise. You’re the only one who’s ever called him that. He hasn’t been addressed in such a way for months, and hearing it spill from your lips now breaks something inside of him.

“No,” he tells you firmly. “I can’t do that. Not—not again.”

“Shut up,” you scoff, and the snarky bite of your voice has him taking his tongue between his teeth. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“How so?” he asks, his nostrils flaring.

“You…,” you begin, but then quickly trail off when you discover that you can’t find the right words. You glare at him and make a frustrated noise in the back of your throat, eyes ignited with a fire that he hasn’t been privy to in so long; he’s missed it.

“Don’t do this,” Harry pleads. He risks reaching out to you, half-expecting you to step away; his heart somersaults in his chest when you don’t. His fingers twirl around that one strand of hair that hangs in front of your face, and he tenderly tucks it behind your ear. You gulp when his knuckles brush against your cheek.

“Don’t leave,” he breathes, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Please.”

“What am I supposed to do?” you ask weakly, tears gathering in your eyes. “It hurts. Being around you hurts.”

“I know.” He nods, trying to keep his own emotions from overwhelming him. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

The two of you are in the cruellest of predicaments. How is it possible to be so utterly in love with someone, even though their mere existence serves as an aching reminder of pain? The two of you had been in shambles after the incident. You couldn’t walk through the aisle filled with packaged pregnancy tests at the pharmacy. Harry was unable to look at the section reserved for babies in every clothing outlet. The hurt had been fresh. It had ripped your relationship apart.

“I miss you,” you choke out. “I miss you, but it’s still—what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Harry whispers sadly, shaking his head. “But, please. Let’s figure this out together, yeah? Don’t leave.”

He’s got your face cradled in his hands now, and you’re really, truly looking at him for the first time since he’d opened that damned door. Your fingers wrap around his wrists, and you give him a curt, nervous nod. Harry exhales in relief, his shoulders lowering as the tension melts away. His eyes flutter closed again, but then snap open suddenly when he feels you lean up and press a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

His brows shoot up, and his lips part slightly in shock. His skin is burning; the spot where you’d kissed him is practically aflame. Your eyes hold an array of emotions: fear, anxiety, regret, panic. You release his wrists from your grasp, stepping back.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly; the words blend together with how fast they exit your mouth. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to—”

Harry cuts you off as quickly as physically possible, closing the distance between the two of you in a single stride and clapping his palm against the back of your neck. A soft gasp escapes you, but the noise is swiftly silenced when he affixes your lips to his.

A watery sob resonates in the back of your throat as you drop your purse and hook your arms beneath his, your fingers scrabbling for purchase against his back. Harry groans quietly when you grip handfuls of his t-shirt in tight fists and press your bodies together. Your lips move frantically, kissing and sucking with the most obscene and frenzied sounds that he’s ever heard. He melts into you, one hand messing up your hair while the other circles around your waist to keep you close.

It proves difficult to pull back from you, but he knows that he has to when he feels your tears smearing onto his cheeks. He rests his forehead against yours, lowering his arm slightly so that he can wipe away the wet trails with his thumb.

“Are you okay?” he breathes, gazing at you with worried eyes.

“Yeah.” Your voice is thick. “Where…where do we go from here?”

You’re the one posing the question, yet as soon as you do, you’re attacking his lips again with short, hard kisses. Harry fights to inhale between each loud smack of your mouth to his, but he’s really not complaining.

“I don’t know,” he manages to get out between kisses. You seal your lips together and resume your previous ministrations. He grips your face with both of his hands, his palms large enough to cover the entirety of your jaw. When you break apart for air, he asks, “Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

And with that, he kisses you again. You moan into his mouth when he guides you back against the counter, and you hop up onto the smooth surface when he moulds his fingers to fit around the curve of your thighs. Harry pushes the mugs and spoons out of the way, the action hurried yet careful to avoid any breakage. You giggle at his prudence; he smiles.

“What?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

He leans in and reattaches his lips to yours, his fingers finding the collar of your cardigan and slowly easing the fabric down your shoulders. You help him, flinging the material away once it’s been fully removed. Harry begins to toy with the buttons on your blouse, and you push your chest out in encouragement, nodding silently.

He begins kissing your neck as he undoes the first clasp, savouring the taste of your skin. It’s been so long since he’s touched you. He can feel your breasts heaving with every breath you take, and the thought of you wanting him just as badly as he wants you has his cock growing stiff in his briefs. You sigh happily when he latches onto a particularly sensitive spot beneath your ear, your fingers snaking up to tangle in his hair.

“Shit,” you mutter. Harry chuckles, assuming that you’d cursed at the sensation of his lips against your throat. But then you’re pushing him back slightly, placing one hand over your heart and reaching around with the other to tug your phone from your back pocket. You check the time and swear softly. Your eyes are apologetic when you look back up at him.

“I—I have to go to work.”

He shakes his head, ducking back down to nip at your collarbone. “Call in sick.”

“I can’t!” you moan, tilting your head back to allow him better access. But even as you protest, you’re unlocking the device and pulling up your assistant’s contact information. You pull away, placing a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder to keep him at a distance. He pouts, but when you fix him with a stern glare, his expression melts into a smug smirk.

“Give me a minute,” you tell him before dialling the number. You grunt as you spin yourself around on the counter, falling back so that your head dangles from one edge and your knees from the other.

Harry stares at you with wide, amused eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

“If my head’s upside down, it’ll make my voice sound more nasally!” you hiss as the phone rings. “I need to sound like I’m fucking congested.”

His shoulders shake in silent laughter; he watches with adoring eyes as you clear your throat when your assistant answers the phone.

“Lena?” you ask, and Harry is shocked to find that you were right—you do sound significantly unwell. “Hey, good morning. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it in today. I woke up feeling really shitty…”

He’s ashamed to admit that he tunes out the rest of your sentence, his mind wandering to far more vulgar places. He studies the straining of your neck, the rapid rising and falling of your chest, the way your toes curl as you lie straight through your teeth. Your lips cling tightly to every word leaving your mouth. Knowing that it’s all just a trifling invention to stay where you are (and to keep doing what you’re doing) makes Harry’s stomach swoop dangerously low with lust.

You lift your head, observing him carefully as he rounds the corner of the counter and places his palms on your thighs. He can hear your assistant—Lena—babbling through the phone, her voice clamorous yet choppy on the other end of the line. Harry pays her no attention, opting instead to undo the few remaining buttons on your blouse and separate the offending material. He inhales deeply when the rest of your torso becomes exposed to the cool air of his kitchen.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, pulling the device away from your ear and throwing your hand over the microphone.

Harry cocks an eyebrow, offering up a shrug as his reply. Your stomach twitches when he splays his hands flat against your hips and then hooks his fingers into the waistband of your trousers. You shoot him a warning glare, but he just smirks.

“What? Oh, sorry,” you rush out and pretend to cough, bringing the phone back to your ear. “You were cutting out a bit; could you repeat that?”

Harry’s shoulders vibrate with a low chuckle. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs press together at the sound. His nimble fingers find the clasp of your pants, and he pops it open easily. You begin to squirm when he plays with your zipper, pulling it down and then back up before doing it all over again. He knows that he’s being a tease, but he can’t help it. He’d forgotten how amusing it is to watch you melt into a puddle.

Your free hand shoots down to grip his wrist when he begins tugging your trousers down your hips. He peers up at you through his eyelashes, trying to repress the arrogant smile that threatens to make itself known. Your eyes are wide, and you shake your head furiously. Harry abandons his attempt to conceal his glee, a wide grin splitting across his face as he yanks himself free from your grasp. Before you can pull away, he traps your arm against the counter, snickering at the change in dynamic.

You gulp when he leans up and drapes his body over yours. He plants a silent, chaste kiss to your lips before placing his mouth at the ear that isn’t currently pressed against the screen of your phone. His command is soft, but it makes you shiver, nonetheless.

“Don’t move.”

You have to flatten your lips together forcefully to contain the whimper that bubbles up in your throat. Harry’s laugh is completely silent, but his dark eyes tell you everything you need to know. He inches back down your torso, directing his gaze to where your pants sit lopsided on your lower-half.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, littering kisses over your stomach. You inhale sharply when he takes a patch of skin between his teeth and bites down gently.

In a matter of seconds, he’s got the fabric at your ankles. You’re still on the line with Lena, growing impatient with her incessant prattling.

“Okay, that’s fine,” you affirm. She says something else, and you nod reflexively. “Yeah, if I’m feeling better, I will. Thank you, take care.”

As soon as the call ends, you slap your phone down onto the counter with a bit more force than was probably intended. A loud groan leaves your lips, and you crane your neck so that you can glare daggers at the man standing between your legs.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” you promise. Harry cackles.

“Why? I thought it was fun.”

He grins as you kick your trousers off completely, hearing them fall to the floor in an airy heap. He nudges them out of the way with his foot, one of his hands creeping up your body so that he can cup your left breast over your bra. You sigh when his palm gives a soft squeeze.

“I missed this,” Harry whispers, but the confession is weak. He’s not quite sure if he should have said it.

His worries are mollified, however, when you hum in agreement and reach out for him. His chest tightens significantly as you lace your fingers together, bringing your clasped hands up so that you can pamper his knuckles with dozens of kisses. A lump forms in his throat, but he pays it no attention. Instead, he pulls you up into a sitting position and fastens your lips to his.

“Mm…help me take this off,” you mumble against his mouth, angling your shoulders backward. Harry grips the collar of your blouse and tugs the thin fabric down your arms, balling it up and tossing it away without a second thought.

“Hey!” you laugh. Your teeth bump against his chin when you grin. “Don’t wrinkle it!”

“Chill out,” he tells you, amusement evident in his tone. “I can get you something of mine to wear.”

“D’you—oh,” you moan softly when he ducks down to pepper kisses along the column of your throat. “Do you still have that blue button-up? The one with the stars on it?”

“’Course.”

“I’ll take that one.”

Harry chuckles at your playful claim. “I see why you got that promotion,” he tells you, his hot breath fanning out onto the underside of your jaw. “Quite the bossy little thing, you are.”

“Shut up and get your shirt off,” you scoff, a crooked smile spreading over your lips.

He laughs quietly into your neck. “I rest my case.”

Despite the light ribbing, though, he does as you ask. It takes everything in him to suppress a smile when he watches you gaze at his bare body in awe. Your touch trails against the dozens of tattoos on his torso and arms. Your hands slide down his narrow hips, ghosting over the slight pudge of skin right above the waistband of his briefs. A shiver rockets down his spine when you delicately slip your fingertips beneath the elastic.

“Is this okay?” you inquire softly, glancing up at him from beneath your eyelashes. Harry nods frantically and gulps. His gaze falls to the thin lace trim that flanks the cups of your baby pink bra. He’s never seen this one before—it must be new.

“Did you just get this recently?” he asks, his thumbs running along the underwire.  He doubts that the question will ruin whatever mood has been built up; you’re standing—or rather, sitting—before him in your undergarments, with your hair spilling out of your bun and your fingers inches away from his cock. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been more turned on than he is right in this moment.

“A few weeks ago.” You nod, peering up at him shyly. “You like it?”

“Love it,” he corrects. “You know how I feel about this colour.”

Your smile is bashful when you tuck your chin against your chest. “Does that mean that you want me to leave it on?”

“Fuck, no.”

You laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

In an instant, he’s removed your bra and attached his lips to one of your nipples. You sigh gently, your head falling back as your fingers braid through his hair. You scratch your nails against his scalp delicately, and the sensation only spurs him on. He nibbles at your skin; a faint giggle tumbles off your tongue.

“What—oh, that feels nice,” you murmur. “What do you wanna do?”

Harry pulls off your chest with a wet smacking sound, licking his lips in anticipation. “What do you wanna do?” he replies, deliberately skirting around your inquiry.

“I asked you first.”

He snickers.

“’F we’re being honest here,” he starts, scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck. “I really just want to make you cum on my tongue.”

You balk at the vulgarity of his sentence. Harry beams haughtily, sweeping his palms down your hips. An obvious shudder wracks your body when he begins fiddling with the hem of your panties. His dimples pop when you gulp violently and give him a terse nod.

“Yeah. Okay,” is all you say, mainly because far more eloquent words have somehow managed to escape you.

“Brilliant.” Harry smirks and watches as you bristle beneath his gaze.

Less than a second later, his knees come into contact with the kitchen tiles. He groans weakly, reaching to his right and snatching up the mat that usually sits on the floor right next to the sink. You laugh when he arranges the fluffy rug beneath him, and once he’s satisfied with its positioning, he shoots you a cheeky smile.

“All good now,” he announces. You fix him with a tender smile as your fingers comb his hair away from his forehead.

“Lovely,” you whisper. Harry feels your muscles tense when he begins trailing kisses up the length of your thigh. His fingers hook into your underwear.

“Lift up for me, darling,” he says, his teeth catching ever-so-slightly against your skin. You exhale shakily and press your hands flat against the counter for leverage. When your bottom rises up from the marble, Harry works quickly to tug your panties down your legs. He flings them away without wavering.

“Christ,” he mumbles, mostly to himself. He sets his elbows onto the counter, helping you spread your thighs for him. Your scent floods his senses as you bare yourself to him entirely; growling lowly, he buries his face between your legs.

“Oh, God,” you squeak, both of your hands latching onto his hair. You tug on the curls as he flicks his tongue feverishly against your clit, remembering exactly how much he likes the dull, thrumming itch of pain. True to your recollection, Harry groans appreciatively against your cunt.

He shoves himself even further into you, and you know that once he’s done, his chin and nose will be just as shiny as his lips. He eats you out like you’re his last meal, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted this badly. Your toes curl when you feel his lips sponge hot, wet kisses down your slit.

“Fuck,” you sigh, your eyes fluttering shut. “I forgot how good you were at this.”

Harry chuckles. The vibration shoots across your clit and sends electrical surges ricocheting through your veins. You moan softly, but he doesn’t respond, too engrossed in the taste spilling from the apex of your thighs.

He’s not sure how long the two of you stay like that, with his knees on the ground and his mouth on your heat and your fingers in his hair. Despite the fluffy mat below him, his legs begin to grow sore, but he blocks out the ache and commits himself to making you feel good. Your muscles keep twitching beneath his fingers and your stomach heaves gently; you’re close.

He wants you to cum.

“I’m gonna,” you breathe, and only then does Harry realize that he’d spoken the desire out loud. When your words sink in, he doubles his efforts, his lips sucking your clit into his mouth with a newfound sense of passion. A loud, lewd moan tumbles from your lips, and then you’re cumming, your thighs clenching against the sides of his head and your hips bucking up from the counter.

“Beautiful,” Harry mutters, pressing his lips to your stomach. “So fucking beautiful.”

You whimper.

He stands with a groan, his knees pricking with spindles of pain. They’ll probably bruise a bit later, but he really can’t find it in himself to care. His hand snakes down beneath the elastic of his briefs, and he sighs in relief when he makes a fist around his hard cock. You push yourself up onto your elbows, gazing at him with glassy, distant eyes.

“Cum on me,” you plead hoarsely.

“Fuck.” Harry’s head tips back in disbelief. “Yeah? You want that?”

“Please.”

You sit up, wrestling his underwear down his thighs. He hisses when you intentionally scrape your nails along his skin, and his dick twitches in his hand. He pumps himself quickly, his cheeks growing warm when he realizes that he’s not going to last long. There’s a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, and the way you’re begging for him is sending him hurtling toward his release.

As though you can read his thoughts, you slip off of the counter and drop to your knees. Harry bites back a smirk at the reversal of roles. You peer up at him sultrily and knead your own breasts, tempting him as your thumbs skirt over your nipples.

“Cum on them,” you say quietly. “Please, H.”

The nickname—that fucking nickname—is what does him in.

“Bloody Christ.”

His groan is long, drawn-out, and guttural. A shaky exhale leaves his mouth as he watches ropes of his seed dribble down onto your chest. You press your breasts together while the speed of his hand slows. Harry’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when you dip a fingertip into the mess on your skin and tuck it into your mouth.

“C’mere,” he orders breathlessly.

His hands grip your elbows as he pulls you up. He doesn’t let you get a single word in before sealing his lips to yours. He licks into you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hands sweep up his shoulders and neck, trembling profusely.

Disregarding the mess of clothing on the floor, the two of you stumble upstairs and into the shower. Harry tests the temperature of the water with one hand; the other stays locked firmly with yours, fingers intertwined. A small part of him is afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

Beneath the spray of the shower, he watches as you wash yourself. You take extra care around your face (removing your makeup) and your cleavage (rubbing off his cum). Harry stands against the far wall, the cool tiles of the stall pressing against his back. He’s staring at you intensely, trying to memorize every detail of your body. When you finally open your eyes and glance at him, a timid smile spreads across your lips.

“What?” you ask, curling into yourself.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “’M just…admiring you.”

Your throat bobs violently as you swallow. Reaching for his wrist, you tug him beneath the water and chuckle when his hair flattens against his head. The entire time, Harry’s gaze never strays from your face.

“I missed you,” you both say at the same time.

Your eyes widen, and then a shy laugh spills out of your mouth. Harry cups your face with both hands; you look up at him with twinkling eyes and push his wet hair from his forehead with gentle fingers.

“I missed you,” he repeats, staring at you earnestly. “So much.”

You nod in response. Somehow, the brief action is able to convey more than spoken dialogue ever could. Harry chews on his bottom lip, pondering whether he should utter the other three words on the tip of his tongue. After a few milliseconds, he decides against it. He’s not sure how you would react, and he doesn’t want to lose you—not again.

It’s not worth the risk.

The two of you eventually exit the shower, sporting wet eyelashes and pruned fingertips. Wordlessly, Harry wraps a towel around you, pecking your cheek lovingly. He’s about to step back, but then your fingers are on his jaw, guiding him in for a proper kiss. You sigh against his lips.

He wants nothing more than to stay in this moment for the rest of his life.

Back downstairs, he adjusts the towel around his hips and finally pours coffee into the pair of mugs that he’d pulled from the cupboard an hour ago. He prepares it the way you like before offering it to you. Your fingers wrap around the handle daintily, and you both take a sip at the same time.

“Sorry.” Harry grimaces after he swallows. “It’s gone a bit cold.”

“Mm.” You press your lips together and shake your head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” You pause before adding, “It’s kind of symbolic, no?”

His brows knit together. “What?” he asks, before it dawns on him. The creases on his forehead deepen. “Like…us?”

You nod, hiding your smirk behind the rim of your mug. Harry’s expression softens when he realizes that you’re only teasing. You lean over the counter, but the towel draped around your body comes loose, and you squeak in surprise when it slips down your chest. He grins.

“Can always just take it off, you know,” Harry informs you, shrugging. “It might be more convenient.”

“Care to test that theory?” you reply, cocking an eyebrow. He sets his mug down and raises his hands in surrender, stepping back before pulling at the material on his waist. It falls to the floor, and your gaze instinctively drops to his pelvis. You look away quickly, evidently flustered.

“Your turn.” Harry’s smile is insufferably cheeky, but he can’t help it.

“I’m alright, thanks,” you say, taking another sip of your coffee.

“I don’t think so.” He shakes his head, rounding the corner of the counter and reaching out for you.

“H!” you squeal, nearly tripping over yourself as you stumble backward. “Stop!”

He catches you easily, though, wrapping his arms around you and gripping fistfuls of your towel. With one quick flourish of his fingers, you’re completely naked. The coffee in your mug sloshes dangerously, nearly spilling onto the kitchen tiles.

“I hate you!” you say, laughter lacing your voice. Harry joins in, giggling to himself.

“No, you don’t,” he says, his palms finding your hips. He holds onto you cautiously, careful not to jostle the hand holding your cup. He leans in, and your eyes flutter shut in anticipation of a kiss. Your nose crinkles up in surprise when you feel his lips land on one of your eyelids, planting a silky, barely-there kiss. He switches over to the other side and does the same thing, his chest swelling with warmth when you release a wobbly breath.

“I don’t,” you agree gently. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

Harry’s heartbeat stutters beneath his ribs. Though your words are quiet, the insinuation is painfully loud; he watches your face fall when it all sinks in.

“Me too,” he says quickly, squeezing your waist in reassurance. You stare up at him gratefully. The moment is charged with unspoken sentences and tacit feelings, but neither of you submit an explanation.

Harry offers up a small smile, hoping to drain some of the tension from the air.

“See?” he prompts, shrugging. “We haven’t gone cold. Not yet.”

“‘Not yet’?” you echo, smirking good-naturedly. “When do you suppose that’s gonna happen, then?”

“Maybe in a few decades.” He plays along and pretends to think over his answer. “When we’re old and grey and we can’t stop bickering.” He chuckles. “And we’re sitting on a porch swing and you’re knitting and I’m reading the paper and we’re waiting for our grandkids to pull into the driveway for tea.”

At the mention of grandchildren, your eyes well up with tears. Because grandchildren will have to come from children. And children will come from you—both of you.

“What d’you think?” Harry murmurs. Your gazes lock.

“I think—,” you swallow heavily, blinking rapidly to keep your emotions controlled. Harry watches you with sober eyes, trying to deduce your response from your expression alone. You shoot him a watery smile, reaching up and caressing his jaw with your free hand.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” you say softly, stroking your thumb along his cheek. “A few decades—we can go cold, then.”

~*~

[masterlist] [come yell at me]

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[sunkissedpages]

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Twenty-Two || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: apparently there’s no waffle house in ny so my story takes place in a reality where everything is the same except there’s waffle house in ny

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of previous smut

What I listened to while writing: free spirit by khalid

Word Count: 3.9k

Series Masterlist

“What did Harrison want last night?” he asked, starting to run his hands through his hair again even though the crew was constantly telling him to leave it alone. 

“I’m...not exactly sure,” you said slowly. “Actually, have you talked to him today?”

“Not really, we left the hotel separately, why?” “Um, no reason, just that he knows.”

Tom made eye contact with you through the mirror and wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “Knows what?”

“About us. I mean, us sleeping together, that is.”

Tom turned back around to face you properly again. “You told him?”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, nervously, wondering if he was actually upset. “Not exactly,” you said hesitantly. “He saw my neck and uh,” you lifted your shirt slightly to show Tom the waistband of his briefs you were still wearing.

“Are those mine?” he asked, not being able to hide a grin of what looked like pride.

“Who else’s?”

“I don’t know what kind of shady men you’ve been hanging around,” Tom quipped snarkily, keeping his eyes trained on your midriff, not even pretending he wasn’t enjoying it.

“Just the one,” you said pointedly and rolled your eyes. “And he’s a dumbass.”

Tom scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”

You pulled your shirt back down, not missing the way Tom’s eyes traveled up and down your body.

“For fucks sake, my eyes are up here, Tom,” you mumbled with a soft smile, not able to commit to being mad about it when you looked at his flushed cheeks and pink lips. “Never thought I’d have to say that wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.”

“You’re not wearing a bra either,” he said, dumbfounded, and not paying attention to a word you said. “Fuck, what is it, my birthday?”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Can you keep it together, Holland? You do know that suit is skin tight, right?”

“I’m trying my best, but you’re making it so hard!”

“Pun intended?”

“Oh fuck off, y/l/n,” he groaned, taking a step away from you to gather himself and his thoughts. “Was Harrison mad?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted. “He thinks we’re being irresponsible.”

“We are being irresponsible,” Tom agreed, taking two steps forward and kissing you suddenly as if to prove a point. You were tempted to kiss him back, he smelled so good, and even if you couldn’t admit it to yourself, seeing him swing around in the spiderman suit did things to you.

You pulled away. “You’re going to get us caught!”

“Would that be so bad?” Tom asked, lazy grin playing at his lips.

“Yes! I’m already skating on thin fucking ice, I’d be so fired.”

“Wait, why?” Tom asked. “Did you do something?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you brushed it off, not wanting to get into how you accidentally told everyone you’d had a sex dream about him. It would only inflate his ego even more, which was the last thing you needed.

“If we get caught, then we’ll just have to pretend that it’s not just sex and that we’re madly in love.”

“That would never work, no one would believe us,” you said miserably, not noticing the way Tom frowned.

“Did Harrison say anything else?”

“No.” Not anything that Tom needed to know, anyway. Blurred images of Harrison laying on the bed next to you last night, gazing into your lost eyes with his own confident, yet distant ones filled your mind.

“But you told him not to tell anyone, right?” Tom looked at you expectantly. “Y/n? You did tell him not to tell anyone, right?”

“I figured it was implied?” you said weakly.

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” he said, sounding more panicked than you expected and his face growing red and blotchy.

You tugged on the scrunchie in your hair anxiously. “I- it slipped my mind! I had a lot to deal with, by myself. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Are you blaming this on me now?”

“I’m not not blaming it on you,” you said honestly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Tom stared at you incredulously. “Can we please not do this right now?” he begged and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have bigger problems to handle.”

“I don’t get what the big deal is, Tom. He’s our friend.”

“Y/n, I love Harrison, but you know he can’t keep his mouth shut. We both had to learn that the hard way.”

“He wouldn’t tell anyone, he knows what could happen!” you assured him. You wanted to reach out and rub his shoulder, but you were afraid he’d shrug you off. 

“Yeah, except for maybe my brother!”

“Shit.”

You tore out of the tent first, before Tom got the chance, breaking into a full on run for the second time that day. You could feel him on your heels, though, gaining on you with every second.

The sun was blinding, making it harder to pick people out of the crowd. You frantically looked around for a head of blond hair or red hair or both. No one batted an eye as you ran past them, nobody paid much attention to you usually anyway, but you saw heads turn as they clocked Tom running after you and realized they probably thought he was chasing you, which would have been laughable in any other circumstance.

You could feel sweat gathering on your brow and the back of your neck, making your shirt stick to your skin and hair curl at the ends. You hadn’t even been on set for an hour and you already felt like you needed a shower.

As you started to fall behind Tom you realized it would have been easier to find them if you had split up, but upon spotting a lanky boy with a shock of bright red hair you knew it didn’t really matter in the end anyway.

As it turned out, Harry and Harrison were together, huddled by one of the cameras on standby, talking about something you couldn’t hear, but knew immediately when you saw the smug look on Harry’s face from a distance.

You and Tom reached them at the same time, both out of breath and gasping for air. You were worse off, doubled over with hands on your knees hoping you weren’t about to have an asthma attack. Tom looked like he’d just finished a light jog. His face and neck were flushed and he was breathing hard, but his curls were still in place and he’d barely broken a sweat. Meanwhile you could only imagine you looked like someone who’d had to crawl across the finish line at a marathon even though you’d run the same distance.

“You just couldn’t keep it in your pants, could you?” Harry asked, looking at Tom with a smirk.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Haz?” Tom groaned, expressing exactly what you would’ve said if you had the capacity to speak.

“I figured he already knew!” Harrison said defensively, and to your surprise a little angrily.

“No one knew!”

“He’s your bloody brother, mate! How was I supposed to know?”

Tom put a hand to his forehead, taking a minute to compose himself. “You were just supposed to keep your mouth shut!”

“I mean it was only a matter of time anyway,” Harry spoke up, coming to Harrison’s defense.

“What do you mean?” you asked having finally regained your breath enough to contribute to the argument.

“Please don’t tell me I’m the only one who’s noticed Tom following you around like a puppy these past few weeks.”

“Harry, I’m going to kill you,” Tom said through gritted teeth.

“If I had to watch you gaze at her longingly from across the room with those stupid eyes of yours without doing anything about it one more time I was going to throw myself off the Empire State Building,” Harry said with a look of accomplishment only an asshole younger brother could have.

You saw the embarrassed flush creep up from Tom’s neck to the tips of his ears and tried not to laugh as Harry easily dodged Tom lunging for him.

You grabbed Tom’s shoulder and pulled him back to keep him from tackling his little brother to the ground. To your surprise, he relaxed under your touch and took a step back, even though he was obviously still fuming.

“Okay, can we at least establish that this is a secret that stays between the four of us going forward?” you asked, looking around the small circle of boys.

They all gave you looks like it should be obvious, but nodded anyway and you relaxed a little. This was your fucking life now.

Your pager buzzed, alerting you that the makeup artist had finally arrived at the tent, but Tom was nowhere to be found.

“Tom, we have to go,” you said, breaking the silence. “You need to get ready for the rest of the scene, they’re waiting.”

Tom followed you as you walked, deep in thought. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing as you- that what you were doing together was dangerous. That much was clear from the conversation you’d just had.

“Tom-”

“This was a bad idea,” he said, cutting you off. “We should have never slept together. I shouldn’t have let myself...” he trailed off.

You pursed your lips at what he was implying, thinking maybe he was right, but not wanting him to be. In reality, your relationship was too complicated, too entangled, to ever be more than handler and actor. But somehow every time he looked at you you were reminded of the way his laugh filled the whole room, the way his hands felt on your body, and all of the little moments together that led up to now.

Half of you wanted to laugh. Your acquaintances with benefits deal- if that’s even what you could call it- hadn’t even lasted forty-eight hours.

You stopped walking and stood in front of him with your arms crossed, looking at the ground. “Should we end it?”

Tom didn’t answer right away, and you hated yourself for the way your heart felt heavy in your chest. Hated yourself for being stupid enough to think you could handle a casual fling without getting emotionally attached.

You looked back up at Tom finally, thinking this was it, this was the end, but was surprised to see a glint of determination in his eyes.

“No, I’ll see you in your room tonight.”

Tom kept his promise and showed up outside your hotel room promptly at ten-thirty with two quick raps on the door. You unlocked and opened it to see him standing in the hall wearing pajama pants and holding a six-pack of wine coolers. He held it up with a proud smile, pausing to admire the way the way you looked, even though you were just wearing the same pajamas you had always worn in Italy.

“This feels like high school,” you said, shaking your head with a laugh as he placed a kiss to the corner of your mouth and slid past you into your room.

“Oh?” he asked, not hesitating to set the wine coolers on the dresser and pop one open. “And what kind of girl was y/n y/l/n in high school?”

You gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “None of your business.”

Tom came back the next night, and the next, and the next, never empty handed, never staying long afterwards. Leaving you satisfied, yet also somehow lonely in the hours that followed. Trying to fall asleep in the empty hotel room alone was a bigger task to take on than one might think. Every time as Tom was getting dressed you tried to make conversation, tried to get him to stay for just a few minutes longer, but he always ended up leaving.

The sex was good, sure, there was no denying that, but you wished that just once he would stick around and hold you until the both of you drifted off, naked, limbs tangled together, dead to the world until you were both bathed in sunlight in the early hours of the morning. You knew it was too much to ask. He had made your arrangement very clear, at least that’s the way you remembered it, and the way he was always in such a rush to leave made you think there wasn’t a chance in hell of it ever happening anyway.

Perhaps the most embarrassing part of it all were the “you up” texts shamelessly sent to you in the middle of the night that you responded to every time. Tom knew you weren’t asleep even when it was late and he knew how good he gave it to you and he wasn’t afraid to use the information to his advantage.

More than once you found yourself doing the walk of shame from his hotel room to yours at two, three in the morning, wearing the crumpled clothing you’d shown up in, trying to not to make any noise or run into any other cast or crew members who might also be up at that hour. Was it humiliating? Yes. Were you going to stop doing it? Unfortunately, no. The bright smile Tom gave you when he opened his door to see your face was motivation enough, even though it was completely pathetic.

“Are you hungry?” Tom asked, watching you pull on your flannel pajama pants and black sweatshirt from his bed. The week was almost over and you had started ending up in his bed (a few hours after he had been in yours) more nights than not.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to get something to eat?”

“Is anything even open at 2am?”

“We’re in New York City,” he reminded you “something’s gotta be.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed.

“Great! Let’s go!”

There was that smile again. The one that had you completely whipped. No wonder you could never say no to Tom.

“Wait, are we going in this?” you asked, looking down at your pajamas.

“Why not?”

And that’s how you ended up in the middle of Times Square at two am wearing your pajamas with Tom Holland. Tom was shocked to see that no one paid him any attention, even with his hood down. No one cared about him or you and you could tell he was ecstatic about it. He watched in awe as pedestrians passed you by, not even giving a second glace to your pajamas. It was New York City, you weren’t even the only two in pajamas on that specific corner. 

All of the lights and billboards were a little overwhelming, but you liked the way they illuminated the boy in front of you dozens of different colors like some sort of indie movie.

“Do you know of any good places to eat?” Tom asked as you started walking in a random direction.

“What?” You stopped in your tracks. “You’re the one who suggested we go get food!” you cried in disbelief.

“Because I’m hungry!”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So I keep hearing,” he said with a cheeky grin, pink light reflecting off of his face.

“Uh, we could always find the nearest Waffle House,” you suggested. “They’re open twenty-four/seven.”

“I’ve never been,” Tom said indifferently.

“You’ve never been to Waffle House?” you nearly screeched.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a staple of American culture!”

“That’s not as good of a selling point as you think it is, y/n.”

“We’re going.”

“Google says the closest one is four miles away.”

You shrugged. “We’ll take the subway.”

“You’re set on Waffle House aren’t you?”

“You asked if I knew any good places to eat, this is a good place to eat. I’m doing you a favor, Tom, trust me.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrendered. “C’mon, I’m starving.”

You dragged Tom to the nearest subway station and bought the both of you tickets, despite Tom’s insistence that he buy them. You inserted your credit card into the machine before he even pulled out his wallet. You snooze you lose.

“I’m just a booty call, Tom, not your girlfriend,” you reminded him. “I can pay for us.”

He bit his lip at that, looking like he wanted to argue, but ultimately letting it slide.

The two of you stared at the map of Manhattan with all of the routes on it for an embarrassing amount of time, trying to figure out which line would get you closest to the diner, before finally agreeing Q would make the most sense so you didn’t have to switch trains.

“How obvious is it that we’re tourists?” Tom whispered in your ear once you were standing on the platform together.

“Overwhelmingly.”

The platform was mostly empty, save the couple deep in conversation and group of drunk friends egging each other on to lick the tiles on the wall a ways down from you.

Since it was late, the trains weren’t coming as often leaving you sitting on a bench talking to Tom about everything and nothing for almost twenty minutes. You rested your head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around you, listening to you ramble about the different things on the Waffle House menu for ten minutes straight without interrupting.

When your subway finally pulled into the station, you and Tom were the only ones from the platform getting on, leaving the strangers you’d felt an odd sort of connection to behind.

The car was also relatively empty, giving you plenty of options for seating. There was a woman asleep towards the back, and a young family of vacationers on the other side, looking exhausted out of their minds.

You were following Tom to the back of the car where he seemed to be aiming for when you felt the train lurch forward, catching you off balance and sending you flying into Tom, who caught you with his body. You both fell onto one of the open benches with a loud thud, you hitting your head on the window on the way down.

“Steady,” Tom said, looking up at you with a lopsided smile. He was gripping your hips firmly to make sure you wouldn’t go flying anywhere else. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Are you?”

“I’m fine,” he assured you, letting go so you could sit up. “I guess we’re sitting here.”

“I guess so.”

Tom stared out the window and you watched over his shoulder as dark shapes flew past, unable to make anything of them. Stops passed and you kept track of everyone to who got on and who got off, though most of the time neither happened.

“I’m convinced the subway system exists alternate universe,” Tom said suddenly with a shake of his head. “There’s no way that something with this sort of... odd energy exists in any sort of reality.”

“It’s the only possible explanation,” you agreed. “How different is it from the tube?” You tried to use somewhat of a British accent at the end, only to be met with a look of horror from Tom.

“Please never try that again,” he pleaded.

You laughed. “You didn’t like that?”

“Not at all.”

You tried again. “What ‘bout this?”

“What the fuck was that supposed to be?”

“Australian!”

“Really? Because it just sounded offensive.”

“Offensive to who?”

“Anyone who has ears!”

You shoved him playfully and let him attempt to teach you about the different accents he’d learned in school. He was really good at most of them, but he was having a hard time teaching you, which only frustrated him and made you laugh.

You were so caught up in conversation, that you nearly missed your stop, only noticing when the electronic voice repeated herself for the second time. You jumped up from your seat and yanked Tom off the train, leading him all the way up the stairs and out onto the street. You hadn’t even realized you were holding hands until he interlaced his fingers with yours more firmly, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand as you walked.

“Are you ready?” you asked him once you were standing in front of the brick building with the bright yellow roof. “I’m about to take your Waffle House virginity.”

He made a face. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You were seated in a matter of seconds and having your drink order taken by a sweet Southern sounding woman as soon as you slid into the booth. 

“I’ll have a sweet tea, please,” you asked.

“Coffee for me,” Tom said with a smile. He looked back at you once she was gone. “I can’t believe you drink sweet tea.”

“What, why?”

“It’s disgusting.”

“Says the boy who puts milk in his tea.”

“That’s how you’re supposed to do it!”

“Whatever, I’m not having this conversation with you,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’ll just have to try mine when it comes.”

“Deal.”

Your waitress came back with your drinks and promptly took your orders, yelling them to the cooks behind her at the griddle as you spoke. You ordered hash browns with cheese and ham and Tom ordered a chocolate chip waffle.

“Okay here,” you said and pushed your glass towards him. “You said you’d try it.”

Tom took the cup from you and brought it to his mouth, sipping from the side, and gagged dramatically when he tasted it. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

You shook your head. “You’re wrong. That’s the only acceptable answer.”

“I’m not going to fight you on this, you seem really passionate about it,” he said with a chuckle.

“Smart boy.”

Tom smiled and rested his hands on the table, frowning when he felt it. “Is it just me, or is our table kind of sticky?”

“They all are,” you assured him. “Everything is. It’s part of the charm.”

He picked his hands back up and settled them in his lap instead. “Right. Charm.”

“Stop being a baby and try to have fun,” you hissed. “This waffle’s going to change your fucking life.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“That waffle changed my fucking life,” Tom sighed on the subway ride back to the hotel.

“Not gonna say I told you so, but-”

“I think you just did.”

“Whatever, can’t you just admit I was right?”

“Fine, you were right. It was good. I had fun.”

You smiled. “I had fun too.”

He wrapped his arm back around you as you settled into your seat, full, happy, and increasingly sleepy.

You hadn’t even realized you’d drifted off until Tom was gently shaking you awake, telling you that it was your stop. You let him half lead you, half support your weight as you made your way off the train and up the stairs back into Times Square.

You were too tired to talk and so was he, so you just leaned on each other more or less putting one foot in front of the other until you were in the elevator at the hotel.

“Oh shit, I left my pager in your room, can I grab it?” you asked, remembering that you had set it aside before letting Tom take off your shirt.

“Yeah, sure.” He nodded and stifled a yawn, making you smile.

The room was exactly how you’d left it, sheets a mess, pillows on the floor. Tom helped you search for your pager through piles of clothes and paperwork until he finally found it on top of one of the pillows that had been thrown to the side.

“Thanks,” you said with relief, reaching out to grab it.

He closed his hand over yours as you grabbed your pager from his palm, making you jump.

“Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” he asked, eyes soft and inviting.

“What?” you asked, not completely sure if he’d said what you thought he’d said.

“Stay. Please?”

fun fact: something like that actually happened to me on the subway where the train started moving and I fell into some random guy’s lap but it was much, much worse than this lmao. I hope you guys liked this part it was fun to write!! lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!!

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[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter 1 : Section 6 : On the Ocean Shore

Anti had lead police officers away from the house that night, turning into a dog to lure them away from the house where his family lives. They were looking for Trick, who had been forced by Anti to steal Dapper’s medicine from a local pharmacy the night before. Left waiting in hiding in the basement, Marvin, only recently kidnapped and still free from Anti’s control, saw his opportunity to run. When Red refused to let him go, Red and Marvin fought until both were bloody, but neither could finish the other off. Red begged Marvin to stay but promised not to stop him if he left. Marvin took his chance, leaving Red hurting and exhausted on the basement floor. Trick is upstairs guarding Dapper in the basement, while Doktor, in shock from having to go down into the horrible basement, hides at the bottom of the stairs, not allowed to join them.

Trigger warnings: (not necessarily a complete list! Please tell me if you need others added up here because I’m just trying to remember what’s in here) suicidal ideation, abuse, blood, guns, and extreme distress.

Find this chapter’s masterlist here.

Part Six of Chapter One: On the Ocean Shore

Anonymous asked: good night, jackie. we won't leave. not you or your brothers.

Maybe you can’t give him peace, but at least you let him sleep sound.

Anonymous asked: Dok, Blue will let you see Trick. Help him out with Red, and he'll take you to Trickshot

The youngest brothers sit on their ends of the staircase, exchanging glances. Trick’s leg bounces anxiously, up and down, rapid as the chugging of a train. Dapper runs his palm over the cool surface of his clock in his pocket. And downstairs, white-faced and silent, Doktor sits with his face against his knees, drawn up to his chest.

“Dok,” urges Trick. “They’re talking to you.”

Doktor doesn’t look up.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Dok, Trick, anyone?! Red needs help. He's not good...I...I think he's dying. Dapper, anybody! Help!

Dapper gets to his feet, startled, while Trick stares, his legs suddenly still, his mouth tight.

“Is he really?” he whispers, staring between his brothers. Dapper stares at you carefully, eyes narrow.

nikkilbook asked: JAMESON, THE PASSWORD IS CALIGULA

Anti told you this password so that Dapper would be able to redo the night if something went wrong. When he reverses time without the password, he is punished. Now that he knows the password, he can reverse without getting in trouble.

“Understand,” says Dapper, standing straight in the white dress shirt. For the first time, the way he looks at you is almost cold. “That when I act, I act for Anti’s benefit. Be careful what you ask for on a night like this, my friends.”

musical-in-theory asked: Marv, get out of there. Antis coming back soon! You gotta go!

“H-how soon? How much time do we have? Never mind, we’re just - we’re just going now. Fuck. Doktor!”

His brother is curled up at the bottom of the stairs, hiding his face.

immabethehero asked: QUICK! WHile Anti's out, prepare to take him down, Marvin!

“Did you do something to Red?” asks Trick, afraid. “Blue, tell me what’s happening.”

“Look - ”

He curses and shakes his head, panicked. To risk the time it takes to explain or to flee now? To tell them the truth or lie, and, in doing so, maybe convince them to go?

spicydanhowell asked: he's not conscious. blue really messed him up... dok, he really needs you

At this, Doktor looks up just enough for you to see his eyes, blue as blood.

“Red?” he asks faintly.

“No, bud, hey,” calls Marvin, hurrying towards him and dropping to his knees at the bottom of the stairs, grabbing Doktor’s shoulders. “Red’s fine, okay? Or he will be. We need to go right now. Boys, you too. Come down here. Dap, can you walk?”

Dapper stares down at him, his head slightly tilted.

“Blue, what’s going on?” asks Trick, trying to look tough rather than frightened. “We can’t - we can’t just go, Anti will kill us.”

“Anti will kill you one day if you stay, too. Dok, come here.”

He’s in shock and he comes easily enough as Marvin pulls him to his feet, staggering just a little, clutching to Marvin’s sleeve, his face mostly blank, only softly distressed. He shakes his head slightly, looking back up at Trick, his eyes asking for his twin. Anxious, Trick stares back, his feet moving from topmost stair to the second highest, and back again.

spicydanhowell asked: what the fuck marvin you can't tell them red is fine! he needs immediate medical attention and you want to leave him behind?

“So you want me to fucking stay? Is that what you - Dok, stop!”

His brother is yanking against his hands, alarmed, staring at the basement.

“He doesn’t need immediate medical - he scraped up his legs, he had a meltdown, I’m sorry but we need to go!”

Anonymous asked: "Good luck, Marvin." -PF!H

“Look!” cries Marvin, pointing to the message. “They want us to go! Come down here, Trick, come with me! Jameson - ”

Dapper shivers and backs off, wary, his eyes flickering around for signs of Anti’s approach. Marvin thinks he’ll scream. They don’t have time for this! He’s already fucked this night up badly enough. He will never have the strength to fight Jackie like that again.

hollenka99 asked: You can always tell the full story as you travel. Whether he'll go with you so you can do that is another matter.

“That’s a good point! Trick, I’ll explain everything! It’s okay, I promise, it’s right, I won’t let Anti get you.”

Trick wavers uncertainly, wishing he could meet Doktor’s eyes, chewing on his lip. His leg bounces at a million miles a minute and his heart is thumping so hard it is painful.

immabethehero asked: Marvin, the password to Jameson is Caligula

“It’s not the password to him,” snaps Trick, offended on his brother’s behalf, while Dapper flushes red with shame and a little hurt. “He doesn’t fucking belong to Blue! It’s Anti’s password so he can snap time without being punished! But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to have good reason!”

immabethehero asked: Oh shit, sorry...

“It’s okay,” mumble Dapper’s hands, trying frailly to smile. “If Anti can puppet me, why not everybody else? Not your fault…”

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: But you dont have to be a puppet anymore if you leave now

Dapper shuffles his feet, staring down at Marvin and Doktor, his hands clutched tightly together, silver eyes flickering.

cest-mellow asked: Dok, listen to blue. listen to blue, he’s trying to help you. everything will be okay, you’ll have trick again but you HAVE to listen to blue!

Dok shivers and relaxes a little, looking back at Marvin with wide eyes. Marvin cups his face in his hands and draws him close, near to tears.

“Listen, listen to them,” he calls, brushing hair tenderly out of his eyes, out of his unshattered glasses. “Haven’t you been able to trust me these last few days? We’ve been happier than we would have been apart, wouldn’t we?”

Doktor’s the one with watering eyes now. He squeezes them tightly shut. He needs to close down. He just wants to close down, and wake up with the painful stuff over, only lingering to haunt him in nightmares and the part of his brain that he avoids at all costs.

“Is this because I failed you before?” chokes Marvin, holding his neck, stroking the edges of his hair. “Because I didn’t save you and Chase? Because I let you get caught and didn’t even come with you? I’m sorry, Henrik, I’m so sorry, you don’t know, I - I - I tried so long to get to you, I wondered if I should just k-kill myself, but I didn’t want you to be alone - ”

He sobs hard, clutching his little brother’s shoulders. Doktor is putty beneath his hands, relaxing into the warmth of his affection, the warmth of his hands, though his whole body trembles minutely. He opens his mouth like he might say something, but no words come out.

“I love you,” swears Marvin, tears rolling down his face. “No matter what happens, promise me you’ll remember that.”

immabethehero asked: Jameson, don't let anyone puppet you! You're a strong, resilient man who can speak for himself! You can do this! You'll survive!

“Thanks,” sighs Dapper finally, backing away. “Nice of you all to think of me. But I’m not sure I fancy being beat to death with a hammer - the most likely outcome of this night, I think you’ll find.”

spicydanhowell asked: think about it marv. do you even have a plan? i think anti knows what you're doing, and you're setting yourself up for a lot of hurt. if you need to run, run alone, don't put everyone else in danger with you.

“Fuck,” whispers Marvin, backing away from Dok, who stares back at him anxiously, his hands slightly out-stretched. “Maybe you’re right.”

His little brothers watch him, four hearts beating in a frightened rhythm.

“But how could I leave them to this?”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Blue, just get who you can and go. Get Dok out of here.

Marvin sucks in a deep breath, staring at his brothers.

“Come here,” he says, grabbing Doktor’s wrist. “Come here, come with me.”

Doktor, too shaken to protest, follows as they head towards the door.

“Hey!” screams Trick, leaping to his feet, aiming his gun too late. “Stop, stop! Come back! Doktor! Marvin! Please, please, stop!”

Marvin doesn’t answer. He’s betting, gambling - where does Trick’s loyalty lie? Anti or Doktor?

“Fucking dammit!” screams Trick, and then, in the boldest disobedience he’s offered in the past eight months, he leaps down the stairs, and goes running after them, trying to stop them before they enter the forest. “Fucking thief, give him back to me! You’re going to get him killed! Doktor! Deutsch! Henrik!”

immabethehero asked: Marvin, leave your brothers there and go and attack Anti!

“Okay, I could, but tempting as it is to think about burning the flesh off him, that didn’t go very well for me the last time we fought. That’s how I ended up here - I’m pretty sure, anyway. But, hey, you know, maybe I do just want to hand myself over to a likely death for the sake of getting a few blows off on that motherfucker?” He laughs, a little hysterically. “Not a bad idea, now I think about it.”

Anonymous asked: trick grab your gun and run

“Yeah!” cries Trick, throwing the sniper over his back - it’s too heavy to be a good field weapon - and snatching Dok’s handgun from the nest before he goes sprinting after his brothers. “He can’t just take him away from me!”

Dashing into the yard, he spots the pair vanishing into the woods, and cold steel makes steady his hands, make certain his footsteps. At a run, he can aim, at a run, he can make bulls-eyes from a hundred meters - for all that Anti mocks him for his uselessness, he has never once given his master reason to believe he is anything less than a perfect marksman.

He finds Marvin’s head in his sight.

Anonymous asked: Dapper, follow! Trick isn't supposed to leave you

Dapper stares at you, back at his room. At the stairs, the walls, the wooden floor of his little prison.

“Yeah, you know what,” he signs, suddenly giddy. “Anti did tell us to stay together, didn’t he?”

And he goes rushing down the stairs, color flooding his face as he finds himself out in woods again, reveling in the wild night, shoving his worry aside and hurrying after his brothers, refusing to be afraid. Refusing to be left out. He lets out a high, shrieking whistle - here I am, Anti! It’s a wild night, master, and a couple of the dogs have gotten loose.

But there is another side of his brain, the wild part, that answers him, I am the dog, and I have gotten free. Yes. Yes! I have gotten free.

At least for a few precious moments.

Laughing, terrified, trying to follow orders and shatter them at the same time, he darts through the woods, his clock in one hand, his knife in the other. Chaos boys like him were not meant for locked up attics.

immabethehero asked: MARVIN DUCK TRICK"S ABOUT TO SHOOT HE WANTS HENRIK!

“Are you fucking joking?” Marvin grabs Dok and diverts their course sharply, trying not to get turned around in the woods while also trying to not get fucking shot.

spicydanhowell asked: just shoot him in the leg trick oh my god aaa!! don't kill him! warn him!

Trick hisses as Marvin turns, more frustrated with himself than anything else. Turning to follow him, he manages to take aim at his calf instead. His hands do not tremble, but his mouth does.

cest-mellow asked: trick think about this! don’t shoot him, anti wanted him there for a reason right? if you stay there, you’re gonna die in that awful basement. if you shoot marvin, you’ll die in that awful basement!! marvin is trying to help you, anti has only ever hurt and used you and you know it!

Trick struggles, panting, clutching at the gun. He aims - stay steady, keep him in your sight, put your finger on the trigger -

Pull the trigger, pull the trigger, pull the trigger.

“No,” he sobs, trying and failing, trying and failing, trying and failing. He must race after Marvin and he tries again. He aims- stay steady, keep him in your sight, put your finger on the trigger -

No!

Screaming, Trick drops the gun and falls back, letting himself thud heavily against the trunk of a tree, gripping at his hair. His frustration explodes from his fists and he strikes the earth, strikes the bark, strikes his own palm, wailing like the world is ending.

He can’t lose Anti! He can’t disobey Anti! He can’t shoot Marvin!

He sinks to the ground, sobbing, and buries his face in his hands, resigning his terrified heart to whatever comes next.

musical-in-theory asked: Big question: did Marvin take a camera with him. I both want him to and also don’t. I’d love to see what’s happening to him but also Anti would have access to him as well

Dok’s still got one in his pocket, one of the very small ones made for recording things like the fronts of safes or the door to a house.

hollenka99 asked: It's okay Trick. Take a second to recollect yourself then get closer to the others. Don't shoot either of them, leg, head or otherwise. Just get close enough to be near. You can't be punished if you're not with Anti and if you don't officially join the group, you can't technically get in trouble for going with them. Worse comes to worst, you can always try to tell Anti you were tailing them but never got a good enough shot because they kept moving too fast.

“Then I’m just a shitty marksman,” sobs Trick, but, nevertheless, you see him getting to his feet.

cutiepotato777 asked: Trick, listen to me. You are going to be okay, just breathe. Marvin is trying to help you. Do. Not. Kill. Him. Please. He is not the bad guy, Anti is. Just breathe.

He’s crying hard. He tries to breathe, beginning shakily after Marvin, slower now, exhausted, his sniper thumping against his back.

cest-mellow asked: trick everything will be okay. just follow marvin, you’ll have your twin and marvin will keep you safe. he’ll keep you safe, dok safe, dapper safe. everyone will be safe, just FOLLOW MARVIN.

“Yeah, I want my twin back,” sobs Trick. “I don’t care what that takes anymore, I want Dok back, I want my twin…”

Anonymous asked: So what now? Marvin ran away, while still missing some memories. Jackie is all alone again and is probably going the be Red again soon, only maybe angrier/ more harsh to the others. And Anti.... if the glitch can't find back his cat I feel like things will go bad like we've never seen before

There is a camera left at home

On the wooden floor of that area

Where often they have gathered, between the island and the nest, at the bottom of the stairs, the only place in the house where all five brothers can speak safely to all the others.

None of them are there now.

But you can see the door.

And you can see

A black dog.

Blood stains the wooden floor as he drags himself back through the house.

A fresh coat of blood is sprayed wetly over thick fur.

He pants, hard, his tongue lolling from his mouth, but his movements are without distress, his black eyes clear. There is blood

On his teeth.

It took him two hours to be sure he had lost them. They were only tracking dogs, after all, with a couple small-town officers trying to find the green-coated drug addict apparently living in the woods. They might not even have given chase if he hadn’t snapped and bit so much, hadn’t snapped and bit as a dog bites, as an angry god bites, tearing at flesh and bone, howling with his mouth full, but he needed them away from his family.

Ah, ah. The dog is tired. But the dog will not let its pack run without it. The dog came home to catch a scent.

And here it is - in the folds of the blankets of the nest where Trick and Doktor have survived in blankets and each other’s arms, curled up like mice beneath their clothes and sheets. Here it is - in the matching sleeping bags meant for his twins, dragged over to their brothers’ corner and lying side-by-side, smelling of blood and hair dye and something like a campfire or a heater or warmth made olfactory. Here it is, at the top of the stairs, where Dapper has sat for long hours, drawing ravens and houses he was not allowed to remember, longing to be back with his family.

And here it is, in the basement.

Ah, ah.

One of his dogs left behind.

He must see to him.

Then the hunt begins.

cest-mellow asked: marvin slow down! trick is following you now, he’s coming with you! i think dapper is too!

Marvin staggers to slow his race down the side of the mountain, clutching Doktor to his chest. The two of them pant in sync, staring back up the path. Doktor is more alert now, awakened by the adrenaline, but even he himself could not tell you if he was going willingly or not.

“Are - are you sure?” he asks, stepping down the path, hurried but no longer sprinting. “Really, my baby brothers?”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, you okay? Are you still outside?

He seems to have gotten a little separated from the others, what with all the zigging and zagging. But he looks calm, less ill than he was before, his eyes silver as stars in the falling light, just continuing on, waiting to find whoever it is the fates need him to find.

What does it matter, anyway? If he gets lost he can redo. Once he finds them, he will know where they are no matter the timelines it takes to get it right, and then he can tell whoever he needs to just where his brothers have gone.

Anonymous asked: trick, if you bring them home anti will definitely show you some favor. that'd be nice right?

“Yes, yes,” pants Trick, trying to hurry. “I wouldn’t be punished, and then I could tell Anti it wasn’t Dok’s fault - Blue grabbed him, dragged him away - and then Anti would kiss us both and hold us to his chest and tell me I did a good job, and get Dok a new coat, and we could sleep - ”

He chokes a little over a sob, nearly tripping over a rock. “Just sleep and sleep and sleep! I just want to be safe and asleep and with Doktor!”

Anonymous asked: Jackie?

He groans softly, turning on his side as a shadow falls over him.

cest-mellow asked: jackie? are you still with us?

A nose nudges his hand. Dog’s noses are meant to be wet. This one is dry.

Jackie groans again, smelling blood and forest. Something warm is suddenly present at his side, something warm and soft, nudging gently at his hand. Whimpering, he turns on his side and his hands reach out, finding thick, dark, warm fur.

He curls his fingers into it, breathing out, slow and steady. The dog is still at his side.

Then its warm, heavy head comes to rest on his chest, strong and soothing. He clings to that one sensation - in the darkness, in the quiet, at last.

“Anti,” he whispers.

The fur shifts to fabric beneath his hands. Fingers stroke through his hair. He is heaved up, up, into someone’s arms, listening to them singing very softly.

Anonymous asked: I hope Red isn't in too much trouble...

“No,” murmurs Anti, moving up the stairs.

He hums bird-song. Ram’s horn curl from his head, around sharp ears; his eyes are black and he is fanged.

“No, no. He did his best. My poor Red, alone again.”

Red stares dully up at him, exhausted, his head pressed to Anti’s chest. He listens to his brother’s heartbeat, steady, steady. Usually his heart does not beat, but Anti knows Red, knows Jackie, knows the days when he breaks down, just like when he was younger, and Anti would let him fall asleep beside him, simulating that noise, pretending he was someone with a heart just for Red’s sake.

He lays Red out carefully in the bed he and Dapper share, and he pauses, just for a moment, to brush red hair from his oldest brother’s eyes, slipping shut again.

“Anti,” whispers Red, tired to the stomach of his soul.

Anti reaches down, just slow, and kisses the side of Red’s head.

“I love you,” he murmurs, stroking his hair.

Oh, fuck, it almost makes his chest hurt. Oh, fuck, it is a ferocious day for him, a day when emotion like a human’s rises in his chest and tells him - yes, somewhere, in some of this, there must be at least a little real love from me to him, mustn’t there? Isn’t that what this is?

He doesn’t know. His voice shakes. There is blood on his molars. It tastes like a penny.

“I’ll bring your twin back to you,” he says.

He swears.

“I won’t let you feel alone any longer.”

A moment later, Red is asleep. A moment later, a howl echoes through the woods of the mountainside, keening and sharp, answering to a shrill little whistle and a powerful scent.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: But Trick, think about the freedom you would have. You could have more days out on the town with Dok and Dapper!

“More days on the run! Anti told me that me and Doktor and the cat were living like fugitives before he took us in! And Blue didn’t even try to protect us! He just ran! He couldn’t save us then and he can’t save us now!”

hollenka99 asked: So uh, as nice as the thought of your youngest brothers escaping with you is, you should probably know Trick wants to return you to Anti in order to be rewarded and Dapper is thinking of finding you so he knows where to go if he reverses time.

“Fucking goddamn,” hisses Marvin, clenching his fist tight. “How the hell am I supposed to compete against a time traveler?”

cest-mellow asked: yes, but i think dapper might try to turn back the time to tell anti where you’ve gone, so be careful with him. anti is hunting you now, he’s back at the house again. also trick is following because he wants dok back but i think with a little convincing and a lot of fear from anti he’ll follow you because of *you* too.

“Anti‘s coming? Is he close? Fuck, we need to get - we need - ”

Marvin stares wildly around. “I think I remember boats? Somewhere? Anti’s electric, if I can get away from the signals it would be safer. Besides, if I remember where we are right, this island’s one of many, and close to the mainland. Maybe we could lose him.”

“There’s - there’s boats down by the water,” whispers Doktor.

Marvin starts, staring at him.

“You - you sure? Where? We need to know exactly.”

“Trick and I used to be allowed down by the water. I’d roll up my pants legs and stand in the ocean for hours. Down, beneath the cliffside, the water comes level towards the rocks and the fishers dock their boats.”

loganandoli asked: Marvin!! He knows!! Destroy the cameras! Dok has one in his pocket!!

“Fuck, I have to - I have to lose the signal. Anti can track by it, I’m sure.”

He pulls the camera away from Doktor, staring you in the eyes. For a minute, his mouth trembles, his eyes flash.

“You’re kind of like the others,” he stammers, weary. “I’d rather keep you with me - but I can’t trust you not to be Anti’s right now.”

And he smashes the camera into pieces.

Darkness buzzes fuzzy before you.

oasisofgalaxies asked: I know he can’t hear me, but be careful Marvin. I’m proud of you, keep going, I believe in you. Stay Safe, I’m rooting for you!

Dapper hears it instead, whistling his way down the mountain. The northern lights - his lovely lights - play over his silver eyes, his silver knife, his silver clock, tick tick tick.

“Safe, safe, safe,” repeats Dapper, spinning in circles beneath the night sky. “He’s going, he’s trying to go, as Red and I tried to go, a long time ago, when I was, as yet, Jameson. Anti always catches. Anti always - ”

A low howl echoes through the wood. Something shifts in Dapper’s eyes.

Carver hurries toward the sound of the dog.

Anonymous asked: Trick, please- you can’t keep living with Anti! He only keeps you around for his own benefit, he doesn’t really care about you. Don’t you want to see the outside world? You can eat and sleep and get new clothes and be with Dok as much as you want as soon as you’re away from Anti. Isn’t that what you want? Or would you rather go back to a life of fear and starvation and cold?

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispers, coming to rest beside a tree trunk, his hand gripping the cool, steadying bark. “Of course I want… of course I want…”

He closes his eyes. Bites hard on his lip. Bites blood to his lip.

“But I… I… I’m not… I can’t…”

 pixie-in-trebleland asked: Then you, Trickshot, need to think rationally here and do what you think is best for YOU. Henrik is off with Marvin. Don't you want to be Chase again?

He sinks, slowly, to his knees.

“I just want… I just want…”

His hands rise, rise. He covers his face.

“I want Hunter,” he sobs. “I want my baby. My babies. I want to go back to when I - to when I was happy, to when I was…”

“Trickshot.”

His head snaps up, his eyes alive with starlight. Behind him, the demon.

Looking at him with pity.

“Anti,” he whispers.

His brother steps forward. His hands reach out - but slowly now, gentler than they have for weeks, for months, since the time when they were new to each other, and Anti let him sleep beside him, and told him every night that he loved him, he loved him, he loved him -

“Puppy,” mumbles Anti.

An gave that nickname away months ago. Trick trembles to hear it again, warmth rising in him like a floodtide.

“Come back to me,” says Anti, quiet.

He looks like Jack. Soft hair, round glasses. Quiet, warm, sky blue eyes.

“And I will make the pain stop again.”

Chase is an addict. Has been for a long time.

Painlessness, company, warmth, the word “love” on someone’s mouth. He lives for it. Lives for that. It’s the only thing he’s had to live on for a very long time.

“Promise me you’ll bring Doktor back to me,” whispers Trick.

Anti is close enough to touch him. He pushes hair from Trick’s face and tilts back his head.

“I promise,” he says.

Trick grins faintly, closing his eyes. His head rises and falls. It’s all the answer Anti needs.

A flash of shadow tears across your screen as Trick ragdolls to the forest floor. The surge is powerful enough to short out your camera. Now Dapper alone can hear you.

immabethehero asked: DOK! Anti has Trick!!! Marvin, look out, Anti's coming for you!

Dapper laughs, catching the message instead. “Are they coming together again?”

He spins again, staring up at the sky.

“Do you think we were ever happy?” he asks, laughing soundlessly. Deer watch him curiously and squirrel scamper away at the sensation of his power building, curving like wind across his body. “Or have I been dancing like this my whole life?”

Carver’s eyes flash and he continues on his way, walking straight. “Where are they?” he asks shortly.

immabethehero asked: Mm.... somewhere... I think they're gone

Carver smiles coolly. As you watch, a silver glow builds in his eyes. “I’ll find them on my own, then. Been a long time since I was let out for a hunt. I have all the time in the world, my friends.”

Anonymous asked: What the hell does that mean, Dapper? How many times has this happened?

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know what’s real any more. I just listen to Mr… to Mr… I can’t remember, no, it’s not him now, he’s not here anymore, he didn’t save me, but I remember him crying… I just listen to Mr. Anti. I am the only thing in the world that does not spin. It is hard to keep track of whens.”

spicydanhowell asked: anti... if marvin turned back and gave himself up... would you still punish him?

Dapper smiles. “Tell me where the others are and ask him again. But, the last time this happened, I don’t remember him hurting me. He was happy to see me. To see us. He kissed me and brought me back to bed, brought us both back to bed, and in the morning, I had forgotten my own name, but I was happy, and Red and I were brothers, just like we had wanted. Or I think that’s how the story goes.”

juju-on-that-yeet asked: Oh sure, Carver, hunt down your brothers. You'll drag them back to Anti, and Anti will lock you up in that room again. You'll be isolated and collared, given false affection from Anti so he can use you to turn back time whenever he wants and wear you every now and then. Sounds a lot more fun than escaping with your GOOD brothers and getting a chance at happiness. Or does the puppy really miss his leash so bad already? I thought he was having fun being free.

Dapper stares at the ground, exhausted. He wishes you weren’t right. He doesn’t know what he wants. Or that’s what he tells himself, anyway.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Carver, have you any sympathy for what your brothers have been through?

He shrugs softly, playing with his hands. He has stilled in the middle of the woods, turned away from the stars.

There was some disagreement about what we all wanted Dapper to do, but eventually he was told to head back to the house for the night, where he bandaged Red and crawled into bed without much more adieu. He expressed shame, confusion, loneliness, and a desire to have his old family back, promising that he never stopped loving them, but he was told to stay home and let the others handle it, and so he obeyed, until –

Anonymous asked: JJ, as much as I love you, and as much as I want you to be with your brothers... do you know that you're safe for them? If Anti finds you, and you know where they are, would you give them away? Maybe it's best you just go home. You can leave later. But tonight, maybe distance is safer for you all?

“Then it’s good I came back,” he mumbles, curled up in his blankets. Shame makes his cheeks burn. “I’m not safe for anyone.”

Something is rustling around in the forest. Hours have passed.

hollenka99 asked: I feel they can't have gotten too far. How far across did the horizon look from your room? That may indicate how far someone could travel in... wait, how long has it been since you all started heading out?

“Been about four hours,” Dapper mumbles, curled up at Red’s side. “Doubt I could find them now. We can go look downstairs if you want. There’s a pretty good view of the island.”

Still exhausted from his possession, Dapper manages to get up from bed and begins his way, slowly, down the stairs.

“I hope they all come back,” sigh his tired hands. “Anti would be so upset if they got away. I don’t know what he’d do. I’d - ”

He stops short.

Someone is breathing in the same room as him, low and painful.

Rough heave. Rough exhale. Rough heave. Rough exhale.

“Dapper,” whispers Anti’s voice, small.

Dapper still has not turned you towards the sight of him.

“Is this what you were waiting to see?” he whispers. His voice is thick and painful. “You didn’t come down to the beach, little one.”

Dapper drops the camera and dashes to Anti’s side. Your view is turned upside down, but now at least you can see them.

Anti’s throat and collar are black with burns. He cannot breathe well and he chokes continually. Every time he does, blood spits up from his mouth and trembles a crimson path down his beard and throat. He groans.

In his arms, a blue-haired boy, no longer moving, except for the faintest movement of his chest. He will not live much longer.

“What did you do?” asks Dapper.

His hands tremble so hard he can barely speak. You watch tears dampen the wooden floor.

Anti laughs, low and painful. “He was getting so v-violent… I just… he wouldn’t listen… I needed him to stop… didn’t mean to cut so… so deep.”‘

Blood slicks Marvin’s chest. Dapper grips his hand, terrified, but he does not answer him with the slightest squeeze.

“Fix this,” moans Anti, staring up at him through bloodshot eyes.

Dapper stares, horrified, at his brother dying in his hands.

“Fix this!” screams Anti, and he rises up, and grabs Dapper’s throat, and Dapper reaches for his clock -

As is the usual style to indicate Dapper’s time reversals, this post from earlier was reblogged and added on to.

immabethehero asked: DOK! Anti has Trick!!! Marvin, look out, Anti's coming for you!

my-brothers-corrupted: Dapper laughs, catching the message instead. “Are they coming together again?”

He spins again, staring up at the sky.

“Do you think we were ever happy?” he asks, laughing soundlessly. Deer watch him curiously and squirrel scamper away at the sensation of his power building, curving like wind across his body. “Or have I been dancing like this my whole life?”

Carver’s eyes flash and he continues on his way, walking straight. “Where are they?” he asks shortly.

Dapper collapses to his knees, heaving with gasps.

Trembling hands clutch, terrified, at the earth, sweat drips down his forehead like rain, his eyes are blown wide with panic -

“I have to fix it!” scream his hands; he grips desperately at the place in his chest where Marvin’s death wound had been. “I have to fix that! I - I have - the beach, Anti said the beach, I - Help me fix that!”

pixie-in-trebleland, spicydanhowell, and anonymous: Dok mentioned boats. Do you know which way the boats are?

Dapper takes off at a dead run. He knows where the boats by the water are. He can’t let - he can’t watch - he won’t let Marvin die. He won’t let anyone die. This is his family. He’s not just a clock piece, he’s a brother, a friend, or he was once, and - goddammit, he wants that back! He wants that back! He wants Marvin back! He sprints towards the water, running like a stag, darting down the mountain.

cest-mellow asked: will you escape with them or let anti hurt them?

“I can’t let anyone hurt them! But I don’t know that I can go either!”

cest-mellow asked: jameson you can do this!!! you got this, you can escape everything will be alright!! run to the docks, explain to marvin what happened and he’ll keep you safe. you have to help him and he’ll help you, you’ll be free with them!

“He took too many risks tonight. Acted too brashly. No clear plan. For now, I worry about keeping them all alive, and other than that - ”

Dapper comes to a sliding stop as his feet find the edge of a small beach cliff.

In front of you, three figures. Above the water, Marvin stands on a plastic dock, rocking gently in the waves. His long brown coat flaps behind him, his hands outstretched, glowing like blue lightning bugs in the cold fall air. Before him, frozen stiff, stands Doktor.

His twin is pointing a gun at him.

“Deutsch,” calls Anti, cold and certain, using Trickshot’s mouth. “He’s in your head, come back here. You know you don’t want to go with him. Stay here with your family. Trick’s too frail to be away from me. You know that! Were you going to leave him? What are you thinking? This isn’t like you!”

“N-no,” stammers Doktor, cowering in front of the gun. “No, I don’t - I don’t want - I just - ”

“Don’t talk to him,” screams Marvin, fire bursting along the waves of the ocean, dying again as the water crashes down. The boats rock like watches on pendulums, tied to the little dock. “Don’t listen, he’s a fucking monster! He’s wearing Chase like a skin, Henrik!”

“Stop this,” shouts Anti, taking a step forward. “You can’t take them away from me! I’d rather kill you than let you take them, kitten! You should know that much! I’ll kill you to keep what already belongs to me!”

“We don’t belong to you!” howls Marvin. Slimy seaweed writhes on the beach, coming back to life with his power and beginning to grow again.

Dapper hurries down around the side of the cliff, hurrying towards Anti. His brother catches sight of him and reaches out for him, quickly drawing Dapper to his side and clutching him, protective, to his side. For all his talk, you see a flash of fear in Anti’s eyes, and he squeezes Dapper close, close, close to his body, shielding him from Marvin’s rage. He cocks the gun, pointing at the magician now. Doktor stares between the waves and the cliffside, trapped, lost, terrified.

“We don’t have to do this,” says Anti, moving forward again. Doktor does not step back from him. “Marvin, we don’t have to fight. Come back with me, Blue. Be mine and I can make the pain stop. I’ll clear away everything that hurts you and I’ll be gentle with you - I swear, I swear. I’ve been lost in myself these last months, I know. But I - ”

He meets Doktor’s eyes too now, and Dapper’s, turning to look at him with a great warmth in his eyes, stroking his thumb down Dapper’s cheek. “We were happy once, weren’t we?” he asks. “Remember, when you were young? When it was just you and I, we did everything side-by-side, you relied on me for everything. And then Red came too, and we cared for you when you were sick, and all looked out for each other. And even when Doktor and Trickshot came, you were happy, my Carver, you were happy.”

It’s true. It’s true. He has had long days of happiness with Anti. Looking up into his blue eyes, Dapper can almost forget the even longer days of pain.

“Yes,” he admits. “I was.”

“And Deutsch remembers, Deutsch has been happy with me too, do you recall? I shielded you from everything, gave all the others to your protection. Do you remember your little clinic in the city? You were caring for people every day, doing everything you were meant to do, coming home happy every night. It can be like that again.”

Doktor stares back at him. His eyes are full of tears. Slowly, he nods.

“You’ve tortured them!” screams Marvin, shaking his head. The dock rocks harder and he almost stumbles, setting his feet back, stepping away. “Abused them, manipulated!”

“I’ve done what I’ve had to to keep them safe,” cries Anti. “And besides, you know it does not matter. Even if I am a monster, Marvin, even if I am everything that you remember me being - would you really rather be alone than with them and me? You don’t have to be apart from them! Isn’t it better to be here to look after them than to abandon them with me? Isn’t it better to forget that they were once different people, and learn to love them as they are now, instead of grieving for the rest of your life?”

“Shut up!” screams Marvin, covering his ears. “I won’t listen to this!”

“Were you really going to leave Red alone with me? I think that the sorrow will kill him. He needs Blue!”

Marvin staggers back on the deck, wailing. Algae crawls up the sides of the plastic, catching fire as his power burns all around him.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Dapper, don't fall for it. Be strong. Save Marvin! You know what's going to happen otherwise!

Dapper bites his lip, staring up at Anti, wary of any sign of rage.

He will not let Anti hurt him. He will not let anyone hurt anyone.

In his coat pocket, he fingers a long silver knife, panting through his teeth, tucked close to Anti’s heart.

spicydanhowell asked: i hate to say this marv uhhhh but the best thing you can do is turn yourself in. he won't hurt you, but i can't say for sure what he'll do to you if he catches you.... and they've all tried to run away before.. anti always catches them

“Listen to them, they’ve guided you well before,” croons Anti, stepping closer. Doktor is barely standing in front of him now. “Marvin, you’ve been alone so long. Even if you could escape… and, my love, my kitten, you cannot - you really want to be so alone? You don’t remember how much pain you were in when I found you. Suicidal, sick, starving, cold, alone. And searching for you all this time has been your Red, wondering where you were, his despair beginning to eat him alive, no matter how much purpose I’ve tried to give to him. Marvin, Blue is the last piece of the puzzle I’ve made. If you try to run, I will kill you, and your family will grieve for the rest of their lives, even if I wipe every memory of you from them. It’s just more pain, for all of us, for everyone.”

He stretches out his hands.

Drops the gun to the ground.

“What can I do to make you stay?” he asks, staring up at him with Trickshot’s eyes, blue as starshine.

Chase’s eyes.

Marvin cannot breathe through his own fear.

spicydanhowell asked: marvin... if he's wearing trick's body... trick is to be in a really fragile mental state after and he's going to need all the help he can get, especially when dok isn't doing so well either... they /need/ you or they'll end up killing themselves before you can ever come back for them

“I - I - I can’t attack Anti without hurting Chase,” gasps Marvin. Water sloshes over his shoes and he shivers, staring back at the long expanse of the dock. “Neither of them are well - none of them are well! Anti won’t look after them… fuck, you’re right, they could kill themselves, they could - ”

His voice breaks and he digs his nails hard into the palms of his hands, gasping.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Marvin, I hate to say it....but you might have no choice but to go back with them. At least, for now. They need a strong brother, right now.

He grips at his hair, panting. The algae is reducing down into the ocean.

“How can I just… go back to him?” he whimpers. “He’ll hurt me. He’ll hurt all of us. I want - I want to fucking kill him! But I can’t - can’t hurt Trick. Can’t leave them behind.”

“We’ll have a time of peace,” Anti calls, approaching on the beach. He passes Doktor, pausing to brush his cheek with his knuckles, watching Doktor sink back into his power. Reassured, he redirects his energy towards Marvin, letting a warm wash of soothing messages row over him, making his words ring true in his head. “Look, we’re all so tired. Too much has happened lately. We’ll rest, all of us. I’ll wipe your mind again - it always takes a few tries before it sticks - and eventually, you will forget as much as the others have. I’ll go slow with you, let you be yourself, even. I don’t need heavy mind control if you choose to stay with your family like a good boy. And then, one day, you will look up, and you will love me, with no pain and no fear, and all your brothers will too, and it will be wonderful.”

He pauses close to the dock, hands out-stretched. “If you’re going to try to escape,” he says. “At least wait for a more opportune time. Let me learn to trust you. Pretend to fall under my control and then surprise me by running away when all your brothers are healthy and convinced of your righteousness. Doesn’t that sound better?”

He turns to glance at you, held in Dapper’s hand.

“Doesn’t it?”

Anonymous asked: Marv, the only way to get him to leave Chase is if you grab Jameson. There's gonna be a moment between him switching bodies, right? Strike then!

“I - I don’t know if Anti would switch from one to the other. But maybe I could get Chase to fight back. I’m not sure though, he’s so loyal to Anti.”

cest-mellow asked: dapper if you’re gonna do something you should do it!!!!

“I’m not planning to do anything unless one of them does.”

loganandoli asked: Marv I’m pretty sure anti wouldn’t let them die, even if it’s horrible, he would use JJ to turn back time to save them. Also, be careful. This isn’t the first time you’ve gone through this.

“You’re right,” groans Marvin, backing away. “Even if I do something, Dapper could undo it. I can remember times when we would spar, just the two of us, and he would know what I was about to do before I did it. Sometimes he’d let me win, for play, but… I’ve never found a way to really beat that kid.”

spicydanhowell asked: marv, chase isn't so loyal to anti. he feels so horribly unloved... but please just go back okay?

Marvin closes his eyes, rubbing at his face, exhausted.

“My poor Chase,” he mumbles. “All my poor brothers.”

He breathes in deep. “Okay, okay,” he whispers. “I can’t leave my brothers behind. I don’t have the heart for it. Unless I can save all of them… I stay.”

His back straightens. Light burns along the curves of his hands.

“But I also don’t think I’m going back without trying at least once to make this motherfucker hurt for what he’s done to my family.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: I'd grab Dapper, Marv. He is the favourite, after all. It gives you a really good opening for an attack!

Marvin narrows his eyes, watching carefully. Anti is holding Dapper close, protective of his little savior.

But, beneath the sand, where no one else can see, Marvin senses the small seed of a dandelion.

Right. Right. He can work with that.

He is, after all, Marvin the Magnificent.

With a throw of his wrist, the dandelion bursts into life between Trick and Dapper, sending them reeling away from each other in shock. Marvin takes his chance, darting forward to grab Dapper’s shoulder and yanking his brother to his feet, dragging him back towards the dock. Anti yells, furious and maybe even scared, setting forward after his boy only for the dandelion vine, thick as a rope, to wrap around Trick’s arm like a chain. He howls like an animal and claws desperately at it, cursing the corporeality of possession.

“Let me and my brothers fucking go!” shouts Marvin, backing away down the beach. Dapper is too shocked to struggle, scrambling to stay on his feet as he is dragged. “And maybe I won’t kill your little pet!”

“Bluffing,” snarls Anti, shaking his head furiously. “You love that boy.”

“Maybe he deserves a chance to be free from you, huh? Maybe it would be better for him to be dead!”

Anti screams and his form flickers, Trick’s eyes changing from black to blue and back again, the image of a dog appearing briefly at his side. Startled, Marvin’s hand moves as if by instinct, and fire explodes along the beach, keeping them apart, keeping them safe - but also setting the dandelion on fire.

Anti and Trickshot cry out as one as fire floods along the fabric on their trapped arm, racing up their shoulder to reach their throat. They tumble to the ground, patting the fire out with their bare hands, yelling at the pain burning red and black above their collarbone. You hear Doktor scream Trickshot’s name, bending down on the beach to pick up his gun, dropped only moments before.

“Stop this!” screams Anti, fury rising in him like lava. “Now! Give me the little one back before I make your regret that Jack ever put that stupid fucking cat mask on!”

“Let us go to the ferry that leads to the mainland and I won’t hurt him.”

“You’re bargaining with me,” snarls Anti, his voice shattering and glitching, rising and falling, shrieking and horrible, tearing at Trick’s throat. He feels the marksman groan inside their shared head, nausea rising in Anti’s stomach. Stupid fucking mortal! “Bargaining with me like I’m not about to rip you the fuck apart!”

He abandons Trick’s body like a flood bursting through a dam, leaving him to collapse to the ground with a spray of sand, and rushes forward in a black blur of a dog, large enough that its head could reach Marvin’s as it stood on all fours. Marvin screams and shoves Dapper behind him, summoning another wave of fire to catch the dog in its tracks.

“Stop, stop!” Dapper is screaming, his hands striking harshly, his eyes blown wide with fear. “Stop this, please!”

But no one is watching him but Doktor, panting across from him, the gun raised in his hands.

“We have to stop this,” you see Dok mouth. He’s already seen two of his brothers tearing each other apart tonight and he won’t watch it happen again.

He lowers the gun in his shaking hands.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Dok, get to Trick. Make sure he's out of the crossfire here.

Doktor obeys, hastening to his twin’s side and pulling him into his arms, pushing overgrown hair from his eyes. Trick groans, his eyelids fluttering uselessly as his irises disappear into the back of his head. He chokes and slick bile comes running from his mouth. Dok calls his name, frantic, scared, stroking sand from his hair, curling his body low, low around him.

“Is okay, is okay,” he whispers.

Trick’s hand lies limp on the sand as Doktor reaches out to clutch it tight, whispering reassurances over his brother’s body.

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: Jameson you can do it we all believe in you

“What do I do?” he stammers, dragging himself back to his feet.

Anti tackles Marvin with a horrible bark loud as a gunshot, throwing him harshly to the ground, teeth snapping. Marvin screams, kicking and writhing desperately. His hands fill up with blue fire and he reaches up to grab at the dog’s jaw and throat, blackening the burns already present along the flesh beneath the fur. The dog howls and snaps at his face, Marvin screams, trying to hide from the terrible teeth -

Carver buries his knife in the side of the dog.

spicydanhowell asked: ughhhh marvin stop!!! someone please stop him from digging a deeper hole!!!

“Holy shit,” whispers Marvin, crawling away on his hands and knees. “Shit. I - I - Anti.”

His voice is suddenly sugar-sweet, begging, desperate.

“Anti, Anti,” he purrs.

The dog is turning towards Dapper, slowly, slowly, its teeth clenched.

Growling.

“It’s me you want, Anti,” Marvin babbles, trying to smile, trying to put on a good show, trying to be distracting. “I’m the one who dragged everyone out here! I’m the one who upset Dap, I - Anti, I’ll be good, I’ll be - holy shit, holy shit.”

Dapper does not bother to try backing away from his big brother. He stares into the great blue eyes of the dog, and tries to breathe steady.

“Caligula,” he signs, his hands barely shaking. “You told me - master, you told me not to let you kill him.”

Blood wells in the wolf’s fur.

Marvin glances at you, eyes frantic. “Should I - attack him or just - surrender, I - Dapper, come here, buddy, c-come away, quick now, love, come away, please, holy shit. Anti, me, not him. Anti, me, not him.”

Anonymous asked: Marvin, Jameson did that for a reason. Don't attack. Anti killed you last time, don't give him a reason to kill you now. Jameson might not be able to save you again if he gets caught in a crossfire.

“He did what last time?”

Marvin chokes, staring at the dog, which glitches into human and back again, growling at Dapper, who waits patient for it to decide whether or not to attack.

“I’m really not getting out of here alive, am I?”

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: Attack him marvin and then run with Jameson and henrik

Panting, Marvin holds up a hand full of fire.

“Enough of this!” screams Anti. The dog bursts into pixels and reforms into a man with pure black eyes and lashes out with both hands, his hands moving towards Dapper and Marvin alike.

Dapper collapses as the first wave of power hits him like sledgehammer, the first time Anti’s used severe control on him in months. His mind is instantly Anti’s again, without reservation, and he crumples hard, gasping through the intensity of the attack. He curls in on himself, sobbing, gripping at his hair, signing Anti’s name over and over and over again, as though he is trying to split his own throat.

Marvin, for his part, is lost in the darkness.

He stands like a blind man, panting, his feet set unsteadily on the shifting sand of the beach. Anti appears before him like a shadow.

“Stop this,” he says.

His form flickers and he is Jack, holding out his hands.

“You know you can’t win. Admit it.”

“I just want this to stop,” sobs Marvin. “I just want to go back to the life I had. You did this to my family! You destroyed everything I loved! Drove me away from the last person I had left, hunted me like a dog from nation to nation, tortured my brothers and stole thousands of memories away from me, stole everything away from me!”

“It hurts you to remember. Let me wash it away!”

Jack’s eyes, Jack’s voice, Jack’s palms, open -

“It’s okay,” says Anti, and his voice echoes like a cry through a canyon, near and faraway at the same time. “You know now, you see it. You can’t run. How could you ever leave them behind? You would never. You can’t escape with them, and you can’t leave them alone, and so you must stay. You will stay. Look at my eyes.”

Marvin stumbles, trying to stay on his feet, shaking his head. No, no - he has to get rid of this fog!

“You don’t want to go. You want to stay. You’ve chosen to stay.”

“I - I don’t want - but I…”

“Look at your brothers!” cries Anti.

His form shifts and he is Jackie, haggard and bleeding, curled over himself, thorns embedded in his legs. He holds out a hand and lets Marvin gaze upon the little ones as well - Henrik, Doktor, sobbing over his Trickshot Chase, Dapper little Jameson writhing on the sand, crying for Anti to hold him. “Are you going to leave them like this? You don’t want to leave them like this.”

“I don’t!” That much is true in any mindset. Marvin gasps as his head begins to spin, drawing his gaze back to the black eyes of the monster, black eyes deeper than a corpse long buried.

“Stay with me,” whispers Anti.

“I c-can’t. I have… I have someone to return to…”

“Who? No one. They are all here with me.”

“We had a little house, in the forest… we lived together, we were happy…”

“You’ve never been happy with anyone but me.”

“I’ve never… I’ve never been happy with anyone but you.”

Anti steps forward, still wearing Jackie’s form. His side is wet with blood and he grimaces, trying to focus, power flowing out of him in waves.

“Anti,” whispers Marvin, distressed.

“Don’t be so scared,” he whispers back. “I promise, I will be gentle with you.”

He is so scared, but… he can’t remember why. Bad things, painful things - Anti hurt my brothers and made them thank him for it.

“No,” he whines, desperate. “No, not - not yours.”

“You are,” insists Anti. He nearly trips, his gait unsteady. He clutches at his injured side, panting. “You are. You want to come back. You want to come back with me.”

Marvin’s eyes are losing focus, turning pale. He staggers slightly, beginning to sink towards the ground.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Marvin, take your brothers and run. Get the hell outta there and fast!

Anti grabs his face and they both fall to their knees. Anti is listing, using Marvin as much for support as for control.

“Don’t go!” he cries, voice rasping. “You’ll stay here with me, with them!”

“I’ll stay here with you… with them.”

“Good boy,” breathes Anti, exhausted. “There you go, are you a good boy?”

Marvin winces, confused. He doesn’t think he used to like that term, but it sounds nice now. He doesn’t - he doesn’t - he does want to go back with Anti - he wants to go back with his brothers - he wants whatever Anti wants, whatever Anti asks of him, whatever -

He stares blankly down at his brother. Anti stares back, relieved, exhausted, and snaps his fingers in front of his face, drawing no reaction at all from Blue.

“There, there,” he chokes. “There, now we’re okay. We can all go back and - ”

“That won’t stop him.”

The voice speaks up behind him, loud and sure.

Startled, Anti turns to see Doktor standing, staring at him. He holds Trick’s body in his arms.

“What did you just say?” hisses Anti, alarmed.

Doktor’s eyes are so tired. He is a thousand years old. His eyes have seen hell. The person he loves most in all the world is unconscious against his chest, ill and exhausted, deserving of more peace than the world has ever offered him.

“The mind control,” says Henrik flatly. “Won’t keep him in place. The rebellion will come back, again and again and again. Tonight will not last long. Tomorrow he will be like himself again.”

“Dok,” whispers Anti. “What are you saying?”

“You’ve always loved figuring people out, master, I know. I’ve helped you torture enough people to know that - finding all the different ways to make them bend to you. This is Marvin. He was my brother once. Sometimes I feel he still is, for what little I remember. You will not break him with mind tricks. He will not stay for that which is false. He sees through illusions better than the rest of us. A deeper understanding… a ferocity, in his chest.”

Anti glances back at Marvin, unmoving before him. Tears drip from his clouded eyes.

“You must let him make the choice for himself, Anti, or he will never stay.”

Anti breathes slow, in and out, in and out.

“No threats, no tricks, no anything. Tell him he can go or leave. Nothing more. Master, I’ve served you well. Grant me this one favor, after all I’ve done for you.”

In and out. His chest is wet. It grows more painful to breathe.

“Anti,” whispers Henrik, whispers Doktor. They are no longer so much different people as they once were.

Anti readjusts, straightening up as much as he can, holding his bloody side.

“Take your brothers back home,” he says, softly. “Promise me, Deutsch.”

“Yes, Anti.”

“Don’t look back, whatever happens. Tell Dapper not to undo it, either. You’re…. right, mo deartháir. Time to make a choice.”

He eases his hold on Dapper and the boy is able to climb to his feet, reaching out for him, whimpering.

“Go home with Deutsch and Trick, baby,” whispers Anti, turning away from his hands. “Lie down with them. You’ve been alone too often lately. I’ll be home soon. Go.”

Dapper turns away, confused.

“Go. Go, Dap.”

He turns to follow Doktor and Trickshot up the beach.

Anti breathes in deep, meeting Marvin’s eyes.

And then

He draws back his power, and he leaves Marvin free.

nikkilbook asked: Don’t you dare forget what Jackie gave up to let you go free. He let you go, because he knew you wouldn’t make if he came. Don’t you dare let Anti drag you back, not after everything. Don’t make Jackie pain worth nothing.

Marvin and Anti sit across from each other on the beach.

Cold water washes up towards their feet, the wind sighing through their hair. Above, the northern lights are glowing like lanterns, but there is no path to be found along their colors.

“Will you kill me?” asks Marvin. “If I run?”

“Yes,” says Anti.

Marvin plays with his hands, staring at the sand.

“They’re wrong, by the way,” says Anti, shifting forward. “Jackie didn’t surrender so that you could run.”

“You don’t know that. You weren’t there.”

“I know how Red thinks.”

Marvin stares down at the sand.

“Why did he surrender, then?”

“He couldn’t hurt you any more. He just wants to see you happy. He wants to keep you with him. That’s what his pain was for. He was trying to make you stay.”

Marvin closes his eyes.

“It will break his heart if you don’t come home.”

“You,” whispers Marvin. “Are the one who broke his heart.”

Anti watches him, quietly. His eyes are black. He doesn’t bother trying to look like Jack. Just like himself - thick, wavy green hair, freckles along his cheekbones, two small black horns curling up from his head.

“You took him away from me,” says Marvin. “From all of us.”

“He came to me.”

“He came for Jameson.”

“Maybe. But he stayed.”

“You didn’t give him a choice.”

“Maybe.”

Marvin sniffs and clutches his shoulder where the dog got a snap of teeth in. Anti leans back, touching his bleeding stomach.

“I bet you thought I would kill Dapper for hurting me,” says Anti. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I’d never hurt one of them that badly.”

“Or you’d just have Dapper bring them back if you did.”

Anti shrugs. “No difference.”

Marvin shakes his head, exhausted. “You’re a monster,” he says. “You’re always going to be a monster.”

“This is the way I was created.”

“Don’t start.”

“Marvin, I’m tired. Are you staying or shall I kill you now?”

“What happens if I stay?”

Anti hums, drumming his fingers on the sand.

“You’ll be mine,” he says. “Naturally.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll wipe your head again and we’ll go from there.”

Marvin bites down hard on his lip, shaking his head.

“How can you expect me to agree to that?”

“Because it will stop everything from hurting,” murmurs Anti, leaning forward. “Everything, everything. I’ll take away all the pain, more thoroughly than the first time, and leave you with warmth. We’ll have rest. You and Red will be twins and it will keep you both happy. I’ll take us somewhere nice, better than here, even. Somewhere Doktor can work again, and I’ll let you go into town more often, and even let you see Dapper sometimes.”

He claps his hands together, thinking. “You’ll be like Red, the oldest brother. And you���re different from him, important in my plan. So I can even give you some privileges the others don’t get. I’ll let you leave the house at will. You can help with the money. I’ll give you and Red good work, purpose! I’ll only strike you when you break the rules and you will learn those quickly. You can tell Trick and Dok what to do, and even, sometimes, Dapper. I’ll let all five of you have time together, just like you want! I’ll even let you take care of them! I’ll listen when you tell me they need breaks, you’ll be there to defend and hold them, you’ll see the shattered parts of them that the others struggle to deal with. You’re so good at looking after them, Blue, I’ve seen it in you already. Can’t you understand that you’re the perfect missing piece? That you’re exactly what they need, their big brother, Red’s twin, who loves and cares for them, who keeps them safe? We’ll be happy and you won’t remember the things that you lost - the things we all lost - to get to this point. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Marvin stares at the ground, shaking his head.

“You’ll love me and it won’t hurt,” murmurs Anti. “I can give your brothers back to you.”

After a long moment, he adds his mortal blow:

“This is the only way - the only way - you will ever get to be with your family again.”

Waves roll gently up to Marvin’s feet. He stares out at the ocean, at the dancers in the sky, at the stars, glittering like diamond, calling out his name.

But there are still people who need him here on earth, and he can’t give them up.

My freedom for their well-being.

He touches the sand. Magic breathes in the earth around him, calling him its own, a son of the forest, of the ocean, of the flowers and grasses and trees, of the air and the sun and her fire. Marvin the Magnificent. Last of his family.

“Marvin,” says Anti.

He reaches forward to touch his cheek. Marvin looks up. His mouth is quiet. He does not cry.

“I’ll try again, someday,” he says. “To run away. Someday, I’ll save my brothers from you.”

Anti nods, slowly. His mouth is set. His eyes are dark.

“Maybe.”

His hand falls away and opens, waiting.

“Come back with me,” he asks. “Come back with me.”

“Okay,” answers Marvin, in a voice like a last breath. “Okay.”

And when he gets to his feet, it is Blue who rises up, taking Anti’s hand.

Marvin remains there on the beach.

Staring up at the stars.

Silent.

There is a house on an island in Norway with a basement, and a living room, and a little attic with a bed.

In a small huddle of blankets near a window on the east side of the house, three boys are sleeping side-by-side, exhausted. It does not matter if their limbs are flung over another’s, if they cling to each other for warmth, if they are pressed in close in that little corner full of blankets and clothes and the warm smell of a pair of twins and their younger brother. There is comfort in the closeness, and they sleep, and sleep, and sleep, sounder than they have in weeks. In the morning, there will be illness, struggle, memories sharp enough to hurt. But they will deal with that when it comes, together, and hope that one day the pain goes quiet.

Upstairs, a fourth man is asleep on a bed, curled up under the covers. His legs hurt him, but not as much as his heart. Fitful, he tosses and turns, dreaming of the people he’s lost.

The door to the house creaks open. Anti leads Blue in, hand-in-hand, and they move on quiet feet past their brothers, past the nest, up the stairs, into Anti’s bedroom.

Anti pushes him towards the bed, and pale Blue obeys the command, crawling under the sheets beside Red. His eyes flicker open in the darkness.

“Blue?” he whispers, awe filling his face.

“Yeah,” Blue answers, tears filling his own. “What, you really thought I was going to leave you?”

Red stares up at him. A smile grows on his mouth like a flower, bright and lovely, joyful and unabashed.

“Blue,” repeats Red, like a prayer.

He presses his forehead to Blue’s chest. His brother’s arms wrap around him, and hold him close.

“Blue. Blue. Blue.”

He drifts back into sleep. Exhausted. Delighted. Happy.

Anti crawls into bed beside them. Blue stiffens, but does not turn away.

“Put your arms around me,” says Anti.

Just soft. Just soft.

His eyes blacken and Blue is entranced again, lost again, found again.

“And in the morning, the pain will be gone.”

Blue puts his arms around Anti’s neck, and he lets himself fall asleep.

 End Chapter 1: the Death of Marvin the Magnificent

[ravenvsfox]

what’s up what’s up what’s up, here’s rockband au chapter nine as promised!!!

7.

Andrew hands Neil his t-shirt. It’s Saturday, and they’re in Neil’s room, shoulder to shoulder, moonlight quivering above them like a ladle-full of mercury.

“Walk me through it again.”

“Walk yourself through it,” Andrew says. “It’s not that complicated.”

Neil holds the shirt in a ball against his bare chest. “Closed venue. Metal detectors. Sixteen songs. Quick encore.”

“Riko’s not coming.”

Neil swallows, thinking of the number seven in bold, underlined. “He might.”

“I told you to stop believing everything he says he’s capable of,” Andrew says. Neil strums his fingers on the messy wad of his shirt. “He threatens ten people before breakfast. He doesn’t realize how defended you are.”

Neil turns his face into the pillow and screws his eyes shut. “It’s not really about him. It’s just—I don’t know. I trust my instincts.” He doesn't mention the final numbers in a drawn out countdown. He doesn’t rehash the details of Riko’s threat. It won’t change anything.

Andrew shifts and splays his hand over Neil’s jaw. “Don’t,” he says. “They lie.” He scrapes his teeth over Neil’s neck. His half-hour old yes hangs in every corner of the room like smoke. They’re so close, he feels like a shadow being painstakingly gathered up and rolled on.

He licks his lips so close to Neil that his tongue flickers against his skin, and his pulse reacts to the feeling, thunderously fast. He feels the brief pressure of Andrew’s hand on his wrists, and he makes himself go boneless beneath him.

Every time they do this, Neil replays everything a moment after it happens, stockpiling the taste of the frantic breath trapped between them, the hot, calloused hands up under his clothes. His mouth is perpetually gasping open, Andrew’s wet hair choked in his fists. He never used to want anything like this, so badly it could kill him. It could really kill him.

“Neil,” Andrew says. Neil chases his mouth, but Andrew sits up over him, slouched against his hip. “Don’t do this if you think it’s your only option.” “What do you mean?” Neil breathes.

“I don’t need this,” Andrew says, holding a hand down hard on Neil’s chest. “Neither should you.”

Of course I need it, Neil wants to say. I kiss you and I feel — the way music feels before it leaves my mouth. When it could be anything.

“I just want to,” Neil says, shrugging. Just. Like there’s something nonchalant about admitting it, like it’s nothing to him. He waits for Andrew to call his bluff.

He doesn’t. He just looks down at him, slides his index and middle fingers over Neil’s hipbone, and kisses his chest.

Oh no, Neil thinks. We’ve been so stupid.

6.

His hands make the shapes of the chords, but he can’t seem to play them. His vision swims white.

He can hear what his part should sound like, the dark wind chime cacophony, big-band style backgrounds underneath the grind of furious twin guitars. He should be the food colouring bleeding into their batter.

“Play,” Kevin says bluntly. “This isn’t a read inside your head kind of deal.”

“Yeah,” Nicky says. “Share with the class.”

“One second,” Neil mutters.

“I’m serious, get out of your head,” Kevin says.

“Give me a fucking second,” he snaps. There’s a cool moment of silence.

“We’re never going to be ready for Saturday,” Aaron says, ducking out from under the strap of his guitar.

Neil’s ears burn. He plays some simple inversions so it seems like there’s something musical going on behind his eyes other than alarm bells.

“The rest of us are going to play,” Kevin says. “Catch up.” He slides his fingers down the neck of his bass like he’s slitting a throat. Andrew launches himself at the drum-kit, and Neil blinks at the time signature on his music, the little 6 stacked over the 8.

One, two, three, four, five, six. Play. Play. Play.

He plays a natural A instead of a flat, and the structural integrity of his first chord crumples. He blinks, disbelieving, at his hand, hunched over the botched note. He straightens all of his fingers. The song gallops on without him.

“Are you okay?” Nicky mouths. Neil frowns. His head is full of numbers.

It turns out the song isn’t very good without vocals or keys. Kevin is obviously aware of it, and his face is sour, clenched like a fist. Neil watches his pursed mouth, then Nicky’s concerned brown peach-pit eyes, and Andrew and Aaron’s uncannily synced expressions of disdain.

“I’m sorry,” he says, before the last note has completely died.

“Useless. That’s utterly useless to me,” Kevin says.

“I’m distracted.”

“Obviously,” Kevin says tightly. “Let’s go again.” They play for a minute. Andrew puts his sticks down suddenly, and the tempo trips over its own feet. He stands up amid the clatter of directionless instruments. “Jesus Andrew, fucking participate.”

He sidles out from behind the drums and walks wordlessly out of the room. Neil immediately gets up to follow, but Kevin catches his arm.

“This distraction, Neil, it’s poison. If you let it progress I will never forgive you.”

“You don’t have to worry about anything progressing,” he tells him.

Kevin’s grip loosens. “This isn’t a joke to me,” he says quietly.

“I guarantee you I don’t find anything about you funny.”

Kevin sighs and looks at the ceiling. “Okay.”

“Five minutes,” Neil says. He shakes Kevin loose and stalks out of the room, feeling a little shock of adrenaline lifting his feet.

Andrew’s waiting for him around the corner.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Okay,” Neil says.

“You’re not careless like this. Not about music.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not about this,” Neil says, gesturing between them.

Andrew narrows his eyes. “Riko’s not going to hire a hit on you at a public gig, and the more you obsess about it the more I think you might actually be clueless.”

“You don’t already think that?” Neil asks, surprised.

Andrew ignores him. “If you’re so afraid of losing your voice, then why are you going silent now?”

“It’s not just about my voice anymore. It’s about all of us. You—“ He searches Andrew’s face. “You must know that.”

“I try to know as little about you as possible.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

He watches Andrew’s tightly closed expression and wants so badly to screw it open.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Andrew says.

“Just—distract me?” Neil begs.

Andrew considers. “From what?”

He steps closer. Andrew lets him. He doesn’t bend backwards in Neil’s blustering, wanting wind.

“From him.” He doesn’t say Kevin and his prying, or Riko’s posturing, or his father’s oppressive memory, but Andrew seems to understand.

He understands all the way into Neil’s space, and then he understands his mouth open and his thighs apart, and he gives him something to press down into, when the piano keys wouldn’t budge.

They sway. Music trickles through the halls from somewhere. Maybe out of Neil’s mouth.

“Oh,” someone says.

The interruption is a lightning strike, and it splits them in half. Andrew uses Neil’s chest as leverage to push himself backwards several feet. He’s overcorrecting, trying to close off his expression and hold his breath, wrenching a door closed over the vulnerability of being seen wanting something.

Neil sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and tries to get his equilibrium back, shifting from being deeply kissed to being shoved halfway across the hall.

“Oh,” Nicky repeats. “Oh, fuck, um. Sorry. We’re just—starting.” He holds a hand to his face, half laughing. “Oh my god.”

Andrew wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and Neil and Nicky watch him breeze past them both.

“What the fuck, actually,” Nicky hisses. Neil shakes his head, speechless. “You’re— no, I can’t even talk about this.”

“Good,” Neil manages.

“Actually, wait, I definitely can,” Nicky says. “That’s my—Neil, you know that was Andrew, right? My cousin Andrew?”

Neil bristles. “Unlike you, I do actually try to identify a person before I kiss them.”

Nicky ignores this dig, and says, “so that is what you were doing? I didn’t hallucinate that?”

Neil gives him a look, and tries to walk back to the recording studio, but Nicky catches him by both elbows.

“No, no, no, no, I’m nowhere near done with this, oh my god.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Nicky moans.

“Practice, now,” Neil says, dragging him back with him.

“Then talk later, please, Neil, take pity on me.”

He ignores him, and everyone else, until he’s behind the piano.

He starts playing the sequence, pitch perfect this time, and one by one, the ensemble climbs in behind him. 

If he doesn’t look up at them, it’s like nothing even happened. Andrew’s drums are full of space and Nicky’s guitar is urgent where Aaron’s is steady. Kevin’s bass is thick and sweet as syrup, and suddenly they’re good again.

In the shuffle of coming and going, he had completely forgotten to count himself in.

5.

Before Monday can start, Neil tries to stop time.

He wanders the house in the twilight, hoping that the silence will somehow keep him preserved in place.

The oven clock blinks 5:00 am for what seems like a very long time. The humidifier in Kevin’s room makes a noise like wheels on asphalt, that silky, endless grind.

As always, Neil doesn’t have a destination. He pauses drowsily at the kitchen window and looks at the grey stucco of the house next door. He goes downstairs, pauses on the second to last stair, then walks back up again. He sits on the porch steps for a while, but it feels so exposed that he panics, fumbling loudly with the screen door on his way back inside.

He almost cries in the bathroom mirror, and then he pinches his fingers over his eyes until it hurts.

He nudges the door to Andrew’s bedroom open, but he’s soundly asleep for once, and it makes him want to cry again, to think of waking him. He eases the door closed.

“Hey,” Nicky says gently. Neil looks up, hand still curled around Andrew’s doorknob.

“What do you want?” he whispers.

Nicky looks sad. “Just checking on you. I heard you moving around up here.”

“How did you know it was me?”

Nicky smiles, crossing his arms and leaning sleepily up against the wall. “I listen pretty good, you know? It’s what makes me so invaluable.”

“Right,” Neil says. Then stronger, meaning it, “right.” He swallows. “Look, Nicky, I don’t really want to talk about—“

“It’s fine,” Nicky says, waving him off. He grins. “You’ll tell me everything eventually. They always do.”

Eventually. Neil tries to smile, or roll his eyes, or get angry, but he feels like he can’t move. If Nicky isn’t actively telling a joke he always looks like he’s about to, or like maybe he just did and you didn’t get it. It feels incongruous and cruel to do anything but laugh. 

“Come sit with me,” Nicky says, nodding towards the living room. “We’ve got time.”

Neil peers around the dividing wall into the kitchen as they pass. 5:15, the oven reports. They settle into their usual spots on the couch and love seat, predictable as ghosts. Cold air presses in through the cracked window and makes the old leather crunch when he moves.

“Are you nervous?”

Neil looks back at him, distracted. “About what?”

“Saturday.”

Neil’s heart jerks, confused, before he remembers the concert. He feels like he’s been staring so hard at the details of the frame that he forgot the painting inside it.

“I don’t really get stage fright,” Neil says honestly.

“I know,” Nicky says. He’s smiling wryly, chin propped up on his knee. “You’re fearless. It’s obnoxious.”

“I’m not fearless. I just think it’s a waste of time to worry about the things I actually like to do.” “Sage wisdom,” Nicky snorts. “Trying to put Betsy out of a job?”

Neil shrugs. “I probably could.”

“Pff,” Nicky says. “I’m not sure you’re well-adjusted enough for that.”

“It’s a pseudo-science anyway,” Neil says.

“Uh-huh,” Nicky says, amused. His smile sags a little, and he looks away. “Um. I know I wasn’t going to make you talk about it, but—“

“Nicky,” Neil warns. “You didn’t even last five minutes.”

“I know, I know, I’m a gossip, whatever. Just tell me you’re not jerking him around, okay? Tell me it’s serious. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I pretty much raised that rascal.”

“It’s not serious,” Neil says, confused. “It’s not really anything. It’s just—a distraction. For both of us.”

“Neil, come on.”

“What?”

Nicky’s looking at him with wide-open disbelief, and Neil’s skin crawls.

“It’s obviously something.”

“It’s not,” Neil argues. He thinks of Andrew, hot against him, saying I don’t need this, neither should you. “I know exactly where we stand.”

“Really, because it seems like maybe you don’t, at all. There’s no fucking way this means nothing to him. I think there’s been something about you from the very beginning. He only writes lyrics about shit that’s like, in his bloodstream—“

Neil shivers, annoyed. “We don’t have feelings for each other just because you want us to. We have a deal. He’s counting on me not to get attached.”

Nicky studies him appraisingly. “Did he tell you that?”

“Yes,” Neil says, trying not to dwell on it. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“Okay, fine,” Nicky says. “Believe what you want.” He pushes himself to the edge of the couch, and reaches out to pat Neil’s cheek. “Just be careful with each other, okay?”

“Andrew doesn’t need to be coddled.”

Nicky smiles, sideways. “Sure he does.” He stands, steadying himself on Neil’s shoulder. “We all deserve a little coddling, I think. Why not? It’s better than getting hurt for no reason.” He rounds the couch and makes his way over to the stairs to the basement. “I’ll try not to bring it up again unless you fuck up in a big way, okay?”

“Okay,” Neil agrees, relieved.  

Nicky smiles. “Go back to sleep.” He nods back to the place where he found Neil skulking in the hall. “Believe me, waking Andrew up is more trouble than it’s worth.”

Neil shrugs. “I’ve done it before.”

Nicky wrinkles his nose a little, and scoffs, “I bet you have.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Neil narrows his eyes at him until he slinks back down the stairs towards his room.

He knows Nicky is wrong about this. Andrew agreed to stop writing about him, and Neil agreed to stop pinning his hopes on him in return. He would know, if Andrew wanted more from him. He thinks—no, he would know.

He sits in the chilly little sitting room, listening to that grumbling humidifier and watching the dark TV screen reflect the outside lights. Every corner of this place is familiar. It hurts to think of how much time he’s spent here, letting himself in, drinking and singing and kissing Andrew’s tired morning mouth. 5:30, the oven clock whispers.

He puts his hand to a crease in the couch, and thinks, hopeless, I want to stay.

4.

Some nights, Kevin drags him back into the studio after practice. He forces him through vocal gymnastics and ear training until he can sing all of their songs a cappella and unwavering.

Kevin walks him through the empty halls with such purpose, like he’s fighting through a crowd that isn’t there. Neil wonders what it would be like, to have that self-importance baked into you. To feel like you’ve earned it.

He watches the arc of Kevin’s back as he tinkers with wires. As always, in the final days of the countdown, Neil wants absently to be somewhere else. 

Of course he loves these sessions, honing his skill with Kevin, and he enjoys pacing through Palmetto when it’s a perfect empty labyrinth. But he doesn’t want to go through the motions of the same fight, and he doesn’t want to think about what they’re practicing for anymore, a tour that he is unlikely to finish.

He swallows stale bottled water and plonks his phone up on the piano where he won’t be tempted to check it.

“Are we ready?” Kevin asks. Neil shrugs. “Let’s try the harmonies in big blue.” Affectionately nicknamed by Nicky for its bluesy influence, a sound so rich and dark that it’s almost purple.

“Can we workshop the repeat? I’m still not sure what we’re doing with dynamics, there.”

“Not yet,” Kevin sniffs. “We need everyone here for that.”

“But I’m good on everything else,” Neil says.

“I decide when you’re good,” Kevin says, adjusting Neil’s microphone in front of him, like he’s a child who can’t fasten his own bib.

He can’t help it, his fists curl. “Right. Remind me why you get that privilege, again?”

“Neil,” Kevin says. “We don’t have time for this conversation.”

“For once we agree,” Neil says icily.

“I was one half of Evermore, remember? We weren’t the most popular duo in America because we wasted time bickering. We were an organization in every sense of the word. We each had our tasks and we completed them.”

“Do you think that’s what makes a good band?” Neil asks.

Kevin falters. “I—not anymore, no.”

“We’re better than Evermore because we fight. For everything.”

“We’re not better than Evermore,” Kevin scoffs.

“That depends on how you define better,” Neil says. Kevin looks away. He can’t seem to hold eye contact; his face always splinters under the heft of the other person’s gaze, like thin ice underfoot.

“I try not to think about before.”

“Yeah,” Neil says, feeling his stomach sink. “Yeah, I understand that.”

“I—“ Kevin starts, twisting the plug at the root of his bass, rocking back so he’s sitting on the nearest amp. “I know you’re hiding—something. From us.”

Neil nods. “Okay.”

“And it’s weird because, there’s a lot of shitty stuff about you that you don’t bother to hide.”

Neil snorts, feeling unusually lenient with Kevin, almost enjoying his sharp mouth.

“So I’m kind of thinking… whatever it is must be really bad.”

“Interesting theory.”

“Are you denying it?”

“I can’t be bothered to lie to you, Kevin. Most of what I say goes over your head anyway.”

“Fuck you,” Kevin says, but he’s kind of smiling.

“All you need to know is that I’m committed to Ausreißer. I will be until the very end. Will you keep practicing with me until then?”

“Yeah,” Kevin says, reaching out and knocking awkwardly on top of the piano. “Every night.”

3.

Neil has never had trouble telling the twins apart. The way they hold themselves is entirely different; Aaron’s shoulders are always at a contrary angle while Andrew’s are straight across. Aaron is sour where Andrew is bitter—there’s a crucial difference there. The armbands help, but he likes to think he could tell them apart in a snowstorm, bundled up across the street.

He also has disdain for Aaron where he has respect for Andrew, and he hasn’t teased those feelings completely apart yet.

When he walks out of the record shop on main street and sees Aaron walking with an unfamiliar woman, he stops short. His fingers bunch in the plastic handle of the bag swinging from one hand.

“I thought you had an appointment with Dobson,” he calls. Aaron looks around guiltily, and his arm shrivels away from the woman’s shoulders. “And unless this is her...”

“Neil,” he says stiffly. “This is Katelyn.”

She waves cheerfully. Neil ignores her. “Is there a reason you’re lying to the team?”

Aaron rolls his eyes, and makes a show of relaxing back into Katelyn’s side. “It’s none of your business, at all, as usual.” He tries to steer them past Neil on the sidewalk, but Neil sidesteps back into their way.

“Andrew doesn’t tend to like outsiders.”

“Do you honestly think I’ve forgotten that?” Aaron hisses. He seems embarrassed, and Neil can see his hand consciously gentling on Katelyn’s shoulder. “Can you—“ he looks at her apologetically. “Just give us a second, okay?”

“Of course,” she says sweetly. “Wave me over if you need extraction,” she says, quieter, and he smiles secretly back at her. Neil frowns as Aaron kisses her on the temple, and ushers Neil back under the awning next to the record shop.

“I know what Andrew’s opinions are on this, probably better than you do,” he starts.

“So why are you still doing it?” Neil asks.

“Why are you fucking my brother?” Aaron returns. His irises look exactly like Andrew’s do when he’s frustrated, more like an absence of colour than anything else. Neil shivers, though the noonday heat is still tense in the air.

“How is that relevant?”

“So you are then.”

Neil squints at him. “Just tell me what to think about this so I can stop talking to you.”

“Nice,” Aaron says sarcastically. “Don’t act like you’re above this. You’re breaking the rules just as badly as we are.”

“What rules am I breaking, exactly?”

Aaron looks nervously back at Katelyn. “You should’ve spoken to Andrew about this, not me.”

“Believe me, I would rather be talking to him, but you’re the one who just showed up here with a secret.”

“Look, just pretend you never saw us. I’ll pretend your obsession with my brother isn’t physically repugnant to me.”

“I don’t have time for pretending,” Neil snaps. A passing bicyclist startles at his raised voice, and one pedal briefly spins out. “I don’t have time for whatever is keeping you and Andrew apart.”

Aaron scrutinizes him for a long moment. There’s something surprisingly sharp about his expression. “Whatever problems we have were here long before you got here, and they’ll be here after you’re gone.”

“You’re right,” Neil says. He can feel the frustration bleeding out from his face, wetting his collar, flooding the street. “What a waste.” 

He tugs his shopping bag up around his wrist like a bracelet and sets off in the opposite direction from the one Aaron had been walking in.

Later, when he’s listening to Ausreißer’s first studio album on a borrowed CD-player, he can’t stop thinking of the family they have so clearly always been.

Their sound was chaotic, angrier than it is with Neil. Andrew’s lyrics are about missing something you’ve never had, and Neil emphatically thinks yes, without really understanding why it resonates with him.

Nicky and Aaron and Andrew had only found each other six or seven years ago by Neil’s count. They had been slung together with Kevin from circumstances that looked entirely incompatible on paper, but harmonized when they were spoken aloud.

They hurled things at each other like pottery that shattered into colour and powder; they demolished their glass houses and stood hand in hand in the rubble; they flattened all of that gravel into smooth open road.

Neil knows they play better, now that the music is all pointed in the same direction, but there’s something about this snapshot of who they were that’s so compelling. Teenagers who didn’t know they were all feeling the same terrible things. Even though they sing about hollowness and regret, it’s so obvious from the outside that they weren’t alone at all.

Neil clutches the jewel CD case to his chest, lying in the dark, and wonders if the five of them look like that now, always at odds but completely in tune.

2.

They have brunch at the Foxes dorm on Thursday.

Neil has long been charmed by the cream and sunshine corners of their house, the huge monstera plant in the kitchen, the teacups full of wrapped candies on every surface, the orange living room wall with a couple of framed music awards hanging above the couch.

It’s lived-in in a completely different way from the monsters’ strange storm-cloud pocket in suburbia.

Wymack and Abby have been invited to keep the peace. It’s interesting to see the way everyone from Foxes relaxes with them posted at the dining room table, while everyone from Ausreißer get the slightest bit stiffer, possibly out of some warped kind of respect.

Almost nothing happens, all morning. It’s a tableau so appealing that it’s almost ugly. It already feels like a memory.

Neil watches Renee and Nicky setting the table, and Matt threatening teasingly to pour coffee in Kevin’s lap. Wymack’s voice when he calls the rest of them to the table is commanding in a way that startles Neil less than it used to. Dan jumps when Neil does though, and they share a look.

“He has such a dad voice, it’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Neil says, pretending to understand.

“No one even think about leaving this table without a good reason,” Wymack says. “Anyone bringing animosity to breakfast gets a boot in the ass.”

“You promise?” Nicky says.

“Don’t be gross,” Aaron says. Allison laughs. They tuck into french toast and peaches and whipped cream from a can. Matt made the bacon too crispy, and even the smell of it is nauseating.

“Neil, are you freaking out yet?” Matt asks.

“What? Why?” Neil asks. He can feel Andrew peering at the side of his face for a fraction of a moment.

Matt’s smile quirks, turning on its side. “Big concert on Saturday? Live debut of your very own songs? Ringing any bells?”

“A few,” Neil says awkwardly. “I’m in denial.”

“Mm, he is,” Nicky says around a mouthful of fruit. “About so many things.��� He’d definitely smoked a little weed bright and early this morning, and it’s made his lips dangerously loose.

Neil glares at him, but Dan’s focus is already cranked in tight. She puts down her knife. “Like?” she asks.

Neil shrugs.

“What, is it a sex thing?” Allison asks.

“Uh-uh,” Wymack says. “Vetoed.”

“You can’t veto conversational topics in our house,” Dan argues.

“I can, I am, change the subject.”

“Boring.”

“How’s the mixing on the collab going?” Kevin asks, reaching across half of the table to get at the orange juice.

“Done,” Matt says proudly. “Chopped and screwed. Signed, sealed, delivered, etc.”

“Collab?” Abby asks, interested.

“Neil’s featuring on a Foxes track,” Renee says, smiling around her napkin.

“We’re set to drop it on Monday,” Allison adds.

He wonders if they’ll still release it, once he’s gone missing. He thinks again of his echo, the proof of his relationships with all of these people, fossilized in mp3 files and kicked around the radio forever.

“That’s exciting,” Abby says. “Kind of outside your rocker comfort zone though, isn’t it Neil?”

“My ‘comfort zone’ is pretty narrow,” Neil says flatly. “But music is music.”

“I suppose so,” she says, smiling sheepishly. “It’s not like you don’t have the voice for it.”

“And anyway, genre’s a beautiful thing,” Dan says twirling a fork full of pineapple in the air. “It’s made to be fucked with.”

Matt raises his glass in mock toast. “Here here.”

“I still haven’t heard this song,” Kevin complains.

“You haven’t earned it,” Allison says.

“Play it for him,” Neil hears himself say. He can’t catch the thought before it flutters out of him. They all look at him. “I want to hear what he thinks,” he admits.

He half looks at Andrew, who is slouched back in his seat, drowning his french toast in syrup and jam. Neil suspects that he’s the sort of person who would put ice cream on breakfast foods.

Neil can see a little moth-eaten hole in the shoulder of his t-shirt. There are mismatched seat cushions tied to the dining room chairs, and Andrew’s is orange and blue gingham.

“Play it, play it,” Nicky says.

“Okay, fine, but only because Neil actually asked,” Dan says.

Allison hums. “Neil’s superpower. Asking nicely.” He looks up at her, but she’s looking past him.

Dan starts to stand, but Renee scoots back from the table and waves her away. “I can pull it up for you,” she says. “I was just playing it while I made breakfast.”

There’s a little set-up in the far corner of the room, a couple of monitors and speakers, a keyboard, a microphone. Renee tugs her skirt primly underneath her and sits in the rolling chair, sliding home at the desk.

Neil watches her click through a few files and toggle the volume controls. The longer it takes her, the more his hands start to shake. He hides them under the tablecloth. Andrew’s knee presses against his, hard.

“Ready?”

Neil almost shakes his head.

“Just don’t offer unsolicited critiques,” Dan says. “It’s a done deal, no more tweaking allowed.”

“Yeah, Kevin,” Matt says pointedly. “If you comment on the timbre or whatever the fuck, you’re uninvited to brunch.”

“Please, he’d love that,” Nicky jokes. “He loves insulting people and hates social obligations.” He scruffs the top of Kevin’s head teasingly but his hand gets slapped away.

“Just hit play,” Wymack commands. Renee does.

The house floods with music.

kidnapped by two pomegranate halves

the seeds won’t let me go

walked thigh-deep in the ocean

I’ve never been this slow

I have to die tomorrow

but for a minute I could grow

here in your garden.

don’t don’t watch me go

it’s so much worse if you know

I really thought I was home

and the lights stay on

but there’s no more show

and don’t watch me go

it stays a yes if I don’t say no

it was dangerous to fly so low

But worth it not to be alone.

Neil sits through it, embarrassed and relieved at once. It’s like a love letter being passed around the room to be read.

He knows most of them will listen only to the tune at first, the same way he knows that Andrew is memorizing the lyrics as they are sung.

Everyone in Foxes had assumed that he was writing about something that had long since happened, so he managed to dodge their concern. They’d been excited, contributing, unspooling then re-spooling his rhyme scheme so it was tighter, vacuum sealing his ideas to the shapes of the notes.

And the music is exactly right, dark and rolling with the lushness of a thunderstorm. 

Neil and Dan sing together, caught up in these tricky, wonky harmonies that almost grate but resolve sweet—like the burn and flush of hard liquor. Matt, not usually one to sing, is a counterpoint in the bass below them.

The guitar gallops next to the bass, pinched together with layers of electronic effects. Renee’s muted violin comes in halfway through, building up to a crescendo, making everything feel urgent and serious, and then the tension breaks — the instruments all drop out, but Neil is singing so hard that he’s almost shouting, Dan’s voice pinned up underneath him, the rest of them humming, like a machine, or like a mother soothing her child to sleep.

“Oh man,” Nicky whispers.

It’s not pop, but it’s not rock either. It’s an outlier on the album that Foxes put together and it’s meant to be that way, more of a marathon of sounds and feelings than a formulaic piece of music. It’s a risk, they keep telling him. Their audience might not ‘get it’.

He loves it in the particular way that you love the limb that’s about to be amputated. You have it, and you’ve always had it, and you won’t have it again.

Nicky leans over and fishes his hand out from under the table to be held. “You’ve outdone yourself, Neil Josten.”

“I haven’t heard you sing like that,” Kevin admits, nose in his drink to hide the compliment.

“You have,” Neil argues.

“He has,” Aaron agrees, unexpectedly. “You’re just too busy admiring your own playing to notice.”

Nicky squeezes his fingers. “Those lyrics—“

“Okay, give us compliments now,” Allison says.

“Well it goes without saying,” Nicky starts, but he says it anyway, lauding the production, Allison’s warm alto, Renee’s switch from drums and synth to violin, and the a cappella section in the heart of it all.

Andrew is silent next to Neil, but he is pulling a loose thread from his cloth napkin so it contorts around one tense point.

He’s never heard the conversation get so animated between these two groups, so much so that it kind of doesn’t feel like two separate groups at all.

At some point, Kevin says, “maybe we should all try working on a track, if it gets these kinds of results.”

“Seriously?” Matt asks. 

“I’m not moderating that recording session,” Wymack says, looking exhausted at the thought of it.

“We can all take care of ourselves, it’ll be fine,” Dan says flippantly, and Neil thinks, yeah, of course.

They’ll be fine.

1.

“Are you planning on going somewhere?” Andrew asks.

Neil looks up from his notebook. He’s been sitting at the kitchen table in his sweatpants while the rest of the band flits around the house collecting shoes and jackets and dugouts full of stale weed. The doors keep opening and closing, but he thought they’d finally left for Eden’s Twilight.

Andrew stares him down, backlit from the hall. He has the sudden thought that he can’t remember the last time he saw Andrew have a drink.

“I told you,” Neil says, “I don’t want to go to a club the night before our concert.”

“Don’t watch me go / it’s so much worse if you know,” Andrew recites. “I want to know where you think you’re going.”

Neil’s eyes flit towards the foyer. “Are they just waiting in the car for you?”

“I asked you a question.” His voice is dangerously close to colour.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, or who’s going to come for me, but someone will, and I’m worried that it will end badly for more than just me.”

“Worried enough to write a song about it.”

A moment passes between them in which they both think of what else is important enough to write songs about.

“I never expected to be here forever,” Neil says.

“You should’ve thought of that before you signed with us,” he says. Neil shrugs, miserable. He had thought about it, and he’d decided they were worth every feverish moment of risk. “I’ve told you I won’t allow the Moriyamas to get to you,” Andrew continues.

“I don’t think you should promise me that.”

“It’s part of the deal.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have a deal anymore,” Neil says, too loud. Andrew stares at him. “Maybe we should call it off.”

“You’re a special kind of suicidal,” Andrew says. “There’s no reason for you to let them win before they have even come.”

“I need to fight for myself,” Neil admits. “I need you with me, and behind me, but I can’t keep holding you in front of me.” Andrew stands perfectly still, a muscle straining in his jaw. “Let me go.”

“I think you’re making a mistake.”

Neil almost laughs. “For once, I’m not. There are people in my life that I want to protect. So I’m going to do that.”

Andrew steps just barely closer. “You can’t change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay,” Andrew says simply.

“Thank you,” Neil says, leaning back in his chair, wrung out with relief.

Andrew walks all the way up to him, and Neil’s loose neck tips back to keep him in view.

A hand slips up to hold the back of his head, a tight, familiar grip.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

In a moment of weakness, Neil wets his lips and says, “you trust me?” His heart is so far up his throat that he imagines he can feel his molars digging into it when he talks. His hand finds the bottom of Andrew’s sweater and tangles in the hem.

Andrew winces, spectacularly, an entire chain reaction of eyebrows and lashes and wrinkled nose. He reaches down and pulls his hand away, but it takes him too long to let go of Neil’s flexed fingers.

For days afterwards, Neil will replay this suspended moment, in which they are connected at the hand, and Andrew can’t bring himself to deny that he trusts him.

0.

He gets the last text in the countdown halfway through final rehearsal at the venue, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. There’s no follow-up, no phone call, no shadow in the window. He turns his phone off.

The more day that they manage to chew up and put behind them, the more the anticipation turns into confusion, and then droops and dissolves completely. They have a show to put on, and he is tired of being threatened.

They’re playing the same auditorium in Colombia where Neil saw his first Foxes show, the same place where he received the first text in the countdown. Backstage is exactly as he remembers it, cooler and darker than the rest of the building, lined with equipment and snaked with wires. This time though, their custom Ausreißer drum-kit is centre stage, and their set-up is as organized as a well-laid table.

He keeps making grinning eye contact with Nicky and remembering that under any other circumstances, he would be hyper-charged with good adrenaline, a wind-up toy trembling to be let go.

He warms up so thoroughly that he could pour his voice straight through a sieve and nothing would catch.

The sound check is a bit bumpy, and it’s always jarring to be mid-song and get the signal to stop. He never knows how much he should be performing, in practice.

Eventually, the curtain is dropped, and the five of them are corralled into the dressing room at the very end of a ropey backstage hallway. Neil sits cross-legged on a worn leather couch and lets Nicky apply make-up to his face. He often did his own before he joined the band, when he was concerned with sculpting his face and covering scars, but Nicky’s toolkit is entirely different — eyeliner and smoke.

Kevin shrugs on his custom jacket, fitted, leather. He’s warming up under his breath, always. Aaron’s been ready since lunch, and he sits with his combat boots dangling over the arm of a chair and a book balanced on his knees. Neil’s watching though, and he can see Aaron running through fingerings with his left hand. Andrew isn’t in the room, which means he’s smoking somewhere.

They’ve done so many shows, but it feels like a different art now, somehow. He thinks of the words that Andrew has written for him, the chord progressions that Kevin fed him every night until he spoke in notes instead of words. He thinks of the moment before you perform, when the crowd is a runway and you are a plane.

For the first time all week, he wants time to move faster.

______

The show grins and spits in the crowd’s faces.

It’s filthy and fast-paced and polished, and the sound and energy could prop Neil up even if his body gave out.

They’re sold out, and the audience never stops arcing up to try and touch them; all he can see is a forest of arms forever and ever.

He loses his mind a little bit, somewhere between their opener and their eighth song. His hair works itself out of the stubby little ponytail that he’s knotted it into, and his eyeliner melts off under the stage lights. Kevin does some improv so excellent that Neil holds his microphone up to the bass, and feedback screams like a sixth band member. Andrew hammers the snares so hard at the end of their third song that the momentum forces him up out of his seat.

They take a mid-show break, and a nervous employee tells them that the crowd is getting out of hand. Nicky replies that they’ve obviously never been to an Ausreißer show before. Kevin tells them to call in more security. Neil thinks, how did he ever think that Riko could get him here, through this thicket of fans?

The second half of their set is somehow even rowdier; songs devolve into sheer noise, and Neil has to grab at his ear piece and concentrate to stay on pitch. They’ve organized posters and chants, and action ripples constantly through the venue.

His anxiety spikes, somewhere under the thrill of performing. He looks back from the keyboard towards Andrew, who raises his chin at him. There’s a noise like something shattering, at the back of the hall. Something feels wrong.

Nicky’s laughing, unaware, spritzing a beer into the audience, and Aaron is playing fuller chords to make up for his absence. Kevin takes the melody in this one, and he’s holding the mic tenderly with both hands.

Finally, they play the song Neil wrote, and he’s half in and half out of the euphoria of it. He’s coasting from uneasy to sickly, but it’s the biggest crowd they’ve ever played, and the music is snapping together so perfectly. It might be better than their studio version. It’s the most frightening thing he’s ever done.

They careen through their final songs, to raucous applause.

Backstage is an ice-cold haven, and Neil droops gratefully into its open arms, accepting a water bottle and holding the back of his hand to his feverish forehead.

He blinks hard in the new darkness, listening, detached, to their fans begging for an encore.

They’re in a loose circle, debauched and exhausted. There’s no point in trying to talk through the noise, so they breathe together, and nod, and gather themselves back up.

Four fifths of them are back on stage in a riptide of joy that sounds painful, when a stage-hand gestures violently for Neil’s attention.

He jogs up and hands him an open flip phone. Neil looks down at it, then back into the person’s nervous face.

“It’s for you,” they mouth.

A shiver rakes viciously down his back. He takes the phone in one frozen hand.

There’s a text that reads:

Come find me in your dressing room, Junior.

And then,

You really should have answered my calls. Too late now.

He can’t see. His whole world falls on its side. He drops the phone. He can’t hear the noise it should make when it connects with the floor, like maybe physics isn’t working, and he thinks--I’m dreaming. 

He manages to look out at the stage, where it feels like everyone in the world is looking expectantly at him. He looks back towards their dressing room.

For a moment, it’s hilarious. He was safe and invisible, and then he clambered up on stage and sang himself raw for months. He was constantly recorded, and photographed, and trackable. 

He wonders if he could’ve even performed like he does, without the fear at his back, if part of him was using the band as another means of running away. He wonders why they let him live this long, what kind of mercy could possibly live inside his father.

He walks unsteadily towards the dressing room, ears ringing. His legs don’t belong to him. He tells the stage-hand—something. To vamp, or excuse him. He doesn’t even know.

He’s been pacing this hallway all day, he knows it creaks and moves with you, but the sound is all swallowed now.

He wrings the doorknob, and presses inward, expecting the barrel of a gun, expecting some impossible amalgamation of Riko and Nathan and all of their muscle combined.

The dressing room looks the same way they left it.

He scans the table full of their belongings, and the wall of mirrors. His breath is so loud in the stillness of the room. He thinks wildly that it was all a cruel prank, or a misunderstanding. 

And then he sees her grinning, cheshire reflection in the dark. He whips around.

“Lola,” he chokes.

“Oh, good. You do remember me,” she says. There’s a gun in her hand with a silencer screwed into the barrel, and she’s holding it casually at attention, the same way one might hold a lazy cigarette.

“You can’t be here,” he says.

“I very nearly wasn’t,” she says. “I didn’t have a backstage pass. I can’t decide if you’re an idiot, for choosing to stand directly in the public eye, or if you were counting on your position affording you extra… protection.” She shifts, and Neil can see now that there’s a corpse at her feet. She nudges it with her shoe. “Anyone you know?”

He nearly throws up. His body roils with terror and fury, and his voice is thick when he says, “you’d better hope not, for your sake.”

She laughs, delighted. “Have you decided to fight back? Your father will be so pleased.” She stands up. “Hate to cut this short, but we’ve got places to be, rockstar.”

He shakes his head. “You can’t possibly think that you can get me out of here that easily. My band is literally waiting on stage for me.”

“That’s why you’re going to finish your little set, and then you’re going to come find me in the parking lot. Oh, and this guard was a dud,” she says, nodding at the crumpled body that Neil can see now is one of the hired security guards who had been controlling the crowd. “So I hired you some specialists.”

He shakes his head again, thoughts racing. “They won’t just let me go.”

“I think they will, with some persuading,” she says.

“Don’t touch them.”

Lola wiggles the gun teasingly against his chin. “Don’t make me.” She moves past him, trailing her nails along his shoulder as she goes. When she opens the door, he can see the looming figures of Jackson Plank and Romero Malcolm, decked out in all black. The thrill of music and cheering bursts back into his ears. He’d almost forgotten where he was.

Lola tucks her hair behind her ear and her gun into her waistband. She smiles at him, and he has the sick feeling that the whole time he’d been thinking of the daily texts as the dwindling digits on a time bomb, Lola had been relishing in every number.

“See you soon, Junior.”

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Next entry for @badthingshappenbingo!

I AM NO LONGER ACCEPTING PROMPTS! The single-bone marks on the card indicate which prompts I have received and am going to write, and I finally have prompts that will earn me a bingo once they’ve been written. (But they’re not written yet!)

This fic has also been posted to FFN and AO3, so you can check it out on my Assortment of Broken Bones collection on there if you like!

This one was suggested by @defythemusic who ... is another person that Tumblr won’t let me mention in a post. I have no idea if you’re still around, but uh, here’s the fic you requested, like, a year ago! I decided to write this one taking place in the timeline as my longfic, since it fit pretty well.

Promt: Cry into Chest Characters: Héctor and Victoria, post-movie, post Neither Can You

---~~~---

1:37 A.M.

Héctor glared at the clock, its hands illuminated by the faint moonlight from his window, as though the device was solely responsible for waking him up, and not the painful nightmare he’d just experienced

Quite literally painful, as the phantom ache in his absent hand reminded him. He grit his teeth, rubbing his empty right wrist; his prosthetic hand was sitting on the nightstand.

Eventually the pain faded to more tolerable levels, and Héctor re-settled himself against the stack of pillows at his back. Even several weeks after the incident, he still had to sleep sitting upright as he waited for his ribs to heal. The doctor said he was healing well, but it sure didn’t feel like it, most days.

He found himself staring up at the ceiling, and, when that failed to lull him to sleep, turned to look out the window. (He always kept the curtains drawn these days; moonlight reminded him more of Shantytown, of being in his shack—which, while not terribly comfortable, felt safe at least. The pitch darkness of a house… not so much.) When this also failed to help him sleep, he gave it one last attempt, fought with his one hand to pull open the window a crack, and breathed in the fresh air.

And coughed at the smell of cigarette smoke.

Well, wonderful. Good to know some late-night smokers were taking their well-past-midnight walks by this house.

Growling, he yanked the window shut again and kicked off his sheets; he wasn’t catching any sleep, so there was no point in chasing it.

Héctor strapped his prosthetic hand onto his arm, pleased to see that it was getting easier to do so, and changed out of his nightclothes and into a new outfit. That settled, he limped out into the hall, careful to make as little noise as possible, and made his way down the stairs. Part of him realized it was probably not good for him to give in to insomnia like this, but… at the same time, he didn’t mind so much these days.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he frowned to see there was no light coming from the living room. Immediately he berated himself for even hoping Victoria would be up—he loved spending time with his granddaughter, but he wasn’t glad that she experienced insomnia, too. He was happy that she wasn’t dealing with it tonight.

Though she often did.

It was common to find her downstairs in the middle of the night, reading or sitting quietly with Dante. Whenever he found her like that, he would sit with her, writing in his notebook while she read. He’d learned that she preferred the quiet, and so never initiated conversation with her—he only spoke when she did. When he played by her rules, he found her to be a friendlier person than she initially seemed. Usually, anyway—though she had been warming up to him, there were times when… Well, it was a work in progress, just like it was with Imelda.

She was so much like her abuela.

A loud whimper brought Héctor out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Dante standing before him and looking antsy. Sighing, he stooped down to scratch the dog’s head and limped over to the door to let him out.

Only to jump back at the sight of Pepita, who was standing as close to the porch as she physically could, one wing stretched over the it, blocking it from view from the yard and street. The cat let out a rumbling purr, but that did nothing to change how strange the sight of her was… especially with the scent of cigarette smoke so pungent and close.

The thoughts ran through his head quickly: whoever was smoking was here, they were intruding on the property, and Pepita was poised to attack.

Panic surged through his marrow faster than his brain could catch up (with the logic that Pepita did not look threatening and would probably not purr near an intruder), and he stepped out the door, slamming it shut so he could see the rest of the porch and do… something.

But there was no intruder nearby; only Victoria, who looked just as tense as he felt, her fists clenched and ready to punch, her teeth grit around the cigarette in her mouth.

…Oh.

It took Héctor a moment to settle, tension slowly leaving his frame as Victoria did the same, bringing her hands down, though she kept one fist clenched. The other hand she reached up to her cigarette, taking it out of her mouth so she could blow out a ring of smoke.

“What?” she asked, and Héctor realized he’d been staring. “It’s not like it can kill me now.”

Héctor shook his head, sheepishly gripping his arm and pretending to be suddenly very interested in Pepita, though the realization that his granddaughter was out here smoking still shook him. He’d known she’d been a smoker in life, yes—Coco had told him as much—but he’d assumed she’d quit at some point. Apparently not.

Still, he’d never… seen her do it before. Stealing a glance back at her, he found her gaze turned upward, peering through the gaps between Pepita’s pinion feathers and at the sky above. She slowly exhaled a puff of smoke through her nasal cavity. He should have smelled it before, he realized—on her clothes or on her breath. But he’d never once noticed it.

“…Are you all right?” he offered. His voice was still scratchy from his injuries.

“I’m fine,” she replied quickly. “It’s a nice night, and I thought I would step outside to enjoy it for a while.”

Before she even finished talking, a cold wind picked up, knocking a cloud of cigarette smoke off to the side, where Dante was now standing. The dog took one whiff of the air and gagged, bolting off with his tail between his legs.

Yes, surely a wonderful night. Héctor fought a shiver, hugging his chest carefully, but took a step closer. “Could I… stay out here with you a while?”

Victoria nodded, but kept silent.

He tried to watch her body language more closely. While she held her cigarette in her mouth, her hand moved to grip her wrist tightly. At first he thought she must simply be nervous, but… no, that wasn’t a nervous gesture. Her hand was gripping her wrist so hard that, had she been alive, she would probably be cutting off the circulation.

He then remembered a couple months ago, when he’d seen one of the bones from that wrist separated from the rest, and in the hands of a murderer.

Gritting his teeth, Héctor forced the memory out of his mind before he became lost in anger, and tried to focus on the present. “It is a nice night,” he said, and she glanced at him. “A little cold, admittedly.”

Victoria nodded, looking away, only to pause and look back, eyeing him in… concern? But why would—oh.

Recalling the terrible chill he’d suffered for nearly a week, he realized just what she would be worried about, and sighed, shaking his head. “I’m all right,” he said, leaning against the wall. “This is… nothing like that. Not even close.” It wasn’t an inescapable iciness, something that he barely fought against with many pillows, blankets, and a heating pad sitting in his rib cage. This was simply a chilly night, nothing more.

Victoria watched him carefully, as though to be sure he was telling the truth, before relaxing as well. Her cigarette was nearly burnt up now, and she breathed out one last stream of smoke before dropping the cigarette butt to the ground, stamping it quietly until it was extinguished and lost between the floorboards.

Héctor nearly pointed out that people would still be able to smell it in the morning, but bit his metaphorical tongue. She was already on edge; there was no need to push it. Though he did wonder briefly if she would get out another cigarette, but instead she remained still, her hand gripping her wrist tightly once again as she stared down at the porch where the cigarette butt had been.

Suddenly the shadows shifted around them, and they both gave a start, but it was only Pepita furling her wing to her side again. The big cat leaned over to lick her wing, and Héctor briefly wondered how long she’d been shielding Victoria like that, and for what reason. He could ask… but another glance at Victoria told him he shouldn’t.

“Should we… head back in?” he asked, attempting a smile. It was late, and cold, and sitting on the couch in a warm building sounded wonderful.

Victoria did not reply, instead staring down at the floor off to the side, her arms crossed tightly, still gripping her bad wrist. Dante climbed up onto the porch again, but she did not acknowledge him.

Sighing, Héctor leaned against the wall again. If there was some trick to making her talk, he didn’t know what it was, so he kept silent. When she still said nothing a few minutes later, he turned toward the door. “I’m heading in—”

“Wait.”

He paused, looking back at her, but she still wouldn’t look at him. If it were possible, she seemed even more tense than before. “¿Sí?”

Again she was silent, and Héctor fidgeted, rubbing his own arm.

“What is it, m—Victoria?”

Still she didn’t answer.

Héctor took a few steps closer, but said nothing more this time. As much as he disliked standing out here in the cold, he would wait. If she had something she needed to say, then he would listen.

On the other side of the porch, Dante approached Victoria, nudging her side and whining. Finally she moved, reaching down to pet the dog’s head… and finally she spoke, her voice tight:

“What you went through was worse.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and Héctor’s heart plummeted. “Victoria, no.”

“Don’t try to deny it. I wasn’t the one who had their bones methodically broken and torn and stolen until they couldn’t walk or speak or—” Her voice hitched, and she went silent.

Limping closer to her, Héctor reached out to touch her shoulder, but managed to hold himself back. “That doesn’t mean you went through nothing.”

“It does, compared to you.”

“That’s not how it works,” he said, and swallowed back the tightness in his throat. He wanted to turn her around, or to limp around to her side so he could see her, to look her in the eyes and tell her that she was allowed to be upset… but that wasn’t the way to approach it with her.

Héctor thought back, pressing his knuckles against his forehead as he racked his brain, then perked up. “…You know,” he began, leaning casually against one of the wooden pillars supporting the roof above the porch. “I had an amigo, Tomas, back in Shantytown who didn’t like talking much.”

While Victoria didn’t answer, her head turned slightly in his direction.

“Usually sat in a corner away from everyone else, and just listened to conversations. We’d try to get him to join in, but he’d just grin and wave us off.” He imitated the gesture, though Victoria didn’t see it. “Never really understood why he was like that… well… not until he told me.” Tipping his head back, he stared up at the sky. “Was… ehhh… ‘42, I think, night after Dia de Muertos, and I didn’t feel like sleeping, so I stayed out late. Everyone else had gone back home, except for him. He kept me company. And… then he spoke.”

“What did he say?”

Héctor brightened, turning to find that she was finally looking at him. “Well, first, he scared me bad enough to make me fall off my stool.” (While she didn’t crack a smile, he saw one of her brow-bones quirk, and he counted it as a victory.) “Once I pulled myself together… he said he wanted to tell me some things. At first I asked him why, but then…” His smile fell at the memory. “I… realized his bones were, um… well.”

“He was being forgotten,” Victoria finished for him, and he nodded slowly.

“He hadn’t begun shimmering yet, but yes.” He heaved a sigh, trying to focus, though his voice was starting to get sore from talking so much. “He told me his story, though he, eh, left some things vague. Near the end of his life, he was captured by a group of men who interrogated him—tried to get information out of him. Apparently it was important information—they held him for days and days, but he wouldn’t tell them. Spent his time instead yelling at them. I guess… they got so fed up with him, that they cut his tongue out.”

For a moment he glanced back at Victoria, hoping that he hadn’t lost her in the gruesomeness of the account, but instead she was staring down at the floor, thinking.

“Couldn’t talk for the rest of his life… When he died, he could, but he… couldn’t bring himself to do it often, after what happened in life. There was always something in him… afraid someone was gonna try to shut him up again if he talked too much.” Héctor shrugged, then paused to rub his neck, careful to avoid the still-healing gouges in his vertebrae. “So that was his story. After he told me, I felt… dumb, for being sad about the things I was. All of us in the shanties were nearly-forgotten, but… at least I could still talk and sing. He had it worse. I… told him as much.”

Victoria looked up, eyeing him.

“And… he told me something that stuck. He told me… everyone’s had it worse than someone. Doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to be sad.”

And Victoria turned away suddenly, letting out a shaking breath. “…Do you think that’s true?” she asked, her voice once again tight.

“Sí, I don’t think Tomas is the kind to lie. But… then, he never talked much, so I’m not sure—”

“Not that,” she snapped.

“…Oh.” Héctor finally stepped away from the pillar. “Of course, Victoria.”

After a tense moment, she heaved a sigh, and spoke with a shaking voice: “If you must know… I… I dreamed they came back.”

She didn’t have to specify who they were. Héctor clenched his fists at the memory.

“They broke into the house… and took me, and tried to break my arm.” Her hand was grasping said arm again, so tightly that Héctor almost worried she would break it herself. “I woke up, and rushed out here.” She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be like this—this shouldn’t still be bothering me. It wasn’t even that terrible.”

“It was,” Héctor said lowly, surprised at his own anger. “Those cabróns—they shouldn’t have done it in the first place!” The anger burned within his ribs, but he swallowed it down, shaking his entire body—that wasn’t what this was about. “Victoria,” he went on, calmer now, “it was terrible. I… have nightmares about it, too.”

“But it wasn’t—”

“Victoria,” he said, not unkindly. When she looked up, he held out his good arm, just as he had the night he’d lost his hand.

She looked at his outstretched arm, and, hesitating only a moment, finally stepped closer, allowing him to wrap his arm around her.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, slowly drawing his other arm around her, careful that the prosthetic didn’t snag on anything. “They can’t get to us anymore. They can’t hurt us. It’s okay.”

He wasn’t sure what did it, but either something in his words, voice, or gesture must have gotten through to her, because she sank down, her face buried against his chest, her shoulders shaking. At the same time, Héctor felt a rush of terrible emotions surging through him—anger at those men for even daring to go after his granddaughter, and agonized sorrow over what she had gone through and the aftermath she was now dealing with. Before he knew it, he realized she wasn’t the only one shedding tears.

For some time he held her as the two of them cried, eventually becoming aware of Dante leaning against the two of them and whining, and Pepita purring her heart out once more. Finally they stepped away from each other, Victoria pushing up her glasses to rub the heel of her hand into her eyesockets. For someone who had just been crying, she hid it well. While she still didn’t look her best, the tension was gone from her frame. “It… really is too cold to be standing out here,” she admitted.

Héctor scrubbed away at his own tears and smiled at her. “Let’s go in,” he said, and together they walked back into the house, Héctor pausing for a moment to scratch Pepita’s head, and allowing Dante in with them.

Evidently neither of them felt like sleeping just yet, because they both found themselves heading over to the living room to take a seat on the couch. Dante eagerly hopped up between them, stretching out so that his head was on Victoria’s lap, and his legs were kicking into Héctor. He frowned at the dog, but couldn’t be too mad at him, since he seemed to be cheering Victoria up a little.

Victoria had retrieved her book from the small table beside the couch and held it open with one hand, while she kept the other on Dante’s head to scratch him behind the ears. Héctor watched this for a short while before getting out his notebook to attempt writing.

“Gracias for listening to me, abuelo.”

Initially Héctor merely nodded and smiled, only to give a start, staring at Victoria in shock. But she was still reading her book… with the faintest hint of a smile on her face.

Trying to hold back a sniffle and failing, Héctor pretended to be very interested in his notebook. “D-de nada… mija.”

He flinched, expecting an angry retort from his granddaughter to not refer to her as such, but Victoria merely kept reading.

Wiping again at the tears in his eyesockets—happy tears this time—Héctor smiled.

This absolutely made up for the insomnia.

[useless-slytherclaw]

Chapter 21: Malfoy Manor

“We just have to get the Horcrux, she says,” Regulus rubbed his temples.  He was sitting at the dining room table across from Iset.  Outside, the sun was just rising, but there were no windows into the dining room, so all the light came from the chandeliers overhead.  

“I never said it would be easy,” Iset responded.  There was a scroll of parchment in front of her and she was tapping her quill against it as she thought. 

Groaning, Regulus buried his face in his hands.  “I know that.  That doesn’t mean that this is any less mad.”

Picking up one of the free scrolls of parchment on the table, Regulus started writing.  

Cissy,

Thank you.  I hope you enjoy your dinner with Bella.  

R.A.B 

P.S. fortior

Regulus tapped the parchment with a few muttered words and it turned blank.  He carefully folded it and called for Kreacher.

“Take this to Cissy.  Make sure she is alone.”  Kreacher took it and bowed.  

“Yes, Master Regulus.”

“Thank you, Kreacher.”  

Regulus sat back down at the table.  Unfortunately, there wasn’t much for him to do but wait. Iset was making a list of supplies she needed for her wandless magic in case things went to hell.  Regulus didn’t have anything to do until 16:00 when he would go to Narcissa’s house and get some hair from Bellatrix’s hairbrush for the polyjuice potion.  His brain raced, trying to make sure they had everything.  It had been weeks, but that didn’t make him feel more prepared.

“You’re being antsy,” Iset said without looking up from her list even though she hadn’t added anything to it for several minutes.  

“I just,” Regulus struggled to find the words he wanted. “I don’t want to die again.”

“I don't want that either,” Iset said, “but you aren’t helping anything.  Why don’t you go up to the library.”

So, Regulus retreated to the library for the rest of the day.  He didn’t really have anything else to do.  Besides, the smell of books that filled the library was comforting.  There were two large stacks of books on the desk.  He decided to try to track down Ravenclaw’s diadem rather than reviewing curse-breaking theory one more time.  With a sigh, he pulled the top one off a stack and started to go through it.  To his surprise, he lost track of time and Iset appeared around two with a plate of sandwiches. She handed the plate to him and sat down, picking up a book from her own stack by the couch.  Neither of them spoke, but the silence between them was tense.  Regulus found it impossible to focus on the book.  Dread was twisting his stomach in knots.  Last time he went after a Horcrux, he died, and he wasn’t in a rush to repeat the experience.  Instead, he pulled his sketchbook out of the drawer.  It was much easier to lose himself in the way she looked bathed in the golden afternoon sun than it had been in the book.  His fingers itched to capture the curve of her neck, the twisting inky pattern of her braided bun, the way she pursed her lips, and a million other details that made her up.

When the clock chimed three forty-five, they vacated the library.  

Sirius was pacing up and down the hall like a caged animal.  “Where have you two been?” He snapped.

“In the library,” Regulus said calmly.  “Doing some reading.  There’s still another Horcrux after this one.”

“Don’t you think we should worry about one at a time?” Sirius demanded.

“Worrying does nothing,” Iset broke in before the brothers could get going.  “We have a plan.  It’s almost time to go.  You do remember the plan, don't you?”

Sirius just rolled his eyes.  “Yes, I remember the plan.  It’s really absurd that you are treating me like a child.”

“Last time I saw you, you were always acting like a child,” Iset said coolly.  “I haven’t had enough time to update my opinion.”

Sirius growled, but to Regulus’ surprise didn’t say anything.  Maybe he was trying to prove that he had matured in the last seventeen years.  Iset turned away from him and gripped Regulus’ arm tightly.  

“We’ll see you outside of the manor?”

“You’ll see Bella outside of the manor,” Regulus responded with a smile.  Iset rolled her eyes, but let go of him.  

“Be safe.”

“It’s just Malfoy manor.  No need to worry.”

“You are sure about Narcissa,” Sirius cut in.  Regulus actually did roll his eyes this time.

“Yes, I trust her.  Cissy will keep Bella occupied.  I passed along your spell for strengthening the wine.  Besides, it's a bit too late to be doubting her now.”  

Sirius frowned at him but passed him a flask.  “Polyjuice potion from Moody. It's enough for a few hours.”

Regulus took the flash and tucked it into his robes.  With a deep breath, he gathered himself and started walking towards the door to the house.  “See you both soon.  Don’t kill each other.”  

Sirius barked a laugh and Iset snorted, and then Regulus was opening the front door and stepping outside.  He’d spent enough time at the Malfoy Estate that he didn’t have any problems picturing it as he apparated away.  

Then he was standing alone in front of a pair of wrought iron gates.  Regulus had once known all of the security measures on these gates, he really hoped that they hadn’t been drastically changed while he was dead; Narcissa would have mentioned it if they had, right?.  His heartbeat was racketing faster and faster.  It wasn’t just Cissy on the other side of these gates, it was Bella and Rodolpus and Merlin help him, probably the Dark Lord himself.  For a second, Regulus was paralyzed with fear.  How was he supposed to just walk into this house?  But he’d already defied the Dark Lord once, right? And Iset was waiting for him. He had to do this.  

All he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, but Regulus raised his left arm to the gate, letting the robes fall back.  For the first time since he’d returned to the realm of the living, he felt a stirring in the dark mark on his arm, and the gate swung open before him.  Regulus almost stumbled with relief as he entered.  Grateful for the time he had spent here during summer breaks, Regulus took a side path through the garden and to a side door.  His ears were straining for the sound of another person, and more than once he almost jumped out of his skin only to realize that it was another peacock.  

A few minutes later he reached the side door, his heart was still racing.  He was resigning himself to the fact that his heart rate probably wouldn’t go down until after they had escaped with the Horcrux… if they escaped.  Maybe he would go into cardiac failure and be put out of his misery.  But, that didn’t happen, so he pushed the door open carefully. 

Stepping inside, Regulus could hear the sound of Bella’s characteristic cackle.  Even though it was diluted by distance, it sent shivers down his spine.  Bella had always unnerved him, and acting as a Death Eater by her side had only shown him the depths of her cruel insanity.  Regulus gritted his teeth, he had things to do.  The dining room was halfway across the manor from here, no one was going to see him.  Regulus moved through the house, taking the back stairs used by the house-elves to get to the family quarters.  He was slightly calmed by memories of running up and down these stairs as a child, chasing after Cissy and Bella and Andy.  

None of the doors were locked, but who locks doors in their own house anyway?  Regulus put his ear to each one before he opened it: an empty guest room, an empty guest room, what looked to be a teenage boy’s room, an empty guest room, and then a guest room suite that looked lived in.  Regulus slipped in and eased the door shut behind him.  There were no photos or memorabilia in the room that would immediately tell him whose it was.    

There was a bed, a wardrobe, a pair of chairs, a vanity, and a desk.  Regulus quickly crossed to the desk.  It was neatly kept with only a quill and ink on the surface.  Moving to open one of the desk drawers, he found it locked.  As quietly as he could, he used alohomora to unlock the drawer.  The drawer was full of neatly stacked letters all written in precise handwriting.  All of them were addressed to “Bellatrix, my most loyal servant.”  At the bottom, they were stamped with the dark mark.  Regulus dropped the papers as if they could burn him and slammed the door shut, regardless of the noise it made.

At least he’d found Bella’s room.  Shoving the letters from his mind, he moved to the vanity.  Opening the drawer to the vanity, and praying for no more surprises, he was grateful when he found that the drawer contained a hairbrush, combs, pins and a myriad of other such objects.  Regulus pulled a few long black hairs out of the brush, shoved them in his pocket, and moved towards the door.  He wanted to get out of this house as fast as he could.  Still, he paused to listen at the door, the hallway was completely silent, so he stepped out.  He could hear his heart hammering again as he made his way back to the servant stairs and out of the house.  He didn’t pause for breath until he had escaped the grounds and disapparated to Lestrange Manor.  

Several long and slightly shaky breaths later, Regulus’ heartbeat was slowing down.  He tried not to think about the fact that he wasn’t even close to done yet; he’d only managed the easiest part of the mission. Grimacing, he pulled the flask of polyjuice potion from his pocket and shoved the hair into it.  He closed the lid and shook it.  He opened it up and tried not to grimace and the black, tar-like substance in the flask. Keep reading on AO3

[romana73]

REYLO FANFIC: YIN AND YAN. CHAPTER 5, PART II

WRITER: Romana73 TIME: One year after Star Wars. Episode VIII. The Last Jedi THEME AND FANDOM: Star Wars RATING: Explicit TITLE: Yin and Yan CATEGORIES: M/F COUPLES: Kylo Ren / Ben Solo and Rey CHARACTERS: Rey, Kylo Ren / Ben Solo, Anakin Skywalker (nominated), BB - 8, Knights of Ren, Chewbacca, Darth Vader (nominated), Finn, General Hux, Han Solo (nominated), Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker, Poe Dameron, Rose Tico, boys from Canto Bright, Snoke (nominated), various Resistance and First Order fighters WARNINGS: Star Wars characters, world and stories AREN’T MINE AND DON’T BELONG TO ME, but they are created and owned by George Lucas, Lucasfilm, Disney, J.J. Abrams and Rian Johnson and the actors who play the Star Wars characters and their stories. I’M NOT IN ANY WAY LINKED TO THESE PEOPLE AND CINEMATOGRAPHIC HOUSES. I DON’T KNOW NO ONE OF THEM and I’M IN NO WAY IN CONTACT WITH THEM

WARNINGS 2: violence, also in terms of language. The starting idea of ​​this story derives from a leaks I read last year and which struck my imagination CHAPTER I can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/189784450126/reylo-fanfiction-yin-e-yan CHAPTER II can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/189959876431/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-part-2 CHAPTER III can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/190301208881/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-3-part CHAPTER IV can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/190662591396/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-chapter-iv

CHAPTER V, PART I can be found HERE : https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/614181147435532288/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-part-5

CHAPTER V (PART II )

Kylo had burst into bitter laughter when he saw cell where Resistance had locked him up. He imagined few were aware of his being only son of Leia Organa and Han Solo, nephew of Luke Skywalker, but that was no justification. Resistance would have had to learn more about enemies if it intended to fight effectively. Remaining on his feet, boy leaned back against a wall, looking around. Cell hadn't seemed to change since Luke had built it, except for two long, large chains attached to ceiling. Kylo had returned to focusing on what really interested him. Sitting on ground, legs bent and spread apart, looking ahead, he was fumbling with his right arm until he was able to press point of limb interested him. By keeping his concentration, he had managed to use his mind to operate watch on his wrist, although it was stuck under cuffs. Two minutes later, clock had vibrated. Kylo had smiled. - Wait for my signal - Supreme Leader had ordered in a calm tone, speaking to nothing. Clock chirped like a cricket and Kylo mentally turned it off.

"Rey ..." closing his eyes, the young leader had leaned his head against wall, looking for contact with girl, but nothing had come. She still had to be unconscious. His concentration had been disturbed by a strong, familiar presence. Supreme Leader had stiffened, snapping his eyes open, pulling himself to his feet. - General Organa ...- he murmured in a dark voice, taking a few steps, hiding in the shadows. Wrapped in a long gray silk dress, cut in empire style, with a long silver vest, sleeveless, high-necked, the princess and leader of the Resistance, Leia Organa was standing in front of the prison bars, which she stared at him with wet eyes. "Ben ..." murmured the woman in a broken voice. - No. Kylo Ren. I advise you to go back upstairs, General, to safety. I killed her husband Han Solo ... you don't want me to do same with you, do you?- He had cut him short, staying in the shadows. His tone of voice was cold and hard. Leia had pursed her lips and, with a trembling chin, straightening her back, had left the room. Kylo had sat on the ground, gritting his teeth. By time he chased her away, he had felt woman's heart break, her physical weakness resulting from being thrown out of her spaceship after his attack, her belief he was lost. In perceiving mother's thought, Kylo had darkened. General Organa's belief had irritated him, though she was nothing to him anymore. Only an annoying shadow of the past, which had considered him lost since childhood. Where was the news? The sound of furious footsteps had torn Kylo from his reflections. - What did you do to our General? - Standing in front of cell entrance, Poe Dameron, best Resitance’s pilot, had accused him.  Man's dark brown eyes sent flashes, his short, curly and black hair seemed unkempt from too much going through his hands.  Fleshy mouth, surrounded by a veil of beard, was tight in a thin line, sign of Poe's attempt to maintain control. Behind him, Finn stared at him frowning, looking at him from bottom to top. Resolute and tense, the ex-stormtrooper seemed ready to shoot. Poe had opened cell, entering with a firm step, standing in front of Kylo. Finn had joined him silently. BB-8, Poe's round droid, had rolled beside master, emitting a shy beep. Kylo had looked at both men with a hard but calm expression, then shrugged. - I only remembered who I am, what I did and I could still do ...- he had explained placidly. Two remained staring at him with a dark questioning expression painted on their faces. Kylo had sighed patiently. - I killed Han Solo, your dear General’s husband and I could do same with her... with all of you - he had clarified. - Damn you! - Finn was no longer able to restrain himself and jumped towards him, taking him by neck and slamming him against wall. In Finn’s mind were still vivid images of Leia crying alone in her room for death of her beloved husband. Finn remembered well evening when, passing in front of General's room, he had heard loud sobs. Concerned, he entered in room without asking for permission, finding Leia, sitting at table crying bent and desperate, with one hand over her mouth, in front of an Han Solo’s old hologram. Without saying a word, dark young man had placed one knee on the ground, bending other and embraced Leia, making her head rest on shoulder and rocking her, while she was letting off steam. Now Kylo Ren had dared to turn knife over in that not yet closed wound. - Finn! - Poe had intervened, bringing him back to reality. -Mr Finn! - C3 - PO had entered the cell agitatedly, followed by RD - D2 -Don't do it, please! Upstairs there is an air so sad! General heard you go down to prisons and sent us to check... princess closed herself in her room and Miss Rey is still unconscious! Please, Mr. Finn, don't complicate things! - The intervention of C3 - PO had been strengthened by the metallic noises of RD - D2. -Listen to your new friends, FN-2187. You won't want to disappoint Rey ...- Kylo had commented, before hitting Finn with a headshot in the face. The young man had fallen to the ground, rolling and moaning, holding his bleeding nose with both hands. -Finn!- Poe had screamed, running to his friend and bending over him. BB-8 had emitted a series of loud beeps. Pilot had frantically searched his pockets for something to dab the other 's nose until he found a cloth originally intended for cleaning his X - Wing and passed it to young man, helping him to pull himself up. - I don't need to use the Force to beat you. I can do it even in normal conditions...- Kylo had continued. Poe had grabbed him by collar. -I don't like using these methods, but you wanted it ... - man had hissed between his teeth, forcefully bringing Kylo towards  chains hanging from cell’s ceiling. Finn had watched the scene with a grim expression, before rising to his feet, quickly wiping off residual blood and putting cloth in a pocket of his blue trousers, helping to chain his former commander. - If you wanted to hang me without difficulty, You could use blinding light you used to capture me in forest... - Kylo had provoked. RD - D2 had issued some beep trades. He had taken a quick look at droid he had known since childhood, before returning to focus on the two men in front of him. - Of course, I didn't think you would involve Rey ...- he continued. - I don't know what you're talking about and I don't care! That light has knocked you out and that's enough. As for Rey ... don't you dare pronounce her name! - Finn had replied angrily, tightening chains on his wrists and going away. -Really? It seems normal to me to be interested in my ex-ally ...- Kylo had commented casually. Finn had snapped like a snake, grabbing him again by collar. -He has nothing to do with you! - Boy had screamed, narrowing his eyes. Kylo had hidden his surprise. Rey hadn’t revealed anything to his friends about he had killed Snoke and wanted to kill Leia and Resistance... for possessing Anakin's lightsaber, leaving him on the ground, passed out, and stealing a ship to join them on Crait. Furious, Kylo had followed her, ordering her pilots to shoot down the Falcon led by her, Chewbacca and Finn. -I'm not lying. Rey left Ach - To and Luke to come to me. We killed Snoke and Praetorian Guards together - Kylo had revealed in a calm tone, staring in Finn’s eyes. Moving fast, his former subordinate had hit him in chest with a dagger hidden in belt of his pants. Kylo had tensed, pursing his lips and holding on to chains with both hands. Blade’s cold had clashed with warm blood dripped from his chest, giving a strange feeling of unreality, if it hadn't been for burning pain coming from diagonal cut pierced his shirt and flesh. - Finn! - Poe had called his friend back, taking him by arms, fighting with him to keep him still.

RD - D2 had reinforced the pilot's words with loud metallic noises. C3PO had started pacing up and down like an agitated hen. BB-8 had made a disjointed tour of cell, immediately returning to Poe. Kylo had quickly looked down at wound. -Good, FN-2187. You gave me back blow I dealt you at Star Killer Base, but mine was on your back, though and... I didn't lie about Rey - he observed mildly. Finn had managed to free his arm from Poe's grip and, clenching his hand into a fist, had hit Kylo in face. Supreme Leader had found himself with his face turned to one side. Poe had blocked his friend again, murmuring something in his ear, then he had turned to BB-8, instructing him to go back upstairs to perform check rounds inside base. Without moving, Kylo had glanced sideways at round and whirling white droid, with orange and silver outlines. Months earlier he himself had searched for that little robot, in whose memory was kept map missing piece to find Luke Skywalker, man wanted by both Snoke and Resistance. Looking for BB-8, Kylo had met Rey, to whom the little droid had attached himself like a puppy. Something vague and undefined had warned him to keep an eye on droid. At that moment, a strong sensation had shaken Kylo, ​​who had remained silent and motionless. She had recovered, sensed pain from wound Finn had inflicted on him and she was coming. Rey had overwhelmed everyone like a cyclone, surprising even him. It wasn't she stopped torture and freed him from chains, surprised Kylo. He knew this was in Rey nature, but he never expected her to heal him, offering him side a second time. Such naivety wasn’t acceptable. Rey had seen him kill Han, hurt Finn, wildly attack his precious Resistance on Crait. She knew very well his intention to kill Jedi, Sith, Resistance and everything represented past, why help him? Irritated by those thoughts, Kylo had attacked Rey, hurting her, undecided whether to take her and drag her with him, as he had planned from the beginning, or leave her there and forget her... Cardo's arrival had shaken him. Resistance guards had done little. Taking advantage of knowledge of place, Kylo had instructed Cardo about where to hide and multitude of conflicting feelings aroused by his presence at base, had facilitated things. Following instinct, Kylo had jumped on Rey. He knew he was physically stronger than she was and she couldn’t use Force in that cell. Nonetheless, Kylo had been surprised at intensity with which Rey had struggled. At times, he had to struggle to hold her back, especially when others and children had arrived. Kylo frowned suspiciously when he noticed Chewbacca was missing. In all that time prisoner, only one who he hadn't seen was huge Wookie, inseparable companions of Han Solo's adventures. Hairy giant seemed to have disappeared into thin air and he didn't like it. Finn's thoughts had torn Kylo out of those considerations, leaving him stunned. Did ex-stormtrooper really detest him to such an extent he thought he would hurt Rey? Kylo knew Finn wasn't really going to hurt Rey and, judging by his reactions, he really ignored what that light was had knocked him and Rey down. His thoughts, however, surprised him. Shortly before, Rey had blamed war and its protracted for some harsh behavior of his friends and, perhaps, he was right, but he still could not end conflict. -Let them go and I'll go with you - he was dumbfounded, hearing these words coming out of Rey's mouth. On reflection, such an offer was part of she's disposition. Kylo had folded his mouth in a grimace. He didn’t like position in which Rey had put him with such a proposal. -Unlike what you think, I don't like blackmailing people or even being teased ...- Kylo had replied, staring into her eyes. His mind was racing when they beat Snoke and Praetorian Guards. He offered his hand to her, while she turned against him as soon as she learned of his intention to exterminate her friends. Kylo had thought, fault of that result was his, he should have been more subtle and put her in front of the fait accompli, not open up like that. -I'm not setting you a trap - Rey had interrupted his thoughts flow, as if she had read in his mind. He stared at her intently, feeling Leia's scrutinizing and attentive gaze on him, noisy protests of others filling his ears, Cardo's lively and silent curiosity pricking him. Kylo had imperceptibly shook his head, to get rid of that useless tangle of emotions. -Okay ...- he had conceded, freeing Rey from his grip and using Force, to free her from handcuffs. -Please, come on - he invited her, indicating to walk in front of him. Kylo had looked sideways at his mother who, on the contrary, was openly staring at him and Rey. This attitude had made him uncomfortable, causing him to quicken his steps, forcing Rey and Cardo to run to follow him. Traveling Finalizer hadn't been easy. Rey was a volcano of emotions overwhelmed him too. She proceeded in silence, between him and Cardo, trying to hold back tears. Kylo admired her. Rey had gone from being an orphan, full of dreams and hopes, on a desert planet, forgotten by everyone, to discovering she had skills few knew and understood deeply, finding herself catapulted into a conflict foreign to her. Cardo had torn him from these reflections, announcing he would precede him to Finalizer. As soon as they were alone, Rey had turned to him, informing him she would never bend to his will. Kylo had sighed patiently when a disturbance in Force drew his attention. Moving fast, he had imprisoned Rey's wrists in anti-Force handcuffs again, obscuring her perceptions. She was already quite agitated, she didn't want it to explode completely. Pretending not to have noticed pursuers, Kylo had taken Rey in his arms to hurry section separated them from Finalizer. She fought like a fury, but he was determined to resist. Sooner or later she would calm down. Rey's bursting into tears, her despair, letting go against his chest, had disoriented him. First time he had carried her to his ship, he had put her to sleep using Force and then secured her to interrogation table. Apparently he had done well, looking problems she was giving him now. Kylo had thought about using Force to make her pass out again, but when he lowered his eyes on her, he realized Rey had gone from tears to sleep, her face streaked with tears. Kylo had sighed again and he had better placed her in his arms, following last stretch of road. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kylo had just finished shower, wearing black leather boots and pants and was about to call a medical robot when he heard a new disturbance in Force. He quickly put on a black shirt, thick ribbed, knee-length, with a zipper in middle. He fastened a high black leather belt to his waist and placed his lightsaber into a passerby, glanced at Rey still asleep and, with his black and wavy wet hair falling on his forehead, he left the room. Along corridor, Kylo heard General Hux's sour voice, threatening someone in an amused tone. He snapped his tongue, thinking how much mere hearing of man's voice irritated him. -What happens, General Hux? - He thundered, arriving decisively behind the man. The shadow of a smile passed lightly on Kylo's face, as he saw soldier jerked slightly, at his voice sound. Three stormtroopers with Hux snapped to attention. - So?- Kylo went on, noting four men were surrounding something or someone. Hux moved from his view. - Supreme Leader, we have captured these intruders ...- General indicated prisoners with one hand and Kylo narrowed his mouth, surprised to see who it was. Desperate beeps reached his ears. Kylo raised his eyes, frowning in anger, to see what was going away from the ship. He raised a hand to use Force to block and bring fugitive back, when a blue lightsaber appeared in front of his eyes. Supreme Leader changed goal, using Force to disarm attacker with ease. Lightsaber landed on the ground, extinguishing itself and rolling away a few steps. Without moving or even touching it, Kylo drew it to him, commandeering it. - Thank you, General. He can go back to his duties, here I think - Kylo ordered, dismissing Hux with a hand’s gesture. Man pounded his heels together. Bowing quickly, with his arms stiff at his sides, red hair moved away with a firm and fast pace. Kylo went back to staring at intruders. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Thanks ... nothing ... yes, I know. No ... don't bother me - followed by a medical robot, Kylo returned to room after fixing the intruders. At thought of fugitive he frowned. Kylo expected an attack at any moment, but he had already alerted Hux and practiced troops, giving precise instructions. He had thought of something about Rey as well, although he already anticipated her reaction. Kylo took off his shirt, placing it on a shelf. Shirtless, he sat at table, clenching his teeth and his fist, when robot cut the flesh of his forearm, working with his sharp tentacles to extract microchip he had placed under his skin. A feeling shook him, causing him to look up at Rey's slender lying figure. -Rey ... I know you're awake- Kylo announced, sighing patiently. - I would have a ... surprise for you if and when you deign to get up- he continued, raising his eyebrows with a grimace. Problem wasn’t surprise, but her reaction. Rey tensed, staying alert, then resigned herself to turn slowly, on her side, finding herself staring at Kylo Ren's brown and stormy eyes.

[thevengeanceuniverse]

Music is Worthless (WinterIron)

Read the whole thing here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563422

                                                            ~~~

Barnes took a hell of a long time to find, leading Steve in a merry chase around the world as he thoroughly waged war on any Hydra bases he had ever been housed in or heard whispers of.

Steve was gone more often than not, coming back for a few days every few months when he lost the trail, back to Tony so he could aim him in the right direction.

Tony didn’t blink at Steve’s increasing favours. He provided all the funds, created new algorithms for the search, researched the background of Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier program, kept the team together and safe during battle. He did not think about the fact that Steve had dropped everything at the mere mention of Bucky Barnes.

~~

Sifting through 70 years of torture and brainwashing protocol brought back his own nightmares. They blended together, making him remember the waterboarding, the yelling in his ears, the shock that lit him with painful intensity as car battery met with water and became electrocution.

Electrocution would turn into Barnes’ electroshock therapy and the hands holding down his arms would be bound to a chair. He would scream and scream, but there would be no sound. Gagged with the mouth guard, there would only be heartacheing, back-breaking, soul-shattering pain and that black hole of silence.

Once again, sleeping wasn’t the most successful experiment so far, but at least when he pushed himself far enough his body took over and knocked him out. He would catch a precious few hours before the nightmares came to say hi and then he would wake up with the trapped screams in his throat and get back to work.

It was like an alarm clock.

Even as he adjusted to his new normal, life decided to be the everlasting gift that it was and exposed a buried video from December 16th, 1991.

He threw up the first time he saw it, the image of Bucky Barnes killing Howard playing in his head over and over against the soundtrack of his mother having the life choked out of her.

Then he watched it obsessively, disturbed by finally seeing his parents after so many years with none of the accompanying music that made it feel like them. If he didn’t recognize their faces and voices, he could almost fool himself that it was strangers, people he didn’t know that wouldn’t make him feel grief and anger and sadness and every other negative emotion under the sun.

The one bare comfort he got out of it was that the main thing that Howard thought of as he was dying was helping Maria. Maybe he wasn’t such a heartless bastard after all.

He was still dead though.

~~

He decided he wasn’t going to tell Steve, continuing to update him on the Winter Soldier’s movements and seeing him off to places unknown as scheduled.

He was so wrapped in the process of finding the man that he forgot what actually was supposed to happen when they found him. Until Steve landed the Quinjet on the Tower’s pad and out walked him and James Buchanan Barnes following like a dark, solemn shadow.

Tony locked down the lab immediately, bending over his knees as he struggled to breathe and remember what he’d been trying to convince himself of: Barnes was separate from the person responsible for the murder of his parents, that that sin lay at the Winter Soldier’s feet and the man had been tortured and had his memory and his very self wiped away like condensation on glass.

He didn’t come out of the lab for three days.

~~

Tony was being an absolute creep and watching James Barnes through the safety of JARVIS’ many, many eyes in the sky. Barnes was subdued most of the time, always scanning the room as if he expected to be attacked at any moment and stiffening any time anyone touched him, even Steve.

But even as Steve’s face fell every time Barnes pulled away, Barnes’ face was impassive, set in a blank mask that said nothing of how he was feeling. It was as if he had no emotion at all. He watched everyone, and from where he was sequestered away, Tony watched him.

He decided to attempt his escape in the middle of the night when no one would see him. His stomach had started to cannibalize itself and all he had left was a moldy piece of bread. Tony wasn’t desperate enough to sink to that yet.

Peeking down from the elevator and seeing the lights off in the kitchen, he crept forward as carefully as he could while listening for any sounds of music or movement. When he heard nothing, he gave up on his Mission Impossible moment and strode into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee pot.

The magic mix successfully brewing, he opened the fridge and started rummaging through the leftovers. Clint would be pissed that he’s taking the last of the Thai food, but Tony wasn’t worried. Thor was the only one you looked out for when stealing food, Tony didn’t even dare look in the direction of his PopTarts.

Popping the food in the microwave to reheat, he took the time when he was waiting to scrub some of the grease caked on his hands. He didn’t even remember how those got there.

“So you’re Tony Stark.”

Yelping, Tony whipped around to be confronted with one James Buchanan Barnes, shock and disbelief radiating through his core.

Holy shit, this motherfucker is Silent too.

~~

Tony and Barnes stared at each other a long moment. Tony because he was trying to wrap his mind around two impossibly Silent people and Barnes because he just didn’t care to end it.

Packaging up his shock to deal with later, Tony plastered a welcoming grin on his face. “Sergeant Barnes, well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Barnes forehead creased at Tony’s flirtatious tone, not responding even as he watched him. Tony was unnerved by the intensity of his attention, but he covered that with babble.

“I hope you’ve been having a wonderful stay here at Chez Stark, has Steve given you the grand tour yet?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me here, seeing as you’ve been avoiding me.” Barnes folded his arms across his chest, gaze still pinned on Tony.

“No, you misunderstand,” Tony waved off the accusations. “I’ve just been busy with a few very important projects—of which I would tell you about but then I’d have to kill you.”

Barnes gave him a once over sceptically. “I am absolutely sure I can take you.”

“Is that a diss?” Tony responded, astonished. “Do you actually have a sense of humour buried under all those scowly eyebrows, Robocop?”

Barnes shrugged succinctly.

“Ah, I see, a man of few words. Okay, Snowflake I’ll have you know that if I had the suit on, your ass would be kicked three ways to Sunday.”

“Maybe I’m too old for generation, but when people said that when I came from, you actually needed the ability to back up those words, Shortstuff.”

Tony let out an insulted squawk. “I am not short.”

Barnes raised a brow and Tony could almost hear the “Really?” Reaching behind him for Tony’s coffee cup, he offered it for Tony to take, only to pull it back and hoist it above his head the moment Tony reached out. Lunging for it, Tony came up short and ended up banging his knee on the bottom counter door on the way down.

“What are you, five?” Tony retorted scathingly, glaring when he caught the sound of Barnes’ snort. In response, the man just handed Tony his coffee without fuss, before pushing him into a chair at the table. Grabbing the food from the microwave, he put it on a plate in front of Tony with a quiet order, “Eat.”

Suddenly remembering that he was ravenous, Tony arrowed in on his (stolen) food, groaning happily when spices exploded on his tongue. Yea, free food really was the best.

“You know, you aren’t half bad Barnes,” Tony complimented as he finished up, wiping his face and putting his dishes in the sink.

“Is that something you decided right now?” Barnes paused and Tony felt the air on the back of his neck prickle. “Or is that what you decided after watching me on your cameras for three days?”

Tony debated whether to deny it or not, raising an innocently curious eyebrow when he decided that a silent response was the best response.

“I could hear the whir of the cameras adjusting on me when I came into the room.”

“How the hell did you hear something as soft as that?”

Barnes just tapped his ear casually, as if being able to hear near soundless noises even in a room full of people was an everyday occurrence.

“I wondered why you would want to keep an eye on me even when going to such lengths to avoid me. The only reason I can come up with is that you know I killed Howard and Maria Stark.” At this confession, emotion flashed across Barnes’ face too fast for Tony to read, like the bare glimpse of silvery fish in water.

Tony flinched at the confirmation, at the reminder of what he had spent the last three days struggling to reconcile with. Taking a breath, he reminded himself of the other videos he had seen in his search for Barnes, the ones that revealed the extent that James Buchanan Barnes’ personality had been wiped away to become the Winter Soldier. He had felt connected to this man, and Tony pulled on those memories of connection, trying to let those emotions guide him.

“It wasn’t you, it was the Winter Soldier. You had no choice.” It sounded rehearsed, like Tony was just trying to convince himself of his own words and it wasn’t working, not on him and not on Barnes.

“Mr. Stark—”

“—was my father. And your friend.” Tony let out a sigh, giving up on trying to say the right thing and just going for the truth. “He was your friend, someone you knew and someone who knew you. I watched the video, listened to the way he greeted you a million times. He was happy to see you Sergeant Barnes, recognizing you even after all those years and relieved to see you alive and well. And that more than anything says that the man you were that day was not the man that my father had known, was not a man you chose to be. You were robbed of your choice that day, and many more days before and after that and I can’t blame you for things that were beyond your ability to control.”

Tony extended his hand. “But we both are in control of this situation right now, Sergeant Barnes and I choose to forgive you. But you also have to make the choice to forgive yourself.”

Barnes shook his head in a negative immediately and made no move to take Tony’s hand.

“It won’t be easy—trust me, you’re talking to the Merchant of Death here and I committed my sins fully in control of my decisions, but you have to at least be willing.”

Barnes scrutinized him for a long minute before slowly, hesitantly grasping Tony’s hand with his own and shaking firmly.

“Sergeant Barnes, it’s good to finally meet you. Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Tony. Call me Bucky.”

~~

With the dreaded confrontation out of the way, Bucky became a regular visitor to the lab, sometimes with Steve and sometimes not but when they did come together, they didn’t interact that much, all of their focus on being with Tony.

If Tony had been spoiled before with Steve’s attention, now he was downright rotten. He got used to Steve reclaiming his spot on the couch to draw or call out questions as Bucky and Tony ran around conducting fun (explosive and dangerous) experiments with the arm.

Sometimes Bucky came alone when Steve was out or when things turned bad. He never begrudged Tony for not always noticing him at first, playing with the robots until Tony was ready. Then they would sit next to each other and they would drink the expensive Turkish coffee Bucky would bring in a thermos and he would talk about all the things he didn’t feel ready to share with Steve.

Bucky would bring out the broken parts of him he only felt safe enough to entrust to Tony and Tony was listen and sometimes entrust his nightmares to Bucky.

Sitting with the shattered pieces of their selves around them, Tony realized that he had fallen in love with Bucky Barnes.

[jae-canikeepyou]

| connecting | j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader genre: fluff  a/n: i was really excited to write this since it was inspired by my fave disney movie “tangled” ! hope you enjoy reading ^^ still thinking if there should be a part two(?) for this. let me know!! :D

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the sun rose just in time at the moment you opened your eyes. a new morning, a new day, and a new hope. shockingly though, the alarm clock did not do its job. that meant you had to place new ones if it was the batteries. the smell of bacon made you up on your toes, leading you downstairs to the garden. 

on most days and most often, you stayed at the tree house your uncle had built. it kind of became your permanent room rather than the one you had at the actual house. you lived at the countryside. not exactly though. when you moved houses, it partially felt like it was a forest, fresh air and greenery.

oh the sound of the raw meat sizzling was making you drool as you saw your mother— stepmother, to be precise, smiling as she told you to sit with her. “only bacon would make you step out of that tree house.” 

“ah well, it’s my little paradise after all.” you eyed her with a grin on your face. your stepmother raised you as her own since your birth parents, didn’t really know how to care for an infant. your father was blind and needed assistance; and your mother cared for you a little while but eventually left for another man. so your stepmother came into the picture at the time before you even turned one. “i get to do things i want without being disturbed.”

“that’s alright. an artist like you need space and quiet. how many canvases have you painted on?” she asked as she plated your meal, getting the meat from the grill. 

you took a bite almost immediately from the serving tong. a joking but soft scoff escaped from your mother’s lips. “mom, there’s too many that i lost count. but remember the huge boxes you got for me on christmas? yeah one of those are close to be full of em’.”

“oh wow, you have to show me your masterpieces.” she clapped her hands together. she checked her watch, only to jump slightly at the time. “i’ll be late for the flight.”

“you’re leaving, mom?” you asked, a tiny complain from you made her giggle.

“it’s a business trip again, sweetie. i’ll be back in four days.” she cooed you with a tight hug.

“but you’ll miss my birthday.” you sighed, placing the plate down onto the wooden table. 

“i’ll make it up to you when i get back, alright?” she pecked your forehead before leaving you. “see you in three days. love you my princess.”

hardworking as she always was, your stepmother would often go overseas for meetings since she worked with a company that required a translator. and apparently she was ranked at the top category, so the demand for her was quite high. 

“love you too mom!” you yelled back.

you finished your meal and headed back to the tree house to continue with painting the canvases. the paintings you started, were something you hoped your father could be able to admire. he never got to see the world, the people, the beauty, and you. 

the childhood you had was something you remembered; still so fresh, as if it was yesterday. the house that was passed on from your father’s side ultimately became a shelter of nightmare. the word cancer was foreign to the teen you, definitely out of your vocabulary. you needed explanation as to why your father had gotten it, and why he had to leave the earth early. it had been three years after all.

not long since you began to paint almost half way onto the third canvas, the radio you were listening to blasted the playlist with your favorite boy group; that alone kept you hyped up, nearly knocking down several acrylic paint bottles over. the music moved your toes, then your legs, eventually your whole body. even your hair swayed in motion, as if the wind had blown it. 

“i just wish i could get to see them live.” you sighed, colors you puto onto the canvas blended with your emotions. “ugh, i’m so senti.” (sentimental). the clock showed quarter to four, it already had been hours since mother left. 

the once upbeat vibe came to a halt when you heard a couple of boys yelling with bicycle bells ringing. it also seemed like one was being chased too. you scoffed as you went to take a peek off of the window. they ruined your moment of jamming. the yells were increasing when the half of your body was out of the window. you saw a couple of figures at the far distance of your front yard. 

a ruffle from the bush that was near your tree house gave a sound of light crash. a bell rang from it too. was it a bicycle? as you further your body look at the bush on the just on the left side of the tree house, your sight suddenly came to a dim.

your body met with a boy with pink hair. as your eyes kept closed, bracing yourself for the impact, you knew his body slammed into yours and for sure you heard his honey-like voice. “nghh agh!” he gasped as his body was on top of yours, but your head rested on something you assumed it was his hands. 

the light from the sun made you open your eyes. the pink haired boy smiled sheepishly and the first you noticed was his ears. 

“can you get off me?” you asked sternly. 

“oh my g- i’m so sorry!” he stood up as he dusted his clothes. the yells from the boys grew louder, making the pink haired boy flinch at their presence. you took a peek at the front yard, around four boys on their bikes, looking for someone. “ugh man, they chased me until here?” he took a peek as well and hissed at what he saw, before sitting back down by the bottom of the window.

“you know i could report you for trespassing.” you stood up, pointing your paintbrush at him. 

he had his hands up in the air as if he was caught by the police. “hold up now i don’t want my shirt to be dirtied.” he said. “i’ll explain later but is it okay if i hide here for a while, maybe for tonight too?” he asked as his eyes trailed off.

you wanted to refuse but girl, his dimples showed and to be honest, you thought guys with dimples were the most sweetest. how could you resist him? especially as of right now, he was smiling at you, clearly embarrassed. but after all, he was a stranger and interrupted your jam session. “i don’t normally allow strangers here, let alone you.” you furrowed your brows. 

“ah c’mon! with a face like this?” he suddenly pouted— no, was that a smoulder? gross. “look, i’m having a rough day today and i really need a breather-” 

“then i think a breather for you would be outside?” you pushed him to the window, his footsteps hit the wooden floor with such impact at the force he received.

“hey hey hey! watch it!” he yelled with his palms touching the edge of the window. “do you want me to die?!”

“i don’t see why not?” your attempt to push him stopped as the radio continued to play the playlist you were listening earlier. “ooh yay!” you hopped back to your paintings. 

the pink haired boy eyed you with confusion. “girls have such weird mood swings.” he walked up to you, mouthing the lyrics to the song.

“you know them??” you turned around to the boy. “man i love them!” you felt yourself heating up realising the boy still climbed your tree house. “i- i like them..” you cleared your throat. 

“i can tell.” he laughed at you. 

“anyway, you have to leave.” you pushed the boy to the door. not the window this time. 

“please, can i stay here for tonight? i can’t have my buds chasing me like i’m a prey.” he sighed. his tone made you wonder how a pretty boy like him could utter such cute tantrums. 

he sat down at the table by the door, taking a sip from your cup. you crossed your arms at how he felt so homey immediately after invading someone’s property. “why were you being chased?” you questioned with curiosity. the boy seemed desperate to hide and you had to hear him reason out. 

“i skipped rehearsal yesterday.. and today. told them i wanted a break because we’ve been practicing non-stop.” he walked to your hanging cradle chair and sat on it. an long exhale escaped from him. you eyed him from head to toe. his whole body worn out with slight shakes. 

“i’ll let you stay..” you said, the boy’s eyes beamed with life. 

“yes! haha! thank you so much!” he placed his hands at the back of his head.

“..with one condition.” you continued. 

“anything for you, miss..?” he now stood up and walked up to the window where he had entered earlier. 

“y/n. my name’s y/n.” you said, blending the colors for the last time before actually stopping for the day. 

“y/n.. i’m yoonoh.” his voice trailed off but with a tone of amusement. “what’s your condition then?

the amphitheatre at the distance’s horizon caught your eye as you looked at the view. you remembered your mother’s words: “only bacon would make you step out of that tree house.” funny fact though, food was the only way to make you go out of your residence’s area. as you made up your mind, your sigh caught his attention. “see that park with that shade thing flying above it?” you asked. 

the boy turned to the direction you had told him. he squinted for a clearer and distinct view, where it shortly came into his sight. “yeah, the amphitheatre. what about it?” 

“i want you to bring me there.” you smiled, making yoonoh do the same. his response was a tilt of a head. you exhaled before continuing. “tomorrow evening, that ampitheatre will light up in colors. it does that every year. i want to see it in person, like how it’s special.” 

“it does, yeah. you haven’t been to the city?” yoonoh asked, his arms crossed.

“never. i’ve haven’t seen the city since i moved here and when i was a wee baby. more of i didn’t want to because i tend to limit myself from seeing the world.” you opened up to him as you tidied your art supplies. 

“why is that? there’s more to see out there! i can tour you if you like.” his dimples showed again. 

your body hesitated for a while, lips tried to find words to answer him. “my father was blind. he never got to see the world’s beauty, so i thought i’d do the same, y’know, experience things he did and understand him. now that he’s passed, maybe there’s benefit from a different point of view. my hearing got sensitive, in a good way.”

yoonoh stayed silent, respecting your words. he didn’t want you to stay caged in here any longer. “coming from someone who hasn’t seen outside beauty, you’ve got great imaginations.” he pointed to the wall of canvases. “i’ll bring you to the amphitheatre, first thing in the morning.”

to think that you would step foot to the lands of the city made your stomach churn. the whole experience would be something new. yoonoh sat back at the hanged cradle chair, taking several selfies at different angles, and there was no signs of stopping any sooner. you let him be, he looked tired anyway. his sweats slid down from the temples, and as he wiped them, he caught you looking at him. “i know i’m handsome.” he said. cheeky fella’, but he ain’t lying. 

luckily though, the tree house had an extra room besides the one you both were in now. your uncle had included it in the design if you had friends over. yoonoh could stay there even if it was a little cramped. he wouldn’t complain, would he? the day seemed to end quickly; with three completed paintings and endless conversations with your ‘new-found friend’? wait you weren’t there yet. he was someone you had met accidentally. 

maybe sometimes accidents can lead to something new.